it if I can keep alive。 It's a great chance for mefor all of us。
Aren't you at the Law School？〃
I nodded。 Once more； as his earnest glance fell upon me； came that
suggestion of a subtle； inexplicable link between us； but before I could
reply； steps were heard behind us； and an elderly servant； bareheaded；
was seen coming down the path。
〃Are you the reporter？〃 he demanded somewhat impatiently of Krebs。 〃If
you want to see Mr。 Dome； you'd better come right away。 He's going out
for a drive。〃
For a while； after he had shaken my hand and departed； I stood in the
snow； looking after him。。。。
VIII
On the Wednesday of that same week the news of my father's sudden and
serious illness came to me in a telegram； and by the time I arrived at
home it was too late to see him again alive。 It was my first experience
with death； and what perplexed me continually during the following days
was an inability to feel the loss more deeply。 When a child； I had been
easily shaken by the spectacle of sorrow。 Had I； during recent years； as
a result of a discovery that emotions arising from human relationships
lead to discomfort and suffering； deliberately been forming a shell；
until now I was incapable of natural feelings？ Of late I had seemed
closer to my father； and his letters； though formal； had given evidence
of his affection； in his repressed fashion he had made it clear that he
looked forward to the time when I was to practise with him。 Why was it
then； as I gazed upon his fine features in death； that I experienced no
intensity of sorrow？ What was it in me that would not break down？ He
seemed worn and tired； yet I had never thought of him as weary； never
attributed to him any yearning。 And now he was released。
I wondered what had been his private thoughts about himself； his private
opinions about life； and when I reflect now upon my lack of real
knowledge at five and twenty； I am amazed at the futility of an expensive
education which had failed to impress upon me the simple； basic fact that
life was struggle； that either development or retrogression is the fate
of all men； that characters are never completely made； but always in the
making。 I had merely a disconcerting glimpse of this truth； with no
powers of formulation； as I sat beside my mother in the bedroom； where
every article evoked some childhood scene。 Here was the dent in the
walnut foot…board of the bed made； one wintry day； by the impact of my
box of blocks； the big arm…chair； covered with I know not what stiff
embroidery； which had served on countless occasions as a chariot driven
to victory。 I even remembered how every Wednesday morning I had been
banished from the room； which had been so large a part of my childhood
universe； when Ella； the housemaid； had flung open all its windows and
crowded its furniture into the hall。
The thought of my wanderings since then became poignant； almost
terrifying。 The room； with all its memories； was unchanged。 How safe I
had been within its walls！ Why could I not have been； content with what
it represented？ of tradition； of custom；of religion？ And what was it
within me that had lured me away from these？
I was miserable； indeed； but my misery was not of the kind I thought it
ought to be。 At moments； when my mother relapsed into weeping； I glanced
at her almost in wonder。 Such sorrow as hers was incomprehensible。 Once
she surprised and discomfited me by lifting her head and gazing fixedly
at me through her tears。
I recall certain impressions of the funeral。 There； among the pall…
bearers； was my Cousin Robert Breck； tears in the furrows of his cheeks。
Had he loved my father more than I？ The sight of his grief moved me
suddenly and strongly。。。。 It seemed an age since I had worked in his
store； and yet here he was still； coming to town every morning and
returning every evening to Claremore； loving his friends； and mourning
them one by one。 Was this； the spectacle presented by my Cousin Robert；
the reward of earthly existence？ Were there no other prizes save those
known as greatness of character and depth of human affections？ Cousin
Robert looked worn and old。 The other pall…bearers； men of weight； of
long standing in the community； were aged； too； Mr。 Blackwood； and Mr。
Jules Hollister； and out of place； somehow； in this new church building。
It came to me abruptly that the old order was gone；had slipped away
during my absence。 The church I had known in boyhood had been torn down
to make room for a business building on Boyne Street； the edifice in
which I sat was expensive； gave forth no distinctive note； seemingly
transitory with its hybrid interior； its shiny oak and blue and red
organ…pipes； betokening a compromised and weakened faith。 Nondescript；
likewise； seemed the new minister； Mr。 Randlett； as he prayed unctuously
in front of the flowers massed on the platform。 I vaguely resented his
laudatory references to my father。
The old church； with its severity； had actually stood for something。 It
was the Westminster Catechism in wood and stone； and Dr。 Pound had been
the human incarnation of that catechism； the fit representative of a
wrathful God； a militant shepherd who had guarded with vigilance his
respectable flock； who had protested vehemently against the sins of the
world by which they were surrounded； against the 〃dogs； and sorcerers；
and whoremongers； and murderers and idolaters； and whosoever loveth and
maketh a lie。〃 How Dr。 Pound would have put the emphasis of the
Everlasting into those words！
Against what was Mr。 Randlett protesting？
My glance wandered to the pews which held the committees from various
organizations； such as the Chamber of Commerce and the Bar Association；
which had come to do honour to my father。 And there； differentiated from
the others； I saw the spruce； alert figure of Theodore Watling。 He； too；
represented a new type and a new note；this time a forceful note； a
secular note that had not belonged to the old church； and seemed likewise
anomalistic in the new。。。。
During the long； slow journey in the carriage to the cemetery my mother
did not raise her veil。 It was not until she reached out and seized my
hand； convulsively； that I realized she was still a part of my existence。
In the days that followed I became aware that my father's death had
removed a restrictive element； that I was free now to take without
criticism or opposition whatever course in life I might desire。 It may
be that I had apprehended even then that his professional ideals would
not have coincided with my own。 Mingled with this sense of emancipation
was a curious feeling of regret； of mourning for something I had never
valued； something fixed and dependable for which he had stood； a rock and
a refuge of which I had never availed myself！。。。 When his will was
opened it was found that the property had been left to my mother during
her lifetime。 It was larger than I had thought； four hundred thousand
dollars； shrewdly invested； for the most part； in city real estate。 My
father had been very secretive as to money matters； and my mother had no
interest in them。
Three or four days later I received in the mail a typewritten letter
signed by Theodore Watling； expressing sympathy for my bereavement； and
asking me to drop in on him； down town； before I should leave the city。
In contrast to the somewhat dingy offices where my father had practised
in the Blackwood Block； the quarters of Watling； Fowndes and Ripon on the
eighth floor of the new Durrett Building were modern to a degree；
finished in oak and floored with marble； with a railed…off space where
young women with nimble fingers played ceaselessly on typewriters。 One
of them informed me that Mr。 Watling was busy； but on reading my card
added that she would take it in。 Meanwhile； in company with two others
who may have been clients； I waited。 This； then； was what it meant to be
a lawyer of importance； to have； like a Chesterfield； an ante…room where
clients cooled their heels and awaited one's pleasure。。。
The young woman returned； and led me through a corridor to a door on
which was painted Mr。 Wailing。
I recall him tilted back in his chair in a debonnair manner beside his
polished desk； the hint of a smile on his lips； and leaning close to him
was a yellow； owl…like person whose eyes； as they turned to me； gave the
impression of having stared for years into hard； artificial lights。 Mr。
Watling rose briskly。
〃How are you； Hugh？〃 he said； the warmth of his greeting tempered by just
the note of condolence suitable to my black clothes。 〃I'm glad you came。
I wanted to see you before you went back to Cambridge。 I must introduce
you to Judge Bering； of our State Supreme Court。 Judge； this is Mr。
Paret's boy。〃
The judge looked me over with a certain slow impressiveness； and gave me
a soft and fleshy hand。
〃Glad to know you； Mr。 Paret。 Your father was a great loss to our bar；〃
he declared。
I detected in his tone and manner a slight reservation that could not be
called precisely judicial dignity； it was as though； in these few words；
he had gone to the limit of self…commitment with a strangera striking
contrast to the confidential attitude towards Mr。 Watling in which I had
surprised him。
〃Judge；〃 said Mr。 Watling； sitting down again； 〃do you recall that time
we all went up to Mr。 Paret's house and tried to induce him to run for
mayor？ That was before you went on the lower bench。〃
The judge nodded gloomily； caressing his watch chain； and suddenly rose
to go。
〃That will be all right； then？〃 Mr。 Watling inquired cryptically； with a
smile。 The other made a barely perceptible inclination of the head and
departed。 Mr。 Watling looked at me。 〃He's one of the best men we have
on the bench to…day；〃 he added。 There was a trace of apology in his
tone。
He talked a while of my father； to whom； so he said； he had looked up
ever since he had been admitted to the bar。
〃It would be a pleasure to me； Hugh； as well as a matter of pride；〃 he
said cordially； but with dignity； 〃to have Matthew Paret's son in my
office。 I suppose you will be wishing to take your mother somewhere this
summer； b