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1·. . . Boo i e Magnificent Ambersons rBooth, Copy.righe b agnC . agTe iton "OH, NOW YOU HAVE DONE ITI" Uraopais.-Major A.berson has made a fortune in 1873 when other people . g.i.lng, foatanes, and the magnificence of the Ambersons began then. , ~1JIm.1 As1D~igsopla3: eat a 200-acre "development," with roads and statuary, r. e a r nth of 4 four-acre tract, on Amberson avenue, built for himself j lstiL iihti.eL. .t mnsion Midland City had ever seen. When the major's ' ' eymug Wilbur Minafer the neighbors predicted that as Isabel '"Iover., love Wilbur all her love would be bestowed upon the * c II.ie. . T:e-is only one child, however, George Amberson Minafer, and his upbrfh tg ad -his youthful accomplishments as a mischief maker are quite in kpqpn.la with the most pessimistic predictions. By the time George goes away to college he does not attempt to conceal his belief that the m A os are about the most important family in the world. At a ball ,I va t his.honor when he returns from college, George monopolizes Lucy r oa, a stranger and the prettlest girl present, and gets on famously with .M ntfi he learns that a "queer looking duck" at whom he had been poking much fen, is the young lady's father. He is Eugene Morgan, a former resident * oof 'tipburg, nad. he is returning to erect a factory and to build horseless 4*.timsw of his own invention. Eugene had been an old admirer of Isabel Saad *ey had.,been engaged when Isabel threw him over because of a youthful Slsand married Wilbur Minafer. George makes rapid progress in hi courtship of Lucy. A cotillion helps their acquaintance along famously. 1their "friendship" continues during his absences at college. George and Lacy become "almost engaged." There is a family quarrel over a division of property which reveals that both George's Aunt Fanny and George's mother are more or less iaterested in Eugene Morgan. George's father dies. George IA graduated& He and Lucy remain "almost engaged." George announces to her his intention to be a gentleman of leisure. Lucy disapproves and George usesents her father's influence. The lovers "almost quarrel." George tries to insult Morgan. The sight of Morgan with his mother makes him "see red." CHAPTER XIV. -1- He went to his room, threw off his coat, waistcoat, collar and tie, letting them lie where they chanced to fall, and then, having violently enveloped himself in a black velvet dressing gown, continued this action by lying down with a vehemence that brought a wheeze of protest from his bed. His repose was only a momentary sem blance, however, for it lasted no long er than the time it took him to groan "BIfaf!r" between is-teeth. Then he sat upsswung his feet to the floor, rose sad began to wee up and down the large room. He had Juast been consciously rude to hi mother for the frst time in his life; for, with all hls. riding down of populace and riffraff, he had never be fore been either deliberately or im pulalvely disregardful of her. But now he had done a rough thing to her; and he did not repent; the rather he was the more irritated with her. And when he heard her presently go by his door with a light step, singing cheer fully-to herself as she went to her room, he perceived that she had mis taken his intention altogether, or. in deed,-had fated to perceive that he had any intention at all. There came a delicate, eager tap ging at his door, not done with a knuckle but with the tip of a finger nail, which was instantly clarified to George's mind's eye as plainly as itf he mw it: the long and polished white mooeed pink shield on the end of his Aunt Fanny's right forefinger. But George was in no mood tot human communlcations, and even when things went well he had little pleasure in Fanny's soeiety. Therefore it Is not srpirising that at the sound of her tapplg, instead of bidding hir enter, he Immediately cressed the ropm with tihe inttlt eto loeekin the door to keep her out. * Fanny was to ser and, opening the ir betor he reached it, came quickly in, and closed it behind her. iar loot was that of a per who had ast seep .oething extraordinar or heard thrilli ngesI "Now, what on wmth do you want?" her chfling nephew demanded. "George," ash said aredly,t "I saw what yeou did when you couldnt speak to thei. I wasia tting with Mrs. Joha see at her treat window, acroe the steet, and I maw it all." "Well, what of it?" "You did right!" Fanny said with a rvdince not the less spirited be ewaum ste suppreaed her voice almost to a whiper. "You did exactly rig1ht You're behaving splendidly abtuit the whole thing, and I want to tell you I know your father would thank yen if he todd see what you're "My Lord I" George broke out at her. "You make me dissy! For heaven's aske quit the mysterious detectite bushnm-at least do quit It it ad mel Go and try It on somebody else, I you ltike; but I don't want to hear K!" fise began to tremble, regarding him with a Axed guae. "You don't care to hear, then," she mid huskily, "that I appsrm of what you're deingt" SrtaInly aot I Since I haven't the fatest idea what you thinak I'm 'do g' eaturaly I don't care whether ' of 1t lr not. Air Wd3e1 Itf ye plea is i to be alona 'TFahot ving a tea here, this afteriao, flpergalmeto mentios itr* Mifou*- mee wavered: sbe hogan so hk, then na enly she asma int a. .at. and wept slentdy, but iatha t mehaiioelat sdi yn. the Lords* ske?' he S yl.'+-WTi at s the world wraeigd t me, "a ýto vales e- :ea .: yeen waer I-~ W~ge mp~gge in his room over his mistreatment of her! "Oh, my Lord!" he whispered; then, with a great effort, addressed her in a reasonable tone: "Look here, Aunt Fanny; I don't see what you're making all this fuss about. Of course I know rIve teased you sometimes, but-" "'Teased' me?" she walled. " Teased' me! Oh, it does seem too hard sometimes-this mean old life of mine does seem too hard! I don't think I can stand it! Honestly, I don't think I can! I came in here just to show you I sympathized with you just to say something pleasant to you, and you treat me as if I were-oh, no, you wouldn't treat a servant the way you treat mel You wouldn't treat any body in the world like this except old Fanny !" "Oh, my Lord t" George groaned. Fanny spread out her small, soaked handkerchief, and shook it in the air to dry it a little, crying as damply and as wretchedly during this operation as before-a sight which gave George a curious shock to add to his other agi tations, it seemed so strange. "You're so proud," she quavered, "and so hard I I tell you I didn't mean to speak of it to you, and I never, never in the world would have told you about it, nor have made the faint est reference to it, if I hadn't seen that somebody else had told you, or you'd found out for yourself some way. I-" In despair of her intelligence, and in some doubt of his own, George struck the palms of his hands together. "Somebody else had told me what? Id found what out for myself?" "How people are talking about your Imother." Except for the Incidental tearlness of her voice, her tone was taimai, as though she mentioned a subject pre viously discussed and understood; for Fanny had no doubt that George had only pretended to be mystWled be cause, in his pride, he would not in words admit that he knew what he knew. ' "What did you my!" he asked In "Of course I understood what you were doing," Fa.ny went on, drying her handkerchief again. "It puzzled other people when you began to be rude to Eugene, becanue they couldn't see how you could treat him as you did when you were so Interested in Lucy. But I remembered how you came to me, that other time when there was so much talk about Isabel; and I knew you'd give Lucy up in a minute, itf it came to a question of your mother's reputation, because you said then "Look here," George Interrupted in a Ibakhlg voice. "Look here,- I'd like--" He stopped, unable to go on, his agitation was so great. His chest heaved as from bard running, and his complexion, '-pallid at. first, had be come mottle; flery splotches appear g at his temples and cheeks. "What do you me- by telling me-telling me there's talk. about-about--- He gupeu,' and began again: "What do yo mean by dStg scth words as epia*ia? wha ~ oa you mean, qpeaklge of a 'question' of my-my adtker's' eputation"r Fanny looked up at him woefully over th handhesthilef which she now agled ta her redldened nose. "God kii¢noemI am, sorry for you, Gergse" mhe murmuredar "I wanted to say so, SIt's old Fanny, so whatever a-ev when it's:orympathy S for 1 !" shbed. "It's "' led" bde itoge id harsh ':. i"Yi Y"u 4poke ,to 'my Unele 4 GWiwe alrh that rttetn thing Ihea1rd Ayti mwhy mother, be said It there was any goilp lt was abunot "e. t e :suai~M epl mi.it he lesagr t abokt the way.5 ert after 1 Nea'gem b*'tlmst was ..lL"? the.. and struck teest upop her knees, t Paigl" esay Ishe obb ?e Ueaide~ thlee 0 t fyeu 'akt#6ia I the Sight h ag~h in what Aunt Amelia said about people talking. You denied it. And that wasn't the only time; you'd attacked me before then, because I intimated that Morgan might be coming here too often. You made me believe that mother let him come entirely on your account, and now you say-" "I think he did," Fanny interrupted desolately. "I think he did come as much to see me as anything-for a while it looked like it. He did act a good deal that way-and if Wilbur hadn't died-" "You told me there wasn't any talk." "I didn't think there was much, then," Fanny protested. "I didn't know how much there was." "What !" "People don't come and tell such things to a person's family, you know. You don't suppose anybody was going to say to George Admberson that his sister was getting herself talked about, do you? Or that they were going to say much to me?" "You told me," said George. fiercely, "that mother never saw him except when she was chaperoning you." "They weren't much alone together, then," Fanny returned. "Hardly ever, before Wilbur died. Everybody knew that he'd been engaged to her-" "What's that?" George cried. "Everybody knows it. Don't you re member your grandfather speaking of it at the Sunday dinner one night?" "He didn't say they were engaged or-" "Well, they were! Everybody knows it; and she broke it off on account of that serenade when Eugene didn't know what he was doing. He drank when he was a young man, and she wouldn't stand. for it, but everybody in this town knows that Isabel has never really cared for-aiy other man In her life! .Poor Wilbur! He was the only soul alive that didn't know it !" Nightmare had descended upon the unfortunate George; he leaned back against the footboard of his bed, gaz ing wildly at his aunt. "I believe I'm going crazy," he said. "You mean when you told me there wasn't any talk, you told me a falsehood?" "No!" Fanny gasped. "You did I" "I tell you I didn't know how much talk there was, and it wouldn't have amounted to much if Wilbur had lived." And Fanny completed this with a fatal admission: "I didn't want you to interfere." George overlooked the admission; his mind was not now occupied with ta "Do Sit Down," the Hospitablei Lady Urged Him. analysis "What do you mean," he asked, "when you say that if father had lived, the talk wouldn't have amounted to anything?" "Things might have been-they might have been different." "You mean Morgan might have mar ried you ?"' Fanny gulped. "No. Because I don't know that I'd have accepted himn." She had ceased to weep, and now she sat up stifly. "I certainly didn't care enough about him to maxr ry him; I wouldn't have let myself care that much until he showed that he wished to marry me. Em not that sort of person F ?The poor lady paid haer vanity this piteous little tribute. "Whlt I mean is, If Wilbur hadn't died people wouldn't have had it proved before their very eyes that what theyd been talklng about was trmel" "IYea say--you say that pedple be lieve-" earge shiaddaered, them fwrae hbmmIelt to ceantiue, in a siek voice: "They believe my mother is Is in love with that man?" "of course "' t"Ad becase he comes bhra.e-ai they see her with him drawimm..-.a an e that-they think they were right when t they said she was In-in love with him 2 before-before my father died?" She looked at him gravely with her D eyes now dry between their reddened t lids. "Why George," she said, 'gently, r "don't you know that's what they say? You must know that everybody in I town thinks they're going to be mar e ried very soon." George uttered an incoherent cry; Sand sections of him appeared to r writhe. He was upon the verge of actual nausea. "You know it!" Fanny cried, getting up. "You don't think rd have spoken of it to you unless I was sure you knew it?" Her voice was wholly genuine, as it had been throughout the wretched interview. "Somebody must have told you?" "Who told you?" he said. "What?" "Who told you there was talk? Where Is this talk? Where does it nme from? Who does it?" "Why, I suppose pretty much every body," she said. "I know it must be pretty general." "Who said so?" "What?" George stepped close to her. "You say people don't speak to a person of gossip about that person's family. Well, how did you hear it, then? How did you get hold of it? Answer me!" "Why-" Fanny hesitated. "You answer me!" "I hardly think it would be fair to give names." "Look here," said George. "One of your most intimate friends is that mother of Charlie Johnson's, for in stance. Has she ever mentioned this to you? You say everybody is talking. Is she one?" "Oh. she may have intimated-" "I'm asking you: Has she ever spoken of it to you?" "She's a very kind, discreet woman, George; bpt she may have intimat ed-" George had a sudden Intuition, as there flickered into his mind the pie ture of a street-crossing and two ab sorbed ladies almost run down by a fast horse. "You and she have been talking about it today !" he cried. "You were talking about it with her not two hours ago. Do you deny it?" "I-" "Do you deny it?" "No !" "All right," said George. "That's enough !" She caught at his arm as he turned away. "What are you going to do, George?' 'Tll not talk about It, now," he maid, heavily. "I think you've done a good deal for one day, Aunt Fanny!" And Fanny, seeing the passion in his face, began to be alarmed. "George, you know rm sorry for you, whether yeou care or not," she whimpered. "I never in the world would have spoken of it if I hadn't thought you knew all about it I weouldn't have-" But he had opened the deer with his free hand. "Never mind!" he said, and she was obliged to pass out into the hall, the door closing quickly be hind her. CHAPTER XV. George took. off his dressing-gown and put on a collar and tie, his iangers shaking so that the tie was not his usual success; then he picked up his coat and waistcoat, and left the room while still in process of donning them, fastening the buttons as he ran down the front stairs to the door. It was not until he reached the middle of the street that he realized that he had for gotten his hat; and he paused for an Irresolute moment then he decided that he needed no hat for the sort call he intended to make, and went forward hurriedly. Mrs. Johnson was at home, the Irish girl who came to the door informed him, and he was left to await the lady, in a room like an elegant well-the Johnsons' "re ception room." Mrs. Johnson came In, breathing no ticeably; and her round head, smooth ly but economically decorated with the hair of an honest woman, seemed to be lingering far in the background of the Alpine bosom which took pre cedence of the rest of her everywhere; but when she was all in the room, it was to be seen thst her breathing was the result of hospftable haste to greet the visitor, and her hand suggested that she had paused for only the brief est ablutions. George accepted this cold, damp lump mechanically. "Mr. Amberson-I mean Mr. Mina fer!" she exclaimed. "'Tm really de lighted; I understood you asked for me. Mr. Johnson's out of the city, but Charlie's downtown and I'm look ing for him at any minute, now, and he'll be so pleased that you-" "~ didn't want to see Charlie," George said. "I want-" "Do sialt down," the hospitable lady mrged him, seating herself upon the sofa. "Do sit down." "No, I thank you. I wish-" "Surely you're not goilg to ran away again, when yee'rve just eomrat De alt dew, M. Misr.e I huei i s ah web at w ame has and at: the (dear old Major's, too. He's look i ing-" "Mrs. Johnson," George said. in a strained loud voice which arrested her I attention immediately, so that she was abruptly silenced, leaving her sur prised mouth open. "Mrs. Johnson, I have come to ask you a few questions which I would like you to answer, if you please." She became grave at once. "Cer tainly, Mr. Minafer. Anything I can-" He interrupted sternly, yet his voice shook in spite of its sternness. "You were talking with my Aunt Fan ny about my mother this afternoon." At this Mrs. Johnson uttered an in voluntary gasp. but she recovered herself. "Then I'm sure our conver sation was a very pleasant one, if we were talking of your mother, be cause-" Again he interrupted. "My aunt has told me what the conversation vir tually was, and I don't mean to waste any time, Mrs. Johnson. You were talking about a-" George's shoulders suddenly heaved uncontrollably; but he went fiercely on: "You were discuss ing a scandal that involved my moth er's name." "Mr. Minafer !" "Isn't that the truth?" "I don't feel called upon to answer, Mr. Minafer." she said with visible agitation. "I do not consider that you have any right-" "My aunt told me you repeated this scandal to her." "I don't think your aunt can have said that," Mrs. Johnson returned sharply. "I did not repeat a scandal of any kind to your aunt and I think you are mistaken in saying she told you I did. We may have discussed some matters that have been a topic of comment about town-" "Yes!" George cried. "I think you may have! That's what I'm here about, and what I intend to-" "Don't tell me what you intend, please," Mrs. Johnson interrupted crisply. "And I should prefer that you would not make your voice quite so loud in this house, which I happen to own. Your aunt may have told you though I think It would have been very unwise In her if she did, and not very considerate of me-she may have told! you that we discussed some topic as I - have mentioned, and possibly that i would have been true. If I talked it over with her, you may be sure I spoke , in the most charitable spirit, and without sharing in other people's dis position to put an evil interpretation a on what may be nothing more than " unfortunate appearances and-" • s "My GodJ" said George. "I can't a stand this!" a "You have the option of dropping e the subject," Mrs. Johnson suggested a tartly, and she added: "Or of leaving e the house." "I'll do that soon enough, but first c I mean to know-" o "I am perfectly willing to tell you anything you wish If you will remem- a ber to ask It quietly. I'll also take II the liberty of reminding you that I " had a perfect right to discuss the sub ject with your aunt. Other people-" I "Other people!" the unhappy George d repeated viciously. 'That's what I n want to know about-these other peo pie! You say you know of other peo ple who talk about this.' ' "I presume they do." "How many?' I "What?" "I want to know how many other a people talk about it?" b "Dear, dear!" she protested. "How t! should I know that?' t "Haven't you heard anybody men- t tion it?" "I presume so." d "Well, how many have you heard?" a Mrs. Johnson was becoming more annoyed than apprehensive, and she showed it. "Really, this isn't a court- g room," she said. "And I'm not a de fendant in a libel suit, either !" The unfortunate young man lost what remained of his balance. "You may be!" he cried. "I intend to know just who's dared to say these things, if I have to force my way Into every house in town, and I'm going to make them take every word of it back I mean to know the name of every slan derer that's spoken of this matter to you and of every tattler you've passed it on to yourself. I mean to know-" "You'll know something pretty quick !" she said, rising with dificul- d ty; and her voice was thick with the sense of Insult. "You'll know that you're out in the street. Please to leave my house!" e George stiffened sharply. Then be t bowed, and strode out of the door. Three minutes later, disheveled and b perspiring, but cold all over, he barst nlate his Uncle George's room at the Major's without knocking. Amberson was dressaing. "Good gracious, GeorgieI" he ex claimed, "what's up?" "I've just come from Mrs. John son's--across the street." George pant ed. "You have your own tastes!" was Amberson's comment. "But curious as they are yu oabght to do something better with yemar bir, smad batte wmme walteabat a the elsht btthame even. for Mrs. Johnson ! What were you doing over there?" "She told me to leave the house," George said desperately. "I went there because Aunt Fanny told me the I whole town was talk!hni about my mother and that man Morgan-that they say amy mother 1x z,·ig to n;m.rry him and that proves she a.~s too fond of him before my father died-she said this Mrs. Johnrson w:~,s one thatt talked about it. and I went to her to ask who were the others. Amberson's jaw 'fell in dismay. "Don't tell me you did th:at '" he said, in a low voice; and i hen. seeing it was true, "Oh. now you have done it!" "I've done it?" George cried. "What a do you mean: I've done it? And what d r have I done?" a Amberson had collapsed into an t easy chair beside his dressing table, I the white evening tie he had been g about to put on dangling from his f hand, which had fallen limply on the arm of the chair. "'By ToveI" he mut tered. "'That is too bad!" George folded his arms bitterly. s "Will you kindly answer my question? What have I done th::t wasn't honor able and right? Do you think these riffraff can go about bandying my mother's name-" "They can now," said Amberson. "I don't know if they could before, but I they certainly can now !" "What do you mean by that?' His uncle sighed profoundly, picked up his tie, and, preoccupied with de spondency, twisted the strip of white lawn till it became unwearable. Mean C 4 "Gossip is Never Fatal, Georgie," He Said, "Until It is Denied." while, he tried to enlighten his nephew. "Gossip is never fatal, Georgie," he - said, "until it is denied. Gossip goes on about every human being alive and about all the dead that are alive enough to be remembered, and yet almost never does any harm untiL some defender makes a controversy." "See here," George said, "I didn't come to listen to any generalizing dose of philosophy ! I ask you-" "You asked me what you've done, and I'm telling you." Amberson gave him a melancholy smile, continulng: "Suffer me to do it in my own way. Fanny says there's been talk about your mother, and that Mrs. Johnson does some of it. I don't know, beesase naturally nobody would come to me - with such stuff or mention it before me; but it's presumably true-Plaup pose it Is. I've seen Fanny with Mrs. Johnson quite a lot; and that old lady is a notorious gossip, and that's why she ordered you out of her houset when you pinned her down that she'd been gossiping. I suppose it's true; that the 'whole tdwn,' a lot of others, that is, do share in the gossip. In this town, naturally, anything about any Amberson has always been a stone dropped into the center of a pond. and a lie would send the ripples as. far as a truth would. You can be sure that for many years there's been more gossip In this place about the Amber sons than about any other family. I dare say it isn't so much so now as It used to be. because the town got too big long ago, but it's the truth that the more prominent you are the more gossip there is about you, and the more people would like to pull you down. Well, they can't do it as long as you refuse to know what gossip there is about yon. But the manute. you notice it It's got yoa! Pm not speaking of certain kinds of slander that sometimes people have got to take to the courts; I'm talking of the wretched buzzing the Mrs. Johnsone. do--the thing you seem to have such horror of-people 'talking'-the kind of thing that has assailed your mother. People who have repeated a slander either get ashamed or forget it, if they're let alone. People will forget almost any slander except one that's been fought." "Is that ally' George asked. "I suppose so." his uncle murmured aedly. "Well, then, may I ask what have done in my place*" "You're not wanted in this house, Mr. Morgan, new or at any other thne." cro su com-NuDA