Chapter VI: J. J. Overbeck

HIS father was due to arrive on an early train Sunday morning, and Norman, having forgotten his alarm clock, had asked Mrs. Case that night if there was one about the house he could borrow. He explained that he had to meet his father at seven. “Rose will be up at six to give the baby his bottle,” she told him. “She’ll knock on your door at half-past six, and leave you a cup of coffee, if you like.” Norman protested that he couldn’t think of putting her to that trouble. But Mrs. Case said it would be no trouble; she made it for herself anyway.

When the knock came, he sleepily answered “Yes.” And not Mrs. Czermak’s but her younger sister’s voice answered cheerfully: “Here’s your coffee, Mr. Overbeck. And would you like to have me call you a taxi?”

“Yes, please do!” he said.

“All right. It’ll be here when you’re ready.”

He opened the door when she had gone, and brought in the tray she had left on the floor.

There was toast, too!

“What a nice family!” he thought gratefully.

He was at the station in plenty of time. Gilbert, it was agreed, would stay at his hotel until called for, or they would all meet for lunch. Norman watched the gate, and the stream of passengers. There was his father.... Gilbert’s story seemed perfectly incredible.

“Well, Father,” he said.

“Well, Norman.”

“Let me take your grip. Did you manage to get any sleep?”

“I slept pretty well. Where are you taking me?”

“We’ll have breakfast, and then I’ll take you to my room.”

“It’s not breakfast time for me yet. This is Sunday, you know. You’d better take me to your room first.”

“Certainly.”

In the taxi he said: “Does your job permit of your taking taxis like this?”

It was his kind of humor.

“Only for very distinguished visitors,” said Norman.

“I don’t know why Chicago is supposed to be such an ugly city,” said Norman’s father, presently. “I think it can hold up its head.”

“Michigan Avenue isn’t bad-looking,” said Norman.

They passed the Art Institute.

“Been buying any more pictures?” asked J. J. Overbeck.

That was probably humor, too.

“Not on my present salary. I get thirty a week at present,” said Norman.

“Thirty a week is not bad to start with,” said J. J. Overbeck. “I know young lawyers in Vickley who make less.”

There was a silence.

“What are you working at? If you don’t mind my knowing.”

“Not at all. Advertising. Wilkins and Freeman.”

“I’ve heard of them.”

Silence again.

“You neglected to pack a trunk when you left home. Your mother attended to it last night. It ought to be here to-morrow.” He took a stub out of his vest pocket and gave it to his son.

“Thanks.”

He would have liked to have his father say something more about his mother, and how she felt about all this. But he would not ask. And his father made no further reference to the family.

“All right,” thought Norman, “who cares?”

The taxi drew up presently at the curb.

“Here’s where I live.”

He took his father to his room. The bed had been made, and there was a vase of flowers on the table. To be sure, a visit from the baby’s grandfather was an important occasion. They were being damn’ nice to him, these people.... Tears came into his eyes.

Father and son sat down.

“Comfortable place,” said Norman’s father.

“Yes. Very.”

“And--where do you keep the baby?”

So his father assumed--for Gilbert hadn’t told him--that the baby would be here! Of course--since that was what Norman had left home for.... Well, he was right....

“Upstairs,” said Norman. “I’ll find out if we can see him now.”

He went out in search of Mrs. Czermak. The younger sister was in the hall, apparently waiting.

“Is he ready to see the baby now?” she asked eagerly.

“Yes, if he may.”

“He’s in our room--the big room. You can go on up, any time.”

“Thank you.”

He went back. “We can go right up,” he told his father.

He led the way to the upstairs room. Outside the door he started to say something, in an ordinary tone of voice, but his father silenced him with an abrupt, authoritative gesture. “You’ll wake him up,” he said in a low tone.

J. J. Overbeck opened the door quietly, and went in. Mrs. Czermak was there, with a white cap and apron on. She came forward pleasantly, but J. J. Overbeck ignored her. He went past her straight to the crib, stooped over and looked at the sleeping baby. The morning sunlight, pouring in, lighted up his pink face with its grey side-whiskers, bent over the crib. Norman came closer. His father remained stooped in that way for a full minute. Then he uncovered the baby’s plump hand, and felt of it. Then the feet, in their tiny socks. Norman looked up to see whether Mrs. Czermak approved of these liberties. Apparently she did. She was looking on with quiet satisfaction. Her mother, and the younger sister, who had slipped into the room, were beaming.

Then, deliberately and with assurance, J. J. Overbeck lifted the baby from the crib and held it in his arms. It slept on. J. J. Overbeck, not paying any attention to the others, marched slowly around the room, twice. Then he went back to the crib, and laid the baby down gently, and covered it up. Then he turned and walked quietly out of the room.

Norman followed him.

In Norman’s room, his father took out a cigar, and offered one, saying: “Not that it’s good for any one’s digestion, to smoke before breakfast.”

“I’d rather have a cigarette, if you don’t mind,” said Norman.

They sat down.

“Have you made a new will?” his father asked.

“Why, no,” said Norman,--remembering what Dr. Zerneke had told him as to the sensible way of proceeding in this affair.

“You’d better, right away. That’s the thing to do. We can get Gilbert Rand to help us draw it up to-day.”

Yes, Dr. Zerneke had said that he was to make up with his father, and then make the child his heir....

“I suppose I’d better,” he said.

“Have you named him?”

“His mother--named him Norman.”

Doubtless it would be politic to suggest calling him James Norman.... But he wasn’t going to.

“Norman.” His father nodded thoughtfully.

There was a long silence, while J. J. Overbeck smoked.

“I’m not going to change the firm name,” he said, with an air of finality.

Norman frowned in a puzzled way.

“I’m not expecting to come back,” he said.

“I wasn’t suggesting that precisely,” said his father. “I hope you will find the advertising business agreeable. But I still think I shall let the firm name stand as it is. To do otherwise would seem a concession to vulgar prejudice.”

As he spoke, he glanced thoughtfully over Norman’s head. At the ceiling, one would have said. But Norman’s mind followed that glance through plaster and flooring to the upstairs room and the cradle. Was that what his father was thinking of? A day in the future when, if he lived that long, he should see another Overbeck in the firm?

(“Not if I know it!” thought Norman.)

“Now, as to financial arrangements,” said his father. “Of course, I expect you to take care of yourself. But for the child--and for any emergencies--there’ll be a thousand dollars in the bank that you can draw on this year if you should need it. It will be put in a savings account, in your son’s name, you understand.”

Norman resolved never to touch it.... But he must not offend his father.

“It’s very good of you,” he said stiffly.

J. J. Overbeck rose. “It’s time for breakfast,” he said. “We’ll go to the hotel and rout out Gilbert Rand.”