Pressure of work was holding him pretty close when the news came that his father was dead.
Lester, of course, was greatly shocked and grieved, and he returned to Cincinnati in a retrospective and sorrowful mood.
His father had been a great character to him—a fine and interesting old gentleman entirely aside from his relationship to him as his son.
He remembered him now dandling him upon his knee as a child, telling him stories of his early life in Ireland, and of his subsequent commercial struggle when he was a little older, impressing the maxims of his business career and his commercial wisdom on him as he grew to manhood.
Old Archibald had been radically honest.
It was to him that Lester owed his instincts for plain speech and direct statement of fact.
"Never lie," was Archibald's constant, reiterated statement.
"Never try to make a thing look different from what it is to you.
It's the breath of life—truth—it's the basis of real worth, while commercial success—it will make a notable character of any one who will stick to it."
Lester believed this.
He admired his father intensely for his rigid insistence on truth, and now that he was really gone he felt sorry.
He wished he might have been spared to be reconciled to him.
He half fancied that old Archibald would have liked Jennie if he had known her.
He did not imagine that he would ever have had the opportunity to straighten things out, although he still felt that Archibald would have liked her.
When he reached Cincinnati it was snowing, a windy, blustery snow.
The flakes were coming down thick and fast.
The traffic of the city had a muffled sound.
When he stepped down from the train he was met by Amy, who was glad to see him in spite of all their past differences.
Of all the girls she was the most tolerant.
Lester put his arms about her, and kissed her.
"It seems like old times to see you, Amy," he said, "your coming to meet me this way.
How's the family?
I suppose they're all here.
Well, poor father, his time had to come.
Still, he lived to see everything that he wanted to see.
I guess he was pretty well satisfied with the outcome of his efforts."
"Yes," replied Amy, "and since mother died he was very lonely."
They rode up to the house in kindly good feeling, chatting of old times and places.
All the members of the immediate family, and the various relatives, were gathered in the old family mansion.
Lester exchanged the customary condolences with the others, realizing all the while that his father had lived long enough.
He had had a successful life, and had fallen like a ripe apple from the tree.
Lester looked at him where he lay in the great parlor, in his black coffin, and a feeling of the old-time affection swept over him.
He smiled at the clean-cut, determined, conscientious face.
"The old gentleman was a big man all the way through," he said to Robert, who was present.
"We won't find a better figure of a man soon."
"We will not," said his brother, solemnly.
After the funeral it was decided to read the will at once.
Louise's husband was anxious to return to Buffalo; Lester was compelled to be in Chicago.
A conference of the various members of the family was called for the second day after the funeral, to be held at the offices of Messrs.
Knight, Keatley & O'Brien, counselors of the late manufacturer.
As Lester rode to the meeting he had the feeling that his father had not acted in any way prejudicial to his interests.
It had not been so very long since they had had their last conversation; he had been taking his time to think about things, and his father had given him time.
He always felt that he had stood well with the old gentleman, except for his alliance with Jennie.
His business judgment had been valuable to the company.
Why should there be any discrimination against him? He really did not think it possible.
When they reached the offices of the law firm, Mr. O'Brien, a short, fussy, albeit comfortable-looking little person, greeted all the members of the family and the various heirs and assigns with a hearty handshake.
He had been personal counsel to Archibald Kane for twenty years.
He knew his whims and idiosyncrasies, and considered himself very much in the light of a father confessor.
He liked all the children, Lester especially.
"Now I believe we are all here," he said, finally, extracting a pair of large horn reading-glasses from his coat pocket and looking sagely about.