The Footsteps of the Tempter.
He stood in the Plaza, Lorenzo Monteagle, head clerk to the house of
Vandewater & Brown. Down into the sparkling waters of the Western main,
the king of day was slowly sinking, like the glorious Constantine
submitting to Christian baptism at the moment he was bidding the world
adieu. Monteagle surveyed the throng that was passing hither and thither
on the different streets bordering the neglected public square on which
he stood. They were all personable, able-bodied men, who walked and
spoke as if there was no enterprise of which they were not capable, no
adventure too daring for their powers. The absence of children and the
scarcity of women gives a singular aspect to the city of San Francisco,
and this was realized by Monteagle, as he now stood gazing upon the
hardy representatives of every country on the globe, as they moved
before him on the great public square of the city.
As the evening shades began to gather around the black rigging of the
vessels in the bay, and gloom upon the distant waters, the youth looked
about him as if seeking for some individual whom he expected to meet on
that spot. A man passed near him, nearer in the opinion of Monteagle
than there was any occasion for. He grazed the youth’s elbow as he went
by, and appeared to do it on purpose.
Monteagle turned to look at the man, and the latter turning also,
clapped his hands on his hips, and with a swaggering air, looked the
former saucily in the face. Monteagle thought he had seen the fellow
before; he was dressed much as an ordinary laborer, large in size, with
big coarse features that glowed with the effect of frequent potations.
Monteagle was about to turn away from the man in disgust, when he
said—‘I think yees will know me when yees sees me again.’
‘Why so?’
‘Bekase yees trying to look off the countenance of me, I believe.’
‘I shall look where I please, and as long as I please,’ returned
Monteagle.
‘That’s unfortunit agin,’ said the Irishman, ‘for yees will see nothing
but a jintleman, and that’s what yees not used to seeing inside of the
looking-glass.’
‘What is the object of these insults, you scoundrel?’ cried Monteagle,
still in the belief that he had fallen in with the fellow before, but
where he could not recollect.
‘Oh—no object at all, at all. But if I is a scoundrel, there’s more than
one on the Plaza jist, and he’s not beyond the raitch of my fist,
nythur.’
This was rather too much for Monteagle’s patience, and accordingly he
rushed upon the intruder and saluted him with a violent blow in the
face. The Irishman staggered backwards a few feet and then recovering
himself approached the youth in a boiling rage. As they met and
exchanged blows, the people came crowding to the spot, apparently bent
only upon seeing the fight, as no one attempted to interfere. Monteagle
was a pupil of Frank Wheeler’s and the science he had acquired from the
teachings of that accomplished gymnast enabled him to bother his bulky
antagonist a good deal. This rendered the latter exceedingly angry, and
a cry was raised by the by-standers, as they saw a Spanish knife in the
hand of the Irishman, which he had dexterously drawn from some part of
his dress, and with which he rushed upon the youth with the evident
design of finishing him and the battle together. At that moment, and
just as the youth had caught a glimpse of the steel flashing before his
eyes, a powerful hand was laid upon the shoulder of the Irishman, and he
was drawn violently backwards. Some of the crowd began to murmur, but
the Irishman looked into the countenance of the intruder, and both he
and Monteagle pronounced the word ‘Blodget!’
‘How now, sir. What are you doing with that knife?’ cried Blodget in a
peremptory tone.
‘You see it’s the thafe himself, the bloody robber!’ said the Irishman,
passionately, though evidently cowering under the gaze of Blodget.
‘Who told you he was a thief? Begone, sir!’ cried Blodget, ‘Mr.
Monteagle, I find you in bad company. Is that an acquaintance of yours?’
continued Blodget, with a gay laugh, as he turned to our youth, and
pointed at the retreating form of the Irishman.
‘Not of _mine_, exactly,’ said the youth placing considerable emphasis
on the word.
‘Oh—yes—a-hem. I have known the rascal some two or three months. We had
his services in cleaning out a cellar and on several other occasions.
Devil take the fellow—did he hurt you much?’
‘Better ask if I hurt _him_,’ returned the youth, ‘for I think he would
have carried away a piece of malleable metal with him, but for your
opportune deliverance.’
‘If he had not been too quick for you—he’s dexterous in the use of the
knife.’
‘Is he, indeed?’
‘You wonder how I found out that fact. I have heard of his encounters
with the natives. His name is James, commonly called Jamie, and there
are many stories extant as to his prowess.’
‘Strange he should have taken so much pains to insult _me_,’ said
Monteagle.
‘He seemed to have something against you,’ answered Blodget. ‘Cannot you
remember of ever seeing him before?’
Blodget watched the countenance of Monteagle narrowly, as the youth
replied, ‘I have some faint recollection of the fellow’s face. His nose,
that seems to have been knocked out of its proper shape, struck me like
an old acquaintance, but where, and under what circumstances I have seen
it before, I am unable to determine. But let him go. You and me are met
now for another purpose.’
‘Let us walk along towards Dupont street,’ said the other, musing.
‘Well, on then. But what engages your thoughts at this moment?’
‘As for that, Monteagle, what would you give to know?’
‘It’s not very important, I’ll be sworn. Some love affair doubtless.’
‘You are a wizard,’ replied Blodget. ‘It is a love affair, but one that
interests you much more than me.’
‘Interest _me_?’ said the youth, much surprised.
‘It is a great secret, sir,’ and Blodget squeezed the arm of his
companion.
‘If it is a secret you are bound to keep it close. Is it not so?’
‘Not exactly. But come into this shantee with me, and I will explain
matters to your full satisfaction.’
Monteagle followed his friend into the wine shop, nothing loth; for
though he assumed an indifferent air, he could not feel altogether
uninterested in an affair of this kind. Besides, like all young men on
such occasions, his curiosity was powerfully excited.
Blodget sat down in one corner and beckoned to the host to set on a
bottle of champagne. He then pressed Monteagle to drink who, at first,
refused, but being in haste to hear the news, he finally tossed off a
glass in order to hurry on the recital which Blodget had in store for
him.
‘It is a strange story,’ said Blodget, smacking his lips—‘good wine—’
‘But this queer business—the love story—some Mexican squaw, I suppose,
has—’
‘No—no. You are a lucky dog, Monteagle.’
‘Very likely.’
Here Blodget poured out another glass and nodded to his companion—‘Take
another, and then to business.’
Monteagle drank to save time, and said; ‘Go on with this wonderful
story.’
‘Well,’ said the other, ‘I think your chance is good. The firm hold you
in high estimation—’
‘Fudge! no more of that—’
‘But I must tell the story in my own way. I say that you are a lucky
dog, Monteagle. Come, one more glass and then to business.’
Monteagle drank, and motioned impatiently to Blodget.
‘My friend, if you work your cards right, there is a fortune in reserve
for you.’
A thought struck Monteagle, and for a moment he was agitated. He drank
to hide his emotion.
‘Good wine, is it not, Monteagle?’
‘Yes, indeed, but we are coming to the end of the bottle before we get
to the beginning of the story.’
‘Oh, but I’ve told you the most important part—that is the _fortune_.
Now with regard to the young lady, she is a perfect angel.’
‘Of course—all angels till after marriage.’
‘No, but you’ve seen her.’
‘Have I, indeed?’
‘The old man is rich—counts his money by tens of thousands. You have
seen him, too. Landlord, another bottle.’
‘I’ve seen him, too!’ and the youth swallowed another glass, for his
heart throbbed violently.
‘The girl is beauty personified—accomplished—lovely as a seraph—eyes of
the—the—’
‘The blackest jet, of course.’
‘Well, I’m not so certain of that.—But they are—’
‘Oh, deuce take the description, now to the point.’
‘Well, Monteagle, she loves you, loves you to distraction.’
Monteagle started to his feet.
‘Sit down, friend of mine, and let us finish this bottle.’
‘Certainly. But who told you this?—My God! who told you that she loves
me?’
‘Her own eyes ought to have told you that long ago.’
‘Her own eyes!’
‘Yes, ha! ha! ha!’ roared Blodget, ‘why, man alive, did you never hear
of the tell-tale eyes which reveal what passes in the heart?’
‘But who told you?’
‘It is a secret, you know; you will not betray me.’
‘Honor bright, of course.’
‘I’ll trust you. Brown told me.’
‘What Mr. Brown, our partner?’
‘Yes, indeed.’
‘But how could Mr. Brown know anything of this affair, eh! You astonish
me.’
‘Not at all; easy enough. Vandewater told the doctor, and the doctor
told Brown; so now I have betrayed all the three. You see it is
authentic. The girl has confessed her love to Vandewater himself.’
‘To Vandewater?’
‘Yes, why not?’
‘She must be in earnest, then. She loves me beyond a doubt.’
‘She has loved you many months, now Monteagle is a chance—’
‘She loved me many months! But—’
‘Fact, sir, fact? She confessed it to Vandewater, who tried to persuade
her to conquer her passion.’
The youth started to his feet.
‘I’m much obliged to him. _He_ try to—_he_ interfere in a case of this
kind.—But that exceeds his authority.’
‘Tut! tut! work your cards right and the girl is yours, and then
Vandewater’s fortune, you know—’
‘What have I to do with Vandewater’s fortune?’ cried the youth
surprised.
‘What has _she_ to do with his fortune? what is hers is yours, you know,
if you come together.’
Monteagle looked mystified.
‘You know,’ continued Blodget, ‘that Julia is—’
‘Julia?’
‘Yes, Mr. Vandewater’s niece—’
‘What have you been talking about?’ cried Monteagle.
‘She loves you! Fact! Don’t stare at me so incredulously. See, my boy—’
clapping him on the shoulder—‘the game’s in your own hands if you only
play your cards right.’
Monteagle sank back in his chair looking listlessly upon his
half-emptied glass, while Blodget went on for a considerable time
descanting on the merits of Julia Vandewater, and the brilliant
prospects that would open upon Monteagle if he married her.
‘No matter,’ said our youth, carelessly. ‘That doctor must be a regular
gossip, and deserves to be called out for publishing family secrets with
which he has been entrusted.’
Blodget gazed at Monteagle in amazement. He wondered that the young man
who had been so anxious to hear the disclosures which he had to make,
should seem so little affected at a fact which would have occasioned no
small triumph to himself. But the reader is already informed that this
marvellous secret was no news to Monteagle; who, so far from triumphing
in the conquest which he had made of Julia’s heart, was deeply grieved
that he could not return her affection. But Monteagle had taken more
wine than usual, and Blodget seemed to be perfectly satisfied with that
circumstance at least. Monteagle followed him out mechanically, and
suffered himself to be led wherever Blodget might choose to convey him.
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