The Wide House Page 21

  “I still don’t think we shall fight for the sake of benighted blackamoors,” said Stuart, thinking again, with regret, that he might have made a fortune in the Underground. “I, for one, snall not fight to free niggers. I shall mind my own business.”

  Father Houlihan shook his head, smiling. “I doubt that you could resist a fight, my boy.”

  A peculiar expression came over Stuart’s face. He glanced furtively at Sam. There had been something bothering him lately. He cleared his throat, and said brightly: “Oh, by the way, Sam, I forgot to tell you something. It will interest you.”

  Sam looked at him with doubtful distrust. When Stuart assumed this air of boyish pleasure, this air of openness, skulduggery was well under way. “What is it this time, Stuart?” he asked, uneasily.

  Stuart frowned at him. “You are a suspicious dog, Sam.”

  “I,” said Father Houlihan blandly, “am also suspicious. You see, dear boy, you don’t deceive your old friends.”

  Stuart flung himself back in his chair with an air of angry exasperation. He looked about the table with ire. “I’ve never known friends to have so little faith in a man! I’d best keep this to myself, it seems.”

  But Sam was disturbed. He said, quietly: “Tell me, Stuart.”

  “It’s nothing at all, I tell you! Only a chance for an excellent profit.” He leaned towards them, angrily. “You know, Sam, how I had the idea of advertising all over the damn country for large job lots of goods that were refused by retailers for one reason or another, including bankruptcy. It was a blasted good idea, you admitted yourself. That is how we got that consignment of china which was refused in Utica. We made a tidy profit. We paid cash for consignments, and bought them for a song. The news must have got around, and there is a lot of envy among retailers that they hadn’t thought of it, themselves. They’re rectifying their mistakes now, of course, after we showed the way.”

  Sam nodded. “Yes, this I know. Go on, Stuart.” Father Houlihan was listening with shrewd interest.

  Stuart was speaking quickly now, with irritation. “Well, then, though we are having more imitators all the time, we are still ahead of all the others. We offer reasonably fair prices. Our advertisements are better written, and draw more offers of refused consignments, or overstock. People have faith in us.

  “Well, three days ago I had a visitor, at home. Two weeks before that I had received a letter from a certain growing arms and powder concern in Pennsylvania, a place called Windsor. I was requested to grant an interview to a certain member of the firm, a Raoul Bouchard, on a matter of confidential importance. ‘Now what,’ I said to myself, ‘have I to do with this firm, called Barbour & Bouchard?’ It is true we sell powder and firearms and rifles, when we can buy them in large lots, and make a tidy profit, but why should this concern, who manufacture these things themselves, wish to discuss a very confidential matter with me—us? I know that they use an excellent brand of steel, called Sessions. Remember, Sam? We bought a consignment of their firearms for cash, which was shipped to Syracuse, the retailer having just gone into bankruptcy? They were fine articles, you remember. We made a pretty penny on them. So, I said to myself, why does Mr. Bouchard crave this interview with me, in secrecy?”

  Sam was silent. His long hands closed tightly over the edge of the table. His brown eyes were narrowed and fearful. Stuart avoided looking at him, directly. He waved his hand with a careless air.

  “Mr. Bouchard came to my home three days ago. A damned grinning Frenchman, with curly black hair and eyes like a happy devil’s. He brought with him a letter from the president of his firm, an Ernest Barbour. He made me promise that the matter would not be discussed outside of our own concern. Naturally, I gave him that promise, and I’m keeping it.”

  Father Houlihan smiled irrepressibly. But he said nothing. His expression became grave and thoughtful once more.

  Stuart was more and more careless. His voice became enthusiastic and bold. “Mr. Bouchard made me a very interesting, and overwhelming proposition. I am to advertise, discreetly, for large lots of rifles, any kind, and obtain them. Ten thousand rifles.”

  “Ten thousand rifles!” cried Sam involuntarily. “But why does this gentleman need ten thousand rifles! And why do they not manufacture them, themselves, with their excellent steel of which you haf told us?”

  Stuart was embarrassed. He reddened. Then he blustered: “How the hell should I know? Perhaps they want a lot of cheap rifles, immediately, to sell cheaply, and as they have a certain prestige they don’t want these rifles to bear their trade-mark. Nor, for the sake of their prestige, perhaps, do they wish to advertise themselves. It is apparent they do not wish their name connected with this transaction. No one must know,” added Stuart, unguardedly, “that Barbour & Bouchard are involved in this.”

  Sam and the priest exchanged a long disturbed look. Then said Sam: “Mr. Bouchard, perhaps, told you all these things, very openly, of course?”

  “Yes, he did! What does it matter? They want these rifles, bought discreetly. They want me to consign them, after purchase, to a certain border city, in Kentucky, not in one large lot, but in a number of small consignments. They have given me a certain name. Wherever I buy these rifles, I am to send directions for the consignment to that city, and pay cash. I will never see the rifles, of course; they will never be sent to Grandeville. My part is the advertising, the buying, the consignment. That is all.”

  He patted a pocket “I have the name of the man, and the station, to whom the rifles are to be consigned. I have never heard of him. It is all very confidential. And—” he paused, impressively, “I am to receive exactly twice the cost of the rifles as my profit.”

  But Sam was looking with dark and heavy alarm at Father Houlihan. “Ten thousand rifles, consigned to an obscure man in an obscure Southern city. Why? That is what I must know.”

  “Good God!” shouted Stuart, banging the table with his fist, “don’t you suppose the Southerners wish rifles for hunting, too, and other things?”

  But Sam was not intimidated. He looked at Stuart directly. “Why, then, cannot Barbour & Bouchard make these rifles, themselves, which they can do so much more cheaply, and keep the profits for themselves? I haf heard of them. They manufacture much. Unless,” he added, gravely, “these are needed quickly—at once.”

  “That’s it, of course.” Stuart was relieved, though he was still flushed.

  “But why all this secrecy, this confidence, this swearing to silence?”

  “I don’t know, I tell you! What does that matter to me? I am interested only in the profits!”

  Sam looked at the priest. “Secrecy—arms—obscure consignments. I do not like this. I do not like this Barbour & Bouchard. They are evil men. Their odor reaches the nostrils of men everywhere. Ten thousand rifles, shipped in the deepest secrecy. It has a bad sound. And I think I know why all this is.”

  Stuart cursed himself, as usual, for his loose tongue. He said: “Ours not to question, but to advertise, to buy, to reconsign.”

  But Sam ignored him. He said to the priest: “It was only three weeks ago that I read in the papers that this firm has received an order from the Federal Government for twenty five thousand new rifles, to be manufactured immediately. Yet it is apparent they do not wish these ten thousand rifles for the United States Government. They wish all secrecy. The rifles are to be consigned to a Southern city. What, my dear friend, is your conjecture on this?”

  “The obvious one, my dear Sam, the obvious one,” replied the priest, in great distress. He looked at Stuart, steadfastly. “You see, do you not, my son?”

  “No!” shouted Stuart, violently. “I do not! I don’t use my imagination! I take men’s words for things! I don’t pry and question into something which is none of my business!”

  But Sam looked at him directly. “Do you not see, my Stuart? These men cannot involve themselves in this. They would disclaim any connection, in the event of a Governmental investigation. Yours will be the danger, as well
as the profits. Should you, in your danger, declare that they were the instigators, that you had this visitor and the proposition, they would explain that they had merely approached you, as a retailer, in order to sell you their rifles. Yours would be the name of the consigner, the instigator. They have power and prestige. They will be believed.”

  Stuart was momentarily nonplussed. Then he said, violently thrusting back his chair: “I need that money. I need the profits. I intend to do it.”

  “I am your partner,” said Sam, in a strong voice. “I cannot permit it.”

  “Then I shall use my own money! I shall borrow it! I know I can borrow it, with ease!”

  His face was congested. He glared about him, his eyes glittering.

  “You lend yourself to murder, to war between brethren?” asked the priest, sternly.

  Stuart smiled at him darkly. He was breathless. “Did you not say that the cause of Abolition is a holy one? I’m willing to help in such a holy cause!”

  The priest was silent. His pink face was now very pale. His eyes were earnest. Then he said: “The arming of the South is no holy cause.”

  Sam had no “loose” tongue. He rarely discussed the affairs of the shops with others than Stuart. But he was too distracted now for reticence. He said, and in a voice that Stuart had never heard before: “You speak of your need for money, Stuart. I know you need it—always do you need it. You will not live modestly, until you acquire a fortune. You live recklessly—for the day. When men are reckless, they need large sums, and they will haf them, no matter who surfers. It is no greed in you that desires this; it is necessity. I haf urged you to save, to guard, until it is safe to spend so, in your way. But you will not. Men like you are driven to evil things because of their need, because of their extravagance.”

  “Stuart, you are determined on this thing?” asked Father Houlihan, with great anxiety. “I could not endure it, Stuart, if I thought that what you have done for me has so indebted you to others that you must needs engage in a nefarious traffic to recover your losses.”

  Stuart, the mercurial, was touched by this simple distress. He pressed the priest’s hand. He said airily, ignoring Sam and his unpleasant remarks: “Don’t worry, Grundy. What I did for you cost me very little. No, I need a lot of money. I always need it, damn it! And I’m not going to wait until I am shrivelled and crippled like that old fiend, Allstairs, before I can buy what I wish. I’m afraid I wouldn’t want it, then. Frankly, I’m in difficulties. I see a way to turn a pretty penny. I’d be a fool to refuse it. I don’t know what the rifles are needed for; I do not care. If I refuse the offer, others will accept. I shall have nothing but a moral conscience if I refuse, and moral consciences never paid off mortgages nor bought a man a woman, nor feathered a nest, nor, at the last, even bought bread.”

  Sam said nothing. He shook his head over and over, in the most somber dread and grief. Stuart, recovering his spirits, laughed at him. “You’ll pay my bail, eh, Sam, if I am hauled in? You’ll visit the poor prisoner with a basket, and, perhaps, a saw and a rope?”

  His full handsome face was flushed heavily. They had all forgotten Angus, who had been listening in bewilderment and fear. Mrs. O’Keefe, unconcerned with the arguments of men, had been filling beer glasses, and had brought Stuart his extra glass of whiskey, which he always demanded.

  Sam and the priest regarded him in silence. They loved him deeply. They saw him as a foolhardy child, not as a malefactor. If he had been naturally evil and rapacious he would not have been their friend; they would not have loved him. To them he was the perpetual boy, heedless and violent, who must be protected from his own unthinking predicaments.

  “I shall pray that you will not do this thing,” said Father Houlihan at last, in a weary voice. “For the sake of your soul.”

  Stuart laughed boisterously. “My soul, by God! I have no soul! But thank you kindly just the same, Grundy. If I feel any stirrings in my breast I’ll run to you at once, shouting ‘Eureka!’”

  He became ostentatiously aware of Angus, who was staring at him with anguish. He put his hand on the lad’s shoulder. “Almost done, Angus? We’ll soon be off, then. It is getting late, and your dear mama will be worrying about you.”

  “We will talk about all this, tomorrow,” said Sam, heavily.

  Stuart waved his hand airily, but did not look at the other man. “No use, Sam. I’ve already accepted, and spent, an advance. I have agreed to the contract.” He pushed back his chair.

  With an effort, and a sad face which tried to smile, Father Houlihan looked gently at the pale Angus. He said: “So it is a doctor you’d be, my child. And why?”

  Angus looked at him eagerly. “I’ve always felt so—Father Houlihan! It is so terrible to see people suffer. I don’t want to make money sir, believe me. I only want to help people, to find out cures for their disease, to ease their pain.”

  Stuart laughed coarsely. “Aren’t you the little feller who tried to persuade me recently that money was everything?” he asked, in a rallying voice.

  Angus turned to him in confusion. “If I cannot be a doctor, then I shall want a lot of money,” he said, with simplicity. “But if I am a doctor, then I shall not want it.”

  Stuart laughed loudly. But the priest was gazing at the boy with grave intensity. “I see,” he said softly, “I see. If one cannot have his soul, he must have money.” And in the depths of his heart, he murmured a prayer.

  “What a damned sophistry!” cried Stuart, gaily. “I confess I don’t follow the brat’s reasoning.”

  But the priest put his hand firmly on Angus’ shoulder. He turned his grave look upon Stuart. “Much will be forgiven you, my son, if you guard this boy, and give him his opportunity to be a physician.”

  Stuart stared, uncomfortably. “That’s his mama’s business, Grundy. I have an idea that she won’t allow me to interfere. Besides, why a doctor? There’s no money in it. And from what he told me, himself, he wants money, the damned greedy little Scot!”

  But the priest said: “You will help him, Stuart? I charge you with it.”

  Stuart, annoyed, said: “Don’t charge me with anything! I’ve got enough to do with myself, God knows.” He added, more calmly: “I’ll do what I can. But it’s a lot of nonsense.”

  He pointed a derisive finger at Sam, with whom he was much enraged. “Look at Sam, here. Saves every penny. For what?”

  Sam lifted his bowed head, and looked at him, directly. “You know I wish to buy River Island for my people, Stuart.” His brown eyes were suddenly full of a mystic and vehement light, though his voice did not rise when he said: “I haf always believed that America is the Promised Land which Moses saw from the Mountain, for all suffering and persecuted and oppressed men, I think he saw it, across the oceans, and across time. I haf that dream in my heart, Stuart. I must help make that dream true.”

  Stuart laughed, much too loudly. “Look at the three of us! You, Sam, are dedicated to a dream, Grundy to his God, and I to my house! At the last, it comes to the same thing.”

  Sam said softly: “God has blessed this land. It will be great, greater than any land before, if it has its dream. Nothing can destroy a man, or a nation, if there is a dream.”

  Stuart smiled grimly, and rubbed his fingers on his glass. Father Houlihan smiled with passionate tenderness. And Angus listened, his heart beating in the strangest way.

  CHAPTER 23

  Stuart stared blackly at Joshua Allstairs. His heart was fulminating, full of sick rage.

  “What more do you want?” he asked, in a stifled voice. “I have repaid your ten thousand dollars. I have just made a contract which will bring me at least thirty thousand dollars; I already have a large advance.

  “My shops are prospering. I have plans for expansion, which will be under way this summer. I shall soon control all the main retail business in Grandeville. There will be a branch of the railroad extended to this city within a few months. I can buy much more quickly, extend the field of my merchandising, when t
hat happens. There is nothing to stop me. I have the finest house in Grandeville, of which Miss Marvina would be proud to be mistress. I shall be worth an amazing fortune in the shortest possible time.”

  Joshua leered. He was enjoying this immensely. He tented his fleshless fingers and regarded Stuart with evil benignity.

  “My antecedents,” continued Stuart, more strongly now, “are at least as exalted as yours. You have met my cousin, Mrs. Cauder, a lady of fortune. You have heard her story of our relatives, Lady Vere de Vere, and Sir Angus Fraser. Who have you like these in your family tree? Again, what more do you want?”

  Joshua sighed, but continued to grin under his vulture’s nose. “Stuart,” he said with fond mildness, “if you were related to the Royal House of England, if you were a millionaire, I should still refuse to allow my daughter to marry a blackguard Irishman.

  “And you are a blackguard, you know, my dear Stuart You are faithless, churchless. You are impious, and blasphemous. God is an unknown word to you. You are also a drunkard, a consorter with lewd women. Your familiars are a Jew and a black priest. You are not accepted in the best of society, for these and a number of other reasons. You are not even honest. I am well aware of many of your dealings. You lack scruples—”

  Stuart forgot that he was a suppliant, that he must placate this foul fiend. He sprang to his feet and shouted: “And you are a tavern-keeper, a brothel-keeper, a usurer, a gouger, and a thief! You draw your profits from these and from breweries, which you profess to abhor! You rob miserable black slaves on their way to Canada! You have financed the most nefarious things! I have done some dirty work, myself, but by God! I’ve never drawn my gold from a woman’s body and bed, nor from a slave’s starving hands, nor from the misery of bankrupt farmers!” His face was distorted with his fury.

  “You swine!” he exclaimed, as Joshua cowered in his chair. “You dirty, misbegotten, filthy swine! You brothel-keeper and tapster! And you have the audacity to whine at me piously, as though your hands were clean and your crippled body as pure as snow!”