CASHING IN
Gordon's eyes were alight with a wonder that somehow lacked reality as
he dropped into the chair beside the table.
"You? You?" he murmured. Then aloud: "It--it's incredible!" Then,
with an impulsive gesture. "In the name of all that's crazy
what's--what's the meaning of it? How in the world have you got into
the hands of these ruffians?"
His father selected one of the two remaining cigars in his case, and
passed the other across.
"Try again," he said quietly, as he bit the end off his.
But Gordon did not "try again." He took the proffered cigar, and sat
devouring the silent figure and sphinx-like face of the other, while he
felt like one who had received a douche of ice-cold water from a pail.
His acting had missed fire, and he knew it. He wondered how much else
of his efforts had missed fire with this abnormally acute man. He had
intended this to be the moment of his triumph. He had intended to lay
before his father his talent of silver, doubled and redoubled an
hundredfold. He had intended, with all the enthusiasm of youthful
vanity, to display the triumph of his understanding of the modern
methods of dealing with the affairs of finance. He was going to prove
his theories up to the hilt.
Now, somehow, he felt that whatever victory he had achieved the clear,
keen brain behind his father's steady gray eyes saw through him
completely, right down into the deepest secrets which he had believed
to be securely hidden. Face to face with this man, who had spent all
the long years of his life studying how best to beat his fellow man,
his acting became but a paltry mask which obscured nothing. "Try
again." Such simple words, but so significant. No, it was useless to
"try again" with this dear, shrewd creature he was so futilely
endeavoring to deceive.
The cold of the gray eyes had changed. It was only a slight change,
but to Gordon, who understood his father so well, it was clearly
perceptible and indicative of the mood behind. There was a suggestion
of a smile in them, an ironical, half-humorous smile that scattered all
his carefully made plans.
The millionaire struck a match and held it out to light his son's
cigar, and, as Gordon leaned forward, their eyes met in a steady regard.
"Nothing doing?" inquired the father, as he carefully lit his own cigar
from the same match.
Gordon shook his head, and his eyes smiled whimsically.
"Then I best do first talk." The millionaire leaned back in his chair
and breathed out a thin spiral of smoke. Then he sighed. "Good smokes
these. Mallinsbee's a man of taste."
"Mallinsbee?"
"Sure."
"Go on."
"He's kept me well supplied. Also with good wine. I owe him quite a
debt--that way. Say----" The millionaire paused reflectively. Then
he went on in the manner of a man who has arrived at a complete and
definite decision: "Guess it would take hours asking questions and
getting answers. It's not my way, and I don't guess I'm a lawyer
anyway, and you aren't a shady witness. We know just how to talk out
straight. I've had over seven weeks to think in--and thinking with me
is--a disease. Let's go back. I had a neat land scoop working up
here. Slosson was working it. He's been a secret agent of mine for
years. I've no reason to distrust him. He fixes things right for us
and sends word for me to come along. That's happened many times
before. It's not new, or--unusual. When I get here I'm met by a very
charming young girl with a rig and team. Her excuse for meeting me is
reasonable. The rest is easy. We are both held up, and brought
here--captives. Then I start in to think a lot. Argument don't carry
me more than a mile till that same charming girl, who's just done all
she knew to make things right for me, makes her first break. When I
found out she was the daughter of Mallinsbee I did all the thinking
needed in half an hour. I knew I was to be rolled on this land deal by
Mallinsbee's crowd, and, judging by the methods adopted, to be rolled
good. You see we'd had negotiations with Mallinsbee about his land at
Buffalo Point before. See?"
Gordon silently nodded.
His father breathed heavily, and, with a wry twist of his lips, rolled
his cigar firmly into the corner of his mouth.
"Now, when I'd done thinking it just left me guessing in two
directions. One of 'em I answered more or less satisfactorily. This
was the one I answered. What had become of Slosson? Had he been
handled by these folk, or had he doubled? The latter I counted out.
I've always had him where I wanted him. He wouldn't dare. So I said
he'd been 'handled.' The other was how could they hope to deal with
the Union Grayling without my authority? That's still unanswered,
though I see a gleam of daylight--since meeting you here. However,
Gordon boy, you've certainly given me the surprise of my life--finding
you associated with Mallinsbee--and taken to play-acting. That was a
pretty piece outside with guns. I allow it got me fine. But you
overdid it showing in here. That also told me another thing. It told
me that a feller can spend a lifetime making a bright man of himself,
while it only takes a pretty gal five seconds yanking out one of the
key-stones to the edifice he's built. I guess I've been mighty sorry
for your lady friend. I guessed she was pining to death for her folks,
and was scared to death of that darnation Chink. However, I'm relieved
to find she's just a bunch of bright wits, and don't lack in natural
female ability for play-acting. Maybe you can hand me some about those
directions I'm still guessing in. I'll smoke while you say some."
Father and son smiled into each other's faces as the elder finished
speaking. But while Gordon's smile was one of genuine admiration, his
father's still savored of that irony which warned the younger that all
was by no means plain sailing yet.
"I'm glad you feel that way about Hazel, Dad," cried Gordon, his face
flushing with genuine pleasure. "She's some girl. I guess I'm the
luckiest feller alive winning her for a wife, eh?"
"You're going to--marry her?"
"Why, yes. She's the greatest, the best, the----"
"Just so. But we're not both going to marry her."
Gordon flung back in his chair with a great laugh. But his father's
eyes still maintained their irony.
"Say, I'm sort of sorry talking that way now. There's other things."
Gordon fumbled in his pocket while he went on. "Slosson? Why
Slosson's trying to stave off pneumonia in a disused, perforated shack
way up on Mallinsbee's ranch. He's a skunk of a man anyway, and I had
to let him know I thought that way. I haven't heard about the
pneumonia yet, but if he got it I don't guess it would give me
nightmare." Then he handed across a small volume in morocco binding
which he had taken from his pocket. "I don't seem to think you'll need
much explanation about the other. That's your code book, which I
forgot to return in the hurry of quitting New York."
The millionaire turned the cover, closed it again, and quietly bestowed
it in his pocket.
"Guess I'll keep this," he said without emotion. "Yes, it tells me a
lot. It tells me I've credited Mallinsbee and his crowd with the work
of my son. It tells me that my own son is solely responsible for the
idea, and execution, of rolling his father on this land deal. It tells
me that the principles of big finance must have a fertile resting place
somewhere in my son. Well, there's quite a lot of time before
daylight."
It had been an anxious moment for Gordon when he handed back the
private code book, and he had watched his father closely. He was
seeking any sign of anger, or regret, or even pain, as his own actions
became apparent to the other. There were no such signs. There was
only that non-committal half smile, and it left him still uncertain.
His father's patience seemed inexhaustible. Had Gordon only realized
it this was the very sign he should have looked for in such a man.
James Carbhoy loved his son as few men regard their offspring, but he
wanted his son to be something more than a mere object of his
affection. He wanted him to be an object upon which he could bestow
all the enormous pride of a self-made man. He wanted to feel that
exquisite thrill of triumph resulting to his vanity, that Gordon was
his son--the son of his father.
"Yes, there's quite a while before daylight, Dad, and I'm glad."
Gordon ran his fingers through his hair. "So I'd better hand it you
from the beginning. I want you to get a right understanding of my
motives. It was opportunity. That thing you've always taught me fools
most always try to dodge, and most good men generally miss."
His father nodded and Gordon settled himself afresh in his chair.
"Yes, I'm in this thing, Dad," he went on, after the briefest of
pauses. "In it right up to my neck," he added, with a whimsical smile.
"It was the opportunity I needed to make good. Being neither a fool
nor a good man I took it, and now I sit with a wad of one hundred and
five thousand dollars in good United States currency. It's here in my
pocket, and I'm ready to hand it over to you in payment for those old
debts. You will observe I have still eight weeks of my six months to
run. I want to say, as you'll no doubt agree when you've heard my
story, that I've made, or acquired it, through graft and piracy, such
as I talked about to you awhile back, and, as far as I can see, my
method has been as completely dishonest as an honest man could adopt.
Dad, I've always regarded your sense of humor as one of your greatest
attributes, but whether it'll stand for the way I've treated you, even
with my intimate knowledge of you, I'm not prepared to guess. This is
the yarn."
Gordon plunged into the story without further preamble while his father
sat and smoked on with that half smile still fixed in his gray eyes.
The younger man watched the still, inscrutable, sphinx-like figure with
eyes of grave speculation. He missed no detail in the story of his
irresponsibility and haphazard adventure. He started at the moment
when he booked his passage for Seattle, and carried it on right down to
the melodramatic moment when he burst into that parlor to rescue the
girl he loved from a peril which he knew had never threatened her. He
told it all with a detail that spared neither himself, nor the
confidential agent Slosson, nor any one else concerned. He showed up
the spirit of graft which actuated every step of his progress, and did
not hesitate to apply the lash with merciless force upon the railroad
organization his father controlled.
And right through, from beginning to end, the millionaire listened
without sign or comment. He wanted to hear all this boy--his boy--had
to say. And as he went on that pride, parental pride, in him grew and
grew.
At the end of the story Gordon added a final comment--
"I want to say, Dad, I haven't done this all myself. I've had the help
of two of the most cheerful, lovable rascals I've ever met. Also the
help of one honest man. But above all, through the whole thing, I've
been supported by the smile of the sweetest and best woman in the
world, the girl who's done her best to care for your comfort here.
She's sacrificed all scruples to help me out, while her father, bless
him, has never approved any of my dirty schemes. There you are, Dad,
that's the yarn. I don't guess it'll make you shout for joy, but,
anyway, you started me out to make good--anyway I chose--and I've made
good. Furthermore, I've made good within the time limit, and, in
making good, I'm bringing back a wife to our home city. I'm standing
on my own legs now, as you always guessed you wanted me to, and if you
don't just fancy the gait I travel--why, it's up to you. That's
mine--now you say."
The fixity of his father's attitude had driven Gordon to say more than
he had intended, but he meant it, every word, nor did he regard his
parent with any less affection for it. But now, as he awaited a
response, a certain unease was tugging at his heartstrings.
At last the millionaire rose from his seat and crossed to the curtained
window. He drew the curtains aside, and, raising the sash, flung out
his cigar stump. Then for a moment he gazed out at the moonless night.
While he stood thus the smile in his thoughtful eyes deepened.
At last, however, he turned back, and the face that confronted the son
he loved wore the sharp, hawk-like look which his opponents in the
business world of New York were so familiar with.
"That's all right," he said sharply. "But--you've forgotten something."
Gordon became extremely alert.
"Have I?" Then he laughed. "It 'ud be a miracle if I hadn't."
"Sure. Most folks forget something. I forgot that code book."
"Yes."
Their eyes met.
"You've forgotten that I can stop the work at Buffalo Point. You've
forgotten that you've passed out of the realms of simple graft and
plunged into criminal proceedings, which brings you within the shadow
of the law. You've forgotten that I can smash your schemes, break you,
and send you to penitentiary--you and your entire gang."
The steady eyes were deadly as they coldly backed the sharp
pronouncement of the words. Gordon was caught by the painful emotion
which the harshness of them inspired. He knew that his father had
spoken the simple truth. He knew that in the eyes of the world he was
a plain criminal. The unpleasant feeling was instantly thrust aside,
however. He had not embarked upon this affair without intending to
carry it through to the end he desired.
"I haven't forgotten those things, Dad," he said, with a sharpness
equal to the other's. "I thought of 'em all--and prepared for 'em.
I'm not playing. You put this thing up to me. I'm here to see it
through."
"And then?" There was a shade of sarcasm in the millionaire's tone.
"Then? Why, I could tell you lots of reasons why you can't do any of
these things. There's arguments that I don't guess you've missed
already. But, anyway, just one little fact 'll be sufficient to go on
with. You're here a captive, and you can't get away till I give the
word."
For one of the very few times in his life James Carbhoy was seriously
disconcerted. Choler began to rise, and a hot flush tinged his cheeks
and his eyes sparkled.
"You--would keep me here a prisoner--indefinitely?" he exploded.
"I'm not playing, Dad," Gordon warned.
Gordon had risen from his chair, and the two stood eye to eye. It was
a tense moment, full of potent possibilities. One of them must give
way, or a clash would inevitably follow, a clash which would probably
destroy forever that perfect devotion which had always existed between
them.
For Gordon it was a moment of extreme pain. But in him was no thought
of yielding. From his father it was his invincible determination to
force an acknowledgment of fitness in human affairs as he understood
them.
At that moment there was no humor in the situation for him.
In the older man, however, humor was perhaps more matured. Parental
affection, too, is perhaps a bigger, wider, deeper thing than the
filial emotions of youth. He had only intended to test this son of
his. His challenge had been intended to try him, to confound. But the
confounding had been with him in the shock of his son's irrevocable
determination.
That moment of natural resentment passed as swiftly as it had arisen.
Gordon was all, and even more, he told himself dryly, than he had
hoped. And so the moment passed, and the hard, gray eyes melted to a
kindly, whimsical smile which had not one vestige of irony in it.
"You're a blamed young scamp," he said cordially; "but--I'm afraid I
like you all the better for it. Say, do you think that little girl of
yours and her father have gone to bed yet?"
Gordon reached across, holding out his hand.
"Dear old Dad," he cried, "I'm dead sure we'll find 'em both not a mile
the other side of that door. The game's played out, and--we quit?"
The father caught his son's hand and wrung it.
"It's played out, boy; and God bless you!" They stood for a moment
hand gripped in hand. Then the millionaire pointed at the door.
"I'd like to see 'em before--daylight."
With a delighted laugh Gordon turned away to the door and flung it open.
"Say," he called, "Hazel! Ho! Mr. Mallinsbee!"
In a moment Hazel had darted to her lover's side, and was followed more
decorously by the burly rancher, with his patch well down over one eye.
Gordon pointed at it.
"Guess you can do without that, Mr. Mallinsbee. You're not going to
face an opponent; you're going to meet a--friend."
He slid his arm about the girl's waist and drew her gently forward
towards his father standing waiting to receive her with humorously
twinkling eyes.
[Illustration: He Drew Her Gently Towards His Father]
"So you're to be my little daughter," cried the millionaire kindly.
"Well, my dear, I'm glad. I like grit, and you've got it plenty. I
like a pretty face, and--but I guess Gordon's told you all about that.
Seeing you're to be my daughter--and Gordon's left me no choice in the
matter, the same as he left me no choice in other things--I feel I've
the right to tell you you're a pair of--as impertinent young rascals as
I've ever had the happiness to claim relationship with. Let me see,
just come here, and--Gordon owes me for many nights of anxiety, and I
guess I've a right to make him pay. I'll be satisfied with the payment
of a kiss from you."
He held out his arms, and Hazel, with a joyous laugh and blushing
cheeks, ran to them.
"Thank you, my dear," laughed the millionaire, as the girl frankly
kissed him. "And that's the change." He closed his arms about her and
returned her kiss.
Then, when he had released her, he turned to Mallinsbee and held out
his hand.
"I can always make friends with the fellow who licks me, Mr.
Mallinsbee. I'm glad to meet you--with that patch removed from your
eye. The game's played and you've won, and I promise you all that's
been done in my name by my son goes. You see, henceforth he's my
partner now, so he's the right to act in my name. I'm trusting him
with my dollars, but you are trusting him with something far more
precious. I hope he'll prove as good a son to you as, I'm glad to say,
I consider he's been to me."
Mallinsbee smiled a little sadly, and his eyes gazed tenderly in
Hazel's direction.
"Directly that boy of yours come around, Mr. Carbhoy, I felt the chill
of winter beating up. I'm glad he come, though--I like him. But," he
added, with a sigh, "I'll sure need to bank those furnaces some."
Hazel left the millionaire's side and crossed to her father, and passed
her arm about his vast waist.
"Don't start yet, Daddy," she said, smiling up at the rugged face. "I
haven't left you yet, and when I do it's only going to be for a small
piece at a time."
Silas Mallinsbee shook his head.
"Don't you worry, little gal," he said gently. "I guess this winter's
goin' to be a mild one. You see, I'm goin' to have a son as well as a
daughter, and--who knows?--maybe grandsons----"
But Hazel had quickly pressed one hand over his lips and stifled the
possibilities he was about to enumerate.
Gordon laughed, and his father smiled over at the other father.
"See, Mr. Mallinsbee, we don't need to worry with the summer," Gordon
cried. "Summer generally fixes things right for itself. Meanwhile
we'll just make the winter as easy as we can. You've given your little
girl to me, and she's all you care for in the world. Well, that's a
trust that demands all the best I can give. I won't fail you. I won't
fail her. And you, Dad, I won't fail you."
"Good boy," said the millionaire, with a glow of pride. "I just know
it, and--I know it for Mr. Mallinsbee and Hazel, too, if they don't
know it for themselves. Say----"
For a moment his eyes grew serious. Then into them crept a gleam of
twinkling humor which found reflection on the faces of both Gordon and
Hazel, who waited for him to complete what he had to say.
"You've told your mother, Gordon?" he inquired. "Seems to me you've
told her 'most everything in those--chatty--letters of yours."
Gordon grinned and shook his head, while Hazel waited--not without some
apprehension. His father's smile gave way to a quaint expression of
awe at such negligence.
"I'd say she'd be pleased, of course," the millionaire said, without
conviction. "It's a mercy not always bestowed on a boy to get a wife
like--Hazel. Your mother's a mighty good woman, Gordon, and I'll allow
she's got her ways about things. But she's good, and I guess she'll
just take to Hazel right away."
There was no confidence in his manner, in spite of the bravery of his
words. But Gordon quickly cleared the atmosphere with his cheery
confidence.
"You leave the dear old mater to me, Dad," he cried. "You see, you
only married her--she raised me. I'll write her to-night, and--say,
that reminds me," he added, glancing at his watch. "Daylight'll be
around directly. Hazel needs her rest. Hadn't we----"
Hazel laughed. She had no real desire for bed, but she was tired,
weary with the strain of all the swiftly moving events. She caught at
his suggestion and demanded compliance.
"Yes," she cried. "There's another day to-morrow. Oh, that wonderful
to-morrow! A long, bright, happy day in which we have nothing to
conceal, no wicked schemes to be worked out. A day of real happiness,
when we can just be our real selves. Let's all go to bed and dream our
dreams with the full certainty that, however happy our to-day is,
to-morrow has always the possibility of being happier."
But Gordon did not write the promised letter that night. He held long
communion with himself, and decided to send a telegram. He realized
that diplomacy must be brought to bear, for his mother, with all her
exquisite qualities, possessed a slightly arbitrary side to her
character where her home and belongings were concerned. Therefore he
decided on a bold stroke.
He sacrificed his own rest that night, and in doing so sacrificed that
of certain others. Sunset was roused from his equine slumbers, as also
was Steve Mason disturbed out of a portion of his night's rest.
Gordon rode hard into Snake's Fall. He wished to make the return
journey before breakfast. On arrival at the township he ignored every
protest from the operator. He overruled him on every point, and was
prepared to back his overruling with physical force.
Steve Mason was literally scrambled into his clothes and set to work at
those hated keys, and the New York call was sent singing over the wires.
Meanwhile Gordon was left at work upon a sheet of paper upon which,
after considerable thought, his diplomatic effort resolved itself into
a piece of superlative effrontery.
And this was the message which startled his mother over her morning
coffee and rolls, and incidentally sent a current of furious feminine
excitement through the entire Carbhoy establishment at Central Park,
like a sharp electric storm.
"_Mrs. James Carbhoy,_
"_New York._
"Gordon's work here beyond praise. Boy has done wonders. When you
hear all you will be proud of him. I am with him here now. Great
events developing. Am most anxious to form alliance with certain
people for financial reasons. Your influence required on social side.
You will understand when I say rich, desirable heiress. Gordon needs
persuasion. Come at once. Special to Snake's Fall. Will meet you at
latter depot.
"JAMES CARBHOY."
When this message was handed to the impatient operator and he had
carefully read it over, the man looked up with what Gordon regarded as
an impertinent grin.
His resentment promptly leaped.
"Say," he cried in a threatening tone, "there's some faces made for
grinning, and others that couldn't win prizes that way amongst a crowd
of fool-faced mules. Guess yours was spoiled for any sort of chance
whatever, so cut out trying to make it worse than your parents made it
for you. Get me? Just play about on those fool keys and set the tune
of that message right, or Mr. James Carbhoy's going to hear things
quick."
The threat of the President of the railroad was sufficient to enforce
compliance, but Steve Mason was no respector of persons outside that
authority, and his retort came glibly.
"You wrote this, Mister, and--you ain't Mr. James Carbhoy," he said,
with a sneer and a half-threat.
But Gordon was in no mood for trifling about anything. He was anxious
to be off back to the ranch.
"Mr. James Carbhoy is my father," he cried sharply, "and if that don't
penetrate your perfectly ridiculous brain-box I'll add that I'm the son
of my father--Mr. James Carbhoy. Are you needing anything, or--will
you get busy?"
Steve Mason decided to "get busy," and so the message winged its way
over the wires.
THE END
BY THE SAME AUTHOR
The Son of His Father
The Men Who Wrought
The Golden Woman
The Law-Breakers
The Way of the Strong
The Twins of Suffering Creek
The Night-Riders
The One-Way Trail
The Trail of the Axe
The Sheriff of Dyke Hole
The Watchers of the Plains
End of Project Gutenberg's The Son of his Father, by Ridgwell Cullum