Youth Challenges | Page 8

seemed only a gray-haired, shy, silent sort of
person, not to be spoken of by herself as Mrs. Lightener, but in the
reflected rays of her husband, as Malcolm Lightener's wife.

But Malcolm Lightener--he dominated the room as the Laocoon group
would dominate a ten by twelve "parlor." His size was only a minor
element in that impression. True, he was as great in bulk as Bonbright
and his father rolled in one, towering inches above them, and they were
tall men. It was the jagged, dynamic, granite personality of him that
jutted out to meet one almost with physical impact. You were
conscious of meeting a force before you became conscious of meeting a
man. And yet, when you came to study his face you found it
wonderfully human-even with a trace of granite humor in it.
Bonbright was really curious to meet this man, whose story had
reached him even in Harvard University. Here was a man who, in ten
years of such dogged determination as affected one almost with awe,
had turned a vision into concrete reality. In a day when the only
mechanical vehicles upon our streets were trolley cars, he had seen
those streets thronged with "horseless carriages." He had seen streets
packed from curb to curb with endless moving processions of them. He
had seen the nation abandon its legs and take to motor- driven wheels.
This had been his vision, and he had made it reality.
From the place of a master mechanic, at four dollars a day, he had
followed his vision, until the world acknowledged him one of her
richest men, one of her greatest geniuses for organization. In ten years,
lifting himself by his boot straps, he had promoted himself from
earnings of twelve hundred dollars a year to twelve million dollars a
year. ... He interested Bonbright as a great adventurer.
To Hilda Lightener he was presented last. He had expected, hoped, to
be unfavorably impressed; he had known he would be ill at ease, and
that any attempts he made at conversation would be stiff and stilted. ...
It was some moments after his presentation when he realized he felt
none of these unpleasant things. She had shaken hands with him
boyishly; her eyes had twinkled into his--and he was at his ease.
Afterward he studied over the thing, but could not comprehend it. ... It
had been as if he were encountering, after a separation, a friend of
years--not a girl friend, but a friend with no complications of sex.
She was tall, nearly as tall as Bonbright, and she favored her father. Not

that the granite was there. She was not beautiful, not even pretty--but
you liked her looks. Bonbright liked her looks.
At table Bonbright was seated facing Hilda Lightener. His father at
once took charge of the conversation, giving the boy a breathing space
to collect and appraise his impressions. Presently Mr. Foote said,
impressively:
"This is an important day in our family, Lightener. My son entered the
business this morning."
Lightener turned his massive, immobile face toward the boy, his
expression not inviting, yet the seeing might have marked the ghost of
a twinkle in his gray eyes.
"Um. ... Any corrections, amendments, or substitutions to offer?" he
demanded.
Bonbright looked at him, obviously not comprehending the sarcasm.
"Most young spriggins I take into MY business," said Lightener, "think
a whole day's experience equips them to take hold and make the whole
thing over. ... They can show me where I'm all wrong."
Bonbright smiled, not happily. He was not accustomed to this sort of
humor, and did not know how to respond to it.
"It was so big," he said. "It sort of weighed me down--yet--somehow I
didn't get interested till after the whistle blew."
Lightener grunted.
"That's what interests most of 'em--getting out of the place after the
whistle blows."
"Dad!" said Hilda. "What was it interested you then, Mr. Foote?"
"The men," said Bonbright--"that great mob of men pouring out of the
gates and filling the street. ... Somehow they seemed to stand for the

business more than all the buildings full of machinery. ... I stood and
watched them."
Interest kindled in Lightener's eyes. "Yes?" he prompted.
"It never occurred to me before that being at the head of a business
meant-meant commanding so many men ... meant exercising power
over all those lives. ... Then there were the wives and children at
home. ..."
Bonbright's father leaned forward icily. "Son," he said, coldly, "you
haven't been picking up any queer notions in college?"
"Queer notions?"
"Socialistic, anarchistic notions. That sort of thing."
"I don't believe," said Bonbright, with utter honesty, "that I ever gave
the workingman a thought till to-day. ... That's why it hit me so hard,
probably."
"It hit