บทที่ บทที่ 42 · The fact that Lester had seen this page was made perfectly clear to

Jennie that evening, for he brought it home himself, having concluded,

after mature deliberation, that he ought to. He had told her once that

there was to be no concealment between them, and this thing, coming so

brutally to disturb their peace, was nevertheless a case in point. He

had decided to tell her not to think anything of it--that it did

not make much difference, though to him it made all the difference in

the world. The effect of this chill history could never be undone. The

wise--and they included all his social world and many who were

not of it--could see just how he had been living. The article

which accompanied the pictures told how he had followed Jennie from

Cleveland to Chicago, how she had been coy and distant and that he had

to court her a long time to win her consent. This was to explain their

living together on the North Side. Lester realized that this was an

asinine attempt to sugar-coat the true story and it made him angry.

Still he preferred to have it that way rather than in some more brutal

vein. He took the paper out of his pocket when he arrived at the

house, spreading it on the library table. Jennie, who was close by,

watched him, for she knew what was coming.

"Here's something that will interest you, Jennie," he said dryly,

pointing to the array of text and pictures.

"I've already seen it, Lester," she said wearily. "Mrs. Stendahl

showed it to me this afternoon. I was wondering whether you had."

"Rather high-flown description of my attitude, isn't it? I didn't

know I was such an ardent Romeo."

"I'm awfully sorry, Lester," said Jennie, reading behind the dry

face of humor the serious import of this affair to him. She had long

since learned that Lester did not express his real feeling, his big

ills in words. He was inclined to jest and make light of the

inevitable, the inexorable. This light comment merely meant "this

matter cannot be helped, so we will make the best of it."

"Oh, don't feel badly about it," he went on. "It isn't anything

which can be adjusted now. They probably meant well enough. We just

happen to be in the limelight."

"I understand," said Jennie, coming over to him. "I'm sorry,

though, anyway." Dinner was announced a moment later and the incident

was closed.

But Lester could not dismiss the thought that matters were getting

in a bad way. His father had pointed it out to him rather plainly at

the last interview, and now this newspaper notoriety had capped the

climax. He might as well abandon his pretension to intimacy with his

old world. It would have none of him, or at least the more

conservative part of it would not. There were a few bachelors, a few

gay married men, some sophisticated women, single and married, who saw

through it all and liked him just the same, but they did not make

society. He was virtually an outcast, and nothing could save him but

to reform his ways; in other words, he must give up Jennie once and

for all.

But he did not want to do this. The thought was painful to

him--objectionable in every way. Jennie was growing in mental

acumen. She was beginning to see things quite as clearly as he did.

She was not a cheap, ambitious, climbing creature. She was a big woman

and a good one. It would be a shame to throw her down, and besides she

was good-looking. He was forty-six and she was twenty-nine; and she

looked twenty-four or five. It is an exceptional thing to find beauty,

youth, compatibility, intelligence, your own point of

view--softened and charmingly emotionalized--in another. He

had made his bed, as his father had said. He had better lie on it.

It was only a little while after this disagreeable newspaper

incident that Lester had word that his father was quite ill and

failing; it might be necessary for him to go to Cincinnati at any

moment. Pressure of work was holding him pretty close when the news

came that his father was dead. Lester, of course, was greatly shocked

and grieved, and he returned to Cincinnati in a retrospective and

sorrowful mood. His father had been a great character to him--a

fine and interesting old gentleman entirely aside from his

relationship to him as his son. He remembered him now dandling him

upon his knee as a child, telling him stories of his early life in

Ireland, and of his subsequent commercial struggle when he was a

little older, impressing the maxims of his business career and his

commercial wisdom on him as he grew to manhood. Old Archibald had been

radically honest. It was to him that Lester owed his instincts for

plain speech and direct statement of fact. "Never lie," was

Archibald's constant, reiterated statement. "Never try to make a thing

look different from what it is to you. It's the breath of

life--truth--it's the basis of real worth, while commercial

success--it will make a notable character of any one who will

stick to it." Lester believed this. He admired his father intensely

for his rigid insistence on truth, and now that he was really gone he

felt sorry. He wished he might have been spared to be reconciled to

him. He half fancied that old Archibald would have liked Jennie if he

had known her. He did not imagine that he would ever have had the

opportunity to straighten things out, although he still felt that

Archibald would have liked her.

When he reached Cincinnati it was snowing, a windy, blustery snow.

The flakes were coming down thick and fast. The traffic of the city

had a muffled sound. When he stepped down from the train he was met by

Amy, who was glad to see him in spite of all their past differences.

Of all the girls she was the most tolerant. Lester put his arms about

her, and kissed her.

"It seems like old times to see you, Amy," he said, "your coming to

meet me this way. How's the family? I suppose they're all here. Well,

poor father, his time had to come. Still, he lived to see everything

that he wanted to see. I guess he was pretty well satisfied with the

outcome of his efforts."

"Yes," replied Amy, "and since mother died he was very lonely."

They rode up to the house in kindly good feeling, chatting of old

times and places. All the members of the immediate family, and the

various relatives, were gathered in the old family mansion. Lester

exchanged the customary condolences with the others, realizing all the

while that his father had lived long enough. He had had a successful

life, and had fallen like a ripe apple from the tree. Lester looked at

him where he lay in the great parlor, in his black coffin, and a

feeling of the old-time affection swept over him. He smiled at the

clean-cut, determined, conscientious face.

"The old gentleman was a big man all the way through," he said to

Robert, who was present. "We won't find a better figure of a man

soon."

"We will not," said his brother, solemnly.

After the funeral it was decided to read the will at once. Louise's

husband was anxious to return to Buffalo; Lester was compelled to be

in Chicago. A conference of the various members of the family was

called for the second day after the funeral, to be held at the offices

of Messrs. Knight, Keatley & O'Brien, counselors of the late

manufacturer.

As Lester rode to the meeting he had the feeling that his father

had not acted in any way prejudicial to his interests. It had not been

so very long since they had had their last conversation; he had been

taking his time to think about things, and his father had given him

time. He always felt that he had stood well with the old gentleman,

except for his alliance with Jennie. His business judgment had been

valuable to the company. Why should there be any discrimination

against him? He really did not think it possible.

When they reached the offices of the law firm, Mr. O'Brien, a

short, fussy, albeit comfortable-looking little person, greeted all

the members of the family and the various heirs and assigns with a

hearty handshake. He had been personal counsel to Archibald Kane for

twenty years. He knew his whims and idiosyncrasies, and considered

himself very much in the light of a father confessor. He liked all the

children, Lester especially.

"Now I believe we are all here," he said, finally, extracting a

pair of large horn reading-glasses from his coat pocket and looking

sagely about. "Very well. We might as well proceed to business. I will

just read the will without any preliminary remarks."

He turned to his desk, picked up a paper lying upon it, cleared his

throat, and began.

It was a peculiar document, in some respects, for it began with all

the minor bequests; first, small sums to old employees, servants, and

friends. It then took up a few institutional bequests, and finally

came to the immediate family, beginning with the girls. Imogene, as a

faithful and loving daughter was left a sixth of the stock of the

carriage company and a fourth of the remaining properties of the

deceased, which roughly aggregated (the estate--not her share)

about eight hundred thousand dollars. Amy and Louise were provided for

in exactly the same proportion. The grandchildren were given certain

little bonuses for good conduct, when they should come of age. Then it

took up the cases of Robert and Lester.

"Owing to certain complications which have arisen in the affairs of

my son Lester," it began, "I deem it my duty to make certain

conditions which shall govern the distribution of the remainder of my

property, to wit: One-fourth of the stock of the Kane Manufacturing

Company and one-fourth of the remainder of my various properties,

real, personal, moneys, stocks and bonds, to go to my beloved son

Robert, in recognition of the faithful performance of his duty, and

one-fourth of the stock of the Kane Manufacturing Company and the

remaining fourth of my various properties, real, personal, moneys,

stocks and bonds, to be held in trust by him for the benefit of his

brother Lester, until such time as such conditions as may hereinafter

be set forth shall have been complied with. And it is my wish and

desire that my children shall concur in his direction of the Kane

Manufacturing Company, and of such other interests as are entrusted to

him, until such time as he shall voluntarily relinquish such control,

or shall indicate another arrangement which shall be better."

Lester swore under his breath. His cheeks changed color, but he did

not move. He was not inclined to make a show. It appeared that he was

not even mentioned separately.

The conditions "hereinafter set forth" dealt very fully with his

case, however, though they were not read aloud to the family at the

time, Mr. O'Brien stating that this was in accordance with their

father's wish. Lester learned immediately afterward that he was to

have ten thousand a year for three years, during which time he had the

choice of doing either one of two things: First, he was to leave

Jennie, if he had not already married her, and so bring his life into

moral conformity with the wishes of his father. In this event Lester's

share of the estate was to be immediately turned over to him.

Secondly, he might elect to marry Jennie, if he had not already done

so, in which case the ten thousand a year, specifically set aside to

him for three years, was to be continued for life--but for his

life only. Jennie was not to have anything of it after his death. The

ten thousand in question represented the annual interest on two

hundred shares of L. S. and M. S. stock which were also to be held in

trust until his decision had been reached and their final disposition

effected. If Lester refused to marry Jennie, or to leave her, he was

to have nothing at all after the three years were up. At Lester's

death the stock on which his interest was drawn was to be divided pro

rata among the surviving members of the family. If any heir or assign

contested the will, his or her share was thereby forfeited

entirely.

It was astonishing to Lester to see how thoroughly his father had

taken his case into consideration. He half suspected, on reading these

conditions, that his brother Robert had had something to do with the

framing of them, but of course he could not be sure. Robert had not

given any direct evidence of enmity.

"Who drew this will?" he demanded of O'Brien, a little later.

"Well, we all had a hand in it," replied O'Brien, a little

shamefacedly. "It was a very difficult document to draw up. You know,

Mr. Kane, there was no budging your father. He was adamant. He has

come very near defeating his own wishes in some of these clauses. Of

course, you know, we had nothing to do with its spirit. That was

between you and him. I hated very much to have to do it."

"Oh, I understand all that!" said Lester. "Don't let that worry

you."

Mr. O'Brien was very grateful.

During the reading of the will Lester had sat as stolid as an

ox.

He got up after a time, as did the others, assuming an air of

nonchalance. Robert, Amy, Louise and Imogene all felt shocked, but not

exactly, not unqualifiedly regretful. Certainly Lester had acted very

badly. He had given his father great provocation.

"I think the old gentleman has been a little rough in this," said

Robert, who had been sitting next him. "I certainly did not expect him

to go as far as that. So far as I am concerned some other arrangement

would have been satisfactory."

Lester smiled grimly. "It doesn't matter," he said.

Imogene, Amy, and Louise were anxious to be consolatory, but they

did not know what to say. Lester had brought it all on himself. "I

don't think papa acted quite right, Lester," ventured Amy, but Lester

waved her away almost gruffly.

"I can stand it," he said.

He figured out, as he stood there, what his income would be in case

he refused to comply with his father's wishes. Two hundred shares of