Schuyler laughed. “You! That is too beautifully delicious! Why, Patsy O’Connell, William Burgeman is the most conventional young gentleman I have ever met in my life. You would shock him into a semi-comatose condition in an [Pg 17]afternoon—and, pray, what would you do with him?” [Pg 17] “Sure, I’d make a man of him, that’s what. His father’s son might need it, I’m thinking.” Marjorie Schuyler’s face became perfectly blank for a second, then she leaned against the baronial arms on the back of her seat, tilted her head, and mused aloud: “I wonder just what Billy Burgeman does lack? Sometimes I’ve wondered if it was not having a mother, or growing up without brothers or sisters, or living all alone with his father in that great, gloomy, walled-in, half-closed house. It is not a lack of manhood—I’m sure of that; and it’s not lack of caring, for he can care a lot about some things. But what is it? I would give a great deal to know.” “If the tales about old King Midas have a thruppence worth of truth in them, it might be his father’s meanness that’s ailing him.” Marjorie Schuyler shook her head. “No; Billy’s almost a prodigal. His father says he hasn’t the slightest idea of the value of money; it’s just so much beans or shells or knives or trading pelf with him; something to exchange for what he calls the real things of life. Why, when he was a boy—in fact, until he was almost grown—his father couldn’t trust Billy with a cent.” “Who said that—Billy or the king?” [Pg 18] [Pg 18] “His father, of course. That’s why he has never taken Billy into business with him. He is making Billy win his spurs—on his own merits; and he’s not going to let him into the firm until he’s worth at least five thousand a year to some other firm. Oh, Mr. Burgeman has excellent ideas about bringing up a son! Billy ought to amount to a great deal.” “Meaning money or character?” inquired Patsy. Marjorie Schuyler looked at her sharply. “Are you laughing?” “Faith, I’m closer to weeping; ’twould be a lonesome, hard rearing that would come to a son of King Midas, I’m thinking. I’d far rather be the son of his gooseherd, if I had the choosing.” She leaned forward impulsively and
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