It did not follow because Seymour had promised to back the Las Cruces
Water Company to the extent of one hundred thousand dollars, that he
intended to put in that amount of his own money; nor because he had
promised a certain sum, that that sum was the limit. He had become
thoroughly convinced that the enterprise was well conceived and that
with proper management it was bound to succeed and to "succeed big." He
wisely concluded that those who had conceived the project and had
figured out so minutely the cost and detail, were the proper ones to
trust with its execution. He was too cold blooded to be figurative, but
Winston's figure to Elijah exactly expressed his attitude of mind.
Elijah furnished the fizz of enthusiasm, while Winston supplied the
necessary body to the wine, with his well-balanced, matter-of-fact mind.
There was nothing in his contract to prevent his disposing at par of one
half of the two hundred thousand shares which he had acquired at fifty,
and this was the step which he proposed to take and which he did take.
He too regarded the laborer as worthy of his hire.
Mr. Seymour was a business man. He was shrewd and he was very
successful. It did not necessarily follow that he was unscrupulous. In
fact, from a purely business standpoint, he was not; but he had no
Quixotic limitations to the end that he was his brother's keeper. The
world was full of disastrous mistakes; he took it as he found it. He did
not count as a sin of his own, the omission to do good unto others when
opportunity offered; but he regarded the opportunity as an indication of
sin or at least of poor judgment in his fellow. He was a church
communicant in good and regular standing; but religion was one thing,
business another. He did not search the scriptures either for
approbation or for defense. He acted upon the principle that offenses
must be and that woe was the lot of the one through whom they came. The
woe that was visited upon the offender was in reality no less a reward
of merit than the benefit which accrued to the one who was wise enough
to take advantage of the offense. He never pointed to the decalogue with
the smug assertion that this had been kept from his youth up. If his
business record did not show this, words would be useless. He wasted no
love on his neighbor, for love was a dissipater of energy. Love
engendered pity, pity sacrifice, and sacrifice precluded success. Every
tub must stand on its own bottom. If his neighbor's tub leaked, it was
his neighbor's fault for not keeping it calked. His neighbor had no
ground for complaint if the liquor which he spilled, was gathered by a
more fitting vessel.
Mr. Seymour's one hundred thousand shares of Las Cruces had cost him
nothing, save a little energy. If he did no better, he would have so
much clear. That was worth while. If Winston and Berl made a mess of the
affair, that was no concern of his. One man's extremity was to him
another man's opportunity. He intended to be the other man. Elijah was
an enthusiast, Winston a professional man. Enthusiasm would inflate
iridescent bubbles, professional pride would be an absorbing end in
itself. Both were essential, neither would necessarily supply the third
element of success, business acumen. At the proper time he would supply
this himself and at his own price. In any event, he would be perfectly
safe.
The orderly bustle which succeeded Seymour's departure, argued well for
the success of the new company. Experienced Ysleta boomers saw in "Las
Cruces" a new kind of boom, and beyond offering to put their experience
and methods at the service of the new company, did nothing further. The
idea of taking up land on a venture near Elijah's ranch, was discussed,
but the conclusion was reached that this land was too far from Ysleta to
be advantageous and that attention distracted from their own kettle of
fish would result in the deadening of the fires that were keeping their
own pot boiling.
The division of the entailed labor fell naturally. The engineering work
demanded Winston's presence in the field. The office duties fell to
Elijah. It was Winston who suggested to Elijah the necessity of a
bookkeeper and that there was no one better fitted in every way than
Helen Lonsdale. Winston had no doubts of Elijah's intentional integrity
and he had great confidence in Helen Lonsdale's ability both in business
and in looking out for herself. So she was installed as an essential
feature of the company. She felt herself in a position of great and
growing responsibility.
Days slipped into weeks and weeks into months with the easy motion of
well-organized work. Helen hardly surpassed Winston's expectations, but
as he darted in and out of the office, full of his work, he felt no more
than a passing sense of satisfaction at the readiness with which
everything that he wanted came to his hands. Helen might have a personal
pride in never being caught unprepared, but she never displayed the
emotion. It was Winston himself who was first caught off his guard. He
rushed into the office one afternoon with a look of annoyance, almost of
disgust on his face.
"I've made a mess, Helen. I want you to help me out."
"Short of powder at No. 1?" Helen hardly looked up from her work.
"Yes. How did you know?"
"I ordered two tons from the magazine. It's on its way there now."
"Good! But how did you know that I was short?"
"From the reports. I thought you wouldn't be in, so I ordered it."
"You are a jewel, Helen. I haven't had time to tell you so before, but
I've known it all along."
"Jewels are ornamental, not useful."
"You are both."
Helen glanced at the clock.
"Office hours aren't over yet and the company isn't paying me to trade
sugar plums."
"All right. I'll see you off shift sometime."
Elijah's work kept him much in the office and he was held to business
quite as closely as was Winston. Helen showed her appreciation of his
work by saying nothing, but doing everything that came to her hands. He
longed to drink of the sparkling waters of his dreams, and with all that
was in her, Helen was trying to convert these iridescent dreams into
material facts. Elijah longed also to see Helen's eyes kindle, to hear
her words of commendation; but she never spoke now of his idea. Thus it
happened that one phase of his nature was hungered, the other fully
satisfied.
Poor Amy was the only party to the new order of things who was unhappy.
She had accepted the necessity of Elijah's absence at the Ysleta office,
not with resignation, but with unprotesting grief. She regarded this as
the dregs of her cup of bitterness; but when she learned of Elijah's
assistant, she discovered her mistake. She mourned over his absence, yet
utterly refused to consider the idea of moving to Ysleta. He must come
to her at her bidding; she could not bring herself to go to him at his.
This was her touchstone of love and devotion. It was failing her, and in
sackcloth and ashes she was mourning it. She made a brave attempt at
cheerfulness when Elijah broached the subject, but she could neither
keep the color in her cheeks nor her lips steady when she made reply.
"Don't ask me, Elijah. I can't bear it."
"Why?" he asked in surprise.
"Because," she paused for a moment. "We have been here almost four
years, just you, and I and the children. Every spot of it is a part of
you. It would be like death to leave it. While you are away, I shall
look forward to your coming back. If I should go to Ysleta, you wouldn't
be coming back."
"Of course not. I'd be there all the time. You'd have lots of company. I
could run in to lunch and bring my friends." Elijah lifted his head and
squared his shoulders. He caught not the slightest glimpse of Amy's real
feeling. His words and gestures showed that only too plainly even to
her.
Amy smiled wanly.
"I wouldn't have you all to myself there. I would rather have you all to
myself part of the time, than part of you all the time." It was a
tremendous thought for Amy. She almost stood in awe of herself over its
utterance.
"You are a silly goose." Elijah caught her in his arms and swung her to
and fro as if she were a child. "You have me all the time, wherever I
am."
Amy lay in his arms with closed eyes. The color came back to her face.
It was only a dream; a dream of what had been. She knew it was only a
dream and she tried to close her mental eyes to this knowledge. She was
aroused when Elijah set her on her feet.
"I have lots to do at the office now."
Amy's face showed a sudden gleam of inspiration.
"Couldn't I be in the office with you?"
"Of course not, goose. You'd be in the way."
"Is the bookkeeper in the way?" The words were almost gasped.
"Of course not. She'd be in the way if she wasn't there."
"Why?" The word was spoken perforce and with fear.
"Because I couldn't get along without her. She's no end of help to me in
my work."
"Couldn't I help you? I would try hard."
Elijah laughed long and loud. Not brutally, at least he had no intention
of brutality; but the thought of Amy's doing Helen Lonsdale's work
incited his thoughtless mirth. It was inconsiderate rather than
thoughtless, for he had not personified Amy's words. Her white face
brought the truth home. He grew sober.
"Not the way you mean, Amy. You will have to help me in your way, and
Miss Lonsdale in another. Goodbye, dear. Don't scare yourself with
pictures, as I said before."
Amy watched him as on a former occasion; then she had thought her lot
hard. She would now be glad to exchange forever and to ask no more.
Then, she feared. Now she knew that there were others, beside herself,
upon whom Elijah depended. Farther, she could not go, for she could not
see her own limitations.
At his office in Ysleta, Elijah found Helen Lonsdale bent over a map and
oblivious to her surroundings. A pad and pencil were at her elbow. She
was tracing the map with one finger which occasionally recurred to one
point, while with the other hand she was apparently recording memoranda.
Finally the maps were pushed aside and pad and pencil absorbed her
entire attention. There were pauses during which she looked at the map,
ran over her figures and then her pencil flew over the pad more rapidly
than before. At length she sat up straight, spread the slips of paper
before her, and, rolling her pencil meditatively between her fingers,
appeared absorbed in thought.
"You seem to be deeply interested." Elijah was standing at the door of
the inner office.
Helen turned her head sharply.
"You're just in time to sign these letters before the mail closes."
Elijah seated himself at his desk and signed the letters, as one by one,
she placed them before him.
"Do you want to look them over?" she asked.
"No, you never make mistakes."
She began reading and folding the letters.
"I think they are all right. You stamp them." She glanced at the clock.
"You'll have to hurry."
Elijah stamped the letters as she tossed them to him. As the last stamp
was affixed, she shuffled them together, and, with a glance over her
shoulder at the clock, started through the door.
"Have the boy take them over." Elijah called out.
"Boy and hurry aren't on intimate terms." She was already on the
threshold of the outer door. In a few moments she returned. "If I had
sent the boy, the letters would have lain over until tomorrow, I was
just in time." She drew a handkerchief over her flushed face. The
handkerchief was not purely ornamental, neither did it suggest unrefined
utilitarianism. It lacked lace, but not delicacy. The motion that swept
it over her face was decided, but not harsh. Her movements, as she
seated herself at her desk and turned her face full toward Elijah, were
quick, yet rhythmic and graceful. There was masculine alertness and
concentration; yet both were softened by a femininity, unobtrusive but
not to be ignored. For over six months, she had been "Helen" to him as
he was "Elijah" to her. Yet the barrier between man and woman that
seemed so frail, had effectively obstructed the path that led to
intimacy.
Elijah was half-conscious of a longing which he could not express,
half-conscious that every attempt to gratify it was repulsed by an
intangible atmosphere which seemed transparent and unresisting, yet was
dense and impenetrable. Had he been able to state his position to
himself at this time, he would have shrunk from the picture. He was not
analytical, therefore he did not know that the greater part of the sins
of the world are the result not of deliberate premeditation and
decision, but of the almost unconscious, initial yielding to apparently
innocent impulses which should be recognized for what they are, for what
they may be, and crushed out of existence at once.
Elijah was strong in his vision of possibilities, strong in his purpose
to wrest success from the teeth of defeat, strong in the enthusiasm that
made him tingle with restless impatience to be doing, strong in his
power to kindle others with the fire of his own purpose; yet he was
weak. Weak because of an unconscious, yet all-pervading selfishness.
Imperative as were his visions, even so were his desires, and
unconsciously both centred in himself. As in the rock-ribbed, narrow
confines of his New England home, so in the desolate, sun-burned deserts
of California, unchecked by contact with his fellow men, his thoughts
ran riot in the channels of his glowing soul. He had longed for
sympathetic companionship; but his solitary, isolated life forbade it.
This longing had found gratification in what he grew to believe was
fellowship with God. His youth fostered the idea, his growing, solitary
years developed it into a fanatical belief. If he was in doubt, he took
refuge in prayer, not for guidance, firmly as he may have believed it,
but for confirmation. From his youth up, he had had a fanatical belief
in the guidance of Divinity, and had placed the Bible as a lamp to his
feet. Elijah prayed to God for guidance in paths which he should have
chosen for himself, blindly putting aside the fact that in the very
seeking for guidance, he was longing to be confirmed in a course which
in the depths of his soul he knew to be wrong. Fortified by his belief,
armed by God's sanction, he followed his desires mercilessly and without
shame.
Helen Lonsdale was not analytical, she was not fanatical, nor was she
deeply religious. Her surroundings had precluded that. She had strong
common sense. When for lack of experience this failed her, she had
intuition. She moved among men fearlessly, because in the field of their
movements, sex was not thought of,--only things to be done. The two men
with whom, in her present relations, her lot was so intimately cast,
stood respectively on an entirely different footing. In their childhood
days, she and Ralph Winston had been playmates. Later, they had been
parted only to be thrown into closer relations by a strange turn of
Fortune's wheel. She had welcomed Ralph with the unreserve of the days
of their childhood. She was, perhaps, on this very account, unconscious
that his memories were the more faithful of the two.
Elijah had come into her life, full-fledged, with no childish memories
to blur the outlines of the image. However strong Winston was in the
eyes of others, there were yet in her eyes the clinging shreds of the
memory of other days. She was attracted by Elijah's enthusiasm, the
strength of his ideas, of his purpose to succeed. With a woman's
intuition she saw the barren stretch of his unsympathetic surroundings,
and, with no idea of injustice, the sight prompted her to give in full
that which had hitherto been denied him. Her sympathy was aroused, her
enthusiasm kindled by his work; but it was apparently impersonal. She
was surrounded by an atmosphere of womanliness as delicate as an
electric field, which warned off and repelled any disturbing element.
Yet her atmosphere was polar; it would respond to the proper element.
The element was existent, but as yet unrecognized.
Elijah again turned to Helen.
"How are things going?"
"Ralph is short of powder and cement at the dam. I sent up a pack-train
this morning. It will leave two tons of powder at No. 1 tunnel. The
magazine is getting low, but San Francisco is sending a carload. It will
be here tomorrow. That will keep Ralph supplied for a month. Seymour
writes from New York that Las Cruces is snapped at one-twenty; that he
is going to run it up to one-thirty. Everything is coming our way on the
run."
"We've got a pretty heavy balance to our credit." Elijah spoke
meditatively. "Pretty heavy to carry in the local banks."
"That's just what I was going to speak of. I'd let San Francisco carry
the bulk of our deposits. It's solid. The local banks may be called any
time. You can leave just enough here to keep them good-natured."
"All right. We'll deposit our next checks in 'Frisco. What were you
mulling over this morning?"
Helen laughed.
"How to get even with you and Ralph."
"Get even with us!" Elijah looked at her in surprise.
"Yes."
"What do you mean?"
"You wouldn't let me into Las Cruces on the ground floor, so I am
planning a building of my own."
"That was Ralph's doing; he didn't want you to run the risk of losing."
"My five thousand was as good, so far as it went, as Seymour's hundred.
He got in at fifty. He's made good at one hundred and forty. If you had
let me in, I would have had twelve thousand five hundred now. It will
take me a long time to earn that." She spoke with assumed levity.
Elijah was regarding her through half-closed eyes. He spoke very
deliberately.
"You are right, I wanted to do it, but Ralph wouldn't consent. He meant
all right," he added hastily. "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll let you
have five thousand dollars of my stock at fifty. That will set you
straight."
"No it won't." There was no levity in Helen's voice.
"Why?" Elijah's eyes opened in surprise.
"Because that would be a present, and I don't want presents. What I get,
I want to get myself."
"It wouldn't be a present. It would be a reward. You've earned it."
Elijah spoke earnestly and warmly.
"From you, not from the company," she replied decidedly and with
finality. "Besides, I've discovered a way to help myself. That's
better."
"That brings us back to the first point. What were you mulling over?"
Helen drew the map toward them and weighted down the corners.
"Oranges don't mind a breath of cold air now and then; they're dead set
against a freeze out." She was looking quizzically at Elijah. An
expression of assured satisfaction came over her face at Elijah's
astonishment.
His head was thrown back as he raised his eyes to Helen's face.
"What do you mean?"
"As if I needed to tell you." Her lips were scornful at the limitations
Elijah had put upon her. A smile softened the scorn and left a doubt as
to which emotion was dominant. "You know that oranges on a hillside with
southwestern exposure will do better than in an unprotected river
bottom."
Elijah looked up fiercely.
"Has Ralph been talking?"
"No; but you have."
"I never said anything of the kind to you."
"I'm not a phonograph."
"You've no right to make use of information that you get from a
confidential position." Elijah's voice was decided. There was a startled
look on his face that he could not keep from being anxious.
"Not even to make myself more useful?"
Elijah did not commit himself to words. His eyes were expectant. Helen
continued, pointing to the map.
"This land is practically vacant. It's owned by a Mexican. He would jump
at a dollar an acre. It is separated from this of yours by a hill. He
would never dream of a tunnel. Some one else may. There are thousands of
acres just as good as the land you control. What's the matter with
forming a land company independent of the Las Cruces? My five thousand
would cover five thousand acres. When water gets to it, say it's worth a
hundred; that will make me five hundred thousand to the good. That's
better than a present of Las Cruces at fifty, and it will come from
myself."
"I never told you about the tunnel. How did you find it out?"
Helen could not restrain a satisfied smile.
"You didn't tell me about a belt of country around here where the
temperature never falls to thirty-two?"
Elijah glanced hastily around the room.
"That's all right." Helen had noted the look. "We're all alone."
"What do you want?" Elijah's look was not yet wholly one of relief.
"To get a little closer."
"There's a big future in that idea. I have been thinking of forming a
land company. We can get control of the whole section." He swept his
hand over the map.
"We don't want the earth, Elijah. It would be too much work to handle
it. There wouldn't be any time for fun. We only want a goodly portion.
We want to do things, don't we?"
Elijah's eyes opened. An expression as of a revelation swept over his
face. The simple "we" thrilled him through and through. Unconsciousness
was dropping its mask and standing out in bold relief.
"We do, we do! and we will."
Helen was quite unconscious. She laughed at Elijah's enthusiasm.
"What kind of women have you lived with, I would like to know. This idea
would not have surprised you if it had come from a man."
Helen spoke in ignorance. Unconsciously she had opened Elijah's eyes
still wider. In a blinding flash, he saw Amy and Helen Lonsdale side by
side. The vision brought him face to face with his past life with Amy;
with its barren stretch, unwatered by sympathetic appreciation, only
parched and withered by the burning rays of selfish love. He had given;
but he had not received. What he had accomplished, he had accomplished
not only by himself, but in spite of a hostile influence. So long as his
work had been limited to the little patch of ground irrigated by the
developed springs of his home, Amy had offered no objections to his
enthusiasm. So far as it was possible for her, she had been interested,
almost encouraging. Even over his visions of greater things, which he
had laid before her unseeing eyes, she had smiled with acquiescence
which he mistook for appreciation. Only when the films began to grow
into material form, when the warp and woof must be gathered from others,
and the frame of the loom itself must be builded with another's aid, did
the real meaning of Elijah's dream suggest itself to Amy. Not that she
saw clearly, only intuitively, that in the carrying out of his plans he
would come in contact with others, that this contact would develop a
comparison of herself with others, that this comparison would be
unfavorable to her, and would end forever her ability to fill Elijah's
mental vision. Therefore, at the very first signs of expansion, she had
opposed the feeble barrier of her will. Elijah had no more recognized
the barrier than he had Amy's limitations which made the barrier
imperative to her. He had felt her opposition, and, without
understanding it, he had chafed against it. He had not compared her with
others, because up to this time he had not come in contact with those
who made a comparison imperative.
Now the comparison was coming to him, had indeed already come.
Appreciation, sympathy, energy, assistance were manifest to him in every
word and action of Helen Lonsdale. Her first suggestion of independent
action had startled, then brought to him a sudden, overpowering
realization of what she was, of what she might be to him in comparison
with Amy. His first emotion was fear lest she might leave him, and,
equipped with the knowledge which she had gained from her confidential
relation with the company, start out on an independent course of her
own. There was almost a feeling of resentment against Amy, as if she had
defrauded him, and this was a thing which Elijah should have put aside;
but he did not.
Helen was watching him. There was decided humor in her eyes, in the
motion of her lips.
"What are you mulling over?"
Elijah started as if waking from a dream. He spoke hastily, but none the
less decidedly.
"We must drive over together and see that land as soon as possible."