A Far Country, Book 1

ived at home it was too late to see him again alive. It was my first experience with death, and what perplexed me continually during

loser to my father, and his letters, though formal, had given evidence of his affection; in his repressed fashion he had made it clear that he looked forward to the time when I was to practise with him. Why was it then, as I gazed upon his

men, that characters are never completely made, but always in the making. I had merely a disconcerting glimpse of this truth, with no powers of formulation, as I sat beside my mother in the bedroom, where every article evoked some childhood scene. Here was the dent in the walnut foot-board of the bed made, one wintry day, by the impact of my box of blocks; the bi

, was unchanged. How safe I had been within its walls! Why could I not have been, content with what it repr

mother relapsed into weeping, I glanced at her almost in wonder. Such sorrow as hers was incomprehensib

obert, the reward of earthly existence? Were there no other prizes save those known as greatness of character and depth of human affections? Cousin Robert looked worn and old. The other pall-bearers, men of weight, of long standing in the community, were aged, too; Mr. Blackwood, and Mr. Jules Hollister; and out of place, somehow, in this new church building. It came to me abruptly that the old order was gone,-had slipped away during my absence. The church I had known in bo

resentative of a wrathful God, a militant shepherd who had guarded with vigilance his respectable flock, who had protested vehemently against the sins of the world by which they were surrounded, a

was Mr. Randl

come to do honour to my father. And there, differentiated from the others, I saw the spruce, alert figure of Theodore Watling. He, too, represented a

did not raise her veil. It was not until she reached out and seized my h

oincided with my own. Mingled with this sense of emancipation was a curious feeling of regret, of mourning for something I had never valued, something fixed and dependable for which he had stood, a rock and a refuge of which I had never availed myself!… When his will was opened it was f

Block, the quarters of Watling, Fowndes and Ripon on the eighth floor of the new Durrett Building were modern to a degree, finished in oak and floored with marble, with a railed-off space where young women with nimble fingers played ceaselessly on typewriters. One of them informed me that Mr. Watling

me through a corridor to a door

le on his lips; and leaning close to him was a yellow, owl-like person whose eyes, as they turned to me

table to my black clothes. "I'm glad you came. I wanted to see you before you went back to Cambridge

certain slow impressiveness, and

. Your father was a great lo

gnity; it was as though, in these few words, he had gone to the limit of self-commitment with a stran

t time we all went up to Mr. Paret's house and tried to induce hi

caressing his watch chain

a barely perceptible inclination of the head and departed. Mr. Watling looked at me. "He's one

om, so he said, he had looked up ever

ll be wishing to take your mother somewhere this summer, but if you care to come here in the autumn, you will be welcome. You will begin, of course, as other young

shabby, even tawdry, I thought, when we went out there one Sunday afternoon; all that once represented the magic word "country" had vanished. The old flat piano, made in Philadelphia ages ago, the horsehair chairs and sofa had been replaced by a nondescript furniture of the sort displayed behind plate-glass windows of the city's stores: rocking-chairs on stands, upholstered in clashing colours, their coiled springs only half hidden by tassels, and "ornamental" electric fixtures, instead of the polished coal-oil lamps. Co

ervations concerning them. They, too, seemed a little on the defe

be good enough for Hugh now. He'll

said my mother, gentl

office nex

manded Cousin Robert,

good enough to say that he would li

g the leg of the turkey. "These modern lawyers are too smart for me. Wa

r in a pained voice. "Only the other day McAlery Wille

h," put in Cousin Jenny,-a rem

his generation is the

ngly, as she

resight and initiative to get out of the wholesale grocery business while there was yet time. I looked at Willie, still freckled, still literal, still a plodder, at Walter Kinley, and I thought of the drabness of their lives; at

ty is going to the

d the dependent poor in the city's institutions, should have honest food. You can get anything out of the city if you are willing to pay the politicians for it. I lost my city contracts. Why? Because I refused to deal with scoundrels. Weill and Company and other unscrupulous upstarts are willing to do so, an

ably with the forceful person who used to stand, in his worn alpaca coat, on the pavement in front of his store, greeting with clear-eyed content his fellow merchants of the city. Willie Breck, to

you're excited about politics again, and you know it

of her hands he made a strong effort to control hims

man," he said. "It's a good thing I

hing, Robert,"

former spirits and poise, taking refuge in the past. They talked of their

landscape, so different from that one which had thrilled every fibre of my being in the days when the railroad on which we travelled had been a winding narrow gauge. The orchards-those that remained-were bare; stubble pricke

r heard anything ag

and business men. He is counsel, I believe, for Mr. Blackwood's street car line

een it so often. But I never imagined that it would overtake Robert, and at his tim

was evident that the subject was still i

h," she said, a little tremulously

ot old, mother

h to see you happily married-to have grandchildren. I was not young when you were born." And she added, after a littl

of what,

her tears. We were in the old sit

afraid of what the world is becoming. The city is growing so fast, and so many new people are coming in. Things are not the same. Robert is right, ther

s things seem worse than they really are. Customs change, you know. And politics were never well-Sunday

fine!" she

th them through business. That is what has made the difference in him. Be

member one thing,-that you can afford to be independen

d a bullfrog as he sat in the little room we shared in common, his arms akimbo over a law book, his little legs doubled under him, his round, eyes fixed expectantly on the doorway. And even if I had not been aware of my good fortune in being connected with suc

do you know

N

er Go

o's

ay you never hear

a residence in my native city with the complacency of one who has seen something of the world,-only to find that I was the least in the new kingdom

impressively, "is the co

he-" I was adding, when he

railroad in this state, so far as politics are concerned. The A

at that time, but afterwards I always thoug

rty yet," Larry told m

ll for a man who comes

I endured Mr. Weed's patronage. I i

out soon enough

r's president o

e something up to him, but as a

at Mr. Gorse at the first opportunity. On

ow;" said Larry.

Mr. Watling took the papers and dismissed me. Heaviness, blackness and impassivity,-these were the impressions of Mr. Gorse which I carried away from t

al rulers of the city superimposed themselves for me upon the simple and democratic design of Mayor, Council, Board of Aldermen, Police Force, etc., that filled the eye of a naive and trusting electorate which fondly imagined that it had something to say in government. Miller Gorse was one of these rulers behind the screen, and Adolf Scherer, of the Boyne Iron Works, another; there was Leonard Dickinson of the Corn National Bank; Frederick Grierson, becoming wealthy in city real estate; Judah B. Tallant, who, though outlawed socially, was deferred to as the

s air of having nothing to do. "G

e in his

N

an we do for

h gr

otruding on the other side of the table. "It's a matter of taxes. Some time ago I found out that Dickinson and Tallant and other

atling help yo

en contributing to the city long enough, that I proposed swinging into line with other property holders, he began to blubber about disgrace and what my grandfather would say if he were alive. Well, he is

entiary?" I ventured

Watling. What I do is to pay a lawyer's fee. Th

ions did not interfere in any way with his personal relationships, and his days were filled with kindnesses. And was not Mr. Ripon, the junior partner, one of the evangelical lights of the community, conducting advanced Bible classes every week in the Church of the Redemption?… The unfolding of mysteries kept me alert. And I understood that, if I was to succeed, certain esoteric knowledge must be acquired, as it were, unofficially. I kept my eyes and ears open, and applied myself, with all industry, to the routine tasks with which every young man in a large legal firm

along? That's right, stick to it, and after a whi

ts with thrills of pride. He made us all feel-no matter how humble may have been our contributions to the preparation-that we had a share in his triumphs. We remembered his manner with judges and juries, and strove to emulate it. He spoke as if there could be no question as to his being right as to the law and the facts, and yet, in some subtle way that bated analysis, managed not to antagonize the court. Victory was in the air in that office. I do not mean to say there were not defeats; but frequently these defeats, by resourcefulness, by a never-say-die spirit, by a consummate knowledge, not only of the law, but of other things at which I have hinted, were turned into ultimate victories. We fought cases from one court to another, until our