That Eurasian

by Aleph Bey

If it is really true that children get their intellect from the mother, and that there never was a smart man who had not a smart mother, one of the problems of the future in step with the progress in other things, will be to give everybody smart mothers; but that cannot happen just now, as what would be done with all the dull women? If it were said to each of them vide Hamlet, “Get thee to a nunnery,” the world would be almost motherless.

After seeing the mother I could make some allowance for that boy. Had I known her in my school days he would have had my fullest sympathies, with such a maternal burden. He could not help being born lazy, tired, dull and snobby, though the latter trait he probably got from his father. I did feel enough for him to aid him in his mathematics and translations. The father was of good family, that is, the society “good,” not in mentality, nor in sense, certainly not in morals. It was a false label as applied to him, or rather a good label attached to a fraudulent article.

I found myself admitted into the highest set, and had not much to complain of. The term passed quickly. I often indulged in reveries of the past, and hoped that in some future time I could gather up the threads of my life and unravel the mystery of my early days, for there was certainly something strange and mysterious, for little Johnny and I were the only boys who never had a father, and it was strange, very strange. He was a modest, quiet and lovable lad, and we often walked and talked together, for he confided in me as an elder brother.

The year closed with our examinations, and I was extremely happy in being able to carry the report to my best of friends that I had passed at the head of my classes. This was not from any superior mental ability, but because I had a special delight in studying. In one of Mr. Percy’s letters he said, “Anything you have to do, do it with all your mind and strength. Don’t dawdle. If you find your mind is tired, rest it by taking up another book, or if you can, take a good run. If at play, engage in it with all your might. Don’t linger over anything, act vigorously, and stop.” This letter was a spur to me, and many a time when I was growing listless, that expression “Don’t dawdle” came up. I did not know really what it meant, and have never looked it up yet. I caught the idea he intended to convey, and used it as my mental whip. Since then I have often used the word upon myself, and would like to have used it upon others, for there are many dawdlers in the world.

We had our final games, our last treats, packed our boxes and were ready to depart. The bearer had come for me. The journey down the hills and on the train was pleasant; but the anticipation of meeting Mr. Percy made me oblivious to almost everything by the way. As the train drew up to the station, I saw him looking eagerly at each passing car. He quickly saw me, and his first words were, “Why, Charles, my boy, I am so glad to see you. How you have grown!”

The carriage was in waiting, and soon we were at home. I cannot tell how the other boys felt when they met their fathers and mothers or friends, but I doubt if any of them were happier than I. If the heart is capable of holding only so much joy, they could not have been happier, for mine was full. The servants were all ready with their profoundest salaams and greetings, and even the dogs, from the big hound to the little terrier, were glad, and he must be hard-hearted indeed, who cannot enjoy the greeting, sincere and honest as it is, of a dog.

Need I tell of the pleasant dinner that followed? The big vases of flowers were not now needed to hide my mistakes. All was as if I were some distinguished guest, not that quite, but a long absent friend. After that came our chat with our coffee in front of the fire. One thing gave me the greatest pleasure, and that was Mr. Percy’s evident satisfaction in my improvement. He never praised or flattered me, though he always spoke kindly. It was not in his words so much that I knew of his pleasure, as in his manner, a feeling that came from his heart, and through his eyes, in his voice, his smile, his gestures; in fact, his satisfaction showed itself in the whole man. He was all or nothing. His whole being was absorbed in what he was, and all his faculties and energy in what he did. He could not profess to believe anything and then act contrary to it. There was no sophistry in his words or deception in his manner. His leading characteristic was sincerity. He often said that he made many mistakes, and he might have added that he was ever ready to acknowledge and rectify them. He had his moods as all should have. At home in his library, investigating some abstruse law case, he was as frigid as marble, and could bear no interruption from friend, servant or dog. Even in this mood he was never out of temper, for I never once saw him surly or cross. He calmly gave the order that he was not to be disturbed and it was obeyed. Once I broke the rule. The door was closed and the bearer acted as Cerberus. A young man had come to see me ride a pony that Mr. Percy had purchased for me. I did not like to wait, for it might be hours before the door would be opened, as it was early morning, and I might miss the chance of a ride. I approached the door and the bearer shook his head, but I gave a timid knock and heard “Come in.” I opened the door just enough to let my voice in and said, “Please may I ride the pony?” “Yes, Charles; good morning,” he answered. I heard the smile in his tone, and said “Thank you.” I think he would have received the bearer with the same courtesy if it had been necessary to interrupt him. He treated the servants with kindness, even the sweeper had respect shown him. He made all allowances for their capacity and position. I remember one morning a neighbor called, and while sitting on the veranda complained of one of his servants who was not able to do this or that, and after he had finished, Mr. Percy quietly asked, “Stoker, how much ability do you expect to get for eight rupees a month?”

I saw him in his court room where he put on his judicial mood, when calm and dignified he listened to all parties alike, showing in his manner that he had taken no side, but was trying to find out the truth that he might act justly. One thing I remember particularly, he would not allow a witness to be bullied or frightened out of his senses by a pleader on the opposite side, as is too often the case. In some courts one might think the one accused of crime had got into the witness stand instead of the dock, from the manner the witness is treated. The way they are often badgered is enough to keep them away from court, and when there, to prevent them telling a straight story, either true or untrue. After calmly hearing a case Mr. Percy would deliberately render his judgment. When many years had passed, and I had an opportunity of inquiring, I found that never was one of his decisions reversed by a higher court.

There was not a more sociable man in the station than he. He was extremely fond of good company. I mean by that, of intelligent men and women of good sense, agreeable manners; who had something worth talking about, who could wield argument even against himself, and I think he was more pleased with a keen opponent than with one who agreed entirely with him. He was fond of wit, and had an abundance of it. I knew that he hated low talk and vulgar anecdotes. No one ever commenced the second time to tell one of those ill-flavored stories in his presence. Once a rather fast youth, who presumed a good deal on his family and position in society, was about to offer one of his unsavory morsels, when Mr. Percy remarked in the tone of a judge roasting a thief, “Mr. Sharp, you had better take your smut to another market.” Another time, after a bachelor’s dinner, a man high up in the service commenced to relate one of his bald old elementary jokes that appeared to have some impropriety in it. Mr. Percy arose and left the room without a word, but every one was conscious of what he thought and felt. The social thermometer fell suddenly a number of degrees, and the story remained untold.

His purity of conversation was one of his characteristics. I cannot recall a word or story of his, that could not have been told in a drawing room to the most refined ladies and gentlemen. He would no sooner let dirty talk come from his lips than he would have taken filth from the gutter and rubbed it upon his own face or thrown it in the faces of his friends. This had a great effect upon me in after life.