But Mrs. Hamilton triumphantly pointed to the fact that George had just returned from another trip to the depot with Robert’s locker trunks and would carry them up in another minute, and Captain Hamilton was forced to turn back and resume the habiliments of war. But he did it happily. The last time, he thought.
XIX
Howard Pinkney did come, as Margaret had predicted, and, as she had likewise predicted, he wore his captain’s uniform. He made some sort of explanation. He was either coming from an affair or going to one which all the officers of the home guards were to attend or had attended, and there was no time left for changing into “civies.” He was very apologetic about it and very effulgent in his praise of the returning captain.
Hamilton’s dislike for Pinkney was reborn. He had disliked him in childhood because Howard had rosy cheeks—an unforgivable offense in a boy. He had punched his nose for that reason many, many years ago, although the announced reason was that Pinkney “was too darned smart.” And having harmed him for no legitimate reason, he naturally disliked him still more. Pinkney, however, in spite of Robert’s opinion, had turned out disappointingly successful. He had stepped out of college into a large lumber firm, showed a precocious grasp of business principles and within two years had been made vice-president. During the war he had made his spectacular coup of cornering most of the available Southern walnut used in fashioning rifle stocks.
For a young man he had a peculiarly set—Hamilton called it “ossified”—mind. He accepted traditional ideas as firmly as do men of twice his years and without youth’s questioning of them. In business he had a whole set of principles that Hamilton never knew existed. He had ideas about the position of the South in industry and about the South’s contribution to world commerce. Things that no healthy young man would think twice about. Where Hamilton would be interested in discussing a football game or a play, Pinkney would discuss the extension of the federal reserve system.
To Robert, business was a mere incident in life, a necessary evil whereby one provided one’s self with the means of enriching and enjoying it. To Pinkney, business was one of life’s essentials. He took it quite as seriously as tennis or riding. A surprising fellow.
Tennis and riding he did well—efficiently—that was the word. Just as he did everything else. It was part of his physical life. He had departments—physical, mental, moral, social, and all separated from each other like boxes in a vault. In order to succeed one must give so much time and effort to each of these divisions. One must play tennis or take some other suitable form of exercise every day so as to keep in trim for the more serious duties of life. When Pinkney went for a walk, he didn’t say: “I’m going out to commune with nature,” which is sentimental, but understandable, or “I’m going along a picturesque road,” or simply “I’m going for a walk,” but “I’m going to get an hour’s exercise.”
He had an annoying way of keeping up with the times in everything. He even subscribed to the New York Times so that he might profit by the book reviews and bought the volumes there recommended.
He attended church and the most important social functions with regularity and was looked up to everywhere. He was pointed out as an example of the Southern young man in business. On public committees he frequently represented the young business man. Nothing could keep him from becoming in time president of his firm, a bank director, president of the Chamber of Commerce and a college trustee.
It was only characteristic that Howard Pinkney should still aspire to Margaret’s hand long after she had chosen Robert, and it was also characteristic of him that he should neither show nor feel the slightest animosity towards his successful rival. He treated him with all the charity that he used toward a formidable business competitor.