THE LEASE
I
The number of the house was 5746 Los Robles Boulevard, and you would
have had to know this land of hope in order to realize that it stood in
a cabbage field. Los Robles means “the oaks”; and two or three miles
away, where this boulevard started in the heart of Beach City, there
were four live oak trees. But out here a bare slope of hill, quite
steep, yet not too steep to be plowed and trenched and covered with
cabbages, with sugar-beets down on the flat. The eye of hope, aided by
surveyors’ instruments, had determined that some day a broad boulevard
would run on this line; and so there was a dirt road, and at every
corner white posts set up, with a wing north and a wing east—Los Robles
Blvd.-Palomitas Ave.; Los Robles Blvd.-El Centro Ave.; and so on.
Two years ago the “subdividers” had been here, with their outfit of
little red and yellow flags; there had been full-page advertisements in
the newspapers, and free auto rides from Beach City, and a free lunch;
consisting of “hot dog” sandwiches, a slice of apple pie, and a cup of
coffee. At that time the fields had been cleared of cabbages, and
graded, and the lots had blossomed with little signs: “Sold.” This was
supposed to refer to the lot, but in time it came to refer to the
purchaser. The company had undertaken to put in curbs and sidewalks,
water and gas and sewers; but somebody made off with the money, and the
enterprise went into bankruptcy, and presently new signs began to
appear: “For Sale, by Owner,” or “Bargain: See Smith and Headmutton,
Real Estate.” And when these signs brought no reply, the owners sighed,
and reflected that some day when little Willie grew up he would make a
profit out of that investment. Meantime, they would accept the
proposition of Japanese truck-gardeners, to farm the land for one-third
of the crop.
But three or four months ago something unexpected had happened. A man
who owned an acre or two of land on the top of the hill had caused a
couple of motor-trucks to come toiling up the slope, loaded with large
square timbers of Oregon pine; carpenters had begun to work on these,
and the neighborhood had stared, wondering what strange kind of house it
could be. Suddenly the news had spread, in an explosion of excitement:
an oil-derrick!
A deputation called upon the owner, to find out what it meant. It was
pure “wild-catting,” he assured them; he happened to have a hundred
thousand dollars to play with, and this was his idea of play.
Nevertheless, the bargain signs came down from the cabbage fields, and
were replaced by “Oil Lot for Sale.” Speculators began to look up the
names and addresses of owners, and offers were made—there were rumors
that some had got as high as a thousand dollars, nearly twice the
original price of the lots. Motor-cars took to bumping out over the dirt
roads, up and down the lanes; and on Saturday and Sunday afternoons
there would be a crowd staring at the derrick.
The drilling began, and went on, monotonously and uneventfully. The
local newspapers reported the results: the D. H. Culver Prospect No. 1
was at 1478 feet, in hard sandstone formation and no signs of oil. It
was the same at 2,000, and at 3,000; and then for weeks the rig was
“fishing” for a broken drill, and everybody lost interest; it was
nothing but a “dry hole,” and people who had refused double prices for
their lots began to curse themselves for fools. “Wild-catting” was
nothing but gambling anyhow—quite different from conservative
investments in town lots. Then the papers reported that D. H. Culver
Prospect No. 1 was drilling again; it was at 3059 feet, but the owners
had not yet given up hope of striking something.
Then a strange thing happened. There came trucks, heavily loaded with
stuff, carefully covered with canvas. Everybody connected with the
enterprise had been warned or bribed to silence; but small boys peered
under the canvas while the trucks were toiling up the hill with roaring
motors, and they reported big sheets of curved metal, with holes along
the edges for bolts. That could be only one thing, tanks. And at the
same time came rumors that D. H. Culver had purchased another tract of
land on the hill. The meaning of all this was obvious: Prospect No. 1
had got into oil-sands!
The whole hill began to blossom with advertisements, and real estate
agents swarmed to the “field.” A magic word now—no longer cabbage field
or sugar-beet field, but “_the_ field!” Speculators set themselves up in
tents, or did business from automobiles drawn up by the roadside, with
canvas signs on them. There was coming and going all day long, and
crowds of people gathered to stare up at the derrick, and listen to the
monotonous grinding of the heavy drill that went round and round all
day—“Ump-um—ump-um—ump-um—ump-um”—varied by the “puff-puff” of the
engine. “Keep out—this means you!” declared a conspicuous sign; Mr. D.
H. Culver and his employees had somehow lost all their good breeding.
But suddenly there was no possibility of secrecy; literally all the
world knew—for telegraph and cable carried the news to the farthest
corners of civilization. The greatest oil strike in the history of
Southern California, the Prospect Hill field! The inside of the earth
seemed to burst out through that hole; a roaring and rushing, as
Niagara, and a black column shot up into the air, two hundred feet, two
hundred and fifty—no one could say for sure—and came thundering down
to earth as a mass of thick, black, slimy, slippery fluid. It hurled
tools and other heavy objects this way and that, so the men had to run
for their lives. It filled the sump-hole, and poured over, like a
saucepan boiling too fast, and went streaming down the hill-side.
Carried by the wind, a curtain of black mist, it sprayed the Culver
homestead, turning it black, and sending the women of the household
flying across the cabbage-fields. Afterwards it was told with Homeric
laughter how these women had been heard to lament the destruction of
their clothing and their window-curtains by this million-dollar flood of
“black gold”!
Word spread by telephone to Beach City; the newspapers bulletined it,
the crowds shouted it on the street, and before long the roads leading
to Prospect Hill were black with a solid line of motor-cars. The news
reached Angel City, the papers there put out “extras,” and before
nightfall the Beach City boulevard was crowded with cars, a double line,
all coming one way. Fifty thousand people stood in a solid ring at what
they considered a safe distance from the gusher, with emergency
policemen trying to drive them further back, and shouting: “Lights out!
Lights out!” All night those words were chanted in a chorus; everybody
realized the danger—some one fool might forget and light a cigarette,
and the whole hill-side would leap into flame; a nail in your shoe might
do it, striking on a stone; or a motor-truck, with its steel-rimmed
tires. Quite frequently these gushers caught fire at the first moment.
But still the crowds gathered; men put down the tops of their
automobiles, and stood up in the seats and conducted auction rooms by
the light of the stars. Lots were offered for sale at fabulous prices,
and some of them were bought; leases were offered, companies were
started and shares sold—the traders would push their way out of the
crowd to a safe distance on the windward side, where they could strike a
match, and see each other’s faces, and scrawl a memorandum of what they
agreed. Such trading went on most of the night, and in the morning came
big tents that had been built for revival meetings, and the cabbage
fields became gay with red and black signs: “Beach Co-operative No. 1,”
“Skite Syndicate, No. 1, ten thousand units, $10.”
Meantime the workmen were toiling like mad to stop the flow of the well;
they staggered here and there, half-blinded by the black spray—and with
no place to brace themselves, nothing they could hold onto, because
everything was greased, streaming with grease. You worked in darkness,
groping about, with nothing but the roar of the monster, his blows upon
your body, his spitting in your face, to tell you where he was. You
worked at high tension, for there were bonuses offered—fifty dollars
for each man if you stopped the flow before midnight, a hundred dollars
if you stopped it before ten o’clock. No one could figure how much
wealth that monster was wasting, but it must be thousands of dollars
every minute. Mr. Culver himself pitched in to help, and in his reckless
efforts lost both of his ear-drums. “Tried to stop the flow with his
head,” said a workman, unsympathetically. In addition the owner
discovered, in the course of ensuing weeks, that he had accumulated a
total of forty-two suits for damages to houses, clothing, chickens,
goats, cows, cabbages, sugar-beets, and automobiles which had skidded
into ditches on too well-greased roads.
II
The house numbered 5746 Los Robles Boulevard belonged to Joe Groarty,
night watchman for the Altmann Lumber Company of Beach City. Mrs.
Groarty had “taken in” washing to help support her seven children; now
that they were grown up and scattered, she kept rabbits and chickens.
Joe usually left for his job at six p. m.; but on the third day after
the “strike” he had got up the nerve to give up his job, and now he was
on his front-porch, a mild, grey-haired old fellow, wearing a black
suit, with celluloid collar and black tie, his costume for Sundays and
holidays, weddings and funerals. Mrs. Groarty had had no clothing
suitable for this present occasion, so she had been driven down-town in
her husband’s Ford, and had spent some of her oil expectations for an
evening-gown of yellow satin. Now she felt embarrassed because there was
not enough of it, either at the top where her arms and bosom came out,
or below, where her fat calves were encased in embroidered silk
stockings, so thin as to seem almost nothing. It was what “they” were
wearing, the saleswomen had assured her; and Mrs. Groarty was grimly set
upon being one of “them.”
The house was in the conventional “bungalow style,” and had been built
by a wealthier family, in the days of the real estate boom. It had been
offered at a sacrifice, and Mrs. Groarty had fastened upon it because of
the wonderful living-room. They had put their savings into a cash
payment, and were paying the balance thirty dollars a month. They had
got a deed to the property, and were up to date on their payments, so
they were safe.
When you passed the threshold of the house, the first thing you saw was
shine; the most marvelous gloss ever seen on wood-work—and to heighten
the effect the painter had made it wavy, in imitation of the grain of
oak; there must have been ten thousand lines, each one a separate wiggle
of a brush. The fire-place was of many-colored stones, highly polished
and gleaming like jewels. In the back of the room, most striking feature
of all, was a wooden staircase, with a balustrade, also shiny and wavy;
this staircase went up, and made a turn, and there was a platform with a
palm-tree in a pot. You would take it for granted that it was a
staircase like all other staircases, intended to take you to the second
story. You might go into the Groarty home a hundred times, and see it
both day and night, before it would occur to you there was anything
wrong; but suddenly—standing outside on some idle day—it would flash
over you that the Groarty home had a flat roof over its entire extent,
and at no part was there any second story. Then you would go inside,
inspired by a new, malignant curiosity, and would study the staircase
and landing, and realize that they didn’t lead anywhere, their beauty
was its own excuse for being.
Mrs. Groarty stood by the centre-table of her living-room, awaiting the
arrival of the expected company. There was a bowl of roses in a vase on
this table, and immediately in front of it, conspicuous under the
electric lamp, was a handsome volume bound in blue cloth and stamped
with gold letters: “The Ladies’ Guide: A Practical Handbook of
Gentility.” It was the only book in the Groarty home, and it had been
there only two days; an intelligent clerk in the department-store, after
selling the satin robe, had mentioned to the future “oil-queen” the
existence of this bargain in the literature department. Mrs. Groarty had
been studying the volume at spare moments, and now had it set out as an
exhibit of culture.
The first to arrive was the widow Murchey, who had only to come from the
end of the block, where she lived in a little bungalow with her two
children; she was frail, and timid of manner, and wore black wristbands.
She went into raptures over Mrs. Groarty’s costume, and congratulated
her on her good fortune in being on the south slope of the hill, where
one could wear fine dresses. Over on the north side, where the
prevailing winds had blown the oil, you ruined your shoes every time you
went out. Some people still did not dare to light their kitchen fires,
for fear of an explosion.
Then came the Walter Blacks, Mr. and Mrs. and their grown son, owners of
the southwest corner lot; they were in real estate in the city. Mr.
Black wore a checked suit, an expansive manner, and a benevolent
protective gold animal as watch-fob on his ample front. Mrs. Black, also
ample, had clothes at home as good as Mrs. Groarty’s, but her manner
said that she hadn’t put them on to come out to any cabbage-patch. They
were followed by Mr. Dumpery, the carpenter, who had a little cottage in
back of the Groarty’s, fronting on Eldorado Road, the other side of the
block; Mr. Dumpery was a quiet little man, with shoulders bowed and
hands knotted by a life-time of toil. He was not very good at figures,
and was distressed by these sudden uncertainties which had invaded his
life.
Next came the Raithels, who had a candy-store in town, a very genteel
young couple, anxious to please everybody, and much distressed because
it had so far proven impossible; they were the owners of one of the
“little lots.” Then Mr. Hank, a lean and hatchet-faced man with an
exasperating voice; he owned the next “little lot,” and because he had
been a gold miner, considered himself an authority on oil leases. After
him came his enemy, Mr. Dibble, the lawyer, who represented the absent
owner of the northwest corner, and had made trouble by insisting on many
technicalities difficult for non-lawyers to understand; he had tried
hard to separate the north half of the block, and was regarded as a
traitor by those of the south half. Then came Mr. Golighty, one of the
“medium lots.” His occupation was not known, but he impressed everyone
by his clothing and cultured manner; he was a reconciler, with a suave,
rotund voice, and talked a great deal, the only trouble being that when
he got through you were a little uncertain as to what he had said.
The Bromleys arrived, an elderly couple of means, driving a big car.
They brought with them the Lohlkers, two little Jewish tailors, whom
ordinarily they would have talked with only in the tailor-shop; but with
these allies they controlled four of the “medium lots,” which was
sufficient for a drilling site, and cutting right across the block, had
enabled them to threaten the rest with a separate lease. Behind them
came the Sivons, walking from their house on the northeast corner; they
were pretentious people, who looked down on the rest of the
neighborhood—and without any cause, for they drove a second-hand car,
three years out of date. They were the people who had got this lease,
and everyone was sure they were getting a big “rake-off” on the side;
but there was no way to prove it, and nothing you could do about it, for
the reason that all the others who had brought leasing propositions had
been secretly promised a similar “rake-off.”
With them came Mr. Sahm, a plasterer, who lived in a temporary
“garage-house” on the “little lot” adjoining the Sivons. His dwelling
amounted to nothing, nevertheless he had been the one who had clamored
most strenuously that the houses should be moved at the lessor’s
expense; he had even tried to put in a provision for compensation for
the rows of beans and tomatoes he had planted on his lot. The others had
sought to hoot him down, when to their dismay the silent Mr. Dumpery,
the carpenter, arose, declaring that it seemed to him a quite sensible
request; he had seven rows of corn, himself, and beans in full blossom,
and he thought the contract should at least contain a provision that the
first well should be drilled on some lot which was not planted, so as to
give the gardeners time to reap the benefit of their labor.
III
It was seven-thirty, the hour set for the meeting; and everybody looked
about, waiting for somebody else to begin. At last a stranger rose, a
big six-footer with a slow drawl, introducing himself as Mr. F. T.
Merriweather, attorney for Mr. and Mrs. Black, owners of the southwest
corner; by his advice, these parties wished to request a slight change
in the wording of the lease.
“_Changes in the lease?_” It was the hatchet-faced Mr. Hank who leaped
up. “I thought it was agreed we’d make no more changes?”
“This is a very small matter, sir—”
“But Mr. Ross is to be here in fifteen minutes, ready to sign up!”
“This is a detail, which can be changed in five minutes.”
There was an ominous silence. “Well, what is your change?”
“Merely this,” said Mr. Merriweather; “it should be explicitly stated
that in figuring the area for the apportioning of the royalty, due
regard shall be paid to the provision of the law that oil rights run to
the centre of the street, and to the centre of the alley in the rear.”
“_What’s that?_” Eyes and mouths went open, and there was a general
murmur of amazement and dissent. “Where do you get that?” cried Mr.
Hank.
“I get it from the statutes of the State of California.”
“Well, you don’t get it from this lease, and you don’t get it from me!”
There was a chorus of support: “I should think not! Whoever heard of
such a thing? Ridiculous!”
“I think I speak for the majority here,” said old Mr. Bromley. “We had
no such understanding; we assumed that the area of the lots to be taken
was that given on the maps of the company.”
“Certainly, certainly!” cried Mrs. Groarty.
“I think, Mrs. Groarty,” replied Mr. Dibble, the lawyer, “there has been
an unfortunate accident, owing to your unfamiliarity with the oil-laws
of the State. The provisions of the statute are clear.”
“Oh, yes, of course!” snapped Mrs. Groarty. “We don’t need to be told
what you would say, seeing as you represent a corner lot, and the corner
lots will get twice as much money!”
“Not so bad as that, Mrs. Groarty. Don’t forget that your own lot will
run to the centre of Las Robles Boulevard, which is eighty feet wide.”
“Yes, but your lot will run to the centre of the side street also—”
“Yes, Mrs. Groarty, but El Centro Avenue is only sixty feet wide.”
“What it means is just this, you make your lots ninety-five feet lots,
instead of sixty-five feet lots, as we all thought when we give up and
consented to let the big lots have a bigger share.”
“And you were going to let us sign that!” shouted Mr. Hank. “You were
sitting still and working that swindle on us!”
“Gentlemen! Gentlemen!” boomed the voice of Mr. Golighty, the
conciliator.
“Let me git this straight,” broke in Abe Lohlker, the tailor. “Eldorado
Road ain’t so wide as Los Robles Boulevard, so us fellers on the east
half don’t git so much money as the others.”
“That amounts to practically nothing,” said Mr. Merriweather. “You can
figure—”
“Sure I can figger! But then, if it don’t amount to nothin’, what you
comin’ here bustin’ up our lease about it for?”
“I can tell you this right now!” cried Mr. Hank. “You’ll never get me to
sign no such agreement.”
“Nor me,” said Miss Snypp, the trained nurse, a decided young lady with
spectacles. “I think us little lots have put up with our share of
imposition.”
“What I say,” added Mr. Hank, “let’s go back to the original agreement,
the only sensible one, share and share alike, all lots equal, same as we
vote.”
“Let me point out something, Mr. Hank,” said Mr. Dibble, with much
dignity. “Am I correct in the impression that you own one of the little
lots adjoining the alley?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, then, have you figured that the law entitles you to an extra
fifteen feet all along that alley? That puts you somewhat ahead of the
medium lots.”
Mr. Hank’s lantern jaw dropped down. “Oh!” he said.
And Mrs. Groarty burst into laughter. “Oh! Oh! That changes it, of
course! It’s us medium lots that are the suckers now—us that make up
half the lease!”
“And us little lots that ain’t on the alley!” cried Mrs. Keith, the wife
of a baseball player. “What about my husband and I?”
“It looks to me we’re clean busted up,” said Mr. Sahm, the plasterer.
“We don’t know who we belong with no more.” Like most of the men in the
room, he had got out a pencil and paper, and was trying to figure this
new arrangement; and the more he figured, the more complications he
discovered.
IV
It had been the Walter Browns who had started the idea of a “community
agreement” for this block. Two or three lots were enough for a well, but
for such a lease you could only get some small concern, and like as not
you would fall into the hands of a speculator, and be bartered about,
perhaps exploited by a “syndicate” and sold in “units,” or tied up in a
broken contract, and have to sit by and watch while other people drained
the oil from under your land. No, the thing to do was to get a whole
block together; then you had enough for half a dozen wells, and could
deal with one of the big companies, and you would get quick drilling,
and more important yet, you would be sure of your royalties when they
were earned.
So, after much labor, and pulling and hauling, and threatening and
cajoling, and bargaining and intriguing, the owners of the twenty-four
lots had met at the Groarty home, and had signed their names, both
husbands and wives, to a “community agreement,” to the effect that none
of them would lease apart from the others. This document had been duly
recorded in the county archives; and now day by day they were realizing
what they had done to themselves. They had agreed to agree; and from
that time on, they had never been able to agree to anything!
They met at seven-thirty every evening, and wrangled until midnight or
later; they went home exhausted, and could not sleep; they neglected
their business and their house-keeping and the watering of their
lawns—what was the use of working like a slave when you were going to
be rich? They held minority meetings, and formed factional groups, and
made pledges which they broke, more or less secretly, before the sun had
set. Their frail human nature was subjected to a strain greater than it
was made for; the fires of greed had been lighted in their hearts, and
fanned to a white heat that melted every principle and every law.
The “lease-hounds” were on their trail, besieging their homes, ringing
the telephone, following them in automobiles. But each new proposition,
instead of satisfaction, brought worry, suspicion and hate. Whoever
proposed it, must be trying to cheat the rest; whoever defended it, must
have entered into league with him. No one of them but knew the
possibilities of treasons and stratagems; even the mildest of
them—poor, inoffensive Mr. Dumpery, the carpenter, who, dragging his
steps home from the trolley, with fingers sore and back aching from the
driving of several thousand shingle-nails on a roof, was met by a man
driving a palatial limousine. “Step in, Mr. Dumpery,” said the man.
“This is a fine car, don’t you think? How would you like to have me get
out and leave you in it? I’ll be very glad to do that if you’ll persuade
your group to sign up with the Couch Syndicate.” “Oh, no,” said Mr.
Dumpery, “I couldn’t do that, I promised Miss Snypp I’d stick by the
Owens plan.” “Well, you can forget that,” said the other. “I’ve just had
a talk with Miss Snypp, and she is willing to take an automobile.”
They had got into a condition of perpetual hysteria, when suddenly hope
broke upon them, like the sun out of storm-clouds; Mr. and Mrs. Sivon
brought a proposition from a man named Skutt, who represented J. Arnold
Ross, and made them the best offer they had yet had—one thousand
dollars cash bonus for each lot, one-fourth royalty, and an agreement to
“spud in” the first well within thirty days, under penalty of another
thousand dollars per lot, this forfeit to be posted in the bank.
All of them knew about J. Arnold Ross; the local papers had had articles
telling how another “big operator” was entering the new field. The
papers printed his picture, and a sketch of his life—a typical
American, risen from the ranks, glorifying once more this great land of
opportunity. Mr. Sahm, the plasterer, and Mr. Dumpery, the carpenter,
and Mr. Hank, the miner, and Mr. Groarty, the night watchman, and Mr.
Raithel, the candy-store keeper, and Messrs. Lohlker and Lohlker,
ladies’ and gents’ tailors, felt a glow of the heart as they read these
stories. Their chance had come now, it was the land of opportunity for
them!
There was another agonizing wrangle, as a result of which the big and
medium lots decided to drop their differences; they voted against the
little lots, and drew up a lease on the basis of each lot receiving a
share of royalty proportioned to its area. They notified Mr. Skutt that
they were ready, and Mr. Skutt arranged for the great Mr. Ross to meet
them at a quarter to eight the following evening and sign the papers.
And now, here they were, exactly on the minute appointed—and they were
in another mess! Here were four of the “little lots,” set unexpectedly
above the “medium lots”; as a result of which, four “big lots” and four
“big little lots” were in favor of the lease, and four “little little
lots” and twelve “medium lots” were against it!
Here was Miss Snypp, her face brick-red with wrath, shaking her finger
at Mr. Hank. “Let me tell you, you’ll never get me to put my signature
on that paper—never in this world!” And here was Mr. Hank, shouting
back: “Let me tell you, the law will _make_ you sign it, if the majority
votes for it!” And here was Mrs. Groarty, forgetting all about the
Practical Handbook of Gentility, glaring at Mr. Hank and clenching her
hands as if she had him by the throat: “And you the feller that was
yellin’ for the rights of the little lots! You was for sharin’ and
sharin’ alike—you snake in the grass!” Such was the state to which they
had come, when suddenly every voice was stilled, clenched hands were
loosened, and angry looks died away. A knock upon the door, a sharp,
commanding knock; and to every person in the room came the identical
thought: J. Arnold Ross!
V
Not many of these men would ever read a book on etiquette; they would
learn about life from action—and here was an occasion, the most
instructive that had so far come to them. They learned that when a great
man comes into a room, he comes first, preceding his subordinates. They
learned that he wears a majestic big overcoat, and stands in silence
until he is introduced by a subordinate. “Ladies and gentlemen,” said
the lease-agent, Skutt, “this is Mr. J. Arnold Ross.” Whereupon Mr. Ross
smiled agreeably, taking in the entire company: “Good evenin’, ladies
and gentlemen.” Half a dozen men arose, offering him a chair; he took a
large one, quite simply, and without wasting time in
discussion—realizing, no doubt, how he would be embarrassing the
hostess if he called attention to a shortage of chairs.
Behind him stood another man, also big. “Mr. Alston D. Prentice,” said
Skutt, and they were doubly impressed, this being a famous lawyer from
Angel City. Also there had entered a little boy, apparently a son of Mr.
Ross. The women in the room many of them had little boys of their own,
each one destined to grow up into a great oil man; therefore they
watched the Ross boy, and learned that such a boy stays close by his
father, and says nothing, but takes in everything with eager roving
eyes. As soon as possible he gets himself a perch in the window-sill,
where he sits listening, as attentively as if he were a man.
Mrs. Groarty had got all the chairs her neighbors could spare, and had
visited the “morticians” and rented a dozen camp-chairs; but still there
was a shortage, and the etiquette book did not tell you what to do. But
these rough and ready Western men had solved the problem, having sought
out the wood-shed, which was behind the garage, and fetched some empty
“lug-boxes,” such as you got when you bought peaches and apricots and
plums for canning. Set up on end, these made satisfactory seats, and the
company was soon settled.
“Well, folks,” said Mr. Skutt, genially. “Everything ready?”
“No,” said the acid voice of Mr. Hank. “We ain’t ready. We can’t agree.”
“What?” cried the “lease-hound.” “Why, you told me you had got
together!”
“I know. But we’re busted open again.”
“What is the matter?”
Half a dozen people started to tell what was the matter; The voice of
Mr. Sahm prevailed over the rest. “There’s some people come here with
too good lawyers, and they’ve raked up what they claim is laws that the
rest of us won’t stand for.”
“Well now,” said Mr. Skutt, politely, “Mr. Prentice here is a very good
lawyer, and perhaps he can help clear up the matter.”
So, more or less in chorus, they explained, and made known their
protests at the same time. Then Mr. Ross’ lawyer, speaking ex cathedra,
advised them that the statement of the law was absolutely correct, the
lease as it stood would be interpreted to mean the area to the middle of
the streets and alleys; but of course there was nothing to prevent their
making a different arrangement if they saw fit, and so specifying in the
lease.
And then the fat was in the fire; they began to argue their rights and
wrongs, and their animosities flamed so hotly that they forgot even the
presence of J. Arnold Ross, and of his eminent lawyer. “I said it once,
and I’ll say it again,” declared Miss Snypp—“Never! Never!”
“You’ll sign if we vote it!” cried Mr. Hank.
“You try it and see!”
“You mean you think you can break the agreement?”
“I mean I’ve got a lawyer that says he can break it any day I tell him.”
“Well, I’ll say this,” put in Mr. Dibble; “speaking as a lawyer—and I
think my colleagues, Mr. Prentice and Mr. Merriweather will back
me—that agreement is iron-clad.”
“Well, at least we can tie you up in the courts!” cried Mr. Sahm. “And
keep you there for a year or two!”
“A fat lot o’ good that’ll do you!” sneered Mr. Hank.
“Well, we’d as soon be robbed by one set of thieves as another,”
declared Miss Snypp.
“Now, now, folks!” put in Ben Skutt, hastily. “Surely we’re none of us
goin’ to cut off our noses to spite our faces. Don’t you think you
better let Mr. Ross tell you about his plans?”
“Sure, let’s hear Mr. Ross!” cried Mr. Golighty; and there was a
chorus—yes, by all means they would hear Mr. Ross. If anyone could save
them, it was he!
VI
Mr. Ross arose, slowly and gravely. He had already taken off his big
overcoat, and folded it and laid it neatly on the rug beside his chair;
the housewives had made note of that, and would use it in future
domestic arguments. He faced them now, a portly person in a comfortable
serge suit, his features serious but kindly, and speaking to them in a
benevolent, almost fatherly voice. If you are troubled by the fact that
he differs from you in the use of language, bear in mind that it is not
the English but the southwestern American language that he is using. You
would need to play the oil-game out in that country, in order to realize
that a man may say, “I jist done it onst, and I’m a-goin’ to do it
again,” and yet be dressed like a metropolitan banker, and have the calm
assurance of a major-general commanding, and the kindly dignity of an
Episcopal bishop. Said Mr. J. Arnold Ross:
“Ladies and gentlemen, I traveled over jist about half our state to get
here this evenin’. I couldn’t get away sooner, because my new well was
a-comin’ in at Lobos River, and I had to see about it. That well is now
flowin’ four thousand barrel, and payin’ me an income of five thousand
dollars a day. I got two others drillin’, and I got sixteen producin’ at
Antelope. So, ladies and gentlemen, if I say I’m an oil man, you got to
agree.
“You got a great chanct here, ladies and gentlemen; but bear in mind,
you can lose it all if you ain’t careful. Out of all the fellers that
beg you for a chanct to drill your land, maybe one in twenty will be oil
men; the rest will be speculators, fellers tryin’ to get between you and
the oil men, to get some of the money that ought by rights come to you.
Even if you find one that has money, and means to drill, he’ll maybe
know nothin’ about drillin’, and have to hire out the job on
contract—and then you’re dependin’ on a contractor that’s tryin’ to
rush the job through, so as to get to another contract jist as quick as
he can.
“But, ladies and gentlemen, I do my own drillin’, and the fellers that
work for me are fellers I know. I make it my business to be there and
see to their work. I don’t lose my tools in the hole, and spend months
a-fishin’; I don’t botch the cementin’ off, and let water into the hole,
and ruin the whole lease. And let me tell you, I’m fixed right now like
no other man or company in this field. Because my Lobos River well has
jist come in, I got a string of tools all ready to put to work. I can
load a rig onto trucks, and have them here in a week. I’ve got business
connections, so I can get the lumber for the derrick—such things go by
friendship, in a rush like this. That’s why I can guarantee to start
drillin’, and put up the cash to back my word. I assure you whatever the
others promise to do, when it comes to the showdown, they won’t be
there.
“Ladies and gentlemen, it’s not up to me to say how you’re a-goin’ to
divide the royalty. But let me say this; whatever you give up, so as to
get together, it’ll be small compared to what you may lose by delay, and
by fallin’ into the hands of gamblers and crooks. Ladies and gentlemen,
take it from me as an oil man, there ain’t a-goin’ to be many gushers
here at Prospect Hill; the pressure under the ground will soon let up,
and it’ll be them that get their wells down first that’ll get the oil. A
field plays out very quick; in two or three years you’ll see all these
here wells on the pump—yes, even this discovery well that’s got you all
crazy. So, take my word for it, and don’t break up this lease; take a
smaller share of royalty, if you must, and I’ll see that it’s a small
share of a big royalty, so you won’t lose in real money. That, ladies
and gentlemen, is what I had to say.”
The great man stood, as if waiting to see if anyone had anything to
answer; then he sat down, and there was a pause in the proceedings. His
had been weighty words, and no one quite had the courage to break the
spell.
At last Mr. Golighty arose. “Friends,” he said, “we have been hearing
common sense, from a gentleman in whom we all have confidence; and I for
one admit myself convinced, and hope that we may prove ourselves a group
of business people, capable of making a wise decision, in this matter
which means so much to all of us.” And so Mr. Golighty was started on
one of his long speeches, the purport of which appeared to be that the
majority should rule.
“But that’s just the trouble,” said Mr. Sahm; “what is the majority?”
“We take a wote,” said Mr. Chaim Lohlker, “and we find out.”
Mr. Merriweather, the lawyer, had been consulting in whispers with his
clients. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he now declared, “I am authorized by
Mr. and Mrs. Walter Black to say that they have been greatly impressed
by what Mr. Ross has said, and they wish to make any concession
necessary to harmony. They are willing to waive the point which I raised
at the beginning of this discussion, and to sign the lease as it
stands.”
“But what does that mean?” demanded Mrs. Groarty. “Are they to get a
royalty on a ninety-five foot lot?”
“Our offer is to sign the document as it stands, and the question of
interpretation may be decided later.”
“Oho!” said Mr. Groarty. “A fine concession that—and when we’ve just
heard Mr. Prentice tell us that the law reads your way!”
“We agreed to sign it,” said Mr. Hank, doing his best to make his voice
sound pleasant.
“Oh, listen to who’s talking!” cried Miss Snypp. “The gentleman that was
saying, less than a half an hour ago, that we should go back to our
original arrangement—‘the only sensible one, share and share alike, all
lots equal, same as we vote.’ Have I quoted you correct, Mr. Hank?”
“I agreed to sign this lease,” declared the ex-goldminer, stubbornly.
“And for my part,” said the trained nurse, “I said it once and I’ll say
it again, never on this earth!”
VII
Old Mrs. Ross, Bunny’s grandmother, was accustomed to protest
strenuously against a boy being taken about on these business trips. It
was enough to destroy all the sweetness of his nature, she declared; it
would make him a hardened cynic in his childhood, all this sordidness
and hatefulness of money-grabbing. But Bunny’s father answered that that
was life, and there was no good fooling yourself; Bunny would have to
live in the world some day, and the quicker he learned about it the
better. So there the boy sat, on his perch in the window-sill, watching,
and recalling his grandmother’s words.
Yes, they were a mean bunch, sure enough; Dad was right when he said you
had to watch out every minute, because somebody would be trying to take
something away from you. These people had simply gone crazy, with the
sudden hope of getting a lot of money in a hurry. Bunny, who had always
had all the money he could use, looked down with magnificent scorn upon
their petty bickering. You couldn’t trust such people around the corner,
he decided; there was nothing they wouldn’t do to you. That fat old
woman in the yellow satin dress, with her fat red arms and her fat legs
cased in silk—it wouldn’t take much more to have her clawing somebody’s
face. And that hatchet-faced man with the voice like a buzz-saw—he
would be capable of sticking a knife into you on a dark night!
Dad wanted his son to understand every detail of these business
arrangements: the terms of the lease, the provisions of the law, the
size of the different lots, the amounts of money involved. He would talk
about it afterwards, and it would be a kind of examination, to see how
much the boy had really understood. So Bunny listened attentively, and
put this and that together, remembering the points of the lease as he
had heard his father going over them with Ben Skutt and Mr. Prentice
while they were driving out to the field in the latter’s car. But the
boy could not keep his mind from going off to the different
personalities involved, and their points of view, and the hints one got
of their lives. That old fellow with the stooped shoulders and the
gnarled hands—he was some kind of poor workingman, and you could see he
was unhappy over this arguing; he wanted somebody he could trust, and he
looked this way and that, but there was no such person in the crowd.
That young woman with the nose-glasses, she was a hard one—what did she
do when she wasn’t quarreling? That elderly couple that looked
rich—they were very much on their dignity, but they had come to get
their share, all the same, and they weren’t having any generous emotions
towards the “little lots”!
The old gentleman drew his chair over beside Dad and began a whispered
conversation. Bunny saw Dad shake his head, and the old gentleman drew
away. Dad spoke to Skutt, and the latter rose and said: “Mr. Ross wishes
me to make clear that he isn’t interested in any proposition for leasing
a portion of the block. He wouldn’t put down a well without room for
offset wells. If you people can’t agree, he’ll take another lease that
I’ve found him.”
This struck a chill to them, and stopped the wrangling. Dad saw it, and
nodded to his “lease-hound,” who went on: “Mr. Ross has an offer of a
lease on the north side, which has very good prospects, because we
believe the anticline runs that way. There are several acres which
belong to one party, so it will be easy to agree.”—Yes, that scared the
wits out of them; it was several minutes before they were quarreling
again!
Where Bunny sat in the window-sill, he could see the lights of the
“discovery well,” now shut off and awaiting the building of tanks; he
could hear through the open window the hammering of the riveters on the
tanks, and of carpenters building new derricks along the slope. His
attention was wandering, when suddenly he was startled by a whispered
voice, coming from the darkness, apparently right alongside him: “Hey,
kid!”
Bunny peered around the edge of the window, and saw a figure, flattened
against the side of the house. “Hey, kid,” said the whisper again.
“Listen to me, but don’t let nobody know you’re listenin’. They mustn’t
know I’m here.”
Bunny’s thought was, “A spy! Trying to find out about the lease!” So he
was on the alert; he listened to a steady, persistent whisper, intense
and moving:
“Hey, kid! I’m Paul Watkins, and the lady what lives here is my aunt. I
dassn’t let her know I’m here, see, cause she’ll make me go back home. I
live on a ranch up in the San Elido, and I run away from home ’cause I
can’t stand it, see. I got to get a job, but first I got to have
somethin’ to eat, ’cause I’m near starved. And my aunt would want me to
have it, ’cause we’re friends, see—only she’d want me to go back home,
and I can’t stand it. So I want to get somethin’ to eat out of the
kitchen, and when I earn some money, I’ll mail it to her, so I’ll just
be borrowin’, see. What I want you to do is to unlock the kitchen door.
I won’t take nothin’ but a piece of pie, and maybe a sandwich or
somethin’, see. All you got to do is, tell my aunt to let you go into
the kitchen and get a drink of water, and then turn the key in the door
and go back into the house. You come out the front door if you want to,
and come round and make sure it’s all like I tell you. Say kid, be a
good scout, ’cause I’m up against it, it’s sure tough not to have a meal
all day, and I been hitch-hikin’ and walkin’ a lot o’ the time, and I’m
done up. You come out and I’ll tell you about it, but don’t try to talk
to me here, ’cause they’ll see your lips movin’, see, and they’ll know
there’s somebody out here.”
Bunny thought quickly. It was a delicate ethical question—whether you
had a right to unlock somebody else’s back door, so that a possible
thief could get in! But of course it wasn’t really a thief, if it was
your aunt, and she would give it to you anyhow. But how could you know
if the story was true? Well, you could go out, like the fellow said, and
if he was a thief you could grab him. What decided Bunny was the voice,
which he liked; even before he laid eyes on Paul Watkins’ face, Bunny
felt the power in Paul Watkins’ character, he was attracted by something
deep and stirring and powerful.
Bunny slid off the window-sill, and walked over to Mrs. Groarty, who was
wiping the perspiration from her forehead after a vicious tirade.
“Please, ma’am,” he said, “would you be so good as to excuse me if I go
into the kitchen and get a drink of water?”
He thought that would cover the case, but he failed to allow for the
fact that Mrs. Groarty was preparing for a career of elegance, and
losing no chance of observing the ways of the wealthy, even to the
drinking of a glass of water. Her heart warmed to the son of J. Arnold
Ross, and all the vinegar went out of her voice. “Certainly, dear,” she
said, and rose and led the way to the kitchen.
Bunny looked about. “My, what a pretty room!” he exclaimed—which was
true enough, because it was all enameled white paint.
“Yes, it is nice, I’m glad you think so,” said the mistress of it, as
she took a glass from a shelf and set the faucet to running.
“A real big kitchen,” said Bunny; “that’s always a comfort.” He took the
glass of water with thanks, and drank part of it. So polite and natural!
thought Mrs. Groarty. Not a bit stuck-up!
And Bunny went to the back door. “I suppose you’ve got a big
screen-porch here. Kind of hot indoors, don’t you think?” He unlocked
the door, and opened it, and looked out. “The breeze feels good,” he
said. “And you can see all the wells from here. Won’t it be fun when
they get to drilling right on this block!”
What a friendly little fellow! Mrs. Groarty was thinking; and she said
yes, and it would be soon, she hoped. Bunny said that perhaps she’d
catch cold, with that lovely evening dress she had on; so he shut the
door again; and his hostess was so charmed by the agreeable manners of
the aristocracy that she failed to notice that he did not lock the door.
He put the empty glass on the drain-board of the sink, and said no
thanks, he didn’t wish any more, and followed Mrs. Groarty back to the
crowded living-room.
“What I say is this—” it was the voice of Mr. Sahm, the plasterer. “If
you really want to sign the lease as it was, sign it as we all
understood it; let’s figure the land we own, and not the street we don’t
own.”
“In other words,” said Mrs. Walter Black, sarcastically, “let’s change
the lease.”
“In other words,” said Miss Snypp, even more sarcastically, “let’s not
fall into the trap you big lots set for us.”
VIII
It was to be expected that a thirteen-year old boy would grow weary of
such a wrangle; so no one paid the least attention when J. Arnold Ross,
junior, made his way to the front door and went out. He reached the back
door just as Paul Watkins was closing it softly behind him. “Thanks,
kid,” whispered the latter, and stole away to the wood-shed, with Bunny
close behind him. Paul’s first sentence was: “I got a piece of ham and
two slices of bread, and one piece of pie.” He already had his mouth
full.
“That’s all right, I guess,” said Bunny, judiciously. He waited, and for
a while there was no sound, save that of a hungry creature chewing. The
stranger was only a shadow with a voice; but outside, in the starlight,
Bunny had noted that the shadow was a head taller than himself, and
thin.
“Gee, it’s tough to be starvin’!” said the voice, at last. “Do you want
any of this?”
“Oh no, I had my supper,” said Bunny. “And I’m not supposed to eat at
night.”
The other went on chewing, and Bunny found it mysterious and romantic;
it might have been a hungry wolf there in the darkness! They sat on
boxes, and when the sounds of eating ceased, Bunny said: “What made you
run away from home?”
The other answered with another question, a puzzling one: “What church
do you belong to?”
“How do you mean?” countered Bunny.
“Don’t you know what it means to belong to a church?”
“Well, my grandmother takes me to a Baptist church sometimes, and my
mother takes me to a ’Piscopal one when I’m visiting her. But I don’t
know as I belong to any.”
“My Gosh!” said Paul. It was evident he was deeply impressed by this
statement. “You mean your father don’t make you belong to no church?”
“I don’t think Dad believes in things like that very much.”
“My Gosh! And you ain’t scared?”
“Scared of what?”
“Why, hell-fire and brimstone. Of losin’ your soul.”
“No, I never thought about it.”
“Say, kid, you dunno how queer that hits me. I just been makin’ up my
mind to go to hell, and not give a damn. Do you cuss?”
“Not very often.”
“Well, I cussed God.”
“How do you do that?”
“Why, I said, ‘Damn God!’ I said it half a dozen times, see, and I
thought sure the lightnin’ would come down and strike me. I said: I
don’t believe, and I ain’t a-goin’ to believe, and I don’t give a damn.”
“Well, but if you don’t believe, why should you be scared?” Bunny’s mind
was always logical like that.
“Well, I guess I didn’t know whether I believed or not. I don’t know
now. It didn’t seem like I could set my poor frail mind up against the
Rock of Ages. I didn’t know there was anybody had ever been that wicked
before. Pap says I’m the wickedest boy was ever born.”
“Pap is your father?”
“Yes.”
“What does he believe?”
“The Old Time Religion. It’s called the Four Square Gospel. It’s the
Apostolic Church, and they jump.”
“_Jump!_”
“The Holy Spirit comes down to you, see, and makes you jump. Sometimes
it makes you roll, and sometimes you talk in tongues.”
“What is that?”
“Why, you make noises, fast, like you was talkin’ in some foreign
language; and maybe it is—Pap says it’s the language of the archangels,
but I don’t know. I can’t understand it, and I hate it.”
“And your father does that?”
“Any time, day or night, he’s liable to. It’s his way of foilin’ the
tempter. If you say anything at meal-times, like there ain’t enough to
eat in the house, or you mention how the interest on the mortgage will
be due, and he hadn’t ought to give all the money for the missions, then
Pap will roll up his eyes, and begin to pray out loud and let go, as he
calls it; and then the Holy Spirit seizes him and he begins to jump and
shake all over, and he slides down out of his chair and rolls on the
floor, and begins to talk in tongues, like it says in the Bible. And
then Mom starts to cry, ’cause it scares her, she knows she’s got things
to do for the kids, but she dassn’t resist the Spirit, and Pap shouts,
Let go, let go—real loud, in the Voice of Sinai, as he says, and then
Mom’s shoulders begin to jerk, and her mouth pops down, and she begins
to roll in the chair, and shout for the Pentecostal Baptism. And that
turns the kids loose, they all begin to jump and to babble; and gee, it
scares you, somethin’ starts to grab you, and make you jerk whether you
want to or not. I rushed out of the house, and I shook my fist tip at
the sky and I yelled: ‘Damn God! Damn God!’ And then I waited for the
sky to fall in, and it didn’t, and I said, I don’t believe it, and I
ain’t a-goin’ to make myself believe it, not if I get sent to hell for
it.”
“Is that the reason you ran away?”
“That’s one of the reasons. You can’t get nowhere, livin’ like we do. We
got a big ranch, but it’s mostly rocks, and we’d have a hard time
anyhow; you plant things, and the rain fails, and nothin’ but weeds come
up. Why, if there’s a God, and he loves his poor human creatures, why
did he have to make so many weeds? That was when I first started to
cussin’—I was hoin’ weeds all day, and I just couldn’t help it, I found
myself sayin’, over and over: ‘Damn weeds! Damn weeds! Damn weeds!’ Pap
says it wasn’t God that made ’em, it was the devil; but then, God made
the devil, and God knew what the devil was goin’ to do, so ain’t God to
blame?”
“It seems like it to me,” said Bunny.
“Gee, kid, but you’re lucky! You never knew you had a soul at all! You
sure missed a lot of trouble!” There was a pause, and then Paul added:
“I had a hard time runnin’ away, and I ’spose I’ll go back in the
end—it’s tough to think of your brothers and sisters starvin’ to death,
and I don’t see what else can happen to ’em.”
“How many are there?”
“There’s four, besides me; and they’re all younger’n me.”
“How old are you?”
“I’m sixteen. The next is Eli, he’s fifteen; and the Holy Spirit has
blessed him—he has the shivers, and they last all day sometimes. He
sees the angels, comin’ down in clouds of glory; and he healed old Mrs.
Bugner, that had complications, by the layin’ on of his hands. Pap says
the Lord plans great blessings through him. Then there’s Ruth, she’s
thirteen, and she had visions too, but she’s beginnin’ to think like I
do; we have sensible talks—you know how it is, you can sometimes talk
to people that’s your own age, things you can’t ever say to grown-ups.”
“Yes, I know,” said Bunny. “They think you don’t understand anything.
They’ll talk right in front of you, and what do they think is the matter
with your brains? It makes me tired.”
“Ruth is what makes it hard for me to stay away,” continued the other.
“She said for me to go, but gee, what’ll they all do? They can’t do hard
work like I can. And don’t you think I’d run away from hard work; it’s
only that I want to get somewhere, else what’s the use of it? There
ain’t any chance for us. Pap hitches up the wagon and drives us all to
Paradise, where the Pentecostal Mission is, and there they all roll and
babble all day Sunday, most, and the Spirit commands them to pledge all
the money they’ve got to convert the heathen—you see, we’ve got
missions in England and France and Germany and them godless nations, and
Pap’ll promise more than he’s got, and then he’s got to give it, ’cause
it don’t belong to him no more, it’s the Holy Spirit’s, see. That’s why
I quit.”
There was silence for a space; then Paul asked: “What’s that big crowd
of folks in there for?”
“That’s the oil lease; didn’t you know about the oil?”
“Yes, we heard about the strike. We’re supposed to have oil on our
ranch—at least, my Uncle Eby used to say he’d come onto signs of it;
but he’s dead, and I never seen ’em, and I never expected no luck for
our family. But they say Aunt Allie here is a-goin’ to be rich.”
A sudden vision flashed over Bunny—of Mrs. Groarty, in her shiny robe
of yellow satin, and her large bare arms and bosom. “Tell me,” he said,
“does your aunt roll?”
“Gosh, no!” said the other. “She married a Romanist, and Pap calls her
the Whore of Babylon, and we’re not supposed to speak to her no more.
But she’s kind, and I knew she’d gimme some grub, so when I found I
couldn’t get a job, I come here.”
“Why couldn’t you get a job?”
“’Cause everybody lectures you and tells you to go back home.”
“But why do you tell them about it?”
“You have to. They ask where you live, and why ain’t you at home; and I
ain’t a-goin’ to lie.”
“But you can’t starve!”
“I can before I’ll go crooked. I had a fuss with Pap, and he says, if
you depart from the Holy Word, the devil gets you, and you lie and cheat
and steal and fornicate; and I says, ‘Well, sir, I’ll show you. I think
a fellow can be decent without no devil.’ I made up my mind, and I’m
a-goin’ to show him. I’ll pay back Aunt Allie, so I’m only borrowin’
this grub.”
Bunny held out his hand in the darkness. “You take this,” he said.
“What is it?”
“Some money.”
“No, sir, I don’t want no money, not till I earn it.”
“But listen, Paul, my Dad’s got a lot of money, and he gives me what I
ask him for. He’s come here to lease this block from your aunt, and he
won’t miss this little bit.”
“No, sir, I ain’t a-goin’ to turn into no bum; I didn’t run away for
that. You think ’cause I took some food out of my aunt’s pantry—”
“No, I don’t think that at all! And you can call this a loan, if you
want to.”
“You put up your money,” said the other, with a note of harshness in his
voice. “I ain’t a-goin’ to call no loans, and you done enough for me
already; so forget it.”
“Well, but Paul—”
“Do what I say, now!”
“But then, you’ll come to the hotel tomorrow and have lunch with me?”
“No, I can’t come to no hotel, I don’t look decent.”
“But that don’t matter, Paul.”
“Sure it matters! Your Dad’s a rich man, and he wouldn’t want no
ranch-boy at his hotel.”
“Dad wouldn’t care—honest, he wouldn’t! He says I don’t know enough
boys, I stay by myself and read too much.”
“Yes, but he don’t want no boys like me.”
“He says I’ve got to work, Paul—honest, you don’t know Dad. He’d like
to have you come; he’d like us to be friends.”
There was a pause, while Paul weighed this proposition, and Bunny
waited, as anxiously as if it were the sentence of a court. He liked
this boy! He had never met any boy he liked so much as this one! And did
the boy like him?
As it happened, the sentence of the court was never pronounced. Paul
suddenly started to his feet, crying, “What’s that?” Bunny also sprang
up. From the direction of Mrs. Groarty’s house had come a clamor of
voices, rising above the pounding of hammers and the sounds of labor in
the neighborhood. The yells grew louder, and yet louder, and the boys
dashed to the open window of the house.
Everybody in the room was on his or her feet, and all seemed to be
shouting at once. It was impossible to see many in the crowd, but two
men close by the window made a little drama all by themselves. They were
Mr. Sahm, the plasterer, owner of one of the “little little lots,” and
Mr. Hank, the ex-goldminer, owner of one of the “big little lots”; they
were shaking their fists at each other, and Mr. Sahm, the party of the
first part, was shouting at Mr. Hank, the party of the second part,
“You’re a dirty, lying, yellow skunk!” To which the party of the second
part answered, “Take that, you white-livered puppy!” and hit the party
of the first part, Biff! a crack on the nose. The party of the first
part countered with a nasty uppercut to the jaw of the party of the
second part, Bang! And so they went to it, Biff, bang! Bang, biff!—and
the two boys gazed through the open window, horrified, enraptured.
Whoopee! A scrap!
IX
There was a general appearance as if everybody in the room were
fighting; but that could not have been the case, for there were several
left to separate Messrs. Sahm and Hank, and to shove them into opposite
corners. Before this process was entirely completed, Bunny heard a voice
calling his name from the front of the house. “All right, Dad!” he
answered, and ran to meet his father.
The three men of the Ross party were descending the front steps, and
proceeding down the walk. “Come on,” said the father; “we’re a-goin’
back to the hotel.”
“Gee, Dad! What happened?”
“They’re a bunch of boobs, and you can’t do anything with them. I
wouldn’t take their lease if they offered it as a gift. Let’s get out of
here.”
They were walking towards their car, which was parked a little way down
the road. Suddenly Bunny halted. “Oh, Dad,” he cried; “wait just a
minute! Please, Dad, there’s a boy I met, and I want to tell him
something. Wait for me, please!”
“Well, be quick,” said Dad. “I got another lease to see about tonight.”
Bunny raced back, as fast as his legs could move. A panic had seized
him. “Paul! Paul!” he shouted. “Where are you?”
There was no sound, and no sign of the other boy. Bunny ran to the
wood-shed, he ran all the way round the house, shouting, “Paul! Paul!”
He dashed into the screen-porch, and opened the back door, and peered
into the empty, white-enameled kitchen; he ran back to the wood-shed,
and then to the garage in front of it; he stood gazing across the dark
cabbage fields and calling at the top of his lungs: “Paul! Paul! Where
are you? Please don’t go away!” But there was no reply.
Then Bunny heard his father’s voice again, in a tone that was not to be
neglected; so he went, with sinking heart, and climbed into his place in
the automobile. All the way back to the hotel, while the men were
discussing the new lease they planned to make, Bunny sat in silence,
with tears stealing down his cheeks. Paul was gone! He might never see
Paul again! And oh, such a wonderful boy! Such a wise boy—he knew so
many things! A clear-sighted boy, and so interesting to talk to! And an
honest boy—he wouldn’t lie or steal! Bunny was ashamed, recollecting
several times in his life when he had told lies—nothing very serious,
but little things, that seemed so petty and mean, in the sudden clear
light of Paul’s uprightness.
And Paul wouldn’t take any of Dad’s money! Dad thought that everybody in
the world would be glad to get his money; but this boy had refused it!
He must have been angry with Bunny for pressing it upon him, else he
wouldn’t have run away like that! Or else, for whatever reason, he
didn’t like Bunny; and so Bunny would never see him again!