“Why, say — if things work out all right, we might simply pull out and settle down there.”
She knew that the suggestion of a total disruption of the established life, a voyage to new lands, a new quest of fortune fascinated him.
It had been talked of years before when he had broken his partnership with Will Pentland.
“What do you intend to do out there?
How are the children going to get along?”
“Why, sir,” she began smugly, pursing her lips thoughtfully, and smiling cunningly,
“I’ll simply get me a good big house and drum up a trade among the Altamont people who are going.”
“Merciful God, Mrs. Gant!” he howled tragically, “you surely wouldn’t do a thing like that.
I beg you not to.”
“Why, pshaw, Mr. Gant, don’t be such a fool.
There’s nothing wrong in keeping boarders.
Some of the most respectable people in this town do it.”
She knew what a tender thing his pride was: he could not bear to be thought incapable of the support of his family — one of his most frequent boasts was that he was “a good provider.”
Further, the residence of any one under his roof not of his blood and bone sowed the air about with menace, breached his castle walls.
Finally, he had a particular revulsion against lodgers: to earn one’s living by accepting the contempt, the scorn, and the money of what he called “cheap boarders” was an almost unendurable ignominy.
She knew this but she could not understand his feeling.
Not merely to possess property, but to draw income from it was part of the religion of her family, and she surpassed them all by her willingness to rent out a part of her home.
She alone, in fact, of all the Pentlands was willing to relinquish the little moated castle of home; the particular secrecy and privacy of their walls she alone did not seem to value greatly.
And she was the only one of them that wore a skirt.
Eugene had been fed from her breast until he was more than three years old: during the winter he was weaned.
Something in her stopped; something began.
She had her way finally.
Sometimes she would talk to Gant thoughtfully and persuasively about the World’s Fair venture.
Sometimes, during his evening tirades, she would snap back at him using the project as a threat.
Just what was to be achieved she did not know.
But she felt it was a beginning for her.
And she had her way finally.
Gant succumbed to the lure of new lands.
He was to remain at home: if all went well he would come out later.
The prospect, too, of release for a time excited him.
Something of the old thrill of youth touched him.
He was left behind, but the world lurked full of unseen shadows for a lonely man.
Daisy was in her last year at school: she stayed with him.
But it cost him more than a pang or two to see Helen go.
She was almost fourteen.
In early April, Eliza departed, bearing her excited brood about her, and carrying Eugene in her arms.
He was bewildered at this rapid commotion, but he was electric with curiosity and activity.
The Tarkintons and Duncans streamed in: there were tears and kisses.
Mrs. Tarkinton regarded her with some awe.
The whole neighborhood was a bit bewildered at this latest turn.
“Well, well — you never can tell,” said Eliza, smiling tearfully and enjoying the sensation she had provided.
“If things go well we may settle down out there.”
“You’ll come back,” said Mrs. Tarkinton with cheerful loyalty.
“There’s no place like Altamont.”
They went to the station in the street-car: Ben and Grover gleefully sat together, guarding a big luncheon hamper.
Helen clutched nervously a bundle of packages.
Eliza glanced sharply at her long straight legs and thought of the half-fare.
“Say,” she began, laughing indefinitely behind her hand, and nudging Gant, “she’ll have to scrooch up, won’t she?
They’ll think you’re mighty big to be under twelve,” she went on, addressing the girl directly.
Helen stirred nervously.