"Seventy-five thousand dollars! What shall we do with it?"
"Enjoy it, dear girl; that's what we shall do. We've youth, health,
taste, spirits, energy, and best of all, love. If all these qualities
can't help us to enjoy money, I can't imagine what else can. Besides,
Claybanks is bound to be a city in the course of a few years--so uncle
said; and if he was right, we will be prepared to take the lead in
society. 'Twon't be injudicious to have the largest, best-furnished
house, and a full circle of desirable acquaintances, against the time
when the sleepy village shall be transformed in a day, Western fashion,
into a bustling city."
The several days that followed were spent largely in longings to get
away, and regrets at leaving New York's many new delights that were
at last within reach; but finally Philip wrote Caleb Wright that he
would arrive at Claybanks on a specified date, and asked that the best
room in the best hotel be engaged for him. The couple reached the
railway station at dawn of a dull December morning, and after an hour
of effort, while Grace remained in the single room at the station and
endeavored not to be nauseated by the mixed odors of stale tobacco,
an overloaded stove, and a crate of live chickens awaiting shipment,
Philip found a conveyance to take them to Claybanks. The unpaved road
was very muddy, and the trees were bare, the farm-houses were few and
unsightly. Philip was obliged to ask:--
"Isn't it shockingly dismal?"
"Is this the road," Grace answered, "over which you walked, at night,
when you visited your uncle?"
"The very same, I suppose, for there's never a choice of roads between
two unimportant places."
"Then I sha'n't complain," said Grace, nestling very close to her
husband.
The outlook did not improve as the travellers came near to the village
of Claybanks. Houses were more numerous, but most of them were very
small, many were unpainted, and some were of rough logs. The fences,
while exhibiting great variety of design, were almost uniform in
shabbiness.
"Rather a dismal picture, isn't it?" asked Philip. "It suggests a
kalsominer's attempt to copy a Corot."
"I'm keeping my eyes closed," Grace replied. "I'm going to defer being
impressed by the town until a sunny day arrives."
"If you were to look about you now," said Philip, gloomily, "you'd
see the fag end of nothing--the jumping-off place of the world. How
my uncle succeeded in living here--still stranger in making money
here--passes my comprehension."
The best room at the hotel proved to be quite clean, but as bare as a
hotel chamber could be, and also very cold. Philip begged for one with
a fire, but was told that all warmed rooms were already occupied by
regular lodgers. Fortunately breakfast was being served. It consisted
of fried pork, fried sausage, fried eggs, tough biscuits, butter of a
flavor which the newest guests neither recalled nor approved, two kinds
of pie, and coffee.
"If this is the best hotel Caleb could find for us, what can the worst
be?" whispered Philip.
"Perhaps we can find board in a private family," whispered Grace, in
reply.
"How early will Somerton's store be open?" asked Philip of the
landlord, who had also served as table-waiter.
"It's been open since daybreak, I reckon; it usually is," was the
reply. "I shouldn't wonder if you was the new boss, seein' you have the
same name. Well, I'm glad to see you. I'm one of your customers."
"Thank you very much. Is the store far from here?"
"Only two blocks up street. You'll find Caleb there. You know Caleb
Wright?"
"Oh, yes; I've been here before."
"That so? Must have put up at the other hotel, then--or mebbe you
stopped with your uncle."
"Er--yes, for the little while I was in town. I wish there was a warm
room in which my wife could rest, while I go up to the store to see
Caleb."
"Well, what's the matter with the parlor? Come along; let me show you."