Part 17 (1/2)
”Humorous?” Mrs. Corey knitted her brows in some perplexity. ”Do you mean like Mrs. Sayre?” she asked, naming the lady whose name must come into every Boston mind when humour is mentioned.
”Oh no; nothing like that. She never says anything that you can remember; nothing in flashes or ripples; nothing the least literary.
But it's a sort of droll way of looking at things; or a droll medium through which things present themselves. I don't know. She tells what she's seen, and mimics a little.”
”Oh,” said Mrs. Corey coldly. After a moment she asked: ”And is Miss Irene as pretty as ever?”
”She's a wonderful complexion,” said the son unsatisfactorily. ”I shall want to be by when father and Colonel Lapham meet,” he added, with a smile.
”Ah, yes, your father!” said the mother, in that way in which a wife at once compa.s.sionates and censures her husband to their children.
”Do you think it's really going to be a trial to him?” asked the young man quickly.
”No, no, I can't say it is. But I confess I wish it was some other business, Tom.”
”Well, mother, I don't see why. The princ.i.p.al thing looked at now is the amount of money; and while I would rather starve than touch a dollar that was dirty with any sort of dishonesty----”
”Of course you would, my son!” interposed his mother proudly.
”I shouldn't at all mind its having a little mineral paint on it. I'll use my influence with Colonel Lapham--if I ever have any--to have his paint sc.r.a.ped off the landscape.”
”I suppose you won't begin till the autumn.”
”Oh yes, I shall,” said the son, laughing at his mother's simple ignorance of business. ”I shall begin to-morrow morning.”
”To-morrow morning!”
”Yes. I've had my desk appointed already, and I shall be down there at nine in the morning to take possession.”
”Tom,” cried his mother, ”why do you think Mr. Lapham has taken you into business so readily? I've always heard that it was so hard for young men to get in.”
”And do you think I found it easy with him? We had about twelve hours'
solid talk.”
”And you don't suppose it was any sort of--personal consideration?”
”Why, I don't know exactly what you mean, mother. I suppose he likes me.”
Mrs. Corey could not say just what she meant. She answered, ineffectually enough--
”Yes. You wouldn't like it to be a favour, would you?”
”I think he's a man who may be trusted to look after his own interest.
But I don't mind his beginning by liking me. It'll be my own fault if I don't make myself essential to him.”
”Yes,” said Mrs. Corey.
”Well,” demanded her husband, at their first meeting after her interview with their son, ”what did you say to Tom?”
”Very little, if anything. I found him with his mind made up, and it would only have distressed him if I had tried to change it.”