CHAPTER III
A RICH MAN'S SON
Gordon had doubts of finding Morris Brent at home when, shortly afternine o'clock the next morning, he walked up the neat artificial-stonepath to the front door of Brentwood. But the maid who responded to hisring assured him that Master Morris was in, and led the way to thegray-and-gold reception room. He decided to take no chances with thespindle-legged, silk-brocaded chairs, and took refuge in front of themantel, from which place he viewed the gray satin wall panels and daintyluxuries of the apartment with surprise. He didn't have to wait long,however, for he had only just reached the conclusion that the room waspretty but uncomfortable when footsteps sounded quickly in the hall anda boy a year older than he appeared in the doorway.
"Hello, Gordon! How are you? Say, what did they put you in here for?This room gives me the creeps, doesn't it you? Come on out on thepiazza."
Gordon followed his host across the hall, through a warm-toned,luxurious but decidedly comfortable library and out of a French dooronto a wide porch that was screened and curtained. There were manybright rugs and gayly cushioned easy-chairs here; and tables withblossoming plants and books and magazines on them. From the porch onelooked across a carefully kept lawn to where a symmetrically clippedhedge bordered Louise Street. Mr. Brent owned not only the block onwhich his estate was located, but some eight or nine adjoining blocksbesides, his property running from his back line across Troutman,Lafayette, Main, and Common Streets to the river, including, two blocksnorth, the plot of land which for many years the High School had used asan athletic field. Mr. Brent had laid out the section himself and hadnamed the two cross streets after his son and daughter, Morris andLouise.
Morris was a good-looking youth, with a self-confident air and asomewhat dissatisfied expression. He was tall, carried himself well,dressed rather more expensively than his companions in high school, andwas never quite able to forget or allow others to forget that he wasJonathan Brent's son and heir. But, in spite of that, he was notunpopular, and if there was any snobbishness about him it wasunconscious. In fact, there were one or two of his acquaintances inClearfield to whom he went out of his way to ingratiate himself. Gordonwas one and Dick was another. But Gordon had never cared to respond morethan half-heartedly to Morris' advances, while Dick's attitude wealready know.
Morris pulled forward the most comfortable chair for his guest, repeatedthat he was glad to see him, and for several minutes gave Gordon nochance to state his errand. When he did, however, Morris was as muchsurprised as Dick had been.
"Dad hasn't mentioned it to me," he said, with a frown. "That's too bad,isn't it? I don't see why he needs to cut up that land just now. What'llwe do, Gordon, for a place to play?"
"Dick said he supposed we'd have to go across the river. That would makeit pretty far from school, though. But I don't know of any place intown, do you?"
Morris shook his head, and Gordon went on:
"What I wanted to see you about was to ask if you thought your fatherwould have any objection to our using the field until they began tobuild on it. I don't think they've done anything there yet. I thoughtmaybe you wouldn't mind asking your father, Morris."
Morris hesitated a moment. "I'll ask him," he said, at last, "but he andI--well, we aren't on very good terms just now. Honestly, I think itwould be better if you asked him yourself, Gordon. I'm afraid he'd sayno to me just to--to be nasty. You see, we had a sort of row about anautomobile. He kind of promised last Christmas that he'd get me arunabout this Spring, and when I asked about it he put me off; and soI"--Morris grinned--"I went ahead and got Stacey to order one for me. Itcame yesterday, and I told dad and he got as mad as a hatter about it.Says I can't have it now. I'm going to, though. I've got some money inthe bank, and Stacey says he'll wait for the rest of it. It's only sixhundred dollars, anyway."
"Too bad!" murmured Gordon, not very enthusiastically. "Maybe he willchange his mind, though."
"Not he! He isn't made that way. What are you going to do at the field?Play ball?"
Gordon told about the letter from Caspar Billings and the formation ofthe ball club. "I suppose," he ended, "you'll play with the Pointfellows?"
Morris shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose so. I haven't heard anythingabout it yet. Caspar's a friend of mine, though. We don't move out tothe Point until the seventeenth this summer. Dad's full of business andas grouchy as the dickens. Sis and I have been trying to get mother tospunk up and insist on moving right away, but she won't. Who's on yourteam, Gordon?"
Gordon told him. Morris criticised several of his selections and wasinfinitely amused at the idea of Fudge Shaw playing. Gordon had anuneasy feeling that Morris perhaps resented not being asked to join. Butif Morris held any resentment, he didn't show it.
"We ought to have some good games," he said finally and approvingly. "Idare say Caspar will want me to play on his team. You know him, don'tyou?"
Gordon was doubtful. "I think I remember him," he said, "but I'm notsure. What does he look like?"
"Oh, rather a good-looking chap--big, dark hair, plays tennis a lot andis pretty good at it. He lives in a cottage near the hotel, the secondin the row at the left. He's a dandy chap, Billings. I don't see,though, where he's going to get enough fellows at the Point to make up anine, unless there are more there this year than usual. Perhaps he's gotsome fellows staying with him. He goes to St. George's, you know, andlast year he brought a couple of friends home with him for a while."
"Dick went over to the Point this morning to see about coaching a boywho is going to Rifle Point in the Fall," said Gordon. "He's going tolook up Billings and tell him we'll play him a week from Saturday."
"Could Dick do that? Coach, I mean."
"I guess so. You know he's about the smartest fellow in his class atschool. He wants to earn some money, and there aren't many things he cando. I hope he gets the job."
"Yes. I like Dick. He's terribly white, isn't he? Gee, if I had a bumhip like his and had to live on crutches, I'd--I'd----" But words failedhim. He shook his head. "He's so awfully cheerful. Who is the kid he'sgoing to coach?"
"I've forgotten the name. He told me. Something like Prentiss, I think."
Morris shook his head again. "Don't know them. They must be new. When Iget over there, Gordon, I'll see if I can't drum up some trade for Dick.I know about everyone there." He paused, and then added morosely, with awry smile: "It might be a mighty good scheme if I had him coach me abit. I've got to take my college exams next year, and I know blamed wellI won't pass them." He shrugged his shoulders. "Well, I've got anotheryear yet. Do you have to go? Stay and play a couple of sets of tenniswith me. You've never tried our court, have you?"
"I'd like to, but I want to get this business settled. I guess I'dbetter go and see your father about the field. I'd like to play, though,some time," he added, as he saw Morris' face fall. "It looks like abully court."
"It is. It's a dandy. Fast as lightning. I haven't played much myselfthis year, and I'm all out of trim. Sis and I had a couple of sets theother day, and she pretty nearly licked me."
"I hope your sister is well," murmured Gordon. "And Mrs. Brent."
"Yes, thanks. Sis ought to be around somewhere. Wait till I see."
He got up and passed into the library, and Gordon heard him calling hissister at the stairway. He came back in a moment. "She's coming down,"he announced. "Don't hurry off. Dad will be in his office all themorning, I guess. I hope you don't mind my not wanting to ask him,Gordon. I would in a minute, only, as I say, we aren't very chummy justnow."
At that moment Louise Brent came through the doorway, and Gordon, whohad reseated himself after his first start to leave, arose again. Shewas tall, like her brother, but, unlike him, was light in coloring, withbrown hair that just escaped being yellow and a very fair skin and blueeyes. She was not a beauty, but she was pretty in spite of irregularfeatures, with a lot of animation and a smile that won friends at once.She was fifteen; but she looked older, Gordon thought as he took thehand sh
e extended.
"I haven't seen you for a long time, Gordon," she said, as she seatedherself on the edge of Morris' chair. "Not since the school dance inJanuary. And then you didn't ask me for a single dance."
Gordon smiled a trifle embarrassedly. "I--I don't dance very well," hesaid. "I thought it would be kinder to spare you."
"You didn't spare Grace Levering," she laughed.
"Well, Grace----"
"Is awfully nice. I know."
"I didn't mean that! I meant that--she's only thirteen--and----"
"Oh, I'm too old?" Louise opened her eyes very wide. "But I'm onlyfifteen, Gordon. How old are you? Or isn't it polite to ask?"
"Fifteen, too," he laughed. "I guess the reason I danced with Grace somuch was because I thought she wasn't old enough to be fussy about theway I did it. Kind of tough on her, though, wasn't it?"
"Kind of tough on the rest of us, you mean," responded Louise. "You'llhave to make it up this summer by coming to some of our parties at thePoint. Will you?"
"Why--yes, if you want me to. But, really and truly, I'm a fiercedancer, Louise."
"Is he?" She turned to her brother. Morris shook his head.
"Search me. I know he can bat a ball like sixty, though. I've beentrying to get him to stay and play some tennis, but he won't. You askhim, sis."
"Won't you?" she begged. "The court's just crying to be played on. Ifyou will, I'll bring you out the biggest, coldest pitcher of lemonade,Gordon, you ever saw!"
"Thanks, but--some other time----"
"That means never!" she sighed. "I don't think you're as nice as youused to be. Is he, Morris?"
"He's so full of business these days. Say, sis, father's going to cut upthe athletic field for building lots. What do you think of that?"
"What for?" she demanded.
"Search me. It leaves the school in a hole, all right."
"How horribly mean!" said Louise. "It was such a nice field, too! Idon't think he ought to do it, Morris, and I guess I'll tell him so."
"Go ahead!" laughed her brother. "It'll make a lot of difference--Idon't think! Gordon came around to get me to ask dad to let the fellowsuse the field until he began to cut it up, but I told him that he'dbetter do the asking himself. If I asked he might give orders to build adozen houses on it to-morrow!"
"I know." Louise nodded. "I wish you'd give up the idea of thatautomobile, Morris. Mother doesn't want you to have it, either."
"Just because dad made such a fuss," he grumbled. "She was all rightbefore that. I'm going to have it, just the same."
"I wish you wouldn't," she murmured. "Do you think he ought to drive anauto, Gordon? Don't you think it's too dangerous?"
"I don't know," answered Gordon. "I've never had much experience withautomobiles. I suppose, though, that if one is careful----"
"Morris won't be," mourned Louise. "He'll have an accident, killhimself, break his arm or something."
"Oh, piffle, sis! I can run an automobile as well as any chap. I've doneit. When I get the car you'll be tickled to death, and you'll want to beriding in it every minute."
Louise shook her head energetically. "No, I shan't, Morris. I'd bescared to death. And I think it would be much better for you to waitanother year or two. Papa won't like it a bit if you take your money outof the bank and spend it on an automobile."
"It's my money, and I have a right to do as I please with it," respondedher brother. "Besides, if he'd kept his word----"
"Oh, Morris, you shouldn't say things like that! Papa never actuallytold you you could have it."
"Well, he as much as told me," muttered Morris. "Anyway, I'm going tohave it. Stacey would think I was a pretty funny sort if I refused totake it after he'd got it for me."
"Maybe he could sell it to someone else," suggested Gordon. "'Mosteveryone is buying the things nowadays. Well, I'll be going, I guess.Good-bye. Good-bye, Louise. I'll come over some time and have thattennis, Morris, if you'll let me know."
"Come whenever you can, will you? I'm at home most of the time; or Ishall be until I get my car." And Morris grinned exasperatingly at hissister.
"Don't forget that you're to come to the Point some time and dance everydance with me," Louise reminded, as she and Morris accompanied Gordon tothe door. "That's the only apology I'll accept."
"You'll wish you hadn't invited me after the first dance," replied thevisitor grimly. "But I'll come if you want me to some time. Good-bye."
On his wheel once more, and spinning down the shadow-dappled street, hethought, not without a little natural envy, how fine it must be to haveas much money as the Brents. Morris had spoken of buying asix-hundred-dollar automobile in much the same way as Gordon might haveannounced his intention of purchasing a new suit of clothes! And yet, onreflection, Morris didn't seem really happy and contented, and neverhad. He always appeared to have a quarrel with someone or something.Sometimes it was the teachers at High School, who were imposing on him;once it had been the baseball coach, Mr. Farrel, who, according toMorris, was keeping him off the team for spite, and now it was with hisfather. It would seem, then, that the possession of much wealth didn'talways bring contentment. There was Dick Levering, who was not only poorbut a cripple as well, and who was absolutely the most cheerful andcontented fellow of all Gordon's acquaintances. It was a bit puzzling,Gordon thought, as he whirled into E Street and headed toward thebusiness section of town.
Mr. Jonathan Brent's office was in the Clearfield Trust Company'sBuilding, opposite the common. Gordon left his wheel against the curband mounted the flight of marble stairs. A clerk took his namedoubtfully and indicated a chair for him to sit in while he waited Mr.Brent's pleasure. As it happened, although the mill president was a verybusy man, Gordon didn't have to wait long. Almost at once a buzzersounded, the clerk disappeared, returned, and conducted Gordon through adoor whose ground-glass pane was marked "Private."
Mr. Brent's office looked out across E Street into the elm-shadedgreenery of the common. An electric fan made a soft and pleasantwhirring from the top of the big desk which, until Gordon had crossedthe room, hid Mr. Brent from view. A chair was set at the end of thedesk and into this, not very confidently, Gordon lowered himself whileMr. Brent, without looking up, ran his eye over a letter in his hand.
Jonathan Brent was a small man, small and narrow, with a lean andwrinkled face, shrewd but not unkindly, and a pair of gimlet-like,blue-gray eyes. His face was clean-shaven and the grizzled brown hairhad retreated until the top of his head was as bald and shining as thewhite-enameled newel-post at the foot of the Merricks' stairway. Hismouth was thin and set in a firm, straight line, a line that neveraltered as, presently, he laid down the paper in his hand and raised hisgaze to Gordon's.
"Well, what do you want, my boy?" he asked, in a quick but notunpleasant voice.
"I came to see you about the athletic field, Mr. Brent," respondedGordon. "I heard yesterday that you intend to cut it up for buildinglots, sir."
"Quite right. What of it?"
"Well, sir, you see we've been using it for baseball, and some of us aregetting up a nine to play this summer, and I wondered if you'd let ususe it until you got ready to--to build on it."
"Oh! I see. What's your name? Herrick?"
"Merrick, sir; Gordon Merrick."
"Ellis Merrick's boy?"
"Yes, sir."
"I know your father. Are you in the High School?"
"Yes, sir."
"Know my boy?"
"Yes, sir. I--I went to see him this morning. I thought maybe he wouldask you for me, but--he----"
Gordon floundered, and a tiny smile moved the corners of Mr. Brent'sstraight lips.
"He didn't care to, eh? Well, Merrick, you're welcome to use the fieldas long as you don't interfere with the engineers or workmen. I believethey're going to survey there for the street in a week or so."
"Thank you, Mr. Brent."
"All right. I dare say you boys are going to miss that playground."
"Yes, sir, we are. I
t--it's been a fine place for us."
"Yes. Sorry I can't let you have the use of it longer, but I need theground. I suppose you can find another field without much trouble."
"I think so," agreed Gordon doubtfully.
"You and Morris friends?"
"Yes, sir. That is, we--we know each other pretty well."
"Only pretty well, eh? What's the matter? Don't you like him?"
"Why, yes, sir, but--but we don't see each other much."
"Doesn't he like you?"
"I think so. He seems to."
"Did he say anything to you about an automobile, Merrick?"
"Yes, sir, he mentioned it." Gordon began to wish himself away.
"Ever drive one of the things?"
"No, sir."
"Like to?"
"Yes, sir, I guess so. I think it would be fun to--to have one."
"Why doesn't your father get you one?"
"I don't think he could afford it, and, besides----"
"Yes? Besides?"
"I guess he wouldn't think I was--was old enough to run it."
"How old are you?"
"Fifteen, sir."
"Morris is sixteen. Think your father would let you have one if you werea year older and he could afford it?"
Gordon shook his head. "I don't believe so, Mr. Brent."
"I don't, either. Well, help yourself to the field, Merrick. Glad tohave met you. Good day."