XXIX
Mrs. Leslie was a brave woman, but when the judge suggested that itwould be better for him to talk the matter over with Gwynne, obtain hisexplanation, and delicately hint the attitude of the town, she wasnothing loath to renounce her mission. "The dear child," the friends ofher mother all remembered, had once possessed a temper that only thepeculiar circumstances of her life had chastened, and they had an uneasysuspicion that it still smouldered beneath the well-bred insolence withwhich she had so far received much friendly advice.
By this time--mid-December was nigh--the judge and Gwynne had discussedmany subjects besides the law. Mrs. Leslie, whose hospitable instinctswere too deep to be blighted even by the servant question, had placed aroom at Gwynne's disposal to be used when it rained, or he talked solate with the judge that the long ride home was not worth while. Hedined with them several times a week, and found both these simpleold-fashioned people delightful. And with Judge Leslie, alone of all hisneighbors, could he discuss the affairs of the great world, get awayfrom the politics and the small local interests that absorbed everyother man in Rosewater. Moreover, Judge Leslie was well acquainted withhis past career and often manifested a keen desire for details. Gwynnewas not sure that these lapses were good for him, but certainly it waspleasant, stretched out there by the big fireplace in an old room fullof books, English for the most part, to talk of himself and hisachievements. Isabel rarely referred to his past, never encouraged himto talk about it. His mother had become as silent as a mummy; old manColton might have lost his memory, and for Tom Colton British politicshad no existence.
But Judge Leslie understood and had much sympathy for hispupil--possibly believed in the virtue of the safety-valve. CertainlyGwynne invariably went to bed after these long talks content in mind andbody; and the next day he was far too busy to trot out his ego and sitdown with it. And his mind at least was happy in its new sense ofexpansion and acquisition, its increasing and developing powers. Hisstudies had the further effect of moderating the purely personalviewpoint of the United States that had tormented him, and of enablinghim to withdraw far enough to command glimpses of the New World as agreat abstraction. And his contacts with the strange medley of smallfarmers and mechanics, with local politicians in back offices andsaloons, even his acquaintance with the San Franciscans that wereattempting to reclaim that bawdy borough, did not affect the universalidea he had at last succeeded in focussing. He had cast out disgust anddisapproval as youthful and unphilosophical, resolved anew to play hispart in the history of the country, letting the unborn events of histerm of enforced quiescence determine what the part must be. He had notyet reached the stage of enthusiasm, but he had at least mounted to thatof interest; and he had even caught himself wondering if, should a lawpass in Great Britain, reducing the House of Peers to an elective body,or permitting peers of his grade to sit in the House of Commons, hewould return? There was little doubt that there was more good to beaccomplished in the new country.
His English great-great-grandfather had been historically active in thereforms of 1832; a great-uncle had devoted his services to the passingof the Reform Act of 1867; and a cousin to the Corrupt Practices Act of1883. Reform was in his blood, and as, after all, the United States wasas much his own as Great Britain, he hoped in time to feel for it thesame passion of affection he had cherished for the country that hadgiven him fame and honors with both hands. And he knew that his otherhope of being of practical service to the United States in accordancewith his own ideal was no idle dream, for it was quite apparent from thenewspapers and reviews that the best men all over the country were awakeat last to the perils besetting the Republic, and that a bloodlessrevolution was slowly making its way over the country. He hadunmitigated contempt for the revolutionist of the red shirt, insatiablefor the notoriety so easily obtained by appealing to the passions of mena shade more ignorant than himself; no blood revolution was possible inthe United States during its present condition of prosperity. No countrycan be universally roused to revolt with any weapons more deadly thanwords until it has long felt the pinch of hunger in its vitals, andwatched millions starve while hundreds consumed the fat of the land. Nodoubt there was grinding poverty in the crowded tenement districts ofthe Eastern States, but those men were not the stuff of whichrevolutionists were made, if only because they deliberately elected therigors of the town rather than supply the crying demand for labor andservants throughout the country. It was only the idle that foregatheredand talked anarchism or even socialism; not those that cared to work.
Here in California there was practically no such thing as poverty, or ifthere was, the pauper, if fairly able of body, should be set up in apublic pillory. With a scale of wages the highest in the world, acorresponding cheapness of every necessity of life, with the bareexception of coal, needed in excess during one short season of thetwelve-month, sun for eight unbroken months, and a soil so fertile thatin many places it yielded two crops a year, there would have been nodiscontent had it not been for the rapacity of labor unions, and thesystematic agitations of men like Tom Colton. In every human heart thereis the germ of discontent, no matter what the conditions, but Gwynnerecognized the possibility of diverting this uneasy parasite fromimaginary personal grievances to the public good, to measures whichwould benefit the mass, subtly elevating man's opinion of himself in theprocess, and so taking the first long stride in the direction of generalpolitical reform. It was only by making the masses see their own part inthe abominable political corruption that made "graft" universal, andpermitted the rapid concentration of the country's wealth into a fewinsolent hands, that the decapitation of the swarms of professionalpoliticians could be accomplished. In no part of the United States couldsuch reforms be attempted with anything like the same prospect ofsuccess, as in this State with its traditions of contempt of money forits own sake, and its almost primeval sense of independence. It was truethat there was no superb indifference to money in the small towns, butmuch of the old spirit lingered among those that lived close to thesoil; and Gwynne had never seen such uncalculating lavishness, such ahumorous contempt for economy as in San Francisco. He was himselfgenerous by instinct and habit, but this gay reckless openhandedness,whether a man had anything to spend or not, had already stirred somedeeper instinct still, possibly his pioneer, perhaps his Spanish, and hehad never enjoyed anything more in his life than certain nights in SanFrancisco, when he had sallied forth with his pockets full of gold andreturned to Russian Hill on foot for want of a five-cent piece to payhis car-fare. He had himself too well in hand ever to give permanentrein to any such latent propensities, and he had no intention ofimpoverishing himself, but the fact that the genius of the city was inhis blood warmed it to the strange, fascinating, wicked, friendly,young-old city on the rim of the Pacific.
As it happened, he was not in the humor for reading on the morning afterthe meeting of the female clans, nor were there any clients in the outeroffice, and he uttered some of his impressions aloud to the judge whowas sitting restlessly by the window, ostensibly watching Main Street.Gwynne had wondered at the old gentleman's sudden idleness, but felleasily into conversation this languid morning that was more like springthan belated winter.
"I can understand the fascination of San Francisco for anybody," saidthe uneasy judge. "I wonder--" with a sudden inspiration, "if itwouldn't be better for you to go into the law-office of a friend of minedown there for a while. I mean--" in response to Gwynne's look ofastonishment, "of course I should hate to lose you--quite as much as Ihated to lose my own son, and yours is the only society in which I havefound any positive refreshment for years. But--well! in fact it wouldbe as well for you to leave Rosewater for a while--until all this talkhas died out."
"What talk?"
The judge felt what courage was left in him oozing under Gwynne's icystare.
"Oh Lord! It's just this, Gwynne--just fancy I am really your father.There are a lot of infernal old hens in this town--where don't theyroost, anyway?--and they have been exercising the
mselves over your goingout to Isabel's so much, especially at night. They've got the idea intotheir empty heads that Isabel has come back from Europe, where she livedby herself, with all sorts of free-and-easy notions. Perhaps the realtruth is that they distrust any girl as handsome as that who won'tmarry. The talk didn't amount to much until yesterday morning--"
"Ah!" Gwynne stood up and took his hat from the little private rack."Suppose you ask Mrs. Leslie to tell the hens that I have spent a greatmany futile evening hours, the only ones I have at my private disposal,trying to induce Miss Otis to marry me, and that yesterday evening,after the fourth or fifth refusal, I borrowed her horse, having walkedout, and rode half-way to San Francisco to steady my nerves. Love andthe law combined are somewhat of a load to carry. I will go out now andtry my luck again. Perhaps this talk will influence her a bit. In fact Ipromise that it shall."
Ancestors: A Novel Page 48