III

THE EDITOR AT WORK

To go back a little, for several days after his child’s birth Major Carteret’s chief interest in life had been confined to the four walls of the chamber where his pale wife lay upon her bed of pain, and those of the adjoining room where an old black woman crooned lovingly over a little white infant.  A new element had been added to the major’s consciousness, broadening the scope and deepening the strength of his affections.  He did not love Olivia the less, for maternity had crowned her wifehood with an added glory; but side by side with this old and tried attachment was a new passion, stirring up dormant hopes and kindling new desires.  His regret had been more than personal at the thought that with himself an old name should be lost to the State; and now all the old pride of race, class, and family welled up anew, and swelled and quickened the current of his life.

Upon the major’s first appearance at the office, which took place the second day after the child’s birth, he opened a box of cigars in honor of the event.  The word had been passed around by Ellis, and the whole office force, including reporters, compositors, and pressmen, came in to congratulate the major and smoke at his expense.  Even Jerry, the colored porter,—­Mammy Jane’s grandson and therefore a protege of the family,—­presented himself among the rest, or rather, after the rest.  The major shook hands with them all except Jerry, though he acknowledged the porter’s congratulations with a kind nod and put a good cigar into his outstretched palm, for which Jerry thanked him without manifesting any consciousness of the omission.  He was quite aware that under ordinary circumstances the major would not have shaken hands with white workingmen, to say nothing of negroes; and he had merely hoped that in the pleasurable distraction of the moment the major might also overlook the distinction of color.  Jerry’s hope had been shattered, though not rudely; for the major had spoken pleasantly and the cigar was a good one.  Mr. Ellis had once shaken hands with Jerry,—­but Mr. Ellis was a young man, whose Quaker father had never owned any slaves, and he could not be expected to have as much pride as one of the best “quality,” whose families had possessed land and negroes for time out of mind.  On the whole, Jerry preferred the careless nod of the editor-in-chief to the more familiar greeting of the subaltern.

Having finished this pleasant ceremony, which left him with a comfortable sense of his new dignity, the major turned to his desk.  It had been much neglected during the week, and more than one matter claimed his attention; but as typical of the new trend of his thoughts, the first subject he took up was one bearing upon the future of his son.  Quite obviously the career of a Carteret must not be left to chance,—­it must be planned and worked out with a due sense of the value of good blood.