Part 38 (1/2)
Lewis flushed.
”Don't misunderstand me,” said Leighton. ”I might as well tell you that I've decided to divide my income equally between us, marriage or no marriage.”
”Dad!” cried Lewis, half protesting.
”There, there,” said Leighton, ”you're not getting from me what you think. What I mean is that I'm not making any sacrifice. I've lived on half my income for some time. You'll need a lump-sum of money besides.
Your grandmother left you a big house in Albany. It won't bring much, but I think you'd better sell it. It's on the wrong side of the town now.”
”I'll do whatever you say, Dad,” said Lewis.
”I suggest that you fix your marriage for six months from now,” went on Leighton. ”That will give us time to go over and untangle certain affairs, including the house, on the other side. It isn't altogether on account of the house I want to take you over.”
Lewis had winced at six months. Now he looked questioningly at his father.
”Keep your eyes open as you go through life,” continued Leighton, ”and you'll see that marriage is a great divisor. All the sums of friends.h.i.+p and relation are cut in two by marriage. You and I, we've been friends, and before I surrender you I think it's only just that I should take you over and introduce you to your inheritance.”
”My inheritance?” asked Lewis.
”Yes,” said Leighton, ”your country.”
”You might think,” continued Leighton, ”that I'm an expatriate.
Externally I have been, but never in the heart. I've been waiting--waiting for our country to catch up to me. Under certain conditions a man has the right to pick out the stage of civilization best adapted to his needs. There are two ways of doing that: either go to it or make it come to you. If you're not tied, it's easier to go to it, because sometimes it takes more than a generation to make it come to you.”
”So you've gone to it,” said Lewis.
Leighton nodded.
”Nations and individuals travel like the hands of a clock. You can't always live in the midday of your life, but you can in the midday of a nation. When you get an educated taste, you prefer pheasants, bananas, Stilton, and nations when they're at one o'clock. The best flavor--I'm not talking about emotions--the best flavor of anything, including life, comes with one o'clock.”
”What time is it over there now?” asked Leighton.
”About eleven,” said Leighton, ”top wave of success. Now, these are the earmarks of success: a meticulous morality in trifles, ingrowing eyes, crudity, enthusiasm, and a majority.”
”Heavens!” cried Lewis, ”you told me once you were afraid I was going to be successful. Am I earmarked like that?”
”You will be,” said Leighton, ”the minute you're driven to sculpturing for the populace--for what it will bring. That's why I'm giving you your own income now, because, when you're married, you're going to be pretty hard pressed. I don't want you to be able to justify the sale of your soul.
”I had an uncle once--he's dead now--that had an only son named Will.
Uncle Jim was a hard worker. He had a paper-mill, and he was worth a lot of money. His son Will wasn't a worker. He didn't own the paper-mill, but he never let you forget he was going to. He failed his way through school, but he couldn't quite fail through college. Every time he failed at anything, he used to say: 'It doesn't matter. Dad will give me a start in life, won't you, Dad?' And his father would say, 'I certainly will.'
”Well, one morning a little after Will had been flunked out of college, he was standing on the lawn whittling. I happened to be looking out of the window. I saw Uncle Jim crawling across the gra.s.s under cover of a rhododendron bush to a position just behind Will. He was carrying under one arm an enormous fire-cracker, with the fuse lit. He rolled it out on the gra.s.s behind Will, and when it went off, Will went, too. He landed seventeen feet from the hole the cracker made.
”When he'd turned around, but before he could get his jaw up, my uncle said: 'Will, I've always promised I'd give you a start in life. Well, I've given it to you--a d.a.m.n good start, too, judging by the length of that jump. Now you git! Not a word. You just git!'
”Will didn't go very far away. He went to the rival town across the river. He hadn't learned anything about making paper, but a New England Leighton is just naturally born knowing how to make paper. In fifteen years Will didn't have much soul left, but he had enough money to buy his father out and make him sign an agreement to retire. They were both as pleased as Punch. To the day of his death the old man would say, 'I certainly gave you a start in life, Will,' and Will would answer with a grin, 'Dad, you certainly did.'
”The moral of that yarn is that we Leightons have proved over and over that we could play the game of success when we thought it was worth while. Will's generation and mine, generally speaking, thought it was worth while. But your generation--the best of it--isn't going to think so. That's why I'm giving you enough money so that you won't have to think about it all the time.”