I gave away a
great deal in charity--I indulged myself very little at first. All
the money that was not spent on Alan I tried to do good with. But
gradually, as my boy grew up, the problem became more complicated.
How was I to protect Alan from the contamination I had let him live
in? I couldn't preach by example--couldn't hold up his father as a
warning, or denounce the money we were living on. All I could do was
to disguise the inner ugliness of life by making it beautiful
outside--to build a wall of beauty between him and the facts of
life, turn his tastes and interests another way, hide the _Radiator_
from him as a smiling woman at a ball may hide a cancer in her
breast! Just as Alan was entering college his father died. Then I
saw my way clear. I had loved my husband--and yet I drew my first
free breath in years. For the _Radiator_ had been left to Alan
outright--there was nothing on earth to prevent his selling it when
he came of age. And there was no excuse for his not selling it. I
had brought him up to depend on money, but the paper had given us
enough money to gratify all his tastes. At last we could turn on the
monster that had nourished us. I felt a savage joy in the thought--I
could hardly bear to wait till Alan came of age. But I had never
spoken to him of the paper, and I didn't dare speak of it now. Some
false shame kept me back, some vague belief in his ignorance. I
would wait till he was twenty-one, and then we should be free.
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