Evening Republican, Volume 22, Number 190, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 August 1919 — The Magnificent Ambersons [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Magnificent Ambersons

By BOOTH TARKINGTON

‘•A GOOD-LOOKING FOOLBOYWITH THE PRIOEOF SATAN" {Synopsis.—Major Ambtruon had mad® a fortun® in im when other people were losing fortunes, end the magnificence of the Amberson® began then. Mafeor Amber son laid out a hW-acre •‘development." with roads and statuary, and in the center of I* four-acre tract, on Amberson avenue, built for himself the most magnificent mansion Midland City had ever seen, When the major's daughter married young Wilbur Mlnafer the neighbors predicted that as Isabel could never really love Wilbur all her love would be bestowed upon the Children. There Is only one child, however, George Amberson Mlnafer, and his upbringing and hie youthful accomplishments as a mischief maker are quite In keeping with the most pessimistic predictions By the time George goes away to college he does not attempt to conceal his belief that the Ambersons are about the most Important family In the world. At a ball given In his honor when he returns from college, George monopolises I-ucy Morgan, a stranger and the prettiest girl present, and gets on famously with her until he learns that a. “queer looking duck" at whom he had been poking much fun. Is the young lady’s father. He Is Kugene Morgan, a former resident of Btgburg, and he Is returning to erect a factory and to build horseless carriages Of his own Invention. Bugene had been an old admirer of Isabel's and they had been engaged when Isabel threw him over because of a youthful Indiscretion and married Wilbur Mlnafer.

CHAPTER IV—Continued. •“Give me the next end (he one after that." he said hurriedly, recovering gome presence of mind. Just as the nearest applicant reached them. ‘‘And give me every third die the rest of the evening." She laughed. ‘‘Are you sshlng?” “What do you mean, ‘asking?*" •‘lt sounded as though you.yyero Just telling me to give >ou all those dances." “Well, I want ’em!" George insisted. “Are you going to give me—" ‘Good gracious!" she laughed. •‘Fes!” The applicants flocked round her, urging contracts for what remained, but they did not dislodge George from tier side, though he made it evident that they succeeded in annoying him; and presently he extricated her from an accumulating siege—she must have connived in the extrication—and bore her off to sit beside him upon the stairway that led to the musicians’ gallery, where they were sufficiently retired, yet had a view ts the room. “How’d all those ducks get (o know you so quick?" George inquired, with little enthusiasm. — “Oli, I’ve been here f> week.” ‘Looks as if you’d been pretty busy!” he said. ‘‘Most of those ducks, 1 don’t know what my mother wanted to invite ’em here for." “Perhaps It was on eceount of their parents,” Miss Morgan suggested mildly. ‘‘Maybe she didn't want to offend their fathers find mothers." •Oh, hardly! I don’t think my mother need worry much about offending anybody in this old town." “It must be wonderful." said Miss Morgan. “It must be wonderful, Mr. Amberson —Mr. Minafcr, i mean." “What must be wonderful?" “To be so important as that!" “That Isn’t ‘important,’ " George assured her* “Anybody that really fs anybody ought to be able to do about as they like In their own town, I should think!” She looked at him critically from under her shading lashes —but her eyes grew gentler almost Ft once. In truth, they became more appreciative than critical. George’s imperious good looks were altogether manly, yet approached actual beauty as closely as a boy’s good looks should dare; and dance music and flowers have some effect upon nineteen-year-old girls as well as upon eighteen-yenr-c*ld boys. tine stairway was drafty: the steps were narrow and uncomfortable; no older person would have remained. In such a place. Moreover, these two young people were straugers to each ether; neither had said anything in which the other had discovered the slightest intrinsic interest; there had not arisen between them the beginnings of congeniality, or even of friendliness —but stairways near ballrooms have more to answer for than have moonlit lakes and mountain sunsets. Age, confused by its own long accumulation of follies, is everlastingly Inquiring, “what does she see in him?” as if young love came about through thinking—or through conduct. At . eighteen one goes to a dance, sits with a stranger on a stairway, feels peculiar; thinks nothing, and becomes incapable of any plan whatever, hjiss Morgan and George stayed where they were. They had agreed to this in silence and without knowing it; certainly Without exchanging glances of intelligence—they had exchanged no glances et all. Both sat staring vaguely out Into the ballroom, and. for a time, they did not speak. Mere and there were to be seen couples so carried away that, ceasing to move at the decorous, even glide, considered most knowing, they pranced end whirled through the throng, from wall to wall, galloping bounteously In abandon. George suffered a shock of vague sur- , prise when he perceived that his aunt, Fanny Minafer, was the lady-half of ©he of those wjld couples. She flew over the floor In the capable arms of the queer-looking duck; for this person was her partner. The queer-looking duck had been a real dancer ia his day, It appeared; and evidently his day was not yet over. In spite of the headlong, gay rapidity with/ which he bore Miss Fanny about the big room be danced authoritatively, avoiding without effort the lightest collision with other 4

couples, maintaining sufficient grace throughout his wildest moments, and nil the while laughing and talking with his partner. What was most remarkable to George, and a little irritating, this stranger in the Amberson mansion had no vestige of the air of deference proper to a stranger in such a place: he seemed thoroughly at home. He seemed offensively so, indeed, when, passing the entrance to the gallery stairway, he disengaged his hand from Miss Fanny’s for an instant, and not pausing in the dance, waved a laughing salutation more than cordial, theu capered lightly out of sight. George gazed stonily at this manifestation, responding neither by word nor sign, “llow’s that for a bit of freshness?” be murmured. “What was?" Miss Morgan asked. “That queer-looking duck waving his hand at me like that. Except he’s the Sharon girls’ uncle I don’t know him from Adam." “You don’t need to,” she said. “He wasn’t waving his hand to you: he meant me.” “Oh, he did?" George was not mollified by the explanation. “Everyone seems to mean you! You certainly do seem to have been pretty busy this week you’ve been here!” She pressed her bouquet to her face again and laughed into it, not displeased. She made no other comment, and for another period neither spoke. “Well," said George finally, “I must say you don’t seem to be much of a prattler. They say it’s a great way to get a reputation for being wise—never saying much. Don’t you ever talk at all?" “When people can understand," she answered. He had been looking moodily out at the ballroom, but he turned to her quickly, at this, saw that her eyes were sunny and content, over the top of her bouquet, and he consented to smile. “Girls nre usually pretty fresh!” he said. “They ought to go to a man’s college about a year: they’d get taught a few things about freshness! What you got to do after two o’clock tomorrow afternoou?” “A whole lot of things. Every minute filled up.” “Ail right." said Gqorge. “The. snow’s fine for sleighing: I'll come for you in a cutter at ton minutes after two." "I can’t possibly go." “If you don’t.” he said, “I’m going to .sit In. the cutter in front of the gate, wherever you’re visiting, all afternoon, and try to go out with anybody else he’s got to whip me before he gets you.” And as she laughed—though she blushed a little, too —he continued, seriously: “If you think I’m not in earnest you’re at liberty to make quite a big experiment !” She laughed again. “I don’t think I’ve often had so large a compliment as that," she said, “especially on such short notice —and yet I don’t think I’ll go with you.” “You be ready at ten minutes after two."

“No, I won’t." <„ “Yes, you will!” “Yes,” she said. “I will !” And her partner for the. next dance, arrived, searching. “Don’t forget I’ve got the third from now," George called after her. When “the third from now” came George presented himself before her without any greeting, like a brother or a mannerless old friend. Both George and Miss Morgan talked much more tp everyone else that evening than to each other, and' they said nothing at all at this time. Both looked preoccupied as they began to dance, and preserved a gravity of expression to the end of the .number. And their next number they did not dance, but went back to the gallery Stairway, seeming to have reached an understanding without any verbal consultation that this suburb was again the place for them. “Well,” said George coolly, when they were seated, “what did you say your name was 1 ?” “Morgan.” “Funny name!” “Everybody etse’s name always is." ' “I didn’t rhean it was really funny,” George explained. “That’s jnst one of my crowd’s bits of horsing at college. We always say Tunny name,’ no

matter what it Is. I guess we’re pretty fresh sometimes; but I knew your name was Morgan because ray mother said so downstairs. I meant: what’s tiie rest of it?” "Lucy.” "How old nre you?” George asked. "I don't really know myself.” "What do you mean: you don’t really know yourself?” "I mean I only know what they tell me. I believe them, of course, but believing isn’t really knowing.” “Look here !” said George. “Do you always talk like tills?” Miss Lucy Morgan laughed forgivingly, put her young head on one side like a bird and responded cheerfully: “I'm willing to learn wisdom. What are you studying at school?” “College!” “At the university! Yes. What are you studying there?” George laughed. “Lot o’ useless guff r - “Then why don’t you study some useful guff?” , "What do you mean: ‘Useful?’” “Something you’d use later, in your business or profession?” George waved his hand impatiently. “I don’t expect to go into any ‘business or profession.’ ” “No?” “Certainly not!” George was emphatic, being sincerely annoyed by a suggestion which showed How utterly she failed to comprehend the kind of person he was. * “Why not?" she asked mildly. “Just look at ’em!” he said, almost with bitterness, and he made a gesture presumably intended to indicate the business and professional men now dancing within range of vision. “That’s a line career for a man, isn’t it! Lawyers, bankers, politicians! What do they get out of life, I’d like to know! What do they ever know about real things? Where do they ever get?" He was so earnest that she was surprised and impressed. She had a vague, momentary vision of Pitt, at twenty-one, prime minister of England; and she spoke, involuntarily in a lowered voice, with deference: “What do you want to be?” she asked. George answered promptly. “A yachtsman,” he said.

CHAPTER V. Having thus, in a word, revealed his ambition for a career above courts, marts and polling booths, George breathed more deeply .than usual, and, turning his face from the lovely companion whom he had just made his confidant, gazed out at the dancers with an expression in which there was both sternness and a contempt for the squalid lives of the unyachted Midlanders before him. However, among them he marked his mother, and somber grandeur relaxed momentarily; a more genial light came into his eyes. Isabel was dancing with the queerlooking duck; and it was to be noted that the lively gentleman’s gait was more sedate than it had been with

Miss Fanny Mlnafer, but not less dexterous and authoritative. -He saw George and the beautiful Lucy on the stairway and nodded to them. George waved his haiid vaguely : he had a momentary return of that inexplicable uneasiness and resentment which had troubled him downstairs. “How lovely your mother Is!” Lucy said. “T think she is,” he agreed gently. “She’s the gracefulest woman In that ballroom. How wonderfully they dance together!” -h / , -J “Who r “Your mother ams—And The queerlooking duck,” said Lucy. ‘Tm going to dance with him pretty soon."

“I don’t care—so long as you don’t give him one of the numbers that belong to me.” “I’ll try to remember,” she said, and thoughtfully lifted to her face the bouquet of violets and lilies, a gesture which George noted without approval. “Look here! Who sent you those flowers you keep makin’ such a fuss over?” “He did.” “Who’s ‘he?’” “The queer-looking duck.” George feared no such rival; he laughed loudly. “I s’pose he’s some old widower!” he said,, the object thus described seeming ignominious enough to a person of eighteen, without additional characterization. Lucy became serious at once; “Yes, he Is a widower,” she said. “I ought to have told you before; he’s my father.” George stopped laughing abruptly. “Well, that’s a horse on me. If I’d known he was your father of course I wouldn’t have made fun of him. I’m sorry.” “Nobody could make fun of him,” she said quietly, “Why couldn’t they?” “It wouldn’t make him funny: it would only make themselves silly.” Upon this George had a gleam of intelligence. “Well, I’m not going to make myself silly any more, then; I don’t want to take .chances like that with you. But I thought he was the Sharon girls’ unele. He came with them —” “Yes,” she said; “I’m always late to everything: I wouldn’t let them wait for me. We’re visiting the Sharons.” “About time I knew that! You forget my being so fresh about your father, will you? Of course he’s a dis-tinguished-looking man, in a way.” Lucy was still serious. “‘ln a way?”’ she repeated. “You mean, not in your way, don’t you?” Geflorge was perplexed. “How do you mean: not in my way?” “People often say ‘in a way’ and ‘rather distinguished looking,’ 'or ‘rather’ so-and-so, or ‘rather’ anything, to show that they’re superior, don’t they. It’s a kind of snob slang, 1 think. Of course people don’t always say ‘rather’ or ‘ln a way’ to be superior.” “I should soy not! I use both of ’em a great deal inyseif,” said George. “One thing I don’t see, though: "What’s the use of a man being six feet three? Men that size can’t handle themselves as well as a man about five feet eleven and a half can.” George was a straightforward soul, at least. “See here!” he said. “Are you engaged to anybody?” “No.” Not wholly mollified, he shrugged his shoulders. “You seem to know a good many people! Do you live in New York?” “No. We don’t live anywhere.” “What do you mean: you don’t live anywhere?” “We've lived all over,” she answered. “Papa used to live here in this town, but that was before I was born.” “What do you keep moving around, so for? Is he a promoter?” “No. He’s an inventor.” “What’s he invented?” “Just lately,” said Lucy, “he’s been working on a new kind of horseless carriage." “Well, I’m sorry for him," George said, in no unkindly spirit. “Those things are never going to amount to anything. People aren’t going to spend their lives lying on their backs in the road and letting grease drip in their faces.” “Papa’d be so grateful,” she returned, “if he could have your advice.”

Instantly . George’s face became flushed, “I don’t know that I’ve done anything to be insulted for!” he said. “I don’t see that what I said was particularly fresh.” “No, indeed!” “Then what do you—■" She laughed gayly. “I don’t! And I don’t mind your being such a lofty person at all. I think it's ever so interesting—but papa’s a great man!” “Is he?” George decided to be good-natured. “Well, let us hope so. I hope so, I’m sure.” Looking at him keenly, she saw that the magnificent youth was incredibly sincere in this bit of graciousness. She shook her head in gentle wonder. “I’m just beginning to understand,” she said. “Understand what?” “What it means to be a real Amberson in this town. Papa told me something about it before we came, but I see he didn’t say half enough!” George superbly took this all for tribute. “Did your father ssay r h.e knew the family before he left here?” ‘Yes. I believe he was particularly a friend of your Uncle George; and he didn’t say so, but I imagine he .must have known your mother very well, too. He wasn’t an inventor then; he was a young lawyer. The town was smaller in those days, and I believe he was quite well known.” “I dare say. I've no doubt the fam-

ily are all very glad to see him back, especially if they used to have him at the house a good deal, as he told you.” r ~JI “I don’t think be meant to boast of it,” she said. "He spoke quite calmly,” she retorted, as her partner for the next dance arrived. She took wing away on the breeze of the waltz, and George, having stared gloomily after her for a few moments, postponed filling an engagement, and strolled round the fluctuating outskirts of the dance to where his uncle, George Amberson, stood smilingly watching, under one of the rose-vine arches at the entrance to the room. “Hello, young namesake,” said the uncle. “Why lingers the laggard heel of the dancer? Haven’t you got a partner?” “She’s sitting around waiting for me somewhere,” said George. “See here: Who Is this fellow Morgan that Aunt Fanny Minafer was dancing with a while.ago?” Amberson laughed. “He’s a man with a pretty daughter, Georgle. Meseemed you’ve been spending the evening noticing something of that sort — or do I err?” “Never mind! What sort Is he?” “I think we’ll have to give him a character, Georgie. He’s an old friend; used to practice law here — perhaps he had more debts than cases, but he paid ’em all up before he left town. Your question is purely mercenary, I take it: you want to kn&w his true worth before proceeding further with the daughter. I cannot inform you, though I notice signs of considerable prosperity In that becoming dress of hers. However, you never can tell. It Is an age when every sacrifice Is made for the young, and how your own poor mother managed to provide those genuine pearl studs for you out of her allowance from father I can’t —” “Oh, dry up 1” said the nephew. “I understand this Morgan—” f “Mr. Eugene Morgan,” his uncle suggested. “Politeness requires that the young should—” “I guess the ‘young’ didn’t know much about politeness in your day,” George interrupted. “I understand that Mr. Eugene Morgan used to be a great friend of the family. The way he was dancing with Aunt Fanny—” Amberson laughed. “I’m afraid your Aunt Fanny’s heart was stirred by ancient recollections, Georgie.” “You meant She used to be silly about him?”

“She wasn’t considered singular,” said the uncle. “He was —he was popular. Could you bear a question?” “What do you mean: could 1 bear —” “I only wanted to ask: Do you take this same passionate interest in the parents of every girl you dance with? Perhaps it’s a new fashion we old bachelors ought to take up. Is it the thing this year to —” “Oh, go on!” said George, moving away. “I only wanted to know —” He left the sentence unfinished, and and crossed the room to where a girl sat waiting for his nobility to time to fulfill his contract with her' for this dance.

"Pardon f keep’ wait,” Ije muttered, as she rose brightly to meet him; and she seemed pleased that he came at all. He danced with her perfunctorrily, thinking the while of Mr. Eugene Morgan and his daughter. "Strangely enough his thoughts dwelt more upon the father than the daughter, though George could not possibly have given a reason —even to himself—for this disturbing preponderance. By a coincidence, though not an odd one, the thoughts and conversation of Mr. Eugene Morgan at this very time were concerned with George Amberson Minafer, rather casually, it is true. Mr. Morgan had retired to a room set apart for smoking, on the second, floor, and had found a grizzled gentleman lounging in solitary possession. “’Gene Morgan!” this person exclaimed, rising with great heartiness. "I don’t believe you know me!” “Yes, I do, Fred Kinney!” Mr. Morgan returned with equal friendliness. “Your real sac one I used to know —it’s just underneath the one you’re masquerading in tonight. You ought to have changed it more if you wanted a disguise.” “Twenty years!” said Mr. Kinney. “It makes some difference in faces, but more in behavior!” “It does so!” his friend agreed with explosive emphasis. They sat and smoked. “However,” Mr. Morgan remarked presently, “I still dance like an In-<

dian. Don’t you?” “No, I leave that to my boy Fred. He does the dancing for the family.” “I suppose he’s upstairs hard at it?” ' ; “No, he’s not here*” Mr. Kinney glanced toward the open door and lowered his voice. “He wouldn’t come. It seems 4hat a couple of years or so ago he had a row with young Georgie Minafer. Fred was president of a literary club they had, and he said this Georgie Minafer got himself elected instead, in an overbearing sort of way. Fred’s very bitter about his row with Georgie Minafer. He says he’d rather burn his foot off than set it inside any Amberson house or any place else where young Georgie is.” “Do people like young Minafer generally?” , “I don’t know about ‘generally.’ I guess he gets plenty of' toadying; but certainly a lot of people that are glad to express their opinions about him.” “What’s the matter with him?”

“Too much imberson, I suppose for one thing. And for another, hie mother Just fell down and worshiped him from the day he was born. He thinks he’s a jlittle tin god on wheels —and honestly it makes some people weak and sick just to think about him! Yet that high-spirited, intelligent woman, Isabel Amberson, actually sits and worships him 1 You can hear It In her voice when she speaks to him or speaks of him. You can see it In her eyes when she looks at him. My Lord! What does she see when she looks at him?” Morgan’s odd expression of genial apprehension deepened whimsically. “She sees something that we don’t see," he said. “What does she see?" “An angel.” Kinney laughed aloud. “Well, If she sees an angel when she looks at Georgie Minafer she’s a funnier woman thaq I thought she was!” “Perhaps she Is,” said Morgan. “But that’s what she sees.” “My Lord! It’s easy to see you’ve only known him an hour or so. In that time have you looked at Georgie and seen an angel?” “No. All I saw was a remarkably good-looking fool-boy with the pride of Satan and a set of nice new draw-ing-room manners that he probably couldn’t use more than half an hour at a time without busting.” "Then what —” “Mothers are right,” said Morgan. “Mothers see the angel in us because the angel Is there. If it’s shown to the mother the son has got an angel to show, hasn’t he? When < fi son cuts

somebody’s throat the mother only sees it’s possible for a misguided angel to act like a devil —and she’s entirely right about that!” Kinney laughed and put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I remember what a fellow you always were to argue,” he said. “You mean Georgie Minafer is as much of an angel as any murderer is, and that Georgie’s mother is always right.” ‘Tm afraid she always has been,” Morgan said lightly. The friendly hand remained upon his shoulder. “She was wrong once, old fellow. *At least, so it seemed to me.” “No,” said Morgan, a little awkwardly. “No —■” Kinney relieved the slight embarrassment that had come upon both of them: he laughed again. “Walt till you know young Georgie a little better,” he said. “Something teUs me you’re going to change your mind about having an angel to show, if you see anything of him!” “You mean beauty’s In the., eye of the beholder, and the angel is all In the eye of the mother. If you were u painter, Fred, you’d paint mothers with angels’ pyes holding imps In their laps. Me, Til stick to the old masters and the cherubs.” Mr. Kinney looked at him musingly. “Somebody's eyes must have been pretty angelic,” he said, “if they’ve been persuading you that Georgie Minafer is a cherub!” “They are,” .said Morgan heartily. "They’re more angelic than ever.” And as a new flourish of music sounded overhead he threw away his cigarette and jumped up briskly. “Goodby ; I’ve got this dance with her.” “With whom?” “With Isabel!” The grizzled Mr. Kinney affected to rub his eyes. “It startles me, your jumping up like that to go and dance with Isabel Amberson! Twenty years seem to have passed—but have they? Tell me, have you danced with poor old Fanny, too, this evening?” “Twice!’’ “My Lord!” Kinney groaned half in earnest; “Did times starting all over again! My Lord!" “did times?” Morgan laughed gayly from the doorway. “Not a bit! There aren’t any - old times. When times are gone they’re not old; they’re dead! -There aren’t any times but new times!” And he vanished in such a manner that he seemed already -to have begun dancing. "it was friendly of you. HI not—Hl not forget it." *TG BE CONTINUED.) * - " 1

“Are You Engaged to Anybody?"

“Gene Morgan!"