Henry glanced up nervously and down again. “To tell the truth, I hadn’t thought much about it.”
“Say,” said his uncle, confidentially. “Neither had I. Not ’till Mirabelle told me you went off on this party because Anna Barklay was goin’ to be there.... Now I had pretty hard sleddin’ when I was your age; I’ve kind of liked to see you enjoy yourself. But Mirabelle––Now I said before, I ain’t on her side, and I ain’t on your side; I had the thing 10 out with you once or twice already, and I guess you know what my angles are. Only if Mirabelle’s got any grounds, maybe I ought to say it over again.... You been out of college four years now, and you tried the automobile business for two months and the bond business for two weeks and the real-estate business for two minutes, and there you quit. You spent five, six thousand a year and that was all right, but I admit I don’t like the idea of your gettin’ married on nothin’ but prospects, specially when I’m all the prospects there is. Sound fair to you?”
Henry nodded, with much repression, “You couldn’t be unfair if you tried, Uncle John.”
“Well, you was always open to reason, even when you was in kindergarten.... Now, in some ways I don’t approve of you any more’n Mirabelle does, but she wants me to go too blamed far. She wants me to turn you loose the way my father did me. She wants me to say if you should ever marry without my consent I’ll cut you out of my will. But that’s old stuff. That’s cold turkey. Mirabelle don’t 11 know times have changed––she’s so busy with that cussed Reform League of hers, she don’t have time to reform any of her own slants about things.” He rolled his cigar under his tongue.
“Well, I’m goin’ to compromise. Before you get involved too deep, I want you to know what’s in my mind. I don’t believe it’s the best thing for either of us for me to go on bein’ a kind of an evergreen money-bush. And a man that’s earnin’ his own livin’ don’t have to ask odds of anybody. Don’t you think you better bundle up your courage and get to work, Henry?”
Henry was twiddling his watch-chain. “It hasn’t been a matter of courage, exactly––”
“Oh, I know that. I don’t believe you’re scared of work; you’re only sort of shy about it. I never saw you really afraid of more’n three things––bein’ a spoil-sport, or out of style, or havin’ a waiter think you’re stingy. No, you ain’t afraid of work, but you never been properly introduced, so you’re kind of standoffish about it. I’ve always kind of hoped you’d take a tip from Bob Standish––there’s 12 one of your own breed that knows where the durable satisfactions of life are. Just as good family’s yours; just as much money; just as fond of games;––and workin’ like a prize pup in my office and makin’ good. He’ll tell you.... But if you go get married, boy, before you show you could take care of yourself, and what money I might leave you––oh, I don’t say you got to put over any miracle, but I do say you got to learn the value of money first. You’d do that by earnin’ some. If you don’t, then you and me’d have a quarrel. Sound logical to you?”
Henry was frowning a little, and sitting nearer to the edge of his chair. “Too darned logical,” he said.
His uncle surveyed him with great indulgence. “What’s the idea?” he asked, humourously. “You ain’t gone off and got yourself married already, have you?”
Henry stood up, and squared his shoulders, and looked straight into his uncle’s eyes. His voice was strained, but at the same time it held a faint note of relief, as if he had contained his 13 secret too long for his own nerves. “Yes, Uncle John....”