FullReads

He threw back his head and laughed. “Yes, mother,” he answered, “I know it well enough. But in California, you know, the wild oats are one of the most valuable crops. They grow all over the hillsides and keep the cattle and the horses alive. But that wasn’t what I meant–to sow wild oats. Say to pick wild flowers, if you like, or even to chase wild geese–to do something that seems good to me just for its own sake, not for the sake of wages of one kind or another. I feel like a hired man, in the service of this magnificent mansion–say in training for father’s place as majordomo. I’d like to get out some way, to feel free–perhaps to do something for others.”

The young man’s voice hesitated a little. “Yes, it sound like cant, I know, but sometimes I feel as if I’d like to do some good in the world, if father only wouldn’t insist upon God’s putting it into the ledger.”

His mother moved uneasily, and a slight look of bewilderment came into her face.

“Isn’t that almost irreverent?” she asked. “Surely the righteous

must have their reward. And your father is good. See how much he gives to all the established charities, how many things he has founded. He’s always thinking of others, and planning for them. And surely, for us, he does everything. How well he has planned this trip to Europe for me and the girls–the court-presentation at Berlin,

the season on the Riviera, the visits in England with the Plumptons and the Halverstones. He says Lord Halverstone has the finest old house in Sussex, pure Elizabethan, and all the old customs are kept up, too–family prayers every morning for all the domestics.

By-the-way, you know his son Bertie, I believe.”

Harold smiled a little to himself as he answered: “Yes, I fished at Catalina Island last June with the Honorable Ethelbert; he’s rather a decent chap, in spite of his ingrowing mind. But you?–mother, you are simply magnificent! You are father’s masterpiece.” The young man leaned over to kiss her, and went up to the Riding Club for his afternoon canter in the Park.

So it came to pass, early in December, that Mrs. Weightman and her two daughters sailed for Europe, on their serious pleasure trip, even as it had been written in the book of Providence; and John Weightman, who had made the entry, was left to pass the rest of the winter with his son and heir in the brownstone mansion.

They were comfortable enough. The machinery of the massive establishment ran as smoothly as a great electric dynamo. They were busy enough, too. John Weightman’s plans and enterprises were complicated, though his principle of action was always simple–to get good value for every expenditure and effort. The banking-house of which he was the chief, the brain, the will, the absolutely controlling hand, was so admirably organized that the details of its direction took but little time.

But the scores of other interests that radiated from it and were dependent upon it–or perhaps it would be more accurate to say, that contributed to its solidity and success–the many investments, industrial, political, benevolent, reformatory, ecclesiastical, that had made the name of Weightman well known and potent in city, church, and state, demanded much attention and careful steering, in order that each might produce the desired result. There were board meetings of corporations and hospitals, conferences in Wall Street and at Albany, consultations and committee meetings in the brownstone mansion.

For a share in all this business and its adjuncts John Weightman had his son in training in one of the famous law firms of the city; for he held that banking itself is a simple affair, the only real difficulties of finance are on its legal side. Meantime he wished the young man to meet and know the men with whom he would have to deal when he became a partner in the house. So a couple of dinners were given in the mansion during December, after which the father