Chapter III
"_There's a franklin in the wilds of Kent, hath brought three hundred marks with him in gold ... a kind of auditor_."
It was quite late when Britt-Mitchell arose like a giant refreshed.First ringing for breakfast, he bathed and shaved and arrayed himselfcarefully in glad habiliments of quiet taste and cut, in which he boreslight resemblance to the rough-and-ready Britt of Elmsdale.
Sitting indolently sideways to the table, his feet on a chair, hediscussed an excellent breakfast leisurely, as one at peace withthe world. His paper was propped before him; he chuckled as he read.Breakfast finished, he pulled his coffee over, lit a cigar and puffedluxuriously. Not till then did he open the letter taken from thediscarded coat of yesterday. It read:
Well, old man, I am sending you an easy one. Crack him hard for me.He's the rankest sucker yet. I was going to work the Scholar's Gambiton him, but he'll get his hooks on a whole bunch of money when he getsdown town, so I turn him over to you. 'Fifty thou. to be paid himby Atwood, Strange & Atwood. You know of them--Mining Engineers andExperts, 25 Broad. Let him get the boodle and hand him a sour one.
Name, Steve Thompson, en route to New York. Section 5, SleeperTonawanda, Phoebe Snow. Brown, smooth-shaved, hand-me-down suit,cowboy hat. From Butte, Montana. Has sold his mine, the Copper-bottom(on right of trail northeast of Anaconda). Former partner, FrankShort, killed by powder explosion at Bozeman, two years ago. Appendixsubjoined with partial list of his friends, details about his mine,his ten years of unsuccessful prospecting, etc. Am not so explicit asusual, because he is such a big-mouthed damfool he'll tell you all heknows before you get to Hoboken. Also I am in some haste. I am to takehim to Niagara with me to give you time to get this and join him atBinghamton, if you are there as planned. If not, I have wired Jimto meet train at Hoboken and keep in touch with him till you come,scraping acquaintance if necessary. Then he can disappear and leaveyou to put the kibosh on him. Jim is all right, but he lacks yourmagnetism, and your light, firm touch. You can beat us all putting upa blue front.
RUBE.
Mr. Mitchell rose to instant action. In a very few minutes his trunkwas packed, his bill paid. He then hied him in haste to the CarnegieLibrary, where, till train time, he fairly saturated himself withinformation concerning Butte and vicinity.
When the train pulled out from Binghamton, Mitchell sat across theaisle from Thompson, deep in his paper. A visorless black cap adornedhis head, beneath which flowed his reverend white hair; rimlesseye-glasses imparted to his unimpeachable respectability an eminentlyaristocratic air. These glasses he wiped carefully from time to timewith a white silk handkerchief, which he laid across his ample knees,resuming his reading, oblivious to all else.
The paper was laid aside and the big man became immersed in amagazine. The handkerchief slipped from his knees into the aisle.Thompson politely restored it.
"Thank you, young man, thank you," said Britt. Then a puzzled lookcame over his brow. Polishing the glasses he took another sharp look.He leaned across the aisle.
"I _beg_ your pardon," he said, with stately courtesy. "But I amsure I have met you somewhere. No, don't tell me. Pardon an old man'sharmless vanity, but it is my weakness to make my memory do its workunaided, when possible. I have a famous memory generally, and yoursis not a face to be easily forgotten. Let me see--not in New York, Ithink--Philadelphia--Washington? No--you would be from the West, byyour hat. Um-m-Omaha--Chicago, St. Louis?--_Butte_!" he said, with aresounding thwack on his knee. "Butte! 'Where every prospect pleases,and only man is vile'!"
"Right you are," said the Westerner, well pleased. "I seem to rememberyou, too."
"I have it!" said Mitchell. "Don't remember your name--but you're thevery man Judge Harney pointed out to me as the unluckiest prospectorin Montana. Said you could locate a claim bounded on all sides bypaying property and gopher through to China without ever strikingore."
"May I come over there and talk?" said Steve. "Mighty glad to see someone from my town. You didn't live there though, or I should have metyou."
"Certainly," said Mitchell, making room. "Glad to have you. Livethere? Oh, no, I only made a couple of trips. Some associates of minewere in with Miles Finlen--you know him, I reckon?--on the Bird's-eyeproposition, and I took a flyer with them," he explained. "I lost out.Dropped several dollars," His face lit up with comfortable good-humor."It was a good mine, but it got tied up in the courts. Let mesee--what did Harney call you--Townsend, Johnson?"
"Thompson," said Steve, smiling. "Steve Thompson."
"So it was--so it was. Well, I was getting close. Glad to meet you,Mr. Thompson. That is my name." He handed over a bit of pasteboard,inscribed;
MR. J.F. MITCHELL
"On Vesey Street now, just south of Barclay Street Ferry. I'll jotdown the number--you want to come round and look me up. Sorry I can'task you to use my house for headquarters. Wife's away to Bar Harborfor the summer, and I'm camping out in a hotel. Tell you what,though--you put up at my caravanserai--the Cornucopia--good house,treat you well. I'll be busy a day or so catching up after my tripup-state, but after that I'll show you around. But perhaps you've beenhere before?"
"Not I," said Steve. "My first trip. Haven't been out of Montana sinceI was a kid. I'm sure glad to meet a friend so soon."
"Lots of Montana people here," said Mitchell cheerily. "We'll look'em up. Probably find some of your old friends. People here fromeverywhere. Say--Judge Harney got into a bad mix-up, didn't he? Thatyoung Charley Clark is a devil. I've met him up here." With this helaunched into a discussion of Butte, with inquiries as to variousfigures of local prominence, from which Steve was fain to escape byturning the talk on his final good luck, the sale of his mine and hisrosy prospects. For Mitchell had "crammed up" on Butte industriously.Steve lacked his facilities, his sole source of information beingcertain long-past campfire tales of Neighbor Jones.
"Made it at last, did you? Glad to hear it. Can't keep a good mandown, as the whale said to Jonah," said Mitchell heartily. "'Butwith all thy getting, get understanding,'" he quoted with unctuousbenevolence. "The city is full of traps for the unwary. You can't betoo careful, young man. Don't be drawn into gambling, or drinking, orfast company, or you'll be robbed before you know it. Watch out forpickpockets, and, above all, be chary of making acquaintance withstrangers. They're sly down here, my boy--devilish sly. Have you anyfriends in town? If you have, get them to go around with you till youlearn the ropes."
"Don't know a soul but you," said Steve truthfully. "But I have aletter here to the people who are putting the sale through. Do youknow these people?"
"Atwood, Strange & Atwood," Mitchell read. "A good, reliable firm.I don't know them, but I know of 'em. They will advise you just as Ido."
"But," objected Steve, "I want to see a good time. That's what I comefor. For instance, I want to see the races. And naturally, I want toput up a few dollars to make it interesting."
"Bad business--bad business," admonished the elder man wisely. "Idon't object to a quiet game of cards myself, among friends, and formodest stakes. But I can't afford to do anything to hurt my businessreputation. Let a man of small means, like myself, play the ponies, oraffect shady company, and what happens? All the banks know it at once,and shut down on loans instanter. They keep tab on all business menreligiously."
"What's your line?" said Steve, impressed.
"Mainly buying on commission for Mexican and South Americantrade--though I handle a good many orders for country dealers, too,"replied Mitchell. "My specialty is agricultural implements, barbedwire, machinery and iron stuff generally, for the export trade.There's things about it would surprise you. Why, such things, farmmachinery more especially, retail in Buenos Ayres at from 40 to 60 percent, of what they do here, after paying freight charges and a snugcommission to me."
"How can they do it?" asked Steve, interested.
Mitchell plunged into an explanation of the workings of the tariff andits effect on home prices. He had it at his fingers'
end. Under hisskillful hands the dry subject became really interesting, embellishedwith a wealth of illustration and anecdote. He was still deep inhis exposition, when, beyond Scranton, a hand was laid on his arm. Adapper, little, dark man, with twinkling, black eyes and pointed blackbeard, stood in the aisle.
"Well, Mitchell!" he said, with an affectionate pat. "Still ridingyour hobby?"
The fat man jumped up, beaming. "Loring! by all that's holy! Let memake you acquainted with my friend. Mr. Thompson--Mr. Loring. Mr.Loring is one of our rising young artists."
"The rising young artist," said Loring with a flash of white teeth,"is trying to get up a whist game, to pass away the time. Will yougentlemen assist?" He turned aside in a paroxysm of coughing.
"Certainly, certainly--that is, if Mr. Thompson plays.----That's a badcough you've got there, Loring."
"Yes--caught cold fishing," said the artist. "Will you join us, Mr.Thompson?"
"Glad to," said that worthy. "Only my game is bumble-puppy. You canhardly call it whist. Who's the fourth?"
"Yet to be found," laughed Loring. After a few rebuffs they picked upa drummer, and adjourned to the smoker, buying a deck from the trainboy. The little dark man and Steve played against the other two, asuitcase on their knees serving as a table. They played a rubber.Steve verified his statements as to his style of play.
"Well, that's enough--nearly in," said Loring, as they drew near theirdestination.
"Yes, indeed. I must go back to my car. We've had a pleasant game,"said the fourth man, taking his leave.
"Have a smoke--you'll find these A 1," said the artist. "Say,Mitchell, I've learned a new trick to illustrate the old saying thatthe hand is quicker than the eye." Sticking a cigar in the corner ofhis mouth, he ran over the cards swiftly, took out the two red jacks,and held them up, one in each hand, backs toward himself, faces toMitchell and Steve.
"Now," he said, "you can put these two jacks in the deck wherever youwish, shuffle them all you please, let me give them just one riffle,and you'll find them both together." He put his handkerchief to hislips and turned away to cough, laying the two jacks face downward onthe table.
With a nudge to Steve, Mitchell threw the jack of hearts underLoring's seat, where it lay, face up, substituting therefor the fiveof clubs from the top of the deck.
Loring held the cards up again. "There are the two jacks, gentlemen:the two inseparable jacks. Put them in for yourselves, and watchme--_close_!"
Steve took the five of clubs and put it in the middle. Mitchell putin the jack of diamonds. Both shuffled. Loring cut the pack intotwo equal parts, using only the extreme tip ends of his fingers, andshoved them together in the same fashion. Balancing the deck on theopen palm of his left hand, he turned the cards carefully with hisright thumb and forefinger, keeping up a running fire of comment.
"Now watch me! This trick won't work with any other cards but thejacks. The reason is easy to see. Where you find one knave there'salways another close by. 'Birds of a feather flock together,' youknow. Ah! here we are!" He turned over the knave of diamonds, and laidthe deck down. "Now," he said to Mitchell, "what'll you bet the nextcard isn't the knave of hearts?" Here he was again attacked by thatexcruciating cough.
As he turned away Mitchell slyly turned up the corner of the nextcard, winking at Steve. It was the five of clubs. Evidently Loring haddone the trick right, except for the substituted card.
"I'll bet you five hundred dollars!" said Mitchell jubilantly. Hedrew out a billbook and shook a handful of notes at the artist. "Athousand, if you like!"
"Nobody wants to rob you, Mitchell," laughed Loring. "Put up yourmoney. I don't need it. I'll do the trick, of course." Steve waslaughing immoderately.
"Rob me! Go ahead! You're welcome!" said Mitchell, riotously radiant.He waved the bills before Loring's eyes. "Money talks! Yah! Youhaven't the nerve to bet on it," he taunted, his knee touching Steve'sunder the table.
Loring's black eyes snapped maliciously. "Oh, well, you insist on it,"he said. "I've warned you now, remember! No rebate on this. How much?"He pulled out a fat rubber-banded roll and began stripping bills fromthe outside.
"A thousand--all you want!" shouted Mitchell, in high glee. "Gettingon, Thompson?"
Steve, still laughing, shook his head. "I'll be stakeholder," he saidin a choking voice.
The black-eyed man shot a malevolent glance at him as they put up themoney in his hands. For he had a supernumerary jack of hearts, neatlypalmed, to turn up if Steve "bit." This quickly disappeared, however,or rather did not appear at all. With an expectant smile the artistturned up from the top of the deck the five of clubs. He looked at itin stupefied amazement, which, if not real, was well invented.
Mitchell roared and pounded the suitcase. "Oh, _Loring_!" he gasped,drying his eyes. "You _will_ teach an old dog new tricks, will you?My stars, but you're easy!" Retook the cash from the grinningstakeholder, counted out Loring's half and pushed it over to that muchdiscomfited gentleman. "I don't want to rob you!" he quoted mockingly."But if I had time I'd have kept you on the anxious seat a while.There's your jack of hearts, under your feet!"
"Why, you fat, old swindler! You white-headed outrage--you--you FoxyGrandpa!" cried Loring in blushing chagrin--not wholly dissembled,either. "I ought to make you eat it. Come, have a drink." He led theway, the others following with gibe and jeer.
"Why didn't you bet with him, Thompson?" demanded Mitchell, stillshaking with Homeric laughter. "Say, I should have kept his money, bygood rights. 'Twould have been the joke of the season!"
Steve raised his glass. "I would," he replied innocently, "but I knewyou'd give it back, anyhow, so what's the use--among friends? If ithad been a stranger, now, I'd 'a' hopped on the band-wagon too quick.I like a little easy money as well as anybody. Well, here's to ournext meeting!"
"Hello!" said Mitchell. "Here's the tunnel and Hoboken. Let's go backto our belongings. Now, Thompson, business first and pleasure after,you know. You take the Barclay Street boat. If I don't get time to seeyou before noon to-morrow you run up to the office and see me. It'sonly a block from the Cornucopia. I've got to go the other way, andso does Loring--at least his studio's uptown. I say, Loring, tell Mr.Thompson what's doing at the theatres. That's in your line."
Loring named several plays, recommending one as particularly good.In the waiting-room they parted with warm handshakings and greatgood-will.
"Do you suppose he's wise?" said Loring, on the ferry.
Mitchell guffawed. "That bumpkin? Not he. The poor, dumb idiot took itall as a practical joke among friends. Naturally, just as he said, hethought I'd give you your money back. Glad you had presence of mindenough to go on through with the five-spot. It's fine business to beable to think on your feet, especially for us moon-minions. Goodthing it turned out the way it did. He's got perfect confidence in menow--he's seen me tried, and _knows_ I'm straight. We'll get more outof him in the long run." He explained Steve's mining expectations atlength.
"I don't like it much," said Loring. "It's a bad sign. My experienceis that it's hard to overreach a man that isn't on the hog himself.When they're eager to annex something dishonestly you get 'em everytime. Maybe you'll lose him. Why didn't you stay with him? He may notgo to the Cornucopia at all."
"Oh, yes, he will!" said Mitchell confidently. "I am going to play himfor all he's worth, and I want him to feel sure I'm O.K. It might makehim suspicious if I kept at his coat tails. Plenty of time. I won'teven look him up to-morrow. Rig the old joint as my office, and waitthere till he hunts me up. Let him make all the advances, d'ye see?Teach him bridge, on the square, at night. Let him win a little--justenough to keep him satisfied with himself--_you_'ll see. Wait till hedraws his wad, and we'll throw the gaff in him to the queen's taste.If he won't nibble at one hook try another. But, I say, Billy,you'll have to furnish the scads for bait, in case he don't? rise tosomething easy. I know you're flush from that Manning job."
* * * * *
Meantime, with unspo
iled and sparkling eye, the inlander saw, broadsweeping before him, mist-bordered, dream-vast, dim-seen beneath thelowering sky, the magic city whose pulsings send and call a nation'slife-blood.
The salt tang of the sea was in his nostrils; greetings, many-keyed,hoarse-whistled by plying craft, were in his ears; creamy-foamed wakesof turbulent keels, swift-sent or laboring, boiled their swirlingsplendor against the black water. Mysterious, couchant, straining, thebulwarked city rode the waves; a mighty ship, her funnels the greatbuildings beyond, where sullen streamers of smoke trailed motionlessand darkling; the indescribable, multitudinous hum of the city'sblended voices for purring of monster engines, deep in her hold; boldand high, her restless prow swung seaward in majestic curve, impatientto beat to open main.
This simple young man actually found impressiveness, glamour, evenbeauty, in this eye-filling canvas; the crowding of crashing lightsand interwoven shadows, massed, innumerable, bewildering; the turmoilof confused and broken line, sprawled with tremendous carelessness fora giant's delight.
Plainer proof of his utter unsophistication could not be. For it istraditional with, all "correct" and well-informed folk that New Yorkis hopelessly ugly. It gives one such a superior air to disprize witheasy scorn this greatest of the Gateways of the World.
The Desire of the Moth; and the Come On Page 9