"Right you are, my dear fellow; deterioration can only set in when the members of a community, like ours, fail to present a solid front to the disintegrating forces of a supine civilization which--"

"At it again, Milton Caukins!" It was Mr. Wiggins who, entering the office, interrupted the flow,--"dammed the torrent", he was wont to say.

He extended a hand to young Googe. "Glad to see you, Champney. I hear there is a prospect of your remaining with us. Quimber tells us he heard something to the effect that a position might be offered you by the syndicate."

"It's the first I've heard of it. How did you hear, Uncle Jo?" He turned upon the old man with a keen alertness which, taken in connection with the Colonel's oratory, was both disconcerting and confusing.

"How'd I hear? Le' me see; Champ, what was we just talking 'bout up the street, eh?"

"Oh, never mind that now," he answered impatiently; "let's hear what you heard. I'm the interested party just now." But the old man looked only the more disturbed and was not to be hurried.

"'Bout that little girl--" he began, but was unceremoniously cut short by Champney.

"Oh, d.a.m.n the girl, just for once, Uncle Jo. What I want to know is, how you came to hear anything about me in connection with the quarry syndicate."

The old man persisted: "I'm a-tryin' to get a-holt of that man's name that got her up here--"

"Van Ostend," Champney suggested; "is that the name you want?"

"That's him, Van Ostend; that's the one. He an' the rest was hevin' a meetin' right here in this office 'fore they went to the train, an' I was settin' outside the winder an' heerd one on 'em say: 'Thet Mis'

Googe's a stunner; what's her son like, does any one know?' An' I heerd Mr. Van Ostend say: 'She's very unusual; if her son has half her executive ability'--them's his very words--'we might work him in with us. It would be good business policy to interest, through him, the land itself in its own output, so to speak, besides being something of a courtesy to Mis' Googe. I've met him twice.' Then they fell to discussin' the lay of The Gore and the water power at The Corners."

"Bully for you, Uncle Jo!" Champney slapped the rounded shoulders with such appreciative heartiness that the old man's pipe threatened to be shaken from between his toothless gums. "You have heard the very thing I've been hoping for. Tave never let on that he knew anything about it."

"He didn't, only what I told him." Old Quimber cackled weakly. "I guess Tave's got his hands too full at Champo to remember what's told him; what with the little girl an' Romanzo--no offence, Colonel." He looked apologetically at the Colonel who waved his hand with an airiness that disposed at once of the idea of any feeling on his part in regard to family revelations. "I heerd tell thet the little girl hed turned his head an' Tave couldn't git nothin' in the way of work out of him."

"In that case I must look into the matter." The Colonel spoke with stern gravity. "Both Mrs. Caukins and I would deplore any undue influence that might be brought to bear upon any son of ours at so critical a period of his career."

Mr. Wiggins laughed; but the laugh was only a disguised sneer. "Perhaps you'll come to your senses, Colonel, when you've got an immigrant for a daughter-in-law. Own up, now, you didn't think your 'competing industrial thousands' might be increased by some half-Irish grandchildren, now did you?"

Champney listened for the Colonel's answer with a suspended hope that he might give Elmer Wiggins "one," as he said to himself. He still owed the latter gentleman a grudge because in the past he had been, as it were, the fountain head of all in his youthful misery in supplying ample portions of the never-to-be-forgotten oil of the castor bean and dried senna leaves. He felt at the present time, moreover, that he was inimical to his mother and her interests. And Milton Caukins was his friend and hers, past, present, and future; of this he was sure.

The Colonel took time to light his cigar before replying; then, waving it towards the ceiling, he said pleasantly:

"My young friend here, Champney, to whom we are looking to restore the pristine vigor of a fast vanishing line of n.o.ble ancestors, is both a Googe _and_ a Champney. _His_ ancestors counted themselves honored in making alliances with foreigners--immigrants to our all-welcoming sh.o.r.es; 'a rose', Mr. Wiggins, 'by any other name'; I need not quote."

His chest swelled; he interrupted himself to puff vigorously at his cigar before continuing: "My son, sir, is on the spindle side of the house a _Googe_, and a _Googe_, sir, has the blood of the Champneys and the Lord knows of how many n.o.ble _immigrants_" (the last word was emphasized by a fleeting glance of withering scorn at the small-headed Wiggins) "in his veins which, fortunately, cannot be said of you, sir.

If, at any time in the distant future, my son should see fit to ally himself with a scion of the n.o.ble and long-suffering Hibernian race, I a.s.sure you"--his voice was increasing in dimensions--"both Mrs. Caukins and myself would feel honored, sir, yes, honored in the breach!"

After this wholly unexpected ending to his peroration, he lowered his feet from their accustomed rest on the counter of the former bar and, ignoring Mr. Wiggins, remarked to Augustus that it was time for the mail. Augustus, glad to welcome any diversion of the Colonel's and Mr.

Wiggins's asperities, said the train was on time and the mail would be there in a few minutes.

"Tave's gone down to meet Mis' Champney," he added turning to Champney.

"She's been in Hallsport for two days. I presume you ain't seen her."

"Not yet. If you can give me my mail first I can drive up to Champ-au-Haut with her to-night. There's the mail-wagon."

"To be sure, to be sure, Champney; and you might take out Mis'

Champney's; Tave can't leave the hosses."

"All right." He went out on the veranda to see if the Champ-au-Haut carriage was in sight. A moment later, when it drove up, he was at the door to open it.

"Here I am, Aunt Meda. Will this hold two and all those bundles?"

"Why, Champney, you here? Come in." She made room for him on the ample seat; he sprang in, and bent to kiss her before sitting down beside her.

"Now, I call this luck. This is as good as a confessional, small and dark, and 'fess I've got to, Aunt Meda, or there'll be trouble for somebody at Campo."

Had the s.p.a.ce not been so "small and dark" he might have seen the face of the woman beside him quiver painfully at the sound of his cheery young voice and, when he kissed her, flush to her temples.

"What devilry now, Champney?"

"It's a girl, of course, Aunt Meda--your girl," he added laughing.

"So you've found her out, have you, you young rogue? Well, what do you think of her?"

"I think you'll have a whole vaudeville show at Champ-au-Haut for the rest of your days--and gratis."

"I've been coming to that conclusion myself," said Mrs. Champney, smiling in turn at the recollection of some of her experiences during the past three weeks. "She amuses me, and I've concluded to keep her.

I'm going to have her with me a good part of the time. I've seen enough since she has been with me to convince me that my people will amount to nothing so long as she is with them." There was an edge to her words the sharpness of which was felt by Octavius on the front seat.

"I can't blame them; I couldn't. Why Tave here is threatened already with a quick decline--sheer worry of mind, isn't it Tave?" Octavius nodded shortly; "And as for Romanzo there's no telling where he will end; even Ann and Hannah are infected."

"What do you mean, Champney?" She was laughing now.

"Just wait till I run in and get the mail for us both, and I'll tell you; it's my confession."

He sprang out, ran up the steps and disappeared for a moment. He reappeared thrusting some letters into his pocket. Evidently he had not looked at them. He handed the other letters and papers to Octavius, and so soon as the carriage was on the way to The Bow he regaled his aunt with his evening's experience under the bay window.

"Serves you right," was her only comment; but her laugh told him she enjoyed the episode. He went into the house upon her invitation and sat with her till nearly eleven, giving an account of himself--at least all the account he cared to give which was intrinsically different from that which he gave his mother. Mrs. Champney was what he had once described to his mother as "a worldly woman with the rind on," and when he was with her, he involuntarily showed that side of his nature which was best calculated to make an impression on the "rind." He grew more worldly himself, and she rejoiced in what she saw.

X

While walking homewards up The Gore, he was wondering why his mother had shown such strength of feeling when he expressed the wish that his aunt would help him financially to further his plans. He knew the two women never had but little intercourse; but with him it was different. He was a man, the living representative of two families, and who had a better right than he to some of his Aunt Meda's money? A right of blood, although on the Champney side distant and collateral. He knew that the community as a whole, especially now that his mother had become a factor in its new industrial life, was looking to him, as once they had looked to his Uncle Louis, to "make good" with his inheritance of race. To this end his mother had equipped him with his university training. Why shouldn't his aunt be willing to help him? She liked him, that is, she liked to talk with him. Sometimes, it is true, it occurred to him that his room was better than his company; this was especially noticeable in his young days when he was much with his aunt's husband whom he called "Uncle Louis." Since his death he had never ceased to visit her at Champ-au-Haut--too much was at stake, for he was the rightful heir to her property at least, if not Louis Champney's. She, as well as his father, had inherited twenty thousand from the estate in The Gore. His father, so he was told, had squandered his patrimony some two years before his death. His aunt, on the contrary, had already doubled hers; and with skilful manipulation forty thousand in these days might be quadrupled easily. It was wise, whatever might happen, to keep on the right side of Aunt Meda; and as for giving that promise to his mother he neither could nor would. His mind was made up on this point when he reached The Gore. He told himself he dared not. Who could say what unmet necessity might handicap him at some critical time?--this was his justification.

In the midst of his wonderings, he suddenly remembered the evening's mail. He took it out and struck a match to look at the hand-writing.

Among several letters from New York, he recognized one as having Mr. Van Ostend's address on the reverse of the envelope. He tore it open; struck another match and, the letter being type-written, hastily read it through with the aid of a third and fourth pocket-lucifer; read it in a tumult of expectancy, and finished it with an intense and irritating sense of disappointment. He vehemently voiced his vexation: "Oh, d.a.m.n it all!"

He did not take the trouble to return the letter to its cover, but kept flirting it in his hand as he strode indignantly up the hill, his arms swinging like a young windmill's. When he came in sight of the house, he looked up at his mother's bedroom window. Her light was still burning; despite his admonition she was waiting for him as usual. He must tell her before he slept.

"Champney!" she called, when she heard him in the hall.

"Yes, mother; may I come up?"

"Of course." She opened wide her bedroom door and stood there, waiting for him, the lamp in her hand. Her beauty was enhanced by the loose-flowing cotton wrapper of pale pink. Her dark heavy hair was braided for the night and coiled again and again, crown fashion, on her head.

"Aunt Meda never could hold a candle to mother!" was Champney Googe's thought on entering. The two sat down for the usual before-turning-in-chat.

He was so full of his subject that it overflowed at once in abrupt speech.