20. CHAPTER XX.
THE FIGURE HEAD DISAPPEARS.
Mr Shaw came into Mr. Gray's office, the next
morning, at the usual hour. He seated himself
in an easy chair, and began looking over the papers
relating to the day's business. He looked
weary and depressed. His favorite tonic had
failed to impart the accustomed stimulus. Mr.
Gray explained the details of an important case
which was to be called that morning. The senior
partner failed to grasp the points with his
usual vigor and clearness. He fumbled the papers
purposelessly, examining them with his
eye, but not with his mind. Once or twice he
turned helplessly to his junior, as if beseeching
his forbearance.
“You are not well this morning, Mr. Shaw,”
said the junior, observing the vacant expression
of his senior's eyes.
“Not quite in my usual tone this morning,”
answered Mr. Shaw, making an effort to rouse
himself. “May I trouble you to go over these
again?”
Mr. Gray attempted to do so, but he saw that
his senior's mind failed to follow him.”
“Perhaps you'd better return home, Mr.
Shaw. I can manage this case.”
“Yes,” assented Mr. Shaw, “you can manage it.”
He arose with an effort and looked around him.
His eyes, wandering and vacant, rested at last on his
companion's face.
“I'm afraid,” he said, calmly, “the figure-head is
about to disappear.”
“You'll be better to-morrow,” urged Mr. Gray.
“Go home and take a little rest.”
“Yes, I'll take a little rest. I feel tired. Don't you
ever feel tired?”
“Sometimes. We've had a good business the last
month.”
“What do you do when you feel tired?”
“Take a sleep and a salt-water bath.”
“Well, I'll take a long sleep. It will be nice. Does
the bath ever remind you of a coffin?”
“No; I prefer a swim.”
Quite without apparent cause, Mr, Shaw stepped up
to his junior and grasped his hand.
“Stick to your bath, my boy; stick to your bath.
Let brandy alone.”
Mr. Gray became alarmed. A kind of mental stupor
seemed to have overcome his senior. He stood erect,
but the muscles of his face had relaxed and a purplish
hue had set in below his eyes.
“You are really ill, Mr. Shaw. I'll call a carriage
and take you home.”
Mr. Shaw made a gesture of dissent.
“Wait,” he said, after a moment. “I'd rather rest
here. Go to rest with the harness on. Might frighten
the women.
He sank wearily into a chair. Mr. Gray dispatched
one note to the judge asking a postponement of the
case on account of the sudden and serious illness
of Mr. Shaw, and another summoning Mr. Shaw's
physician.
“A little brandy, Mr. Gray. Half a tumbler full.”
Mr. Gray procured the liquor and held it to his
senior's lips. The latter drank it as if it had been water—or
rather as another would have drunk water.
The liquor had a reviving effect.
“Can't keep up the fight much longer,” he said.
“Brandy is to the system what a mortgage is to
property. Gives relief, but interest has to be paid.
Interest accumulates and eats up the property. Have
to settle sometime. My time has come.”
Mr. Gray could not combat this reasoning.
“Best to face the music,” continued Mr. Shaw. “I
have no fear of dying, but my family—poor Regie,
and—my wife.”
“You have many years yet,” said the other. “A
week's rest will set you on your feet again.”
Mr. Shaw shook his head.
“Doctor told me I'd go off quick, some day. What
day of the month is this?”
“The twentieth of November.”
Mr. Shaw was silent a moment. Then he muttered,
as if speaking to himself:
“Died suddenly, on the twentieth of November,
Reuben Shaw, a distinguished member of the San
Francisco Bar, of—of—of—”
He hesitated, and Mr. Gray bent his head to catch
his words.
“Let us call it heart disease. Somehow people never
die of too much brandy.”
He smiled faintly at this poor satire, and made a
motion to take his companion's hand. After a moment
he continued:
“Deceased enjoyed a lucrative practice, but was
iberal to a fault, and died, leaving a destitute family.
Isn't that the way they do it?”
Hoping to preserve life until the arrival of the physician,
Mr. Gray gave the sick man another glass of
brandy. He drank it as he had drank everything that
approached his lips, and for a moment the progress of
death was stayed.
Mr. Shaw continued his own obituary:
“The last moments of Mr. Shaw's life were marked
by an act of characteristic liberality. He bequeathed
his destitute family to his associate and partner to
support.”
The dying man raised his eyes in which a twinkle of
humor gave a certain pathos to their beseeching regard,
and fixed them on his associate's face.
“Your family shall be taken care of,” censures Mr.
Gary. “I promise you that.”
“Knew you would. Never was deceived in a face.
It's a heavy burden, but—but—but—they've—no—one
else.”
The noble head inclined forward as if weary of its
own weight. The voice that multitudes had hushed
to hear was heard no more on earth.
The note announcing Mr. Shaw's illness was placed
in the hands of the judge at a quarter past ten. Precisely
at a quarter of eleven the same judge was informed
of Mr. Shaw's death. The usual motion to
adjourn was made, introduced by an eloquent tribute
to the character of the deceased. Every one was surprised.
Mr. Shaw had addressed the court eloquently
the day before, in the seeming enjoyment of robust
health. Death came with slight warning. The laws
that govern life were inscrutable. A healthful man in
the prime of manhood ought not to pass thus quickly
from the scenes of his usefulness to the silent tomb.
It seemed like an arbitrary exercise of power on the
part of Providence. Why take him and spare another?
The family physician alone was not surprised. His
prediction was fulfilled, his judgment proved correct.
He had warned the deceased but the deceased had not
heeded his warning.
The daily papers came out with wise editorials in
which Providence, climatic influences and excessive
mental labor were strangely blended. Sudden death
was ascribed primarily to the inscrutable workings of
Providence. This concession made to pious readers,
the same writer searched for a natural cause and
found it in the unusual amount of electricity in the atmosphere
and in the effect of constant mental excitement.
Professional men were advised to take more
relaxation, business men to give fewer hours to moneymaking,
working men to increase the number of their
holidays. The dead man's imaginary enemies were
soundly berated; his real enemy got off scot free.
When the press had had its say, the clergy took up
the theme. They saw the hand of God more visibly.
They interpreted the purpose of God more confidently.
A striking example was needed to remind men that
God ruled over them. The present generation lived
too unmindful of that great fact. They lived without
thought of the future. They lived as if they were
masters of life and death. God had taken a
chief from among them to recall the rank and
file to a sense of their dependence. He had
selected a man of commanding intellect and stalwart
frame that the act might be more conspicuous. Such
exercise of power was sometimes needed. He who
gave life had a right to take life without being questioned
why he did thus and so. A few words of consolation
were offered the widow and orphans. They
were invited to find wisdom in the act that left them
without their natural protector. The blessings of
martyrdom were pointed out. Whom God loveth He
chast neth. Let the bereaved therefore come to Him.
He would give them rest.
Mr. Gray read these wise editorials and listened to
these pulpit exhortations with an impatience not unmingled
with contempt. He knew that Mr. Shaw
died of too much brandy. He knew that, barring
accidents. Mr. Shaw might have lived fifteen years
longer, with a chance of twenty-five, if he had had the
firmness to control his appetite. This charging God
with the sins of a man seemed a kind of impiety.
