Robert Kimberly

"Indeed I am, too fond of them. I lost my onlychild, a baby girl-"

"And you never have had another?"

"No."

"If Robert would marry, we should have afamily hope there," continued Imogene. "ButI am afraid he never will. How did you enjoyyour evening at The Towers?"

"We had a delightful time."

"Isn't Robert a good host? I love to see himpreside. And he hasn't given a dinner before foryears."

"Why is that?"

Imogene laid her hand gently on Alice's. "Itis a long story, dear, a tragedy came into his life-intoall our lives, in fact. It changed him greatly."

Soon after the MacBirneys came down, theNelsons arrived on the scene and the companymoved to a south room to get the breeze.Imogene talked with Alice and MacBirney, butKimberly joined them and listened, taking part atintervals in the conversation.

When Imogene's attention was taken byMacBirney, Robert, asking Alice if she got the airfrom the cooling windows, moved her chair towhere the breeze could be felt more perceptibly."I hope you haven't had bad news to-night," hesaid, taking a seat on a divan near her.

She understood instantly that her eyes had notescaped his scrutiny, but concealed her annoyanceas best she could. "No, indeed. But I hadsome exciting news to-night."

"What was it?"

"Oh, I mayn't tell, may I? I am not supposedto know anything, am I?"

Her little uncertainty and appeal made hercharmingly pretty, he thought, as he watched her.The traces in her eyes of tears attracted him morethan anything he had seen before. Her firstlittle air of annoyed defiance and her effort tothrow him off the track, all interested him, and herappeal now, made in a manner that plainly saidshe was aware the secret of the news was his own, pleased him.

He was in the mood of one who had made hisplans, put them through generously, and wasready for the enjoyment that might follow."Certainly, you are supposed to know," said hegraciously. "Why not? And you may tell if youlike. At any rate, I absolve you as far as I'mconcerned. I couldn't conceive you guilty of avery serious indiscretion."

"Then I suppose you know that we are veryhappy, and why-don't you?"

"Perhaps; but that should be mere excitement.How about the tears?"

She frowned an impatient protest and rose."Oh, I haven't said anything about tears. Theyare going out on the porch-shall we jointhem?" He got up reluctantly and followed her.

Arthur De Castro and Charles Kimberly offeredchairs to Alice. They were under a cluster ofelectric lamps, where she did not wish to sit forinspection. As she hesitated Robert Kimberlyspoke behind her. "Possibly it will be pleasanterover here, Mrs. MacBirney."

He was in the shadow and had drawn a chairfor her near Nelson outside the circle of light, from which she was glad to escape. He took theseat under the light himself. When an ice wasserved, the small tables were drawn together.Alice, occupied with Nelson, who inspired by hisvis-à-vis had summoned something of his grandair, lost the conversation of the circle until sheheard Doctor Bryson, and turned with Nelsonto listen. He was thanking Mrs. De Castro fora compliment.

"I am always glad to hear anything kind of myprofession." He spoke simply and his mannerAlice thought engaging. "It is a high calling-andI know of but one higher. We hear thecomplaint that nowadays medicine is a savagelymercenary profession. If a measure of truth lies inthe charge I think it is due to the fact that doctorsare victims of the mercenary spirit about them.It's a part of the very air they breathe. Theycan't escape it. The doctor, to begin with, mustspend one small fortune to get his degree. Hemust spend another to equip himself for his work.Ten of the best years of his life go practically togetting ready. His expense for instruments, appliances, and new and increasingly elaborateappointments is continuous."

"But doctor," Fritzie Venable leaned forwardwith a grave and lengthened face, "think of the fees!"

The doctor enjoyed the laugh. "Quite true.When you find an ambitious doctor, unless hisenergy is restrained by a sense of his high responsibility,he may be possessed of greed. If a surgeonbe set too fast on fame he will affect the spectacularand cut too much and too freely. I admit all ofthis. My plea is for the conscientious doctor, andbelieve me, there are many such. Nor must youforget that, at the best, half our lives we are tooyoung to please and half our lives too old."

"Hamilton said the other night," observedRobert Kimberly, filling in the pause, "that a gooddoctor must spend his time in killing, not his ownpatients, but his own business."

"No other professional man is called on to dothat," observed Bryson. "Indeed, the saddest ofall possible proofs of the difficulties of our callingis found in the fact that the suicide rate amongdoctors is the highest in the learned professions."

MacBirney expressed surprise. "I had noidea of such a thing. Had you, Mr. Kimberly?"he asked with his sudden energy.

"I have known it, but perhaps only because Ihave been interested in questions of that kind."

Dolly's attention was arrested at once by themention of suicide. "Oh, dear," she exclaimed,"Don't let us talk about suicide."

But Robert Kimberly could not always be shutoff and this subject he pursued with a certainfirmness. Some of the family were disturbed butno one presumed to interfere. "Suicide," he wenton, "has a painful interest for many people. Hasyour study of it, doctor, ever led you to believethat it presupposes insanity?" he asked of Bryson.

"By no means."

"You conclude then that sane men and womendo commit suicide?"

"Frequently, Mr. Kimberly."

Kimberly drew back in his chair. "I am gladto be supported in my own conviction. The factis," he went on in a humorous tone, "I am forcedeither to hold in this way or conclude that I amsprung from a race of lunatics."

"Robert," protested Dolly, "can't we talk aboutsomething else?"

Kimberly, however, persisted, and he now had, for some reason not clear to Alice, a circle ofpainfully acute listeners. "The insanity theory is inmany cases a comfortable one. But I don't findit so, and I must stick to the other and regardsuicide as the worst possible solution of anypossible difficulty."

Doctor Bryson nodded assent. Kimberly spokeon with a certain intensity. "If every act of aman's life had been a brave one," he continued,"his suicide would be all the more the act of acoward. I don't believe that kind of a man cancommit suicide. Understand, I am consideringthe act of a man-not that of a youth or of oneimmature."

"Well, I don't care what you are considering,Robert," declared Dolly with unmistakableemphasis, "we will talk about something else."

CHAPTER XI

The conversation split up. Kimberly, unruffled, turned to Alice and went on in anundertone: "I am going to tell you Francis'sviews on the subject anyway. He has the mostintense way of expressing himself and thepantomime is so contributing. 'Suicide, Mr. Kimberly,'he said to me one day, 'is no good. What woulda man look like going back to God, carrying hishead in his hand? "Well, I am back, and hereare the brains you gave me." "What did you dowith them?" "I blew them out with a bullet!" Thatis a poor showing I think, Mr. Kimberly, forbusiness. Suicide is no good.'"

"But who is this Brother Francis," asked Alice,"whom I hear so much of? Tell me about him."

"He is one of the fixtures at The Towers. Areligious phenomenon whom I personally think agreat deal of; an attendant and a nurse. He isan Italian with the courtesy of a gentleman wornunder a black gown so shabby that it would beabsurd to offer it to a second-hand man."

"Does the combination seem so odd?"

"To me he is an extraordinary combination."

"How did you happen to get him?"

"That also is curious. The Kimberlys arecantankerous enough when well; when ill theyare likely to be insupportable. Not only that, but kindness and faithfulness are some of thethings that money cannot buy; they givethemselves but never sell themselves. When my unclefell ill, after a great mental strain, we hired nursesfor him until we were distracted-men andwomen, one worse than another. We tried allcolors and conditions of human kind withoutfinding one that would suit Uncle John. I began tothink of throwing him into the lake-and toldhim so. He cried like a child the day I had theset-to with him. To say the truth, the oldgentleman hasn't many friends left anywhere, but earlyimpressions are a great deal to us, you know, andI remember him when he was a figure in thecouncils of the sugar world.

"I recall," continued Kimberly, "a certainBlack Friday in our own little affairs when thewolves got after us. The banks were throwingover our securities by the wagon-load, and thisold man who sits and swears and shakes there, alone, upstairs, was all that remained betweenus and destruction. He stood in our down-townoffice with fifty men fighting to get at him-struggling, yelling, screaming, and cursing, and somewho couldn't even scream or curse, livid andpawing the air.

"He stood behind his desk all day like afield-marshal, counselling, advising, ordering, buying, steadying, reassuring, juggling millions in his twohands like conjuror's balls. I could never forgetthat. I am not answering your question-"

"But do go on!" There were no longer tearsin Alice's eyes. They were alive with interest."That," she exclaimed, "was splendid!"

"He won out, and then he set himself onvengeance. That was the end of our dependence onother people's banks. Most people learn sooneror later that a banking connection is an expensiveluxury. He finally drove off the street the twoinstitutions that tried to save themselves at ourexpense. The father of Cready and FrankHamilton, Richard Hamilton, a rank outsider, helpedUncle John in that crisis and Uncle John madeRichard Hamilton to pillow his head on tens ofmillions. Since that day we have been our ownbankers; that is, we own our own banks. AndI this is curious, never from that day to this hasUncle John completely trusted any man-not evenme-except this very man we are talking about."

"Brother Francis?"