VI
Bob arose rather early the following Sunday, snatched a hasty breakfastand departed. Baker had been in camp three days. All at once Bob hadtaken the young man in strong distaste. Baker amused him, commanded hisadmiration for undoubted executive ability and a force of character sodynamic as to be almost brutal. In a more social environment Bob wouldstill have found him a mighty pleasant fellow, generous, open-hearted,and loyal to his personal friends. But just now his methods chafed onthe sensitiveness of Bob's new unrest. Baker was worth probably a coupleof million dollars, and controlled ten times that. He had now a finehouse in Fremont, where he had chosen to live, a pretty wife, twoattractive children and a wide circle of friends. Life was very good tohim.
And yet, in the perversity and the clairvoyance of his mood, Bob thoughtto see in Baker's life something of that same emptiness of finalachievement he faced in his own. This was absurd, but the feeling of itpersisted. Thorne, with his miserable eighteen hundred a year, and hisglowing enthusiasm and quick interest seemed to him more worth while.Why? It was absurd; but this feeling, too, persisted.
Bob was a healthy young fellow, a man of action rather than ofintrospection, but now the hereditary twist of his character drove himto attempt analysis. He arrived at nothing. Both Baker and Thorne seemedto stand on one ground--each was satisfied, neither felt that lack ofthe fulfilling content Bob was so keenly experiencing. But the streak offeminine divination Bob had inherited from his mother made himunderstand--or made him think to understand--that Baker's satisfactionwas taken because he did not see, while Thorne was working with his eyesopen and a full sense of values. This vague glimpse Bob gained onlypartially and at length. It rather opened to him new vistas of spiritualperplexity than offered to him any solution.
He paced rapidly down the length of the lake--whereon the battered butefficient towing launch lay idle for Sunday--to the Lake Meadow. Thiswas, as usual, surrounded by hundreds of campers of all classes. Bob wasknown to all of them, of course; and he, in turn, had at least such anodding acquaintance with them that he could recognize any accretions totheir members. Near the lower end of the meadow, beneath a group of adozen noble firs, he caught sight of newcomers, and so strolled downthat way to see what they could be like.
He found pomp and circumstance. An enclosure had been roped off toexclude the stock grazing at large in the meadow. Three tents had beenerected. They were made of a very light, shiny, expensive-lookingmaterial with fringes along the walls, flies overhead and stretched infront, sod cloths before the entrances. Three gaily painted woodenrocking chairs, an equally gaudy hammock, a table flanked with benches,a big cooking stove in the rear, canvas pockets hung from the trees--adozen and one other conveniences and luxuries bespoke the occupants aswell-to-do and determined to be comfortable. Two Japanese servantsdressed all in white moved silently and mysteriously in the background,a final touch of incongruity in a rough country.
Before Bob had moved on, two men stepped into view from the interior ofone of the tents. They paced slowly to the gaudy rocking chairs and satdown. In their progress they exhibited that peculiar, careless butconscious deliberation of gait affected everywhere by those accustomedto appearing in public. In their seating of themselves, their producingof cigars, their puffings thereon, was the same studied ignoring ofobservation; a manner which, it must be acknowledged, becomes secondnature to those forced to its adoption. It was a certain blownimpressiveness, a significance in the smallest movements, aself-importance, in short, too large for the affairs of any privatecitizen. It is to be seen in those who sit in high places, in clergy,actors off the boards, magistrates, and people behind shop windowsdemonstrating things to street crowds. Bob's first thought was ofamusement that this elaborate unconsciousness of his lone presenceshould be worth while; his second a realization that his presence or thepresence of any one else had nothing to do with it. He wondered, as weall wonder at times, whether these men acted any differently when aloneand in utter privacy, whether they brushed their teeth and bathed withall the dignity of the public man.
The smaller, but evidently more important of these men, wore a completecamping costume. His hat was very wide and stiff of brim and had a wovenband of horsehair; his neckerchief was very red and worn bib fashion inthe way Bob had come to believe that no one ever wore a neckerchief savein Western plays and the illustrations of Western stories; his shirt wasof thick blue flannel, thrown wide open at the throat; his belt was verywide and of carved leather; his breeches were of khaki, but bagged aboveand fitted close below the knee into the most marvellous laced boots,with leather flaps, belt lacings, and rows of hobnails with which tomake tracks. Bob estimated these must weigh at least three poundsapiece. The man wore a little pointed beard and eyeglasses. About himBob recognized a puzzling familiarity. He could not place it, however,but finally decided he must have carried over a recollection from atailor's fashion plate of the Correct Thing for Camping.
The other man was taller, heavier, but not near so impressive. His formwas awkward, his face homely, his ears stuck out like wings, and hisexpression was that of the always-appreciated buffoon.
Bob was about to pass on, when he noticed that he was not the onlyspectator of all this ease of manner. A dozen of the campers hadgathered, and were staring across the ropes with quite frank andunabashed curiosity. More were coming from all directions. In a shorttime a crowd of several hundred had collected, and stood, evidently inexpectation. Then, and only then, did the small man with the pointedbeard seem to become aware of the presence of any one besides hiscompanion. He leaned across to exchange a few words with the latter,after which he laid aside his hat, arose and advanced to the ropebarrier on which he rested the tips of his fingers.
"My friends," he began in a nasal but penetrating voice, that carriedwithout effort to every hearer. "I am not a regularly ordained ministerof the gospel. I find, however, that there is none such among us, so Ihave gathered you here together this morning to hear a few wordsappropriate to the day. It has pleased Providence to call me to a publicposition wherein my person has become well known to you all; but that isan accident of the great profession to which I have been called, and Ibow my heart in humility with the least and most lowly. I am going totell you about myself this morning, not because I consider myself ofimportance, but because it seems to me from my case a great lesson maybe drawn."
He paused to let his eye run over the concourse. Bob felt the gaze,impersonal, impassive, scrutinizing, cold, rest on him the barestappreciable flicker of a moment, and then pass on. He experienced afaint shock, as though his defences had been tapped against.
"My father," went on the nasal voice, "came to this country in the'sixties. It was a new country in the hands of a lazy people. It neededdevelopment, so my father was happy felling the trees, damming thestreams, building the roads, getting possession of the land. That washis job in life, and he did it well, because the country needed it. Hedidn't bother his head with why he was doing it; he just thought he wasmaking money. As a matter of fact, he didn't make money; he died nearlybankrupt."
The orator bowed his head for a moment.
"I might have done the same thing. It's all legitimate business. But Icouldn't. The country is being developed by its inhabitants: work ofthat kind couldn't satisfy me. Why, friends? _Because now it would beselfish work_. My father didn't know it, but the reason he was happy wasbecause the work he was doing for himself was also work for otherpeople. You can see that. He didn't know it, but he was helping developthe country. But it wouldn't have been quite so with me. The country isdeveloped in that way. If I did that kind of work, I'd be working formyself and nobody else at all. That turns out all right for most people,because they don't see it: they do their duty as citizens and goodbusiness men and fathers and husbands, and that ends it. But I saw it. Ifelt I had to do a work that would support me in the world--but it mustbe a work that helped humanity too. That is why, friends, I am what Iam. That a certain prominence is inevitable to my position is incident
alrather than gratifying.
"So, I think, the lesson to be drawn is that each of us should make hislife help humanity, should conduct his business in such a way as to helphumanity. Then he'll be happy."
He stood for a moment, then turned away. The tall, ungainly man with theoutstanding ears and the buffoon's face stepped forward and whisperedeagerly in his ear. He listened gravely, but shook his head. The tallman whispered yet more vehemently, at great length. Finally the oratorstepped back to his place.
"We are here for a complete rest after exhausting labours," he stated."We have looked forward for months to undisturbed repose amongst thesegiant pines. No thought of care was to intrude. But my colleague's greatand tender heart has smitten him, and, I am ashamed to say against myfirst inclination, he urges me to a course which I'd have liked toavoid; but which, when he shows me the way, I realize is the only decentthing. We find ourselves in the midst of a community of some hundreds ofpeople. It may be some of these people are suffering, far from medicalor surgical help. If there are any such, and the case is reallypressing, you understand, we will be willing, just for common humanity,to do our best to relieve them. And friends," the speaker steppedforward until his body touched the rope, and he was leaningconfidentially forth, "it would be poor humanity that would cause youpain or give you inferior treatments. I am happy to say we came to thisgreat virgin wilderness direct with our baggage from White Oaks where wehad been giving a two weeks' course of treatments--mainly charitable. Wehave our instruments and our medicines with us in their packin' cases.If need arises--which I trust it will not--we will not hesitate to go toany trouble for you. It is against our principles to give anything butour best. You will suffer no pain. But it must be understood," he warnedimpressively. "This is just for you, our neighbours! We don't want thisnews spread to the lumber camps and over the countryside. We are herefor a rest. But we cannot be true to our high calling and neglect therelieving of pain."
The man bowed slightly, and rejoined his companion to whom he conversedlow-voiced with absolute unconsciousness of the audience he had justbeen addressing so intimately. The latter hesitated, then slowlydispersed. Bob stood, his brows knit, trying to recall. There wassomething hauntingly familiar about the whole performance. Especially astrange nasal emphasis on the word "pain" struck sharply a chord in hisrecollection. He looked up in sudden enlightenment.
"Painless Porter!" he cried aloud.
The man looked up at the mention of his name.
"That's my name," said he. "What can I do for you?"
"I just remembered where I'd seen you," explained Bob.
"I'm fairly well known."
Bob approached eagerly. The discourse, hollow, insincere,half-blasphemous, a buncombe bit of advertising as it was, neverthelesscontained the germ of an essential truth for which Bob had beensearching. He wanted to know how, through what experience, the man hadcome to this insight.
But his attempts at conversation met with a cold reception. PainlessPorter was too old a bird ever to lower his guard. He met the youth onthe high plane of professionalism, refused to utter other than theplatitudinous counters demanded by the occasion. He held the young manat spear's length, and showed plainly by the ominous glitter of his eyethat he did not intend to be trifled with.
Then Baker's jolly voice broke in.
"Well! well! well!" he cried. "If here aren't my old friends, PainlessPorter and the Wiz! Simple life for yours, eh? Back to beans! What's thegeneral outline of _this_ graft?"
"We have come camping for a complete rest," stated Waller gravely, hiscomical face cast in lines of reprobation and warning.
"Whatever it is, you'll get it," jibed Baker. "But I'll bet you atoothpick it isn't a rest. What's exhausted you fellows, anyway?Counting the easy money?"
"Our professional labours have been very heavy lately," spoke up thepainless one.
"What's biting you fellows?" demanded Baker. "There's nobody here."
Waller indicated Bob by a barely perceptible jerk of the head. Bakerthrew back his head and laughed.
"Thought you knew him," said he. "You were all having such a love feastgab-fest when I blew in. This is Mr. Orde, who bosses this place--andmost of the country around here. If you want to do good to humanity onthis meadow you'd better begin by being good to him. He controls it.He's humanity with a capital H."
Ten minutes later the four men, cigars alight, a bottle within reach,were sprawling about the interior of one of the larger tents. Bob wasenjoying himself hugely. It was the first time he had ever been behindthe scenes at this sort of game.
"But that was a good talk, just the same," he interrupted a cynical bitof bragging.
"Say, wasn't it!" cried Porter. "I got that out of a shoutin'evangelist. The minute I heard it I saw where it was hot stuff for myspiel. I'm that way: I got that kind of good eye. I'll be going alongthe street and some little thing'll happen that won't amount to nothin'at all really. Another man wouldn't think twice about it. But like aflash it comes to me how it would fit in to a spiel. It's like an artistthat way finding things to put in a picture. You'd never spot a dagoapple peddler as good for nothing but to work a little graft on mebbe;but an artist comes along and slaps him in a picture and he's thefanciest-looking dope in the art collection. That's me. I got some of mybest spiels from the funniest places! That one this morning is a wonder,because it don't _listen_ like a spiel. I followed that evangelist yaparound for a week getting his dope down fine. You got to get thelanguage just right on these things, or they don't carry over."
"Which one is it, Painful?" asked Baker.
"You know; the make-your-work-a-good-to-humanity bluff."
"And all about papa in the 'sixties?"
"That's it."
"'And just don't you _dare_ tell the neighbours?'"
"Correct."
"The whole mountains will know all about it by to-morrow," Baker toldBob, "and they'll flock up here in droves. It's easy money."
"Half these country yaps have bum teeth, anyway," said Porter.
"And the rest of them think they're sick," stated Wizard Waller.
"It beats a free show for results and expense," said Painless Porter."All you got to have is the tents and the Japs and theWillie-off-the-yacht togs." He sighed. "There ought to be _some_advantages," he concluded, "to drag a man so far from the streetlights."
"Then this isn't much of a pleasure trip?" asked Bob with someamusement.
"Pleasure, hell!" snorted Painless, helping himself to a drink. "Say,honest, how do you fellows that have business up here stick it out? Itgives me the willies!"
One of the Japanese peered into the tent and made a sign.
Painless Porter dropped his voice.
"A dope already," said he. He put on his air, and went out. As Bob andBaker crossed the enclosed space, they saw him in conversation with agawky farm lad from the plains.
"I shore do hate to trouble you, doctor," the boy was saying, "and hitSunday, too. But I got a tooth back here--"
Painless Porter was listening with an air of the deepest and gravestattention.
The Rules of the Game Page 56