The Web of Life | Page 9

covered with figured
velours. That had once adorned the old Twentieth Street drawing-room;
and thrifty Mrs. Hitchcock had not sufficiently readjusted herself to the
new state to banish it to the floor above, where it belonged with some
ugly, solid brass andirons. In the same way, faithful Mr. Hitchcock had

seen no good reason why he should degrade the huge steel engraving of
the Aurora, which hung prominently at the foot of the stairs, in spite of
its light oak frame, which was in shocking contrast with the mahogany
panels of the walls. Flanking the staircase were other
engravings,--Landseer's stags and the inevitable Queen Louise. Yet
through the open arch, in a pleasant study, one could see a good Zorn, a
Venom portrait, and some prints. This nook, formerly the library, had
been given over to the energetic Miss Hitchcock. It was done in
Shereton,--imitation, but good imitation. From this vantage point the
younger generation planned an extended attack upon the irregular
household gods.
Sommers realized for the first time how the Aurora and the Queen
Louise must worry Miss Hitchcock; how the neat Swedish maids and
the hat-stand in the hall must offend young Hitchcock. The
incongruities of the house had never disturbed him. So far as he had
noticed them, they accorded well with the simple characters of his host
and hostess. In them, as in the house, a keen observer could trace the
series of developments that had taken place since they had left Hill's
Crossing. Yet the full gray beard with the broad shaved upper lip still
gave the Chicago merchant the air of a New England worthy. And
Alexander, in contrast with his brother-in-law, had knotty hands and a
tanned complexion that years of "inside business" had not sufficed to
smooth. The little habit of kneading the palm which you felt when he
shook hands, and the broad, humorous smile, had not changed as the
years passed him on from success to success. Mrs. Hitchcock still
slurred the present participle and indulged in other idiomatic freedoms
that endeared her to Sommers. These two, plainly, were not of the
generation that is tainted by ambition. Their story was too well known,
from the boarding-house struggle to this sprawling stone house, to be
worth the varnishing. Indeed, they would not tolerate any such
detractions from their well-earned reputation. The Brome Porters might
draw distinctions and prepare for a new social aristocracy; but to them
old times were sweet and old friends dear.
As the guests gathered in the large "front room," Alexander Hitchcock
stood above them, as the finest, most courteous spirit. There was race

in him--sweetness and strength and refinement--the qualities of the best
manhood of democracy. This effect of simplicity and sweetness was
heightened in the daughter, Louise. She had been born in Chicago, in
the first years of the Hitchcock fight. She remembered the time when
the billiard-room chairs were quite the most noted possessions in the
basement and three-story brick house on West Adams Street. She had
followed the chairs in the course of the Hitchcock evolution until her
aunt had insisted on her being sent east to the Beaumanor Park School.
Two years of "refined influences" in this famous establishment, with a
dozen other girls from new-rich families, had softened her tones and
prolonged her participles, but had touched her not essentially. Though
she shared with her younger brother the feeling that the Hitchcocks
were not getting the most out of their opportunities, she could
understand the older people more than he. If she sympathized with her
father's belief that the boy ought to learn to sell lumber, or "do
something for himself," yet she liked the fact that he played polo. It
was the right thing to be energetic, upright, respected; it was also nice
to spend your money as others did. And it was very, very nice to have
the money to spend.
To-night, as Sommers came across the hall to the drawing-room, she
left the group about the door to welcome him. "Weren't you surprised,"
she asked him with an ironical laugh, "at the people, I mean--all ages
and kinds? You see Parker had to be appeased. He didn't want to stay,
and I don't know why he should. So we gave him Laura Lindsay." She
nodded good-naturedly in the direction of a young girl, whose sharp
thin little face was turned joyfully toward the handsome Parker. "And
we added our cousin Caspar, not for conversation, but to give an
illusion of youth and gayety. Caspar is the captain of the polo team. By
the way, what do you think of polo?"
"I never had occasion to think," the young doctor replied, scrutinizing a
heavy, florid-faced young man whom he took to be Caspar Porter.
"Well, polo is with us at