CHEBASSET
At the conference between Mather and Pease various matters were
discussed which are not to the direct purpose of this story. Such were,
for instance, the electrical and mechanical devices by which a metal was
to be produced from its ore, either in sheets, pure, or plated on iron.
Pease had bought the patent; the plan commended itself to Mather
immediately; there was "good money" in it. But before anything else
could be done a plant must be secured, a work which Pease expected would
take much time. He watched to see how Mather would propose to go about
it.
"We must have a good water-supply for the vats," mused Mather. "A
harbour-front will be needed for the coal and ore; that means a suburban
location, which calls again for railroad facilities."
"Of course there is no mill ready-made?"
"There is! The old Dye Company's plant at Chebasset."
"Impossible!" answered Pease at once.
"Because rich people have summer places thereabouts, and wouldn't like a
mill as neighbour?"
"Those rich people are our friends," reminded Pease.
"Mr. Pease," said Mather positively, "I know all the mills of this
neighbourhood. There is no other suitable. To use this plant will save
us a year's time, as well as great expense. The buildings are in good
condition; the vats are large. The harbour is deep; all we need is to
enlarge the wharf and put in new engines. What more could one ask?"
"Nothing," admitted Pease.
"Then why not buy? Colonel Blanchard has been trying to sell these ten
years; he lost much money there. The price is so low that Fenno or
Branderson could easily have protected themselves."
Pease still hesitated.
"One thing more," said Mather. "I have visited in Chebasset, for short
periods; I know the place fairly well. The mill is in the remotest
corner of the town, and the dirtiest; there are poor houses there,
wretched sanitation, and a saloon on mill property. It's a good place
gone to seed. I'd like to clean it out."
Mr. Pease thought he saw a way. "Let this settle it. If the Colonel is
willing to sell, there will be no reason why we should not buy."
"I may go ahead on that understanding?"
"You may."
Mather rose. "The Colonel will be willing to sell. If you put this in my
hands, and will not appear, I can get the place cheap. People are ready
to see me start on another fool's errand at any time."
"Go ahead, then; you know how much I am willing to spend. Attend to
everything and spare me the details. But," added Pease kindly, "I am
sorry to see you quite so bitter. Your friends will yet put you back in
Ellis's place."
"When he has a clear majority of fifty votes in our small issue of
stock? Ah, let me go my own way, Mr. Pease. I see here a chance to do a
good thing; I need a wrestle with business. After I have been a month at
this you will find me a different man."
They parted, each with a little envy of the other. Mather envied Pease
his accomplishments, the work that stood in his name; Pease coveted the
other's youth. But each was glad that they were working together. Pease
found that the purchase was accomplished within a fortnight, and that
men were soon at work on alterations in the mills. Those were matters in
which he did not concern himself; the scheme was bound to succeed; he
had little money in it (as money went with him), and he was interested
to see what Mather would make of the business. Trouble in the form of
criticism was bound to come.
When it came the ladies took an active hand in it. Mrs. Fenno complained
that the sky-line of her view would be broken by the new chimney; Mrs.
Branderson had no relish for the aspect of the projected coal-wharf.
Young people believed that the river would be spoiled for canoeing, and
all agreed that the village would be no longer bearable, with the
families of fifty imported workmen to make it noisy and dirty. Moreover,
if the villagers themselves should give up their old occupations of
fishing, clam-digging, and market-gardening, for the steadier work in
the mill, then where would the cottagers look for their lobsters, their
stews, and their fresh vegetables? But the plan was put through. The
chimney went up, the wharf was enlarged, coal and ore barges appeared in
the little harbour, and in a surprisingly short time the old Dye
Company's mill was ready for work. Pease saw his returns promised a year
before he had expected, but George Mather was no longer popular. Mrs.
Fenno frowned at him, Mrs. Branderson scolded, and though their husbands
laughed at the young man and said he had been clever, many people
clamoured, and among them Judith Blanchard.
This move of Mather's had taken her by surprise; at a step he had gained
a new position. No offers from the rich men moved him to sell; he
replied that he meant to carry out his plans. So a whole section of the
town was put in order for the families of the new workmen. Judith,
hearing of all this, complained to Mather when she met him.
"And yet," he responded, "the mill is a mile from the nearest estate;
the whole town lies between. As for what clearing up I've done, I value
picturesqueness, Judith, but the place is now ten times healthier. And
we are putting in smoke-consumers."
"Yet from most of our houses we can see your chimney."
"Judith, for that one eyesore which I put up I will remove ten from the
town."
"But who asked you to do it? You never lived here; you have no love for
the place."
"I have lived," he replied, "in other New England towns, equally
degenerate."
"I am not speaking of the townspeople," she said. "I mean the summer
residents."
"Wasn't it your father's matter to think of them?"
Judith had felt the discussion to be going against her. Therefore she
answered with some warmth: "That is another question entirely!"
"I beg your pardon, Judith," he said. "But mayn't I describe my plans?"
"No," she answered; "I don't think it is necessary."
"Very well," he returned, and made no attempt to say more. Hurt, he fell
into a mood of dogged endurance. "Very well," he repeated, and let the
matter drop. Then Judith's interest was roused too late; he might really
have had something to say. She knew that dirt was unhealthy; she
remembered that in Chebasset drunkards on the street were more plentiful
than in Stirling. Yet her generosity did not quite extend to recalling
her words--partly because of natural pride, partly because she knew his
interest in her and would not encourage it, partly again because she
still resented his words to Ellis in her presence. And so the breach
between them remained.
Yet he had already impressed her, by his manly readiness to begin life
again, and by his steadiness under her fire. Confidence was, to Judith,
almost a virtue. And the idea of reform always appealed to her: had the
place been really so bad?
One by one the households had been moving down to Chebasset, and Beth
had already opened the Blanchard cottage. On the evening after Judith
had spoken with Mather she asked if Beth had noticed the changes in
Chebasset.
"George's? At his mill?" asked Beth. "I think it's much improved. Those
horrid tumble-down shanties are gone, and there are new houses there
now--shingled and stained they are to be--with new fences."
"Father," asked Judith, "why didn't you do that?"
"My dear child," was his response, "how could I afford it?" The Colonel
was always nervous when the subject of the new mill was broached, and
quitted it as soon as possible. But Judith pursued him.
"I asked George if he had not treated us unfairly--the property owners,
I mean. He seemed to think that was your affair."
Beth was up in arms at once. "For that chimney? He laid the blame on
papa?"
The Colonel wiped his flowing mustache, and looked at Judith; Beth's
outraged cry did not interest him so much as his elder daughter's stand.
"What did you say to him?" he asked.
"I said that was another question."
"So it is," agreed the Colonel. "Entirely different." He looked at Beth
to see if she were satisfied; she rose and came behind his chair, where
she began smoothing his hair.
"Poor papa," she purred.
Blanchard swelled his chest. "Thank you, Beth," he said, but his
thoughts went back to Judith. People took different stands on this
matter; he was anxious to have Judith on his side. Fenno had told the
Colonel that he, Fenno, ought to have been informed of the proposed
sale; Branderson, less bluntly, had intimated the same. It was possible
that Judith might take a similar view.
"I had others beside myself to consider," he said. "Dear papa!" murmured
Beth. But Judith took it differently.
"I don't want to profit by the sale," she stated.
The Colonel offered no explanation. At the time of the sale he had not
been thinking of his daughters, but of certain pressing creditors. So
the money had been welcome and was already partly gone. He answered with
grim knowledge of a hidden meaning.
"I'll take care you shall not profit by the transaction, Judith. But I
am sorry that the mill is sold. I hate a disturbance."
"Don't you be sorry, papa!" exhorted Beth. But Judith delivered a shot
which hit her parent between wind and water. It was one of those
impromptus which come too quickly to be checked.
"Perhaps Mr. Fenno would have given more."
"Judith!" shouted her father, bouncing in his chair.
"I beg your pardon, papa," she said humbly.
When Judith was humble she was charming; the Colonel accepted her kiss
and pardoned her. As for herself, she felt her spirit lightened, as by
an electric discharge, and began to look at the whole question of
Mather's mill more temperately. Why should she grudge him his success?
It was so much less than Ellis's. When next she met Mather she was
gracious to him, and was ready to hear a full account of all his plans,
if only he would open the subject. He avoided it.
Then the Blanchards moved to Chebasset, and Judith saw the mill and
chimney with her own eyes. People had stopped scolding about them; she
found them not so bad as had been reported, and the chimney, though
certainly tall, gave off but the slightest film of smoke. So thorough
were Mather's improvements that they forced Judith's admiration. When
she first went to the grocer's and, after making her purchases, inquired
of the changes in the town, she heard a torrent of praise of Mather.
"It's a bad place he's cleaned out," the grocer said, coming very close
and speaking confidentially. "Many young fellows were led wrong there,
but the biggest saloon's gone now, and some of the worst men have left
the town, and a man can feel that his own children have a chance of
growing up decent. It's two boys I have, Miss Blanchard, that I was
worrying about till Mr. Mather came."
"I am glad things are so much better," Judith said.
"They'll be better yet," the grocer responded. "Gross, the other
saloon-keeper, has got to look after himself now. Mr. Mather had him in
court only the other day--look, there they are now."
On the sidewalk outside stood a large man, gross as was his name; across
the street Mather was unconcernedly walking. The saloon-keeper raised a
fist and shouted at Mather, who paused and looked over at him
inquiringly.
"I'll be even with you!" shouted Gross again.
"Wait a bit," answered Mather cheerfully, "I'll come over." He crossed
the street and stepped directly to the saloon-keeper. "You'll be even
with me for what, Mr. Gross?"
"For that fine," answered the other. "I'll have you in court yet, see if
I don't."
"You'll have me in court," rejoined Mather, "when you catch me selling
whisky to minors, not before, Mr. Gross. And while we're on this subject
I may as well say that I've just sworn out a second warrant against
you."
The saloon-keeper backed away from the very cool young man. "What yer
goin' ter do?" he asked.
"I'm going to see," Mather answered, "that you observe the liquor laws.
And when your license comes before the selectmen for renewal, I shall be
at the hearing."
On Gross's face appeared blotches of white. "We'll see!" he blustered.
"We'll see," agreed Mather, and turned away.
The grocer spoke in Judith's ear. "That's the stuff! That's what, Miss
Blanchard!" Waiting till Mather was gone, Judith left the shop and went
home very thoughtful. So George was working, on however small a scale,
for reform and progress. She could not fail to see that for his coming
the whole town had a brisker, brighter look. Chebasset streets had been
dull, sleepy, unpainted. Now fences were repaired, houses were
freshened, and the townspeople looked better dressed, because the men
were earning more money at the mill, or the women were gaining livings
by boarding and lodging the new-comers. The town was changed, and Mather
was the cause.
Then she learned more of him. He was domesticating himself there, kept a
cat-boat, and had even bought a cottage. Beth pointed out the little
house, a good example of provincial architecture.
"You didn't tell us you were going to buy," Judith reproached him when
he came to call.
"Oh," he answered indirectly, "I fell in love with the place, and the
family mahogany fits in there exactly. Did you notice my roses?"
Then he spoke of gardening, and gave Judith no chance to tell him what
she thought about his work. Had he done so, she might even have let him
know that she had overheard his talk with Gross, and that his action
pleased her. But he avoided the subject; his call was brief, and after
he had gone he did not return for a number of days. Chebasset was not
lively that summer; Judith grew lonesome, and more than once thought of
Mather. His conduct piqued and puzzled her. Now was his chance, as he
ought to know. What had become of the lover who used to bring to her his
hopes and fears?
As for that lover, he had less time at his disposal than Judith
supposed. All day he was at the mill, or else went to Stirling on
necessary business; at night he was very tired. Yet though he knew he
was leaving Judith to her own devices, he did it deliberately. Until she
was tired of freedom, until she had satisfied her interest in the great
world, she would come to no man's call. Perhaps his conclusion was wise,
perhaps it was not, for while at a distance he watched Judith and
weighed his chances, Ellis was doing the same.
To the outsider, Mather's path seemed clear; he lived in the same town
with Judith, might see her every day, and, worst of all, was prospering.
"I'll touch him up," said Ellis grimly to himself. "He'll buy a house,
will he?" And from that time he kept well informed of Mather's business
acts, watching for a chance to trip him. Ellis knew all the ways of
those three great forces: politics, capital, and labour; he could pull
so many wires that he counted on acting unobserved.
Minor annoyances met Mather in his business, traceable to no particular
source. There was evident discrimination in railroad rates, and yet so
small was the increase that proof was difficult. Freight was mislaid and
mishandled; it was frequently very vexing. But the real attempt to
cripple the new business came toward the middle of the summer, when
Ellis, weary of the weak attempts of his subordinates at annoyance, took
a hand himself, and looked for some vital flaw in the safeguards of the
Electrolytic Company. He believed he found it, and various legal notices
came to Mather, all of which remained unanswered. Finally an important
official came in person to the office. He introduced himself as Mr.
Daggett of the harbour commission.
"I have written you several times," he complained.
"So you have," answered Mather. "Miss Jenks, may Mr. Daggett and I have
the office to ourselves for a while? I take it," he added, when the door
closed behind the stenographer, "that we are going to be rude to each
other. Have a cigar?"
"Thanks," said Daggett, "but I don't see why ye didn't answer."
"I was too busy. Besides, I wanted to get you down here, so as to settle
the matter once for all. Will you state the matter plainly; your letters
were vague? That is the wharf out there."
Mr. Daggett viewed it through the window. "Yes, it's surely a long
wharf. Twenty feet beyond the harbour line. Ye'll have to take it down."
"Or else?" demanded Mather.
"Show a permit."
"Come, there's one other choice."
"Pay a fine," grinned Daggett. "We've set a pretty large sum. The
board's irritated, ye see, because ye've paid so little attention to
us."
"The board never fails to answer letters, does it?" inquired Mather.
"What do you mean?"
"You're too busy, I suppose. And you don't appear to remember seeing me
before, Mr. Daggett."
"Have I?" asked the commissioner.
"You don't recollect that I wrote about this matter two months ago? I
had to go to the office to get an answer. You were deep in affairs, Mr.
Daggett. I found you and two others playing cards."
"Was I?" asked Daggett.
"When was this harbour line established, anyway? Wasn't it about two
weeks ago?"
"Certainly," Mr. Daggett answered. "That has nothing to do with it. But
what did we tell you at the office--I can't remember your coming."
"I wasn't there long enough to make much impression," said Mather. "One
of your friends told me that all fools knew there was no harbour line
here, and I didn't need your permission."
"Hm!" remarked Daggett doubtfully. Then he brightened. "Did we give you
that in writing?"
"I didn't ask you for it. You seemed so anxious to go on with your game
that I didn't trouble you further."
"Then you have no permission," stated Daggett. "And now that there is a
harbour line, what will you do about it?"
"I learned all I wanted of you," said Mather. He had not yet risen from
his desk, but now he did so, and going over to his safe, he threw it
open. "I asked nothing further because, there being no harbour line, a
permit wouldn't have been worth the paper it was written on. I wrote to
the Secretary of the Navy." Mather drew a document from a drawer of the
safe. "Do you care to see his answer?"
"Whew!" whistled Daggett. "Well, I suppose I might as well."
Mather gave him the paper. "You will see that I have permission to build
ten feet farther if I want to, and fifteen broader. I may also build
another wharf if I wish, lower down. Are you satisfied?" He touched the
bell. "You may come in now, Miss Jenks. Thank you for taking it so
easily, Mr. Daggett. I won't keep you from your game any longer.
Good-day."
--"And before I left the office he was hard at work again, Mr. Ellis,"
reported Daggett. "Save me, but he's taken pretty good care of himself,
and that's a fact."
Ellis had no comments to make; he did his growling to himself. Seeing
nothing further to do, he left Mather alone.
Thus time passed by till that midsummer day when Ellis took the trolley
to Chebasset and, once there, strolled among its streets. He viewed the
mill from a distance and gritted his teeth at the sight. Mather was well
ensconced; it seemed altogether too likely that he might win a wife,
among his other successes. Then the promoter left the town and climbed
above it on the winding road, viewing the estates of the summer
residents as one by one he passed their gates. Should he enter at the
Judge's?
A light step sounded on the road as he hesitated at the gate. Someone
spoke his name, and there stood Judith Blanchard.
"Here, and in business hours?" she asked.
"My day's work was done," he answered. "Besides, it was not all pleasure
that brought me."
Judith's eyes brightened. "Tell me," she suggested.
"Why should I tell you?" he asked bluntly. But the brusqueness only
pleased her; he was a man of secrets.
"No reason at all," she answered.
"And yet," he said, "your advice would be valuable, if you will not
tell."
"I! I tell?" she asked. "You do not know me."
"Then," he said, "I came to look at land here."
"To look at land here?" she repeated, questioning. "Can you buy here?"
"There is land," he said. "The price would be doubled if it were known I
am after it. I have the refusal of it, through agents."
"Where does it lie?" she asked.
"Farther up the road."
"You must not be seen going to it," she declared. "People would take
alarm----" She stopped, embarrassed.
"I do not mind," he said, and yet she felt his bitterness. "I am not
considered a good neighbour."
"It is wrong of people," she declared earnestly.
"I should not be welcome on any one of these piazzas," he said,
indicating the villas beyond them. "The Judge doesn't like me--your own
father has no use for me."
"Will you come and try?" she cried. "I should like to see if my father
will be rude to my guest."
"You are very kind," he said, "but do you consider----?"
"I have invited you," she interrupted. "Will you come?"
"With pleasure," he answered. They went up the hill together.