9207
UFUS GRIM [199] was not pleased with Vance’s management of the Gold
Bluff Prospector. A number of items had appeared in the columns of that
paper which tended to vindicate Steve Gibbons from all suspicion
or connection with the stage coach robbery. Grim considered this an
indirect thrust at himself. His money had made him a lion among the
people of Gold Bluff, but for some unaccountable reason he was unable to
secure Vance Gilder’s good opinion.
He secretly had an ambition to represent the people of Idaho in the
halls of congress, and felt it would never do to let matters go on with
his own town paper prejudiced against him. On several occasions he had
made overtures to Vance of a friendly nature, but had, invariably, been
repulsed. On one occasion he had endeavored to compliment Vance, and
told him patronizingly, in his uncouth, pompous way, that he was very
glad such a scholarly gentleman had charge of the Prospector, and that
he considered him the most refined and cultured gentleman in Gold Bluff.
[200] Vance had coldly replied, “It is an admirable thing, Mr. Grim,
to be a cultured and refined man, but it is far better to be a manly
man.” Grim had agreed with him, while Vance went quietly on setting
type. The rich miner was irritated at his own lack of words when in
Vance’s society. With others he was boastful as ever—bragged of his
gold, and in his own domineering way, attempted to subdue everything
with which he came in contact.
9208
Those who knew his home life best said he was afraid of his wife. She
was all formality, and Grim, in his way, honored her, and at the same
time, feared her. It was whispered that he found more pleasure in his
stepdaughter’s society than in his wife’s.
Bertha, with her handsome face and lisping speech, humored her
mother’s whims of formality, and tickled the uncouth vanity of her
step-father, on whose bounty she was dependent. She was an artful,
cooing, little woman, full of strategy and deceit, and hopelessly
untruthful. Her clandestine meetings with her cousin, Arthur Boast, were
numerous, while in her heart she felt an infatuation for Vance Gilder,
and was secretly intensely jealous of Louise Bonifield. Outwardly, she
courted Louise, and never missed an opportunity of calling her “her
own dear darling,” and telling her how very pretty she was.
In the early days of June Arthur Boast returned permanently to Gold
Bluff, and at first paid a great deal of attention to Louise, not as a
lover, but rather as a friend of the family, and by every artifice known
to his cunning endeavored to enlist her sympathy. He frequently [201]
observed that no one was his friend, and it pleased him to hear Louise
say that “she was his friend, and always had been.” He said nothing
derogatory of Vance’s character, but his insinuations were of a wicked
nature.
Vance was at a loss to understand why Boast had left Waterville,
especially as it was rumored that a great boom was going on at that
place.
One day Vance received a note from Arthur Boast asking him to call at
the hotel that evening. He said he was indisposed and could not leave
his room, otherwise he would call at the printing office.
It was after eight o’clock when Vance called at the hotel, and was at
once ushered into J. Arthur Boast’s room. He found Boast dressed as
elegantly as ever, in fact, he was scrupulously attired, and resting
on a divan. He seemed weak, and was quite pale. He no longer spoke in a
thin, piping voice, but in a quiet, manly way, that at once interested
Vance.
“I sent for you, Mr. Gilder, because I was lonely and wanted to
talk with you. I suppose you think I am supremely selfish in this, as
everything else, but I have been almost sick for the last week.”
“We are admonished to visit the sick,” said Vance, good-naturedly,
“and I am sure it is only natural that one indisposed should like
company.”
“It is very kind of you to come, I’m sure,” Boast went on, “I
have been worried a good deal about a certain misunderstanding that
seemingly exists between us.” Vance assured him that he knew of no
misunderstanding.
“No,” said Boast, “not an open misunderstanding; but then I feel
that you have misunderstood me from the [202] first, Mr. Gilder, and
perhaps, in a measure, I have done you the injustice of not always
interpreting your acts as I should have done. I do not know whether
there is any philosophy in the circumstances which seem to shape my life
or not.”
“We are told,” said Vance, “that in our strength and manhood we
should shape circumstances rather than let circumstances shape us.”
“That’s it,” said Boast, “the eternal trying to shape
circumstances brings on an endless conflict, not only between men, but a
conflict with one’s own self. I have almost made up my mind that it
is quite impossible for a man to shape his destiny. Now, as a matter
of fact, I respect you, Mr. Gilder, highly, and have confidence in your
ability and judgment. I think you are making a great success of the
Prospector. It is impossible,” he went on, “for me to tell you why
I have this confidence or this respect. I also know that you cordially
dislike me, but why, I do not know, and perhaps you could not tell
yourself.”
Vance was surprised at this philosophic turn of mind, and began to think
he had misunderstood J. Arthur Boast all along.
“I cannot help but feel complimented,” said Vance, “by your kind
words. I will admit that I have never stopped to analyze my feelings
very closely in regard to yourself, and will not deny that I have been
unable to discover any affinity between us. Perhaps I have misjudged
you. If so, I can do no less than make proper amends.”
“You speak [203] as if you would be my friend.” said Boast,
“friends with me are very scarce. My highest ambition has ever been
to make friends, and yet it requires no words of mine to tell you what
a miserable failure I have made of it all. I would like to be Rufus
Grim’s friend, but he won’t let me. He does everything he can to
influence my cousin, Bertha Allen, against me, but in that he is making
a complete failure. She is my friend,” said he with animation. “I
suppose you know that Mrs. Grim is very ill?”
“No,” said Vance; “I had not heard of it.”
“Yes, she has never been very rugged, and I understand her present
illness is of a very serious nature. She is so many years older than her
pompous lord and master, that it would not be surprising to hear of her
death at any time. Personally, I should regret it, not only on account
of my aunt, but also on account of Bertha. I dread to think what may
happen if my aunt should die.”
“You do not regard her sickness so seriously as that?” asked Vance.
“She is certainly very ill,” was Boast’s reply. “I would like
to go and see her, but I do not presume Rufus Grim would let me into the
house. But what I desired most to say,” continued Boast, brightening
up and changing the conversation, “is this: I would like to have you
be my friend. I wish to be yours.”
Vance was astonished, and for a moment could not reply. Finally he
said, “I cannot do less, Mr. Boast, than meet you half way in such a
laudable ambition, I am sure.”
“Ambition,” repeated Boast, “what a detestable word! I sometimes
think ambition has been the cause of all my misfortune. I have wanted
wealth all my life, but have not succeeded to any great extent. I ought
to be in Waterville now, selling town lots and lands. There’s [204]
great activity down there. I have the ambition but not the strength. You
may not know it, but my health is seriously impaired. I do not seem to
have any vitality.”
Vance expressed his sympathy, but Boast seemingly did not notice his
remarks, and said, “if a man has a clearly defined principle of life
to follow, why cannot he adhere to it?”
“I think he can,” replied Vance. “No life, in my judgment, has
ever been a success unless a well-defined principle of action is first
laid out, and then lived up to.”
“I wish I could believe your philosophy,” said Boast. “The dual
nature in me continually divides me.
9212
I go to sleep at night filled with the most laudable ambitions; I wake
up the next morning and pursue an entirely different course, and therein
lies the conflict—but I know, Mr. Gilder, I am boring you.”
Vance assured him that he was not, but soon afterward took his leave,
and as he walked along toward his home, he mused thoughtfully over his
interview with J. Arthur Boast. What a different light had been thrown
on his character! “Yes,” said he, “I will be his friend. I have
misunderstood him.”
The next morning the town was startled by the announcement that Mrs.
Grim was dead. The church bell tolled fifty-six times. Bertha Allen was
prostrated with grief, while the rich mine owner had the entire sympathy
of the people of Gold Bluff. Rufus Grim did nothing by halves, and there
could not have [205] been a more splendid show of grief than that for
which his arrangements provided.
The works on the Peacock were stopped, and the men, on full pay, invited
to the funeral. It was an imposing affair. The crape on Mr. Grim’s hat
was of the widest pattern, and jet studs took the place of his diamond.
His black suit fit his plump form well, and he seemed subdued with
genuine grief. Bertha Allen looked very fair and interesting in her
costume of black. She clung dependently to Mr. Grim’s arm during the
burial service, and looked unusually pretty, notwithstanding the marks
of grief and weeping upon her handsome face; indeed, she enlisted the
sympathy of all who saw her.
The following day work on the Peacock was started up again, and the
deep, resounding blasts down below the earth’s surface told of more
gold flowing towards the coffers of Rufus Grim.
The machinery in Gray Rocks mine had been behaving badly. Several big
breaks had occurred, and work had been delayed at one time for two
weeks. The days glided by, and October had come again. The rocks high
up the mountain, overlooking Gold Bluff, reflected the autumn sun,
while the forests on the mountain side were ablaze with fiery autumn
tints—nature’s superb clothing.
Colonel Bonifield had ceased, in part, to be the enthusiast of former
days. Perhaps he felt that he had passed his word to give up work
on Gray Rocks if disappointment should again reward his efforts, and
possibly it saddened him.
One evening Vance and Louise had called on Bertha Allen. She was
beautiful as ever, and lisped in sweet intonation. Her dress indicated
the grief that still rested [206] upon her. That evening, after her
callers had taken their leave, Rufus Grim joined Bertha in the parlor of
his luxuriant home. The weeks that had intervened since the death of his
wife had not made him entirely forget the proper melancholy tone which
formality, at least, demanded he should exhibit.
Bertha seemed frightened with some secret fear and anxiety. She knew too
well that a crisis in her life was approaching. Yes, Rufus Grim came to
declare himself.
He was confident, as he always was, of the result, nevertheless, there
was a timidity that prevented him from feeling the full assurance
that he would have liked. He sat down beside her, and after a few
common-place remarks, he said, in a voice low, yet audible: “Bertha, I
have something to say to you.”
“Yes,” she lisped innocently enough, and looked up into his face.
“What I have to say,” Grim went on, in a husky voice, “cannot be a
matter of news to you. You must know that I love you; yes, love you with
my whole heart.” His hands trembled and his voice was unsteady.
“You’ve always been so very kind to me,” lisped Bertha, and there
was gratitude in her voice.
“Heaven knows I have tried to be, and that I have guarded you with
jealous care ever since you were a little girl and came under my
protection.” He had taken her hands, but they were unresponsive. “No
man,” continued Grim, “could love you more than I have for many
years. Of course you knew what my feelings were—you must have known,
for have I ever failed to satisfy your every wish and want?”
[207] “Never,” murmured Bertha, as she leaned her head against his
breast
“Yes, I have protected you,” he went on, as he laid one arm about
her slender form, “I have kept you from the young scape-grace, your
cousin, Arthur Boast. I feared he was trying to make love to you, and
for that reason forbade him the house.”
0215
“Oh, how could you think such a thing?” said she, in her soft,
cooing way, yet with a half-indignant intonation in her voice.
[208] “Oh, I am perfectly content now,” replied Grim, and his old,
pompous air and manner of speech began to assert themselves. “Of
course I could not show you my heart in all its tenderness—I was
a husband and had to control myself—but now, it seems as if all
obstacles have been removed. Do you love me, Bertha? I have thought many
times that I could read my answer in your eyes, but I long to hear you
say so.”
“Yes,” whispered Bertha, “I love you so much.”
In his daily walks, Rufus Grim was an over-bearing, selfish man, but now
he was softened, and his emotion was very great. He looked tenderly and
longingly on the drooping head beside him, and was for a time completely
absorbed in the intensity of his love for the artful girl at his side.
Yes, she was fooling him. She was the affianced wife of J. Arthur Boast,
and yet she must play her part.
“And may I one day call you wife?” said Rufus Grim, pressing her
closely to him and kissing her reverently on the forehead. “Say in a
year from now,” he pleaded.
“Yes,” she lisped, gently pressing his hand, “it shall be as you
say.” As a matter of truth, she was mentally speculating how she could
get out of this horrible scrape. He had said in a year—that was a
long time. She would have ample opportunity to free herself in some way.
Arthur must help her.