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Updated: May 10, 2025
It was, however, his own note, and had a certain distinction, a ring of independence, of the knowledge of self-worth. Dinner at Weathersfield we youngsters had usually found rather an oppressive ceremony, with its shaded lights and precise ritual over which Mr. Kyme presided like a high priest; conversation had been restrained.
The season was Lent, a fitting time for renunciations and resolves. Although I had more than once fallen from grace, I believed myself at last to have settled down on my true course when something happened. The devil interfered subtly, as usual now in the person of Jerry Kyme. It should be said in justice to Jerry that he did not look the part.
"Head'sh all right, Martin." "To be sure it is, Mr. Peters. Now will ye rest aisy awhile, sir?" "I'm axphyxiated," cried another voice from the darkness, the mined voice of Jerome Kyme, our classmate. "Get the tackles under him!" came forth in commanding tones from Conybear. In the meantime many windows had been raised and much gratuitous advice was being given.
Kyme than his quick eye singled me out of the group. "Why, Hugh!" he exclaimed, taking my hand. "I had no idea I should meet you here I saw your father only last week, the day I left home." And he added, turning to Mrs. Kyme, "Hugh is the son of Mr. Matthew Paret, who has been the leader of our bar for many years."
"Head'sh all right, Martin." "To be sure it is, Mr. Peters. Now will ye rest aisy awhile, sir?" "I'm axphyxiated," cried another voice from the darkness, the mined voice of Jerome Kyme, our classmate. "Get the tackles under him!" came forth in commanding tones from Conybear. In the meantime many windows had been raised and much gratuitous advice was being given.
And yet without me, without my profession he was a helpless giant, at the mercy of those alert and vindictive lawmakers who sought to restrain and hamper him, to check his growth with their webs. How stimulating the idea of his dependence! How exhilarating too, the thought that that vision which had first possessed me as an undergraduate on my visit to Jerry Kyme was at last to be realized!
Kyme, a pretty, light-hearted lady, still young, who seemed to have no intention of growing older, who romped and played songs for us on the piano. The daughter of an old but now impecunious Westchester family, she had been born to adorn the position she held, she was adapted by nature to wring from it the utmost of the joys it offered.
The recognition and the tribute to my father were so graciously given that I warmed with gratitude and pride, while Mr. Kyme smiled a little, remarking that I was a friend of Jerry's. Theodore Watling, for being here, had suddenly assumed in my eyes a considerable consequence, though the note he struck in that house was a strange one.
The season was Lent, a fitting time for renunciations and resolves. Although I had more than once fallen from grace, I believed myself at last to have settled down on my true course when something happened. The devil interfered subtly, as usual now in the person of Jerry Kyme. It should be said in justice to Jerry that he did not look the part.
That night, as Johnnie Laurens afterwards expressed it, "things loosened up," and Mr. Watling was responsible for the loosening. Taking command of the Kyme dinner table appeared to me to be no mean achievement, but this is just what he did, without being vulgar or noisy or assertive. Suavitar in modo, forbiter in re.
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