“Well, you old bear!” exclaimed Lee, violently shaking Mauney’s hand on learning the news. “You couldn’t have done better. I’m as happy as if I’d done it myself.”
“Behold the hero,” Max said, as they went into supper together. “He’s just laid ’em all out. Four years’ work in one.”
“Hurrah!” shouted Mrs. Manton, putting her arms about Mauney’s neck and kissing him prettily on the cheek. “I knew you’d do it, Mauney,” she said.
“Maybe you did, Gertrude,” he laughed, trying to cover his embarrassment, “but I didn’t expect that. However, don’t think I didn’t like it.”
Even though Mrs. Manton’s impulsive embrace was decidedly consoling, Mauney nevertheless disliked it. He felt immediately afterwards that he would increase his diligence to detect her next time before it was too late. He accused himself of being perhaps by nature too cold. But from the evening, some years since, when he had felt a woman’s hand upon his own, he had disliked the feeling. A woman’s hand was too soft. It reminded him unavoidably of a snake, and made him shiver. This thesis ran through his private thoughts a good deal. He did not know women. He thought they were rather pleasant beings at times, but the danger of having their warm, soft hands suddenly upon him, inspired an attitude of caution. He felt confident of managing them in conversation, but confidence flew to the winds at the approach of hands, or arms, to say nothing of lips.
The summer months passed with snail-like tardiness. Having no place in particular to go, and nothing in particular to do, he remained in Merlton at his boarding house, and divided his time between reading and making excursions on foot, exploring the city. He now seized his first opportunity to gratify a long desire, and spent many of his mornings on the river. Max, who had this time passed his annual examinations without stars, had gone out west to teach school for the summer, in order to make enough money to finance his final year in medicine. The balance of the personnel at the boarding house remained unchanged, until one morning at breakfast he learned that Jolvin was about to return to England. The news came from Stalton, who said he had been talking to Jolvin the night before.
“Gertrude,” he said, “do you know what’s happened to that bird? He’s fallen into a big estate—his uncle’s estate. Why, it’s worth a couple of hundred thousand. I saw the lawyer’s letter last night. What do you know about that?”
Mrs. Manton ate in silence for a moment. “Do Jolvin’s socialistic beliefs prevent him from accepting it?” she asked.
“Not very much!” Stalton replied with sarcastic emphasis. “And, by the way he was talking last night, he’s forgiven England for being such a dough-headed outfit. Why, that fellow came out here two years ago like an understudy of Columbus. England? Not if he knew it. And now I’ll bet he gets the first boat home. Just watch him skidaddle.”