The Gray Dawn

S >> Stewart Edward White >> The Gray Dawn

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"He isn't worth my challenge, sir, nor the challenge of any decent man. You
know that, sir,"

"Well, street shootings have got to be a little, a little----"

He fell silent, and Keith, looked up in surprise to see why. A man was
slowly passing the table. He was a thick, tall, strong man, moving with a
freedom that bespoke smoothly working muscles. His complexion was florid;
and this, in conjunction with a sweeping blue-black moustache, gave him
exactly the appearance of a gambler or bartender. Only as he passed the
table and responded gravely to the formal salutes, Keith caught a flash of
his eye. It was gray, hard as steel, forceful, but so far from being cold
it seemed to glow and change with an inner fire, The bartender impression
was swept into limbo forever.

"That's one good reason why," said Calhoun Bennett, when this man had gone
on.

But Markle overflowed with a torrent of vituperative profanity. His face
was congested and purple with the violence of his emotions. Keith stared in
astonishment at the depth of hatred stirred. He turned for explanation to
the man next him, Judge Girvin, a gentleman of the old school, weighty,
authoritative, a little pompous.

"That is Coleman," Judge Girvin told him. "W.T. Coleman, the leader of the
vigilance movement of last year."

"That's why," repeated Calhoun Bennett, with quiet vindictiveness,
"lawlessness, disrespect foh law and order, mob rule. Since this strangler
business, no man can predict what the lawless element may do!"

This speech was the signal for an outburst against the Vigilance Committee,
so unanimous and hearty that Keith was rather taken aback. He voiced his
bewilderment.

"Why, gentlemen, I am, of course, only in the most distant touch with these
events; but the impression East is certainly very general that the
Vigilantes did rather a good piece of work in clearing the city of crime."

They turned on him with a savagery that took his breath. Keith, laughing,
held up both hands.

"Don't shoot, don't shoot! I'll come down!" he cried. "I told you I didn't
know anything about it!"

They checked themselves, suddenly ashamed of their heat. Calhoun Bennett
voiced their feeling of apology.

"Yo' must accept our excuses, Mr, Keith, but this is a mattah on which we
feel strongly. Our indignation was naturally not directed against yo',
suh."

But Judge Girvin, ponderous, formal, dignified, was making a pronouncement.

"Undoubtedly, young sir," he rolled forth at Keith, "undoubtedly a great
many scoundrels were cleared from the city at that time. That no one would
have the temerity to deny. But you, sir, as a lawyer, realize with us that
even pure and equitable justice without due process of law is against the
interests of society as a coherent whole. Infringement of law, even for a
good purpose, invariably brings about ultimate contempt, for all law. In
the absence of regularly constituted tribunals, as in a primitive society--
such as that prior to the Constitutional Convention of September, 1849--it
may become necessary that informal plebiscites be countenanced. But in the
presence of regularly constituted and appointed tribunals, extra-legal
functions are not to be undertaken by the chance comer. If defects occur in
the administration of the law, the remedy is in the hand of the public. The
voter----" he went on at length, elaborating the legal view. Everybody
listened with respect and approval until he had finished. But then up spoke
Judge Caldwell, the round, shining, perspiring, untidy, jovial, Silenus-
like jurist with the blunt fingers.

"We all agree with you theoretically, Judge," said he. "What these other
fellows object to, I imagine, is that the law has such a hell of a hang
fire to it."

Judge Girvin's eyes flashed, and he tossed back his white mane. "The due
forms of the law are our heritage from the ages!" he thundered back. "The
so-called delays and technicalities are the checks devised by human
experience against the rash judgments and rasher actions by the volatile
element of society! They are the safeguards, the bulwarks of society! It is
better that a hundred guilty men escape than that one innocent man should
suffer!"

The old judge was magnificent, his eyes alight, his nostrils expanded, his
head reared back defiantly, all the great power of his magnetism and his
authority brought to bear. Keith was thrilled. He considered that the
discussion had been lifted to a high moral plane.

By rights Judge Caldwell should have been crushed, but he seemed
undisturbed,

"Well," he remarked comfortably, "on that low average we must have quite a
few innocent men among us after all."

"What do you mean, sir?" demanded Judge Girvin, halted in mid career and
not catching the allusion.

"Surely, Judge, you don't mean to imply that you endorse Coleman and his
gang?" put in Calhoun Bennett courteously but incredulously.

"Endorse them? Certainly not!" disclaimed Caldwell. "I need my job," he
added with a chuckle.

Bennett tossed back his hair, and a faint disgust appeared in his dark
eyes, but he said nothing more. Caldwell lit a cigar with pudgy fingers.

"My advice to you," he said to Markle, "is that if you think you're going
to have to kill this man in self-defence"--he rolled an unabashed and
comical eye at the company--"you be sure to see our old friend, Sheriff
Webb, gets you to jail promptly." He heaved to his feet, "Might even send
him advance word," he suggested, and waddled away toward the bar.

A dead silence succeeded his departure. None of the younger men ventured a
word. Finally Judge Girvin, with a belated idea of upholding the honour of
the bench, turned to Keith.

"Judge Caldwell's humour is a little trying at times, but he is
essentially sound."

The young Englishman, Morrell, uttered a high cackle.

"Quite right," he observed; "he'll fix it all right for you, Markle."

At the bad taste of what they thought an example of English stupidity every
one sat aghast. Keith managed to cover the situation by ordering another
round of drinks. Morrell seemed quite pleased with himself.

"Got a rise out of the old Johnny, what?" he remarked to Keith aside.

Judge Caldwell returned. The conversation became general. Vast projects
were discussed with the light touch--public works, the purchase of a
theatre for the town hall, the sale by auction of city or state lands, the
extension of wharves, the granting of franchises, and many other affairs,
involving, apparently, millions of money. All these things were spoken of
as from the inside. Keith, sipping his drinks quietly, sat apart and
listened. He felt himself in the current of big affairs. Occasionally, men
sauntered by, paused a moment. Keith noticed that they greeted his
companions with respect and deference. He experienced a feeling of being at
the centre of things. The evening drifted by pleasantly.

Along toward midnight, John Sherwood, without a hat, stopped long enough to
exchange a few joking remarks, then sauntered on.

"I know him," Keith told Calhoun Bennett. "That's John Sherwood. He's at
our hotel. What does _he_ do?"

"Oh, don't you know who he is?" replied Bennett. "He's the owner of this
place."

"A gambler?" cried Keith, a trifle dashed.

"Biggest in town. But square."

Keith for a moment was a little nonplussed. The sudden intimacy rose up to
confront him. They were kind people, and Mrs. Sherwood was apparently
everything she should be--but a public gambler! Of course he had no
prejudices--but Nan--

VIII

Keith returned to the hotel very late, and somewhat exalted. He was
bubbling over with good stories, interesting information, and ideas; so he
awakened Nan, and sat on the edge of the bed, and proceeded
enthusiastically to tell her all about it. She was very sleepy. Also an
exasperated inhabitant of the next room pounded on the thin partition.
Reluctantly Keith desisted. It took him some time to get to sleep, as the
excitement was seething in his veins.

He came to consciousness after a restless night. The sun was streaming in
at the window. He felt dull and heavy, with a slight headache and a
weariness in all his muscles. Worst of all, Nan, in a ravishing pink fluffy
affair, was bending over him, her eyes dancing with amusement and mischief.

"And how is my little madcap this morning?" she inquired with mock
solicitude. This stung Keith to some show of energy, and he got up.

The sun was really very bright. A dash of cold water made him feel better.
Enthusiasm began to flow back like a tide. The importance of the evening
before reasserted its claims on his imagination. As he dressed he told Nan
all about it. In the midst of a glowing eulogy of their prospects, he
checked himself with a chuckle.

"Guess what the Sherwoods are," said he.

Nan, who had been half listening up to this time, gave him her whole
attention.

"A gambler! A common gambler!" she repeated after him, a little dismayed.

"I felt the same way for a minute or so," he answered her tone cheerfully.
"But after all I remembered--you must remember--that society here is very
mixed. And anyway, Sherwood is no 'common gambler'; I should say he was a
most _un_common gambler!" He chuckled at his little joke. "All sorts of
people are received here. We've got to get used to that. And certainly no
one could hope anywhere to find nicer--more presentable--people."

She nodded, but with a reservation.

"Surely nowhere would you find kinder people," went on Keith. "See how they
took us in!"

"Look out they don't take you in, Milton," she interjected suddenly.

Keith, brought up short, sobered at this.

"That is unjust, Nan," he said gravely.

She said nothing, but showed no signs of having been convinced. After her
first need had passed, Nan Keith's natural reserve had asserted itself.
This was the result of heredity and training, as part of herself, something
she could not help. Its tendency was always to draw back from too great or
too sudden intimacies. There was nothing snobbish in this; it was a sort of
instinct, a natural reaction. She liked Mrs. Sherwood, admired her slow,
complete poise, approved her air of breeding and the things by which she
had surrounded herself. The older woman's kindness had struck in her a deep
chord of appreciation. But somehow circumstances had hurried her too much.
Her defensive antagonism, not to Mrs. Sherwood as a person, but to sudden
intimacy as such, had been aroused. It had had, in her own mind, no excuse.
She knew she ought to be grateful and cordial; she felt that she was not
quite ready. The fact that the Sherwoods had proved to be "common gamblers"
gave just the little excuse her conscience needed to draw back a trifle.
This, it should be added, was also quite instinctive, not at all a
formulated thought.

She said nothing for some time; then remarked mysteriously:

"Perhaps that's why they go to meet boats."

Keith, who was miles beyond the Sherwoods by now, looked bewildered.

Keith had letters of business introduction to Palmer, Cook & Co., a banking
firm powerful and respected at the time, but destined to become involved in
scandal. The most pressing need, both he and Nan had determined, was a
house of their own; the hotel was at once uncomfortable and expensive.
Accordingly a callow, chipper, self-confident, blond little clerk was
assigned to show them about. He had arrived from the East only six months
ago; but this was six months earlier than the Keiths, so he put on all the
airs of an old-timer. In a two-seated calash, furnished by the bankers,
they drove to the westerly part of the town. The plank streets soon ran out
into sand or rutty earth roads. These bored their way relentlessly between
sand hills in the process of removal. Steam paddies coughed and clanked in
all directions. Many houses had, by these operations, been left perched
high and dry far above the grade of the new streets. Often the sand was
crumbling away from beneath their outer corners. All sorts of nondescript
ramshackle and temporary stairs had been improvised to get their
inhabitants in or out. The latter seemed to be clinging to their tenements
as long as possible.

"They often cave in," explained the clerk, "and the whole kit and kaboodle
comes sailing down into the street. Sometimes it happens at night," he
added darkly.

"But isn't anybody hurt?" cried Nan.

"Lots of 'em," replied the clerk cheerfully "Git dap!"

They now executed a flank attack on the "fashionable" quarter of the town.

"They're grading the street down below," the clerk justified his roundabout
course.

Here were a number of isolated, scattered wooden houses, of some size and
of much scroll and jigsaw work. Some of them had little ornamental iron
fencelets running along their ridgepoles, or lightning rods on the chimneys
or at the corners, although thunderstorms were practically unknown. The
clerk at once began to talk of these as "mansions." He drew up before one
of them, hitched the horse, and invited his clients to descend. Nan looked
at the exterior a trifle doubtfully. It was a high-peaked, slender house,
drawn together as though it felt cold; with carved wooden panels over each
window, miniature balconies with elaborate spindly columns beneath, and a
haughty, high, narrow porch partially clothing a varnished front door
flanked with narrow strips of coloured glass.

The clerk produced a key. The interior also was high and narrow. Much
glistening varnish characterized the front hall. They inspected one after
another the various rooms. The house was partly furnished. In the showrooms
hung heavy red curtains held back by cords with gilt tassels. Each
fireplace was framed by a mantel of white marble. But the glory was the
drawing-room. This had been frescoed in pale blue, and all about the wall
and even across part of the ceiling had been draped festoon after festoon
of fishnet. Only this was not real fishnet, as a closer inspection showed.
It had been cunningly painted! In the dim light, and to a person with an
optimistic imagination, the illusion was almost perfect. Nan choked
suddenly at the sight of this; then her eyes widened to a baby stare, and
she become preternaturally solemn.

They looked it all over from top to bottom; the clerk fairly tiptoeing
about with the bent-backed air of one who handles a precious jade vase.
From the front windows he showed them a really magnificent view, with the
blue waters of the bay shining, and the Contra Costa shore shimmering in
the haze.

"In the residence next door to the west dwell most desirable neighbours,"
he urged, "the Morrells. They are English, or at least he is."

"I met him last night," said Keith to Nan; "he looked like a good sort."

"Who is in the big house over there?" asked Nan, indicating a very
elaborate structure diagonally opposite.

"That--oh, that--well, that is in rather a state of transition, as it
were," stammered the little clerk, and at once rattled on about something
else. This magnificent mansion, he explained, was the only one Palmer, Cook
& Co. had on their lists for the moment.

Therefore he drove them back to the Bella Union. Keith departed with him to
look up a suitable office downtown,

Nan bowed solemnly to his solemn salutation in farewell, and turned as
quickly as she could to the interior of the hotel. Sherwood sat in his
accustomed place, his big steel spectacles on his nose, his paper spread
out before him. He arose and bowed. She nodded, but did not pause. Once
inside the hall, she picked up her skirts and fairly flew up the stairs to
her room. Slamming the door shut, she locked it, then sank on the edge of
the bed and laughed--laughed until she wiped the tears from her cheeks,
rocking back and forth and hugging herself in an ecstasy. Every few moments
she would pull up; then some unconsidered enormity would strike her afresh
and she would go off into another paroxysm. After a while, much relieved,
she wiped her eyes and arose.

"This place will be the death of me yet," she told her distorted image in
the mirror.

She rummaged in one of her trunks, produced writing materials, and started
a letter to an Eastern friend. This occupied her fully for two hours. At
that period it was customary to "indite epistles" with a "literary
flavour," a practice that immensely tickled those who did the inditing. Nan
became wholly interested and quite pleased with herself. Her first
impressions, she found when she came to write them down, were stimulating
and interesting. She was full of enthusiasm; but had she been capable of a
real analysis she would have found it quite different from Keith's
enthusiasm. She looked on this strange, uncouth, vital city from the
outside, from the superior standpoint. She appreciated it as she would have
appreciated the "quaintness" of the villagers in some foreign town.

About noon Keith returned.

"I've looked into every possibility," he told her. "Honest, Nan, I don't
see exactly what we are to do unless we build for ourselves. That Boyle
house is the only house in town for rent--that is of any size and in a
respectable quarter. You see they are too new out here to have built houses
for rent yet; and if you find any vacant at all, it is sheer good fortune.
Of course to stay in this little box is impossible, and--"

She had been contemplating him, her eyes dancing with amusement.

"You've taken it!" she accused him.

"Well--I--yes," he admitted, a little red.

She laughed.

"I knew it," she said. "When can we move in? I want to get started."

IX

Keith's first plunge into the teeming life of the place had to suffice him
for all the rest of that week. There seemed so many pressing things to do
at home. The Boyle house was only partly furnished. Each morning he and Nan
went downtown and prospected for things needed. This was Nan's first
experience of the sort; and she confessed to a ludicrous surprise over the
fact that pots, pans, brooms, kitchen utensils, and such homely matters had
to be thought of and bought.

"I had a sort of notion they grew on the premises," she said.

Mrs. Sherwood gave them much valuable advice, particularly as to auctions.
In the Keiths limited experience auctions generally had meant cheap or
second-hand articles, but out here the reverse was the case. A madness
possessed otherwise conservative Eastern merchants--especially of the staid
city of Boston--to send out on speculation immense cargoes of all sorts of
goods. These were the despair of consignees. Heavy freights, high interest
charges, tremendous warehouse rates, speedily ate up whatever chance of
profits a fresh consignment might have. The only solution was to sell out
as promptly as possible; and the quickest method was the auction.
Therefore, auctions were everywhere in progress, and the professional
auctioneers were a large, influential, and skilful class of people. Their
advertisements made the bulk of the newspapers. They dressed well, carried
an air of consequence, furnished refreshments, brass bands, or other
entertainments to their patrons. The era of fabulous prices was at an end,
but the era of wild speculation as to what the public was going to want was
in full tide. Keith and Nan found these auctions great fun, and piece by
piece they accumulated the items of their house furnishing. It was slow
work, but amusing. At times Mrs. Sherwood accompanied them, but not often.
Her advice was always good.

As to Mrs. Sherwood, Nan Keith found her attitude very vague. There was no
doubt that she liked her personally, admired her slow, purposeful, half-
indolent movements, the poise of her small, patrician head, the
unconscious, easy grace of her body, the direct commonsense quality of her
mind. One met her face to face; there were no frills and furbelows of the
spirit. Also, Nan was grateful for the other woman's first kindness and
real sympathy, and she wanted to "play the game." But, on the other hand,
all her social training and her instinct of formalism tended to hold her
aloof. She blamed herself intellectually for this feeling; but since it was
a feeling, and had nothing to do with intellect, it persisted.

In the auction rooms, also, she seemed to meet--be formally introduced to--
a bewildering number of people, most of whom she could not place at all.
There seemed to be no reason for meeting them; certainly she would not have
met them in the East. Nevertheless, they all shook her by the hand, and
bowed to her whenever subsequently they passed her on the street. Keith
told her this was all usual and proper in this new and mixed social order;
and she was perfectly willing to make the effort. She was really charming
to everybody. The consciousness that she was successfully adapting herself
to their primitive provincial scope, and her very gracious condescension to
all types, filled her with respect for her democracy and breadth of mind.

The afternoon they spent at the house receiving boxes and packages. Keith
worked busily, happily, feverishly, in his shirt sleeves. He attacked the
job on the principle of a whirlwind campaign, hammering, ripping, throwing
papers down, deciding instantly where this or that chair or table was to
stand, tearing on to the next, enjoying himself dustily and hugely.

Nan was more leisurely. She found time to gossip with the drayman who
brought up the goods, actually came to a liking and a warm friendly feeling
for him as a person. This was a new experience for Nan, and she explored it
curiously.

John McGlynn was a teamster, but likewise a thoroughly independent and
capable citizen. He was of the lank, hewn, lean-faced, hawk-nosed type,
deliberate in movement and speech, with a twinkling, contemplative,
appraising eye, and an unhurried drawl. He told Nan he had come out in '49.

"No, ma'am," he disclaimed vigorously, "I didn't go to the mines. I am a
teamster, and I always did teaming." He did not add, as he might have done,
that in those days of the individual he had been an important influence.

His great pride was his team and wagon, and that pride was justified. The
wagon was a heavy flat affair, gayly decorated, and on the sides of the box
were paintings of landscapes. The horses were great, magnificent creatures,
with arching thick necks, long wavy manes and forelocks, soft, intelligent
eyes, and with great hoofs and hairy fetlocks. They carried themselves in
conscious pride, Their harness was heavy with silver and with many white
and coloured rings. In colour they were dapple gray.

"That team," said John McGlynn, "is a perfect match. Took me two years to
get them together. Wuth a mint of money. That Kate, there, is a regular
character. You'd be surprised how cute she is. I often wonder who Kate
_is_. She must be some very famous woman."

John McGlynn was a very wonderful and very accommodating person, Nan
thought. He would help carry things in, and was willing to unpack or to
carry out the mess Keith's mad career left behind, it. Also he cast an eye
on the garden possibilities, and issued friendly, expert advice to which
Nan listened, breathless. They held long intimate consultations as to the
treatment of the soil.

"A few posies does sort of brighten things up; they're wuth while," quoth
John.

Without previous consultation, he appeared one day accompanied by a rotund,
bland, gorgeous Chinaman, perched beside him on his elevated seat.

"This is Wing Woh, a friend of mine," he announced. "You got to have a
Chink, of course. You can't run that sized house without help. Wing knows
all the Chinks in town, and bosses about half of them."

Wing Woh descended and without a word walked into the house. He was a very
ornate person, dressed in a skull cap with a red coral button atop, a
brocaded pale lavendar tunic of silk, baggy pale green trousers tied close
around the ankles, snow-white socks and the typical shoe. Gravely,
solemnly, methodically he went over the entire house; then returned and
clambered up beside John.

"All light," he vouchsafed to the astonished Nan.

Next morning she found waiting on the veranda a smiling "china boy" dressed
all in clean white. A small cloth bundle lay at his feet.

"My name Wing Sam," he announced; "I wo'k you thi'ty dolla' month. Where
you keep him bloom?"

That day John McGlynn stopped after unloading his boxes to give a little
advice.

"Chinks are queer," said he. "When you show this fellow how to do anything,
be sure to show him right, because that's the way he's going to do it
forever after. You can't change him. And show him; don't tell him. And let
him do things his own way as much as you can, instead of insisting on your
way."

McGlynn also advised Keith as to where he could to the best advantage hire
a horse and buggy by the month.

"You want a good safe animal, so Mrs. Keith can drive him; but you don't
want a cow. Jump aboard and I'll take you around. Never mind your coat," he
told Keith, "it's warm."

So they "jumped aboard" and drove down the street. Nan gurgled with
amusement over the episode. She sat on the high seat beside John McGlynn's
lank figure, above the broad backs of the great horses; and Keith in his
shirtsleeves, his hair every which way, a smudge of black across his nose,
balanced in the flat dray body behind. Nan tried to imagine the sensation
they would create in Baltimore, and laughed aloud.

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