THE OTHER DOCUMENT
The argument, which Miles Feversham opened with unusual brilliancy the
following morning, was prolonged with varying degrees of heat to the close
of another week; then the jury, out less than two hours, brought in their
verdict of "Not Guilty."
And that night, for the first time since Tisdale's return, Foster climbed
to the eyrie in the Alaska building. "I came up to thank you, Hollis," he
began in his straightforward way. "It was breakers ahead when you turned
the tide. But," he added after a pause, "what will the President think of
your views?"
Tisdale laughed softly. "He heard most of them before I left Washington,
and this is what he thinks."
As he spoke, he took a letter from the table which he gave to Foster. It
bore the official stamp and was an appointment to that position which
Miles Feversham had so confidently hoped, with Marcia's aid, to secure.
"Well, that shows the President's good judgment!" Foster exclaimed and
held out his hand. "You are the one man broad enough to fit the place."
After a moment he said, "But it is going to leave you little time to
devote to your own affairs. How about the Aurora?"
Tisdale did not reply directly. He rose and walked the length of the
floor. "That depends," he said and stopped with his hands in his pockets
to regard Foster with the upward, appraising look from under knitting
brows. "I presume, Stuart, you are through with the syndicate?"
Foster colored. "I put in my resignation as mining engineer of the company
shortly after I came out, at the beginning of the year."
"And while you were in the interior," pursued Tisdale, "you were sent to
the Aurora to make a report. What did you think of the mine?"
"I thought Frederic Morganstein would be safe in bonding the property if
he could interest you in selling; it looked better to me than even Banks'
strike in the Iditarod. This season's clean-up should justify Weatherbee."
"You mean in staying on at the risk of his reason and life?"
Foster nodded; a shadow crossed his open face. "I mean everything but--his
neglect to make final provision for his wife."
Tisdale frowned. "There is where you make your mistake. Weatherbee
persisted as he did, in the face of defeat, for her sake."
Foster laughed mirthlessly. "The proofs are otherwise. Look at things,
once, from her side," he broke out. "Think what it means to her to see you
realizing, from a few hundred dollars you could easily spare, this big
fortune. I know you've been generous, but after all, of what benefit to
her is a bequest in your will, when now she has absolutely nothing but
that hole in the Columbia desert? Face it, be reasonable; you always have
been in every way but this. I don't see how you can be so hard, knowing
her now as you do."
Tisdale turned to the window. "I have not been as hard as you think," he
said. "But it was necessary, in order to carry out Weatherbee's plans, to--
do as I did."
"That's the trouble." Foster rose from his chair and went a few steps
nearer Tisdale. "You are the sanest man in the world in every way but one.
But you can't think straight when it comes to Weatherbee. There is where
the north got its hold on you. Can't you see it? Look at it through my
eyes, or any one's. You did for David Weatherbee what one man in a
thousand might have done. And you've interested Lucky Banks in that
reclamation project; you've gone on yourself with his developments at the
Aurora. But there's one thing you've lost sight of--justice to Beatriz
Weatherbee. You've done your best for him, but he is dead. Hollis, old
man, I tell you he is dead. And she is living. You have sent her, the
proudest, sweetest woman on God's earth, to brave out her life in that
sage-brush wilderness. Can't you see you owe something to her?"
Tisdale did not reply. But presently he went over to his safe and took out
the two documents that were fastened together. This time it was the will
he returned to its place; the other paper he brought to Foster. "I am
going to apologize for my estimate of Mrs. Weatherbee the night you sailed
north," he said. "My judgment then, before I had seen her, was unfair; you
were right. But I could hardly have done differently in any case. There
was danger that she would dispose of a half interest in the Aurora at
once, at any low price Frederic Morganstein might name. And you know the
syndicate's methods. I did not want a Morganstein partnership. But, later,
at the time I had my will drawn, I saw this way."
Foster took the document, but he did not read it immediately; he stood
looking at Tisdale. "So you too were afraid of him. But I knew nothing
about Lucky Banks' option. It worried me, those endless nights up there in
the Iditarod, to think that in her extremity she might marry Frederic
Morganstein. There was a debt that pressed her. Did you know about that?"
"Yes. She called it a 'debt of honor.'"
"And you believed, as I did, that it was a direct loan to cover personal
expenses. After I came home, I found out she borrowed the money originally
of Miss Morganstein, to endow a bed in the children's hospital. Think of
it! And Mrs. Feversham, who took it off her sister's hands, transferred
the note to Morganstein."
Tisdale did not say anything, but his rugged face worked a little, and he
turned again to look out into the night. Foster moved nearer the
reading-lamp and unfolded the document. It was a deed conveying, for a
consideration of one dollar, a half interest in the Aurora mine to Beatriz
Silva Gonzales Weatherbee; provided said half interest be not sold, or
parceled, or in any way disposed of for a period of five years. Her share
of the profits above operating expenses was to be paid in semi-annual
dividends, and, as in the will, Stuart Emory Foster was named as trustee.
Foster folded the document slowly. His glance moved to Tisdale, and his
eyes played every swift change from contrition to gratitude. Hollis
turned. "I want you to take the management of the whole mine," he said
mellowly. "At a salary of five thousand a year to start with. And as soon
as you wish, you may deliver this deed."
Foster's lips trembled a little. "You've made a mistake," he said
unsteadily. Then: "Why don't you take it to her yourself, Hollis?" he
asked.
Tisdale was silent. He turned back to the window, and after an interval,
Foster went over and stood beside him, looking down on the harbor lights.
His arm went up around Tisdale's shoulder as he said: "If Weatherbee could
know everything now; if he had loved her, put her first always, as you
believe, do you think he would be any happier to see her punished like
this?"
Still Tisdale was silent. Then Foster's arm fell, and he said desperately:
"Can't you see, Hollis? Weatherbee was greater than either of us, I grant
that. But the one thing in the world you are so sure he most desired--the
lack of which wrecked his life--the one thing I have tried for the hardest
and missed--has fallen to you. Go and ask her to sail to Alaska with you.
You'll need her up there to carry the honors for you. You prize her, you
love her,--you know you do."