"Who did that?" Caleb gasped.
"Truett," Philip replied. "He did it by special request, and I'm afraid
he worked a little on Sunday, but Mrs. Somerton and I thought it a work
of necessity. You see," Philip continued, in a matter-of-fact manner,
and ignoring Caleb's astonished look, "by the terms of Uncle Jethro's
will I was to provide for you for life and to your own satisfaction,
and 'tis quite as easy to do it this way as on the salary basis.
Besides, 'twill put those benevolent societies out of their misery,
and put an end to their questions, every two or three months, as to
the likelihood of the property reverting to them. You'll have me in
your power as to terms, but I know you'll do nothing unfair. Let's have
articles of co-partnership drawn up, on the basis of equal division of
profits in the entire business--store, farms, houses, etc. I wrote you
of the lump of money I got for my father's old mining stock. That, of
course, is my own; but if the firm runs short of ready cash at any time
I will lend to it at the legal rate of interest, so nothing but a very
bad crop year can cripple us. Besides, I shall want to operate a little
on the outside, so the store will need an additional manager who shall
also be an owner--not a clerk, as you've insisted on being."
"But, Philip," said Caleb, who had collapsed on an empty box in front
of the store, "I've never had any experience as a boss."
"Nor as a married man, either," Philip replied, "yet you've suddenly
taken to the part quite naturally and creditably! The main facts are
these: I'm satisfied that the past success of the store business has
been due quite as much to you as to Uncle Jethro, and all the people
agree with me. I couldn't possibly get along without you, nor feel
honest if I continued to take more than half of the proceeds. Why not
go tell the story to your wife, as an eye-opener? I think it might give
her a good appetite for breakfast, and improve her opinion of Claybanks
and the general outlook. It might cheer her farther to be told that her
brother is the right man in the right place, and bids fair to become
the busiest man in the county."
"I'll tell her, an' I don't doubt that 'twill set her up amazingly.
But, Philip--" here Caleb looked embarrassed, "you haven't--don't you
think you could make out to say somethin' to me about her?"
"You dear old chap,--'young chap' would be the proper
expression,--where are your eyes, that you haven't seen me admiring her
ever since you brought her to us yesterday morning? She's a beauty with
a lot of soul, and she's a wonderfully clever, charming woman besides,
and I never saw a bride who seemed deeper in love. I can't ever thank
you enough for finding such capital company for my wife. I expected to
be impressed, for Grace has raved about her ever since you first wrote
of meeting her, but Grace left much untold."
"I was afraid you might think she took up with me too easily," said
Caleb; "but when, after we were married, I told her I never would
forgive myself if I did not make her life very happy, she said she
had no fears for the future, and that I mustn't think she took me
only on my own say-so, for she'd had a lot of letters from your wife
about me, all to the effect that I was the honestest, kindliest, most
thoughtful, most unselfish man in the world, except you. Mary had great
confidence in the judgment of your wife, whom she remembered as a very
discreet young woman and a good judge of human nature. Her brother,
too, unloaded on her a lot of complimentary things that he'd managed to
pick up out here about me. Now, as a married man, an' a good friend of
mine, what do you honestly think of my future?"
"Nothing but what is good. You've still half of your life before you,
and if you're really rid of malaria, and if that Confederate bullet
will cease troubling you, you ought to tread on air and live on
sunshine for the remainder of your days."
"Speakin' of bullets," said Caleb, tugging at one end of a double
watch-chain, and extracting from his pocket something which resembled
a battered button, "how's that, for the wicked ceasin' from troublin'
an' the weary bein' at rest? For my first two or three days at sea I
couldn't see any good in sea-sickness, except perhaps that it had a
tendency to make a man willin' to die, an' even that view of it didn't
appeal very strongly to me, circumstances bein' what they were. One day
when I was racked almost to death, I felt an awful stitch in my side. I
was weak an' scared enough to b'lieve almost anythin' awful, so I made
up my mind that I must have broken a rib durin' my struggles with my
interior department, an' that the free end of it was tryin' to punch
its way through to daylight. So I sent for the ship's surgeon, an' he,
after fussin' over me two or three minutes, and doin' a little job of
carvin', brought us face to face--I an' my old acquaintance from the
South. I was so glad that I could 'a' hugged the Johnny Reb that fired
that bullet, an' I never was seasick after that. But that's enough
about me. Tell me somethin' about business. Do you think the cyclone
has hurt you a lot, for the present?"
"It destroyed the store and its contents, and I don't expect to get
any insurance, but I haven't lost any customers. On the other hand,
some farmers are so sorry for me, I being the only merchant that was
entirely cleaned out, that they are going to trade with us next year.
Besides, much of our stock was old, and never would have sold at any
price, while an entirely new stock is a great attraction to all classes
of customers. We'll have a new store building up pretty soon, if Truett
is as able as he thinks himself and as I think him. Let's go back to
the wreck a moment; he generally has some men at work by sunrise,
clearing away, so as to get at the foundations and ascertain their
condition."
Apparently the young engineer was amusing himself, for they found him
hammering a brick into small bits and examining the fractured surfaces.
As Philip and Caleb joined him, he said:--
"This is a mystery. How on earth do you suppose this kind of brick got
into Claybanks?"
"Easiest way in the world," Caleb replied, "seein' 'twas made here.
'Tisn't a good color, but, gentlemen, I saw whole houses on some o' the
best streets in New York made of brick of about this color. They were
better shaped, an' fancy-laid, but--"
"Excuse me, Caleb," said Truett, excitedly, "but do you mean to say
that this brick was made here, in Claybanks, of Claybanks clay?"
"That's the English of it," Caleb replied, "an' all the bricks of all
the chimneys an' fireplaces in the town are of the same clay."
"Oh, no; they're red."
"Yes, but that's because of one of Jethro's smartnesses. Wonderful man,
Jethro Somerton was. The way of it was this: a newcomer here that
wanted to put on some style, like he'd been used to in Pennsylvany,
got your uncle to order enough red paint for him to cover a big new
barn. Just 'fore the paint got here the barn was struck by lightnin',
an' the new barn had to be of rough slabs, an' the man was glad enough
to get 'em, too. Meanwhile Jethro was stuck with a big lot o' red
paint, for nobody else felt forehanded enough to paint a barn. Jethro
cogitated a spell, an' then he said quite frequent an' wherever he got
a chance, that Claybanks was a sad, sombre-lookin' place; needed color,
specially in winter, to make it look kind o' spruce-like. That set some
few people to white-washin' their houses, an' when them that couldn't
afford to do that much kind o' felt that some o' their neighbors were
takin' the shine off of 'em, Jethro up an' said, 'Any man can afford
to paint his chimney red, anyhow, an' a red chimney'll brighten up any
house.' So, little by little at first, but afterwards all at a jump,
he got rid o' that lot o' red paint, an' had to order more, an' in the
course o' time it got to be the fashion, quite as much as wearin' hats
out o' doors."
"That explains," said Truett, apparently relieved at mind, "why I've
not noticed the brick before. I've seen two or three foundation walls,
but I supposed, from their color, that they were merely mud-stained.
Now let me give you two men a great secret, on condition that you let
me in on the ground floor of the business end of it. Brick of this
quality and color, properly moulded and baked, is worth about three
times as much as ordinary red brick: I'll get the exact figures within
a few days. I know that there is money in sending it to New York, from
no matter what distance. Some of it is used even in indoor decoration."
"Whe--e--e--ew!" whistled Philip.
"Je--ru--salem!" ejaculated Caleb. "To think that the clay has been
here all these years without anybody knowing its real value!"
"How could any one be expected to know about anything that existed in
an out-of-the-way hole-in-the-ground like Claybanks?"
"Sh--not so loud!" said Philip. "Such talk in any Western town is worse
than treason."
"'Tis reason, nevertheless. There might be a vein of gold here, but
how could the world ever learn of it? Who owns the clay banks? Can't we
get an option on them?"
"They belong to the town, which charges a royalty of twenty-five cents
per thousand bricks," said Caleb. "They've brought less than a hundred
dollars, thus far."
"Oh, this is dreadful!--splendid, I mean! A brick-making outfit isn't
expensive, and fuel with which to burn the bricks is cheap. Can't we
three organize a company, right here, in our hats or pockets, and get
the start of any and all others in the business? 'Twill cost us about
two dollars per thousand, I suppose, to haul the bricks to the railway
station, but even then there will be a lot of money in the business. If
we could have a railway--pshaw, men--Claybanks _must_ have a railway!
I've selected several routes, in off-hand fashion, over the three miles
of country between here and the nearest railway station; there would be
absolutely no bridging to do, nor any grading worth mentioning, so the
three miles could be built for thirty thousand dollars. Let's do it!"
"Truett," said Philip, impressively, "go slow--very slow, or you'll
have inflammation of the brain. Worse still, I shall have it. Caleb may
escape, for he has the native Westerner's serene self-confidence in his
own town and section; but I'm a Claybanker by adoption merely. First,
you open a mine of wealth before our eyes, in the claybanks. Then you
tempt us to make bricks for rich New Yorkers and others. Then you offer
us a railway for thirty thousand dollars,--more money, to be sure,
than could be raised here in thirty years,--and you do all this before
breakfast on Monday morning. Come into the house with us; I shall faint
with excitement if I don't get a cup of coffee at once."
"Make light of it, if you like," said Truett, "but will you look at the
brick-making figures,--cost of plant, manufacture, and freight, also
the selling price,--if I can get them from trustworthy sources?"
"Indeed I will--our firm will; won't we, Caleb?"
"I've been wantin' for years to see such a lot of figures," said Caleb,
placidly, "an' to see the railroad figures we could touch. I've seen
some of the other kind, once in a while."
"I hope too many cooks haven't spoiled the broth," said Mary, at the
breakfast table, from behind a large breast-knot of roses. "I found in
the garden what Grace pronounces a lot of weeds; but I've made a salad
of them, and I shall feel greatly mortified if all of you don't enjoy
it."
"We are prepared to expect almost anything delightful from what has
been accounted worthless," said Philip, "after having listened to some
of your brother's disclosures this morning. Eh, Caleb?"
"Yes, indeed," replied Caleb, with an "I-told-you-so" air. "I never
doubted that a lot of good things would be developed at Claybanks, when
the right person came along to develop 'em."
"Think of it, Mary!" said Truett. "You remember that magnificent house
of old Billion's, on Madison Avenue--a house of yellowish brown brick?
Well, the foundation of Somerton's old store is of just such brick,
and it was made here, years ago, of the clay for which the town was
named."