CHAPTER II

ON THE TREATMENT OF PRODIGALS

While Euphrasia, in a frenzy of anticipation, garnished and swept the room which held for her so many memories of Austen’s boyhood, even beating the carpet with her own hands, Hilary Vane went about his business with no apparent lack of diligence.  But he was meditating.  He had many times listened to the Reverend Mr. Weightman read the parable from the pulpit, but he had never reflected how it would be to be the father of a real prodigal.  What was to be done about the calf?  Was there to be a calf, or was there not?  To tell the truth, Hilary wanted a calf, and yet to have one (in spite of Holy Writ) would seem to set a premium on disobedience and riotous living.

Again, Austen had reached thirty, an age when it was not likely he would settle down and live an orderly and godly life among civilized beings, and therefore a fatted calf was likely to be the first of many follies which he (Hilary) would live to regret.  No, he would deal with justice.  How he dealt will be seen presently, but when he finally reached this conclusion, the clipping from the Pepper County Plainsman had not yet come before his eyes.

It is worth relating how the clipping did come before his eyes, for no one in Ripton had the temerity to speak of it.  Primarily, it was because Miss Victoria Flint had lost a terrier, and secondarily, because she was a person of strong likes and dislikes.  In pursuit of the terrier she drove madly through Leith, which, as everybody knows, is a famous colony of rich summer residents.  Victoria probably stopped at every house in Leith, and searched them with characteristic vigour and lack of ceremony, sometimes entering by the side door, and sometimes by the front, and caring very little whether the owners were at home or not.  Mr. Humphrey Crewe discovered her in a boa-stall at Wedderburn,—­as his place was called,—­for it made little difference to Victoria that Mr. Crewe was a bachelor of marriageable age and millions.  Full, as ever, of practical suggestions, Mr. Crewe proposed to telephone to Ripton and put an advertisement in the Record, which—­as he happened to know—­went to press the next day.  Victoria would not trust to the telephone, whereupon Mr. Crewe offered to drive down with her.

“You’d bore me, Humphrey,” said she, as she climbed into her runabout with the father and grandfather of the absentee.  Mr. Crewe laughed as she drove away.  He had a chemical quality of turning invidious remarks into compliments, and he took this one as Victoria’s manner of saying that she did not wish to disturb so important a man.

Arriving in the hot main street of Ripton, her sharp eyes descried the Record sign over the drug store, and in an astonishingly short time she was in the empty office.  Mr. Pardriff was at dinner.  She sat down in the editorial chair and read a great deal of uninteresting matter, but at last found something on the floor (where the wind had blown it) which made her laugh.  It was the account of Austen Vane’s difficulty with Mr. Blodgett.  Victoria did not know Austen, but she knew that the Honourable Hilary had a son of that name who had gone West, and this was what tickled her.  She thrust the clipping in the pocket of her linen coat just as Mr. Pardriff came in.