Tutors' Lane Page 4

  IV

  Nancy Whitman arrived at Woodbridge Center as planned, and her brotherand nephew were at the station to meet her, the latter with hiscollection of ninety-six orange pips in a candy box.

  In describing Juliet it will be remembered that the author said nothingabout her colour or dimensions, but described her indirectly, andsucceeding generations have had their attention called to the merit ofthe performance. We know, for example, that she taught the candles toburn bright, and, furthermore, that she seemed to hang upon the cheek ofnight like a rich jewel in an Ethiop's ear--most probably a pearl. So,in describing Nancy, perhaps it would be effective to point out that thesnow began thawing as soon as she arrived, that the motor which carriedher home from the station purred along without the "knock" that had beentroubling it, and that Tutors' Lane was less bumpy as they passed overit. But such a description, being dangerously near burlesque, howeverrefined and genteel, must not be thought of for a moment in connectionwith a prominent resident of Tutors' Lane. It is something of a pity,nevertheless, that it must be given up, for Nancy was not particularlypretty, as young men nowadays measure beauty, and were it possible, thetruth might have been hidden. She was something too elfish--and thenthere was the Billings mouth already mentioned. Gertrude Ellis, whospent much of her time with her aunt in New York and who had a propercare for her person, thought it a ridiculous pose for Nancy not to havesomething done about her freckles. It was such a simple matter nowadaysto have them removed that obviously only a poseuse would tolerate them.Still, men were so unobserving about things that they didn't seem tomind them at all, and Gertrude got nowhere when she once tried todiscuss Nancy with a senior.

  "Oh, Nancy is so wonderful that she could look like a leopard and peoplewouldn't care," he had said. "It's funny about her, isn't it? She's notgood looking, and yet she's so nice everyone's crazy about her. You haveto hand it to a girl that's like that."

  Henry Third, or Harry, as everyone but his father called him, hadimmediately given his collection and been rewarded. He had on his bestsuit for the occasion and the tie his aunt had sent him on his seventhand latest birthday. He was a handsome, sturdy boy, and his fatherexpected a Phi Beta Kappa key of him and an enthusiasm for Marx and JohnStuart Mill. His aunt's plans were vague, but altogether different. Atpresent she was inclined to favour the family business, with theunderstanding that when he was established at its head he should give abeautiful chapel with a Magdalen tower to the College. His own goal wasthe Woodbridge football team and, after that, a locomotive on the run toNew York.

  They were met at the door by Annie, Harry's nurse, and by Clarence,Harry's Airedale. Clarence, who immediately dominated the scene,rendering Nancy's greeting to Annie vain and perfunctory, was athree-year-old with a frivolity of manner that ill became his senescentphiz. Upon its grizzled expanse there would pass in amazing successionthe whole range of canine passion, rage, love, urbanity, shame,drollery, ennui, and, most frequent of all, curiosity. At present allhis energy was devoted to expressing unmitigated pleasure, the dignityof which exhibition was continually being marred by sliding rugs. But itis almost certain that he didn't care a rap for his lost dignity. Hismistress was back after an unconscionable absence, and there was everyreason to believe in the reappearance of the superior brand of soupbones, a matter in which of late there had been too much indifference.

  Nancy luxuriated in her renewed proprietorship of the old house, herhome, and the home of her family even before the British officers seizedit for their quarters in 1812. There was a hole to this day in the whitepine panelling above the fireplace in the dining room, which, traditionheld, had been made by a British bullet discharged after a discussion ofthe family port. She had found something depressing in the rocococivilization of Southern California. There was an insufficientappreciation of Mr. Square's Eternal Fitness of Things. The spirit ofLos Angeles, for example, was the same as that of the picnic partywhich, lunching on Ruskin's glacier, leaves its chicken bones andeggshells to offend all subsequent picnickers. At Woodbridge people didnot make public messes of themselves. If they picnicked on a glacierthey did up their eggshells in a neat package, which, in default of ahandy bottomless pit, they took home with them and put in their garbagepails. That's the way nice people behaved, and what on earth was thereto be gained by behaving otherwise?

  So Nancy was glad to be home and see again the family things she hadgrown up with and loved. She was glad to see Henry, who appeared in histurn glad to see her; but her feelings upon being restored to her nephewwere much deeper than either. Harry mattered more to her than anyoneelse in the world. Her mother, who had died five years ago, when Nancywas twenty, had been particularly devoted to him; and this would havebeen sufficient reason in itself for commending him to her tenderestcare.

  Such was the family that would have met the casual eye of a stranger: ayoung professor in extremely comfortable circumstances, with a brilliantfuture and an enviable son, living in a fine old house administered by ayounger sister, the favourite daughter of the town. Beneath the surface,however, and unknown except to a few, was a conflict of wills that onlyan exterior made up of strong family pride and respect for theestablished order could have withstood.

  On the evening of the day on which Mrs. Robert Lee-Satterlee--thegrandeur of whose name was never reduced by the omission of a singlesyllable--asked Nancy to go to California, Nancy had talked it over withHenry.

  "It would be nice to go, for I haven't really been away since Motherdied. I confess I'd like it, but she's not coming back until March, andthat seems a long time to leave Harry and the house."

  Henry had leisurely put his cigar into his mouth, had puffedluxuriously, and had then continued to gaze at his paper without sayinganything.

  Nancy hated this indifference, and she knew that Henry knew that shehated it. It was like his whistling. At times, when for some reason orother he wished to be disagreeable, he would start quietly whistlingbehind his paper, apparently for his sole enjoyment. It was as if, inview of the coldness of his audience, he were forced to express himselfin a humble and subdued manner, but express himself he must. The tunesthat he chose were The Rosary, The Miserere, Tosti's Good-bye, Gounod'sAve Maria. There would be an occasional lapse into the jazz song of themoment, and quite frequently a sacred number. The songs themselvesexasperated her, but what was unbearable were the trills and improvisedfireworks. She would leave the room thoroughly angry, and would fancythat as she ascended the stairs the tune swelled slightly and acquiredeven more airs and graces.

  So now, as he deliberately smoked his cigar without noticing her, heranger rose. He was so smug, so self-sufficient--she wanted to stick apin into him.

  "It isn't, of course, as if the house were not in capable hands," shewent on, "for Katie and Julia are perfectly responsible, and Anniecouldn't be better." Henry put down his paper, blew a cloud of smoke,and, looking blandly at her, twisted his mouth so that he might enjoythe luxury of biting his cheek.

  "Well?" burst out Nancy. "I don't see why you need be so irritatingabout it?"

  "Why, don't be foolish," he replied with an amused smile; "do just whatyou want, of course." To Nancy, the smile spoke a great deal more. "Howfatuous you are," it said, "with your devotion to my son and to me. Leta lollypop in the way of a trip to California come along, and away yougo as if you didn't have a responsibility in the world. There's a firmnature for you."

  She had fled to Mrs. Norris, as always in an emergency, and, receivingreassuring words, she had gone, but not without tears and misgiving andnot without an unforgettable memory of Henry's behaviour.

  She had frankly discussed her Henry Problem with Mrs. RobertLee-Satterlee. "I can't seem to reach any middle ground with him," shehad said. "Either I feel terribly because things go so wrong, so muchworse than when Mother was alive, or else I am furious with him. Then Iam overwhelmed with mortification and make up my mind that I _will_ geton with him, no matter what happens. And of course he can be perfectlylovely when he wants to be--and then
he will deliberately go and do somehorrid thing which makes me want to go away and--drive an auto stage, orsomething."

  As a matter of fact Nancy would on these occasions, retire and investherself in some such romantic, emancipated, role. Possibly she would bea great surgeon. Having gone through her preliminary training withunprecedented speed, she had established herself as a famousspecialist--of the brain. People who had gone wrong in their heads wouldbe brought to her by their desperate friends and relatives. If she onlywould help them out. She did usually, although heaven knew that she wasbut one little woman to so many brains, and as she worked chiefly underGod's guidance, anyway, she had to conserve her strength. However, sheoperated steadily from eight in the morning until eight at night withonly a light lunch in between--possibly only a water cracker. She sawherself in the operating room with her rubber gloves and her knives.There was a hazy cloud of white-robed nurses and distinguished surgeonswho, attracted from all over the world, had come to see her miracles forthemselves. A form was on the table, with head shaved. She was to gointo his cerebellum and take out a tumor which had caused deafness,dumbness, and blindness. She would probably have to make two hundredstitches or more in sewing him up, but she always had been good atneedlework, and it gave her no concern. She picked up her saw--but toher horror she found she couldn't bear to stick it in!

  Or she was a famous lawyer, strongly reminiscent of Portia, specializingin pleading for widows and orphans. She had a secretary to handle hercorrespondence, who explained that as Miss Whitman was able to workchiefly by the grace of God--her health was none too robust, and it wasnecessary for her to put her trust in Him--it really was not fair ofthem to expect her to handle their cases. However, the most outrageousones she passed on to Nancy and it was by them that Nancy made her greatreputation. Of course she took no fees, but as body and soul had to bekept together and the secretary's salary paid, she wrote syndicatedarticles for the papers, on religious and ethical subjects. Naturallyshe was an object of interest and curiosity and people thronged thecourt room when she pleaded. They saw a quiet woman, dressed in black,but when she began speaking you could hear a pin drop. There was athrilling quality in her voice, much remarked by the press, and biglawyers pitted against her had been known to break down and weep, to theconfusion of their clients. The judge--it was always the same one--had abig bushy beard, and, though of fierce and impartial mien at thebeginning of the proceedings, he had been known time and again, as heraddress continued, to draw forth his large silk handkerchief and blubberinto it. The gratitude of the widows--who extended in a long, blackline, leading their army of white-faced little boys, looking strangelylike Harry when he had the croup--was the one thing that she could notstand. She would not see them when it was all over, but she couldn'tkeep them from sending her flowers, and accordingly her apartment wasalways a bower.

  So mighty would these scenes be, so moving, and so pathetic, that Nancywould emerge entirely at peace with Henry and the world. They dwarfedthe cause of her anger; they left her calm and serene, a cousin to theSuperwoman.

  * * * * *

  The first evening at home passed off very pleasantly indeed. Henry wascharmingly interested in the details of her trip, and the usual cribbagesession was doubled. Harry's progress at school and through themumps--an illness which had torn his aunt--were duly recounted and themaids given a good bill of health. The state of Henry's classes wasdescribed at some length. They were slightly better than usual, itappeared, and his special course in Labour Problems was going perfectly.It was really making him famous, he told Nancy.

  That night in her room, as she sat at her desk writing her diary, shecalmly told herself that the present tranquillity should last. Shesolemnly resolved to guard against every possible contingency thatmight lead to a "situation." She did not purpose to surrender herindividuality; she would not become a dummy. But there _must_ be amiddle ground where she could blend service to herself with service toher family. Life should be rich, but it ought also to be tactful. Surelythis was not an impossible union. Very well, then, she would live richlyand tactfully.

  Just exactly what she meant by living richly she didn't quite know. Itwould doubtless be somewhat clearer in the morning when she wasn't sosleepy. Americanization work in Whitmanville. That seemed to offer richpossibilities. There must be room for endless Uplift in Whitmanville.And what could be richer than Uplift? She would start a school, shethought, as she turned off the light and climbed into her four-poster.She would teach the women how to take care of their babies and the menhow to take care of their women. But it must all be done tactfully. Shemust be eternally vigilant upon that score. Yet not so tactful as tobecome less rich. Nor yet so rich as to become less tactful.... Tact andriches--riches and tacks--tracts--striches--....