Nevertheless at dinner I have seen him bullyrag and browbeat a judge of our Supreme Court in a way that made me shudder, though I admit that the judge in question owed his appointment entirely to the friend of my son who happened to be giving the dinner; and he will contradict in a loud tone men and women older than myself, no matter what happens to be the subject under discussion.  They seem to like it—­why, I do not pretend to understand.  They admire his assurance and good nature, and are rather afraid of him!

I cannot imagine what he would find to do in my own law office; he would doubtless regard it as a dull place and too narrow a sphere for his splendid capabilities.  He is a clever chap, this son of mine; and though neither he nor his sisters seem to have any particular fondness for one another, he is astute at playing into their hands and they into his.  He also keeps a watchful eye on our dinner invitations, so they will not fall below the properly exclusive standard.

“What are you asking old Washburn for?” he will ask.  “He’s been a dead one these five years!” Or:  “I’d cut out the Becketts—­at least if you’re asking the Thompsons.  They don’t go with the same crowd.”  Or:  “Why don’t you ask the Peyton-Smiths?  They’re nothing to be afraid of if they do cut a dash at Newport.  The old girl is rather a pal of mine.”

So we drop old Washburn, cut out the Becketts, and take courage and invite the hyphenated Smiths.  A hint from him pays handsome dividends! and he is distinctly proud of the family and anxious to push it along to still greater success.

However, he has never asked my help or assistance—­except in a financial way.  He has never come to me for advice; never confided any of his perplexities or troubles to me.  Perhaps he has none.  He seems quite sufficient unto himself.  And he certainly is not my friend.  It seems strange that these three children of mine, whose upbringing has been the source of so much thought and planning on the part of my wife and myself, and for whose ultimate benefit we have shaped our own lives, should be the merest, almost impersonal, acquaintances.

The Italian fruit-vender on the corner, whose dirty offspring crawl among the empty barrels behind the stand, knows far more of his children than do we of ours, will have far more influence on the shaping of their future lives.  They do not need us now and they never have needed us.  A trust company could have performed all the offices of parenthood with which we have been burdened.  We have paid others to be father and mother in our stead—­or rather, as I now see, have had hired servants to go through the motions for us; and they have done it well, so far as the mere physical side of the matter is concerned.  We have been almost entirely relieved of care.