Their eyes rolled together
and clashed, as it were, like cannon-balls meeting. Dyckman senior
dropped back into his chair and whistled "Whew!" Then he laughed
a little:
"Well, I'm sure we should be proud of our alliance with the fifth
largest industry. The Dyckmans are coming up in the world."
"Hush!" said Mrs. Dyckman. She was thinking of the laugh that rival
mothers would have on her. She was thinking of the bitterness of
her other children, of her daughter who was a duchess in England,
and of the squirming of her relatives-in-law. But she was too fond
of her boy to mention her dreads. She passed on to the next topic.
"Where are you living?"
"Nowhere yet," Jim confessed. "We just got in from our--er--honeymoon
this morning. We haven't decided what to do."
Then Mrs. Dyckman took one of those heroic steps she was capable of.
"You'd better bring her here."
"Oh no; she'd be in your way. She'd put you out."
"I hope not, not so soon," Mrs. Dyckman laughed, dismally. "She'll
probably not like us at all, but we can start her off right."
"That's mighty white of you, mother."
"Did you expect me to be--yellow?"
"No, but I thought you might be a little--blue."
"If she'll make you happy I'll thank Heaven for her every day and
night of my life. So let's give her every chance we can, and I hope
she'll give us a chance."
Jim's arms were long enough to encircle her and hug her tight. He
whispered to her, "I never needed you more, you God-blessed--mother!"
Her tears streamed down her cheeks upon his lips, and he had a little
taste of the bitterness of maternal love.
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