THE COUNCIL FIRE
MRS. WELLS’ “books” were not arranged to facilitate the work of an
auditor, but her correspondence was of considerable help. With the aid
of Jerry’s notes and the letters Richard was able to get his clues. At
occasional intervals Mitchell Lear’s brief notes would come along, each
such invariable good sense that Richard began to have a liking for the
man before he had seen him. Evidently Lear had been consulted before
each disastrous transaction, and his advice was always to refrain from
doing what events proved should have not been done. His terse opinions
were worded with almost humorous sameness: “As I advised you in our
talk on Wednesday, you will do well not to dispose of the orchards” or
“not to try out experiments in grape spraying,” and so on. Mr. Lear was
evidently a friend and a man of sound judgment; and in compensation
for his long failure to have his advice followed he was a good man to
consult now.
Mitchell Lear was engaged in bowing a client out of the office when
Richard appeared.
“It is the sort of case I never touch,” Mr. Lear was saying. There
was a note of firm indignation in his voice, which his nervous, eager
client seemed to miss.
“But your reputation at the bar would help us so----”
“My reputation at the bar is not for sale!” Mr. Lear interrupted
ominously. “I am busy. Good-day, sir.”
“But if you could only see your way----”
“Good-day, sir!”
Some of the indignation still lingered in Mr. Lear’s keen eyes as he
confronted Richard. The lawyer had the judicial rather than the legal
face, and at this moment it was that of the righteous judge in the act
of sentencing a deserving criminal.
“I am Mr. Richard,” he held out a hand.
“Yes, I know,” Mr. Lear took the hand firmly. “You are staying with
the Wells’ at ‘Red Jacket.’ There was a note of the fact in the local
papers,” he added by way of explanation. “Sit down. Excuse me if I
seemed ruffled. That little rat was just about to--well, we won’t talk
about it.”
His face remained stern as he looked expectantly towards Richard.
“You are Mrs. Wells’ lawyer, I believe,” Richard began.
The penetrating gaze of the lawyer was somewhat disconcerting; but at
Richard’s question the immovable features relaxed into the most genial
of smiles and the eyes broke into abrupt laughter.
“Not that I know it,” Mr. Lear chuckled. “I am simply her good friend.
As such I give advice free. She always comes to me when she wants help
in a bit of wrongdoing.”
The words seemed out of character with the man who had just dismissed
a client who, no doubt, had been suggesting a shady legal partnership;
but the face shone with delight in the paradoxical situation.
“When Mrs. Wells wishes to do something which she knows is quite
unwise,” Mr. Lear explained, “something which her conscience tells her
she should never do, she comes to me to get her will strengthened. She
knows beforehand that I will decide against her and give her advice
which she doesn’t want to take, but without opposition she is weak and
vacillating. I am the man she selects to arouse her combativeness. The
more clearly I prove the folly of her proposed undertaking the stronger
grows her resolution to undertake it. She usually comes into my office
in a mood of guilty indecision, but she always goes out righteously
obstinate and determined to do exactly the opposite of everything I
suggest.”
Richard knew that she would act exactly in that way, and he told Mr.
Lear so; he told him also of the change that had come over her and the
reason for it; and, as well, of Jerry’s assumption of command. Then he
sorted out the papers and the notes on the correspondence. There was a
name here and there of a note-holder, a generous note-holder it seemed,
who seemed to take the non-payment of interest as a sort of lark.
Mr. Lear knew him; he was a distant relative of the Wells’--Uncle John
they called him, although he was no uncle--and a man whose name should
be Great-heart. But Mr. Lear did not know of the shocking financial
state of “Red Jacket.” The smile left his face as he ran down the
summary which Richard had prepared. Uncle John was generous, but it was
not likely that he would be willing to underwrite so large a deficit,
especially as the present income from the estate showed no chance of
catching up with the expenses.
“She has too many negroes,” Mr. Lear pointed out. “They eat up all the
profits. She will not get rid of them; but, at least, she ought to
employ them properly.”
“How could she do that?” Richard asked.
“Buy back the orchards she sold Hoskins,” he answered promptly.
“Hoskins will sell, at a profit, of course. Then she should get
Holloday’s orchards and Fennill’s and go into the business on a big
scale. I shouldn’t advise more grape land, although I would most
strongly suggest letting George Alexander manage the sprays in his own
way; she interferes with absolutely original theories--all wrong, of
course--and she drags off his negroes to fool with her gardens.”
Richard was taking rapid notes.
“Will you get an option on Hoskins’ apples for us,” he looked up
eagerly, “and on Fennill’s and the other fellow’s, too?”
“I am no real-estate operator,” Mitchell Lear assumed his most judicial
expression.
How proud everyone was in Yates county, Richard thought; but he said
genially, “But as a friend----”
“Oh!” Lear laughed at the touch. “That is different. As a friend I
would get an option on the Lake-side cemetery!”
“Good!” cried Richard. “And can you get those notes from--Uncle John, I
believe you said; I mean if we raise the money?... As a friend!”
“As a friend,” Lear entered into the scheme, “I will try to get the
notes without the interest! Uncle John ought to be glad to get the
principal! But how are you going to find all that money?”
“May I use your telephone?” Richard asked politely, as if he merely
intended to talk to “Red Jacket.”
“That’s what it is for,” said Mr. Lear. He was engaged seriously in
checking off the accounts, but he raised his head in astonishment when
he heard Richard ask for the name of one of the best known banking
houses in New York city.
“I want Mr. Davis Clarkson,” Richard told the operator. “No; no one
else will do.... What? Oh! You can’t get them right away? When? In
about ten minutes.... Oh!... I am to do what? Hang what? Oh, yes; I
see. I am to hang up the receiver until you get Mr. Clarkson for me....
Yes.... I understand. Thank you very much--very much indeed.”
“I hope you don’t intend to hold a very long conversation with Mr.
Clarkson,” Mr. Lear remarked grimly. “I forget whether it is one dollar
or two dollars a minute to talk to New York. But I’m relieved to find
you didn’t open up Chicago or Denver!”
“Clarkson will pay,” Richard assured him. “Clarkson has heaps of money.”
“You are not very used to the long-distance telephone,” the lawyer
remarked shrewdly.
“No,” Richard admitted. “I have rarely talked on any telephone. No; I
don’t believe I ever tried before to talk over any great distance. How
did you know that?”
Mr. Lear laughed.
“Never mind,” he said. “You do it very daintily, and you talk to the
operator as if she were about to do you a personal favour. There goes
the bell. That means you, I judge. Politeness pays; you’ve opened up
New York city in record time.”
“Is that you, Dave?” Richard applied himself eagerly.... “Sure it is!
The very same! I’ve been at Penn Yan, New York. Put it down. Yes. Red
Jacket, Penn Yan. Can you take a vacation and come up?... Well, listen
and you’ll change your mind, for I’ve changed mine.... Yes.... That’s
it. I’ve come over, just as you said I would; and now I want money....
About a hundred and fifty thousand.... Can’t you bring it along with
you?... Very well; any way you choose. I’m buying vineyards and apple
orchards up here.... Yes; great spec.... Millions in it.... And wait!”
He glanced at his notes. “Look up Noble, French and Company, and buy
the mortgage to ‘Red Jacket.’... Mrs. Emma Wells.... Yates county....
Well, that will do, only I’d much rather have you by me to see that
everything is O.K.... Wait.... Make that cheque out to Mitchell
Lear.... Certified? Oh, all right, if that’s the proper way to do
it.... No; I’d prefer to have it made out to Mitchell Lear.” He spelled
the name carefully. “He’ll give me what I want. Yes, Mitchell Lear,
Penn Yan, New York.... Yes, a hundred and fifty thousand will be quite
enough, thank you, Dave.... Good-bye, old Dave!”
Richard turned quietly to the astonished lawyer. “Did you catch the
conversation with Clarkson? He’s going to send you a cheque, certified
cheque, for $150,000. I don’t want to be known in this, so I’ll draw
on you when I want funds. You see we just have to fix up the Wells’
business, and what’s the use of having money if you can’t have some fun
with it! I bet you are enjoying the prospect almost as much as I am.
But we’ve got to do this with great cunning and delicacy; you know how
proud everybody is in these parts!”
Lear was not only struck in a heap by the nonchalant attitude of
the young man towards this rather large sum of money, but he was
correspondingly elevated at the splendid trust imposed in him. It was
startling to have a stranger exhibit such faith. Further evidence of
that stranger’s faith was forthcoming. Mr. Richard Richard laid off
his incognito and he made clear his desires in settling up the troubles
of the Wells estate; all of which Mr. Mitchell Lear was to perform
as legal adviser, real-estate operator and friend, but shrouded, of
course, in deepest secrecy.
“Will you conspire with me?” Richard asked.
“Will I?” echoed Mitchell Lear. “You won’t find a more willing
conspirator in twenty counties.”
“Remember,” Richard told him, “this is strictly business. You are to
get your proper fees and all that sort of thing.”
“Young man,” the elder man rose and fastened him with his steel-grey
eyes. “Young man, go to the devil!”
“But at least the telephone call----”
“Young man,” Mitchell Lear grew eloquent, “_go to the devil_!”
“Well,” said Richard as he wrung his hand in parting, “I’ll get even.”
The young man went down Main Street with a springy step. His life had
suddenly flopped over, like a turtle, as he had said, and he was as
eager to follow up the new experience as the said turtle to try out
his unused legs. Sam Fybush’s neat tailoring establishment caught his
eye; he went in and had himself measured for clothes, giving Mitchell
Lear’s name as reference; and he walked in Hopkin’s jewellery store and
began buying an assortment of rings, but stopped when he realized that
his funds would not arrive for a day or two. He never before had such
a flurry to spend; he was like a child with birthday money. “Lord!” he
thought, “I’d be dangerous to let loose in Tiffany’s just now!”
To Richard Richard there was nothing inconsistent in his sudden
consuming desire to take up his inheritance. So long as one was
honest with his desires nothing could be inconsistent to this young
man. One might as well be disturbed over an eclipse of the moon. The
law of his individual life was operating without flaw, he assured
himself; and he was glad that he had never tried to impose artificially
upon the perfect mechanism. Yesterday he was a communist; to-day he
was a champion of property. Very well; and to-morrow he might be a
Buddhist--it was all in the hands of the gods.
For that reason, perhaps, or for reasons deeper than he knew, he felt
only the slightest undercurrent of disappointment over his failure in
the conquest of Jerry. It would come out all right, was the burden of
his faith. He would wait and try, in this as in other high matters, to
accept cheerfully the predestined course of things.
The week slipped by more smoothly than either Richard or Jerry had
expected. Richard was busy with his new interest, the financial
rehabilitation of “Red Jacket,” and Jerry threw herself into the
arrangement of a lawn dinner-party which should signalize, as she
thought, her farewell to Jerusalem township. With characteristic
singleness of mind she could launch all the preparations without a
thought as to what she should do after the curtain had been rung down.
In many respects she was true to the traditions of her family: they had
always lived in the immediate present. It is interesting to note that
difference between Massachusetts and Virginia, even more noticeable if
one contrasts Maine and Georgia: the North has looked ever towards the
future, while the South has lived. The one has grown thrifty and has
paid the penalty of prosperity, while the other has paid many times
over the penalty of unpreparedness.
Mitchell Lear was Northern in his sense of future values. He had a
long head, as we say, meaning that he did not deceive himself as to
the eventual outcome of things; and, as well, that he knew the game of
bargaining. Hoskins sold eagerly; he had bought the Wells’ apple land
because it was offered at a low figure; his main object was to sell
at a profit. Fennill and Holloday sold because they were in need of
cash, and because they had no knowledge of the real value of orchards
properly cared for. To this lot was added a valuable tract of young
trees not yet bearing which a wealthy summer visitor had started in the
frenzy of a sudden interest and which he had grown tired of with equal
suddenness.
On the day before the first yacht race--it took three wins to achieve
the Lake cup--Richard sought Jerry out to present her with a summary of
operations.
He explained that a friend of his in New York, Davis Clarkson, had
bought in the mortgage and the notes and was willing to give unlimited
time. In addition his friend had lent money for the purchase of apple
lands in order that the estate might employ all the negroes and offer
some chance for a return. These lands were held in Clarkson’s name and
not charged against the estate at all--not very business-like, but
friendship will do wonders at times. Richard was not so clear in his
explanations, but his summary was understandable.
DEBTS
Mortgages, Notes and other debts $86,000
New apple lands 15,000
--------
Total Indebtedness $101,000
INCOME
Grapes (with G. A. in charge) $8,000
Apples--
Hoskins’ tract 6,000
Fennill & Holloday 10,000
New orchards (in 2 yrs.) 4,000
--------
Total Income $28,000
ANNUAL PAYMENTS
Interest $5,050
Wages, Taxes and up-keep of “Red
Jacket” 10,000
Sinking Fund (running 20 yrs.) 5,000
--------
Total $20,050
SUMMARY
Total Income $28,000
Annual out-go 20,050
--------
Yearly Balance $7,950
“The sinking fund, you see,” he explained, “will pay off the whole
indebtedness in much less than twenty years, because every year the
interest will grow less. And we have nearly $8,000 a year above all
expenses--to provide for accidents and pin-money! Mitchell Lear says
that George Alexander and young Bolivar should be given four times
their present wages and put absolutely in charge of the orchards and
the grapes. Those two men know fruit by instinct, but even at that you
ought to be willing to pay out about two thousand a year for expert
advice on soils and spray mixture. We’re calculating, you see, on
getting every cent out of those lands.”
Jerry studied the report for a long time. She was searching for
some act of charity, the tiniest morsel of which would have meant
repudiation of the whole scheme.
“That means,” she spoke at last, “that we keep ‘Red Jacket,’ and make
the attempt to pay off the debt against it?”
“Exactly.”
“I thought of that many times,” she remarked quietly, as if she were
trying to hold back some pent-up emotion, “but the best figures I could
make showed income always less than out-go. And I could not dismiss the
negroes, not ... not after ... not after I had seen what we....”
She could not put it into words. There are some things which the spirit
rebels against saying aloud.
“But the new orchard lands!” Richard broke in. “They do the trick.
Everything depends upon getting use out of the labour you have.”
“Wait.” She pondered over the figures before her, seeking some sign of
philanthropy.
“What does your friend Clarkson get out of it?” she asked.
“He’s a banker; don’t you see? He is protected by interest on loans.
And he holds the mortgage and the title to the new lands. Oh, it’s
absolutely business, every bit of it.”
So it seemed, but she was still suspicious.
“You give only $15,000 for land which almost pays for itself in one
year. How can that be done?” she asked.
“You’ve struck the one flaw in the statement,” he laughed. “I’ve just
put things in round figures and, of course, everything is not there.
It will take several years to get the full income out of that land,
but when it does come it will be greater even than the figure we
give--that figure is just an average over a number of years. Oh! I know
my lesson well; Mitchell Lear is a fine teacher!”
She was not satisfied.
“Why, then,” she asked, “doesn’t this Clarkson man work the land
himself and not let us have all this profit? It looks to me like a
gift.”
“It is,” said Richard.
“What!” she bristled.
“It is an outright gift of Mitchell Lear’s wise brain. You might ask
why Lear doesn’t take the thing up as a personal speculation. The
reason is that he is a lawyer by natural selection. He is a genius at
making money, too; he told me a dozen ways to turn over cash right in
this neighbourhood, but he’s a lawyer first, last and all the time. Or
you might ask why Fennill and Holloday and Hoskins don’t go into the
apple business properly. The answer is simple, they couldn’t if they
wanted to; they haven’t the brains, Lear says. He says that some of
those fellows haven’t brains enough to raise dandelions! No; you’ve got
to take off your hat to Mitchell Lear. He’s as loyal to this family as
George Alexander.”
“I would not accept a cent as a gift,” said Jerry firmly, “but I would
take much in the name of loyalty.”
To cover any possible misunderstanding of her last remark she asked
quickly, “Suppose the income does not reach your expectations?”
“It’s a risk,” he admitted, “like all living. But I am trusting
Mitchell Lear on those figures. He knows what is being done by careful
grape and apple farmers hereabouts--the most scientific fellows--and
he knows what ‘Red Jacket’ used to get before the spray experiment
began, and he claims that he has made no over-statements. The biggest
asset ‘Red Jacket’ has, he says, is its loyal labour, and the fortunate
possession among the negroes of a half-dozen men like George Alexander
and Bolivar, who have an uncanny knowledge of all this new tree and
vine lore; and a still more uncanny knowledge of how to make those
negroes work! It looks to me like good business,” he examined the sheet
proudly; “and you haven’t said a word about my magnificent financial
engineering.”
She reached forward and patted him on the arm.
“It is magnificent!” she said. “Wonderful! I thought you were an
impractical dreamer, and here you present me with a magician’s wand....
I did not realize--no, I really did not--what ‘Red Jacket’ meant to
me.... And it is fortunate that I didn’t. I felt so cold and ...
benumbed, because of the whole ugly business that I believe I should
have walked out of that door and down the path without a tear, without
even once looking back at old ‘Tshoti’ and ‘Da’ and ‘Waga.’... You are
a very wonderful, practical man, Richard-my-dear, but ... I liked you
just as well as poet.”
“Aye,” he said, “there’s the rub. ‘Just as well!’ Do you remember
Mark Twain’s statement that he could speak seven languages ‘equally
well’?... But, forgive me. I am not going to bother you again.”
She looked straight at him, her head bent slightly and her eyes
glancing up through half-closed lids. It was a mask of a face she
presented, absolutely poised, with all expression removed save a
flirting gleam about the eyes and the faintest suggestion of a smile on
the lips. The steady gaze was too much for him; somehow it shamed him
and made the blood slowly rise to his face. His ear-tips had begun to
burn when he arose abruptly and asked:
“Will you do me a favour for all my hard work?”
It would depend; she was also business-like and did not make impossible
promises. But he did not want much; he asked merely for the key to
“Grandfather’s Room” where the relics of Chief Red Jacket were kept.
She would do more than give him the key; she would personally conduct
him.
“But it must be done with ancient ceremonies,” she detained him a
moment at the door. “Wait here until I give you the sign. Enter not,”
she raised her hand in mock seriousness, “enter not, paleface, until
you are summoned to the council!”
She went off, presumably for the key, while he waited before the
door of “Grandfather’s Room.” Many minutes slipped by but he was not
conscious of them; his mind was elsewhere. Suddenly the door opened
from within and an Indian maiden stood before him.
“Welcome, paleface,” she said.
The paleface took one step within the big room, and looked about
him with the keenest curiosity. He was gazing on an Indian village.
There were wigwams, birch cabins, totem poles, and a score of Indian
figures carved rudely out of wood. The latter were posed about in
characteristic attitudes: making arrows, grinding corn on rounded
stones, pounding at skins. There were squaws carrying babies and, far
off among the rushes, a set of warriors in full regalia were sweeping
forward in a war canoe. In the centre of the room the sachems squatted
about a council fire.
She took him from group to group, showed him the beads, the belts,
wampum; the hides, the arrows and the primitive knives and weapons, the
pottery and a-hundred-and-one other things. About the wall were scores
of documents, framed evidently in more modern times and protected by
glass. These were descriptions in Great-grandfather Wells’ hand--he
had the spirit of an antiquary--descriptions of this and that native
occupation, but, more important, many transcripts at first hand of the
sayings of the famous Seneca orator, “Red Jacket.”
“Jove!” Richard cried. “This is more important than grapes and apples!”
He did not specify what exactly was more important than grapes and
apples, but she knew that he meant “Red Jacket” and its treasures made
by generations of right living. Here were memories and traditions that
could not be bought in the market, nor could they be moved about or
transplanted. Deep family roots were here, and he knew that some of the
fine flower of that family would fade and wither were it forced to seek
other ground.
“Of course it is,” she replied in thorough understanding.
“And I’m more glad than ever that I bought up ‘Red Jacket’ for you. You
couldn’t have walked out, woman, and left all this!”
He waved his hand about excitedly.
She caught only the latter part of his speech.
“I know I couldn’t,” she replied.
“Wasn’t it wonderful,” he turned to her, “that just at this moment in
your life the Great Spirit should have sent me to you?”
“I believe He sent you,” she told him gravely.
Her low tone thrilled him. He bent over eagerly.
“Thank God I have money!” he half whispered. “Millions of it! Millions
of it to spend on you! To buy you a thousand Big Houses, if you want
them. You knew all along, didn’t you?”
He reached out a nervous hand and lightly touched her.
“Knew what?”
She asked the question, but she was conscious only of the electric
nearness of the man.
“Hasn’t Walter told you? He had my card. I thought he had told.
When----”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “But you are not----”
“I am,” he smiled grimly. “Does it make me less repulsive?”
“But that name! It--it can’t he. He is----”
“My father is dead, yes. We had the same name.” In rapid sentences he
sketched his history. As he talked she moved a step away from him and
stood rigid.
“And you bought up ‘Red Jacket’ and presented it to me?” she asked, her
face aflame.
He nodded, totally unprepared for the outburst that followed.
“Oh, how could you? How could you?” she cried. “I can’t take it!” She
stamped her foot. With every energetic protestation the three royal
plumes in her head-dress quivered in sympathetic response. “I _won’t_
take it!” Her anger grew. “Why did you keep this from me? Why didn’t
you tell me before who you were?” In bitter speeches she upbraided him
for his calm, smiling, superior secrecy.
He tried to explain that the secrecy was largely her own doing, but she
would not have it that way. He had been playing with her, having his
premeditated joke and then in the end had offered--_alms_! Very well!
Very well! Tears were raining down her cheek, her speech was almost
hysteric. Very well! She would leave as she had planned; but not until
she got good and ready. “Red Jacket” was her home until she left it for
good. “Oh! Richard Richard!” she exclaimed bitterly as she brushed past
him, “this was a low trick to play on me!”
The door was slammed in his face or he might have followed her; and as
it locked of itself in some mysterious manner he was compelled to tread
his way back among the silent Indians and through a series of adjacent
rooms to the main hall.
Once more an Indian council fire had broken up in a declaration of war!