Jane Lends A Hand Part 12

Jane, however, was still neutral; she neither liked nor disliked him, and was perfectly indifferent as to whether he liked or disliked her.

And meanwhile, under Aunt Gertrude's guidance, he struggled, more manfully than successfully with the difficult art of baking cakes and bread. It cannot be said that he showed the slightest signs of the gift which Mr. Lambert believed that Johann Winkler had bequeathed to all his descendants; and so far not one of his attempts had been fit to go into the shop. His bread was as heavy as lead, his rolls were like sticks of dynamite, his cakes invariably scorched, or had too much baking soda in them.

Notwithstanding the fact that he really tried hard to learn, as much to please his aunt as for any other reason, and cheerfully rose before daylight on those wintry mornings to knead his dough, and see that the ovens were properly heated, Mr. Lambert chose to believe that his nephew was deliberately trying _not_ to be successful; and seeing in Paul's repeated failures a sly rebellion against his plans, he became more and more out of humour with the boy.

"See here, young man, how long is this business going to go on?" he demanded at length, losing patience altogether. "All of us have got to earn our own salt. I'm not a rich man, and I simply can't afford to provide for a big, strapping boy who can't even learn a simple trade-"

"'A little patience, Uncle-'" quoted Paul serenely. Mr. Lambert flushed.

"You are impudent. Patience, indeed. I have been patient. But I feel that it is high time that you proved yourself in earnest, or at least told me frankly whether you intend to make yourself of some use or not."

Paul thought for a moment, then he said slowly,

"Uncle, I _am_ trying to learn this confounded business. There is no use in getting angry with me-it isn't my fault if I don't succeed. Ask Aunt Gertrude whether I've worked hard or not. But I don't want to be a burden to you-you've been very kind, and I should hate to feel that you think I'm simply sponging on you. If you aren't satisfied with me, please just say so."

"Oh, come now, my boy, there's nothing to take offense about," said Mr.

Lambert hastily, changing his tactics immediately. "It merely occurred to me that _you_ were not satisfied, and to urge you, if that is the case, to speak out frankly."

Paul hesitated. During the last three or four weeks he had been repeatedly on the point of coming to an understanding with his uncle, and had put it off, certain that it would not be an "understanding" at all, but simply a good old-fas.h.i.+oned row. There was not one chance in a hundred that Mr. Lambert could be made to understand his ideas or sympathize with them in the least, and Paul, financially, as well as in other ways, was too helpless to struggle just then. At the same time, it had occurred to him, that from one point of view, he was not acting fairly. He was ashamed of accepting Mr. Lambert's hospitality when, plainly, it was extended to him only on the condition that he conformed with Mr. Lambert's wishes, and when he had not the slightest intention of fulfilling his uncle's desires.

"It's a pretty shabby trick, and cowardly too, to live here until I get ready to do what I want, when all of them are depending on my being a fixture. It would be better to put the whole business up to uncle, and stand my ground openly. Then, if he wants to kick me out, he can."

Paul reached this decision in the pause that followed Mr. Lambert's last remark, during which his uncle eyed him narrowly.

"I see that you are deliberating," said Mr. Lambert, coldly. "Again let me urge you to be frank."

"Very well, sir. I will!" declared Paul impetuously. "I'll be telling you very little more than I told you when I first came. I can never learn to be a baker. You can see that for yourself. And what's more, it isn't as if I hadn't tried. I don't want charity, and I thought that if for a while I could be of some help to Aunt Gertrude, it might be one way of paying for my board and lodging. And that's why-whatever you may think-I've done my best to learn how to make all this stuff. But it's no use. I never can be a baker, and _I don't want to be a baker_!"

"Ah!" said Mr. Lambert, leaning back in his chair. "I thought that was how the land lay." He was silent for a moment, and then, carefully plucking a thread from the b.u.t.tonhole in his lapel, he inquired.

"And what _do_ you want to be?"

"I want to be-" ("Here's where the music starts," thought Paul), "I want to be a painter."

Mr. Lambert looked as if a cannon had suddenly been discharged in his ear. For fully thirty seconds he was quite speechless; then pulling himself together, he articulated,

"A _what_?"

"A painter," Paul repeated.

"Do you mean a house-painter, or-" here Mr. Lambert raised his eyes to the ceiling as if invoking the mercy of the G.o.ds upon this benighted youth, "or an _artist_?"

"I'm afraid I mean an artist, sir."

"A person who," Mr. Lambert went through a tragic pantomime of painting in the air, "who paints _pictures_?"

"Yes," said Paul briefly.

There was a long pause while Mr. Lambert struggled to a.s.similate this preposterous idea. At last a tolerant, half-pitying smile spread over his features.

"My dear boy, we all have foolish notions in our youth. You will get over this nonsense. Meanwhile, be so good as never to mention it to me again." And without another word, he left the room.

"Well!" said Paul aloud, "I certainly didn't accomplish much. Where do I stand, anyhow?" Again the picture of the cross-roads rose in his mind, again the thought of the city.

"Here I am, just because I didn't have the _nerve_ to make a break for the other direction," he thought bitterly, recalling his ignominious attempt at flight, "because I was afraid of being cold and hungry, and now, I'm in a worse fix than I was before." For while he cared very little about his uncle's opinions, he had grown to love his aunt, and the thought of disappointing her hopes troubled him deeply.

Well, at least his uncle knew his intentions. If he did not choose to regard them seriously, that was his own affair. Paul decided to let matters take their own course for a while.

Now, as a matter of fact, Mr. Lambert considered his nephew's declaration a great deal more seriously than he appeared to. He knew just enough about people to realize quite clearly that there was a good likelihood of Paul's _not_ getting over his absurd notions; but he was quite determined that they should be suppressed with a firm hand. He made no reference whatever to their conversation, and continued to act as if Paul's expostulation had never been uttered, but at the same time he was keenly alert to note any further symptoms that Paul still harbored his outlandish, preposterous, ridiculous, and treasonable idea.

It was not long before he discovered that these symptoms were very alarming indeed.

One Sunday afternoon early in December, he returned from a two days'

trip to Allenboro to find his family gathered in the dining room, indulging in a general spirit of gaiety, which in Mr. Lambert's opinion was exceedingly out of place on the Sabbath. He was strongly persuaded in favor of the most rigid observation of Sunday, not as a day of rest, but of strenuous inactivity. All out of door games were forbidden, any books not of the most serious character were sternly prohibited, and laughter was frowned upon by the worthy old merchant, who ruled his household with a rod of iron. Furthermore, he had not accomplished all that he had wished at Allenboro, and he was in no very genial humour to begin with. What were his feelings, therefore, when, appearing in the doorway, tall and formidable in his burly overcoat, and wide-brimmed black felt hat, he discovered his family enjoying themselves in defiance of every rule of Sabbath decorum and solemnity.

The twins were popping corn over the fire, Granny was _knitting_! While over by the window, Elise, Jane and Aunt Gertrude were grouped around Paul, all talking at once, and apparently in great excitement. What they were talking about, and exclaiming over, Mr. Lambert did not know. The window shade was run up as far as it would go, admitting the wintry twilight, and under the window, propped against the back of a chair was an object which looked like the top of a flour barrel. Paul, evidently in a most unfamiliarly happy and animated frame of mind, was talking vivaciously.

"You see, if I only had some decent colors! But it's not so bad, either.

What it needs, now-" here he broke off abruptly, as Mr. Lambert, with a loud, and threatening "Ha-hum!" announced his presence.

Everyone turned around with as much consternation, as if they had been caught conspiring to rob a bank, and blank, guilty silence fell over the room.

"Ah!" said Mr. Lambert. He allowed his displeasure to show very plainly in his face, through the chilly smile with which he received his wife's timid kiss.

"Elise, will you take my coat?"

"You are cold, Peter. Do get warm, while I see about supper," said Aunt Gertrude hastily.

"But I am anxious to see what it is that interests you all so much,"

said Mr. Lambert, walking over to the window. Paul, with a rather defiant expression, stepped aside to allow his uncle a full view of the picture.

"You have been painting? My dear boy, you must know that I cannot allow you to indulge in such frivolous pastimes on this day of the week," said Mr. Lambert calmly. "Gertrude, I am surprised that you allowed this infringement of our rules." Poor Aunt Gertrude blushed red under this reproof, and stammered like a school-girl.

"But, Peter, I didn't know-you never said-"

Mr. Lambert checked her with a slight gesture; then adjusting his gla.s.ses, leant forward to inspect the painting, while Paul, with his hand on his hip, looked dreamily out of the window. Granny, who was rather deaf, had been very little disturbed, and went on brazenly with her knitting. Elise had hastened out to the kitchen to help her mother; but Jane, intensely interested in the proceedings, stood her ground, looking keenly from Paul's face to her father's.

"You have been painting your aunt, I see," remarked Mr. Lambert, presently. "It seems to me that an occupation more suitable to the Sabbath could have been found." He looked at the picture closely.

Ignorant as he was of anything concerning the fine arts, he felt that the painting was far from being merely a school-boyish production; and, in fact, the very skill it revealed increased his determination to put an end to his nephew's efforts once and for all. He did not overlook the fact that in lieu of proper materials Paul had made a surprisingly successful use of a piece of raw wood, and a few mediocre oil paints-a rather bad sign, in Mr. Lambert's opinion, showing as it did, a dangerous tendency to surmount difficulties. Moreover, it seemed to him that the whole thing showed a stubborn, deliberate disobedience to his orders. He was very angry, too angry to act with tact and good judgment.

Straightening up, with a flush showing on his cheekbones, he said abruptly,

"I thought I had expressed myself clearly to you before; but evidently I did not make myself understood. I cannot and I will not have you wasting your time on this tom-foolery. While you are in my house, you must obey my orders implicitly, do you understand?"

"You only told me not to-"

"Don't argue with me, sir! I will not tolerate your disrespect! Let it be enough for you that I forbid-I _forbid_ your idling over this useless and childish nonsense."

Without a word, Paul began to gather together his few brushes and tubes of paint, but when he started to leave the room with his picture, Mr.