Husband and wife -- Fiction; Mothers and sons -- Fiction
"Not at all. Of course, you can't go raging around the mountains; but
you may have heard of an old gentleman named Mahomet. Yes? Well, there
you are. And you've a laboratory and a staff of chemists under your
very elbow. Make your people come to you, instead of your going to
them. Your reputation is all made by now. Sit back and get the working
good out of it, not chuck it away as if it wasn't worth an uninitialled
Lincoln cent."
Nothing more nonchalant and unconcerned than Dolph's drawling utterance
could have been imagined. None the less, his words appeared to have
kindled into new flame the burnt-out fires of Opdyke's professional
ambition. For a minute or two, he lay quite silent, while two scarlet
patches glowed upon his cheeks, and while the eyes above them seemed to
fix themselves on distant vistas far beyond the limits of Dolph's
sight. Then at last, he spoke, whimsically as far as his mere wording
went, but in a voice which Dolph found scarcely recognizable.
"Dennison," he said slowly; "for a man who aims to be considered a
genius by reason of the chronic mismatching of his socks and ties, and
by his discordant metaphors, you once in a while do have an
inspiration. Thanks. And now, would you mind it, if I asked you to go
home? I believe I'd like a little time to think things over. Come in,
to-morrow morning, though. Else, I shall send Ramsdell out to capture
you."
Next day, Dolph did come in, and again the next. On the third day,
Opdyke had a half-dozen letters to show him, a half-dozen bits of
planning to submit to his shrewd young brain.
"I've rather got to count on you in this thing, Dennison," he said
concisely. "My father is an older man, and the past two years have been
hard on him; he's not so aggressive as he was, not half so optimistic.
Doctor Keltridge will be watching me to see that I'm not overdoing. He
means well; but now and then it's healthy to overdo matters a little.
Brenton has all he can handle, with his wife. Therefore, in view of
Ramsdell's scholarly attainments, and until I'm justified in setting up
a professional assistant, I rather fancy that it's up to you."
"Thanks. I'm there, every time," Dolph told him crisply. "Besides,
after yesterday, I'd walk on my ears for you."
"You might give a sample exhibition now. Have you said anything, yet?"
"No chance. Besides, I rather hated--Hang it all, Reed, I don't want to
be in a hurry about shuffling off in your best shoes!"
Reed's eyes lost a little of their eagerness; but his smile was
unfaltering.
"They never were my shoes, Dolph. Even if they had been, I couldn't
wear them now; that has all gone by. And, if they had been mine, and I
had had to pass them on to some one else, there is no one in the world
I'd see walking off in them so contentedly as I would see you. Fact,
man, so take it as it comes, and enter into your own kingdom."
"If it is mine," Dolph said gravely.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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