best of this opportunity, and accordingly on Sunday evening
at six set out for the Griffiths’ residence, his nerves
decidedly taut because of the ordeal before him. And when
he reached the main gate, a large, arched wrought iron
affair which gave in on a wide, winding brick walk which led
to the front entrance, he lifted the heavy latch which held
the large iron gates in place, with almost a quaking sense
of adventure. And as he approached along the walk, he felt
as though he might well be the object of observant and
critical eyes. Perhaps Mr. Samuel or Mr. Gilbert Griffiths or
one or the other of the two sisters was looking at him now
from one of those heavily curtained windows. On the lower
floor several lights glowed with a soft and inviting radiance.
This mood, however, was brief. For soon the door was
opened by a servant who took his coat and invited him into
the very large living room, which was very impressive. To
Clyde, even after the Green-Davidson and the Union
League, it seemed a very beautiful room. It contained so
many handsome pieces of furniture and such rich rugs and
hangings. A fire burned in the large, high fireplace before
which was circled a number of divans and chairs. There
were lamps, a tall clock, a great table. No one was in the
room at the moment, but presently as Clyde fidgeted and
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looked about he heard a rustling of silk to the rear, where a
great staircase descended from the rooms above. And from
there he saw Mrs. Griffiths approaching him, a bland and
angular and faded-looking woman. But her walk was brisk,
her manner courteous, if non-committal, as was her custom
always, and after a few moments of conversation he found
himself peaceful and fairly comfortable in her presence.
“My nephew, I believe,” she smiled.
“Yes,” replied Clyde simply, and because of his
nervousness, with unusual dignity. “I am Clyde Griffiths.”
“I’m very glad to see you and to welcome you to our home,”
began Mrs. Griffiths with a certain amount of aplomb which
years of contact with the local high world had given her at
last. “And my children will be, too, of course. Bella is not
here just now or Gilbert, either, but then they will be soon, I
believe. My husband is resting, but I heard him stirring just
now, and he’ll be down in a moment. Won’t you sit here?”
She motioned to a large divan between them. “We dine
nearly always alone here together on Sunday evening, so I
thought it would be nice if you came just to be alone with
us. How do you like Lycurgus now?”
She arranged herself on one of the large divans before the
fire and Clyde rather awkwardly seated himself at a
respectful distance from her.
“Oh, I like it very much,” he observed, exerting himself to be
congenial and to smile. “Of course I haven’t seen so very
much of it yet, but what I have I like. This street is one of
the nicest I have ever seen anywhere,” he added
enthusiastically. “The houses are so large and the grounds
so beautiful.”
“Yes, we here in Lycurgus pride ourselves on Wykeagy
Avenue,” smiled Mrs. Griffiths, who took no end of
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satisfaction in the grace and rank of her own home in this
street. She and her husband had been so long climbing up
to it. “Every one who sees it seems to feel the same way
about it. It was laid out many years ago when Lycurgus was
just a village. It is only within the last fifteen years that it has
come to be as handsome as it is now.
“But you must tell me something about your mother and
father. I never met either of them, you know, though, of
course, I have heard my husband speak of them often—
that is, of his brother, anyhow,” she corrected. “I don’t
believe he ever met your mother. How is your father?”
“Oh, he’s quite well,” replied Clyde, simply. “And Mother,
too. They’re living in Denver now. We did live for a while in
Kansas City, but for the last three years they’ve been out
there. I had a letter from Mother only the other day. She
says everything is all right.”
“Then you keep up a correspondence with her, do you?
That’s nice.” She smiled, for by now she had become
interested by and, on the whole, rather taken with Clyde’s
appearance. He looked so neat and generally presentable,
so much like her own son that she was a little startled at
first and intrigued on that score. If anything, Clyde was
taller, better built and hence better looking, only she would
never have been willing to admit that. For to her Gilbert,
although he was intolerant and contemptuous even to her
at times, simulating an affection which was as much a
custom as a reality, was still a dynamic and aggressive
person putting himself and his conclusions before everyone
else. Whereas Clyde was more soft and vague and
fumbling. Her son’s force must be due to the innate ability
of her husband as well as the strain of some relatives in her
own line who had not been unlike Gilbert, while Clyde
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probably drew his lesser force from the personal
unimportance of his parents.
But having settled this problem in her son’s favor, Mrs.
Griffiths was about to ask after his sisters and brothers,
when they were interrupted by Samuel Griffiths who now
approached. Measuring Clyde, who had risen, very sharply
once more, and finding him very satisfactory in appearance
at least, he observed: “Well, so here you are, eh? They’ve
placed you, I believe, without my ever seeing you.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Clyde, very deferentially and half bowing
in the presence of so great a man.
“Well, that’s all right. Sit down! Sit down! I’m very glad they
did. I hear you’re working down in the shrinking room at
present. Not exactly a pleasant place, but not such a bad
place to begin, either—at the bottom. The best people start
there sometimes.” He smiled and added: “I was out of the
city when you came on or I would have seen you.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Clyde, who had not ventured to seat
himself again until Mr. Griffiths had sunk into a very large
stuffed chair near the divan. And the latter, now that he saw
Clyde in an ordinary tuxedo with a smart pleated shirt and
black tie, as opposed to the club uniform in which he had
last seen him in Chicago, was inclined to think him even
more attractive than before—not quite as negligible and
unimportant as his son Gilbert had made out. Still, not
being dead to the need of force and energy in business and
sensing that Clyde was undoubtedly lacking in these
qualities, he did now wish that Clyde had more vigor and
vim in him. It would reflect more handsomely on the
Griffiths end of the family and please his son more, maybe.
“Like it where you are now?” he observed condescendingly.
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“Well, yes, sir, that is, I wouldn’t say that I like it exactly,”
replied Clyde quite honestly. “But I don’t mind it. It’s as
good as any other way to begin, I suppose.” The thought in
his mind at the moment was that he would like to impress
on his uncle that he was cut out for something better. And
the fact that his cousin Gilbert was not present at the
moment gave him the courage to say it.
“Well, that’s the proper spirit,” commented Samuel Griffiths,
pleased. “It isn’t the most pleasant part of the process, I will
admit, but it’s one of the most essential things to know, to
begin with. And it takes a little time, of course, to get
anywhere in any business these days.”
From this Clyde wondered how long he was to be left in
that dim. world below stairs.
But while he was thinking this Myra came forward, curious
about him and what he would be like, and very pleased to
see that he was not as uninteresting as Gilbert had painted
him. There was something, as she now saw, about Clyde’s
eyes—nervous and somewhat furtive and appealing or
seeking—that at once interested her, and reminded her,
perhaps, since she was not much of a success socially
either, of something in herself.
“Your cousin, Clyde Griffiths, Myra,” observed Samuel
rather casually, as Clyde arose. “My daughter Myra,” he
added, to Clyde. “This is the young man I’ve been telling
you about.”
Clyde bowed and then took the cool and not very vital hand
that Myra extended to him, but feeling it just the same to be
more friendly and considerate than the welcome of the
others.
“Well, I hope you’ll like it, now that you’re here,” she began,