Mr. Wilkins knew that every man had a touchstone. In most men, the lust for money and power led to one instinctive goal: women. The love for money and power, then, was a biological urge, as profound and fathomless as nature itself. That is why, he had concluded, when a man became old and impotent, his lust for these things diminished, and he turned to good works and philanthropies in lieu of the beds of females. The urge towards fornication and adultery and other ecstatic orgasms coincided with a man’s teeming desire for bank accounts and gilt-edge securities, and were in direct ratio with each other.
But there were a few men whose urge in the direction of money and power was stimulated not by the desire for women, but for other if less substantial reasons. They were animated with a desire for revenge. Now, Mr. Wilkins had no particular quarrel with this desire, but he found it unreliable. Men who did not overly lust for women, and so for money and power, were always suspect. Their revenge would often dissolve into resignation, understanding or compassion. And where was Mr. Wilkins, then? Once the revenge was consummated, or abandoned out of pity or sadness, the man would frequently retire from the roaring arena, leaving his patrons or their friends in a state of complete ruin or bafflement.
Knowing this, and observing John’s aversion for his beloved beasts, Mr. Wilkins had secret qualms and apprehensions. It was certainly too bad. John had done so excellently and incredibly well under his tutelage. There was nothing they could not do together, so long as John retained his grim and desperate desire for revenge. But that desire must be constantly stimulated, and Mr. Wilkins needed to exercise his imagination at all times. With some men, he had had to act as a panderer, forever producing some delectable and elusive female, especially if the man was growing old, in order to keep the lust for money and power active. But in a few others, like John, he must keep the lust for revenge alive. That was much harder to do. It was easier to keep a man’s lower lusts in full bloom than it was to keep at high pitch a mental and spiritual passion, which might, at any moment, be destroyed by gentleness or compassion, or sheer ennui.
Too, he suspected very acutely that John was not by nature a vengeful man, or a cruel one, but darkly exuberant and passionate and generous, uncontrolled and vehement. Moreover, his life had not had hard and deprived beginnings, almost a necessity in those who aspired to power. Having experienced luxury and wealth and ease, he did not find life insupportable without them. Give Mr. Wilkins a man who had known arduous and tortuous poverty!
John obeyed, with commendable viciousness and determination, in his pursuit of revenge, and Mr. Wilkins had no fault to find with him there. But he could not predict when this driving motive would die away as suddenly as it had arisen.
So it was, that at last he wiped his red and steaming countenance, lovingly drove off his canine and feline worshippers, and came to the bench on which John sat in sultry silence. He knew that John despised him as the visible symbol of his moral degradation, and that gave Mr. Wilkins some bad moments. John’s bank accounts and investments had reached a really formidable and delightful height, but the young man apparently had no care for them beyond their implicit promise that some day he would be able to undo his enemies. When that had been accomplished, or he no longer desired revenge, Mr. Wilkins would be impotent to influence him.
He sat down, chuckling, rubbing his handkerchief between his ruddy neck and his linen, while John stared bleakly before him at the sun-dappled grass.
“D’ye know who was here before you, Johnnie? None other than our old friend, Mr. Gorth!”
The reaction fully satisfied Mr. Wilkins. John turned to him violently, and a savage gleam passed over his face. Mr. Wilkins nodded, smiling reminiscently.
“Came full of nasty accusations, he did. It seems that he’d been to Washington to patent those processes of ours, Johnnie.” Mr. Wilkins chuckled so strenuously that he momentarily choked, and turned quite scarlet. “And wot did he find? He found ’em in Bob Wilkins’ name! That was a bad blow to our friend. Came back ragin’. Found out, too, we’d turned ’em over to Mr. Livingston, and that the printing shops in New England was producin’ the new processes. I thought he’d ’ave a fit, standin’ there under that tree yonder. Called me a thief, me as ’ad brought them to Ameriky with me own ’ands. He was goin’ to the police, he said, to get justice done.” Mr. Wilkins’ chuckle was deep and delighted. “And you know wot I says to ’im? ‘Mr. Gorth,’ I says with dignity, ‘’ow can you go to the police, or sue me, as you threatens? You’ll have to show your own ’and, and ’ow you sent me to England to steal the patents. You’ll ’ave to show you ’ad an intention of your own to use ’em. People won’t like that, Mr. Gorth. I’ve kept your letters, and won’t ’ave no hesitancy showin’ them in Court, though it’ll break me heart, you and me once bein’ such friends.’”
“What did he say then?” asked John savagely.
“He went orf, breathing fire and flame. But he knew I’d done ’im in. There was no use him shouting or raising a stink. He knew it.” He contemplated Mr. Gorth’s discomfiture with a pleasant smile. “’E’d intended to depress the market price on ’is stock for ’is own reasons, but now the stock’s gone down on its own. Down to two dollars. The chap’s frantic.”
“Good,” growled John, clenching his big fists and beating them on his knees.
“I regretted to do it, as you know, Johnnie. But Bob Wilkins ain’t one as will stand by and see another man ’oomiliated and treated bad as you was done, for no reason but wickedness.”
A faint dark smile touched John’s lips for a moment, but he made no comment. Then from an inner pocket he brought out a crumpled letter and tossed it to Mr. Wilkins. “I received this a few months ago from Gorth, after—that night. You may read it if you wish.”
Mr. Wilkins opened it eagerly, after a long and furtive study of John’s sombre features. Then he read, his round fat lips moving silently over each word:
“I cannot express to you, John, my real regret and anger over this occurrence. I assure you that if I had known, you would never have been asked to come to my house and be confronted by Andy Bollister. You will grant me this decency, I know. I swear to you that I had no idea matters stood as they did. Though I regret that you have terminated our association, I understand that you cannot be a part of the organization which will eventually pass into Andy’s hands. Please accept, however, this cheque for one thousand dollars as my expression of true regard for you. I hope you will do well in any other endeavour in which you may become engaged, and do not hesitate to ask me for assistance if you need it.”
Mr. Wilkins was greatly surprised. He had not thought the felonious and corrupt Richard Gorth to be capable of an unselfish and charitable thought. He also saw that there was danger implicit in this letter, for though not visible at this moment, there was no doubt that John must have been inevitably impressed by it. Someday, perhaps, he would realize there was no hypocrisy in this communication from Richard Gorth.
So Mr. Wilkins laughed richly, and tossed the letter back to John. He regarded John with his glassy and protuberant hazel eyes humid with mirth.
“A foxy one, that Gorth!” he exclaimed. “A foxy one! May I arsk wot you did with that cheque, Johnnie?”
“I sent it back at once,” replied John, angrily. “What did you think?”
Mr. Wilkins again experienced uneasiness. He would have been more reassured if John had kept the money.
“It was little enough, after your ’oomiliation,” he said, thoughtfully. “But, mind, I’m not criticisin’ you. You’re a chap of honour, sir, as I allus said.” He continued, with great and amused animation: “The man’s a hypocrite, Johnnie. You was the one he blasted most. Accused you of ingratitude and such, and said things about you I wouldn’t soil my mouth with in repeatin’. Betrayed himself, he did. Showed me the whole plot. D’ye know what he hinted? That your Pa intended to make your lady cousin his heiress, as he allus ’ad a soft spot for her. That’s why you don’t ’ear from your Pa.”
John’s violent reaction to this was even more pleasing to Mr. Wilkins than he had hoped. John sprang to his feet. His dark face turned ghastly. He could not speak. He looked down at Mr. Wilkins with a truly terrible expression. Mr. Wilkins nodded dolorously.
“I shouldn’t ’ave told you of it, Johnnie. Mr. Gorth flung it into my teeth, vicious like. ‘’Is father’s done with ’im!’ he shouted. ‘My nevvy’s wife’s goin’ to get all the swag. Fifty thousand pounds! And all to go into Richard Gorth at the proper time.’”
John slowly reseated himself. His face gleamed with livid sweat. He clenched his lower lip in his teeth. Mr. Wilkins saw this, but he did not see the tears in the young man’s eyes. Nor could he know of the consuming pain that almost broke his heart.
John thought to himself: I don’t care a damn what he does with his money. It’s his. I did a stupid and cruel thing to him. If only he had written to me! That is all I wanted. I wanted only to know that he’d forgiven me, and that he wishes me well, and that he hasn’t forgotten me.
He put his hands over his face. For once in his astute life, Mr. Wilkins did not know the thoughts in the mind of another man. But some instinct made him say:
“I can only come to this conclusion, sir: that these schemers ’ave turned your Pa’s heart away from you, and lied about you, to get the money rightfully belongin’ to you. Done him in, as they tried to do you in.”
John dropped his hands, and looked at Mr. Wilkins. His look of hatred, fury, despair, and malignancy quite satisfied Mr. Wilkins.
“If a man’s determined to leave his money away from his nearest, one can’t do anythin’,” he said, sadly. “That’s his privilege, unjust though it is. But there’s a way open to the wronged chap. ’E can get his revenge on those as ’as cheated ’im and broke his father’s heart with lies, and made a fool out of ’im.
“’Twas only last week I saw Mr. Bollister and his lady wife at the home of Mr. Astor. Right merry, they was, lookin’ at each other fond like. Satisfied in their bad souls at wot they’d done for themselves, and against you.”
John could not speak. Mr. Wilkins laid his hand sympathetically on his arm.
“It was lucky for you, sir, to meet Bob Wilkins on that packet. We’ve gone far together, and we’ll go farther. I swear that, solemnly. Look wot we’ve done in ten months! Got practically control of Livingston. Money rollin’ in. Mr. Jay Regan financing us. Stock up seven points in the market. Gorth chewin’ his nails and watchin’ his stock goin’ down. You Mr. Livingston’s manager, and trusted with everything! You livin’ in style at Miss Beardsley’s. But,” he added, in a loud and triumphant voice, “we’ve just begun! It won’t be long until we ruins Gorth complete, and his nevvy with him! We’ll get control of Gorth, too, one of these days!”
John, whose youth and inexperience, and natural simplicity of character, had precluded him heretofore from questioning the motives of others, suddenly had a sharp thought in the very midst of his dream of hatred, revenge and despair. He looked at Mr. Wilkins with straight hard eyes and asked bluntly: “What has Gorth ever done to you, to make you hate him like that, and plot against him?”
But he did not catch Mr. Wilkins unprepared, for that clever gentleman, knowing his man, had already formulated the answer to just this question some months ago. So, he gazed at John with a countenance which he allowed to assume slowly an expression of reserved sadness, and he shook his head, turning away at last, and sighing.
“I’m not one as airs ’is troubles, Johnnie. I’m not one who goes abaht clamourin’ for sympathy. That’s not my way. The least said the better. The way you were treated, a guest in his ’ouse, was the last straw. Bob Wilkins is forbearin’. He endures a lot before he revolts. He makes allowances. But he can’t abide them as betrays his friends. The last straw, Johnnie.”
“Very noble of you, I daresay,” said John, with a cynical half-smile. Then he relapsed again into his distraught black brooding, and stared emptily at the sun-streaked wall of the pretty little house. Mr. Wilkins, watching him, thoughtfully chewed a nail.
“Don’t take it to ’eart, Johnnie,” he said, in a soothing voice. “Mr. Gorth’s only the first step. There’s nothing we can’t do together. Mr. Regan was much impressed by you. You can be a millionaire, Johnnie, with me helpin’ you. You can laugh in their faces, Johnnie.”
John, who was suffering the hideous agonies into which the tumultuous and sanguine and violent of temperament are frequently plunged, said nothing. He felt as if his chest was being crushed in inexorable iron hands, and as if an intolerable weight was pressing upon his head. Everything about him increased his anguish: the hollow light under the trees, the streaks of sunlight on the dusty summer grass, the lines of the chimneys smoking idly against the warm blue sky, the very angles of walk and trunk and the very colours of the languishing hot flowers in the tangled beds. There was a burning dry sensation in his middle, an ache in his brow, a sickness in his heart.
He who had been so careless, so exuberant and so zestful, so young and lavish of nature, felt that never again would he feel a single throb of happiness or peace or joy. He had been flung into a horrible dark world of shades and gloom, where nothing lived but vengeance and frantic sorrow. All the forces of his soul revolted and cried against such a horror, so foreign to him. He took no satisfaction or malignant contentment in revenge. It was a twisting pain that tortured him far beyond what he could do to his enemies. He would have done with it if he had known what to do. He would have hidden himself far away, and would have forgotten everything, if “they” had allowed him to do so. But all the circumstances which surrounded him forced him to remember. And more than circumstances, there was Mr. Wilkins constantly goading him to remember, and inflicting upon him, in remembrance, all his frenetic grief, homesickness, outrage and sadness. Sometimes, with a stab of real terror, he asked himself: “Why didn’t some one warn me, my father, or any one, that such people lived in the world? Why wasn’t I prepared to cope with them?”
He was tired to death even of hatred and revenge. Sometimes, he would say to himself, simply: “I want to go home.”
But there was no going home now. “They” would not permit that desperate flight. Sometimes, with that wild horror which was increasing in him, he would cry out in thè depths of his heart: “I can’t endure living in such a world, among suclí people! I can’t endure going on hating and plotting and lying and stealing! Life isn’t worth living in a nightmare!”
Sometimes he was so exhausted that he could feel nothing at all. If only his enemies would allow him to forget them, he would cease from plotting against them, and so have a little peace once more. And then, in the midst of his sorrowful weariness he would remember Eugenia again, with the mournful anguish with which one remembers the dead. It seemed incredible to him that she had betrayed him, that she, according to Mr. Wilkins, laughed at him and hated him. And then he would think: But it was I who struck her down, in the beginning. She has reason to hate me.
Then he would be back on the treadmill of his red and burning thoughts, his hatreds, his sorrows and his tiredness. He must go on, doing evil things because those to whom he did them would not let him forget them and leave them in peace. It seemed appalling to him that those who had injured him constantly goaded him to revenge upon them. How could they sustain such malignancy? he would ask himself, marvelling. How could they go about, laughing, eating, drinking, sleeping, dancing, working, while their minds were occupied with evil things? How could they bear living at all?
For the first time in his life John was doing some real thinking, and the exercise, giving him a glimpse into the lives and thoughts of others, sickened him, as if he was an alien from some far planet dropped upon a hideous world. Deep within him was a bottomless pit of fear. He feared his fellowmen. They forced him to hate them.
Tormented and feverish with his thoughts, he rose abruptly, and looked about, dazed. “I must go,” he muttered. He was unaware that Mr. Wilkins had been watching him with the
most curious of expressions. A huge dog rushed up, lolling and drooling, and flung himself upon Mr. Wilkins with maudlin adoration. Mr. Wilkins embraced him. Evading wet lickings, he laughed up at John. But John had retreated a step or two with a look of dislike. The dog felt his emotion, grew rigid in Mr. Wilkins’ arms, and growled savagely at the young man.
Seeing this, Mr. Wilkins drove off the snarling dog, and rose to stand beside his young friend. He put his hand affectionately on his shoulder. “A cup of tea, perhaps?” he urged. “A little swig?”
“No,” said John, shortly. His breath was laboured. “I think I’ll take a walk. I’m out of sorts, in a way.”
“No wonder,” remarked Mr. Wilkins, soothingly. “After last week. The missus is doing well, eh?”
At this mention of his wife, John’s face became dark and closed. He turned aside. “Very well,” he replied, in a dull voice. “She’s a healthy girl. She expects to be up on Wednesday.”
“You’re a lucky man!” cried Mr. Wilkins, with enthusiasm. “A fine baby daughter, the very image of you! How I envies you, Johnnie!”
John’s face stubbornly remained sullen for a moment or two, then involuntarily it lightened in spite of himself, into a touching look of young and embarrassed pride and affection. He laughed reluctantly.
“Oh, the baby’s well enough, I suppose. Ugly little devil.” He paused, and waited for Mr. Wilkins’ protestations, which came with gratifying promptness.
“’Ow can you say that, Johnnie! A pretty little lady if there ever was one. Such black curls and big black eyes. Full of old Nick,” and he poked John cunningly in the elbows. “There’s one as will cause you some bad moments, when she’s a young lady, Johnnie. Mark my words. Every lad in New York’ll be after her, and no wonder.”
John laughed that same reluctant laugh, as if natural merriment had rusted sadly in him. But the glow of pride lightened his tired eyes.
The Turnbulls Page 30
