ster or his mother
again. His impulse was to renounce to his mother his share of his
father's estate. But one does not act hastily upon an impulse to give up
nearly a million dollars. On reflection he decided against such
expensive and futile generosity. If it would gain him Adelaide--then,
yes. But when it would gain him nothing but the applause of people who
in the same circumstances would not have had even the impulse to forego
a million--"Mother's proper share will give her as much of an income as
a woman needs at her age and alone," reasoned he. "Besides, she may
marry again. And I must not forget that but for her Janet would never
have got that dowry. She brought this upon herself. Her folly has cost
me dearly enough. If I go away to live abroad or in New York--anywhere
to be free of the Howlands--why I'll need all I've got properly to
establish myself."

Janet and her baby left on a later train for the East. Before going she
tried to see her mother. Her mother had wronged her in thought, had
slandered her in word; but Janet forgave her and nobly wished her to have
the consolation of knowing it. Mrs. Whitney, however, prevented the
execution of this exalted purpose by refusing to answer the gentle
persistent knocking and gentle appealing calls of "Mother, mother dear!"
at her locked boudoir door.

CHAPTER XXVII

THE DOOR AJAR

Judge Torrey succeeded Whitney as chairman of the overseers of Tecumseh
and in the vacant trusteeship of the Ranger bequest. Soon Dr. Hargrave,
insisting that he was too old for the labors of the presidency of such a
huge and varied institution as the university had become, was made
honorary president, and his son, still in Europe, was elected chairman of
the faculty. Toward the middle of a fine afternoon in early September Dr.
Hargrave and his daughter-in-law drove to the railway station in the
ancient and roomy phaeton which was to Saint X as much part of his
personality as the aureole of glistening white hair that framed his
majestic head, or as the great plaid shawl that had draped his big
shoulders with their student stoop every winter day since anyone could
remember. Despite his long exposure to the temptation to sink into the
emasculate life of unapplied intellect, mere talker and writer, and to
adopt that life's flabby ideals, he had remained the man of ideas, the
man of action. His learning was all but universal, yet he had the rugged,
direct vigor of the man of affairs