Chapter 16

Miss Theodora gave in, partly because she herself had begun to see that she might wrong Ernest by insisting on his carrying out her ideas. His poor rank in the classics showed a mind unlike that of his father or his grandfather. When she saw his brow darken at mention of the work he must do to get off his condition in Greek, she remembered how cheerful he had once been whistling over his work in his basement room. She longed to see him again engaged in congenial work or studies. Therefore, without vigorous defence, the castle in Spain which she had founded on Ernest’s professional career fell under Ernest’s direct assault. But she was disappointed, and although she did not go out of her way to look for sympathy, she accepted all that Miss Chatterwits and Diantha offered her. The former really believed that Harvard was the only institution in the United States in which a young man could get the higher education.

“I don’t know,” she said, “as I ever heard of a great man—that is, a scholar, for I don’t forget some of the Presidents—that hadn’t graduated at Harvard. Not but what a man might be great, I suppose, that wasn’t what you would call a scholar; but I did think that Ernest would follow right after his grandfather, not to speak of his father. And all the books you’ve saved for him, too, Miss Theodora!—it does seem too bad.”

“Oh, I still expect Ernest to be a great man,” said Miss Theodora, a trifle dubiously. “I am sure that he has shown considerable talent already for inventing things.”

“Ye-es,” was Miss Chatterwits’ doubtful response. “Ye-es, —but it seems as if most of the things has been invented that’s at all likely to give a man a great reputation, —the telegraphs and steamboats and steam engines, not to mention sewing machines, which I must say has made a great difference in my work.”

“Oh, well, sometimes men benefit the world by inventing some little thing, or making an improvement—well, in steam engines or something of that kind.”

“I dare say, —I haven’t any doubt but Ernest’ll be smarter than any boy in the school where he’s going. But it always did seem to me that studies of that kind were well enough for Ben Bruce—and such; but Ernest, —he seems to belong out at Harvard.”

This was unkind—for Miss Chatterwits really liked Ben Bruce very much. But lately she had had one or two rather wordy encounters with Mrs. Bruce when they had met by chance at a neighbor’s house. The little dressmaker was fond of “drawing the line,” as she said, and relegating people, in conversation, at least, to their proper places. Mrs. Bruce had similar proclivities; but with less accurate data on which to base her classification of her neighbors, she sometimes made mistakes on which Miss Chatterwits was bound to frown.