CHAPTER XIVBED-ROCK
It took the Colonel a week to raise the money. He did it by selling the second of his South Park houses. The sale being a hurried one of property already well on the decline, the house realized less than, even in the present state of eclipse, it was worth. Five years before it had been appraised at fifteen thousand dollars. To-day the best offer he could get was nine.
He placed the money in the bank, the five thousand to stay there till June had decided more definitely on her movements. The remainder he would leave on deposit to his own account. June, in Europe, with five thousand dollars to her fortune, was not beyond the circle of his sense of responsibility. Some one must have money to give her when she needed it, as she certainly would. Her habits of economy had long ago been sloughed off with her faded cotton dresses and her country-made boots. Rosamund would be able to give her a home, but there must be some one somewhere upon whom she could make a demand for funds.
There was no need now for the Colonel to study his accounts. He knew them through and through. There was so little to know. The shut-down minein Shasta and his mortgage on the Folsom Street house were all that was left to him. On the day that the sale of the South Park house was decided upon he wrote to Rion Gracey, asking him for a position, any overground position that the owners of the Cresta Plata thought he would suit. It was a hard letter to write. He was nearly sixty, and he had never, since his youth, asked any one for anything for himself. But one must live, “G. T.’s widow” had to be considered, not to mention June, living in England and having to be dressed as June should always be dressed.
Two days later the details of the sale were completed and the money deposited. Late that afternoon the Colonel, clad carefully in the shiny coat June had caught him brushing, went across town to Folsom Street. He had done what she had asked and all was ready.
The servant told him she was confined to her room with a bad cold, and after a few minutes’ wait in the hall, he was conducted up stairs, and found her lying on a sofa in the great front room, with its lofty ceiling and tall, heavily draped windows. The sofa was drawn up before a small fire that sent a fluctuating glow over her face, flushed with a slight fever, and burnished the loose coil of brown hair that crowned her head. She had a heavy cold, her voice was hoarse, her words interrupted at intervals by a cough. She was delighted to see him, sitting up among the cushions on which she reclined to hold out her hand, and rallying him on the length of time since his last visit.
“But I’ve been busy,” he said, drawing a chair upto the foot of the sofa, “busy over your affairs, young woman.”
“My affairs,” she answered, looking puzzled; then with sudden comprehension, “Oh, the money!”
“That’s it,” he nodded, “the money. Well, it’s all ready and waiting for you in the bank. When you want it we’ll open an account for you, or buy a letter of credit with it, or make whatever arrangement seems best. Anyway, there it is whenever you want to go.”
“Oh, Uncle Jim!” she breathed. “And now what do you think’s happened?”
“What?” he asked with suddenly arrested attention. It was on his mind that startling things might be expected to happen in the Allen household at any moment.
“I’m not going!”
“You’re not going? Junie, don’t tell me that!”
The joy in his voice and eyes was transfiguring in its sudden radiance.
He left his chair and sat down on the end of the sofa near her feet, leaning toward her, pathetically eager to hear.
“I’ve changed my mind,”—a gleam of her old coquetry brightened her face. “Isn’t that one of the privileges of my sex?”
“What made you change it? Good Lord, dearie, I’m so glad!”
“I’ll tell you all about it. There are several threads to this story. In the first place Rosamund didn’t like it. She thought it was queer for me to go to Europe alone and leave father, and just before herwedding, too. She wouldn’t hear of my not being at the wedding. But the other reason was more the real one.”
She sat up, her elbow in the cushions, her head on her hand, the fingers in her loosened hair. Her eyes on the fire were melancholy and contemplative.
“You remember what I said to you about not being able to live here any longer? How I couldn’t stand it? Well, father’s going to Virginia City.”
“What difference does that make? He’s been going there for years.”
“Yes, but to live I mean. To take us and make our home there. That’s the reason I’ve changed my mind. I needn’t go so far as Europe. We’re all going to leave California and live in Nevada.”
The Colonel was astonished. He was prepared for strange actions on Allen’s part, but a bodily family removal to Virginia when his affairs were in so complicated a condition was unlooked for, and incomprehensible. And why had not Allen spoken to him of it? When in town they saw each other almost daily on Pine and Montgomery Streets.
“Isn’t it a very sudden decision of your father’s?” he asked. “He had no idea of it last week. You didn’t know it when you came to see me that day, did you?”
“I didn’t know of it till two days ago. It’s all happened in a minute. Father himself didn’t know it. I was still thinking about going away and arguing with Rosamund about it, when he came and told us he’d decided to move to Nevada, that he had more business there than here, and it would be much cheaperhaving one house in Virginia than for him to be up there, with us down here in San Francisco. What made it particularly easy and convenient was that some one wants to buy the house.”
This was a second shock, but there was illumination in it. The listener felt now that he was getting to the heart of the matter.
“Buy the house!” he ejaculated. “This house?”
“Yes, this house. I’ve forgotten the man’s name. Some one from Sacramento wants to buy it just as it stands, with the furniture and everything. It’s not a very good offer, but property’s gone down here, as it has all over this side of town, and father says it’s not bad, considering that it makes it so much easier for us to go.”
He was, for the moment, too astonished to make any comments. She spoke as though the sale was decided on, the move settled. He knew that neither of the sisters was aware of the mortgage he held on the property, and he listened to her in staring silence as she went on:
“So that’s why I’m not going to Europe. Virginia’s far enough away from San Francisco. I’ll—I’ll—not see them up there or hear about it as I would down here. And then there was another reason that’s made me glad to stay. When I thought of leaving you and Rosamund—it was so hard—too hard! I don’t seem to be one of those independent women who can go about the world alone far away from the people they love. I’d leave my roots behind me, deep down in the ground I came from. I don’t think I could ever pull them up. And if I tried andpulled too hard they’d break, and then I suppose I’d wither up and die.”
She turned her eyes from the fire to him. She was smiling slightly, her face singularly sad under the smile. He looked at her and said softly:
“My girl!”
He sat on with her for a space, discussing the move and making plans. With some embarrassment he told her of the fact that he had written to Rion Gracey, applying for a position. The thought that he would be in Virginia called the first real color of life and pleasure into her face that he had seen there for weeks. He saw that the excitement of the move, the hope of change from the environment in which she had so suffered, had had a bracing and cheering effect on her. It was evident that she had set her heart on going. Despite her cold and general air of sickly fragility she was more like herself, showed more of her old vivacity and interest, than she had done since the night of the Davenport ball.
On his way down the stairs he decided, if Allen was not in, to wait for him in the sitting-room. But as he reached the stair-foot a faint film of cigar smoke and the more pungent reek of whisky floated from the open doorway, and told him that the master of the house was already there.
Allen was sitting by the table, a decanter and glass near his elbow, his cigar poised in a waiting hand, as he listened to the descending footsteps. The Chinaman had told him that Colonel Parrish had called to see June, and Allen stationed himself by the doorway to catch the visitor on his way out.
“That you, Jim?” he called, as the footfall neared the end of the flight. “Glad you came. Drop in here for a minute before you go. I’ve something I want to talk to you about.”
The Colonel entering, noticed that the other was even more flushed than he usually was at this hour, and that his glance was evasive, his manner constrained. He pushed his cigar-case across the table with a hand that was unsteady, and tried to cover his embarrassment by the strident jocularity of his greeting. The Colonel, sitting down on the arm of a heavy leather chair, did not beat about the bush.
“What’s this June’s been telling me,” he said, “about you all moving to Virginia? Since when have you decided on that?”
“Only a day or two ago. I was going around to see you to-morrow, about it, if you hadn’t come this afternoon. I’ve about made up my mind to go. My business is all up there now. There’s no sense living in Virginia two-thirds of the time and running a house down here.”
“How about Rosamund’s wedding?” the Colonel asked.
“Have it up there. You can have a wedding in Virginia just as well as you can in San Francisco. I can rent a house—a first-rate house, furnished and all ready, and give her just as good a send-off as any girl in California. That’s what I calculate to do. It’ll require money up there or down here, but that’s an expense that’s got to be.”
“June says you’ve had an offer for this house. Who made it, and what’s he offered?”
Allen leaned forward to knock off the ash of his cigar on the tray beside him.
“That’s what I wanted to see you about,” he said slowly. “Yes, I’ve had an offer. It’s from a man named Spencer from Sacramento. Just come down here to settle. He’s got a big family, and wants a good sized house and garden for the kids to play in. Fashionable locality doesn’t count for much with him. He’s offered twenty-five thousand down for the place as it stands, furniture and all.”
There was a slight pause and the speaker added:
“It’s what decided me to go to Virginia, get rid of this—and—and—get some ready money. I’m pretty close to the ragged edge, Jim.”
“I don’t see how it’s going to benefit you,” said the Colonel. “My mortgage and the interest for two years back, paid in full, doesn’t leave you much more than your fares to Virginia.”
Allen got up, walked a few steps away, then came back and stood by the Colonel’s chair. His face was deeply flushed, but it had lost its embarrassed air. He looked resolute and determined.
“Jim,” he said doggedly, “I’ve got to have that money.”
“Beau Allen,” said the Colonel in the same tone, “by what right do you dare to say that to me?”
For a silent moment they eyed each other, then the elder man went on:
“Twenty-five years ago you stole my sweetheart. Four years ago you tried to steal my land and I gave it to you, because you had a wife and two helpless children; and now you’re trying to steal my house.”
“I’ve got the same right as I had before,” said the other, “I’ve still got two helpless children.”
“Am I to be robbed to provide for your children?”
“You’re using pretty strong words, Jim, but you’ve had provocation. You’ve met bad usage at my hands and you’ve given back good. Give it back once more, for the last time. Give it back for the sake of my two girls. They’re as helpless now as they ever were, and God knows I’m as unable to help them.”
“Why should I keep on providing for your children? You’re their father, younger than I, and as able-bodied. Four years ago I put you on your feet when I gave you the Parrish Tract. You’ve had your chances, the best I could give you. I’m on the ragged edge too. I’m sixty years old and I’ve had to apply for a position.”
“Listen to me, Jim,” with desperate urgence. “Let me have this money till after Rosamund’s marriage. Let me have fifteen thousand dollars of it. So help me God, I’ll invest the rest in your name in any securities you mention. Don’t you see I’ve got to have money till after that? I can’t let Harrower know we’re bust.Youthink he doesn’t care. But I tell you he does. What’s going to happen to Rosamund if he throws her over at the last moment?”
The Colonel was silent, looking at the ash tray from beneath down-drawn, bushy brows. Allen close at his elbow continued with fevered intensity:
“Rosamund’s wrapped up, body and soul, in that man. What’s she going to do if he backs out? And you know him; you’ve seen the kind he is, daft about his family and his ancient, honorable name. Evenif he doesn’t want money with her do you think he, with his ancestors’ portraits hanging on the walls, wants to marry a girl whose father’s a busted mining speculator—in debt all round, who hasn’t got the means to buy his daughter a decent dress to get married in? Look at June! Are the futures of both my daughters going to be ruined because I’m broke? Good God, Parrish, you care for them! You can’t now, when you see what June’s been brought to, stand in the way of Rosamund’s happiness.”
The Colonel sat looking at the ash tray for a frowning moment, then he said:
“What have you done with the spring? If there had been no mineral on the land the spring would have brought you an income for years.”
“I sold the land with the spring on it, after the Crown Point collapse. Blake, the hotel man in San José, bought it, and is building a hotel up there now. That’s the past. I’m not defending it, nor my life between then and now. I’m talking of my children. Put me, and what I am, out of the question. It’s my two girls that count just now.”
The Colonel rose, and walking to the fireplace, stood there with his elbow on the mantel-piece, looking down at the small fire that glowed in the grate. Allen by the table watched him with anxious, waiting eyes.
“I’ve got chances in Virginia,” he said. “Living on the spot there’s a different proposition from running back and forth like this. The Maybough properties that I’m interested in are looking pretty promising. Inside of a year, if they turn out as we expect, I may be able to pay you the whole sum back.”
The Colonel gave a suppressed sound, short and scornful, but did not raise his head. The other went on.
“Fifteen thousand will carry us to Virginia and over the wedding. Harrower’s to be back in the spring and they’ll be married as soon as he comes. Spencer wants the house in January or February. That will just about fit in. We can go to Virginia as soon as the sale’s completed and have everything ready and in shape by the time Harrower gets here. And it will be better for June, too, better to get her out of all this. She feels pretty bad, poor little girl! One of the reasons that makes me so keen about selling the place and leaving is to get her away from all this talk about Barclay and that Gracey girl.”
The Colonel, without raising his eyes, said:
“You’ll want the whole twenty-five thousand.”
“No—no—” said Allen with undisguised eagerness, hope illuminating his face, “fifteen will do, though of course twenty would be better. Fifteen ought to carry us well along into the summer, and by that time the Maybough should be paying. There’ll be the wedding and the trousseau. Of course twenty would be better, but if you’ll let me have the fifteen I can do it. I’ll invest the other ten any way you may say and—”
He stopped as the Colonel turned from the fire with a short laugh.
“Sell the house,” he said, “and take it all.”
“What?—” Allen did not quite dare to believe it.
“Sell the house. See Spencer as soon as you can, and I’ll give you satisfaction of the mortgage.”
“Jim!” the other ejaculated, and held out a shaking hand.
But the Colonel brushed by it and passed into the hall, where his hat and coat hung. Allen followed him, trying to talk, but he stopped the feeble words of gratitude. Standing under the hall lamp, the light falling on his white hair, he said,
“There’s no thanks between you and me. If it wasn’t for your daughters I’d see you standing on the corner begging for nickels and not drop one in your tin cup. And you know it. You know, too, what I feel about them, and why I feel it. You know I’d do it again if I had the money. But I haven’t. There’s not much more to be got out of me. You’ve about sucked me dry.”
The night was clear and he walked home, slowly and lingeringly by a circuitous route of cross-streets. At first he paced onward in an absorbed reverie, his eyes down, striking the cracks in the pavement with the tip of his cane. Presently he looked up above the housetops, at the widths of sky sown with great, calm stars. It was early night; only the larger stars were visible. Once or twice as he walked on looking up, he laughed, a short, dry laugh, at himself and the follies he had committed.
When he reached his own room in the Traveler’s Hotel he found Rion’s answer to his letter. Standing under the feeble light that fell from the sitting-room chandelier he read it. It was short, for Rion was but a poor correspondent. The position of assistant secretary of the Cresta Plata would be vacant on January first. The Gracey boys would be flattered if one ofJames Parrish’s reputation and position would care to fill it. The salary would be five hundred dollars a month.
The Colonel turned the letter over, eying it. The heaviness of his spirit was lightened. Through the few lines he seemed to feel the strong grip of the mining man’s hand, to meet the searching look of his keen, honest eyes. They would all be together in Virginia—not such a bad beginning for a new life at sixty.
END OF BOOK II