Produced by David Widger
By William Dean Howells
Superficially, the affairs of 'Every Other Week' settled into theirwonted form again, and for Fulkerson they seemed thoroughly reinstated.But March had a feeling of impermanency from what had happened, mixedwith a fantastic sense of shame toward Lindau. He did not sympathize withLindau's opinions; he thought his remedy for existing evils as wildlyimpracticable as Colonel Woodburn's. But while he thought this, and whilehe could justly blame Fulkerson for Lindau's presence at Dryfoos'sdinner, which his zeal had brought about in spite of March's protests,still he could not rid himself of the reproach of uncandor with Lindau.He ought to have told him frankly about the ownership of the magazine,and what manner of man the man was whose money he was taking. But he saidthat he never could have imagined that he was serious in his preposterousattitude in regard to a class of men who embody half the prosperity ofthe country; and he had moments of revolt against his own humiliationbefore Lindau, in which he found it monstrous that he should returnDryfoos's money as if it had been the spoil of a robber. His wife agreedwith him in these moments, and said it was a great relief not to havethat tiresome old German coming about. They had to account for hisabsence evasively to the children, whom they could not very well tellthat their father was living on money that Lindau disdained to take, eventhough Lindau was wrong and their father was right. This heightened Mrs.March's resentment toward both Lindau and Dryfoos, who between them hadplaced her husband in a false position. If anything, she resentedDryfoos's conduct more than Lindau's. He had never spoken to March aboutthe affair since Lindau had renounced his work, or added to theapologetic messages he had sent by Fulkerson. So far as March knew,Dryfoos had been left to suppose that Lindau had simply stopped for somereason that did not personally affect him. They never spoke of him, andMarch was too proud to ask either Fulkerson or Conrad whether the old manknew that Lindau had returned his money. He avoided talking to Conrad,from a feeling that if he did he should involuntarily lead him on tospeak of his differences with his father. Between himself and Fulkerson,even, he was uneasily aware of a want of their old perfect friendliness.Fulkerson had finally behaved with honor and courage; but his provisionalreluctance had given March the measure of Fulkerson's character in onedirection, and he could not ignore the fact that it was smaller than hecould have wished.
He could not make out whether Fulkerson shared his discomfort or not. Itcertainly wore away, even with March, as time passed, and with Fulkerson,in the bliss of his fortunate love, it was probably far more transient,if it existed at all. He advanced into the winter as radiantly as if tomeet the spring, and he said that if there were any pleasanter month ofthe year than November, it was December, especially when the weather wasgood and wet and muddy most of the time, so that you had to keep indoorsa long while after you called anywhere.
Colonel Woodburn had the anxiety, in view of his daughter's engagement,when she asked his consent to it, that such a dreamer must have in regardto any reality that threatens to affect the course of his reveries. Hehad not perhaps taken her marriage into account, except as a remotecontingency; and certainly Fulkerson was not the kind of son-in-law thathe had imagined in dealing with that abstraction. But because he hadnothing of the sort definitely in mind, he could not op