“Virtuous?—His virtue has n’t been of much use the last few weeks,” suggested the superintendent.
“Nobody ’s any use,” said the manager tartly. The two weeks’ losses had worn on his nerves.... “There ’s a man in that office I should like to get,” added the manager after a minute. “He’s young—sort of a boy. But I ’ve a notion we could use him—if we knew what he ’d cost.”
The manager of the C. B. and L. meditated, off and on, the next few days, what John would cost. He never arrived at any conclusion that quite satisfied him. Just as he had fixed upon the bait that should tempt a young man who had his way to make in the world—a pair of clear blue eyes confronted him, shining mistily. There was a deep, still glow about that boy when he spoke of Tetlow that made him feel the boy was beyond him.
The manager of the C. B. and L. was a practical man and when, in the process of calculation, he ran up against eyes of a young man, he swore softly under his breath.
XXII
John was turning the question in his mind all day—where the president should spend his vacation. But each route that he blocked out presented at some point an insuperable obstacle, and he was forced hack to the starting point to begin over.... The place must be far enough from the road so that Simeon would not be reminded of its existence, yet near enough for John to return to his mother at an hour’s notice.
He had watched her with special care in the days that preceded the directors’ meeting.... If she should grow worse and he could not leave her?
But His mind had come to rest hopefully in the look in her face. She would not fail him. She was even more eager than he in planning for his absence—Caleb would be with her, and in the city it was easier than in Bridgewater to get help—the cooking and baking, some of it, could be bought from the little white shop around the corner.—She entered into the plan as if the journey were to be made for her sake rather than for Simeon’s. And John, watching her, knew that she was really better. The change to the new house and its surroundings had been good for her. There was even a little pink tinge in her cheeks sometimes and she declared that the very cracks in the ceiling of the new house were restful to look at as she lay in bed. She had never known how full of pain and wakefulness the old cracks were until they had been suddenly lifted from her. The new cracks should have only hope in them, she said, with a little smile; they should be filled with beautiful things—the light that came in at the east window for her—she had not had an east window at home—and Caleb’s pleasure in his new work and in his garden. Her window overlooked the garden and she lay for hours looking out at it and at the sky.... There was not much in the garden yet. But Caleb pottered about in it, setting out the roots and shrubs he had brought from home, preparing the asparagus bed and strawberry beds, and trimming up the few trees and shrubs that bordered it. He was very contented working in the warm October sun inside the high fence. The roots of his being stirred softly, making ready to strike down into the new mold and rest there gently as they had rested in the old garden at home. By spring he would hardly know the change—any more than the daffodils and the jonquils that he had planted in a corner by the fence with some lilies of the valley.