Part 63 (1/2)
It was with an eager and resolute face that she confronted her father that evening, as they sat down to dinner. He thought she would descant on her experiences of the morning, and he was anxious for a chance to say how truly he appreciated Mr. Van Berg's cordial manner, but she surprised him by asking abruptly:
”Father, when do we elect another president?”
He told her, and then followed a rapid fire of questions about the general and state government, and the names and characters of the men who held the chief offices. At last Mr. Mayhew laid down his knife and fork in his astonishment, and asked sententiously:
”How long is it since you decided to go into politics?”
Ida's laugh was very rea.s.suring, and she said, ”Poor father! I don't wonder you think I've lost my wits, now that I'm trying to use the few I have. Don't you see? I don't know anything that's worth knowing. I wasted my time at school, for my head was full of beaux, dress, and nonsense. Besides, I don't think my teachers took much pains to make me understand anything. At any rate, my dancing-master, and perhaps my music-teacher--a little bit--are the only ones that have any reason to be proud of the result. Now I want you to brush up your ideas about everything, so you can answer the endless questions I am going to ask you.”
”Why bless you, child, you take away my breath. Rome wasn't built in a day.”
”The way they built Rome will never answer for me. I must grow like one of our Western cities that has a mayor and opera-house almost before the Indians and wolves are driven out of town. Speaking of Rome reminds me how little I know of that city, and it's a burning shame, too, for I spent a month there.”
”Well,” said Mr. Mayhew, with kindling interest, ”suppose we take up a course of reading about Rome for the winter.”
”For the winter! That won't do at all. Can't you tell me something of interest about Rome this evening?”
”I've already mentioned the interesting fact--that it wasn't built in a day. I think that's the most important thing that you need to know about Rome and everything else this evening. Why, Ida, you can't become wise as an ostrich makes its supper--by swallowing everything that comes in its way. You are not a bit like an ostrich.”
”An ostrich is a silly bird that puts its head under the sand and thins its whole great body hidden because it can't see itself, isn't it, father?”
”I've heard that story told of it,” replied Mr. Mayhew, laughing.
”Anything but an ostrich, then. Come, I'll read the evening paper to you on condition you tell me the leading questions of the day.
What is just now the leading question of the day?”
”Well,” said Mr. Mayhew, demurely, but with a sparkle of humor in his eye, ”one of the leading questions of this day with me has been whether Mr. Van Berg would not enjoy dining with us to-morrow evening now that he is here alone in the city?”
Ida instantly held the newspaper before her crimson face and said:
”Father, you ought to be ashamed thus to divert my mind from the pursuit of useful knowledge.”
Her father came to her side and said very kindly: ”Ida, darling, you are a little bit like an ostrich now.”
She sprang up, and, hiding her face on his shoulder, trembled like a leaf. ”Oh, father,” she whispered, ”I would not have him know for the world. Is it so very plain?”
”Not to him, my child, but the eyes of a love like mine are very keen. So you needn't be on your guard before your old father as you must be before him and the world. You shall have only rest and sympathy at home as far as I can give them. Indeed, if you will let me, I'll become a very un.o.btrusive, but perhaps, useful ally.
At any rate, I'll try not to make any stupid, ignorant blunders.
I have like Mr. Van Berg from the first hour of our meeting, and I would thank G.o.d from the depths of my heart if this could be.”
”Dear, good father, how little I understood you. I've been living in poverty over a gold mine. But father, I'm so ignorant and Mr.
Van Berg knows everything.”
”Not quite, you'll find. He's only a man, Ida. But you can never win him through politics or by discussing with him the questions of the day. These are not in your line nor his.”
”What can I do, father. Indeed, it does not seem to me maidenly to do anything.”
”It would not be maidenly, Ida, to step one hair's breadth beyond the line of scrupulous, womanly delicacy, and by any such course you would only defeat and thwart yourself. A woman must always be sought; and as a rule, she loses as she seeks. But I strust to your instincts to guide you here. You have only to be simple and true, as you have been since the happy miracle that transformed you. Unless a man is infatuated as I--but no matter. A man that keeps his sense welcomes truthfulness--a high delicate sense of honor--above all things in a woman, for it gives him a sense of security and rest. By truthfulness I do not mean the indiscreet blurting out of things that good taste would leave unsaid, but clear-eyed integrity that hides no guile. Then, again, unless a man is blinded by pa.s.sion or some kind of infatuation he knows that the chief need of his life is a home lighted and warmed by an unwavering love. With these his happiness and success are secured, as far as they can be in this world, unless he is a brute and a fool, and has no right to exist at all. But I am growing preachy.