1
/
of
1
OGB
Sweet and Twenty
Sweet and Twenty
Regular price
$0.99 USD
Regular price
Sale price
$0.99 USD
Shipping calculated at checkout.
Quantity
Couldn't load pickup availability
An excerpt from the beginning of:
CHAPTER I.
RODEN AND SON, OF IRONTOWN.
Ruri augebis numerum, genus ferratile.
—Plautus.
The great ironmaster, Roden, had been transformed into Roden & Son. Price Roden was one of those men whom we often meet with in this iron age: he had begun life with the legendary three halfpence, and was now the only man who knew the limit of his own wealth. A broad-browed and square-chested man of fifty, was Price Roden at this time; a man whose worst ailments all through life had been poverty at the commencement, and occasional toothache afterwards.
But what had Price Roden ever cared for poverty? — the toothaches of his prosperity had vexed him far worse. He was one of those strong men who can live a day on a crust—or on no crust, if necessary. One thought had Price Roden since he began to think . . . that thought was Price Roden to the front. That strong resolve of his had made him one of the richest men in England, and one of the wisest, in some respects—whether one of the happiest, this history may possibly disclose. At its opening we find him in full enjoyment of his highest desires. His son, Paul Roden, has just come of age: on that day there is, of course, a grand celebration: on that day Master Paul is also to be taken into partnership.
Paul, six inches taller than his sire, but as yet much less broad, looks very like him, as they stand on the terrace of Roden Hall in the sunset, and talk of the day's proceedings. The ironmaster and his son are alone. Paul's mother died long years ago. Price Roden was so determined to make his way that he never knew half the love his wife had for him. He hadn't time. Yet he assuredly loved her, in his rather rigid way; and there were moments, when a glance at her picture would bring tears into his unaccustomed eyes. No churl was Price Roden.
You would not think it, to look at him and his son Paul, with the sunset burning in the lights of the great house behind them, as they talk over the events of the day. Paul is over six feet, dressed in good country fashion, brown as a berry, hard as nails. You would rather take him to be the son of a country squire than of a great ironmaster. Paul has many weaknesses blended with his unquestionable strength; one good point has he — complete belief in his father, to whom he confides all his troubles of youth, save only those which regard the opposite sex. Kiss and tell won't do, you know. Price Roden, who sees pretty clearly, contents himself with dropping words of wisdom into the ears of his son. He can guess — who cannot?—the temptations of a youngster who is a kind of prince in a large community. But it strikes him, as it would most fathers in such a position, that it is possible to say too much on any such question.. And as to Paul, though people thought it necessary to look after their daughters when he was in the neighbourhood, yet there was something in those calm gray eyes of his which might have proved to a physiognomist he would not be troublesome to the opposite sex unless he was greatly tempted. Laziness is often a fine substitute for virtue; and Paul Roden had quite as much laziness as his father had activity. It is a question of the casuists whether the man who likes work or the man who doesn't like work does the most mischief. It will be found investigated in Leo Rheineckius : Insolubilia Soluia, vol. xxiii., p. 889. One thing is quite certain: Roden liked work, and his son liked play. Extremes meet, I always maintain; work and play are convertible terms: what was work to Price Roden would have been play to his son.
Though Price Roden saw that his son was not exactly of his own type, he loved him none the less. Price Roden had passed through a hard time, had begun with nothing, had made himself a millionaire, had, when the period of prosperity reached him, softened under its influence. I shall have to talk of Irontown by-and-by ... of its library, its clubs, its happy arrangements for the many thousand men Roden employed. He worked out all these things with a curious simplicity; he seemed to have in his brain this idea: I am a working-man, and I think I can find out all that working-men want. So he tried. He went in for both mental and sensual supplies. Irontown grew to a great place, but the master was everywhere. It would have been thought half wrong if a girl had married or a baby been christened without the master's consent. And usually he was present. He loved his people. He was one of them.
There was a struggle in this man's mind though, and a perplexity; and his dear son Paul was the cause. He, Price Roden, was born of the common folk; he had no accurate notion of his father and mother; and here was young Paul growing up, the best boy in the world, but with quite other ideas. Now what would come of Irontown, which he had made, under the rule of Paul,...
CHAPTER I.
RODEN AND SON, OF IRONTOWN.
Ruri augebis numerum, genus ferratile.
—Plautus.
The great ironmaster, Roden, had been transformed into Roden & Son. Price Roden was one of those men whom we often meet with in this iron age: he had begun life with the legendary three halfpence, and was now the only man who knew the limit of his own wealth. A broad-browed and square-chested man of fifty, was Price Roden at this time; a man whose worst ailments all through life had been poverty at the commencement, and occasional toothache afterwards.
But what had Price Roden ever cared for poverty? — the toothaches of his prosperity had vexed him far worse. He was one of those strong men who can live a day on a crust—or on no crust, if necessary. One thought had Price Roden since he began to think . . . that thought was Price Roden to the front. That strong resolve of his had made him one of the richest men in England, and one of the wisest, in some respects—whether one of the happiest, this history may possibly disclose. At its opening we find him in full enjoyment of his highest desires. His son, Paul Roden, has just come of age: on that day there is, of course, a grand celebration: on that day Master Paul is also to be taken into partnership.
Paul, six inches taller than his sire, but as yet much less broad, looks very like him, as they stand on the terrace of Roden Hall in the sunset, and talk of the day's proceedings. The ironmaster and his son are alone. Paul's mother died long years ago. Price Roden was so determined to make his way that he never knew half the love his wife had for him. He hadn't time. Yet he assuredly loved her, in his rather rigid way; and there were moments, when a glance at her picture would bring tears into his unaccustomed eyes. No churl was Price Roden.
You would not think it, to look at him and his son Paul, with the sunset burning in the lights of the great house behind them, as they talk over the events of the day. Paul is over six feet, dressed in good country fashion, brown as a berry, hard as nails. You would rather take him to be the son of a country squire than of a great ironmaster. Paul has many weaknesses blended with his unquestionable strength; one good point has he — complete belief in his father, to whom he confides all his troubles of youth, save only those which regard the opposite sex. Kiss and tell won't do, you know. Price Roden, who sees pretty clearly, contents himself with dropping words of wisdom into the ears of his son. He can guess — who cannot?—the temptations of a youngster who is a kind of prince in a large community. But it strikes him, as it would most fathers in such a position, that it is possible to say too much on any such question.. And as to Paul, though people thought it necessary to look after their daughters when he was in the neighbourhood, yet there was something in those calm gray eyes of his which might have proved to a physiognomist he would not be troublesome to the opposite sex unless he was greatly tempted. Laziness is often a fine substitute for virtue; and Paul Roden had quite as much laziness as his father had activity. It is a question of the casuists whether the man who likes work or the man who doesn't like work does the most mischief. It will be found investigated in Leo Rheineckius : Insolubilia Soluia, vol. xxiii., p. 889. One thing is quite certain: Roden liked work, and his son liked play. Extremes meet, I always maintain; work and play are convertible terms: what was work to Price Roden would have been play to his son.
Though Price Roden saw that his son was not exactly of his own type, he loved him none the less. Price Roden had passed through a hard time, had begun with nothing, had made himself a millionaire, had, when the period of prosperity reached him, softened under its influence. I shall have to talk of Irontown by-and-by ... of its library, its clubs, its happy arrangements for the many thousand men Roden employed. He worked out all these things with a curious simplicity; he seemed to have in his brain this idea: I am a working-man, and I think I can find out all that working-men want. So he tried. He went in for both mental and sensual supplies. Irontown grew to a great place, but the master was everywhere. It would have been thought half wrong if a girl had married or a baby been christened without the master's consent. And usually he was present. He loved his people. He was one of them.
There was a struggle in this man's mind though, and a perplexity; and his dear son Paul was the cause. He, Price Roden, was born of the common folk; he had no accurate notion of his father and mother; and here was young Paul growing up, the best boy in the world, but with quite other ideas. Now what would come of Irontown, which he had made, under the rule of Paul,...
Share
