by Bret Harte
know why he sent for you?" askedthe young girl, with nervous eagerness.
"Ah, yes," said Mr. Mallory thoughtfully, "THAT was really important.You see, my child," he continued, taking her hand in one of his own andpatting the back of it gently with the other, "we think, Dawson and I,of taking over the major's ranch and incorporating it with the Excelsiorin one, to be worked on shares like the Excelsior; and as Mrs. Randolphis very anxious to return to the Atlantic States with her children, itis quite possible. Mrs. Randolph, as you have possibly noticed," Mr.Mallory went on, still patting his daughter's hand, "does not feelentirely at home here, and will consequently leave the major free torearrange, by himself, the ranch on the new basis. In fact, as thechange must be made before the crops come in, she talks of going nextweek. But if you like the place, Rose, I've no doubt the major andDawson will always find room for you and me when we run down there for alittle fresh air."
"And did you have all that in your mind, papa, when you came down here,and was that what you and Mr. Dawson wanted to talk about?" said theastonished Rose.
"Mainly, my dear, mainly. You see I'm a capitalist now, and thereal value of capital is to know how and when to apply it to certainconditions."
"And this Mr.--Mr. Bent--do you think--he will go on and find the water,papa?" said Rose, hesitatingly.
"Ah! Bent--Tom Bent--oh, yes," said Mallory, with great heartiness."Capital fellow, Bent! and mighty ingenious! Glad you met him! Well,"thoughtfully but still heartily, "he may not find it exactly where heexpected, but he'll find it or something better. We can't part with him,and he has promised Dawson to stay. We'll utilize HIM, you may be sure."
It would seem that they did, and from certain interviews andconversations that took place between Mr. Bent and Miss Mallory ona later visit, it would also appear that her father had exerciseda discreet reticence in regard to a certain experiment of the younginventor, of which he had been an accidental witness.
A MAECENAS OF THE PACIFIC SLOPE
CHAPTER I
As Mr. Robert Rushbrook, known to an imaginative press as the "Maecenasof the Pacific Slope," drove up to his country seat, equally referredto as a "palatial villa," he cast a quick but practical look at thepillared pretensions of that enormous shell of wood and paint andplaster. The statement, also a reportorial one, that its site, theCanyon of Los Osos, "some three years ago was disturbed only by thepassing tread of bear and wild-cat," had lost some of its freshness as apicturesque apology, and already successive improvements on the originalbuilding seemingly cast the older part of the structure back to a hoaryantiquity. To many it stood as a symbol of everything Robert Rushbrookdid or had done--an improvement of all previous performances; it waslike his own life--an exciting though irritating state of transition tosomething better. Yet the visible architectural result, as here shown,was scarcely harmonious; indeed, some of his friends--and Maecenas hadmany--professed to classify the various improvements by the successivefortunate ventures in their owner's financial career, which had ledto new additions, under the names, of "The Comstock Lode Period," "TheUnion Pacific Renaissance," "The Great Wheat Corner," and "Water FrontGable Style," a humorous trifling that did not, however, prevent a fewwho were artists from accepting Maecenas's liberal compensation fortheir services in giving shape to those ideas.
Relinquishing to a groom his fast-trotting team, the second relay in histwo hours' drive from San Francisco, he leaped to the ground to meet thearchitect, already awaiting his orders in the courtyard. With his eyesstill fixed upon the irregular building before him, he mingled hisgreeting and his directions.
"Look here, Barker, we'll have a wing thrown out here, and ahundred-foot ballroom. Something to hold a crowd; something that can beused for music--sabe?--a concert, or a show."
"Have you thought of any style, Mr. Rushbrook?" suggested the architect.
"No," said Rushbrook; "I've been thinking of the time--thirty days, andeverything to be in. You'll stop to dinner. I'll have you sit near JackSomers. You can talk style to him. Say I told you."
"You wish it completed in thirty days?" repeated the architect,dubiously.
"Well, I shouldn't mind if it were less. You can begin at once. There'sa telegraph in the house. Patrick will take any message, and you cansend up to San Francisco and fix things before dinner."
Before the man could reply, Rushbrook was already giving a hurriedinterview to the gardener and others on his way to the front porch. Inanother moment he had entered his own hall,--a wonderful temple of whiteand silver plaster, formal, yet friable like the sugared erection of awedding cake,--where his major-domo awaited him.
"Well, who's here?" asked Rushbrook, still advancing towards hisapartments.
"Dinner is set for thirty, sir," said the functionary, keeping stepdemurely with his master, "but Mr. Appleby takes ten over to SanMateo, and some may sleep there. The char-a-banc is still out and fivesaddle-horses, to a picnic in Green Canyon, and I can't positively say,but I should think you might count on seeing about forty-five guestsbefore you go to town to-morrow. The opera troupe seem to have notexactly understood the invitation, sir."
"How? I gave it myself."
"The chorus and supernumeraries thought themselves invited too, sir, andhave come, I believe, sir. At least Signora Pegrelli and Madame Denisesaid so, and that they would speak to you about it, but that meantime Icould put them up anywhere."
"And you made no distinction, of course?"
"No, sir, I put them in the corresponding rooms opposite, sir. I don'tthink the prima donnas like it."
"Ah!"
"Yes, sir."
Whatever was in their minds, the two men never changed their steady,practical gravity of manner. The major-domo's appeared to be a subduedimitation of his master's, worn, as he might have worn his master'sclothes, had he accepted, or Mr. Rushbrook permitted, such adegradation. By this time they had reached the door of Mr. Rushbrook'sroom, and the man paused. "I didn't include some guests of Mr. Leyton's,sir, that he brought over here to show around the place, but he told meto tell you he would take them away again, or leave them, as you liked.They're some Eastern strangers stopping with him."
"All right," said Rushbrook, quietly, as he entered his own apartment.It was decorated as garishly as the hall, as staring and vivid in color,but wholesomely new and clean for all its paint, veneering, and plaster.It was filled with heterogeneous splendor--all new and well kept, yetwith so much of the attitude of the show-room still lingering aboutit that one almost expected to see the various articles of furnitureticketed with their prices. A luxurious bed, with satin hangings andIndian carved posts, standing ostentatiously in a corner, kept up thisresemblance, for in a curtained recess stood a worn camp bedstead,Rushbrook's real couch, Spartan in its simplicity.
Mr. Rushbrook drew his watch from his pocket, and deliberately divestedhimself of his boots, coat, waistcoat, and cravat. Then rolling himselfin a fleecy, blanket-like rug with something of the habitual dexterityof a frontiersman, he threw himself on his couch, closed his eyes,and went instantly to sleep. Lying there, he appeared to be a mancomfortably middle-aged, with thick iron-gray hair that might havecurled had he encouraged such inclination; a skin roughened and darkenedby external hardships and exposure, but free from taint of inner viceor excess, and indistinctive features redeemed by a singularly handsomemouth. As the lower part of the face was partly hidden by a dense butclosely-cropped beard, it is probable that the delicate outlines of hislips had gained something from their framing.
He slept, through what seemed to be the unnatural stillness of the largehouse,--a quiet that might have come from the lingering influence ofthe still virgin solitude around it, as if Nature had forgotten theintrusion, or were stealthily retaking her own; and later, through therattle of returning wheels or the sound of voices, which were, however,promptly absorbed in that deep and masterful silence which was theunabdicating genius of the canyon. For it was remarkable that eventhe various artists, musicians, orators, and poets whom Maecenas hadgathered in
his cool business fashion under that roof, all seemed tobecome, by contrast with surrounding Nature, as new and artificial asthe house, and as powerless to assert themselves against its influence.
He was still sleeping when James re-entered the room, but awoke promptlyat the sound of his voice. In a few moments he had rearranged hisscarcely disordered toilette, and stepped out refreshed and observantinto the hall. The guests were still absent from that part of thebuilding, and he walked leisurely past the carelessly opened doorsof the rooms they had left. Everywhere he met the same glaringornamentation and color, the same garishness of treatment, the