Part 7 (1/2)
”I'm awfully sorry, Aunt Clarissa,” he said. ”I realize I am a dreadful disappointment to you. I tried, I honestly did, but--”
And here he coughed, coughed lengthily and in a manner which caused his aunt to look alarmed and anxious. She had heard John Capen Bangs cough like that. That very afternoon the Bute family physician saw, questioned and examined Galusha. The following day an eminent specialist did the same things. And both doctors looked gravely at each other and at their patient.
Within a week Galusha was on his way to an Arizona ranch, a place where he was to find suns.h.i.+ne and dry climate. He was to be out of doors as much as possible, he was to ride and walk much, he was to do all sorts of distasteful things, but he promised faithfully to do them, for his aunt's sake. As a matter of fact, he took little interest in the matter for his own. His was a sensitive spirit, although a quiet, shy and ”queer” one, and to find that he was ”no good” at any particular employment, even though he had felt fairly certain of that fact beforehand, hurt more than he acknowledged to others. Galusha went to Arizona because his aunt, to whose kindness and generosity he owed so much, wished him to do so. For himself he did not care where he went or what became of him.
But his feelings changed a few months later, when health began to return and the cough to diminish in frequency and violence. And then came to the ranch where he lodged and boarded an expedition from an eastern museum. It was an expedition sent to explore the near-by canyon for trace of the ancient ”cliff dwellers,” to find and, if need be, excavate the villages of this strange people and to do research work among them.
The expedition was in charge of an eminent scientist. Galusha met and talked with the scientist and liked him at once, a liking which was to grow into adoration as the acquaintances.h.i.+p between the two warmed into friends.h.i.+p. The young man was invited to accompany the expedition upon one of its exploring trips. He accepted and, although he did not then realize it, upon that trip he discovered, not only an ancient cliff village, but the life work of Galusha Cabot Bangs.
For Galusha was wild with enthusiasm. Scrambling amid the rocks, wading or tumbling into the frigid waters of mountain streams, sleeping anywhere or not sleeping, all these hards.h.i.+ps were of no consequence whatever compared with the thrill which came with the first glimpse of, high up under the bulging brow of an overhanging cliff, a rude wall and a cl.u.s.ter of half ruined dwellings sticking to the side of the precipice as barn swallows' nests are plastered beneath eaves. Then the climb and the glorious burrowing into the homes of these long dead folk, the hallelujahs when a bit of broken pottery was found, and the delightfully arduous labor of painstakingly uncovering and cleaning a bit of rude carving. The average man would have tired of it in two days, a week of it would have bored him to distraction. But the longer it lasted and the harder the labor, the brighter Galusha's eyes sparkled behind his spectacles. Years before, when his aunt had asked him concerning his interest in the books about ancient Nineveh, he had described to her the work of the explorers and had cried: ”Gee, it must be great!” Well, now he was, in a very humble way, helping to do something of the sort himself, and--gee, it WAS great!
Such enthusiasm as his and such marked apt.i.tude, amounting almost to genius, could not help but make an impression. The distinguished savant at the head of the expedition returned the young man's liking. Before returning East, he said:
”Bangs, next fall I am planning an expedition to Ecuador. I'd like to have you go with me. Oh, this isn't offered merely for your sake, it is quite as much for mine. You're worth at least three of the average young fellows who have trained for this sort of thing. There will be a salary for you, of course, but it won't be large. On the other hand, there will be no personal expense and some experience. Will you go?”
Would he GO? Why--
”Yes, I know. But there is your health to be considered. I can't afford to have a sick man along. You stay here for the present and put in your time getting absolutely fit.”
”But--but I AM fit.”
”Um--yes; well, then, get fitter.”
Galusha went to Ecuador. Aunt Clarissa protested, scolded, declared him insane--and capitulated only when she found that he was going anyhow. He returned from the expedition higher than ever in favor with his chief.
He was offered a position in the archeological department of the museum.
He accepted first and then told Aunt Clarissa.
That was the real beginning. After that the years rolled placidly along.
He went to Egypt, under his beloved chief, and there found exactly what he had dreamed. The desert, the pyramids, the sculptures, the ancient writings, the buried tombs and temples--all those Galusha saw and took, figuratively speaking, for his own. On his return he settled down to the study of Egyptology, its writings, its history, its every detail. He made another trip to the beloved land and distinguished himself and his museum by his discoveries. His chief died and Galusha was offered the post left vacant. He accepted. Later--some years later--he was called to the National Inst.i.tute at Was.h.i.+ngton.
When he was thirty-seven his Aunt Clarissa died. She left all her property to her nephew. But she left it in trust, in trust with Cousin Gussie. There was a letter to the latter in the envelope with the will.
”He is to have only the income, the income, understand--until he is forty-five,” Aunt Clarissa had written. ”Heaven knows, I am afraid even THAT is too young for a child such as he is in everything except pyramids.”
Cousin Gussie, now the dignified and highly respected senior partner of Cabot, Bancroft and Cabot, took charge of the Bute--now the Bangs--property. There was not as much of it as most people had supposed; since Uncle Joshua pa.s.sed on certain investments had gone wrong, but there was income enough to furnish any mortal of ordinary tastes with the means of gratifying them and still have a substantial residue left. Galusha understood this, in a vague sort of way, but he did not care. Outside of his beloved profession he had no tastes and no desires. Life for him was, as Cousin Gussie unfeelingly put it, ”one d.a.m.ned mummy after the other.” In fact, after the arrival of the first installment of income, he traveled posthaste to the office of his Boston relative and entered a protest.
”You--you mustn't send any more, really you mustn't,” he declared, anxiously. ”I don't know what to do with it.”
”DO with it? Do with the money, you mean?”
”Yes--yes, that's it.”
”But don't you need it to live on?”
”Oh, dear me, no!”
”What DO you live on?”
”Why, my salary.”