Part 19 (2/2)

”Remember your oath, my dear,” replied Upton.

”But this will be a vesta, Henry,” smiled Mrs. Upton. ”Walter and you are very much alike, and you said the other night that Molly reminded you of me--sometimes.”

”That's true,” said Upton. ”She does--that's what I like about her--but, after all, she isn't you. A mill-pond might remind you at times of a great and beautiful lake, but it wouldn't be the lake, you know. I grant that Walter and I are alike as two peas, but I deny that Molly can hold a candle to you.”

”Oh you!” snapped Mrs. Upton. ”Haven't you got your eyes opened to my faults yet?”

”Yessum,” said Upton. ”They're great, and I couldn't get along without 'em, but I wouldn't stand them for five minutes if I'd married Molly Meeker instead of you. You'd better keep out of this. Stick to your resolution. Let Molly choose her own husband, and Walter his wife. You never can tell how things are going to turn out. Why, I introduced Willie Timpkins to George Barker at the club one night last winter, feeling that there were two fellows who were designed by Providence for the old Damon and Pythias performance, and it wasn't ten minutes before they were quarrelling like a couple of cats, and every time they meet nowadays they have to be introduced all over again.”

”I don't wonder at that at all,” said Mrs. Upton. ”Willie Timpkins is precisely the same kind of a person that George Barker is, and when they meet each other and realize that they are exactly alike, and see how sort of small and mean they really are, it destroys their self-love.”

”I never saw it in that light before,” said Upton, reflectively, ”but I imagine you are right. There's lots in that. If a man really wrote down on paper his candid opinion of himself, he'd have a good case for slander against the publisher who printed it--I guess.”

”I should think you'd have known better than to bring those two together, and under the circ.u.mstances I don't wonder they hate each other,” said Mrs. Upton.

”Sympathy ought to count for something,” pleaded Upton. ”Don't you think?”

”Of course,” replied Mrs. Upton; ”but a man wants to sympathize with the other fellow, not with himself. If you were a woman you'd understand that a little better. But to return to Molly and Walter--don't you think they really were made for each other?”

”No, I don't,” said Upton. ”I don't believe that anybody ever was made for anybody else. On that principle every baby that is born ought to be labelled: _Fragile. Please forward to Soandso_. This 'made-for-each-other' business makes me tired. It's predestination all over again, which is good enough for an express package, but doesn't go where souls are involved. Suppose that through some circ.u.mstance over which he has no control a Michigan man was made for a Russian girl--how the deuce is she to get him?”

”That's all nonsense, Henry,” said Mrs. Upton, impatiently. ”I don't know why,” observed Upton. ”I can quite understand how a Michigan man might make a first-rate husband for a Russian girl. Your idea involves the notion of affinity, and if I know anything about affinities, they have to go chasing each other through the universe for cycle after cycle, in the hope of some day meeting--and it's all beastly nonsense.

My affinity might be Delilah, and Samson's your beautiful self; but I'll tell you, on my own responsibility, that if I had caught Samson hanging about your father's house during my palmy days I'd have thrashed the life out of him, whether his hair was short or long, and don't you forget it, Mrs. Upton.”

Mrs. Upton laughed heartily. ”I've no doubt you could have done it, my dear Henry,” said she. ”I'd have helped you, anyhow. But affinities or not, we are placed here for a certain purpose--”

”I presume so,” said Upton. ”I haven't found out what it is, but I'm satisfied.”

”Yes--and so am I. Now,” continued Mrs. Upton, ”I think that we all ought to help each other along. Whether I am your affinity or not, or whether you are mine--”

”I _am_ yours--for keeps, too,” said Upton. ”I shall be just as attentive in heaven, where marriage is not recognized, as I am here, if I hang for it.”

”Well--however that may be, we have this life to live, and we should go about it in the best way possible. Now I believe that Walter will be more of a man, will accomplish more in the end, if he marries Molly than he will as a bachelor, or if he married--Jennie Perkins, for instance, who is so much of a manly woman that she has no sympathy with either s.e.x.”

”Right!” said Upton.

”You like Walter, don't you, and want him to succeed?”

”I do.”

”You realize that an unmarried physician hasn't more than half a chance?”

”Unfortunately yes,” said Upton. ”Though I don't agree that a man can cut your leg off more expertly or carry you through the measles more successfully just because he has happened to get married. As a matter of fact, when I have my leg cut off I want it to be done by a man who hasn't been kept awake all night by the squalling of his lately arrived son.”

”Nevertheless,” said Mrs. Upton, ”society decrees that a doctor needs a wife to round him out. There's no disputing that fact--and it is perfectly proper. Bachelors may know all about the science of medicine, and make a fair showing in surgery, but it isn't until a man is married that he becomes the wholly successful pract.i.tioner who inspires confidence.”

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