Kirk sat in the nursery with his chin on his hands, staring gloomilyat William Bannister. On the floor William Bannister played some gameof his own invention with his box of bricks.
They were alone. It was the first time they had been alone together fortwo weeks. As a rule, when Kirk paid his daily visit, Lora DelanePorter was there, watchful and forbidding, prepared, on the slightestexcuse, to fall upon him with rules and prohibitions. To-day she wasout, and Kirk had the field to himself, for Mamie, whose duty it was tomount guard, and who had been threatened with many terrible things byMrs. Porter if she did not stay on guard, had once more allowed her toosympathetic nature to get the better of her and had vanished.
Kirk was too dispirited to take advantage of his good fortune. He had asense of being there on parole, of being on his honour not to touch. Sohe sat in his chair, and looked at Bill; while Bill, crooning tohimself, played decorously with bricks.
The truth had been a long time in coming home to Kirk, but it hadreached him at last. Ever since his return he had clung to the beliefthat it was a genuine conviction of its merits that had led Ruth tosupport her aunt's scheme for Bill's welfare. He himself had alwayslooked on the exaggerated precautions for the maintenance of thelatter's health as ridiculous and unnecessary; but he had acquiesced inthem because he thought that Ruth sincerely believed themindispensable.
After all, he had not been there when Bill so nearly died, and he couldunderstand that the shock of that episode might have distorted thejudgment even of a woman so well balanced as Ruth. He was quite readyto be loyal to her in the matter, however distasteful it might be tohim.
But now he saw the truth. A succession of tiny incidents had broughtlight to him. Ruth might or might not be to some extent genuine in herbelief in the new system, but her chief motive for giving it hersupport was something quite different. He had tried not to admit tohimself, but he could do so no longer. Ruth allowed Mrs. Porter to haveher way because it suited her to do so; because, with Mrs. Porter onthe premises, she had more leisure in which to amuse herself; because,to put it in a word, the child had begun to bore her.
Everything pointed to that. In the old days it had been her chiefpleasure to be with the boy. Their walks in the park had been a dailyceremony with which nothing had been allowed to interfere. But now shealways had some excuse for keeping away from him.
Her visits to the nursery, when she did go there, were brief andperfunctory. And the mischief of it was that she always presented suchadmirable reasons for abstaining from Bill's society, when it wassuggested to her that she should go to him, that it was impossible tobring her out into the open and settle the matter once and for all.
Patience was one of the virtues which set off the defects in Kirk'scharacter; but he did not feel very patient now as he sat and watchedBill playing on the floor.
"Well, Bill, old man, what do you make of it all?" he said at last.
The child looked up and fixed him with unwinking eyes. Kirk winced.
They were so exactly Ruth's eyes. That wide-open expression whensomebody, speaking suddenly to her, interrupted a train of thought, wasone of her hundred minor charms.
Bill had reproduced it to the life. He stared for a moment; then, as ifthere had been some telepathy between them, said: "I want mummy."Kirk laughed bitterly.
"You aren't the only one. I want mummy, too.""Where is mummy?""I couldn't tell you exactly. At a luncheon-party somewhere.""What's luncheon-party?""A sort of entertainment where everybody eats too much and talks allthe time without ever saying a thing that's worth hearing."Bill considered this gravely.
"Why?""Because they like it, I suppose.""Why do they like it?""Goodness knows.""Does mummy like it?""I suppose so.""Does mummy eat too much?""She doesn't. The others do.""Why?"William Bannister's thirst for knowledge was at this time perhaps hismost marked characteristic. No encyclopaedia could have coped with it.
Kirk was accustomed to do his best, cheerfully yielding up what littleinformation on general subjects he happened to possess, but he was likeMrs. Partington sweeping back the Atlantic Ocean with her broom.
"Because they've been raised that way," he replied to the lastquestion. "Bill, old man, when you grow up, don't you ever become oneof these fellows who can't walk two blocks without stopping three timesto catch up with their breath. If you get like that mutt Dana Ferrisyou'll break my heart. And you're heading that way, poor kid.""What's Ferris?""He's a man I met at dinner the other night. When he was your age hewas the richest child in America, and everybody fussed over him till hegrew up into a wretched little creature with a black moustache and twochins. You ought to see him. He would make you laugh; and you don't getmuch to laugh at nowadays. I guess it isn't hygienic for a kid tolaugh. Bill, honestly--what _do_ you think of things? Don't youever want to hurl one of those sterilized bricks of yours at a certainlady? Or has she taken all the heart out of you by this time?"This was beyond Bill, as Kirk's monologues frequently were. He changedthe subject.
"I wish I had a cat," he said, by way of starting a new topic.
"Well, why haven't you a cat? Why haven't you a dozen cats if you wantthem?""I asked Aunty Lora could I have a cat, and she said: 'Certainly not,cats are--cats are----""Unhygienic?""What's that?""It's what your Aunt Lora might think a cat was. Or did she saypestilential?""I don't amember.""But she wouldn't let you have one?""Mamie said a cat might scratch me.""Well, you wouldn't mind that?" said Kirk anxiously.
He had come to be almost morbidly on the look-out for evidence whichmight go to prove that this cotton-wool existence was stealing from thechild the birthright of courage which was his from both his parents.
