His Family | Page 5

an office of his own and was
doing splendidly. But he worked under fearful tension. Bruce had to
deal with bankrupts who had barely closed their eyes for weeks, men
half out of their minds from the strain, the struggle to keep up their
heads in those angry waters of finance which Roger vaguely pictured as
a giant whirlpool. Though honest enough in his own affairs, Bruce
showed a genial relish for all the tricks of the savage world which was
as the breath to his nostrils. And at times he appeared so wise and keen
he made Roger feel like a child. But again it was Bruce who seemed the
child. He seemed to be so naïve at times, and Edith had him so under
her thumb. Roger liked to hear Bruce's stories of business, when Edith
would let her husband talk. But this she would not often do, for she said
Bruce needed rest at night. She reproved him now for staying so late,
she wrung from him the fact that he'd had no supper.
"Well, Bruce," she exclaimed impatiently, "now isn't that just like you?
You're going straight home--that's where you're going--"
"To be fed up and put to bed," her husband grumbled good-naturedly.
And while she made ready to bundle him off he turned to his
father-in-law.
"What do you think's my latest?" he asked, and he gave a low chuckle
which Roger liked. "Last week I was a brewer, to-day I'm an engineer,"
he said. "Can you beat it? A building contractor. Me." And as he
smoked his cigarette, in laconic phrases he explained how a huge steel

construction concern had gone to the wall, through building
skyscrapers "on spec" and outstripping even the growth of New York.
"They got into court last week," he said, "and the judge handed me the
receivership. The judge and I have been chums for years. He has hay
fever--so do I."
"Come, Bruce, I'm ready," said his wife.
"I've been in their office all day," he went on. "Their general manager
was stark mad. He hadn't been out of the office since last Sunday night,
he said. You had to ask him a question and wait--while he looked at
you and held onto his chair. He broke down and blubbered--the poor
damn fool--he'll be in Matteawan in a week--"
"You'll be there yourself if you don't come home," broke in Edith's
voice impatiently.
"And out of that poor devil, and out of the mess his books are in, I've
been learning engineering!"
He had followed his wife out on the steps. He turned back with a quick
appealing smile:
"Well, good-night--see you soon--"
"Good-night, my boy," said Roger. "Good luck to the engineering."
"Oh, father dear," cried Edith, from the taxi down below. "Remember
supper Sunday night--"
"I won't forget," said Roger.
* * * * *
He watched them start off up the street. The night was soft, refreshing,
and the place was quiet and personal. The house was one of a dozen
others, some of red brick and some of brown stone, that stood in an
uneven row on a street but a few rods in length, one side of a little
triangular park enclosed by a low iron fence, inside of which were a

few gnarled trees and three or four park benches. On one of these
benches his eye was caught by the figure of an old woman there, and he
stood a moment watching her, some memory stirring in his mind.
Occasionally somebody passed. Otherwise it was silent here. But even
in the silence could be felt the throes of change; the very atmosphere
seemed charged with drastic things impending. Already the opposite
house line had been broken near the center by a high apartment
building, and another still higher rose like a cliff just back of the house
in which Roger lived. Still others, and many factory lofts, reared
shadowy bulks on every hand. From the top of one an enormous sign, a
corset pictured forth in lights, flashed out at regular intervals; and from
farther off, high up in the misty haze of the night, could be seen the
gleaming pinnacle where hour by hour that great bell slowly boomed
the time away. Yes, here the old was passing. Already the tiny parklet
was like the dark bottom of a pit, with the hard sparkling modern town
towering on every side, slowly pressing, pressing in and glaring down
with yellow eyes.
But Roger noticed none of these things. He watched the old woman on
the bench and groped for the memory she had stirred. Ah, now at last
he had it. An April night long, long ago, when he had sat where she
was now, while here in the house his wife's first