i
I
THE BEE: OMAHA.. SUNDAY, DECEMBER 18. 1921.
8 M
u
V
I E
Torrey
IV A L S By G race
r
Ik
The Generation That Strives to
Please, Collides With the Gen
. eration that Prefers to Shock.
HELENB WXBY'S monog rimmed note
ptper li'l"J from the envelope into tier
old friend' linn J. The old friend vlghed.
For fifteen year that quara envelope, that
llowlnf icrltt, tli t monogram had pelled til
oroen In the morning mull. Howard Rlxby'a
death, disentangling of hi alTalra. unjunt
landlord, trouhli with drainage, with pastor,
with right of way, with Genevieve's tendency
to aore throat, with unaailafactory investment,
with neighbor who dor trample 4 the flower
bed, all had come heralded by the pate blue
of Helene tilxtiy'i atatlonery. The old friend
paused to Indulge In foreboding. What would
the trouble be thl time? Then gallently, be
june he had lone alnce accepted Helene on part
payment on hla Inexpiable debt to llctvord, he
j:it the envelope and read.
After all. It wait only an Invitation to have
fa with her on Thiirsduy. She knew the thou
sand demand upon hi time. Out hi unfailing
generosity made her trespon once again. There
was a matter upon which she needed hi
wisdom.
The old friend looked at hi calendar. Till
waa Thursday. Ho telephoned, and apprised
the Swedish voice Invisibly responding- that he
would be by Mr. ltlxby' fireside nt five that
afternoon. lie wrote the engagement Jnto hi
little red note book, dipped It Into bis waist
coat pocket, said "Come In" to tlifl knock upon
Ills ottice door, and temporarily forgot Helono.
The tall sophomore who followed the knock
was In trouble. Iio had been the Inspiration
behind the painting green of certain lanterns
last night. The green paint had gone farther
than had been foreseen. Certain steps and a
doorway, emerald in the morning sunshine, be-
""jayed the Illegal activities of the night. Hel-
Tie's old friend was not on a faculty disclpli-
J nary committee. The c
,r come In for a friendly ta
I "I guess It's up to me
sophomore had merely
Ik.
to do sometblng." he
ventui
red, an experimental eye upon his friend.
on did the painting?" The sophomore
hesitated, then Indicated that there might have
been a few others mixed up with It. But It
had been his Idea. Of course, If the committee
once started to investigate they might miss him
altogether and penalize the others, which would
be unfair.
"Well," counseled his friend. "If you hunted
them up first and took all the responsibility,
they would probably lose Interest In the possible
others."
It waa a good Idea. The sophomore arose,
visibly relieved. '
"Good-bye, professor," he said. "Thanks very
much."'
Helene's friend looked after his sleek head
as it disappeared. The instincts of these young
cubs were all right. He could hear the discus
sion of the faculty committee. Williams would
say vandalism a great many times and vote for
expulsion. Jefferson, on the other hand, would
think It was funny and vote to pay no atten
tion to the affair. Sommer would say It was a
matter for the students themselves to handle.
Hayes would point out that when the news
papers got hold of it It would have a bad effect
on the state. The state 'was not sending Its
young people up here to learn to destroy stato
property. The state would reflect this act In
the next legislative appropriation. He would
vote to make all concerned a glaring example.- ,
. Helene's friend sighed. He hoped his sopho
more would be prompt. Then he said "Come
In" to a knock on the door.
The girl who followed the knock was per
plexed. She was, she told him, up In the air
over her freshman laboratory. " .
"Ho tells us to ask ourselves questions and
discover the answers," sho complained. .
"And you want a manual saying, 'Look, at.
this spot. See this object? Write down that
you saw it.' "
Yes, that was exactly what she wanted. She
beamed at him.' . ,
"Well," said Helene's friend, "I can't blame
you. It's what is generally called teaching. But,
to my mind," and he beamed in return, "it's
really forcible feeding. Painful. And In the
long run Inefficient."
It was the beginning of a half hour's talk.
At the end of It the girl's eyes were large with
the excitement of a new idea. She had always
supposed a teacher was an institution' created
to drive information into the resistant, surface
of a student. Here was the revolutionary idea
that a student was one who made life stand and
deliver itself. The student was the pursuer.
"It's a great game," he told her. "You want
to play It for all it's worth."
She went away with a quickened step. Hel
ene's friend looked at his watch. He was due
at his seminar. The seminar was a group of
young creatures very dear to him. They were
vividly alert to the excitement of being alive in
V world In which the riddle of life was always
Just beyond analysis. Today there was to be
talk about light reactions. Woods, the educa
tion man, would be present, his nose in the air.
Woods did not exactly deny light reactions.
He merely deplored drawing Inferences from
them. It wouldn't do to make beings seem too
mechanical. If you did, what was to become
of the soul? It was all right for young people
to look into these things. But all he had to
say was, "Go slow."
After the seminar, In which Woods was
wa unusually deprecatory, and it fell to Hel
ene's friend to do an uncommon amount of
untangling, there was the department luncheon.
It was his business at the noon hour to central
ize the purpose and kindle the enthusiasm of
me dozen associates.
After the luncheon there was a lecture and
it two-hour laboratory. These were not in his
case perfunctory. He gave the best of himself,
leaving, fairly fagged, at 4 to attend a fac
ulty committee discussing problems of univer
sity organization. On the whole, faculty com
mittees worked with an intelligence that com
pared favorably with that of "committees of
business men with whom Helene's friend o(ten
sat. They deliberated more, acted less impetu
ously. When they acted it tended to be from
Knowledge. Yet, as all things are relative, and
faculty committees, like all others, composed
of human beings, all these qualities produced in
their own degree their own weaknesses. The
factrity committee, strongly deliberative, had
not acted at all when Helene's friend looked at
his watch and saw that in fifteen minutes she
would be waiting for him. .
He let her wait an extra quarter of an hour,
in order to hear through an impassioned debate
over democratic versus autocratic organization
of departments. At a little after 6 he sat by
Helene's (ire and saw her delicate hands playing
over the teacups.
As he sat, he recognized that he was tired.',
It had been a futile day. He was supposed to
be a physiologist. Popular fancy pictured him
one of the fortunate, sequestered from the mad
dening throng, burled among his reagents and
his amelly experiments, happily dreaming schol
arly dreams, while the wicked and ignorant old
world rocked in passion beyond the sound
proof walls of his laboratory. In reality he had
not known three consecutive solitary moments
since I o'clock. His 1 o'clock lecture lay
tipon hi conscience. It was all right in a way.
But the subject was moving by him. While he
ran other people's errands the great forces of
living truth were marshalling themselves far in
advance of him. He sat back weary, not with
wora. ut with the centrifugal- pulls dragging
him ta a thousand directions. Helene's hands,
meanwhile, delicately pretty and glitteringly
tinged, hovered over the cups, doing their beau
tiful share of dragging at him.
"You are such a dear, Austen." she said.
There isn't any one but you to help me. No-
body '! would understand. Two lump,
ln't It?"
, "And make It strong," he tddad. , Helene's
ryebraw want up.
"That mean you're tired out. And hr 1
am, atklng something more of you."
"Genevieve?" he Milled at her over an ex
cellent piece of toa.t. After all. Hulen made
thing wonderfully comfortable. Her eye palj
him atonlhed tribute.
"How could you guea It? X think you are
marvelous."
"I saw her tt the concert lat night with a
jiw raptlve."
That poet." ald Helen, with Infinite dl
taite. "Ian't he dreadful? Hi finger nail are
beyond belief."
"I Cameron depoaed?" Cameron wa the
lut year' foot ball tr. Genevieve had worn
him, a It were, on her tnuff ever since hi re-'
markabl eighty-yard run.
"O, poor Dirk! Hhe' been treating him like
rx dog for three month. Austen, I hate to ak
anything of you. I know you are up to your
ar. But I do'wbh you would peuk to Gene
vieve." Helene's friend tlghed. Then he laughed.
'What shall I say to her?"
Helene laid her hand In her lap and fixed
on him troubled eye. They wer beautiful
eye, ct In a face deservedly famous for Ha
charm. Helens made a delightful picture, all
silver and soft gray In her big blue chair. She
looked at him appealing.
"Austen, I wish I knew.. There isn't any
thing I con ny. I'm sure I don't know what
anybody can say to her. Perhaps what I really
want, 1 to have you hear what she has to say to
you. Of course, I am an Id woman." 8hc
paused imperceptibly.
"Never!" He roused himself to protest.
Helene dimpled. She could not resist even a
tardy compliment
"Well you are very wcet. But I am. . I
never was modern, you know. Suffrage, or any
thing like that I've tried to be a mother and
keep Genevieve nicely dressed, and I'm sure I
tried to have her properly educated thanks,
of course, always, to you. But Austen, you
know, really, she seems to be quite beyond me.
It isn't that I mind her being a decorator. The
war mado me see that the young woman of
today must have her own life. I don't object
at all to that. And I think her studio Is nice,
and lovely for teas. She has talent, too." .
"Genevieve Is a clever girl."
Helene played with her sapphire ring.
"Do you think she do you suppose there is
such a thing as being too clever? Of course,
she is cleverer than I am. Every one Is. I
am not clever at all."
"That is why," he said, with a certain de
gree of sincerity, "you are so irresistible." Hel
ene dropped her eyelashes. She conveyed, with
out blushing, the effect of . having blushed.
"You always "say such nice things, Austen.
But. seriously. It seems to me that Genevieve
is getting so clever she is actually well
queer!"
Helene brought out the word In a desperate
climax. Her friend suppressed his smile. That
" would, of course, be the difficulty. No crime,
he knew, equaled in Helene's -lovejy eyes the
crime of being queer. She went on,
"Austen, I am afraid she is going to get
herself-well talked about. And there Isn't
one thing I can say. She tells me I am of a
past generation. Of course, that Is perfectly ,
true in a way." Her eyes hung upon him.
"Beauty," said her friend, "Is eternal."
Helene accepted this, with a fleeting look of
acknowledgment. " . '
"At any rate, Austen, it's perfectly useless
to tell her that in my day nice girls did not do
such things."
"Of course." Austen held out his cup for
ieplenishment, Helene looked at him." .
"Do you mean that? Don't you think a girl
ought to be guided by the advice of her
mother?".
- Austin watched the two lumps dissolving in
his fresh cup. - ,
"Has she asked for it?"
"Mercy, Austen! If I waited till she asked
for it "
.-. "Well," he said slowly, "isn't it a practical
question? What a girl ought to be guided by
and what she is guided by aren't the two
things sometimes different, in spite of what we
might desire?"
Unexpectedly, Helene's eyes filled. ,
"Ifs rather hard, Austen, when I've always
had so much deference. I suppose I have been
spoiled." . ' .
Her friend looked at her. What she said
was quite true. Her world paid Helene extraor
dinary deference. It was not entirely How
urd's money that bought it. Howard, too, had
always been at her feet.
,"l pay her extraordinary deference myself,"
he admitted, amused at the admission. He had
always thought Helene a goose, a remarkably
pretty goose, but a goose. Yet, he paid her
extravagant compliments, and in effect threw
his mantle before her feet at every' muddy
crossing. Every one, as he thought it over, did
the same thing. Women long since had paid
her the marked deference of electing her czar
ina of local society. Mrs. Howard Blxby's name
was the magic by which every dance, Red
Cross drive, debutante reception or college fes
tivity hoped to gain itself prestige. He had it,
on authority of his wife, Agnes, that her name
yas all Helene Bixby ever gave to these things.
"O, a cheque, of course. But when they
want hard work done," she said, candidly, "they
come to women In ground grippers, like me."
He looked a Helene thoughtfully. He knew
she had not fought for this deference. She had
kept remarkably the air of letting it come of
Itself. As she sat, now, carefully, harmonious,
in her big blue chair, her blue eyes, tear wet,
upon him, her little foot in its gray suede shoe
upon its footstool of blue velvet, he said to
himself, that, goose or not, Helene staged her
self wonderfully. It must have shocked her
beyond measure to have deference refused her
by Genevieve, of all people.
"Our children," he smiled at her, "are too
close to us, aren't they? We look pretty fine
from the gallery seats. But the people in the
parquet see the crow's feet under the grease
paint."
Helene's eyes gave him a horrified look.
"Crow's feet," she gasped. Then she laughed
slightly. "O, I see. You're talking in meta
phors, or whatever you call them. Well, it
seems to me that makes it all the worse.", Her
color rose, a little angrily, and the small foot
tapped its footstool. Her friend knew that he
had blundered. He looked at his watch and got
hastily to his feet"
"Wretched man that I am," he said. "I am
about to be late to dinner." Helene looked ap
pealingly up at him.
"How Agnes must hate me! I am always
making you late to dinner." The idea gave
her, he could see, profound consolation.
"No one could ever hate you," he brought
out, he hoped, quickly enough. Helene smiled
upon him and rose. '
"And you will help me about Genevieve,"
she pleaded. . "You are so analytical. You
. know, Austen, I can't analyze. But," her lips
trembled, as she brought out, "I can't help
feeling things.' -
Til do what I can," he promised.
"You will talk to her?" .
"Well," he hesitated TI1 see that she talks
to me." ' -
"O, of course, that is much better. And
you will do It oon, won't you? I have a feel
ing that Genevieve has some horrid idea in her
mind just now."
Helene shxugged her beautiful shoulders.
The ideas were much too horrid, she conveyed,
for her to phrase. . But Genevieve would phrase
them in a minute.
The two stood with the air of conspirators
as the door far down the hallway banged and
a boyish whistle came nearer, in advance of
f Blue
o' 2a p'Sv ......
(
the figure that in a moment waved a hand to ;
them from the archway.
."Hello, people," said Genevieve. "Isn't this ;
nice. Uncle Austen?' Staying to dinner?"
"I'm sorry," said Helene's friend. "I haven't
teen asked."
' "O, Austen!" walled Helene. "You are
always. You know you are. Do stay. The
Woodworths are . coming and the Jimmy
Davises." ' "
"The Woodworths!" cried Genevieve. "Not
those horrible Wroodw6rths?"
"Why, darling! Don't talk so' "about my
friends. The Woodworths are the nicest people
in this town."
"Uncle Austen," begged Genevieve; "please
r.sk me to go home with you. The Woodworths
make me laugh so. They're so dull. Couldn't
I come home with you? I don't really care a
thing about eating. But I will not live through -a
dinner with the Woodworths."
She took him home in her small 'car, which
she managed skillfully. . Uncle Austen, - who -dreaded
the nervous driving of most women,
leaned back, enjoying the control with which
she threaded in and out among the traffic, los
ing the minimum of time, yet staying by a'
hairsbreadth within legal limitations. '
"You drive well," he said presently.
She shot him a quick glance.
, "Praise from the emperor. Think I can let
her out a little in this straightaway. You keep
an eye out for the cop."
He watched her, covertly keeping the eye .
out, meanwhile, as directed. Her profile, showt
,ing cameolike against her purple hat and scarf,
was well designed by nature In one of her best
inspirations. Genevieve had' taken a hand, ob
viously.'in later improvements, using a lip stick
and, he suspected, having her eyebrows pulled
out Or, perhaps they were shaved. ' At any
rate, he remembered when they had been broad
and black, .and rather impressive above her big
green gray eyes. Now they were a thin arched
line, well above the eye socket. To Undo Aus
ten's eye, nature had been the better decorator.
Her purple suit, well cut, and expensive, rum
pled! as she slouched, well down on the end of
her ' backbone. He reflected that Helene,
straight backed and slim, must shudder' at her
daughter's barrel-like silhouette. -
He sensed, several times, throughout the
dinner to which Agnes gave them tranquil wel
come, that Helene prpbably shuddered when
ever she looked at . Genevieve. The purple coat
once off, a smock of purple of chiffon was re
vealed. A good dea of torso was evident, and .
what little Genevieve wore under the chiffon ,
blouse was low cut in front as well as behind.
There were jade pendants in her ears, there
was woolen embroidery in orange and green,
and there was a necklace of Chinese jade offer
ing refuge to any eye that sought to evade, full
verification of anatomical fact. ,
He could see the eye of Frances, his thirteen-year-old
daughter, taking ' absolute? refuge
In the green woolen birds and woolen popples
that bloomed upon Genevieve's diaphanous pur
ple bosom. Frances, he reflected, was not as
yet intrigued by flesh. Austen Junior, he
watched with some covert anxiety. Austen
Junior was nineteen. Every moment of his
nineteen years had marked In his father's con-
sclousness a fresh epoch in the miracle of him
self and Agnes. Even yet the loriff habit of
married life between them as they faced each
other at the candle lighted dinner table, he
could not look across at her without a throb of
thankfulness and ecstasy. She had been so per
fect to him always, the sense of her sounfail
ingly had meant restfulness and affection, that
no habit could dull for him the wonder of her
existence. At Austen Junior, who for nineteen
years had lived the patent bond between them,
he had never been able to look without at least
the memory of that catching of the breath with
which he had first seen his face.
"I suppose Junior's Just an ordinary boy,"
he told Agnes often enough as the boy grew
before, them. "But I do like him most extraor
dinarily." ,
As his son sat beside Frances, facing Gene
vieve's tremulous pendants and greening par
rots, Austen caught himself, more than once
In the intervals of laugh and talk that went
about the table, searching the boy's face. He
felt that he could not bear any cloud upon that
clear glance of his son's eyes, in which he had
always found comfort No eyes, looking at life
with that directness could conceal anything
furtive behind their steadiness. It almost
seemed impossible to him, however, that any
adolescent boy could face Genevieve without
furtiveness. Yet as dinner flowed on smoothly,
helped to Its ease, he realized, by Agnes, per
fect as always, no furtiveness appeared. After
dinner Agnes remembered that she was to sit
with a neighbor's baby until ten o'clock. And
Frances had a paper to write on the early life
of the Romans. Austen Junior found his hat.
He was awfully sorry there was the glee club
tonight
But Til be back in time to get you safely
home," he told Genevieve at parting. It was
not furtive. Yet his father knew a bad mo
ment, as he found a seat for Genevieve opposite
him, beside the hearth. . .
"Mind if I s.moke?" she said, looking about
the quiet room. Austen : found the cigarets.
and they had smoked for a few momenta in
silence. Austen waited.
"It's nice " here," Genevieve said finally,
knocking her ash off into the oal: embers.
"Think of the awful Woodworths!" She sighed
end Aiisten let another silence, come between
.them. Genevieve found a fresh cigaret
"I suppose," she began at last, "mother
wants you to speak to me." Austen laughed,
"What makes you think that?" , ,
' "O, I saw the symptoms. Tear wet lashes,
air of guilty innocence as I entered. Poor old
Uncle Austen?" She smiled at him. "I'm a
icrrible care to you." In her smile he almost
saw a replica of Helene's satisfaction ' over
Agnes. Helene, he thought swiftly, built up a
universe about herself in which all women had,
cause for jealousy. Genevieve, on the other
hand, fancied herself an infant terrible.
"Not at all." he said heartily. ; "I. only hope
you're 'enjoying this quiet smoke as well as I
am." This was a trifle wicked. Genevieve'
smoking, he more than suspected, was some
what heroic, necessary for her pose, but In
itself distasteful. As if to confirm his theory,
she let her cigaret die out, " gesturing with it'
gracefully as she talked.
"Well, I'm glad to have a chance to discuss
things a little with you if you don't mind. Of
course,7 you k-now, I get dreadfully on mother's
nerves. Just" she hesitated, then .plunged
just as ehe does on mine. ,
Austen, who was determined to be shocked
at nothing, gave her a comprehending nod.
"It isn't that mother minds ' being kissed
when the lights are low, as it were. But she
would die before she'd admit it Now, I
The wave of Genevieve's cigaret was expressive.
"In fact," she went on, "I made up my mind
when I was quite little that I would be kissed
when I got to be a lady. And I am. A good
deal."
Austen laughed. ' - . ,
"I like your candor," he said. .
"That," said Genevieve, "is just what
mother can't abide." " "
"I wonder." He looked at her doubtfully.
- "Fact," said Genevieve, settling, more com
fortably in her chair. "It isn't at all what I
admit that bothers her. It's that I admit it.
Of course," she brought out . with finality,
"mother is of the past generation." ' , .
Uncle Austen smiled at her.. .
"Just what do you mean," he asked, "when
you say that?"
"O, of course," Genevieve apologized, "I
don't just mean that she's fifty. You're fifty,
aren't you?"
"Forty-nine," he admitted.
"Well!" She tried another cigaret "I'm
not silly enough to think that fifty is old, or
anything like that. What I mean is that mother
is crystallized into her form. You say you're
forty-nine. But I can talk to you. . Now mother
Is sure that anything I say or think, that she
can't recall that some one else some one of
the right sort, said or thought sometime in her
own set, must not be said or thought by me. I
shook her to her foundations the other day by
throwing out that monogamy is no longer smart
Our best people are quite polygamous. You
know mother. After she ceased to 'Why, Gene
vieve,' she began to think. I gave her a list of
names offhand, right here in town, and then any
number beside. ' Well! She was so bothered!
Xnd it wasn't at all for the reason you might
think. Mother could not beat to be out of
style." .
"How do you feel about that yourself?"
asked Uncle Austen. Genevieve gave him a
frank stare. -
"About being out of style." .
Genevieve laughed. . . ,
"Well! Uncle Austen! You surely give me
pause. I've never thought of myself in those
terms." : '
"Terms of stylishness?"
"Yes. Stylishness, or not stylishness. : That'
just what I'm trying to say to you. Let' get
down to fundamentals. Let's be sincere. What
on earth is style, anyway?"
"You surprise me greatly." Hi eyes, wide
and innocent, were upon her. .
. "Surprise, you? How can I surprise you?
You surely don't think I'm Btyllsh conven
tional any of that awful nonsense!" Gene
vieve' almost sat erect In her alarm.
"Why, certainly. What else?" Uncle Austen
remained tranquil.
Genevieve laughed.
"When mother is sitting around wringing her
hands over me and Locksley Fenimore, this
minute.
Uncle Austen felt that the Important mo
ment of the Interview had arrived.
"Is there something about you and Locks
ley Fenimore about which your mother ought
to wring her hands?"
"Well." ehe said', with effect of reasonable
ness. "That's a you look at it Yon know
what we're discussing?" . '
Uncle Austen smoked In silence for a mo
ment : ' 1
"I don't know," he admitted finally. - "But
I believe I can guesa."
-
" Wm will r..fof. yea," mid Vtula
Austin, " not frecoa rn'l
faetly all right in year wmy, bmt fco
ctu you haot eem tmeh m herev"
-A fcor7" Gi- mc .
"Well, if you guess right," she told him,
"I'll admit it."
"You probably have in mind a trial mar
riage, or something of that sort."
"How did you know?" she asked.
Uncle Austen laughed.
' "Bectuse you are so I hate ito say it, since
the wond bothers you but it's the right word
-so stylish." .
"Stylish!" her voice was an amazed echo.
"Why, yes," said Uncle Austen. "As I look
; at you, you seem typical of a considerable class
of girls of your age. Your.pendulum ha swung
through about the whole arc of a hundred and
eighty degrees away from the point where your
mother's generation struck twelve. In her day
nobody did such things, or if he did them, he
would die before he'd, admit it. Now, the style
. is as different as possible. You all take off
. your clothes, mentally, physically, socially, as
. publicly as possible. I vow, I can't tell one of
; you from the other. Ideas, phrases, habits, all
'. ..exposed, and all identical. Of .course," he
- smiled at her, "the style will change. When
you are your mother's age your daughter's
friends will think you of . a very ' funny past
generation.: ,'
: .r "I think," said Genevieve, "that you are
, the meanest man in the world."
"What impresses me," he went on, uhdis-
turbed, "is the scarcity of individuals. .': So few
people of any generation ever emerge. I knew
' your father well. He was a person. His brain
actually functioned. He never went with the
herd. Your mother well you and she are
more alike. Very conventional."
"Uncle Austen!" - . ."'
"Of course," he admitted, "there js this dif
ference. It was the style in your mother'
- girlhood to please your generation alms to.
shock. In the long run, I believe your mother
plays the better cards. In the long run, I be
lieve we enjoy being smoothed down more than
we enjoy being rumpled up. ' I ; believe," he
knocked the ash off his cigar with care; "I be-
. licve that your vogue will be fairly brief." ,
"It's not a vogue," she said hotly, "It's
. emancipation." . I ; . ..
"Who is emancipated?" he asks. ' .
"Why, everybody is. We're all through with
the silly old bondages of every" description.
- We're all breathing freely. ' And we'll never
go back and suffocate." She looked at him de-
fiantly. ' ' ; - . '
"Yet it isn't two hours," he reminded her,
"since I heard you suffocating your mother." .
"What are you talking about?" ' .
"I'm talking about the . Woodworth. She
likes .them. They suit her. You not merely
don't like them yourself, but you won't let her
' have them in peace. You called them those
awful Woodworths in my presence, and took all
the. joy out of poor Helene's evening. As I
heard you do it I was dramatizing your own
daughter, .trying to break the bonds of your
tyrannical generation. Of course, I don't mind
Locksley Fenimore myself. He's all right In his
way. But your children's friends won't stand
for him one minute, I give you my word."
"What's the matter with Locksley Feni
more?" Genevieve's eyes were on him, frankly
hostile.
"From my point of view,- nothing at all. He's
interesting to me, Just as many objects interest
me in my laboratory. I like to see them do
i things. It doesn't matter much what. I can
look at him and go my way. Take him or
leave him, as I like. I believe," he said pleas
antly, "eventually, I believe, I should leave
Locksley." . ,
"Why?V V
"Well," he considered.- "Of course, we are
. all egotists, more or less. We ell want the
center of the stage, some of the time. . You and
. Locksley and the rest of you constantly see life
as a drama with yourselves as the heroes. Now
r-that's all right, of course. That' just the
way your mother sees it much of the time, and
I. and everybody. Only your mother, for in
stance, is a clever woman. She always con
trives that the person with whom ehe talks
shall know that he Is the center of the stage
at least while he is with her. Locksley and
you" he paused. "Well in time, you know,
the rest of us will want our moment In the
spotlight And just then we will become ruth
less. We will relegate you, not because you
aren't perfectly all right in your way, but be-
- cause you have become such a bore."
"A bore!" Genevieve sat erect on the edge
. of her chair. Plainly, the idea was inconceiv
able. -
"A bore. Uncle Austen" ahe repeated.
"A bore," he reaffirmed, smiling.
It wa a relief to hear Austen Junior's gay
baritone at the street door Just then announc
ing that he wa the monarch of all he surveyed
and none should say him nay. - '
"Particularly." he continued in an Impas
sioned recitative, at the door of the living
room, "shall none stay me from attending thee.
O beauteous maiden, to the confine of thine
ancestral castle whenever thou rettest ready."
Genevieve rose. .
"J am boring Uncle Austen to death," she ald
rather coldly, "I'll run along, but )uu don't
need to bother. 1 can niana,"
Austen Junior wa clear, however, that h
eould not manage, The purple coat, th purple
hat, the purple i-rf wer brought and ar
ranged with their usual cartful considered
caaualnasi, and Autan Junior, warbling protec
tive aria, bore her forth, after omwhat re
served good night wer exchanged with I'ncle
AuMen.
He wa ail 1 1 tmlllng Into th oak ember over
It when A i tie returned. Ph flood beside Him
a moment, her wrap about her.
' "Did you tralhten everybody out?' 1i
asked. II laughed.
"No. I mortally offended everyone, I told
' Helen tht li had crownfeet. Hhe' hunting
for them at thl moment. And I told Genevieve
that h waa a bore."
Agnea looked at him.
"Well, of course ah l," h laid Judicially.
"But ue'll never forgive you.. Ha Aiieicn com
In?"
. "lie' gone home with Genvleve."
Ther wa a moment' llence, In which the
attempted llghtnea of hi ton sounded hollow
against the fear that auddenly bulked ltnelf be
tween them.
"AuHten!" Agne breathed at last In a little
voice. "How could you?"
They looked at each other. In Agnes' eyes
there was a deadly terror. II kicked angrily
at the charred end of the oak log that lay upon
the hearth.
"For heaven' sake!" ho cried, "why not?"
He wo Irrlluble because of hi own fear.
"Junior' not a baby."
Agne pressed her hand to her eye.
"O! But he 1 o so cruel. It amuse her
so to play with th fine young creatures make
them les fine. She degrade them, then she
throw them away, flhe calculate It all. o hor
ribly. And Junior hasn't any weapon against
her. He won't understand."
She wa walking up and down now twisting
her hands about each other. A he passed him
once he caught her.
"Don't worry, mother," he ald gently. She
looked at him with eye from which tear were
starting.
"She" angry with you. Tou piqued her
especial vanity. She'll show you whether he'a
a bore or not. And I cannot bear it." Agne
again sobbed against his shoulder.
As he looked bitterly into the embers he
told himself that Junior was all right. He
might not understand, but his Instinct were de
rent. After all, he was. Agnes' child. And
Genevieve's game was so crude, she was so frank
0 ly predatory, that even at 19 Agnea' child, and
his, would be armed against her.
"Don,'t worry." he said again, and laughed.
Presently, Agnes found some sewing, and
. sat under the lamp, beside him, while he read.
The oak log whispered comfortably in the
fireplace. Furtively behind hi book, he looked
at . hi watch. They had been gone only half
an hour. Hardly time yet for Junior to be back.
He looked at Agnes' face, tranquil now, over
her sewing, and told himself not to be feminine.
The next three-quarters of an hour dragged.
Through its final 10 minutes he had not turned
a page. At the end of an hour arid a half Agnes'
sewing was in her lap and they were staring
at each other. Wretchedly, he was admitting to
himself that he had been wrong. He had glve:i
an angered egotist the weapons for her ugliest
revenge. He had succeeded in Helene's mission.
Genevieve, he knew would not think of-Locks-ley
Fenimore again. But at what price? Junior
would go through some sort of a debasing in
trigue with Genevieve. He would never again
be clear eyed. The wretchedness of it flooding
ever him, he bowed his head in his hands. What
a horrible day it had been! And how horribly
in the end, he had blundered! ,
"Agnes!" he groaned, "forgive me." She laid
a cold hand on his.
"Don't worry," she said, gently.
How long they sat he did not know. ' Into
the waiting stillness of the room there came
finally stealthy sounds at the front door. Furtive
hands turned the knob, and softly closed the
door again. In the tense quiet, while Agnes once
again got her sewing and Austen found his
chapter, they could hear an overcoat coming off,
and careful tiptoeing .down the hall. At the
door of the living room the tiptoeing paused.
As he read, apparently absorbed in his book,
Austen could feel his son standing behind him
in the doorwaj-. What fevered revelation there
might be in Junior's eyes, he could only guess.
He could not lift his own.
"Well, of all the humbugs!" remarked the
disgusted voice of Austen Junior. "I suppose,
of course, you'd gone to bed. And here you sit.
One splendidly stealthy entrance wasted!"
He strode in and sat himself on the arm of.
Agnes' chair.
"Decent women aie not abroad st this hour,"
he said.-, It's nearly midnight." .
Austen looked at his watch. 4 .
"By Jove!" he said with astonishment.
"Where has the evening gone?"
"I'll tell you," said Junior, "where an hour
and a half of It has. gone. After depositing
your friend safely, sez to myself It is a bully
night, and why not walk back? Which accord
ingly took place. The long way around, across
the bridge. And there, in the moonlight On
the bridge, at midnight or thereabouts, I had
a remarkable idea. We're doing stresses and
strains, just now, and it sort of come to me
" . Junior, turning his vivid gaze upon his
father, began to expound a theory. Austen, i
giving outwardly absorbed attention, In reality
barely heard. Within, he both laughed and
wept. He had hung over abysses of remorse for
an hour. As he drew back from the brink, life
looked Jubilant He nodded wisely as his eon
talked of parabolas, and strength of material
and drew arcs in the air.
"I think there's something in it," he said,
when Junior paused. "A whole lot in it You
go right after it."
"I'm going right after a few of those dough
nuts rumor reports to be in the pass "pantry,"
said Junior. "Nothing like six doughnuts be-,
fore retiring to keep up the strength of the
human structure."
As he went through the swinging door, Agnes
asked evenly.
"Did you and Genevieve have a nice talk?"
Austen lingered, leaning against the door
Jamb.
"Just between ourselves," he said, "she make
me tired." '
Austen stared at him. . '
"I thought she was quite an interesting girl,"
he said. "What's the matter with her?"
Junior 1n embarrassment kicked the brass
that protected Ahe corner of the door.
"Hasn't she got herself rather on her mind'?"
he asked. "Still, perhaps .that's natural, at her
age.".
"At her age!" cried Agnes. "How old do yon
think Genevieve is?"
"Oh, 16 or 27," Austen Junior hazarded. "Old
enough to be kind of on the prowl."
"On the what?" Inquired his father.
Austen Junior colored jjp in aome embar
rassment "Well, of course, I apologize. . But, you ee.
when you're young life looks pretty darned In
teresting. Now Genevieve well she's kind of
In a past generation. She seems to me to have .
tried everything out; and have Just come around i
back to herself. She' out for Genevieve, first,
last and all the time. Ill say it again," and
he threw hi head back In some defiance. "She'a
on the prowl, and she makes me tired."
. He took his long figure through the swinging
door. ' They could hear him opening drawers
and putting the lid back on the tone cooky .
Jar, einging oftly meanwhile. Austen leanei
forward and caught his wife' fingers.
"Dear mother!" he said, gently, laying hi
tk against the back of her hand. He could
feel it tremble a he kissed it. aoftty. "D r
mother!" he said again.
(Copyright, 1121, by Grace Terre "