Out of the Ashes

by Ethel Watts Mumford Grant

His secretary entered quietly, a sheaf of letters in his hand.

"Saunders," said Marcus Gard, not raising his eyes from their absorbed contemplation, "did you ever let yourself imagine how hard it is to do business in a strictly honest manner, when the whole world seems to have lost the habit--if it ever had the habit?"

Saunders looked puzzled. "I don't know, sir. Mr. Mahr is in the hall and wants to see you," he added, glad to change the subject.

"Is he? Good. Tell him to come in." Gard rose with cordial welcome as Teddy entered.

There was an air of responsibility about the younger man, calmness, observation and concentration, very different from his former light-hearted, easy-mannered boyishness. Gard's greeting was affectionate. "Well, boy, what brings you out so early? Taking your responsibilities seriously? And in what can I help you?"

Teddy blushed. "Mr. Gard," he said, hurrying his words with embarrassment, "I wish you'd let me give you the Vandyke--please do. I don't want to sell it to you. Duveen's men are bringing it over to you this morning; they are on their way now. I want you to have it. I--I--" He looked up and gazed frankly in the older man's face, unashamed of the mist of tears that blinded him. "I know father would want you to have it. And I know, Mr. Gard, what you did to shield his memory. If you hadn't gone to Field--if you hadn't taken the matter in charge--" He choked and broke off. "I don't know anything--but you handled the situation as I could not. Please--won't you take the Vandyke?"

Gard's hand fell on the boy's shoulder with impressive kindliness. "No," he said quietly, "I can't do that, much as I appreciate your wanting to give it to me. I have a sentiment, a feeling about that picture. It isn't the collector's passion--I want it to remind me daily of certain things, things that you'd think I'd want to forget--but not I. I want that picture 'In Memoriam'--that's why I asked you to let me have it; and I want it by purchase. Don't question my decision any more, Teddy. You'll find a cheque at your office, that's all." He turned and indicated a space on the velvet-hung wall, where a reflector and electric lights had been installed. "It's to hang there, Teddy, where I can see it as I sit. It is to dominate my life--how much you can never guess. Will you stay with me now, and help me to receive it?"

Teddy was obviously disappointed. "I can't--I'm sorry. I ought to be at the office now; but I did so want to make one last appeal to you. Anyway, Mr. Gard, your cheque will go to enrich the Metropolitan purchase fund."

"That's no concern of mine," Gard laughed. "You can't make me the donor, you know. How is Dorothy--to change the subject!"

"What she always is," the boy beamed, "the best and sweetest. My, but I'm glad she is back! And Mrs. Marteen, she's herself again. You've seen them, of course?"