too tedious to relate). I was dismayed to read that you have sent a list of objections and “suggestions” (which certainly read like ultimata) to your colleague Mr. C—— and also to your superior, Mr. D——. I cannot feature how you think this will help your case or promote your interests. I do realize that it is unfair for Mr. C—— to forbid to you use of the refracting telescope in Wisconsin, and I am sure, as you say, that his excuse for this—that you were not careful enough with it last summer—is simply patched together. But I am telling you that if you encourage him to repeat it too often, he will come to forget that it is a lie and a slander, and believe it as fervently as if it were God’s own truth. One reason for “turning the other cheek” is that each time an enemy lands a blow, he is motivated to land another. Soon there is no way of stepping back from the most extreme possible positions. I know you know this, because you have enunciated all the right sentiments, but now, in the heat of battle, it is as if you have forgotten everything you’ve learned. You are thirty-five years old, Andrew, and must understand that if you spoil this opportunity at the University of Chicago, you will never get another like it, and all of your hopes and dreams, not to mention your work, will have been for nought. When you were enduring the hardships of southern Mexico, it was for this very thing—the chance to work at such a place, with such men, at just such a time as this, when Americans have, as you say, thrown off provincialism in time for the new century. Yes, we have said that you were made for this position! You were! That the position requires something of you—some forbearance, some understanding, some CANNINESS—is not surprising to anyone who must make his or her way in the world. I urge you to step back now—to apologize to Mr. C——, to withdraw your complaints to Mr. D——, and to wait, simply to wait. If you can’t do it there, on the scene, then come home to Darlington for the summer and cool your heels.
Your loving Mother
Margaret could not help reading this with growing alarm, even though it was dated years previously, and all these events were over and done with, and somehow they had resulted in their current, her current, situation with Andrew. She felt her heart quicken with suspense and anxiety while reading, and decided not to go on to the last one. She looked around the bedroom, then bundled the letters together and pushed them under the pillow. All that evening, she watched Andrew, but he seemed entirely himself—when Hubert Lear turned up, out on the front porch, smoking a cigarette, Andrew invited him in, and offered him a slice of apple pie. They talked about school, and Andrew showed him how to calculate compound interest.
The next morning, when Margaret opened the fourth letter, it was only because she made up her mind that it was irrelevant to her situation—she was happy, Andrew seemed in good spirits. The letter ran:
January 2, 1903
Darlington
Dearest Andrew,
I must admit that it was with considerable dread that I saw the thick envelope addressed to me, in your handwriting, in this morning’s mail, and as I feared, the envelope contained a lengthy self-justification. As much as I love you, son, I cannot agree that you have done “the very thing that honor demanded” of you. “Honor” has never demanded a thing of you in this sequence of events at the University of Chicago, but pride has goaded you at every turn since the day you arrived on the campus, knowing Mr. C—— was already there. As I said to you when you were considering whether or not to accept the position Mr. D—— was offering you, it was not that they were beseeching you to come, it was that they were extending an opportunity to you, and they knew it. You should have known it, too.
I believe you when you say that Mr. C—— is insufferable—to YOU. But he is not insufferable to Mr. D—— and to Mr. Rockefeller and to others who are powers in the University. He fits in with them, and they are comfortable with him. In addition to that (and I am disappointed that you are so unworldly that you do not understand this simple fact of