The Still Small Voices

“Now I don’t want you to worry about a thing,” Roger Aldworth told his son, as he started for the little alcove in the dining room, where the telephone was. They were alone once more, and a steady rain was streaming down the narrow panes of the living room window, making little patches of mist; but Edward only half saw it. He was sitting on the sofa, his head bowed, his gaze fixed to the floor. “I’m going to tell Mr. Rydin this very minute,” his father added, “and everything will be all right.”

Edward lifted his head. “But Dad—don’t you think it’s too late? It’s almost five months now—”

“What difference does that make?” Roger Aldworth replied impatiently. He had broken his stride and seemed annoyed. “The new bank just opened up last week. He said you could wait until then.”

“I know, but—you don’t even know if Mr. Rydin still wants me.”

“Of course he wants you. Don’t talk nonsense. Why just the other day he mentioned how he had thought you would have worked out just fine at the new bank, and that it was too bad you had your heart so set on that other job in New York. That sounds as though he’s still interested, doesn’t it?” But his father didn’t wait for a reply. He continued walking.

“But what about his nephew?” Edward asked. He didn’t know how to convince his father, but he had to try. “He’s already got him down here from Chicago, for the job.”

“Yes, but—” his father said, strikingly irritable now, “he’s not satisfied with him. He told me so. He said the boy’s more trouble than he’s worth, that all he cares about is chasing girls. Personally, I think he’s just keeping him here temporarily, until he can find somebody more suitable for the position.”

“I don’t know, Dad…” Edward cast his eyes down again. “I don’t want to put anybody out of a job.”

“You won’t be putting anybody out of a job. I’m sure Mr. Rydin will find something else for his nephew to do. Anyway—it’s not as though he were hired for the job, you know.”

“I know,” Edward said, looking up once again, “but won’t it sound as though we’re begging now? I don’t want to have to beg for a job—”

“Why would we be begging?” His father raised his eyebrows in restraint now, and Edward could see that they were heading down that old familiar road again: Dissension. Where very little of what he had to say was heard by his father— “I’ll just tell Mr. Rydin that you changed your mind. Anybody can do that. I’m sure he’s done that many times himself. Besides, the job was offered to you first. We’ll only be asking for what is rightfully yours.”

Edward stared at his father a moment. “But I’ve already turned it down. Mr. Rydin knows I didn’t want to work at the bank any more.”

“Well, you’ll just have to convince him otherwise then,” Roger Aldworth said thornily. “I’m sure you’ll know what to say. They must have taught you something about protocol at Harvard.”

“I know what to say,” Edward returned slowly, “but it just doesn’t seem ethical.”

“Well…” Roger Aldworth looked at his son narrowly. “Sometimes you have to eat humble pie, Edward, when you’ve made a mistake. You’ll learn that, even as a lawyer.”