CHAUNCEY WETMORE WELLS 1872-1933 This book belonged to Chauncey Wetmore Wells. He taught in Yale College, of which he was a graduate, from 1897 to I 9 0I » an d from 1 90 1 to 1933 at this University. Chauncey Wells was, essentially, a scholar. The range of his read- ing was wide, the breadth of his literary sympathy as uncommon as the breadth of his human sympathy. He was less concerned with the collection of facts than with meditation upon their sig- nificance. His distinctive power lay in his ability to give to his students a subtle perception of the inner implications of form, of manners, of taste, of the really disciplined and discriminating mind. And this perception appeared not only in his thinking and teaching but also in all his relations with books and with men. OUR HOUSE THE MACMILLAN COMPANY H*W YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., Limited LONDON ♦ BOMBAY • CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO OUR HOUSE BY HENRY SEIDEL CANBY H2eto gotfe THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1919 All rights reserved Copyright, 1919 By the macmillan company Set up and elect rotyped. Published April, 1919. IN MEMORIAM Cu>.VX)etts CONTENTS BOOK I CHAPTER PAOX I Chicken and Waffles 3 II The " Rock " 13 III Home 25 IV Compromise 32 V Work 46 VI Intermezzo 58 VII Pastorale 72 VIII Crisis 84 IX AwiKENING 90 X Release 95 BOOK n I Johnny Bolt 105 II New York 117 III Search and Research 122 IV The Rocket 133 V Mary Doone 142 VI Life for Art's Sake 155 VII The Real Thing 165 VIII Crowfoot 174 IX Spoon op Straw 186 X Not Wounded, Sire, — But Dead , . 201 XI Terra Incognita 208 BOOK III I The Lull 215 II The Plunge 227 CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE III Struggle 237 IV Degradation 243 V Flight 247 BOOK IV I The Quick or the Dead 253 II The God of Cash 261 III The Mysterious Stranger 271 IV Sumach, Cedar, and Bay 275 V Doubt 281 VI Dawn 289 VII The Pencil Man 296 VIII MlLLINGTOWN AT LAST 300 BOOK I OUR HOUSE OF CHAPTEK I CHICKEN AND WAFFLES IN the Roberts' dining-room a match flame sparkled momentarily upon the dark mahogany of the side- board and the cheerful golden oak of glass cabinets op- posite. Another and brighter lit spectrally the stiff family portraits hung above. George, the colored M waiter," was lighting the new candles beneath their rosy shades, humming tunelessly as he moved along the table — " Jee-ru-saluhum, Jee-ru-saluhum, If ev-ur I take my stan' — Oh, happy lan\ Fse comin' Lawd.' Fse comin' Lawd." When a match went out he grumbled and scratched an- other on his alpaca trousers. He did not like the new candles, with their springs, and light so faint that you couldn't see how much was left in the dishes. His idea of a party was to light all the gas and then fix up the napkins to look like birds or bouquets, the way they did at Cape May. " Seven of 'urn " — he counted the chairs to make sure there were places enough — " but Miss Mattie she don' eat no waffles. A plateful '11 jes about go round." The pantry door swung open and the chocolate face of 4 OUK HOUSE Martha the cook shone through a mist of steam and odors of delicious baking. " Call 'urn in, George/' she whis- pered stridently. , " I got the chicken dished an' them rolls, '11 be colii' ;iii a minute." ' The guests marched into the big dining-room with a huifiorotis; assumption of formality, although it was a real Millingtown party, everybody cousins and every one just " friendly." Cousin Jenny grasping John Boberts' long arm led the way, the diamond brooch on her thin old breast nodding with the vehemence of her talk. " I'm ten years older than the rest," she was saying, " and so I go first. Oh, look at Sarah Boberts' table! Isn't it grand ! Is it going to be chicken and waffles, John ? I'm sure I smell waffles." The rest were a little subdued by the dim lights and the bare mahogany. " Sarah always does get ahead of Millingtown," Cousin Mattie whispered flatteringly. The men were less naive. " Can't see to help you right," John Boberts grumbled in his husky voice. " Here, Mattie, I don't know whether this chick- en's dark or light." The men wore blue serge coats and white duck trousers, except Cousin Tom, who never departed from a cutaway, even in hot weather. The women's full sleeves brushed their neighbors' shoulders. George, with his plate of waffles, had to dodge as they turned. Sitting behind her great silver coffee urn, Mrs. Boberts watched the supper with an anxious eye, and sent fingers here and there on random errands, straightening a. doily, or rearranging a fork and spoon. She seldom joined in the mirth of the table. Her quiet reserve was like the dignity of the old mahogany sideboard, her grandmother's behind her. John Boberts' awkward jollity better agreed with the golden oak cabinets and the lace curtains at the windows. He was a shy man ordinarily, tall and a little gaunt, with a CHICKEN AND WAFFLES 5 spot of bright color on either cheek above his rounded, iron-gray beard, and a curious huskiness of voice that melted as he spoke. Among cousins he warmed quickly into the friendliness of Millingtown, which was neither vulgar nor loud, but was best described perhaps as col- loquial. "Now, Tom," he called, with knife in air, " Mattie's a leg ahead of you. Pass his plate, George." "And take those waffles away from Mr. Jim," cried Cousin Jenny. "He's had seven already. Jim, you're as bad as your boys. They ate ten apiece at my house last Sunday night. Gracious, I'm glad I never married ! " The table hushed for an instant. Everybody knows family history in Millingtown; and they all were think- ing of how Cousin Jenny had been engaged to the Rankin that was killed in '63. " Cousin Jenny, won't thee have another cup of coffee ? " Mrs. Roberts, like most Millingtown people of the Quaker stock, used " thee " by custom only with her immediate family. Elsewhere it was a sign of especial intimacy or affection, and now of quick-covering sympathy. They knew Cousin Jenny's loneliness. " No, Sarah, thank thee. I don't want to chase Jack Robinson round his barn to-night. When's thy boy com- ing home ? " The mother's eyes lit with happiness. " To-morrow," she said. " Thee knows he was to stay on a week after graduation; but now he's coming home for good." " He'll be the seventh Roberts," John Roberts added gravely from his end of the table, " to go into business in Millingtown." Mrs. Roberts' fork trembled a little in her hand. "If he goes into business," she said. Her husband looked at her in astonishment. " What's .thee mean, Sally ? " 6 OUR HOUSE A faint blush touched her cheeks and stole upward to the gray hair waved above her forehead. " I don't think that Robert likes business," she murmured uneasily. " I don't believe — " she hesitated — " he has a business head." The cousins looked at each other apprehensively. Not to have a head for business was the worst that could happen to one in Millingtown. " Nonsense ! " Cousin Jenny snorted. " There never was a Roberts without good business sense. He has to have it — why, he's the only son John has. What does thee mean, Sarah Roberts ? I call that boy smart." " I didn't mean that he wasn't bright enough," Mrs. Roberts began anxiously, but the men interrupted her. " College nonsense ! " Cousin Tom grunted. " What did you send him to college for anyway, John ? You and I never missed it." " I tell you," said Cousin Jenny, pursing her lips till her chin bristled, " it's a bad thing to send a Milling- town boy away from Millingtown. There isn't any other place so good for him; and if he goes once, he'll go again to stay, and often enough — " she paused for effect — " to New York." Mrs. Roberts felt the eyes of all the cousins upon her. " Robert Roberts' family has always lived in Millingtown," she said with a little injured dignity in her voice. a No Roberts ever leaves Millingtown. They belong here." She looked up with real affection at the stiff old family portraits and the tall clock that had ticked in its corner through iive generations. Cousin Jenny nodded emphatic approval. " Thee's right, Sarah," she mumbled between mouthfuls of hot rolls and chicken. " And I don't quite trust any one who isn't real Millingtown. Look at Mary Sharpe. D'you CHICKEN AND WAFFLES 7 know — " The conversation sank to whispers among the women. The men took advantage of the lapse in mirth to revert to business. " Sold your cotton yet, Tom? " " No, I guess I'll have to buy the stuff and put it in the back yard." " I saw Henry Blackall in Philly yesterday. He says that Southern Consolidated is going to par." Cousin Jenny emerged suddenly from the whisperers. " Now you boys just stop talking stocks," she cried. " This is going to be a real Millingtown party. Talk to us. Sarah Roberts, if you don't give me another roll I'll never come to your house again. Tom Brand, you're sitting there as if this were Quaker meeting. Mattie, pinch him until he smiles." " Hark ! " cried Cousin Mattie, putting one hand to her ear. In a sudden hush they heard a blare of music far away but coming nearer. A band was playing staccato, " There'll be a hot time in the old town to-night." Voices joined in ; they could hear the pop of revolvers and soon the tramp of marching feet. " Oh, it's just a procession," Cousin Mattie said, disap- pointed; but Cousin Jim, who was still a boy when a band was coming, flung open the shutters. " It's the boys' brigade," he called. " Maybe something's happened in Cuba." The men pushed heads out beside him, the women with apologetic glances for Mrs. Roberts (fresh waffles just coming in too!) grouped behind them. A straggling crowd was pouring up the dim street be- low. Bed fire blazed over waves of straw hats, Boman candle balls plopped up into the treetops, and as the proces- sion came under the arc light at the corner they could see the marching ranks of the boys' brigade. " There'll be a 8 OUR HOUSE hot time in the old town to-night." A boy darted from the street, climbed the fence, and ran toward their open win- dow. " Extra, sir ? " Cousin Jim read the headlines : " Big Victory near Santiago. Flying Squadron Sunk." The crowd passed on toward the Soldiers' Monument; the music and the cheering were united in distant f aintness. " That's fine," said the men. " All sunk ? We lose any boats % Knew we could do it." Cousin Jim closed the shutters, the women fluttered back to their places, the men slumped heartily into theirs, George passed ice-cream meringues and sponge cake. Every one felt a little apologetic for the interruption and talked rapidly to make up. " Sarah, how do you get this cake so light? Would Martha give me her receipt ? I'm so glad we won ; and what good ice cream." Then even as the voices of the crowd had died away, this portentous news from the outside world drifted past the little Millingtown circle and left them in friendly self-absorption. They did not hear a foot in the open doorway, nor see a brisk girl of twenty-three or thereabouts, severely but fashionably dressed, enter the dining-room. A liberty scarf, rather pink and fluffy for her cold, pure lines and general air of being past the callow stage of youth, was thrown about her neck. She looked frightened. " Mr. Eoberts ! " she called emphatically. The talk died away. " Why, Miss Sharpe ? "— Mrs. Roberts recovered her startled dignity. " Do come in. Sit down and have some ice cream." Her tone of rapidly assumed formality was reflected in the faces of the com- pany. " No, no," Mary Sharpe cried impatiently ; then smiled as she saw the shocked surprise in Cousin Jenny's counte- nance. Good food was not lightly regarded in Milling- CHICKEN AND WAFFLES 9 town. " I'm sorry to interrupt ; but do look at your shed, Mr. Roberts. I saw a Roman candle ball drop through the lattice, and I'd hate to see this lovely old house burn." " Good gracious ! " exclaimed John Roberts and dashed through the pantry door followed by the other men. They heard his shy voice in a minute calling through the kitchen, " All right. Nothing serious," and turned with relief to their meringues. Cousin Jenny grunted. " i This lovely old house/ " she whispered to her neighbor. " How about us!" " Please sit down, Miss Sharpe. It's so hot to- night," Mrs. Roberts spoke nervously. Clearly Miss Sharpe would rather not. She felt ill at ease at these Millingtown suppers with their gossip, and their mirth, and cousin this and cousin that. " Now just sit down and be sociable," Cousin Jenny urged in kind atonement for her grunt. " A little of Mrs. Roberts' ice cream'll do you good. You don't get ice cream like hers in New England. Nor waffles either. But then you don't like hot bread in New England. Why don't you ? Are you cold blooded ? " Mrs. Brand and Mrs. Darlington looked at each other significantly. Mrs. Roberts, flushing, straightened the plate of sponge cake. It was what they all wanted to say. But wasn't Cousin Jenny the — Mary Sharpe sat down with a good-humored laugh. " Isn't Millingtown funny," she remarked as she crushed her meringue. " Why, I've been here ten years and you still call me a New Englander! I'm as much Milling- town as any of you." Her dark ironic eyes searched their doubtful faces. " Won't you ever admit me to your — Roman citizenship ? " Mrs. Roberts felt the conversation growing impolite. " George — a fork for Miss Sharpe," she murmured. (Why did she want a fork ? Oh yes, to eat her cake with. 10 OUR HOUSE The idea ! Wasn't that New England !) " But we think very highly of New England," she said. " We sent Robert to college there; and you know how he loves it. Though it doesn't seem as — as friendly as Millingtown." Mary Sharpe was busy with the fork. " Yes," she an- swered calmly, " we don't call each other ' cousin ' so much, and that sort of thing — which is so charming — if you happen to have cousins." " But you are related to the Dixons, and they are con- nected with all the good families here." Mrs. Roberts spoke deprecatingly. Her kind heart was touched by the picture of a cousinless New England. Mary Sharpe grimaced at her ice cream. " Oh, yes, the Dixons ! " " Your grandmother was a Dixon," Cousin Jenny con- tributed with some severity. " I saw her married in the parlor of your house, under the chandelier. She married out of meeting, and an army officer too. It was quite a scandal then." " That awful chandelier ! Yes, and died and left me the house, so that here I am. J'y mis, j'y reste" She made a gesture of comic despair. The tone rather than the words disturbed the company. " She's not Millingtown," whispered Cousin Jenny fiercely. They were relieved by the entrance of the men. " All right. Thank you, Miss Sharpe." John Roberts was always awkward in Miss Sharpe's presence. " But we nearly burned up to celebrate the victory. Sarah — any more ice cream ? " Miss Sharpe dropped her fork. " A victory," she flamed; " I call it a disgrace! To trap the poor helpless creatures and then drown them like rats." Her warmth made them still more uncomfortable. CHICKEN AND WAFFLES 11 " But they're only dagoes after all," Cousin Jim protested, with ill-advised levity. u Dagoes ! " She turned upon him. " The proudest race in Europe — with a Velasquez, and a Pizarro, and a Ferdinand behind them. Dagoes ! " Mrs. Roberts threw her gentle voice desperately be- tween the combatants. " Did you know that Robert was coming home to-morrow ? " she asked pleadingly. Mary Sharpe forgot her warlike ardor. " To-morrow ! Splendid! Tell him IVe some new books to show him, and a picture. What is he going to do — in Milling- town ? " She addressed the company, with a breath's pause in the midst of the question that was not lost. u Go to work," answered Mr. Roberts curtly. " Of course, of course. But at what ? What will he do here ? " There was the faintest tremble of emphasis upon the " here." Cousin Jenny rustled her sleeves. " Whatever he can do best, my dear," she sniffed. " There's always room for a Roberts in Millingtown." " I wonder," Mary Sharpe murmured thoughtfully. She turned again to Mrs. Roberts. " You won't put him in business, will you ? He's not made for business." The cousins looked at each other in shocked disapproval. " Meddle-cat," Cousin Jenny remarked, none too softly. John Roberts caught only her general negative. " Women think that a man ought to know business before he begins," he said in his vague, diffident fashion. " Rob- ert has to learn like the **est of us. He may be a little mooney just now, but he's got the stuff in him. I'm going to give him the same chance I had myself. I wish the real estate business here were as good now as it was then " — he broke off rather shortly. 12 OUR HOUSE Mrs. Roberts' lips moved helplessly. The cake was gone. The fresh coffee had not come. She could not think how to end this conversation. But the end came of itself. " Taxes going up next year, d'you think, John ? " asked Cousin Jim. They were tired of infant psychology. When Mary Sharpe said good-night a little apologet- ically and left, they settled back into a relieved cousin- ship. " There's nothing like the old folks, after all," Cousin Jenny remarked, patting Cousin Tom on the shoul- der. " Now we can talk." Only in Mrs. Roberts' heart, usually so placid, so content with her little world of simple dignities, a flicker of warm, inexplicable emotion stirred whenever she thought of her son, of his moods, and his interest in things of which she had learned little — of what she could guess of his passionate desires. CHAPTER II «/~\N with the dance, let mirth be unconfined," Johnny \