Part 47

“Army life was incompatible with my mother's temperament,” stated Gerald.

Orde said nothing more. It was Gerald's turn to end the pause.

“You are from Redding, of course,” said he. “My sister is very enthusiastic about the place. You are in business there?”

Orde replied briefly, but, forced by the direct, cold, and polite cross-questioning of his companion, he gave the latter a succinct idea of the sort of operations in which he was interested.

“And you,” he said at last; “I suppose you're either a broker or lawyer; most men are down here.”

“I am neither one nor the other,” stated Gerald. “I am possessed of a sufficient income from a legacy to make business unnecessary.”

“I don't believe I'd care to--be idle,” said Orde vaguely.

“There is plenty to occupy one's time,” replied Gerald. “I have my clubs, my gymnasium, my horse, and my friends.”

“Isn't there anything that particularly attracts you?” asked Orde.

The young man's languid eyes grew thoughtful, and he puffed more strongly on his cigarette.

“I should like,” said he slowly, at last, “to enter the navy.”

“Why don't you?” asked Orde bluntly.

“Certain family reasons make it inexpedient at present,” said Gerald. “My mother is in a very nervous state; she depends on us, and any hint of our leaving her is sufficient to render her condition serious.”

By this time the two young men were well uptown. On Gerald's initiative, they turned down a side street, and shortly came to a stop.

“That is my gymnasium,” said Gerald, pointing to a building across the way. “Won't you come in with me? I am due now for my practice.”

XVII

Orde's evening was a disappointment to him. Mrs. Bishop had, by Carroll's report, worked feverishly at the altar cloth all the afternoon. As a consequence, she had gone to bed with a bad headache. This state of affairs seemed to throw the entire family into a state of indecision. It was divided in mind as to what to do, the absolute inutility of any effort balancing strongly against a sense of what the invalid expected.

“I wonder if mother wouldn't like just a taste of this beef,” speculated the general, moving fussily in his chair. “I believe somebody ought to take some up. She MIGHT want it.”

The man departed with the plate, but returned a few moments later, impassive--but still with the plate.

“Has she got her hot-water bag?” asked the boy unexpectedly.

“Yes, Master Kendrick,” replied the butler.

After a preoccupied silence the general again broke out:

“Seems to me somebody ought to be up there with her.”

“You know, father, that she can't stand any one in the room,” said Carroll equably.

Toward the close of the meal, however, a distant bell tinkled faintly. Every one jumped as though guilty. Carroll said a hasty excuse and ran out. After ringing the bell, the invalid had evidently anticipated its answer by emerging from her room to the head of the stairs, for Orde caught the sharp tones of complaint, and overheard something about “take all night to eat a simple meal, when I'm lying here suffering.”

At the end of an interval a maid appeared in the doorway to say that Miss Carroll sent word she would not be down again for a time, and did not care for any more dinner. This seemed to relieve the general's mind of responsibility. He assumed his little fussy air of cheerfulness, told several stories of the war, and finally, after Kendrick had left, brought out some whisky and water. He winked slyly at Orde.

“Can't do this before the youngsters, you know,” he chirruped craftily.

Throughout the meal Gerald had sat back silent, a faint amusement in his eye. After dinner he arose, yawned, consulted his watch, and departed, pleading an engagement. Orde lingered some time, listening to the general, in the hope that Carroll would reappear. She did not, so finally he took his leave.