The Cottage of Delight: A Novel

by Will N. Harben

"I think he is a wonder," Pilcher returned. "I was thinking about his work last night. Do you know that I can see where he has already saved us several thousands of dollars? He prevents much oversupply of materials and doesn't let us make our old blunders, which often caused tearing out and rebuilding. He seems to have an eye for the finished thing before the work is even started. The architects hate him. They don't have a soft snap with him. He made me send back Hinkinson's plans for the Chester Flats—stairways too wide by ten inches, and ten feet too near the front for the stores on the sides."

"I know," Reed chuckled. "Well, what do you think about his pay? You know we've hinted at a raise."

Pilcher smiled. "I think he is worth as much to us as he is to any one else, and, as I like the fellow personally, I want to hold on to him. You can't hire a brain like his very long for nothing, and if we don't come across he may be snapped up by some one else. Carter & Langley's man asked me the other day if we had a contract with him. I lied. I told him yes, and what I want to do now is to sign up with the fellow and know where we stand. He is ambitious, and I never saw such a worker in my life. He often does as much as an ordinary man after the office closes. He works at home. He told me that he did not care for amusements, reading, or politics. He has put his little sister in school, and he warms up when he speaks of the child. Outside of his work, she seems to be the only thing he is interested in. He is always quoting something she says or telling amusing things she does. Then he laughs—he seldom smiles over anything else. He is very deep and serious. If he were not so young I'd think he had had a sad love-affair. I think he must have taken the deaths of his parents and the responsibility of the child very seriously. Well, what do you think?"

"About a contract with him? Yes, I think we ought to come to terms with him. You say he is the man we need. Why not be liberal with him?"

"I've always thought that gradual progress," Pilcher said, "was good for young men. You can spoil them easily by letting them know that you can't do without them. Still, I see your point and agree with you. How about a two years' contract at fifteen hundred a year?"

"Not enough." Reed shook his younger and more progressive head firmly. "Make it eighteen for a year, with a bonus of three per cent. on our entire net profits."

Pilcher winced and pulled his beard, but finally agreed. "You attend to the details and draw up the contract. I catch your idea of pinning down his personal interest in the work with the bonus. If we make as much money next year as this he will do well."

So it was finally arranged, and when John went home on the following Saturday night, after signing the contract, he was in good spirits. Dora was at the table with Betty and Minnie when he arrived, and he sat down with them. They were overflowing with amusement about something that had happened at school, and John sat watching Dora's animated face with deep pride and gratification. He was sure she was genuinely happy in her new environment, and he was beginning to feel that he had made no mistake in taking her from her old one. She showed by her fine color and increased weight that she was in splendid health. The new dress which she now wore and which Mrs. McGwire had selected was most becoming. Her abundant hair under constant care had grown more tractable and was always well arranged. Her little hands, once rough and soiled, had grown white, soft, and pliant. Under Betty McGwire's persistent admonitions she had left off using many incorrect and uncouth forms of speech, and, on the whole, deported herself very properly.

Why should John not be proud of her? Indeed, she was all he had in the world to care for, and he lavished the wealth of his saddened and lonely soul upon her. He loved to work in his little room at night when she and Minnie or Betty studied or read in hers, the door between being always open. Frequently they asked him questions which he could not answer—questions pertaining to history, geography, and science, and he found that he himself was learning from the answers which they finally secured from their books, teachers, and elsewhere. Sometimes he went with them to free lectures given at night by the public schools. The only place he refused to go with them was to the church and Sunday-school, but, as the grave-faced Harold always escorted them to these places, they did not need him. Sometimes the boy would speak earnestly to him of the intricate theology he was mastering, but, as John no longer combated such ideas with young or old, he always smiled indulgently and let the subject pass.

"What does it matter?" he used to ask himself. "Everybody needs a belief of some sort, and Harold's faith in snake- and whale-stories is as good as any other, if it will keep him from stealing and murdering and make him more considerate of his fellow-man. Let the boy preach. If people are willing to pay to listen to him, that is their business and his. As for me, it hit me once and sha'n't get a swipe at me again."