Kirk sat in the nursery with his chin on his hands, staring gloomilyat William Bannister. On the floor William Bannister played some gameof his own invention with his box of bricks.
They were alone. It was the first time they had been alone together fortwo weeks. As a rule, when Kirk paid his daily visit, Lora DelanePorter was there, watchful and forbidding, prepared, on the slightestexcuse, to fall upon him with rules and prohibitions. To-day she wasout, and Kirk had the field to himself, for Mamie, whose duty it was tomount guard, and who had been threatened with many terrible things byMrs. Porter if she did not stay on guard, had once more allowed her toosympathetic nature to get the better of her and had vanished.
Kirk was too dispirited to take advantage of his good fortune. He had asense of being there on parole, of being on his honour not to touch. Sohe sat in his chair, and looked at Bill; while Bill, crooning tohimself, played decorously with bricks.
The truth had been a long time in coming home to Kirk, but it hadreached him at last. Ever since his return he had clung to the beliefthat it was a genuine conviction of its merits that had led Ruth tosupport her aunt's scheme for Bill's welfare. He himself had alwayslooked on the exaggerated precautions for the maintenance of thelatter's health as ridiculous and unnecessary; but he had acquiesced inthem because he thought that Ruth sincerely believed themindispensable.
After all, he had not been there when Bill so nearly died, and he couldunderstand that the shock of that episode might have distorted thejudgment even of a woman so well balanced as Ruth. He was quite readyto be loyal to her in the matter, however distasteful it might be tohim.
But now he saw the truth. A succession of tiny incidents had broughtlight to him. Ruth might or might not be to some extent genuine in herbelief in the new system, but her chief motive for giving it hersupport was something quite different. He had tried not to admit tohimself, but he could do so no longer. Ruth allowed Mrs. Porter to haveher way because it suited her to do so; because, with Mrs. Porter onthe premises, she had more leisure in which to amuse herself; because,to put it in a word, the child had begun to bore her.
Everything pointed to that. In the old days it had been her chiefpleasure to be with the boy. Their walks in the park had been a dailyceremony with which nothing had been allowed to interfere. But now shealways had some excuse for keeping away from him.
Her visits to the nursery, when she did go there, were brief andperfunctory. And the mischief of it was that she always presented suchadmirable reasons for abstaining from Bill's society, when it wassuggested to her that she should go to him, that it was impossible tobring her out into the open and settle the matter once and for all.
Patience was one of the virtues which set off the defects in Kirk'scharacter; but he did not feel very patient now as he sat and watchedBill playing on the floor.
"Well, Bill, old man, what do you make of it all?" he said at last.
The child looked up and fixed him with unwinking eyes. Kirk winced.
They were so exactly Ruth's eyes. That wide-open expression whensomebody, speaking suddenly to her, interrupted a train of thought, wasone of her hundred minor charms.
Bill had reproduced it to the life. He stared for a moment; then, as ifthere had been some telepathy between them, said: "I want mummy."Kirk laughed bitterly.
"You aren't the only one. I want mummy, too.""Where is mummy?""I couldn't tell you exactly. At a luncheon-party somewhere.""What's luncheon-party?""A sort of entertainment where everybody eats too much and talks allthe time without ever saying a thing that's worth hearing."Bill considered this gravely.
"Why?""Because they like it, I suppose.""Why do they like it?""Goodness knows.""Does mummy like it?""I suppose so.""Does mummy eat too much?""She doesn't. The others do.""Why?"William Bannister's thirst for knowledge was at this time perhaps hismost marked characteristic. No encyclopaedia could have coped with it.
Kirk was accustomed to do his best, cheerfully yielding up what littleinformation on general subjects he happened to possess, but he was likeMrs. Partington sweeping back the Atlantic Ocean with her broom.
"Because they've been raised that way," he replied to the lastquestion. "Bill, old man, when you grow up, don't you ever become oneof these fellows who can't walk two blocks without stopping three timesto catch up with their breath. If you get like that mutt Dana Ferrisyou'll break my heart. And you're heading that way, poor kid.""What's Ferris?""He's a man I met at dinner the other night. When he was your age hewas the richest child in America, and everybody fussed over him till hegrew up into a wretched little creature with a black moustache and twochins. You ought to see him. He would make you laugh; and you don't getmuch to laugh at nowadays. I guess it isn't hygienic for a kid tolaugh. Bill, honestly--what _do_ you think of things? Don't youever want to hurl one of those sterilized bricks of yours at a certainlady? Or has she taken all the heart out of you by this time?"This was beyond Bill, as Kirk's monologues frequently were. He changedthe subject.
"I wish I had a cat," he said, by way of starting a new topic.
"Well, why haven't you a cat? Why haven't you a dozen cats if you wantthem?""I asked Aunty Lora could I have a cat, and she said: 'Certainly not,cats are--cats are----""Unhygienic?""What's that?""It's what your Aunt Lora might think a cat was. Or did she saypestilential?""I don't amember.""But she wouldn't let you have one?""Mamie said a cat might scratch me.""Well, you wouldn't mind that?" said Kirk anxiously.
He had come to be almost morbidly on the look-out for evidence whichmight go to prove that this cotton-wool existence was stealing from thechild the birthright of courage which was his from both his parents.
Much often depends on little things, and, if Bill had replied in theaffirmative to the question, it would probably have had the result ofsending Kirk there and then raging through the house conducting a sortof War of Independence.
The only thing that had kept him from doing so before was thereflection that Mrs. Porter's system could not be definitely taxed withany harmful results. But his mind was never easy. Every day found himstill nervously on the alert for symptoms.
Bill soothed him now by answering "No" in a very decided voice. Allwell so far, but it had been an anxious moment.
It seemed incredible to Kirk that the life he was leading should not intime turn the child into a whimpering bundle of nerves. Hisconversations with Bill were, as a result, a sort of spiritual parallelto the daily taking of his temperature with the thermometer. Sooner orlater he always led the talk round to some point where Bill must make adefinite pronouncement which would show whether or not the insidiousdecay had begun to set in.
So far all appeared to be well. In earlier conversations Bill, subtlyquestioned, had stoutly maintained that he was not afraid of Indians,dogs, pirates, mice, cows, June-bugs, or noises in the dark. He hadeven gone so far as to state that if an Indian chief found his way intothe nursery he, Bill, would chop his head off. The most exacting fathercould not have asked more. And yet Kirk was not satisfied: he remaineduneasy.
It so happened that this afternoon Bill, who had had hitherto tomaintain his reputation for intrepidity entirely by verbal statements,was afforded an opportunity of providing a practical demonstration thathis heart was in the right place. The game he was playing with thebricks was one that involved a certain amount of running about with apuffing accompaniment of a vaguely equine nature. And while performingthis part of the programme he chanced to trip. He hesitated for amoment, as if uncertain whether to fall or remain standing; then didthe former with a most emphatic bump.
He scrambled up, stood looking at Kirk with a twitching lip, then gavea great gulp, and resumed his trotting. The whole exhibition ofindomitable heroism was over in half a minute, and he did not evenbother to wait for applause.
The effect of the incident on Kirk was magical. He was in the positionof an earnest worshipper who, tortured with doubts, has prayed for asign. This was a revelation. A million anti-Indian statements, howeverresolute, were nothing to this.
This was the real thing. Before his eyes this super-child of his hadfallen in a manner which might quite reasonably have led to tears;which would, Kirk felt sure, have produced bellows of anguish fromevery other child in America. And what had happened? Not a moan. No,sir, not one solitary cry. Just a gulp which you had to strain yourears to hear, and which, at that, might have been a mere taking-in ofbreath such as every athlete must do, and all was over.
This child of his was the real thing. It had been proved beyondpossibility of criticism.
There are moments when a man on parole forgets his promise. All thoughtof rules and prohibitions went from Kirk. He rose from his seat,grabbed his son with both hands, and hugged him. We cannot even beginto estimate the number of bacilli which must have rushed, whooping withjoy, on to the unfortunate child. Under a microscope it would probablyhave looked like an Old Home Week. And Kirk did not care. He simplykept on hugging. That was the sort of man he was--thoroughly heartless.
"Bill, you're great!" he cried.
Bill had been an amazed party to the incident. Nothing of this kind hadhappened to him for so long that he had forgotten there were childrento whom this sort of thing did happen. Then he recollected a similarencounter with a bearded man down in the hall when he came in onemorning from his ride in the automobile. A moment later he hadconnected his facts.
This man who had no beard was the same man as the man who had a beard,and this behaviour was a personal eccentricity of his. The thoughtcrossed his mind that Aunty Lora would not approve of this.
And then, surprisingly, there came the thought that he did not carewhether Aunty Lora approved or not. _He_ liked it, and that wasenough for him.
The seeds of revolt had been sown in the bosom of William Bannister.
It happened that Ruth, returning from her luncheon-party, looked in atthe nursery on her way upstairs. She was confronted with the spectacleof Bill seated on Kirk's lap, his face against Kirk's shoulder. Kirk,though he had stopped speaking as the door opened, appeared to be inthe middle of a story, for Bill, after a brief glance at the newcomer,asked: "What happened then?""Kirk, really!" said Ruth.
Kirk did not appear in the least ashamed of himself.
"Ruth, this kid is the most amazing kid. Do you know what happened justnow? He was running along and he tripped and came down flat. And hedidn't even think of crying. He just picked himself up, and----""That was very brave of you, Billy. But, seriously, Kirk, you shouldn'thug him like that. Think what Aunt Lora would say!""Aunt Lora be----Bother Aunt Lora!""Well, I won't give you away. If she heard, she would write a bookabout it. And she was just starting to come up when I was downstairs.
We came in together. You had better fly while there's time."It was sound advice, and Kirk took it.
It was not till some time later, going over the incident again in hismind, he realized how very lightly Ruth had treated what, if she reallyadhered to Mrs. Porter's views on hygiene, should have been to her adreadful discovery. The reflection was pleasant to him for a moment; itseemed to draw Ruth and himself closer together; then he saw thereverse side of it.
If Ruth did not really believe in this absurd hygienic nonsense, whyhad she permitted it to be practised upon the boy? There was only oneanswer, and it was the one which Kirk had already guessed at. She didit because it gave her more freedom, because it bored her to look afterthe child herself, because she was not the same Ruth he had left at thestudio when he started with Hank Jardine for Colombia.
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