University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.
INTO THE GREAT WORLD.

During his ride, Mr. Gray had time for reflection.
The driver had relapsed into a hard
silence. He experienced a feeling of resentment
at the utter disregard of his dignity implied
in the assumption that the Wingdam stage
could be stopped under any circumstances. And
topped by a boy in charge of a billetdoux. Mr.
Gray, as the innocent cause of the irregular proceeding,
must be made to feel how great an
error the just Aristides had committed.

Mr. Gray's few attempts at propitiation received
monosyllabic replies. The driver handled
the reins with more masterful ease than usual,
and with stoic fortitude inhaled the dust that
curled in rosy clouds about the vehicle. The
stage wound along the serpentine road, now lost
in a bend round a mountain gorge, now seeming
to approach the village they had just left behind.
There were the white dwellings hanging
on the red mountain side, there the school-house
in which Mr. Gray had held a brief and not inglorious
reign, and there, somewhere in the
cluster, was the modest cottage in which dwelt
the correct Clytie and the wayward Mliss.

In the hour of parting, friends are doubl
dear. The master now reproached himself fo
coldness to the one, and a lack of appreciation
of the other. He remembered how tenderly
Clytie's blue eyes had been upturned to his face,
and he doubted if the sternest code of morals
forbade a responsive regard. He recalled, also,
Mliss's passionate ebullitions of jealousy, and
thought what a splendid woman she might
make.

At last the stage wound round the summit,
and left Smith's Pocket in the rear for the last
time. Mr. Gray turned from thoughtful contemplation
of the village and looked both the
road and his future in the face. The prospect
was not displeasing. In the distance the brown
hills softened into a vast expanse of plain with
belts of silver crossing its breast, here and
there, all verging to the same point. The morning
sun shone brightly upon these silver belts,
and upon that broader expanse of silver beyond
the point of meeting, which the eye but faintly
discerned.

The great world lay before him. For him the
hour for action had come. He had wasted some
years, more or less pleasantly, but so far had
performed no deed worthy of entry, even in
pencil mark, in an every day journal. He took
a mental inventory of the implements with
which he proposed to push his way in the world.
He had youth, health, a fair share of brain,
undeniable good looks, a clear conscience, and
an honest name. These were his sinews of war.

In the city to which he was hastening, there
was one man with whom he could claim acquaintance.
He had not seen this man in the
last ten years, but report spoke of him as still
a resident of San Francisco. His name was
Shaw. Mr. Shaw and his own father had been
political enemies and personal friends. Mr.
Shaw was a native of Kentucky, Mr. Gray's
father, of Massachusetts. Both had married in
Kentucky, and had practiced law before the
same courts.

Mr. Gray remembered Mr. Shaw as the boy of
fifteen remembers the prominent man of forty.
He recalled a tall, portly figure; a handsome,
florid countenance; a man of brilliant social
and legal attainments, but reputed to be of
somewhat flexible morals. There had been a
Miss Shaw, too, a child of seven or eight when
they left for California, and a brother a year or
two older. He did not know if the children
still lived, but Mr. Shaw's name often appeared
in the San Francisco papers.

In time they came to the end of the Wingdam
stage line. The driver had been gradually unbending
for the last two miles, preparatory to
the graceful acceptance of that friendly invitation

which the box passenger is expected to extend.
They alighted in front of an imposing-loosing
hotel in a pretty half-mining, half-agricultural
village; the driver pulled off his
gloves, and by a gesture understood only by the
initiated, intimated that he was prepared to
accept an invitation to drink.

Mr. Gray extended the customary courtesy,
and in friendly converse the two approached the
bar. The driver looked austerely at the barkeeper,
as if he suspected that official might
have forgotten his favorite beverage.

“A little sherry, if you please,” said Mr. Grays

The driver but half looked the contempt he
felt for a man who drank sherry after a long and
dusty ride. But in consideration of the fact that
Mr. Gray paid for both sherry and whisky, the
driver graciously forgave the breach of etiquette
of which Mr. Gray had been guilty.

“Hope you'll have luck,” said the driver, tossing
off a liquor that had not been contaminated
with a drop of nature's sparkling beverage.

“Thank you,” replied Mr. Gray. He would
have returned the courtesy, but it occurred to
him that to wish the driver might have luck
was equivalent to an expression of doubt as to
that gentleman's entire control of Dame Fortune
and her minions

“'Spect you see Mliss in 'Frisco,” said the
driver, after a short silence.

“Probably, if I remain in the city. I don't
know how that may be.”

“Make up your mind to, and you will. A
man of your learning ought to thrive in the
city.”

Mr. Gray bowed his acknowledgment of the
compliment conveyed, and suffered the conversation
to drop. The driver took a fresh quid of
tobacco, eyeing his companion, from time to
time, with an inquiring but not unfriendly regard.

“They say you're a man one can depend
upon,” he said, at last; “suppose we have a
word in confidence?”

“As many as you please,” replied Mr. Gray.

The driver led the way apart from the crowd,
and then said:

“Mliss will need a friend afore long.”

“Mliss has her mother—a woman who seems
to knew the world.”

A peculiar expression flitted over the rubicund
visage of the driver. He replied with emphasis:

“That's why Mliss will need a friend.”

Mr. Gray looked up in surprise.

“I don't take any stock in the mother,” said
the other, with a form of expression more pronounced
than the case seemed to call for.

“She seems a pleasant lady,” ventured Mr.
Gray.

“Yes, in Smith's Pocket. There, every man
is Mliss's friend.”

“But she seems fond of Mliss.”

“Seems! But is she? What do the facts
say?”

Mr. Gray was compelled to admit that the
language of the facts was too ambiguous for his
reading.

“The facts say,” resumed the driver, “that
Mrs. Smith was not fond of Mliss until Mliss
was in the way to have money. The facts say
that she let the girl grow up a heatnen, fed and
clothed by people who had no calling to mind if
she starved or not. The facts say that she only
put in an appearance and a claim when Water
could hold the pocket no longer. This is what
facts say, and perhaps they say more than that.”

“You've made out a strong case against Mrs
Smith,” said Mr. Gray, reflectively.

“Not half so strong a case as facts warrant.
Who knows that Mrs. Smith, as she calls herself,
is Mliss's mother at all?”

“Who knows? Wasn't it proved in court?”

“Proved! Of course it was proved—by Mrs.
Smith herself.”

“And no one else?”

“No one else knows anything about it. When
the oldest resident of the Pocket first knew
Smith, he had a little harumscarum daughter
seven or eight years old, and Smith gave out
that her mother was dead. I knew Smith pretty
well. He confided in me, and he told me Mliss's
mother was dead.”

Mr. Gray had nothing to offer to this accumulation
of evidence.

“Perhaps this doesn't concern you, Mr. Gray;
perhaps it doesn't concern me. But if I was
goin' to live in 'Frisco, I'd keep an eye on Mliss.”

There was a touch of reproach in the driver's
regard. It seemed to say, “You are the especial
friend of Mliss, and you don't propose to
trouble yourself about her; I am nothing to her,
but I see the danger that threatens her.”

The lofty self-complacency of the driver had
amused Mr. Gray, and perhaps inspired a sentiment
of dislike, but this feeling now vanished.
He held out his hand.

“You are a better friend to Mliss than I,” he
said, “but I'll keep an eye on the child.”

Two days after Mr. Gray was in San Francisco.
The city did not note his arrival. It did
not recognize the Coming Man in the dusty
traveler that alighted at the door of the American
Exchange, and engaged lodgings without
any flourish of trumpets. Mr. Gray himself did
not feel that consciousness of being somebody
which a stiff financial backing is apt to inspire.
He was his own banker, and the responsibilities
of the position did not disturb his sleep.

He had the means for a week of idlenss—after
that he must work.

He lost no time in seeking an interview with
Mr. Shaw. It was not an easy matter, however,
to approach the great lawyer. Two calls found
that gentleman engaged in business, and a third
was after business hours. Mr. Shaw was in his
private office, but on no account could he be
disturbed. After some persuasion, which ultimately
assumed a financial aspect, the smart office-boy
consented to be the bearer of Mr. Gray's
card.

The office-boy returned in due time, somewhat
subdued in bearing. He had said that Mr. Shaw
would see no one, and Mr. Shaw had consented
to see Mr. Gray. It was a kind of breach of
confidence on the lawyer's part, which might ultimately
interrupt the harmonious relations.
hitherto existing between employer and employe.
Had the lad expressed himself without reserve,
he would probably have said it was going back on
him in a way he couldn't be expected to stand.

Mr. Gray took a seat, and to while away time
picked up a volume of Supreme Court Reports.
He was deep in the labyrinth of argument when
the door to the private office opened, and a tall,
still handsome man of fifty advanced into the
room.

Mr. Gray recognized Mr. Shaw. The latter
was altered, but not past recognition. He was
stouter than the Mr. Shaw of Lexington, Kentucky,
his face fuller and more ruddy, but he
still retained the easy, commanding bearing
which had formerly distinguished him among
men.

“My dear boy, I am delighted to see you.
How you've grown! Whiskers, too, and mustache.
How time flies.

“The last time I saw you,” said Mr. Gray,
after the hand-shaking was over, “was in the
Lexington Court-room. You were defending
Dartmouth against the Commonwealth of Kentucky.”

“I remember. Dartmouth was guilty, but I
received five thousand dollars for persuading a
jury to pronounce him innocent. Those were
great days. The law is a fine profession. Don't
you think so?”

“A great profession for men of great abilities.”

“Tut, man; it's work that does it. No man
becomes a great lawyer who has not been at
some time in his life a great worker. But how
goes the world with you? You've not been idle,
I suppose, since your arrival in California.”

“Not idle, exactly. I've been teaching
school.”

“And made a failure of it, I hope.”

“Thank you; not exactly a failure.”

“Well, be content with a partial success.
There should be a better career open to your
father's son than teaching school. There is no
rise in the profession. The mind is engrossed
in details. A lawyer thinks; a physician thinks;
a clergyman thinks; an editor thinks. A school-teacher
only remembers. Now, you've no right
to that head, John Gray, unless you use it.”

The lawyer mechanically rang a bell at his
elbow as he finished speaking, and a moment
after the smart office-boy appeared, received an
order, and soon after reappeared bearing a tray
on which were decanters filled with different
kinds of liquor.

“Here,” said Mr. Shaw, “is the source to
which the best of us come for inspiration. Try
a little of this brandy.”

“Thank you,” replied Mr. Gray, with sudden
resolve, “I never drink brandy.”

“Whisky, then; I can recommend this?”

“Excuse me; no liquor of any kind.”

Mr. Shaw silently poured out a wineglassful
of pure brandy, and drank it at a draught.

“You are right,” he said; “stick to it. If a
man is so constituted that he can live without
liquor, he is fortunate. As for me, it is life,
strength, vigor. My system reques a tonic. I
rise at eight in the morning, dull, listless, and
dejected. Work is impossible. The world
seems a sorry place. I take a stiff cocktail, and
things look better. The air is refreshing. The
sun imparts life. After twenty minutes I take
my second cocktail; twenty minutes later take
a third. It takes three to put me on friendly
relations with my breakfast. After breakfast,
to work. Everything comes easy. For three
hours I am equal to anything. The worst of it
is, this feeling of exhilaration does not last. By
two in the afternoon I am done for the day. I
am glad you don't drink. It is an accursed
habit. But my system requires stimulant.”

The observant eye of Mr. Gray had long since
discovered that the man before him was but a
wreck of what he had once been. His face had
lost its tone, his eye its brightness. His talk
was rather to himself than to another, and his
general aspect that of a man on the verge of
breaking up.

The lawyer drank three glasses of brandy at
short intervals, as a thirsty man might drink
water, and their effect was visible only in a
greater animation of manner and more emphasis
of speech.

“My dear boy,” he said, “I have not seen
your father for ten years, but he was one of my
best friends. I know a man when I see one, and
I like your looks. What are your plans? What
do you propose to do?”

“I propose, ultimately, to practice law. My
studies, however, are not yet completed.'

“Wasted your time teaching school. However,
that does not matter. Your coming is opportune.
The firm of Shaw & Co., has lost its Co.
I don't propose a partnership just yet, but I'll
give you an opening. That's all you need.”

“That is all I desire. If the opening is not
filled, I can go back to teaching school.”

“It will be filled. I am never mistaken in a
head. I am never mistaken in a character.
Now let me lay before you the condition in
which the affairs of the firm of Shaw & Co. are
at the present time. My best days are past. I
am only fifty, but a fast life has used me up
I am old before my time. I have three or four
years, perhaps, in which I can be of some use,
and after that I shall be simply a figure-head.
You see I look the future square in the face.”

Mr. Gray could only express the hope that
Mr. Shaw looked it too squarely in the face.
But the lawyer poured out another glass of brandy,
nodded “good luck” to his young friend,
and sent it whe e so many had gone before.

“This is what has done it,” he said; “I know
that very well; but without it I should be reduced
to the condition of figure-head in a week.
I propose to prolong the fight so long as I can,
not so much because I like the fight, as in the
hope of making a better showing when the day
of settlement comes.”

Mr. Gray was still in doubt to what extent he
was indebted to the source of all inspiration for
the offer which Mr. Shaw had so precipitately
made. It seemed incredible that the lawyer,
however perspicacious in judgment of men should
throw himself into the arms of a comparative
stranger. He waited, therefore, until the lawyer
should further develop his purpose.

“I told you,” resumed Mr. Shaw, “that the
firm of Shaw & Co. had lost its `Co.' I will now
tell you the circumstances attending its loss.
The `Co.' was represented by a Mr. Hopp. He
was a man of some talent and immense industry.
There is no better lawyer in the city to
work up a case, no worse one to present a case in
court. We worked together very well. He prepared
everything in a masterly manner, and I,
in my department, did the best I could. We
had a large practice, and Hopp was growing
rich. As he grew rich, he grew ambitious. His
ambition prompted him to seek an alliance with
my daughter. The young lady declined the
honor. Hopp persisted. He was in the habit of
overcoming obstacles by sheer persistence. This
time, however, the obstacle was a woman's will.
He proposed three times, and was three times
refused. At last he threatened to threstened me if
she persisted in her refusal. This threat roused
her Kentucky blood. She replied in terms that
suggested a doubt as to the ultimate success of
his suit. He responded in kind. More Kentucky
blood. Miss Shaw rang for a servant, and
directed that functionary to conduct Mr. Hopp
to the door. By chance my son appeared upon
the scene. My son is not regarded as a success
on general principles, but in the line of action
that then presented itself he has few equals.
The interview was disastrous to Mr. Hopp. It
was two weeks before he again appeared in public.
His first act was to withdraw from the
firm. This is how the firm of Shaw & Co. lost
its `Co

“I should say the man was well rid of.”

“In a romantic point of view, yes. In a
business point of view, no. He was a useful
man. As a lawyer, he had the confidence of the
public. An indifferent friend, he is a bitter
enemy. On the whole, a dangerous enemy to a
falling man, like me.”

The falling man turned out another glass of
brandy. Sinking back in his chair his eyes
closed, and to Mr. Gray he seemed a more complete
wreck than ever.

Note to the Reader. — The remainder of this Story was written by another hand than Bret
Harte's; but it will be found equally interesting and able.