The Road to Understanding

by Eleanor H. Porter

In spite of his weariness, Burke's preparations for bed were both lengthy and luxurious—he had forgotten what absolute content lay in plenty of space, towels, and hot water, to say nothing of soap that was in its proper place, and did not have to be fished out of a baby-basket or a kitchen sink.

Burke did not intend to go to sleep at once. He intended first to settle in his mind what he would do with this proposition of his father's. He would have to refuse it, of course. It would not do. Still, he ought to give it proper consideration for dad's sake. That much was due dad.

He stretched himself luxuriously on the bed (he had forgotten that a bed could be so soft and so "just right") and began to think. But the next thing he knew he was waking up.

His first feeling was a half-unconscious but delightful sensation of physical comfort. His next a dazed surprise as his slowly opened eyes encountered shapes and shadows and arc-light beams on the walls and ceiling quite unlike those in his Dale Street bedroom. Then instantly came a vague but poignant impression that "something had happened," followed almost as quickly by full realization.

Like a panorama, then, the preceding evening lay before him: Helen, the crying baby, the trailing ink, the angry words, the flight, dad, his welcome, the pleasant chat, the remarkable proposition. Oh, yes! And it was of the proposition that he was going to think. He could not accept it, of course, but—

What a trump dad had been to offer it! What a trump he had been in the way he offered it, too! What a trump he had been all through about it, for that matter. Not a word of reproach, not a hint of patronage. Not even a look that could be construed into that hated "I told you so." Just a straight-forward offer of this check for Helen, and the trip for himself, and actually in a casual, matter-of-fact tone of voice as if ten-thousand-dollar checks and Alaskan trips were everyday occurrences.

But they weren't! A trip like that did not drop into a man's plate every day. Of course he could not take it—but what a dandy one it would be! And with dad—!

For that matter, dad really needed him. Dad ought not to go off like that alone, and so far. Besides, dad wanted him. How his voice had trembled when he had said, "I don't think you know, boy, how your old dad has missed you"! As if he didn't, indeed! As if he hadn't done some missing on his own account!

And the check. Of course he could not let Helen accept that, either,—ten thousand dollars! But how generous of dad to offer it—and of course it would be good for Helen. Poor Helen! She needed a rest, all right, and she deserved one. It would be fine for her to go back to her old home town for a little while, and no mistake. Not that she would need to spend the whole ten thousand dollars on that, of course. But even a little slice of a sum like that would give her all the frills and furbelows she wanted for herself and the baby, and send them into the country for all the rest of the summer, besides leaving nine-tenths of it for a nest-egg for the future. And what a comfortable feeling it would give her—always a little money when she wanted it for anything! No more of the hated pinching and starving, for he should tell her to spend it and take some comfort with it. That was what it was for. Besides, when it was gone, he would have some for her. What a boon it would be to her—that ten thousand dollars! Of course, looking at it in that light, it was almost his duty to accept the proposition, and give her the chance to have it.

But then, after all, he couldn't. Why, it was like accepting charity; he hadn't earned it. Still, if hard work and anguish of mind counted, he had earned it twice over, slaving away at the beck of Brett and his minions. And he had made good—so far. Dad had said so. What a trump dad was to speak as he did! And when dad said a thing like that, it meant something!