The Main Chance Page 3

  CHAPTER III

  SWEET PEAS

  When he confided to John Saxton his belief that there were those amonghis fellow townsmen who thought him "crooked," William Porter had noserious idea that such was the case. He had, however, an impression thatthe term "crooked" implied a high degree of sagacity and shrewdness. Heknew men in other cities whose methods were, to put it mildly, indirect,and their names were synonymous with success. It pleased him to thinkthat he was of their order, and he was rich enough to indulge thisidiosyncrasy without fear of the criticisms of his neighbors. It amusedhim to quiz customers of his bank, though he took care not to estrangethem. While his fellow citizens never seriously reflected on hisintegrity, yet they did say that "Billy" Porter knew his business; thathe was "on to his job"; or, that to get ahead of him one must "get upearly in the morning". "Billy Porter's luck" was a significant phrase inClarkson. Porter had occasionally scored phenomenal successes, until hislegitimate credit as a man of business was reinforced by thisreputation. He believed that he enjoyed the high favor of fortune, andit lent assurance to his movements.

  Porter lived well, as became a first citizen of Clarkson. His housestood at the summit of a hill near the end of Varney Street, and thegradual slope leading up to it was a pretty park, whose lawn andshrubbery showed the intelligent care of a good gardener. The dry airwas still hot as John Saxton climbed the cement walk which wound overthe slope at the proper degree to bring the greatest comfort topedestrians. The green of the lawn was grateful to Saxton's eyes, whichdwelt with relief on the fine spray of the rotary sprinklers that hissedcoolly at the end of long lines of hose. Interspersed among theindigenous scrub-oaks were elms, maples and cedars, and the mottled barkof white birches showed here and there. The lawn was broken by beds ofcannas, and it was evident that the owner of the place had a taste forlandscape gardening and spent his money generously in cultivating it.The house itself was of red brick dating from those years in which aMansard roof and a tower were thought indispensable in serious domesticarchitecture. There was a broad veranda on the river side, accessiblethrough French windows of the same architectural period.

  A maid admitted Saxton and left him to find his own way into thedrawing-room, through which a breeze was blowing pleasantly from acrossthe valley. The ceilings in the house were high and the hardwood floorsseemed inconsonant with them and had evidently been added at a laterdate. A white marble mantel and the grate beneath it were hidden bypalms. Above the mantel was a large mirror framed in heavy gilt. A pianoformed a barricade across the lower end of the room. One wall wascovered with a wonderful old French tapestry depicting a fiercehand-to-hand battle in which the warriors and their horses were greatlyconfused.

  Saxton sat in a deep wicker chair, mopping his forehead. He had spent abusy day, and it was with real satisfaction that he found himself in acool house where the atmosphere of comfort and good taste brought easeto all his senses. He had not expected to find so pleasant a house;verily, the marks of philistinism were not upon it. It seemed to himunlikely that Porter maintained solitary state here, and he wondered whocould be the other members of the household. The maid had disappearedinto the silent depths of the house without waiting for his name, anddid not return. His eyes moved again in leisurely fashion to the wallbefore him, and to the mirror, which reflected nothing of his immediatesurroundings, but disclosed the shelves and books of a room on theopposite side of the hall.

  He was amusing himself in speculations as to what manner of library aman like Porter would have, and whether he read anything but thenewspapers, when the shadow of a young woman crept into the mirror; shestood placing flowers in a vase on a table in the center of the room. Hethought for a moment that a figure from a painting had given a prettyhead and a pair of graceful shoulders to the mirror. In the room wherehe sat the frames contained peasants in sabots, generous panels ofHudson River landscape, a Detaille and an Inness. He changed thedirection of his eyes to inspect again the Brittany girl that stoodlooking out over the sea in the manner of Brittany girls in pictures.The girl in the mirror was not the same; moreover, he could hear herhumming softly; her head moved gracefully; there was no question of herreality. Her hands had brought a bunch of sweet peas within the mirror'scompass, and were detaching a part of them for the vase by which shestood. She hummed on in her absorption, bending again, so that Saxtonlost sight of her; then she stood upright, holding the unused flowers asif uncertain what to do with them. The head flashed out of the mirror,which reflected again only the library shelves and books. Then he hearda light step crossing the hall, and the girl, still singing softly toherself, passed back of him to a little stand which stood by one of thedrawing-room windows. The back of the wicker chair hid him; she waswholly unconscious that any one was there. The breath of the sweet peaswhich she was distributing suddenly sweetened the cool air of the room.Seeing that the girl did not know of his presence in the house, and thatshe would certainly discover him when she turned to go, he rose andfaced her.

  "I beg your pardon!"

  "Oh!" The sweet peas fell to the floor, and the girl looked anxiouslytoward the hall door.

  "I beg your pardon," Saxton repeated. "I think--I fear--I wasn'tannounced. But I believe that Mr. Porter is expecting me."

  "Yes?" The girl looked at John for the first time. He was taking thesituation seriously, and was sincerely sorry for having startled her.His breadth of shoulders was impressive; he was clad in gray homespun,and there seemed to be a good deal of it in the room. His smooth-shavenface was sunburned. She thought he might be an Englishman. He was of thebig blond English type common in the American cattle country.

  "Father will be here very soon, I think." She moved toward the doorwith dignity, ignoring the fallen flowers, and Saxton stepped forwardand picked them up.

  "Allow me." The girl took them from him, a little uncertainly andguardedly, then returned to the vase and placed the flowers in it.

  "Thank you very much," she said. "I think I hear my father now." Shewent to the outer door and opened it, inclining her head slightly as shepassed John, who also heard Mr. Porter's voice outside. He wasremonstrating with the gardener about the position of the sprinklers,which he wished reset in keeping with ideas of his own.

  "Well, Evelyn?" he said, as he came up the steps. Saxton could hear theyoung woman making an explanation in low tones to her father. He knew,of course, that she was telling him that some one was waiting, and Mr.Porter stood suddenly in the door with his hat still on his head.

  "Well, this beats me," he began effusively, coming forward and wringingSaxton's hand. "This beats me! I'm not going to try to explain. I simplyforgot, that's all." He took Saxton's arm and turned him toward the doorwhere the girl still stood, smiling.

  "Evelyn, this is Mr. Saxton. He's come to dine with us. Bless my soul!but I forgot all about it. See here, Evelyn, you've got to square thisfor me," he concluded, and pushed his hat back from his forehead as heappealed to her.

  She came forward and shook hands with Saxton.

  "I don't know how it can be 'squared.' This is only one of father'slapses, Mr. Saxton. You may be sure he didn't mean to do it."

  "No, indeed," declared Porter, "but I'm ashamed of myself. Guess I'mlosing my wits." He waved the young people to seats with his hat, as ifanxious to have the apologies over as quickly as possible. "Positivelyno reflection,--no, sir. Why, the last time it happened--"

  "A week ago to-night," his daughter interpolated.

  "The victim was the lord mayor of somewhere, who was passing throughtown, and I asked him and his gang for dinner, and actually didn'ttelephone to the house about it until half-past five in the afternoon.I'm losing my wits, that's all." He continued to paint his socialcrimes, while his daughter disappeared to correct his latest error byhaving a plate laid for the unannounced guest. When she returned he leftthe room, but reappeared at the lower door of the drawing-room, stillholding his hat, and exclaimed sharply: "Evelyn, I'm sure I must havetold you about Mr. Saxton being here when we were t
alking of thePoindexter place last night. I told you some one was coming out to takecharge of those things."

  "Very well, father," she said patiently, turning toward him. He againvanished into the hall having, he thought, justified himself before hisguest.

  "This is one of our standing jokes, you see, and father feels that hemust defend himself. I was away for so long and father lived down townuntil his domestic instinct has suffered."

  "But I'm sure he hasn't lost his instinct of hospitality," said Saxton.

  "No; but it's his instinct of consideration for the housekeeper that'sblunted." She was still smiling over the incident in a way that had theeffect of including Saxton as a party to the joke, rather than as itsvictim. He found himself feeling altogether comfortable and was able tolead off into a discussion of the heat and of the appearance of thegrounds, which he pronounced charming.

  "Oh, that's father's great delight," she said. "I tell him he's far moreinterested in the grounds than the house. He's an easy prey to thecompilers of flower catalogues, and people who sell trees go to himfirst; then they never need to go any farther. He always buys them out!"

  They were touching upon the beneficence of Arbor Day when Porterreturned with an appearance of clean cuffs and without his hat, andlaunched into statistics as to the number of trees that had been plantedin the state by school children during the past year. The maid came toannounce dinner, and Porter talked on as he led the way to thedining-room. As they were taking their seats a boy of twelve took theplace opposite Saxton.

  "This is my brother Grant," said Miss Porter. The boy was shy and silentand looked frail. The efforts of his sister to bring him into the talkwere fruitless. When his father or sister spoke to him it was with anaccented kindness. He would not talk before a stranger; but his facebrightened at the humor of the others.

  There was a round table very prettily set with glass candlesticks at thefour plates and a bowl of sweet peas in the center. Porter began adiscussion of some problems relating to improvements and changes in thegrounds, talking directly across to his daughter, as she served thesoup. Her manner with him was very gentle. She added "father" to most ofher sentences in addressing him, and there was a kind of caress in theword as she spoke it. Her head, whose outlines had seemed graceful toSaxton as he studied them in the mirror, was now disclosed fully in thesoft candle-light of the table. She had a pretty way of bending forwardwhen she spoke which was characteristic and quite in keeping with thefrankness of her speech; there was no hint of coquetry or archness abouther. Her eyes, which Saxton had thought blue in the drawing-room, werenow gray by candle-light. She was very like her father; she had hisclear-cut features, though softened and refined, and thoroughlyfeminine. His eyes were smaller, and there was a quizzical, furtive playof humor in them, which hers lacked. William Porter always seemed to belaughing at you; his daughter laughed with you. You might question thefriendliness of her father's quiet joking sometimes, but there wasnothing equivocal in her smile or speech.

  A woman who is not too subservient to fashion may reveal a good deal ofherself in the way she wears her hair. The straight part in EvelynPorter's seemed to be akin to her clear, frank eyes, contributing to animpression of simplicity and directness. The waves came down upon herforehead and then retreated quickly to each side, as if they had beenconscious intruders there, and were only secure when they found refugein the knot that was gathered low behind. There was in her hair thatpretty ripple which men are reluctant to believe is acquired byprocesses in which nature has little part. The result in Evelyn's casewas to give the light a better playground, and it caught and brightenedwherever a ripple held it. Her arms were bare from the elbow and therewere suppleness and strength in their firm outlines; her hands were longand slender and had known vigorous service with racket and driver.

  Porter was full of a scheme for planting a line of poplars around somelots, which, it seemed, he owned in another part of the town; but hedropped this during a prolonged absence of the waitress from the room,to ask where the girl had gone and whether there was going to be anymore dinner.

  "It's bad enough, child, for us to forget we've got a guest for dinner,but we needn't rub it in by starving him after he's at the table."

  "There is food out there, father, if you'll abide in patience. This is anew girl and she's pretty green. She let Mr. Saxton in and then forgotto tell anybody he'd come." She wished to touch on this, withoutrecurring to the awkward plight in which Saxton had been placed; andJohn now seized the chance to minimize it so that the incident might beclosed.

  "Oh, it was very flattering to me! She left me alone with an air thatimplied my familiar acquaintance with the house. It was much kinder thanasking for credentials."

  "You're not hard enough on these people, Evelyn," declared Porter."That's something they didn't teach you at college. If you let theimpression get out that you're easy, you'll never make a housekeeper.Fire them! fire them whenever you find they're no good!" He looked toSaxton for corroboration, with a severe air, as if this were somethingthat masculine minds understood but which was beyond the reach of women.

  When all were served he grew abstracted as he ate, and Saxton appealedto his hostess, as one college graduate may appeal to another, along theline of their college experiences. They had, it appeared, severalacquaintances in common, and Saxon recalled that some of his classmateshad often visited the college in which Miss Porter had been a student;and a little of the old ache crept into his heart as he remembered theways in which the social side of college life had meant so much less tohim than to most of the men he knew; but as she talked freely of her ownexperience, he found that her humor was contagious, and he even fell sofar under its spell as to recount anecdotes of his own student life inwhich his part had not been heroic. Porter came back occasionally fromthe land of his commercial dreams, and they all laughed together at theclimaxes. He presently directed the talk to the cattle business.

  "You'd better get Mr. Saxton to tell you how much fun ranching is," hesaid, turning to the boy, who at once became interested in Saxton.

  "I'm going to be a ranchman," the lad declared. "Father's going to buyme the Poindexter ranch some day."

  "That's one of Mr. Saxton's properties. Maybe he'd trade it to you for atin whistle."

  "Is it as bad as that?" asked Saxton.

  "Just wait until you see it. It's pretty bad."

  "The house must have been charming," said Miss Porter.

  "And that's about all it was," replied her father.

  The dinner ended with a salad. This was not an incident but an event.The highest note of civilization is struck when a salad is dressed by amaster of the chemistry of gastronomy. The clumsy and unworthy hesitatein the performance of this sacred rite, and are never sure of theirproportions; the oil refuses intimacy with the vinegar, and sulks andselfishly creates little yellow isles for itself in the estranging seaof acid. The salt becomes indissoluble and the paprika is irrecoverableflotsam. The clove of garlic, always recalcitrant under clumsy handling,refuses to impart the merest hint of its wild tang, but the visible andtangible world reeks with it. It was a joy to John Saxton to see thedeftness with which Evelyn Porter performed her miracle; he did not knowmuch about girls, but he surmised that a girl who composed a saladdressing with such certainty did many things gracefully and well. Therewere no false starts, no "ohs" of regret and appeal, no questions ofquantity. The light struck goldenly on the result as she poured itfinally upon the crisply-curling lettuce leaves which showed discreetlyover the edge of a deep Doulton bowl. It seemed to him high treason thathis host should decline the dressing thus produced by an art whichrealized the dreams of alchemy, and should pour vinegar from the cruetwith his own hand upon the helpless leaves.

  Porter demanded cigars before the others had finished, and smoked overhis coffee. He was in a hurry to leave, and at the earliest possiblemoment led the way to the veranda, picking up his hat as he steppedblithely along.

  It was warmer outside than in, but Porter pre
tended that it waspleasanter out of doors, and insisted that there was always a breeze onthe hill at night. He ran on in drawling monologue about the weatherconditions, and how much cooler it was in Clarkson than at the summerplaces which people foolishly sought at the expense of home comforts. Hemade his shy boy report his experiences of the day. In addressing thelad he fell into his quizzical manner, but the boy understood it andyielded to it with the same submission that his father's customersadopted when they sought a loan and knew that Porter must prod them withimmaterial questions, and irritate them with petty ironies, before hefinally scribbled his initials in the corner of their notes and passedthem over to the discount clerk.

  Raridan appeared at the step presently. They all rose as he came up, andhe said to Saxton as he shook hands with him last: "I see you've foundthe way to headquarters. All roads lead up to this Alpine height,--and Ifear--I fear--that all roads lead down again," he added, with a dolefulsigh, and laughed. He drew out his cigarettes and began making himselfgreatly at home. He assured Mr. Porter, with amiable insolence, that hisveranda chairs were the most uncomfortable ones he knew, and went tofetch himself a better seat from the hall.

  "Mr. Raridan likes to be comfortable," said Miss Porter in his absence.

  "But he finds pleasure in making others comfortable, too," Saxtonventured.

  "Oh, he's the very kindest of men," Miss Porter affirmed.

  "What a nuisance you are, Warry," said Porter, as the young man fussedabout to find a place for his chair. "We were all very easy here tillyou came. Even the breeze has died out."

  "Father insists that there has been a breeze," said Miss Porter. "But itreally has gone."

  "_Et tu, Brute?_ What we ought to do, Mr. Porter," said Raridan, who hadat last settled himself, "is to organize a company to supply breezes.'The Clarkson Breeze Company, Limited.' I can see the name on thefactory now, in my mind's eye. We'd get up an ice trust first, thenbring in the ice cream people and make vast fortunes out of it, besidesbecoming benefactors of our kind. The ice and the ice cream would payfor the cold air; our cold air service would bring a clear profit. We'dguarantee a temperature through the summer months of, say, seventydegrees."

  "Then," Porter drawled, "the next thing would be to get the doctors in,for a pneumonia branch; and after that the undertakers would demandadmission, and then the tombstone people. You're a bright young man,Warry. I heard you stringing that Englishman at the club the other dayabout your scheme for piping water from the Atlantic Ocean to irrigatethe American desert, and he thought you meant it."

  "Then we'll all suffer," Miss Porter declared, "for he'll go home andput it in a book, and there'll be no end of it."

  Raridan was in gay spirits. He had come from a call on a young marriedcouple who had just gone to housekeeping. He had met there anotoriously awkward young man, who moved through Clarkson houses leavingruin in his wake.

  "There ought to be some way of insuring against Whitely," said Raridan,musingly. "Perhaps a social casualty company could be formed to protectpeople from his depredations. You know, Mr. Saxton, they've really hadto cut him off from refreshments at parties,--he was always spillingsalads on the most expensive gowns in town. And these poor young marriedthings, with their wedding loot huddled about them in their littleparlors! There is a delightful mathematical nicety in the way he sweepsa tea table with his coat tails. He never leaves enough for a sample.But this was the worst! You know that polar bear skin that Mamie Shepardgot for a wedding present; well, it makes her house look like amenagerie. Whitely was backing out--a thing I've begged him never totry--and got mixed up with the head of that monster; kicked all theteeth out, started to fall, gathered in the hat rack, broke the glassout of it, and before Shepard could head him off, he pulled down thefront door shade."

  "But Mr. Whitely sings beautifully," urged Miss Porter.

  "He'd have to," said Warry, "with those feet."

  "You needn't mind what Raridan says," Mr. Porter remarked. "He's veryunreliable."

  "The office of social censor is always an ungrateful one," Raridanreturned, dolefully. "But I really don't know what you'd do without mehere."

  "I notice that you never give us a chance to try," said Mr. Porter,dryly.

  "That is the unkindest cut; and in the shadow of your own house, too."

  Saxton got up to go presently and Raridan rose with him, declaring thatthey had been terribly severe and that he could not be left alone withthem.

  "I hope you'll overlook that little slip of mine," said Mr. Porter, ashe shook hands with Saxton. "You'd better not tell Raridan about it. Itwould be terrible ammunition in his hands."

  "And we'll all do better next time," said Miss Porter; "so do come againto show that you don't treasure it against us."

  "I don't know that anything's happened," pleaded John, "except that I'vehad a remarkably good time."

  "I fear that's more generous than just; but the next time I hope themaid will do better."

  "And next time I hope I shan't frighten you," Saxton went on. Raridanand Mr. Porter had walked down the long veranda to the steps, and Saxtonand Miss Porter were following.

  "Oh, but you didn't!" the girl laughed at him.

  "But you dropped the flowers--"

  "But you shouldn't have noticed! It wasn't gallant!"

  They had reached the others, and Raridan broke in with his good night,and he and Saxton went down the walk together.

  "They seem to have struck up an acquaintance," observed Mr. Porter,settling himself to a fresh cigar.

  "Mr. Saxton is very nice," said Evelyn.

  "Oh, he's all right," said her father, easily.