pg8867 [62]
"I should say so!"
"Yes," said Amberson. "I wanted him to put up an apartment building instead of these houses."
"An apartment building! Here?"
"Yes; that was my idea."
George struck his hands together despairingly. "An apartment house! Oh, my Lord!"
"Don't worry! Your grandfather wouldn't listen to me, but he'll wish he had, some day. He says that people aren't going to live in miserable little flats when they can get a whole house with some grass in front and plenty of backyard behind. He sticks it out that apartment houses will never do in a town of this type, and when I pointed out to him that a dozen or so of 'em already are doing, he claimed it was just the novelty, and that they'd all be empty as soon as people got used to 'em. So he's putting up these houses."
"Is he getting miserly in his old age?"
"Hardly! Look what he gave Sydney and Amelia!"
"I don't mean he's a miser, of course," said George. "Heaven knows he's liberal enough with mother and me; but why on earth didn't he sell something or other rather than do a thing like this?"
"As a matter of fact," Amberson returned coolly, "I believe he has sold something or other, from time to time."
"Well, in heaven's name," George cried, "what did he do it for?"
"To get money," his uncle mildly replied. "That's my deduction."
"I suppose you're joking—or trying to!"
"That's the best way to look at it," Amberson said amiably. "Take the whole thing as a joke—and in the meantime, if you haven't had your breakfast—"
"I haven't!"
"Then if I were you I'd go in and gets some. And"—he paused, becoming serious—"and if I were you I wouldn't say anything to your grandfather about this."
"I don't think I could trust myself to speak to him about it," said George. "I want to treat him respectfully, because he is my grandfather, but I don't believe I could if I talked to him about such a thing as this!"
And with a gesture of despair, plainly signifying that all too soon after leaving bright college years behind him he had entered into the full tragedy of life, George turned bitterly upon his heel and went into the house for his breakfast.
His uncle, with his head whimsically upon one side, gazed after him not altogether unsympathetically, then descended again into the excavation whence he had lately emerged. Being a philosopher he was not surprised, that afternoon, in the course of a drive he took in the old carriage with the Major, when, George was encountered upon the highway, flashing along in his runabout with Lucy beside him and Pendennis doing better than three minutes.
"He seems to have recovered," Amberson remarked: "Looks in the highest good spirits."
"I beg your pardon."
"Your grandson," Amberson explained. "He was inclined to melancholy this morning, but seemed jolly enough just now when they passed us."
"What was he melancholy about? Not getting remorseful about all the money he's spent at college, was he?" The Major chuckled feebly, but with sufficient grimness. "I wonder what he thinks I'm made of," he concluded querulously.
"Gold," his son suggested, adding gently, "And he's right about part of you, father."
"What part?"
"Your heart."
The Major laughed ruefully. "I suppose that may account for how heavy it feels, sometimes, nowadays. This town seems to be rolling right over that old heart you mentioned, George—rolling over it and burying it under! When I think of those devilish workmen digging up my lawn, yelling around my house—"
"Never mind, father. Don't think of it. When things are a nuisance it's a good idea not to keep remembering 'em."
"I try not to," the old gentleman murmured. "I try to keep remembering that I won't be remembering anything very long." And, somehow convinced that this thought was a mirthful one, he laughed loudly, and slapped his knee. "Not so very long now, my boy!" he chuckled, continuing to echo his own amusement. "Not so very long. Not so very long!"
Chapter XVII
Young George paid his respects to his grandfather the following morning, having been