Gear, W Michael - Novel 05 Read Online Free

             A choked sound escaped from Richard's throat.
                   Phillip sighed wearily. "I've made a lot
of mistakes in my life, Richard. Many of them in raising you. I had no idea
that your studies would take you so far from productive reality. Nevertheless,
I shall make amends ... late though it may be. Boy, the world out there is not
an abstraction, not as Messer Rousseau's fanciful treatise would have you
believe. It's a very calculating place. One from which I have sheltered you.
I'll not have any son of mine while away his life as a professor of philosophy.
Your mind has been ruined by these quacks and charlatans."
                   "They're neither quacks nor—"
                   "I will not have you perpetuate such
absurdities on other susceptible young minds. Instead, Richard, you will assume
the responsibilities that I have too long allowed you to avoid. That is all!
The final word! So long as you live on my money, you are not going back to the university.
Is that clear?"
                   In a futile attempt to save himself some
dignity, Richard looked up. "You don't understand."
                   "I’ll send Jeffry over to Cambridge for your things. What's this? I'll not
brook that pouting face. You look like a scolded little boy. You're twenty-two
years old, for God's sake, and you can damned well act it! We'll talk more
tonight at dinner. I have some arrangements to see to . . . some friends I must
discuss this with." Phillip cocked his eyebrow again. "Or, you could
just walk out that door downstairs and take responsibility for yourself."
                   Richard gaped in stunned disbelief.
"Responsibility . . . for myself?"
                   Phillip's heart sank. "You may go. You'll
find your room the way you left it. Jeffry will call you to supper. Please,
make yourself presentable for the table."
                   Richard slipped through the doorway as quietly
as possible. Phillip slumped in the overstuffed chair. Was this the right
thing? He reached behind him and pulled the bell cord.
                   Within moments, Jeffry answered the tinkling
summons, opened the door, and crossed the carpet to stand before the desk.
Jeffry stood over six feet, whip-thin, posture as unforgiving as a ramrod's.
His cropped hair had silvered, adding to his distinguished look. The white silk
scarf at his throat contrasted with his dark-hued skin.
                   Phillip stared at the desktop. "I've cut
off his money. I would like you to go over to that hovel he's been living in
and clean it out. He won't be going back."
                   "Yes, sir." Jeffry studied him
neutrally.
                   "Can you believe it? Twenty-two years
old, and I sent him to his room! I've failed him, Jeffry. I'm not sure how, or
what I could have done differently, but I failed him."
                   "He's young, sir."
                   Phillip glanced up wearily. "At his age,
I was lying in a hospital, biting on a bullet while the surgeon tried to make
up his mind whether or not to cut off my leg. Fortunately, they were so busy
with dying men I lay forgotten for a couple of days. Jeffry, I'm thinking,
thinking of sending him west... to Saint Louis ."
                   "With the banknotes, sir?"
                   Phillip stared into the past, seeing his
wife's face, strong, beautiful. He could almost feel her cool hand against his
cheek as she told him it was all right to leave, to take a year and sail to the
major markets to set up accounts. That risks could be taken, that she'd be
waiting when he returned...
                   "Yes, Jeffry. He's got to learn to be a
man. We didn't fight and die to make a nation of children. Imagine. He's
twenty-two ... and doesn't even own a rifle! A Massachusetts man without a rifle!"