THE young man closed the door to the private writing-room of the club,
and coming back to the table drew a chair up beside his companion and
sat down.
“Rufus,” he said, “how did you get in so deep?”
“Well,” responded the grazier, looking down at the floor. “I am an ass,
Jerry, just a natural ass. I was all right, doing well and living like
a lord, until I endorsed for that lumber company. When it grew shaky,
I tried to save myself by borrowing money and holding it up until the
panic was over, but I could n't do it, and when the thing failed I had
the notes to meet. I did n't want to be sued, so I borrowed the money.
It was a big sum, almost as big as I was worth, but I thought that the
men from whom I borrowed the money would not push me, and that probably
I could pull through some way. I might have known that the crash would
come, but it is natural, I judge, to postpone the evil day.”
“Have your creditors instituted legal proceedings?” asked the young man.
“Not yet,” replied Alshire. “On Thursday I was at the county seat
looking after my taxes, and while there William Farras, who is a local
manager for the oil company, took me aside and said that through some
business transactions my notes had come into his hands, and added that
he hoped that I was in a position to pay them, as he was hard up and
would require a considerable sum of money at once. On the way home in
the evening I had the conversation with the driller of which I have
spoken; and his statement made the scheme as plain as day light. The
company believes that the pool is under my land, and, wishing to secure
the property, it has bought up my outstanding notes. The plan is to sue
me at once, sell the land, and buy it in.”
The giant spoke slowly, the great muscles of his face set, and his eyes
hard. He raised his ponderous clenched hand and brought it slowly down
on his knee. “I shipped the cattle,” he added, “to prevent their being
attached, and I have gone over the whole thing from end to end, and by
every devil in hell I don't see any way to stop their game.”
Jerry Van Meter arose and went over to the window. He was mightily
affected by the hopeless position of his friend, and in his breast his
heart was heavy. The condition of things was reversed. From his very
babyhood he had gone to the giant with his troubles, and the giant
had always found some way out. Now the man had come to him, and he was
helpless. He looked at the huge grazier sitting motionless with his face
in his hands, and the tears gathered in his eyes. Van Meter knew too
much of the world not to know that the man was ruined. Finally he turned
to his companion.
“Rufus,” he said, “we will walk down to my office and see what can be
done.”
It was merely a weakling move for delay. In his heart the young man knew
that the matter was hopeless.
The two men arose and passed out of the club.
The life of Jerry Van Meter had been crowded with events quite as varied
and rapid of incident as that of Sinbad the Sailor. His parents, who
resided on a small farm near Rufus Alshire's estate, had died when the
child Jerry was quite an infant, and the huge grazier had assumed
the guardianship of the youth. Under his direction the boy had been
educated, and finally installed as a bank clerk in one of the small
towns. But the spirit of adventure was big in the breast of the youthful
Jerry, and one morning he closed the ledger carefully and vanished into
the Northwest. Here he pulled teeth for an itinerant dentist, drummed
for a soap house, and travelled with a circus. But he had a fortunate
star, not at all times obscured; and when the boom struck St. Paul,
Jerry drifted in, bought far and wide, and carried out with him ten
thousand dollars in gold, which he promptly dropped in a bucket-shop
in Chicago. A letter to the good genius Alshire brought a check for one
hundred dollars and nine pages of advice.
With this money in his pocket, Jerry passed over on to the Pacific
coast. Here he mixed drinks in a bar-room, and officiated in the
important capacity of night clerk to a restaurant, until his star came
up again, and when it did, Jerry chanced on an abandoned claim that
netted him seven thousand dollars. He returned to Alshire the one
hundred dollars and the well-worn but badly-heeded letter of advice,
and set out for the East. In St. Louis he became deeply interested
in certain horse races, and ten days later he landed in the Virginias
bronzed, bearded, and broke. The giant Alshire laughed at the escapades
of this youth until his sides ached, gave him another check and the
ancient letter of advice with various amendments, and the restless Mr.
Van Meter dropped down into the metropolis of New York. Here his star
gave evidences of constancy, and he became an insurance broker and a man
of affairs.
The two men walked slowly down the steps of the club and across the busy
thoroughfare. As they stepped up or the opposite curb they were startled
by a sharp cry, and turning suddenly they saw a little man stumble and
fall forward in the street directly in front of an approaching mail
wagon. The great horses were almost upon him, bearing down in a long
sweeping trot. The driver at the moment was not looking, but it was too
late for him to prevent the impending accident even if he had been. The
giant Alshire ran out into the street, caught the horses and threw his
ponderous weight against the iron bits. The heavy Percherons reared
and fell back on their haunches, the tongue of the wagon shot forward,
grazing the giant's shoulder, and the wheels stopped for a moment almost
against the body of the prostrate man. In that moment Van Meter dragged
the hapless pedestrian from beneath the belly of the horses. The giant
stepped quickly aside, and the horses, plunging forward heavily on the
cobble stones, passed on down the street, while the half-dazed driver
did not even look back to ascertain what had really occurred.
The little man wiped the dust from his hat with the sleeve of his coat
and looked up at his deliverers.
“Well,” he said, “Randolph Mason came near to losing his clerk. I guess
I stumbled on that infernal rail.”
A great light came into the face of Jerry Van Meter. He came up close
to the little man and caught him by the shoulder. “Randolph Mason!” he
said, “Is Randolph Mason in New York?”
“Yes,” responded the little man. “I am his clerk. Parks is my name. Mr.
Mason is here, but----” Then he stopped short.
The now excited Van Meter shook the little man almost roughly by the
shoulder.
“Good,” he cried, “good, we must see him at once.”
The clerk Parks looked down at his soiled clothes and the dust on his
bruised hands.
“Gentlemen,” he said slowly, “it is against the strict order of the
physicians, but, under the circumstances, I don't quite see how I am
going to refuse.”