"He should bear his own and seek to honour it," Markham returned with simplicity equalling a child's. Mrs. Treadwell winced. She dared not show how she resented any unkind reference to her brother, but she had always looked down upon his Yankee marriage, as she termed it, and never could understand why the plain Markhams failed to realize the honour her brother had paid them by taking Caroline for his wife.
"I must see that the misnomer is corrected," was all Mrs. Treadwell rejoined. So Lansing had passed through preparatory school and was ready for college before Markham could be brought to definite terms. The letter from The Forge was the first proposition, and now on that September day Lansing Hertford, prepared and coached by his aunt Treadwell, presented himself at Bretherton on the two-fifty train.
"He'll probably offer you a beastly little allowance," Olive Treadwell had warned; "but I'll add to that; so accept it like a lamb. Then he'll throw Cornell to you—he has right bad taste in universities—but you must use your tact there, Lans. Tell him about your associates and how your future will be influenced by your college Frat and such things. Men like your uncle Markham are always snobs at heart."
Thus reinforced Lansing Hertford came up for judgment. He was a handsome, rollicking chap—a charming combination of his graceful father and his lovely mother—and he greeted his uncle and aunt with frank affection. Even in those days Lansing Hertford could will his emotions—or his emotions could will him—to sincerity for the time being. He had ideals and enthusiasms—he changed them often, and, as often, they changed him, but outwardly a frankness and openness were his chief attributes and had held his uncle, through the hope-deferred years, to expect big things of him.
CHAPTER IX
Lansing Treadwell, after an hour on the piazza with his aunt and uncle, followed the latter into the study and, taking the broad leather chair, faced Markham across the flat desk with candid, friendly eyes. Levi sat, as he always did when in that room, in his revolving chair; the leather one was reserved for visitors.
"Well, Lansing," he began, sternly endeavouring to obscure the hope, pride, and affection that were welling up in his heart as he looked at the boy; "you're through preparatory; have qualified for college and, after this year, are ready for your career!"
"I've done pretty well, Uncle Levi. I stand third in my class and I'm the youngest."
"How old are you?"