Under the Big Dipper

by Desiderius George Dery

Those who, at the beginning, had looked at him evasively or contemptuously, had of late given both their approval and confidence. The heads of the many diversified interests had tested him and had found he was not wanting. They realized that he was both able and strong. “A chip of the old block,” some of them said with a smile, and others would remark: “I told you the acorn wouldn’t drop very far from the oak,” or “Old Dan in his prime wasn’t in it with the boy.” These were the opinions expressed by those who were in the business with him.

“The Street” had even begun to whisper that it wasn’t wise to monkey with young Morton, and grizzled old bankers had found it desirable to consult with him before deciding on some of their “big moves.” From the outset he had declined offices on financial boards, pleading lack of experience; but somehow important enterprises would be mentioned to him at their inception. The players on the chess-board knew that it was safer to give Morton a chance to make a move or not, as he felt inclined. Thus it was that every day found Morton more firmly seated in his father’s ample chair, and found also that the work connected with his duties left him more and more invigorated.

His life with such responsibilities was bound to become circumscribed in ever-narrowing circles, and could not fail to leave on him, both in his features and bearing, indelible marks of care and thought. He found little room for indecision, small opportunity for moroseness, and fewer moments for idle dreaming. He carried himself so seriously that his old friends at the club scarcely recognized in him the John Morton of the past. He no longer found time for intercourse with men of science, nor for indulgence in reading books. John Morton had, indeed, come into Adam’s legacy—work and plenty of it.

Mrs. Morton and Ruth, although they could have but few opportunities for coming in contact with the business world, heard some of these good opinions. Married ladies, from whom their husbands kept no business secrets, would repeat what they had been told; fiancées would carry the expressions their future lords and master had made about Morton; Judge Lowell, on his occasional visits, never failed to avow his high esteem of this paragon of a son. They heard that he had been elected to the dignified offices his father had held, and to which only honorable and estimable men were called; that his advice and counsel were sought in matters of public welfare, civic improvement and works of charity. The Randolph in him may have been strong, but there was enough Morton in his composition to make his power felt, and those who looked to him for action were not disappointed.

Mother and admiring sister regretted his now regular absence from their drawing-room gatherings and his even less frequent visits to the country home. But the women of America are content to accept the demands that business makes on their husbands and brothers. As long as John kept his health and looked as handsome as ever, with his face lit up by his humorous smile, they were satisfied.

They had almost forgotten the existence of “the dark lady” of the Carpathians. Ruth had gone so far as to say that she believed John “had been stringing” them about her. She still was as determined as ever to marry her handsome brother to some beautiful American girl, which was her reason for not sharing in her mother’s pride at his continued devotion to business. Not that she objected to hear people talk in praise of John; but she could see no sense in working so hard for money when they already had more than they needed. John lived like a hermit, she said.

Her brother would listen to her smilingly, pat her on the cheek and explain that the interests of their estate demanded it. Her mother would talk of the sacred duty John owed to his father’s plans. But neither argument had much weight with Ruth, for whom life was a much more interesting affair than mere money-making. However, she said nothing, but quietly made up her mind to carry out her plans. She’d see that John married, come what may.

Moved by the desire to be nearer her son, Mrs. Morton, towards the middle of the summer, had brought her household goods from Newport to the big mansion on the Hudson. John had agreed to come there at least once during the week and to spend his Sundays with her. She made occasional trips to New York for shopping and visiting purposes, on which Ruth would often accompany her—especially for the shopping. On such occasions they generally succeeded in bringing John home with them. They found that he was willing to break important engagements, though to them these engagements seemed strangely unimportant. He would meet them at some store or at the Terminal, and his escort was always an added pleasure to them. Mrs. Morton, in particular, felt a great pride in driving home with her son. Their arrival was like a triumphal entry into some feudal castle. Her eyes would beam with delight as she noted the servants’ admiring glances at “Mr. John,” or the proprietary pride of the old station-master’s greeting of “Mr. Morton.”

Sometimes Ruth would go alone to visit a school friend, who would assist her in selecting her purchases. It was on one of these private expeditions that she ’phoned John and, catching him in a moment of weakness, wheedled him into a promise to meet her at Maillard’s that day at five, and to take her back to Tarrytown.

Punctual, as always, John was at the confectioner’s—the favorite place of those ladies who believe they need reviving refreshment of a stronger nature than can be obtained at the ordinary department stores. His arrival made Ruth and Hattie Brown, her friend, the envy of the other girls, who saw this distinguished-looking man greeting them. Is it unkind to suggest that Ruth had selected the place of rendezvous with this effect in view?