The Gray Dawn

S >> Stewart Edward White >> The Gray Dawn

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28

These people had no misgivings about themselves, and they passed judgment
on others with entire assurance. In their slang all with whom they came
into contact were either "hearses" or "live Mollies." There was nothing
racial, local, or social in this division. A family might be divided, one
member being a live Molly, and all the rest the most dismal of hearses.
Occasionally a stranger might be brought along. He did not know it, but
always he was very carefully watched and appraised: his status discussed
and decided at the supper to which the same people--minus all strangers--
gathered later. At one of these discussions a third estate came into being.

Teeny McFarlane had that day brought with her a young man of about twenty-
four or twenty-five, well dressed, of pleasant features, agreeable in
manner, well spoken, but quiet.

"He isn't a live Molly," stated Sally positively.

"Well, Sally took a walk with him," observed Sam Brannan dryly; "she ought
to know!"

"Don't need to take a walk with him," countered Sally; "just take a talk
with him--or try to.".

"I did try to," interpolated Mrs. Morrell.

"May as well make it unanimous, looks like," said Sam. "He goes for a
hearse."

But Teeny McFarlane interposed in her positive, precise little way.

"I object," she drawled. "He certainly isn't as bad as all that. He's a
nice boy, and he never bored anybody in his life. Did he bore you, Sally?"

"I can't say he did, now you mention it. He's one of those nice doggy
people you don't mind having around."

They discussed the matter animatedly. Teeny McFarlane developed an
unexpected obstinacy. She did not suggest that the young man was to be
included in any of the future parties; indeed, she answered the direct
question decidedly in the negative; no, there was no use trying to include
anybody unless they decidedly "belonged."

"You wouldn't call him a live Molly, now would you, Teeny?" implored Cal
Bennett.

"No," she answered slowly, "I suppose not. But he is _not_ a hearse."

The men, all but Popsy McFarlane, were inspecting Teeny's cool, unrevealing
exterior with covert curiosity. She was always an enigma to them. Each man
was asking himself why her interest in the mere labelling of this stranger.

"He isn't a live Molly and she objects to his being a hearse," laughed
Sally. "He must be something between them. What," she inquired, with the
air of propounding a conundrum, "is between a live Molly and a hearse?"

"Give it up!" they cried unanimously.

Sally looked nonplussed, then shrieked: "Why, the pallbearers, of course!"

The silly phrase caught. Thereafter, those who were acknowledged to be all
right enough but not of their feather were known as "pallbearers."

The Keiths were live Mollies. He was decidedly one. His appearance alone
inspired good nature and high spirits, he looked so clean, vividly
coloured, enthusiastic, alive to his finger tips. He was always game for
anything, no matter how ridiculous it made him, or in what sort of a so-
called false position it might place him. When he had reached a certain
state of dancing-eyed joyous recklessness, Nan was always athrill as to
what he might do next. And Nan, spite of her quieter ways and the reserves
imposed on her by her breeding, was altogether too pretty and too much of a
real person ever to be classed as a hearse. With her ravishing Eastern
toilettes, her clear, creamy complexion, and the clean-cut lines of her
throat, chin, and cheeks, she always made the other women look a little too
vividly accented. The men all admired her on sight, and at first did their
best to interest her. They succeeded, for in general they were of vital
stuff, but not in the intimately personal way they desired. Her nature
found no thrill in experiment. One by one they gave her up in the favour of
less attractive but livelier or more complaisant companions; but they
continued to like her and to pay her much general attention. She never, in
any nuance of manner, even tried to make a difference; nevertheless, their
attitude toward her was always more deferential than to the other women.

Ben Sansome was the one exception to the first part of the above statement.
Her gentle but obvious withdrawals from his advances piqued his conceit.
Ben was a spoiled youth, with plenty of money; and he had always been a
spoiled youth, with plenty of money. Why he had come to San Francisco no
one knew. Possibly he did not know himself; for as his affairs had always
been idle, he had drifted much, and might have drifted here. Whatever the
reason, the fact remained that in this busy, new, and ambitious community
he was the one example professionally of the gilded youth. His waistcoats,
gloves, varnished boots, jewellery, handkerchiefs were always patterns to
the other amateur, gilded youths who had also other things to do. His
social tact was enormous, and a recognized institution. If there had been
cotillons, he would have led them; but as there were no cotillons, he
contented himself with being an _arbiter elegantiarum_. He rather prided
himself on his knowledge of such things as jades, old prints, and obscure
poets of whom nobody else had ever heard. Naturally he had always been a
great success with women, both as harmless parlour ornaments, and in more
dangerous ways. In San Francisco he had probably carried farther than he
would have carried anywhere else. He had sustained no serious reverses,
because difficult game had not heretofore interested him. Entering half
interestedly with Nan into what he vaguely intended as one of his numerous,
harmless, artistic, perfumed flirtationlets, he had found himself
unexpectedly held at arm's length. Just this was needed to fillip his
fancy. He went into the game as a game. Sansome made himself useful. By
dint of being on hand whenever Keith's carelessness had left her in need of
an escort, and only then, he managed to establish himself on a recognized
footing as a sort of privileged, charming, useful, harmless family friend.

Outside this small, rather lively coterie the Keiths had very few friends.
It must be confessed that the mothers of the future leaders of San
Francisco society, and the bearers of what were to be her proudest names,
were mostly "hearses." Their husbands were the forceful, able men of the
city, but they themselves were conventional as only conventional women can
be when goaded into it by a general free-and-easy, unconventional
atmosphere. That was their only method of showing disapproval. The effect
was worthy but dull. It was a pity, for among them were many intelligent,
charming women who needed only a different atmosphere, to expand. The
Keiths never saw them, and gained their ideas of them only from the
merciless raillery of the "live Mollies."

All this implied more or less entertaining, and entertaining was expensive.
The Boyle house was expensive for that matter; and about everything else,
save Chinese servants, and, temporarily, whatever the latest clipper ship
had glutted the market with. Keith had brought with him a fair sum of money
with which to make his start; but under this constant drainage, it dwindled
to what was for those times a comparatively small sum. Clients did not
come. There were more men practising law than all the other professions. In
spite of wide acquaintance and an attractive popular personality, Keith had
not as yet made a start. He did not worry--that was not his nature--but he
began to realize that he must do one of two things: either make some money,
somehow, or give up his present mode of living. The latter course was
unthinkable!

XIX

One morning Keith was sitting in his office cogitating these things. His
door opened and a meek, mild little wisp of a man sidled in. He held his
hat in his hand, revealing clearly sandy hair and a narrow forehead. His
eyebrows and lashes were sandy, his eyes pale blue, his mouth weak but
obstinate. On invitation he seated himself on the edge of the chair, and
laid his hat carefully beside him on the floor.

"I am Dr. Jacob Jones," he said, blinking at Keith. "You have heard of me?"

"I am afraid I have not," said Keith pleasantly.

The little man sighed.

"I have held the City Hospital contract for three years," he explained,
"and they owe me a lot of money. I thought you might collect some of it."

"I think if you'd put in a claim through the usual channels you'd receive
your dues," advised Keith, somewhat puzzled. He had not heard that the city
was refusing to pay legitimate claims.

"I've done that, and they've given me these," said Doctor Jones, handing
Keith a bundle of papers.

Keith glanced at them.

"This is 'scrip,'" he said. "It's perfectly good. When the city is without
current funds it issues this scrip, bearing interest at 3 per cent. a
month. It's all right."

"Yes, I know," said the little man ineffectually, "but I don't want scrip."

Keith ran it over. It amounted to something like eleven thousand dollars.

"What do you want done about it?" he asked,

"I want you to collect the money for me."

But Keith, had recollected something.

"Just wait a minute, please," he begged, and darted across the hall to a
friend's office, returning after a moment with a file of legislative
reports. "I thought I'd heard something about it; here it is. The State
Legislature has voted an issue of 10 per cent. bonds to take up the scrip."

"I don't understand," said Doctor Jones.

"Why, you take your scrip to the proper official and exchange it for an
equal value of State bonds."

"But what good does that do me?" cried Jones excitedly. "It doesn't get me
my money. They don't guarantee I can sell the bonds at par, do they? And
answer me this: isn't it just a scheme to cheat me of my interest? As I
understand it, instead of 3 per cent. a month I'm to get 10 per cent. a
year?"

"That's the effect," corroborated Keith.

"Well, I don't want bonds, I want money, as is my due."

"Wait a minute," said Keith. He read the report again slowly. "This says
that holders of scrip _may_ exchange, for bonds; it does not say they
_must_ exchange," he said finally. "If that interpretation is made of the
law, suit and judgment would lie against the city. Do you want to try
that?"

"Of course I want to try it!" cried Jones.

"Well, bring me your contract and vouchers, and any other papers to do with
the case, and I'll see what can be done."

"I have them right here," said Doctor Jones.

This, as Keith's first case, interested him more than its intrinsic worth
warranted. It amused him to bring all his powers to bear, fighting strongly
for the technical point, and finally establishing it in court. In spite of
the evident intention of the Legislature that city scrip should be retired
in favour of bonds, it was ruled that the word _may_ in place of the word
_must_ practically nullified that intention. Judgment was obtained against
the city for eleven thousand dollars, and the sheriff was formally
instructed to sell certain water-front lots in order to satisfy that
judgment. The sale was duly advertised in the papers.

Next morning, after the first insertion of this advertisement, Keith had
three more callers. These were men of importance: namely, John Geary, the
first postmaster and last _alcalde_ of the new city; William Hooper, and
James King of William, at that time still a banker. These were grave,
solid, and weighty citizens, plainly dressed, earnest, and forceful. They
responded politely but formally to Keith's salute, and seated themselves.

"You were, I understand, counsel for Doctor Jones in obtaining judgment on
the hospital scrip?" inquired Geary.

"That is correct," acknowledged Keith.

"We have called to inform you of a fact that perhaps escaped your notice:
namely, that these gentlemen and myself have been appointed by the
Legislature as commissioners to manage the funded debt of the city; that,
for that purpose, title of all city lands has been put in our hands."

"No, I did not know that," said Keith.

"Therefore, you see," went on Geary, "the sheriff cannot pass title to any
lots that might be sold to satisfy Doctor Jones's judgment."

Keith pondered, his alert mind seizing with avidity on this new and
interesting situation.

"No, I cannot quite see that," he said at last; "the actual title is in the
city. It owns its property. You gentlemen do not claim to own it, as
individuals. You have delegated to you the power to pass title, just as the
sheriff and one or two others have that power; but you have not the _sole_
power."

"We have advice that title conveyed under this judgment will be invalid."

"That is a matter for the courts to settle."

"The courts----" began Hooper explosively, but Geary overrode him.

"If all the creditors of the city were to adopt the course pursued by
Doctor Jones, the city would soon be bankrupt of resources."

"That is true," agreed Keith.

"Then cannot I appeal to your sense of civic patriotism?"

"Gentlemen," replied Keith, "you seem to forget that in this matter I am
not acting for myself, but for a client. If it were my affair, I might feel
inclined to discuss the matter with you more in detail. But I am only an
agent."

"But----" interrupted Hooper again.

"That is quite true," interjected James King of William.

"Well, we shall see your client," went on Geary, "But I might state that on
the side of his own best interests he would do well to go slow. There is at
least a considerable doubt as to the legality of this sale. It is unlikely
that people will care to bid."

After some further polite conversation they took their leave. Keith quickly
discovered that the opinion held by the commissioners was shared by most of
his friends. They acknowledged the brilliance of his legal victory, admired
it heartily, and congratulated him; but they considered that victory
barren.

"Nobody will buy; you won't get two bits a lot bid," they all told him.

Little Doctor Jones came to him much depressed. The commissioners had
talked with him.

"Do you want my advice?" asked Keith, "Then do this: stick to your guns."

But little Jones was scared.

"I want my money," said he; "perhaps I'd better take those bonds after
all."

"Look here," suddenly said Keith, who had been making up his mind. "I'll
guarantee you the full amount in cash, within, say, two weeks, but only on
this condition: that you go out now, and spread it about everywhere that
you are going to stand pat. Tell 'em all you are going to push through this
sale."

"How do I know----"

"Take a chance," interrupted Keith. "If at the end of two weeks I don't pay
you cash, you can do what you please. Call off the sheriff's sale at the
last minute; I'll pay the costs myself. Come, that's fair enough. You can't
lose a cent."

"All right," agreed Jones after a minute.

"Remember: it's part of the bargain that you state everywhere that you're
going to force this sale, and that you don't let anybody bluff you."

The affair made quite a little stir. Men like Sam Brannan, Dick Blatchford,
the contractor, and Jim Polk discussed Keith and his ability.

"Got a pretty wife, too," added Brannan. "--never heard of the fall of
man."

"Well, she's going to, if the Morrell woman has her way," observed Ben
Sansome dryly.

Polk stretched his long legs, and smiled his desiccated little smile.

"He's a pretty enterprising youngster--more ways than one," said he.

XX

On the evening of the third day after his latest interview with Doctor
Jones, Keith threw down his paper with a cry of triumph. He had been
scanning the columns of every issue with minute care, combing even the fine
print for the auctioneer's advertisements. Here was what he wanted: top of
column, third page, where every one would be sure to see it. The
commissioners issued a signed statement, calling public attention to the
details of their appointment, and warning that titles issued under
sheriff's sale would be considered invalid.

Keith read this with great attention, then drew his personal check against
Palmer, Cook & Co. for eleven thousand dollars in favour of Doctor Jones.
After some search he unearthed the little man in a downtown rookery, and
from him obtained an assignment of his judgment against the city. Doctor
Jones lost no time spreading the news, with the additional statement that
he considered himself well out of the mess. He proceeded to order himself a
long-coveted microscope, and was thenceforth lost to sight among low-tide
rocks and marine algae. The sheriff's sale came off at the advertised date.
There were no bidders; the commissioners' warning had had its effect. Keith
himself bought in the lots for $5,000. This check about exhausted his
resources. This, less costs, was, of course, paid back to himself as holder
of the judgment. He had title, such as it was, for about what he had given
Jones.

The bargain amused Keith's acquaintance hugely. Whenever he appeared he was
deluged with chaff, all of which he took, good naturedly. He was
considered, in a moment of aberration, to have bought an exceedingly
doubtful equity. Some thought, he must have a great deal of money, arguing
that only the owner of a fat bank account could afford to take such fliers;
others considered that he must have very little sense. Keith was apparently
unperturbed. He at once began to look about him, considering the next step
in his scheme. Since this investment had taken nearly every cent he had
left, it was incumbent to raise more money at once.

He called on John Sherwood at the Empire. The gambler listened to him
attentively.

"I can't go into it," he said, when Keith had finished. A slight smile
sketched itself on his strong, impassive face. "Not that I do not believe
it will work; I think it will. But I have long made it a rule never to try
to make money outside my own business--which is gambling. I never adopt
ordinary honest methods."

Keith's honest but legally trained mind failed to notice the quiet sarcasm
of this. "Well, you know everybody in town. Where can I go?"

Sherwood thought a moment.

"I'll take you to Malcolm Neil," he said at last. It was Keith's turn to
look thoughtful.

"All right," he said at last. "But not just right away. Give me a couple of
days to get ready."

At the appointed time Sherwood escorted Keith to Malcolm Neil's office,
introduced and left him. Keith took the proffered wooden chair, examining
his man with the keenest attention.

Malcolm Neil, spite of his Scotch name, was a New Englander by birth. He
had come out in '49, intending, like everybody else, to go to the mines,
but had never gone farther than San Francisco. The new city offered ample
scope for his talents, and he speedily became, not only rich, but a
dominating personality among financial circles. He accomplished this by
supplementing his natural ability with absolute singleness of purpose. It
was known that his sole idea was the making of money. He was reputed to be
hard, devoid of sentiment, unscrupulous. Naturally he enjoyed no
popularity, but a vast respect. More people had heard of him, or felt his
power, than had seen him; for he went little abroad, and preferred to work
through agents. John Sherwood's service in obtaining for Keith a personal
interview was a very real one. Neil's offices were small, dingy, and ill
lighted, at the back of one of the older and cheaper buildings. In the
outer of the two were three bookkeepers; the other contained only a desk,
two chairs, and an engraving of Daniel Webster addressing the Senate.

The man himself sat humped over slightly, his head thrust a little forward
as though on the point of launching a truculent challenge. He was lean,
gray, with bushy, overhanging brows, eyes with glinting metallic surfaces,
had long sinewy hands, and a carved granite and inscrutable face, His few
words of greeting revealed his voice as harsh, grating and domineering.

Keith, reading his man, wasted no time in preliminaries.

"Mr. Neil," he said, "I have a scheme by which a great deal of money can be
made."

Neil grunted. If it had not been for the fact that John Sherwood had
introduced the maker of that speech, the interview would have here
terminated. Malcolm Neil deeply distrusted men with schemes to make large
sums of money. After a time, as Keith still waited, he growled;

"What is it?"

"That," said Keith, "I shall not disclose until my standing in the matter
is assured."

"What do you want?" growled Neil.

"Fifty per cent of the profits, if you go in."

"What do you want of me?"

"The capital."

"What is the scheme?"

"That I cannot tell you without some assurance of your good intention."

"What do you expect?" rasped Neil, "that I go into this blind?"

"I have prepared this paper," said Keith, handing him a document.

Neil glanced over the paper, then read it through slowly, with great care.
When he had finished, he looked up at Keith, and there was a gleam of
admiration in his frosty eye.

"You are a lawyer, I take it?" he surmised.

Keith nodded. Neil went over the document for the third time.

"And a good one," added Neil. "This is watertight. It seems to be a
contract agreeing to the division you suggest, _providing_ I go into the
scheme. Very well, I'll sign this." He raised his voice. "Samuels, come in
and witness this. Now, what is the scheme?"

Keith produced another paper.

"It is written out in detail here."

Neil reached for it, but Keith drew it back.

"One moment."

He turned it over on the blank side and wrote:

"This is in full the financial deal referred to in contract entered into
this 7th of June, 1852, by Malcolm Neil and Milton Keith."

To this he appended his signature, then handed the pen to Neil.

"Sign," he requested.

Neil took the pen, but hesitated for some moments, his alert brain seeking
some way out. Finally and grudgingly he signed. Then he leaned back in his
chair, eying Keith with rather a wintry humour, though he made no comment.
He reached again for the paper, but Keith put his hand on it.

"What more do you want?" inquired Neil in amused tones. His sense of humour
had been touched on its only vulnerable point. He appreciated keen and
subtle practice when he saw it,

"Not a thing," laughed Keith, "but a few words of explanation before you
read that will make it more easily understood. Can you tell me how much
water lots are worth?"

"Five to eight thousand for fifty varas."

"All right. I've bought ten fifty vara lots at sheriff's sale for five
thousand dollars."

Neil's eye went cold.

"I've heard of that. Your title is no good. The reason you got them so
cheaply was that nobody would bid because of that."

"That's for the courts to decide. The fact remains that I've a title, even
though clouded, at $500 per lot."

"Proceed."

"Well, the commissioners are now advertising a sale of these same lots at
auction on the 15th."

"So I see."

"Well," said Keith softly, "it strikes me that whoever buys these lots then
is due for a heap of trouble."

"How so?"

"My title from the sheriff may be clouded, but it will be contested against
the title given at that sale. The purchaser will have to defend himself up
to the highest court. I can promise him a good fight."

Neil was now watching him steadily,

"If that fact could be widely advertised," went on Keith slowly, "by way of
a threat, so to speak, it strikes me it would be very apt to discourage
bidding at the commissioners' sale. Nobody wants to buy a lot of lawsuits,
at any price. In absence of competition, a fifty vara lot might be sold for
as low as--say $500."

Neil nodded, Keith leaned forward.

"Now here's my real idea: suppose _I_ buy in against this timid bidding.
Suppose _I_ am the one who gets the commissioners' title for $500. Then I
have both titles. And I am not likely to contest against myself. It's cost
me $1,000 per lot--$500 at each sale--a profit of from $4,000 to $7,000 on
each lot."

He leaned back. Malcolm Neil sat like a graven image, no expression showing
on his flintlike face nor in his eyes. At length he chuckled harshly. Then,
and not until then, Keith proceeded:

"But that isn't all. There's plenty more scrip afloat. If you can buy up as
much of it as you can scrape together, I'll get judgment for it in the
courts, and we can enlarge the deal until somebody smells a rat. We need
several things."

"What?"

"Secrecy."

Neil made no reply, but the lines of his mouth straightened.

"Influence to push matters along in official circles."

"Matters will be pushed along."

"A newspaper."

"Leave that to me."

"Agents--not known to be connected with us."

Neil nodded.

"Working capital--but that is provided for in the contract. And"--he
hesitated--"it will not harm to have these matters brought before a court
whose judge is not unfriendly."

"I can arrange for that, Mr. Keith."

Keith arose.

"Then that is settled." He picked up the duplicate copy of the contract.
"There remains only one other formality."

"Yes? What?"

"Your check for $12,000."

"What for?"

"For my expenses in this matter up to date."

"What!" cried Neil.

"The contract specifies that you are to furnish the working capital," Keith
pointed out.

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20 | 21 | 22 | 23 | 24 | 25 | 26 | 27 | 28