Chapter 3

by William Dean Howells

　　When the spring opened Colonel Lapham showed that he had been inearnest about building on the New Land. His idea of a house was abrown-stone front, four stories high, and a French roof with anair-chamber above. Inside, there was to be a reception-room on thestreet and a dining-room back. The parlours were to be on the secondfloor, and finished in black walnut or party-coloured paint. Thechambers were to be on the three floors above, front and rear, withside-rooms over the front door. Black walnut was to be used everywhereexcept in the attic, which was to be painted and grained to look likeblack walnut. The whole was to be very high-studded, and there were tobe handsome cornices and elaborate centre-pieces throughout, except,again, in the attic.These ideas he had formed from the inspection of many new buildingswhich he had seen going up, and which he had a passion for lookinginto. He was confirmed in his ideas by a master builder who had put upa great many houses on the Back Bay as a speculation, and who told himthat if he wanted to have a house in the style, that was the way tohave it.The beginnings of the process by which Lapham escaped from the masterbuilder and ended in the hands of an architect are so obscure that itwould be almost impossible to trace them. But it all happened, andLapham promptly developed his ideas of black walnut finish, highstudding, and cornices. The architect was able to conceal the shudderwhich they must have sent through him. He was skilful, as nearly allarchitects are, in playing upon that simple instrument Man. He beganto touch Colonel Lapham's stops."Oh, certainly, have the parlours high-studded. But you've seen some ofthose pretty old-fashioned country-houses, haven't you, where theentrance-story is very low-studded?" "Yes," Lapham assented."Well, don't you think something of that kind would have a very niceeffect? Have the entrance-story low-studded, and your parlours on thenext floor as high as you please. Put your little reception-room herebeside the door, and get the whole width of your house frontage for asquare hall, and an easy low-tread staircase running up three sides ofit. I'm sure Mrs. Lapham would find it much pleasanter." The architectcaught toward him a scrap of paper lying on the table at which theywere sitting and sketched his idea. "Then have your dining-room behindthe hall, looking on the water."He glanced at Mrs. Lapham, who said, "Of course," and the architectwent on--"That gets you rid of one of those long, straight, uglystaircases,"--until that moment Lapham had thought a long, straightstaircase the chief ornament of a house,--"and gives you an effect ofamplitude and space.""That's so!" said Mrs. Lapham. Her husband merely made a noise in histhroat."Then, were you thinking of having your parlours together, connected byfolding doors?" asked the architect deferentially."Yes, of course," said Lapham. "They're always so, ain't they?""Well, nearly," said the architect. "I was wondering how would it doto make one large square room at the front, taking the whole breadth ofthe house, and, with this hall-space between, have a music-room backfor the young ladies?"Lapham looked helplessly at his wife, whose quicker apprehension hadfollowed the architect's pencil with instant sympathy. "First-rate!"she cried.The Colonel gave way. "I guess that would do. It'll be kind of odd,won't it?""Well, I don't know," said the architect. "Not so odd, I hope, as theother thing will be a few years from now." He went on to plan the restof the house, and he showed himself such a master in regard to all thepractical details that Mrs. Lapham began to feel a motherly affectionfor the young man, and her husband could not deny in his heart that thefellow seemed to understand his business. He stopped walking about theroom, as he had begun to do when the architect and Mrs. Lapham enteredinto the particulars of closets, drainage, kitchen arrangements, andall that, and came back to the table. "I presume," he said, "you'llhave the drawing-room finished in black walnut?""Well, yes," replied the architect, "if you like. But some lessexpensive wood can be made just as effective with paint. Of course youcan paint black walnut too.""Paint it?" gasped the Colonel."Yes," said the architect quietly. "White, or a little off white."Lapham dropped the plan he had picked up from the table. His wife madea little move toward him of consolation or support."Of course," resumed the architect, "I know there has been a greatcraze for black walnut. But it's an ugly wood; and for a drawing-roomthere is really nothing like white paint. We should want to introducea little gold here and there. Perhaps we might run a painted friezeround under the cornice--garlands of roses on a gold ground; it wouldtell wonderfully in a white room."The Colonel returned less courageously to the charge. "I presumeyou'll want Eastlake mantel-shelves and tiles?" He meant this for asarcastic thrust at a prevailing foible of the profession."Well, no," gently answered the architect. "I was thinking perhaps awhite marble chimney-piece, treated in the refined Empire style, wouldbe the thing for that room.""White marble!" exclaimed the Colonel. "I thought that had gone outlong ago.""Really beautiful things can't go out. They may disappear for a littlewhile, but they must come back. It's only the ugly things that stayout after they've had their day."Lapham could only venture very modestly, "Hard-wood floors?""In the music-room, of course," consented the architect."And in the drawing-room?""Carpet. Some sort of moquette, I should say. But I should prefer toconsult Mrs. Lapham's taste in that matter.""And in the other rooms?""Oh, carpets, of course.""And what about the stairs?""Carpet. And I should have the rail and banisters white--banistersturned or twisted."The Colonel said under his breath, "Well, I'm dumned!" but he gave noutterance to his astonishment in the architect's presence. When hewent at last,--the session did not end till eleven o'clock,--Laphamsaid, "Well, Pert, I guess that fellow's fifty years behind, or tenyears ahead. I wonder what the Ongpeer style is?""I don't know. I hated to ask. But he seemed to understand what hewas talking about. I declare, he knows what a woman wants in a housebetter than she does herself.""And a man's simply nowhere in comparison," said Lapham. But herespected a fellow who could beat him at every point, and have a reasonready, as this architect had; and when he recovered from the daze intowhich the complete upheaval of all his preconceived notions had lefthim, he was in a fit state to swear by the architect. It seemed to himthat he had discovered the fellow (as he always called him) and ownedhim now, and the fellow did nothing to disturb this impression. Heentered into that brief but intense intimacy with the Laphams which thesympathetic architect holds with his clients. He was privy to alltheir differences of opinion and all their disputes about the house.He knew just where to insist upon his own ideas, and where to yield.He was really building several other houses, but he gave the Laphamsthe impression that he was doing none but theirs.The work was not begun till the frost was thoroughly out of the ground,which that year was not before the end of April. Even then it did notproceed very rapidly. Lapham said they might as well take their timeto it; if they got the walls up and the thing closed in before the snowflew, they could be working at it all winter. It was found necessaryto dig for the kitchen; at that point the original salt-marsh lay nearthe surface, and before they began to put in the piles for thefoundation they had to pump. The neighbourhood smelt like the hold ofa ship after a three years' voyage. People who had cast their fortuneswith the New Land went by professing not to notice it; people who still"hung on to the Hill" put their handkerchiefs to their noses, and toldeach other the old terrible stories of the material used in filling upthe Back Bay.Nothing gave Lapham so much satisfaction in the whole construction ofhis house as the pile-driving. When this began, early in the summer, hetook Mrs. Lapham every day in his buggy and drove round to look at it;stopping the mare in front of the lot, and watching the operation witheven keener interest than the little loafing Irish boys whosuperintended it in force. It pleased him to hear the portable enginechuckle out a hundred thin whiffs of steam in carrying the big ironweight to the top of the framework above the pile, then seem tohesitate, and cough once or twice in pressing the weight against thedetaching apparatus. There was a moment in which the weight had theeffect of poising before it fell; then it dropped with a mighty whackon the iron-bound head of the pile, and drove it a foot into the earth."By gracious!" he would say, "there ain't anything like that in THISworld for BUSINESS, Persis!"Mrs. Lapham suffered him to enjoy the sight twenty or thirty timesbefore she said, "Well, now drive on, Si."By the time the foundation was in and the brick walls had begun to goup, there were so few people left in the neighbourhood that she mightindulge with impunity her husband's passion for having her clamber overthe floor-timbers and the skeleton stair-cases with him. Many of thehouseholders had boarded up their front doors before the buds had begunto swell and the assessor to appear in early May; others had followedsoon; and Mrs. Lapham was as safe from remark as if she had been in thedepth of the country. Ordinarily she and her girls left town early inJuly, going to one of the hotels at Nantasket, where it was convenientfor the Colonel to get to and from his business by the boat. But thissummer they were all lingering a few weeks later, under the novelfascination of the new house, as they called it, as if there were noother in the world.Lapham drove there with his wife after he had set Bartley Hubbard downat the Events office, but on this day something happened thatinterfered with the solid pleasure they usually took in going over thehouse. As the Colonel turned from casting anchor at the mare's headwith the hitching-weight, after helping his wife to alight, heencountered a man to whom he could not help speaking, though the manseemed to share his hesitation if not his reluctance at the necessity.He was a tallish, thin man, with a dust-coloured face, and a dead,clerical air, which somehow suggested at once feebleness and tenacity.Mrs. Lapham held out her hand to him."Why, Mr. Rogers!" she exclaimed; and then, turning toward her husband,seemed to refer the two men to each other. They shook hands, butLapham did not speak. "I didn't know you were in Boston," pursued Mrs.Lapham. "Is Mrs. Rogers with you?""No," said Mr. Rogers, with a voice which had the flat, succinct soundof two pieces of wood clapped together. "Mrs. Rogers is still inChicago."A little silence followed, and then Mrs Lapham said--"I presume you are quite settled out there.""No; we have left Chicago. Mrs. Rogers has merely remained to finishup a little packing.""Oh, indeed! Are you coming back to Boston?""I cannot say as yet. We sometimes think of so doing."Lapham turned away and looked up at the building. His wife pulled alittle at her glove, as if embarrassed, or even pained. She tried tomake a diversion."We are building a house," she said, with a meaningless laugh."Oh, indeed," said Mr. Rogers, looking up at it.Then no one spoke again, and she said helplessly--"If you come to Boston, I hope I shall see Mrs. Rogers.""She will be happy to have you call," said Mr Rogers.He touched his hat-brim, and made a bow forward rather than in Mrs.Lapham's direction.She mounted the planking that led into the shelter of the bare brickwalls, and her husband slowly followed. When she turned her facetoward him her cheeks were burning, and tears that looked hot stood inher eyes."You left it all to me!" she cried. "Why couldn't you speak a word?""I hadn't anything to say to him," replied Lapham sullenly.They stood a while, without looking at the work which they had come toenjoy, and without speaking to each other."I suppose we might as well go on," said Mrs. Lapham at last, as theyreturned to the buggy. The Colonel drove recklessly toward theMilldam. His wife kept her veil down and her face turned from him.After a time she put her handkerchief up under her veil and wiped hereyes, and he set his teeth and squared his jaw."I don't see how he always manages to appear just at the moment when heseems to have gone fairly out of our lives, and blight everything," shewhimpered."I supposed he was dead," said Lapham."Oh, don't SAY such a thing! It sounds as if you wished it.""Why do you mind it? What do you let him blight everything for?""I can't help it, and I don't believe I ever shall. I don't know ashis being dead would help it any. I can't ever see him without feelingjust as I did at first.""I tell you," said Lapham, "it was a perfectly square thing. And Iwish, once for all, you would quit bothering about it. My conscienceis easy as far as he is concerned, and it always was.""And I can't look at him without feeling as if you'd ruined him, Silas.""Don't look at him, then," said her husband, with a scowl. "I want youshould recollect in the first place, Persis, that I never wanted apartner.""If he hadn't put his money in when he did, you'd 'a' broken down.""Well, he got his money out again, and more, too," said the Colonel,with a sulky weariness."He didn't want to take it out.""I gave him his choice: buy out or go out.""You know he couldn't buy out then. It was no choice at all.""It was a business chance.""No; you had better face the truth, Silas. It was no chance at all.You crowded him out. A man that had saved you! No, you had got greedy,Silas. You had made your paint your god, and you couldn't bear to letanybody else share in its blessings.""I tell you he was a drag and a brake on me from the word go. You sayhe saved me. Well, if I hadn't got him out he'd 'a' ruined me sooneror later. So it's an even thing, as far forth as that goes.""No, it ain't an even thing, and you know it, Silas. Oh, if I couldonly get you once to acknowledge that you did wrong about it, then Ishould have some hope. I don't say you meant wrong exactly, but youtook an advantage. Yes, you took an advantage! You had him where hecouldn't help himself, and then you wouldn't show him any mercy.""I'm sick of this," said Lapham. "If you'll 'tend to the house, I'llmanage my business without your help.""You were very glad of my help once.""Well, I'm tired of it now. Don't meddle.""I WILL meddle. When I see you hardening yourself in a wrong thing,it's time for me to meddle, as you call it, and I will. I can't everget you to own up the least bit about Rogers, and I feel as if it washurting you all the while.""What do you want I should own up about a thing for when I don't feelwrong? I tell you Rogers hain't got anything to complain of, and that'swhat I told you from the start. It's a thing that's done every day. Iwas loaded up with a partner that didn't know anything, and couldn't doanything, and I unloaded; that's all.""You unloaded just at the time when you knew that your paint was goingto be worth about twice what it ever had been; and you wanted all theadvantage for yourself.""I had a right to it. I made the success.""Yes, you made it with Rogers's money; and when you'd made it you tookhis share of it. I guess you thought of that when you saw him, andthat's why you couldn't look him in the face."At these words Lapham lost his temper."I guess you don't want to ride with me any more to-day," he said,turning the mare abruptly round."I'm as ready to go back as what you are," replied his wife. "Anddon't you ask me to go to that house with you any more. You can sellit, for all me. I sha'n't live in it. There's blood on it."