WHEREIN BOYD ADMITS HIS FAILURE
A week later Boyd and George were watching the lights of Port Townsend
blink out in the gloom astern. A quick change of boats at Juneau had
raised their spirits, enabling them to complete the second stage of
their journey in less than the expected time, and the southward run,
out from the breath of the Arctics into a balmier climate, had removed
nearly the last trace of their suffering from the frost.
A sort of meditative silence which had fallen upon the two men was
broken at last by George, who for some time had been showing signs of
uneasiness.
"How long are we going to stay in Seattle?" he inquired.
"Only long enough," Boyd replied, "for me to arrange a connection with
some bank. That will require a day, perhaps."
"I suppose a feller has got to dress pretty swell back there in
Chicago," George ventured.
"Some people do."
"Full-dress suits of clothes, eh?"
"Yes."
"Did you ever wear one?"
"Certainly."
"Well, I'll be--" The fisherman checked himself and gazed at his
companion as if he saw him suddenly in a new light; in fact, he had
discovered many strange phases of this young man's character during the
past fortnight. "Right along?" he questioned, incredulously.
"Why, yes. Pretty steadily."
"All day, at a time?"
Boyd laughed. "I haven't worn one in the daytime since I left college.
They are used only at night."
George pondered this for some time, while Emerson stared out into the
velvet darkness, to be roused again a moment later.
"A feller told me a funny thing once. He said them rich men back East
had women come around and clean their finger-nails, and shine 'em up.
Is that right?"
"Quite right!"
Another pause, then Balt cleared his throat and said, with an
assumption of carelessness:
"Well, I don't suppose--you ever had 'em--shine your finger-nails, did
you?"
"Yes."
The big man opened his mouth to speak; then, evidently changing his
mind, observed, "Seems to me I'd better stay here on the coast and wait
for you."
"No, indeed!" the other answered, quickly. "I will need you in raising
that money. You know the practical side of the fishing business, and I
don't."
"All right, I'll go. If you can stand for me, I'll stand for the
full-dress suits of clothes and the finger-nail women. Anyhow, it won't
last long."
"When were you outside last?"
"Four years ago."
"Ever been East?"
"Sure! I've got a sister in Spokane Falls. But I don't like it back
there."
"You will have a good time in Chicago." Boyd smiled.
"Fingerless" Fraser came to them from the lighted regions amidship,
greeting them cheerfully.
"Well, we're pretty near there, ain't we? I'm glad of it; I've about
cleaned up this ship."
The adventurer had left his companions alone much of the time during
the trip--greatly to Boyd's relief, for the fellow was an
unconscionable bore--and had thus allowed them time to perfect their
plans and thresh out numberless details.
"I grabbed another farmer's son at supper--just got through with him.
He was good for three-fifty."
"Three hundred and fifty _dollars?_" questioned Balt.
"Yep! I opened a little stud game for him. Beats all how these suckers
fall for the old stuff."
"Where did you get money to gamble with?" inquired Boyd.
"Oh! I won a pinch of change last night in a bridge game with that
Dawson Bunch."
"But it must have required a bank-roll to sit in a game with them. They
seem to be heavy spenders. How did you manage that?"
"I sold some mining property the day before. I got the captain of the
ship." Fraser chuckled.
"Did you swindle that old fellow?" Emerson cried, angrily. "See here! I
won't allow--"
"Swindle! Who said I 'swindled' anybody? I wouldn't trim my worst
enemy."
"You have no mining claims."
"What makes you think I haven't? Alaska is a big country."
"You told me so."
"Well, I didn't have any claims at that time, but since we came aboard
of this wagon at Juneau I have improved each shining hour. While you
and George was building canneries I was rustling. And I did pretty
well, if I do say it as shouldn't."
Emerson shrugged his broad shoulders. "You will get into trouble! If
you do, I won't come to your rescue. I have helped you all I can."
"Not me!" denied the self-satisfied Fraser. "There ain't a chance. Why?
Because I'm on the level, I am. That's why. But say, getting money from
these Reubs is a joke. It's like kicking a lamb in the face." He
clinked some gold coins in his pocket and began to whistle noiselessly.
"When do we pull out for Chi?" he next inquired.
"We?" said Emerson. "I told you I would take you as far as Seattle. I
can't stand for your 'work.' I think you had better stop here, don't
you?"
"Perhaps it _is_ for the best," Fraser observed, carelessly. "Time
alone can tell." He bade them good-night and disappeared to snatch a
few hours' sleep, but upon their arrival at the dock on the following
morning, without waiting for an invitation he bundled himself into
their carriage and rode to the hotel, registering immediately beneath
them. They soon lost sight of him, however, for their next move was in
the direction of a clothier's, where they were outfitted from sole to
crown. The garments they stood up in showed whence they had come; yet
the strangeness of their apparel excited little comment, for Seattle is
the gateway to the great North Country, and hither the Northmen
foregather, going and coming. But to them the city was very strange and
exciting. The noises deafened them, the odors of civilization now
tantalized, now offended their nostrils; the crowding streams of
humanity confused them, fresh from their long sojourn in the silences
and solitudes. Every clatter and crash, every brazen clang of gong,
caused George to start; he watched his chance and took street-crossings
as if pursued.
"If one of them bells rings behind me," he declared, "I'll jump through
a plate-glass window." When his roving eyes first lighted upon a fruit
stand he bolted for it and filled his pockets with tomatoes.
"I've dreamed about these things for four years," he declared, "and I
can't stand it any longer." He bit into one voraciously, and thereafter
followed his companion about munching tomatoes at every step, refilling
his pockets as his supply diminished. To show his willingness for any
sacrifice, he volunteered to wear a dress suit if Emerson would buy it
for him, and it required considerable argument to convince him that the
garb was unnecessary.
"You better train me up before we get East," he warned, "or I'll make
your swell friends sore and spoil the deal. I could wear it on the cars
and get easy in it."
"My dear fellow, it takes more than a week to 'get easy' in a dress
suit." Boyd smiled, amused at his earnestness, for the big fellow was
merely a boy out on a wonderful vacation.
"Well, if there is a Down-East manicure woman in Seattle, show her to
me and I'll practice on her," he insisted. "She can halter-break me, at
least."
"Yes, it might not hurt to get that off your hands," Emerson
acknowledged, at which the clothier's clerk, who had noted the
condition of the fisherman's huge paws, snickered audibly.
It was a labor of several hours to fit Big George's bulky frame, and
when the two returned to the hotel Emerson found the representative of
an afternoon newspaper anxiously awaiting him at the desk.
"We noticed your arrival from the North," began the reporter, "and Mr.
Athens sent me down to get a story."
"Athens! Billy Athens?"
"Yes! He is the editor. I believe you two were college mates. He wanted
to know if you are the Boyd Emerson of the Michigan football team."
"Well, well!" Boyd mused. "Billy Athens was a good tackle."
"He thought you might have something interesting to tell about Alaska,"
the newspaper man went on. "However, I won't need to take much of your
time, for your partner has been telling me all about you and your trip
and your great success."
"My partner?"
"Yes. Mr. Frobisher. He heard me inquire about you and volunteered to
give me an interview in your name."
"Frobisher!" said Emerson, now thoroughly mystified.
"Sure, that's him, over yonder." The reporter indicated "Fingerless"
Fraser, who, having watched the interview from a distance, now solemnly
closed one eye and stuck his tongue into his cheek.
"Oh, yes, yes! _Frobisher!_" Boyd stammered. "Certainly!"
"He is a character, isn't he? He told me how you rescued that girl when
she broke through the ice at Kalvik."
"He did?"
"Quite a romance, wasn't it? It is a good newspaper story and I'll play
it up. He is going to let me in on that hydraulic proposition of yours,
too. Of course I haven't much money, but it sounds great, and--"
"How far along did you get with your negotiations about this hydraulic
proposition?" Boyd asked, curiously.
"Just far enough so I'm all on edge for it. I'll make up a little pool
among the boys at the office and have the money down here before you
leave to-night."
"I am sorry, but Mr. Frobisher and I will have to talk it over first,"
said Emerson, grimly. "I think we will keep that 'hydraulic
proposition' in the family, so to speak."
"Then you won't let me in?"
"Not just at present."
"I'm sorry! I should like to take a chance with somebody who is really
successful at mining. When a fellow drones along on a salary month
after month it makes him envious to see you Klondikers hit town with
satchels full of coin. Perhaps you will give me a chance later on?"
"Perhaps," acceded Boyd; but when the young man had gone he strode
quickly over to Fraser, who was lolling back comfortably, smoking a
ridiculously long cigar with an elaborate gold band.
"Look here, Mr. 'Frobisher,'" he said, in a low tone, "what do you mean
by mixing me up in your petty-larceny frauds?"
Fraser grinned. "'Frobisher' is hot monaker, ain't it? It sounds like
the money. I believe I'll stick to 'Frobisher.'"
"I spiked your miserable little scheme, and if you try anything more
like that, I'll have to cut you out altogether."
"Pshaw!" said the adventurer, mildly. "Did you say that hydraulic mine
was no good? Too bad! That reporter agreed to take some stock right
away, and promised to get his editor in on it, too."
"His editor!" Emerson cried, aghast. "Why, his editor happens to be a
friend of mine, whose assistance I may need very badly when I get back
from Chicago."
"Oh, well! That's different, of course."
"Now see here, Fraser, I want you to leave me out of your machinations,
absolutely. You've been very decent to me in many ways, but if I hear
of anything more like this I shall hand you over to the police."
"Don't be a sucker all your life," admonished the rogue. "You stick to
me, and I'll make you a lot of money. I like you--"
Emerson, now seriously angry, wheeled and left him, realizing that the
fellow was morally atrophied. He could not forget, however, that except
for this impossible creature he himself would be lying at Petellin's
store at Katmai with no faintest hope of completing his mission,
wherefore he did his best to swallow his indignation.
"Hey! What time do we leave?" Fraser called after him, but the young
man would not answer, proceeding instead to his room, there to renew
his touch with the world through strange clean garments, the feel of
which awakened memories and spurred him on to feverish haste. When he
had dressed he hurried to a telegraph office and dispatched two
messages to Chicago, one addressed to his own tailor, the other to a
number on Lake Shore Drive. Over the latter he pondered long, tearing
up several drafts which did not suit him, finally giving one to the
operator with an odd mingling of timidity and defiance. This done, he
hastened to one of the leading banks, and two hours later returned to
the hotel, jubilant.
He found Big George in the lobby staring with fascinated eyes at his
finger-nails, which were strangely purified and glossy.
"Look at 'em!" the fisherman broke out, admiringly. "They're as clean
as a hound's tooth. They shine so I dassent take hold of anything."
"I have made my deal with the bank," Boyd exulted. "All I need to raise
now is one hundred thousand dollars. The bank will advance the rest."
"That's great," said Balt, without interrupting the contemplation of
his digits. "That's certainly immense. Say! Don't they glisten?"
"They look very nice--"
"Stylish! I think."
"That one hundred thousand dollars makes all the difference in the
world. The task is easy, now. We will make it go, sure. These bankers
know what that salmon business is. Why, I had no trouble at all. They
say we can't lose if we have a good site on the Kalvik River."
"They're wise, all right. I guess that girl took me for a Klondiker,"
George observed. "She charged me double. But she was a nice girl,
though. I was kind of rattled when I walked in and sat down, and I
couldn't think of nothing to talk about. I never opened my head all the
time, but she didn't notice it. When I left she asked me to come back
again and have another nice long visit. She's an _awful_ fine girl."
"Look out!" laughed his companion. "Every Alaskan falls in love with a
manicurist at some time or other. It seems to be in the blood. We are
going to have no matrimony, mind you."
"Lord! She wouldn't look at me," said the fisherman, suddenly, assuming
a lobster pink.
That evening they dined as befits men just out from a long
incarceration in the North, first having tried unsuccessfully to locate
Fraser; for the rogue was bound to them by the intangible ties of
hardship and trail life, and they could not bear to part from him
without some expression of gratitude for the sacrifices he had made.
But he was nowhere to be found, not even at train time.
"That seems hardly decent," Boyd remarked. "He might at least have said
good-bye and wished us well."
"When he's around he makes me sore, and when he's away I miss him,"
said George. "He's probably out organizing something--or somebody."
At the station they waited until the last warning had sounded, vainly
hoping that Fraser would put in an appearance, then sought their
Pullman more piqued than they cared to admit. When the train pulled
out, they went forward to the smoking compartment, still meditating
upon this unexpected defection; but as they lighted their cigars, a
familiar voice greeted them:
"Hello, you!"--and there was Fraser grinning at their astonishment.
"What are you doing here?" they cried, together.
"Me? Oh, I'm on my way East."
"Whereabouts East?"
"Chicago, ain't it? I thought that was what you said." He seated
himself and lighted another long cigar.
"Are you going to Chicago?" George asked.
"Sure! We've got to put this cannery deal over." The crook sighed
luxuriously and began to blow smoke rings. "Pretty nice train, ain't
it?"
"Yes," ejaculated Emerson, undecided whether to be pleased or angered
at the fellow's presence. "Which is your car?"
"This one--same as yours. I've got the drawing-room."
"What are you going to do in Chicago?"
"Oh, I ain't fully decided yet, but I might do a little promoting.
Seattle is too full of Alaskan snares."
Emerson reflected for a moment before remarking: "I dare say you will
tangle me up in some new enterprise that will land us both in jail, so
for my own protection I'll tell you what I'll do. I have noticed that
you are a good salesman, and if you will take up something legitimate--"
"Legitimate!" Fraser interrupted, with indignation. "Why, all my
schemes are legitimate. Anybody can examine them. If he don't like
them, he needn't go in. If he weakens on one proposition, I'll get
something that suits him better. You've got me wrong."
"If you want to handle something honest, I'll let you place some of
this cannery stock on a commission."
"I don't see nothing attractive in that when I can sell stock of my own
and keep _all_ the money. Maybe I'll organize a cannery company of my
own in Chicago--"
"If you do--" Boyd exploded.
"Very well! Don't get sore. I only just suggested the possibility. If
that is your graft, I'll think up something better."
The younger man shook his head. "You are impossible," said he, "and yet
I can't help liking you."
Late into the night they talked, Emerson oscillating between extreme
volubility and deep abstraction. At one moment he was as gay as a
prospective bridegroom, at the next he was more dejected than a man
under sentence. And instead of growing calmer his spirits became more
and more variable with the near approach of the journey's end.
In Chicago, as in Seattle, Fraser accompanied his fellow-travellers to
their hotel, and would have registered himself under some high-sounding
alias except for a whispered threat from Boyd. That young gentleman,
after seeing his companions comfortably ensconced, left them to their
own devices while he drove to the tailor to whom he had telegraphed,
returning in a short time garbed in new clothes. He found Fraser
sipping a solitary cocktail and visiting with the bartender on the
closest terms of intimacy.
"George?" said that one, in answer to his inquiry. "Oh, George has gone
on a still-hunt for a manicure parlor. Ain't that a rave? He's gone
finger-mad. He'd ought to have them front feet shod. He don't need a
manicurist; what he wants is a blacksmith."
"He is rather out of his latitude, so I wish you would keep an eye on
him," Boyd said.
"All right! I'll take him out in the park on a leash, but if he tries
to bite anybody I'll have to muzzle him. He ain't safe in the heart of
a great city; he's a menace to the life and limb of every manicure
woman who crosses his path. You gave him an awful push on the downward
path when you laid him against this finger stuff."
Promptly at four o'clock Emerson called a cab and was driven toward the
North Side. As the vehicle rolled up Lake Shore Drive the excitement
under which he had been laboring for days increased until he tapped his
feet nervously, clenched his gloved fingers, and patted the cushions as
if to accelerate the horse's footfalls. Would he never arrive! The
animal appeared to crawl more slowly every moment, the rubber-rimmed
wheels to turn more sluggishly with each revolution. He called to the
driver to hurry, then found himself of a sudden gripped by an
overpowering hesitation, and grew frightened at his own haste. The
close atmosphere of the cab seemed to stifle him: he jerked the window
open, flung back the lapels of his great coat, and inhaled the sharp
Lake air in deep breaths. Why did that driver lash a willing steed?
They were nearly there, and he was not ready yet. He leaned out to
check their speed, then closed his lips and settled back in his seat,
staring at the houses slipping past. How well he remembered every one
of them!
The dark stone frowned at him, the leaded windows stared at him through
a blind film of unrecognition, the carven gargoyles grinned mockingly
at him.
It all oppressed him heavily and crushed whatever hope had lain at his
heart when he left the hotel. Never before had his goal seemed so
unattainable; never before had he felt so bitterly the cruelty of
riches, the hopelessness of poverty.
The vehicle drew up at last before one of the most pretentious
residences, a massive pile of stone and brick fronting the Lake with
what seemed to him a singularly proud and chilling aspect. His hand
shook as he paid the driver, and it was a very pale though very erect
young man who mounted the stone steps to the bell. Despite the
stiffness with which he held himself, he felt the muscles at his knees
trembling weakly, while his lungs did not seem to fill, even when he
inhaled deeply. During the moments that he waited he found his body
pulsating to the slow, heavy thumping of his heart; then a familiar
face greeted him.
"How do you do, Hawkins," he heard himself saying, as a liveried old
man ushered him in and took his coat. "Don't you remember me?"
"Yes, sir! Mr. Emerson. You have been away for a long time, sir."
"Is Miss Wayland in?"
"Yes, sir; she is expecting you. This way, please."
Boyd followed, thankful for the subdued light which might conceal his
agitation. He knew where they were going: she had always awaited him in
the library, so it seemed. And how well he remembered that wonderful
book walled room! It was like her to welcome him on the spot where she
had bade him good-bye three years ago.
Hawkins held the portieres aside and Boyd heard their velvet swish at
his back, yet for the briefest instant he did not see her, so
motionless did she stand. Then he cried, softly:
"My Lady!" and strode forward.
"Boyd! Boyd!" she answered and came to meet him, yielding herself to
his arms. She felt his heart pounding against hers like the heart of a
runner who has spent himself at the tape, felt his arms quivering as if
from great fatigue. For a long time neither spoke.