Stella Fregelius | Page 5

Morris, in his light, quick voice--"I mean
I can't admit that my time has either been idled away or wasted. On the
contrary, father, I have worked very hard, as I did at college, and as I
have always done, with results which, without boasting, I may fairly
call glorious--yes, glorious--for when they are perfected they will

change the methods of communication throughout the whole world."
As he spoke, forgetting the sharp vexation of the moment, his face was
irradiated with light--like some evening cloud on which the sun strikes
suddenly.
Watching him out of the corner of his eye, even in that low moonlight,
his father saw those fires of enthusiasm shine and die upon his son's
face, and the sight vexed him. Enthusiasm, as he conceived, perhaps
with justice, had been the ruin of Morris. Ceasing to be reflective, his
tone became cruel.
"Do you really think, Morris, that the world wishes to have its methods
of communication revolutionised? Aren't there enough telephones and
phonograms and aerial telegraphs already? It seems to me that you
merely wish to add a new terror to existence. However, there is no need
to pursue an academical discussion, since this wretched machine of
yours, on which you have wasted so much time, appears to be a
miserable failure."
Now, to throw the non-success of his invention into the teeth of the
inventor, especially when that inventor knows that it is successful
really, although just at present it does not happen to work, is a very
deadly insult. Few indeed could be deadlier, except, perhaps, that of the
cruelty which can suggest to a woman that no man will ever look at her
because of her plainness and lack of attraction; or the coarse taunt
which, by shameless implication, unjustly accuses the soldier of
cowardice, the diplomat of having betrayed the secrets of his country,
or the lawyer of having sold his brief. All the more, therefore, was it to
Morris's credit that he felt the lash sting without a show of temper.
"I have tried to explain to you, father," he began, struggling to free his
clear voice from the note of indignation.
"Of course you have, Morris; don't trouble yourself to repeat that long
story. But even if you were successful--which you are not--er--I cannot
see the commercial use of this invention. As a scientific toy it may be
very well, though, personally, I should prefer to leave it alone, since, if
you go firing off your thoughts and words into space, how do you know

who will answer them, or who will hear them?"
"Well, father, as you understand all about it, it is no use my explaining
any further. It is pretty late; I think I will be turning in."
"I had hoped," replied the Colonel, in an aggrieved voice, "that you
might have been able to spare me a few minutes' conversation. For
some weeks I have been seeking an opportunity to talk to you; but
somehow your arduous occupations never seem to leave you free for
ordinary social intercourse."
"Certainly," replied Morris, "though I don't quite know why you should
say that. I am always about the place if you want me." But in his heart
he groaned, guessing what was coming.
"Yes; but you are ever working at your chemicals and machinery in the
old chapel; or reading those eternal books; or wandering about rapt in
contemplation of the heavens; so that, in short, I seldom like to trouble
you with my mundane but necessary affairs."
Morris made no answer; he was a very dutiful son and humble-spirited.
Those who pit their intelligences against the forces of Nature, and try to
search out her secrets, become humble. He could not altogether respect
his father; the gulf between them was too wide and deep. But even at
his present age of three and thirty he considered it a duty to submit
himself to him and his vagaries. Outside of other reasons, his mother
had prayed him to do so almost with her last breath, and, living or dead,
Morris loved his mother.
"Perhaps you are not aware," went on Colonel Monk, after a solemn
pause, "that the affairs of this property are approaching a crisis."
"I know something, but no details," answered Morris. "I have not liked
to interfere," he added apologetically.
"And I have not not liked to trouble you with such sordid matters,"
rejoined his parent, with sarcasm. "I presume, however, that you are
acquainted with the main facts. I succeeded to this estate encumbered

with a mortgage, created by your grandfather, an extravagant and
unbusiness-like man. That mortgage I looked to your mother's fortune
to pay off, but other calls made this impossible. For instance, the
sea-wall here had to be built if the Abbey was to