A LETTER HOME
The bathroom proved to be a veritable rabbit hutch, though clean. But
Gordon was astonished to find how far the old life had fallen away
behind him. The bareness of the room did not disturb him in the least,
and, after a wash in the trough at the back of the hotel, and having
dried himself on a towel that may have seen cleaner days, and refused
to be inveigled by the attraction of an unclean comb, securely tied to
a defective mirror in the passage to the back door, he came back to his
bedroom with an added appreciation for its questionable luxury.
Mallinsbee had ridden off on a great chestnut horse, nor, until Gordon
saw him in the saddle, was he definitely able to classify him in his
mind. Big as the amiable stranger was, he sat in the saddle as though
he had been born in it, and he handled his horse as only a cattle man
can.
At supper-time he had an opportunity of studying something of his
fellow guests in the house. They were a mixed gathering, but every
table in the dining-room was full to overflowing. Certainly McSwain
was justified in his claim to a rush of business.
It was quickly obvious to Gordon that these people were by no means
natives of the place. The majority were undoubtedly business men.
Shrewd, keen men of the speculative type, judging from the babel of
talk going on about him. As far as he could make out the whole
interest of the place was land. Land--always land--and again land.
In view of Mallinsbee's friendship Peter McSwain had requested him to
sit beside him at his especial table. And he forthwith began to
question his host.
"Seems to be a big talk of land going on," he said, as he ate his
macaroni soup.
Peter gulped violently at a long tube of macaroni and nearly choked.
"Sure," he said, his eyes wide with an expression the meaning of which
Gordon was never quite certain about. It might have meant mere
astonishment, but it also suggested resentment. "Sure it's land. What
else, unless it's coal, would they talk in Snake's Fall? Every blamed
feller you see settin' around in this room is what Silas Mallinsbee
calls a ground shark. Which means," he added, with a grin, "they're
out to buy or steal land around Snake's Fall. We guess they prefer
stealing. The place is bung full with 'em."
Gordon's interest deepened.
"But why, if you'll forgive me, around--Snake's Fall?"
"Young man," said Peter severely, "you're new to the place, and that's
your excuse for such ignorance." He pushed his half-finished soup
aside and adopted an impressive pose with both elbows on the table, his
hands together, and one finger describing acrobatic gyrations to point
his words. The manner of it fascinated his hearer. "Let me tell you,
sir, that Snake's Fall is the new coalfield of this great country.
Sir," he added, with great dramatic effect, "Snake's Fall is capable of
supplying the coal of the _world_! There's hundreds of billions of
tons of high-grade coal underlying these silly-lookin' hummocks they
call the foothills. All this land around Snake's Fall was Silas
Mallinsbee's ranch, and he found the coal. That's why I said Silas
Mallinsbee was the father of Snake's Fall. He sold this land to a
great coal corporation, and bought land away further up in the hills,
where he still runs his ranch. He's a great man with a pile of
dollars. And he's clever, too. He's kep' for himself all the land
either side of the railroad, except this town. And that's why all
these land pirates, or ground sharks, are around. The railroad ain't
declared their land yet, and everybody's waiting to jump in. The
coal's five miles west of here, and the railroad has got to say if
they'll keep the depot where it is, or build a new one further along,
right on the coal seams. That's the play we're all watching. We want
to buy right. We want to buy for the boom. These guys here are out to
get in on the ground floor, and see prices go sky high--when they've
bought. There'll be some dandy piles made in this play--and lost."
By the time he had finished Gordon was agog with excitement. It had
stirred as the man began to talk, without his fully understanding the
meaning of it. Then, as he proceeded, it grew, and with its growth
came enlightenment. Vaguely he saw the hand of Providence in the
affairs of the last few days.
He had planned his own little matters, or rather he had drifted into
them, and then the gods of fortune had taken a hand. And the way of
it. He began to smile. A strangely impish mood must have stirred
them. His journey. His discovery of the absurdity of his own plans in
the nick of time. His visit to the smoker. His play with a "sharp."
His fight, and his sudden and uncalculated arrival at Snake's Fall.
Here he was, quite without the least intention of his own, landed into
the only sort of place in which it could be reasonably hoped he might
pick up a fortune quickly. He wondered how he was likely to fare in
competition with these ground sharks about him. And the thought made
him begin to laugh.
McSwain eyed him doubtfully.
"Amusin', ain't it?" he said, without appreciation.
Gordon shook his head.
"If you only knew--it is."
Peter went on with his food for a few moments in silence.
"I s'pose the boom will come big when it does start?" hazarded Gordon
presently.
"Big? Say, you ain't got a grip on things yet. Snake's Fall could
supply the whole--not half--world with high-grade stove coal. Does
that tell you anything? No? Wal, it jest means that when the railroad
says the word, hundred-dollar plots 'll fetch a thousand dollars in a
week, and maybe ten thousand in a month or less. I tell you right here
that in six months from the time the railroad talks there'll be fifty
thousand speculators right here, and we'll most of us rake in our
piles. We only got to jump in at the start, maybe a bit before, and
the game's right in our hands. Get me? I tell you, sir, this is
bigger than the first Kootenay rush and nigh as big as the Cobalt boom
in Canada."
Gordon was impressed.
"And to think I came here by accident."
"Accident?"
"You see, I was persuaded--against my will."
His eyes were twinkling.
"Ah, Mallinsbee persuaded you--being a friend of his."
"No. As a matter of fact I think it was the train conductor who
persuaded me."
"He's a wise guy, then."
"Ye-es. I don't guess I'll see him again. I surely owe him something
for what he did."
Peter nodded seriously as he gazed at the humorous eyes of his
companion.
"He's given you the chance of--a lifetime, sir. And that's a thing
ther' ain't many in this country yearning to do."
After that the meal progressed in silence until the pie was handed
round.
Gordon was thinking hard. He was wondering, in view of what he had
heard, what he ought to do. Land. What did he know about land? How
could he measure his wits against the wits of such land speculators as
he saw about him? He studied the faces of some of the clamorous crowd
in the dining-room. They were a strangely mixed lot. There were
undoubtedly men of substance among them, but equally surely the
majority were adventurers looking to step into the arena of the coming
boom and wrest a slice of fortune by hook, or, more probably, by crook.
What did he know? What could he do? And his mind went back to the
sharp on the train, and the way he had fallen to the man's snare.
Again he wanted to laugh. He had counted the bills which Mallinsbee
had handed him, in the privacy of his bathroom. He only remembered to
have lost about two hundred dollars to the gambler. The dollars handed
to him amounted to well over three hundred. The miracle of it all. He
had nearly killed the gambler, and, instead of losing, he had made over
a hundred dollars on the deal. The miracle of it!
"Do you believe in miracles?" he laughed abruptly.
Peter glanced up from his plate suspiciously. Then he promptly joined
in the other's amusement. He always remembered that this newcomer was
a friend of Silas Mallinsbee.
"Meracles?" he said reflectively. "I can't say I always did. But one
or two things have made some difference that way. Takin' one extra
drink saved my life once. The takin' of that drink wasn't jest a
meracle," he added dryly. "It was more of a habit them days. Still,
it was a meracle in a way. Me an' my brother wer' on a bust. We were
feeling that good we was handin' out our pasts in lumps to each other,
same as if we was strangers, and wasn't raised around the same cabbige
patch. Wal, he'd borrowed an automobile and left the saloon to wind it
up, and get things fixed. While he was gone the boys handed me another
cocktail. Then the bartender slung one at me, an' I hadn't no more
sense than to buy another one myself. Then some damn fool thought rye
was the best mix for drinkin' on top o' cocktails, an' so they put me
to bed. Guess I never see my brother get back from that joy ride." He
sighed. "I allow they had to bury a lot of that automobile with him,
he was so mussed up. Sort o' meracle, you'd say? Then there was
another time. Guess it was my wife. She was one o' them females who
make you feel you want to associate with tame earthworms. Sort o'
female who never knew what a sick headache was, an' sang hymns of a
Sunday evening, and played a harmonium when she was feelin' in sperits.
Sort o' female who couldn't help smellin' out when you was lyin' to
her, an' gener'ly told you of it. A good woman though, an' don't yer
fergit it. Wal, I got sick once an' when I got right again she guessed
it was up to 'em to insure myself in her favor. Guess I'd just paid my
first premium when she goes an' takes colic an' dies. I did all I
knew. I give her ginger, an' hot-water bags, an' poultices. It didn't
make no sort o' difference. She died. I ain't paid no premiums since.
Sort o' meracle that," he added, with a satisfied smile. "Then there's
this coal. I hadn't started this hotel six months when Mallinsbee gets
busy an' makes his deal with the corporation. You ain't goin' to make
a pile out of a bum country hotel without a--meracle."
The man's gravity was impressive, and Gordon strove for sympathy.
"Yes," he declared, with smiling emphasis. "There are such things as
miracles. One has happened this day--and here. My arrival here was
certainly a miracle. A peculiarly earthy miracle, but, nevertheless,
a--miracle. Say, I'll have to write some in the office. See you
again."
Gordon pushed back his chair and hurried away through the crowded room
towards the office. But here again was a crowd. Here again was
"land"--always "land." And in desperation he betook himself to his
bathroom. He felt he must write to his mother. He felt that on this
his arrival in Snake's Fall he could do no less than reassure her of
his well-being.
Mrs. James Carbhoy sighed contentedly as she raised her eyes from the
last of a number of sheets of paper in her lap. Her husband turned
from his contemplation of the scorching streets, and the parched
foliage of the wide expanse of trees beyond the window.
"Well?" he inquired. "Where is the boy?"
There was the faintest touch of anxiety in his inquiry, but his face
was perfectly controlled, and the humor in his eyes was quite unchanged.
Mrs. Carbhoy sighed again.
"I don't know. He doesn't say. Nor does he give the slightest clew."
She examined the envelope of the letter. "It was mailed here in New
York. It's a rambling sort of letter. I hope he is all right. This
hot weather is---- Do you think he----"
Her husband laughed.
"I guess he's all right. You see I don't fancy he wants us to know
where he is. That's come through some friend, I'd say. Just read it
out."
Gordon's mother leaned back in her chair again. She was more than
ready to read her beloved boy's letter again, in spite of her
misgivings. Besides, there was a hope in her thoughts that she had
missed some clew as to his whereabouts which her clear-sighted husband
might detect.
"DEAREST MUM:
"Destinations are mighty curious things which have a way of making up
their minds as to whom they are terminals for, regardless of the
individual. Most of us think the matter of destination is in our own
hands. We make up our minds to go to the North Pole; well, if we get
there it's because no other terminal on the way has made up its mind to
claim us. I've surely arrived at my destination, a place I wasn't
going to, nor had heard of, nor dreamed of--even when I had nightmare.
I guess this place must have said to itself, 'Hello, here's Gordon
Carbhoy on the train; he's every sort of fool, he don't know if it's
Palm Sunday or Candlemas, he hasn't got more sense than an old hen with
kittens, let's divert him where we think he ought to go.' So I arrived
here quite suddenly this afternoon and, in consequence, have wasted
some fifty odd dollars of passage money. It's a good beginning, and
one the old Dad 'll surely appreciate.
"Talking of the old Dad, I'd like you to tell him from me that I don't
think graft is confined to--big finance. This is a discovery he's
likely to be interested in. Also, since he's largely interested in
railroads, though not from a traveling point of view, I would point out
that much might be done to improve accommodation. The aisles are too
narrow and the corners of the seats are too sharp. Furthermore, the
best money-making scheme I can think of at the moment is a billet as a
conductor of a transcontinental express.
"However, these things are just first impressions.
"There are other impressions I won't discuss here. They relate to
arrival platforms of depots. When a fellow gets out on his own in the
world, there are many things with which he comes into contact liable to
strike him forcibly. Those are the things in life calculated to teach
him much that may be useful to him afterwards. I have already come
into contact with such things, and though they are liable to leave an
impression of soreness generally, their lessons are quite sound.
"On the whole, in spite of having lost fifty odd dollars on my railroad
ticket, my first two or three days' adventures have left me with a
margin of profit such as I could not reasonably have expected. I
mention this to show you, presuming that the Dad has told you the
object of my going, that my eye is definitely focused on the primary
purpose of my ramblings.
"I am keeping my eyes well open and one or two of my observations might
be of interest to you.
"I have discovered that the luxurious bath is not actually necessary to
life, and, from a hygienic point of view, there's no real drawback to
the kind of soap vulgarly known as 'hoss.' Furthermore, the filtration
of water for ablutionary purposes is quite unnecessary. All it needs
is to be of a consistency that'll percolate through a fish net.
Moreover, judging from observations only, I have discovered that a comb
and brush, if securely chained up, can be used on any number of heads
without damaging results.
"Observation cannot be considered complete without its being turned
upon one's fellow-creatures. I have already come into contact with
some very interesting specimens of my kind. Without worrying you with
details I have found some of them really worth while. Generalizing,
I'd like to say right here that man seems to be a creature of curious
habits--many of which are bad. I don't say this with malice. On the
contrary, I say it with appreciation. And, too, I never realized what
a general hobby amongst men the collecting of dollars was. It must be
all the more interesting that, as a collection, it never seems
completed. I'd like to remark that view points change quickly under
given circumstances, and I am now bitten with the desire to become a
collector.
"Furthermore, my focus had readjusted itself already. For instance, I
feel no repulsion at the manners displayed in the dining-room of a
small country 'hotel.' I feel sure that the man who eats with his
mouth open and snores at the same time is quite justified, if he
happens to be bigger and stronger than the man who hears and sees him.
I also feel that a man is only within his rights in having two or even
three helpings of every dish in a hotel run on the American plan,
unless the limit to a man's capacity is definitely estimated on the
printed tariff. Another observation came my way. Honesty seems to be
a matter of variable quality. A nice ethical problem is suggested by
the following incident. A man robs his victim; a righteously indignant
onlooker sees the transaction, and his honesty-loving nature rebels.
He forthwith robs the robber and hands the proceeds of his robbery to
the original victim. This seems to me to open up a road to discussion
which I'm sure the Dad and I would enjoy--though not at this distance.
"I have already learned that there are plenty of great men in the world
whose existence I had never suspected. I have a feeling that local
celebrities have a greater glory than national heroes. George
Washington never told a lie, it is true, and his birthday forms an
adequate excuse for a certain stimulation in the enjoyments of a
people. But he never discovered a paying field for speculation by the
dollar chasers. Until a man does that he can have no understanding of
real glory.
"I hope you and Gracie are well. I think it would be advisable to
check Gracie's appetite for candy. I am already realizing that luxury
can be overdone. She might turn her attention to peanuts, which I
observe is a popular pastime amongst the people with whom I have come
into contact. I would suggest to the old Dad that five-cent cigars
have merits in spite of rumor to the contrary. I feel, too, that the
dollar ninety-five he would thus save on his smoke might, in time,
become a valuable asset.
"Your loving son,
"GORDON."