Ancestors Part 24

Judge Leslie returned on the following day, and, sending for Gwynne at once, announced that he was ready to settle down for the winter. A partner attended to the business of the office, and the judge shut himself up with Gwynne in the large light room containing his fine law library, and examined his promising pupil. Gwynne was well read in the English Common Law, and in Comparative Jurisprudence, particularly in the history of treaties and the comity of nations. So much he had regarded as necessary to the education of a future cabinet minister.

Judge Leslie sketched out a course of study which embraced Cooley and Kent on Const.i.tutional Law, compilations of Leading Cases, Story on Contracts, the California Codes, Civil, Penal, and Political, and Corporation Law. "The money is in the last," he remarked, dryly, "but even if you never succ.u.mb to these monstrous corporations, more aptly named cormorants, the more you know about their methods and needs the better, should you ever be called upon to fight them; and I have an idea that that is just where you will show your strength. All the great statesmen of this country have been great lawyers, and the great statesman of the future is going to be the lawyer that checks the power of unscrupulous capital, without at the same time delivering the country over to the mercies of that equally unscrupulous tyranny the labor-union. There is a solution somewhere and some man is going to find it. I don't see why you should not be the man. I have followed your career very carefully--you have always interested me. You come here with a magnificent political training, a mind uncorrupted by a lifetime of contact with the contemptible methods of machine politics, and a really great ambition. Your eyes are wide open. I don't see why you should make any mistakes, particularly as you have four good years in which to ponder the great question before committing yourself. Four years are a long span. No man can tell what may happen in that time, what new party may evolve. All you can do is to watch events and be ready for the forelock when time shakes it at you. If it so happens that you can insidiously mould a new party meanwhile, so much the better. The wisest and most suggestive writer on our national life is a Briton. I see no reason why England should not send us a statesman--in the old sense. G.o.d knows, all that we have now are a bitter disappointment to those of us with any of the old ideals left. Should the Presidency be your ambition, the fact of your having actually been born on American soil may be the cause of a legal battle in the Supreme Court of the United States that will pa.s.s into history. Meanwhile, as all apprenticeships must be humble, you will be a sort of unofficial junior of this firm, sharing the office business for the first year with Cresswell, and the second year helping me with court practice in St. Peter. You can read in the intervals and at home, and once or twice a week I should advise you to attend lectures at the State University. I can see that your memory and powers of a.s.similation are very vigorous, and the more quickly you imbibe, and the more varied the quality, the better. All the odd types of human nature you meet in this office won't do you any harm, either.

Study the American character above all things. Get in sympathy with it.

It is as opposite from the English as pole from pole, but you won't find it a bad sort--the country's politics are the worst part of it, because circ.u.mstances have forced them into the hands of a cla.s.s of men that make their living out of them, and whose natural destiny was pocket-picking and the Rogues' Gallery--and if the best of us combine one day to do you honor, we can carry you to places as distinguished as any in your own country. Great and disinterested men have succeeded against tremendous odds in times as parlous as these, and others have the same opportunity here and now."

The judge wound up his homily with a little peroration on Abraham Lincoln and then left Gwynne to the California codes. The large new stone office building of which Judge Leslie was the chief tenant stood at the corner of a street a block above Main; Gwynne glancing over the top of his tome could see a procession of teams, men lounging in the doorway of a grocery store, and the spars of fishing-boats waiting for the tide. His mind played him a curious trick. Piccadilly was before him with its great hotels, its splendid old stone houses upon which the fogs and the grime of London had demonstrated their poetical mission, the cla.s.sic entrance to the Park, the crowds of smart men and women; Piccadilly at eight on a summer's evening choked with broughams and hansoms, in which the light mantles barely concealed the shoulders and jewels of the women. He had loved the outside life of London, returning to it from afar with an ever fresh and boyish pleasure, the keener perhaps because he knew that all doors were open to him and that he was one of the great lions, not of those for whom the stranger must search "Who's Who" upon his return from a function where half the guests had made their little mark. He saw the lofty towers with their delicate tracery, cutting the smoke on the banks of the Thames, the little room below where he had made men, old and bored and suspicious, listen to him; the more confident in his power to command their attention because he knew that they had read and discussed, agreed with and denounced, his sound contributions to colonial literature. The scene dissolved into a wave of homesickness that made him choke and spring to his feet. Then he swore at himself and returned to his codes.

When Judge Leslie learned that Hiram Otis's law library had been moved out to Lumalitas he suggested that Gwynne should read at home until he had mastered the laws governing the State of California, and the student was far better satisfied out there in the quiet and the fresh air of his veranda. When a point needed expounding, a horseback ride into Rosewater was not an unwelcome diversion. His will had triumphed in its first bout with memory, so subtly liberated by the written word, and before three days of close study had pa.s.sed he had the sensation of having found a new and individual patch upon which squarely to plant his feet. The future seemed more definite, more a.s.sured; moreover, his avid brain, its energies too long in abeyance, settled upon the new and absorbing study--it was eight years since he had opened a law-book, although he had forgotten little he had read at that plastic time--like a swarm of locusts. He recalled that a clever woman had once said in his hearing that whenever she felt blasee she took up a new language, and at once felt young and eager again. The remark had pa.s.sed him by at the time, but he recalled it as he devoured and stored away the statutes that in many ways differentiated California from the other States of the Union.

The mere fact that his was not the order of brain that took kindly to monotonous application, but inspired him with the more ardent desire to conquer; the sense of being on any sort of a battle-field again gave a color to life. He realized that in six months more of inaction he should have fallen into a constant and morbid habit of self-a.n.a.lysis, and although his soul-sickness could not be healed in a moment, the sense of danger gave an added zest to the impersonal nature of his studies. He subscribed for all the San Francisco newspapers and for those of his own and the adjoining counties. He was not conscious of any mounting love for California, but here his lines were cast, and California was as good a stepping-stone as another. If her politics were hideous he had not made them, and his reviving faith in his star suggested that he may have been born to redeem them. With the polishing up of the rustier parts of his mind even his eyes grew brighter, he moved more quickly, he began to feel all intellect once more, propelled by a body that was daily gaining in red and vigorous blood. Judge Leslie was so delighted with his rapid progress and his exceptionally retentive and cla.s.sifying memory that he a.s.sured everybody he met in Rosewater and St. Peter that he was training a second Alexander Hamilton for the bar of the United States.

XVII

It was four days after the party that Isabel, walking over the low hills among her chickens, in deep converse with her Abraham, was informed by Chuma that Mrs. Thomas Colton had driven out to call upon her. She found Anabel not in the house but seated before the front door in a smart new basket trap, and as smart herself in coat and hat and gloves uniformly dust-colored. She made a wry face at Isabel's overalls, but kissed her affectionately.

"This is my birthday," she announced, "and this is a surprise from Tom--horse, harness, and all. I only had to give him three broad hints.

I wanted to show it to you first, and besides there is something I must talk to you about--very important!"

She a.s.sumed a matronly and mysterious air and dropped her voice. "I suppose Mr. Gwynne does not call so early?"

"Rarely. Won't you get out and stay to lunch?"

"Tom would never forgive me. He is sure to bring me another surprise at noon--it will arrive on the 11.30--a long chain made of every variety of tourmalines set in silver. But I couldn't wait any longer to have a talk with you about Mr. Gwynne. Until I saw you two together the other night I had all sorts of romantic plans in my head. It seemed just the right thing--_you_ are so different from everybody else; and then having met him in England among all those old castles, and everything! I was sure he would have enough of California in a year and then I should visit you in England, and after a while you would marry Frances to a duke. But I see that was all nonsense. You don't care a bit about each other and are not in the least suited. I couldn't get up any sentiment for him myself; he is much too cold-blooded and, well--_English_. They never can be like us, no matter how hard they try. But in a way I like him, and Tom says he is worth any ten men he ever met. I feel awfully sorry for him, out there all alone--and it's a magnificent ranch--to say nothing of the fact that he must be worth a lot of money besides. It would be perfectly shameful if some San Francisco girl snapped him up--_and you know what they are_. He belongs by right to us, and I for one shall see to it that none of those man-eaters in San Francisco gets him. Did you notice how attentive he was to Dolly the other night? Well, he actually called the next day--she was out--and sent her flowers. Mrs. Haight saw him. She says he looked dreadfully disappointed as he rode off. I take that with a grain of salt, knowing Mrs. Haight; besides, he wouldn't break his heart if a girl was out for good. But the fact remains that he did call, and he hasn't called on another girl in Rosewater, much less sent her flowers. Serena Wheaton and one or two others were at my house yesterday. We are immensely excited over it. I am sure that if we managed them both properly there would be a wedding in the spring. It would be too delightful, for there hasn't been a bang-up wedding in Rosewater since mine. And think of Dolly's trousseau! Every st.i.tch would come from New York. The San Francisco papers would be full of that wedding, and St. Peter would be green with envy. And she would make him such a good wife; such a beauty she is and such a dear good girl--just the kind that wouldn't mind a man being haughty and overbearing. You two would murder each other--but Dolly! The more I think of it the more enthusiastic I am. We formed a plot last night, but as in a way he belongs to you, I maintained that you should be consulted. But tell me first--what do you think of it?"

"Of the match? I cannot imagine a better. What is your plan?"

"Last night Mrs. Colton had a bridge party, and I went over just as they were finishing hissing at one another over a spoon that cost seventy-five cents. After some of them had gone, the rest began to talk about Dolly and Mr. Gwynne--I don't think the town has talked about anything else since your party--except those everlasting cards, of course. Well, the upshot was that I suggested we should revive the old weekly dancing club. Otherwise they might not meet again for months, now that Mr. Gwynne has settled down to his studies and hasn't been near Rosewater since Monday. They agreed, but of course no one would offer her house; they are all too mean, and mine is too small. But we can hire the old hall, and all the men will be glad to subscribe--a few of us can make up the deficit. Dolly always looks her best at night--she has the loveliest neck!--and she would be glad of an excuse to get more party dresses. Well--you see! You can always sleep at my house."

"What fun it will be to have a weekly dance! I am going out to Lumalitas this afternoon, and I will demand Mr. Gwynne's subscription."

"Isabel! You are a jewel! Mrs. Haight was nasty, but I told her she did not know you the least little bit, that you were no dog in the manger.

But, dear Isabel, do you think you ought to go out there alone? I don't mind; you know that I never bother my head about other people's affairs, but Mrs. Haight is such a gossip, and she never did like you, and all small places are so gossipy. She has been telling everybody that Mr.

Gwynne rides past her house quite late at night from duck-shooting, and of course she a.s.sumes that you shoot with him."

"I generally do. You may tell Mrs. Haight, with my compliments, to go to the devil! Still, dear Anabel, if you think it improper for me to call alone on a bachelor cousin, I will pick up somebody on my way out."

"Do, that's a dear. And I shall tell Mrs. Haight that old Mac always goes shooting with you. I am sure that he does. Good-bye. I'll see about the hall this afternoon."

She drove off with lifted reins and a little flourish of her whip, and Isabel went into the house and telephoned first to Gwynne, who had installed a private wire between his house and hers, and then to Miss Boutts. At two o'clock she drew rein before a large brown shingle house on the highest point of Rosewater. Mr. Boutts had begun life in one of the little old peaked cottages down by the central square; later he had built an "artistic" cottage, and then a "residence"; symbolizing his increase not only by the more pretentious structures but by mounting the hill; the second cottage had been half-way up, the residence was on its apex, and could be seen by the envious traveller on boat and train.

There was nothing left before him now but San Francisco or a balloon; heaven being out of the question.

Miss Boutts awaited the buggy, in the tiny porch, and had obeyed Isabel's behest to look her prettiest. She wore a large red hat covered with feathers shading into pink, and a claret-colored frock that fitted her superb figure in a fashion that caused Isabel to draw her brows together and suggest a dust-coat.

"It is too sweet of you," said Miss Boutts, as she sprang into the buggy. "I feel so flattered when you take any notice of insignificant little me. Do tell me where we are going and why you told me to look my prettiest!"

"I must go out to Lumalitas to consult certain farmer's books in my cousin's library, and I thought it only fair to provide him with entertainment while I am busy. It seems the gossips do not approve of my going out there alone, and as I was obliged to go I did not think it worth while to make a martyr of Mr. Gwynne."

Miss Boutts blushed and tossed her head. "He called on me and sent me flowers," she said, in innocent triumph. "I was so sorry to miss him.

All the girls are fearfully jealous."

"Do you like him?" asked Isabel, absently.

"Well--a little. He is new, and English, and different. There's not much to choose from here, and I don't know any of the swells in San Francisco. I can't say he is my ideal--that has always been an immensely tall man with big blue eyes and a tawny moustache; and Mr. Gwynne is just a sort of blond, no color in his hair at all, and I never did care much for gray eyes. He's tall enough, and the girls think him 'distinguished,' but n.o.body could call him big. Besides, he doesn't know how to say sweet things one little bit. I went out on the veranda with him at your party, and it was a heavenly night, and all he asked me was if I wasn't afraid of catching cold, and then he wandered on about American girls exposing themselves foolishly and wearing too thin shoes and eating too many sweets. Fancy a man talking like that to a girl at night on a veranda! I never felt so flat."

Isabel glanced curiously at the beautiful empty creature. Her black eyes looked like wells of sentiment, and her body a mould for a new race of men.

"Tell me," she exclaimed, impulsively. "What do you expect a man to do under such circ.u.mstances--to--a--kiss you?" She brought out the last with some effort, her old-fashioned training suddenly suggesting that she could better understand the downfall of the girl she had befriended in Paris than the vulgarities of the shallow.

Miss Boutts laughed amusedly. "Well, most men would have tried it. I never was one to make myself common, but once in a while--well! I haven't much opinion of a man who wouldn't s.n.a.t.c.h a kiss from a girl he admired to death, when he got a chance." She turned upon Isabel, curious in her turn. "Of course you are lots older than I am--twenty-five or six, aren't you? And I am only just eighteen. But I always used to watch and wonder about you before you went away. I knew you were not the least bit like the other girls. I wonder what it is like to be different from other people. I always feel just like everybody else."

"So do I," said Isabel, encouragingly. "It was only circ.u.mstances that made me appear different."

"But you know so much!" sighed Miss Boutts. "You speak a lot of languages, and you took all the honors at the High School--and then all those years in Europe! I wonder Mr. Gwynne will even look at any of us."

"Men like your sort much better," said Isabel, dryly. "Do be nice to him to-day, and entertain him in your own style while I dig through those tiresome books. I sha'n't be long."

Gwynne looked more than hospitable as he ran down the veranda steps to a.s.sist his guests out of the high buggy. When they had taken off their dust-cloaks and stood side by side he reflected that he had seldom seen two such handsome girls together. Isabel was far more simply dressed than Miss Boutts, but her little black jacket fitted perfectly, and there was a touch of pale blue at the neck, and in the lining of her large black hat, that deepened the blue of her eyes under their heavy black brows and lashes. Gwynne had never seen her look so girlish and ingenuous. She kept her profile from him and he saw only her smiling eyes and red half-opened mouth.

"I had to telephone to make sure you would be at home," she said. "They say I mustn't come out here alone, and I didn't want Miss Boutts to be bored while I was at work. I'll leave you two here on the porch. That will be quite proper."

As she nodded and went into the living-room she saw Gwynne turn to the lovely glowing girl left on his hands, with more intensity than she had seen him display since Mrs. Kaye took her black eyes and fine bust out of his life. As she made herself comfortable in his deepest chair she heard the girlish shallow voice launch out into a eulogy of the scenery.

Gwynne responded with some enthusiasm; for a time there was a broken duet, and then the feminine voice settled down to a steady monologue.

Miss Boutts knew that it was an American girl's business to be animated, entertaining, amusing, especially with Englishmen, who hated effort.

Occasionally there was a masculine rumble, with a growing accent of desperation, and the indulgent little bursts of laughter diminished in frequence and spontaneity. Isabel lifted down volume after volume of the books on farming her uncle had collected, letting one fall, rattling leaves when leaves would rattle. An hour pa.s.sed. She appropriated Gwynne's writing materials and took what appeared to be copious notes.

The host suddenly excused himself and came within.

"Won't you have tea?" he demanded. "It is rather early, but after that drive--"

"Much too early," said Isabel, absently. Her chin was on her hand, her eyes were on a spotted page. "Mariana is sure to be asleep. Do go back to Dolly. She is one of those girls that can't bear to be left alone. I didn't bring her out here to be bored."

"Didn't you? What on earth do you want of all those notes? Are you going to write a treatise?"

"Of course not. Do go back."

Gwynne returned to the veranda. For more than another hour that sweet nasal monotonous voice trilled on. Then it began to flag. Then a silence ensued, broken at first by sporadic and staccato remarks, then becoming as dense as the silences of the night. Again Gwynne invaded his living-room.

"Isabel!" he said, in a low tense tone.

Isabel looked up dreamily and encountered a haggard face and a pair of blazing eyes. "I'll never forgive you!" he whispered.

"For what?"

"For what! Do you want to drive me mad? Take her home!"