The Incredible Charlie Carewe by Mary. Astor Page B

Charlie were spent almost solely in talk, with Charlie spinning yarns, making jokes, thoroughly enjoying himself.
    On the way out of the house one afternoon he met Walter just as he was pulling up to the front entrance. Walter hailed him.
    “Evening, Nicholson, can I give you a lift to the Inn?”
    “Thank you, Mr. Carewe, but I’d like the walk—been sitting all afternoon, you know.”
    His irritation with Charlie had made him a little flushed and tense. Walter caught it, as always these days sensitive to Charlie’s effect on people. “What’s wrong, Gregg? How’s your pupil?”
    Gregg groped for his collar to loosen it, but it was wrapped solidly in a scarf and overlaid with his overcoat, so he abandoned the gesture. “Would it be all right if I came back this evening and had a talk with you, sir? It wouldn’t take too long——”
    Walter covered a sigh with a hospitable voice. “Better than that, stay for dinner, and we can talk afterward.”
    After dinner Beatrice retired early, saying she wanted to get a hot pad on her shoulder, which had been paining her for several days.
    The men retired to Walter’s study, Charlie chattering about his preferences in brandy, helping himself to one of Walter’s cigars.
    Walter said, “I think Gregg has——” but was stopped by the slightest shake of the head from Nicholson, who interrupted.
    “What do you think of the new addition to the penal code, Mr. Carewe, or does your specialty take you out of the realm of interest in such matters?”
    Walter smiled, thinking, “Bright young man.” They were to exclude Charlie, and thus get rid of him. “Not at all,” he replied, “I am interested in justice in all its forms, not only legally, but philosophically——”
    Into the verbal ball game Charlie occasionally threw a name or so. “As Dunbrick says——”
    The two men looked at him blankly.
    “Never heard of him,” said Nicholson flatly.
    “Never heard of him!” Charlie echoed vehemently.
    “Neither have I,” said his father, equally flatly, and turned back to Gregg. He went on, “Of course, you are probably one of those people who think that the thirteenth century was the time in which to be alive.”
    “I think too much has gone out the window, just because it is ‘old’—we are frightened of tradition——”
    After half an hour Charlie set his glass down and yawned. “I hope you won’t think me rude, but I’ve got some studying to do,” with a rueful wink at Gregg.
    As Walter closed the door after his son he turned to the quiet young man. He liked him. His clothes were a bit seedy, he had the kind of thinness that goes with grabbing meals at odd times, or forgetting them altogether. His face was quite expressionless, his head usually cocked in a listening attitude. His hair was thin and mousy. The prominent beaklike nose was the only feature of his face that saved it from being undistinguished. He began without preamble.
    “Mr. Carewe, I don’t want to lose my job.”
    “Well now, Gregg, what’s troubling you?”
    “I’m a very selfish man. I have the most profound laziness about becoming a schoolmaster. I am a spectator, an absorber, rather than one who does things or gives of himself, and I am not a ‘go-getter.’ I think the whole psychology of our competitive culture is an anachronism dating back to the pioneer days of the country, when an enormous amount of energy was launched in pushing out the frontiers. It’s like a billiard ball that strikes another into action—but,” he smiled a little, “I am supposed to talk about my job.”
    Walter gave the fire a few pokes and sent up a shower of sparks. “How are you making out with Charlie?” he said. “He seems to like you. I noticed all through dinner he was trying to impress you—a sure sign!” He shook his head, wearily.
    “Yes, I was aware of that—he works very hard at something he has no need for. My only wish is that he would work more at his studies—then I would