The Lever: A Novel

by William Dana Orcutt

During all this period his father followed his career with that same care and insight which had characterized his own business success. He was proud of the position which the boy took—proud of his ability to mix well with his fellows; proud of his splendid run against Yale at New Haven which placed the ball within striking-distance of the blue goal; proud of his seat in the victorious eight at New London, and equally certain that the other seven had not done their full duty when the shell was nosed out by Yale at the finish on the succeeding year. If the boy had missed getting his degree Stephen Sanford would have considered his son a failure, but with the prized parchment actually secured—the first in the history of the Sanford family—he cared little how narrow the margin.

Yet Allen had passed through all these years without a suspicion of his father's real feelings toward him. He was rebuked for his extravagances each time he asked for money, yet a substantial check always accompanied each rebuke. He was criticised for not making a better record in his studies, and his success in other lines, it seemed to him, was always accepted as a matter of course. He felt convinced that his father looked upon him as a colossal failure, and he was too good-natured to quarrel with this estimate of his abilities; yet with characteristic optimism, he saw no reason to let this fact interfere with his every-day life and the pleasures it offered him.

So Allen went to Europe soon after graduation and acquired further experience in running a motor-car in England and on the Continent, together with an increased familiarity with foreign scenery and the most expensive hotels. On his return, he announced his desire to begin his business career, more because that was what his classmates were doing than because he was anxious to exchange the freedom of his present life for the confinement of an office.

"You leave that to me," his father had answered, brusquely. "What you don't know about business won't help you any in giving advice. You're going into the diplomatic service."

Unfortunately for the smooth execution of Stephen Sanford's idea, the whole country at this moment happened to be agitated over the discovery that a member of the diplomatic corps at Washington had taken advantage of his official position to secure plans and information, which he had transmitted to a power unfriendly to America, but allied to the government which he represented. The diplomat fled, ignominiously disgraced; but as far as Allen could judge from the comment he heard, his greatest sin was considered to be the breaking of the thirteenth commandment, "Thou shalt not be found out."

All this prejudiced the boy unduly against diplomacy as a profession. In his eyes the acts of this man were unsportsmanlike; and to Allen Sanford, who looked upon a "good sport" as the noblest work of God, this charge was the most serious in the category of crime. But his expostulations and protests to his father were of no avail. Stephen Sanford had made up his mind, and that was the end of it. Until he met Alice, Allen had been more upset because his father still treated him as a child than on account of any serious opposition to plans which he himself had formed. He had never yet focussed himself upon any one particular determination with sufficient strength to make his father's objections other than an annoyance. But now, assimilating a part of the girl's enthusiasm, and strengthened by the instant admiration which Mr. Gorham commanded, he was determined to make a stand at this point, taking the head of the great Consolidated Companies as his model, and with lance in hand to charge the world just as he would have "bucked" the Yale line. Even the undesired diplomatic position was apparently not forthcoming; now he would not only make an effort on his own account, but he would insist upon his right to do so. He did not know that the real reason he had heard nothing from his father during these weeks was because the positions which had been offered thus far appeared to the older man too insignificant for his son to be able to accept with dignity. As one of the Pennsylvania senators remarked, "Stephen Sanford evidently expects his son to go to the Court of St. James."

With Allen in this mood, it was not surprising that the meeting between father and son, immediately after Stephen Sanford arrived in Washington, should have ended in a declaration of war. During the interview Allen gave abundant evidence of his unfitness for anything which required diplomacy; and his father, surprised to find in the boy a will as unyielding as his own, and angered beyond expression by Allen's opposition, lost all control over himself and stamped out of the house, leaving his son behind, cast out forever from his affection, protection, and support.

"Let the young cub starve for a while and he'll realize what his father has done for him," he fumed. "Let him shift for himself and we'll see how soon he'll come home to roost."

On he stamped along the street, his cane expressing upon the pavement the anger which consumed him, but becoming less violent as he approached the hotel where he had his appointment with Gorham. He must calm himself, he urged, inwardly. He had acted in the only way he could, and his old friend must not think he had been hasty or injudicial in the position he had taken. He must be deliberate and self-possessed, as Gorham himself would have been under the same circumstances. Then the cane came down again on the hard pavement with a resounding blow. "Damn Gorham!" he muttered; "damn all these smooth-mannered men who never lose their tempers; damn everybody!"

"Come in, Stephen, come in; I'm glad to see you," Gorham greeted him as he puffed into the apartment, almost exhausted by the double strain of losing his self-control and his strenuous efforts to regain it. "I didn't realize it was so warm outside. This is the most summer-like October I have ever seen. Sit down and I'll have Riley mix you up something cooling."