Middle West -- Fiction; Real estate developers -- Fiction; Suburbs -- Fiction
Upon that, he struck both arms of his chair decisively with the palms of
his hands, and, as a continuation of this action, rose and turned to the
window, his back to his parents. They glanced nervously at each other,
each knowing that the other had the same hope and the same doubt; the
glance they exchanged meaning, “_You_ speak to him about it!” Mr.
Oliphant yielded and coughed uncomfortably as a prelude, but his wife
impulsively decided to begin the task for him.
“Harlan, dear,” she said, “your father and I both know you’ve always
acted conscientiously in everything you’ve ever done; and of course what
mother’s given you ought to be regarded as a sacred trust. You’re right
to say you’ll take care if it, but we feel—I mean your father and I
feel——” She faltered, and appealed to her husband: “You _do_ feel that
perhaps—perhaps under the circumstances—perhaps——”
“Yes,” Mr. Oliphant said as she came to a helpless stop;—“I think under
the circumstances Harlan might—might properly see fit to——” But here
he, too, hesitated and seemed unable to continue.
Their son, however, understood them perfectly, and turned sharply to
face them. “Of course I knew you’d ask it,” he said, and an old
bitterness, long held down within him, came to the surface. “I knew you
wanted me to let Dan have even that twenty-five thousand dollars
grandfather left me. You really wanted me to let him throw it away along
with his own, though you never spoke out and asked me to do it. Martha
Shelby did, though. _She_ spoke out plainly enough! The fact that
grandfather gave it to me never entered her head. She only thought I was
miserly for not putting it into Dan’s hands to be squandered. That’s
what she thought, and I’ve understood all along that my mother and my
father had a great deal the same feeling.”
“No, no,” his mother protested, for the bitterness in his voice had
increased as he spoke. “We never reproached you, dear.”
“No, not in words maybe.”
“No, not in any way,” she said. “It was right of you to take care of it,
and you’d be right now to take care of what you’ll have. Your father and
I only mean that now you have so _much_——”
“Now that I have so _much_,” Harlan echoed, “I ought to throw away part
of it, even though grandma’s trusted me to save it from just this very
wastage and to take care of every bit of it?”
“No, no; it isn’t that,” Mrs. Oliphant said; and with pathetically naïve
artfulness she changed the basis of her appeal. “But you know, dear, you
were just telling us how much Martha had wanted you to help Dan—she’s
always been such a devoted friend of his—and you said that after she
hears about mother’s bequest to you, she may take it as a kind of
supplanting your brother, and it would be harder than ever for you to
make her fond of you; so don’t you see—don’t you see what a splendid
effect it would have on her now, when you’ve got so much, dear, and
could spare it—don’t you see, if you’d—if you’d——”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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