Hills of the Shatemuc Part 123

"Would you!" said Rufus, mentally conceding that his brother was 'fit' for anything.

"Just as lieve."

Rufus's brow lightened considerably, and he took up his walk again.

"What would you like better, Will?"

"I don't know --" said Rufus meditatively -- "I believe I'll take your advice. There was an offer made to me a week or two ago -- at least I was spoken to, in reference to a Southern piece of business --"

"Not another agency?"

"No -- no, engineering; -- but I threw it off, not thinking then, or not knowing, that I would have anything more to do with the matter -- I dare say it's not too late yet."

"But Will," said his brother, "whatever choice you make now, it is your last choice."

"How do you know it is my last choice?" said Rufus.

"Because it ought to be."

Rufus took to silence and meditating again.

"Any profession rightly managed, will carry you to the goal of honour; but no two will, ridden alternately."

"It seems so," said Rufus bitterly.

And he walked and meditated, back and forth through the room; while Winthrop lost himself in his 'answer.' The silence lasted this time till Rufus came up to the table and extending his hand bid his brother 'good night.'

"Are you going?" said Winthrop starting up.

"Yes -- going; and going South, and going to be an engineer, and if possible to reach the goal of honour on the back of that calling, by some mysterious road which as yet I see not."

"Stay here to-night, Will."

"No, I can't -- I've got to see somebody."

"All night?"

"Why, no," said Rufus smiling. "I suppose I could come back; more especially as I am going bona fide away. By the way, Winthrop, do you know they say the yellow fever is here?"

"I know they say so."

"What will you do?"

"Nothing."

"I mean, of course, if the report is true."

"So I mean."

"But you will not stay here?"

"I think I will."

"But it would be much better to go out of town."

"If I think so, I'll go."

"I'll make you think so," said Rufus putting on his hat, -- "or else I won't go engineering! I'll be back in an hour."

CHAPTER VIII.

Yea, men may wonder, while they scan A living, thinking, feeling man, In such a rest his heart to keep; But angels say, -- and through the word I ween their blessed smile is heard, -- "He giveth his beloved sleep!"

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

Notwithstanding however Rufus's a.s.surance, he did go off to his engineering and he did not succeed in changing his brother's mind. Winthrop abode in his place, to meet whatever the summer had in store for him.

It brought the city's old plague, though not with such fearful presence as in years past. Still the name and the dread of it were abroad, and enough of its power to justify them. Many that could, ran away from the city; and business, if it was not absolutely checked, moved sluggishly. There was much less than usual done.

There was little in Winthrop's line, certainly. Yet in the days of vacant courts and laid-by court business, the tenant of Mr. Inchbald's attic went out and came in as often as formerly. What he did with his time was best known to himself.

"I wonder how he does, now, all alone," said Mrs. Nettley to her brother.

"I've a notion he isn't so much of the time alone," said Mr.

Inchbald. "He's not at home any more than he used to be, nor so much. I hear him going up or down the stairs -- night and day."

"Surely there are no courts now?" said Mrs. Nettley.

"Never are in August -- and especially not now, of course."

"I'm afraid he's lonesome, poor fellow!"

"Never saw a fellow look less like it," said Mr. Inchbald.

"He's a strong man, he is, in his heart and mind. I should expect to see one of the pyramids of Egypt come down as soon as either of 'em. Lonesome? I _never_ saw him look lonesome."

"He has a trick of not shewing what he feels then," said his sister. "I've seen him times when I know he _felt_ lonesome, -- though as you say, I can't say he shewed it. He's a strong build of a man, too, George."

"Like body, like mind," said her brother. "Yes. I like to see a man all of a piece. But his brother has a finer figure."

"Do you think so?" said Mrs. Nettley. "That's for a painter.

Now I like Winthrop's the best."

"That's for a woman," said Mr. Inchbald laughing. "You always like what you love."

"Well, what do you suppose he finds to keep him out so much of the time?"