第27章

She more than liked the look that now came into his face.He said: ``Indeed she is!--more so than anyone except us of the family can realize.Mother's getting old and almost helpless.

My brother-in-law was paralyzed by an accident at the rolling mill where he worked.My sister takes care of both of them--and her two boys--and of me--keeps the house in band-box order, manages a big garden that gives us most of what we eat--and has time to listen to the woes of all the neighbors and to give them the best advice I ever heard.''

``How CAN she?'' cried Jane.``Why, the day isn't long enough.''

Dorn laughed.``You'll never realize how much time there is in a day, Miss Jane Hastings, until you try to make use of it all.

It's very interesting--how much there is in a minute and in a dollar if you're intelligent about them.''

Jane looked at him in undisguised wonder and admiration.``You don't know what a pleasure it is,'' she said, ``to meet anyone whose sentences you couldn't finish for him before he's a quarter the way through them.''

Victor threw back his head and laughed--a boyish outburst that would have seemed boorish in another, but came as naturally from him as song from a bird.``You mean Davy Hull,'' said he.

Jane felt herself coloring even more.``I didn't mean him especially,'' replied she.``But he's a good example.''

``The best I know,'' declared Victor.``You see, the trouble with Davy is that he is one kind of a person, wants to be another kind, thinks he ought to be a third kind, and believes he fools people into thinking he is still a fourth kind.''

Jane reflected on this, smiled understandingly.``That sounds like a description of ME,'' said she.

``Probably,'' said Victor.``It's a very usual type in the second generation in your class.''

``My class?'' said Jane, somewhat affectedly.``What do you mean?''

``The upper class,'' explained Victor.

Jane felt that this was an opportunity for a fine exhibition of her democracy.``I don't like that,'' said she.``I'm a good American, and I don't believe in classes.I don't feel--at least I try not to feel--any sense of inequality between myself and those--those less--less--fortunately off.I'm not expressing myself well, but you know what I mean.''

``Yes, I know what you mean,'' rejoined Victor.``But that wasn't what I meant, at all.You are talking about social classes in the narrow sense.That sort of thing isn't important.

One associates with the kind of people that pleases one--and one has a perfect right to do so.If I choose to have my leisure time with people who dress a certain way, or with those who have more than a certain amount of money, or more than a certain number of servants or what not--why, that's my own lookout.''

``I'm SO glad to hear you say that,'' cried Jane.``That's SOsensible.''

``Snobbishness may be amusing,'' continued Dorn, ``or it may be repulsive--or pitiful.But it isn't either interesting or important.The classes I had in mind were the economic classes--upper, middle, lower.The upper class includes all those who live without work-- aristocrats, gamblers, thieves, preachers, women living off men in or out of marriage, grown children living off their parents or off inheritances.All the idlers.''

Jane looked almost as uncomfortable as she felt.She had long taken a secret delight in being regarded and spoken of as an ``upper class'' person.Henceforth this delight would be at least alloyed.

``The middle class,'' pursued Victor, ``is those who are in part parasites and in part workers.The lower class is those who live by what they earn only.For example, you are upper class, your father is middle class and I am lower class.''

``Thank you,'' said Jane demurely, ``for an interesting lesson in political economy.''

``You invited it,'' laughed Victor.``And I guess it wasn't much more tiresome to you than talk about the weather would have been.

The weather's probably about the only other subject you and Ihave in common.''

``That's rude,'' said Jane.

``Not as I meant it,'' said he.``I wasn't exalting my subjects or sneering at yours.It's obvious that you and I lead wholly different lives.''

``I'd much rather lead your life than my own,'' said Jane.

``But--you are impatient to see father.You came to see him?''

``He telephoned asking me to come to dinner--that is, lunch.Ibelieve it's called lunch when it's second in this sort of house.''

``Father calls it dinner, and I call it lunch, and the servants call it IT.They simply say, `It's ready.' ''

Jane went in search of her father, found him asleep in his chair in the little office, one of his dirty little account books clasped in his long, thin fingers with their rheumatic side curve.The maid had seen him there and had held back dinner until he should awaken.Perhaps Jane's entrance roused him; or, perhaps it was the odor of the sachet powder wherewith her garments were liberally scented, for he had a singularly delicate sense of smell.He lifted his head and, after the manner of aged and confirmed cat-nappers, was instantly wide awake.

``Why didn't you tell me Victor Dorn was coming for dinner?''

said she.

``Oh--he's here, is he?'' said Hastings, chuckling.``You see Itook your advice.Tell Lizzie to lay an extra plate.''