"You've got Stan sized up all wrong, Mr. McClintock," said Pete. "That
boy didn't want your money. He never so much as mentioned your name to
me. If he had, I would have known why Old Man Trouble was haunting him so
persistent. And he don't want anybody's money. He's got a-plenty of his
own--in prospect. And he's got what's better than money: he has learned
to do without what he hasn't got."
"You say he has proved himself a good man of his hands?" demanded
McClintock sharply.
"Yessir--Stanley is sure one double-fisted citizen," said Pete. "Here is
what I heard spoken of him by highest authority the day before I left:
'He'll make a hand!' That was the word said of Stan to me. We don't get
any higher than that in Arizona. When you say of a man, 'He'll do to take
along,' you've said it all. And Stanley Mitchell will do to take along.
I'm thinkin', sir, that you did him no such an ill turn when your quarrel
sent him out there. He was maybe the least bit inclined to be
butter-flighty when he first landed."
It was a queer gathering. McClintock sat in his great wheeled chair,
leaning against the cushions; he held a silken skull-cap in his hand,
revealing a shining poll with a few silvered locks at side and back; his
little red ferret eyes, fiery still, for all the burden of his years,
looked piercingly out under shaggy brows. His attendant, withered and
brown and gaunt, stood silent behind him. Mary Selden, quiet and pale,
was at the old man's left hand. Pete Johnson, with one puffed and
discolored eye, a bruised cheek, and with skinned and bandaged knuckles,
but cheerful and sunny of demeanor, sat facing McClintock. Boland and
Sedgwick sat a little to one side. They had tried to withdraw, on the
plea of intrusion; but McClintock had overruled them and bade them stay.
"For the few high words that passed atween us, I care not a
boddle--though, for the cause of them I take shame to myself," said
McClintock, glancing down affectionately at Mary Selden. "I was the more
misled--at the contrivance of yon fleechin' scoundrel of an Oscar. 'I'm
off to Arizona, to win the boy free,' says he--the leein' cur!... I will
say this thing, too, that my heart warmed to the lad at the very time of
it--that he had spunk to speak his mind. I have seen too much of the
supple stock. Sirs, it is but an ill thing to be over-rich, in which
estate mankind is seen at the worst. The fawning sort cringe underfoot
for favors, and the true breed of kindly folk are all o'erapt to pass the
rich man by, verra scornful-like." He looked hard at Peter Johnson. "I am
naming no names," he added.
"As for my gear, it would be a queer thing if I could not do what I like
with my own. Even a gay young birkie like yoursel' should understand
that, Mr. Johnson. Besides, we talk of what is by. The lawyer has been;
Van Lear has given him instructions, and the pack of you shall witness my
hand to the bit paper that does Stan right, or ever you leave this room."
Pete shrugged his shoulders. "Stanley will always be feelin' that I
softied it up to you. And he's a stiff-necked one--Stan!"
McClintock laughed with a relish.
"For all ye are sic a fine young man, Mr. Johnson, I'm doubtin' ye're no
deeplomat. And Stan will be knowin' that same. Here is what ye shall do:
you shall go to him and say that you saw an old man sitting by his
leelane, handfast to the chimney neuk; and that you are thinking I will
be needin' a friendly face, and that you think ill of him for that same
stiff neck of his. Ye will be having him come to seek and not to gie;
folk aye like better to be forgiven than to forgive; I do, mysel'. That
is what you shall do for me."
"And I did not come to coax money from you to develop the mine with,
either," said Pete. "If the play hadn't come just this way, with the jail
and all, you would have seen neither hide nor hair of me."
"I am thinkin' that you are one who has had his own way of it overmuch,"
said McClintock. His little red eyes shot sparks beneath the beetling
brows; he had long since discovered that he had the power to badger Mr.
Johnson; and divined that, as a usual thing, Johnson was a man not easily
ruffled. The old man enjoyed the situation mightily and made the most of
it. "When ye are come to your growth, you will be more patient of sma'
crossings. Here is no case for argle-bargle. You have taken yon twa brisk
lads into composition with you"--he nodded toward the brisk lads--"the
compact being that they were to provide fodder for yonder mine-beastie,
so far as in them lies, and, when they should grow short of siller, to
seek more for you. Weel, they need seek no farther, then. I have told
them that I will be their backer at need; I made the deal wi' them direct
and ye have nowt to do with it. You are ill to please, young man! You
come here with a very singular story, and nowt to back it but a glib
tongue and your smooth, innocent-like young face--and you go back hame
with a heaped gowpen of gold, and mair in the kist ahint of that. I
think ye do very weel for yoursel'."
"Don't mind him, Mr. Johnson," said Mary Selden. "He is only teasing
you."
Old McClintock covered her hand with his own and continued: "Listen to
her now! Was ne'er a lassie yet could bear to think ill of a bonny face!"
He drew down his brows at Pete, who writhed visibly.
Ferdie Sedgwick rose and presented a slip of pasteboard to McClintock,
with a bow.
"I have to-day heard with astonishment--ahem!--and with indignation, a
great many unseemly and disrespectful remarks concerning money, and more
particularly concerning money that runs to millions," he said, opposing
a grave and wooden countenance to the battery of eyes. "Allow me to
present you my card, Mr. McClintock, and to assure you that I harbor no
such sentiments. I can always be reached at the address given; and I beg
you to remember, sir, that I shall be most happy to serve you in the
event that--"
A rising gale of laughter drowned his further remarks, but he continued
in dumb show, with fervid gesticulations, and a mouth that moved rapidly
but produced no sound, concluding with a humble bow; and stalked back to
his chair with stately dignity, unmarred by even the semblance of a
smile. Young Peter Johnson howled with the rest, his sulks forgotten;
and even the withered serving-man relaxed to a smile--a portent hitherto
unknown.
"Come; we grow giddy," chided McClintock at last, wiping his own eyes as
he spoke. "We have done with talk of yonder ghost-bogle mine. But I must
trouble you yet with a word of my own, which is partly to justify me
before you. This it is--that, even at the time of Stanley's flitting, I
set it down in black and white that he was to halve my gear wi' Oscar,
share and share alike. I aye likit the boy weel. From this day all is
changit; Oscar shall hae neither plack nor bawbee of mine; all goes to my
wife's nephew, Stanley Mitchell, as is set down in due form in the bit
testament that is waiting without; bating only some few sma' bequests for
old kindness. It is but loath I am to poison our mirth with the name of
the man Oscar; the deil will hae him to be brandered; he is fast grippit,
except he be cast out as an orra-piece, like the smith in the Norroway
tale. When ye are come to your own land, Mr. Johnson, ye will find that
brockle-faced stot there afore you; and I trust ye will comb him weel.
Heckle him finely, and spare not; but ere ye have done wi' him, for my
sake drop a word in his lug to come nae mair to Vesper. When all's said,
the man is of my wife's blood and bears her name; I would not have that
name publicly disgracit. They were a kindly folk, the Mitchells. I
thought puirly of theem for a wastrel crew when I was young. But now I am
old, I doubt their way was as near right as mine. You will tell him for
me, Mr. Johnson, to name one who shall put a value on his gear, and I
shall name another; and what they agree upon I shall pay over to his
doer, and then may I never hear of him more--unless it be of ony glisk of
good yet in him, the which I shall be most blithe to hear. And so let
that be my last word of Oscar. Cornelius, bring in the lawyer body, and
let us be ower wi' it; for I think it verra needfu' that the two lads
should even pack their mails and take train this day for the West. You'll
have an eye on this young spark, Mr. Boland? And gie him a bit word of
counsel from time to time, should ye see him temptit to whilly-whas and
follies? I fear me he is prone to insubordination."
"I'll watch over him, sir," laughed Boland.
"I'll keep him in order. And if Miss Selden should have a message--or
anything--to send, perhaps--"
Miss Selden blushed and laughed.
"No, thank you!" she said. "I'll--I'll send it by Mr. Johnson."
The will was brought in. McClintock affixed his signature in a firm round
hand; the others signed as witnesses.
"Man Johnson, will ye bide behind for a word?" said McClintock as the
farewells were said. When the others were gone, he made a sign to Van
Lear, who left the room.
"I'm asking you to have Stanley back soon--though he'll be coming for the
lassie's sake, ony gate. But I am wearyin' for a sight of the lad's face
the once yet," said the old man. "And yoursel', Mr. Johnson; if you visit
to York State again, I should be blithe to have a crack with you. But it
must be early days, for I'll be flittin' soon. I'll tell you this, that I
am real pleased to have met with you. Man, I'll tell ye a dead secret. Ye
ken the auld man ahint my chair--him that the silly folk ca' Rameses
Second in their sport? What think ye the auld body whispert to me but
now? That he likit ye weel--no less! Man, that sets ye up! Cornelius has
not said so much for ony man these twenty year--so my jest is true
enough, for all 'twas said in fleerin'; ye bear your years well and the
credentials of them in your face. Ye'll not be minding for an old man's
daffin'?"
"Sure not! I'm a great hand at the joke-play myself," said Pete. "And
it's good for me to do the squirmin' myself, for once."
"I thought so much. I likit ye mysel', and I'll be thinkin' of you,
nights, and your wild life out beyont. I'll tell you somethin' now,
and belike you'll laugh at me." He lowered his voice and spoke wistfully.
"Man, I have ne'er fought wi' my hands in a' my life--not since I was a
wean; nor yet felt the pinch of ony pressin' danger to be facit, that I
might know how jeopardy sorts wi' my stomach. I became man-grown as a
halflin' boy, or e'er you were born yet--a starvelin' boy, workin' for
bare bread; and hard beset I was for't. So my thoughts turned all
money-wise, till it became fixture and habit with me; and I took nae time
for pleasures. But when I heard of your fight yestreen, and how you
begawked him that we are to mention no more, and of your skirmishes and
by-falls with these gentry of your own land, my silly auld blood leapit
in my briskit. And when I was a limber lad like yourself, I do think
truly that once I might hae likit weel to hae been lot and part of
siclike stir and hazard, and to see the bale-fires burn.
"Bear with me a moment yet, and I'll have done. There is a hard question
I would spier of you. I thought but ill of my kind in my younger days.
Now, being old, I see, with a thankful heart, how many verra fine people
inhabit here. 'Tis a rale bonny world. And, lookin' back, I see too often
where I have made harsh judgings of my fellows. There are more excuses
for ill-doings to my old eyes. Was't so with you?"
"Yes," said Pete. "We're not such a poor lot after all--not when we stop
to think or when we're forced to see. In fire or flood, or sickness,
we're all eager to bear a hand--for we see, then. Our purses and our
hearts are open to any great disaster. Why, take two cases--the telephone
girls and the elevator boys. Don't sound heroic much, do they? But, by
God, when the floods come, the telephone girls die at their desks, still
sendin' out warnings! And when a big fire comes, and there are lives to
save, them triflin' cigarette-smoking, sassy, no-account boys run the
elevators through hell and back as long as the cables hold! Every time!"
The old man's eye kindled. "Look ye there, now! Man, and have ye noticed
that too?" he cried triumphantly. "Ye have e'en the secret of it. We're
good in emairgencies, the now; when the time comes when we get a glimmer
that all life is emairgency and tremblin' peril, that every turn may be
the wrong turn--when we can see that our petty system of suns and all is
nobbut a wee darkling cockle-boat, driftin' and tossed abune the waves in
the outmost seas of an onrushing universe--hap-chance we'll no loom so
grandlike in our own een; and we'll tak' hands for comfort in the dark.
'Tis good theology, yon wise saying of the silly street: 'We are all in
the same boat. Don't rock the boat!'"
* * * * *
When Peter had gone, McClintock's feeble hands, on the wheel-rims, pushed
his chair to the wall and took from a locked cabinet an old and faded
daguerreotype of a woman with smiling eyes. He looked at it long and
silently, and fell asleep there, the time-stained locket in his hands.
When Van Lear returned, McClintock woke barely in time to hide the
locket under a cunning hand--and spoke harshly to that aged servitor.