Cap'n Warren's Wards Part 33

"I guess I'll have to be goin'," he said. "It's after twelve now."

His host swung around in his chair. "Sit down, Captain," he said. "I've been doing a lot of thinking since I saw you, and I'm not sure about that reason. I believe I'll ask your advice. It is a delicate matter, and it involves your brother. You may see it as he did, and, if so, our friendship ends, I suppose. But I'm going to risk it.

"Mr. Rodgers Warren and I," he went on, "were well acquainted during the latter part of my newspaper work. I was financial man on the _Planet_, and some articles I wrote took your brother's fancy. At all events, he wrote me concerning them in highly complimentary terms and asked me to call and see him at his office. I did so and--well, we became very friendly, so much so that he invited me to his house. I dined there several times, was invited to call often, and--I enjoyed it. You see, I had few friends in the city, outside my journalistic acquaintances, and I suppose I was flattered by Mr. Warren's kindness and the fancy he seemed to have taken to me. And I liked Miss Warren--no one could help that--and I believed she liked me."

"She does like you," interrupted his companion, with surprise.

"Caroline's a good girl."

"Yes, she is. However, she isn't in this story, except as a side-issue.

At this time my ambitions were for a newspaper career, and I thought I was succeeding. And her father's marked interest and the things he said to me promised more than an ordinary success. He was a well known man on the street, and influential. So my head began to swell, and I dreamed--a lot of foolishness. And then--"

He paused, put down his empty pipe, and sighed.

"Well, then," he continued, "came the upset. I judged from what you said at our previous conversation, Captain, that you were well enough acquainted with Wall Street to know that queer operations take place there. Did you read about the South Sh.o.r.e Trolley business?"

Captain Elisha considered. "Why, yes," he said, slowly, "seem's if I did. One of those consolidations with 'holdin' companies' and franchises and extensions and water by the hogshead. Wa'n't that it? I remember now; the Boston papers had considerable about it, and I presume likely the New York ones had more. One of those all-accordin'-to-law swindles that sprout same as toadstools in a dark place, but die out if the light's turned on too sudden. This one didn't come to nothin' but a bad smell, if I remember right."

"You do. And I suppose I'm responsible for the smell. I got wind of the thing, investigated, found out something of what was going on, and printed a preliminary story in the _Planet_. It caused a sensation."

He paused once more. Captain Elisha, for the sake of saying something, observed, "I shouldn't wonder."

"It certainly did. And the morning on which it appeared, Mr. Rodgers Warren 'phoned me. He wished to see me at once. I went down to his office. Captain, I dislike to tell you this. Mr. Warren was your brother."

"I know he was. And I'm his executor. Both those reasons make me 'specially anxious to have you tell me the truth. Heave ahead now, to oblige me."

"Well, I found him very polite and cordial, at first. He said that a ridiculous and sensational story concerning the Trolley Combine had appeared in the _Planet_, and he would like to have me contradict it and suppress further falsehoods of the kind. I told him I couldn't do that, because the story was true. I had written it myself. He was angry, and I could see that he was holding himself in by main strength. I went on to explain that it was the duty of an honest paper, as I saw it, to expose such trespa.s.s upon the people's rights. He asked me if I knew who was behind the scheme. I said I knew some of the backers. They were pretty big men, too. Then he informed me that he himself was deeply interested.

"I was knocked off my feet by that, you can imagine. And, to be frank, Captain, if I had known it at first I'm not sure that I, personally, would have taken the matter up. Yet I might; I can't tell. But now that I had done it and discovered what I had, I couldn't give it up. I must go on and learn more. And I knew enough already to be certain that the more I learned the more I should write and have published. It was one of those things which had to be made public--if a fellow had a conscience about him and a pride in the decency of his profession.

"All this was going through my head as I sat there in his private office. And he took my surprise and hesitation as symptoms of wavering and went at me, hard. Of course I knew, he said, that the operation was absolutely within the law. I did, but that didn't make it more honest or moral or just. He went on to say that in large financial deals of this nature petty scruples must be lost sight of. Good of the business, rights of stockholders, all that sort of stuff; he rang the changes. All the papers cared for was sensation; to imperil the fortune of widows and orphans whose savings were invested in the South Sh.o.r.e Stock, for the sake of sensation, was a crime. He should have known better than to say that to me; it is such an ancient, worn-out plat.i.tude."

"I know. I've been to political meetin's. The widows and orphans are always hangin' on the success of the Republican party--or the Democratic, whichever way you vote. The amount of tears shed over their investments by fellers you wouldn't trust with a bra.s.s five-cent piece, is somethin' amazin'. Go on; I didn't mean to interrupt."

"Then he switched to a more personal appeal. He said he had taken a fancy to me; had liked me from the very beginning. He recognized my unusual genius at first sight and had gone as far as to make plans bearing directly on my future. He was a.s.sociated with men of wealth and business sagacity. Large deals, of which the Trolley Combine was but one, were on foot. He and his friends needed a representative on the press--a publicity agent, so to speak. Some of the greatest corporations employed men of that kind, and the salaries paid were large and the opportunities afforded greater still. Well, that's true enough. I know writers who are doing just that thing and getting rich at it. I suppose they've squared their consciences somehow and are willing to write lies and misleading articles for what there is in it. I can't, that's all; I'm not built that way, and I told him so.

"It ended in an open break. He reminded me of the favors he had done me.

He had treated me almost like a son, had introduced me to his family, entertaining me at his table. Where was my grat.i.tude? That was another bad break on his part, for it made me mad. I told him I had not asked to be adopted or fed by him; if I had supposed his kindness had an ulterior motive, I would have seen him at the devil before I accepted a favor. My career as a financial visitor was ended. Get out of his office! I got.

But the Trolley Combine did not go through. The _Planet_ and the other papers kept up the fight and--and the widows and orphans are bankrupt, I presume."

Captain Elisha's pipe had gone out long since. He absently rubbed the warm bowl between his palms.

"Humph!" he muttered. "So 'Bije was deep in that business, was he?"

"He was. Very deep indeed, I found out afterwards. And, I declare, I almost pitied him at the time. He acted as if his whole fortune was staked on the gamble. His hands shook, and the perspiration stood on his forehead as he talked. I felt as if I had been the means of ruining him. But of course, I hadn't. He lived for some time after that, and, I understand, died a rich man."

"Yes. He left what I'd call a heap of money. My nephew and niece don't seem to think so, but I do."

"So you see, Captain, why I stopped calling on the Warrens, and why I did not accept Miss Warren's invitation."

"I see.... I see.... And yet I don't know. 'Bije may have took to you for business reasons, but the children didn't. They liked you for yourself. Caroline as much as said so. And their father never told 'em a word about the row, neither. Of course you couldn't have called when he was alive, but he's gone, and I'm--well, I'm sort of temporary skipper there now. And _I_ want you to come."

"But if Miss Warren did know? She should know, I think."

"I ain't sure that she should. I guess there's consider'ble in her pa's life she ain't acquainted with. And she's as straight and honest and upright as a schooner's fo'mast. You did nothin' to be 'shamed of. It's the other way 'round, 'cordin' to my notion. But leave her out of it now. I've sacrificed some few things to take the job I've got at present, but I can't afford to sacrifice my friends. I count on you as a friend, and I want you to come and see _me_. Will you?"

"I don't know, Captain Warren. I must think it over a while, I guess."

"All right--think. But the invitation stands--_my_ invitation. And, if you want to shift responsibility, shift it on to me. Some day, if it'll make you feel better, I'll tell Caroline and Stevie the whole story. But I want them to know you and the world--and me--a little better first.

'Cordin' to my notion, they need education just along that line. They've got teachers in other branches, but.... There! I've _got_ to be goin'.

There's the dinner bell now."

The string of j.a.panese gongs, hung in the lower hall, sounded sonorously. Captain Elisha reached for his coat and hat, but Pearson caught his arm.

"No, you don't!" he declared. "You're going to stay and have lunch with me--here. If you say no, I shall believe it is because you are afraid of a boarding-house meal."

His guest protested, but the protests were overruled, and he and his host went down to the dining room. The captain whispered as they entered, "Land sakes, Jim, this takes me back home. It's pretty nigh a twin to the dinin' room at the Centre House in South Denboro."

All boarding-house dining rooms bear a family likeness, so the comment was not far wrong. A long table, rows of chairs on each side, ancient and honorable pictures on the walls, the landlady presiding majestically over the teapot, the boarders' napkins in rings--all the familiar landmarks were present.

Most of the male "regulars" were in business about the city and therefore lunched elsewhere, but the females were in evidence. Pearson introduced his guest. The captain met Mrs. Hepton, the landlady, plump, gray-haired, and graciously hospitable. She did not look at all like a business woman, but appearances are not always to be trusted; Mrs.

Hepton had learned not to trust them--also delinquent boarders, too far.

He met Miss Sherborne, whose coiffure did not match in spots, but whose voice, so he learned afterward, had been "cultivated abroad." Miss Sherborne gave music lessons. Mrs. Van Winkle Ruggles also claimed his attention and held it, princ.i.p.ally because of the faded richness of her apparel. Mrs. Ruggles was a widow, suffering from financial reverses; the contrast between her present mode of living and the grandeur of the past formed her princ.i.p.al topic of conversation.

There were half a dozen others, including an artist whose aversion to barbers was proclaimed by the luxuriant length of his locks, a quiet old gentleman who kept the second-hand book store two doors below; his wife, a neat, trim little body; and Mr. and Mrs. C. d.i.c.kens, no less.

Mr. d.i.c.kens was bald, an affliction which he tried to conceal by brushing the hair at the sides of his head across the desert at the top. He shaved his cheeks and wore a beard and mustache. Mrs. d.i.c.kens addressed him as "C.," and handed him the sauce bottle, the bread, or whatever she imagined he desired, as if she were offering sacrifice to an idol.

She sat next to Captain Elisha and imparted information concerning her lord and master in whispers, during the intervals between offerings.

"My husband will be pleased to meet you, Captain Warren," she murmured.

"Any friend of Mr. Pearson is certain to be an acquisition. Mr. Pearson and my husband are congenial spirits; they are members of the same profession."

"I want to know, ma'am."

"Yes. What is it, 'C.' dear? Oh, the b.u.t.ter! Margaret--" to the waitress--"Mr. d.i.c.kens wishes another b.u.t.ter-ball. Yes, Captain Warren, Mr. d.i.c.kens is an author. Haven't you noticed the--er--resemblance? It is considered quite remarkable."

Captain Elisha looked puzzled. "Why," he said, "I hadn't noticed it 'special. Jim's--Mr. Pearson's--eyes and his are some the same color, but--"

"Oh, no! not the resemblance to Mr. Pearson. I didn't mean _that_. The resemblance to his more famous namesake. Surely you notice it _now_."

The captain shook his head. "I--I'm afraid I'm thick-headed, ma'am," he admitted. "I'm out of soundin's."

"But the nose, and his beard, and his manner. Don't they remind you of the English d.i.c.kens?"

"O-oh!" Captain Elisha inspected the great man with interest. He had a vague memory of a portrait in a volume of "Pickwick" at home. "Oh, I see! Yes, yes."

"Of course you see! Everyone does. Mr. d.i.c.kens often says--it is one of his favorite jokes--that while other men must choose a profession, his was chosen for him by fate. How, with such a name, could he do anything except write?"