VI. THE SON-IN-LAW
by John Kendrick Bangs
On the whole I am glad our family is no larger than it is. It is a very
excellent family as families go, but the infinite capacity of each
individual in it for making trouble, and adding to complications
already sufficiently complex, surpasses anything that has ever before
come into my personal or professional experience. If I handle my end of
this miserable affair without making a break of some kind or other, I
shall apply to the Secretary of State for a high place in the
diplomatic service, for mere international complications are
child's-play compared to this embroglio in which Goward and Aunt
Elizabeth have landed us all. I think I shall take up politics and try
to get myself elected to the legislature, anyhow, and see if I can't
get a bill through providing that when a man marries it is distinctly
understood that he marries his wife and not the whole of his wife's
family, from her grandmother down through her maiden aunts, sisters,
cousins, little brothers, et al., including the latest arrivals in
kittens. In my judgment it ought to be made a penal offence for any
member of a man's wife's family to live on the same continent with him,
and if I had to get married all over again to Maria--and I'd do it with
as much delighted happiness as ever--I should insist upon the
interpolation of a line in the marriage ceremony, "Do you promise to
love, honor, and obey your wife's relatives," and when I came to it I'd
turn and face the congregation and answer "No," through a megaphone, so
loud that there could be no possibility of a misunderstanding as to
precisely where I stood.
If anybody thinks I speak with an unusual degree of feeling, I beg to
inform him or her, as the case may be, that in the matter of wife's
relations I have an unusually full set, and, as my small brother-in-law
says when he orates about his postage-stamp collection, they're all
uncancelled. Into all lives a certain amount of mother-in-law must
fall, but I not only have that, but a grandmother-in-law as well, and
maiden-aunt-in-law, and the Lord knows what else-in-law besides. I must
say that as far as my mother-in-law is concerned I've had more luck
than most men, because Mrs. Talbert comes pretty close to the ideal in
mother-in-legal matters. She is gentle and unoffending. She prefers
minding her own business to assuming a trust control of other people's
affairs, but HER mother--well, I don't wish any ill to Mrs. Evarts, but
if anybody is ambitious to adopt an orphan lady, with advice on tap at
all hours in all matters from winter flannels to the conversion of the
Hottentots, I will cheerfully lead him to the goal of his desires, and
with alacrity surrender to him all my right, title, and interest in
her. At the same time I will give him a quit-claim deed to my
maiden-aunt-in-law--not that Aunt Elizabeth isn't good fun, for she is,
and I enjoy talking to her, and wondering what she will do next fills
my days with a living interest, but I'd like her better if she belonged
in some other fellow's family.
I don't suppose I can blame Maria under all the circumstances for
standing up for the various members of her family when they are
attacked, which she does with much vigorous and at times aggressive
loyalty. We cannot always help ourselves in the matter of our
relations. Some are born relatives, some achieve relatives, and others
have relatives thrust upon them. Maria was born to hers, and according
to all the rules of the game she's got to like them, nay, even cherish
and protect them against the slings and arrows of outrageous criticism.
But, on the other hand, I think she ought to remember that while I
achieved some of them with my eyes open, the rest were thrust upon me
when I was defenceless, and when I find some difficulty in adapting
myself to circumstances, as is frequently the case, she should be more
lenient to my incapacity. The fact that I am a lawyer makes it
necessary for me to toe the mark of respect for the authority of the
courts all day, whether I am filled with contempt for the court or not,
and it is pretty hard to find, when I return home at night, that
another set of the judiciary in the form of Maria's family, a sort of
domestic supreme court, controls all my private life, so that except
when I am rambling through the fields alone, or am taking my bath in
the morning, I cannot give my feelings full and free expression without
disturbing the family entente; and there isn't much satisfaction in
skinning people to a lonesome cow, or whispering your indignant
sentiments into the ear of a sponge already soaked to the full with
cold water. I have tried all my married life to agree with every member
of the family in everything he, she, or it has said, but, now that this
Goward business has come up, I can't do that, because every time
anybody says "Booh" to anybody else in the family circle, regarding
this duplex love-affair, a family council is immediately called and
"Booh" is discussed, not only from every possible stand-point, but from
several impossible ones as well.
When that letter of Goward's was rescued from the chewing-gum
contingent, with its address left behind upon the pulpy surface of
Sidney Tracy's daily portion of peptonized-paste, it was thought best
that I should call upon the writer at his hotel and find out to whom
the letter was really written.
My own first thought was to seek out Sidney Tracy and see if the
superscription still remained on the chewing-gum, and I had the
good-fortune to meet the boy on my way to the hotel, but on questioning
him I learned that in the excitement of catching a catfish, shortly
after Alice had left the lads, Sidney had incontinently swallowed the
rubber-like substance, and nothing short of an operation for
appendicitis was likely to put me in possession of the missing exhibit.
So I went on to the hotel, and ten minutes later found myself in the
presence of an interesting case of nervous prostration. Poor Goward!
When I observed the wrought-up condition of his nerves, I was
immediately so filled with pity for him that if it hadn't been for
Maria I think I should at once have assumed charge of his case, and, as
his personal counsel, sued the family for damages on his behalf. He did
not strike me as being either old enough, or sufficiently gifted in the
arts of philandery, to be taken seriously as a professional
heart-breaker, and to tell the truth I had to restrain myself several
times from telling him that I thought the whole affair a tempest in a
teapot, because, in wanting consciously to marry two members of the
family, he had only attempted to do what I had done unconsciously when
I and the whole tribe of Talberts, remotely and immediately connected,
became one. Nevertheless, I addressed him coldly.
"Mr. Goward," I said, when the first greetings were over, "this is a
most unfortunate affair."
"It is terrible," he groaned, pacing the thin-carpeted floor like a
poor caged beast in the narrow confines of the Zoo. "You don't need to
tell me how unfortunate it all is."
"As a matter of fact," I went on, "I don't exactly recall a similar
case in my experience. You will doubtless admit yourself that it is a
bit unusual for a man even of your age to flirt with the maiden aunt of
his fiancee, and possibly you realize that we would all be very much
relieved if you could give us some reasonable explanation of your
conduct."
"I'll be only too glad to explain," said Goward, "if you will only
listen."
"In my own judgment the best solution of the tangle would be for you to
elope with a third party at your earliest convenience," I continued,
"but inasmuch as you have come here it is evident that you mean to
pursue some course of action in respect to one of the two ladies--my
sister or my aunt. Now what IS that course? and which of the two ladies
may we regard as the real object of your vagrom affections? I tell you
frankly, before you begin, that I shall permit no trifling with Peggy.
As to Aunt Elizabeth, she is quite able to take care of herself."
"It's--it's Peggy, of course," said Goward. "I admire Miss Elizabeth
Talbert very much indeed, but I never really thought of--being
seriously engaged to her."
"Ah!" said I, icily. "And did you think of being frivolously engaged to
her?"
"I not only thought of it," said Goward, "but I was. It was at the
Abercrombies', Mr. Price. Lily--that is to say, Aunt Elizabeth--"
"Excuse me, Mr. Goward," I interrupted. "As yet the lady is not your
Aunt Elizabeth, and the way things look now I have my doubts if she
ever is your Aunt Elizabeth."
"Miss Talbert, then," said Goward, with a heart-rending sigh. "Miss
Talbert and I were guests at the Abercrombies' last October--maybe
she's told you--and on Hallowe'en we had a party--apple-bobbing and the
mirror trick and all that, and somehow or other Miss Talbert and I were
thrown together a great deal, and before I really knew how, or why,
we--well, we became engaged for--for the week, anyhow."
"I see," said I, dryly. "You played the farce for a limited engagement."
"We joked about it a great deal, and I--well, I got into the spirit of
it--one must at house-parties, you know," said Goward, deprecatingly.
"I suppose so," said I.
"I got into the spirit of it, and Miss Talbert christened me Young
Lochinvar, Junior," Goward went on, "and I did my best to live up to
the title. Then at the end of the week I was suddenly called home, and
I didn't have any chance to see Miss Talbert alone before leaving,
and--well, the engagement wasn't broken off. That's all. I never saw
her again until I came here to meet the family. I didn't know she was
Peggy's aunt."
"So that in reality you WERE engaged to both Peggy and Miss Talbert at
the same time," I suggested. "That much seems to be admitted."
"I suppose so," groaned Goward. "But not seriously engaged, Mr. Price.
I didn't suppose she would think it was serious--just a lark--but when
she appeared that night and fixed me with her eye I suddenly realized
what had happened."
"It was another case of 'the woman tempted me and I did eat,' was it,
Goward?" I asked.
Goward's pale face Hushed, and he turned angrily.
"I haven't said anything of the sort," he retorted. "Of all the
unmanly, sneaking excuses that ever were offered for wrong-doing, that
first of Adam's has never been beaten."
"You evidently don't think that Adam was a gentleman," I put in, with a
feeling of relief at the boy's attitude toward my suggestion.
"Not according to my standards," he said, with warmth.
"Well," I ventured, "he hadn't had many opportunities, Adam hadn't. His
outlook was rather provincial, and his associations not broadening. You
wouldn't have been much better yourself brought up in a zoo.
Nevertheless, I don't think myself that he toed the mark as straight as
he might have."
"He was a coward," said Goward, with a positiveness born of conviction.
And with that remark Goward took his place in my affections. Whatever
the degree of his seeming offence, he was at least a gentleman himself,
and his unwillingness to place any part of the blame for his conduct
upon Aunt Elizabeth showed me that he was not a cad, and I began to
feel pretty confident that some reasonable way out of our troubles was
looming into sight.
"How old are you, Goward?" I asked.
"Twenty-one," he answered, "counting the years. If you count the last
week by the awful hours it has contained I am older than Methuselah."
At last I thought I had it, and a feeling of wrath against Aunt
Elizabeth began to surge up within me. It was another case of that
intolerable "only a boy" habit that so many women of uncertain age and
character, married and single, seem nowadays to find so much pleasure
in. We find it too often in our complex modern society, and I am not
sure that it is not responsible for more deviations from the path of
rectitude than even the offenders themselves imagine. Callow youth just
from college is susceptible to many kinds of flattery, and at the age
of adolescence the appeal which lovely woman makes to inexperience is
irresistible.
I know whereof I speak, for I have been there myself. I always tell
Maria everything that I conveniently can--it is not well for a man to
have secrets from his wife--and when I occasionally refer to my past
flames I find myself often growing more than pridefully loquacious over
my early affairs of the heart, but when I thought of the serious study
that I once made in my twentieth year of the dozen easiest, most
painless methods of committing suicide because Miss Mehitabel Flanders,
aetat thirty-eight, whom I had chosen for my life's companion, had
announced her intention of marrying old Colonel Barrington--one of the
wisest matches ever as I see it now--I drew the line at letting Maria
into that particular secret of my career. Miss Mehitabel was indeed a
beautiful woman, and she took a very deep and possibly maternal
interest in callow youth. She invited confidence and managed in many
ways to make a strong appeal to youthful affections, but I don't think
she was always careful to draw the line nicely between maternal love
and that other which is neither maternal, fraternal, paternal, nor even
filial. To my eye she was no older than I, and to my way of thinking
nothing could have been more eminently fitting than that we should walk
the Primrose Way hand in hand forever.
While I will not say that the fair Mehitabel trifled with my young
affections, I will say that she let me believe--nay, induced me to
believe by her manner--that even as I regarded her she regarded me, and
when at the end she disclaimed any intention to smash my heart into the
myriad atoms into which it flew--which have since most happily reunited
upon Maria--and asserted that she had let me play in the rose-garden of
my exuberant fancy because I was "only a boy," my bump upon the hard
world of fact was an atrociously hard one. Some women pour passer le
temps find pleasure in playing thus with young hopes and hearts as
carelessly as though they were mere tennis-balls, to be whacked about
and rallied, and volleyed hither and yon, without regard to their
constituent ingredients, and then when trouble comes, and a catastrophe
is imminent, the refuge of "only a boy" is sought as though it really
afforded a sufficient protection against "responsibility." The most of
us would regard the hopeless infatuation of a young girl committed to
our care, either as parents or as guardians, for a middle-aged man of
the world with such horror that drastic steps would be taken to stop
it, but we are not so careful of the love-affairs of our sons, and view
with complaisance their devotion to some blessed damozel of uncertain
age, comforting ourselves with the reflection that he is "only a boy"
and will outgrow it all in good time. (There's another mem. for my
legislative career--a Bill for the Protection of Boys, and the
Suppression of Old Maids Who Don't Mean Anything By It.)
I don't mean, in saying all this, to reflect in any way upon the many
helpful friendships that exist between youngsters developing into
manhood and their elders among women who are not related to them. There
have been thousands of such friendships, no doubt, that have worked for
the upbuilding of character; for the inspiring in the unfolding
consciousness of what life means in the young boy's being of a deeper,
more lasting, respect for womanhood than would have been attained to
under any other circumstances, but that has been the result only when
the woman has taken care to maintain her own dignity always, and to
regard her course as one wherein she has accepted a degree of
responsibility second only to a mother's, and not a by-path leading
merely to pleasure and for the idling away of an unoccupied hour.
Potential manhood is a difficult force to handle, and none should
embark upon the parlous enterprise of arousing it without due regard
for the consequences. We may not let loose a young lion from its leash,
and, when dire consequences follow, excuse ourselves on the score that
we thought the devastating feature was "only a cub."
These things flashed across my mind as I sat in Goward's room watching
the poor youth in his nerve-distracting struggles, and, when I thought
of the tangible evidence in hand against Aunt Elizabeth, I must confess
if I had been juryman sitting in judgment of the case I should have
convicted her of kidnapping without leaving the box. To begin with,
there was the case of Ned Temple. I haven't quite been able to get away
from the notion that however short-sighted and gauche poor Mrs.
Temple's performance was in going over to the Talberts' to make a scene
because of Aunt Elizabeth's attentions to Temple, she thought she was
justified in doing so, and Elizabeth's entire innocence in the
premises, in view of her record as a man-snatcher, has not been proven
to my satisfaction. Then there was that Lyman Wilde business, which I
never understood and haven't wanted to until they tried to mix poor
Lorraine up in it. Certain it is that Elizabeth and Wilde were victims
of an affair of the heart, but what Lorraine has had to do with it I
don't know, and I hope the whole matter will be dropped at least until
we have settled poor Peggy's affair. Then came Goward and this
complication, and through it all Elizabeth has had a weather-eye open
for Dr. Denbigh. A rather suggestive chain of evidence that, proving
that Elizabeth seems to regard all men as her own individual property.
As Mrs. Evarts says, she perks up even when Billie comes into the
room--or Mr. Talbert, either; and as for me--well, in the strictest
confidence, if Aunt Elizabeth hasn't tried to flirt even with me, then
I don't know what flirtation is, and there was a time--long before I
was married, of course--when I possessed certain well-developed gifts
in that line. I know this, that when I was first paying my addresses to
Maria, Aunt Elizabeth was staying at the Talberts' as usual, and Maria
and I had all we could do to get rid of her. She seemed to be possessed
with the idea that I came there every night to see her, and not a hint
in the whole category of polite intimations seemed capable of conveying
any other idea to her mind, although she showed at times that even a
chance remark fell upon heeding ears, for once when I observed that
pink was my favorite color, she blossomed out in it the next day and
met me looking like a peach-tree in full bloom, on Main Street as I
walked from my office up home. And while we are discussing other
people's weaknesses I may as well confess my own, and say that I was so
pleased at this unexpected revelation of interest in my tastes that
when I called that evening I felt vaguely disappointed to learn that
Aunt Elizabeth was dining out--and I was twenty-seven at the time, too,
and loved Maria into the bargain! And after the wedding, when we came
to say good-bye, and I kissed Aunt Elizabeth--I kissed everybody that
day in the hurry to get away, even the hired man at the door--and said,
"Good-bye, Aunty," she pouted and said she didn't like the title "a
little bit."
Now, of course, I wouldn't have anybody think that I think Aunt
Elizabeth was ever in love with me, but I mention these things to show
her general attitude toward members of the so-called stronger sex. The
chances are that she does not realize what she is doing, and assumes
this coy method with the whole masculine contingent as a matter of
thoughtless habit. What she wants to be to man I couldn't for the life
of me even guess--mother, sister, daughter, or general manager. But
that she does wish to grab every male being in sight, and attach them
to her train, is pretty evident to me, and I have no doubt that this is
what happened in poor Harry Goward's case. She has a bright way of
saying things, is unmistakably pretty, and has an unhappy knack of
making herself appear ten or fifteen years younger than she is if she
needs to. She is chameleonic as to age, and takes on always something
of the years of the particular man she is talking to. I saw her talking
to the dominie the other night, and a more spiritual-looking bit of
demure middle-aged piety you never saw in a nunnery, and the very next
day when she was conversing with young George Harris, a Freshman at
Yale, at the Barbers' reception, you'd have thought she was herself a
Vassar undergraduate. So there you are. With Goward she had assumed
that same youthful manner, and backed by all the power other
thirty-seven years of experience he was mere putty in her hands, and
she played with him and he lost, just as any other man, from St.
Anthony down to the boniest ossified man of to-day would have lost, and
it wasn't until he saw Peggy again and realized the difference between
the real thing and the spurious that he waked up.
With all these facts marshalled and flashing through my brain much more
rapidly than I can tell them, like the quick succession of pictures in
the cinematograph, I made up my mind to become Goward's friend in so
far as circumstances would permit. With Aunt Elizabeth out of the way
it seemed to me that we would find all plain sailing again, but how to
get rid other was the awful question. Poor Peggy could hardly be happy
with such a Richmond in the field, and nothing short of Elizabeth's
engagement to some other man would help matters any. She had been too
long unmarried, anyhow. Maiden aunthood is an unhappy estate, and grows
worse with habit. If I could only find Lyman Wilde and bring him back
to her, or, perhaps, Dr. Denbigh--that was the more immediate resource,
and surely no sacrifice should be too great for a family physician to
make for the welfare of his patients. Maria and I would invite Dr.
Denbigh to dinner and have Aunt Elizabeth as the only other guest. We
could leave them alone on some pretext or other after dinner, and leave
the rest to fate--aided and abetted by Elizabeth herself.
Meanwhile there was Goward still on my hands.
"Well, my boy," I said, patting him kindly on the shoulder, "I hardly
know what to say to you about this thing. You've got yourself in the
dickens of a box, but I don't mind telling you I think your heart is in
the right place, and, whatever has happened, I don't believe you have
intentionally done wrong. Maybe at your age you do not realize that it
is not safe to be engaged to two people at the same time, especially
when they belong to the same family. Scientific heart-breakers, as a
rule, take care that their fiancees are not only not related, but live
in different sections of the country, and as I have no liking for
preaching I shall not dwell further upon the subject."
"I think I realize my position keenly enough without putting you to the
trouble," said Goward, gazing gloomily out of the window.
"What I will say, however," said I, "is that I'll do all I can to help
you out of your trouble. As one son-in-law to another, eh?"
"You are very kind," said he, gripping me by the hand.
"I will go to Mrs. Talbert--she is the best one to talk to--first, and
tell her just what you have told me, and it is just possible that she
can explain it to Peggy," I went on.
"I--I think I could do that myself if I only had the chance," he said,
ruefully.
"Well, then--I'll try to make the chance. I won't promise that I will
make it, because I can't answer for anybody but myself. Some day you
will find out that women are peculiar. But what I can do I will," said
I. "And, furthermore, as the general attorney for the family I will
cross-examine Aunt Elizabeth--put her through the third degree, as it
were, and try to show her how foolish it is for her to make so serious
a matter of a trifling flirtation."
"I wouldn't, if I were you," said Goward, with a frown. "She needn't be
involved in the affair any more than she already is. She is not in the
least to blame."
"Nevertheless," said I, "she may be able to help us to an easy way
out--"
"She can't," said Goward, positively.
"Excuse me, Mr. Goward," said I, chilling a trifle in my newly acquired
friendliness, "but is there any real reason why I should not question
Miss Talbert--"
"Oh no, none at all," he hastened to reply. "Only I--I see no
particular object in vexing her further in a matter that must have
already annoyed her sufficiently. It is very good of you to take all
this trouble on my account, and I don't wish you to add further to your
difficulties, either," he added.
I appreciated his consideration, with certain reservations. However,
the latter were not of such character as to make me doubt the
advisability of standing his friend, and when we parted a few minutes
later I left him with the intention of becoming his advocate with Peggy
and her mother, and at the same time of having it out with Aunt
Elizabeth.
I was detained at my office by other matters, which our family troubles
had caused me to neglect, until supper-time, and then I returned to my
own home, expecting to have a little chat over the affair with Maria
before acquainting the rest of the family with my impressions of Goward
and his responsibility for our woe. Maria is always so full of good
ideas, but at half-past six she had not come in, and at six-forty-five
she 'phoned me that she was at her father's and would I not better go
there for tea. In the Talbert family a suggestion of that sort is the
equivalent of a royal command in Great Britain, and I at once proceeded
to accept it. As I was leaving the house, however, the thought flashed
across my mind that in my sympathy for Harry Goward I had neglected to
ask him the question I had sought him out to ask, "To whom was the
letter addressed?" So I returned to the 'phone, and ringing up the
Eagle Hotel, inquired for Mr. Goward.
"Mr. Goward!" came the answer.
"Yes," said I. "Mr. Henry Goward."
"Mr. Goward left for New York on the 5.40 train this afternoon," was
the reply.
The answer, so unexpected and unsettling to all my plans, stunned me
first and then angered me.
"Bah!" I cried, impatiently. "The little fool! An attack of cold feet,
I guess--he ought to spell his name with a C."
I hung up the receiver with a cold chill, for frankly I hated to go to
the Talberts' with the news. Moreover, it would be a humiliating
confession to make that I had forgotten to ask Goward about the letter,
when everybody knew that that was what I had called upon him for, and
when I thought of all the various expressions in the very expressive
Talbert eyes that would fix themselves upon me as I mumbled out my
confession, I would have given much to be well out of it. Nevertheless,
since there was no avoiding the ordeal, I resolved to face the music,
and five minutes later entered the dining-room at my father-in-law's
house with as stiff an upper lip as I could summon to my aid in the
brief time at my disposal. They were all seated at the table
already--supper is not a movable feast in that well-regulated
establishment--save Aunt Elizabeth. Her place was vacant.
"Sorry to be late," said I, after respectfully saluting my
mother-in-law, "but I couldn't help it. Things turned up at the last
minute and they had to be attended to. Where's Aunt Elizabeth?"
"She went to New York," said my mother-in-law, "on the 5.40 train."
