nearly twenty years later—that is to say, not long since—i had a glimpse of mr. alpha at a saturday lunch. do not imagine that mr. alpha’s saturday lunch took place in a miserable garret, amid every circumstance of failure and shame. success in life has very little to do with prudence. it has a great deal to do with courage, initiative, and individual force, and also it is not unconnected with sheer luck.

mr. alpha had succeeded in life, and the lunch at which i assisted took place in a remarkably spacious and comfortable house surrounded by gardens, greenhouses, garages, stables, and all the minions necessary to the upkeep thereof. mr. alpha was a jolly, a kind-hearted, an immensely clever, and a prolific man. i call him prolific because he had five children. there he was, with his wife and the five children; and they were all enjoying the lunch and themselves to an extraordinary degree. it was a delight to be with them.

it is necessarily a delight to be with people who are intelligent, sympathetic and lively, and who have ample money to satisfy their desires. somehow you can hear the gold chinking, and the sound is good to the human ear. even the youngest girl had money in her nice new purse, to do with it as she liked. for mr. alpha never stinted. he was generous by instinct, and he wanted everybody to be happy. in fact, he had turned out quite an unusual father. at the same time he fell short of being an absolute angel of acquiescence and compliance. for instance, his youngest child, a girl, broached the subject of music at that very lunch. she was fourteen, and had shown some of her father’s cleverness at a school musical examination. she was rather uplifted about her music.

“can’t i take it up seriously, dad?” she said, with the extreme gravity of her years.

“of course,” said he. “the better you play, the more we shall all be pleased. don’t you think we deserve some reward for all we’ve suffered under your piano-practising?”

she blushed.

“but i mean seriously,” she insisted.

“well, my pet,” said he, “you don’t reckon you could be a star pianist, do you? fifteen hundred dollars a concert, and so on?” and, as she was sitting next to him, he affectionately pinched her delicious ear.

“no,” she admitted. “but i could teach. i should like to teach.”

“teach!” he repeated the word in a changed tone. “teach! what in heaven’s name should you want to teach for? i don’t quite see a daughter of mine teaching.”

no more was said on the subject.

the young woman and i are on rather confidential terms.

“it is a shame, isn’t it?” she said to me afterwards, with feeling.

“nothing to be done?” i inquired.

“nothing,” said she. “i knew there wasn’t before i started. the dad would never hear of me earning my own living.”

the two elder girls—twins—had no leaning towards music, and no leaning towards anything save family affection and social engagements. they had a grand time, and the grander the time they had the keener was the delight of mr. alpha in their paradisaical existence. truly he was a pearl among fathers. the children themselves admitted it, and children can judge. the second son wished to be a painter. many a father would have said, “i shall stand none of this nonsense about painting. the business is there, and into the business you’ll go.” but not mr. alpha. what mr. alpha said to his second son amounted to this: “i shall be charmed for a son of mine to be a painter. go ahead. don’t worry. don’t hurry. i will give you an ample allowance to keep you afloat through the years of struggle. you shall not be like other beginners. you shall have nothing to think of but your profession. you shall be in a position to wait. instead of you running after the dealers, you shall comfortably bide your time until the dealers run after you.”

this young man of eighteen was precocious and extravagant.

“i say, mater,” he said, over the cheese, “can you lend me fifty dollars?”

mr. alpha broke in sharply:

“what are you worrying your mother about money for? you know i won’t have it. and i won’t have you getting into debt either.”

“well, dad, will you buy a picture from me?”

“do me a good sketch of your mother, and i’ll give you fifty dollars for it.”

“cash in advance?”

“yes—on your promise. but understand, no debts.”

the eldest son, fitly enough, was in the business. not, however, too much in the business. he put in time at the office regularly. he was going to be a partner, and the business would ultimately descend to him. but the business wrinkled not his brow. mr. alpha was quite ready to assume every responsibility and care. he had brains and energy enough, and something considerable over. enough over, indeed, to run the house and grounds. mrs. alpha could always sleep soundly at night secure in the thought that her husband would smooth away every difficulty for her. he could do all things so much more efficiently than she could, were it tackling a cook or a tradesman, or deciding about the pattern of flowers in a garden-bed.

at the finish of the luncheon the painter, who had been meditative, suddenly raised his glass.

“ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, with solemnity, “i beg to move that father be and hereby is a brick.”

“carried nem. con.,” said the eldest son.

“loud cheers!” said the more pert of the twins.

and mr. alpha was enchanted with his home and his home-life.

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