GEOFFREY HAYWOOD.
No. 32 Main street was the most elegant store in Dalton. Silks
and laces, arranged in perfect order and taste, graced its windows;
the counters bore a new and polished look, and everything about it
betokened unwearying care and constant watchfulness on the part of
its proprietor. The clerks had a subdued look, and moved about in an
automaton-like manner, like horses thoroughly broken in, or trained
dogs going through with their parts. When their master passed through
the store, their submissive expression was augmented, if possible; and
if his keen eye detected nothing to disapprove, they shot glances of
mutual congratulation at each other.
Geoffrey Haywood was not called a hard employer, nor an illiberal man,
but those under him well knew that every cent they received was well
and dearly earned. Nothing remiss was ever overlooked――no neglect of
duty forgotten. When pay-day came, every inattention and inadvertence
was found faithfully recorded against the delinquent.
Mr. Haywood himself was not bad-looking. With an erect,
well-proportioned form, a luxuriant black beard and mustache always
neatly combed and brushed, a fair complexion and black eyes and
hair, he was called a handsome man. He had a fine set of teeth, which
glistened brightly through his beard when he opened his mouth to smile.
We say when he opened his mouth to smile, yet he seldom smiled. When
occasion seemed to call for a look of pleasure, he would part his
lips and show his teeth, but no other feature of his face altered its
lines; his eyes shone no brighter――there were no crows’ feet at the
corners; the embryo smile was nipped in the bud, it vanished into
space, it diffused itself behind the glossy beard, and buried itself
in the unfathomable depths of the glistening eyes. This movement of the
mouth, this attempt at a smile, answered many purposes. It terrified
delinquent debtors; it took all the starch out of a clerk whom it was
desirable to awe; it sent beggars away abashed at their own audacity;
it even said to the minister, “Keep on in your humble efforts, and you
may possibly win my approval some day or other.”
On the day that Carlos Conrad and Leonard Lester arrived in town,
Geoffrey Haywood chanced to be looking from the door of his store
across the street at the hotel just as the hack drove up. He saw
at once that the cousins were strangers, and that they were rather
distinguished-looking.
Consequently he put on his hat and walked slowly over to the hotel,
at his even, cat-like pace. No unnecessary noise did he ever make; his
boots never creaked, and his cane never thumped the sidewalk or floor.
He saw on the young men’s trunk the initials “L. L.,” and “C. C.,”
and read on the hotel register the names, “Carlos Conrad” and “Leonard
Lester.”
The only evidence of surprise which he gave was a half-whistle, which
he suppressed almost as soon as it escaped him. He immediately returned
to his store and shut himself up in his private office. There he sat
down and reflected as follows:
“What can this mean? Carlos is the son of old Anthony, and the colonel
hates him worse than death. It can’t be that they’ve become reconciled.
That would be impossible. The game was played too well and has gone on
smoothly too long for that. But what can his son be doing here? and his
cousin with him, too!”
Mr. Haywood’s manner, now that he was unobserved, lost something of its
calm and unruffled exterior. He got up and paced the room, evidently
much disturbed in mind.
“By Heaven!” he thought, “I must find out the object of this visit.
There is too much at stake to be off guard a moment. If the old man
should find out the part I took in his quarrel with his brother, I
would in all likelihood be disturbed in my present snug berth. That
cannot be the object of Carlos, though. The colonel will never see
him. He will not speak to him when he finds out that he is Anthony’s
son. Ha, ha! my young boy, if you have come here expecting to win favor
from Colonel Conrad, you are most grandly mistaken. I can give you that
information without your taking the trouble to walk out to his house.
I’ll watch you.”
The next day he observed, of course, that the two cousins called at
Elm Grove, and it was with a feeling of almost terror that he noticed
that they did not return for more than two hours. So disturbed with
conjectures and suspicions was he that he resolved to call on Colonel
Conrad at once, to satisfy the burning curiosity that tortured him.
Accordingly, in the afternoon, he set out for Elm Grove, not hurrying
in the least, although so tumultuous were the feelings that raged
within his breast that he would have run at the top of his speed
had he acted on his natural impulse. But to act on impulse was not
part of Geoffrey Haywood’s life. His policy was to be always calm,
self-possessed, and unapproachable, except so far as he chose to be
approached. Consequently he walked with his usual stately gait, and
when he presented himself at the door of Colonel Conrad’s mansion,
his manner betrayed naught but complacency and a kind of obtrusive
quietness.
To the servant who answered his ring, he said:
“Ah, Barker, good afternoon. Is your master in?”
Barker said he would see, and in a few moments returned with the
intelligence that his master was indisposed, and could see no one.
“Go and tell him that it’s I, Barker,” said Haywood, with some
loftiness.
Barker departed again, and again returned.
“He sent me out of his room and locked the door, sir, and said as how
not to disturb him no more.”
“What――ahem――are you sure you understood him aright, Barker?”
“Yes, sir, sure,” said Barker, smiling, as he thought of the very
emphatic manner in which the speech had been given, which he had
repeated in a somewhat modified form to Haywood.
“Is Miss Florence in?” asked the merchant.
“No, sir, she left early this morning for a visit to the Cummingses.”
Haywood stood and reflected a moment. Then he said to Barker, who had
turned to depart:
“Well――ah――Barker, wait a moment. Did two young men visit your master
this morning?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Could you tell me their names?”
“Well, not knowing ’em, I couldn’t.”
“Did he see them?”
“Yes, sir, they were in his room with him more’n an hour.”
“Ah! You don’t know what their business was, of course? That is, you
didn’t happen to overhear any of their conversation?”
“No, sir, only at first there was some pretty loud words passed between
them, and afterward there was a good deal of talking in an ordinary
tone.”
“Yes. Well it’s nothing in particular to me. I thought possibly they
might be a couple of friends of mine whom I expect to visit me. And, by
the way, Barker, you needn’t say anything about what I’ve been asking
you. Here’s a dollar. I’ve been intending to make you a present for a
long time.”
Barker stared in astonishment, for it was the first instance of
liberality he had ever witnessed on the part of Mr. Haywood. He stood
speechless while that august personage moved slowly down the path and
into the street.
“A little tight!” was the laconic comment as he pocketed the dollar.
Haywood walked to his store, and entered in silent meditation, almost
forgetting the stereotyped glance which he was wont to cast around at
his clerks, seeming to say to them:
“I suspect you――every one of you. It’s useless for you to attempt
to evade my scrutiny. It would be worse than folly for you to try to
deceive me.”
This was with no appearance of inquisitiveness, but with a calm
assertion of omniscience into their every thought and action as
connected with his business.
No one ever knew how long he remained in his private office that
night――how he pondered and sat in a brown study for hour after hour. If
his rascality were to be exposed now――if Colonel Conrad should cast him
off――what would become of him? Years before he had risked reputation,
honor, everything, to get on the right side of his uncle, and become a
partaker of the benefits of his wealth. He had succeeded. Anthony and
William Conrad were taught to hate each other, and Haywood made the
latter believe that he was his best friend.
William Conrad had been a colonel in the Mexican ♦war, and during his
military career had made acquaintances who subsequently induced him to
invest a large portion of his means in gold mines. The investment was
a profitable one, and brought him a large annual income.
And now, Haywood, who had acquired wealth and position through the aid
of Colonel Conrad, was greatly disturbed at the visit of Leonard and
Carlos. It suggested to his mind complete disgrace and utter ruin.
Besides, his uncle’s refusal did not add to his comfort. All in
all, he was in a terribly perplexed and ♦apprehensive state of mind.
He determined to call again at Elm Grove the next morning, and,
accordingly, on the following morning presented himself at the door.
“Oh, good-morning, Miss Florence. Is my uncle in?”
“Yes, Mr. Haywood, he is in, but I doubt whether he is disengaged at
present. He has been very busy yesterday and to-day.”
“Indeed! But I think he will see me. I wish to talk with him for a
moment on a matter of business.”
“I will ask him,” said the girl, “although he has given me strict
orders not to be disturbed. Will you walk into the parlor in the
meantime?”
He signified his assent, and she led the way. He stopped on the
threshold for an instant in surprise, as he saw two young men in the
room.
“Mr. Haywood,” said Florence, “permit me to introduce you to Mr. Carlos
Conrad. This is Mr. Lester. Please excuse me for a moment.”
And she gracefully retired from the room, leaving the gentlemen to make
the acquaintance of and entertain each other.
It was an awkward meeting. Haywood, for once in his life, was lost for
something to say. Carlos eyed him steadily, and betrayed agitation.
Leonard endeavored to open a conversation.
“We are on a visit to Dalton,” he said, “and called this morning to
see our uncle, but he is indisposed, and we are forced to forego the
pleasure of an interview with him.”
“Ah!” was Mr. Haywood’s sole comment.
“Yes, but we have had the pleasure of spending a few moments with the
very lovely girl who just left us. I judge that you are acquainted with
her. May I ask whether she is a relative of Colonel Conrad?”
“She is an adopted daughter of Colonel Conrad, who, as you doubtless
know, never had any children. Her name is Florence Darley.”
“She has a beautiful face,” said Leonard.
“Yes,” said Haywood, showing three of his teeth, “everybody admires her
beauty.”
At this moment the object of their conversation returned. She said:
“Colonel Conrad will see you for a moment, Mr. Haywood.”
Haywood rose from his seat, cast a barely perceptible look of triumph
at the two young men, and left the parlor. He proceeded directly to his
uncle’s room, and knocked. He was bade to enter.
He opened the door, expecting to see Colonel Conrad stretched out on
a couch, with his dressing-gown on, a bottle of medicine by his side,
and other indications of illness. But instead, there was the old man
seated upright in his chair, with papers and writing material before
him, staring at his visitor with an irritated expression, and looking
the very reverse of weak.
“Ahem! Uncle Conrad,” began Haywood, “I called yester to see you,
but――――”
“Yes, I know you did,” replied the colonel, curtly. “You say you wish
to see me on a matter of business. What is it?”
“Yes, it was a small matter, and not of so very much consequence.
Yesterday, when you sent word that you were ill, I was quite troubled
about you. So I thought I would step up this morning――――”
“Oh, then you haven’t any particular business with me. I’m perfectly
well now, if that is all you want; never was in better health.”
Haywood’s thick beard concealed the flush of vexation that arose to his
face. It was something new for him to meet with such a reception. But
he had for a long time exercised a certain control over his uncle, and
he could not give it up without a struggle. So he did not take the hint
that his presence was no longer desired, but still lingered, and said:
“Two nephews of yours are in town. I was surprised at your receiving
the son of――――”
“What is it to you, sir?” asked the old man, in wrath. “My brother is
_dead_. Our love or hate can no longer affect him. And if I choose to
see his son, I suppose it is my right, is it not?”
“Oh, certainly. And your brother is dead, is he? Dear me, how sudden!
Well, it quite overcomes me. Ahem! Very sad that he should have
departed without making restitution. But I was going to ask you if you
could accommodate with a thousand dollars this morning.”
“No, nor a thousand cents. But stay――I expect a dividend to-morrow
or next day from California, and then I may let you have it.
_Good-morning._”
This was delivered in a very emphatic tone, and left no pretext for
hesitation. So, with outward serenity but inward vexation, Haywood
left the room. He did not enter the parlor again, being in no mood to
converse with those who had caused him so much disturbance of mind. He
passed silently through the hall, a little faster than his usual pace,
and was soon on his way back to the store.
No one but himself knew the terrible agony of suspense and fear that
agitated his darkened soul.