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He went to his room with another disturbance added to the many that disquieted him. Just as certainly as if his mother had put it into words he knew she had selected this Lightener girl to be Mrs. Bonbright Foote VII and the mother of Bonbright Foote VIII. "Confound it," he said, "it's started already.... Dam Bonbright Foote VIII!"
You anarchists are apt to get the cart before the horse." "I'm not an anarchist, Mr. Lightener." "Huh!... What are you, then?" "I think I'm sure I'm a Socialist." "All of the same piece of cloth.... Mind, if you feel a bomb coming on see me about it." He walked away to stop by the desk of a mailing clerk and enter into some kind of conversation with the boy.
Breathlessly, almost without pause, Bonbright poured upon him an account of last night's happenings, making no concealments, unconsciously giving Lightener glimpses into his heart that made the big man bend his brows ominously. The boy did not explain; did not mention accusingly his father, but Lightener understood perfectly what the process of molding Bonbright was being subjected to.
"If any of the newspaper boys come snoopin' around, you never saw me, either. Much obliged, Lieutenant." "You're welcome, Mr. Lightener. Glad I kin accommodate you." Lightener pushed Bonbright into his limousine. "You don't want to go home, I guess. We'll go to my house. Mother'll see you get breakfast. ... Then we'll have a talk.... Here's a paper boy; let's see what's doing."
"Yes," he said, "this is Bonbright Foote.... Who is it? Rangar?..." Suddenly he turned about and faced Malcolm Lightener blankly. He fumbled with the receiver for its hook. "My father is dead," he said, in a hushed voice. "They just found him at his desk...." Ruth had continued to live in the apartment. It had not been her intention to do so.
Bonbright looked very much like his father; tall, patrician, coldly dignified. "Mr. Lightener," he said, "it is a thing we will not mention now or later." Seven generations contributed to that answer and to the manner of it. It was final. It erected a barrier past which even Malcolm Lightener could not force his way, and Lightener recognized it.
He knew how it should be done but he did not care.... The methods of Bonbright Foote I not only suited his father, but were the laws of his father's life. Not only had Bonbright established sympathetic relations with Malcolm Lightener, but with Lightener's family. In Mrs.
Perhaps it is because their sympathy is sure; perhaps it is because their souls were given them, strong and simple, for other souls to lean upon. Mrs. Lightener was one of these. Before she knew why Bonbright was there, before she uttered a word, he felt a sense of deliverance. His necessities seemed less gnawing; there was a slackening of taut nerves.... Then Hilda appeared.
"Huh!... Something happened, didn't it?" "Nothing that Mr. Foote had anything to do with " "But something happened. What?" "I can't tell you, Mr. Lightener." He shrugged his shoulders. "Where is he now?" "I don't know." "When did you see him last?" "A little after nine o'clock last night." "Where?" "Going toward home I thought." "He didn't go there. Where else would he go?" "I don't know."
In spite of his youth and Lightener's maturity there was real companionship between them.... Lightener knew what was going on, and in his granite way he tried to help the boy. Bonbright was not interested in his own business, so Lightener awakened in him an interest in Lightener's business. He discussed his affairs with the boy. He talked of systems, of efficiency, of business methods.
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