Next morning Keith allayed what little uneasiness his conscience might
harbour by remarking, as he adjusted his collar:
"Mrs. Morrell is an amusing type, don't you think? She's a bit vulgar,
but she seems good hearted. Wonder what colour her hair used to be?"
"I suppose they are all right," said Nan. "They are a little rowdy.
They gave me a headache."
Illogically rehabilitated in his own self-esteem, Keith went on
dressing. He was "on" to Mrs. Morrell; her methods were pretty obvious.
Wonder if she thought she had really fooled him? Next time he would be
on guard and beat her at her own game. She was not a woman to his
taste, anyway--he glanced admiringly at Nan's clean profile against the
light--but she was full of vitality, she was keen, she was brimming
with the joy of life.
The long drive over the Peninsula to the sea and back, the episode of
the Spanish people, the rowdy supper party, had one effect, however: it
had made so decided a break in the routine that Keith found himself
thrust quite outside it. He had worked feverishly all the week, at
about double speed; and in ordinary course would have gone on working
feverishly at double speed for another week. Now, suddenly, the thought
was irksome. He did not analyze this; but, characteristically,
discovered an irrefutable reason for not going on with it. They rescued
Gringo from Sam's care, and drove up to the house. On the way Keith
said:
"Look here, Nan; do you suppose you and Wing can get on all right this
morning? All the heavy work is done. I really ought to be settling the
office and getting some lines laid for business."
"Why, of course we can get on, silly!" she rejoined. "This isn't your
job, anyway. Of course you ought to attend to your business."
Keith again consulted Palmer, Cook & Co. The same clerk showed him
offices. He was appalled at the rents. Even a miserable little back
room in the obscurer blocks commanded a sum higher than he had
anticipated paying. After looking at a dozen, he finally decided on a
front room in the Merchants' Exchange Building. This was one of the
most expensive, but Keith was tired of looking. The best is the
greatest economy in the long run, he told himself, and with a lawyer,
new-come, appearances count for much in getting clients. Must get the
clients, though, to support this sort of thing! The rest of the morning
he spent buying furniture.
About noon he walked back to the Bella Union. His horse and buggy were
not hitched to the rail, so he concluded Nan had not yet returned for
lunch. Mrs. Sherwood, however, was seated in a rocker at the sunny end
of the long veranda. She looked most attractive, her small smooth head
bent over some sort of fancywork. Before she looked up Keith had
leisure to note the poise of her head and shoulders, the fine long
lines of her figure, and the arched-browed serenity of her eyes.
Different type this from the full-breasted Morrell, more--more
patrician! Rather absurd in view of their respective places in society,
but a fact. Keith found himself swiftly speculating on Mrs. Sherwood's
origin and experience. She was endowed with a new glamour because of
Mrs. Morrell's enigmatic remark the evening before, and also--for Keith
was very human--with a new attraction. Feeling vaguely and boyishly
devilish, Keith stopped.
She nodded at him, laying her work aside.
"You are practically invisible." she told him.
"Making ourselves a habitation. Seen Mrs. Keith?"
"No. I don't think she's come in."
Keith hesitated, then:
"I think I'll go up to the house for her."
Mrs. Sherwood nodded, and resumed her work calmly, without further
remark.
At the house Keith found Nan, her apron on, her hair done up under a
dust cap, very busy.
"Noon?" she cried, astonished. "It can't be! But I can't stop now. I
think I'll have Wing pick me up a lunch. There's plenty in the house.
It's too much bother to clean up."
Keith demurred; then wanted to stay for the pick-up lunch himself. Nan
would have none of it. She was full of repressed enthusiasm and
eagerness, but she wanted to get rid of him.
"There's not enough. I wouldn't have you around. Go away, that's a good
boy! If you'll leave Wing and me entirely alone we'll be ready to move
in to-morrow."
"Where's Gringo?" asked Keith by way of indirect yielding--he had
really no desire for a picked-up lunch.
"The little rascal! He started to chew everything in the place, so I
tied him in the backyard. He pulls and flops dreadfully. Do you think
he'll strangle himself?"
Keith looked out the window. Gringo, all four feet planted, was
determinedly straining back against his tether. The collar had pulled
forward all the loose skin of his neck, so that his eyes and features
were lost in wrinkles.
"He doesn't yap," volunteered Nan.
Keith gave it as his opinion that Gringo would stop short of suicide,
commended Gringo's taciturnity and evident perseverance, and departed
for the hotel. In the dining-room he saw Mrs. Sherwood in a riding
habit, eating alone. Keith hesitated, then took the vacant seat
opposite. She accorded this permission cordially, but without coquetry,
remarking that Sherwood often did not get in at noon. Immediately she
turned the conversation to Keith's affairs, inquiring in detail as to
how the settling was getting on, when they expected to get in, how they
liked the house, whether they had bought all the furniture.
"You remember I directed you to the auctions?" she said.
She asked all these questions directly, as a man would, and listened to
his replies.
"I suppose you have an office picked out?" she surmised.
At his mention of the Merchants' Exchange Building she raised her
arched eyebrows half humorously.
"You picked out an expensive place."
Keith went over his reasoning, to which she listened with a half smile.
"You may be right," she commented; "the reasoning is perfectly sound.
But that means you must get the business in order to make it pay. What
are your plans?"
He confessed that as yet they were rather vague; there had not been
time to do much--too busy settling.
"The usual thing, I suppose," he added: "get acquainted, hang out a
shingle, mix with people, sit down and starve in the traditional manner
of young lawyers."
He laughed lightly, but she refused to joke.
"There are a good many lawyers here--and most of them poor ones," she
told him. "The difficulty is to stand out above the ruck, to become
noticed. You must get to know all classes, of course; but especially
those of your own profession, men on the bench. Yes, especially men on
the bench, they may help you more than any others--"
He seemed to catch a little cynicism in her implied meaning, and
experienced a sense of shock on his professional side.
"You don't mean that judges are--"
"Susceptible to influence?" She finished the sentence for him with an
amused little laugh. She studied him for an instant with new interest,
"They're human--more human here than anywhere else--like the rest of
us--they respond to kind treatment--" She laughed again, but at the
sight of his face her own became grave. She checked herself.
"Everything is so new out here. In older countries the precedents have
all been established. Out here there are practically none. They are
being made now, every day, by the present judges. Naturally personal
influence might get a hearing for one point of view or the other--"
"I see what you mean," he agreed, his face clearing.
"Join a good fire company," she advised him. "That is the first thing
to do. Each company represents something different, a different class
of men."
"Which would you advise?" asked Keith seriously.
"That is a matter for your own judgment. Only, investigate well. Meet
all the people you can. Know the newspaper men, and the big merchants.
In your profession you must cultivate men like Terry, Girvin, Shattuck,
Gwin. Keep your eyes open. Be bold and use your wits. Above all, make
friends; that's it, _make friends_--everybody, everywhere. Don't
despise anybody. You will get plenty of chances." She was sitting
erect, and her eyes were flashing. Her usual slow indolent grace had
fallen from her; she radiated energy. Her slender figure took on a new
appearance of knit strength. "Such chances! My heavens! if I were a
man!"
"You'd make a bully man!" cried Keith. Mrs. Morrell, uttering the same
wish, had received from him a different reply, but he had forgotten
that.
She laughed again, the tension broke, and she sank back into her usual
relaxed poise.
"But, thank heavens, I'm not," said she.