“After that can I farm it?”
“How about school?”
“I’ll be through school.”
“Well, we’ll see,” said Adam. “You might want to go to college.”
When Cal started for the front door Lee followed and walked out with him.
“Can you tell me what it’s about?” Lee asked.
“I just want to look around.”
“All right, I guess I’m left out.” Lee turned to go back into the house. Then he called, “Cal!” The boy stopped. “You worried, Cal?”
“No.”
“I’ve got five thousand dollars if you ever need it.”
“Why would I need it?”
“I don’t know,” said Lee.
3
Will Hamilton liked his glass cage of an office in the garage. His business interests were much wider than the automobile agency, but he did not get another office. He loved the movement that went on outside his square glass cage. And he had put in double glass to kill the noise of the garage.
He sat in his big red leather swivel chair, and most of the time he enjoyed his life. When people spoke of his brother Joe making so much money in advertising in the East, Will always said he himself was a big frog in a little puddle.
“I’d be afraid to go to a big city,” he said. “I’m just a country boy.” And he liked the laugh that always followed. It proved to him that his friends knew he was well off.
Cal came in to see him one Saturday morning. Seeing Will’s puzzled look, he said, “I’m Cal Trask.”
“Oh, sure. Lord, you’re getting to be a big boy. Is your father down?”
“No. I came alone.”
“Well, sit down. I don’t suppose you smoke.”
“Sometimes. Cigarettes.”
Will slid a package of Murads across the desk. Cal opened the box and then closed it. “I don’t think I will right now.”
Will looked at the dark-faced boy and he liked him. He thought, This boy is sharp. He’s nobody’s fool. “I guess you’ll be going into business pretty soon,” he said.
“Yes, sir. I thought I might run the ranch when I get out of high school.”
“There’s no money in that,” said Will. “Farmers don’t make any money. It’s the man who buys from him and sells. You’ll never make any money farming.” Will knew that Cal was feeling him, testing him, observing him, and he approved of that.
And Cal had made up his mind, but first he asked, “Mr. Hamilton, you haven’t any children, have you?”
“Well, no. And I’m sorry about that. I guess I’m sorriest about that.” And then, “What makes you ask?”
Cal ignored the question. “Would you give me some advice?”
Will felt a glow of pleasure. “If I can, I’ll be glad to. What is it you want to know?”
And then Cal did something Will Hamilton approved even more. He used candor as a weapon. He said, “I want to make a lot of money. I want you to tell me how.”
Will overcame his impulse to laugh. Naïve as the statement was, he didn’t think Cal was naïve. “Everybody wants that,” he said. “What do you mean by a lot of money?”
“Twenty or thirty thousand dollars.”
“Good God!” said Will, and he screeched his chair forward. And now he did laugh, but not in derision. Cal smiled along with Will’s laughter.
Will said, “Can you tell me why you want to make so much?”
“Yes, sir,” said Cal, “I can.” And Cal opened the box of Murads and took out one of the oval cork-tipped cigarettes and lighted it. “I’ll tell you why,” he said.
Will leaned his chair back in enjoyment.
“My father lost a lot of money.”
“I know,” said Will. “I warned him not to try to ship lettuce across the country.”
“You did? Why did you?”
“There were no guarantees,” said Will. “A businessman has to protect himself. If anything happened, he was finished. And it happened. Go on.”
“I want to make enough money to give him back what he lost.”
Will gaped at him. “Why?” he asked.
“I want to.”
Will said, “Are you fond of him?”
“Yes.”
Will’s fleshy face contorted and a memory swept over him like a chilling wind. He did not move slowly over the past, it was all there in one flash, all of the years, a picture, a feeling and a despair, all stopped the way a fast camera stops the world. There was the flashing Samuel, beautiful as dawn with a fancy like a swallow’s flight, and the brilliant, brooding Tom who was dark fire, Una who rode the storms, and the lovely Mollie, Dessie of laughter, George handsome and with a sweetness that filled a room like the perfume of flowers, and there was Joe, the youngest, the beloved. Each one without effort brought some gift into the family.
Nearly everyone has his box of secret pain, shared with no one. Will had concealed his well, laughed loud, exploited perverse virtues, and never let his jealousy go wandering. He thought of himself as slow, doltish, conservative, uninspired. No great dream lifted him high and no despair forced self-destruction. He was always on the edge, trying to hold on to the rim of the family with what gifts he had—care, and reason, application. He kept the books, hired the attorneys, called the undertaker, and eventually paid the bills. The others didn’t even know they needed him. He had the ability to get money and to keep it. He thought the Hamiltons despised him for his one ability. He had loved them doggedly, had always been at hand with his money to pull them out of their errors. He thought they were ashamed of him, and he fought bitterly for their recognition. All of this was in the frozen wind that blew through him.
His slightly bulging eyes were damp as he stared past Cal, and the boy asked, “What’s the matter, Mr. Hamilton? Don’t you feel well?”
Will had sensed his family but he had not understood them. And they had accepted him without knowing there was anything to understand. And now this boy came along. Will understood him, felt him, sensed him, recognized him. This was the son he should have had, or the brother, or the father. And the cold wind of memory changed to a warmth toward Cal which gripped him in the stomach and pushed up against his lungs.
He forced his attention to the glass office. Cal was sitting back in his chair, waiting.
Will did not know how long his silence had lasted. “I was thinking,” he said lamely. He made his voice stern. “You asked me something. I’m a businessman. I don’t give things away. I sell them.”