Part 10 (1/2)
”But what of Samuel's children?” stammered Paul. ”Maybe he has a son or a grandson-”
”However that may be they have forfeited their claims,” replied Mr.
Lambert. ”No, you need have no fears of any disputes, my boy. Surely, your father must have acquainted you with all these matters which relate to you so closely.”
”My father never even mentioned anything of the sort!” exclaimed Paul, pus.h.i.+ng back his chair, as if he were thinking of sudden flight.
”I need hardly tell you that you are doubly welcome, my dear boy,”
continued Mr. Lambert placidly, totally misunderstanding Paul's astonishment.
”But, sir! One moment! I don't understand! You surely can't mean that you think I am going to learn how to _bake bread_, and make _pies_!”
burst out Paul at last. ”Great heavens! My father couldn't have dreamed-_I_! Making biscuits!”
”And why not, pray?” demanded Mr. Lambert, sharply. ”Am I to understand that you consider yourself too good for a profession that the great Johann Winkler thought worthy of his genius? Is it that you do not consider it _manly_? Surely, you do not mean me to understand this?” Mr.
Lambert's face hardened a little; the expression of bland benevolence left his eyes, which now grew cold and piercing. He had not expected rebellion, but recovering quickly from his surprise he prepared to cope with it as only he could.
”Of course I don't mean that, sir!” exclaimed Paul. ”But don't you see-I can't-I'm not fitted for such work. I couldn't learn how to bake a pie in a life time. I-”
”Oh, I am sure you underrate your intelligence, my boy. Don't give way to discouragement so soon. A little patience, a little industry-”
Paul began to laugh, almost hysterically. Even in the midst of his serious anxiety, the idea of himself demurely kneading dough was too much for his gravity.
”But I'd poison everyone in town in twenty-four hours! Bake bread!
Rolls! Tarts! Sir, I could far more easily learn how to trim hats!”
”I don't doubt it. Any silly schoolgirl can learn that. I freely admit that the art of a great baker is not readily acquired. I admit that in some measure it requires an inborn gift, and a gift that is by no means a common one. Great cooks are far rarer, believe me, than great orators, or great artists, although the world in general does not rank them as it should. There was a time when a fine pastry or a sauce composed with genius called forth the applause of kings, and when eminent bakers were honored by the n.o.blest in the land. But to-day, through the ignorance and indifference of the world, the profession is fallen in value, because, forsooth, it is fancied that it caters to the less n.o.ble tastes of mankind. My dear boy, it is for you, in whose veins flows the blood of the King of Bakers, to maintain the fame and dignity of your profession. Do not imagine that you lack the gift. It has lain idle, but a little practice will soon prove that it is in your possession.”
Paul, feeling that he had come up against a wall of adamant, got up and began to pace the floor. Here he was with exactly twenty-five cents in his pocket, without even a suit of clothes that deserved the name, without a friend within three thousand miles, nor the faintest idea of where he could go, if he rashly broke away from the family roof-tree.
”It seems that you had other ideas,” remarked Mr. Lambert in a politely interested tone, which said, ”I don't mind _listening_ to any of your fantastic notions.” Paul hesitated. He most certainly _had_ had other ideas, and, what was more, he did not have the slightest intention of relinquis.h.i.+ng them. The question was, could he lay them simply before his uncle? One glance at Mr. Lambert's smooth, practical face was sufficient to make him feel that anything of the sort was not to be considered; certainly not at this time, in any case. Mr. Lambert had fixed his mind on one idea, and tenacity was his most striking characteristic. It was his boast that he never changed his mind, and the truth of this statement was recognized by everyone who had any dealings with him.
”I should like to think over all that you have said, Uncle Peter,” Paul at length said warily. ”All this has been very unexpected, and I don't know just what to say.”
”You mean that you are still doubtful as to whether you will accept or reject the position, to which Providence has called you, and which it is plainly your Duty to accept?” inquired Mr. Lambert, raising his eyebrows. He was surprised and annoyed by his nephew's resistance, but knowing the boy's circ.u.mstances he had no fear that Paul would decide against his own wishes.
Paul was quick to perceive this underlying c.o.c.ksureness, and his whole soul rose in rebellion.
”I don't see that either Providence or Duty has anything to do with the case,” he retorted, instantly firing up.
Mr. Lambert shrugged his shoulders.
”You do not feel that you are under obligations to your Family? I don't like to believe that you have so slight a sense of your responsibilities. No, I am sure that a few moments reflection will convince you to the contrary. By all means consider the matter. I should, however, like to have your answer to-night, if it is convenient for you. I have several letters to write, and shall be here when you have reached your decision.” And with a curt nod, he swung around to his desk, and took up the old-fas.h.i.+oned goose-quill pen, which he was in the habit of using under the impression that it lent him an air of business solidity.
Paul, lost in thought, went up to Carl's room for the ”few moments of reflection” that his uncle had advised.
His cousin, wearing a brown dressing gown, with a hideous pattern of yellow fleurs-de-lis, was sitting at the table, with a book in his hands, and a greenshade over his nearsighted eyes, engrossed in his studies. The two boys glanced at each other, and nodded brusquely without speaking.
Paul threw himself across the bed.
”Duty! Providence!” All he could see in the matter was that he had got into a pretty kettle of fish. ”And uncle thinks that just because I'm broke, I'll knuckle under without a murmur.”