III
Mills took his billiards seriously. It was, Bruce could see, a pastime much to his host’s taste; it exercised his faculties of quick calculation and deft execution. Mills explained that he had employed a professional to teach him. He handled the cue with remarkable dexterity; it was a pleasure to watch the ease and grace of his playing. Several times, after a long run, he made a wild shot, unnecessarily it seemed, and out of keeping with his habitual even play. Bud Henderson had spoken of this peculiarity. Bruce wondered whether it was due to fatigue or to the intrusion upon Mills’s thoughts of some business matter that had caused a temporary break in the unity of eye and hand. Or it might have been due to some decision that had been crystallizing in his subconsciousness and manifested itself in this odd way. Mills was too good a player to make a fluke intentionally, merely to favor a less skillful opponent. He accepted his ill fortune philosophically. He was not a man to grow fretful or attempt to explain his errors.
“We’re not so badly matched,” he remarked when they finished and he had won by a narrow margin. “You play a good game.”
“You got the best there was in me!” said Bruce. “I rarely do as well as that.”
“Let’s rest and have a drink.” Mills pressed a button. “I’m just tired enough to want to sit awhile.”
Bruce had expected to leave when the game was ended, but Mills gave him no opportunity. He reestablished himself on the davenport and began talking more desultorily than before. For a time, indeed, Bruce carried the burden of the conversation. Some remark he let fall about the South caused Mills to ask him whether he had traveled much in America.
“I’ve walked over a lot of it,” Bruce replied. “That was after I came back from the little splurge overseas. Gave myself a personally conducted tour, so to speak. Met lots of real tramps. I stopped to work occasionally—learned something that way.”
Mills was at once interested. He began asking questions as to the living conditions of the people encountered in this adventure and the frame of mind of the laborers Bruce had encountered.
“You found the experience broadening, of course. It’s a pity more of us can’t learn of life by direct contact with the people.”
Under Mills’s questioning the whole thing seemed to Bruce more interesting than he had previously thought it. The real reason for his long tramp—the fact that he had taken to the road to adjust himself to his mother’s confession that he was the son of a man of whom he had never heard—would probably have given Mills a distinct shock.
“I wish I could have done that myself!” Mills kept saying.
Bruce was sorry that he had stumbled into the thing. Mills was sincerely curious; it was something of an event to hear first-hand of such an experience. His questions were well put and required careful answers. Bruce found himself anxious to appear well in Mills’s eyes. But Mills was leading toward something. He was commenting now on the opportunities open to young men of ability in the business world, with Bruce’s experiences as a text.
“A professional man is circumscribed. There’s a limit to his earning power. Most men in the professions haven’t the knack of making money. They’re usually unwise in the investments they make of their savings.”
“But they have the joy of their work,” Bruce replied quickly. “We can’t measure their success just by their income.”
“Oh, I grant you that! But many of the doors of prosperity and happiness are denied them.”
“But others are open! Think of the sense of service a physician must feel in helping and saving. And even a puttering architect who can’t create masterpieces has the fun of doing his small jobs well. He lives the life he wants to live. There are painters and musicians who know they can never reach the high places; but they live the life! They starve and are happy!”
Bruce bent forward eagerly, the enthusiasm bright in his eyes. He had not before addressed Mills with so much assurance. The man was a materialist; his standards were fixed in dollars. It was because he reckoned life in false terms that Shepherd was afraid of him.
“Oh, don’t misunderstand me! I realize the diversity of talents that are handed out to us poor mortals. But if you were tempted to become a painter, say, and you knew you would never be better than second-rate, and at the same time you were pretty sure you could succeed in some business and live comfortably—travel, push into the big world currents and be a man of mark—what would you do?”
“Your question isn’t fair, because it’s not in the design of things for us to see very far ahead. But I’ll answer! If I had a real urge to paint I’d go to it and take my chance.”
“That’s a fine spirit, Storrs; and I believe you mean it. But——”
Mills rose and, thrusting his hands into his trousers’ pockets, walked across the room, his head bent, and then swung round, took the cigar from his lips and regarded the ash fixedly.
“Now,” he said, “don’t think me ungracious”—he smiled benignantly—“but I’m going to test you. I happen right now to know of several openings in financial and industrial concerns for just such a young man as you. They are places calling for clear judgment and executive talent such as I’d say you possess. The chances of getting on and up would be good, even if you had no capital. Would you care to consider these places?”
The smile had faded from his face; he waited gravely, with a scarcely perceptible eagerness in his eyes, for the answer.
“I think not, sir. No, Mr. Mills, I’m quite sure of it.” And then, thinking that his rejection of the offer was too abrupt and not sufficiently appreciative, Bruce added: “You see, I’m going to make a strong effort to get close to the top in my profession. I may fall off the ladder, but—I’ll catch somewhere! I have a little money—enough to tide me over bad times—and I know I’d be sorry if I quit right at the start. It’s kind of you to make the suggestion. I assure you I’m grateful—it’s certainly very kind of you!”
“Oh, I’m wholly selfish in suggesting it! In my various interests we have trouble finding young men of the best sort. I know nothing of your circumstances, of course; but I thought maybe a promising business opening would appeal to you. On the whole”—Mills was still standing, regarding Bruce fixedly as though trying to accommodate himself to some newly discovered quality in his guest—“I like to see a young man with confidence in his own powers. Yours is the spirit that wins. I hope you won’t take it amiss that I broached the matter. You have your engaging personality to blame for that!”
“I’m glad to know it isn’t a liability!” said Bruce; and this ended the discussion.