XI
The Gorham residence was located on Riverside Drive near Grant's Tomb, commanding a superb view of the Hudson River in both directions. The massive stone house stood well back from the street in the midst of an extravagant amount of land for a New York city home, and the high wall protected a beautiful garden, in the use of which the whole family took much pleasure during the spring and fall. Thither the Gorhams returned after their sojourn in Washington, glad to exchange their cramped quarters at the hotel for the home comforts which they found there. Alice was full of her new business responsibilities and eager to assume charge of her "department"; Mrs. Gorham, restored to her home city and her early friends by her present marriage, looked forward to an enjoyable "season"; Patricia and her beloved pony were reunited; and Gorham himself, flushed with the continuing success of his gigantic enterprise, plunged more deeply than ever into its manifold transactions.
The remaining member of the family—for such he always considered himself—was old Riley. Servants might come and servants might go, but Riley the faithful was always to be found in his appointed place, occupied by his appointed task. New York was the only home he recognized, since, in addition to being "Misther Robert's" place of residence, it also connected him with the one tie in life beyond his devotion to his master and his master's family. This was an only son who had risen by degrees to be a pressman in a local printing-office and, which was more to the point, had become a political power in his particular ward. Riley's interest in his son was far greater than any reciprocal sentiment manifested by the younger man. Occasionally the father ventured to look up his famous offspring, but was always received with a patronizing indulgence; and when he returned to his own insignificant duties, it was with a sense of gratitude for the reflected greatness.
After one of these rare treats, every member of the family could read in Riley's face the degree of cordiality with which the old man had been received; so when, one afternoon a few weeks after their return to New York, he lingered after giving Mrs. Gorham the evening paper in the garden, she noted the expression of expectancy and turned from her conversation with Alice to gratify his unspoken desire to be questioned. As a matter of fact, Eleanor had reproached herself for complaining of Riley to Mr. Gorham, and this was an opportunity to make amends.
"You haven't told us about your call on James last night, Riley. How did you find him?"
"Fine, ma'm, fine," he replied, straightening up as he realized that his opportunity had arrived. "Jimmie is th' great man, ma'm, if I do say it as hadn't orter."
"Splendid, Riley!" exclaimed Eleanor, glancing at Alice with amusement. "It is a fine thing to have our children do us credit. What new honor has come to James ?"
"I don't know where he gits it, ma'm, tho' his mother was a smart woman, but he's th' clever la-ad, ma'm; indade he is."
"Do tell us about it, Riley," Alice added, entering into Eleanor's spirit; "we are all impatience."
"He's th' clever la-ad," Riley repeated, still rolling the sweet morsel under his tongue. "He's th' comin' man in New York politics, I'm thinkin'," he mused. "Mebbe he'll be an aldherman yit. Wan iv his ancistors in th' ol' counthry was a game warden wanst—mebbe Jimmie will be an aldherman yit."
There was no use trying to hasten the old man, and his auditors were too familiar with his peculiarities not to give him his own time. This was food and drink to his present craving, which during all these years he had found so little opportunity to indulge. The successes which he had enjoyed were won by those for whom and with whom he labored. Here was the hope of a triumph, on the part of one of his own flesh and blood, which must reflect its brilliancy upon himself. Suppose Jimmie should some day become an alderman! No wonder that the old man lingered in his narrative!
"Ye see, ma'm," Riley continued, "Jimmie is th' man th' big fellers give th' money at 'lection time, an' it's all lift ter him where he puts it. All that responsibility is his, ma'm, an' that makes him quite a feller hisself. Th' other men in th' ward sorter looks up ter him, ma'm. An' thin agin, Jimmie is th' fine speaker an' quick wid his thinkers, ma'm. That's why I think he'll be th' great man soon."
"It's a fine thing to be given responsibility, Riley, and it's a great thing to be trusted," Eleanor humored him; "but it is even more valuable to be a fine speaker and quick with one's 'thinkers.' Has James had much opportunity to show his ability as an orator?"
"He has, ma'm, as I was just a-goin' ter tell ye. Jimmie come near makin' a mistake two years ago. Th' Republicans offered him more money ter come over ter their side an' Jimmie done it. Thin, later, he seen his mistake an' th' Dimocrats seen theirs, an' Jimmie come back ter his old roost. Some iv thim who didn't know the true innards iv th' situation blamed Jimmie, an' at a meetin' th' Dimocrats held—crocus, I think he called it—some iv them started ter hiss Jimmie when he begun ter spake. Th' man at th' desk, whatever title he has, thried ter stop 'em, but Jimmie was quicker than any iv 'em. He jumps up on a chair, Jimmie does, an' waves his arms theatrical like, an' cries out good an' sthrong, 'Don't mind 'em, Misther Moderator (that's what they call that feller at th' desk), don't mind 'em, Misther Moderator—as another gintleman wance said, they know not what they do.'"
"Did James know who the 'other gentleman' was?" asked Mrs. Gorham, with difficulty suppressing a laugh.
"He may have, ma'm, but I'm not sure," Riley replied, honestly. "Me an' th' ol' woman allus thried ter bring Jimmie up wid a knowledge iv th' Scripters, an' I'm hopin' he did know; but I ain't shure, ma'm."
As Riley disappeared into the house Eleanor rose and, drawing Alice's arm through her own, the two resumed their leisurely stroll about the garden.
"I wonder if Riley has forgiven me for marrying your father," Eleanor queried, laughingly. "He looks upon 'Mr. Robert' as his personal property, and I really believe he has always resented my presence as an intrusion."
"Pat is the only one who can make him stand around," Alice admitted; "but, seriously, I think he looks upon you as a real addition to the family. That's a proud position for you to have attained in four years."
"I hope you are right," Eleanor laughed again. "Without Riley's approval, peace in the Gorham family would be impossible. Now tell me what you are thinking over so seriously. I've been on the point of asking you ever since luncheon."
Alice looked up quickly and smiled brightly.
"Am I serious?" she asked. "I didn't realize that I became thoughtful so seldom as to have it attract attention; but, since you ask, I am wondering how my business experiment is going to work out."
"Mr. Covington is an able instructor, and I feel sure that his pupil is a proficient one."
"Isn't it good of him to give me so much time! He hasn't missed a morning since we returned. Oh, it's wonderful to listen to him, he knows so much about things; and it all seems simple enough after he explains it. He is very patient with me, even though I know he thinks I'm awfully stupid."
"He doesn't seem to find the task irksome," suggested Eleanor.
"That's because he thinks so much of father," the girl explained. "He has told me a lot I never knew about dear daddy, and it makes me love him more than ever. Mr. Covington says there isn't a man in the world to-day equal to father; and, of course, I know he's right, but it's pleasant to hear some one else say it."
"How do you like Mr. Covington as you become better acquainted with him?" Eleanor asked.
"Very much," Alice replied, sincerely; "no one could help it. Next to daddy, he's the finest man I know."
"Do you think you could become very close friends?"
The girl laughed merrily. "What a funny idea!" she exclaimed. "It takes two to become close friends, and a man in his position could never have a friendship with a girl my age—especially when he has this opportunity to learn all my shortcomings. I should be very proud of a friend like Mr. Covington."
Eleanor feared to disturb matters by further questioning. All seemed to be progressing favorably in the direction which her husband desired, and, as he said, Covington was undoubtedly able to handle the situation himself. Mrs. Gorham had watched the "lessons" from the corner of her eye, and had seen much which had evidently escaped Alice.
"I'd like to ask you a question." Mrs. Gorham looked up quickly at the abruptness of the girl's sudden remark. "You are the only one I can go to when I don't understand anything; but Mr. Covington told me to think it over and keep what he said entirely to myself. He couldn't have meant me to keep it from you, could he?"
"You are the best judge of that, dear. Has it to do with yourself?"
"Not exactly—it has to do with my property: the money my mother left me, you know."
"Why should he interest himself in that?"
"As a surprise to daddy—to show him how rapidly I am becoming a business woman."
"I think you had better talk it over with your father," Eleanor said, decidedly. "He can advise you far better than Mr. Covington."
"Oh, no; that is the very thing I mustn't do. That would spoil the whole thing. Mr. Covington knows of a stock which I could buy which will double within two months, and father will be delighted when he sees how cleverly I have invested the money."
"But you can't do anything with that money without your father's permission."
"Yes, I can; Mr. Covington has looked it all up. I have full control over it now that I am eighteen. All I have to do is to sign a paper which he will bring me, and he will do the rest."
Mrs. Gorham was thoughtful for some moments. "Mr. Covington would certainly take no chances with the girl's money," she mused. "I wonder what Robert would think of it." Then aloud, "Did he tell you what the stock was?"
"Yes; but you mustn't breathe it. You don't think I'm betraying a confidence, do you? He was so emphatic about my thinking it over by myself; but he couldn't have meant not to tell you, dear. It is some stock in a street railway here in New York which he thinks he can get hold of. Wouldn't it be fine to double my money! But I must promise not to tell daddy how I did it—just surprise him with it."
"I don't know what to advise you, Alice," Eleanor said, doubtfully.
"It must be all right, for Mr. Covington knows," the girl insisted; "that's why daddy has him come to teach me. But I shall think it over very carefully, as he asked me to." Alice threw her arms impulsively around Eleanor's neck and kissed her, laughing happily. "We business people have to consider these problems very deeply," she said, dropping her voice. "I will tell you in the morning what I decide."
A heavy step upon the gravel walk announced Gorham's arrival. Greeting them affectionately, he placed one arm about the waist of each and turned from one to the other, looking silently into their faces. "My inspirations," he exclaimed, smiling; and as Eleanor glanced triumphantly at Alice, the girl realized the force of the words the elder woman had spoken in an earlier conversation. Here—in them—rested that power which stimulated the execution of affairs of which the whole world talked!
"I have news for you," Gorham said, turning to Alice. "Mr. Allen
Sanford, late chauffeur, is now the right arm of the Consolidated
Companies."
"Do you really mean it!" she cried, transferring her caresses to her father. "Have you actually given him a chance? Oh, I'm so happy about it!"
"I really mean it," Gorham replied, laughingly, amused by the girl's enthusiasm; "and by doing so, I presume I have incurred the eternal enmity of one Stephen Sanford."
"How did it happen, Robert?" Eleanor inquired, hardly less pleased than
Alice.
"The boy has some promising stuff in him," was the reply. "He has more to get over than most youngsters have; but his very impulsiveness, properly controlled, may prove an asset. The young rascal almost sold me a set of the Home Travellers' Volumes, and with all his amateurishness he showed a good deal of skill, and an unlimited amount of imagination. I've wanted to give him a chance ever since Stephen threw him over, and now I'm going to do it."
Alice became serious again after her first outburst. "Who is going to teach him?" she asked.
"Experience will be his best master," Gorham replied, surprised by her question.
"Don't you think I could help him by showing him some of the things Mr. Covington has taught me? He needs an inspiration more than any one I know."
"No; I do not think so, young lady," he said, shaking his finger at her playfully. "If I am any judge of human nature, he would teach you more along certain lines than I care to have you learn just yet."
Alice flushed. "How absurd!" she pouted. "Allen could never interest me in that way. Why, he's only a boy. When I marry, daddy, my husband must be a man lots older than I am, just as you are older than Eleanor. He will have to be older, to have had time to accomplish all he must have done, if I am to respect him; and there couldn't be love without respect, could there? How perfectly absurd! Why, Allen is—just Allen!"
"Of course, my dear; I was only teasing you—and the man who wins you must have accomplished a whole lot more than you demand in order to satisfy me. So that problem is settled, and we'll wait for the Knight Adventurous who dares attack our citadel."
Alice stooped and picked a gorgeous dahlia, upon which she fixed her still averted gaze.
"I only wanted to do my part," she said, apologetically. "Allen is dreadfully alone in the world, now that his father has gone back on him. I think I am the only one who understands him."
"Your father is but joking, Alice," Eleanor reassured her. "You and
Allen are now business associates, and it will be your duty to help
each other, all for the advancement of the great Consolidated
Companies."
The girl looked up brightly. "That's right," she said; "business associates always do that, don't they? Now I'll leave you to yourselves until dinner-time."
With an understanding glance at Eleanor, Alice ran up the terrace steps and into the house. Mrs. Gorham repeated to her husband the girl's conversation and added her own interpretation of the situation, carefully avoiding any mention of Covington's proposition, which was the one subject upon which she would have preferred to talk.
"She is growing up too fast, Robert," she concluded. "We must make her play more and forget the responsibilities which she insists upon assuming."
"She's in safe hands," Gorham replied, smiling. "Keep her young as long as you can, dear, and when she has to grow up, even to your mature years, help her to be just such another woman as yourself. Covington gives me glowing accounts of her progress in the little scheme which you so cleverly suggested. He seems to think her interest is more than a mere whim, but I can't believe it."
"She is a strange girl in some ways," Eleanor replied, "and we must watch her carefully just at this crisis."
"I don't intend to have young Sanford step in and upset my plans,"
Gorham insisted.
"You had better go slowly, dear, and let her work out her own future, guiding her quietly without her realizing it. Allen will have to win her respect before you need to consider him as a possible obstacle. Their interest in each other just now is so natural and unaffected that I should be sorry to disturb it. Each one can be a real help to the other without any danger of the complication which you fear."
"They are both at the inflammable age," persisted Gorham; "it is just as well to guard against uncertainties."
Eleanor smiled. "We are all inconsistent, aren't we, dear? We were so exasperated with Stephen Sanford because he would not allow Allen to express his own individuality, yet we are almost ready to interfere with the development of Alice's. All seems to be progressing exactly as you wish it. The child's admiration for Mr. Covington is supreme, and with Alice that is the first step. Then their daily intercourse ought to give ample opportunity for settling the question your way. But if it proved finally that her happiness was dependent upon her marrying Allen, or any other one of her admirers, you would be the first to urge it—wouldn't you, dear?"
"Of course I should," Gorham admitted; "but I can't consider any alternative. Admiration and respect are all very well as far as they go, but they are no guarantee when a good-looking, impulsive youngster is concerned."
"I know, dear," Eleanor continued, quietly. "A man came into my life once whom I admired and respected with all my strength, yet I never loved him."
Gorham paused abruptly and looked at his wife with the same strange expression which she occasionally noted upon his face.
"You never loved him?" he repeated.
"No, dear. He was a noble character, and he once did me a great service, but I never loved him. With Alice my one fear is that she may mistake respect for affection, and with her nature such an error would ruin her life."
"Some time you must tell me about him," Gorham insisted, still reverting to her chance remark.
Eleanor's face sobered. "Some time I will, but not now. It is all a part of that memory I am ever trying to forget—a bright lining to that heavy cloud. Some time, dear, but not now."
"Suppose I have a little chat with Alice before dinner," Gorham said, changing the subject abruptly. "The child must not think that I am neglecting her. I must make her realize how proud I am of her."
"Do," Eleanor replied. "I will follow you in a few moments." She sank upon a convenient seat as her husband disappeared indoors. Here, half an hour later, still communing with the early twilight as it deepened into dusk, Alice and her father found her, when they came out from the house, arm in arm. Who shall say what spring the words unconsciously released, conjuring up before her unwilling mental vision a picture of the years gone by? Who shall explain the apprehensiveness which came unbidden, causing known certainties to be forgotten because of the disquieting questionings which demanded an unanswerable reply.
"I have dropped my flower!" Alice exclaimed, as she searched up and down the walk.
"There are plenty more right beside you," suggested her father, surprised.
"I must find this very one," she insisted, with an expression on her face which Eleanor understood. "Flowers have personalities just as we have—and perhaps their joy in life is in giving inspiration, too."