“He grunted and said you were a clever lad, but a chatterbox. Of course that's not to be taken too seriously. It's not according to his nature to give praise.”
Lanny met others of his uncles and aunts; sometimes in church, sometimes when they came to the house and stayed to meals. Robbie would tell him about these people — always when the two were alone, because Robbie's view of his relatives was often touched with mischief. They were a cranky lot; an old family which had had money for generations and could indulge their whims however extravagant. Some were satisfied to stay in harness, and make more money, even though they had no need of it; but others took up special duties, such as endowing missionaries and having the Bible translated into Torgut or Bashkir or some other unlikely language; or exploring the river Orinoco and bringing home black orchids; or traveling to Southern Arabia and making friends with a sheik, and purchasing blooded horses to drive about town and to breed from.
Great-Uncle Theophrastus Budd came calling on his way home from a convention of reformers. He was the eldest of the brothers of Grandfather Budd, and was known as a philanthropist; his cause was euthanasia, which meant the painless ending of the lives of the aged. He was getting pretty aged himself, and Robbie said that his heirs were waiting for him to practice what he preached. Great-Aunt Sophronia, an old maid, lived in an ancient house with many cats, and when Lanny went to call at her request, he found her in the attic with a dustcloth over her hair, sorting out family treasures in an old trunk. She had found moths in it and was hunting them with a fly-spat, and invited Lanny to help her, which he did, and found it a pleasant diversion. This old lady had a sense of humor, and told her new grandnephew that some years ago she had lost interest in life, and had found to her surprise that this had made her quite happy.
These odd people had a way of quarreling bitterly and never making up. Uncle Andrew Budd and his wife had lived in the same house for thirty years and never spoken. Cousin Timothy and Cousin Rufus couldn't agree upon the division of their family farm, so they had cut it in halves and lived as neighbors, but did not visit. Aunt Agatha, Robbie's eldest sister, went off and took up residence in a hotel, and forbade the clerk at the desk ever to announce any person by the name of Budd. That was New England, Robbie said; a sort of ingrown place, self-centered, opinionated, proud.
II
One whom Lanny met only in the most formal manner was his Uncle Lawford. The meeting took place in church, where members of the family would exchange greetings in the aisles, or as they walked to their cars. When an occasion arose, Esther said: “Lawford, this is banning, Robbie's son.” And Uncle Lawford shook hands and inquired: “How do you do?” — politely, as became two children of the Lord meeting in His holy place. That was all.
He was a peculiar-looking man, heavily built, with broad square shoulders and rather short bandy legs. He was close to fifty, and his gray hair was thin on top; he had a square bulging forehead, and on his face a look that Robbie said was “sour,” but to Lanny it seemed as if someone had just said something to hurt Uncle Lawford's feelings. Robbie said that was perhaps the case; Lawford couldn't stand the least opposition in anything, and Robbie's way of making jokes annoyed him beyond endurance.
These two might have let each other alone, but business affairs wouldn't permit that. Every policy that Robbie advocated was opposed by the older brother. The father had the final say, and if he came to Robbie's view, Lawford would withdraw into himself. He was “vice-president in charge of production,” and was vigilant and competent, but he took the job as a dog does a bone — going off into a corner by himself, and growling at any other dog that comes near.
Lanny said: “If I had anything to do with Budd's, I'd be bound to run into him, wouldn't I?”
“I'm afraid so; but I'd back you, and I think we'd win.”