Three times at least, and with an increased interval, the father
wrote fine fatherly letters that would have stood the test of
publication. Then his communications became comparatively hurried
and matter-of-fact. His boy's return home for the holidays was
always rather a stirring time for his private feelings, but he
became more and more inexpressive. He would sometimes lay a hand on
those growing shoulders and then withdraw it. They felt braced-up
shoulders, stiffly inflexible or--they would wince. And when one
has let the habit of indefinite feelings grow upon one, what is
there left to say? If one did say anything one might be asked
questions. . . .
One or two of the long vacations they spent abroad together. The
last of these occasions followed Benham's convalescence at Montana
and his struggle with the Bisse; the two went to Zermatt and did
several peaks and crossed the Theodule, and it was clear that their
joint expeditions were a strain upon both of them. The father
thought the son reckless, unskilful, and impatient; the son found
the father's insistence upon guides, ropes, precautions, the
recognized way, the highest point and back again before you get a
chill, and talk about it sagely but very, very modestly over pipes,
tiresome.
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