Granny on the sofa was signalling frantically to Keith to leave the room.  Mechanically he obeyed her.  Anything was better than to watch his father....

XVI

Little by little he learned the whole sad story.  At the same time he realized that Christmas would probably be spoiled—­the one thing he had banked on for momentary relief.

Once upon a time Uncle Wilhelm had been the most prosperous member of the family, owning a big, fine grocery store in the fashionable North End district.  He made a lot of money, but his wife was vain and foolish and pleasure-loving.  She always managed to spend more than he could ever earn, and he was idiotically in love with her.  It ended in bankruptcy.  Uncle Wilhelm got a position as superintendent of a small factory in the South End.  There he might have done very well in a more modest way, had not his wife proceeded to turn his life into a perfect hell.  This was her way of punishing him for his failure to support her in the style she demanded.  He was weak in more ways than one, and soon he drank not merely for the sake of a good time, as everybody else did, but to find consolation and forgetfulness.  His private affairs went from bad to worse.  Gradually he lost the habit of distinguishing between his own meagre funds and those entrusted to him.  It was a clear case, and his employer proved merciless when it was found out.

What Keith’s father had feared came true.  And that Christmas was more sad than any other part of any other year had ever been.

XVII

It would have been hard on Keith at any time.  Coming as it did, the family disgrace, which he guessed rather than grasped, and the disappointment, which was a depressingly tangible thing, brought his natural sensitiveness to a morbid pitch.

There was one idea that haunted him day and night—­the idea that he belonged to a race doomed in advance to decay and destruction.

Uncle Wilhelm’s case was not an isolated one.  There was Uncle Henrik, the youngest brother of Keith’s father, who had gone to the dogs while still a youth, and in a more ignominious fashion, if possible.  What was he now but a besotted tramp, begging shamelessly of friend or stranger for a few oere with which to buy a brief moment of coarse happiness?

There was Uncle Marcus, the husband of Keith’s paternal aunt, who had hurt his leg in a storm and lost his splendid position as chief engineer of the swiftest steamer plying on the Northern route.  Now he was disabled for ever, and proud Aunt Brita was at her wit’s end to keep the home and the family together.

There were the two half-brothers of Uncle Wilhelm’s silly wife—­popular and dashing young fellows reading blithely the purple path to destruction.  Even Keith’s naive mind had discovered which way they were headed, although his thoughts of them were not free from admiration.