CHAPTER V
When Henry went home to his wife and his father-in-law, he was confident that he had a very fine bargain; when he told them what he had heard from his aunt and Mr. Archer, what he had seen with his own eyes, and what he had done with Mr. Mix, he expected first, sympathy, and afterwards, unqualified approval. Within the next five minutes, however, Henry was sitting limp and baffled; and wishing that he had Bob Standish to support him. Bob, at least, would understand.
“Holy Smoke!” he said, weakly. “I didn’t suppose you’d take it like that! Why, I––I feel as if I’d been run over by a steam-roller with Taft at the wheel!”
Judge Barklay had long since forgiven his daughter, but he hadn’t quite forgiven Henry. “Do you want my honest opinion? I should say you’re suffering from two extreme causes––exaggerated ego and cold feet.”
Henry flushed. He had the most profound respect for Judge Barklay––a man who had preferred to be a city magistrate, and to be known throughout the whole state for his wisdom and humanity, instead of keeping up his law practice, at five times the income––and Henry, like every one else, valued the Judge’s opinions. “You don’t mean you think I’d run the miserable little peanut-stand, do you? And keep books on it as if it had been the Federal Reserve Bank?”
“It strikes me,” said the Judge, “that both of us would rather have you run a peanut-stand than––I’m using your own analogy––than spend your whole life eating peanuts. Why, Henry, your uncle wanted you to be shocked––wanted you to be mad enough to stand up on your hind legs and fight.”
Henry looked at his wife. “What are you going to suggest? Hire a snake-charmer and a wild-man-from-Borneo and an infant pachyderm and a royal ring-tailed gyasticutus, and pull off a side-show after the main tent’s closed?”
“Oh, Henry! Can’t you see what a lark it would be?”