Free East Side Story by Louis Auchincloss Page B

however happily rare, were illuminating as to the persistent existence of a darker reality behind the brighter appearance of daily life. Papa's temper was like a thinly smoking Vesuvius over a seemingly benign Pompeii. A large portly gentleman with a protruding pot and strong stubborn features that had once been handsome, Wallace Carnochan had gruff kindly manners and a charming courtesy, even in addressing his children, toward whom he usually maintained an attitude of mildly detached benevolence. Indeed, he appeared to manifest this detachment for many things besides his offspring; no one knew just what preoccupied him in those long, silent sessions in his study, where he was supposed to be poring over business reports or reading his beloved Gibbon or Macaulay. Sometimes Gordon or his sisters, standing outside the closed door, would hear the clink of a decanter against a glass, but the clinker never betrayed the least symptom of inebriation. His favorite sport was fishing in the Maine woods, but this, of course, was just another form of isolation. The only advice that he ever gave to Gordon when the latter was about to matriculate at Yale was a terse "Just remember that you're a gentleman and the son of a gentleman."
    Wallace had one ugly burst of temper that particularly affected his son. Of Uncle James's sons, David Carnochan and his "Irish twin" Andy (they were born just under a year apart) were closest to Gordon. David, the undisputed leader of the trio—Andy was only his plump and amiable, dirty-talking sidekick—had the big nose of the Carnochans, craftily innocent blue eyes, and a long, equine face capable of a serene air of attention as the masque of a cleverly manipulative brain. It was generally conceded in the family that David, even more than his older or younger siblings, was the one to "keep an eye on." He had the look of a boy who would go far.
    When David and Gordon were eleven and ten, Gordon found himself greatly coveting a toy of David's, the small replica of a steam yacht sent him for Christmas by rich Uncle John Muir in Glasgow. It had been a more expensive gift than any others sent from across the sea, for David had already shown a premature perspicacity in making up to the baronet on his annual visit to New York, but he had already tired of the toy, as he was quickly apt to do with new possessions, and was now himself casting an acquisitive eye on the prize of Gordon's collection, the model of a Madison Avenue streetcar. A swap was soon effected, but two days later Gordon's new yacht fell apart. It had been previously smashed in a fall from its table and cleverly glued together by its former owner.
    Instead of facing his cousin indignantly with the charge of fraud, Gordon sought desperately in his mind to excuse him. He could not bear to think that a friend and cousin would treat him so shabbily. It was suddenly vital to him that David should remain what he had always taken him to be. And might not the transaction simply be a lesson in American business as it was daily transacted? Was that not what his father meant by the
caveat emptor
he always quoted to his mother when she went shopping? David had never told him that the vessel was damaged, but hadn't it been Gordon's duty to inspect it? So he remained silent, knowing that David would certainly never mention it or even ask to see the broken toy when he came to visit.
    But this was not the end of the story. Sir John arrived on his annual visit to inspect his American markets, and David's father told his sons to have all their gifts from the baronet ready to be prominently seen if the great man chose to ascend to the nursery. David protested that he could not find the vital toy, but, under pressure, admitted to seeing it in Gordon's home. He implied that Gordon must have swiped it, and denied any knowledge of a trade. Never, he insisted loudly, would he have voluntarily parted with a gift from his beloved uncle. The ruined toy was retrieved and