Evan Connell - Mr. Bridge

“I’m sure she’s doing her best. Her grades are quite good, really.”

“They should be better. She ought to be at the head of her class in the university just as she was in high school. She has the brains for it.”

“She certainly does.”

“There is no excuse for her behavior. If there is one thing on this earth that exasperates me it is seeing some person fail to make use of his or her natural ability. She is five times as bright as most of the kids in that university and she is not making use of it. Instead, she spends all her time chasing around with somebody we never heard of and know nothing about.”

“I don’t believe she spends all of her time with him.”

“Who is the boy?”

“Don’t glare at me, if you please. I’m not responsible.”

“I don’t know the first thing about that boy. Where did she meet him?”

“Why didn’t you ask her instead of simply giving her the dickens? She would have told you if you had asked. All you did was shout at her. No wonder she was upset.”

“She is too young to think about getting married. Young people today have no idea what they’re getting into. They think they can go ahead and marry as soon as they feel like it. It isn’t as simple as that. There are children, for one thing.”

“You needn’t tell me,” said Mrs. Bridge.

“What in God’s name does the boy think he’s going to do after he gets out of school. Does he expect me to support him?”

“Walter, really!”

“How do we know? If she cares for this boy why is she afraid to bring him here so we can have a look at him?”

“You’re not being fair. Carolyn says he works in the dean’s office when he’s not in class, and it’s an awfully long drive here. Besides, you can’t expect her to march the poor boy into the living room for your inspection.”

“If she expects my permission — now or any time in the future — that’s what she is going to do. Young people today have no sense of responsibility. It wasn’t like that when I was a kid. I was attracted to several young women before I met you, and I made it a point to meet their parents. I didn’t go skulking around behind their backs.”

Mrs. Bridge smiled.

“I don’t know what amuses you,” he said querulously, “but I didn’t, and that is a fact.”

“I’ve never seen you this way.”

“I would be a very poor father if I allowed my children to do whatever they pleased. I am looking out for Carolyn’s welfare. When I was a boy I used to think I was entitled to do as I wished, and I resented the authority of my parents. Now I realize they were correct.”

“Let’s not talk about it anymore,” she said, and patted his cheek. “Carolyn will keep her promise to return the ring, and perhaps that will be the end of it.”

The next afternoon Mr. Bridge was at his desk studying the mail when the door to the outer office opened as if it had been hit by a windstorm and there stood a gaunt, ugly college boy with tangled hair and protruding yellow teeth. He was breathing like a horse. Apparently he had run up the steps instead of waiting for the elevator. The brown-and-white saddle shoes, the sweater — he could not be anything except a college boy. Julia, greatly excited, was tugging at his sleeve with a frantic expression, but he was not paying much attention to her.

Mr. Bridge considered him for several moments. Then he said: “I believe I have a fairly good idea who you are. I do not intend to talk to you. Not today and not tomorrow. So you turn around and high-tail it back where you came from. Do you understand? Because if you do not I shall send for the police.” To emphasize this he placed one hand on the telephone.

The boy did not move.

“Get out. Get out of my office,” Mr. Bridge said. “I will not tolerate such behavior.” But as he looked into the narrow blue eyes he could see that the boy was difficult to intimidate.

“Julia,” he said, “you may leave us alone. I’ll take care of the situation.” He waited until the door closed. Then he put down the letter he had been reading and he leaned forward, pointing at the boy.

“Yes, I know who you are. Furthermore, I know your type. Universities are jam-packed with opportunists. Well, let me tell you something, young man. If you think for one minute that you are going to marry my daughter you’d better think again.”

“I’ll make her a damn fine husband,” the boy said. He was getting his breath back.

“I don’t like anything about you,” Mr. Bridge said. “But if you want to sit down for a few minutes, you may.”

The boy settled himself in the chair beside the desk. “I haven’t got any money,” he remarked as though it was something of a joke. “I guess she’s already told you.”

He had nothing to recommend himself, except the fact that he was unafraid. This, and the idea that he loved Carolyn. He was homely and he was poor. Nor did he appear to be the sort who cared a great deal about earning money. He was not unintelligent, but on the other hand he was not exceptional. He had the curious shaggy quality of a boy from a small town. This could wear off after twenty years, or it might mark him forever. That would depend on the boy himself. But it was plain enough now, and while there was nothing shameful about coming from a small community, still it was no asset. How would he look at the country club? He might be ludicrous. At the moment, with his teeth and his farm-boy hair and his conviction that he and Carolyn were meant for each other, he was as naive as a Kansas boy could be. What was there to recommend him as a husband for Carolyn — who was highly intelligent, attractive, and who would eventually inherit some thousands of dollars. What could this boy offer in exchange? Love? Perhaps. It was too soon to tell. Neither of them could know if they were in love until many years had passed. What else had he? Nothing except the desire of youth, which could be found on any corner, together with the fact that he was not easy to frighten.

“You seem to be under the impression that whatever you want, you are entitled to have,” Mr. Bridge said.

He grinned and shook his head. “No. She’s all.”

“Young man, you presume a great deal.”

“We’re going to get married, Mr. Bridge.”

“Not without my permission you are not.”

“You can’t stop us.”

“We’ll see about that.”

“I’m going to have her. One way or another.”

“Carolyn is too young to consider marriage. She will complete her education before she does anything else. As for you, your time is up. I have been more than lenient with you. Now you make tracks out of here.”

“I didn’t come all the way from Lawrence just so you could kick me out, so don’t pull that stuff on me.”

“You have three seconds to start moving.”

“One, two, three. Bull!” the boy said, lifting three fingers. “Cork told me your folks lived in Sugar Creek.”

It was after dark when they left the office. Gil Davis said he ought to be catching the bus to Lawrence, but Mr. Bridge invited him to spend the night at the house. There was room enough, and it was time he met Mrs. Bridge.

Julia had worked in the office from the beginning, and he had never forgotten how attractive she was when he first saw her. She had seemed much too young to be an experienced legal secretary, but there was nothing wrong with her references so he had taken a chance. Through the years she had done her work well and every night she rode home on the bus to the crumbling, stone apartment building just off Valentine Road, unless they had worked late. Then he drove her home.