The Connecticut labor press., 1919-10-18

they may be Ambersons, but they're vulgar I'm afraid I almost agree with him. At least, I think they were in- conSiderate.
 I've plan to stay six weeks if the place agrees with him. It does really seem to already! He's just called in the door to say he's waiting. Don't smoke too much. darling boy.
 "Devotedly, your mother,
 ISABEL"
 But she did not keep her husband there for the six weeks she anticipated. She did not keep him anywhere that long. Three weeks after writing this letter, she telegraphed suddenly to George that they were Having for home at once; and four days later, when he and a friend came whistling into his study, from lunch at the club, he found another telegram upon his desk
 He read it twice before he compre- hended it's import.
 Papa left us at ten this morning, dearest.
 MOTHER"
 The friend saw the change in his face. "Not bad newsY
 George lifted utterly dumfounded eyes from the yellow paper.
 My father" he said weakly. "She says-she says he's dead. I've got to go home."
 His Uncle George and the Major met him at the station when he arrived-the first time the Major had ever come to meet his grandson. The old gentleman sat in his closed car riage (which still needed paint) at the entrance to the station, but he got out and advanced to grasp Georges hand tremulously, when the latter appeared. "PoOr fellOw!" he said, and patted him repeatedly upon the shoulder. "Pocr fellow Poor Georgie!'
 George noticed that the Majors tremulousness did not disappear, as they drove up the street, and that he seemed much feebler than during the summer. Principally. however, George was concerned with his own emotion, or rather, with his lack of emotion :; and the anxious sympathy of his grand father and his uncle made him feel hypocritical. He was not grief-strick- en; but he felt that he ought to be, and, with a secret shame, concealed his callousness beneath an affectation of SOlemnity.
 But when he was taken into the room where lay what was left of Will bur Minafer, George had no longer to pretend; his grief was sufficient. It needed only the sight of that forever inert semblance of the quiet man who had been always so quiet part of his sons life-so quiet a part that George had seldom been consciously aware that his father was indeed a part of his life. AS the figure lay there, its very Quietness was what was most life like; and suddenly it struck George hard. And in that unexpected, racking grief of his son, Wilbur Minafer be- came more wildly Georges father than he had ever been in life.
 When George left the room, his arm was about his black-robed mother, his shoulders were still shaken with sobs. He leaned upon his mother she gently comforted him; and presently he re- covered his composure and became self-cOnscious enough to wonder if he had not been making an unmanly dis play of himself. "Pm all right again. mother" he said awkwardly. Don't worry about me: you'd better go lie down, or something; you look pretty pale"
 Isabel did look pretty pale, but not ghastly pale, as Fanny did. Fanny's grief was overwhelming she stayed in her room, and George did not see her until the next day, few minutes be- fore the funeral, when her haggard face appalled, him.
 The annoyance gave way before recollection of the sweet mOurnfulness of his mothers face, as she had said good-by to him at the station, and of how lovely she looked in her mourning. He thought of Lucy, whom he had seen only twice, and he could not help feel