Mills, too, though lately mistrustful of his own emotions, was well satisfied with the result of the long evening. He had spoken of Marian Storrs to Marian’s son and the effect had been to strengthen his belief that the young man knew nothing that could in any way prove annoying. He was a little sorry that he had suggested finding a business opening for Storrs; but decided that on the whole he had managed the matter in a manner to conceal his real purpose. Bruce had said that he was not wholly dependent upon his earnings for a livelihood, and this in itself was reassuring and weighed strongly against the possibility of his ever asserting any claim even if he knew or suspected their relationship.
In his careful study of Bruce at their various meetings Mills had been impressed increasingly by the young man’s high-mindedness, his self-confidence and fine reticences, the variety and range of his interests. Ah, if only Shepherd were like that! It was a cruel fate that had given him a son he could never own, who had drifted across the smooth-flowing current of his life to suggest a thousand contrasts with Shepherd Mills—Shep with his pathetically small figure, his absurd notions of social equality and his inability to grasp and deal with large affairs!
Ugly as the fact was, Bruce Storrs was a Mills; it wasn’t merely in the resemblance to the portrait of Franklin Mills III that this was evident. Young Storrs’s mental processes were much like those of the man who was, to face it frankly, his grandfather. Bruce Storrs, who had no right to the Mills name, was likely to develop those traits that had endeared Franklin Mills III to the community—traits that nature, with strange perversity, had failed utterly to transmit to his lawful son.
Mills, in his new security, pondered these things with a degree of awe. The God in whom he had much less faith than in a protective tariff or a sound currency system might really be a more potent agent in mundane affairs than he, Franklin Mills, who believed in nothing very strongly that couldn’t be reduced to figures, had ever thought possible.
As winter gripped the town Mills was uneasy in the thought that he wasn’t getting enough out of life. Even with eight million dollars and the tastes of a cultivated gentleman, life was paying inadequate dividends. And there across the hedge lived Millicent. He would marry Millicent; but there were matters to be arranged first....
Millicent was the most beautiful young woman he knew, and she had brains and talents that added enormously to her desirability. Against this was the fact that the Hardens had risen out of nowhere, and Millicent’s possession of a father and mother could not be ignored. Their very simplicity and the possession of the homely parochial virtues so highly valued in the community by Mills and his generation made it possible to do something toward giving them a social status.
Discreet inquiry revealed the consoling fact that Nathaniel Harden was taxed on approximately a million dollars’ worth of property. Not for nothing had he applied himself diligently for twenty-five years to the manufacture of the asthma cure! He was also the creator of a hair tonic, a liver accelerator and a liniment that were almost as well established in the proprietary drug market as the asthma remedy. Mills was amazed to find that there was so much money in the business.
Harden had not brought his laboratory with him when he moved to the city, but it was still under his own direction. Fortunately, as Mills viewed the matter, the business was conducted under a corporate title, that of the International Medical Company, which was much less objectionable than if it bore Harden’s name, though the doctor’s picture did, regrettably, adorn the bottles in which the world-famous asthma cure was offered and exposed for sale.
In his investigations Mills found that Harden had invested his money in some of the soundest of local securities. It spoke well for the Doctor’s business acumen that he owned stock in the First National Bank, which Mills controlled. A vacancy occurring in the directorate, Mills caused Harden to be elected to the board. Harden was pleased but not overcome by the honor. Mrs. Harden manifested a greater pleasure and expressed herself to Mills with characteristic heartiness.
Mills, after much careful consideration, gave a dinner for Doctor and Mrs. Harden—made it appear to be a neighborly affair, though he was careful to ask only persons whose recognition of the Hardens was likely to add to their prestige. Mills had rather dreaded seeing Harden in a dress suit, but the Doctor clad in social vestments was nothing to be ashamed of. He revealed a sense of humor and related several stories of a former congressman from his old district that were really funny. Mrs. Harden looked as well and conducted herself with quite as much ease as the other women present. No one would have guessed that she made salt-rising bread once a week for her husband’s delectation and otherwise continued, in spite of her prosperous state, to keep in close touch with her kitchen.
After giving the dinner Mills waited a little before venturing further in his attempt to lift the social sky line for the Hardens. Much as he disliked Constance, he was just the least bit afraid of her. Constance was not stupid, and he was not blind to the fact that she wielded a certain influence. His daughter-in-law could easily further his plans for imparting dignity to the Hardens. And he foresaw that if he married again it would be Connie, not Shepherd or Leila, who would resent the marriage as a complicating circumstance when the dread hour arrived for the parceling of his estate. Leila would probably see little more than a joke in a marriage that would make her best friend her stepmother.
“Why isn’t Millie in the Dramatic Club?” he asked Leila one day when they were dining alone together.
“Not so easy, Dada. I talked to some of the membership committee about it last spring and I have a sneaking idea that they don’t want her. Not just that, of course; it’s not Millie but the patent medicine they can’t swallow. I think the club’s a bore myself. There’s a bunch of girls in it—Connie’s one of them—who think they’re Ethel Barrymores and Jane Cowlses, and Millie, you know, might be a dangerous rival. Which she would be, all right! So they kid themselves with the idea that the club really stands for the real old graveyard society of our little village and that they’ve got to be careful who gets by.”
“How ridiculous!” Mills murmured.
“Silly! I do hate snobs! Millie isn’t asked to a lot of the nicest parties just because she’s new in town. Doctor Harden’s guyed a good deal about his fake medicines. I don’t see anything wrong with Doc myself.” Leila bent her head in a quick way she had when mirth seized her. “Bud Henderson says the Harden hair tonic’s the smoothest furniture polish on the market.”
Mills laughed, but not heartily. The thought of Henderson’s ridicule chilled him. Henderson entertained a wide audience with his humor; he must be cautious.…
Leila was an impossible young democrat, utterly devoid of the sense of social values. He must make an ally of Constance. Connie always wanted something; it was one of Connie’s weaknesses to want things. Connie’s birthday falling in the second week in December gave him a hint. Leila had mentioned the anniversary and reminded her father that he usually made Connie a present. Connie expected presents and was not satisfied with anything cheap.
Mills had asked a New York jeweler to send out some pearls from which to make a selection for a Christmas present for Leila. They were still in his vault at the office. He chose from the assortment a string of pearls with a diamond pendant and bestowed it upon his daughter-in-law on the morning of her birthday. He had made her handsome presents before, but nothing that pleased her so much as this.
While Connie’s gratitude was still warm, Mills found occasion to mention Millicent one evening when he was dining at Shepherd’s. Leila had been asked to some function to which Millicent was not bidden. Mills made the very natural comment that it was unfortunate that Millicent, intimate as she was with Leila, could not share all her pleasures; the discrimination against the Hardens’ daughter was unjust. Quick to see what was expected of her, Constance replied that it was Millicent’s own fault that she hadn’t been taken up more generally. It was perhaps out of loyalty to her parents that she had not met more responsively the advances of women who, willing to accept Millicent, yet couldn’t quite see her father and mother in the social picture. Now that she thought of it, Constance herself had never called on Mrs. Harden, but she would do so at once. There was no reason at all why Millicent shouldn’t be admitted to the Dramatic Club; she would see to that. She thought the impression had got around that Millicent was, if not Bohemian in her sympathies, at least something of a nonconformist in her social ideas. It was her artistic nature, perhaps.
“That’s nonsense,” said Mills. “There isn’t a better bred girl in town. She’s studious, quite an intellectual young woman—but that’s hardly against her. I always feel safe about Leila when I know she and Millicent are together. And her father and mother are really very nice—unpretentious, kindly people. Of course the patent medicine business isn’t looked on with great favor—but——”
“But—it’s about as respectable as canning our native corn or cutting up pigs,” Constance suggested.
She was bewildered to find Mills, who had looked askance at her own claims to social recognition because her father’s real estate and insurance business was rather insignificant, suddenly viewing the asthma cure so tolerantly. However, a father-in-law who gave her valuable presents must be humored in his sudden manifestation of contempt for snobbery. This was the first time Mills had ever shown any disposition to recognize her social influence. No matter what had caused his change of heart, it was flattering to her self-esteem that he was, even so indirectly, asking her aid. She liked Millicent well enough and gladly promised to help her along.
When Mills left she asked Shepherd what he thought was in the wind; but he failed to be aroused by the suggestion that his father might be thinking of marrying Millicent. His father would never marry again, Shepherd insisted; certainly not unless he found a woman of suitable age, for companionship and to promote his comfort when Leila was settled.
“You don’t know your father any better than I do, Shep. He always has a motive for everything he does—you may be sure of that!”
“Father means to be just and kind,” said Shepherd, half-heartedly, as if he were repeating a formula in which he didn’t believe.
“When he’s moved to be generous he certainly let’s go with a free hand,” Constance remarked. “That necklace wasn’t cheap. I’m afraid it wasn’t just a spontaneous outburst of affection for me. I think I owe it to Millicent!”
“Oh, father likes you, Connie. You’re foolish to think he doesn’t,” Shepherd replied defensively.
“I think your father’s getting nervous about Leila. He’s set his heart on having Carroll in the family. But Arthur’s too old. Leila ought to marry a younger man. Your father’s been suspecting me of promoting her little affair with Freddy Thomas—I’ve seen it in his eye. But I don’t think she’s serious about that. She says she’s crazy about him, but as she tells everyone, it doesn’t mean anything.”
“Thomas—no,” Shepherd replied slowly. “I shouldn’t be for that myself. I don’t like the idea of her marrying a divorced man. Arthur would be quite fine, I think. He’s a gentleman and he understands Leila. The man who marries her has got to understand her—make a lot of allowances.”
Constance smiled her amusement at his display of sagacity.
“Wrong again, Shep! Leila will settle down and be the tamest little matron in town. She seems to have cut out her drinking. That was more for effect than anything else. She’s got about all the fun to be had out of making people think her a perfect little devil. By the way, speaking of marrying men, that young Storrs is a nice fellow—rather impressive. I think Leila’s a little tempted to try her hand at flirting with him. She was at the Henderson’s yesterday afternoon and Bud was shaking up some cocktails. Mr. Storrs came in and Leila refused to drink. She joked about it, but said he had made her promise to quit. He’s not a prig, but he knows the danger line when he sees it.”
“Yes—yes,” Shepherd assented eagerly. “He’s one of the most attractive men I ever met. He’s the kind of fellow you’d trust with anything you’ve got!”
“Yes—and be safe,” Constance replied. “He’s hardly likely to do anything rash.”
They came again, as they often did, to a discussion of Franklin Mills.
“Your father’s the great unaccountable,” sighed Constance. “I long since gave up trying to understand him. He’s a master hand at dodging round things that don’t strike him just right. The way he turned down your clubhouse scheme was just like him; and the way he spurned my little suggestion about buying a summer place. By the way, what are you doing about the clubhouse? I thought you were selling your Rogers Trust stock to get money to build it. You haven’t weakened, have you, Shep?”
“No! certainly not. I’m going ahead as soon as the weather opens up. I sold my stock yesterday and I mean to do the thing right. When I was in Chicago last week I looked at a number of community houses and got a lot of ideas.”
“Well, don’t get cold feet. That thing has worried you a lot. I’d do it or I’d forget it.”
“Oh, I’m going to do it all right!” Shepherd replied jauntily. He greatly wished her to think him possessed of the courage and initiative to carry through large projects no matter how formidable the opposition.