The Main Chance

by Meredith Nicholson

  CHAPTER XVIII

  FATHER AND DAUGHTER

  The winds of January had no better luck in shaking down the leaves ofthe scrub oaks on the Porter hillside than their predecessors ofNovember and December. The snows came and went on the dull slopes, andthe canna beds were little blots of ruin in the gray stubble. The housewas a place of light and life once more, for Evelyn had obeyed herfather's wish rather than her own inclination in opening its doors forfrequent teas and dinners and once for a large ball. Many people hadentertained for her; she had never been introduced formally, but hermother's friends made up for this omission; she went out a great deal,and enjoyed it. Many young men climbed the hill to see her, and manywent to the theater or to dances with her at least once. The number whocame to call diminished by Christmas; but those who still came, and wereidentified as frequenters of the house, came oftener.

  Warry Raridan had raged at the mob, as he called it, which he seemedalways to find installed in the Porter drawing-room; but he ragedinwardly these days, save as he went explosively to Saxton for comfort;he had stopped raging at Evelyn. He was at work more steadily than hehad ever been before, and wished the credit for it which people deniedhim, to his secret disgust. He had idled too long, or he had too oftenbefore given fitful allegiance to labor. Young women and old, whoexpected him to pass tea for them in the afternoons, refused to believethat he had experienced a change of heart. Those who had bragged of himabroad, and who now lured the eternal visiting girl to town to beholdhim, were chagrined to find that he was difficult to produce, andmollified their guests by declaring that Warry was getting more fickleand uncertain as he grew older, or took vengeance by encouraging therumor that he and Evelyn Porter were engaged.

  Wheaton called at the Porters' often, but he did not go now with WarryRaridan; he even took some pains to go when Raridan did not. He knewjust how much time to allow himself between The Bachelors' and thePorter door bell in order to reach the drawing-room at five minutes pasteight. He was now considered one of the men that went out a good deal inClarkson; he was invited to many houses, and began to wonder that socialenjoyment was so easy. It seemed long ago that he had been a leadingfigure in the ball of the Knights of Midas. Looking back at thatincident he was sensible of its poverty and tawdriness; he hadsacrificed himself for the public good, and the community shared in thejoke of it.

  Porter had an amiable way of darting out of the library in the eveningswhen he and Evelyn were both at home, to see who came in; not that hewas abnormally curious as to who rang the door bell, though he enjoyedoccasionally a colloquy with a tramp; but he was always on the lookoutfor telegrams, of which he received a great many at home, and hedeclared in his chaffing note of complaint that the people in the housewere forever hiding them from him. He sometimes brought home bundles ofpapers and spent whole evenings digesting them and making computations.Without realizing that Wheaton was in his house pretty often, he wasglad to know that his cashier came. When he found that Wheaton was inthe drawing-room he usually went over to talk to him in the interimbefore Evelyn came down. Sometimes a bit of news in the evening papergave him a text.

  "I see that they've had a shaking up over at St. Joe. Well, Wigglesworthnever was any good. They ought to have had more sense than to get caughtby him. Well, sir, you remember he was offering his paper up here. Wecould have had a barrel of it; but when a man of his credit peddles hispaper away from home, it's a good thing to let alone. When they figureup Wigglesworth's liabilities they will find that he has paper scatteredall over the Missouri Valley, and I'll bet the Second's stuck. The lasttime I saw Wigglesworth he was up at the club one day with Buskirk. He'dbeen in to see me the day before. I guessed then that he was looking forhelp which they didn't think he was worth at home." And then, with achuckle: "Our people," meaning his directors, "think sometimes we're tooconservative, and I reckon I do lose a lot of business for them thatother fellows would take and get out of all right; but I guess we makemore in the long run by being careful. Banking ain't exactly stovepolish or vitalized barley, to put up in pretty packages and advertiseon the billboards."

  Wheaton was honestly sympathetic and responsive along these lines. Headmired Porter, although he often felt that the president made mistakes;yet he, too, believed in conservatism; it was a matter of temperamentrather than principle. This mingling of social and business elementspleased and flattered Wheaton. He felt that his position in the Porterbank gave him a double footing in the Porter house. Porter usuallyignored Evelyn's presence while he finished whatever he was saying. Thenhe would go back to his chair in the library, where he could hear thevoices across the hall; but he never remained after he had concluded hisown talk with Wheaton.

  Sometimes, however, when there were other men in the house, Porter wouldcome and stand in the door and regard them good-humoredly, and nod tothem amiably, usually with his cigar in his mouth and the eveningnewspaper in his hand. When there was a good deal of laughing he wouldgo over and gaze upon them questioningly and quiz them; but they usuallyfelt the restraint of his presence. If they repeated to him some storywhich had prompted their mirth, he was wont to rebuke them with affectedseriousness, or he would tell them a story of his own. He expectedEvelyn to receive a great deal of attention. He liked to know who hercallers were and where she herself visited, and it pleased him that shehad called on all her mother's old friends, whether they had been to seeher or not. He had a sense of the dignities and proprieties of life, andhe felt his own prestige as a founder of the town; it would have been asource of grief to him if Evelyn had not taken a leading place among itsyoung people.

  The theater was the one diversion that appealed to him, and he liked totake Evelyn with him, and wanted her to sit in a box so that he mightshow her off to better advantage. He could not understand why shepreferred seats in the orchestra; Timothy Margrave and his daughteralways sat in a box, and young men were forever running in to talk toMabel between the acts. Porter thought that this showed a specialdeference to the Margrave girl, as he called her, and for her fathertoo, by implication, and he resented anything that looked like a slightupon Evelyn. He was afraid that she did not entertain enough, and sincethe girls who visited them in the fall had left, he had been insistingthat she must have others come to see her. He had made her tell himabout all the girls she had known in college; his curiosity in suchdirections was almost insatiable. He always demanded to know what theirfathers did for a livelihood, and he had been surprised to find that somany of Evelyn's classmates had been daughters of inconspicuousfamilies, and that the young women were in many cases fitting themselvesto teach. He had pretty thoroughly catalogued all of Evelyn's collegefriends, and he suggested about once a week that she have some of themout.

  Sometimes, after Evelyn's callers had gone, she and her father sat andtalked in the library.

  "I don't see what you young people can find to say so much about," hewould say; or: "What was Warry gabbling about so long?"

  She always told him what had been talked about, with a carefulfrankness, lest he might imagine that the visits of Wheaton or Warry, orany one else, had a special intention. She crossed over to the libraryone night after several callers had left, and found her father moreabsorbed than usual in a mass of papers which lay on the large tablebefore him. He put down his glasses and lay back in his chair wearily.

  "Well, girl, is it time to go to bed? Sit down there and tell me thenews."

  "There isn't anything worth telling; you know there isn't muchinformation in the average caller." He yawned and rubbed his eyes andpaid no attention to her answer. He had asked a few days before whethershe cared to go to Chicago to hear the opera, and she had said that shewould go if he would; and he now wished to talk this out with her.

  "The Whipples are going over to Chicago for the opera," he ventured.

  "But you're not getting ready to back out! You ought to be ashamed ofyourself." She rose and went toward him menacingly, and he put up hishands as if to ward off her attack.

  "But you ca
n have just as much fun with the general as you could withme."

  "No, I can't; and for another thing you need a rest. You never go awayexcept on business; the fact is, you never get business out of yourmind. Now, let me gather up these things for you." She reached for thearray of balance sheets on his table, and he threw his arms over themprotectingly.

  "Please go away! I've spent all evening straightening these thingsout." She retreated to her chair, and he began rolling up his papers.

  "You'd better go with the Whipples, and Mrs. Whipple will help you doyour shopping. It doesn't seem to me that you have many clothes. You'dbetter get some more."

  "You can't buy me off that way, father. Either you go or I don't." Heturned toward her again when he had rolled his papers into a packet andfixed a rubber band around them. She knew, as she usually did after suchapproaches, that he wanted to say something in particular.

  "You mustn't settle down too soon. You can't always be young, and youcan easily get into a rut here."

  "Yes, but I haven't had time yet; I've hardly got settled. I want to getacquainted at home before I go away. I'm afraid they still look on me asa pilgrim and a stranger here."

  "But they're all nice to you, ain't they?" he demanded sharply.

  "They are certainly as kind as can be," she answered. "I haven't asingle complaint. I'm having just the time I wanted to have when I camehome."

  "I don't want to lose you too soon, girl." It was half a question. Shewondered whether this could be what he had been leading up to.

  "And I don't want you to lose me at all! I didn't come home after allthese years to have you lose me."

  "Oh, I don't mean right away," he said. "But sometime--sometime you willhave to go, I suppose."

  "I'm certainly not thinking of it." She was laughing and trying to breakhis mood; but he was very serious, and took a cigar from his pocket andput it in his mouth.

  "You'll have to go sometime; and when you do, I want the right kind of aman to have you."

  "So do I, father."

  "You are old enough to understand that a girl in your position is likelyto be sought by men who may--who may--well, who may be swayed somewhatby worldly considerations."

  "Isn't that a trifle hard on me? I hoped I was a little more attractivethan that, father."

  "You know what I mean," he went on. "I guess we can tell that sort whenthey come around. I've had an idea that you might choose to marry awayfrom here; you've been away a good deal; you must have met a good manyyoung men, brothers of your friends--"

  "Yes, I met them, father, and that was all there was to it."

  "I shouldn't like you to marry away from here. I've been afraid youwouldn't like our old town. I guess we fellows that started it like itbetter than anybody else does; but I can see how you might not care somuch for it." He waited, and she knew that he wanted her to disavow anysuch feeling.

  "Why, I've never had any idea of wanting to live anywhere else! I don'tbelieve I'd be happy away from here. It's home, and it always will behome. I hope we can stay and keep the old house here--"

  She sat forward with her arms on the curved sides of the chair. He didnot heed what she said. Older people have this way with youth when theyare intent on the impression they wish to make and count uponacquiescence.

  "I don't want you to sacrifice yourself for me out of any sense of duty;the time will come when it will be all right for you to go, and when itcomes I want you to go to a man who's decent and square--" He paused asif trying to think of desirable attributes. "I don't care whether he'sgot much or not, but I like young men who know how to work for a livingand who've got a little common sense. I guess we don't need any dukes orcounts in our family; we've all been honest and decent as far as I know,and I reckon Americans are good enough for us. I don't know that whatI've got would support one of those French counts more than a week ortwo." His eyes brightened as they met hers. The idea of a titledson-in-law amused him, and Evelyn laughed out merrily. She did notaltogether like the turn of the talk, but she was curious to know whathe was driving at.

  "You understand I don't want to appear to dictate," he went onmagnanimously. "I don't believe in that. Nobody knows as well as a girlwhom she wants to marry. Sometimes girls make pretty bad breaks; but Iguess most marriages are happy. Men are not all good, and there are somemighty foolish women, besides the downright wicked ones. I guess ouryoung men in Clarkson are as good as there are anywhere. Most of themhave to work, and that's good for them. I guess I appreciate family andthat kind of thing as well as the next man, but it ain't everything." Hewas speaking slowly, and when he made a long pause here, Evelyn rose andwent over to the open grate and poked in the ashes for the fewremaining coals. He watched her as she stooped, noting, halfconsciously, the fine line of her profile, the ripple of light in herhair, the girlishness of her slim figure.

  "No use of fooling with that fire," he said. She knew that he wished tosay more, and she put the poker in its brass rack and rose and stood bythe mantel.

  "At my age, life gets more uncertain every day; I seem to be prettysound, but I was sixty-four my last birthday, and if I'd been in thearmy they would have kicked me out of my job; but so long as I work formyself I suppose I'll hang on until I can't stand up in the harness anymore."

  "But that's a mistake, father," she put in. "Why shouldn't you take somerest now? If there's no other way, why not close out your interest inthe bank and take things easier? You ought to travel; you've never beenout of the country, and there are lots of things in Europe that you'denjoy; the rest and change would do you a world of good. Can't we gothis summer, and take Grant? It would be nice for us all to gotogether."

  He shook his head with the deprecating air which men of Porter's typehave for such suggestions. "It would be mighty nice, but I can't do it.Here's Thompson away, and no telling when he'll be back, and I haveother things besides the bank to look after; more than you know about."She knew only vaguely what his interests were, for he never mentionedthem to her; he believed that women are incapable of comprehending suchthings; and his natural secretiveness was always on guard. He evenentertained a kind of superstition that if he told of anything he wasplanning he jeopardized his chances of success.

  "No, I guess there ain't going to be any Europe for me just now. But I'dbe glad to have you and Grant go." He had been side-tracked in his talk,and chewed his cigar while trying to find the way back to the main line.Then he broke out irrelevantly:

  "Warry doesn't seem to settle down. We used to think Warry had greatthings in him, but they're mighty slow coming out."

  "Well, he's still young," said Evelyn. "It takes a young man a long timeto get a start these days in the professions." Her father looked at herkeenly.

  "I'm afraid it isn't lack of opportunity with Warry. If he'd ever getafter anything in real earnest he could make it go; but he seems to foolaway his time." He said this as if he expected Evelyn to continue herdefense, but she said merely:

  "It's too bad if he's doing that when he has ability." She walked backto her chair and sat down. She knew that Warry was really at work, butshe was afraid to show any particular knowledge of him.

  "It's one of the queer things to me that young fellows who have everychance don't seem to get on as well as others who haven't any backing.Now, all Warry had to do was to stay in his office and attend tobusiness--or that's all he needed to do three or four years ago, when heset up to practise; but now everybody's given him up. A man who doesn'twant an opportunity in this world doesn't have to kick it very hard toget rid of it. Other fellows, who never had any chance, are watching forthe luckier ones to slip back. There are never any lonesome places onthe ladder. Now, there's Wheaton--" He again examined Evelyn's face inone of those tranquil stares with which he made his most minute scrutinyof people. "Wheaton ain't a showy fellow like Warry, but he's one of thesort that make their way because they keep an eye open to the mainchance. Jim came into the bank as a messenger, and I guess he's hadpretty much every job we've got, and he's done t
hem well." He hadlighted his cigar and was talking volubly. "When Thompson played out andhad to go away, we looked around for somebody on the inside who knew therun of our business to put in there to help me. None of the directorswanted to come in, and so we pulled Jim out of the paying teller's cage,and he's just about saved my back. Now, Jim's not so smart, but he'ssteady and safe, and that's what counts in business."

  He leaned back in his chair and wobbled the cigar in his mouth.

  "These young Napoleons of finance are forever chasing off to Canada withother folks' money; they're too brilliant. I tell 'em down town that itain't genius we want in business, it's just ordinary, plain, every-daytalent for getting down early and staying at your job. That's what Isay. There was Smith over at the Drovers' National; he was a clear caseof genius. They thought over there that he was making business bychasing around the country attending banquets and speaking at bankers'conventions. I guess Smith's essays were financially sound too, forSmith knew finance, scientific finance, like a college professor, andused to come to the clearing-house meetings and talk to beat the bandabout what Bagehot said and how the Bank of England did; but all thetime he was spending his Sundays over in Kansas City, drumming upbanking business by playing poker with the gentlemen he expected to getfor his customers. He's running a laundry now on the wrong side of theCanadian border. Over at the Drovers' they ain't so terribly scientificnow, and their cashier don't have an expense fund to carry him aroundthe country making connections. Making connections!" he repeated, andchuckled. He had the conceit of his own wisdom, and while he was alwaysgenerous in his dealings with his rivals, and had several times helpedthem out of difficulties, he rejoiced in their errors and congratulatedhimself on his foresight and caution.

  "You oughtn't to laugh at the downfall of other people," said Evelyn;"it's wicked of you." But she was laughing herself at his enjoyment ofhis own joke, and was proud of the qualities which she knew hadcontributed to his success. He felt baffled that he had not fullyconcluded all he had intended to say about Wheaton and his merits, buthe did not see his way back to the subject, and he rose yawning.

  "I guess it's time to go to bed," he said, and he went about turning offthe electric lights by the buttons in the hall. Evelyn went upstairsahead of him, and kissed him good night at his door.

  "You'd better go to the opera with the Whipples," he called to her overhis shoulder, as he waited for her to reach her own door before turningoff the upper hall light.

  "Not a bit of it," she answered through the dark.

  The novel with which Evelyn tried to read herself to sleep that nightdid not hold her attention, and after her memory had teased her intoimpatience, she threw the book down and for a long time lay thinking.She knew her father so well that she had no doubt of the current of histhought and his wish to praise James Wheaton and disparage WarryRaridan, and it troubled her; not because she herself had anywell-defined preferences as between them or in their favor as againstall other men she knew; but it seemed to her that her father haddisclosed his own feeling rather unnecessarily and pointedly.

  Suddenly, as she lay thinking and staring at the walls, life took on newand serious aspects, and she did not want it to be so. Because she hadbeen so much away from home the provincial idea that every man thatcalls on a girl, or takes her to a theater in our free, unchaperonedway, is a serious suitor had not impressed her. She had expected to comehome and enjoy herself indefinitely, and had idealized a situation inwhich she should be the stay of her father through his old age, and thechum and guide of her brother, in whom the repetition of her mother'scharacteristics strongly appealed to her. There had been little troubleor grief in her life, and now for the first time she saw uncertaintiesahead where a few hours before everything had seemed simple and clear.She had felt no offense when her father spoke slightingly of WarryRaridan; she knew that her father really liked him, as every one did,and she would not have hesitated to say that she admired him greatly,even in his possession of those traits which betrayed the weaknesses ofhis character. She certainly had no thought of him save as a whimsicaland amusing friend, a playmate who had never grown up.

  It was true that he had made love to her, or had tried to; but she hadno faith in his sincerity. She had first felt amused, and then a littlesorry, when he had gone to work so earnestly. He took the trouble toremind her frequently that it was all for her, and she laughed at himand at the love-making which he was always attempting and which shealways thwarted. Saxton did not come often to the house, but when hecame he exercised his ingenuity to bring Raridan into the talk in therare times that they were alone together. She knew why Saxton praisedher friend to her, and it increased her liking for him. It is curioushow a woman's pity goes out to a man; any suggestion of misfortune makesan excuse for her to clothe him with her compassion. It is as thoughNature, in denying gifts or inflicting punishment, hastened to throw incompensations. Saxton asked so little, and beamed so radiantly whengiven so little; he received kindnesses so shyly, as if, of course, theycould not be meant for him, but it was all right anyway, and he wouldmove on just as soon as the other fellow came.

  As for Wheaton, he was certainly not frivolous, and her father's respectfor him and dependence on him had communicated itself to her. He was somuch older than she; and at twenty-two, thirty-five savors of antiquity;but he was steady, and steadiness was a trait that she respected. He wasterribly formal, but he was kind and thoughtful; he was even handsome,or at least so every one said.

  She lay dreaming until the clock on the mantel chimed midnight, whenshe reached for the novel that had fallen on the coverlet, to put it onthe stand beside her bed. A card which she had been using as a mark fellfrom the book; she picked it up and turned it over to see whose it was.It was John Saxton's.

  "Father didn't say anything about him," she said aloud. She thrust thecard back into the book and reached up and snapped out the light.