After a long time, he rose, and, leaving the handkerchief on the table, went down the stairs once more. He never returned again to the room above the stable.
27
While Philip sat in the dust and soot of the dead stable, his father waited for him at the flat. He danced the twins for a time on his knee, and set them crowing by giving a variety of imitations of birds and animals which he had learned in Australia, but, after a time, the old spirit flagged. He wasn’t the same gay, blithe creature that Emma found awaiting her in the darkened drawing-room. Even the waxed mustaches seemed to droop a little with weariness. For Jason was growing old in body, and he knew it. “My sciatica,” he said, “will not let me alone.”
“For an active, nervous man like me,” he had told Emma only that morning, “there ain’t much left when his body begins to get old.”
Even his return home had been in a way a failure. He began now to think he ought never to have come back. Emma was the only one pleased by his return. “You’d have thought,” he told himself, “that she’d have forgotten me long ago and taken to thinking about other things.” It was pretty fine to have a big, handsome woman like Emma give you all her devotion. Yes, she was glad enough to see him, but there was his boy, Philip, whom he hardly knew. He’d never get to know Philip: he couldn’t understand a boy like that. And this Naomi business. It was too bad, and of course it was a scandal, but still that didn’t make any difference in the way you enjoyed living. The truth was that Philip ought to be kind-a glad to be rid of her. It wasn’t a thing he could help, and he’d behaved all right. If there was another woman, Philip had kept it all quiet. There wasn’t any scandal. And now, if he wanted to marry her, he could—if she wasn’t married too. No, he couldn’t understand Philip. Emma had done something to him.
The return was a failure. He hadn’t even had any glory out of it, except on that first night when he’d had his triumph over pie-faced Elmer; but who wanted a triumph over a thing like Elmer? No, he’d been forgotten, first in the excitement of the riot when they’d killed a couple of dirty foreigners, and then by Naomi running off and killing herself with a preacher. Em wouldn’t let him say that preachers were a bad lot but he had his ideas, all the same. The Town had forgotten all about him—him, a man who lost his memory, and who had been thought dead for twenty-six years. Of course he hadn’t quite lost his memory, but he might have lost it....
And then he was homesick. The Town wasn’t home to him any more. It was no more his real home than Philip was his real son, or Emma his real wife.
He was thinking all these things, mechanically rolling a ball back and forth to the twins, when Philip came in. At first Jason didn’t notice him, and when he did look up, the drawn, white look on the face of his strange son frightened him. He tried to jest, in a wild effort to drive away that sense of depression.
“Well, here I am,” he said brightly. “Back again like a bad penny.” Philip didn’t answer him, and he said, “I just ran in to say I’m going home day after to-morrow.”
“Home?” asked Philip, with a look of bewilderment.