Too proud to admit such was the case, Lorraine had sensibly set to work to be as useful as any minister’s daughter ought to be in a small town, and if she had her own particular form of heartache when she saw Dan and Thurley walking or riding together or taking supper at the Hotel Button, she kept it well concealed and smiled upon them and every one else alike.
After Dan had been “learning” for two years, while his father bragged that his son would outrival college professors—and all by mail, too—the older Birge died from an apoplectic stroke, leaving Dan his heir with the flourishing tavern, blacksmith’s shop and real estate office to take in hand.
This was the only time that Dan had been known to consult any one—and every one knew Thurley had put him up to doing it, to say nothing of his being under age—but he went to the minister and they had a long talk, after which a sign “Closed” was across the saloon doorway, and carpenters came from out of town to make the place over into such a store as the Corners had never dreamed of possessing.
“My father was an honest saloon keeper, I guess,” Dan had told Thurley, “but that business don’t suit me—nor you,” he added tenderly. “I’m going to keep a dry goods store that will curdle all the milk in the South Wales emporium. I’m eighteen, Thurley, and when I’m twenty-one and rid of trustees, I’ll ask you to marry me, and, when I’m twenty-two, we’ll be married.”
At which Thurley, admiring his audacity, had waived the question and began to suggest what lines of goods had best be carried.
It was only natural that the older generation could not understand a modern youth who would pay ten hard-earned dollars for a bull puppy, and then name her Zaza and pay two dollars more for a brass-studded collar and be willing to settle all claims for partially chewed up rubbers or boots for which the said Zaza seemed to have a penchant!
Neither did they see the necessity of Dan’s trips to New York to buy goods. Submit Curler had never done it, and, if one could “learn by mail,” why not buy as well? Nor did they see the reason for Dan’s red and white canoe, the “Water Demon,” fitted with an awning and striped cushions and a thirty-five dollar talking machine in the center of it, and why, when every one ought to be at work, Dan and Thurley would drift along the lake to the tune of “Dearie” or “Are You Coming Out To-night, Mary Ann?” while Zaza, unasked guest, would swim out and try to upset the cargo. And when Dan engaged two rooms and had a private bathroom installed at the Hotel Button and built a small balcony opening out of his sitting room, the younger generation fell down and worshipped blindly, while the older generation said a Birge never “built a cupola no place without wanting to get out on it and look down on every one,” and, “there was as much sense in all his notions as there would be in putting a deaf mute at a telephone switchboard.”
When Dan was quoted as saying he did not “feel right unless his suits were made by a New York tailor,” and, without consulting any one, bought a scarlet roadster and talked of building two-family houses as an investment, to say nothing of the twenty thousand dollar house with an iron deer in the front yard and steam heat that he would build when he married Thurley Precore—the older generation tilted their chairs back and recalled the story of the negro about to be hung, who said upon approaching the gallows, “Dis am gwine to be a powerful lesson to dis nigger!”
Yet the town had to admit that Dan built up the Corners more than any of his ancestors or contemporaries. He ventured money in a moving picture show and made it pay, mollifying the churches by turning over the proceeds of the Passion Play for a new carpet for a Sunday-school room and new front steps for the rival denomination. He installed an ice cream soda fountain in Oyster Jim’s store, lending the old man the money, and started the vogue for modern sidewalks and a town clock—and even a manicure! There was no telling to what lengths he might have gone, if he had not been so in love with Thurley that she occupied his thoughts twenty-three and a half hours out of the twenty-four, but he managed to do wonders with the remaining half hour. The town often said he no doubt would have borrowed their farm teams to make polo ponies, and it was suspected that he was striving frantically to “get up a board of health.”
Certain it was that Dan was not afraid to spend his money—some declared it was a hundred thousand and some a hundred and ten thousand. And, most glorious achievement of all, he liberally pensioned Submit Curler, whose eyes were too dim to tell basting thread from sewing silk.