It seemed incredible to Henry, for a moment. But he was a shrewd if humble student of his fellow man, so he knew it to be true. Nobody rued a billion buried Egyptians or sorrowed for gone Romans. A few marveled or rejoiced at what they, in their crushed past, had contributed to the present; but not one grieved over the cruelty of time’s heel. Even Pompeii was viewed as an excitement. Henry could not recall one touring neighbor who had brought home from its ashes a sense of melancholy. So it would be here. So it should be.
He felt Chuck’s hand on his shoulder. “A penny,” Chuck said. He didn’t wait for the thought he’d bargained for. “Great day, Dad! Old Minerva Sloan finally accepted our drawings-mine, that is—for the new bank building! May mean a partnership! But, brother! Is that crippled old dame a sourball!”
Henry said, “Peachy!” He held his hand out, gravely.
They walked together to the car.
Henry carried his thought along one more step. Everywhere catastrophe had struck, something other than rank weeds grew in the ash, the crumpled walls: opportunity. Opportunity for young men like his son who were able to dream and able to put the dreams on paper so other men could turn them into substance.
They picked up Pad Towson and Berry Black and, finally, Lenore. The men were just two businessmen coming home from work, tired, looking forward to whatever home meant: a hot soak in a tub, slippers, a highball, a meal.
But Lenore was different. Excited. Privately excited, for she slipped into the front seat between Charles and his father-in-law and silently took her husband’s hand, keeping her eyes on him.
They delivered their passengers before she began to tell; talking to Charles but permitting Henry to hear. “I’ve got news. ”
“I can see that!” Charles smiled and kept back his own “news.”
“Good news. I think it is.”