# The Ancient Grudge/Chapter 12
### XII
#### A CLIENT FOR STEWART

Floyd returned one September from a short vacation in Canada with an unusual expectancy; one of Stewart Lee's infrequent letters had reached him just as he was setting out, and announced that he and Lydia would arrive in Avalon within the month. And no sooner had Floyd run through the accumulation of mail awaiting him than he closed his desk and went across the street to the new building in which Stewart had written that he had rented offices.
The elevator-boy dismissed him on the fourth floor, and he stood facing a door with the lettering—"Stewart Lee, Architect." He felt absurdly excited, and he flung the door open with the shout, "Hello, Stewart!" all ready on his lips. Then he stopped dismayed, for he found himself behind a little gate with only a boy in a long blouse sitting on a stool at a high table and looking at him.
"Is Mr. Lee in?" asked Floyd.
The boy got down from his stool. "What name, please?"
Floyd produced a card, and the boy disappeared into the adjoining room.
Floyd's excitement, momentarily dampened, rose again. And when he heard from within a well-known voice cry, "No, I'll show him in myself," he laughed aloud, kicked open the gate, and met Stewart on the threshold.
"Hurray!" cried Stewart, and "Well! Well!" said Floyd, and each seized the other's hand.
"Come in—'way in," Stewart said, dragging him. "Ferris, if anybody comes, I'm busy—too busy to see anybody, mind!"
​"Now don't you start out by turning clients away," Floyd protested.
"I'd turn the President away if he came to ask me to rebuild the White House," Stewart answered, slamming the door. "Now I've got you just where I want you. What the dickens have you done to your face in all these years?"
"I might ask you the same," said Floyd.
Thus they belittled the mustaches with which they had gradually adorned themselves—Floyd's black and drooping, shorn off stiffly above his lip, Stewart's long and light and gracefully twisted and pointed at the tips. In his blue working-blouse, Stewart looked taller, slimmer, more nonchalant than ever; his light blue eyes ran swiftly over Floyd, noting the changes with a kindly humor. Floyd, after the first glance, did not examine Stewart, but looked straight at his face with an uninquiring, complete delight in his presence. Except for the mustache, which gave him a fresh breeziness, he seemed to Floyd exactly the Stewart of old,—as boyish, as negligently gay and graceful, and as lovable to even the most passing glance. Stewart offered him a cigarette and at once Floyd experienced his old interested admiration for those oriental, slender, talented, versatile fingers; they made him conscious of the ugly stubbiness of his own, buried awkwardly in his pockets.
The room was large and well lighted and elaborately if somewhat scantily furnished with old Venetian chairs of walnut, deep, high-backed, covered with mediæval carvings. The table, on which were spread three or four plans, was also a solid old Italian piece, the spoil no doubt of some ancient palace; the walls were paneled in dark oak, and on them were hung four of Buskin's drawings of the Doge's Palace.
"You see, I'm not half settled yet," Stewart said. "I've hardly opened the shop. I'm going to hire the three rooms across the hall—that will give me six alto​gether—and I 'm looking round for the best draughtsmen, which takes time; I shan't be in full running order for several months yet. I brought over a lot of things to fit the place up with—these that you see are just a few odds and ends thrown in temporarily. I expect to like it here; there's a great chance in this town of yours."
"I suppose there is," said Floyd humbly.
"I wonder it's never been taken advantage of. Why, with these splendid hills—and the three rivers meeting among them—oh, what a place to build a city!"
"But the mills had to be built first," Floyd reminded him.
"Yes, but think of the hilltops! Why, what have you done with your hilltops—ragged, big houses and dreary, unsightly little ones! Oh, there's a great chance here—if a fellow could only get at it. Honestly, Floyd, just since I've been here, I've had more ideas in my head than in all the last year in Paris. It's stimulating—and I want to be up and at it, instead of sitting here, waiting for clients."
"They'll come," Floyd assured him.
"Yes, I'm not worrying much about that. You know, I'm just drawing the plans for Mr. Dunbar's new house; he's bought the Keating place, and he's given me pretty nearly a free hand, to show what I can do, and never mind the expense. Well, that's a good beginning. And then I have this house of my own to keep me busy."
"Where's that to be?"
"At the upper end of the Keating place; Mr. Dunbar's presented us with the land. They're going to be, both of them, in Italian Renaissance. You know, I think that's the style that ought to be adopted in this place—it's the thing that is most effective on the hills. Some of the architects have seen it, but sandwiched in are a lot of Colonial houses and Queen Anne houses and big nondescript barns of houses. Well, it takes time for a place to settle down—or grow up—to a right standard."
​"I guess you'll hurry it up," said Floyd.
"Oh, I don't know about that," Stewart answered modestly. "But there are a few schemes that have occurred to me already. One is, for building decent-looking, as well as comfortable houses for the working-people. It can be done—and there's no reason for having all these miserably ugly tenements; I'd like nothing better than a chance to get at some workmen's houses."
"Maybe that's where I can help you," said Floyd. "We may be putting up some more before long—and anyway, before I left on my vacation one of our men was telling me he wants to build a house of his own. At one time my grandfather did n't encourage that, but he's grown more liberal. This workman's quite well to do and is after something pretty good. I'll send him to you—his name's Farrell."
"All right; it may be a chance," said Stewart. "And if you people here would only institute some adequate sort of park system—why, you have no idea how beautiful a city you might have—with one street running along the crest of the city, overlooking the Yolin River; that could be the most splendid residence street in the country! I suppose it's having been abroad so long that makes me grieve over these wasted possibilities. But here—I'm so full of my own ideas I have n't asked you a word about yourself; let's hear."
"There's not a great deal to tell," said Floyd. "I'm just busy making beams and things—for you to turn into—what is it?—frozen music—or office buildings."
"And you're not engaged yet or anything?"
Floyd shook his head.
"Ho!" laughed Stewart. "Why, I don't think you've been getting busy at all. Better think about it; married life is the only kind. I tell you, Lydia's the best thing that ever happened to me. She'll be mighty glad to see you again; she ought to be here now any minute. She ​and her father are coming down to go over the plans. Want to see them?"
He spread out the drawings for the two houses—Mr. Dunbar's and his own. Floyd bent over them admiringly.
"They look well on paper," he said.
"They'll look a great deal better in reality," Stewart declared with enthusiasm. "They really will." He began explaining, pointing out the particularly effective features. "This of Mr. Dunbar's—it's to be of Pompeiian brick, with red sandstone cornice and pilasters, red tile roof; this great porch, with the four groups of columns and the terrace extending in front of it and beyond it—that's the thing I like especially. Down some distance below this wide flight of steps there's to be a fountain—wait a moment, I have the design for it here—there, don't you think that's pretty good? Don't you, really?"
He showed it with the most sanguine pride and yet waited for Floyd's verdict with open and sincere anxiety. This combination of ingenuous delight in what he had done and eagerness for another's opinion—or praise—was one of Stewart's winning qualities.
"I think it's immense," said Floyd, and then he laughed. "I know mighty little about architecture, but I know you'll draw the clients, all right."
Stewart was giving a graphic description of the dining-room, "to be in Flemish oak, with the panels of the walls filled in with red leather," when the door opened. It was Lydia; she stood for a moment with her lips parted in surprise; then the light of happy recognition danced over her face and she came forward holding out her hand with the one word "Floyd!" He blessed her for that; ever since Stewart had told him she was coming, he had been indulging a painful curiosity as to how she might treat him; he had sometimes been afraid that in the last parting from her he had given her undying offense. But now, as she looked at him with her gray veil drawn up across her ​forehead, it was impossible to doubt the honest friendliness in her eyes. She seemed to Floyd not a day older than when he had ridden and skated with her; she was the same slender, graceful figure, and her face wore the same girlish merriment and welcome.
"You have been away a long time," he said. "I'm glad to see this sort of thing,"—and he indicated the plans,—"for it looks as if you meant to settle down."
"Oh, I shall never leave Avalon again," Lydia declared. "You can't know—you people who've been staying here—I've been so homesick for all of you! Don't you think we're going to have the prettiest house? Has Stewart shown it to you?"
She pulled out the plan from under the drawings for her father's house and pointed to a second-story window.
"There," she said. "That's to be your room, Floyd—whenever your family desert you—or any other time."
"If you mean that, you'll have me deserting my family," said Floyd.
"Of course we mean it," Stewart answered. "You're to come round and keep us from getting lonely. Oh—and I've got you to thank, Floyd, for pushing me into the Avalon Club—you and Mr. Dunbar. I'm much obliged; it gives me a first-rate start."
"You'll lunch with me there to-day?" said Floyd.
"Can't; I have to go with the lady to-day." Stewart hooked his arm affectionately round his wife's neck and stood rocking her with a good-natured rudeness back and forth, while she swayed unsteadily and cried, "Oh Stewart!" "But I'll see you again this afternoon; you're just across the street, are n't you? I'll drop in."
"Come to dinner to-night," said Lydia, while Stewart was still hauling her head back and forth. "There will be just the family.—Stewart, dear!"
"Boo!" said Stewart, releasing her, only to seize her by the arms from behind.
​"Thank you, I'll be delighted," Floyd said, while she stood looking at him helpless and laughing.
"We'll tell you all about our travels—and you'll tell us all the gossip about everybody here.—Stewart, I'll turn on you in just about five seconds."
"Then I'd better be going," said Floyd. He put out his hand, and just as she was about to take it, Stewart jerked back her arm, and twice repeated this, until Floyd made a dive forward and seized the hand; and then Stewart let her go, laughing.
"Of course you know what he is, having roomed with him," Lydia said to Floyd. "Don't be surprised if you hear he has taken to wife-beating next."
Floyd went out of the room with a queer little pang; he would almost rather have had Lydia show some self-consciousness, some awkwardness in the recollection of their last meeting. "She's so happy she's forgotten all about it," he thought. "Well, that's as it should be, I suppose." But all that morning the picture of her and Stewart kept intruding itself before his mind, interfering with his work, making him restless and discontented. He tried to think it was only because of his return from a vacation that he could not at once concentrate his thoughts.
Floyd dined at the Dunbars' often, and always he found Lydia frank and unconstrained; he wondered if she would be so should he some time find her alone. One afternoon, calling on her, he tested this—with some little discomfort to himself; for to be alone with her filled him now, as it had done three years before, with the sense of the inadequacy and imperfection of his momentary happiness. He knew that she was untroubled by any memory; her friendliness was spontaneous and free. Instinctively he felt that in her married security she had not only quite dismissed the thought of the declaration he had once made, but had even taken it for granted that his love had not survived her marriage. There was an innocence in this attitude and in her straightforward treatment of him that ​he reverenced even while it diminished him unflatteringly. This afternoon, when he rose to go, he said with some awkwardness:
"Lydia, I want to tell you—it's good of you not to lay up anything against me—what I said to you that day we were skating—"
"Oh," she interrupted with a laugh, "that was years ago. We've both got over that—long since."
"Have we?" said Floyd.
"Oh yes; quite." She smiled at him firmly, as they shook hands.
Their close and friendly relations continued unimpaired. But Lydia had awakened to the fact that Floyd had not in all her years of absence ceased to care for her and that he cared for no other woman. She was touched rather than annoyed by this fidelity; she was not annoyed, for she felt as secure in his honor as in her own. In the happiness of her married life, she did not resent his constancy, and she rather liked being the woman of his dreams. She could even have been jealous a little of another woman, should any appear to whom he might turn. Of course she had no desire to intervene between Floyd and happiness—such happiness as she and Stewart knew—but if one finds oneself first in a good man's affection, and the position involves neither risk nor sacrifice, one does not wish to be dethroned. Lydia never went so far as to speculate on what might have happened if Floyd instead of Stewart had been the first to propose marriage; any other arrangement than the actual one was unthinkable; no one was ever happier than she.
Stewart established himself in Avalon with remarkable celerity. At the Avalon Club within a month no member was unknown to him, and with all who frequented the place he was on terms of an easy familiarity; he never had to sit down at a table alone like a stranger. Men liked him and complimented Floyd on his protégé; Floyd was not backward in proclaiming Stewart's qualities. ​Only one discordant voice reached him, that of an older man, Bennett, the leading architect of Avalon. "Lee does n't quite patronize the rest of us—yet," said Bennett, who felt irritated because Stewart had spirited away his best draughtsman. Floyd protested he was sure that Stewart had not knowingly transgressed the bounds of professional etiquette. "Oh, I don't mind," Bennett said with a cynical tolerance. "I know the boy's young. Let him make his splurge." It wounded Floyd to think that anybody could take such a disparaging view of Stewart.
Hugh Farrell was prospering. He had two babies and he was earning two thousand dollars a year. Five thousand dollars he and Mrs. Bell had saved up between them; now they had decided to leave the little house they had been living in, buy land farther back from the town, and build a dwelling-place commensurate with the increase in their family and fortunes. The remoteness of the site was, as Hugh explained to Floyd, an important consideration; he and Letty wished to have the children grow up with open fields around them. So Floyd sent Hugh—in whom ever since leaving the works he had taken a close and friendly interest—with a note to Stewart Lee. And for Hugh, explaining that he had three thousand dollars with which he wished to build a house, Stewart, with sympathetic imagination, described exactly the house that he wished to build. He took the few definite points that Hugh gave him, improved on them, elaborated them, sketched a house with more and larger rooms, a bigger porch, a handsomer front, and finer materials than any that Hugh had dared to dream of—and said, "That's the sort of house you want? Very well; put everything entirely in my hands, leave everything to me, and I'll build you such a house for three thousand dollars." Hugh signed the contract on the spot and went home in delight to tell Letty of their good fortune.
As for Stewart, he was quite pleased with this opportunity; he did not by any means despise it—even while ​building a hundred thousand dollar house for his father-in-law.
"The trouble with workingmen's houses," he said to Floyd, "is that they have no dignity. You see a street of workingmen's houses, and you're not impressed with the dignity of labor or the beauty of simplicity; you're only impressed with the dreariness of labor and the squalor of the commonplace. Now that's unnecessary. The laboring-man can have a dignified house, one that will help his self-respect. It's a thing worth working out."
When the people who had been away from Avalon for the summer returned, and the winter gayeties began, Stewart and Lydia became so involved in social interests that Floyd, adhering to his renunciation of such matters, saw much less of them. Now and then his grandmother gave a dinner party, and sometimes he made a casual appearance at the Country Club, but he was known among the young women as the Recluse, the Hermit, the "man too busy to bother with us." The girls invited to Mrs. Halket's dinners underwent each of them a certain hopeful curiosity as to whom Floyd would take down; and because Marion Clark was twice thus honored during the winter, she was much teased by her friends. She herself would have been glad to know whether Floyd had expressed a preference for her society or whether it had been merely a matter of Mrs. Halket's arranging. However that was, she had to confess that Floyd did not follow up his advantage.
Stewart laughed cheerfully when people complained to him, as they often did, about his friend's inaccessibility. "Why, we know you a great deal better than we do him," they would say. "Though he went out all through one winter, I'm afraid he did n't like us. What is the matter? You know him well enough to say." Stewart replied that he guessed Floyd was simply shy and afraid of girls; he said that he had never been able to induce him to go anywhere in Boston. And then he would extol Floyd's ​virtues, and, "Oh," the young women would cry, "it's maddening to hear that sort of thing about a man who won't look at a girl."
Stewart himself showed no aversion to the society of Avalon, nor did he occupy himself too much with the younger people. The older women liked a young man who could talk to them agreeably about books and pictures, about the French theatre and the German opera; at this time there were not many men in Avalon who were as well informed as Stewart on these subjects, and there were a good many women who had a superficial knowledge of them. Even Mrs. Halket, who scrutinized him narrowly because of his presumption in marrying the girl whom Floyd had loved, found no fault in him; she said to Floyd that in a place where all the young men received a special and technical education that killed off every particle of human interest, it was a relief to have one person of such wide cultivation as Mr. Lee. Such praise from Mrs. Halket meant a great deal for any young man, and it caused Mr. Dunbar a thrill of even more conscious pride in exhibiting his son-in-law.
Meanwhile, the houses that Stewart was building for himself and for Mr. Dunbar rose and drew attention. Outwardly they were indeed unlike most of the Avalon houses; even in their uncompleted state they had a certain winning lightness and grace; Mr. Dunbar's great villa looked down from its hilltop toward Stewart's smaller one with none of the forbidding austerity or cumbrousness of the older Avalon mansions. To be sure, Stewart was not the first to introduce a new style of architecture; Bennett and two or three others had broken away from the unimaginative variations on the "Queen Anne" type that had prevailed; but as it happened, none of them had yet had such a conspicuous opportunity as Mr. Dunbar's new house had offered. Stewart had succeeded at the outset, and on a scale which gave him not merely self-confidence, but the confidence of others. Even before the ​outcome was so certain, he had gone ahead in the most sanguine way, enlarging his offices and his office force; Avalon had never before known anything like his establishment, part of which was fitted up more like the luxurious apartments of a wealthy dilettante than as a hard-working architect's "shop." He had reached out for more draughtsmen and had raised salaries in a manner that taxed the patience and resources of his brother architects. His theory, which he talked over with his father-in-law, was that if one started in a big way, work in a big way would come; and as he had the money to spare and was not dependent on his profession for a living, he wished to make the experiment. Mr. Dunbar agreed that this was good business. So Stewart continued the methods which he regarded as enterprising and the other architects as ostentatious; Bennett nodded to him coldly in the club, for Bennett was jealous and resented this attempt on the part of a younger to oust him by mere hue and outcry from his hard-won position of eminence. And when in the same day Bennett heard that Henry Maxwell had asked Lee to draw plans for his new office building and that Mrs. "Tom" Dowling had commissioned him to build her a house, he closed his office early and went home to his wife indignant and depressed. After years of hard work and close economy he had attained the state of keeping three servants and a horse; and in his gloom he believed that he had tasted of luxury only to have it dashed wantonly from his lips. It was pretty disheartening to have young millionaires invade the profession, become the fashion, and throw their money round for sport—driving the old and experienced architects to the wall.
Hugh Farrell's house was finished, to the great delight of the owner and the envy of some of his friends. It was a small Colonial house of red brick with white trimmings and an air of miniature elegance; within it had hardwood floors and oak wainscotings, tiled fireplaces, and carefully designed mantels—"all as good as the best," Letty said ​with joy. The set of furniture that Floyd had given her for a wedding present, and that had been stored away ever since her marriage, graced the little parlor in a way that made her wonder if such things could really be her own. With this raising of the standard, she took a proud pleasure in the expenditure of the thousand dollars that her mother and her husband had allowed her for fitting up the house. They had been but a few days in the enjoyment of this wonderful perfection when Hugh, returning from work one evening, met the builder on the street. The builder asked if the house was all right, and when Hugh spoke with enthusiasm of it, he remarked, "I'm glad to hear it; I've just mailed the bill to Mr. Lee—and at such a time it's good to know there are no kicks coming."
Hugh asked the amount of the bill, expecting to be told that it was fifty or a hundred dollars in excess of the contract price, and prepared, in view of the result, to pay this excess cheerfully.
"A shade under six thousand dollars," said the builder.
Hugh put out his hand, and grasping a picket of the fence clenched it till its sharp edges cut into his fingers.
"You're joking," he said, with an effort to laugh. "Mr. Lee promised it would n't cost but three thousand."
The builder shook his head with a compassionate smile. "Why, you did n't think you were getting all that for three thousand dollars!" He added by way of consolation, "A house generally costs more than it sets out to."
Hugh made no answer; he stood silently gripping the paling and looking off up the hill. After a moment he walked away; his steps lagged and his head was bowed; he was trying to figure in his mind the amount of the mortgage that would be necessary, the interest, the years it would take him to pay off the debt. He did not reveal the ill news that night to Letty, and she was puzzled and distressed by his depression. The next morning, getting leave of absence from the mill superintendent, he went to Avalon to Stewart Lee's office. He insisted on seeing the ​architect at once, though there were others ahead of him waiting,—women who, he reflected bitterly, had a better right than he to consult so expensive a gentleman. One of the draughtsmen took him into an inner room, and after a moment Stewart, wearing his long gingham blouse, entered.
"Mr. Lee," said Hugh, looking at him gravely, "I told you I had three thousand dollars to spend on a house—not a cent more. The builder tells me it cost six thousand."
"Oh, that's absurd," said Stewart with a laugh. "I have n't had the bill yet, but it won't be anything like that."
"He told me he mailed you the bill last night," Hugh answered.
"Then maybe it's here." Stewart turned to a desk. "I have n't had a chance to look at the morning mail yet. Yes, I guess this may be it."
He tore open an envelope and glanced over the contents with a frown. "Fifty-eight hundred and sixty-five dollars," he said aloud. "Well, that's all wrong, of course; he's made a big mistake. I'll straighten it all out, Mr. Farrell. Don't let it worry you for a moment; three thousand dollars is the cost of that house, and you can take my word for it. Satisfied with it, I hope?"
"Oh, it's fine," said Hugh, whose face had brightened with intense relief. "And you're sure it'll be all right, Mr. Lee?"
"Absolutely," Stewart answered. He gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. "I guess you were kind of bowled over; I don't wonder. Never mind; I'll have this corrected, and then you won't think me a fraud."
"Thank you," Farrell said heartily. "I'm sorry I had to trouble you—but you see how it was."
"Of course; I'm sorry you had such a scare. Good-by," and Stewart came with him out into the room where waited the well-dressed women, and there shook his hand.
​Later that day he went over the items on the bill and reluctantly verified them; it had not occurred to him that as from time to time he had thought of some new feature to make a workingman's house attractive he was making it so very expensive. His lack of practical knowledge and experience had led him badly astray. He had expected to overrun the estimate by a small amount—so small that Farrell could easily pay it. "I guess I won't get caught that way again," he muttered, as he drew a check for fifty-eight hundred and sixty-five dollars. After doing this he made out a bill to Hugh Farrell for three thousand dollars, and sent it with a note explaining that the mistake had been satisfactorily adjusted.
From the occurrence Stewart derived several lessons, the most important to him personally being these,—that to build dignified houses for the laboring classes is not remunerative business, and that an architect wishing to do really beautiful and artistic work had better confine himself to clients able to pay a good deal larger price than any they had considered in their first calculations. Yet he was not to escape the embarrassments of his indiscretion. Hugh and Letty could not refrain from telling a few of their friends what they had paid for their delightful house; there were a number of men in New Some who could put three thousand dollars into a house, and several of these men, friends like Joe Shelton, and unfriendly, jealous rivals like Tustin, bought land back on the hill, not far from Hugh, and then went to Stewart Lee. They were hurt or indignant and certainly mystified when he declined to undertake their commissions. "I have so much work to do now," was his excuse, "I simply cannot give my time to this. I am devoting myself, anyway, to an entirely different kind of thing." They understood that he meant to larger matters, and they felt snubbed. One of them, Tustin, expressed himself as willing to have a house built on just the same plans as Farrell's. "That would n't cost you any work," Tustin said. "It would ​not," replied Stewart. "But it is my unalterable rule never to build the same house twice." With cynical amusement, he had advised each of the applicants to go to Bennett, who had lately been quite disagreeable. Those who followed this recommendation were told that it was out of the question to build such a house as they wanted for three thousand dollars. They protested that Mr. Lee had done it, whereupon Bennett referred them again to Lee, saying that as for himself he did n't profess to work miracles.
Each applicant went back to New Rome discouraged and angry. Tustin was especially bitter. He openly attributed Hugh Farrell's good fortune to the fact that he had been befriended and petted by Floyd Halket, who had got this fashionable young architect to build Farrell a fine house as a special favor.
"It's a mighty bad thing when favoritism gets into a concern like this," grumbled Tustin.
His wife was even more resentful; it was she who had given him no rest until he had made the effort to build a house as fine as the Farrells'. An undercurrent of enmity to Hugh began flowing; somebody even started a story that Floyd Halket had presented him with the house. Some one else altered this story into one that drew an unpleasant inference about Floyd's past relations with Letty. But Hugh and Letty and Mrs. Bell occupied their new house and enjoyed their prosperity, unconscious of slur or slander.