those who, like himself, were successful.
Having arrived in Lycurgus about twenty-five years before
with some capital and a determination to invest in a new
collar enterprise which had been proposed to him, he had
succeeded thereafter beyond his wildest expectations. And
naturally he was vain about it. His family at this time—
twenty-five years later—unquestionably occupied one of the
best, as well as the most tastefully constructed residences
in Lycurgus. They were also esteemed as among the few
best families of this region—being, if not the oldest, at least
among the most conservative, respectable and successful
in Lycurgus. His two younger children, if not the eldest,
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were much to the front socially in the younger and gayer set
and so far nothing had happened to weaken or darken his
prestige.
On returning from Chicago on this particular day, after
having concluded several agreements there which spelled
trade harmony and prosperity for at least one year, he was
inclined to feel very much at ease and on good terms with
the world. Nothing had occurred to mar his trip. In his
absence the Griffiths Collar and Shirt Company had gone
on as though he had been present. Trade orders at the
moment were large.
Now as he entered his own door he threw down a heavy
bag and fashionably made coat and turned to see what he
rather expected—Bella hurrying toward him. Indeed she
was his pet, the most pleasing and different and artistic
thing, as he saw it, that all his years had brought to him—
youth, health, gayety, intelligence and affection—all in the
shape of a pretty daughter.
“Oh, Daddy,” she called most sweetly and enticingly as she
saw him enter. “Is that you?”
“Yes. At least it feels a little like me at the present moment.
How’s my baby girl?” And he opened his arms and received
the bounding form of his last born. “There’s a good, strong,
healthy girl, I’ll say,” he announced as he withdrew his
affectionate lips from hers. “And how’s the bad girl been
behaving herself since I left? No fibbing this time.”
“Oh, just fine, Daddy. You can ask any one. I couldn’t be
better.”
“And your mother?”
“She’s all right, Daddy. She’s up in her room. I don’t think
she heard you come in.”
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“And Myra? Is she back from Albany yet?”
“Yes. She’s in her room. I heard her playing just now. I just
got in myself a little while ago.”
“Ay, hai. Gadding about again. I know you.” He held up a
genial forefinger, warningly, while Bella swung onto one of
his arms and kept pace with him up the stairs to the floor
above.
“Oh, no, I wasn’t either, now,” she cooed shrewdly and
sweetly. “Just see how you pick on me, Daddy. I was only
over with Sondra for a little while. And what do you think,
Daddy? They’re going to give up the place at Greenwood
and build a big handsome bungalow up on Twelfth Lake
right away. And Mr. Finchley’s going to buy a big electric
launch for Stuart and they’re going to live up there next
summer, maybe all the time, from May until October. And
so are the Cranstons, maybe.
“Mr. Griffiths, long used to his younger daughter’s wiles,
was interested at the moment not so much by the thought
that she wished to convey—that Twelfth Lake was more
desirable, socially than Greenwood—as he was by the fact
that the Finchleys were able to make this sudden and
rather heavy expenditure for social reasons only.
Instead of answering Bella he went on upstairs and into his
wife’s room. He kissed Mrs. Griffiths, looked in upon Myra,
who came to the door to embrace him, and spoke of the
successful nature of the trip. One could see by the way he
embraced his wife that there was an agreeable
understanding between them—no disharmony—by the way
he greeted Myra that if he did not exactly sympathize with
her temperament and point of view, at least he included her
within the largess of his affection.
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As they were talking Mrs. Truesdale announced that dinner
was ready, and Gilbert, having completed his toilet, now
entered.
“I say, Dad,” he called, “I have an interesting thing I want to
see you about in the morning. Can I?”
“All right, I’ll be there. Come in about noon.”
“Come on all, or the dinner will be getting cold,”
admonished Mrs. Griffiths earnestly, and forthwith Gilbert
turned and went down, followed by Griffiths, who still had
Bella on his arm. And after him came Mrs. Griffiths and
Myra, who now emerged from her room and joined them.
Once seated at the table, the family forthwith began
discussing topics of current local interest. For Bella, who
was the family’s chief source of gossip, gathering the most
of it from the Snedeker School, through which all the social
news appeared to percolate most swiftly, suddenly
announced: “What do you think, Mamma? Rosetta
Nicholson, that niece of Mrs. Disston Nicholson, who was
over here last summer from Albany—you know, she came
over the night of the Alumnae Garden Party on our lawn—
you remember—the young girl with the yellow hair and
squinty blue eyes—her father owns that big wholesale
grocery over there—well, she’s engaged to that Herbert
Tickham of Utica, who was visiting Mrs. Lambert last
summer. You don’t remember him, but I do. He was tall and
dark and sorta awkward, and awfully pale, but very
handsome—oh, a regular movie hero.”
“There you go, Mrs. Griffiths,” interjected Gilbert shrewdly
and cynically to his mother. “A delegation from the Misses
Snedeker’s Select School sneaks off to the movies to brush
up on heroes from time to time.”
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Griffiths senior suddenly observed: “I had a curious
experience in Chicago this time, something I think the rest
of you will be interested in.” He was thinking of an
accidental encounter two days before in Chicago between
himself and the eldest son, as it proved to be, of his
younger brother Asa. Also of a conclusion he had come to
in regard to him.
“Oh, what is it, Daddy?” pleaded Bella at once. “Do tell me
about it.”
“Spin the big news, Dad,” added Gilbert, who, because of
the favor of his father, felt very free and close to him always.
“Well, while I was in Chicago at the Union League Club, I
met a young man who is related to us, a cousin of you three
children, by the way, the eldest son of my brother Asa, who
is out in Denver now, I understand. I haven’t seen or heard
from him in thirty years.” He paused and mused dubiously.
“Not the one who is a preacher somewhere, Daddy?”
inquired Bella, looking up.
“Yes, the preacher. At least I understand he was for a while
after he left home. But his son tells me he has given that up
now. He’s connected with something in Denver—a hotel, I
think.”
“But what’s his son like?” interrogated Bella, who only knew
such well groomed and ostensibly conservative youths and
men as her present social status and supervision permitted,
and in consequence was intensely interested. The son of a
western hotel proprietor!
“A cousin? How old is he?” asked Gilbert instantly, curious
as to his character and situation and ability.
“Well, he’s a very interesting young man, I think,” continued
Griffiths tentatively and somewhat dubiously, since up to
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this hour he had not truly made up his mind about Clyde.
“He’s quite good-looking and well-mannered, too—about
your own age, I should say, Gil, and looks a lot like you—
very much so—same eyes and mouth and chin.” He looked
at his son examiningly. “He’s a little bit taller, if anything,
and looks a little thinner, though I don’t believe he really is.”
At the thought of a cousin who looked like him—possibly as
attractive in every way as himself—and bearing his own
name, Gilbert chilled and bristled slightly. For here in
Lycurgus, up to this time, he was well and favourably
known as the only son and heir presumptive to the
managerial control of his father’s business, and to at least a
third of the estate, if not more. And now, if by any chance it
should come to light that there was a relative, a cousin of
his own years and one who looked and acted like him, even
—he bridled at the thought. Forthwith (a psychic reaction
which he did not understand and could not very well
control) he decided that he did not like him—could not like
him.
“What’s he doing now?” he asked in a curt and rather sour
tone, though he attempted to avoid the latter element in his
voice.
“Well, he hasn’t much of a job, I must say,” smiled Samuel
Griffiths, meditatively. “He’s only a bell-hop in the Union
League Club in Chicago, at present, but a very pleasant