Radlett pounded upon the nickel bell on the smoking table, and ordered
two cigars. Stephen bit the end of his cigar hastily, while Radlett
produced a clipper from his pocket, and carefully cut the end of his.
These unconscious actions portrayed well the differences in their
characters. Drawing a match from the white earthenware holder, Baird
scratched it on the rough surface, and then held the light to Stephen’s
cigar.
“Mine is lighted, thank you, Baird,” said Loring, and through blue
circles of smoke he watched Radlett light his own cigar.
“I had almost forgotten what a stocky old brute Baird was,” he mused. “I
do not think, though, that I could ever forget that dear old face. Of all
the faces that I ever knew his is the homeliest, and the kindest! If he
poked that long jaw of his out at me, and looked at me with those honest
eyes, he might tell me that black was white, and I should fight the man
who said that it was not true.”
Radlett also utilized those first moments of silence brought about by
a good cigar, an old friend, and a comfortable chair, to make a few
observations of his own.
“In five years, Steve has changed a great deal,” he thought. “Five years
of failure, and drifting, such as I judge these to have been, leave
their mark on any man, definitely and indefinitely. Imagine Loring, the
fastidious, in those clothes five years ago! And then the old frank
manner has become a bit hesitant. He seems always on the defensive.
Poor old chap, he must have had some pretty hard blows. The old light
in his eyes is no longer there; but after all he has that same quality
of winning appeal, of humor and of latent strength, which nothing can
obliterate, which always has made and always will make every one who
knows him hope for the best, and pardon the worst.” At the conclusion of
his reflections, Baird’s eyes were damp.
Stephen smoked slowly, as one would sip a rare old wine. Then, taking the
cigar from his mouth, he held it before his eyes, twirling the label
slowly around, and looking at it appreciatively.
“It is eleven months since I smoked a good cigar, Baird; perhaps you
can guess how this one tastes to me,” said Loring softly, almost as if
talking to himself. Then he relapsed again into silence.
Radlett puffed vigorously on his cigar, then said: “Steve, it is your own
fault that you are not smoking good cigars all the time.”
“Perhaps it is,” answered Loring; “but the fact remains, and eleven
months is a long time out of one’s life to lose such happiness.”
“The last time that I heard of you, you were in Chicago,” remarked
Radlett. “Some one told me that you had a good position there. What
happened to you?”
“Fired,” was the laconic answer.
“Did you deserve to be?”
“Yes.”
One of the things that Loring’s friends held dearest in him was the fact
that he never shirked the truth in the matter of his delinquencies. His
own word on the matter was final. In the old days Loring’s deficiencies
had been among his most charming attributes. People had always spoken
hopefully of “When he buckles down.” Now the “When he will,” had become
“Now that he has not,” and his deficiencies were not so charming.
Radlett smoked on imperturbably. When he again spoke, his voice was thick
with smoke.
“What was your last position?”
“Hoist engineer, Quentin Mining Company.”
Again the query: “Why did you leave?”
“Fired,” repeated Stephen, flushing savagely. Then looking Radlett in the
eyes, he added: “I was drunk, and through my fault two men were killed.”
Leaning forward, Radlett laid his hand on Loring’s shoulder, and gripped
it tightly with his strong fingers.
“Steve, old man, I am sorry for you. I know what this must mean to you.
You were always the most kind-hearted fellow on earth, and I can see how
this has crushed and saddened you. I’m—I’m damned sorry—but, Steve, you
needed it. It will be the making of you, Steve. We have all been wanting
to help you, and we could not; you would not let us. You have lost almost
everything in the world,—your money, your position, your family. You
have lost prize after prize which you might have won; and all these
things have not held you. You still had that quality of drifting. You
used to think,—I remember well how we used to talk it over,—that love
would hold a man. It won’t. If you have tried it, you know”—Loring
breathed hard—“if you have not, then you have been spared one more blow.
You never had, or could have had, religion; I don’t know what that might
have done for you.” Radlett was speaking fast now, and though he struck
hard, Loring never flinched.
“You always knew that you were hurting yourself by what you did; but that
did not check you,” went on Radlett. “You had, I remember, a creed of
ethics in which, so you said, you logically believed. You know how much
good that has done you.
“Steve, I am as sorry for you as if you were myself—yes, sorrier.” In the
intensity of their grasp, his fingers almost crushed Loring’s shoulder.
“I know what it seems to you, the feeling of guilt, and of remorse; but
you deserved it and you needed it. The one thing that could have stopped
your drifting was to find that your destiny and actions are inextricably
tangled with those of other men. Now that you have learned that by
drifting you may sink other ships, you won’t drift. I know you, Steve,
and I swear it. This has been your salvation.” Radlett stopped short, and
sank back into his chair.
Stephen sat looking sternly into the smoke. There were deep lines beneath
his eyes, showing dark against his pallor, for so great was the tumult
within him that even through his heavy tan his face showed white. When he
spoke it was as a man who opens his mouth, and does not know whether the
words that he speaks are loud or soft.
“You are right, Baird. I was wrong, and Baird, I’ve thrown over
everything in the world that I cared about. There was a girl, Baird; you
were right about that, too. She believed in me, even though she did not
care. I cared for her more than for anything that I have ever dreamed of
in the world. She was everything to me, Baird, and I promised her that I
would make good. I broke my word. It was the only thing that I had not
broken before. Well, my love for her did not check me.
“But since that—that—murder,” he spoke now from deep in his chest, “I
have gripped myself; I have found myself. I am going to work up again,
Baird. I can,—I am on the up grade. I am sure of it. It is a hard
struggle, but the fight of it makes it all the more worth while. It will
be hard, and it will take time; but I can do it.”
Radlett stared out of the window for a few moments, as though deeply
absorbed in watching a passing carriage. Letting his eyes travel back to
Loring, he asked: “Did you ever hear of the Kay mine? I think that it was
situated near where you were last working.”
Stephen nodded. He was relieved at the change from the tenseness of the
conversation, and a little ashamed of the emotion which he had shown.
“Yes,” he answered, “it was only fifteen or twenty miles from Quentin.
An English syndicate bought it some time ago. They brought out polo
ponies, dog-carts, and heaven knows what besides, to gladden their hearts
while in exile. I rode there only a few weeks ago, and looked over the
place. The mine has been shut down for a year. It is a wonder that they
were ever able to open it in the first place, with all the nonsense that
they had. A man whom I saw there told me that the English managers had
spent two days in arguing where to put the ‘baths in the houses of the
tenantry.’ I hear that the mine has just been sold again.”
Radlett grinned from ear to ear at the thought of the effect on the
community of a remark about the “tenantry.”
“Still,” went on Loring, “almost everybody says that it is a very rich
property, and would have paid well if it had only been worked properly.
The indications were very good for a big vein.”
Radlett beat a tattoo with his fingers on the arms of his chair.
“I have just bought the mine,” he said.
Stephen looked at him in surprise.
“I thought,” he said, “that you were only interested in railroads.”
“That is true; but this is a sort of ‘flyer.’ I had the chance to buy the
property very cheaply, and the expert whom I sent to look at it reported
it as good, if it were properly managed. I must get as manager a man whom
I can absolutely trust, as I shall have no time to supervise the work
personally. Stephen, will you take the position?”
Loring sat up straight in his chair.
“I am not the man for the place,” he said; “I know very little about
mining, and besides—”
“Leave out the ‘besides’,” answered Radlett. “That is over with. I would
trust you now as soon as any man living. As for the knowledge of mining,
you will not require any. There is a good mine foreman there who can
attend to that. What I want is a man to organize and run the plant, to
make it a paying producer. It needs a man who understands men, more than
a man who understands mining. The ore is there. The men to get the ore
will be there; but there must be a head for the whole system. You know,
better than I do, that a new mine means a new community to be governed.
It needs a man who will see that for every copper cent that goes into the
ground, two copper cents come out, a man who will see that the machinery
which is ordered arrives on time. It needs a man who will pick the right
subordinates and will give them pride in their work. It needs a man who
will get the labor, and keep it there. That is what I want you for,
Steve. You can do the work. Now will you?”
Two voices seemed to whisper in Loring. One was of pride, the other was
of pride in himself. The voice of pride whispered: “He is your friend,
and is offering this to you from charity.” The other voice, aggressive
and self-reliant, whispered: “You can do the work well. It needs a _man_,
and you are capable of doing it.”
“Baird,” he said brokenly, “I will. I can’t thank you; it is far too big
a chance to be acknowledged by mere thanks. But I will do my best for
you, and if I fail, it will be because I am not a big enough man, and not
because I have not tried.”
“The thanks will be from me to you, when the Kay is the biggest producer
in Pinal County,” responded Radlett. “If you do your best, it will be
the best that can be done. Don’t think that it is from friendship that
I offer you this. I always keep friendship and business apart, and I am
offering this to you because you are the man that I need.” Radlett took a
large leather covered note-book from his pocket.
“Here are the details of the proposition,” he said, and for almost an
hour he read aloud a list of figures and estimates. Loring listened,
keenly alert, and questioned and criticised with an insight which
surprised Radlett, who several times looked up in approval at some
suggestion. When he had finished, he closed the book, and said: “The
acting manager will start you on your work. The mine was opened last
week, but everything there is still at sixes and sevens. When do you
think that you can start north?”
“I will take the eleven o’clock train to-night,” answered Stephen,
decidedly, “only—”
“By the way,” said Baird, in a matter of fact manner, “you had better
draw your first month’s salary in advance. There will be a great many
things that you need to get.” He wrote a check and gave it to Loring.
“They will cash this for us at the office. I shall telegraph to-night
to the mine, telling them to expect you; also to the company in Tucson,
telling them to honor your drafts.”
Radlett rose and looked at his watch. “It is eight o’clock and I am as
hungry as a bear, and,” he added, with a twinkle in his eyes, “if you
can leave that house-party of yours, where the girls have such charming
umbrellas, we might dine together before you start.”
They entered the dining-room, where the orchestra was playing gaily,
and settled themselves at a table glowingly lighted with candles under
softened shades.
“Doesn’t this seem like old times, Steve?” said Radlett, while he carved
the big planked steak which they had ordered. Throughout the meal, time
and again the phrase: “Do you remember?” was repeated, recalling hosts
of memories, both sad and gay. The intimacy between Radlett and Loring
had been of such depth and woven with so many bonds that the years in
which they had been separated made no difference in their complete
companionship. They were not forced to fall back on the past on account
of lack of sympathy and mutual interest in the present, as is so often
the case; but rather they looked backward as one might open a much loved
book, the interest of which increases as the covers wear out, and in
which the delight is intensified when some congenial soul has shared its
moods, and its laughter. Through all the conversation, Radlett, with an
inborn tact unexpected in a man whose manner was so bluff, skilfully
recalled Stephen’s successes, and dwelt upon them in an endeavor to
raise that self-confidence in Loring which had been shaken to its core.
Stephen’s failures were recalled by Stephen himself, whose recollection
of them was undimmed though his perspective on them had changed. So
quickly did the time pass that it was with a start that they both heard
the clock in the hall outside strike ten, in a deliberate, impersonal
fashion. In answer to a question from Radlett, Loring shook his head.
“No, I have no preparations to make. If the city with no history is
happy, then certainly the person with no possessions to bother him should
be content.”
So they smoked in quiet companionship until it was time to leave for the
station. Baird saw Loring on board the train, and they parted after a
silent, firm handshake, which gave strength to one and conviction to the
other.