WICKERSHAM AND PHRONY
Keith returned home and soon found himself a much bigger man in New
Leeds than when he went away. The mine opened on the Rawson property
began to give from the first large promises of success.
Keith picked up a newspaper one day a little later. It announced in
large head-lines, as befitted the chronicling of such an event, the
death of Mr. William Lancaster, capitalist. He had died suddenly in his
office. His wife, it was stated, was in Europe and had been cabled the
sad intelligence. There was a sketch of his life and also of that of his
wife. Their marriage, it was recalled, had been one of the "romances" of
the season a few years before. He had taken society by surprise by
carrying off one of the belles of the season, the beautiful Miss Yorke.
The rest of the notice was taken up in conjectures as to the amount of
his property and the sums he would be likely to leave to the various
charitable institutions of which he had always been a liberal patron.
Keith laid the paper down on his knee and went off in a revery. Mr.
Lancaster was dead! Of all the men he had met in New York he had in some
ways struck him the most. He had appeared to him the most perfect type
of a gentleman; self-contained, and inclined to be cold, but a man of
elegance as well as of brains. He felt that he ought to be sorry Mr.
Lancaster was dead, and he tried to be sorry for his wife. He started to
write her a letter of condolence, but stopped at the first line, and
could get no further. Yet several times a day, for many days, she
recurred to him, each time giving him a feeling of dissatisfaction,
until at length he was able to banish her from his mind.
Prosperity is like the tide. It comes, each wave higher and higher,
until it almost appears that it will never end, and then suddenly it
seems to ebb a little, comes up again, recedes again, and, before one
knows it, is passing away as surely as it came.
Just when Keith thought that his tide was in full flood, it began to ebb
without any apparent cause, and before he was aware of it, the
prosperity which for the last few years had been setting in so steadily
in those mountain regions had passed away, and New Leeds and he were
left stranded upon the rocks.
Rumor came down to New Leeds from the North. The Wickersham enterprises
were said to be hard hit by some of the failures which had occurred.
A few weeks later Keith heard that Mr. Aaron Wickersham was dead. The
clerks said that he had had a quarrel with his son the day after the
panic and had fallen in an apoplectic fit soon afterwards. But then the
old clerks had been discharged immediately after his death. Young
Wickersham said he did not want any dead-wood in his offices. Also he
did not want any dead property. Among his first steps was the sale of
the old Keith plantation. Gordon, learning that it was for sale, got a
friend to lend him the money and bought it in, though it would scarcely
have been known for the same place. The mansion had been stripped of its
old furniture and pictures soon after General Keith had left there, and
the plantation had gone down.
Rumor also said that Wickersham's affairs were in a bad way. Certainly
the new head of the house gave no sign of it. He opened a yet larger
office and began operations on a more extensive scale. The _Clarion_
said that his Southern enterprises would be pushed actively, and that
the stock of the Great Gun Mine would soon be on the New York Exchange.
Ferdy Wickersham suddenly returned to New Leeds, and New Leeds showed
his presence. Machinery was shipped sufficient to run a dozen mines. He
not only pushed the old mines, but opened a new one. It was on a slip of
land that lay between the Rawson property and the stream that ran down
from the mountain. Some could not understand why he should run the shaft
there, unless it was that he was bent on cutting the Rawson property off
from the stream. It was a perilous location for a shaft, and Matheson,
the superintendent, had protested against it.
Matheson's objections proved to be well founded. The mine was opened so
near the stream that water broke through into it, as Matheson had
predicted, and though a strong wall was built, the water still got in,
and it was difficult to keep it pumped out sufficiently to work. Some of
the men struck. It was known that Wickersham had nearly come to a
rupture with the hard-headed Scotchman over it; but Wickersham won.
Still, the coal did not come. It was asserted that the shafts had failed
to reach coal. Wickersham laughed and kept on--kept on till coal did
come. It was heralded abroad. The _Clarion_ devoted columns to the
success of the "Great Gun Mine" and Wickersham.
Wickersham naturally showed his triumph. He celebrated it in a great
banquet at the New Windsor, at which speeches were made which likened
him to Napoleon and several other generals. Mr. Plume declared him
"greater than Themistocles, for he could play the lute and make a small
city a great one."
Wickersham himself made a speech, in which he professed his joy that he
had silenced the tongue of slander and wrested from detraction a victory
not for himself, but for New Leeds. His enemies and the enemies of New
Leeds were, he declared, the same. They would soon see his enemies suing
for aid. He was applauded to the echo. All this and much more was in
the _Clarion_ next day, with some very pointed satire about
"rival mines."
Keith, meantime, was busy poring over plats and verifying lines.
The old squire came to town a morning or two later. "I see Mr.
Wickersham's struck coal at last," he said to Keith, after he had got
his pipe lit. His face showed that he was brimming with information.
"Yes--_our_ coal." Keith showed him the plats. "He is over our line--I
do not know just where, but in here somewhere."
The old fellow put on his spectacles and looked long and carefully.
"He says he owns it all; that he'll have us suin' for pardon?"
"Suing for damages."
The old squire gave a chuckle of satisfaction. "He is in and about
_there_." He pointed with a stout and horny finger.
"How did you know?"
"Well, you see, little Dave Dennison--you remember Dave? You taught
him."
"Perfectly--I mean, I remember him perfectly. He is now in New York."
"Yes. Well, Dave he used to be sweet on Phrony, and he seems to be still
sweet on her."
Mr. Keith nodded.
"Well, of course, Phrony she's lookin' higher than Dave--but you know
how women air?"
"I don't know--I know they are strange creatures," said Keith, almost
with a sigh, as his past with one woman came vividly before him.
"Well, they won't let a man go, noway, not entirely--unless he's in the
way. So, though Phrony don't keer nothin' in the world about Dave, she
sort o' kep' him on-an'-off-like till this here young Wickersham come
down here. You know, I think she and him like each other? He's been to
see her twicet and is always a--writin' to her?" His voice had an
inquiry in it; but Keith took no notice of it, and the old man went on.
"Well, since then she's sort of cooled off to Dave--won't have him
around--and Dave's got sort of sour. Well, he hates Wickersham, and he
up and told her t'other night 't Wickersham was the biggest rascal in
New York; that he had 'most broke his father and had put the stock of
this here new mine on the market, an' that he didn't have coal enough in
it to fill his hat; that he'd been down in it an' that the coal all come
out of our mine."
Keith's eyes glistened.
"Exactly."
"Well, with that she got so mad with Dave, she wouldn't speak to him;
and Dave left, swearin' he'd settle Wickersham and show him up, and
he'll do it if he can."
"Where is he?" asked Keith, in some anxiety. "Tell him not to do
anything till I see him."
"No; I got hold of him and straightened him out. He told me all about
it. He was right much cut up. He jest cried about Phrony."
Keith wrote a note to Wickersham. He referred to the current rumors that
the cutting had run over on their side, suggesting, however, that it
might have been by inadvertence.
When this letter was received, Wickersham was in conference with his
superintendent, Mr. Matheson. The interview had been somewhat stormy,
for the superintendent had just made the very statement that Keith's
note contained. He was not in a placid frame of mind, for the work was
going badly; and Mr. Plume was seated in an arm-chair listening to his
report. He did not like Plume, and had wished to speak privately to
Wickersham; but Wickersham had told him to go ahead, that Plume was a
friend of his, and as much interested in the success of the work as
Matheson was. Plume's satisfaction and nonchalant air vexed the
Scotchman. Just then Keith's note came, and Wickersham, after reading
it, tossed it over first to Plume. Plume read it and handed it back
without the least change of expression. Then Wickersham, after some
reflection, tossed it to Matheson.
"That's right," he nodded, when he had read it. "We are already over the
line so far that the men know it."
Wickersham's temper gave way.
"Well, I know it. Do you suppose I am so ignorant as not to know
anything? But I am not fool enough to give it away. You need not go
bleating around about it everywhere."
Plume's eye glistened with satisfaction.
The superintendent's brow, which had clouded, grew darker. He had
already stood much from this young man. He had followed his orders in
running the mine beyond the lines shown on the plats; but he had
accepted Wickersham's statement that the lines were wrong, not
the workings.
"I wush you to understand one thing, Mr. Wickersham," he said. "I came
here to superintend your mines and to do my work like an honest man; but
I don't propose to soil my hands with any dirrty dealings, or to engage
in any violation of the law; for I am a law-abiding, God-fearing man,
and before I'll do it I'll go."
"Then you can go," said Wickersham, angrily. "Go, and be d----d to you!
I will show you that I know my own business."
"Then I will go. I do not think you do know it. If you did, you would
not--"
"Never mind. I want no more advice from you," snarled Wickersham.
"I would like to have a letter saying that the work that has been done
since you took charge has been under your express orders."
"I'll see you condemned first. I suppose it was by my orders that the
cutting ran so near to the creek that that work had to be done to keep
the mine from being flooded?"
"It was, by your _express_ orders."
"I deny it. I suppose it was by my orders that the men were set on to
strike?"
"You were told of the danger and the probable consequences of your
insisting."
"Oh, you are always croaking--"
"And I will croak once more," said the discharged official. "You will
never make that mine pay, for there is no coal there. It is all on the
other side of the line."
"I won't! Well, I will show you. I, at least, stand a better chance to
make it pay than I ever did before. I suppose you propose now to go over
to Keith and tell him all you know about our work. I imagine he would
like to know it--more than he knows already."
"I am not in the habit of telling the private affairs of my employers,"
said the man, coldly. "He does not need any information from me. He is
not a fool. He knows it."
"Oh, he does, does he! Then you told him," asserted Wickersham,
furiously.
This was more than the Scotchman could bear. He had already stood much,
and his face might have warned Wickersham. Suddenly it flamed. He took
one step forward, a long one, and rammed his clinched and hairy fist
under the young man's nose.
"You lie! And, ---- you! you know you lie. I'm a law-abiding,
God-fearing man; but if you don't take that back, I will break every
bone in your face. I've a mind to do it anyhow."
Wickersham rolled back out of his chair as if the knotted fist under his
nose had driven him. His face was white as he staggered to his feet.
"I didn't mean--I don't say--. What do you mean anyhow?" he stammered.
"Take it back." The foreman advanced slowly.
"Yes--I didn't mean anything. What are you getting so mad about?"
The foreman cut him short with a fierce gesture. "Write me that paper I
want, and pay me my money."
"Write what--?"
"That the lower shaft and the last drift was cut by your order. Write
it!" He pointed to the paper on the desk. Wickersham sat down and wrote
a few lines. His hand trembled.
"Here it is," he said sullenly.
"Now pay me," said the glowering Scotchman.
The money was paid, and Matheson, without a word, turned and walked out.
"D---- him! I wish the mine had fallen in on him," Wickersham growled.
"You are well quit of him," said Mr. Plume, consolingly.
"I'll get even with him yet."
"You have to answer your other friend," observed Mr. Plume.
"I'll answer him." He seized a sheet of paper and began to write,
annotating it with observations far from complimentary to Keith and
Matheson. He read the letter to Plume. It was a curt inquiry whether Mr.
Keith meant to make the charge that he had crossed his line. If so,
Wickersham & Company knew their remedy and would be glad to know at last
the source whence these slanderous reports had come.
"That will settle him."
Mr. Plume nodded. "It ought to do it."
Keith's reply to this note was sent that night.
It stated simply that he did make the charge, and if Mr. Wickersham
wished it, he was prepared to prove it.
Wickersham's face fell. "Matheson's been to him."
"Or some one else," said Mr. Plume. "That Bluffy hates you like poison.
You've got to do something and do it quick."
Wickersham glanced up at Plume. He met his eye steadily. Wickersham's
face showed the shadow of a frown; then it passed, leaving his face set
and a shade paler. He looked at Plume again and licked his lips.
Plume's eye was still on him.
"What do you know!" he asked Plume.
"Only what others know. They all know it or will soon."
Wickersham's face settled more. He cursed in a low voice and then
relapsed into reflection.
"Get up a strike," said Plume. "They are ripe for it. Close her down and
blow her up."
Wickersham's countenance changed, and presently his brow cleared.
"It will serve them right. I'll let them know who owns these mines."
Next morning there was posted a notice of a cut of wages in the
Wickersham mines. There was a buzz of excitement in New Leeds and anger
among the mining population. At dinner-time there were meetings and much
talking. That night again, there were meetings and whiskey and more
talking,--louder talking,--speeches and resolutions. Next morning a
committee waited on Mr. Wickersham, who received the men politely but
coldly. He "thought he knew how to manage his own business. They must be
aware that he had spent large sums in developing property which had not
yet begun to pay. When it began to pay he would be happy, etc. If they
chose to strike, all right. He could get others in their places."
That night there were more meetings. Next day the men did not go to
work. By evening many of them were drunk. There was talk of violence.
Bill Bluffy, who was now a miner, was especially savage.
Keith was surprised, a few days later, as he was passing along the
street, to meet Euphronia Tripper. He spoke to her cordially. She was
dressed showily and was handsomer than when he saw her last. The color
mounted her face as he stopped her, and he wondered that Wickersham had
not thought her pretty. When she blushed she was almost a beauty. He
asked about her people at home, inquiring in a breath when she came,
where she was staying, how long she was going to remain, etc.
She answered the first questions glibly enough; but when he inquired as
to the length of her visit and where she was staying, she appeared
somewhat confused.
"I have cousins here, the Turleys."
"Oh! You are with Mr. Turley?" Keith felt relieved.
"Ur--no--I am not staying with them. I am with some other friends." Her
color was coming and going.
"What is their name?"
"Their name? Oh--uh--I don't know their names."
"Don't know their names!"
"No. You see it's a sort of private boarding-house, and they took me
in."
"Oh, I thought you said they were friends," said Keith.
"Why, yes, they are, but--I have forgotten their names. Don't you
understand?"
Keith did not understand.
"I only came a few days ago, and I am going right away."
Keith passed on. Euphronia had clearly not changed her nature.
Insensibly, Keith thought of Ferdy Wickersham. Old Rawson's conversation
months before recurred to him. He knew that the girl was vain and
light-headed. He also knew Wickersham.
He mentioned to Mr. Turley having seen the girl in town, and the old
fellow went immediately and took her out of the little boarding-house
where she had put up, and brought her to his home.
Keith was not long in doubt as to the connection between her presence
and Wickersham's.
Several times he had occasion to call at Mr. Turley's. On each occasion
he found Wickersham there, and it was very apparent that he was not an
unwelcome visitor.
It was evident to Keith that Wickersham was trying to make an impression
on the young girl.
That evening so long ago when he had come on her and Wickersham in the
old squire's orchard came back to him, and the stalwart old countryman,
with his plain ways, his stout pride, his straight ideas, stood before
him. He knew his pride in the girl; how close she was to his heart; and
what a deadly blow it would be to him should anything befall her. He
knew, moreover, how fiercely he would avenge any injury to her.
He determined to give Wickersham a hint of the danger he was running,
if, as he believed, he was simply amusing himself with the girl. He and
Wickersham still kept up relations ostensibly friendly. Wickersham had
told him he was going back to New York on a certain day; but three days
later, as Keith was returning late from his mines, he came on Wickersham
and Phrony in a byway outside of the town. His arm was about her. They
were so closely engaged that they did not notice him until he was on
them. Phrony appeared much excited. "Well, I will not go otherwise,"
Keith heard her say. She turned hastily away as Keith came up, and her
face was scarlet with confusion, and even Wickersham looked
disconcerted.
That night Keith waited for Wickersham at the hotel till a late hour,
and when at length Wickersham came in he met him.
"I thought you were going back to New York?" he said.
"I find it pleasanter here," said the young man, with a significant look
at him.
"You appear to find it pleasant."
"I always make it pleasant for myself wherever I go, my boy. You are a
Stoic; I prefer the Epicurean philosophy."
"Yes? And how about others?"
"Oh, I make it pleasant for them too. Didn't it look so to-day?" The
glance he gave him authorized Keith to go on.
"Did it ever occur to you that you might make it too pleasant for
them--for a time?"
"Ah! I have thought of that. But that's their lookout."
"Wickersham," said Keith, calmly, "that's a very young girl and a very
ignorant girl, and, so far as I know, a very innocent one."
"Doubtless you know!" said, the other, insolently.
"Yes, I believe she is. Moreover, she comes of very good and respectable
people. Her grandfather--"
"My dear boy, I don't care anything about the grandfather! It is only
the granddaughter I am interesting myself in. She is the only pretty
girl within a hundred miles of here, unless you except your old friend
of the dance-hall, and I always interest myself in the prettiest woman
about me."
"Do you intend to marry her?"
Wickersham laughed, heartily and spontaneously.
"Oh, come now, Keith. Are you going to marry the dance-hall keeper,
simply because she has white teeth?"
Keith frowned a little.
"Never mind about me. Do you propose to marry her? She, at least, does
not keep a dance-hall."
"No; I shall leave that for you." His face and tone were insolent, and
Keith gripped his chair. He felt himself flush. Then his blood surged
back; but he controlled himself and put by the insolence for the moment.
"Leave me out of the matter. Do you know what you are doing?" His voice
was a little unsteady.
"I know at least what you are doing: interfering in my business. I know
how to take care of myself, and I don't need your assistance."
"I was not thinking of you, but of her--"
"That's the difference between us. I was," said Ferdy, coolly. He rolled
a cigarette.
"Well, you will have need to think of yourself if you wrong that girl,"
said Keith. "For I tell you now that if anything were to happen to her,
your life would not be worth a button in these mountains."
"There are other places besides the mountains," observed Wickersham. But
Keith noticed that he had paled a little and his voice had lost some of
its assurance.
"I don't believe the world would be big enough to hide you. I know two
men who would kill you on sight."
"Who is the other one?" asked Wickersham.
"I am not counting myself--yet," said Keith, quietly. "It would not be
necessary. The old squire and Dave Dennison would take my life if I
interfered with their rights."
"You are prudent," said Ferdy.
"I am forbearing," said Keith.
Wickersham's tone was as insolent as ever, but as he leaned over and
reached for a match, Keith observed that his hand shook slightly. And
the eyes that were levelled at Keith through the smoke of his cigarette
were unsteady.
Next morning Ferdy Wickersham had a long interview with Plume, and that
night Mr. Plume had a conference in his private office with a man--a
secret conference, to judge from the care with which doors were locked,
blinds pulled down, and voices kept lowered. He was a stout, youngish
fellow, with a low forehead, lowering eyes, and a sodden face. He might
once have been good-looking, but drink was written on Mr. William Bluffy
now in ineffaceable characters. Plume alternately cajoled him and
hectored him, trying to get his consent to some act which he was
unwilling to perform.
"I don't see the slightest danger in it," insisted Plume, "and you did
not use to be afraid. Your nerves must be getting loose."
The other man's eyes rested on him with something like contempt.
"My nerves're all right. I ain't skeered; but I don't want to mix up in
your ---- business. If a man wants trouble with me, he can get it and he
knows how to do it. I don't like yer man Wickersham--not a little bit.
But I don't want to do it that way. I'd like to meet him fair and full
on the street and settle which was the best man."
Plume began again. "You can't do that way here now. That's broke up. But
the way I tell you is the real way." He pictured Wickersham's wealth,
his hardness toward his employés, his being a Yankee, his boast that he
would injure Keith and shut up his mine.
"What've you got against him?" demanded Mr. Bluffy. "I thought you and
him was thick as thieves?"
"It's a public benefit I'm after," declared Plume, unblushingly. "I am
for New Leeds first, last, and all the time."
"You must think you are New Leeds," observed Bluffy.
Plume laughed.
"I've got nothing against him particularly, though he's injured me
deeply. Hasn't he thrown all the men out of work!" He pushed the bottle
over toward the other, and he poured out another drink and tossed it
off. "You needn't be so easy about him. He's been mean enough to you.
Wasn't it him that gave the description of you that night when you
stopped the stage?"
Bill Bluffy's face changed, and there was a flash in his eye.
"Who says I done it?"
Plume laughed. "I don't say you did it. You needn't get mad with me. He
says you did it. Keith said he didn't know what sort of man it was.
Wickersham described you so that everybody knew you. I reckon if Keith
had back-stood him you'd have had a harder time than you did."
The cloud had gathered deeper on Bluffy's brow. He took another drink.
"---- him! I'll blow up his ---- mine and him, too!" he growled. "How
did you say 'twas to be done?"
Plume glanced around at the closed windows and lowered his voice as he
made certain explanations.
"I'll furnish the dynamite."
"All right. Give me the money."
But Plume demurred.
"Not till it's done. I haven't any doubt about your doing it," he
explained quickly, seeing a black look in Bluffy's eyes. "But you know
yourself you're liable to get full, and you mayn't do it as well as you
otherwise would."
"Oh, if I say I'll do it, I'll do it."
"You needn't be afraid of not getting your money."
"I ain't afraid," said Bluffy, with an oath. "If I don't get it I'll get
blood." His eyes as they rested on Plume had a sudden gleam in them.
When Wickersham and Plume met that night the latter gave an account of
his negotiation. "It's all fixed," he said, "but it costs more than I
expected--a lot more," he said slowly, gauging Wickersham's views by
his face.
"How much more? I told you my limit."
"We had to do it," said Mr. Plume, without stating the price.
Wickersham swore.
"He won't do it till he gets the cash," pursued Plume. "But I'll be
responsible for him," he added quickly, noting the change in
Wickersham's expression.
Again Wickersham swore; and Plume changed the subject.
"How'd you come out?" he asked.
"When--what do you mean?"
Plume jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "With the lady?"
Wickersham sniffed. "All right." He drifted for a moment into
reflection. "The little fool's got conscientious doubts," he said
presently, with a half-smile. "Won't go unless--." His eyes rested on
Plume's with a gauging expression in them.
"Well, why not? That's natural enough. She's been brought up right.
They're proud as anybody. Her grandfather--"
"You're a fool!" said Wickersham, briefly.
"You can get some one to go through a ceremony for you that would
satisfy her and wouldn't peach afterwards--"
"What a damned scoundrel you are, Plume!" said Mr. Wickersham, coldly.
Plume's expression was between a smile and a scowl, but the smile was
less pleasant than the frown.
"Get her to go to New York--When you've got her there you've got her.
She can't come back. Or I could perform it myself? I've been a
preacher-am one now," said Plume, without noticing the interruption
further than by a cold gleam in his eyes.
Wickersham laughed derisively.
"Oh, no, not that. I may be given to my own diversions somewhat
recklessly, but I'm not so bad as to let you touch any one I--I take an
interest in."
"As you like," said Plume, curtly. "I just thought it might be a
convenience to you. I'd help you out. I don't see 't you need be
so--squeamish. What you're doing ain't so pure an' lofty 't you can set
up for Marcus Aurelius and St. Anthony at once."
"At least, it's better than it would be if I let you take a hand in it,"
sneered Wickersham.
The following afternoon Wickersham left New Leeds somewhat
ostentatiously. A few strikers standing sullenly about the station
jeered as he passed in. But he took no notice of them. He passed on to
his train.
A few nights later a tremendous explosion shook the town, rattling the
windows, awakening people from their beds, and calling the timid and the
curious into the streets.
It was known next morning that some one had blown up the Great Gun Mine,
opened at such immense cost. The dam that kept out the water was blown
up; the machinery had been wrecked, and the mine was completely
destroyed.
The _Clarion_ denounced it as the deed of the strikers. The strikers
held a meeting and denounced the charge as a foul slander; but the
_Clarion_ continued to denounce them as _hostes humani generis_.
It was, however, rumored around that it was not the strikers at all. One
rumor even declared that it was done by the connivance of the company.
It was said that Bill Bluffy had boasted of it in his cups, But when Mr.
Bluffy was asked about it he denied the story in toto. He wasn't such
a ---- fool as to do such a thing as that, he said. For the rest, he
cursed Mr. Plume with bell, book, and candle.
A rumor came to Keith one morning a few days later that Phrony Tripper
had disappeared.
She had left New Leeds more than a week before, as was supposed by her
relatives, the Turleys, to pay a visit to friends in the adjoining State
before returning home. To others she had said that she was going to the
North for a visit, whilst yet others affirmed that she had given another
destination. However this might be, she had left not long after
Wickersham had taken his departure, and her leaving was soon coupled
with his name. One man even declared that he had seen the two together
in New York.
Another name was connected with the girl's disappearance, though in a
different way. Terpsichore suggested that Mr. Plume had had something to
do with it, and that he could give information on the subject if he
would. Mr. Plume had been away from New Leeds for several days about the
time of Phrony's departure.
"He did that Wickersham's dirty work for him; that is, what he didn't do
for himself," declared the young woman.
Plume's statement was that he had been off on private business and had
met with an accident. The nature of this "accident" was evident in his
appearance.
Keith was hardly surprised when, a day or two after the rumor of the
girl's disappearance reached him, a heavy step thumping outside his
office door announced the arrival of Squire Rawson. When the old man
opened the door, Keith was shocked to see the change in him. He was
haggard and worn, but there was that in his face which made Keith feel
that whoever might be concerned in his granddaughter's disappearance had
reason to beware of meeting him.
"You have heard the news?" he said, as he sank into the chair which
Keith offered him.
Keith said that he had heard it, and regretted it more than he could
express. He had only waited, hoping that it might prove untrue, to
write to him.
"Yes, she has gone," added the old man, moodily. "She's gone off and
married without sayin' a word to me or anybody. I didn't think she'd
'a' done it."
Keith gasped with astonishment. A load appeared to be lifted from him.
After all, she was married. The next moment this hope was dashed by
the squire.
"I always thought," said the old man, "that that young fellow was
hankerin' around her a good deal. I never liked him, because I didn't
trust him. And I wouldn't 'a' liked him anyway," he added frankly; "and
I certainly don't like him now. But--." He drifted off into reflection
for a moment and then came back again--"Women-folks are curious
creatures. Phrony's mother she appeared to like him, and I suppose we
will have to make up with him. So I hev come up here to see if I can git
his address."
Keith's heart sank within him. He knew Ferdy Wickersham too well not to
know on what a broken reed the old man leaned.
"Some folks was a-hintin'," pursued the old fellow, speaking slowly,
"as, maybe, that young man hadn't married her; but I knowed better then
that, because, even if Phrony warn't a good girl,--which she is, though
she ain't got much sense,--he knowed _me_. They ain't none of 'em ever
intimated that to _me_," he added explanatorily.
Keith was glad that he had not intimated it. As he looked at the squire,
he knew how dangerous it would be. His face was settled into a grimness
which showed how perilous it would be for the man who had deceived
Phrony, if, as Keith feared, his apprehensions were well founded.
But at that moment both Phrony and Wickersham were far beyond Squire
Rawson's reach.
The evening after Phrony Tripper left New Leeds, a young woman somewhat
closely veiled descended from the train in Jersey City. Here she was
joined on the platform a moment later by a tall man who had boarded the
train at Washington, and who, but for his spruced appearance, might
have been taken for Mr. J. Quincy Plume. The young woman having
intrusted herself to his guidance, he conducted her across the ferry,
and on the other side they were met by a gentleman, who wore the collar
of his overcoat turned up. After a meeting more or less formal on one
side and cordial on the other, the gentleman gave a brief direction to
Mr. Plume, and, with the lady, entered a carriage which was waiting and
drove off; Mr. Plume following a moment later in another vehicle.
"Know who that is?" asked one of the ferry officials of another. "That's
F.C. Wickersham, who has made such a pile of money. They say he owns a
whole State down South."
"Who is the lady?"
The other laughed. "Don't ask me; you can't keep up with him. They say
they can't resist him."
An hour or two later, Mr. Plume, who had been waiting for some time in
the café of a small hotel not very far up-town, was joined by Mr.
Wickersham, whose countenance showed both irritation and disquietude.
Plume, who had been consoling himself with the companionship of a
decanter of rye whiskey, was in a more jovial mood, which further
irritated the other.
"You say she has balked? Jove! She has got more in her than I thought!"
"She is a fool!" said Wickersham.
Plume shut one eye. "Don't know about that. Madame de Maintenon said:
'There is nothing so clever as a good woman.' Well, what are you
going to do?"
"I don't know."
"Take a drink," said Mr. Plume, to whom this was a frequent solvent of a
difficulty.
Wickersham followed his advice, but remained silent.
In fact, Mr. Wickersham, after having laid most careful plans and
reached the point for which he had striven, found himself, at the very
moment of victory, in danger of being defeated. He had induced Phrony
Tripper to come to New York. She was desperately in love with him, and
would have gone to the ends of the earth for him. But he had promised to
marry her; it was to marry him that she had come. As strong as was her
passion for him, and as vain and foolish as she was, she had one
principle which was stronger than any other feeling--a sense of modesty.
This had been instilled in her from infancy. Among her people a woman's
honor was ranked higher than any other feminine virtue. Her love for
Wickersham but strengthened her resolution, for she believed that,
unless he married her, his life would not be safe from her relatives.
Now, after two hours, in which he had used every persuasion, Wickersham,
to his unbounded astonishment, found himself facing defeat. He had not
given her credit for so much resolution. Her answer to all his efforts
to overcome her determination was that, unless he married her
immediately, she would return home; she would not remain in the hotel a
single night. "I know they will take me back," she said, weeping.
This was the subject of his conversation, now, with his agent, and he
was making up his mind what to do, aided by more or less frequent
applications to the decanter which stood between them.
"What she says is true," declared Plume, his courage stimulated by his
liberal potations. "You won't be able to go back down there any more.
There are a half-dozen men I know, would consider it their duty to blow
your brains out."
Wickersham filled his glass and tossed off a drink. "I am not going down
there any more, anyhow."
"I suppose not. But I don't believe you would be safe even up here.
There is that devil, Dennison: he hates you worse than poison."
"Oh--up here--they aren't going to trouble me up here."
"I don't know--if he ever got a show at you--Why don't you let me
perform the ceremony?" he began persuasively. "She knows I've been a
preacher. That will satisfy her scruples, and then, if you ever had to
make it known--? But no one would know then."
Wickersham declined this with a show of virtue. He did not mention that
he had suggested this to the girl but she had positively refused it. She
would be married by a regular preacher or she would go home.
"There must be some one in this big town," suggested Plume, "who will do
such a job privately and keep it quiet? Where is that preacher you were
talking about once that took flyers with you on the quiet? You can seal
his mouth. And if the worst comes to the worst, there is Montana; you
can always get out of it in six weeks with an order of publication. _I_
did it," said Mr. Plume, quietly, "and never had any trouble about it."
"You did! Well, that's one part of your rascality I didn't know about."
"I guess there are a good many of us have little bits of history that we
don't talk about much," observed Mr. Plume, calmly. "I wouldn't have
told you now, but I wanted to help you out of the fix that--"
"That you have helped me get into," said Wickersham, with a sneer.
"There is no trouble about it," Plume went on. "You don't want to marry
anybody else--now, and meantime it will give you the chance you want of
controlling old Rawson's interest down there. The old fellow can't live
long, and Phrony is his only heir. You will have it all your own way.
You can keep it quiet if you wish, and if you don't, you can acknowledge
it and bounce your friend Keith. If I had your hand I bet I'd know how
to play it."
"Well, by ----! I wish you had it," said Wickersham, angrily.
Wickersham had been thinking hard during Plume's statement of the case,
and what with his argument and an occasional application to the decanter
of whiskey, he was beginning to yield. Just then a sealed note was
handed him by a waiter. He tore it open and read:
"I am going home; my heart is broken. Good-by."
"PHRONY."
With an oath under his breath, he wrote in pencil on a card: "Wait; I
will be with you directly."
"Take that to the lady," he said. Scribbling a few lines more on another
card, he gave Plume some hasty directions and left him.
When, five minutes afterwards, Mr. Plume finished the decanter, and left
the hotel, his face had a crafty look on it. "This should be worth a
good deal to you, J. Quincy," he said.
An hour later the Rev. Mr. Rimmon performed in his private office a
little ceremony, at which, besides himself, were present only the bride
and groom and a witness who had come to him a half-hour before with a
scribbled line in pencil requesting his services. If Mr. Rimmon was
startled when he first read the request, the surprise had passed away.
The groom, it is true, was, when he appeared, decidedly under the
influence of liquor, and his insistence that the ceremony was to be kept
entirely secret had somewhat disturbed Mr. Rimmon for a moment. But he
remembered Mr. Plume's assurance that the bride was a great heiress in
the South, and knowing that Ferdy Wickersham was a man who rarely lost
his head,--a circumstance which the latter testified by handing him a
roll of greenbacks amounting to exactly one hundred dollars,--and the
bride being very pretty and shy, and manifestly most eager to be
married, he gave his word to keep the matter a secret until they should
authorize him to divulge it.
When the ceremony was over, the bride requested Mr. Rimmon to give her
her "marriage lines." This Mr. Rimmon promised to do; but as he would
have to fill out the blanks, which would take a little time, the bride
and groom, having signed the paper, took their departure without
waiting for the certificate, leaving Mr. Plume to bring it.
A day or two later a steamship of one of the less popular companies
sailing to a Continental port had among its passengers a gentleman and a
lady who, having secured their accommodations at the last moment, did
not appear on the passenger list.
It happened that they were unknown to any of the other passengers, and
as they were very exclusive, they made no acquaintances during the
voyage. If Mrs. Wagram, the name by which the lady was known on board,
had one regret, it was that Mr. Plume had failed to send her her
marriage certificate, as he had promised to do. Her husband, however,
made so light of it that it reassured her, and she was too much taken up
with her wedding-ring and new diamonds to think that anything else was
necessary.