Pearson he had not seen since the latter’s call. This was a disappointment, for he fancied the young fellow and believed he should like him even better on closer acquaintance. He would have returned the visit, but somehow or other the card with the boarding-house street and number had been lost or mislaid, and the long list of “James Pearsons” in the directory discouraged him. He speculated much concerning the mystery at which the would-be novelist hinted as preventing his accepting Caroline’s invitation. Evidently Pearson had once known Rodgers Warren well, and had been esteemed and respected by the latter. Caroline, too, had known him, and was frankly pleased to meet him again. Whatever the trouble might be, she, evidently, was ignorant of it. The captain wondered and pondered, but reached no satisfactory conclusion. It seemed the irony of fate that the one congenial person—Sylvester excepted—whom he had met during his stay in the big city should be scratched from his small list of acquaintances.
With Sylvester he held many familiar and enjoyable chats. The good-natured, democratic senior member of the law firm liked to have Captain Elisha drop in for advice or to spin yarns. Graves, who was well again, regarded the new guardian with respect of a kind, but with distinct disapproval. The captain was, in his opinion, altogether too flippant and jolly. There was nothing humorous in the situation, as Graves saw it, and to laugh when one’s brother’s estate is in a tangle, indicated unfitness, if nothing worse. Kuhn was a sharp, quick-moving man, who had no time for frivolity if it delayed business.
It was after a long interview with Sylvester that Captain Elisha decided to send Stephen back to college. When he broke the news there was rebellion, brief but lively. Stephen had no desire to continue his studies; he wished to become a stock broker at once, and, as soon as he was of age, take his father’s seat on the Exchange.
“Stevie,” said Captain Elisha, “one of these days, when you get to be as old as I am or before, you’ll realize that an education is worth somethin’.”
“Ugh!” grunted the boy, in supreme disgust. “What do you know about that?”
“Why, not much, maybe, but enough.”
“Yes?” sarcastically. “What college did you attend?”
“Me? Why, none, more’s the pity. What learnin’ there was in our family your dad had. Maybe that’s why he was what he was, so fur as money and position and society and so on went, and I’m what I am.”
“Oh, rubbish! What difference does it make to Malcolm Dunn—now—his going through college?”
“Well, he went, didn’t he?”