Part 42 (1/2)
”What is it?” he demanded, testily. ”I wish you would get a pair of creaky boots.”
”A gentleman,” replied the impervious Oriental.
”I told you I would not see anybody.”
”But he has a card.” It was not often that the cool even tones of Imura Kisabura Hinomoto fluctuated, but Gwynne detected a faint accent of respect. Somewhat surprised himself, he glanced at the card. It bore the name of one of the judges of one of the benches provided for by the const.i.tutions of both nation and State. He had a summer home on the mountain opposite and relatives in Rosewater, so there was nothing remarkable in his being in the little town on a rainy winter Sunday.
Nevertheless, Gwynne's instinct of caution, more active than usual during the past year, stirred sharply.
”Show him in,” he said. ”And bring the whiskey--both Rye and Scotch.”
This was the most perfect specimen of the bluff, hearty, breezy, almost ingenuous Westerner that Gwynne had encountered. The judge, who had been relieved of his hat and overcoat by the admirable Imura, advanced with both hands outstretched, and Gwynne could do no less than surrender his, although he had never fancied any one less. The judge was a big man with a round jolly face, set with a sensual mouth, a pendulous nose, and merry twinkling eyes. Although possibly no more than fifty-five years of age, the baldness of his head had amplified the common n.o.ble domelike American brow: behind which Gwynne had so often groped and found nothing. This man was indubitably clever, and to a less educated eye than Gwynne's his face would appeal and fascinate. His magnetism was superlative.
”My dear Mr. Gwynne!” he exclaimed. ”Believe me when I say that this is one of the most satisfactory moments of my life. I was forced to come to this G.o.d-forsaken hole last night, and had it not been for you I should have taken the morning train back to the city. But when I heard that you were in town--you were pointed out to me as we both left the train--I knew that my opportunity had come. And--my dear young gentleman--I throw away no opportunities; I throw away no opportunities.”
By this time Gwynne had steered him into the largest of the chairs, and offered him his choice of the whiskies. The judge, after an instant's hesitation, accepted the Scotch; and Gwynne felt that he had a tactful and dangerous man to deal with.
”Excellent!” exclaimed the judge, and he smacked his lips. He inhaled the aroma of the cigar voluptuously. ”But my dear old friend, Judge Leslie, whom I ran in to see for a few moments this morning, told me--with his customary humor--that you were as remarkable for the superior quality of your whiskey and tobacco as for the many personal qualities that have so rapidly endeared you to the citizens of Rosewater.”
”Thanks,” said Gwynne.
The judge changed his tactics instantly. ”I cannot beat about in the dark and merely turn myself loose in pleasant generalities, Mr. Gwynne,”
he said, gravely. ”I am going to tell you at once that I am positive you are Elton Gwynne. Judge Leslie would give me no satisfaction this morning, but I needed none. I happened to be employed in old Colton's bank in my younger days--as secretary--and although that was a long time ago--a long time ago!--it came back to me, when I began to hear so much about our new rancher, that his full name was John Elton Cecil Gwynne, and that he was the only son of his mother. Or--if impressions are confused after so long an interval--I may have gathered the last fact from James Otis, whom I knew very well. He and Hi, indeed, I may honestly say, were among my few intimate friends, despite some disparity in years. So, I have a double interest and, I modestly hope, claim upon you. The former at least has been accentuated since yesterday, when your likeness to Hi struck me very painfully. You are a vast improvement, I grant, for Hi was as ugly as mud and as cross as two sticks, but the resemblance is acute, odd as it may appear. Those things are very subtle, very subtle.”
Gwynne had heard the keys of his secret weakness tinkle for a full bar, but while it improved his humor it did not cloud his judgment, and he applied himself to finding out the purpose of the man's visit.
”I regret very much that I have come too late to know any of my male relatives,” he said, affably. ”Hiram Otis, from all I hear, was an able man, if somewhat soured, and his unfortunate brother one of the most brilliant lawyers of his day. Terrible thing, this reckless drinking in San Francisco. I was told yesterday that when--a few years ago--an editor was sent out from New York to a.s.sume charge of one of your most flouris.h.i.+ng dailies, he made the entire staff go down to Los Gatos and take the Keeley cure. Then, for a time, he had _relays_ of sober men, at least, but until then he had felt himself a lonely Philistine--besides taking a hand in every department of the 'shop,' even setting type at times. But it's a fascinating old town, all the same. Too fascinating, I fear.” And he managed to fetch a remorseful sigh.
The judge, who had laughed heartily at the anecdote, dismissed his twinkle for a moment, and looked at the young man with concern.
”For G.o.d's sake,” he said, softly, ”don't tell me that you have inherited that microbe.”
”Oh no, indeed!” said Gwynne, cheerfully. ”I never could take to drink now--a man's character is pretty well formed at thirty-two, I fancy, and I scarcely ever touch spirits when alone--prefer the lighter wines.
Only, as San Francisco is so convivial, one naturally imbibes a good deal, especially with friends addicted to the 'c.o.c.ktail route'--and I am afraid I shall have to give up the city for the present and stick to work.”
”The judge tells me that your legal powers are really amazing--that you have acc.u.mulated more law in four months--”
”Tut! Tut!” cried Gwynne, springing to his feet and reaching the table in a stride. ”Have some more whiskey, judge. And don't flatter me any more. I am afraid that vanity is my besetting weakness--”
”Thank G.o.d it is not the other!” said the older man, fervently. ”And vanity keeps the heart younger than anything I know of. Lose the power of being tickled by a compliment and inflated by success, and you lose the salt of life. But I am delighted that you have taken to the law. I know your English career like a book, and although I do not pretend even to guess at the motives which induced you to fling aside not only the most promising career in England, but one of the n.o.blest of her t.i.tles, I may say, sir--and I may speak for my fellow-citizens, the whole million of them--I am deeply flattered, and gratified, that, whatever your motive, which could only be an honorable one, you have chosen this fair State as the theatre of your future triumphs. I hope I shall see you beside me on the bench--unless, to be sure, you have higher ambitions than the mere practice of law.”
”The first men in the country have been lawyers,” said Gwynne, politely.
”Why aspire higher?”
”Why, indeed? But I think you will. The law frequently leads either to one of the benches or into the more active field of politics. And you--with your enormous energies--you will never be content with the law, pure and simple, no matter how brilliant a reputation you might achieve.”
”But honest lawyers are so rare!” exclaimed Gwynne, boyishly. ”I do believe I should be an honest one. That, at least, is the intention I have set beside my ambition. I am ambitious, judge, as no doubt you have divined, and the prospect of being shelved among the lords sickened me.
I wanted to make a career for myself, so cut the whole business and came here where my American properties were. Besides, as it happened, I inherited practically nothing with which to keep up my English estates.
There! You have my reasons, judge, and you are welcome to them. t.i.tles without money are mere embarra.s.sments. Still, I really should have left, had it been otherwise--I am certain I should. I never could stand the inaction of the Upper House. Nor do I care for those compensatory honors that my position and family influence might have secured for me. And now I feel more the American every day. I have even grown keen on making money--which I rather disdained at home; for the matter of that, thought little about it. You may not know that I am--in partners.h.i.+p, as it were, with my mother and cousin--putting up a large Cla.s.s A building in San Francisco?”
He inferred that there was little about him the judge did not know, but accepted the interested ”Ah!” and rhapsodized over his new interests.