XV
MILLIONS!
Would the car never come--would it never come! Helen walked once more tothe corner from the shelter of a building in one of the outlying milldistricts where an assignment had taken her.
The day was bitterly cold with a wind blowing which went through hercoat and skirt as though they were light-weight summer clothing. Sheheld her muff against her cheek and she peered up the street and thedark background accentuated the drawn whiteness of her face with thepinched, blue look about her mouth and nostrils. The girl was reallysuffering terribly. She had passed the chattering stage and was enduringdumbly, wondering how much longer she could stand it, knowing all thetime that she must stand it as there was no place to go inside andmissing the car which ran at half hour intervals meant missing theedition. She was _paid_ to stand it, she told herself, as she stampedher feet which were almost without feeling. The doctor's emphaticwarning came to her mind with each icy blast that made her shrink andhuddle closer to the wall of the big storage building. Exposure, wetfeet, were as suicidal in her condition as poison, he had told her. Shecould guard against the latter but there was no escape from the formerif she would do her work conscientiously for long, cold rides and waitson street corners were a recognized part of it.
She could not afford even to dress warmly. There was absolutely nothingbut fur that would keep out such penetrating wind and cold as this, andanything at all presentable was beyond her means.
"And they tell us, these smug, unctuous preachers warming their shinsbefore their study fires, that living is a privilege, and we should begrateful to the Almighty for being allowed to go through things likethis! I can't see it!" she declared to herself in angry rebellion. "Ihaven't one thing on earth to look forward to--unless--" her handtightened on a letter inside her muff--"unless I take a way out which,in the end, might be worse."
Sprudell's note had come by special delivery from the Hotel Strathmorejust as she was leaving the office, so she had not stopped to answer it.He had made several trips from Bartlesville since their first meeting,under the pretext of business, but it did not require any great acumento discover that he came chiefly to see her.
Now, thinking that it might divert her mind from her misery, Helenturned her back to the wind and drew out his note for a second reading.One would scarcely have gathered from her expression as she turned thepages that she was reading a cordial dinner invitation.
Everything about it grated upon her--and the note was so eminentlycharacteristic. She observed critically the "My dear Miss Dunbar," whichhe considered more intimate than "Dear Miss Dunbar." She disliked theround vowels formed with such care that they looked piffling, and theelaborately shaded consonants. The stiffness, the triteness of hisphraseology, and his utter lack of humor, made his letters dull readingbut most of all his inexact use of words irritated her--it made him seemso hopeless--far more so than bad spelling. She even detested theglazed note paper which she was sure was a "broken lot" bought at abargain in a department store.
"To-night I have a matter of supreme importance to impart," she read,"make every effort to join me. The evening may prove as eventful to youas to me, so do not disappoint me, Mignonne."
"Mignonne!" Her lips curled. "Idiot! Imbecile! Ignoramus!"Savagely--"_Donkey!_"
She leaned a shoulder against the cold bricks of the warehouse, her headdrooped and a tear slipped down her cheek to turn to frost on the darkfur of her muff.
Helen was too analytical and she had had the opportunity of knowing andobserving men in too many walks of life not to have by this time afairly good insight into Sprudell's character. At least she understoodhim to the extent of reading his motives and interpreting his actionswith tolerable accuracy. She tried to be charitable and endeavored notto dwell upon the traits which, in the light of his lover's attitude,made him ridiculous. When she received tender offering of stalefruit-cake and glucose jam from a cut-rate grocer, large boxes of candyfrom an obscure confectioner, and other gifts betraying the penuriouseconomy which always tempered his generosity, she endeavored to assureherself that it came merely from the habit of saving in small ways whichmany self-made men had in common. She dwelt resolutely upon hisintegrity, upon the acumen which had made him a business success; yet inher heart she could not help likening him to a garment of shoddymaterial aping the style of elegance. While endeavoring to palliatethese small offenses Helen knew perfectly that they were due to thefact that he was innately what was known in the office vernacular as a"cheap skate," striving to give the impression of generosity at aminimum of expense.
Helen had grown sensitive about her cough and shrank from comment uponit. She did her best to stifle it and she herself spoke of it lightly;but to-day, when she came into the warm air of the office after thenightmare of a wait on the corner and the long, cold ride afterward, itset her coughing violently, so violently that it attracted the attentionof her neighbor, who called over the partition jocularly but with a noteof seriousness in his voice--
"We'll have to ship you to Colorado, Miss Dunbar, if you go on likethat!"
Helen caught her clasped hands quickly to her breast, a trick she hadwhen startled.
"Yes?" she answered lightly but her expression was frightened.
People were noticing! It was the last straw needed. When she laid outher most becoming frock that evening it was the white flag ofcapitulation. The odds were too heavy--she felt she must surrenderbefore it was too late. While she dressed her hair with more than usualcare she scrutinized her face closely for that indefinable look whichconveys to the initiated a hint of something deeper-seated than thelanguor of fatigue.
If Helen had cared at all for Sprudell's approbation she would have hadthe reward for her pains in the pleased, self-satisfied air ofproprietorship with which he followed her to the table he had reservedin the fashionable restaurant of the Hotel Strathmore. He missed none ofthe interested looks directed at her as she passed, and glowed withsatisfaction.
"If they notice her like this in a city," he thought triumphantly,"she'll make 'em sit up in Bartlesville!" Sprudell's cup of happinessseemed running full.
"You're looking great to-night," he whispered as they sat down.
"Fine feathers--" she smiled slightly--"my one good gown."
"My dear, you can have a hundred--a thousand!" he cried extravagantly."It's up to you!"
She studied him curiously, wondering what had happened. He was tremulouswith suppressed excitement; his high spirits were like the elation ofintoxication and he ordered with a lavishness which made himconspicuous.
But Sprudell was indifferent to appearances, seeming to survey the worldat large from the height of omnipotence and it seemed to Helen thatevery objectionable trait he had was exaggerated, twice enlarged underthe stimulus of this mysterious, exalted mood. His egotism loomedcolossal, he was oblivious to everything and everybody but himself, elsehe could not have failed to see the growing coldness in her eyes.
Helen herself had little appetite, so while Sprudell partook of thenumerous dishes with relish she inspected him anew from the criticalviewpoint of the woman who intends to marry without love. As shedissected him it occurred to her that Sprudell exemplified every pettyfeminine prejudice she had. She disliked his small, red mouth, which hada way of fixing itself in an expression of mawkish sentimentality whenhe looked at her, and there was that in the amorous, significant lightin his infantile blue eyes which sickened her very soul. Shedisapproved of his toddling walk, his fat, stooped shoulders, his spatsand general appearance of over-emphasized dapperness. The excessivepoliteness, the elaborate deference which he showed her upon occasions,exasperated her, and it was incredible, she thought, that a part in aman's back hair should be able to arouse such violence of feeling. Butit did. She hated it. She loathed it. It was one of her very strongestaversions. She had always hoped never even to know a man who parted hisback hair and now she was going to marry one.
She tried to imagine herself going through life making a pretense oftaking his
learning and his talents seriously, of refraining carefullyfrom calling attention to his errors or correcting his misstatements, ofshielding him from the ridicule which his pedantry must bring upon himwhen he mingled with his superiors, smoothing over smarts when hebullied and "talked down," without convincing his adversaries--as Helenhad seen other women do. But could _she_ do it? When it came right downto brass tacks, she asked herself, could she exchange herself, herfreedom, her individuality, all the years to come if many were sparedher, for the chance to get well and for relief from anxiety about foodand clothes and shelter?
To marry Sprudell meant immunity from freezing on street corners, frommental and physical exhaustion, from the rebuffs which were a part ofher work and which hurt far worse than anyone guessed because she couldnever regard them as impersonal. Women were making such exchanges everyday and with less excuse--for luxury or position merely--but could shedo it?
Must she grow into an old woman without a single romance in her life?That much seemed every woman's right. What had she done that the Fatesshould "have it in for her" like this? She clenched her hands under theshelter of the tablecloth. This thing she had made up her mind to doseemed such a horrid, sordid, vulgar end to youth and sentiment.
Sprudell meanwhile was revolving in his mind the best method ofimparting effectively and dramatically the news which was burdening him.He considered beginning with a Latin quotation from his Vest-PocketManual--"_Labor omnia vincit_"--or something like that--but ended, whenhe felt the right moment had arrived, by stating the fact bluntly andabruptly:
"I'm going to be as rich as Croesus."
Helen looked up, to see his red lower lip trembling with excitement.
"My dear," solemnly, "I shall have fabulous wealth."
Undoubtedly he was in earnest. She could see that from the intensityshining in his eyes. Wonderingly she took the pamphlet which he withdrewfrom its envelope and passed to her, watching her face eagerly as sheread.
PROSPECTUS OF THE BITTER ROOT PLACER MINING COMPANY
proclaimed the outside page, and the frontispiece contained a picture ofseven large mules staggering up a mountain trail under a load of bullionprotected by guards carrying rifles with eight-foot barrels.
"That illustration is _my_ idea," he said proudly.
"It's very--very alluring," Helen conceded. "And you are interested?"
"Interested!" gleefully, "it's all mine! Wait till you go on."
The first paragraph of the text read:
We have, with infinite hardship and difficulties and a large personal expense, secured absolute legal ownership, and physical possession, of eight placer claims, making 160 acres of the richest, unworked placer ground in the United States.
THE PROPERTIES
Queen of Sheba No. 1:--Area about 15 acres.
Section 1--600 x 300 feet. Examined by the best obtainable placer experts and under the most favorable conditions money could afford. Prospect Shaft No. L:--Through natural, clean sand and fine river gravel. Depth of pit 10 feet. Every foot showed gold in paying quantities. A four foot streak, extremely rich, passes through this section. Red-rock was not reached but the values increase with depth, as is usually true.
Average workable depth of this section 60 ft. Average assay .6235 per cubic yard. 600 x 300 x 60----400,000 cu. yds. @ .6235 $249,400 Estimated cost of working 5 cents per cu. yd. 20,000 -------- Estimated Net Profit $229,000
"That's one of the poor claims," he explained carelessly, "we probablywon't bother with it."
"The yardage of 'The Pot of Gold' and claims 'Eureka' 1 and 2 totalledmillions, while the leanest next to 'The Queen of Sheba,' yielded a netprofit of $700,000."
Then the monotony of facts and figures was varied by anotherillustration showing a miner in hip-boots and a sou'wester blithelyhandling a giant which threw a ten-inch stream into a sand-bank.
"I drew the rough sketch for that and the artist carried out my ideas."Sprudell wished to convey the impression that along with his many othergifts he possessed artistic talent, had he only chosen to develop it.
Helen read at random:
Numerous prospect holes, cuts and trenches fully corroborate the value of the ground. There are rich streaks and spots yielding 25 cts. to 50 cts. to the pan of what area the Giant alone will tell. Every surface foot yields gold in paying quantities. It is pay-dirt from the grass-roots. While we confine our estimates to the actual ground examined, nevertheless we are certain the real wealth lies on bed-rock.
The home claim with its rustic log cabin provides a delightful home for those interested in the enterprise, supplying comforts and luxuries which money cannot purchase in large cities. Game and fish in greatest abundance infest its door-yard. We have seen fifty grouse and twenty mountain sheep within three hundred feet of the doorway. Bear may be had at any time for the going after.
It must be borne in mind, all of these placers are the ancient beds of a least two separate periods of a great river, consequently, bed-rock will undoubtedly reveal fabulous wealth which cannot be uncovered in an examination. It would be useless to attempt to exaggerate the possibilities of these properties. The plain, simple facts are far more potent than unestablished fiction could possibly be.
All the claims we have described represent virgin ground, something seldom found, now, anywhere in the U. S. There is not a wagon track in the whole valley. It has heretofore been too difficult of access to tempt capital to come in here. We have changed the whole situation. Our Saw-mill, which we now have in operation, is the wonder of the place, and is, of course, our salvation, for without that, of course, we could not construct flumes to put water upon our placer ground.
We have partially constructed a wagon road to shorten and make less arduous the difficult trip into this paradise. Nevertheless, it is a paradise, when once within its charmed environments. Gold is the commonest product there.
This is quite sufficient.
The confidential details which accompany this prospectus will make known our financial requirements.
We know we have a great fortune in sight, but, hidden away in the greater depths are unknown possibilities of fabulous riches, for this great river is noted for its richness on bed-rock. Millions have been taken out of its sand with the crudest devices.
We have demonstrated our good faith and our confidence in the worth of these properties by a personal expenditure approximating fifty thousand dollars in cash.
We have taken every legal precaution and necessary physical step to insure an absolutely safe and profitable investment.
We are now ready, and desire, to finance a close corporation, with a limited capital, to operate this property on a scale BEFITTING ITS IMPORTANCE.
Helen closed the pamphlet and passed it back. She knew nothing of miningand had no reason to doubt its truth or Sprudell's honesty. Not only thefacts but the magnitude of the possibilities as he had outlined themwere bewildering. He might, indeed, become as rich as Croesus and, shethought, how like a tyrant he would use his power!
"Well?" He looked at her, exultant, gloating. For the moment he had theappearance of a person whose every wish had been granted. His eyesblazed with excitement, his face was crimson. Dazzled, intoxicated bythe prospect of his great wealth, he felt himself omnipotent, immunefrom the consequences of rude manners and shameless selfishness, safefrom criticism among the very rich. He felt a wild, reckless impulse tothrow the cut-glass rose-vase on the floor--and pay for it.
"Well?" he repeated arrogantly. He felt so sure of her, for what womanwho earned her own living would refuse what he now could offer! He wasimpatient for her to say something that would show how much she wasimpressed.
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And still Helen did not answer. Looking at him as he bared himself inhis transport, the realization came swiftly, unexpectedly that she couldnot marry him if to refuse meant the beginning of sure starvation on themorrow! Not because she was too honorable, too conscientious, to marrywithout love in her present circumstances, but because it would be anactual impossibility for her to marry Sprudell.
It was not a question of honor or conscience, of mental uncongeniality,temperamental differences, or even the part in his back hair; it was, asshe realized, a case of physical repulsion pure and simple.
From her first acquaintance with him she had shrunk involuntarily fromthe touch of his hand, the slightest contact; when he sat beside her intaxicabs and at the theatre she invariably had been unpleasantlyconscious of his nearness. She was convinced now that her reluctant feetwould have refused to carry her to the altar, and her tongue to answeraccording to her bidding.
If she had been less strong in her likes and dislikes, less violent inher prejudices, she might have forced herself to dwell upon theadvantages over her present position and come to accept the situationwith something like serenity. But she was too strong a character toadapt herself complacently to a livelong, intimate association with aperson so genuinely, so uncontrollably, physically repugnant to her aswas Sprudell.
Psychologically, it was curious--no doubt there were women in the worldwho had, or did, or might, adore Sprudell; but for herself sheunderstood clearly now that the single kindly feeling she had for himwas the gratitude she felt she owed him.
"I congratulate you," she said finally. "It is a remarkable story--mostromantic! Money is power--there never was anything truer--Listen!" Sheraised a finger. "Isn't that your name? Yes; the boy is paging you."
Sprudell ostentatiously opened the telegram which was brought to him,secretly pleased at seeming to be thus pursued by the requirements ofhis large business interests; but his frown of importance and air of aman with weighty matters to decide was wasted upon Helen, who waswatching a lively party of men making its way to a nearby table reservedfor six.
Sprudell read:
The original locator has beat us to the water-right. Applied by wire while I was snowed up. Advise making best terms possible with him. Letter follows. Dill.
He looked as if some one had struck him in the face.
Helen was still watching the advancing party. She murmured, with a smileof amusement, as Sprudell laid the telegram down:
"Here, coming in the lead, is our unfailing news supply--WinfieldHarrah. You've heard of him no doubt. Behind him, the big one--that hugechap with the black eyes, is the mysterious Samson from the West whowhipped the 'Spanish Bull-dog.' 'The Man from the Bitter Roots' I thinkthey call him."
Subconsciously, Sprudell heard what she was saying and his eyes followedhers. The start he gave caused her to turn her head quickly. His facewas more than colorless, it was chalky even to the lips.
"Burt!" He exclaimed involuntarily, "Bruce Burt!" He could have bittenhis tongue out the instant after.
The Man from the Bitter Roots Page 15
