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The Romance of a Plain Man, a novel by Ellen Glasgow |
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Chapter 14. In Which I Test My Strength |
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_ CHAPTER XIV. IN WHICH I TEST MY STRENGTH
"General, I've got to get rich quickly, and I'm finding a way." "You'd better make sure first that your royal road doesn't end in a ditch." "I was talking to a man from West Virginia yesterday about buying out the National Oil Company, and I dreamed of it all night. He wants me to go in with him, and start a refining plant. If I can get special privileges and rebates from the railroads to give us advantages, we may make a big business of it." "You may and you mayn't. Who's your man?" "Sam Brackett. Bob's brother, you know." "A mighty good fellow, and shrewd, too. But I'd think it over carefully, if I were you." I did think it over, and the result of my thoughts was, as I told the General a fortnight later, the purchase of a refining plant near Clarksburg, and the beginning of a lively war with the competitors in the business. "We're going to sweep the South, General, with the help of the railroad," I said. The great man, with his gouty foot in a felt slipper, sat gazing meditatively over the words of a telegram, which had come on his private wire. "Midland stock is selling at 160," he said. "It's a big railroad, my boy, and I've made it." Even to-day, with the living presence of Sally still in my eyes, I was filled again with the old unappeasable desire for the great railroad. The woman and the road were distinct and yet blended in my thoughts. At dinner-time, when the General hobbled to his buggy on my arm, I made again the remark I had blurted out so inopportunely. "General, I've been to West Virginia and started the plant, and we're going to give Hail Columbia to our competitors." He looked at me attentively, and a sly twinkle appeared in his little watery grey eyes, which were sunk deep in the bluish and swollen sockets. "Do you feel yourself getting big, Ben?" he enquired, with a chuckle. I shook my head. "Not yet, but it's a fair risk and a good chance to make a big business." "Well, you're right, I suppose, and if you ain't you'll find out before long. What's luck, after all, but the thing that enables a man to see a long way ahead?" He settled himself under his fur rug, flicked the reins over the old grey horse, and we drove slowly up Main Street behind a street car. "I don't know about luck, General, but I'm going to win out if hard pushing can do it." "It can do 'most anything if you only push hard, enough. But you talk as if you were in love, Ben, I've said the same thing a hundred times in my day, I reckon." I blushed furiously, and then turning my face from him, stared at a group of children upon the sidewalk. "Whom could I marry, General?" I asked. "You know well enough that a woman in your class wouldn't marry a man in mine--unless--" "Unless she were over head and heels in love with him," he chuckled. "Unless he were a great man," I corrected. "You mean a rich man, Ben? So your oil business is merely a little love attention, after all." "No, money has very little to do with it, and the woman I want to marry wouldn't marry me for money. But it's the mettle that counts, and in this age, given the position I've started from, how can a man prove his mettle except by success?--and success does mean money. The president of the Great South Midland and Atlantic Railroad is obliged to be a rich man, isn't he?" "So you're still after my job, eh? Is that why you've let me bully and badger you for the last six years?" "It was at the bottom of it," I answered honestly, for the gay old bird liked downright speaking, and I knew it. "I'd rather have been your confidential secretary for six years than general manager of traffic. I was learning what I wanted to know." "And what was that?" "The way you did things. The way you handled men and bought and sold stocks." "You like the road, too, eh?" "I like the road as long as it can be of use to me." "And when it ceases to be you'll throw it over?" "Yes, if it ever ceases to be I'll throw it over--honestly," I answered. "Now that's the thing," he said, "remember always that in handling men honesty is a big asset. I've always been honest, my boy, and it's helped me when I needed it. Why, when I came in and got control of the road in that slump after the war, I was able to reorganise it principally because of the reputation for honesty I had earned. It was a long time before it began to pay dividends, but nobody grumbled. They knew I was doing my best--and that I was doing it fair and square, and to-day we control nearly twenty thousand miles of road." "Yes, honesty I've learned in your office, sir." "Well, it's good training,--it's mighty good training, if I do say it myself. You could have got with a darn bloater like Dick Horseley, and he'd have worked your ruin. Now you never saw me lose my head, did you, eh, Ben?" I replied that I had not--not even when his private wire had ticked off news of the last panic. "Well, I never did," he said reflectively, "except with women. Take my advice, Ben, and find a good sensible wife, even if she's in your own class, and marry and settle down. It steadies a man, somehow. I'd be a long ways happier to-day," he added, a little wistfully, "if I'd taken a wife when I was young." I thought of Miss Matoaca, with her bright brown eyes, her withered roseleaf cheeks, and her sacrifice in the cause of honour. "Whatever you are don't be an old bachelor," he pursued after a pause, "it may be pleasant in the beginning, but I'll be blamed if it pays in the end. Find a good sensible woman who hasn't any opinions of her own, and you will be happy. But as you value your peace, don't go and fall in love with a woman who has any heathenish ideas in her head. When a woman once gets that maggot in her brain, she stops believing in gentleness and self-sacrifice, and by George, she ceases to be a woman. Every man knows there's got to be a lot of sacrifice in marriage, and he likes to feel that he's marrying a woman who is fully capable of making it. A strong-minded woman can't--she's gone and unsexed herself--and instead of taking pleasure in giving up, she begins to talk everlastingly about her 'honour.' Pshaw! the next thing she'll expect to be treated as punctiliously as if she were a business partner!" The old wound still ached sometimes, it was easy to see; and because of his age and his growing infirmities, he found it harder to keep back the querulous complaints that rose to his lips. "Now, there's that George of mine," he resumed, still fretting, "he's probably gone and set his eyes on Sally Mickleborough, and it's as plain as daylight that she's got a plenty of that outlandish spirit of her aunt's. I don't mean she's got her notions--I ain't saying any harm of the girl--she's handsome enough in spite of Hatty's nonsense about her mouth--and I call it downright scandalous of Edmund Bland to leave every last penny of his money away from her. But, mark my words, and I tell George so every single day I live, if she marries George he's going to have trouble as sure as shot. She's just the kind to expect him to make sacrifices, and by Jove, no man wants to be expected to make sacrifices in his own home!" Sacrifices! My blood sang in my ears. If she would only marry me I'd promise to make a sacrifice for her every blessed minute that I lived. "And do you think she likes George, General?" I asked timidly. "Oh, I don't suppose she knows her own mind," he retorted. "I never in my life, sir, knew but one woman who did." We drove on for a minute in silence, and from the red and watery look in the General's eyes, I inferred that, in spite of his broken engagement and his bitter judgment, Miss Matoaca had managed to retain her place in his memory. As I looked at him, sitting there like a wounded eagle, huddled under his fur rug, a feeling of thanksgiving that was almost one of rapture swelled in my heart. If I had a plain name, I had also a clean life to offer the woman I loved. When I remembered the strong, pure line of her features, her broad, intelligent brow, her clear, unswerving gaze, I told myself that whatever the world had to say, she, at least, would consider the difference a fair one. At the great moment she would choose me, I knew, for myself alone; choose in a democracy the man who, God helping him, would stand always for the best in the democratic spirit--for courage and truth and strength and a clean honour toward men and women. "Who was that pretty girl, Ben," the General enquired presently, "I saw you walking with last Sunday? A sweetheart?" "No, sir. My sister." "A lady? She looked it." "She has been taught like one." "What'll you do with her? Marry her off?" "I haven't thought--but she won't look at any of the men she knows." "Oh, well, if the National Oil wins, you may give her a fortune. There are plenty of young chaps who would jump at her. Bless my soul, she's more to my taste than Sally Mickleborough. It's the women who are such fools about birth, you know, men don't care a rap. Why, if I'd loved a woman, she might have been born in the poorhouse for all the thought I'd have given it. A pretty face or a small foot goes a long sight farther with a man than the tallest grandfather that ever lived." For a moment he was silent, and then he spoke softly, unconscious that he uttered his thought aloud. "No, Matoaca's birth, whatever it might have been, couldn't have come between us--it was her damned principles." He looked tired and old, now that his armour of business had dropped from him, as he sat there, with the fur rug drawn over his chest, and his loose lower lip hanging slightly away from his shrunken gums. A sudden pity, the first I had ever dared feel for the president of the Great South Midland and Atlantic Railroad, shot through my heart. The gay old bird, I told myself, was shedding his plumage at last. "Well, as long as I can't rest on my birth, I might as well stand up on something," I said. "Women think a lot of it," he resumed, as if he had not noticed my flippant interjection; "and I reckon it about fits the size of their minds. Why, to hear Miss Mitty Bland talk you would think good birth was the only virtue she admitted to the first rank. I was telling her about you," he added with a chuckle, "and you've got sense enough to see the humour of what she said." "I hope I have, General." "Well, I began it by boasting about your looks, Ben, if you don't mind. 'That wonderful boy of ours is the finest-looking fellow in the South to-day, Miss Mitty,' I burst out, 'and he stands six feet two in his stockings.' 'Ah, General,' she replied sadly, 'what are six feet two inches without a grandfather?'" He threw back his head with a roar, appearing a trifle chagrined the next instant by my faint-hearted pretence of mirth. "Doesn't it tickle you, Ben?" he enquired, checking his laughter. "I'm afraid it makes me rather angry, General," I answered. "Oh, well, I didn't think you'd take it seriously. It's just a joke, you know. Go ahead and make your fortune, and they'll receive you quick enough." "But they have received me. They asked me to their party." "That was Sally, my boy--it was her party, and she fought the ladies for you. That girl's a born fighter, and I reckon she gets it from Harry Mickleborough--for the only blessed thing he could do was to fight. He was a mighty poor man, was Harry, but a God Almighty soldier--and he sent more Yankees to glory than any single man in the whole South. The girl gets it from him, and she hasn't any of her aunts' aristocratic nonsense in her either. She told Miss Mitty, on the spot, and I can see her eyes shine now, that she liked you and she meant to know you." "That she meant to know me," I repeated, with a singing heart. "The ladies were put out, I could see, but they ain't a match for that scamp Harry, and he's in her. There never lived the general that could command him, and he'd have been shot for insubordination in '63 if he hadn't been as good as a whole company to the army. 'I'll fight for the South and welcome,' he used to say, 'but, by God, sir, I'll fight as I damn please.' 'Twas the same way about the church, too. Old Dr. Peterson got after him once about standing, instead of kneeling, during prayers, and 'I'll pray as I damn please, sir!' responded Harry. Oh, he was a sad scamp!" "So his daughter fought for me?" I said. "How did it end?" "It will end all right when you are president of the Great South Midland and Atlantic Railroad, and have shipped me to Kingdom Come. They won't shut their doors in your face, then." "But she stood up for me?" I asked, and my voice trembled. "She? Do you mean Miss Matoaca? Well, she granted your good looks and your virtues, but she regretted that they couldn't ask you to their house." "And Miss Mitty?" "Oh, Miss Mitty assured me that six feet two were as an inch in her sight, without a grandfather." "But her niece--Miss Mickleborough?" I had worked delicately up to my point. "The girl fought for you--but then she's obliged to fight for something?--it's Harry in her. That's why, as I said to George at breakfast, I don't want him to marry her. She's a good girl, and I like her, but who in the deuce wants to marry a fighting wife? Look at that fellow mauling his horse, Ben. It makes me sick to see 'em do it, but it's no business of mine, I reckon." "It is of mine, General," I replied, for the sight of an ill-treated animal had made my blood boil since childhood. Before he could answer, I had jumped over the moving wheel, and had reached the miserable, sore-backed horse struggling under a load of coal and a big stick. "Come off and put your shoulder to the wheel, you drunken brute," I said, as my rage rose in my throat. "I'll be damned if I will," replied the fellow, and he was about to begin belabouring again, when I seized him by the collar and swung him clear to the street. "I'll be damned if you don't," I retorted. I was a strong man, and when my passions were roused, the thought of my own strength slipped from consciousness. "You'll break his bones, Ben," said the General, leaning out of his buggy, but his eyes shone as they might have shone at the sight of his first battle. "I hope I shall," I responded grimly, and going over to the wagon I put my shoulder to the wheel, and began the ascent of the steep hill. Somebody on the pavement came to my help on the other side, and we went up slowly, with a half-drunken driver reeling at our sides and the General following, in his buggy, a short way behind. "I thought you were a diffident fellow, Ben," remarked the great man, as I took my seat again by his side; "but I don't believe there's another man in Richmond that would make such a spectacle of himself." "I forget myself when I'm worked up," I answered, "and I forget that anybody is looking." "Well, somebody was," he replied slyly. "You didn't see Miss Matoaca Bland pass you in a carriage as you were pushing that wheel?" "No, I didn't see anybody." "She saw you--and so did Sally Mickleborough. Why, I'd have given something pretty in my day to make a girl's eyes blaze like that." A week later I swallowed my pride, with an effort, and called at the old grey house at the hour of sunset. Selim, stepping softly, conducted me into the dimly lighted drawing-room, where a cedar log burned, with a delicious fragrance, on a pair of high brass andirons. The red glow, half light, half shadow, flickered over the quaint tapestried furniture, the white-painted woodwork, and the portraits of departed Blands and Fairfaxes that smiled gravely down, with averted eyes. In a massive gilt frame over a rosewood spinet there was a picture of Miss Mitty and Miss Mataoca, painted in fancy dress, with clasped hands, under a garland of roses. My gaze was upon it, when the sound of a door opening quickly somewhere in the rear came to my ears; and the next instant I heard Miss Mitty's prim tones saying distinctly:-- "Tell Mr. Starr, Selim, that the ladies are not receiving." There was a moment's silence, followed by a voice that brought my delighted heart with a bound into my throat. "Aunt Mitty, I _will_ see him." "Sally, how can you receive a man who was not born a gentleman?" "Aunt Mitty, if you don't let me see him here, I'll--I'll meet him in the street." The door shut sharply, there was a sound of rapid steps, and the voices ceased. Harry Mickleborough, in his daughter, I judged, had gained the victory; for an instant afterwards I heard her cross the hall, with a defiant and energetic rustle of skirts. When she entered the room, and held out her hand, I saw that she was dressed in her walking gown. There were soft brown furs about her throat, and on her head she wore a small fur hat, with a bunch of violets at one side, under a thin white veil. "I was just going to walk," she said, breathing a little quickly, while her eyes, very wide and bright, held that puzzled and resolute look I remembered; "will you come with me?" She turned at once to the door, as if eager to leave the house, and while I followed her through the hall, and down the short flight of steps to the pavement, I was conscious of a sharp presentiment that I should never again cross that threshold. _ |
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