abetted the deception. Every one thought it extraordinary that a child should read so young.
In the Spring Gant began to drink again; his thirst withered, however, in two or three weeks, and shamefacedly he took up the routine of his life. But Eliza was preparing for a change.
It was 1904; there was in preparation a great world’s exposition at Saint Louis: it was to be the visual history of civilization, bigger, better, and greater than anything of its kind ever known before. Many of the Altamont people intended to go: Eliza was fascinated at the prospect of combining travel with profit.
“Do you know what?” she began thoughtfully one night, as she laid down the paper, “I’ve a good notion to pack up and go.”
“Go? Go where?”
“To Saint Louis,” she answered. “Why, say—if things work out all right, we might simply pull out and settle down there.” She knew that the suggestion of a total disruption of the established life, a voyage to new lands, a new quest of fortune fascinated him. It had been talked of years before when he had broken his partnership with Will Pentland.
“What do you intend to do out there? How are the children going to get along?”
“Why, sir,” she began smugly, pursing her lips thoughtfully, and smiling cunningly, “I’ll simply get me a good big house and drum up a trade among the Altamont people who are going.”
“Merciful God, Mrs. Gant!” he howled tragically, “you surely wouldn’t do a thing like that. I beg you not to.”
“Why, pshaw, Mr. Gant, don’t be such a fool. There’s nothing wrong in keeping boarders. Some of the most respectable people in this town do it.” She knew what a tender thing his pride was: he could not bear to be thought incapable of the support of his family—one of his most frequent boasts was that he was “a good provider.” Further, the residence of any one under his roof not of his blood and bone sowed the air about with menace, breached his castle walls. Finally, he had a particular revulsion against lodgers: to earn one’s living by accepting the contempt, the scorn, and the money of what he called “cheap boarders” was an almost unendurable ignominy.
