as she watched her husband slowly going down the street.
Tom, who stood by her, idly spinning the curtain tassel, followed
the familiar figure with his eye, and seeing how gray the hair had
grown, how careworn the florid face, and how like a weary old
man his once strong, handsome father walked, he was smitten by a
new pang of self-reproach, and with his usual impetuosity set
about repairing the omission as soon as he discovered it.
“I ‘ll see to your sweetbread, mum. Good-by, back to dinner,” and
with a hasty kiss, Tom was off.
He did n’t know exactly what he meant to do, but it had suddenly
come over him, that he was hiding from the storm, and letting his
father meet it alone; for the old man went to his office every day
with the regularity of a machine, that would go its usual round
until it stopped, while the young man stayed at home with the
women, and let his mother comfort him.
“He has a right to be ashamed of me, but I act as if I was ashamed
of him; dare say people think so. I ‘ll show them that I ain’t; yes, by
the powers, I will!” and Tom drew on his gloves with the air of a
man about to meet and conquer an enemy.
“Have an arm, sir? If you don’t mind I ‘ll walk down with you.
Little commission for mother, nice day, is n’t it?”
Tom rather broke down at the end of his speech, for the look of
pleased surprise with which his father greeted him, the alacrity
with which he accepted and leaned on the strong arm offered him,
proved that the daily walks had been solitary and doubtless sad
ones. I think Mr. Shaw understood the real meaning of that little
act of respect, and felt better for the hopeful change it seemed to
foretell. But he took it quietly, and leaving his face to speak for
him, merely said, “Thanky, Tom; yes, mother will enjoy her
dinner twice as much if you order it.”
Then they began to talk business with all their might, as if they
feared that some trace of sentiment might disgrace their masculine
dignity. But it made no difference whether they discussed lawsuits
or love, mortgages or mothers, the feeling was all right and they
knew it, so Mr. Shaw walked straighter than usual, and Tom felt
that he was in his proper place again. The walk was not without its
trials, however; for while it did Tom’s heart good to see the cordial
respect paid to his father, it tried his patience sorely to see also
inquisitive or disapproving glances fixed upon himself when hats
were lifted to his father, and to hear the hearty “Good day, Mr.
Shaw,” drop into a cool or careless, “That ‘s the son; it ‘s hard on
him. Wild fellow, do him good.”
“Granted; but you need n’t hit a man when he ‘s down,” muttered
Tom to himself, feeling every moment a stronger desire to do
something that should silence everybody. “I ‘d cut away to
Australia if it was n’t for mother; anything, anywhere to get out of
the way of people who know me. I never can right myself here,
with all the fellows watching, and laying wagers whether I sink or
swim. Hang Greek and Latin! wish I ‘d learned a trade, and had
something to fall back upon. Have n’t a blessed thing now, but
decent French and my fists. Wonder if old Bell don’t want a clerk
for the Paris branch of the business? That would n’t be bad; faith, I
‘ll try it.”
And when Tom had landed his father safely at the office, to the
great edification of all beholders, he screwed up his courage, and
went to prefer his request, feeling that the prospect brightened a
little. But Mr. Bell was not in a good humor, and only gave Tom a
severe lecture on the error of his ways, which sent him home much
depressed, and caused the horizon to lower again.
As he roamed about the house that afternoon, trying to calculate
how much an Australian outfit would cost, the sound of lively