FATHER’S REBELLION

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLV, Issue 17, 26 October 1910, Page 55

FATHER’S REBELLION

By

FREEMAN PUTNEY, Jr.

T t° the time when mother died, 0 | and Aunt Amelia came to live with us, I had taken father’s abeentmindedness as a matter ■of course, and something to be expected in a college professor. It was always part of our family routine to make sure that he did not start for his classes in the morning without his necktie, or with one of my shopping-bags in place of the green one that holds his books. I ■Father always says that he is absorbed in thinking of his work; and that his mind, instead of being absent, in very present, although occupied with affairs other than unimportant trifles. That was what he told Aunt Amelia when she scolded him for having worn to church, in place of his high silk hat, a battered’ and cobwebby old derby which he uses when he rakes up the lawn. I couldn’t blame Aunt.,Amelia for feeling annoyed, although I did not think she fully understood father. She had not really known him since he was a boy, for she had lived in the West ever since she was married, until her husband died. ... “Really, Edith,” she confided to me later, “I am anxious about your father’s mental condition. All the Adams family for generations, even the scholars, have been practical—extremely practical.” Aunt Amelia herself is Extremely practical. I knew that from the Svay she had set her son, Cousin Thomas, after hie, as soon as she found-out that mama’s money had been left in my name. But to smooth things over, I spoke to father. He did try for a few days, and Aunt Amelia was very much encouraged until the evening when he brought home Mr. Eliot’s family cat in place of the basket of ■ lettuce he had gone to fetch.- — We hoped, then, that he would do better when college had closed, and his classes were off his mind; so, as soon as possible after commencement, we hurried down to the seashore at Hardyport and opened our cottage. But before we had been there a week, Aunt Amelia, with a face of gloom, confided to me in a corner of the piazza: "Your father, Edith, is certainly not improving. 1 don’t dare to say what I. am afraid of.” I knew she meant insanity, but I wouldn’t mention it. Father had been spending most of hie time in his study on his scientific work, and it certainly had seemed once or twice, from things he did, that he wasn’t quite right. That very afternoon, when we routed him out to take a swim, we found that he had retired to his room to change his clothes for his bathingsuit, and had gone to •bed by mistake. “Let’s go to town to-jnorrow and see Dr. Dodge,” I suggested. . . Dr. Dodge is our family physician, and I suppose we didn't go into details about father as with a stranger. First, Aunt Amelia talked, and then I chimed in. We didn't either of us mention insanity; but when we told how we were afraid of father’s having trouble with

his head, we thought the doctor understood what We feared. It developed afterward that Dr. Dodge got the impression that father was suffering from headaches, caused by too close application to study, and that what we women wanted was a physician’s authority to make him take care of himself. So he said that, while he couldn’t attempt a thorough diagnosis without seeing the patient, he thought father’s condition would improve if he limited himself strictly to working not more than two hours at a time, alternated by periods of recreation, preferably out of doors. “And I will appoint you ladies,” he concluded pleasantly', “to make sure that my directions are observed.” Father seldom makes a fuss about anything, and he submitted beautifully to the doctor’s orders. We timed his Working periods; and if he stayed locked up in his room for more than two hours, one of us would invite him to go for a walk, or boating, or to play croquet. One morning, when we had been at the shore about a week, I took father to visit the wharves of one of the big fish companies over in town. It was all very interesting: but father got into trouble, as usual,, He sat down on what he took to be the solid cover of an upturned but it was really the open top of a barrel of brine. Some of the men laughed; but a young man in overalls hurried up and helped father out, and was very kind, not even smiling. He spoke sharply to the men, and it was remarkable how quickly they sobered up, and helped father to clean his clothes. The-young man, who seemed to be some sort of a foreman, lent father his own overcoat to wear home. Although I was so much afraid that father would take cold; I did remember to thank the young man, whose mime was Mr. MeGarragh, and to tell him that we would send back the coat. He was a very pleasant young man, tall and squareshouldered. 11 is face was not a bit handsome, but his forehead looked calm and collected, and his eyes didn’t seem to have much nonsense in them. 1 liked hi-ij; but, somehow, when he looked at me squarely,' 1 was embarrassed a little, to my own disgust. Of course, Aunt Amelia went wild when father came home wet. She spoke to him so sharply that he stayed in his room all that evening, in spite of us, and most of the following day. Then, almost , by force. Aunt Amelia dragged him out and sent him up to the hotel for a newspaper. Father was so long in returning that I dipped out to look for him. I found ’that he had dropped the two pennies that Aunt Amelia had given him into a mail-box, under the impression that he had been sent to post a letter. W hen he woke up to the fact, he found he had no other 'money with him, and he was trying to screw up his courage to face aunt again. I bought the newspaper and we went home togehter, enjoying the walk along tlie beach very much. At the door of our cottage, whom should wo meet but Mr. MeGarragh? He had come, lie said, to eave us the trouble of sending back ilia overcoat; and of course we invited him in, When we introduced him to Aunt Amelia, she deliberately sniffed, and I knew •lie meant to suggest the odour of lish.

Mr. MeGarragh didn’t seem to notice it, nor did he mind when Cousin Thomas, who was staying with us for,a few days, undertook to snub him; but I was indignant because they had picked at the poor fellow'that way, so’l treated him very nicely, out of sheer pity. Neither Thomas nor atint seemed to enjoy that. It was on the second afternoon following that Mr. MeGarragh invited me to take the walk around Sunrise Point. Aunt Amelia . rose up and said that I should not go without a chaperon—after all the years 1 had been at Hardyport without the suggestion .of such a thing! If I hadn’t known that she was working for Cousin Thomas, who had made two attempts that week to propose to me, 1 should have shown how indignant I'was. Instead, I was very sweet, and told her how pleased I should be to have her come with us. Aunt hates walking, since she began to grow stout, and Mr. MeGarragh and I went alone. He talked less than any other young man I had ever known, but 1 didn’t care — perhaps because I am such a chatterbox myself. After I got home. I found myself wondering how such a nice man could work all day in those slimy fishsheds. That evening I nearly slapped Cousin Thomas’ face when he spoke of Mr. MeGarragh as a “fish-skinner.” II The summer wore on, and somehow Mr. MeGarragh seemed to take up more and more of my leisure time. He often came in the afternoon to take me for a drive, or for a skim in the harbour in a motorboat, or for one of the beautiful walks about Hardyport. If he couldn't get off from his work in the afternoon, he was fairly certain to appear in the evening and sit out with the family on the verandah. The first few times he did this, Aunt Amelia insulted him at every opportunity; but it seemed impossible to provoke him to answer back. It angered mo so, however, that 1 treated him more prettily

than ever; and when aunt discovered this, she took to ignoring him completely. Cousin Thomas, who had finally decided to spend the summer with us, kept out of his way. About the middle of August we begin to notice a new symptom m father. He was becoming irritable. We found more and more difficulty in keeping his schedule down to the allotted two hours of work. Aunt, however, stuck to the task like a heroine. We tried to get father to go and see Dr. Dodge, but he absolutely refused. He also forbade us to consult the doctor ourselves, or to bring him to the cottage, adding that, in his opinion. Dr. Dodge was a darned old fuddy-duddy. When father uses language as unscientific aS that he is really angry.

If It had not been so near the end of tlie season, I think we should have disbbtyed lain; but Aunt Amelia said the summer was so nearly over we might as well wait until we got home. Duly a day or two later, Aunt Amelia, with a very sober face, brought me a solemn editorial in her conservative newspaper. It turned on some man who was being tried for murder, and on the evidence of insanity in his ancestors. Then it went on for half a column about the wickedness of people who married when there was insanity in their families, and the misery they blight cause those they loved. > i The horrible newspaper editorial sobered me, .and 1 carried it on my nerves all day. 1 knew why aunt had made me read it; and the more I thought about it, and about our anxiety for father, the more distressed I was. I wondered what my duty would be if there really was insanity in my family, and if I was asked to marry. ‘ And that very evening Mr. MeGarragh proposed to me! It came so suddenly, and I was so flustered, that I could not shut it off. I hardly know just what 1 told him; but I gave him to understand that while I liked him, and hoped he would continue to be my friend, the thing he asked for could never be. He took.it quietly, as he took everything; but .as he went away his face was drawn, and I was so sorry for him r Nor was he the only one hurt, for I cried myself to sleep that night. ' He did not come the next day, nor afterward. As the week passed, I began to realise how much I eared for him. It was silly to think that a man in love, who had been rejected, would continue to fOree’’himself upon a girl whe apparently did not rare; but until die stayed away I had not known what his companionship meant. That-must have Isen a hard week for Aunt Amelia. Not only was I snippy,

bul father grew more and more irritable, and objected more and more to being prodded oil', of his den. He slid he had important work which must not be interrupted: but Aunt Amelia quoted the doctor’s orders and was inexorable. Tin n came the morning when father rebelled. It was a hot, bright day, at the vary end of August ; and I was up in my room, when I heard Aunt Amelia talking at the door of his study. .-It was evident that she was turning him out for his recreation period, and that he was decidedly unwilling. Finally I heard him go downstairs, actually stamping, and the front door slammed. A little later aunt came to report: “1 had absolutely to drag out your father, Edith; mid. more than that., I caught him smuggling some paper and pencils cut planning to keep at bis tir#-

•Omc work when he should be resting his mind. I took them away from him, and that is why he is so angry.” “Where has he gone!” I aJced. “With Thomas in the motor-boat. I told your cousin to keep him out all the morning, if he possibly could. It is yeally lieginning to wear on my own (nen-es, Edith, this watching your father •o constantly. X want a rest.” She sat down in my rocker, well satisfied with lierself and her managerial ability. Aunt Amelia certainly is a practical woman. Just then we heard shouting that took us both to the window. There, on a little pier down at the water’s edge, was Cousin Thomas, wildly waving his arms •nd shoutingi “Come back!” And alone in the motor-boat, well started and rapidly drawing away from shore—and, of course, wearing his tall pilk hat instead of his outing-cap—was father! The ridiculousness of it all, with father in that rig actually running away from Cousin Thomas, struck me first, •nd I began to laugh. Aunt Amelia quickly sobered me. “Goodness, Edith! What will happen to him now? We must not call public attention to this, out of regard for your father’s position; but Thomas must quietly get another boat and go after him." Downstairs, Cousin Thomas said he would do nothing of the kind. “I’ve put myself out enough for one day, mother, trying to help you cure my crazy unde, and it's too blamed hot for any more exertion, lie knows how to manage the boat, and I’ll be hanged if I’ll spend any more of my time chasing him if he doesn’t want my company. I’m going over to the hotel to play a few games of pool.” - He went, and I hope his ears burned from the look I gave him for what he called father. We got the opera-glasses and watched the motor-boat, easily distinguishing it by father’s silk hat as long as it was in the harbour. It kept on going out, however, and finally rounded the point, which hid it from our view. Noon came, but father did not return. We ate our luncheon, taking turns at the opera-glasses; but there were no ■igns of the motor-boat. Aunt had been worrying for a long time; and I, too, was nervous. She tried to call up Thomas at the hotel, but could not reach him. Then we talked as cheerfully as we could, saying that father had known the shore for years, that no accident eould have happened to him, •nd that probably something in the motor-boat had broken down. We were frying to keep our courage up. Finally it got to be two o’clock, and aunt said we must ask somebody to help sis. I told her that I would do it, and I •lipped off to the telephone. I think •he must have known whom I was going io call, but she made no protest. 111. Anxious as I was, I had a funny little thrill when I heard Sir. McGarragh’s yolce again, even although it was burred by the wire. I .told him that father had not returned from boating and that the matter must be kept quiet, and asked him to help us, He said he would come •ver at once and start out to search in his own motor-boat. ■lie did not ask me to go, but when he got to the boat-house I was there. I was afraid to go—afraid that we should find no trace of father—but I eould not stay in that uncertainty on shore. Gutside Sunrise Point we saw nothing of the other motor-boat, either on the sea or along the shore. We did, however, hail an old man who was steering a dory with an awkward sail toward town. “Y’a-as,” he shouted, "the feller’s on Edge Island. I live there, an’ I wouldn’t stay overnight with him around. He’si been playin’ on the beach all day, like a little bnbby: an’ when I stepped on some o’ the playthings he made in the sand, he yelled and heaved rocks nt me.’’ Then, ns our boat drew out of hearing, there came back to us on the wind: “Crazy ez a coot!” It was a great relief to know that father was not drowned; but when I heard the word “crazy,” I struggled for a minute, and then burst into teats. Everything I had been holding baek all summer seemed to give way at once. Before I knew it. I had blurted out the long, miserable tale of woe to Mr. MeCarragli, beginning with aunt’s first auspicious of father's snnity, and ending with the scene that we had had that very morning.

When I could get my eyes, which must have looked ridiculously red, clear enough to see Mr. McGarragh’s face, he was looking at me from his seat with the same drawn look which I had seen before. “Miss Adams,” he said finally, “I don’t know how I can ever forgive myself for the other night. When you had so much trouble of your own, I should have known—l should have felt—” “Don't!” I 'begged. “It wasn’t that, Mr. MeGarragh.” I faced him very bravely, for I knew I must tell him the whole truth. “I do—l do care for you. But you can see—with father like that—with that taint in the family—it can’t be. I couldn’t say yes. I mustn’t say yes to anybody!” He looked at me gravely for a long,' long time, and then said quietly: “You poor, poor little girl!” Then, before I know it, my head was down, and I was crying again; and I was so afraid ho might lean forward and touch even my hand, which would have been miserable for both of us; but he did not. And then we rounded a bib of cliff, and there before us was the trench on Edge Island. It was a wide, Hard beach, broken here and there by the rocks; and in the distance was a 'tall man, digging—or

rather scratching—in the sand. His coat and waistcoat were both off, but his silk hat was still on his head. Even if he had been someone else’s father instead of mine, I should have felt sorry for him. In that dress, combined with his occupation, he certainly appeared anything but normal. As we drew near shore, we saw that the beach, clear down to the edge of the rising tide, was covered with marks on the sand. It looked as if father had spent the day like a five-year-old child; and there came over me a strange dread of seeing him face to face, of hearing him speak, of knowing how he had changed. But, even as we neared the shore, he straightened up from his work with a gesture as if he was done, and began to walk back. Then, as he saw us, he quickened his steps and approached the edge of the waves, where we were drifting. “Father!” I called softly. “Well, Edith?” he returned. To my joy, it was father's normal voice, and his face and eyes were more like' his old self than he had been for weeks. Ridiculous as he looked, standing tall and gaunt in hrs silk hat, with his light shirt and trousers wet and plastered with mud, I was glad to know, as somehow I did know, that no great change had come over him. “We were worried about you,” I said reproachfully. He felt for his watch, but it was in his waistcoat, lying back there on the sand. Then he looked at the sun. “Goodness, child! It is late afternoon, isn’t it? I had no idea it was even

lunch time. You see, I have been absorbed in my work.” He waved his hand at the beach; and I saw now that the sand was crowded ■with diagrams, scientific writings, and figures upon figures. “Your Aunt Amelia actually farced me out of my room this morning, and I am afraid I became exceedingly angry. 1 .cannot abide my nephew Thomas; and when I found myself in the motor-boat, the temptation to start off alone was irresistible. I am sorry to say, Edith, that my work has often been disturbed this summer.” “Yes, father,” I acknowledged guiltily. “1 have been writing a book, and these interruptions have seriously interfered with the solving of a certain problem necessary to my work. This problem has troubled me greatly all the season. it seemed as if every time I got well started on it, I was disturbed by a well-meant invitation to go walking, or boating, or bathing—all of which are pleasant diversions at their proper time, but not at all conducive 4o serious accomplishment. 'The thing has rested heavily on my mind; 1 may even have seemed a trifle absorbed at times.” “You have, father,” I agreed. “This morning, sailing along shore in the boat, I was thinking of this problem,

and wishing that I had not been so weak as to yield up to your aunt my pencils and supply of paper. Then I saw a fine beach on this all but deserted island, and it struck me that here was a primitive but perfectly practicable field of opera-tions—-one might say a gigantic writingpad prepared for me by nature. I came ashore at low tide, anchored my boat out there where, you now see it floating, secured a sharp stick, and went ta work, working out my problem on the sand. Despite the amount of pedestrianism required, the heat which obliged me to dispense with my coat and waistcoat, and an interruption by an old fisherman, whom I drove away, I have had a satisfactory day. And I am overjoyed to announce that my important problem is solved.” “You are to be congratulated, professor,” said my companion in the boat. “I know what it is to dig out a thing of that sort.” “You do, Mr. MeGarragh!” I exclaimed. He closed his mouth, and began to redden a bit. Father looked at him in a puzzled way. “MeGarragh!” he repeated. “You don’t happen to be a relative of the George L. MeGarragh who wrote that treatise on ‘The Use of Logarithms When Applied in Chemistry,’ do you?” Mr. MeGarragh reddened still more, Then he looked at me. “You sliould have told me,” I began. “I thought you were the fish company’s foreman.” “That is just what I am, temporarily, but meanwhile I have been devising for them certain new methods of preserving fish. They do pay me a trifle more than a foreman usually gets,” he acknowledged,,

“MeGarragh,” said father, speaking M if to an old friend, “if you have a pencil and any paper with you I’d like to transfer some memoranda of my results before the tide washes them away. When I’ve done that I’ll wade out and shake hands with you.” “There’s a notebook yitfi a pencil in it,” returned Mr. MeGarragh, throwing them ashore. Then, the instant father’s back was turned he loaned toward me. “Are you satisfied of your father’s sanity?” he asked quietly. I retreated to the farthest front seat, but I had to nod.

“Don’t you dare leave that tiller!” I ordered.

But he did, and between the rocking of the boat and my fear, that father would, turn round, and the fact that Mr. George L. MeGarragh didn’t know nearly as much about kissing a girl as he did about chemistry, the first one landed squarely on the back of my neek.