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Updated: June 27, 2025
Then Beason held out his hand. "Good-bye," he said, "and thank you." For a minute there was no reply, nothing save the very cold hand given in response to Beason's. But that was only for the instant.
Almost, I say for I doubt if any affection on earth should be put to the house-hunting test. Even my cousin Dr. Karl Hubers " "Your cousin?" Beason broke in. "Your ?" in telling the story Georgia always spoke of the unflattering emphasis on the final your. But at the time she could think of nothing save the transformed face of John Beason.
Her hands were not quite steady, as she went about the work Beason had patronisingly left for her to do, and out of the mists which blinded her there came a picture of her own quiet studio at home, where she had worked with her own things, things with which she was supreme.
Other men had been lonesome now and then, and it had not quite killed them. Beason and Ross were in the house, and there was a good maid, who adored Dr. Hubers. "As to where he thinks you are, I'll tell him half the truth. That you are a little nervous and I have prescribed change and rest." But she would not agree to that. "Karl would worry," she said.
And Beason replied that of course Dr. Hubers' cousin was bound to be smart. "Yes, suh, Chicago only two hours, suh," and the porter smiled broadly. There was both memory and anticipation in that smile. The car was almost empty.
"Why, what's the trouble?" "I've got to stop school! I've got to give up my work for a whole year!" The hand still shaded his darkened eyes. His mouth was twitching a little. "A year, Beason?" he said any one else would have been struck with the note in it "You say a year?" "Yes," said Beason, "a whole year. My father has had some hard luck and can't keep me here.
"Yes, but that thing of a spirit moving you," said Beason, more sure of himself here, "that does not belong in science at all; that is a part of religion." "And to a man like Dr. Hubers" very quietly and firmly "science is religion." Beason pondered that a minute. "They're entirely distinct," was his conclusion. "So it seems to you; but I'm a year or two older than you are, Mr.
"Why, look here, Beason," he said in a new tone, all enthusiasm now, "maybe you'll shoot a bear. I have a presentiment, Beason, that you will, and when you're eighty-five and have your great grandchild on your knee, you'll think a great deal more about that bear than you will about the year you missed here at school. Now brace up! Hard knocks wake a fellow up.
Beason of all people that boy who never in the world would understand! He was accustomed to reading faces quickly and even through his dark glasses his worried eyes read that Beason was in trouble, moved by something from the path in which he was wont to go. "I'm sorry to interrupt you," stammered the boy, as he motioned him to a chair.
Willard, who was in charge of Karl's laboratory, and who was Karl without Karl's genius, turned her over to Mr. Beason, his assistant. Beason would show her how to "help." Her sense of humour helped her there. It was amusing that one who was learning to "help" should be such an encumbrance. And there were many amusing things about Mr. Beason.
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