'Ah, more than that, far more than that—a relative, the dearest I had on earth, although I was never permitted to see him. Yes, it is young Lord Berkeley, who perished so heroically in the awful conflagration, what is the matter?'
'Oh, nothing, nothing.'
'It was a little startling to be so suddenly brought face to face, so to speak, with a person one has heard so much talk about. Is it a good likeness?'
'Without doubt, yes. I never saw him, but you can easily see the resemblance to his father,' said Sellers, holding up the chromo and glancing from it to the chromo misrepresenting the Usurping Earl and back again with an approving eye.
'Well, no—I am not sure that I make out the likeness. It is plain that the Usurping Earl there has a great deal of character and a long face like a horse's, whereas his heir here is smirky, moon-faced and characterless.'
'We are all that way in the beginning—all the line,' said Sellers, undisturbed. 'We all start as moonfaced fools, then later we tadpole along into horse-faced marvels of intellect and character. It is by that sign and by that fact that I detect the resemblance here and know this portrait to be genuine and perfect. Yes, all our family are fools at first.'
'This young man seems to meet the hereditary requirement, certainly.'
'Yes, yes, he was a fool, without any doubt. Examine the face, the shape of the head, the expression. It's all fool, fool, fool, straight through.'
'Thanks,—' said Tracy, involuntarily.
'Thanks?'
'I mean for explaining it to me. Go on, please.'
'As I was saying, fool is printed all over the face.'
'A body can even read the details.'
'What do they say?'
'Well, added up, he is a wobbler.'
'A which?'
'Wobbler. A person that's always taking a firm stand about something or other—kind of a Gibraltar stand, he thinks, for unshakable fidelity and everlastingness—and then, inside of a little while, he begins to wobble; no more Gibraltar there; no, sir, a mighty ordinary commonplace weakling wobbling—around on stilts. That's Lord Berkeley to a dot, you can see it look at that sheep! But,—why are you blushing like sunset! Dear sir, have I unwittingly offended in some way?'
'Oh, no indeed, no indeed. Far from it. But it always makes me blush to hear a man revile his own blood.' He said to himself, 'How strangely his vagrant and unguided fancies have hit upon the truth. By accident, he has described me. I am that contemptible thing. When I left England I thought I knew myself; I thought I was a very Frederick the Great for resolution and staying capacity; whereas in truth I am just a Wobbler, simply a Wobbler. Well—after all, it is at least creditable to have high ideals and give birth to lofty resolutions; I will allow myself that comfort.' Then he said, aloud, 'Could this sheep, as you call him, breed a great and self-sacrificing idea in his head, do you think? Could he meditate such a thing, for instance, as the renunciation of the earldom and its wealth and its glories, and voluntary retirement to the ranks of the commonalty, there to rise by his own merit or remain forever poor and obscure?'
'Could he? Why, look at him—look at this simpering self-righteous mug! There is your answer. It's the very thing he would think of. And he would start in to do it, too.'
'And then?'
'He'd wobble.'
'And back down?'
'Every time.'
'Is that to happen with all my—I mean would that happen to all his high resolutions?'
'Oh certainly—certainly. It's the Rossmore of it.'
'Then this creature was fortunate to die! Suppose, for argument's sake, that I was a Rossmore, and—'
'It can't be done.'
'Why?'
'Because it's not a supposable case. To be a Rossmore at your age, you'd have to be a fool, and you're not a fool. And you'd have to be a Wobbler, whereas anybody that is an expert in reading character can see at a glance that when you set your foot down once, it's there to stay; and earthquake can't wobble it.' He added to himself, 'That's enough to say to him, but it isn't half strong enough for the facts. The more I observe him, now, the more remarkable I find him. It is the strongest face I have ever examined. There is almost superhuman firmness here, immovable purpose, iron steadfastness of will. A most extraordinary young man.'
He presently said, aloud:
'Some time I want to ask your advice about a little matter, Mr. Tracy. You see, I've got that young lord's remaims—my goodness, how you jump!'
'Oh, it's nothing, pray go on. You've got his remains?'
'Yes.'
'Are you sure they are his, and not somebody else's?'
'Oh, perfectly sure. Samples, I mean. Not all of him.'
'Samples?'
'Yes—in baskets. Some time you will be going home; and if you wouldn't mind taking them along—'
'Who? I?'
'Yes—certainly. I don't mean now; but after a while; after—but look here, would you like to see them?'
'No! Most certainly not. I don't want to see them.'
'O, very well. I only thought—hey, where are you going, dear?'
'Out to dinner, papa.'
Tracy was aghast. The colonel said, in a disappointed voice:
'Well, I'm sorry. Sho, I didn't know she was going out, Mr. Tracy.'
Gwendolen's face began to take on a sort of apprehensive 'What-have-I-done expression.'
'Three old people to one young one—well, it isn't a good team, that's a fact.'
Gwendolen's face betrayed a dawning hopefulness and she said—with a tone of reluctance which hadn't the hall-mark on it:
'If you prefer, I will send word to the Thompsons that I—'
'Oh, is it the Thompsons? That simplifies it—sets everything right. We can fix it without spoiling your arrangements, my child. You've got your heart set on—'
'But papa, I'd just as soon go there some other—'
'No—I won't have it. You are a good hard-working darling child, and your father is not the man to disappoint you when you—'
'But papa, I—'
'Go along, I won't hear a word. We'll get along, dear.'
Gwendolen was ready to cry with venation. But there was nothing to do but start; which she was about to do when her father hit upon an idea which filled him with delight because it so deftly covered all the difficulties of the situation and made things smooth and satisfactory:
'I've got it, my love, so that you won't be robbed of your holiday and at the same time we'll be pretty satisfactorily fixed for a good time here. You send Belle Thompson here—perfectly beautiful creature, Tracy, perfectly beautiful; I want you to see that girl; why, you'll just go mad; you'll go mad inside of a minute; yes, you send her right along, Gwendolen, and tell her—why, she's gone!' He turned—she was already passing out at the gate. He muttered, 'I wonder what's the matter; I don't know what her mouth's doing, but I think her shoulders are swearing. Well,' said Sellers blithely to Tracy, 'I shall miss her—parents always miss the children as soon as they're out of sight, it's only a natural and wisely ordained partiality—but you'll be all right, because Miss Belle will supply the youthful element for you and to your entire content; and we old people will do our best, too. We shall have a good enough time. And you'll have a chance to get better acquainted with Admiral Hawkins. That's a rare character, Mr. Tracy—one of the rarest and most engaging characters the world has produced. You'll find him worth studying. I've studied him ever since he was a child and have always found him developing. I really consider that one of the
