Neither of the girls seemed to have heard him at first in the chatter they broke into over what Beaton proposed.Then Mela said,absently,"Oh,she had to go out to see one of her friends that's sick,"and she struck the piano keys."Come;try it,Chris!"Dryfoos turned about unheeded and went back to the library.He would have liked to put Beaton out of his house,and in his heart he burned against him as a contumacious hand;he would have liked to discharge him from the art department of 'Every Other Week'at once.But he was aware of not having treated Beaton with much ceremony,and if the young man had returned his behavior in kind,with an electrical response to his own feeling,had he any right to complain?After all,there was no harm in his teaching Christine the banjo.
His wife still sat looking into the fire."I can't see,"she said,"as we've got a bit more comfort of our lives,Jacob,because we've got such piles and piles of money.I wisht to gracious we was back on the farm this minute.I wisht you had held out ag'inst the childern about sellin'it;'twould 'a'bin the best thing fur 'em,I say.I believe in my soul they'll git spoiled here in New York.I kin see a change in 'em a'ready--in the girls."Dryfoos stretched himself on the lounge again."I can't see as Coonrod is much comfort,either.Why ain't he here with his sisters?What does all that work of his on the East Side amount to?It seems as if he done it to cross me,as much as anything."Dryfoos complained to his wife on the basis of mere affectional habit,which in married life often survives the sense of intellectual equality.He did not expect her to reason with him,but there was help in her listening,and though she could only soothe his fretfulness with soft answers which were often wide of the purpose,he still went to her for solace."Here,I've gone into this newspaper business,or whatever it is,on his account,and he don't seem any more satisfied than ever.I can see he hain't got his heart in it.""The pore boy tries;I know he does,Jacob;and he wants to please you.
But he give up a good deal when he give up bein'a preacher;I s'pose we ought to remember that.""A preacher!"sneered Dryfoos."I reckon bein'a preacher wouldn't satisfy him now.He had the impudence to tell me this afternoon that he would like to be a priest;and he threw it up to me that he never could be because I'd kept him from studyin'.""He don't mean a Catholic priest--not a Roman one,Jacob,"the old woman explained,wistfully."He's told me all about it.They ain't the kind o'Catholics we been used to;some sort of 'Piscopalians;and they do a heap o'good amongst the poor folks over there.He says we ain't got any idea how folks lives in them tenement houses,hundreds of 'em in one house,and whole families in a room;and it burns in his heart to help 'em like them Fathers,as be calls 'em,that gives their lives to it.
He can't be a Father,he says,because he can't git the eddication now;but he can be a Brother;and I can't find a word to say ag'inst it,when it gits to talkin',Jacob.""I ain't saying anything against his priests,'Liz'beth,"said Dryfoos.
"They're all well enough in their way;they've given up their lives to it,and it's a matter of business with them,like any other.But what I'm talking about now is Coonrod.I don't object to his doin'all the charity he wants to,and the Lord knows I've never been stingy with him about it.He might have all the money he wants,to give round any way he pleases.""That's what I told him once,but he says money ain't the thing--or not the only thing you got to give to them poor folks.You got to give your time and your knowledge and your love--I don't know what all you got to give yourself,if you expect to help 'em.That's what Coonrod says.""Well,I can tell him that charity begins at home,"said Dryfoos,sitting up in his impatience."And he'd better give himself to us a little--to his old father and mother.And his sisters.What's he doin'goin'off there to his meetings,and I don't know what all,an'leavin'them here alone?""Why,ain't Mr.Beaton with 'em?"asked the old woman."I thought Iheared his voice."
"Mr.Beaton!Of course he is!And who's Mr.Beaton,anyway?""Why,ain't he one of the men in Coonrod's office?I thought I heared--""Yes,he is!But who is he?What's he doing round here?Is he makin'up to Christine?"
"I reckon he is.From Mely's talk,she's about crazy over the fellow.
Don't you like him,Jacob?"
"I don't know him,or what he is.He hasn't got any manners.Who brought him here?How'd he come to come,in the first place?""Mr.Fulkerson brung him,I believe,"said the old woman,patiently.
"Fulkerson!"Dryfoos snorted."Where's Mrs.Mandel,I should like to know?He brought her,too.Does she go traipsin'off this way every evening?""No,she seems to be here pretty regular most o'the time.I don't know how we could ever git along without her,Jacob;she seems to know just what to do,and the girls would be ten times as outbreakin'without her.
I hope you ain't thinkin'o'turnin'her off,Jacob?"Dryfoos did not think it necessary to answer such a question."It's all Fulkerson,Fulkerson,Fulkerson.It seems to me that Fulkerson about runs this family.He brought Mrs.Mandel,and he brought that Beaton,and he brought that Boston fellow!I guess I give him a dose,though;and I'll learn Fulkerson that he can't have everything his own way.Idon't want anybody to help me spend my money.I made it,and I can manage it.I guess Mr.Fulkerson can bear a little watching now.He's been travelling pretty free,and he's got the notion he's driving,maybe.
