THE REVELATION
I
Bunny was going to school. Aunt Emma and Grandmother and Bertie had got
their way by incessant nagging, and he was no longer to be a “little oil
gnome,” and devote his time to learning to make money; he was going to
be a boy like other boys, and have a good time, and wear athletic
sweaters, and shout at football games, and be part of a great machine.
Mr. Eaton had been spurred to a last suicidal effort, and had patched up
the weak spots in the mental equipment of his charge, and Bunny had
passed some examinations, and was a duly enrolled pupil in the Beach
City High School.
This school occupied two blocks on the outskirts of town, and consisted
of several buildings arranged on three sides of a Square; elaborate and
ornate buildings, a great pride to the city, as well as a strain upon
its purse. The school was free, and to it came the sons and daughters of
that part of the population which did not have to go to work before the
age of eighteen or twenty. This meant all the moderately well-to-do
people; and the boys and girls, thus constituting an economic stratum,
proceeded to arrange themselves in sub-strata upon the same principle.
Their “secret societies” were forbidden by the teachers, but flourished
none the less; the basis of admission being wealth and the pleasant
things which wealth buys—well-nourished bodies, and fashionable
clothing, and easy manners, and a playful attitude towards life.
The young people were collected into small herds, and rushed about from
room to room, where culture was handed out to them in properly measured
doses. It was an enormous education-factory, and the parents had paid
for the best possible equipment, but by some process impossible to
explain, it was gradually being taken away from the teachers, and turned
over to the pupils. Every year the young people seemed to be less
interested in work, and more absorbed in what were called “outside
activities”—the athletic-field, the tennis and basket-ball courts, the
big swimming pool and the dancing floor. The boys and girls were making
for themselves a separate world, having its own standards, its own
secret life. They wore pins and badges, and had pass-words and grips
with esoteric significance; they had elaborate codes, having to do with
the wearing of flowers, or the color of your neck-tie, or the ribbon on
your hat, or the angle at which you affixed a postage stamp to an
envelope.
It was a herd life, based in part upon money-prestige, like the life of
the adults, and in part upon athletic prowess. It consisted in rushing
about from one mass-event to another mass-event. You pitted the powers
of your team against those of some other team, and the ability of your
mob to shout louder than the other mob; you got together and rehearsed
these shoutings, while the teams rehearsed the battles over which you
were to shout. It was all practice for the later and more real glories
of college and university, where the financially and athletically more
powerful students would be taken up by the great fraternities, and would
perform their social and athletic functions with skill and grace made
perfect.
Bunny, as we know, possessed the requirements of a fraternity career; he
had Anglo-Saxon features, and plenty of big sweaters, and drove to
school in a car of that year’s model. He was taken up by an exclusive
society, and was soon in demand for whatever was going on. He was
enormously interested in everything; he had never imagined there were so
many young people in the world before, and he wanted to know them all.
He raced about with them from one thing to another, and watched with
open eyes and listened with open ears to everything that came from
either the teachers or the pupils. But all the time there was something
which set him apart from the rest—something sober and old-fashioned and
“queer.” It came, no doubt, from his knowing so much about the oil
business; Bertie was right in her cruel remark that he had oil stains
under his finger-nails. He would never share the idea of other darlings
of luxury, that “money grows on trees;” he knew that it comes by hard
and dangerous work. Also, Bunny had to meet the situation at home, which
he understood quite clearly; his father wasn’t at all sure that high
school was the best place for a boy, and was watching and listening all
the time, to see what sort of ideas Bunny was getting. So the boy was
always comparing the school’s kind of education with Dad’s kind, and
which was really right?
Before starting out in his new career Bunny received what parents know
as a “serious talk”; and that was curious and puzzling. First, Dad was
going to give him a car, and there must be rules about it. He must give
his word never to exceed the speed limit, whether in the city or
outside; and that was certainly a curious case of the double standard of
morals! But Dad met it frankly; he was mature, and could judge about
speeds; moreover, he had important business for his excuse, but Bunny
was to start for school early, and the rest of the time he would be
driving for pleasure. He might take out others in his car, but he must
never let anyone drive the car but himself; Dad had no money to run a
free garage for a high school fraternity, and it would be convenient for
Bunny to be able to say, once for all, that his father had laid down the
law in that matter.
Furthermore, Dad wanted Bunny to promise him not to smoke tobacco or
drink liquor until he was twenty-one. Here again was the “double
standard,” and Dad was frank about it. He had learned to smoke, but
wished he hadn’t; if Bunny wanted to acquire the habit, it was his
right, but Dad thought he ought to wait until he was old enough to know
what he was doing, and until he had got his full growth. And the same
applied to liquor. Dad drank very little now, but there had been a time
in his life when he had come close to becoming a drunkard, and so he was
afraid of it, and Bunny’s being allowed to go to college—at least on
Dad’s money—would have to be dependent upon his promising to avoid the
drinking-bouts. Bunny said all right, sure; that was easy enough for
him. He would have liked to ask more about Dad’s own story, but he did
not quite like to. He had never seen Dad drunk; and it was a startling
idea to contemplate.
Finally there was the matter of women; and here, apparently, Dad could
not bring himself to be frank. Two things he said: first, Bunny was
known to have a father with a pile of money, and this exposed him to one
of the worst perils of young men. All kinds of women would be a-tryin’
to get a-hold of him, jist in order to get him to spend money on them,
or to blackmail him; and Bunny would be disposed to trust women, so he
must be warned about this. Dad told him dreadful stories about rich
young men, and the women into whose hands they had fallen, and how it
had wrecked their lives and brought shame upon their families. And then,
there was the matter of disease; loose women were very apt to have
diseases, and Dad told something about this, and about the quacks who
prey upon ignorant and frightened boys. If one got into trouble of that
sort, one must go to a first-class doctor.
And that was all Dad had to say. Bunny took it gratefully, but he wished
there might have been more; he would have liked to ask his father many
questions, but he could not bring himself to do it, in the face of his
father’s evident shrinking. Dad’s manner and attitude seemed to say that
there was something so inherently evil about sex that you jist couldn’t
bring yourself to talk about it; it was a part of your life that you
lived in the dark, and never dragged out into the light. Bunny’s idea
was that his father’s discourse didn’t apply very much to himself. He
knew there were dirty boys, but he was not one, and never expected to
be.
The matter was made easier for Bunny by the fact that he very soon fell
severely in love. There were such swarms of charming young feminine
things in the school, it was simply not possible to escape them,
especially when your possessions and social standing were such that so
many of them set out after you! Some young misses were too bold in their
advances, or too obviously coy, and repelled the shy lad; the one who
secured him was very demure and still, so that his imagination could
endow her with romantic qualities. Rosie Taintor was her name, and she
had hair that made a tail half-way down her back, and was fluffy on her
forehead, with golden glints; she was even more shy than Bunny, and had
little conversation, but that was not necessary, for she had a great
power of admiration, and had a phrase by which she expressed it: things
were “wonderful”; they grew more and more “wonderful,” with soulful,
mysterious whispers; the oil business was especially “wonderful,” and
Rosie never tired of being told about it, which pleased Bunny, who had
much to tell. Rosie’s father, and also her mother, were dentists, and
this is not an especially romantic occupation, so naturally the child
thought it thrilling to dash about the country as Bunny did, and direct
armies of labor, and command vast treasures to flow out of the earth.
Bunny would take her for rides; and when they were out in the country,
where it was safe, Bunny would drive with one hand, and the other hand
would rest on Rosie’s, and truly “wonderful” were the thrills that would
steal over both of them. They were content to ride that way for hours;
or to get out and wander in the hills, and gather wild flowers, and sit
and watch the sunset. Bunny was full of reverence, and when once or
twice he dared so far as to place a kiss upon his adored one’s cheek, it
was with almost religious awe. When the weather was not suitable for
outdoor courtship, he would visit her home, where the mother and father
had a hobby, the collecting of old English prints; these were framed on
all the walls, and there were stacks of them you could look at, quaint
eighteenth-century scenes of hunting gentlemen in red coats with packs
of hounds, and red-cheeked barmaids serving pots of ale to topers with
big pipes. Bunny would look at these for hours—for it took only one
hand to turn them over. What is there that is not “wonderful,” when you
are so young, and at the same time so good? It made Bunny walk on air,
just to buy a new straw hat, and meet his chosen one upon the street,
and anticipate her comments!
II
When Dad took his business trips now he took them alone; that is, unless
he could arrange them for week-ends and holidays. He didn’t like going
alone; and Bunny for his part, always had a part of his mind on Dad, and
when Dad got back, he would hear all the details of how things were
going.
There were six wells now at Lobos River, and they were all “paying big.”
Dad had four more drilling, and had deepened eleven of his old Antelope
wells, and had a pipe-line there, through which a river of wealth was
flowing to him. On the Bankside lease he had six wells, all on
production, and he had paid Mr. Bankside something over a million
dollars of royalty, and had only got started, so he said. He had a good
well on the next lease, the Ross-Wagstaff, and three more drilling, and
out about half a mile to the north he was opening up new territory with
the Ross-Armitage No. 1.
It was amazing to see what had happened to the Prospect Hill field. All
over the top of the hill and the slopes a forest of oil-derricks had
arisen, and had started marching across the fields of cabbages and sugar
beets. Seeing them from the distance, in the haze of sunset, you could
fancy an army of snails moving forth—the kind which have crests lifted
high in the air. When you came near, you heard a roaring and a
grumbling, as of Pluto’s realm; at night there was a scene of
enchantment, a blur of white and golden lights, with jets of steam, and
a glare of leaping flame where they were burning gas that came roaring
out of the earth, and which they had no way to use.
Yes, when you drove past, sitting in a comfortable car, you might
mistake it for fairyland. You had to remind yourself that an army of men
were working here, working hard in twelve hour shifts, and in peril of
life and limb. Also you had to remember the pulling and hauling, the
intrigue and treachery, the ruin and blasted hopes; you had to hear
Dad’s stories of what was happening to the little fellows, the thousands
of investors who had come rushing to the field like moths to a
candle-flame. Then your fairyland was turned into a slaughter-house,
where the many were ground up into sausages for the breakfast of the
few!
Dad had a big office now, with a manager and half a dozen clerks, and he
sat there, like the captain of a battleship in his conning tower.
Whatever might happen to the others, Dad took care of himself and his
own. He had come to be known as the biggest independent operator in the
field, and all sorts of people came to him with propositions; new,
wonderful, glowing schemes—with Dad’s reputation for solidity, he could
organize a ten or twenty million dollar company, and the investing
public would flock to him. But Dad turned all such things down; he would
wait, he told Bunny, until Bunny was grown up, and through with this
here education business. They would have a pile of cash by that time and
would do something sure enough big. And Bunny said all right, that
suited him. He hoped the “something big” might be at Paradise, for then
he would have a real share in it. Dad said, sure, the Watkins ranch was
his discovery, and when they come to drill there, the well would be
known as the Ross Junior.
They had made no move there; they were waiting, because of an
unfortunate slip-up in the negotiations for the land. An unkind fate had
willed that Mr. Bandy, owner of the big Bandy tract, had been away from
home on the day that Mr. Hardacre had collected his options; and when
Mr. Bandy got back, and learned about all the sudden purchases, he
became suspicious, and decided that he would hold onto his land. At
least, it amounted to that, for he raised his price from five dollars an
acre to fifty! What made this especially bad, the Bandy tract lay right
next to the Watkins section; it was over a thousand acres, and ran near
to where Dad and Bunny had found the oil—in fact, Dad thought the
streak of oil was on Mr. Bandy’s land, he couldn’t be sure without a
survey. They would wait, Dad said, and let Mr. Bandy stay in pickle for
a few years. It was like a cat watching a gopher hole, and which would
get tired first. Bunny asked which was Mr. Bandy, the cat or the gopher;
and Dad replied that if anybody ever mistook Jim Ross for a gopher, he
would jist try to show them their mistake.
So they were waiting. Some day that mythical relative of Dad’s, who was
an invalid, was coming into those rocky hills and tend a few thousand
goats; and meantime most of the ranches were rented to the people who
had formerly owned them. Three or four were vacant, but Dad didn’t worry
about that; he would leave them to the quail, he said, and told Mr.
Hardacre to put up a thousand “No Trespassing” signs over the whole
twelve thousand acres he had bought, so as to impress Mr. Bandy with
Dad’s gluttonous attitude toward small game.
III
The greater part of the civilized world had gone to war. The newspapers
which Dad and Bunny read turned themselves into posters, with
streamer-heads all the way across the page, telling every day of battles
and campaigns in which thousands, and perhaps tens of thousands of men
had lost their lives. To people in California, so peaceful and
prosperous, this was a tale of “old, unhappy far-off things,” impossible
to make real to yourself. America had officially declared neutrality;
which meant that in the “current events” class, where Bunny learned what
was going on in the world, the teacher was expected to deal with the war
objectively, and to rebuke any child who expressed a partisanship
offensive to any other child. To business men like Dad it meant that
they would make money out of both sides; they would sell to the Allies
direct, and they would sell to the Central powers by way of agents in
Holland and Scandinavia, and they would raise a howl when the British
tried to stop this by the blockade.
The price of “gas” of course began to mount immediately. It seemed to
Bunny a rather dreadful thing that Dad’s millions should be multiplied
out of the collective agony of the rest of the world; but Dad said that
was rubbish, it wasn’t his fault that people in Europe insisted on
fighting, and if they wanted things he had to sell, they would pay him
the market price. When speculators came to him, showing how he, with his
big supply of cash, could make a quick turn-over, buying shoes, or
ships, or sealing-wax, or other articles of combat, Dad would reply that
he knew one business, which was oil, and he had made his way in life by
sticking to what he knew. When representatives of the warring powers
invited him to sign contracts to deliver oil, he would answer that
nothing gave him more pleasure than to sign such contracts; but they
must change their European bonds into good American dollars, and pay him
with these latter. He would offer to take them to the little roadside
restaurant where they could see the sign: “We have an arrangement with
our bank; the bank does not sell soup, and we do not cash checks.”
On the basis of his father’s reputation for unlimited resources and
invincible integrity, Bunny had been chosen treasurer of the freshman
football team, a position of grave responsibility, which entitled him to
sit on the side-lines and help the cheer-leaders. While on the other
side of the world men were staggering about in darkness and mud and
snow, blind with fatigue, or with their eyes shot out, or their entrails
dragging in the dirt, the sun would be shining in California, and Bunny
would be facing a crowd of one or two thousand school children, lined up
on benches and shrieking in unison: “Rah, rah, rah, slippery,
slam!—wallibazoo, bazim, bazam! Beach City.” He would come home
radiant, with barely enough voice left to tell the score; and Aunt Emma
would sit beaming—he was being like other boys, and the Ross family was
taking its position in society.
The Christmas holidays came; and Dad was working too hard, everybody
declared; and Bunny said, “Let’s go after quail!” It wasn’t so hard to
pull him loose now, for they had their own game-preserve—it sounded
most magnificent, and it would obviously be a great waste not to use it.
So they packed up their camping outfit, and drove to Paradise, and
pitched their tent under the live oak tree; and there was the ranch, and
the Watkins family, the same as before, except that the row of children
was a couple of inches taller, and the girls each had a new dress to
cover their growing brown legs. Things were a whole lot easier with the
family, since they had an income of fifteen dollars a month from the
bank, instead of an outgo of ten dollars.
Well, Dad and Bunny went after the quail, and got a bagful; and
incidentally they examined the streak of oil, now grown dry and hard,
and covered with sand and dust. They went back to camp and had a good
feed, and then came Ruth, to get their soiled dishes; she was taking
Eli’s place, she explained, because Eli had been called to attend Mrs.
Puffer, that was ill with pains in her head. Eli had been doing a power
of good with his healing, it had made a great stir, and people were
coming from all over to have him lay hands on them. Bunny asked if Ruth
had heard from Paul, and she answered that he had come to see her a
couple of months ago, and was getting along all right.
She seemed a little shy, and Bunny thought it might be on account of Dad
lying there listening, so he strolled back to the house with her, and on
the way Ruth confided to him that Paul had brought her a book to read,
to show her she didn’t have to believe the Bible if she didn’t want to;
and Pap had caught her with that book, and he had took it away and threw
it in the fire, and had whaled her good.
Bunny was horrified. “You mean he beat you?” And Ruth nodded; she meant
that. “What did he use?” cried Bunny, and she answered that he had used
a strap off’n the harness. “And did he hurt you?” She answered that he
had hurt right smart, it had been a week afore she was able to sit down.
She was a little surprised at his indignation, for it didn’t seem to her
out of the way that a girl almost sixteen years old should be “whaled”
by her Pap; he meant it for her good, he thought it was his duty to save
her soul from hell-fire. And Bunny could see that Ruth wasn’t sure but
her Pap might be right.
“What was the book?” he asked, and she told him it was called “The Age
of Reason”; it was an old-time book, and maybe Bunny had heard of it.
Bunny never had; but naturally, he resolved to find a copy, and read it,
and tell Ruth all that was in it.
He went back to his father, and poured out his indignation; but Dad took
much the same view of the matter as Ruth. Of course it was a shame for a
child to be whipped for trying to get knowledge, but old Abel Watkins
was the boss in his own family, and had the right to discipline his
children. Dad said he had heard of the book; it was by a famous
“infidel” named Tom Paine, who had had something to do with the American
Revolution. Dad had never read the book, but it was easy to understand
how Mr. Watkins had been outraged by it; if Paul was reading such
things, he had surely traveled far.
Bunny couldn’t rest there; it was too horrible that Ruth should be
beaten because she tried to use her mind. Bunny kept talking about it
all afternoon, there ought to be a law to prevent such a thing. Dad said
the law would only interfere in case the father had used unusual and
cruel punishment. Bunny insisted that Dad ought to do something, and Dad
laughed, and asked if Bunny wanted him to adopt Ruth. Bunny didn’t want
that, but he thought Dad should use his influence with the old man. To
this Dad answered, it would be foolish to try to reason with a crank
like that, the more you argued the more set he would become; what
influence Dad possessed, he had got by pretending to agree with the old
man’s delusions.
But Bunny wouldn’t drop the subject—Dad could do something if he would,
and he absolutely must. And so Dad thought for a bit, and then he said:
“I’ll tell you, son; what you and me have got to do is to get a new
religion.” Bunny knew this tone—his father was “kidding” him, and so he
waited patiently. Yes, Dad said, they would have to elaborate the True
Word; they must make it one of the cardinal points in this Word that
girls were never to be beaten by men. There would have to be a special
revelation, jist on that point, said Dad; and so Bunny began to take an
interest. Dad asked him questions about Paul, what Paul believed, and
what Paul had said about Ruth, and what Ruth had told him about herself.
Bunny realized that Dad was going to try something, and he waited.
They shot some more quail, and came back and built a big camp-fire, and
had a jolly supper, and then Dad said, “Now let’s go start that there
religion.” So they strolled down to the cabin, Dad in deep thought, and
Bunny on tiptoe with curiosity—for you never could tell what Dad would
do when he was in a mood of mischief. In after years the boy used to
look back upon this moment and marvel; what would their emotions have
been, had they been able to foresee the consequences of their jest—a
“revival” movement that was to shake the whole State of California, or
at any rate the rural portion of it, and of several states adjoining!
IV
Well, old Mr. Watkins invited them cordially to come in; and Sadie and
Meelie gave up their chairs and sat on a box or something in a corner of
the room. It was the first time that Bunny had been inside the Watkins’
home, and it gave him a shuddering sense of poverty. It was bare boards
inside, the same as out; there was a big, unpainted table, and six
unpainted chairs, a few shelves with crockery, a few pans hanging on the
wall, and a stove that rested on a stone where one leg was broken. That
was everything, literally everything—save for a feeble kerosene lamp,
which enabled you to see the rest. There were two other rooms to the
cabin, one for the husband and wife, and the other for the three girls,
who slept in one bed. Attached to the back of the house was a shed with
two bunks against the wall, the top one occupied by Eli, and the other
vacant, a reminder of the sheep that had strayed.
Eli was in the room, having come back from his expedition. Eli was now
eighteen, and had attained the full stature of a man; also his voice was
that of a man, except that now and then it cracked and went up in a way
that would have been comical, if anybody that listened to Eli ever had a
sense of fun. Just now he was telling his parents and wondering sisters
how the Holy Spirit had blessed him again, the shivers had seized him,
and old Mrs. Puffer had been instantly relieved of her pains. Mr.
Watkins said “Amen!” three or four times, very loud, and then he turned
to Dad, remarking, “The Lord blesses us in our children.” Dad said yes,
that was true, possibly more true than they knew; he asked, had Mr.
Watkins ever thought of the possibility that the Lord might send a new
revelation into the world? And instantly you could see the family sit
up, and fix their eyes upon Dad, the whole six of them, as rigid as so
many statues. What did their visitor mean?
Dad explained: there had been two revelations so far, to be found in the
old and the new testaments; why mightn’t it be that the Holy Spirit was
preparing another? For a long time the followers of the True Word had
awaited this fulfillment; the promise was in the Book, for anyone to
read. This New Dispensation would supersede the others, and naturally
would have to be different from the others, and the followers of the old
message might fail to recognize it, jist like the previous case. Didn’t
that seem reasonable? Dad asked; and Mr. Watkins answered promptly that
it did, and for Dad to go on. So Dad said that this True Word was to be
revealed through the minds of men, and would be a message of freedom;
the Holy Spirit wanted us to seek boldly, and not be afraid; and
presently out of the seeking of many minds the Truth would come—perhaps
from some one who had been despised and rejected, that would become the
corner stone of the new temple. Dad said all this with the deepest
solemnity, and Bunny listened, not a little bewildered; he had never had
any idea that Dad knew so much Bible-talk—as much as any preacher!
So it seemed to the Watkins family also. The old man drank in every
word, and insisted that Dad should reveal to them all he knew. And Dad
told them that they had one son, whose words had been reported to him,
and seemed to him to bear the true spirit of the Third Revelation. Dad
had met this son, and been struck by his appearance, for he looked jist
like what followers of the True Word had been taught to expect—he was
tall, and had fair hair and blue eyes, and his look was grave and his
voice deep. So Dad believed that the bearer of this message of freedom,
to which they were charged to listen, was their eldest son, Paul, whom
they mistakenly had driven from among them.
Well, you should have seen the sensation in that family! Old Mr. Watkins
sat with his jaw dropped down, as thunder-struck as if Dad had sprouted
a pair of angel’s wings before his eyes. Mrs. Watkins’ thin face wore a
look of utter rapture, and her two stringy hands were clasped together
in front of her chin. As for Ruth, she seemed just about ready to slide
off her chair and onto her knees. Everybody seemed to be pleased but
one, and that was Eli. Eli was glaring at Dad, and suddenly he sprang
from his chair, his face contorted; he shouted, and his voice cracked,
and went up shrill and piercing: “Can he show the signs?” And as Dad
delayed to answer, he shouted again, “I say, can he show the signs? Has
he healen the sick? Has he casted out devils? Do the lame rise up and
walk? Do the dying take up their beds? Tell me that! Tell me!”
Well, sir, it floored Dad; for Eli was the last person in the room from
whom he would have expected an onslaught. Dad thought of Eli as a gawky
farm yokel, who came, with no socks on, and pants that did not reach his
shoe-tops, to bring the milk and take away the dirty dishes; but here
was Eli, transformed into a prophet of the Lord, and blazing, after a
fashion not unknown to prophets, with a white flame of jealousy! “_I_ am
him who the Holy Spirit has blessed! _I_ am him who the Lord hath chosen
to show the signs! Look at me, I say—look at me! Ain’t my hair fair and
my eyes blue? Ain’t my face grave and my voice deep?”—and sure enough,
Eli’s voice had gone down again, and Eli was a grown man, a seer of
visions and pronouncer of dooms. “I say beware of he that cometh as a
serpent creeping in the night, to tempt the souls of they that waver! I
say, beware the spawns of Satan, that lure the soul with false doctrine,
and blast away the Rock of Ages! I give the signs, that all men may
know! I stand by the Four Square Gospel, that was good enough for my
fathers and is good enough for me! Glory Hallelujah, and Salvation unto
they that has washed their sins in the Blood of the Lamb! Hallelujah!
Hallelujah!”
Eli flung up his hands with a mighty shriek, and old Mr. Watkins rose
from his chair, and shouted “Glory! Glory!” And then a horrible thing
began to happen, right there before your eyes; a kind of convulsion
seized upon Eli, his eyes rolled up, and foam appeared at his lips, and
a series of wriggles started at his shoulders and ran out at his finger
tips; and his knees began to knock together, and his features to work in
a kaleidescope of idiocy. He began to bellow, in an enormous voice, that
you would never have dreamed could be contained in a body of his size;
and what he said was—but you couldn’t reproduce it, because no one can
recollect a jabber of syllables, and anyhow, it would look too silly on
a printed page. But it had some kind of spell for old Mr. Watkins, it
caused him to throw his two hands up into the air, and jerk his arms as
if he were trying to jump up to heaven with them. “Let go! Let go!” he
shrieked, and began to double up and straighten out again as if he had
been shot through the middle; and old Mrs. Watkins:—poor frail little
woman, made of nothing but bones and whipcord covered with skin—began
to rock and sway in her chair, and the two little girls slid off onto
the floor and wallowed on their stomachs, and Ruth sat white-faced and
terrified, gazing at the two strangers, and from them to Eli, bellowing
his jabber of syllables like a furious malediction at Dad.
And that was the end of it. Dad backed out, and Bunny with him, and the
two of them crept away through the darkness to their camp; and all the
way Dad whispered, “Jesus Christ!”
V
The next day was Sunday, or the Sabbath, as the Watkinses called it; and
by the time Dad and Bunny had got their breakfast in the morning, the
family had hitched up their one old horse to their one old wagon, and
departed—the father and mother riding, and the four young people
walking ahead, on their way to the weekly debauch at the Apostolic
Church of Paradise.
That left Dad and Bunny to hunt quail, undisturbed by public opinion;
and in the afternoon they got into their car, and rode about to make an
inspection of the domain they had purchased, and to meet some of the
neighbors, now their tenants. Dad had a map, showing the various tracts,
and as they drove he was laying out roads and other improvements in his
mind; some day this country would all be settled, he said—and the thing
to begin with was a rock-crusher! There came riding along the fellow on
horseback whom they had met the first time; they knew now that it was
young Bandy, the son of their enemy, and they exchanged greetings—the
cat and the gopher being polite!
They rode up into one of the arroyos where there was a vacant ranch, the
Rascum place. They were surprised to find a charming little bungalow,
with a good porch in front, completely buried under a bougainvillea
vine, which would be a mass of purple blossoms in the spring. “Gee,
Dad,” exclaimed Bunny, “this is where we ought to come and stay!” The
other answered, there should be somebody to keep it up; there was a well
here, and with a little fixing it would be quite a place. There was even
a cat, and she looked contented; there were plenty of gophers, Dad said,
and it was a good sign for victory over Mr. Bandy! They laughed
together.
They followed the “slide” down to Roseville, and saw the old mission
there, and had supper, and came round by way of Paradise in the evening;
and on the outskirts of the town, just after turning off the highway,
they came on a building, standing in a grove of trees, with lights
shining in the windows, and a murmur of voices within. One voice rose
above the others, a bellowing voice which needed no identifying. It was
the “holy jumpers’” church, and Eli was preaching. “Oh, Dad,” exclaimed
Bunny, “let’s hear him!” So they parked the car and got out, and stood
in the shadow of the trees; and this is what they heard:
“—for the days of your trials is ended. Come unto me all ye that
travels and is heavy ladened and I will refreshen you. For I am the
bearer of the True Word! I bring the signs—the sick shall be healen,
and the devils shall be casted out—the lame shall walk and the dying
shall take up their beds! Brethren, I am sent for to announce unto you
the Third Revelation! Once moreover the Holy Spirit disclothes Himself,
the New Gospel is unfolded to you, according to the prophesies hitherto
fore explained. There was an Old Dispensation, and it was outgrowed and
supercedened, and now the New Testament is outgrowed and supercedened in
the same way, and the True Word of freedom is handed unto you, and I am
him that is sent to make it known. And woe unto they that doth not heed,
for he shall be casted down into the bottomless pit, and it were better
that a millstone was hanged about his neck and he was drowned in the
sea. Woe unto he that cometh as a serpent creeping in the night, to
tempt the souls of they that waver! I say, beware the spawns of Satan,
that lure the soul with false doctrine, and blast away the Rock of Ages!
I give the signs that all men may know; and he that follows me will I
bless, and his pains shall be healen, and he shall see the glory of God
and receive the gifts of the Holy Spirit, the talking in tongues! Glory
Hallelujah, and Salvation unto they that has washed their sins in the
Blood of the Lamb! Hallelujah!”
The bellowing voice of Eli was drowned in a chorus of acclamation,
shouts and shrieks and groans, as if the whole congregation of the
Apostolic Church of Paradise were jumping in their seats or rolling on
the floor. As a matter of fact, it was but a little while before that
very thing was happening; but Dad wouldn’t let Bunny go near to see it,
it was too degrading, he said, and they got into their car and drove
off. “Gee whiz, Dad!” exclaimed the boy. “Eli was saying every word that
you taught him! Do you suppose he really believes it all?”
Dad answered that only the Holy Spirit could tell that. Eli was a
lunatic, and a dangerous one, but a kind that you couldn’t put in an
asylum, because he used the phrases of religion. He hadn’t wits enough
to make up anything for himself, he had jist enough to see what could be
done with the phrases Dad had given him; so now there was a new religion
turned loose to plague the poor and ignorant, and the Almighty himself
couldn’t stop it.
There came next day a man riding out from Paradise, bringing a telephone
call for Dad; Ross-Armitage No. 1 was in trouble, and Dad was needed at
once. Before they started for home Bunny managed to have a talk with
Ruth, and told her a wonderful plan that had occurred to him: Dad said
there ought to be some one to live on the Rascum place and keep it up,
and Bunny suggested that Dad should buy some goats and stock the place,
and rent it to Paul, and let Ruth go there to keep house for him; then
Ruth could read all the books she pleased, and there would be nobody to
beat her.
Ruth looked happy, but she said Paul would never do that, he wouldn’t
take anybody’s charity. Bunny insisted that it wouldn’t be charity at
all—Dad really wanted some one on the ranch, and he would make a
business arrangement, Paul would work the place, and pay Dad part of the
money. But Ruth sighed, and said anyhow, Pap would never let her go; he
was more than ever set against Paul, on account of Eli, who was jealous
of Paul, and of Paul’s claim to know things. Eli had always been that
way, but now he was worse, because the city people had backed Paul, and
so Pap didn’t even want her to talk with Bunny or his father, for fear
she would lose her faith.
Ruth was just Bunny’s age, almost sixteen, and Bunny said it wouldn’t be
but two years before she would be of age, and then she could go where
she pleased, Dad said; she could join Paul, or she and Paul could run
the Rascum ranch. Bunny told her not to be afraid, but to wait, and not
bother with that fool jumping business; it was hateful nonsense, and it
wouldn’t hurt her the least bit to think for herself, and use her common
sense, and wait till she was grown up. Dad would be glad to help her get
an education, and get free from Eli and his prophesying—for Ruth might
be sure Dad didn’t like Eli any better than Eli liked Dad!
VI
Three months passed, and Dad brought in the Ross-Armitage No. 1, and
made another big success, and proved up a lot of new territory, and was
hailed again as a benefactor to the Prospect Hill field. But once more
the doctor said he was overworking; it was time for the Easter holidays,
and Bunny studied the maps, and brought Dad a proposition—the Blue
Mountains were only ten miles from Paradise, and there was no end of
trout fishing there, so why not make their headquarters at the Rascum
ranch, and get some trout? Dad smiled; Bunny couldn’t keep away from
Paradise! To which Bunny answered that Paradise was his discovery; and
besides, he wanted to see how Ruth was getting along, and to hear about
Paul, and about Eli and his Third Revelation.
Right on top of that came a letter from Mr. Hardacre, the agent, telling
how the elder Mr. Bandy had gone out into a field and been attacked by a
bull and was badly crippled; Mr. Hardacre didn’t believe that young
Bandy wanted to work the ranch, but move to the city, so it might be
possible to buy the place, if Mr. Ross still wanted it. Bunny was all on
pins and needles at that, but Dad told him to keep his shirt on, that
young gophers were a lot easier to catch than old ones; and he wrote Mr.
Hardacre he wasn’t specially keen for the land, but he would take it at
the same price as the rest; he was coming up fishing in a few days, and
would see about it.
So then Dad wrote a letter to Mr. Watkins, asking him to be so good as
to have one of the children go and clean the house at the Rascum ranch
and get it ready for them. And Dad told Bunny to go with Aunt Emma to a
furniture store in Beach City and get a little stuff, including crockery
and kitchen things, and have them put it on a truck and run it out to
Paradise; Bunny had better put in some canned food, too, everything
they’d need, so the place could be ready when they got there. You can
imagine what fun Bunny had with that commission; in his thoughts he was
fitting out this house, not merely for Dad and him to camp in, but for
Paul and Ruth to settle down and make a home!
When you happen to be the son of a successful oil operator, you can make
your dreams come true. Dad and Bunny motored out, arriving just at
sundown, and went directly to the Rascum place, and there, standing on
the front-porch, with the bougainvillea vine now in full blossom, making
a glorious purple arch above her head, was Ruth; and alongside her was a
man—at a distance Bunny thought it was old Mr. Watkins, but then he saw
it was a young man, and Bunny’s heart went up into his mouth. He looked
at this big, powerful figure, clad in a blue shirt and khaki trousers
held up by suspenders, and with a mop of yellowish touselled hair. Could
it be—yes, Bunny could never mistake that sombre face, with prominent
big nose and mouth drawn down at the corners; he whispered, excitedly,
“It’s Paul!”
And so it was. The pair came forward, and Ruth introduced her brother to
Dad, and Paul said, “Good evening, sir,” and waited to be sure that Dad
wished to shake hands with him. Then Paul shook hands with Bunny—and it
was a strange sensation to the latter, who had lost all at once the Paul
he had been dreaming, the boy who might have been a good chum—and had
got instead this grown man, who seemed ten years older than himself, and
forever out of his reach.
“Did the furniture come?” asked Dad; and Ruth answered that it had, and
everything was in order, they’d have had supper ready, if they’d been
sure that Mr. Ross would arrive; they’d get it ready right off. Meantime
Paul was helping Bunny carry in the bags, and oh, gee—there was the
loveliest little bungalow you ever laid eyes on, everything spick and
span, even to a pink paper shade over the lamp, and flowers on the
center table! Evidently Ruth had put her heart into that job. She asked
Dad very shyly what he’d like for supper, and Dad said everything in the
place, and very soon the bacon was sizzling in the pan and making a nice
friendly smell; and Paul, having emptied the car, stood waiting, and
Bunny started in right away to find out all about him, and how he came
to be here.
Paul explained that he had turned up yesterday, having come to see Ruth.
He had had things out with his father this time; being nineteen now, he
thought he was old enough to be allowed to take care of himself. Bunny
asked if his father had “whaled” him, and Paul smiled and said his
father wasn’t in condition to whale anybody, he was getting worse with
rheumatism. He was as bitter and implacable as ever, but told Paul to go
his own way to hell, and his father would pray for him. Bunny noticed
right away that Paul no longer referred to his father as “Pap,” and that
he no longer murdered the English language like the rest of the Watkins
family; he talked like an educated man, as indeed he was.
Well, they had supper. Paul and Ruth expected to wait on the table, but
Dad made them sit down, and they had a little party, the four of them,
and it was great fun. Bunny bombarded Paul with questions about himself
and his life; and incidentally told Paul how he had hunted for him that
night at Mrs. Groarty’s, and why had he run away? They talked about
Paul’s aunt, and the tragedy of her lease, and of the worthless “units”
she had bought. Paul had learned from Ruth how Bunny had sent money to
her, and Paul expressed his gratitude, and said he would pay it back; he
still had that stubborn pride—he would never ask a favor, and he never
thrust himself forward, but held back until he was called upon.
He told how he had lived, and how the old lawyer, his benefactor, had
died just recently, and had left him a part of his library, all but the
law books. It was a most wonderful treasure, a lot of scientific books,
and the best old English literature. For nearly three years Paul had had
the use of this library, and that had been his life, he had seldom
missed an evening reading until after midnight; also he had studied a
lot during the day, for he had really had very little work to do, Judge
Minter had made a sort of pet of him—having no children of his own, and
being stirred by the idea of a boy who wanted to educate himself. The
Judge had had an old microscope, and Paul had worked with that, and had
made up his mind to a career; he was going to spend a couple more years
reading science, and then he would get a job in some laboratory, a
janitor’s job, if necessary, and work his way up to do microscopic work.
The things that Paul had learned about! He had read Huxley and Spencer,
and he talked about Galton and Weissmann and Lodge and Lankester, and a
lot of names Bunny had never even heard of. Poor Bunny’s pitiful little
high school knowledge shrank up to nothing; and how silly seemed
football victories all of a sudden. Dad didn’t know about these matters
either; he was a man well into his fifties, but he had never met a
student of science before! It was interesting to see how quickly he took
hold of these things. Paul told how investigators were trying to find
out whether acquired characteristics could be transmitted by heredity;
it was a most important question, and Weissmann had cut off the tails of
mice, to see if the next generations would have tails. But Paul said
that was silly, because there wasn’t any real change in a mouse when you
cut off its tail, no vital quality; the thing to find out was, how long
it took the tail to heal up when you cut it off, and whether the new
generations of mice could heal up quicker.
Paul said the way to settle the question of inheritance of acquired
characteristics was to stimulate the animals to develop some new
faculty, and see if new generations would develop it more easily. Dad
got the point at once, and said you might learn something by studying
trotting horses and their pedigrees; to which Paul replied, exactly. Dad
would like to know more about such questions; and Paul had a book with
him, which Dad was welcome to read. Ruth was washing the dishes, and
Paul went out to get some more wood, and Dad looked at Bunny and said,
“That’s a fine young fellow, son”; and then Bunny felt a glow of pride,
right up to the roots of his hair—because, you see, Paul was his
discovery, just like the Paradise oil field, that was some day going to
occupy this spot!
So then Dad settled down to talk business with Paul. Dad wanted some one
to occupy this ranch, and Paul said he had thought it over, and would do
it if they could make a fair arrangement. Dad asked how he could get
along, and Paul said he had saved up three hundred dollars from his
wages, and he would get a few goats, and put in some beans this spring,
and some strawberries that would bring an income next year; he would pay
Dad one-half whatever he got for the crops. They had an argument over
that, for Dad thought he ought to pay Paul to act as caretaker, but Paul
said he wouldn’t take it on that basis, he would insist on going shares,
in the regular way they rented land in these parts. And when Mr. Ross
came on hunting or fishing trips, Paul of course would move out into the
tent. But Dad said no, he was planning to build himself a shack, a
better place than this, and Paul might help the carpenter and earn wages
if he wanted to. Paul said he could do the building himself, if Dad said
so—everything but hanging the doors and windows; a fellow learned to do
about all the jobs there were on a ranch. And Dad asked if Ruth would
stay with Paul, and Paul said he would settle here in the house, and go
easy, and Ruth would come to see him, until gradually their father got
used to the idea. It wouldn’t be possible to keep Paul and Ruth
apart—especially now since Eli was away from home nearly all the time.
So Dad asked about Eli, and the development of the Third Revelation.
Only three or four days after Eli had made his announcement in the
Paradise Church, there had come a deputation from the church at
Roseville, saying that they had heard the fame of Eli’s miracles, and
would he come and preach to them. And Eli preached, and the “signs” were
manifested, and so the new prophet grew bolder. Now he was being driven
about the country in somebody’s costly limousine, and in the back part
of the car was a stack of the crutches of people who had been “healen.”
These crutches would be set up in sight of each new congregation, and
nearly always they were added to; and there fell over the head of the
prophet a shower of silver dollars and half dollars, and coins, wrapped
in banknotes, Eli had now given himself a title; he was the Messenger of
the Second Coming, and the hour of Christ’s return to earth was to be
made known through him. Sometimes whole congregations would be swept off
their feet and converted to the True Word; or again, some would be
converted, and there would be a split, and a new church in that place.
“How do you suppose he works it?” Dad asked.
“He really does cure people,” said Paul; “there are some about here you
can talk to. I’ve been reading a book on suggestion; it seems that kind
of thing has been going on for thousands of years.”
“Does he send any money home to his folks?” Dad asked.
And Paul smiled, rather grimly. “The money is sacred,” he said; “it
belongs to the Holy Spirit, and Eli is His treasurer.”
VII
Next morning they set forth after trout; and on the way they stopped to
see Mr. Hardacre. Before they went in, Dad cautioned Bunny, “Now don’t
you say a word, and don’t make any faces. Jist let me handle this.” They
entered, and Mr. Hardacre said that he had an offer from young Bandy,
speaking for his father, to sell the ranch for twenty thousand dollars.
Bunny’s heart leaped, and it was well that Dad had warned him, for he
wanted to cry out, “Take it, Dad! Take it!” But he caught himself, and
sat rigid, while Dad said, “Holy smoke, what does the fellow take us
for?”
Mr. Hardacre explained, there was about twenty acres of good land on
this tract; and Dad said all right, call that a hundred an acre, and the
improvements, say four thousand, that meant young Bandy was trying to
soak them fourteen dollars an acre for his thousand acres of rocks. He
must think he had a sucker on his hook.
“To tell the truth, Mr. Ross,” said the agent, “he knows you’re an oil
man, and he thinks you’re going to drill this tract.”
“All right,” said Dad. “You jist tell him to hunt round and find
somebody to drill his own tract, and if he gets any oil, I’ll drill
mine. Meantime, the land I got now will raise all the quail the law will
let me shoot in a season.”
The end was that Dad said he would pay twelve thousand cash, and
otherwise he’d forget it; and after they had got into the car and
started the engine, Bunny whispered, “Gee whiz, Dad, aren’t you taking a
chance?” But Dad said, “You let him stay in pickle a while. I got all
the land I can drill right now.”
“But Dad, he might get some one else to drill it!”
“Don’t you worry! You want that land, because you got a hunch; but
nobody else has got any hunches around here, and young Bandy’ll get
tired after he’s tried a while. Let’s you and me go a-fishin’.”
So they went, and drew beautiful cold shiny trout out of a little
mountain lake, and late in the evening they got back to the Rascum
place, and Paul fried the fish, and the three of them had a gorgeous
supper, and afterwards Dad smoked a cigar and asked Paul all sorts of
questions about science. Dad said he wished he had-a got that kind of
education when he was young, that was a sort of stuff worth knowing; why
didn’t Bunny study biology and physics, instead of letting them fill his
head up with Latin and poetry, and history business about old kings and
their wars and their mistresses, that wasn’t a bit of use to nobody?
Next morning they said good-bye to Paul, and went back into the
mountains, and spent most of the day getting fish; and then they set out
for Beach City, and got in just about bed-time. Bunny went back to
school, and his new duties as treasurer for the baseball team; and Dad
set to work putting four more wells on the Armitage tract, and three on
the Wagstaff tract. And meantime the nations of Europe had established
for themselves two lines of death, extending all the way across the
continent; and millions of men, as if under the spell of some monstrous
enchantment, rushed to these lines to have their bodies blown to pieces
and their life-blood poured out upon the ground. The newspapers told
about battles that lasted for months, and the price of petroleum
products continued to pile up fortunes for J. Arnold Ross.
Summer was here, and Bertie had plans for her brother. Bertie was now a
young lady of eighteen, a brilliant, flashing creature—she picked out
clothing shiny enough for a circus dancer. Her trim little legs were
sheathed in the glossiest and most diaphanous silk, and her fancy,
pointed shoes were without a scratch. If Bertie got a dress of purple or
carmine or orange or green, why then, mysteriously, there were stockings
and shoes, and a hat and gloves and even a hand-bag of the same shade;
Dad said she would soon be having sport-cars to match. Dad was grimly
humorous about the stacks of bills, and not a little puzzled by this
splendid young butterfly he had helped to hatch out. Aunt Emma said the
child was entitled to her “fling,” and so Dad paid the charges, but he
stood as solid as Gibraltar against Bertie’s efforts to push him into
her social maelstrom. By golly, no—he was scared to death of them high
muckymucks, and especially the women, when they glared at him through
their law-nets, or whatever they called them—he felt the size of a
potato-bug. What could he say to people that didn’t know an under-reamer
from a sucker-rod rotator?
This vulgar attitude had been taken up by Bunny, who thought it was
“smart”—so his sister jeered. Of course a young lady of eighteen hardly
condescends to be aware of the existence of a kid of sixteen; but there
were younger brothers and sisters of Bertie’s rich friends, and she
wanted Bunny to scrape the oil from underneath his finger-nails, and
come into this fashionable world, and get a more worthwhile girl than
Rosie Taintor. Bunny, always curious about new things, tried it for a
while, and had to confess that these ineffable rich young persons didn’t
interest him very much; he couldn’t see that they knew anything, or
could do anything special. Their talk was all about one another, and
they had so many cryptic allusions and so much home-made slang that it
amounted almost to a new language. Bunny didn’t like any of them well
enough to be interested in deciphering it, and he would rather put on
his oil clothes and drive out to the wells that were drilling, and if
there was no other job for a “roughneck,” he would help the cathead-men
and the tool-dressers to scrape out the mass of sand and ground-up rock
that came out with the mud, and that was forever choking the way to the
sump-hole.
Meantime Bunny was thinking, and pretty soon he had a scheme. “Dad,”
said he, “what about that cabin we were going to build at Paradise?”
“Well, what?” asked Dad.
“Paul writes that Ruth has come to stay with him. So next fall, when we
want to go after quail, there won’t be any place for us. Let’s go up
there now, and have a holiday, and build that cabin now.”
“But son, it’s hot as Flujins up there in summer!” Bunny didn’t know
where or what “Flujins” might be; but he answered that Paul was standing
it, and anyhow it was good for you to sweat, Dad was getting too heavy,
and he could sit under the bougainvillea vine in a Palm Beach suit while
Bunny did carpentry work with Paul, and it would be a change, and Bunny
would call up Dr. Blakiston and have him order it. Whereupon Dad
grinned, and said all right, and he might jist as well adopt that
Watkins pair and be done with it.
So they went up to the Rascum ranch, taking their tent along—and Paul
and Ruth insisted on giving up the house, and Ruth slept in the tent,
and Paul made his bed in the empty hay-mow. Paul had hired a horse and
plow, and had a flourishing vegetable garden and big patch of beans, and
had set in strawberries which he was tending with a little hand
cultivator; they had half a dozen goats, and plenty of milk, and some
chickens which Ruth took care of.
And most amazing of all, Paul had got the books from Judge Minter’s
library. Most of them were still in boxes, because there was no place
for them; but Paul had made some shelves out of a packing-box, and there
stood Huxley and Haeckel and Renan, and other writers absolutely fatal
to the soul of any person who reads them. But “Pap” had given up, Ruth
said, she had got too growed up all of a sudden, too big to be “whaled;”
and besides, Pap’s rheumatix was terrible, and Eli couldn’t heal it. Dad
said that when they were ordering the lumber for the cabin they would
get some stuff for bookshelves, and Paul could build them during the
winter. Dad and Paul had another argument, and Dad said this was his
house, wasn’t it, and he sure had a right to put some bookshelves in it
if he wanted them; Paul could lend him some books when he come up here,
and jist help him get a bit of education, even now, as old as he was.
It was a happy family, and a fine place to be, because it took Dad’s
mind off his wells, and his trouble with one of his best foremen, that
had gone and got married to a fool flapper, and didn’t have his mind on
his work no more. They got the lumber from the dealer at Roseville, and
Paul was the “boss-carpenter,” and Bunny was the “jack-carpenter,” and
Dad kind of fussed around until he got to perspiring too hard, and then
he went and sat under the bougainvillea blossoms, and Ruth opened him a
bottle of grape-juice, that was part of the fancy stuff he had brought
in.
And then in the evening they would drive into Paradise and get the mail,
and there came a little local paper that old Mr. Watkins took, and Bunny
began to look it over, and gosh-amighty, look at this, Dad—a story on
the front page, about the marvelous meeting that Eli had held at Santa
Lucia, and how frenzied the worshipers had got, and Eli had made the
announcement that he had been commissioned to build the Tabernacle of
the Third Revelation, which was to be all of snow-white marble, with a
frieze of gold, and was to occupy one entire block in Angel City, and be
of exactly the dimensions which had been revealed to Eli in a dream. The
dimensions were given, and Dad said they were bigger than any block that
Eli would find in Angel City, but no doubt they’d find a way to get
round that, and call it a new Revelation. The Roseville “Eagle”—that
was the name of the paper—was boastful of Eli, who was “putting the San
Elido valley on the map,” it said. The Apostolic Church of Paradise was
to be rebuilt out of the “free will offerings” at Eli’s meetings; but
the old structure would be preserved, so that pilgrims might come to
visit the place where the True Word had been handed down.
And then came Mr. Hardacre, meeting them on the street. He said that
young Bandy had got tired of his idea that Dad was going to drill; he
wanted to take his parents to the city and be a business man, so the
family would take Dad’s offer if it was still open. Dad said all right,
to let him know, he’d come in any time, and they’d put it into escrow.
Next day Mr. Hardacre drove out to the Rascum place, and said he’d taken
the escrow officer out to the Bandy place, and old Mr. Bandy and his
wife had signed the agreement to deliver the deed; and so Dad and Bunny
got into their car, and drove to the bank, and Dad put up four thousand
dollars, and signed a contract to pay eight thousand more when the title
search was completed. Then, when they were out of the bank, he grinned
and said, “All right, son, now you can drill your tract!”
Of course, Bunny wanted to go right to it—wanted Dad to telephone for
his head foreman, and get a road contractor at work! But Dad said they’d
finish the cabin first, and meantime he’d be thinking. So Bunny went
back to work, nailing shingles on the roof, and he was happy as a
youngster could be—except for one uncomfortable thought that was
gnawing like a worm in his soul. How could he tell Paul and Ruth about
their decision to drill, and would Paul and Ruth consider that Dad had
got the Watkins ranch upon false pretences?
Fate was kind to Bunny. Something happened—you could never guess it in
a thousand years! Only three days had passed since they put through the
Bandy deal, and Dad was still thinking matters over, when Meelie Watkins
came walking from her home—with a big blue sun-bonnet to protect her
from the mid-day sun—and brought an amazing piece of news. Old Mr.
Wrinkum, driving in from town, had stopped by, and told Pap that a big
oil concern, the Excelsior Petroleum Company, had leased the Carter
ranch, on the other side of the valley, about a mile west of Paradise,
and was going to start drilling for oil! Meelie gave this news to Dad,
who was sitting under the bougainvillea; and Dad shouted to Bunny and
Paul, who were up laying the floor of the cabin. The two came running,
and Ruth came running from her chicken-yard, and when they heard the
news, Bunny cried, “Excelsior Pete! Why, Dad, that’s one of the Big
Five!”
They stared at each other, and suddenly Dad clenched his hands and
exclaimed, “By golly, them people don’t drill unless they know what
they’re doin’. Bunny, I believe I’ll try a well here on our place, and
see what we get!”
“Oh, Mr. Ross!” exclaimed Ruth. “You ought to do it—my Uncle Eby always
used to say there was oil here!”
“Is that so?” said Dad. “Well, I’ll take a chance then, jist for fun.”
And he looked at Bunny, with just the flicker of a smile. It told Bunny
a lot, when he came to think it over; Dad had guessed that Bunny was
worried, and exactly what was his dilemma with the Watkinses; and Dad
had had the wit to save Bunny’s face, and avoid the need of confessing.
Dear, kind old Dad, that was anxious to do everything for his boy—that
would even do his lying for him! How could any boy refuse to be content
with such a happy solution of his ethical problems?