“You want to be an artist?”
“Yes. Don’t think that I expected to have everything just as I wanted it. Naturally I knew that I would have to work here. I have no money. You don’t imagine that I expected Uncle to plant me comfortably in some art school, and support me while I went through years of study? I planned, do you see, to work at anything that I could make enough to repay Uncle for boarding me, and to save a little so that in five or six years even, I could manage to study. I hadn’t any idea of looking for help to anyone but myself, and as a matter of fact, I very nearly went on to the city to look for work instead of plumping myself on uncle. But I didn’t.—I did happen to be ‘broke,’ and the city was thirty miles away, and then I hoped that uncle would advise me. I had no one else to turn to, and it seemed natural to come to him. Then, when I got here, I found that everything had been arranged for me. What I was to do was all mapped out—for my whole life—and I hadn’t a word to say about it. And what was more, Uncle won’t let me mention having plans of my own. And to-day—well, you were here—he forbade my even playing with paints, ‘As long as I am in his house.’ Don’t think that I am criticizing him, Janey. No doubt he is doing exactly what he thinks is best—but what am I to do? Will you tell me that? I’ve been sitting here thinking and thinking, and the only answer seems to be for me to get up and go.”
Jane was silent.
“Oh, I do understand uncle’s point of view perfectly. I was awfully angry to-day, but I’ve tried to look at it reasonably, and I can see why it seems like rot to him. Thousands of boys of my age have crazy ideas about what they think they want to do, and thousands of them think differently as soon as they’ve got some sense. And Uncle thinks, I guess, that I’ll do the same. If I could only show him how much it means to me! If I could only show him that I’ve got something in me besides a lot of high-falutin notions! I have tried to learn how to bake cakes. But I’ll never learn in this world. Even Aunt Gertrude has given up on me, and she knows that I haven’t loafed on the job, either. I’ve been pummelling dough every day at five in the morning for the last six weeks, and still not a single roll has turned out decently.
“But Uncle won’t hear of my getting any other job, all because of this idiotic tradition about the Winklers. I never heard of—” he broke off and began to pace up and down the room, while Jane sat silently nibbling her thumb-nail.
“Well, what shall I do?” he demanded presently—“You suggest something Janey, you’re a wise little worm.” This sincere, if rather inelegant tribute brought a pleased smile to Jane’s face. “What would you do if you were in my boots?”
Jane meditated a moment; then she said,
“Well, I wouldn’t get up and go—yet. I’d wait and see.”
“Wait and see what?” Paul rapped out a little impatiently, and frowning as if this piece of advice were not exactly to his taste. But Jane was unmoved.
“I’d wait and see—lots of things. First of all, you might find that you don’t care as much about painting pictures as you think you do.” This observation surprised and angered Paul, and his face showed it. His startled, resentful look said plainly, “I thought that you understood me!” But Jane neither retracted nor explained. “And then,” she went on, calmly, “Daddy might change his mind a little, if you took good care not to make him angry about unimportant things—especially about squabbling with Carl. And last of all, it’s just barely possible that another Winkler might turn up—you never can tell.”