The Bent Twig

by Dorothy Canfield Fisher

She reached for the Herald with one hand, and with the other gave
Sylvia a letter with the American postmark. "Oh, Tojiko," said
Morrison with the familiarity of an habitué of the house, "will you
tell your brother for me that I never tasted anything like his …"

Mrs. Marshall-Smith broke in with an exclamation of extreme astonishment. "Oh—what do you think—! Sylvia, did you know anything about this? Of all the crazy—why, what under the sun—? I always knew there was a vein of the fanatic—any man who won't smoke—you may be sure there's something unbalanced—!" She now turned the paper as she spoke and held it so that the headlines leaped out across the table:

MILLIONAIRE COAL OPERATOR TURNS VAST HOLDINGS OVER TO THE STATE

Son of Old Peter Page Converted to Socialism

"What!" cried Morrison. Even in the blankness of her stupefaction, Sylvia was aware of a rising note in his voice that was by no means dismay.

"Yes," continued Mrs. Marshall-Smith, reading rapidly and disconnectedly from the paper, beginning an item and dropping it, as she saw it was not the one she was searching for, "'Mr. Page is said to have contemplated some such step for a long …'—m-m-m, not that … 'well-known collector of ceramics—Metropolitan Museum—member of the Racquet, the Yacht, the Century, the Yale—thirty-two—Mother Miss Allida Sommerville of Baltimore, formerly a great beauty'—here it is," she stopped skimming and read consecutively: "'Mr. Page's plan has been worked out in all detail with experts. A highly paid, self-perpetuating commission of labor experts, sociologists, and men of practical experience in coal-operating has been appointed to administer Mr. Page's extremely extensive holdings. The profits form a fund which, under the stipulations of Mr. Page's agreement with the State, is to be used to finance a program of advanced social activities; to furnish money for mothers' pensions, even perhaps for fathers' pensions in the case of families too numerous to be adequately cared for on workingmen's wages; to change the public school system of the locality into open-air schools with spacious grounds for manual activities of all kinds; greatly to raise wages; to lengthen the period of schooling before children go into remunerative occupations …'" Mrs. Marshall-Smith looked up, said, "Oh, you know, the kind of thing such people are always talking about," and began to skip again, "'—extensive plans for garden cities—public libraries—books of the business to be open to employés—educational future—no philanthropy—and so forth and so forth.'" She glanced hurriedly down the page, caught the beginning of another sentence, and read: "'The news has created an immense sensation all over the country. It is prophesied that Mr. Page's unexpected action will throw the coal business into great confusion. Other operators will find it extremely difficult to go on with the old conditions. Already it is rumored that the Chilton Coal and Coke Company …'"

"Well, I should think so indeed!" cried Morrison emphatically, breaking in. "With modern industrial conditions hung on a hair trigger as they are, it's as though a boy had exploded a fire-cracker in the works of a watch. That means his whole fortune gone. Old Peter put everything into coal. Austin will not have a cent—nothing but those Vermont scrub forests of his. What a mad thing to do! But it's been growing on him for a long time. I've seen—I've felt it!"

Sylvia gave a dazed, mechanical look at the letter she held and recognized the handwriting. She turned very white.

Aunt Victoria said instantly: "I see you have a letter to read, my dear, and I want Felix to play that D'Indy Interlude for me and explain it—Bauer is going to play it tonight for the Princess de Chevrille. We'll bother you with our chatter. Don't you want to take it to your room to read?"

Sylvia stood up, holding the unopened letter in her hand. She looked about her a little wildly and said: "Oh no, no! I think I'd rather be out of doors. I'll go out on the balcony."