Staring at the figure of the old man on the veranda, Luke said to Dan, “If only I could be sure of him, Dan. I know he likes us, but he’s a very smart man and he knows you are Uncle Henry’s property and that Uncle Henry is entitled to get rid of you if he wants to. He wouldn’t quarrel with Uncle Henry about a thing like this. I know they have a lot of respect for each other, although I don’t see how they do it. I guess it’s because they’re both smart. If only Mr. Kemp was a dumb stupid man who didn’t know or care whether you were worth anything . . . Well, come on.” He opened the gate bravely, but he felt shy and unimportant.
“Hello, son. What’s on your mind?” Mr. Kemp called from the veranda. He had on a tan-colored shirt, and his gray, untidy moustache was twitching as if the sight of the hesitant boy and dog amused him. The brown skin on his face, now that he was smiling, was more lined and wrinkled and leathery than ever.
“Could I speak to you a minute, Mr. Kemp?” Luke asked solemnly when they were close to the veranda.
“Sure, go ahead, Luke,” Mr. Kemp said. His eyes were friendly and amused.
“Well, it’s about Dan, Mr. Kemp.”
“What about Dan?” he asked, making a little noise with his fingers that brought Dan up on the veranda and beside him.
“Well, Dan’s a great dog, sir, and I guess you know that as well as I do. So I was wondering if you could keep him here for me?”
“Why should I keep Dan here, son?”
“Well, it’s like this,” Luke said, fumbling the words awkwardly. “My uncle won’t let me keep him any more . . . says he’s too old. Of course, he’s my uncle’s dog, not mine.” As his mouth began to tremble, he blurted out, “They tried to drown Dan, Mr. Kemp.”
“They did? Who did? When?”
“This afternoon. That awful old man, Sam Carter, who works for my uncle. Of course he was only doing what my uncle told him to do.”
“And how is it they couldn’t drown him?”
“I was hiding there. I saw it.”
“Well . . .?”
“After old Sam had gone I jumped in.”
“Well, well, well. Yes, you would, Luke. Didn’t anybody see you?”
“No.”
“Oh, I see. I see,” Mr. Kemp said softly, and he was looking at Luke with a beautiful old smile full of loving compassion. “And just fancy. There’s your Uncle Henry thinking the dog is dead, eh?”
“I guess he does, Mr. Kemp.”
“Well, well, well, Luke,” Mr. Kemp said, half to himself. And then he was silent and he didn’t even look at Luke or the dog, but went on staring across the lake at the pinkish light from the last rays of the setting sun which were touching the grayish line between the sky and the water. And as Luke waited, he grew more despondent, for Mr. Kemp at that moment seemed incapable of the kind of decisive action that would impress Uncle Henry.
“Look here, son,” Mr. Kemp said suddenly. “You’d like to keep the dog here, wouldn’t you?”
“I sure would, Mr. Kemp,” Luke said eagerly.
“But there’s a catch in that, Luke. If the dog stayed here, even if I offered to take the dog off your uncle’s hands, this would become his home and he would become my dog.”
“Well, even at that . . .”
“I’d be feeding him every day. A dog is loyal to the one who feeds him, do you see, Luke?”
“But Dan would be here, Mr. Kemp.”
Then Mr. Kemp got up and came over to the step where Luke had been standing, and he sat down and stroked the collie’s head. “Of course, Dan’s an old dog, son,” he said quietly, “and sooner or later a man has to get rid of an old dog. Your uncle knows that, and maybe it’s true that Dan isn’t worth his keep any more.”
“But he doesn’t eat so much, Mr. Kemp,” Luke protested. “Just one meal a day.”
“I wouldn’t want you to think your uncle is cruel and unfeeling, Luke,” Mr. Kemp said. “No, I mean that,” he insisted, “your uncle’s a fine man.” As the glum despairing expression on the boy’s face deepened, Mr. Kemp went on, “Maybe he’s a little bit too practical and straightforward. Maybe so intent on seeing what’s directly ahead of him that he never takes time to look to the right or the left. Maybe there are valuable things in the world he has no time to look at, things that are more important than anything else to an old man like me or a boy like you. However, the plain truth is that to your uncle the dog isn’t worth his keep.”
“Yeah. That’s it, Mr. Kemp.”
“But to you he may be a valuable dog, eh, Luke?”
“He certainly is.”
“Even if you can’t explain why to your uncle.”
“That’s it. I wouldn’t make sense, Mr. Kemp,” Luke said as he waited, trusting the expression in the old man’s eyes.
“Maybe you should make him a practical proposition, Luke.”
“I – I don’t know what you mean.”
“Well, I sort of like the way you get the cows for me in the evenings,” Mr. Kemp said, smiling to himself. “In fact, I don’t think you need me to go along with you at all. Now, supposing I gave you seventy-five cents a week. Would you get the cows for me every night?”
“Sure, I would, sir. I like doing it, anyway.”
“All right, son. It’s a deal. Now I’ll tell you what to do. You go back to your uncle, and before he has a chance to open up on you, you say right out that you’ve come to him with a business proposition. Say it like a man, just like that. Offer to pay him the seventy-five cents a week for the dog’s keep.”
“But my uncle doesn’t need seventy-five cents, Mr. Kemp,” Luke said uneasily.
“Of course not,” Mr. Kemp agreed. “It’s the principle of the thing. Be confident. Remember that he’s got nothing against the dog. Go to it, son. Let me know how you do,” he added, with an amused smile. “If I know your uncle at all, I think it’ll work.”
“Well . . .” Luke began doubtfully.
“Go on. Hop to it, Luke.”
“Maybe I should leave Dan here, and I should go back and talk to Uncle Henry first.”
“Oh, no, Luke. You’ve got to have a little confidence in your business proposition. Have the dog there with you. It’ll be more impressive.”
“But if it doesn’t work, I’ll be handing the dog right back to Uncle Henry. It’s an awful chance to take. If I could only leave Dan here . . .”
“If you left Dan here, Luke, I don’t think Uncle Henry would have the same respect for you.”
“What if he just grabs Dan?”
“You’re forgetting he’s a practical man and such men always listen to propositions. They don’t lose their heads. Have all the confidence in the world, Luke, and the chances are your Uncle Henry will respect you.”
“Maybe, but I wish—”
“Go on now, son.”
“I’ll try it, Mr. Kemp,” Luke said. “Thanks very much.” But he didn’t have any confidence, for even though he knew that Mr. Kemp was a wise man who would not deceive him, he couldn’t believe that seventy-five cents a week would stop a man like his uncle. “Come on, Dan,” he called, and he went slowly and apprehensively back to the house.
When they were going up the path, his aunt cried from the open window, “Henry, Henry, in heaven’s name, it’s Luke with the dog.”
Ten paces from the veranda, Luke stopped and waited nervously for his uncle to come out. Uncle Henry came out in a rush, but when he saw the collie and Luke standing there, he stopped stiffly and turned pale, and his mouth hung open loosely.
“Luke,” he whispered, “that dog had a stone around his neck.”
“I fished him out of the stream,” Luke said uneasily.
“Oh. Oh, I see,” Uncle Henry said. His tone expressed his sudden relief. It was as if he was grateful for the simple explanation which made the world solid and rational again. Gradually the color came back to his face but for a few moments he couldn’t speak; his emotion was bewilderingly unfamiliar. He was suddenly so powerfully aware of Luke tha
t he felt embarrassed. He began to struggle to adjust himself to this new awareness or at least to brush it aside quickly before it could disturb his life. “You fished him out, eh?” he asked, still looking at the dog uneasily. “You shouldn’t have done that. I told Sam Carter to get rid of him.”
“Just a minute, Uncle Henry,” Luke said, trying not to falter. He gained confidence as Aunt Helen came out and stood beside her husband, for her eyes seemed to be gentle, and he went on bravely. “I want to make you a practical proposition, Uncle Henry.”
“A what?” Uncle Henry asked, still feeling insecure, and wishing the boy and the dog weren’t confronting him.
“A practical proposition,” Luke blurted out quickly. “I know Dan isn’t worth his keep to you. I guess he isn’t worth anything to anybody but me. So I’ll pay you seventy-five cents a week for his keep.”
“What’s this?” Uncle Henry asked, looking bewildered. “Where would you get seventy-five cents a week, Luke?”
“I’m going to get the cows every night for Mr. Kemp.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Henry,” Aunt Helen pleaded. Then she grew flustered and began to make frantic motions with her hands. She couldn’t bear the expression in the boy’s eyes; it made her feel ashamed and guilty, and then, after the first moment, strangely lonely, and the power of this loneliness which distressed her terribly had to be broken. “Henry,” she blurted out desperately, “let him keep the dog,” and she fled into the house.
“None of that kind of talk,” Uncle Henry called after her. “We’ve got to be sensible about this.” But he was shaken himself, and overwhelmed with a distress that destroyed all his confidence. As he sat down slowly in the rocking chair and stroked the side of his big face, he wanted to say weakly, “All right, keep the dog,” but he was ashamed of being so weak and sentimental. He stubbornly refused to yield to this emotion; he was trying desperately to turn it into a bit of good, useful common sense, so he could justify his distress. So he rocked and pondered. At last he smiled. “You’re a smart little shaver, Luke,” he said slowly. “Imagine you working it out like this. I’m tempted to accept your proposition.”
“Why, thanks, Uncle Henry.”
“I’m accepting it because I think you’ll learn something out of this,” he went on ponderously.
“Yes, Uncle Henry.”
“You’ll learn that useless luxuries cost the smartest of men hard-earned money.”
“I don’t mind.”
“Well, it’s a thing you’ll have to learn sometime. I think you’ll learn, too, because you certainly seem to have a practical streak in you. It’s a streak I like to see in a boy. Okay, son,” he said, and he smiled with relief and went inside.
Turning to Dan, Luke whispered softly. “Well, what do you know about that?”
As he sat down on the step with the collie beside him and listened to Uncle Henry talking to his wife, he began to glow with an exultation that gradually changed to a vast wonder that Mr. Kemp should have had such a perfect understanding of Uncle Henry. He began to dream of someday being as wise as old Mr. Kemp and knowing exactly how to handle people.
Already he felt years older. Not months but years could have passed since he came to the mill. It seemed to him that he had already learned the most important things about his uncle that his father had wanted him to learn.
In the world there were probably millions of people like Uncle Henry who were kind and strong and because of their strength of character and shrewdness, dominated and flattened out the lives of others. Yet it was possible not only to protect yourself against such people but also to win their respect. It all depended on the weapons you used. If you knew how to handle yourself, there were fascinating ways of demanding respect for the things that gave your own life a secret glow.
Putting his head down on the dog’s neck, Luke vowed to himself fervently that he would always have some money on hand, no matter what became of him, so that he would be able to protect all that was truly valuable from the practical people in the world.
Questions for Discussion
1. How does Callaghan define a vow? Should Luke have made the promise that he did to his dying father, and did he really have a choice?
2. What are the differences between Luke’s father, Dr. Sam Baldwin and Uncle Henry Baldwin, and how do these differences impact on Luke? Why does Callaghan establish this contrast?
3. Why does Callaghan present Luke with two very different dogs – Mike and Dan – and what purpose does this difference/contrast serve? What is the purpose of Dan in the narrative?
4. Luke Baldwin’s Vow is a novel of contrasts. How many contrasts can you identify and what purpose does this structure serve in its impact on the narrative?
5. What is Uncle Henry’s philosophy? Do you agree with it or not? What does Luke learn about the differences between truth and lies, and how does Luke handle the truth when his instincts demand that he also serve his imagination?
6. What does the Fairy Tale book represent in Luke’s life and why does Uncle Henry fear it?
7. Callaghan applies the terms “useful” and usefulness” to Uncle Henry’s philosophy. What does this suggest about Uncle Henry’s character, and how does that philosophy impact on Dan? How does Uncle Henry’s philosophy compare with Dan’s father’s philosophy?
8. Each character has a different attitude to death. What is the difference between Luke’s attitude to life and death and that of Uncle Henry’s?
9. What is Callaghan’s view of the imagination? How would you describe the imagination? Is it something we need or is it something we can do without? Does imagination deceive or does it broaden one’s perceptions?
10. At the beginning of each chapter, Callaghan carefully sets the scene, not merely in near detail but in the background. He describes distances. What purpose does this serve? Does the presence of spatial perspective impact on the narrative by turning each scene into a painting? Is the narrative enhanced by this or is this factor of painterly setting merely a decoration to the narrative?
11. What are the differences, as Callaghan perceives them, between city life, town life, and rural life?
12. What role does the discovery of untamed nature play in Luke’s growth as a character? Does the novel adhere to the principles of the bildungsroman, a novel that chronicles the growth not only of a character but of a consciousness?
Related Reading
Alcott, Louisa May. Little Women.
CreateSpace, 2014.
Alexis, André. Childhood.
Henry Holt & Company, 1998.
Aristotle. The Nichomachean Ethics, trans. Robert C.
Bartlett.
University Of Chicago Press, 2012.
Bronte, Charlotte. Jane Eyre.
CreateSpace, 2014.
Callaghan, Barry. “Our Thirteenth Summer,” A Kiss is Still a Kiss.
Little, Brown, 1993.
Callaghan, Morley. “A Cap for Steve,” “The Red Pony,”
The Complete Stories of Morley Callaghan. 4 vols.,
The Exile Classics Series, Nos. 22-25.
Exile Editions, 2012.
Cather, Willa. “Paul’s Case,” Cather: Stories, Poems, and other writings by Willa Cather.
Library of America, 1992.
Connor, Ralph. Glengarry School Days.
CreateSpace, 2015.
Frame, Janet. Angel at My Table.
Counterpoint, 2016.
Joyce, James. A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man.
CreateSpace, 2016.
Locke, John. An Essay Concerning Human Understanding.
Oxford University Press, 2008.
Mitchell, W.O. Who Has Seen the Wind.
McClelland & Stewart, 2000.
Montgomery, Lucy Maud. Anne of Green Gables.
Tundra Books, 2014.
Munro, Alice. My Best Stories.
Penguin, Canada, 2009.
Munro, Alice. The Lives of Girls and Women.
Vintage, 2015.
> Porter, Eleanor H. Pollyanna.
CreateSpace, 2014.
Rousseau, Jean Jacques. Emile.
CreateSpace, 2016.
Saint Augustine. Confessions.
Oxford University Paperbacks, 2009.
Twain, Mark. Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.
CreateSpace, 2015.
von Goethe, Wolfgang, The Sorrows of Young Werther
trans. David Constantine.
Oxford University Press, 2012.
THE EXILE CLASSICS SERIES ~ 1 TO 27
THAT SUMMER IN PARIS (No. 1) ~ MORLEY CALLAGHAN
Memoir & Essays 5.5x8.5 280 pages 978-1-55096-688-6 (tpb) $19.95
It was the fabulous summer of 1929 when the literary capital of North America had moved to the Left Bank of Paris. Ernest Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald, James Joyce, Ford Madox Ford, Robert McAlmon and Morley Callaghan... amid these tangled relationships, friendships were forged, and lost... A tragic and sad and unforgettable story told in Callaghan’s lucid, compassionate prose. Also included in this new edition are selections from Callaghan’s comments on Hemingway, Joyce and Fitzgerald, beginning in that time early in his life, and ending with his reflection on returning to Paris at the end of his life.
NIGHTS IN THE UNDERGROUND (No. 2) ~ MARIE-CLAIRE BLAIS
Novel 6x9 190 pages 978-1-55096-015-0 (tpb) $19.95
With this novel, Marie-Claire Blais came to the forefront of feminism in Canada. This is a classic of lesbian literature that weaves a profound matrix of human isolation, with transcendence found in the healing power of love.
DEAF TO THE CITY (No. 3) ~ MARIE-CLAIRE BLAIS
Novel 6x9 218 pages 978-1-55096-013-6 (tpb) $19.95
City life, where innocence, death, sexuality, and despair fight for survival. It is a book of passion and anguish, characteristic of our times, written in a prose of controlled self-assurance. A true urban classic.
THE GERMAN PRISONER (No. 4) ~ JAMES HANLEY
Novella 6x9 64 pages 978-1-55096-075-4 (tpb) $13.95
Luke Baldwin's Vow Page 15