by Bret Harte
PROSPER'S "OLD MOTHER"
"It's all very well," said Joe Wynbrook, "for us to be sittin' here,slingin' lies easy and comfortable, with the wind whistlin' in the pinesoutside, and the rain just liftin' the ditches to fill our sluice boxeswith gold ez we're smokin' and waitin', but I tell you what, boys--itain't home! No, sir, it ain't HOME!"
The speaker paused, glanced around the bright, comfortable barroom,the shining array of glasses beyond, and the circle of complacent facesfronting the stove, on which his own boots were cheerfully steaming,lifted a glass of whiskey from the floor under his chair, and in spiteof his deprecating remark, took a long draught of the spirits with everysymptom of satisfaction.
"If ye mean," returned Cyrus Brewster, "that it ain't the old farmhouseof our boyhood, 'way back in the woods, I'll agree with you; but ye'lljust remember that there wasn't any gold placers lying round on themedder on that farm. Not much! Ef thar had been, we wouldn't have leftit."
"I don't mean that," said Joe Wynbrook, settling himself comfortablyback in his chair; "it's the family hearth I'm talkin' of. The soothin'influence, ye know--the tidiness of the women folks."
"Ez to the soothin' influence," remarked the barkeeper, leaning hiselbows meditatively on his counter, "afore I struck these diggin's Ihad a grocery and bar, 'way back in Mizzoori, where there was fiveold-fashioned farms jined. Blame my skin ef the men folks weren't adarned sight oftener over in my grocery, sittin' on barrils and histin'in their reg'lar corn-juice, than ever any of you be here--with allthese modern improvements."
"Ye don't catch on, any of you," returned Wynbrook impatiently. "Ef itwas a mere matter o' buildin' houses and becomin' family men, I reckonthat this yer camp is about prosperous enough to do it, and able to getgals enough to marry us, but that would be only borryin' trouble andlettin' loose a lot of jabberin' women to gossip agin' each other andspile all our friendships. No, gentlemen! What we want here--each ofus--is a good old mother! Nothin' new-fangled or fancy, but the reg'larold-fashioned mother we was used to when we was boys!"
The speaker struck a well-worn chord--rather the worse for wear, and onethat had jangled falsely ere now, but which still produced its effect.The men were silent. Thus encouraged, Wynbrook proceeded:--
"Think o' comin' home from the gulch a night like this and findin' yerold mother a-waitin' ye! No fumblin' around for the matches ye'd left inthe gulch; no high old cussin' because the wood was wet or you forgotto bring it in; no bustlin' around for your dry things and findin' youforgot to dry 'em that mornin'--but everything waitin' for ye and ready.And then, mebbe, she brings ye in some doughnuts she's just cooked forye--cooked ez only SHE kin cook 'em! Take Prossy Riggs--alongside of mehere--for instance! HE'S made the biggest strike yet, and is puttin'up a high-toned house on the hill. Well! he'll hev it finished off andfurnished slap-up style, you bet! with a Chinese cook, and a Biddy, anda Mexican vaquero to look after his horse--but he won't have no motherto housekeep! That is," he corrected himself perfunctorily, turning tohis companion, "you've never spoke o' your mother, so I reckon you'reabout fixed up like us."
The young man thus addressed flushed slightly, and then nodded his headwith a sheepish smile. He had, however, listened to the conversationwith an interest almost childish, and a reverent admiration of hiscomrades--qualities which, combined with an intellect not particularlybrilliant, made him alternately the butt and the favorite of the camp.Indeed, he was supposed to possess that proportion of stupidityand inexperience which, in mining superstition, gives "luck" to itspossessor. And this had been singularly proven in the fact that he hadmade the biggest "strike" of the season.
Joe Wynbrook's sentimentalism, albeit only argumentative and halfserious, had unwittingly touched a chord of simple history, and theflush which had risen to his cheek was not entirely bashfulness. Thehome and relationship of which they spoke so glibly, HE had neverknown; he was a foundling! As he lay awake that night he remembered thecharitable institution which had protected his infancy, the masterto whom he had later been apprenticed; that was all he knew of hischildhood. In his simple way he had been greatly impressed by thestrange value placed by his companions upon the family influence, and hehad received their extravagance with perfect credulity. In his absoluteignorance and his lack of humor he had detected no false quality intheir sentiment. And a vague sense of his responsibility, as one who hadbeen the luckiest, and who was building the first "house" in the camp,troubled him. He lay staringly wide awake, hearing the mountain wind,and feeling warm puffs of it on his face through the crevices of the logcabin, as he thought of the new house on the hill that was to belathed and plastered and clapboarded, and yet void and vacant of thatmysterious "mother"! And then, out of the solitude and darkness, atremendous idea struck him that made him sit up in his bunk!
A day or two later "Prossy" Riggs stood on a sand-blown, wind-sweptsuburb of San Francisco, before a large building whom forbiddingexterior proclaimed that it was an institution of formal charity. Itwas, in fact, a refuge for the various waifs and strays of ill-advisedor hopeless immigration. As Prosper paused before the door, certain toldrecollections of a similar refuge were creeping over him, and, oddlyenough, he felt as embarrassed as if he had been seeking relief forhimself. The perspiration stood out on his forehead as he entered theroom of the manager.
It chanced, however, that this official, besides being a man of shrewdexperience of human weakness, was also kindly hearted, and having, afterhis first official scrutiny of his visitor and his resplendent watchchain, assured himself that he was not seeking personal relief,courteously assisted him in his stammering request.
"If I understand you, you want some one to act as your housekeeper?"
"That's it! Somebody to kinder look arter things--and me--ginrally,"returned Prosper, greatly relieved.
"Of what age?" continued the manager, with a cautious glance at therobust youth and good-looking, simple face of Prosper.
"I ain't nowise partickler--ez long ez she's old--ye know. Ye follow me?Old--ez of--betwixt you an' me, she might be my own mother."
The manager smiled inwardly. A certain degree of discretion wasnoticeable in this rustic youth! "You are quite right," he answeredgravely, "as yours is a mining camp where there are no other women,Still, you don't want any one TOO old or decrepit. There is an elderlymaiden lady"--But a change was transparently visible on Prosper's simpleface, and the manager paused.
"She oughter be kinder married, you know--ter be like a mother,"stammered Prosper.
"Oh, ay. I see," returned the manager, again illuminated by Prosper'sunexpected wisdom.
He mused for a moment. "There is," he began tentatively, "a lady inreduced circumstances--not an inmate of this house, but who has receivedsome relief from us. She was the wife of a whaling captain who died someyears ago, and broke up her home. She was not brought up to work, andthis, with her delicate health, has prevented her from seeking activeemployment. As you don't seem to require that of her, but rather wantan overseer, and as your purpose, I gather, is somewhat philanthropical,you might induce her to accept a 'home' with you. Having seen betterdays, she is rather particular," he added, with a shrewd smile.
Simple Prosper's face was radiant. "She'll have a Chinaman and a Biddyto help her," he said quickly. Then recollecting the tastes of hiscomrades, he added, half apologetically, half cautiously, "Ef she could,now and then, throw herself into a lemming pie or a pot of doughnuts,jest in a motherly kind o' way, it would please the boys."
"Perhaps you can arrange that, too," returned the manager, "but I shallhave to broach the whole subject to her, and you had better call againto-morrow, when I will give you her answer."
"Ye kin say," said Prosper, lightly fingering his massive gold chain andsomewhat vaguely recalling the language of advertisement, "that she kinhave the comforts of a home and no questions asked, and fifty dollars amonth."
Rejoiced at the easy progress of his plan, and half inclined to believehimself a miracle of cautious diplomacy, Prosper, tw
o days later,accompanied the manager to the cottage on Telegraph Hill where therelict of the late Captain Pottinger lamented the loss of her spouse, infull view of the sea he had so often tempted. On their way thither themanager imparted to Prosper how, according to hearsay, that lamentedseaman had carried into the domestic circle those severe habitsof discipline which had earned for him the prefix of "Bully" and"Belaying-pin" Pottinger during his strenuous life. "They say thatthough she is very quiet and resigned, she once or twice stood up to thecaptain; but that's not a bad quality to have, in a rough community, asI presume yours is, and would insure her respect."
Ushered at last into a small tank-like sitting room, whose chiefdecorations consisted of large abelone shells, dried marine algae,coral, and a swordfish's broken weapon, Prosper's disturbed fancydiscovered the widow, sitting, apparently, as if among her husband'sremains at the bottom of the sea. She had a dejected yet somewhat ruddyface; her hair was streaked with white, but primly disposed over herears like lappets, and her garb was cleanly but sombre. There was nodoubt but that she was a lugubrious figure, even to Prosper's optimisticand inexperienced mind. He could not imagine her as beaming on hishearth! It was with some alarm that, after the introduction had beencompleted, he beheld the manager take his leave. As the door closed,the bashful Prosper felt the murky eyes of the widow fixed upon him. Agentle cough, accompanied with the resigned laying of a black mittenedhand upon her chest, suggested a genteel prelude to conversation, withpossible pulmonary complications.
"I am induced to accept your proposal temporarily," she said, in a voiceof querulous precision, "on account of pressing pecuniary circumstanceswhich would not have happened had my claim against the shipowners formy dear husband's loss been properly raised. I hope you fully understandthat I am unfitted both by ill health and early education from doingany menial or manual work in your household. I shall simply oversee anddirect. I shall expect that the stipend you offer shall be paid monthlyin advance. And as my medical man prescribes a certain amount ofstimulation for my system, I shall expect to be furnished with suchviands--or even"--she coughed slightly--"such beverages as may benecessary. I am far from strong--yet my wants are few."
"Ez far ez I am ketchin' on and followin' ye, ma'am," returned Prospertimidly, "ye'll hev everything ye want--jest like it was yer own home.In fact," he went on, suddenly growing desperate as the difficulties ofadjusting this unexpectedly fastidious and superior woman to his planseemed to increase, "ye'll jest consider me ez yer"--But here her murkyeyes were fixed on his and he faltered. Yet he had gone too far toretreat. "Ye see," he stammered, with a hysterical grimness that wasintended to be playful--"ye see, this is jest a little secret betwixtand between you and me; there'll be only you and me in the house, and itwould kinder seem to the boys more homelike--ef--ef--you and mehad--you bein' a widder, you know--a kind of--of"--here his smile becameghastly--"close relationship."
The widow of Captain Pottinger here sat up so suddenly that she seemedto slip through her sombre and precise enwrappings with an exposureof the real Mrs. Pottinger that was almost improper. Her high colordeepened; the pupils of her black eyes contracted in the light theinnocent Prosper had poured into them. Leaning forward, with her fingersclasped on her bosom, she said: "Did you tell this to the manager?"
"Of course not," said Prosper; "ye see, it's only a matter 'twixt youand me."
Mrs. Pottinger looked at Prosper, drew a deep breath, and then gazedat the abelone shells for moral support. A smile, half querulous,half superior, crossed her face as she said: "This is very abrupt andunusual. There is, of course, a disparity in our ages! You have neverseen me before--at least to my knowledge--although you may have heardof me. The Spraggs of Marblehead are well known--perhaps better than thePottingers. And yet, Mr. Griggs"--
"Riggs," suggested Prosper hurriedly.
"Riggs. Excuse me! I was thinking of young Lieutenant Griggs of theNavy, whom I knew in the days now past. Mr. Riggs, I should say. Thenyou want me to"--
"To be my old mother, ma'am," said Prosper tremblingly. "That is, topretend and look ez ef you was! You see, I haven't any, but I thought itwould be nice for the boys, and make it more like home in my new house,ef I allowed that my old mother would be comin' to live with me. Theydon't know I never had a mother to speak of. They'll never find it out!Say ye will, Mrs. Pottinger! Do!"
And here the unexpected occurred. Against all conventional rules andall accepted traditions of fiction, I am obliged to state that Mrs.Pottinger did NOT rise up and order the trembling Prosper to leave thehouse! She only gripped the arm of her chair a little tighter, leanedforward, and disdaining her usual precision and refinement of speech,said quietly: "It's a bargain. If THAT'S what you're wanting, myson, you can count upon me as becoming your old mother, Cecilia JanePottinger Riggs, every time!"
A few days later the sentimentalist Joe Wynbrook walked into the WildCat saloon, where his comrades were drinking, and laid a letter down onthe bar with every expression of astonishment and disgust. "Look," hesaid, "if that don't beat all! Ye wouldn't believe it, but here's ProssyRiggs writin' that he came across his mother--his MOTHER, gentlemen--in'Frisco; she hevin', unbeknownst to him, joined a party visiting thecoast! And what does this blamed fool do? Why, he's goin' to bringher--that old woman--HERE! Here--gentlemen--to take charge of that newhouse--and spoil our fun. And the God-forsaken idiot thinks that we'llLIKE it!"
It was one of those rare mornings in the rainy season when there was asuspicion of spring in the air, and after a night of rainfall the sunbroke through fleecy clouds with little islets of blue sky--whenProsper Riggs and his mother drove into Wild Cat camp. An expressionof cheerfulness was on the faces of his old comrades. For it had beenrecognized that, after all, "Prossy" had a perfect right to bring hisold mother there--his well-known youth and inexperience preventing thisbaleful performance from being established as a precedent. For thesereasons hats were cheerfully doffed, and some jackets put on, as thebuggy swept up the hill to the pretty new cottage, with its green blindsand white veranda, on the crest.
Yet I am afraid that Prosper was not perfectly happy, even in thetriumphant consummation of his plans. Mrs. Pottinger's sudden andbusiness-like acquiescence in it, and her singular lapse from hergenteel precision, were gratifying but startling to his ingenuousness.And although from the moment she accepted the situation she wasfertile in resources and full of precaution against any possibility ofdetection, he saw, with some uneasiness, that its control had passed outof his hands.
"You say your comrades know nothing of your family history?" she hadsaid to him on the journey thither. "What are you going to tell them?"
"Nothin', 'cept your bein' my old mother," said Prosper hopelessly.
"That's not enough, my son." (Another embarrassment to Prosper was hereasy grasp of the maternal epithets.) "Now listen! You were born justsix months after your father, Captain Riggs (formerly Pottinger) sailedon his first voyage. You remember very little of him, of course, as hewas away so much."
"Hadn't I better know suthin about his looks?" said Prospersubmissively.
"A tall dark man, that's enough," responded Mrs. Pottinger sharply.
"Hadn't he better favor me?" said Prosper, with his small cunningrecognizing the fact that he himself was a decided blond.
"Ain't at all necessary," said the widow firmly. "You were always wildand ungovernable," she continued, "and ran away from school to join someWestern emigration. That accounts for the difference of our styles."
"But," continued Prosper, "I oughter remember suthin about our oldtimes--runnin' arrants for you, and bringin' in the wood o' frostymornin's, and you givin' me hot doughnuts," suggested Prosper dubiously.
"Nothing of the sort," said Mrs. Pottinger promptly. "We lived in thecity, with plenty of servants. Just remember, Prosper dear, your motherwasn't THAT low-down country style."
Glad to be relieved from further invention, Prosper was, nevertheless,somewhat concerned at this shattering of the ideal mother in thevery c
amp that had sung her praises. But he could only trust to herrecognizing the situation with her usual sagacity, of which he stood inrespectful awe.
Joe Wynbrook and Cyrus Brewster had, as older members of the camp,purposely lingered near the new house to offer any assistance to "Prossyand his mother," and had received a brief and passing introduction tothe latter. So deep and unexpected was the impression she made uponthem that these two oracles of the camp retired down the hill in awkwardsilence for some time, neither daring to risk his reputation by commentor oversurprise.
But when they approached the curious crowd below awaiting them, CyrusBrewster ventured to say, "Struck me ez ef that old gal was ratherhigh-toned for Prossy's mother."
Joe Wynbrook instantly seized the fatal admission to show the advantageof superior insight:--
"Struck YOU! Why, it was no more than I expected all along! What did weknow of Prossy? Nothin'! What did he ever tell us'? Nothin'! And why'?'Cos it was his secret. Lord! a blind mule could see that. All thisfoolishness and simplicity o' his come o' his bein' cuddled and pamperedas a baby. Then, like ez not, he was either kidnapped or led away bysome feller--and nearly broke his mother's heart. I'll bet my bottomdollar he has been advertised for afore this--only we didn't see thepaper. Like as not they had agents out seekin' him, and he jest ran intotheir hands in 'Frisco! I had a kind o' presentiment o' this when heleft, though I never let on anything."
"I reckon, too, that she's kinder afraid he'll bolt agin. Did ye noticehow she kept watchin' him all the time, and how she did the bossin' o'everything? And there's ONE thing sure! He's changed--yes! He don't lookas keerless and free and foolish ez he uster."
Here there was an unmistakable chorus of assent from the crowd that hadjoined them. Every one--even those who had not been introduced tothe mother--had noticed his strange restraint and reticence. In theimpulsive logic of the camp, conduct such as this, in the face of thatsuperior woman--his mother--could only imply that her presence wasdistasteful to him; that he was either ashamed of their noticing hisinferiority to her, or ashamed of THEM! Wild and hasty as was theirdeduction, it was, nevertheless, voiced by Joe Wynbrook in a tone ofimpartial and even reluctant conviction. "Well, gentlemen, some of yemay remember that when I heard that Prossy was bringin' his mother hereI kicked--kicked because it only stood to reason that, being HIS mother,she'd be that foolish she'd upset the camp. There wasn't room enough fortwo such chuckle-heads--and one of 'em being a woman, she couldn't beshut up or sat upon ez we did to HIM. But now, gentlemen, ez we see sheain't that kind, but high-toned and level-headed, and that she's got thegrip on Prossy--whether he likes it or not--we ain't goin' to let himgo back on her! No, sir! we ain't goin' to let him break her heart thesecond time! He may think we ain't good enough for her, but ez long ezshe's civil to us, we'll stand by her."
In this conscientious way were the shackles of that unhallowedrelationship slowly riveted on the unfortunate Prossy. In hisintercourse with his comrades during the next two or three days theirattitude was shown in frequent and ostentatious praise of his mother,and suggestive advice, such as: "I wouldn't stop at the saloon, Prossy;your old mother is wantin' ye;" or, "Chuck that 'ere tarpolin over yourshoulders, Pross, and don't take your wet duds into the house that yerold mother's bin makin' tidy." Oddly enough, much of this advice wasquite sincere, and represented--for at least twenty minutes--the honestsentiments of the speaker. Prosper was touched at what seemed a revivalof the sentiment under which he had acted, forgot his uneasiness, andbecame quite himself again--a fact also noticed by his critics. "Ye'veonly to keep him up to his work and he'll be the widder's joy agin,"said Cyrus Brewster. Certainly he was so far encouraged that he had along conversation with Mrs. Pottinger that night, with the result thatthe next morning Joe Wynbrook, Cyrus Brewster, Hank Mann, and KentuckyIke were invited to spend the evening at the new house. As the men,clean shirted and decently jacketed, filed into the neat sitting roomwith its bright carpet, its cheerful fire, its side table with a snowycloth on which shining tea and coffee pots were standing, their heartsthrilled with satisfaction. In a large stuffed rocking chair, Prossy'sold mother, wrapped up in a shawl and some mysterious ill health whichseemed to forbid any exertion, received them with genteel languor and anextended black mitten.
"I cannot," said Mrs. Pottinger, with sad pensiveness, "offer you thehospitality of my own home, gentlemen--you remember, Prosper, dear, thelarge salon and our staff of servants at Lexington Avenue!--but since myson has persuaded me to take charge of his humble cot, I hope you willmake all allowances for its deficiencies--even," she added, casting alook of mild reproach on the astonished Prosper--"even if HE cannot."
"I'm sure he oughter to be thankful to ye, ma'am," said Joe Wynbrookquickly, "for makin' a break to come here to live, jest ez we'rethankful--speakin' for the rest of this camp--for yer lightin' us up ezyou're doin'! I reckon I'm speakin' for the crowd," he added, lookinground him.
Murmurs of "That's so" and "You bet" passed through the company, and oneor two cast a half-indignant glance at Prosper.
"It's only natural," continued Mrs. Pottinger resignedly, "that havinglived so long alone, my dear Prosper may at first be a little impatientof his old mother's control, and perhaps regret his invitation."
"Oh no, ma'am," said the embarrassed Prosper.
But here the mercurial Wynbrook interposed on behalf of amity and thecamp's esprit de corps. "Why, Lord! ma'am, he's jest bin longin' for ye!Times and times agin he's talked about ye; sayin' how ef he could onlyget ye out of yer Fifth Avenue saloon to share his humble lot with himhere, he'd die happy! YOU'VE heard him talk, Brewster?"
"Frequent," replied the accommodating Brewster.
"Part of the simple refreshment I have to offer you," continued Mrs.Pottinger, ignoring further comment, "is a viand the exact quality ofwhich I am not familiar with, but which my son informs me is a greatfavorite with you. It has been prepared by Li Sing, under my direction.Prosper, dear, see that the--er--doughnuts--are brought in with thecoffee."
Satisfaction beamed on the faces of the company, with perhaps the soleexception of Prosper. As a dish containing a number of brown glisteningspheres of baked dough was brought in, the men's eyes shone insympathetic appreciation. Yet that epicurean light was for a momentdulled as each man grasped a sphere, and then sat motionless with itin his hand, as if it was a ball and they were waiting the signal forplaying.
"I am told," said Mrs. Pottinger, with a glance of Christian toleranceat Prosper, "that lightness is considered desirable by some--perhaps yougentlemen may find them heavy."
"Thar is two kinds," said the diplomatic Joe cheerfully, as he began tonibble his, sideways, like a squirrel, "light and heavy; some likes 'emone way, and some another."
They were hard and heavy, but the men, assisted by the steaming coffee,finished them with heroic politeness. "And now, gentlemen," said Mrs.Pottinger, leaning back in her chair and calmly surveying the party,"you have my permission to light your pipes while you partake of somewhiskey and water."
The guests looked up--gratified but astonished. "Are ye sure, ma'am, youdon't mind it?" said Joe politely.
"Not at all," responded Mrs. Pottinger briefly. "In fact, as myphysician advises the inhalation of tobacco smoke for my asthmaticdifficulties, I will join you." After a moment's fumbling in a beadedbag that hung from her waist, she produced a small black clay pipe,filled it from the same receptacle, and lit it.
A thrill of surprise went round the company, and it was noticed thatProsper seemed equally confounded. Nevertheless, this awkwardness wasquickly overcome by the privilege and example given them, and with, aglass of whiskey and water before them, the men were speedily at theirease. Nor did Mrs. Pottinger disdain to mingle in their desultory talk.Sitting there with her black pipe in her mouth, but still precise andsuperior, she told a thrilling whaling adventure of Prosper's father(drawn evidently from the experience of the lamented Pottinger), whichnot only deeply interested her hearers, but momentarily exalted Prosperin
their minds as the son of that hero. "Now you speak o' that, ma'am,"said the ingenuous Wynbrook, "there's a good deal o' Prossy in that yarno' his father's; same kind o' keerless grit! You remember, boys, thatday the dam broke and he stood thar, the water up to his neck, heavin'logs in the break till he stopped it." Briefly, the evening, in spiteof its initial culinary failure and its surprises, was a decided socialsuccess, and even the bewildered and doubting Prosper went to bedrelieved. It was followed by many and more informal gatherings at thehouse, and Mrs Pottinger so far unbent--if that term could be used ofone who never altered her primness of manner--as to join in a game ofpoker--and even permitted herself to win.
But by the end of six weeks another change in their feelings towardsProsper seemed to creep insidiously over the camp. He had been receivedinto his former fellowship, and even the presence of his mother hadbecome familiar, but he began to be an object of secret commiseration.They still frequented the house, but among themselves afterwards theytalked in whispers. There was no doubt to them that Prosper's old motherdrank not only what her son had provided, but what she surreptitiouslyobtained from the saloon. There was the testimony of the barkeeper,himself concerned equally with the camp in the integrity of the Riggshousehold. And there was an even darker suspicion. But this must begiven in Joe Wynbrook's own words:--
"I didn't mind the old woman winnin' and winnin' reg'lar--for poker'san unsartin game;--it ain't the money that we're losin'--for it's allin the camp. But when she's developing a habit o' holdin' FOUR aces whensomebody else hez TWO, who don't like to let on because it's Prosper'sold mother--it's gettin' rough! And dangerous too, gentlemen, if therehappened to be an outsider in, or one of the boys should kick. Why, Isaw Bilson grind his teeth--he holdin' a sequence flush--ace high--whenthe dear old critter laid down her reg'lar four aces and raked in thepile. We had to nearly kick his legs off under the table afore he'dunderstand--not havin' an old mother himself."
"Some un will hev to tackle her without Prossy knowin' it. For it wouldjest break his heart, arter all he's gone through to get her here!" saidBrewster significantly.
"Onless he DID know it and it was that what made him so sorrowful whenthey first came. B'gosh! I never thought o' that," said Wynbrook, withone of his characteristic sudden illuminations.
"Well, gentlemen, whether he did or not," said the barkeeper stoutly,"he must never know that WE know it. No, not if the old gal cleans outmy bar and takes the last scad in the camp."
And to this noble sentiment they responded as one man.
How far they would have been able to carry out that heroic resolve wasnever known, for an event occurred which eclipsed its importance. Onemorning at breakfast Mrs. Pottinger fixed a clouded eye upon Prosper.
"Prosper," she said, with fell deliberation "you ought to know you havea sister."
"Yes, ma'am," returned Prosper, with that meekness with which he usuallyreceived these family disclosures.
"A sister," continued the lady, "whom you haven't seen since you werea child; a sister who for family reasons has been living with otherrelatives; a girl of nineteen."
"Yea, ma'am," said Prosper humbly. "But ef you wouldn't mind writin' allthat down on a bit o' paper--ye know my short memory! I would get it byheart to-day in the gulch. I'd have it all pat enough by night, ef," headded, with a short sigh, "ye was kalkilatin' to make any illusions toit when the boys are here."
"Your sister Augusta," continued Mrs. Pottinger, calmly ignoring thesedetails, "will be here to-morrow to make me a visit."
But here the worm Prosper not only turned, but stood up, nearlyupsetting the table. "It can't be did, ma'am it MUSTN'T be did!" he saidwildly. "It's enough for me to have played this camp with YOU--but nowto run in"--
"Can't be did!" repeated Mrs. Pottinger, rising in her turn and fixingupon the unfortunate Prosper a pair of murky piratical eyes that hadonce quelled the sea-roving Pottinger. "Do you, my adopted son, dare totell me that I can't have my own flesh and blood beneath my roof?"
"Yes! I'd rather tell the whole story--I'd rather tell the boys I fooledthem--than go on again!" burst out the excited Prosper.
But Mrs. Pottinger only set her lips implacably together. "Very well,tell them then," she said rigidly; "tell them how you lured me from myhumble dependence in San Francisco with the prospect of a home with you;tell them how you compelled me to deceive their trusting hearts withyour wicked falsehoods; tell them how you--a foundling--borrowed me foryour mother, my poor dead husband for your father, and made me inventfalsehood upon falsehood to tell them while you sat still and listened!"
Prosper gasped.
"Tell them," she went on deliberately, "that when I wanted to bringmy helpless child to her only home--THEN, only then--you determinedto break your word to me, either because you meanly begrudged her thatshare of your house, or to keep your misdeeds from her knowledge! Tellthem that, Prossy, dear, and see what they'll say!"
Prosper sank back in his chair aghast. In his sudden instinct of revolthe had forgotten the camp! He knew, alas, too well what they would say!He knew that, added to their indignation at having been duped, theirchivalry and absurd sentiment would rise in arms against the abandonmentof two helpless women!
"P'r'aps ye're right, ma'am," he stammered. "I was only thinkin'," headded feebly, "how SHE'D take it."
"She'll take it as I wish her to take it," said Mrs. Pottinger firmly.
"Supposin', ez the camp don't know her, and I ain't bin talkin' o'havin' any SISTER, you ran her in here as my COUSIN? See? You bein' heraunt?"
Mrs. Pottinger regarded him with compressed lips for some time. Thenshe said, slowly and half meditatively: "Yes, it might be done! She willprobably be willing to sacrifice her nearer relationship to save herselffrom passing as your sister. It would be less galling to her pride, andshe wouldn't have to treat you so familiarly."
"Yes, ma'am," said Prosper, too relieved to notice the uncomplimentarynature of the suggestion. "And ye see I could call her 'Miss Pottinger,'which would come easier to me."
In its high resolve to bear with the weaknesses of Prosper's mother,the camp received the news of the advent of Prosper's cousin solely withreference to its possible effect upon the aunt's habits, and very littleother curiosity. Prosper's own reticence, they felt, was probably due tothe tender age at which he had separated from his relations. But whenit was known that Prosper's mother had driven to the house with a verypretty girl of eighteen, there was a flutter of excitement in thatimpressionable community. Prosper, with his usual shyness, had evaded anearly meeting with her, and was even loitering irresolutely on his wayhome from work, when, as he approached the house, to his discomfiturethe door suddenly opened, the young lady appeared and advanced directlytowards him.
She was slim, graceful, and prettily dressed, and at any other momentProsper might have been impressed by her good looks. But her brows wereknit, her dark eyes--in which there was an unmistakable reminiscenceof Mrs. Pottinger--were glittering, and although she was apparentlyanticipating their meeting, it was evidently with no cousinly interest.When within a few feet of him she stopped. Prosper with a feeble smileoffered his hand. She sprang back.
"Don't touch me! Don't come a step nearer or I'll scream!"
Prosper, still with smiling inanity, stammered that he was only "goin'to shake hands," and moved sideways towards the house.
"Stop!" she said, with a stamp of her slim foot. "Stay where you are!We must have our talk out HERE. I'm not going to waste words with you inthere, before HER."
Prosper stopped.
"What did you do this for?" she said angrily. "How dared you? How couldyou? Are you a man, or the fool she takes you for?"
"Wot did I do WOT for?" said Prosper sullenly.
"This! Making my mother pretend you were her son! Bringing her hereamong these men to live a lie!"
"She was willin'," said Prosper gloomily. "I told her what she had todo, and she seemed to like it."
"But couldn't you see she was old and weak, and wasn't
responsible forher actions? Or were you only thinking of yourself?"
This last taunt stung him. He looked up. He was not facing a helpless,dependent old woman as he had been the day before, but a handsome,clever girl, in every way his superior--and in the right! In his vaguesense of honor it seemed more creditable for him to fight it out withHER. He burst out: "I never thought of myself! I never had an oldmother; I never knew what it was to want one--but the men did! And asI couldn't get one for them, I got one for myself--to share and sharealike--I thought they'd be happier ef there was one in the camp!"
There was the unmistakable accent of truth in his voice. There came afaint twitching of the young girl's lips and the dawning of a smile. Butit only acted as a goad to the unfortunate Prosper. "Ye kin laugh, MissPottinger, but it's God's truth! But one thing I didn't do. No! Whenyour mother wanted to bring you in here as my sister, I kicked! I did!And you kin thank me, for all your laughin', that you're standing inthis camp in your own name--and ain't nothin' but my cousin."
"I suppose you thought your precious friends didn't want a SISTER too?"said the girl ironically.
"It don't make no matter wot they want now," he said gloomily. "For," headded, with sudden desperation, "it's come to an end! Yes! You and yourmother will stay here a spell so that the boys don't suspicion nothin'of either of ye. Then I'll give it out that you're takin' your aunt awayon a visit. Then I'll make over to her a thousand dollars for all thetrouble I've given her, and you'll take her away. I've bin a fool, MissPottinger, mebbe I am one now, but what I'm doin' is on the square, andit's got to be done!"
He looked so simple and so good--so like an honest schoolboy confessinga fault and abiding by his punishment, for all his six feet of altitudeand silky mustache--that Miss Pottinger lowered her eyes. But sherecovered herself and said sharply:--
"It's all very well to talk of her going away! But she WON'T. You havemade her like you--yes! like you better than me--than any of us! Shesays you're the only one who ever treated her like a mother--as a mothershould be treated. She says she never knew what peace and comfortwere until she came to you. There! Don't stare like that! Don'tyou understand? Don't you see? Must I tell you again that she isstrange--that--that she was ALWAYS queer and strange--and queerer onaccount of her unfortunate habits--surely you knew THEM, Mr. Riggs! Shequarreled with us all. I went to live with my aunt, and she took herselfoff to San Francisco with a silly claim against my father's shipowners.Heaven only knows how she managed to live there; but she alwaysimpressed people with her manners, and some one always helped her! Atlast I begged my aunt to let me seek her, and I tracked her here.There! If you've confessed everything to me, you have made me confesseverything to you, and about my own mother, too! Now, what is to bedone?"
"Whatever is agreeable to you is the same to me, Miss Pottinger," hesaid formally.
"But you mustn't call me 'Miss Pottinger' so loud. Somebody might hearyou," she returned mischievously.
"All right--'cousin,' then," he said, with a prodigious blush."Supposin' we go in."
In spite of the camp's curiosity, for the next few days they delicatelywithheld their usual evening visits to Prossy's mother. "They'll bewantin' to talk o' old times, and we don't wanter be too previous,"suggested Wynbrook. But their verdict, when they at last met thenew cousin, was unanimous, and their praises extravagant. To theirinexperienced eyes she seemed to possess all her aunt's gentility andprecision of language, with a vivacity and playfulness all her own. Ina few days the whole camp was in love with her. Yet she dispensedher favors with such tactful impartiality and with such innocentenjoyment--free from any suspicion of coquetry--that there were noheartburnings, and the unlucky man who nourished a fancied slightwould have been laughed at by his fellows. She had a town-bred girl'scuriosity and interest in camp life, which she declared was like a"perpetual picnic," and her slim, graceful figure halting beside a ditchwhere the men were working seemed to them as grateful as the new springsunshine. The whole camp became tidier; a coat was considered de rigueurat "Prossy's mother" evenings; there was less horseplay in the trails,and less shouting. "It's all very well to talk about 'old mothers,'"said the cynical barkeeper, "but that gal, single handed, has done morein a week to make the camp decent than old Ma'am Riggs has in a month o'Sundays."
Since Prosper's brief conversation with Miss Pottinger before the house,the question "What is to be done?" had singularly lapsed, nor had itbeen referred to again by either. The young lady had apparently thrownherself into the diversions of the camp with the thoughtless gayety ofa brief holiday maker, and it was not for him to remind her--even had hewished to--that her important question had never been answered. He hadenjoyed her happiness with the relief of a secret shared by her. Threeweeks had passed; the last of the winter's rains had gone. Spring wasstirring in underbrush and wildwood, in the pulse of the waters, in thesap of the great pines, in the uplifting of flowers. Small wonder ifProsper's boyish heart had stirred a little too.
In fact, he had been possessed by another luminous idea--a wild ideathat to him seemed almost as absurd as the one which had brought himall this trouble. It had come to him like that one--out of a starlitnight--and he had risen one morning with a feverish intent to put itinto action! It brought him later to take an unprecedented walk alonewith Miss Pottinger, to linger under green leaves in unfrequented woods,and at last seemed about to desert him as he stood in a little hollowwith her hand in his--their only listener an inquisitive squirrel. Yetthis was all the disappointed animal heard him stammer,--
"So you see, dear, it would THEN be no lie--for--don't you see?--she'dbe really MY mother as well as YOURS."
The marriage of Prosper Riggs and Miss Pottinger was quietly celebratedat Sacramento, but Prossy's "old mother" did not return with the happypair.
Of Mrs. Pottinger's later career some idea may be gathered from a letterwhich Prosper received a year after his marriage. "Circumstances," wroteMrs. Pottinger, "which had induced me to accept the offer of a widowerto take care of his motherless household, have since developed into amore enduring matrimonial position, so that I can always offer my dearProsper a home with his mother, should he choose to visit this locality,and a second father in Hiram W. Watergates, Esq., her husband."