The Magnificent Ambersons by Booth Tarkington (little red riding hood ebook .TXT) 📕

us to bother him about it; I’m sure she’d tell us to let him alone. He looks so white and queer.”

Amberson shook his head. “Not much whiter and queerer than you do, young fellow! You’d better begin to get some air and exercise and quit hanging about in the house all day. I won’t bother him any more than I can help; but I’ll have the deed made out ready for his signature.”

“I wouldn’t bother him at all. I don’t see⁠—”

“You might see,” said his uncle uneasily. “The estate is just about as involved and mixed-up as an estate can well get, to the best of my knowledge; and I haven’t helped it any by what he let me have for this infernal headlight scheme which has finally gone trolloping forever to where the woodbine twineth. Leaves me flat, and poor old Frank Bronson just half flat, and Fanny⁠—well, thank heaven! I kept her from going in so deep that it would leave her flat. It’s rough on her as it is, I suspect. You ought to have that deed.”

“No. Don’t bother him.”

“I’ll bother him as little as possible. I’ll wait till some day when he seems to brighten up a little.”

But Amberson waited too long. The Major had already taken eleven months since his daughter’s death to think important things out. He had got as far with them as he could, and there was nothing to detain him longer in the world. One evening his grandson sat with him⁠—the Major seemed to like best to have young George with him, so far as they were able to guess his preferences⁠—and the old gentleman made a queer gesture: he slapped his knee as if he had made a sudden discovery, or else remembered that he had forgotten something.

George looked at him with an air of inquiry, but said nothing. He had grown to be almost as silent as his grandfather. However, the Major spoke without being questioned.

“It must be in the sun,” he said. “There wasn’t anything here but the sun in the first place, and the earth came out of the sun, and we came out of the earth. So, whatever we are, we must have been in the sun. We go back to the earth we came out of, so the earth will go back to the sun that it came out of. And time means nothing⁠—nothing at all⁠—so in a little while we’ll all be back in the sun together. I wish⁠—”

He moved his hand uncertainly as if reaching for something, and George jumped up. “Did you want anything, grandfather?”

“What?”

“Would you like a glass of water?”

“No⁠—no. No; I don’t want anything.” The reaching hand dropped back upon the arm of his chair, and he relapsed into silence; but a few minutes later he finished the sentence he had begun:

“I wish⁠—somebody could tell me!”

The next day he had a slight cold, but he seemed annoyed when his son suggested calling the doctor, and Amberson let him have his own way so far, in fact, that after he had got up and dressed, the following morning, he was all alone when he went away to find out what he hadn’t been able to think out⁠—all those things he had wished “somebody” would tell him.

Old Sam, shuffling in with the breakfast tray, found the Major in his accustomed easy-chair by the fireplace⁠—and yet even the old darkey could see instantly that the Major was not there.

XXXI

When the great Amberson Estate went into court for settlement, “there wasn’t any,” George Amberson said⁠—that is, when the settlement was concluded there was no estate. “I guessed it,” Amberson went on. “As an expert on prosperity, my career is disreputable, but as a prophet of calamity I deserve a testimonial banquet.” He reproached himself bitterly for not having long ago discovered that his father had never given Isabel a deed to her house. “And those pigs, Sydney and Amelia!” he added, for this was another thing he was bitter about. “They won’t do anything. I’m sorry I gave them the opportunity of making a polished refusal. Amelia’s letter was about half in Italian; she couldn’t remember enough ways of saying no in English. One has to live quite a long while to realize there are people like that! The estate was badly crippled, even before they took out their ‘third,’ and the ‘third’ they took was the only good part of the rotten apple. Well, I didn’t ask them for restitution on my own account, and at least it will save you some trouble, young George. Never waste any time writing to them; you mustn’t count on them.”

“I don’t,” George said quietly. “I don’t count on anything.”

“Oh, we’ll not feel that things are quite desperate,” Amberson laughed, but not with great cheerfulness. “We’ll survive, Georgie⁠—you will, especially. For my part I’m a little too old and too accustomed to fall back on somebody else for supplies to start a big fight with life: I’ll be content with just surviving, and I can do it on an eighteen-hundred-dollar-a-year consulship. An ex-congressman can always be pretty sure of getting some such job, and I hear from Washington the matter’s about settled. I’ll live pleasantly enough with a pitcher of ice under a palm tree, and black folks to wait on me⁠—that part of it will be like home⁠—and I’ll manage to send you fifty dollars every now and then, after I once get settled. So much for me! But you⁠—of course you’ve had a poor training for making your own way, but you’re only a boy after all, and the stuff of the old stock is in you. It’ll come out and do something. I’ll never forgive myself about that deed: it would have given you something substantial to start with. Still, you have a little tiny bit, and you’ll have a little tiny salary, too; and of course your Aunt Fanny’s here, and she’s got something you can fall