“Perhaps,” the blind man said, and took the dog’s harness down from a peg. “It’s time we looked in at the party.”
Allan Robb’s house was gay with noise and with laughter. Young people seemed to be everywhere—on the porch, on the lawn, back toward the stables. Joe, walking with his uncle and the dog, was conscious of curious glances and voices that flattened out and became silent. And so they went up to the porch to be met by Allan in the great hall.
“Glad you came, Doctor. Joe, I’ll show you the mare—” His voice broke off. “Bruce, here’s an old friend.”
Joe edged back a step. Bruce Robb, proud and imperious, had often driven him from Allan’s acres, and he was still a little in awe of the man. But the Bruce he met today was morose and restless, and given to a habit of gnawing on a clipped, black mustache.
Alec Landry surged down the hall. “Hi, Doctor. A party to be remembered. Well, why not? It isn’t every day a man comes of age.”
“Aren’t you a day early?” Dr. Stone asked mildly.
“Why wait for the day to arrive. Meet it; greet it; welcome it on the threshold. The old Indian tribes had the right idea.”
Joe wondered what Indians had to do with Allan’s birthday.
“Symbolism,” Alec Landry roared heartily. “At midnight Allan becomes of age, and immediately he begins to exercise the prerogatives of a man. At a minute past the hour he walks into the library with two witnesses and signs his will. At four tomorrow morning he’ll saddle the mare Bruce gave him and ride it for the first time. Ride it, Doctor, in the dark of the night and on his own land. Ride it through the woodland to the bridge, and over the ravine, and up East Hill. And then, alone on the hilltop, he’ll meet his manhood in the dawn.”
“Quite an idea,” the blind man said. And then: “Might I trouble either of you gentlemen for a pipeful of tobacco?”