Part 4 (1/2)

”No,” she admitted. ”But I could teach. I should like to teach.”

”Teach!” He repeated the word in a changed tone. ”Teach! What in Heaven's name should you want to teach for? I don't quite see a daughter of mine teaching.”

No more was said on the subject.

The young woman and I are on rather confidential terms.

”It is a shame, isn't it?” she said to me afterwards, with feeling.

”Nothing to be done?” I inquired.

”Nothing,” said she. ”I knew there wasn't before I started. The dad would never hear of me earning my own living.”

The two elder girls--twins--had no leaning towards music, and no leaning towards anything save family affection and social engagements.

They had a grand time, and the grander the time they had the keener was the delight of Mr. Alpha in their paradisaical existence. Truly he was a pearl among fathers. The children themselves admitted it, and children can judge. The second son wished to be a painter. Many a father would have said, ”I shall stand none of this nonsense about painting. The business is there, and into the business you'll go.” But not Mr. Alpha. What Mr. Alpha said to his second son amounted to this: ”I shall be charmed for a son of mine to be a painter. Go ahead. Don't worry. Don't hurry. I will give you an ample allowance to keep you afloat through the years of struggle. You shall not be like other beginners. You shall have nothing to think of but your profession. You shall be in a position to wait. Instead of you running after the dealers, you shall comfortably bide your time until the dealers run after you.”

This young man of eighteen was precocious and extravagant.

”I say, mater,” he said, over the cheese, ”can you lend me fifty dollars?”

Mr. Alpha broke in sharply:

”What are you worrying your mother about money for? You know I won't have it. And I won't have you getting into debt either.”

”Well, dad, will you buy a picture from me?”

”Do me a good sketch of your mother, and I'll give you fifty dollars for it.”

”Cash in advance?”

”Yes--on your promise. But understand, no debts.”

The eldest son, fitly enough, was in the business. Not, however, too much in the business. He put in time at the office regularly. He was going to be a partner, and the business would ultimately descend to him. But the business wrinkled not his brow. Mr. Alpha was quite ready to a.s.sume every responsibility and care. He had brains and energy enough, and something considerable over. Enough over, indeed, to run the house and grounds. Mrs. Alpha could always sleep soundly at night secure in the thought that her husband would smooth away every difficulty for her. He could do all things so much more efficiently than she could, were it tackling a cook or a tradesman, or deciding about the pattern of flowers in a garden-bed.

At the finish of the luncheon the painter, who had been meditative, suddenly raised his gla.s.s.

”Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, with solemnity, ”I beg to move that father be and hereby is a brick.”

”Carried nem. con.,” said the eldest son.

”Loud cheers!” said the more pert of the twins.

And Mr. Alpha was enchanted with his home and his home-life.

III

That luncheon was the latest and the most profound of a long series of impressions which had been influencing my mental att.i.tude towards the excellent, the successful, the entirely agreeable Mr. Alpha. I walked home, a distance of some three miles, and then I walked another three miles or so on the worn carpet of my study, and at last the cup of my feelings began to run over, and I sat down and wrote a letter to my friend Alpha. The letter was thus couched: