A PARTNERSHIP
It was late when William left Ralph Penlogan's cottage, but he was in no
hurry to get to St. Goram. He sauntered slowly along the dark and
deserted lane with his hands in his pockets and his eyes nowhere in
particular. He tried to comfort himself with the reflection that he had
not been selfish--that he had done his best for his Cousin Sam, that he
had spoken the good word that he promised.
But for some reason the reward of virtue was not so great as he had
hoped. There was no feeling of exultation in his heart at his triumph
over temptation; in truth, he was much more inclined to call himself a
fool for lending aid to his cousin at all.
This reflection reacted on his spirits in another way. He was more
selfish than he could have believed. He was like the man who gave half a
crown at a collection, and regretted it all his life afterwards. He had
forced himself to speak a good word for his cousin, but there was no
virtue in it. Service rendered so grudgingly was deserving of no reward.
"I am like the dog in the manger," he said to himself, a little
disconsolately; "I cannot have her myself, and I don't want anybody else
to have her."
Then he fell to thinking of Ruth's many attractions. He had never seen
anyone before with such a wealth of hair, and he was sure there was no
one in the three parishes who arranged her hair so gloriously as Ruth
did. And then her figure was just perfection in his eyes. She was
neither too short nor too tall, too stout nor too thin. There was not a
single line or curve that he would have altered.
And her character was as perfect as her form and as beautiful as her
face. William's love shed over her and around her a golden haze which
hid every fault and magnified every virtue.
By morning he was able to see things a little more in their true
perspective, and when Ralph called he was able to put love aside and
talk business, though he was by no means sure that in business matters
Ruth did not influence him unconsciously.
Ralph had great faith in William's judgment and sagacity. He always
looked at both sides of a question before deciding. If he erred at all,
it was on the side of excessive caution.
Ralph could not help wondering what was in William's mind. He had said
practically nothing the previous evening. He had asked a few questions,
and pointed out certain difficulties, but he had committed himself to
nothing, yet it seemed clear that he had some scheme in his mind which
he would reveal when he had duly considered it.
For a few minutes they talked generalities, then William plunged into
the subject that was uppermost in the thoughts of both.
"I don't wonder that you want to get hold of the freehold of Hillside,"
he said. "I should if I were in your place. Apart from sentiment, the
business side appeals strongly. The discovery of a good tin lode there
would be the making of St. Goram----"
"And the ruin of the farm," Ralph interjected.
"Well, the erection of a big engine-house on the top of the hill and
fire stamps in Dingley Bottom would certainly not improve the appearance
of things from an artistic point of view."
"'There is no gain except by loss,'" Ralph quoted, with a smile.
"True; but we all ought to consider the greatest good of the greatest
number."
Ralph laughed.
"Don't credit me with virtues I don't possess," he said. "I confess I'm
thinking in the first instance only of myself."
"Well, I suppose that's only natural," William said seriously. "But now
to business. If you purchase the farm at the squire's price, how much
money will you require beyond what you have?"
Ralph named the sum.
"Is that all?"
"Yes. I told you last night the concrete had turned out well."
"It can be done easily," William said, with a sudden brightening of his
face.
"How?"--with an eager look.
"I will advance you all the money you want, either as a loan or on
mortgage."
"You really mean it?"
"I do. But on one condition--and that is that you do not say anything to
your sister about it."
"But why not? I have no secrets from Ruth."
William coloured and looked uncomfortable.
"It's merely a whim of mine," he said. "Women don't understand business,
and she might think I was doing you a great favour, and I don't want her
to think anything of the kind."
"But you are doing me an immense favour!"
"I'm not, really. The margin of security will be, if not ample, at least
sufficient; and if the lode should prove of value, why, you will be able
to pay off the loan in no time."
"If the lode should prove of any value, William, you shall go shares!"
Ralph said impulsively.
"No, no! If I take no risk, I take no reward. You will risk everything
in testing the thing."
"I'm fond of risks," Ralph said, with a laugh. "A little adventure is
the very spice of life. Oh, I do hope the farm is not already sold!"
"I don't think it can be," William answered. "We have wasted no time
yet. If it is sold, you will have to wait, and hope the buyer will get
tired of his bargain."
Ralph shook his head.
"If I can't get it now," he said, "I shall try my fortune beyond the
seas."
"Well, we needn't wait an hour longer. You can have my trap to drive to
St. Hilary. Let some lawyer whom you can trust act for you."
"Won't you go with me?" Ralph questioned eagerly. "You see, the question
of security will come up first thing."
"It would be almost better if you could keep out of sight altogether."
"I know it. Couldn't you see the whole thing through for me?"
"I might try."
Half an hour later Ralph had sent word to Ruth that he would not be home
till evening, and was driving away with William Menire in the direction
of St. Hilary.
They were both too excited to talk much. Ralph felt as though the whole
universe were trembling in the balance. If he failed, there would be
nothing left worth considering. If he succeeded, paradise threw open her
gates to him.
Far away beyond the hills there was a great city called London, and in
that city dwelt one who was more to him than all the world beside. She
was out of his reach because he was poor and nameless and obscure. But
if he won for himself a position, what was to hinder him from wooing
her, and perhaps winning her? Money for its own sake he cared nothing
for. The passion for position had never been a factor in his life. He
loved beautiful things--art and music and literature--partly from
instinct, and partly because he had been educated to appreciate them,
but there was not an ounce of snobbery in his composition. He had no
reverence for rank as such, or for mere social position, but he had
sense enough to recognise their existence, and the part they played in
the evolution of the race. He could not get rid of things by shutting
his eyes to their existence.
So they drove along the quiet road mainly in silence. Each was busy with
his own thoughts. Each had a secret that he dared not reveal to the
other.
"I believe you will win," William said abruptly after a long interval of
silence. "I always said you would."
"Win?" Ralph questioned absently, for he was thinking of Dorothy Hamblyn
at the time.
"Your father was a shrewd man where mineral was concerned."
"Yes. And yet he loved corn and cows far more than copper and tin."
"I wouldn't mind being in your place."
"You would not be afraid of the risk?"
"No. I would like it."
"Then let's go shares!" Ralph said eagerly. "It's what I've wanted all
along, but did not like to propose it."
"You really mean it?"
"My dear fellow, it is what I would desire above everything else! You
have business capacity, and I haven't a scrap."
"If I were sure I could help you."
"We should help each other; but the gain would be chiefly mine."
"Partnerships don't always turn out well," William said reflectively.
"I'll gladly risk it," Ralph answered, with a laugh.
William dropped his driving whip into the socket and reached across his
hand. It was his way of sealing the contract.
Ralph seized it in a moment.
"This is the proudest day of my life!" William said. And there were
distinct traces of emotion in his voice.
"I hope you will not be sorry later on," Ralph answered dubiously.
"Never!" was the firm reply. And he thought of Ruth, and wondered what
the future had in store for him.
For the rest of the way they drove in silence. There were things in the
lives of both too sacred to be talked about.