The Rise Of Silas Lapham By William Dean Howells Part 1 by William Dean Howells (read dune txt) 📕

Finished in

Black Walnut?"

 

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"Well,  Yes," Replied the Architect,  "If You Like.

But Some Less Expensive Wood Can Be Made Just As Effective

With Paint.  Of Course You Can Paint Black Walnut Too."

 

"Paint It?" Gasped the Colonel.

 

"Yes," Said The Architect Quietly.  "White,  Or A Little

Off White."

 

Lapham Dropped the Plan He Had Picked up From The Table.

His Wife Made A Little Move Toward Him Of Consolation

Or Support.

 

"Of Course," Resumed the Architect,  "I Know There Has Been

A Great Craze For Black Walnut.  But It'S An Ugly Wood;

And For A Drawing-Room There Is Really Nothing like

White Paint.  We Should Want To Introduce A Little Gold

Here And There.  Perhaps We Might Run A Painted frieze Round

Under The Cornice--Garlands Of Roses On A Gold Ground;

It Would Tell Wonderfully In a White Room."

 

The Colonel Returned less Courageously To The Charge.

"I Presume You'Ll Want Eastlake Mantel-Shelves And Tiles?"

He Meant This For A Sarcastic Thrust At A Prevailing foible

Of The Profession.

 

"Well,  No," Gently Answered the Architect.  "I Was

Thinking perhaps A White Marble Chimney-Piece,  Treated

In The Refined empire Style,  Would Be The Thing for That Room."

 

"White Marble!" Exclaimed the Colonel.  "I Thought

That Had Gone Out Long Ago."

 

"Really Beautiful Things Can'T Go Out.  They May

Disappear For A Little While,  But They Must Come Back.

It'S Only The Ugly Things That Stay Out After They'Ve

Had Their Day."

 

Lapham Could Only Venture Very Modestly,  "Hard-Wood Floors?"

 

"In The Music-Room,  Of Course," Consented the Architect.

 

"And In the Drawing-Room?"

 

"Carpet. Some Sort Of Moquette,  I Should Say.  But I

Should Prefer To Consult Mrs. Lapham'S Taste In that Matter."

 

"And In the Other Rooms?"

 

"Oh,  Carpets,  Of Course."

 

"And What About The Stairs?"

 

"Carpet. And I Should Have The Rail And Banisters

White--Banisters Turned or Twisted."

 

The Colonel Said Under His Breath,  "Well,  I'M Dumned!"

But He Gave No Utterance To His Astonishment In the

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Architect'S Presence.  When He Went At Last,--The Session

Did Not End Till Eleven O'Clock,--Lapham Said,  "Well,  Pert,

I Guess That Fellow'S Fifty Years Behind,  Or Ten Years Ahead.

I Wonder What The Ongpeer Style Is?"

 

"I Don'T Know.  I Hated to Ask.  But He Seemed to

Understand What He Was Talking about.  I Declare,  He Knows

What A Woman Wants In a House Better Than She Does Herself."

 

"And A Man'S Simply Nowhere In comparison," Said Lapham.

But He Respected a Fellow Who Could Beat Him At Every Point,

And Have A Reason Ready,  As This Architect Had;

And When He Recovered from The Daze Into Which The Complete

Upheaval Of All His Preconceived notions Had Left Him,

He Was In a Fit State To Swear By The Architect.

It Seemed to Him That He Had Discovered the Fellow (As

He Always Called him) And Owned him Now,  And The Fellow

Did Nothing to Disturb This Impression.  He Entered

Into That Brief But Intense Intimacy With The Laphams

Which The Sympathetic Architect Holds With His Clients.

He Was Privy To All Their Differences Of Opinion

And All Their Disputes About The House.  He Knew Just

Where To Insist Upon His Own Ideas,  And Where To Yield.

He Was Really Building several Other Houses,  But He

Gave The Laphams The Impression That He Was Doing none

But Theirs.

 

The Work Was Not Begun Till The Frost Was Thoroughly

Out Of The Ground,  Which That Year Was Not Before The End

Of April.  Even Then It Did Not Proceed very Rapidly.

Lapham Said They Might As Well Take Their Time To It;

If They Got The Walls Up And The Thing closed in before

The Snow Flew,  They Could Be Working at It All Winter.

It Was Found Necessary To Dig For The Kitchen; At That

Point The Original Salt-Marsh Lay Near The Surface,

And Before They Began To Put In the Piles For The Foundation

They Had To Pump.  The Neighbourhood Smelt Like The Hold

Of A Ship After A Three Years' Voyage.  People Who Had

Cast Their Fortunes With The New Land Went By Professing

Not To Notice It; People Who Still "Hung On To The Hill"

Put Their Handkerchiefs To Their Noses,  And Told Each Other

The Old Terrible Stories Of The Material Used in filling up

The Back Bay.

 

Nothing gave Lapham So Much Satisfaction In the Whole

Construction Of His House As The Pile-Driving. When

This Began,  Early In the Summer,  He Took Mrs. Lapham

Every Day In his Buggy And Drove Round To Look At It;

Stopping the Mare In front Of The Lot,  And Watching

The Operation With Even Keener Interest Than The Little

Loafing irish Boys Who Superintended it In force.

It Pleased him To Hear The Portable Engine Chuckle

Out A Hundred thin Whiffs Of Steam In carrying the Big

Iron Weight To The Top Of The Framework Above The Pile,

Then Seem To Hesitate,  And Cough Once Or Twice In

Pressing the Weight Against The Detaching apparatus.

There Was A Moment In which The Weight Had The Effect

Of Poising before It Fell; Then It Dropped with A Mighty

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Whack On The Iron-Bound Head Of The Pile,  And Drove It

A Foot Into The Earth.

 

"By Gracious!" He Would Say,  "There Ain'T Anything

Like That In this World For Business,  Persis!"

 

Mrs. Lapham Suffered him To Enjoy The Sight Twenty

Or Thirty Times Before She Said,  "Well,  Now Drive On,  Si."

 

By The Time The Foundation Was In and The Brick Walls Had Begun

To Go Up,  There Were So Few People Left In the Neighbourhood

That She Might Indulge With Impunity Her Husband'S Passion

For Having her Clamber Over The Floor-Timbers And The

Skeleton Stair-Cases With Him.  Many Of The Householders

Had Boarded up Their Front Doors Before The Buds Had

Begun To Swell And The Assessor To Appear In early May;

Others Had Followed soon; And Mrs. Lapham Was As Safe From

Remark As If She Had Been In the Depth Of The Country.

Ordinarily She And Her Girls Left Town Early In july,

Going to One Of The Hotels At Nantasket,  Where It Was

Convenient For The Colonel To Get To And From His Business

By The Boat.  But This Summer They Were All Lingering a Few

Weeks Later,  Under The Novel Fascination Of The New House,

As They Called it,  As If There Were No Other In the World.

 

Lapham Drove There With His Wife After He Had Set

Bartley Hubbard Down At The Events Office,  But On This

Day Something happened that Interfered with The Solid

Pleasure They Usually Took In going over The House.

As The Colonel Turned from Casting anchor At The Mare'S Head

With The Hitching-Weight,  After Helping his Wife To Alight,

He Encountered a Man To Whom He Could Not Help Speaking,

Though The Man Seemed to Share His Hesitation If Not His

Reluctance At The Necessity.  He Was A Tallish,  Thin Man,

With A Dust-Coloured face,  And A Dead,  Clerical Air,

Which Somehow Suggested at Once Feebleness And Tenacity.

 

Mrs. Lapham Held Out Her Hand To Him.

 

"Why,  Mr. Rogers!" She Exclaimed; And Then,  Turning toward

Her Husband,  Seemed to Refer The Two Men To Each Other.

They Shook Hands,  But Lapham Did Not Speak.  "I Didn'T Know

You Were In boston," Pursued mrs. Lapham.  "Is Mrs. Rogers

With You?"

 

"No," Said Mr. Rogers,  With A Voice Which Had The Flat,

Succinct Sound Of Two Pieces Of Wood Clapped together.

"Mrs. Rogers Is Still In chicago"

 

A Little Silence Followed,  And Then Mrs Lapham Said--

 

"I Presume You Are Quite Settled out There."

 

"No; We Have Left Chicago.  Mrs. Rogers Has Merely

Remained to Finish Up A Little Packing."

 

"Oh,  Indeed! Are You Coming back To Boston?"

 

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"I Cannot Say As Yet.  We Sometimes Think Of So Doing."

 

Lapham Turned away And Looked up At The Building.

His Wife Pulled a Little At Her Glove,  As If Embarrassed,

Or Even Pained.  She Tried to Make A Diversion.

 

"We Are Building a House," She Said,  With A Meaningless Laugh.

 

"Oh,  Indeed," Said Mr. Rogers,  Looking up At It.

 

Then No One Spoke Again,  And She Said Helplessly--

 

"If You Come To Boston,  I Hope I Shall See Mrs. Rogers."

 

"She Will Be Happy To Have You Call," Said Mr Rogers.

 

He Touched his Hat-Brim,  And Made A Bow Forward Rather

Than In mrs. Lapham'S Direction.

 

She Mounted the Planking that Led into The Shelter Of

The Bare Brick Walls,  And Her Husband Slowly Followed.

When She Turned her Face Toward Him Her Cheeks Were Burning,

And Tears That Looked hot Stood In her Eyes.

 

"You Left It All To Me!" She Cried.  "Why Couldn'T You

Speak A Word?"

 

"I Hadn'T Anything to Say To Him," Replied lapham Sullenly.

 

They Stood A While,  Without Looking at The Work Which They

Had Come To Enjoy,  And Without Speaking to Each Other.

 

"I Suppose We Might As Well Go On," Said Mrs. Lapham

At Last,  As They Returned to The Buggy.  The Colonel Drove

Recklessly Toward The Milldam.  His Wife Kept Her Veil

Down And Her Face Turned from Him.  After A Time She Put

Her Handkerchief Up Under Her Veil And Wiped her Eyes,

And He Set His Teeth And Squared his Jaw.

 

"I Don'T See How He Always Manages To Appear Just At The

Moment When He Seems To Have Gone Fairly Out Of Our Lives,

And Blight Everything," She Whimpered.

 

"I Supposed he Was Dead," Said Lapham.

 

"Oh,  Don'T Say Such A Thing! It Sounds As If You Wished it."

 

"Why Do You Mind It? What Do You Let Him Blight Everything for?"

 

"I Can'T Help It,  And I Don'T Believe I Ever Shall.

I Don'T Know As His Being dead Would Help It Any.

I Can'T Ever See Him Without Feeling just As I Did

At First."

 

"I Tell You," Said Lapham,  "It Was A Perfectly Square Thing.

And I Wish,  Once For All,  You