Artists -- Relations with women -- Fiction; Artists -- United States -- Fiction
The matter of securing admission to this house was quickly settled. The
nephew, a genial, intelligent man of thirty-four, as Eugene discovered
later, had no objection. It appeared to Eugene that in some way he
contributed to the support of this house, though Mrs. Hibberdell
obviously had some money of her own. A charmingly furnished room on the
second floor adjoining one of the several baths was assigned him, and he
was at once admitted to the freedom of the house. There were books, a
piano (but no one to play it), a hammock, a maid-of-all-work, and an
atmosphere of content and peace. Mrs. Hibberdell, a widow, presumably of
some years of widowhood, was of that experience and judgment in life
which gave her intellectual poise. She was not particularly inquisitive
about anything in connection with him, and so far as he could see from
surface indications was refined, silent, conservative. She could jest,
and did, in a subtle understanding way. He told her quite frankly at the
time he applied that he was married, that his wife was in the West and
that he expected her to return after his health was somewhat improved.
She talked with him about art and books and life in general. Music
appeared to be to her a thing apart. She did not care much for it. The
nephew, Davis Simpson, was neither literary nor artistic, and apparently
cared little for music. He was a buyer for one of the larger department
stores, a slight, dapper, rather dandified type of man, with a lean, not
thin but tight-muscled face, and a short black mustache, and he appeared
to be interested only in the humors of character, trade, baseball and
methods of entertaining himself. The things that pleased Eugene about
him were that he was clean, simple, direct, good-natured and courteous.
He had apparently no desire to infringe on anybody's privacy, but was
fond of stirring up light discussions and interpolating witty remarks.
He liked also to grow flowers and to fish. The care of a border of
flowers which glorified a short gravel path in the back yard received
his especial attention evenings and mornings.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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