WORLD'S END

The president of Budd Gunmakers Corporation had been born in a red brick mansion on the residence boulevard which skirted the edge of Newcastle. He had lived in it all his life, and meant to die in it, regardless of automobiles, country clubs, and other changes of fashion. His butler had been his father's butler, and wasn't going to be changed, even though he was becoming tottery. There were electric lights in the house, but they were hung in old chandeliers. The hand-carved French walnut bookcases were oiled and polished until they shone, and behind their glass doors Lanny caught glimpses of books which he would have liked to examine. He knew this was a very old mansion, and that political as well as business history had been made in it; but it seemed strangely ugly and depressing.

The master was in his study, the ancient butler said, and Robbie led his son at once to the room. At a desk absorbed in some papers sat a man of seventy, solidly built and heavy, as if he did not exercise; partly bald, and having a considerable tuft of whitish gray hair underneath his chin, a style which Lanny had never seen before. He wore gold spectacles, and had creases between his heavy gray eyebrows, which gave him a stern expression, cultivated perhaps for business purposes. From his desk it appeared that he had carried home with him the burden of winning a war.

"Well, young man?" he said, looking up. He did not rise, and apparently didn't plan even to shake hands.

But to Lanny it seemed that a gentleman ought to shake hands with his grandfather when he met him for the first time; so he went straight to the desk and held out his hand, forcing the other to take it. "How do you do, Grandfather?" he said; and as the answer appeared to come slowly he went on: "I have heard a great deal about you, and I'm happy to meet you at last."

"Thank you," said the old gentleman, surprised by this cordiality.

"Everybody has been most kind to me, Grandfather," continued Lanny, as if he thought his progenitor might be worrying about it.

"I am glad," said the other.

Lanny waited, and so did the old man; they gazed at each other, a sort of duel of eyes. Robbie had told him not to talk; but something came to Lanny suddenly, a sort of inspiration. This old munitions maker wasn't happy. He had to live in an ugly old house and be burdened day and night with cares. He had an enormous lot of power which other people were trying to get away from him, and that made him suspicious, it forced him to be hard. But he wasn't hard; underneath he was kind, and all you had to do was to be kind to him, and not ask anything from him.

Lanny decided to follow that hunch. "Grandfather," he announced, "I think I am going to like America very much. I liked England, and I've been surprised to find everything here so much like England."

"Indeed, young man?"

"The best part of England, I mean. I hope I shan't see anything like their terrible slums."

The elderly industrialist rose to the bait. "Our working people are getting double wages now. You will see them wearing silk socks and shirts, and buying themselves cars on the installment plan. They will soon be our masters."

"I was told the same thing in England, sir. People complain about the taxes there. The owners of the great estates say that they are going to have to break them up. Do you think that will happen in this country?"

"Apparently we plan to finance our share of the war by means of loans," replied the president of Budd's. "It is a dangerous procedure."

"M. Zaharoff talked about that. He doesn't seem to object to war loans of any size. Maybe it is because he is getting so large a share of the proceeds."

"Ahem! Yes," said the grandfather. "I am happy to say that Budd's have not conducted their affairs on the same fly-by-night basis as Zaharoff."

The art of conversation is highly esteemed in France, and Lanny had acquired it. He had heard the worldly-wise Baroness de la Tourette declare that the one certain way to interest a man was to get him to talking about his own affairs. A beginning having been made in this case, Lanny went on to remark: "I find that Budd's have a very good reputation abroad, sir."

"Humph! They want our products just now."

"Yes, sir; but I mean with persons who are disinterested."

"Who, for example?"

"Well, M. Rochambeau. He spent a good part of his life in the Swiss diplomatic service, so he's very well informed. He has been most helpful to me during the two and a half years that I haven't been seeing Robbie. Anything I didn't understand about world affairs he was always land enough to explain to me."

"You were fortunate."

"Yes, Grandfather. Before that there was M. Priedieu, the librarian at Mrs. Chattersworth's chвteau. He helped to form my literary taste."

"What books did he give you, may I ask?"

"Stendhal and Montaigne, Corneille and Racine, and of course Moliere."