Drive, where parties, balls, receptions, dinners were given in rapid and at times almost pyrotechnic succession.
Lester, however, had become in his way a lover of a peaceful and well-
entertained existence. He had cut from his list of acquaintances and
associates a number of people who had been a little doubtful or
overfamiliar or indifferent or talkative during a certain period which to him was a memory merely. He was a director, and in several cases the
chairman of a board of directors, in nine of the most important financial and commercial organisations of the West—The United Traction
Company of Cincinnati, The Western Crucible Company, The United
Carriage Company, The Second National Bank of Chicago, the First
National Bank of Cincinnati, and several others of equal importance. He
was never a personal factor in the affairs of The United Carriage
Company, preferring to be represented by counsel—Mr. Dwight L.
Watson, but he took a keen interest in its affairs. He had not seen his
brother Robert to speak to him in seven years. He had not seen Imogene,
who lived in Chicago, in three. Louise, Amy, their husbands, and some of
their closest acquaintances were practically strangers. The firm of Knight, Keatley & O'Brien had nothing whatever to do with his affairs.
The truth was that Lester, in addition to becoming a little phlegmatic, was becoming decidedly critical in his outlook on life. He could not make out what it was all about. In distant ages a queer thing had come to pass.
There had started on its way in the form of evolution a minute cellular
organism which had apparently reproduced itself by division, had early
learned to combine itself with others, to organise itself into bodies,
strange forms of fish, animals, and birds, and had finally learned to
organise itself into man. Man, on his part, composed as he was of self-
organising cells, was pushing himself forward into comfort and different
aspects of existence by means of union and organisation with other men.
Why? Heaven only knew. Here he was endowed with a peculiar brain and
a certain amount of talent, and he had inherited a certain amount of
wealth which he now scarcely believed he deserved, only luck had
favoured him. But he could not see that any one else might be said to
deserve this wealth any more than himself, seeing that his use of it was as conservative and constructive and practical as the next one's. He might
have been born poor, in which case he would have been as well satisfied
as the next one—not more so. Why should he complain, why worry, why
speculate?—the world was going steadily forward of its own volition,
whether he would or no. Truly it was. And was there any need for him to
disturb himself about it? There was not. He fancied at times that it might as well never have been started at all. "The one divine, far-off event" of the poet did not appeal to him as having any basis in fact. Mrs. Lester
Kane was of very much the same opinion.
Jennie, living on the South Side with her adopted child, Rose Perpetua,
was of no fixed conclusion as to the meaning of life. She had not the
incisive reasoning capacity of either Mr. or Mrs. Lester Kane. She had
seen a great deal, suffered a great deal, and had read some in a desultory way. Her mind had never grasped the nature and character of specialised
knowledge. History, physics, chemistry, botany, geology, and sociology
were not fixed departments in her brain as they were in Lester's and
Letty's. Instead there was the feeling that the world moved in some
strange, unstable way. Apparently no one knew clearly what it was all
about. People were born and died. Some believed that the world had been
made six thousand years before; some that it was millions of years old.
Was it all blind chance, or was there some guiding intelligence—a God?
Almost in spite of herself she felt there must be something—a higher
power which produced all the beautiful things—the flowers, the stars, the trees, the grass. Nature was so beautiful! If at times life seemed cruel, yet this beauty still persisted. The thought comforted her; she fed upon it in her hours of secret loneliness.
It has been said that Jennie was naturally of an industrious turn. She liked to be employed, though she thought constantly as she worked. She was of
matronly proportions in these days—not disagreeably large, but full-
bodied, shapely, and smooth faced, in spite of her cares. Her eyes were
grey and appealing. Her hair was still of a rich brown, but there were
traces of grey in it. Her neighbours spoke of her as sweet-tempered,
kindly, and hospitable. They knew nothing of her history, except that she had formerly resided in Sandwood, and before that in Cleveland. She was
very reticent as to her past.
Jennie had fancied, because of her natural aptitude for taking care of sick people, that she might get to be a trained nurse. But she was obliged to
abandon that idea, for she found that only young people were wanted. She
also thought that some charitable organisation might employ her, but she
did not understand the new theory of charity which was then coming into
general acceptance and practice—namely, only to help others to help
themselves. She believed in giving, and was not inclined to look too
closely into the credentials of those who asked for help; consequently her timid inquiry at one relief agency after another met with indifference, if not unqualified rebuke. She finally decided to adopt another child for
Rose Perpetua's sake; she succeeded in securing a boy, four years old,
who was known as Henry—Henry Stover. Her support was assured, for
her income was paid to her through a trust company. She had no desire
for speculation or for the devious ways of trade. The care of flowers, the nature of children, the ordering of a home were more in her province.
One of the interesting things in connection with this separation once it
had been firmly established related to Robert and Lester, for these two
since the reading of the will a number of years before had never met.
Robert had thought of his brother often. He had followed his success,
since he had left Jennie, with interest. He read of his marriage to Mrs.
Gerald with pleasure; he had always considered her an ideal companion
for his brother. He knew by many signs and tokens that his brother, since the unfortunate termination of their father's attitude and his own peculiar movements to gain control of the Kane Company, did not like him. Still
they had never been so far apart mentally—certainly not in commercial
judgment. Lester was prosperous now. He could afford to be generous.
He could afford to make up. And after all, he had done his best to aid his brother to come to his senses—and with the best intentions. There were
mutual interests they could share financially if they were friends. He
wondered from time to time if Lester would not be friendly with him.
Time passed, and then once, when he was in Chicago, he made the friends
with whom he was driving purposely turn into the North Shore in order to
see the splendid mansion which the Kanes occupied. He knew its location
from hearsay and description.
When he saw it a touch of the old Kane home atmosphere came back to