The Main Chance

by Meredith Nicholson

  CHAPTER II

  WARRICK RARIDAN

  The Clarkson Club was, during most of the day, the loneliest place intown. Only a few of the sleeping rooms were occupied regularly, andluncheon was the one incident of the day that drew any considerablenumber of men to the dining-room. The antlered heads of moose and elkwere hung in the hall, and colored prints of English hunting scenes andbad oil portraits traits of several pioneers were scattered through thereading and lounging rooms. There was a room which was referred toflatteringly as the library, but its equipment of literature consistedof an encyclopedia and of novels which had been contributed by membersat times coincident with housecleaning seasons at home. Clarksonbusiness men who maintained non-resident memberships in Chicago or St.Louis clubs, said, in excusing the poor patronage of the Clarkson Club,that Clarkson was not a club town, like Kansas City or Denver, wherethere were more unattached men with money to spend.

  Saxton was not over-sensitive, but the stiffness and hardness of theclub house were not without their disagreeable impression on him as hesat at dinner toward the close of his first day in Clarkson. Two of themen to whom Porter had introduced him at noon proved to be fellowlodgers, and they exchanged greetings with him from the table where theysat together. They unsociably read their evening papers as they ate, andleft before he finished. He had lighted a cigar over his coffee, and waswatching the fading colors of a brilliant sunset when a young manappeared at the door, and after a brief inspection of Saxton's backwalked over to him.

  "Aren't you Mr. Saxton? I thought you must be he. My name is Raridan.Don't let me break in on your meditations," he added, taking the chairwhich the waiter drew out for him. "I met Mr. Porter a while ago, and headjured me on penalties that I won't name to be good to you. I don'tknow whether this is obeying orders,"--he broke off in a laugh,--"thatdepends on the point of view." He had produced a cigarette case from hispocket and rolled a white cylinder between his palms before lighting it.As the flame leaped from the match, Saxton noted the young man's thinface, his thick, curling dark hair, his slight mustache, the slendernessof his fingers. The eyes that lay back of rimless glasses were almosttoo fine for a man; but their gentleness and kindliness were charming.

  "You are guilty of a very Christian act," Saxton said. "I was justwondering whether, after the sun had gone down behind that ridge overthere, the world would still be going round."

  "The world never stops entirely here," returned Raridan, "but the motionsometimes gets very slow. Mr. Porter tells me that you're to be one ofus. Let me congratulate us,--and you!"

  "I'm not so sure about you," rejoined Saxton. "At my last stoppingplace in the West they had a way of getting rid of undesirable membersof the community, and I've never got over being nervous. But that wasWyoming. I'm sure you're more civilized here."

  "Not merely civilized; we are civilization! You see I'm a native, anddevoted to the home sod. My father was one of the first settlers. Inever knew why," he laughed again--it was a pleasant laugh--"but I'vetried to live up to my duties as one of the first Caucasians born in thecounty. Some day I'll be exhibited at the State Fair and little childrenwill look at me with awe and admiration."

  "That makes me feel very humble. I'm almost afraid to tell you that I'ma native of Boston, with a long line of highly undistinguished andterribly conventional ancestors back of me. My father was never west ofAlbany; my mother was never in a sleeping-car. But I'm not a tenderfoot.I rode the initiating bronco in Wyoming through all the degrees; and acowboy once shot at me on his unlucky day."

  "Oh, your title's clear. That record gives you all the rights of anative."

  Raridan waved away the waiter who had been hovering near, and who nowwent over to the electric switch and threatened them with light.

  "That's too good to lose," Raridan said, nodding toward the west inexplanation.

  Warrick Raridan was, socially speaking, the most available man in theClarkson Blue Book. He was a graduate in law who did not practise, forhe had, unfortunately, been left alone in the world at twenty-six, withan income that seemed wholly adequate for his immediate or futureneeds. He maintained an office, which was fairly well equipped with theliterature of his profession, but this was merely to take away thereproach of his busier fellow citizens; it was not thought respectableto be an idler in Clarkson, even on reputable antecedents andestablished credit. But Raridan's office was useful otherwise than inproviding its owner with a place for receiving his mail. It was therendezvous for a variety of committees to which he was appointed by suchunrelated bodies as the Clarkson Dramatic Club and the Diocesan Board ofMissions of the Episcopal Church. He had never, by any chance, beenpointed to as a model young man, but religious matters interested himsporadically, and he was referred to facetiously by his friends, whenhis punctilious religious observances were mentioned, as a fine type ofthe "cheerful Christian." He appeared every Sunday at the cathedral,which was the fashionable church in Clarkson, where he passed the platefor the alms and oblations of the well-dressed congregation; and he saidof himself, with conscious humor, that he thought he did it rather well.

  He was capable of quixotism of the most whimsical sort. He had, for ayear, taken his meals at a cheap boarding-house in order that he mightmaintain two Indian boys in school. He was not at all aggrieved when, atthe end of the first year, they ran away and resumed tribal relationswith their brethren. He chaffed himself about it to his friends.

  "It was wrong for me," he would say, "to try to pervert the tastes ofthose young savages. I nearly ruined my own digestion to buy them whiteman's luxuries; I wore out my old clothes that they might not go naked;and all they learned was to smoke cigarettes."

  It was not enough to say that Warry Raridan could lead a german or tiean Ascot tie better than any other man on the Missouri River; for he wasalso the best informed man in that same strenuous valley concerning thetraditions of the English stage, and was a fairly good actor himself, asamateurs go. He had an almost fatal cleverness, which made him impatientof the restraints of college; and he left in his sophomore year owing todifficulties with the mathematical requirements. Good books had aboundedin his father's house, and he was from boyhood a persistent, thougherratic reader. He threw himself with enthusiasm into the study of therise of monastic orders; and from this he changed lightly to the newestbooks on psychology. There were many ways in which he could beentertaining. He had a slight literary gift, which he cultivated for hisown amusement. His humor was fine and keen, and he occasionally wrotescreeds for the local papers, or mailed, apropos of something ornothing, pleasant jingles to his intimate friends.

  No Clarkson hostess felt that a visiting girl had received courteousattention unless she carried home a portfolio of verses written in herhonor by Warry Raridan. He gave, indeed, an impression of greatfrivolity, but there were people who took him seriously, and lawyers whoknew him well said that he might win success in his profession if hewould apply himself. He had once appeared for the people in a suit tocompel the street-railway company to pave certain streets, as providedby the terms of its franchise, and had gained his point against the bestlawyers in the state. This accomplished, he refused an appointment aslocal counsel for a great railway, and with characteristic perversenessspent the following summer managing an open-air mission for poorchildren.

  Saxton was greatly amused and entertained by Raridan. Even those of hisfellow townsmen who did not wholly approve Warry Raridan, admitted hisentertaining qualities; and Saxton, who was painfully conscious of hisown shortcomings and knew that he had not usually been considered worthcultivating, found himself responding with unwonted lightness toRaridan's inconsequential talk. Few people had ever thought it necessaryto take pains with John Saxton, and he greatly enjoyed the novelty ofthis intercourse with a man of his own age who was not a bore. Thebores, as Saxton remembered from his college days, had taken advantageof his good nature and marked him for their own; and with a keenrealization of this he had often wondered in bitterness whether they didnot classify him correct
ly.

  "I'll wager that if you stay here a year you'll never leave," saidRaridan, as they went downstairs together. "I've been about a good deal,and know that we who live here miss a lot of comfort and amusement whichgo as a matter of course in older towns. But there's a roominess andexpansiveness about things out here that I like, and I believe most menwho strike it early enough like it, and are lonesome for it if they goaway. These people here think I stay because my few business interestsare here. The truth is that I've tried running away, but after I'vespent a week east of the Alleghanies, I'm sated with the fleshpots andpine for the wilderness. Why, I go to the stockyards now and then justto see the train-loads of steers come in. I get sensations out of therush and drive of all this that I wouldn't take a good deal for."

  "I think I understand how you feel about it," said Saxton, looking moreclosely at this young man, who was not ashamed to mention his sensationsof sentiment to a stranger. "There were times in Wyoming when Westernlife seemed pretty arid, but when I went back to Boston I was homesickfor Cheyenne."

  "That's a far cry, from Boston to Cheyenne," said Raridan, laughing. Hebegan again volubly: "A good deal depends, I suppose, on which end youcry from. There's a lot of talk these days about the _nouveaux riches_by people who haven't any more French than that. We are advised by afairly competent poet that men may climb on stepping-stones of theirdead selves to higher things; but if they climb on the pickled remainsof the common or garden pig I don't see anything ignoble about it. I'd alot rather ascend on a pyramid of Minnehaha Hams than on my dead self,which I hope to avoid using for step-ladder purposes as long aspossible. The people here are human beings, and they're all good enoughto suit me. I'd as lief be descended from a canvased ham as an Astorpeltry or a Vanderbilt steamboat. And I'm tired of the jokes in thebarber-shop comic weeklies, about the rich Westerners who make a vulgardisplay of themselves in New York. If we do it, it's merely becausewe're doing in Rome as the Romans do. These same shampoo and hair-cuthumorists are unable to get away from their jests about the homicidaltendencies of Western barkeepers and the woolliness of the cowboys.Those anemic commuters down there know no higher joy than a Weber &Fields matinee or a Rogers Brothers on the Bronx first-night. SometimesI feel moved to grow a line of whiskers and add my barbaric yawp to thelong howl of the Populist wolf. But, you know," he added, suddenlylowering his voice, "I reserve the right to abuse my fellow citizenswhen I love them most. I tore Populism to tatters last fall in a fewspeeches they let me make in the back counties. Our central committeehadn't anything to lose out there. That's why they sent me!"

  Saxton was walking beside Raridan in the lower hall. He felt an impulseto express gratitude for his rescue from the loneliness of the twilight;but Raridan, talking incessantly, and with hands thrust easily into histrousers' pockets, led the way into the reading-room.

  "Hello, Wheaton, I didn't know you were at home," he called to a man whosat reading a newspaper, and who now rose on seeing a stranger withRaridan.

  "This is Mr. Saxton, Mr. Wheaton."

  "Oh, yes," said the man introduced as Wheaton. "I wondered whether Ishouldn't see you here. Mr. Porter told me you had come."

  "I've been bringing Mr. Saxton up to date in local history," saidRaridan.

  "Chiefly concerning yourself, I suppose," said Wheaton, with a smilethat did not wholly succeed in being amiable.

  "It isn't often I get a chance at a brand new man," Raridan ran on."I've told the worst about you, so conduct yourself accordingly."

  "Mr. Raridan's worst isn't very bad," said Saxton. "From his account ofthis town and its people, the place must be paradise and the inhabitantssaints."

  Raridan called for cigars, but Wheaton declined them.

  "Remarkable fellow," said Raridan, busy with his match. "Paragon amongour business men; exemplary habits, and so forth." He waved the smokingmatchstick to imply virtues in Wheaton which it was unnecessary tomention.

  Wheaton ignored Raridan's chaffing way. He seemed very serious, and hadnot much to say. He had just come home, from a tedious trip to thewestern part of the state, he said, on an errand for his bank. He wastall, slim and dark. There was a suggestion of sleepy indifference inhis black eyes, though he had a well-established reputation for energyand industry. Saxton commented to himself that Wheaton's hands and feetwere smaller than he thought becoming in a man.

  "Mr. Porter told me you were quartered here. I hope they can make youcomfortable. I'm personally relieved that you have come. Your Bostonfriends were getting very impatient with us. We shall do all in ourpower to aid you; but of course Mr. Porter has said all that to you."His smile was by a movement of the lips, and his eyes did not seem toparticipate in it. He did not refer again to possible business relationswith Saxton, but turned the conversation into general channels. They sattogether for an hour, Raridan, as was his way in any company, doing mostof the talking. They seemed to have the club house to themselves. Nowand then one of the negro servants came and looked in upon themsleepily. A clerk at the desk in the hall read in peace. A party ofyoung people could be heard entering by the side door set apart forwomen; and muffled echoes of their gaiety reached the trio in thereading-room.

  "That's back in the incurables' ward," said Raridan, in explanation toSaxton.

  "It isn't nice of you to speak of the gentler sex in that way,"admonished Wheaton.

  "Oh, there are girls and girls," said Raridan wearily. "It does seem tome that Mabel Margrave is always hungry. Why can't she do her eating athome?"

  "He's simply jealous," Wheaton remarked to Saxton. "He always acts thatway when he hears a girl in the ladies' dining-room, and doesn't dare goback and break in on some other fellow's party."

  "When you show signs of mental decay, it's time for us to go home,Wheaton." Raridan held out his hand to Saxton. "I'm glad you're here,and you may be sure we'll try to make you like us. Wheaton and I live ina barracks around the corner, with a few other homeless wanderers. Anill-favored thing,--but our own! I hope to see you there. Don't beafraid of the Chinaman at the door. My cell is up one flight and to theright."

  "And don't overlook me there," Wheaton interposed. "I suppose we shallsee you down town very often. Mr. Raridan is the only man in Clarksonwho has no visible means of support. The rest of us are pretty busy; butthat doesn't mean that we shan't be glad to see you at the ClarksonNational."

  "You see how intensely commercial he is," said Raridan. "He's talkingfor the bank, you notice, and not for himself."

  "I'm sure he means both." Saxton had followed them to the front door,where they repeated their good nights; he then climbed slowly to hisroom. He had never before met a man so volatile and fanciful as WarrickRaridan. He felt the warmth and friendliness of Raridan's nature aspeople always did; Wheaton seemed cold and dull in comparison. Saxtonunpacked his trunks and distributed his things about the room. Hiseffects were simple, as befitted a man who was plain of mind and person.He had collected none of the memorabilia which young men usually haveassembled at twenty-five. The furnishings of his dressing table and deskwere his own purchases, or those of his sister, who was the only womanthat had ever made him gifts. Having emptied his trunks and sent them tothe storeroom above, he seated himself comfortably in a lounging chairand smoked a final pipe before turning in.