III
The Langhams were to arrive on Friday, and during the week before thatday Clay went about with a long slip of paper in his pocket which hewould consult earnestly in corners, and upon which he would note downthe things that they had left undone. At night he would sit staring atit and turning it over in much concern, and would beg Langham to tellhim what he could have meant when he wrote "see Weimer," or "cleanbrasses," or "S. Q. M." "Why should I see Weimer," he would exclaim,"and which brasses, and what does S. Q. M. stand for, for heaven'ssake?"
They held a full-dress rehearsal in the bungalow to improve its stateof preparation, and drilled the servants and talked English to them, sothat they would know what was wanted when the young ladies came. Itwas an interesting exercise, and had the three young men been lessserious in their anxiety to welcome the coming guests they would havefound themselves very amusing--as when Langham would lean over thebalcony in the court and shout back into the kitchen, in what wassupposed to be an imitation of his sister's manner, "Bring my coffeeand rolls--and don't take all day about it either," while Clay andMacWilliams stood anxiously below to head off the servants when theycarried in a can of hot water instead of bringing the horses round tothe door, as they had been told to do.
"Of course it's a bit rough and all that," Clay would say, "but theyhave only to tell us what they want changed and we can have it readyfor them in an hour."
"Oh, my sisters are all right," Langham would reassure him; "they'llthink it's fine. It will be like camping-out to them, or a picnic.They'll understand."
But to make sure, and to "test his girders," as Clay put it, they gavea dinner, and after that a breakfast. The President came to the first,with his wife, the Countess Manuelata, Madame la Presidenta, andCaptain Stuart, late of the Gordon Highlanders, and now in command ofthe household troops at the Government House and of the body-guard ofthe President. He was a friend of Clay's and popular with every onepresent, except for the fact that he occupied this position, instead ofserving his own Government in his own army. Some people said he hadbeen crossed in love, others, less sentimental, that he had forged acheck, or mixed up the mess accounts of his company. But Clay andMacWilliams said it concerned no one why he was there, and thenemphasized the remark by picking a quarrel with a man who had given anunpleasant reason for it. Stuart, so far as they were concerned, coulddo no wrong.
The dinner went off very well, and the President consented to dine withthem in a week, on the invitation of young Langham to meet his father.
"Miss Langham is very beautiful, they tell me," Madame Alvarez said toClay. "I heard of her one winter in Rome; she was presented there andmuch admired."
"Yes, I believe she is considered very beautiful," Clay said. "I haveonly just met her, but she has travelled a great deal and knows everyone who is of interest, and I think you will like her very much."
"I mean to like her," said the woman. "There are very few of thenative ladies who have seen much of the world beyond a trip to Paris,where they live in their hotels and at the dressmaker's while theirhusbands enjoy themselves; and sometimes I am rather heart-sick for myhome and my own people. I was overjoyed when I heard Miss Langham wasto be with us this winter. But you must not keep her out here toyourselves. It is too far and too selfish. She must spend some timewith me at the Government House."
"Yes," said Clay, "I am afraid of that. I am afraid the young ladieswill find it rather lonely out here."
"Ah, no," exclaimed the woman, quickly. "You have made it beautiful,and it is only a half-hour's ride, except when it rains," she added,laughing, "and then it is almost as easy to row as to ride."
"I will have the road repaired," interrupted the President. "It is mywish, Mr. Clay, that you will command me in every way; I am mostdesirous to make the visit of Mr. Langham agreeable to him, he is doingso much for us."
The breakfast was given later in the week, and only men were present.They were the rich planters and bankers of Valencia, generals in thearmy, and members of the Cabinet, and officers from the tiny war-shipin the harbor. The breeze from the bay touched them through the opendoors, the food and wine cheered them, and the eager courtesy andhospitality of the three Americans pleased and flattered them. Theywere of a people who better appreciate the amenities of life than itssacrifices.
The breakfast lasted far into the afternoon, and, inspired by thesuccess of the banquet, Clay quite unexpectedly found himself on hisfeet with his hand on his heart, thanking the guests for the good-willand assistance which they had given him in his work. "I have trampeddown your coffee plants, and cut away your forests, and disturbed yoursleep with my engines, and you have not complained," he said, in hisbest Spanish, "and we will show that we are not ungrateful."
Then Weimer, the Consul, spoke, and told them that in his AnnualConsular Report, which he had just forwarded to the State Department,he had related how ready the Government of Olancho had been to assistthe American company. "And I hope," he concluded, "that you will allowme, gentlemen, to propose the health of President Alvarez and themembers of his Cabinet."
The men rose to their feet, one by one, filling their glasses andlaughing and saying, "Viva el Gobernador," until they were allstanding. Then, as they looked at one another and saw only the facesof friends, some one of them cried, suddenly, "To President Alvarez,Dictator of Olancho!"
The cry was drowned in a yell of exultation, and men sprang cheering totheir chairs waving their napkins above their heads, and those who woreswords drew them and flashed them in the air, and the quiet, lazygood-nature of the breakfast was turned into an uproarious scene ofwild excitement. Clay pushed back his chair from the head of the tablewith an anxious look at the servants gathered about the open door, andWeimer clutched frantically at Langham's elbow and whispered, "What didI say? For heaven's sake, how did it begin?"
The outburst ceased as suddenly as it had started, and old GeneralRojas, the Vice-President, called out, "What is said is said, but itmust not be repeated."
Stuart waited until after the rest had gone, and Clay led him out tothe end of the veranda. "Now will you kindly tell me what that was?"Clay asked. "It didn't sound like champagne."
"No," said the other, "I thought you knew. Alvarez means to proclaimhimself Dictator, if he can, before the spring elections."
"And are you going to help him?"
"Of course," said the Englishman, simply.
"Well, that's all right," said Clay, "but there's no use shouting thefact all over the shop like that--and they shouldn't drag me into it."
Stuart laughed easily and shook his head. "It won't be long beforeyou'll be in it yourself," he said.
Clay awoke early Friday morning to hear the shutters beating viciouslyagainst the side of the house, and the wind rushing through the palms,and the rain beating in splashes on the zinc roof. It did not comesoothingly and in a steady downpour, but brokenly, like the rush ofwaves sweeping over a rough beach. He turned on the pillow and shuthis eyes again with the same impotent and rebellious sense ofdisappointment that he used to feel when he had wakened as a boy andfound it storming on his holiday, and he tried to sleep once more inthe hope that when he again awoke the sun would be shining in his eyes;but the storm only slackened and did not cease, and the rain continuedto fall with dreary, relentless persistence. The men climbed the muddyroad to the Palms, and viewed in silence the wreck which the night hadbrought to their plants and garden paths. Rivulets of muddy water hadcut gutters over the lawn and poured out from under the veranda, andplants and palms lay bent and broken, with their broad leavesbedraggled and coated with mud. The harbor and the encirclingmountains showed dimly through a curtain of warm, sticky rain. Tosomething that Langham said of making the best of it, MacWilliamsreplied, gloomily, that he would not be at all surprised if the ladiesrefused to leave the ship and demanded to be taken home immediately."I am sorry," Clay said, simply; "I wanted them to like it."
The men walked back to the office in grim silence, and
took turns inwatching with a glass the arms of the semaphore, three miles below, atthe narrow opening of the bay. Clay smiled nervously at himself, witha sudden sinking at the heart, and with a hot blush of pleasure, as hethought of how often he had looked at its great arms out lined like amast against the sky, and thanked it in advance for telling him thatshe was near. In the harbor below, the vessels lay with bare yards andempty decks, the wharves were deserted, and only an occasional smallboat moved across the beaten surface of the bay.
But at twelve o'clock MacWilliams lowered the glass quickly, with alittle gasp of excitement, rubbed its moist lens on the inside of hiscoat and turned it again toward a limp strip of bunting that wascrawling slowly up the halyards of the semaphore. A second drippingrag answered it from the semaphore in front of the Custom-House, andMacWilliams laughed nervously and shut the glass.
"It's red," he said; "they've come."
They had planned to wear white duck suits, and go out in a launch witha flag flying, and they had made MacWilliams purchase a red cummerbundand a pith helmet; but they tumbled into the launch now, wet andbedraggled as they were, and raced Weimer in his boat, with theAmerican flag clinging to the pole, to the side of the big steamer asshe drew slowly into the bay. Other row-boats and launches andlighters began to push out from the wharves, men appeared under thesagging awnings of the bare houses along the river-front, and thecustom and health officers in shining oil-skins and puffing damp cigarsclambered over the side.
"I see them," cried Langham, jumping up and rocking the boat in hisexcitement. "There they are in the bow. That's Hope waving. Hope!hullo, Hope!" he shouted, "hullo!" Clay recognized her standing betweenthe younger sister and her father, with the rain beating on all ofthem, and waving her hand to Langham. The men took off their hats, andas they pulled up alongside she bowed to Clay and nodded brightly.They sent Langham up the gangway first, and waited until he had madehis greetings to his family alone.
"We have had a terrible trip, Mr. Clay," Miss Langham said to him,beginning, as people will, with the last few days, as though they wereof the greatest importance; "and we could see nothing of you at themines at all as we passed--only a wet flag, and a lot of very friendlyworkmen, who cheered and fired off pans of dynamite."
"They did, did they?" said Clay, with a satisfied nod. "That's allright, then. That was a royal salute in your honor. Kirkland had thatto do. He's the foreman of A opening. I am awfully sorry about thisrain--it spoils everything."
"I hope it hasn't spoiled our breakfast," said Mr. Langham. "We haven'teaten anything this morning, because we wanted a change of diet, andthe captain told us we should be on shore before now."
"We have some carriages for you at the wharf, and we will drive youright out to the Palms," said young Langham. "It's shorter by water,but there's a hill that the girls couldn't climb today. That's thehouse we built for you, Governor, with the flag-pole, up there on thehill; and there's your ugly old pier; and that's where we live, in thelittle shack above it, with the tin roof; and that opening to the rightis the terminus of the railroad MacWilliams built. Where'sMacWilliams? Here, Mac, I want you to know my father. This isMacWilliams, sir, of whom I wrote you."
There was some delay about the baggage, and in getting the partytogether in the boats that Langham and the Consul had brought; andafter they had stood for some time on the wet dock, hungry and damp, itwas rather aggravating to find that the carriages which Langham hadordered to be at one pier had gone to another. So the new arrivals satrather silently under the shed of the levee on a row of cotton-bales,while Clay and MacWilliams raced off after the carriages.
"I wish we didn't have to keep the hood down," young Langham said,anxiously, as they at last proceeded heavily up the muddy streets; "itmakes it so hot, and you can't see anything. Not that it's worthseeing in all this mud and muck, but it's great when the sun shines.We had planned it all so differently."
He was alone with his family now in one carriage, and the other men andthe servants were before them in two others. It seemed an interminableride to them all--to the strangers, and to the men who were anxiousthat they should be pleased. They left the city at last, and toiledalong the limestone road to the Palms, rocking from side to side andsinking in ruts filled with rushing water. When they opened the flapof the hood the rain beat in on them, and when they closed it theystewed in a damp, warm atmosphere of wet leather and horse-hair.
"This is worse than a Turkish bath," said Hope, faintly. "Don't youlive anywhere, Ted?"
"Oh, it's not far now," said the younger brother, dismally; but even ashe spoke the carriage lurched forward and plunged to one side and cameto a halt, and they could hear the streams rushing past the wheels likethe water at the bow of a boat. A wet, black face appeared at theopening of the hood, and a man spoke despondently in Spanish.
"He says we're stuck in the mud," explained Langham. He looked at themso beseechingly and so pitifully, with the perspiration streaming downhis face, and his clothes damp and bedraggled, that Hope leaned backand laughed, and his father patted him on the knee. "It can't be anyworse," he said, cheerfully; "it must mend now. It is not your fault,Ted, that we're starving and lost in the mud."
Langham looked out to find Clay and MacWilliams knee-deep in therunning water, with their shoulders against the muddy wheels, and thedriver lashing at the horses and dragging at their bridles. He sprangout to their assistance, and Hope, shaking off her sister's detaininghands, jumped out after him, laughing. She splashed up the hill to thehorses' heads, motioning to the driver to release his hold on theirbridles.
"That is not the way to treat a horse," she said. "Let me have them.Are you men all ready down there?" she called. Each of the three menglued a shoulder to a wheel, and clenched his teeth and nodded. "Allright, then," Hope called back. She took hold of the huge Mexican bitsclose to the mouth, where the pressure was not so cruel, and thencoaxing and tugging by turns, and slipping as often as the horsesthemselves, she drew them out of the mud, and with the help of the menback of the carriage pulled it clear until it stood free again at thetop of the hill. Then she released her hold on the bridles and lookeddown, in dismay, at her frock and hands, and then up at the three men.They appeared so utterly miserable and forlorn in their muddy garments,and with their faces washed with the rain and perspiration, that thegirl gave way suddenly to an uncontrollable shriek of delight. The menstared blankly at her for a moment, and then inquiringly at oneanother, and as the humor of the situation struck them they burst intoan echoing shout of laughter, which rose above the noise of the windand rain, and before which the disappointments and trials of themorning were swept away. Before they reached the Palms the sun was outand shining with fierce brilliancy, reflecting its rays on every dampleaf, and drinking up each glistening pool of water.
MacWilliams and Clay left the Langhams alone together, and returned tothe office, where they assured each other again and again that therewas no doubt, from what each had heard different members of the familysay, that they were greatly pleased with all that had been prepared forthem.
"They think it's fine!" said young Langham, who had run down the hillto tell them about it. "I tell you, they are pleased. I took them allover the house, and they just exclaimed every minute. Of course," hesaid, dispassionately, "I thought they'd like it, but I had no idea itwould please them as much as it has. My Governor is so delighted withthe place that he's sitting out there on the veranda now, rockinghimself up and down and taking long breaths of sea-air, just as thoughhe owned the whole coast-line."
Langham dined with his people that night, Clay and MacWilliams havingpromised to follow him up the hill later. It was a night of muchmoment to them all, and the two men ate their dinner in silence, eachconsidering what the coming of the strangers might mean to him.
As he was leaving the room MacWilliams stopped and hovered uncertainlyin the doorway.
"Are you going to get yourself into a dress-suit to-night?" he asked.Clay said that he thought
he would; he wanted to feel quite clean oncemore.
"Well, all right, then," the other returned, reluctantly. "I'll do itfor this once, if you mean to, but you needn't think I'm going to makea practice of it, for I'm not. I haven't worn a dress-suit," hecontinued, as though explaining his principles in the matter, "sinceyour spread when we opened the railroad--that's six months ago; and thetime before that I wore one at MacGolderick's funeral. MacGolderickblew himself up at Puerto Truxillo, shooting rocks for the breakwater.We never found all of him, but we gave what we could get together asfine a funeral as those natives ever saw. The boys, they wanted tomake him look respectable, so they asked me to lend them my dress-suit,but I told them I meant to wear it myself. That's how I came to wear adress-suit at a funeral. It was either me or MacGolderick."
"MacWilliams," said Clay, as he stuck the toe of one boot into the heelof the other, "if I had your imagination I'd give up railroading andtake to writing war clouds for the newspapers."
"Do you mean you don't believe that story?" MacWilliams demanded,sternly.
"I do," said Clay, "I mean I don't."
"Well, let it go," returned MacWilliams, gloomily; "but there's beenfunerals for less than that, let me tell you."
A half-hour later MacWilliams appeared in the door and stood gazingattentively at Clay arranging his tie before a hand-glass, and then athimself in his unusual apparel.
"No wonder you voted to dress up," he exclaimed finally, in a tone ofpersonal injury. "That's not a dress-suit you've got on anyway. Ithasn't any tails. And I hope for your sake, Mr. Clay," he continued,his voice rising in plaintive indignation, "that you are not going toplay that scarf on us for a vest. And you haven't got a high collar on,either. That's only a rough blue print of a dress-suit. Why, you lookjust as comfortable as though you were going to enjoy yourself--and youlook cool, too."
"Well, why not?" laughed Clay.
"Well, but look at me," cried the other. "Do I look cool? Do I lookhappy or comfortable? No, I don't. I look just about the way I feel,like a fool undertaker. I'm going to take this thing right off. Youand Ted Langham can wear your silk scarfs and bobtail coats, if youlike, but if they don't want me in white duck they don't get me."
When they reached the Palms, Clay asked Miss Langham if she did notwant to see his view. "And perhaps, if you appreciate it properly, Iwill make you a present of it," he said, as he walked before her downthe length of the veranda.
"It would be very selfish to keep it all to my self," she said.
"Couldn't we share it?" They had left the others seated facing thebay, with MacWilliams and young Langham on the broad steps of theveranda, and the younger sister and her father sitting in long bamboosteamer-chairs above them.
Clay and Miss Langham were quite alone. From the high cliff on whichthe Palms stood they could look down the narrow inlet that joined theocean and see the moonlight turning the water into a rippling ladder oflight and gilding the dark green leaves of the palms near them with aborder of silver. Directly below them lay the waters of the bay,reflecting the red and green lights of the ships at anchor, and beyondthem again were the yellow lights of the town, rising one above theother as the city crept up the hill. And back of all were themountains, grim and mysterious, with white clouds sleeping in theirhuge valleys, like masses of fog.
Except for the ceaseless murmur of the insect life about them the nightwas absolutely still--so still that the striking of the ships' bells inthe harbor came to them sharply across the surface of the water, andthey could hear from time to time the splash of some great fish and thesteady creaking of an oar in a rowlock that grew fainter and fainter asit grew further away, until it was drowned in the distance. MissLangham was for a long time silent. She stood with her hands claspedbehind her, gazing from side to side into the moonlight, and hadapparently forgotten that Clay was present.
"Well," he said at last, "I think you appreciate it properly. I wasafraid you would exclaim about it, and say it was fine, or charming, orsomething."
Miss Langham turned to him and smiled slightly. "And you told me oncethat you knew me so very well," she said.
Clay chose to forget much that he had said on that night when he hadfirst met her. He knew that he had been bold then, and had dared to beso because he did not think he would see her again; but, now that hewas to meet her every day through several months, it seemed better tohim that they should grow to know each other as they really were,simply and sincerely, and without forcing the situation in any way.
So he replied, "I don't know you so well now. You must remember Ihaven't seen you for a year."
"Yes, but you hadn't seen me for twenty-two years then," she answered."I don't think you have changed much," she went on. "I expected to findyou gray with cares. Ted wrote us about the way you work all day atthe mines and sit up all night over calculations and plans and reports.But you don't show it. When are you going to take us over the mines?To-morrow? I am very anxious to see them, but I suppose father willwant to inspect them first. Hope knows all about them, I believe; sheknows their names, and how much you have taken out, and how much youhave put in, too, and what MacWilliams's railroad cost, and who got thecontract for the ore pier. Ted told us in his letters, and she used towork it out on the map in father's study. She is a most energeticchild; I think sometimes she should have been a boy. I wish I could bethe help to any one that she is to my father and to me. Whenever I amblue or down she makes fun of me, and--"
"Why should you ever be blue?" asked Clay, abruptly.
"There is no real reason, I suppose," the girl answered, smiling,"except that life is so very easy for me that I have to invent somewoes. I should be better for a few reverses." And then she went on ina lower voice, and turning her head away, "In our family there is nowoman older than I am to whom I can go with questions that trouble me.Hope is like a boy, as I said, and plays with Ted, and my father isvery busy with his affairs, and since my mother died I have been verymuch alone. A man cannot understand. And I cannot understand why Ishould be speaking to you about myself and my troubles, except--" sheadded, a little wistfully, "that you once said you were interested inme, even if it was as long as a year ago. And because I want you to bevery kind to me, as you have been to Ted, and I hope that we are goingto be very good friends."
She was so beautiful, standing in the shadow with the moonlight abouther and with her hand held out to him, that Clay felt as though thescene were hardly real. He took her hand in his and held it for amoment. His pleasure in the sweet friendliness of her manner and inher beauty was so great that it kept him silent.
"Friends!" he laughed under his breath. "I don't think there is muchdanger of our not being friends. The danger lies," he went on,smiling, "in my not being able to stop there."
Miss Langham made no sign that she had heard him, but turned and walkedout into the moonlight and down the porch to where the others weresitting.
Young Langham had ordered a native orchestra of guitars and reedinstruments from the town to serenade his people, and they werestanding in front of the house in the moonlight as Miss Langham andClay came forward. They played the shrill, eerie music of theircountry with a passion and feeling that filled out the strange tropicalscene around them; but Clay heard them only as an accompaniment to hisown thoughts, and as a part of the beautiful night and the tall,beautiful girl who had dominated it. He watched her from the shadow asshe sat leaning easily forward and looking into the night. Themoonlight fell full upon her, and though she did not once look at himor turn her head in his direction, he felt as though she must beconscious of his presence, as though there were already anunderstanding between them which she herself had established. She hadasked him to be her friend. That was only a pretty speech, perhaps;but she had spoken of herself, and had hinted at her perplexities andher loneliness, and he argued that while it was no compliment to beasked to share another's pleasure, it must mean something when one wasallowed to learn a little of another's troubles
.
And while his mind was flattered and aroused by this promise ofconfidence between them, he was rejoicing in the rare quality of herbeauty, and in the thought that she was to be near him, and near himhere, of all places. It seemed a very wonderful thing toClay--something that could only have happened in a novel or a play.For while the man and the hour frequently appeared together, he hadfound that the one woman in the world and the place and the man was amuch more difficult combination to bring into effect. No one, heassured himself thankfully, could have designed a more lovely settingfor his love-story, if it was to be a love-story, and he hoped it was,than this into which she had come of her own free will. It was a landof romance and adventure, of guitars and latticed windows, of warmbrilliant days and gorgeous silent nights, under purple heavens andwhite stars. And he was to have her all to himself, with no one nearto interrupt, no other friends, even, and no possible rival. She wasnot guarded now by a complex social system, with its responsibilities.He was the most lucky of men. Others had only seen her in herdrawing-room or in an opera-box, but he was free to fordmountain-streams at her side, or ride with her under arches of thegreat palms, or to play a guitar boldly beneath her window. He wasfree to come and go at any hour; not only free to do so, but the verynature of his duties made it necessary that they should be thrownconstantly together.
The music of the violins moved him and touched him deeply, and stirreddepths at which he had not guessed. It made him humble and deeplygrateful, and he felt how mean and unworthy he was of such greathappiness. He had never loved any woman as he felt that he could lovethis woman, as he hoped that he was to love her. For he was not so farblinded by her beauty and by what he guessed her character to be, as toimagine that he really knew her. He only knew what he hoped she was,what he believed the soul must be that looked out of those kind,beautiful eyes, and that found utterance in that wonderful voice whichcould control him and move him by a word.
He felt, as he looked at the group before him, how lonely his own lifehad been, how hard he had worked for so little--for what other menfound ready at hand when they were born into the world.
He felt almost a touch of self-pity at his own imperfectness; and thepower of his will and his confidence in himself, of which he was soproud, seemed misplaced and little. And then he wondered if he had notneglected chances; but in answer to this his injured self-love rose torebut the idea that he had wasted any portion of his time, and heassured himself that he had done the work that he had cut out forhimself to do as best he could; no one but himself knew with whatcourage and spirit. And so he sat combating with himself, hoping onemoment that she would prove what he believed her to be, and the next,scandalized at his temerity in daring to think of her at all.
The spell lifted as the music ceased, and Clay brought himself back tothe moment and looked about him as though he were waking from a dreamand had expected to see the scene disappear and the figures near himfade into the moonlight.
Young Langham had taken a guitar from one of the musicians and pressedit upon MacWilliams, with imperative directions to sing such and suchsongs, of which, in their isolation, they had grown to think mosthighly, and MacWilliams was protesting in much embarrassment.
MacWilliams had a tenor voice which he maltreated in the most villanousmanner by singing directly through his nose. He had a taste forsentimental songs, in which "kiss" rhymed with "bliss," and in which"the people cry" was always sure to be followed with "as she goes by,that's pretty Katie Moody," or "Rosie McIntyre." He had gathered hissongs at the side of camp-fires, and in canteens at the firstsection-house of a new railroad, and his original collection of balladshad had but few additions in several years. MacWilliams at first wasshy, which was quite a new development, until he made them promise tolaugh if they wanted to laugh, explaining that he would not mind thatso much as he would the idea that he thought he was serious.
The song of which he was especially fond was one called "He never caresto wander from his own Fireside," which was especially appropriate incoming from a man who had visited almost every spot in the threeAmericas, except his home, in ten years. MacWilliams always ended theevening's entertainment with this chorus, no matter how many times ithad been sung previously, and seemed to regard it with much the sameveneration that the true Briton feels for his national anthem.
The words of the chorus were:
"He never cares to wander from his own fireside, He never cares to wander or to roam. With his babies on his knee, He's as happy as can be, For there's no place like Home, Sweet Home."
MacWilliams loved accidentals, and what he called "barber-shop chords."He used a beautiful accidental at the word "be," of which he was veryfond, and he used to hang on that note for a long time, so that thosein the extreme rear of the hall, as he was wont to explain, should getthe full benefit of it. And it was his custom to emphasize "for" inthe last line by speaking instead of singing it, and then coming to afull stop before dashing on again with the excellent truth that "thereis NO place like Home, Sweet Home."
The men at the mines used to laugh at him and his song at first, butthey saw that it was not to be so laughed away, and that he regarded itwith some peculiar sentiment. So they suffered him to sing it in peace.
MacWilliams went through his repertoire to the unconcealed amusement ofyoung Langham and Hope. When he had finished he asked Hope if she knewa comic song of which he had only heard by reputation. One of the menat the mines had gained a certain celebrity by claiming to have heardit in the States, but as he gave a completely new set of words to thetune of the "Wearing of the Green" as the true version, his veracitywas doubted. Hope said she knew it, of course, and they all went intothe drawing-room, where the men grouped themselves about the piano. Itwas a night they remembered long afterward. Hope sat at the pianoprotesting and laughing, but singing the songs of which the new-comershad become so weary, but which the three men heard open-eyed, andhailed with shouts of pleasure. The others enjoyed them and theirdelight, as though they were people in a play expressing themselves inthis extravagant manner for their entertainment, until they understoodhow poverty-stricken their lives had been and that they were not onlyenjoying the music for itself, but because it was characteristic of allthat they had left behind them. It was pathetic to hear them boast ofhaving read of a certain song in such a paper, and of the fact thatthey knew the plot of a late comic opera and the names of those who hadplayed in it, and that it had or had not been acceptable to the NewYork public.
"Dear me," Hope would cry, looking over her shoulder with a despairingglance at her sister and father, "they don't even know 'Tommy Atkins'!"
It was a very happy evening for them all, foreshadowing, as it did, acontinuation of just such evenings. Young Langham was radiant withpleasure at the good account which Clay had given of him to his father,and Mr. Langham was gratified, and proud of the manner in which his sonand heir had conducted himself; and MacWilliams, who had never beforebeen taken so simply and sincerely by people of a class that he hadalways held in humorous awe, felt a sudden accession of dignity, and anunhappy fear that when they laughed at what he said, it was because itssense was so utterly different from their point of view, and notbecause they saw the humor of it. He did not know what the word "snob"signified, and in his roughened, easy-going nature there was no touchof false pride; but he could not help thinking how surprised his peoplewould be if they could see him, whom they regarded as a wanderer andrenegade on the face of the earth and the prodigal of the family, andfor that reason the best loved, leaning over a grand piano, while onedaughter of his much-revered president played comic songs for hisdelectation, and the other, who according to the newspapers refusedprinces daily, and who was the most wonderful creature he had everseen, poured out his coffee and brought it to him with her own hands.
The evening came to an end at last, and the new arrivals accompaniedtheir visitors to the veranda as they started to their cabin for thenight. Clay was asking Mr. Lang
ham when he wished to visit the mines,and the others were laughing over farewell speeches, when young Langhamstartled them all by hurrying down the length of the veranda andcalling on them to follow.
"Look!" he cried, pointing down the inlet. "Here comes a man-of-war,or a yacht. Isn't she smart-looking? What can she want here at thishour of the night? They won't let them land. Can you make her out,MacWilliams?"
A long, white ship was steaming slowly up the inlet, and passed withina few hundred feet of the cliff on which they were standing.
"Why, it's the 'Vesta'!" exclaimed Hope, wonderingly. "I thought shewasn't coming for a week?"
"It can't be the 'Vesta'!" said the elder sister; "she was not to havesailed from Havana until to-day."
"What do you mean?" asked Langham. "Is it King's boat? Do you expecthim here? Oh, what fun! I say, Clay, here's the 'Vesta,' ReggieKing's yacht, and he's no end of a sport. We can go all over the placenow, and he can land us right at the door of the mines if we want to."
"Is it the King I met at dinner that night?" asked Clay, turning toMiss Langham.
"Yes," she said. "He wanted us to come down on the yacht, but wethought the steamer would be faster; so he sailed without us and was tohave touched at Havana, but he has apparently changed his course.Doesn't she look like a phantom ship in the moonlight?"
Young Langham thought he could distinguish King among the white figureson the bridge, and tossed his hat and shouted, and a man in the sternof the yacht replied with a wave of his hand.
"That must be Mr. King," said Hope. "He didn't bring any one with him,and he seems to be the only man aft."
They stood watching the yacht as she stopped with a rattle ofanchor-chains and a confusion of orders that came sharply across thewater, and then the party separated and the three men walked down thehill, Langham eagerly assuring the other two that King was a very goodsort, and telling them what a treasure-house his yacht was, and how hewould have probably brought the latest papers, and that he wouldcertainly give a dance on board in their honor.
The men stood for some short time together, after they had reached theoffice, discussing the great events of the day, and then with cheerfulgood-nights disappeared into their separate rooms.
An hour later Clay stood without his coat, and with a pen in his hand,at MacWilliams's bedside and shook him by the shoulder.
"I'm not asleep," said MacWilliams, sitting up; "what is it? What haveyou been doing?" he demanded. "Not working?"
"There were some reports came in after we left," said Clay, "and I findI will have to see Kirkland to-morrow morning. Send them word to runme down on an engine at five-thirty, will you? I am sorry to have towake you, but I couldn't remember in which shack that engineer lives."
MacWilliams jumped from his bed and began kicking about the floor forhis boots. "Oh, that's all right," he said. "I wasn't asleep, I wasjust--" he lowered his voice that Langham might not hear him throughthe canvas partitions--"I was just lying awake playing duets with thePresident, and racing for the International Cup in my new centre-boardyacht, that's all!"
MacWilliams buttoned a waterproof coat over his pajamas and stamped hisbare feet into his boots. "Oh, I tell you, Clay," he said with a grimchuckle, "we're mixing right in with the four hundred, we are! I'msubstitute and understudy when anybody gets ill. We're right in ourown class at last! Pure amateurs with no professional record againstus. Me and President Langham, I guess!" He struck a match and lit thesmoky wick in a tin lantern.
"But now," he said, cheerfully, "my time being too valuable for me tosleep, I will go wake up that nigger engine-driver and set his alarmclock at five-thirty. Five-thirty, I believe you said. All right;good-night." And whistling cheerfully to himself MacWilliamsdisappeared up the hill, his body hidden in the darkness and his legsshowing fantastically in the light of the swinging lantern.
Clay walked out upon the veranda and stood with his back to one of thepillars. MacWilliams and his pleasantries disturbed and troubled him.Perhaps, after all, the boy was right. It seemed absurd, but it wastrue. They were only employees of Langham--two of the thousands ofyoung men who were working all over the United States to please him, tomake him richer, to whom he was only a name and a power, which meant anincrease of salary or the loss of place.
Clay laughed and shrugged his shoulders. He knew that he was not inthat class; if he did good work it was because his self-respectdemanded it of him; he did not work for Langham or the Olancho MiningCompany (Limited). And yet he turned with almost a feeling ofresentment toward the white yacht lying calmly in magnificent repose ahundred yards from his porch.
He could see her as clearly in her circle of electric lights as thoughshe were a picture and held in the light of a stereopticon on a screen.He could see her white decks, and the rails of polished brass, and thecomfortable wicker chairs and gay cushions and flat coils of rope, andthe tapering masts and intricate rigging. How easy it was made forsome men! This one had come like the prince in the fairy tale on hismagic carpet. If Alice Langham were to leave Valencia that next day,Clay could not follow her. He had his duties and responsibilities; hewas at another man's bidding.
But this Prince Fortunatus had but to raise anchor and start inpursuit, knowing that he would be welcome wherever he found her. Thatwas the worst of it to Clay, for he knew that men did not follow womenfrom continent to continent without some assurance of a friendlygreeting. Clay's mind went back to the days when he was a boy, whenhis father was absent fighting for a lost cause; when his mother taughtin a little schoolhouse under the shadow of Pike's Peak, and when KitCarson was his hero. He thought of the poverty of those days povertyso mean and hopeless that it was almost something to feel shame for; ofthe days that followed when, an orphan and without a home, he hadsailed away from New Orleans to the Cape. How the mind of themathematician, which he had inherited from the Boston schoolmistress,had been swayed by the spirit of the soldier, which he had inheritedfrom his father, and which led him from the mines of South Africa tolittle wars in Madagascar, Egypt, and Algiers. It had been a life asrestless as the seaweed on a rock. But as he looked back to its poorbeginnings and admitted to himself its later successes, he gave a sighof content, and shaking off the mood stood up and paced the length ofthe veranda.
He looked up the hill to the low-roofed bungalow with the palm-leavesabout it, outlined against the sky, and as motionless as patterns cutin tin. He had built that house. He had built it for her. That washer room where the light was shining out from the black bulk of thehouse about it like a star. And beyond the house he saw his five greatmountains, the knuckles of the giant hand, with its gauntlet of ironthat lay shut and clenched in the face of the sea that swept upwhimpering before it. Clay felt a boyish, foolish pride rise in hisbreast as he looked toward the great mines he had discovered andopened, at the iron mountains that were crumbling away before his touch.
He turned his eyes again to the blazing yacht, and this time there wasno trace of envy in them. He laughed instead, partly with pleasure atthe thought of the struggle he scented in the air, and partly at hisown braggadocio.
"I'm not afraid," he said, smiling, and shaking his head at the whiteship that loomed up like a man-of-war in the black waters. "I'm notafraid to fight you for anything worth fighting for."
He bowed his bared head in good-night toward the light on the hill, ashe turned and walked back into his bedroom. "And I think," he murmuredgrimly, as he put out the light, "that she is worth fighting for."