The business developed but never became important. John did the draughting and Jim attended to the practical details of specifications and dealt with contractors.
When Lucy’s baby was born it was christened James Sprague Winter. The second year after their marriage John paid a flying visit to his parents; and on one occasion Dr. Winter attended a church convention in Chicago and stayed a week with his son and daughter-in-law. He questioned Lucy regarding her soundness in doctrine and was aghast at her honest replies. Nevertheless he liked her and carried back to Dimmie’s grandmother a favorable report of “John’s wife.”
Jim matured and developed during the years after John’s marriage, but he who had long ago learned to understand others never quite came to understand himself. Lucy did not puzzle him, but it was only after knowing her that he realized the idealism and emotionalism of John. The realization did not cool his affection. He only smiled to himself when his friend allowed enthusiasm to blind discretion, and said, “John has his rose-colored spectacles on again.”
While his old idolatry of John was thus tempered by ripening judgment, it was an incident of brief duration and apparently trivial consequence that caused, as Jim thought, the scales to fall from his eyes and forced him entirely to turn, with a feeling of slight bitterness, to Lucy rather than her husband for the expression of the hidden things in his nature.
The involuntary arbiter of Jim’s spiritual destiny, according to his own interpretation, was a pretty Irish girl, Miss Brennan, whom he and John had employed as their accountant and stenographer. She was a silly, sentimentally-inclined young woman who accepted admiration indiscriminately from all sources. She had troubles, the chief of which were a drunken father and a cross-grained mother.
Under the influence of John’s expansive sympathy, which she soon appraised, her secrets were unfolded to him and he, with constant ardency, accepted the role of father confessor. She did not like Jim, whose disapproval she felt, and most of her interviews with John were reserved for hours when the two were almost certain not to be interrupted. She was a devout Roman Catholic and John, under her tutelage, began to evince a sudden interest in Catholicism.
“You know that little Miss Brennan, she’s so beautifully simple,” he told Jim one day at luncheon. “I happened to be passing her church when she was going in the other day and just for curiosity I went in with her. Catholicism is the only religion left for an artist anyway. You don’t know how much it affected me when I saw how in earnest she was with her beads and genuflections. The whole thing reminded me of a medieval picture. It’s about the only naive thing left in our sophisticated age.”
“Catholics may be naive but not the Catholic Church,” remarked Jim unsympathetically. He was not thinking of questions of religious feeling however as he studied John’s face. John was irritated by this scrutiny.
“You seem to have lost all your temperamental appreciation of things, Jim,” he observed in a vexed tone.
The first confirmation which Jim’s unadmitted suspicions received came when John insisted on raising Miss Brennan’s salary.
“She’s almost the only dependence of her family, and the things she has to put up with to keep things going are pitiful,” he declared.
“How much do you think we ought to give her?” asked Jim.
John hesitated, and, glancing away as he spoke, named the sum Miss Brennan had suggested, which almost doubled the amount she was receiving.
There was a brief pause.
“We can’t afford to turn the business into a philanthropic enterprise,” Jim answered laconically.
It was the next day that Jim, entering the office at an unanticipated moment, surprised Miss Brennan in tears and John soothing her with unconventional tenderness. Jim passed on into the draughting room, not seeming to observe the confusion of the pair, and it was John himself who, with a guilty air, referred to the subject an hour later when the stenographer was out for luncheon.
“I guess you were surprised when you came in and found Miss Brennan crying like that?” he suggested.
“Not particularly.” Jim looked out the window as he spoke.
“But Miss Brennan—Jim, she’s got the most wonderful lot of grit! It makes a fellow spiritually sick to see a woman young and pretty as she is up against such an awful proposition!” And he launched into a eulogy of Miss Brennan which embraced all of the adjectives which Jim, on other occasions, had heard him apply to Lucy.
The day following Jim waited until John had gone around the corner to Layard’s to get some prices on furnishing lumber, and he and Miss Brennan were the sole occupants of the office.
“Miss Brennan,” he announced, “I want to tell you that your services are not required any longer. Your salary will be paid until the end of the month.”
Miss Brennan opened her lips to speak. She looked into Jim’s eyes. Her small mouth quivered.
“Why I don’t know what you mean! Mr. Winter—” She hesitated, eyeing Jim an instant with fear and bewilderment. Then a confused understanding dawned in her face.
“I was never so insulted in my life, Mr. Sprague!” she exclaimed indignantly, a catch in her voice.
Jim did not answer, and two large tears rolled down her cheeks as she moved away from him.
When John returned to the office Jim was walking up and down the inner draughting room, smoking. His tall shadow, as he paced back and forth, moved across the ground glass partition. Miss Brennan outside had on her hat and coat.
Jim heard John’s exclamation and knew that she was breaking the news to him. In a few moments sobs were audible. John opened the inner door. His face
