Sincerely, Willis Wayde

by John P. Marquand

  “The place is more beautiful than ever, Bess,” Willis said. “I mean it, with no exaggeration.”

  Then he saw her greenish-blue eyes watching him.

  “You look more handsome than ever yourself,” she said, “with no exaggeration.”

  “It’s nice of you to say so, Bess,” Willis said.

  “I only mean it in a purely friendly way,” she told him. “This room hasn’t changed at all, has it? Do you feel queer being back?”

  “No thank you, Selwyn,” Willis said when Selwyn came with the cocktails, because he was counting on champagne for dinner. “Why, no, it all seems natural, Bess.”

  “Well, I feel queer seeing you here,” Bess said. “But I’m awfully glad you’re here, because I can’t begin to tell you how much we all need you, and we’re all going to be good friends, aren’t we, all of us, always?”

  You could never tell when Bess would do something unexpected. She held out her hand to him impulsively.

  “Why, Bess,” he said, “of course we always will be.”

  “Sometimes I don’t know where I am with you,” Bess said, “and I’m not sure what you’re going to do. I don’t blame you, altogether, but it makes me nervous.”

  “Why, Bess,” he said, “you mustn’t feel that way.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me,” Bess said, “that Sylvia was so perfectly lovely?”

  Willis laughed, and he was very glad indeed that they were finally on another subject.

  “And you were surprised, were you?” Willis asked.

  “Now, don’t be disagreeable, Willis,” Bess said. “I didn’t mean it that way. I only meant I didn’t know she’d be so outstanding, and I hope we’re going to like each other. I’m going to try my best with her right after dinner when the boys are listening to the war news and you’re talking to Father.”

  “Come on, you two,” Bill called. “We’re going in.” And then Bill turned to Sylvia and laughed. “Willis and Bess were always the darnedest people for arguing when Willis used to be living in the garden house.”

  According to Willis’s recollection, there was only one change in the dining room. One of the mirrors had been removed, and Mr. Henry Harcourt’s portrait hung in its place. The mouth looked as though it were about to smile, and the slightly protuberant lower lip almost trembled. The moment Willis saw the portrait, its eyes met his and seemed to follow him through all the dinner, and once when Willis looked up from his plate he had the idea that Mr. Harcourt actually was smiling at him, mockingly or approvingly. There was no way of telling which.

  Most of the evening Willis was giving thought to the personalities of the various stockholders he would meet the next day. In his desire to know as much as he could about everyone, he went over the list first with Mr. Bryson and later on with Bess. He also asked Mr. Bryson if they could not meet at the mill at half past eight next morning—an early hour, but he and Mr. Bryson should certainly make a tour of the plant together and meet the production heads. The keynote of the meeting was to be one of triumph, and at all times good will. For this reason Willis asked Bill and Bess to be near him when the guests came to the luncheon after the meeting in order to remind him of names he might have forgotten. This was a practical step. It would be a help to have branches of the Harcourt family see that he and Bill and Bess, not to mention Mr. Bryson, all formed a solid front.

  In the library after dinner, Willis took up another, more difficult, subject with Mr. Bryson personally. It was advisable to tell Mr. Bryson frankly about the common stock he had acquired from Mrs. Jacoby before Mr. Bryson found out from some other source, and the library seemed a better place for the disclosure than the mill office the next morning.

  “By Jove, Willis,” Mr. Bryson said, “I can’t tell you how I admire the way you can take hold of everything and smooth it out. I feel that I can let everything go, just the way I could when Father was alive.”

  “It naturally makes me happy to hear you say so, sir,” Willis told him, “but I’m going to be on your doorstep, I’m afraid, asking advice about all sorts of things. You know, I haven’t been very close to the Harcourt picture for quite a while.”

  Mr. Bryson laughed in a very friendly way.

  “From the way you take hold,” he said, “no one would think you’d been out of it for a minute, Willis, and I wish you hadn’t. As I said to you on that morning you were leaving …”

  Willis had not forgotten what Mr. Bryson had said to him, but it was entirely beside the point.

  “I know,” he said. “I’ve always treasured in my memory the kind things you said, but in another way it may have been better for all of us that I left here when I did. I may have gained a wider perspective.”

  “Perhaps you’re right, Willis,” Mr. Harcourt said. “You have had a great deal new to offer all of us—and now perhaps we’d better go and see what the ladies are doing without us.”

  “That’s a very sound idea, sir,” Willis said, “but there’s just one more detail that I’ve been meaning to take up with you privately. I hope this won’t offend you.”

  An opaque look came over Mr. Bryson, which always indicated that he was completely confused.

  “I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” he said.

  Another moment had arrived for directness, and Willis had learned never to shirk on such occasions, because when the time came to advance, the slightest hesitation often spoiled everything.

  “You may remember that Mrs. Jacoby was allotted a block of common stock in the reorganization, Mr. Harcourt,” Willis said. “She was kind enough to offer this to me for sale, and the transaction was completed the day before yesterday. This may make me a larger stockholder than you had planned, but I hope you’ll accept me as such.” He raised his voice when he saw that Mr. Bryson was about to interrupt. “And remember that my desire to make a success of everything will be proportionately greater.”

  Mr. Bryson looked blankly at the end of his cigar while his mind worked with painful slowness.

  “You say you bought it?” he said. “I don’t exactly see …”

  “I was able to raise a loan,” Willis said. “You see, I have great faith in Harcourt Associates.”

  “Well,” Mr. Bryson said, “I think that’s splendid, and thank heaven Roger didn’t know there was any loose stock for sale. I don’t know anyone I’d rather have own it. Congratulations, Willis.”

  “Thank you very much, sir,” Willis said. “And now there’s one final matter. We were talking the other day about enlarging the base of the board of directors of Harcourt Associates, and you were kind enough to ask me for a name. I think I have a very good one. It’s Mr. Gilbert Bakeliss, the bank representative, you remember, who did so much toward adjusting shares and refinancing. It occurred to me that we might offer his name at the meeting tomorrow, if you have no objections. I can prepare a proper motion for you the first thing in the morning and have it fitted in very nicely on the agenda.”

  He did not add that the motion nominating Mr. Gilbert Bakeliss was typed already and in his confidential briefcase, because such information did not seem necessary at the time.

  The whole evening was over at half past ten, and the last half hour of it had been consumed in chatting alone with Mrs. Henry Harcourt. Everything was finished early and sensibly, so that everyone might have a good night’s sleep in preparation for the rigors of the meeting. Nevertheless something about the evening disturbed Willis, without his being able to tell what, because logically he had every reason to be satisfied and not disturbed. He had looked forward, for instance, to considerable trouble in inducing Mr. Bryson to advance the name of Gilbert Bakeliss for the board of directors, knowing Mr. Bryson’s slow approach to strangers, and there had been no trouble whatsoever. Mr. Bryson had remembered Gil Bakeliss favorably and he had readily agreed with all Willis’s arguments on the advantages of having an investment banker on the board. Superficially it had been a very pleasant evening among old friends.

  The mome
nt Sylvia and he reached the east guest room, Willis was surprised to have her throw her arms around his neck.

  “Oh, darling,” Sylvia said, “I’m so glad I came.”

  “I’m glad you did too, sweetness,” he said.

  He thought at the moment that Sylvia’s burst of affection was the result of dull weeks and months in Orange, and he was happy that he had been able to give her a pleasant change.

  “They’re such fine people, all of them,” she said. “It makes me very proud of you, darling.”

  The uneasiness in back of his mind grew more acute because of her enthusiasm.

  “I don’t quite get you, Sylvia,” he said. “What is it that makes you proud of me?”

  “Why, that they should all be so deeply fond of you,” Sylvia said, “and that they should all have such trust in you, Willis.”

  “Oh, come now, honey,” Willis said. “You’re exaggerating quite a lot. They don’t trust me as much as all that.”

  “Oh, yes, they do,” Sylvia said. “I wish you could have heard the things they said about you.”

  It was hard to explain why instead of being warmed by Sylvia’s remark, it aroused a hostile and resentful feeling. The Harcourts, of course, had to depend on someone because of their utter incapacity, and he was surprised that Sylvia did not appear to recognize this fact.

  “Well,” he said, “it’s nice to know they feel that way.”

  “And why didn’t you tell me that Bess was so sweet?” Sylvia said.

  “Why, Sylvia,” he said, “I think she’s got a lot of personality, but I wouldn’t call her sweet.”

  “Well, congenial then,” Sylvia said. “She’s awfully congenial. We got along right from the very start, and we’ve made a date for tomorrow morning. She’s going to show me the place and the town and everything.”

  “You mean Bess isn’t going to attend the meeting?” Willis asked.

  “She says she’s been to enough of them,” Sylvia said, “and she’d much rather show me around. You don’t mind, do you, Willis?”

  “Why, no, honey, I don’t mind at all,” he told her. “But just see you both get back in time to help with lunch.”

  “She has a lot of character, hasn’t she?” Sylvia said. “All Bill’s charm plus character.”

  “Yes,” Willis said, “I guess that’s so. It’s funny, I never pictured you getting on well with Bess.”

  “I don’t see why not,” Sylvia said. “She has such a wonderful sense of humor and she’s so outgiving.”

  “Outgiving?” Willis repeated.

  “Why, yes,” Sylvia said. “She’s so well adjusted that she has time to be kind. That’s what I mean by outgiving.”

  “Well, well,” Willis said, “she must have made a real effort over you, honey.”

  “Oh, no, she didn’t,” Sylvia said. “We just happened to get along. Aren’t you pleased about it, Willis?”

  “Why, yes, honey,” Willis said, “I think it’s swell.”

  “Well, you don’t look pleased.”

  “Never mind how I look, honey,” Willis told her. “I’ve got a lot on my mind. This meeting’s pretty serious tomorrow and I’d better get some sleep.”

  Bess had obviously made an effort over Sylvia, which might have been kind and generous of her, but then there might have been another reason. He recalled her remark about their all being friends always. It was almost as though she doubted his sincerity, as he was doubting hers. He wished the Harcourts were not all so dependent and trustful. You could like people, but business was always business, and the Harcourts should have remembered that.

  While he was hanging up his coat in the dressing room he heard Sylvia laughing.

  “What’s the joke, honey?” he called to her.

  “It’s just a technical question,” Sylvia said. “Are we going to sleep together in the four-poster or have you other plans?”

  “They’ve got the bed turned down here, honey,” he told her.

  “Well, come in here for a while anyway,” Sylvia said. “Do you realize we’ve never had a chance to be in a double bed?”

  It took Willis an unusually long time to fall asleep when he returned to the single bed in the dressing room. Usually at the end of a hard day he could drop off very quickly, lulled by the noises of distant traffic. He was no longer accustomed to the quiet of the Harcourt place, not that the place was really quiet. The tree toads in the oak woods made the night full of sound. Their melancholy vibrant song mingled with the scent of the syringa bushes. The passage of summer at the Harcourt place was marked by a succession of choruses. Next would come the katydids and then the crickets. He wished that his thoughts would not move uneasily. It was logical and eminently fitting in every way that a man of the outstanding caliber of Gilbert Bakeliss should be a Harcourt Associates director, and yet he wished that Mr. Bryson Harcourt had not accepted the suggestion so readily, because there was something defenseless about Mr. Bryson’s guilelessness. When Willis had mentioned Mrs. Jacoby’s common stock, anyone except Mr. Bryson would have recognized that the placing of Gil Bakeliss on the board represented a return for a favor. There was nothing wrong about this fact, and Willis would have gladly admitted and defended it, but Mr. Bryson had seen nothing. Willis could not understand why Mr. Bryson’s blindness should bother him when there had been nothing wrong about the whole transaction.… The song of the tree toads was continuing and the chorus would go on till dawn, but Willis remembered the crickets best, because the season of the crickets was beginning when he had first seen the Harcourt place.

  XXIV

  There were days when everything went wrong, in spite of the most careful planning. There were others when everything ran smoothly, and thank goodness the stockholders’ meeting was one of those. From first to last, it had been a very lovely occasion, without a dislocation or a trace of overemphasis. Mr. Bryson had read the report very well indeed, and what was more, it had held the attention of the audience, especially the five-point program for the coming year. Willis was especially pleased with the reception of the final paragraph, over which he had spent considerable thought and the sentences of which he had personally polished.

  “The management of Harcourt Associates,” it went, “is not a group of crystal gazers. We cannot foresee the future or predict war and peace. There will surely be unexpected problems to be faced. We can only promise to do our best to face them. However, in spite of uncertainty, our attitude is one of quiet confidence. Come what may in the turbulent future, the production of our nation is expanding and with this expansion will grow the demand for our product. We are confident that we can deliver and produce. We are confident that the earnings of your company are on an ascendant curve. Optimism is the thought which your management wishes to leave with you today.”

  The thing that made Willis proudest to remember in the whole general picture was that he had behaved tactfully, which was an achievement, considering his age. However, he had already learned some of the basic facts and dangers in human behavior. No one living could wholly suppress a feeling of ill will and suspicion toward anyone who had moved too quickly into a prominent position, but it was possible to take defensive measures. Without being anonymous, Willis had not obtruded himself at the meeting. In fact rather than prompt Mr. Bryson too often, Willis had allowed him to fumble and to make several minor mistakes. He applauded the report and congratulated him on it, and stood respectfully beside Mr. Harcourt while others did the same.

  It did not matter much where you were, as long as you had the power and control, and Willis had seldom felt the pull of power more strongly than he had at the Harcourt Mill that June.

  After the meeting, Willis was able to have a few moments alone with Mr. Bryson in the family office while guides were showing stockholders through the plant. Willis observed that he felt more at ease than he ever had previously. The portraits of the Harcourts seemed to know, like the office force, whose brains and ability were running Harcourt Associates. Nevertheless Willis stood
up until Mr. Bryson asked him to sit down.

  “That was a very successful meeting,” Mr. Bryson said, “but thank God it’s over.”

  “I want to congratulate you on the way you conducted the whole thing, sir,” Willis said, “and I think the report has got us squared away to a fine start.”

  Sometimes Willis was reminded of old Mr. Henry Harcourt when Mr. Bryson smiled.

  “I agree with you about the report, Willis,” Mr. Bryson said. “Although it was your composition, I do hope you think I read it well.”

  Willis smiled and then he shook his head reprovingly to Mr. Harcourt.

  “I hate to seem to contradict you, sir,” he said, “so early in our association, but there’s one thing I think we ought to get absolutely straight before we adjourn to the house for lunch. That report was really much more yours than mine, and I can’t emphasize this point enough, Mr. Harcourt. I really can’t.”

  Willis paused and looked at Mr. Bryson earnestly. Though he could admit to himself that what he was saying was sophistry, there was still a grain of truth behind it, and Willis believed in that grain. In fact he was beginning to be moved by it.

  “I know what you’re thinking, Mr. Harcourt,” he said. “I admit that I wrote that report, or at least a good part of it.” Willis paused and laughed. “Between you and me, young Sol Bradley—that new promotion man of ours, you know—helped to polish up quite a lot of it. I don’t mind that either, because I can’t impress on you too strongly, sir, that the physical writing of a thing is not important. As Mr. Beakney used to tell us back in Beakney-Graham, you can buy a writer a lot easier than you can get a sales manager. And as I mull it over in my mind, there’s a whale of a lot of truth in that remark. It isn’t the written words in that report that count, or in any other report, Mr. Harcourt.”

  Yet words did have their value. Willis realized that he was being carried away by words, even as he belittled them.