Ten North Frederick

by John O'Hara

  Joe Chapin became a member upon the death of his father, despite the fact that his father and mother never had attended a dinner meeting. It was decided that since the elder Chapins had been on the original list, membership should pass on to Joe regardless of the fact that his mother’s illness had kept his parents from active participation. At her first visit (and Joe’s) Edith was in an advanced state of curiosity and excitement. Although she had known everyone present all of her life, the members had taken on the importance that the long mysteriousness had created. She was thrilled to be among these people who but for her marriage to Joe would have gone on for years and years in their unrevealed superiority. It was almost like danger. “To think that Josephine Laubach could have been snubbing me without my knowing it,” she thought. “To think that Whit Hofman isn’t a member. To think of all the times I’ve sat with Arthur McHenry without being sure he belonged to this. To think what Peg Slattery would give to be here.” She was reluctantly proud of Joe with his red ribbon and his easy manner, taking the whole thing in stride.

  There were always three toasts: to George Washington; to Abraham Lincoln; and to The President of the United States. The conversation at table was no different from the conversation at any dinner party which included some or all of the people present. At no time during the evening was the name of the organization spoken. After dinner the gentlemen separated from the ladies, staying away for exactly thirty minutes. When the group re-formed, the host, at Edith’s first dinner, Billy English, rose and knocked his ring on the taboret to gain attention. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “We are honored by your presence in our house.” (Edith later was to learn that it was a set speech, to avoid long and flowery expressions of the thought by the various hosts.) He smiled and bowed slowly in a gesture that included everyone present. “It is my pleasant duty to welcome Edith and Joe, and it is my duty to relieve each of the gentlemen of twenty dollars. The purpose of this assessment is to alleviate the distress of a lady whom we all know, whose need is acute. For the information of our newest members, this money is delivered anonymously to the person in distress, with a note assuring her that it is a perfectly legitimate transaction and that it would be a waste of time for her to try to thank the donor. I assure you, Joe, that these assessments are not levied at every meeting, but I also must warn you that they are sometimes larger. Our next meeting will be on the twenty-first, at Henry and Josephine’s. Thank you.”

  The business of the meetings was seldom more complicated than on that first evening. Edith soon learned that the ladies had nothing to say about the business affairs of the club which were discussed during the gentlemen’s half-hour. An election to membership was announced with the unadorned statement: “At our next meeting we will be joined by . . .” and the names of the new members. It was not practicable to blackball a candidate, since the eligibility of a candidate was so rigidly established. No one ever had refused to join the club, and no one who had joined had had to resign for financial or other reasons. It usually took three years from meeting to meeting at any one house and all eligibles were able to afford their turns as host.

  To Joe, who had always known he would some day be a member, The Second Thursdays was a social event offering good food and wine, among old friends whom one might not otherwise see as often as he might wish. It was a gathering of ladies and gentlemen in their best bibs and tuckers, where one felt free to speak without being careful not to be overheard. “We mean something in Gibbsville, besides meaning something to ourselves,” he told Edith. “When the club was started, in 1892, it pretended to be no more than a congenial group of friends. But you notice now that the men who founded it made a pretty good guess as to the really substantial people. The reason the club is just as good twenty-eight years later is that it probably would have been just as good twenty-eight years before, if you see what I mean. They could just as easily have started the club in, 28 from 92, 1864. I think the exact same families would have been represented in 1864 as are represented now. There are a lot of nice people in Gibbsville that would be pleasant additions to the club. I’d like to see Whit Hofman a member, for instance. Rather, I’d welcome Whit Hofman. But the founding fathers, as you might call them, didn’t see fit to invite old Mr. Hofman, and they must have had their reasons. Billy English—his father was a crook who blew his brains out, but Mr. English was an original member, so Billy is a member and that entitles Julian to membership when his father dies, which I hope won’t be for a long time. Julian would have to calm down quite a lot, but of course we can’t hold people responsible for college pranks.”

  “Julian English is a bad boy and always will be,” said Edith.

  “Nevertheless, he is entitled to membership when his father dies. If he’s kept out, or if someone new is taken in, then it’s no longer The Second Thursdays. We might as well disband.”

  “I personally would like it smaller,” said Edith.

  Joe smiled. “It will get smaller. Death will take care of that for you. Originally there were twenty couples, but they didn’t all have sons to inherit membership. And not all of the present members will have sons. The McHenry membership almost ended with Arthur, and will end if he and Rose don’t produce a son . . . on the subject of clubs, I am going to take up golf!”

  “You’re going to stop playing tennis?”

  “Not entirely, but I’m in my thirty-ninth year, remember. Next year, I’ll be in my fortieth year, so I might as well start learning the old man’s game.”

  “Are you going to wear knickerbockers?”

  “I shall wear my white flannels. I had such a hard time persuading Mother and Father to let me wear long trousers, I’m not going to give them up now. Do you realize they kept me in knickerbockers until I was fifteen? And the same height I am now?”

  “Yes, I remember.”

  “That’s why I wore boots and breeches so much of the time. At least they weren’t knickerbockers, and I didn’t look like an overgrown oaf. What was it we used to say? A poor unsophisticated piece of humanity. ‘Hello, there, you poor unsophisticated piece of humanity!’ That’s what we used to say to each other. Mortals who abide in vitreous edifices should not possess morbid propensities toward disestablishmentarianism. Do you know what that means?”

  “No.”

  “People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. Mortals who abide in vitreous edifices should not possess morbid propensities toward disestablishmentarianism. I wish I remembered important things as well as I do that.”

  “You have an excellent memory,” said Edith.

  “For some things, but not all,” said Joe. “Well, are you going to take up golf?”

  “I wonder. I’d like to get some exercise, and ladies have just about given up horseback riding in Gibbsville. I thought I might take some lessons from the professional and see if I like it. I could play in the mornings, while the children are at school. Rose thinks she’d like to take it up and in the beginning we’ll all be dubbers—”

  “Duffers.”

  “Except for the wives who play at the places where they spend the summer.”

  “Ah, another topic to discuss. Are we going to rent a cottage in Ventnor this summer? I had a letter from the real estate people this morning. You don’t have to decide now, but I think we ought to let them know in a week or ten days.”

  “Oh, I’ve thought about it. I think it’s good for the children to get away for the summer, and we all love the ocean. But I’ve never felt the same about Ventnor since they had that shark scare.”

  “Two years ago, wasn’t it?” said Joe.

  “Even so, they could come back. And I’ve always heard that there were more cases than were ever printed in the newspapers.”

  “But we never saw one. You never saw one, I never saw one.”

  “Thank heaven I didn’t. I’d faint dead away. Their pictures are frightening enough, thank you,” said Edith. “I’
d like to go some place else.”

  “Martha’s Vineyard? Maine? Where would you like to go?”

  “The water’s too cold for the children in Maine, and Martha’s Vineyard—Pennsylvania people trying to make friends with Boston and getting absolutely nowhere with them. Oh, those Boston people looking down their big noses and waiting for you to say something frightfully gauche. Do you know that the Rieglers’ farm is for sale?”

  “Known it for some time. Why, would you like to buy it?”

  “Well, it’s self-supporting, and they have electricity and a telephone line, and a dam for swimming—”

  “You talk about Maine cold water,” said Joe.

  “The dam is cold early in the morning, but the sun warms it up, and I must say fresh water is more invigorating than salt water, and the children will be much better swimmers. You can’t really swim in the surf, and you know we often used the pool in Ventnor.”

  “Don’t misunderstand me, dear,” said Joe. “I’d like to learn how much you want to buy the Rieglers’.”

  “Well, it has many advantages. The main house is over a hundred years old.”

  “Just about,” said Joe.

  “It’s cool inside for the hot days in August, and it would be a place to go for short visits all winter and fall. It’s really lovely in the fall, down country. They want to sell it furnished and I happen to know they have some valuable old furniture. We could keep what we wanted of that. We could add on two sleeping porches for ourselves and the children, one at one end of the house and another at the other.”

  “Two hundred and forty acres of land, about sixty of it in timber. They have a herd of Holsteins they want to sell with the property, and all the equipment, farming implements. They’re asking thirty-five thousand for the whole business, lock, stock and barrel. It’s about seven and a half miles from the new club, although not all of that is improved road, remember. It’s fourteen-plus miles from the center of town.”

  “Thirty-five thousand. They’ll take less, much less.”

  “No, not a great deal less. Mr. Riegler doesn’t need the money, and the only reason he’s selling is his wife. Understand she had a heart attack.”

  “No, it wasn’t a heart attack,” said Edith. “She told several people that it was too lonely there.”

  “She took a long time to find that out,” said Joe. “They’ve lived there God knows how many years.”

  “But then they had the children. Now their children are all grown up and married,” said Edith.

  Joe nodded. “I wonder what’ll happen to us when our children grow up and marry. Suppose we did buy the Rieglers’ place. Ann and Joby marry, we’re a couple in advanced middle age. Would you want to sell the farm?”

  “I’d wait and see how our grandchildren enjoyed it.”

  “Oh, you’ve thought about it?” said Joe.

  “Of course I’ve thought about it. The years pass very quickly, and if you don’t think about things, suddenly you’re middle-aged, your life is more than half over, and you’re left with nothing to do. That’s why I’d like you to develop outside interests. You promised your father you’d never sell this house, and you promised him you’d never join one of the big law firms in Philadelphia or New York. Those two conditions, if that’s what I should call them, they make it pretty certain that we’re always going to live in Gibbsville.”

  “You have no objection to that,” said Joe.

  “Far from it. The very fact that I’ve been thinking about the Rieglers’ farm proves that. I wouldn’t care to live in a big city. But you proved during the war that McHenry & Chapin doesn’t take up all your time and energy. You actually proved that you could do the whole thing yourself, without Arthur. And now that Arthur is back, I’ve noticed that you get home promptly, and you can take your time over lunch. Your law practice really doesn’t keep you too busy, does it?”

  “Well, I don’t work as hard as some lawyers do.”

  “You don’t have to. You wouldn’t have to anyway as far as the money is concerned. As far as the money is concerned, you really don’t have to work at all. If you gave up the law, we’d still go on living on the same scale we do now.”

  “I know all these things you’re saying,” said Joe. “But I wonder why you’re saying them.”

  “Because I want you to be happy.”

  “Why, I’m happy, Edith,” he said. “Aren’t you?”

  “I am if you are, but you won’t be if you don’t have enough to do.”

  “In the South, I’d take three or four hours out for lunch and a nap every day. I do much more than a Southern lawyer, for instance.”

  “They’re lazy, and you’re not. They’re affected by the climate and the local customs. I don’t know anything about the South, but if it’s true that they take four hours to have lunch and a nap, that’s a local custom and everybody does it. Therefore, they don’t transact business, nobody transacts business, during that period. That’s the way they live, and that’s why the South is backward. We’re not Southerners and we’re not living in the South, and our men are accustomed to longer hours and more work.”

  “But what’s the use of taking on more work?”

  “It doesn’t have to be legal work. It could be a lot of other things. You could prepare yourself for the day when the children grow up.”

  “Ah, there you are. One reason I don’t want to take on more work is that I’d like to devote more time to the children.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, Joby,” said Joe.

  “What about Joby?”

  “If we buy the Rieglers’ farm I’d want to spend more time there, I mean a lot of time. With Joby.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Oh, there are so many things to do on a farm, that a father and son can do together. I know if we bought the farm, I’d build a tennis court right away. That’s not farming, but it is country life. I’d like to have us do things together.”

  “I see,” said Edith.

  “I’ve always regretted that my father and I didn’t spend more time together. I remember when he taught me to swim. We went out to The Run one day, and he threw me in. Sink or swim.”

  “Well, Joby can swim without that kind of treatment.”

  “I know he can,” said Joe. “But I wish I’d taught him, not some paid instructor in Ventnor, New Jersey. I’d like to take him for walks in the country, take sandwiches and milk in a thermos bottle.”

  “What about Ann?”

  Joe smiled as he almost always did at the mention of her name. “Oh, Ann—Ann is so different from Joby. She’s happy. But Joby needs us more. I don’t mean that Ann doesn’t need us, but she gets along more easily with people than Joby does. Oh, if we buy the farm the first thing I’d do would be to buy another saddle horse so I could ride with her. I look forward to that.”

  “When are you going to teach Joby to ride?” said Edith.

  Joe stopped smiling and paused. “It’s probably a little too early for Joby to ride. Some children shouldn’t start too early. You know, their bones are still soft, and some people believe children can get bow-legged if they ride too early.”

  “Luckily that hasn’t happened to Ann,” said Edith.

  “Yes, that would have been too bad,” said Joe.

  • • •

  The market in farms suitable for “country homes” (which they were not called in Gibbsville) became active immediately upon the spread of the word that the Chapins had taken possession of the Riegler place. Three of the more recent Lantenengo Street families paid their first visits to the Riegler neighborhood, only to receive the disappointing information that the adjoining farms were not for sale. They were not for sale because the mortgages on them had been quietly taken over by Joe Chapin. Joe was thorough. He made a large deposit in the Swedish Haven Bank & Trust Company, which was the farmers’
bank for that area, and let it be known that he was interested in the purchase of shares of the bank’s stock when available. He had himself elected to the boards of directors of the Valley Water Company and the Valley Telephone Company. He informed Peter Kemp, the farmer who did the actual farming of the Riegler place, that he contemplated no change in personnel or policy, that everything would be the same as when Mr. Riegler owned it. Joe also had a visit with his old friend Conrad Yates, who was coming up in the world. From Conrad, who was born not far from the Riegler place, he obtained a list of the neighbors. On the list, Conrad wrote his comments on the honesty and reliability and efficiency of the men, and his opinions of some of their women. Joe thus knew which of the wives were getting regular beatings from their husbands, and which husbands bore scars inflicted by the wives (for in that country the women were often larger and sometimes stronger than the men). “This here one,” said Conrad. “Four young ones and a son of a pitch if two of them hat the same datty. But she runs the farm, Choe. Not chust the milking and all like that. When it comes the haying season, I seen her. One of her forkfuls equals two of his’n. I seen her. She’ll fuck anybody any time, but work! All he does is drive the horses. The work, she does. Now this next one, he’s consumptive. He says it’s the asthma, but my ass it’s the asthma. He ought to be at Mount Alto but what’ll happen to the farm, he says. What’ll happen to the farm if he don’t go, I say. A hard, hard worker, Choe, but too stinchy to take care of himself. Start looking for a new farmer there.”