INTERRUPTED PLANS
Mrs. Denton reclined in an easy-chair in her room at Frobisher's
house. A shawl of beautiful texture covered her shoulders, her feet
rested on a stool, and the lamp on a neighboring table was carefully
shaded. The dull pallor of her skin and the gauntness of her face
suggested the invalid, but her health, while far from good, had
suffered from the thought she bestowed on it. She was a reserved and
selfish woman, and her mean ambitions were responsible for much of the
trouble that had befallen her. Geraldine and she were generally at
variance, Frobisher bore with her, but there was one person for whom
she cherished a somewhat misguided tenderness. Mappin had been her
favorite from his earliest years.
His father had been her lover when the Frobishers were poor, and she
had returned his affection. Nevertheless she had thrown him over when
a richer suitor appeared, and her marriage had turned out
disastrously. Urged by a desire for social prominence and love of
ostentation, she had driven her husband into hazardous, speculations,
for which he had weakly reproached her when the crash came. He escaped
total ruin by Frobisher's help, but he afterward went downhill fast,
wrangling with his wife until his death set her free. Her old lover
had also married, and died a widower, leaving one son, and Mrs. Denton
had shown a benevolent interest in the boy. He was bold and
ambitious, which was what she liked, and she was not deterred by the
lack of principle he early displayed. Success was the one thing she
respected, and as he grew up young Mappin promised to attain it. Now
she was expecting him, for he came to see her whenever he was in the
neighborhood, and Frobisher made him welcome for her sake.
When Mappin came in he was red-faced from the frosty air.
"This place is stiflingly hot," he said. "I'm afraid that's because
you're not feeling very fit yet."
Mrs. Denton told him she could not get rid of her cold, and he had the
tact to listen with a show of interest while she talked about her
health.
"You will stay all night?" she asked.
"Yes, I'm sorry I must get back to-morrow."
"Then I've no doubt it's necessary," she remarked in a suggestive
tone.
Mappin laughed as if he understood her.
"It is. As things are going, business must come first. Besides, I
can't flatter myself that I gained much by my last visit."
"That's a point I can't speak upon, but you're not likely to lose your
head. There's a cold-blooded, calculating vein in you. I wonder
whether that was why you came straight to my room, though the society
of a crotchety old invalid can't have much charm for you."
The man's heavy face grew a trifle redder than usual.
"No," he protested, "it wasn't. I'm not dirt mean."
"Oh, well," said Mrs. Denton, looking at him gently, "you know I'm
your friend. But I never pretended not to guess what brought you
here."
"And I haven't made a secret of it. I mean to marry Geraldine."
"She'll have a good deal of money some day."
Mappin looked up angrily.
"I'll admit that my interest generally comes first; but I'd be mighty
glad to take Geraldine without a cent."
"Then you had better bestir yourself. Allinson has been here pretty
often and she seems to like him. Besides, he's made a good impression
on her father."
"Ah!" exclaimed Mappin, "that confounded Englishman again! It's only a
few hours since he threatened to cut my connection with the Rain
Bluff; and one way and another that's a bad set-back." He frowned and
the veins showed on his forehead. "I was coining money out of my
contract, and I need it, because I have my feelings and I won't ask
Frobisher for Geraldine like a beggar. He has a cool, smiling way of
saying unpleasant things that makes me mad. I want to show him I'm as
smart as he is and can give the girl as much as he can."
When they were detached from his business, Mappin's ideas were crude,
but Mrs. Denton was not refined and found no fault with them.
Moreover, she had an interest in his success. For a long time she had
been the mistress of her brother's house and directed his social
affairs. The position was a desirable one, especially as she had been
left without means; but it was threatened. It was inevitable that
Geraldine would take the power she enjoyed out of her hands, unless
she married. Had Mappin not entered the field, Mrs. Denton would have
furthered the claims of any suitor, to get the girl out of her way.
"I suppose money would gratify your pride, but you may find waiting
risky," she said. "If you're wise, you'll make all the progress with
Geraldine you can."
He smiled ruefully.
"I sometimes feel that I'm making none. She looks at me half amused
and half astonished when I express my opinions; I have to keep a curb
on myself when I talk to her. In fact, I've once or twice got mad. I
can take a joke, but her condescending smile is riling."
"Then why do you want to marry her?"
"It puzzles me when I think it over coolly, but that's difficult. When
she's near me I only know that I want her." His eyes gleamed and his
face grew flushed as he proceeded. "Guess it must be her wonderful
eyes and hair and skin; the shape of her, the way she stands, the grit
she shows. Once when I said something she flashed out at me in a fury,
and I liked her for it." He clenched a big hand. "Somehow I'm going to
get her!"
Mrs. Denton smiled. The savagery of his passion did not jar on her;
she admired his determined boldness. She respected force that was
guided by capacity; she liked a man who was strong or cunning enough
to take what he desired. Her niece, however, held different views.
"That sounds genuine," she said. "Still, you had better talk to
Geraldine in a more polished strain."
"No; I'd do it badly, and it wouldn't pay. There's red blood in me,
and I haven't found much difference in men and women. If you hit
straight at their human nature, you can't go wrong. A girl's never
offended because you like her for being pretty."
He was wise, in that he knew his limitations and never pretended to be
what he was not. His knowledge of human weaknesses had been
profitable, for he had not scrupled to prey upon them, but he erred in
assuming that his was the only rule of life. Virtue he frankly
regarded as either absence of desire or a sentimental pose.
"You're too coarse, too crude in your methods," Mrs. Denton persisted.
"If you're not careful, you'll disgust Geraldine. You don't seem to
see that she's different from the girls you are accustomed to."
Mappin laughed.
"Oh," he said, "at heart, they're all the same."
"In a sense, you're wrong. Allinson lets Geraldine see that he puts
her on a higher plane, and she likes it. If you can't imitate him, you
had better watch him."
"If Allinson's likely to make trouble, I'll fix him quick. Pretty talk
and finicking manners, that's all there is to him, except a few fool
notions about the mining business which he hasn't the grit or ability
to carry out. But you look as if you had a headache and I guess I've
talked enough."
She let him go, fearing to strain the consideration he sometimes
showed her, for he was the only person for whom she had a scrap of
affection. Mappin left her with half-contemptuous pity. He owed her
some gratitude, because it was on her account that he had been
received in the house; but he knew how little her support was worth,
for he was shrewd enough to see that her brother and her niece held
her in no great esteem. Indeed, he knew his position was not
encouraging. Geraldine had shown him no favor, and Frobisher's
attitude was more marked by forbearance than friendliness; but Mappin
was not deterred. He had stubborn courage and a firm belief in his
powers.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he stopped in the shadow of a heavy
curtain as Geraldine came out of a door at the farther end of the
large hall. The girl did not see him and, prompted by curiosity to
learn what effect his sudden appearance would have, he stood watching
her. She looked thoughtful, and moved slowly, but with a grace he did
not miss. The soft rustle of her dress stirred him, he noticed with
greedy eyes the fine outline about which the light material flowed,
the bloom of her complexion, the beauty of her pose. Indeed, he forgot
why he had waited, for his heart was beating fast and he felt his
nerves tingle. He was filled with a burning desire to possess her.
Then she saw him and recoiled. There was a glitter in his eyes from
which she shrank, his face was stamped with gross sensual passion. It
alarmed her and filled her with disgust. Mappin, however, could not
guess her feelings. She was obviously startled; perhaps he had shown
what he thought of her too plainly and shocked her prudishness; but
this after all was no great matter. Delicacy was unknown to him; he
could hardly have been made to understand that Geraldine regarded him
with downright loathing. Still, as he could think of nothing to say,
he was not sorry that she turned back without a word; and with a harsh
laugh he opened an adjoining door to look for Frobisher. Geraldine
returned to the room she had left, and sat down with a sense of
repulsion that presently gave place to burning anger. She felt that
she had received an outrageous insult.
She did not see Mappin again until the next morning, when she was
coldly polite, and he left in a state of half-puzzled irritation,
thinking more about Allinson than he had done. The man might prove a
dangerous rival, unless something were done to prevent it. Mappin,
however, thought that he could deal with him and was glad he had
written to Hathersage, giving him a hint that Allinson threatened to
make trouble for them both.
As a result of Mappin's letter Andrew was handed a cablegram one
evening when he was discussing the preparations for the journey with
Carnally and Graham in the latter's house. When he had opened it he
frowned.
"This promises to complicate matters. It's from my brother-in-law," he
explained and read out the message:
"_Do nothing until I arrive; sailing Sylvitanian._"
Graham took up a Montreal paper.
"One of the fast boats. He should be here in nine days." Then he
looked disturbed. "It may prevent your going North."
"No," Andrew said resolutely; "it shall not do that; but I'll have to
see him. It's strange he should come, though I told him the mine
wasn't paying."
"You want to remember that Mappin's a friend of his," Carnally
interposed. "There's another thing: you can't tell him about the lode,
which, so far, doesn't belong to you. I guess the less you say about
your plans the better."
"I believe that's true," Andrew agreed. "Well, our start must be put
off a while."
Leonard arrived, accompanied by Wannop, who explained that he had come
to see the country and look up one or two old friends. Soon after they
reached the Landing, Leonard had an interview with Watson, who had
been summoned to meet him; then he went with Andrew to his room at the
hotel. It was small and scantily furnished, but a galvanized pipe
which ran up through the floor from the basement heater made it
comfortably warm; and Leonard, sitting in a rickety chair, watched
his brother-in-law closely while he talked about the mine. Andrew had
acquired a quickness of thought and a decision of manner which were
new to Leonard. There was a pause after he had finished his
explanation, for both felt that the next few minutes might prove
momentous. They held widely different views and an unconsidered remark
might bring them into open collision. Leonard waited, ready to profit
by any mistake the other made, until Andrew spoke.
"I was surprised to hear you were coming over; though perhaps it's as
well you did so."
"When I got your letter the matter seemed serious enough to require my
personal attention."
"You may tell me what you think," said Andrew, "and I'll consider it
carefully."
"To begin with, why did you give Mappin notice to terminate his
contract?"
"It seemed the best thing to be done in the shareholders' interest."
There was something impressive in Andrew's tone. Leonard knew that a
conflict, which he wished to avoid, was imminent.
"I won't mince matters," he replied. "You have no business experience
and know nothing about mining. You have acted rashly. I made the
arrangements with Mappin and considered them satisfactory."
"I'm sorry to hear it. I wish it had been somebody less closely
connected with Allinson's who concluded the deal with him. The man's
making a good thing out of his contract at the Company's expense."
"You mustn't be hypercritical. Opportunities for picking up a few
dollars are often attached to operations like ours, and its wiser to
let one's friends have them and look for favors in return. Besides,
the man does his work well."
"No," corrected Andrew, "he does it badly, with a cool assurance that
no fault will be found and we'll pass his bills. In fact, for the firm
to take any favors from him would savor of corruption. In the end, the
shareholders would have to pay for them."
"Be careful," Leonard warned him. "You may cause a good deal of
trouble without doing any good. Remember that you're only here on
trial and accountable to the rest of the directors. If necessary, the
power you're overstraining could be withdrawn."
"I think not," said Andrew. "In a sense, I'm Allinson's; it would be a
difficult matter to get rid of me. I have neglected my duties, but
it's not too late to make a change."
Leonard paused to light a cigarette. He had been met with a firmness
he had not expected, and he realized that Andrew might prove a
formidable antagonist.
"Very well," he conceded, "if you insist on our giving no more work to
Mappin, I suppose he must be sacrificed, though you place me in an
unpleasant position. After all, he's comparatively unimportant; we
must talk about the mine. You seem to think it ought to be closed,
which is out of the question for the present. You have, no doubt,
learned that it often takes time to reach payable ore; all sorts of
preliminary difficulties have to be overcome, and investors have
frequently to exercise patience and put up with disappointments."
"You promised a good dividend in the prospectus."
"We didn't promise it on the first six months' working. Besides, one
makes allowances for prospectus statements."
"It shouldn't be needful where Allinson's is concerned. But what do
you suggest?"
"That we keep the mine open, and do everything possible to increase
the output and strike better ore. In the meanwhile, we won't say too
much about our troubles."
"When you increase the output you increase expenses. This doesn't
matter so long as the refined metal will pay for it, but it's a
ruinous policy where the ore's no good. Then, you can't hide our
difficulties. The shareholders will expect a dividend, and if it isn't
forthcoming they'll demand an explanation at their meeting."
"That might be prevented. The family vote could be relied on, and it's
often possible to control a meeting and silence objectors. These are
matters you can leave to me."
"The objectors have a right to be heard; they could be silenced only
by trickery. If we have made a mistake, we must admit it and consider
how we can cut the loss."
"Admit our mistake?" Leonard laughed. "You're talking at random."
Andrew leaned forward, his eyes fixed on his brother-in-law.
"This Company should never have been floated. We'll let it go at that:
the less said upon the point the better. The question is--what is to
be done now? Well, I've decided on two things--we'll keep a few men
working at the mine, because the yield will cover their wages, while I
go into the bush and look for a richer lode I've heard about. If I'm
successful, we'll consider the new situation."
Seeing that objections would be useless, Leonard reluctantly
acquiesced, and it was a relief to both when Wannop came in.
"There's a friend of yours asking for you, Andrew; I brought him up,"
he explained, and stood aside as Frobisher entered.
"I came to ask you over for a day or two, and I shall be glad if your
relatives will come as well," he said. "We have plenty of room and
have been rather dull lately. Besides, the hotel is too full to be
comfortable."
After some demur they agreed to go, and Andrew felt grateful to
Frobisher, for the visit would relieve the strain that Leonard's
society threatened to impose on him. Half an hour later they took
their places in Frobisher's sleigh.