misconstrue my call, as Mrs. Hallam suggests. She is too womanly, too
sincere, too genuine for that. I shall call again very soon, though,
now that I think of it, she forgot to ask me to do so. Never mind. I'll
manufacture some excuse--oh, by Jove, I have it! 'The Coterie' is to
give a fancy dress dance a week from to-night. I'll invite her to go. I
wonder if she will accept. I hope so, but even if she doesn't, the
invitation will give me ample excuse for calling. I'll do it to-morrow
evening. I suppose women need a little time to get ready for such
functions. Anyhow, I'll call on her to-morrow evening and invite her. I
wonder if anybody else has anticipated me in that? No, I'll wager not. I
never heard of her going out, or even of anybody calling upon her.
Still," he reflected, as he mounted to his room and lighted his lamp and
his fire, "that sort of thing might happen." Then, after a pause: "I
reckon I'd better send her a note to prepare her. I'll write it
to-night, and leave it at breakfast in the morning. She never quits the
kitchen regions while breakfast is on. I wonder if she's as neat, and
trim, and pretty when she's making coffee, or doing whatever it is that
they do to ham, as she always is when she visits other parts of the
house?"
Turning, he locked his door. That was a very unusual proceeding on his
part, as it was well understood that his "latchstring was always out" of
an evening, and the young men, who were in the habit of reading in his
room, were accustomed to open and enter at will, without the formality
of knocking.
A moment later, some one confidently turned the door-knob. Instantly
Duncan realized the situation and came to his senses. He abandoned his
purpose of writing to Barbara, as an absurdity, and promptly unlocked
the door to the visitor, making some sort of excuse for his
forgetfulness in having fastened it.
When he called upon Barbara the next evening, and asked her to attend
the dance under his escort, her astonishment was manifest, in spite of
her best endeavors to conceal it. She had never before been invited to
such a function, and she had not dreamed of this. That, however, was not
her greatest occasion for surprise. In her modesty she had never thought
of herself as in any way the fellow or equal of the other girls in town,
who were eagerly invited to attend everything in the way of
entertainments. If any other young man in town had asked her to be his
partner on this occasion, she would have regarded the occurrence as a
surprising one; to be asked by Guilford Duncan was more astonishing than
all. She knew the high place he had won for himself in Cairo. She knew
that he was everywhere regarded as altogether the superior of all the
other young men intellectually, morally, socially, and in all other
ways. She regarded him as an aristocrat among men, a man who had always
held aloof from the society around him, as if it were quite unworthy of
his attention. She had woman's instinct enough, too, to know how greatly
honored any other girl in the city would feel if asked by him to any
function. The fact that he had asked her instead of some other, puzzled
her almost to bewilderment.
At first she gave him no answer. She was obviously thinking, and Duncan
let her think on. He thought she looked exceedingly pretty while
thinking. He observed a slight puckering of her forehead at the time,
which seemed to him to add interest to her face. After a little she aid:
"Thank you, Mr. Duncan, for your invitation. I am more pleased with it
than I can say. But I think I must ask you to excuse me. I think I can't
possibly go to the dance."
"May I ask why not? Do you not care for dancing and society?"
"Oh, I care very much--or, rather," she added, with scrupulous fidelity
to truth--"I should care very much to attend this party--I should enjoy
it more than anything, but----"
"Will you think me impertinent," Duncan asked, when she thus stopped in
the middle of her sentence, "will you think me impertinent if I ask you
what comes after that word 'but?'"
"Oh, I think you mustn't ask me that. At least, I think I mustn't answer
you."
"Very well," replied the young man, pleased with the girl's manner, in
spite of his disappointment over her hesitation. "May I make a
suggestion? If you had simply said 'no' to my invitation, of course I
should not think of urging it upon you. But what you have said shows me
that you would welcome it, if there were not something in the way.
Perhaps you can overcome the difficulty. Will you not try? Will you not
take a little time to think, and perhaps to consult with your friends?"
"I should like to, but that would be unfair to you. It might deprive you
of an opportunity to ask someone else."
"I shall ask no one else. I shall not attend the affair at all, unless I
am privileged to escort you. If I may, I will call to-morrow evening,
and every evening, until you can give me your decision."
There was a certain masterfulness in his manner and utterance, which
seemed to leave no chance for further discussion. So Barbara simply
said:
"Very well. I'll be ready to answer you to-morrow evening. I suppose I
am ready now, but you wish me to wait, and it shall be so."
Duncan hurriedly took his leave. Perhaps he feared that if he stayed
longer, the girl might make her "no" a final one. Otherwise he hoped for
a better outcome.
When he had gone, poor little Bab sat for a time in bewilderment. She
still could not understand why such a man as Guilford Duncan--whom
everybody regarded as the "coming man" in Cairo--should have chosen her,
instead of some other, as the recipient of his invitation. She could not
still a certain fluttering about her heart. She was full of joy, and
yet she was sorely grieved that she must put aside what seemed to her a
supreme opportunity to be happy for a time.
It was always her way, when any emotion pleased or troubled her, to go
to her friend, Mrs. Richards, for strength and soothing. So, now she
suddenly sprang up, put on her hat and wraps, and hurried to her one
friend's home. The distance was so small that she needed no escort,
particularly as Robert, who happened to be at the gate, could see her
throughout the little journey. And she knew that the faithful negro boy
would wait there until her return.
"You are all in a flurry, child," said her friend, for greeting. "What
is it about? Do you come to me for advice, or sympathy, or consolation?"
For Mrs. Richards knew of Duncan's visit, and with a shrewd woman's wit
she guessed that Barbara's disturbance of mind was in some way connected
with that event.
"No," answered the girl. "I didn't come to consult you--at least I think
I didn't--it is only that something has happened, and I want to tell you
about it."
"Very well, dear. Go on."
"Oh, it's nothing very important. I don't know why I feel about it as I
do, but----"
"Perhaps if you tell me what it is, I may help you to solve your
riddles. What is it?"
"Why, only that Mr. Guilford Duncan has asked me to go with him to the
party next week."
"Well, go on. I see nothing strange in that."
"Why--don't you understand, it is _Mr. Duncan_, and he has asked _me_."
"I see nothing yet to wonder at," calmly replied her friend. "Indeed, it
seems to be quite natural. I have understood Mr. Duncan to be a
gentleman of uncommonly good taste. If he has made up his mind to attend
the dance, why shouldn't he choose for his partner, the best, the
dearest, and most charming girl in the city? Of course you are going?"
"Why, no, of course I can't. I told him so, but he urged me to postpone
a final decision till to-morrow evening. I thought that would be
useless, and that the delay might make him miss a chance to engage some
other girl; but he insisted that he wasn't going at all unless I would
go with him, so just because he seemed to wish it, I promised to wait
till to-morrow evening before saying a final 'no.' Somehow you simply
have to do what Mr. Duncan wants you to do, you know."
"Mr. Guilford Duncan is rising rapidly in my estimation," answered
Barbara's friend. "I have understood that he is a man of good sense and
good taste. Obviously he deserves that high repute. Your 'no' must be
'yes,' Bab."
"Oh, but that's impossible!"
"I don't see it."
"Why, you _know_ I can't afford a gown."
"I still don't see it. It's to be a fancy dress affair, I believe?"
"Yes, of course."
"Then you can go in any character you like. You've your drab-gray dress,
and it's as fresh as new. I'll go over to your house and alter it for
you. Then with a white cape of Bishop's lawn, and a white cap and apron,
we'll make you into the most charming little Quaker maiden imaginable.
The character will just suit you, because you suit it. That matter is
settled. Go home now and go to bed, and you mustn't dream of anything
but 'yes.'"
So the good woman fended off thanks, and sent the happy girl home with
an enhanced sense of the value of friendship.
XV
THE COMING OUT OF BARBARA
There was a flutter throughout the ballroom when Guilford Duncan, in the
costume of Hamlet, ushered in Barbara Verne, in her Quaker-maid's dress.
The impulses behind the flutter were various, but surprise was the
dominant one.
Nobody had expected the reserved young Virginian to attend the function.
Nobody had dreamed of seeing Barbara Verne there. Still more certainly,
nobody had expected Duncan to escort "the daughter of his landlady," as
one of the chattering mammas spitefully called Barbara.
"Upon my word, the girl is pretty, when she's made up that way," said
another.
"She is more than pretty," quietly interposed Mrs. Will Hallam; "she is
the most beautiful girl in the room. And she is far less 'made up' than
any of the rest. Her costume is simplicity itself. I'm glad the dear
girl is here."
The gracious lady presently beckoned to Duncan, who promptly responded.
Then taking some pains that those about her should hear every word, she
said:
"Thank you, Duncan, for bringing Barbara, and my sincerest
congratulations on your good taste. I was just saying, when I caught
your eye, that she is the most beautiful girl in the room, and certainly
she is the most charming. You must bring her to me for a greeting and
congratulations, when the first set is over. There goes the music, now.
Don't stop to answer me."
Mrs. Hallam's little speech, and the marked favor she showed to Barbara
throughout the evening, rather stimulated, than checked, the malicious
chatter of the half dozen women who were disposed, on behalf of their
daughters, to feel jealous of Bab. But they were at pains that Mrs.
Hallam should not hear them. For that lady was conspicuously the social
queen of the city and, gracious as she was, she had a certain clever way
of making even her politest speeches sting like a whip-lash when she was
moved to rebuke petty meanness of spirit.
"What on earth can young Duncan mean?" asked one of them when the group
had placed distance between themselves and Mrs. Hallam, "by bringing
that girl here? She isn't in society at all."
"I should say not. And Duncan is such an aristocrat, too."
"Perhaps that's it. Maybe he has done this by way of showing his
contempt for Cairo society."
"Oh, no," answered another. "He's simply amusing himself, like the male
flirt that he is. He has paid marked attention to half a dozen lovely
girls in succession, and now he brings Barbara Verne here just to show
them how completely he has dropped them."
In the mean while Duncan was behaving with the utmost discretion. After
the first set was over, he danced with one after another of the young
women upon whom he had lavished so much of "marked attention" as may be
implied from one, or at most two, formal calls upon each.
But this circumspection did not stop the chatter.
"Wonder if Mrs. Hallam means to take the girl up? It would be just like
her to do that, she's so fond of Duncan, you know; if she does----"
"Pardon me, but unless Mrs. Hallam has placed her character in your
hands for dissection, ladies, I must ask you not to discuss it further."
That utterance came from Captain Will Hallam, who happened to be
standing by the wall, very near the woman who had last spoken. It was
like a thunderbolt in its effect, for there was not one of the gossips
whose husband's prosperity was not in some more or less direct way in
Will Hallam's hands.
Instantly he turned and walked away to where Barbara shyly sat in a
corner, while half a dozen young men stood and talked with her. For
whatever the matrons might think, the young men all seemed eager for
Barbara's favor, and were making of her the belle of the evening by
their attentions.
To the astonishment of all of them, Hallam asked Barbara for her dancing
card. Nobody had ever heard of the great man of business dancing. He was
middle-aged, absorbed in affairs, and positively contemptuous of all
frivolities. He had come to the party only to bring his wife. He had
quickly gone away again, and he had now returned only to escort Mrs.
Hallam home. Nevertheless, he asked Barbara for her card and, finding it
full, he turned to Duncan, saying:
"I see that the next set is yours, Duncan. Won't you give it up to me,
if Miss Barbara permits?"
Half a minute later the music began again and, to the astonishment of
the whole company, Captain Will Hallam led out the demure little
Quakeress, and managed to walk through a cotillion with her, without
once treading on her toes.
That was Captain Will Hallam's way of emphasizing his displeasure with
the gossips, and marking his appreciation of Barbara. It was so
effective as to set the whole feminine part of the community talking for
a week to come. But of this the secluded girl heard not a word. The only
change the events of the evening made in the quiet routine of her life
was that all the best young men in the town became frequent callers upon
her, and that thereafter she was sure to receive more than one
invitation to every concert, dance, or other entertainment, as soon as
its occurrence was announced.
But enough of the gossip reached Guilford Duncan's ears to induce angry
resentment and self-assertion on his part.
"I told you how it would be, Duncan," said Mrs. Will Hallam to him not
long afterwards. "But I'm glad you did it. It was the manly, as well as
the kindly thing to do."
"Thank you," the young man answered. "I mean to do more of the same
sort."
He did not explain. Mrs. Hallam was in need of no explanation.
XVI
A NEW ENEMY
It was about this time that Guilford Duncan managed to make a new enemy,
and one more powerful to work him harm, upon occasion, than all the rest
whom he had offended.
Napoleon Tandy, president of the X National Bank,--whose name had been
first popularly shortened to "Nap Tandy" and afterwards extended again
into "Napper Tandy,"--was the only man in Cairo who had enough of
financial strength or of creative business capacity to be reckoned a
rival of Captain Will Hallam, or his competitor in commercial
enterprises.
He had several times tried conclusions with Hallam in such affairs, but
always with results distinctly unsatisfactory to himself. Or, as Hallam
one day explained to Duncan, "He has got a good deal of education at my
hands, and he has paid his tuition fees."
Tandy was not yet past middle age, but he was always called "Old Napper
Tandy," chiefly because of certain objectionable traits of character
that he possessed. He was reputed to be the "meanest man in Southern
Illinois." He was certainly the hardest in driving a bargain, the most
merciless in its enforcement. He was cordially hated and very greatly
feared. Cold, self-possessed, shrewd, and utterly selfish, his attitude
toward his fellow men, and toward himself, was altogether different from
that of his greater competitor, Hallam. He felt none of Hallam's
"sporting interest," as Duncan called it, in playing the game of
commerce and finance. He was quick to see opportunities, and somewhat
bold in seizing upon them, but no thought of popular or public benefit
to accrue from his enterprises ever found lodgment in his mind. He had
put a large sum of money into the Through Line of freight cars, but he
had done so with an eye single to his own advantage, with no thought of
anything but dividends. He had contemptuously called Duncan "a rainbow
chaser," because that young man had spoken with some enthusiasm of the
benefits which the cheapening of freight rates must bring to the people
East and West.
"Well, he has a mighty good knack of catching his rainbows, anyhow,"
answered Hallam; "and you'd better not let the idea get away with you
that he isn't a force to be reckoned with. He's young yet, and very new
to business, but you remember it was he who first suggested the Through
Line, and worked it out."
In brief, Napper Tandy was a very greedy money-getter, and nothing else.
He hated Hallam with all that he had of heart, because Hallam was his
superior in the conduct of affairs, and because Hallam had so badly
beaten him in every case of competitive effort, and perhaps because of
some other things.
On his part, Will Hallam, without hating, cordially detested the man
whom he had thus beaten and made afraid.
Nevertheless, these two never quarreled. Each of them was too worldly
wise to make an open breach with one whose co-operation in great affairs
he might at any time need.
"I never quarrel with a man," said Hallam to Duncan, by way of
explaining the situation. "I never quarrel with a man till he is in the
poor-house. So long as he's at large I may need him any day. It doesn't
pay for a man to cut off his own fingers."
So between these two there was always an outward semblance of peace,
even when war was on between them, and it frequently happened that they
were closely associated in enterprises too large for either to conduct
so well alone.
On the night of the ball, Hallam took Duncan aside and said to him:
"I wish you'd take the seven o'clock train this morning and go up to the
mines for a few days. Everything there seems to be at sixes and sevens.
I can't make head or tail out of it all. All I know is that the
confounded mine is losing a good many thousands of my dollars every
month. I want you to go up and make a thorough investigation. If you
can't find a way out I'll shut up the hole in the ground and quit."
Captain Hallam knew, of course, that Duncan could not get much sleep
that night, but he had long ago learned that Guilford Duncan utterly
disregarded personal comfort whenever duty called, and so he had no
hesitation in thus ordering his young lieutenant to take an early
morning train on the heels of a night of dancing.
"Perhaps you'd better go up there with me," suggested Duncan.
"No, that would embarrass matters. I've been up several times, and I
want you to bring a fresh mind to bear upon the trouble. I'll telegraph
the people there to put everything at your command. I want you to study
the situation and make up your mind, just as if the whole thing belonged
to you. Part of it does, you know, and more of it shall, if you find a
way out. If the thing can be made to go, I'll give you ten more of the
hundred shares, in addition to the five you already own. Good-night, and
good-bye till you're ready to report."
Captain Will Hallam had recently bought this coal mine on a little
branch railroad in the interior of Illinois. He had not wanted to buy
it, but had done so by way of saving a debt. The mine had been badly
constructed at the beginning, and latterly it had been a good deal
neglected. There were other difficulties, as Duncan soon discovered, and
the coal resources of the property had never been half developed. In
recognition of his services in examining titles and other matters
connected with the purchase, Hallam had given the young man five per
cent. of the company's stock. He was thus, for the first time, working
in part for himself, when he was sent to study the situation.
Quietly, but insistently, in face of the surly opposition of the
superintendent, who was also styled chief engineer, Duncan looked into
things. It was true, as the superintendent sullenly said, that this
young man knew nothing of coal mining; but it was also true, as Duncan
answered, that he knew how to learn.
And he did learn. He learned so much that after three or four days, he
sent a telegram to Captain Will Hallam, saying:
Give me a perfectly free hand here or call me home. I must have all
the authority you possess or I can be of no use. Answer by
telegraph.
For response, Will Hallam telegraphed:
Consider yourself the whole thing. I give you complete and absolute
authority. Hire or discharge men at will. Order all improvements
you think best. Draw on the bank here for any sum you need. Only
make the thing go if you can.
Telegraphing was much more expensive in those days--forty years
ago--than it is now. And yet in neither of these dispatches was there
any seeming effort to spare words. That was Captain Will Hallam's rule
and practice. His frequent instruction to all his subordinates ran
somewhat in this wise:
"Never save a word in telegraphing at the risk of being misunderstood.
Mistakes are the most costly luxuries that a man can indulge in. Never
forget that we live in the Nineteenth Century."
In that spirit Captain Will sent a dozen other telegrams that day,
addressed to all the different men at the mines who had even the
smallest pretension to authority. In each of them he said:
Guilford Duncan represents me fully and absolutely. His authority
is unlimited. Obey him or quit. Obey him with all good will. Help
him if you can, and in every way you can. There must be no
interference, no kicking, no withholding of information. These are
orders.
Thus armed, Duncan set to work in earnest.
"Why isn't your output of coal larger than it is?" he asked of Davidson,
the superintendent.
"I can't make it larger under the circumstances."
"What are the circumstances? What difficulties are there in the way? You
have miners enough, surely."
"Well, for one thing, the mine is badly ventilated. Many of the best
galleries are filled with choke-damp, and must be kept closed."
"Why don't you improve the ventilation? As an engineer you ought to
know how to do that much."
"It isn't feasible, as you would know, Mr. Duncan, if you knew anything
about mining."
"Oh, never mind my ignorance. It is your knowledge that I'm concerned
about just now. Do I understand you to say that a mine lying only
seventy-five feet or so below the surface cannot be ventilated?"
"I suppose it might be if the business could afford the expense."
"The business can and will afford any expense that may be necessary to
make it pay. If you know enough of engineering to devise a practicable
plan for ventilating the mine, I'll furnish you all the money you need
to carry it out."
He had it in mind to add: "If you don't know enough for that, I'll find
a more competent engineer," but he kept his temper and refrained.
"Twouldn't be of any use," answered Davidson, after a moment. "We're
producing more coal now than we can market."
"How is that? I don't understand. Your order book--which I looked over
to-day--shows orders a full month ahead of shipments, besides many
canceled orders, countermanded because not filled promptly enough to
satisfy the customers. You're superintendent as well as engineer. I wish
you'd try to clear up this puzzle."
"Oh, it's simple enough. The railroad people won't furnish us cars
enough. I could ship a hundred carloads to-morrow if I had the cars, but
I haven't got 'em, and I can't get 'em."
"Do you mean that you are offering coal as freight to this railroad, and
the road is refusing it?"
"Yes, that's about it. I've asked for cars and can't get 'em, except a
few each day."
"Do the other mines along this little branch railroad have the same
trouble?"
"There is only one other mine on this line."
"Well, does it encounter the same difficulty in marketing its coal?"
"No--at least not to so great an extent. You see somebody there is
standing in with the railroad people. I suppose they've had a little
block of stock given to them--the railroad people, I mean. So the
Quentin mines get all the cars they want, and we get only their
leavings."
"Well, now, Mr. Davidson, I give you this order: Set to work at once and
bring out every ton of coal you've got ready in the mine. There'll be
cars here to haul it when you get it ready. Good-night, Mr. Davidson.
I'll talk with you another time about the other matters. I have a good
deal to do to-night, so I can't talk further with you now."
Davidson went out after a grudging "good-night." Duncan did not yet know
or suspect, though he was presently to find out, that to Davidson, also,
the proprietors of the rival mine were paying a little tribute, as a
reward for silence and for making trouble.
Duncan sat for an hour writing letters. The typewriting machine had not
been invented at that time, and even if it had been Duncan would have
preferred to write these letters himself.
One of them was addressed to the General Freight Agent of the little
railroad on which the mine was situated. It read as follows:
Within six days I shall have one hundred car loads of coal at the
mouth of this mine, ready for shipment upon orders. After that time
I shall have about sixty car loads ready for shipment each day.
Please see to it that an adequate supply of cars to move this
freight are side-tracked here on time.