Every Man for Himself | Page 4

the
young man forced himself to face the idea seriously. He was beginning
to realize that there were many things about which he was woefully

ignorant--practical things entirely outside academic curriculums. For
twenty-two years he had eaten his meals regularly and lived a life
uncolored by any event more significant than his recent graduation
from 'Varsity with honors. That he had captained the football team to
victory the fall before was nothing extraordinary; many another fellow
with equally broad shoulders and an equally well balanced head upon
them had done the same thing before him. Financial worries had never
intruded upon his good times, while social standing was something
which he had come to accept as a matter of course. Only of late had he
begun to analyze things for himself and it had been something of a
shock to discover that a college education was just a beginning--that
beyond the campus of his alma mater spread a workaday world which
scoffed at dead languages and went in for a living wage, which turned
from isoceles triangles and algebraic conundrums to solve the essential
problems of food and clothing and shingled roofs. It was a new
viewpoint which planted doubts where what he had supposed to be
certainties had been wont to blossom.
The Honorable Milton Waring's very position as a cabinet minister in
the government of the day always had seemed to carry its own
credentials. As a youth Phil had thrilled with pride on occasions of
public demonstration in his uncle's honor and there had been times of
speech-making when the Honorable Milton's eloquence had swayed his
audience to unrestrained applause. To the unsophisticated eyes of youth
a shiny silk hat, a long-tailed frock coat, a gold-headed cane, a diamond
ring and a prominent place upon the platform had been indicative of the
top rungs of Fame and Success and Honor among men. The goings and
comings of Society's votaries, the bright lights of the big Waring
residence in Rosedale, the orchestras and bands and public processions
and cheering and flags and bunting--these things had contributed to the
awe with which Phil had regarded the Honorable Milton Waring in the
days of boyhood impressions. The mere fact that his uncle received the
acclamations of the people and held high public office by their gift had
seemed to invest the Honorable Milton with all the attributes of an
honorable gentleman of distinction.
Such early impressions are tenacious of place. Yet with maturer years

had come certain doubts that thrust their shadows across moments of
serious thought. Phil Kendrick had begun to think for himself and his
study of political history had awakened him to the knowledge that there
was a very "practical" side to politics as they existed throughout the
country just then--that successful politicians too often were men who
regarded the whole thing as a game wherein the end justified the means,
the end being to carry elections. Was his uncle of this ilk? It had been
hinted. There were those who said that the Honorable Milton Waring
knew much about assembling political machinery around election time
and oiling it for a smooth run. And such rumors aroused thoughts
which Phil had been very loath to entertain.
After all, though, did he really know his uncle? Between them there
had never been any very close bond of sympathy--such, for instance, as
always had existed between Phil and his aunt. His uncle's share in the
growing lad's up-bringing had been of the superficial sort--a pat on the
back, a "run along now, my boy; I'm busy." Always it had been Aunt
Dolly to whom he had taken his childish difficulties for sympathetic
adjustment. It had been that way from the first when the sudden loss of
both father and mother had thrown him upon Aunt Dolly's care. His
own mother could not have meant more to him and Kendrick's smile
was very gentle as he thought of his aunt. First and last, her
happiness----
Ah, but was she happy? That was the question. She pretended to be, of
course; but how much of it was mere pretence? Beneath her smiles Phil
had sensed of late a vague unrest, disappointment--he hardly knew
what to call it, so illusive it was. She had laughed at him fondly and
called him "a foolish boy" when he had ventured to ask her if anything
was wrong. After that she had been careful that he did not surprise any
look upon her face but one of cheerfulness.
The possibility that in some way his uncle was the source of that subtle
change in Aunt Dolly had disturbed Phil's peace of mind not a little. In
his presence she had been the same gentle, smiling, thoughtful Aunt
Dolly that she had always been; but once or twice