Grant could not deny that he seemed
improved,--rather perhaps that the setting of fine clothes, cleanliness,
and the absence of petty worries, made his characteristics respectable.
That which is ill breeding in homespun, is apt to become mere
eccentricity in purple and fine linen; Grant felt that Harcourt
jarred on him less than he did before, and was grateful without
superciliousness. Harcourt, relieved to find that Grant was neither
critical nor aggressively reminiscent, and above all not inclined to
claim the credit of creating him and Tasajara, became more confident,
more at his ease, and, I fear, in proportion more unpleasant. It is the
repose and not the struggle of the parvenu that confounds us.
"And YOU, Grant,--you have made yourself famous, and, I hear, have got
pretty much your own prices for your opinions ever since it was known
that you--you--er--were connected with the growth of Tasajara."
Grant smiled; he was not quite prepared for this; but it was amusing
and would pass the time. He murmured a sentence of half ironical
deprecation, and Mr. Harcourt continued:--
"I haven't got my San Francisco house here to receive you in, but I hope
some day, sir, to see you there. We are only here for the day and night,
but if you care to attend the opening ceremonies at the new hall, we
can manage to give you dinner afterwards. You can escort my daughter
Clementina,--she's here with me.
Pages:
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98