This was something of the condition of mind to which she was reduced, when one morning two events happened almost simultaneously which changed the whole aspect of things, and created in her something approaching a desire to continue the dreary monotony of life.
The first was the advent of her mail, with a long letter from her son dated at Buffalo Point, and the second was an urgent request from her husband's manager, Mr. Harker, desiring permission to wait upon her, as he had the most encouraging news from the long-lost Gordon and her husband's affairs generally.
Gordon's mother did not read her son's letter at once. She saw the heading and glanced at the opening paragraph. The satisfaction so inspired caused her to set it aside for careful perusal after her breakfast. Mr. Harker would be up to see her at about eleven o'clock. That would give her ample time to have digested its contents before he arrived.
For the first time in weeks she ate an ample breakfast at her customary early hour. She further forgot to make her maid's life a burden during the process of dressing, and she even enjoyed glancing over the advertisements of the daily newspapers. Then came the hour of seclusion in her boudoir when she yielded herself to the perusal of her boy's letter.
"BUFFALO POINT,
Near Snake's Fall.
"DEAREST MUM:
"It seems so long since I sent you any mail, and I seem to have so much news to tell you, and I've so completely forgotten what I have already told you, that I hardly know where to begin. However, you'll see by the heading of this letter I am at Buffalo Point, and am glad to say I have received a visit from the dear old Dad, who is just as happy as any man of his devotion to work can be—on vacation. His visit to me here has placed me in a position of great trust in his affairs in the neighborhood, and I am very proud that, through my own efforts, I have been so placed. After this I feel that the dear old Dad will never have cause to question my ability in dealing with big affairs. I feel he will acknowledge that the seed of his example has really fallen on fruitful soil, and that, after all, perhaps I shall yet prove a worthy son of a great father.
"This, I guess, brings me to the discussion of a subject which has kind of interested me some these last days. It is the modern understanding of filial duty. I s'pose even such a duty changes in its aspect, as everything else seems to change, with the passage of time. Chasing around in the dark days of pre-civilized times filial duty seemed pretty clearly marked. One of the first duties of a son was, when his mother wasn't around to claim the privilege, to get in the way when his father wanted to hit something with his club. He was also kind of handy as a sacrifice, either well broiled or minced into fancy chunks, to make his father's Gods feel good and get benevolent. Then he was mighty useful doing chores around the home, so his father didn't have to do more work than it took him filling his stomach with Saurian steaks and Pterodactyl cutlets, and getting drunk on a sort of beer, which his wife had contracted the habit of making for him in the intervals between being laid out cold with a stone club.
"There don't seem to be much doubt about those days. A son's filial duty lasted just as long as his father could enforce it with physical discipline. When he couldn't do it that way any longer, then the son and father generally made a big talk together, and whatever odds and ends of the father could be collected at the finish of the pow-wow were handed over to some local soup kitchen to make stock.
"Then the son usually took a wife, and so the same old play went on.