The Essential Winston Churchill Collection. Winston Churchill
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way, what was it?"
"It was on 'The Status of the Emigrant,'" she responded instantly, thereby proving that she was his mother.
"And it touched the Rights of Privacy," he added, laughing, "which do not seem to exist in St. Louis boarding-houses."
"In the eyes of your misguided profession, statesmen and authors and emigrants and other public charges have no Rights of Privacy," said she. "Mr. Longfellow told me once that they were to name a brand of flour for him, and that he had no redress."
"Have you, too, been up before Miss Crane's Commission?" he asked, with amused interest.
His mother laughed.
"Yes," she said quietly.
"They have some expert members," he continued. "This Mrs. Abner Reed could be a shining light in any bar. I overheard a part of her cross-examination. She--she had evidently studied our case--"
"My dear," answered Mrs. Brice, "I suppose they know all about us." She was silent a moment, "I had so hoped that they wouldn't. They lead the same narrow life in this house that they did in their little New England towns. They--they pity us, Stephen."
"Mother!"
"I did not expect to find so many New Englanders here--I wish that Mr. Whipple had directed us elsewhere-"
"He probably thought that we should feel at home among New Englanders. I hope the Southerners will be more considerate. I believe they will," he added.
"They are very proud," said his mother. "A wonderful people,--born aristocrats. You don't remember those Randolphs with whom we travelled through England. They were with us at Hollingdean, Lord Northwell's place. You were too small at the time. There was a young girl, Eleanor Randolph, a beauty. I shall never forget the way she entered those English drawing-rooms. They visited us once in Beacon Street, afterwards. And I have heard that there are a great many good Southern families here in St. Louis."
"You did not glean that from Judge Whipple's letter, mother," said Stephen, mischievously.
"He was very frank in his letter," sighed Mrs. Brice.
"I imagine he is always frank, to put it delicately."
"Your father always spoke in praise of Silas Whipple, my dear. I have heard him call him one of the ablest lawyers in the country. He won a remarkable case for Appleton here, and he once said that the Judge would have sat on the Supreme Bench if he had not been pursued with such relentlessness by rascally politicians."
"The Judge indulges in a little relentlessness now and then, himself. He is not precisely what might be termed a mild man, if what we hear is correct."
Mrs. Brice started.
"What have you heard?" she asked.
"Well, there was a gentleman on the steamboat who said that it took more courage to enter the Judge's private office than to fight a Border Ruffian. And another, a young lawyer, who declared that he would rather face a wild cat than ask Whipple a question on the new code. And yet he said that the Judge knew more law than any man in the West. And lastly, there is a polished gentleman named Hopper here from Massachusetts who enlightened me a little more."
Stephen paused and bit his tongue. He saw that she was distressed by these things. Heaven knows that she had borne enough trouble in the last few months.
"Come, mother," he said gently, "you should know how to take my jokes by this time. I didn't mean it. I am sure the Judge is a good man,--one of those aggressive good men who make enemies. I have but a single piece of guilt to accuse him of."
"And what is that?" asked the widow.
"The cunning forethought which he is showing in wishing to have it said that a certain Senator and Judge Brice was trained in his office."
"Stephen--you goose!" she said.
Her eye wandered around the room,--Widow Crane's best bedroom. It was dimly lighted by an extremely ugly lamp. The hideous stuffy bed curtains and the more hideous imitation marble mantel were the two objects that held her glance. There was no change in her calm demeanor. But Stephen, who knew his mother, felt that her little elation over her arrival had ebbed, Neither would confess dejection to the other.
"I--even I--" said Stephen, tapping his chest, "have at least made the acquaintance of one prominent citizen, Mr. Eliphalet D. Hopper. According to Mr. Dickens, he is a true American gentleman, for he chews tobacco. He has been in St. Louis five years, is now assistant manager of the largest dry goods house, and still lives in one of Miss Crane's four-dollar rooms. I think we may safely say that he will be a millionaire before I am a senator."
He paused.
"And mother?"
"Yes, dear."
He put his hands in his pockets and walked over to the window.
"I think that it would be better if I did the same thing."
"What do you mean, my son--"
"If I went to work,--started sweeping out a store, I mean. See here, mother, you've sacrificed enough for me already. After paying father's debts, we've come out here with only a few thousand dollars, and the nine hundred I saved out of this year's Law School allowance. What shall we do when that is gone? The honorable legal profession, as my friend reminded me to-night, is not the swiftest road to millions."
With a mother's discernment she guessed the agitation, he was striving to hide; she knew that he had been gathering courage for this moment for months. And she knew that he was renouncing thus lightly, for her sake an ambition he had had from his school days.
Widow passed her hand over her brow. It was a space before she answered him.
"My son," she said, let us never speak of this again:
"It was your father's dearest wish that you should become a lawyer and--and his wishes are sacred God will take care of us."
She rose and kissed him good-night.
"Remember, my dear, when you go to Judge Whipple in the morning, remember his kindness, and--."
"And keep my temper. I shall, mother."
A while later he stole gently back into her room again. She was on her knees by the walnut bedstead.
At nine the next manning Stephen left Miss Crane's, girded for the struggle with the redoubtable Silas Whipple. He was not afraid, but a poor young man as an applicant to a notorious dragon is not likely to be bandied with velvet, even though the animal had been a friend of his father. Dragons as a rule have had a hard rime in their youths, and believe in others having a hard time.
To a young man, who as his father's heir in Boston had been the subject of marked consideration by his elders, the situation was keenly distasteful. But it had to be gone through. So presently, after inquiry, he came to the open square where the new Court House stood, the dome of which was indicated by a mass of staging, and one wing still to be completed. Across from the building, on Market Street, and in the middle of the block, what had once been a golden hand pointed up a narrow dusty stairway.
Here was a sign, "Law office of Silas Whipple."
Stephen climbed the stairs, and arrived at a ground glass door, on which the sign was repeated. Behind that door was the future: so he opened it fearfully, with an impulse to throw his