United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
“That is sufficient,” said the elder man with a look of scorn that
presently changed into one of deeply wounded pride. “Henry, I know
too well your disposition to shirk the unpleasant duties of life,
to be much surprised that, when tried by this test, you were found
wanting. But this wounds me deeply. People in Sardis think my
disposition hard and exacting; they think I care for little except
to get all that is due me. But no man here can say that in all
his long life Robert Glen shirked or evaded a single duty that he
owed to the community or his fellow-men, no matter how dangerous or
disagreeable that duty might be. To have you fail in this respect
and to take and maintain your place in the front rank with other
men is a terrible blow to my pride.”
“O, Harry, is that you?” said his mother, coming into the room at
that moment and throwing herself into her son's arms. “I was lying
down when I heard your voice, and I dressed and hurried down as
quickly as possible. I am so glad that you have come home all safe
and well. I know that you'll contradict, for your poor mother's
sake, all these horrible stories that are worrying her almost to
death.”
“Unfortunately he has just admitted that those stories are
substantially true,” said the father curtly.
“I won't believe it,” sobbed his mother, “until he tells me so
himself. You didn't, did you, back out of a fight, and let that
Bob Bennett, whose mother used to be my sewing girl, and whom I
supported for months after he was born, and his father died with
the cholera and left her nothing, by giving her work and paying
her cash, and who is now putting on all sorts of airs because
everybody's congratulating her on having such a wonderful son, and
nobody's congratulating me at all, and sometimes I almost which I
was dead.
Clearness of statement was never one of Mrs. Glen's salient
characteristics. Nor did deep emotion help her in this regard.
Still it was only too evident that the fountains of her being were
moved by having another woman's son exalted over her own. Her
maternal pride and social prestige were both quivering under the
blow.
Harry met this with a flank movement.
“You both seem decidedly disappointed that I did not get myself
wounded or killed,” he said.
“That's an unmanly whimper,” said his father contemptuously.
“Why, Harry, Bob Bennett didn't get either killed or wounded,” said
his mother with that defective ratiocination which it is a pretty
woman's privilege to indulge in at her own sweet will.
Harry withdrew from the mortifying conference under the plea of
the necessity of going to his room to remove the grime of travel.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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