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Updated: June 19, 2025
In the second year of his success Rantoul, quite by accident, met a girl in her teens named Tina Glover, only daughter of Cyrus Glover, a man of millions, self-made.
Glover who was just as resolved on social conquests as Glover was in controlling the plate-glass field, went down to meet him at the boat, and by the time the train entered the St. Lazare Station, he had been completely disciplined and brought to understand that a painter was one thing and that a Rantoul, who happened to paint, was quite another.
At this moment she is probably suffering untold pangs because she thinks I am regretting the days in which she was not in my life." "And because she could not understand your art, she hated it," said Herkimer, with a growing anger. "No, it wasn't that. It was something more subtle, more instinctive, more impossible to combat," said Rantoul, shaking his head.
Rantoul, with the flattering smile that recalled Tina Glover, pressed him with innumerable questions, which he answered with constraint, always aware of the dull simulation of interest in her eyes. Twice during the meal Rantoul was called to the telephone for a conversation at long distance. "Clyde is becoming quite a power in Wall Street," said Mrs. Rantoul, with an approving smile.
Every one, even Herkimer, agreed that Rantoul was the luckiest man in Paris; that he had found just the wife who was suited to him, whose fortune would open every opportunity for his genius to develop. "In the first place," said Bennett, when the group had returned to Herkimer's studio to continue the celebration, "let me remark that in general I don't approve of marriage for an artist."
"Allons, tell us!" cried two or three, while others, availing themselves of the breathing space, filled the air with their orders: "Paul, another bock." "Two hard-boiled eggs." "And pretzels; don't forget the pretzels." "The trouble with painting to-day is that it has no point of view," cried Rantoul, swallowing an egg in the anaconda fashion.
When he had known Rantoul a week; and listened open-mouthed to his eloquent schemes for reordering the universe, and the arts in particular, he was willing to swear that he was one of the geniuses of the world. The wedding took place shortly, and Cyrus Glover gave the bridegroom a check for $100,000, "so that he wouldn't have to be bothering his wife for pocketmoney."
"No, I've gone where I wanted to go," said Herkimer, obstinately. "You think so. Well, to-night I can see myself for the first time," said Rantoul. Then he added meditatively, "I have done not one single thing I wanted to." "But why why?" "You have brought it all back to me," said Rantoul, ignoring this question. "It hurts. I suppose to-morrow I shall resent it, but to-night I feel too deeply.
In conversation, he would make suggestions to politicians and to lawyers in aid of their views or their causes with great freedom and without apparent concern as to the effect upon parties or men. Rantoul was not able to fix his attention upon any one branch of labor. He was first of all a politician with an interest in social questions. The profession of the law was not his mistress.
Robert Rantoul, of Beverly, was conspicuous, partly on account of his age, partly on account of his services and character, and partly as the father of Robert Rantoul, Jr. He was a noticeable figure in the Convention of 1853. Mr. Rantoul, Jr., had died at Washington the preceding year.
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