Soldiers of Fortune

by Richard Harding Davis

  VI

  Clay believed that Alice Langham's visit to the mines had opened hiseyes fully to vast differences between them. He laughed and railed athimself for having dared to imagine that he was in a position to carefor her. Confident as he was at times, and sure as he was of hisability in certain directions, he was uneasy and fearful when hematched himself against a man of gentle birth and gentle breeding, andone who, like King, was part of a world of which he knew little, and towhich, in his ignorance concerning it, he attributed many advantagesthat it did not possess. He believed that he would always lack themysterious something which these others held by right of inheritance.He was still young and full of the illusions of youth, and so gavefalse values to his own qualities, and values equally false to thequalities he lacked. For the next week he avoided Miss Langham, unlessthere were other people present, and whenever she showed him specialfavor, he hastily recalled to his mind her failure to sympathize in hiswork, and assured himself that if she could not interest herself in theengineer, he did not care to have her interested in the man. Otherwomen had found him attractive in himself; they had cared for hisstrength of will and mind, and because he was good to look at. But hedetermined that this one must sympathize with his work in the world, nomatter how unpicturesque it might seem to her. His work was the bestof him, he assured himself, and he would stand or fall with it.

  It was a week after the visit to the mines that President Alvarez gavea great ball in honor of the Langhams, to which all of the importantpeople of Olancho, and the Foreign Ministers were invited. MissLangham met Clay on the afternoon of the day set for the ball, as shewas going down the hill to join Hope and her father at dinner on theyacht.

  "Are you not coming, too?" she asked.

  "I wish I could," Clay answered. "King asked me, but a steamer-load ofnew machinery arrived to-day, and I have to see it through theCustom-House."

  Miss Langham gave an impatient little laugh, and shook her head. "Youmight wait until we were gone before you bother with your machinery,"she said.

  "When you are gone I won't be in a state of mind to attend to machineryor anything else," Clay answered.

  Miss Langham seemed so far encouraged by this speech that she seatedherself in the boathouse at the end of the wharf. She pushed hermantilla back from her face and looked up at him, smiling brightly.

  "'The time has come, the walrus said,'" she quoted, "'to talk of manythings.'"

  Clay laughed and dropped down beside her. "Well?" he said.

  "You have been rather unkind to me this last week," the girl began,with her eyes fixed steadily on his. "And that day at the mines when Icounted on you so, you acted abominably."

  Clay's face showed so plainly his surprise at this charge, which hethought he only had the right to make, that Miss Langham stopped.

  "I don't understand," said Clay, quietly. "How did I treat youabominably?"

  He had taken her so seriously that Miss Langham dropped her lightertone and spoke in one more kindly:

  "I went out there to see your work at its best. I was only interestedin going because it was your work, and because it was you who had doneit all, and I expected that you would try to explain it to me and helpme to understand, but you didn't. You treated me as though I had nointerest in the matter at all, as though I was not capable ofunderstanding it. You did not seem to care whether I was interested ornot. In fact, you forgot me altogether."

  Clay exhibited no evidence of a reproving conscience. "I am sorry youhad a stupid time," he said, gravely.

  "I did not mean that, and you know I didn't mean that," the girlanswered. "I wanted to hear about it from you, because you did it. Iwasn't interested so much in what had been done, as I was in the manwho had accomplished it."

  Clay shrugged his shoulders impatiently, and looked across at MissLangham with a troubled smile.

  "But that's just what I don't want," he said. "Can't you see? Thesemines and other mines like them are all I have in the world. They aremy only excuse for having lived in it so long. I want to feel that I'vedone something outside of myself, and when you say that you like mepersonally, it's as little satisfaction to me as it must be to a womanto be congratulated on her beauty, or on her fine voice. That isnothing she has done herself. I should like you to value what I havedone, not what I happen to be."

  Miss Langham turned her eyes to the harbor, and it was some short timebefore she answered.

  "You are a very difficult person to please," she said, "and mostexacting. As a rule men are satisfied to be liked for any reason. Iconfess frankly, since you insist upon it, that I do not rise to thepoint of appreciating your work as the others do. I suppose it is afault," she continued, with an air that plainly said that sheconsidered it, on the contrary, something of a virtue. "And if I knewmore about it technically, I might see more in it to admire. But I amlooking farther on for better things from you. The friends who help usthe most are not always those who consider us perfect, are they?" sheasked, with a kindly smile. She raised her eyes to the great ore-pierthat stretched out across the water, the one ugly blot in the scene ofnatural beauty about them. "I think that is all very well," she said;"but I certainly expect you to do more than that. I have met manyremarkable men in all parts of the world, and I know what a strong manis, and you have one of the strongest personalities I have known. Butyou can't mean that you are content to stop with this. You should besomething bigger and more wide-reaching and more lasting. Indeed, ithurts me to see you wasting your time here over my father's interests.You should exert that same energy on a broader map. You could makeyourself anything you chose. At home you would be your party's leaderin politics, or you could be a great general, or a great financier. Isay this because I know there are better things in you, and because Iwant you to make the most of your talents. I am anxious to see you putyour powers to something worth while."

  Miss Langham's voice carried with it such a tone of sincerity that shealmost succeeded in deceiving herself. And yet she would have hardlycared to explain just why she had reproached the man before her afterthis fashion. For she knew that when she spoke as she had done, shewas beating about to find some reason that would justify her in notcaring for him, as she knew she could care--as she would not allowherself to care. The man at her side had won her interest from thefirst, and later had occupied her thoughts so entirely, that ittroubled her peace of mind. Yet she would not let her feeling for himwax and grow stronger, but kept it down. And she was trying now topersuade herself that she did this because there was something lackingin him and not in her.

  She was almost angry with him for being so much to her and for notbeing more acceptable in little things, like the other men she knew.So she found this fault with him in order that she might justify herown lack of feeling.

  But Clay, who only heard the words and could not go back of them tofind the motive, could not know this. He sat perfectly still when shehad finished and looked steadily out across the harbor. His eyes fellon the ugly ore-pier, and he winced and uttered a short grim laugh.

  "That's true, what you say," he began, "I haven't done much. You arequite right. Only--" he looked up at her curiously and smiled--"onlyyou should not have been the one to tell me of it."

  Miss Langham had been so far carried away by her own point of view thatshe had not considered Clay, and now that she saw what mischief she haddone, she gave a quick gasp of regret, and leaned forward as though toadd some explanation to what she had said. But Clay stopped her. "Imean by that," he said, "that the great part of the inspiration I havehad to do what little I have done came from you. You were a sort ofpromise of something better to me. You were more of a type than anindividual woman, but your picture, the one I carry in my watch, meantall that part of life that I have never known, the sweetness and thenobleness and grace of civilization,--something I hoped I would someday have time to enjoy. So you see," he added, with an uncertainlaugh, "it's less pleasant to hear that I have failed to make the
mostof myself from you than from almost any one else."

  "But, Mr. Clay," protested the girl, anxiously, "I think you have donewonderfully well. I only said that I wanted you to do more. You areso young and you have--"

  Clay did not hear her. He was leaning forward looking moodily outacross the water, with his folded arms clasped across his knees.

  "I have not made the most of myself," he repeated; "that is what yousaid." He spoke the words as though she had delivered a sentence."You don't think well of what I have done, of what I am."

  He drew in his breath and shook his head with a hopeless laugh, andleaned back against the railing of the boat-house with the weariness inhis attitude of a man who has given up after a long struggle.

  "No," he said with a bitter flippancy in his voice, "I don't amount tomuch. But, my God!" he laughed, and turning his head away, "when youthink what I was! This doesn't seem much to you, and it doesn't seemmuch to me now that I have your point of view on it, but when Iremember!" Clay stopped again and pressed his lips together and shookhis head. His half-closed eyes, that seemed to be looking back intohis past, lighted as they fell on King's white yacht, and he raised hisarm and pointed to it with a wave of the hand. "When I was sixteen Iwas a sailor before the mast," he said, "the sort of sailor that King'screw out there wouldn't recognize in the same profession. I was of solittle account that I've been knocked the length of the main deck atthe end of the mate's fist, and left to lie bleeding in the scuppersfor dead. I hadn't a thing to my name then but the clothes I wore, andI've had to go aloft in a hurricane and cling to a swinging rope withmy bare toes and pull at a wet sheet until my finger-nails broke andstarted in their sockets; and I've been a cowboy, with no companionsfor six months of the year but eight thousand head of cattle and men asdumb and untamed as the steers themselves. I've sat in my saddle nightafter night, with nothing overhead but the stars, and no sound but thenoise of the steers breathing in their sleep. The women I knew wereIndian squaws, and the girls of the sailors' dance-houses and thegambling-hells of Sioux City and Abilene, and Callao and Port Said.That was what I was and those were my companions. Why!" he laughed,rising and striding across the boat-house with his hands locked behindhim, "I've fought on the mud floor of a Mexican shack, with a nakedknife in my hand, for my last dollar. I was as low and as desperate asthat. And now--" Clay lifted his head and smiled. "Now," he said, ina lower voice and addressing Miss Langham with a return of his usualgrave politeness, "I am able to sit beside you and talk to you. I haverisen to that. I am quite content."

  He paused and looked at Miss Langham uncertainly for a few moments asthough in doubt as to whether she would understand him if he continued.

  "And though it means nothing to you," he said, "and though as you say Iam here as your father's employee, there are other places, perhaps,where I am better known. In Edinburgh or Berlin or Paris, if you wereto ask the people of my own profession, they could tell you somethingof me. If I wished it, I could drop this active work tomorrow andcontinue as an adviser, as an expert, but I like the active partbetter. I like doing things myself. I don't say, 'I am a salariedservant of Mr. Langham's;' I put it differently. I say, 'There arefive mountains of iron. You are to take them up and transport them fromSouth America to North America, where they will be turned intorailroads and ironclads.' That's my way of looking at it. It's betterto bind a laurel to the plough than to call yourself hard names. Itmakes your work easier--almost noble. Cannot you see it that way, too?"

  Before Miss Langham could answer, a deprecatory cough from one side ofthe open boat-house startled them, and turning they saw MacWilliamscoming toward them. They had been so intent upon what Clay was sayingthat he had approached them over the soft sand of the beach withouttheir knowing it. Miss Langham welcomed his arrival with evidentpleasure.

  "The launch is waiting for you at the end of the pier," MacWilliamssaid. Miss Langham rose and the three walked together down the lengthof the wharf, MacWilliams moving briskly in advance in order to enablethem to continue the conversation he had interrupted, but they followedclose behind him, as though neither of them were desirous of such anopportunity.

  Hope and King had both come for Miss Langham, and while the latter washelping her to a place on the cushions, and repeating his regrets thatthe men were not coming also, Hope started the launch, with a briskringing of bells and a whirl of the wheel and a smile over her shoulderat the figures on the wharf.

  "Why didn't you go?" said Clay; "you have no business at theCustom-House."

  "Neither have you," said MacWilliams. "But I guess we both understand.There's no good pushing your luck too far."

  "What do you mean by that--this time?"

  "Why, what have we to do with all of this?" cried MacWilliams. "It'swhat I keep telling you every day. We're not in that class, and you'reonly making it harder for yourself when they've gone. I call itcruelty to animals myself, having women like that around. Up North,where everybody's white, you don't notice it so much, but downhere--Lord!"

  "That's absurd," Clay answered. "Why should you turn your back oncivilization when it comes to you, just because you're not going backto civilization by the next steamer? Every person you meet eitherhelps you or hurts you. Those girls help us, even if they do make thelife here seem bare and mean."

  "Bare and mean!" repeated MacWilliams incredulously. "I think that'sjust what they don't do. I like it all the better because they'remixed up in it. I never took so much interest in your mines until shetook to riding over them, and I didn't think great shakes of my oldore-road, either, but now that she's got to acting as engineer, it'ssort of nickel-plated the whole outfit. I'm going to name the newengine after her--when it gets here--if her old man will let me."

  "What do you mean? Miss Langham hasn't been to the mines but once, hasshe?"

  "Miss Langham!" exclaimed MacWilliams. "No, I mean the other, MissHope. She comes out with Ted nearly every day now, and she's learninghow to run a locomotive. Just for fun, you know," he added,reassuringly.

  "I didn't suppose she had any intention of joining the Brotherhood,"said Clay. "So she's been out every day, has she? I like that," hecommented, enthusiastically. "She's a fine, sweet girl."

  "Fine, sweet girl!" growled MacWilliams. "I should hope so. She's thebest. They don't make them any better than that, and just think, ifshe's like that now, what will she be when she's grown up, when she'slearned a few things? Now her sister. You can see just what hersister will be at thirty, and at fifty, and at eighty. She'sthoroughbred and she's the most beautiful woman to look at I eversaw--but, my son--she is too careful. She hasn't any illusions, and nosense of humor. And a woman with no illusions and no sense of humor isgoing to be monotonous. You can't teach her anything. You can'timagine yourself telling her anything she doesn't know. The things wethink important don't reach her at all. They're not in her line, andin everything else she knows more than we could ever guess at. Butthat Miss Hope! It's a privilege to show her about. She wants to seeeverything, and learn everything, and she goes poking her head intoopenings and down shafts like a little fox terrier. And she'll sitstill and listen with her eyes wide open and tears in them, too, andshe doesn't know it--until you can't talk yourself for just looking ather."

  Clay rose and moved on to the house in silence. He was glad thatMacWilliams had interrupted him when he did. He wondered whether heunderstood Alice Langham after all. He had seen many fine ladiesbefore during his brief visits to London, and Berlin, and Vienna, andthey had shown him favor. He had known other women not so fine.Spanish-American senoritas through Central and South America, the wivesand daughters of English merchants exiled along the Pacific coast,whose fair skin and yellow hair whitened and bleached under the hottropical suns. He had known many women, and he could have quoted

  "Trials and troubles amany, Have proved me; One or two women, God bless them! Have loved me."

  But the woman he was to marry must h
ave all the things he lacked.

  She must fill out and complete him where he was wanting. This womanpossessed all of these things. She appealed to every ambition and toevery taste he cherished, and yet he knew that he had hesitated andmistrusted her, when he should have declared himself eagerly andvehemently, and forced her to listen with all the strength of his will.

  Miss Langham dropped among the soft cushions of the launch with a senseof having been rescued from herself and of delight in finding refugeagain in her own environment. The sight of King standing in the bowbeside Hope with his cigarette hanging from his lips, and peering withhalf-closed eyes into the fading light, gave her a sense of restfulnessand content. She did not know what she wished from that other strangeyoung man. He was so bold, so handsome, and he looked at life andspoke of it in such a fresh, unhackneyed spirit. He might make himselfanything he pleased. But here was a man who already had everything, orwho could get it as easily as he could increase the speed of thelaunch, by pulling some wire with his finger.

  She recalled one day when they were all on board of this same launch,and the machinery had broken down, and MacWilliams had gone forward tolook at it. He had called Clay to help him, and she remembered howthey had both gone down on their knees and asked the engineer andfireman to pass them wrenches and oil-cans, while King protestedmildly, and the rest sat helplessly in the hot glare of the sea, as theboat rose and fell on the waves. She resented Clay's interest in theaccident, and his pleasure when he had made the machinery right oncemore, and his appearance as he came back to them with oily hands andwith his face glowing from the heat of the furnace, wiping his grimyfingers on a piece of packing. She had resented the equality withwhich he treated the engineer in asking his advice, and it rathersurprised her that the crew saluted him when he stepped into the launchagain that night as though he were the owner. She had expected thatthey would patronize him, and she imagined after this incident that shedetected a shade of difference in the manner of the sailors towardClay, as though he had cheapened himself to them--as he had to her.