“You among those that came this afternoon?”

Westover claimed to be of the new arrivals.

“Well, then, you can have steak or chops and baked potatoes.”

He found the steak excellent, though succinct, and he looked round in the distinction it conferred upon him, on the older guests, who were served with cold ham, tongue, and corned-beef.  He had expected to be appointed his place by Cynthia Whitwell, but Jeff came to the dining-room with him and showed him to the table he occupied, with an effect of doing him special credit.

From his impressions of the berries, the cream, the toast, and the tea, as well as the steak, he decided that on the gastronomic side there could be no question but the Durgins knew how to keep a hotel; and his further acquaintance with the house and its appointments confirmed him in his belief.  All was very simple, but sufficient; and no guest could have truthfully claimed that he was stinted in towels, in water, in lamp-light, in the quantity or quality of bedding, in hooks for clothes, or wardrobe or bureau room.  Westover made Mrs. Durgin his sincere compliments on her success as they sat in the old parlor, which she had kept for herself much in its former state, and she accepted them with simple satisfaction.

“But I don’t know as I should ever had the courage to try it if it hadn’t been for you happening along just when you did,” she said.

“Then I’m the founder of your fortunes?”

“If you want to call them fortunes.  We don’t complain It’s been a fight, but I guess we’ve got the best of it.  The house is full, and we’re turnin’ folks away.  I guess they can’t say that at the big hotels they used to drive over from to see Lion’s Head at the farm.”  She gave a low, comfortable chuckle, and told Westover of the struggle they had made.  It was an interesting story and pathetic, like all stories of human endeavor the efforts of the most selfish ambition have something of this interest; and the struggle of the Durgins had the grace of the wish to keep their home.

“And is Jeff as well satisfied as the rest?” Westover asked, after other talk and comment on the facts.

“Too much so,” said Mrs. Durgin.  “I should like to talk with you about Jeff, Mr. Westover; you and him was always such friends.”

“Yes,” said Westover; “I shall be glad if I can be of use to you.”

“Why, it’s just this.  I don’t see why Jeff shouldn’t do something besides keep a hotel.”

Westover’s eyes wandered to the photograph of his painting of Lion’s Head which hung over the mantelpiece, in what he felt to be the place of the greatest honor in the whole house, and a sudden fear came upon him that perhaps Jeff had developed an artistic talent in the belief of his family.  But he waited silently to hear.

“We did think that before we got through the improvements last spring a year ago we should have to get the savings-bank to put a mortgage on the place; but we had just enough to start the season with, and we thought we would try to pull through.  We had a splendid season, and made money, and this year we’re doin’ so well that I ain’t afraid for the future any more, and I want to give Jeff a chance in the world.  I want he should go to college.”