“It is too bad that you were obliged to cancel your reservation on the Lavornia,” she wrote. “Of course you will go on another ship and as soon as it is safe for you to leave Mr. Cook. I have not changed my mind in that matter at all, Bob. You must go, for your own sake. I shall insist upon it. I don’t want to think that you were only pretending when you told me how you were counting upon the opportunity to study under the great masters there in Paris. I am sure some of the things I said to you the other night were too hard and they must have hurt you. I am sorry I said them and I have worried about them ever since. But I am just as sure as ever that you must not give up your chance simply because I have to give up mine. And I do want to have you tell me that you were wrong in saying what you did about Uncle Foster. If you could see him now, every day, as I see him, you would know that he is as sorry as I—yes, or you—that our disappointment had to be. I have never known him to be so kind and indulgent. And he says so many nice things about you, too. I am glad enough that he will never know what you said about him. And, Bob, I want you to go abroad and study hard, not only for yourself, but—well, yes, for me. Nothing will make me so proud as to have you prove to him and every one else that you are a wonderful painter and will be famous some day. That will be worth working for—yes, and waiting for.”
There was a postscript.
“I haven’t told you a word of news, have I?” added Esther. “Well, there isn’t much. The Welfare Society has decided to give ‘Pinafore’ in the town hall early in September and they have coaxed me into trying to play Josephine. She is the captain’s daughter, you remember, and what I suppose you might call the heroine of the piece. The prospect frightens me rather, but I am going to try. Uncle seems to want me to and—well, Bob, it may help to keep my mind occupied during a part of the time when some one I am very much interested in is so far away. The other news is that we are expecting a visitor here at home. He comes from Chicago and is the son of an old friend of Uncle Foster’s out there. I will tell you more about this—yes, and about everything, when you call. I hope that will be soon.”
It was not soon, as Bob reckoned time just then, but at last the doctor admitted that his patient might be left in the care of the housekeeper without endangering the progress of his convalescence and the housekeeper herself persuaded Elisha Cook that his grandson needed at least one evening’s rest.
“He has been shut up here for more than two weeks,” she said, “and he ought to get a breath of fresh air. You go right out, Bob, and stay as long as you want to. There’s one of those mesmerizin’ men at the hall to-night and if I was you I’d go and see him. They tell me he’s somethin’ wonderful. Taylor Hadley told me that he saw this same man over to Hyannis last week and the things he done were nothin’ short of miraculous. He put a boy to sleep right on the stage and then stuck pins in him just as if he was a—a cushion or somethin’. Taylor said it was the funniest thing he ever saw. He laughed till he thought he’d die.”
Old Mr. Cook stirred impatiently in the bed.
“Must have been funny, especially for the boy,” he observed. “It isn’t such a great trick to stick pins in people, seems to me. Bob doesn’t need to go to the town hall for that. Suppose I stick a few in you right now, Sarah; then we can all have a good time.”
The housekeeper did not accept the suggestion. She tartly explained that the boy was mesmerized and didn’t know anything about it.
“Anyhow,” she declared, “Bob doesn’t have to go to the show unless he wants to. But he ought to go out somewhere. He needs the fresh air and exercise after bein’ shut up in this house as long as he has.”
“He hasn’t been shut up in it any longer than I have.... Oh, well, well! never mind. Stop arguing, for heaven’s sake! Where are you going, Bob?”