Part 20

"Three months' extension is desired on the note due to-morrow," said Anthony bluntly, a transcript of the bill in his hand.

"A man who asks for time these days asks for hard money," said Rehoboam. "He is demanding minted gold. And money of any kind was never scarcer."

"We should like to oblige you--" began Nathaniel, but Anthony stopped him.

"What terms will you make for another three months? You've done your worst here, it seems to me," glancing at the paper; "no man with bowels could ask for more."

"Consider!" said Nathaniel. "Think of what _we_ must pay for money."

"Think," said Rehoboam, "of the charges, interests, bonuses, asked of us in each transaction."

"To save your words and my patience," said Anthony, "let us restate the present terms in the new bill."

"With an added twenty-five per cent. to fit the altered times, said Nathaniel eagerly. "And that will cover but half of what it will cost us."

"Twenty-five!" Rehoboam looked horrified. "Twenty-five? Brother, you are going mad! How can you talk such a sum as twenty-five per cent. when--"

"I'll give ten," said Anthony, interrupting him. "So make out the paper, and let's have an end to the matter."

With many lamentations, but with sly glances of glee, the twins set about drawing up a new bill for Charles' signature; this they gave to Anthony, protesting that they were undone and that ruin itself would not surprise them. But the young man buttoned it up in his breast pocket with plain unbelief; then he gave them a curt nod and left the room, with Captain Weir behind him. At the next landing Weir paused.

"Mademoiselle Lafargue," said he. "Has she left this place?"

"No," said Anthony. "She has gone to speak to the other leech of whom they told her."

"Nevens was the name, I think," said Weir. He made it out, painted upon a door in the darkest corner of an obscure passage. "If you don't mind," said he, "we shall go in for a moment. We may be of some assistance."

Anthony readily followed him into a low-ceilinged room, where daylight crept through the dirty glass of a single window. Huddles of time-stained and dusty papers were upon shelves, and in cubbyholes, and impaled upon hooks. A crazy old desk was all but buried under them; a corner cupboard was so gorged that papers bulged from doors and drawers that could not have been closed for years.

A little man with a short nose, a snuffy neck-cloth, and red-rimmed eyes was talking with Mademoiselle Lafargue. She turned a look upon Anthony that was surprised and grateful.

"Good day to you, gentlemen," said the little man in a squeaky voice. "I will give you my best attention in a moment." To the girl he said: "Pay heed to what I tell you. Women are not fitted for the carrying of important words. Say to your father that he is the person I desire to see. And I must see him immediately."

Weir stepped toward the usurer.

"Might I ask why, Mr. Nevens?" said he.

The man put his hand behind his ear, forming a sort of cup; he screwed his face into an expression of great interest and squeaked:

"Hey? I am hard of hearing."

"It happens," said Weir to the girl, "that I know something of the operations of this man, and I thought that Mr. Stevens and myself might be of some help to you."

"The matter that brings Mademoiselle Lafargue here," said Anthony, "seems to be a paper of her father's."

"I know its nature," said Weir. "After you had stepped out into the passage up-stairs, the Bulfinches talked quite openly of it."

While they were speaking the broker kept his hand cupped behind his ear, while his eyes searched their faces like those of some sly little animal.

"Eh?" said he. "What do you say? Speak up. My hearing is not of the best."

"If you'll permit me," said Weir to the girl, "I can probably save your father a journey here and the exasperation he'd be sure to feel in dealing with a man like this." Without waiting for a reply he turned to Nevens. "Now, sir," he said, "a word with you."

Nevens seemed to get Weir's purpose,--perhaps it was from his attitude,--and he began to gesticulate excitedly.

"My business is with her father," he said. "It is a private matter, a transaction between us two, and has to do with a bit of commercial paper."

"Quite so," said Weir. "Have the goodness to permit me to see that paper."

"Eh?" Nevens seemed straining to hear. "What do you say?"

"Show me the bill."

"You must speak louder," said Nevens. "My hearing is not good. Once it was excellent; I heard everything; but it has grown quite bad. In dealing with me you must speak plainly; even then, sometimes," and he shook his head, "I scarce hear a word."

"And this, I take it, is one of the times," said Weir dryly. "Nevertheless," and he looked fixedly into the little ferret's face and spoke slowly, "I think you'll understand what I'm going to say. First, it's very well known that you are a mere instrument of the Bulfinches; the bills they place in your hands under the pretense that you have bought them they know to be desperate ones and not easily realized."

"I will speak with her father," said Nevens, hopping about. "I cannot hear you. And I do not know you. It's her father who must pay, and it's he who must present himself."

"Second," said Weir composedly, "this bill names no definite time for payment; it states no rate of interest; it bears no indorser's name."

"Must I be robbed!" cried Nevens. "Am I to be dragooned and my money mishandled because it was loaned generously."

"It may have been generosity," said Weir, "but it was old Amos Bulfinch who loaned it, and, having known him, I'm tempted to believe it was something else."

"My money!" chattered Nevens, on tiptoe with excitement. "I'll have it. Is there no law to touch such cases? Is there no honesty in the world?"

But Weir motioned Anthony to open the door for Mademoiselle Lafargue; and they went out, leaving the little broker still hopping and shrilling his protests. On the sidewalk Weir gravely lifted his tall beaver hat.

"Pay no attention to any further communication from this man," he said to the girl. "The note, from Nathaniel Bulfinch's own word, is as I've stated. It need be paid only when your father feels perfectly able to pay it, and it bears no interest whatsoever."

He bowed to her and, with a nod to Anthony, went on his way toward Fourth Street. And as Anthony and the girl walked in the opposite direction there was a silence between them. Then the girl said:

"That was thoughtful and kind."

"Weir is both," said Anthony. "He is a reticent man, with little warmth in his look; but more than once he has shown himself to me as a friend worth having."

"I have been holding him wrongly in my mind," said the girl. "I had thought him my enemy."

"You once thought I was your enemy," said Anthony, and he smiled.

"I've been very foolish," she said. "I've misjudged you all. I thought you selfish, and I thought Captain Weir cold and cruel. Some time since," and she lifted her fine eyes to him with an honesty that thrilled him, "I saw I was wrong in my thoughts of you; and now I see that I have also been unjust to Captain Weir. For that man must be very kindly, indeed, who will go out of his way to serve one who he knows detests him."

And Weir's lips, as he went his way down the street, were twisted into a wry smile; and his eyes were also smiling the cunning, purposeful smile of the cat.

XXXI

The autumn came in ruggedly--an autumn of storms, of flurries of snow, of bleak winds and driving rains. Under its breath the last trace of the plague vanished; the fugitives returned; normal life and trade were resumed; and in the hurry and bustle the terrors of the late summer were forgotten. The winter followed--a raging, boisterous, blowing winter, with deep snow in the wagon-ways, and ice in the river, the chimneys smoking, and the carts piled high with cord-wood.

At Rufus Stevens' Sons there had been no great briskness after the season of pestilence. There was a movement of trade through its warehouses and counting-rooms; but it was a dull movement, without rush or volume, with no ring of money in it, and no whetting of ideas. Anthony had a feeling that things were crumbling under him; the stout old walls were buckling. A ship of the firm's owning was held at Rio by the Portuguese because of the house's failure to pay certain moneys long due; another, lately repaired and cleaned at Barbados, was not permitted to sail until all debts were cleared; each ship that entered port from the East and South carried letters to the house from merchants and traders, shippers and agents, asking that settlements be made; and local merchants grew insistent that their accounts be dealt with forthwith. There was a steady crowding in, a pressing, a squeezing, and the wide-lunged old concern had no room to breathe; its slow methods, its calm reliance upon its own integrity, its ponderous insistence upon its own power had much the look of impotence. People who had inherited their belief in the house now observed it keenly; and what they saw made them shake their heads.

Charles came and went and planned for the future; of the succession of days that broke and waxed and waned he said nothing, except in that they served as things upon which to base calculations of what the ship _Rufus Stevens_ was likely to be doing on the other side of the world.

"She must have made her port in three months," said Charles. "With that hull and spread of sail, and mastered as she is, she couldn't help it, unless the winds blew contrary every day. She'll surprise them in the East, I think. The Yankees have sent nothing like her, and the British are out-hulled and out-stowed, two to one."

He'd sit for hours, silent, still, a smile upon his face, his look many and many a league away in the track of the trades, across the warm, long waves of the Indian Ocean, past far lands and strange ships. There the very stars were new and had alien names; the horned moon swung downward like a yellow sword-blade; the sea and air were filled with grotesque life. What ports he came to! how they shrieked and strove and teemed and smelled! the stones were worn by generations of bare feet; the narrow ways roared with traffic, set toward the rivers; the deep warehouses were like rich mines; the merchants were grave of face and wore silken robes.

The _Rufus Stevens_, as he'd see her, was anchored in mid-stream, empty and standing high out of the water; she was a giant among ships, and she was waiting for her cargo. Her sails were furled neatly, as only skilful hands could furl them; her deck was as ordered as a parlor; the masts reared straight, like slim towers; after a three months' battering by the sea, her paint looked clean. And as she waited her merchandise was gathering! Charles would sit tighter in the corner of his sofa as he'd think of this; and he'd nurse his lame foot and smile; and his eyes would glow.

Busy brown hands were gathering that cargo; others were setting the items down in strange-seeming characters upon leaves of yellow paper; trains of asses were filing through mountain passes with packs of rich goods, with fabrics and shawls which would bear down the balance against red minted gold; camels plodded sullenly across hot, wind-swept plains, bearing rich carpets and soft rugs of rare design; flooding rivers bore craft moved by tides and poles and sweeps, or by the pressing wind in their worn brown sails. Silks were in these vessels, as delicate as though spider-spun, and as softly hued as a young morning.

And, then, there were the craftsmen of the cities; they were not without words in the matter. They offered things fashioned of gold and silver and ivory, richly and cunningly fashioned, of fine grace and beauty, the like of which was seldom seen out of the East. And, then, there were certain Jews, dark men, and said to have a strain of Moorish blood; they had gems in a strong room, guarded by men with hard, unbelieving eyes. But the mind of Charles barely touched these traffickers and their treasure; for when one thinks one talks, and it was not good to have it known that such items were in the ship's cargo; for there was no part of the world's waters where pirates were thicker than in the Indian Ocean.

"The kites," Charles would say. "The robbers! I wish I had mounted a few guns in her, and given her a few cases of muskets. These great, rich ships are as helpless as bustards."

His mind was seldom off the vessel. Item by item, the cargo would pile up before him: casks, bales, chests, rich silks, rare dyes, spices, fabrics of amazing texture, drugs, soft leather, gold vessels. There were days when he'd talk of nothing else; he would be drunk with the prospect of it. But Anthony frowned and doggedly worked with the affairs of the house; for they, at least, were things one could put one's hand on; a ship away at the other side of the world, as any man who knew the ways of ships would tell, was a chance, only. There were delays to be considered, and falling markets; there were gales and sinister currents and coasts dreaded of mariners; there were the springing of timbers, mutiny, and the Moorish corsairs; a drunken third mate had ruined the hopes of many a merchant; a helmsman whose mind was not on his work had smashed the ribs of hundreds of sound ships on easy headlands.

But the work of the counting-room was never-ending; the young man would no sooner, and sometimes with deadening labor, surmount a difficulty or avoid a peril than another of a greater growth would show itself at the door. He met them steadily and fought them as was his nature; but they came swiftly, one upon another, like the waves of the sea; they came so unexpectedly and with such crushing viciousness that he was gradually being borne down by them; the horizons of the house were clouded by mists and spray, and breakers seemed roaring all around it.

"It's no use," said Weir; "you cannot fight these things back; they lie too deep; they must take their course."

"And then?" asked Anthony, pale, harassed, but still stubborn.

Weir shrugged his shoulders.

"I have seen unexpected strokes," said he. "Fortune is peculiar." There was a cold smile in his eyes. "It may be your uncle's thoughts will come true."

Of a night, after the work of the day, Anthony would sometimes spend an hour with Christopher Dent; and he'd sit and smoke while the little apothecary watched him with troubled eyes.

"You are breaking down," said Christopher. "Your mind is killing your body. The vital elements have gone out of your blood. What does it serve to work as you are doing? When the house of Stevens falls, as seems likely now, I'm told, will there be any purpose in finding your body in the ruins?"

"I shall, at least, have striven to prevent the fall," said Anthony.

Christopher made no answer to this, for there was no answer for such a saying. It was a man's nature speaking, and a man's nature does not change, as the little apothecary well knew, except by fierce rendings and great drifts of emotion.

One day news came, by an English ship out of the East, and carrying a great freight of woven cotton goods: the _Rufus Stevens_ had reached her port after a swift and uneventful voyage, and, when the letter was written, was discharging her cargo. Charles was vastly excited; he limped to and fro and his face shone.

"She sails like a hawk, and is as safe as a city," said he. "She'll make a high mark, as I've told you; she'll outrun and out-stow them all."

Three weeks later, more news; this time from the ship's supercargo; Winslow, the master, was sick of an injury and was being taken care of. The ship was now discharged and ready for the merchandise she was to bring back. Charles's face clouded when he read of his captain's disability; but it cleared up at once.

"Winslow is a hale man," said he, "and he'll throw off a hurt quickly enough. Never fear for Winslow."

There was a long wait--well into February, when the next word came. Winslow was completely disabled; the ship had taken her cargo aboard and waited at anchor in the river; but his condition showed no sign of a turn. Also, and the supercargo was gravely concerned about this, those who were accustomed to issue insurances at Calcutta had refused to do so in the case of the _Rufus Stevens_. Pressed for a reason, they were vague; there had been strange mishaps; the house of Stevens had been oddly unfortunate. Others had been appealed to; but the result was the same.

At this spot in the letter, Charles suddenly lost control of himself; with the veins of his neck swollen and purple, he began swearing futilely and bitterly. Weir finished reading the message. Because there was not like to be storms, because the ship was sound and new, because the American States were at peace with the world, it had been agreed, despite the failure of the insurance, that the _Rufus Stevens_ sail for home with her store of goods. The vessel had waited three weeks for Winslow; but he was still in the hospital, and so another master was procured and they were making ready to put to sea.

Charles stopped cursing and listened; and Anthony, his eyes narrowing, asked:

"What is the new master's name?"

"He is Captain Gorman," read Weir, "out of New York, and, by good fortune, in Calcutta without employment."

"A good man," said Charles. "A very good man. Not the sort I would choose if there were many to select from; but an excellent man for all that." He turned to Anthony. "Eh?"

But Anthony's brows were heavy, and his eyes were burning under them.

"I've only heard of Captain Gorman once," said he, his mind going back to the ravings of old Bulfinch that night at Bush Hill; "and my impression then was not good."

"There is evil to be said of every man who has sailed the seas," said Charles. "Gorman has a heavy hand; crews are not apt to like him, and he cares more for the brandy bottle than is good for either him or his employers. But he is a good sailor, an excellent navigator, and brings his ships home, and quickly. These are the qualities, after all, that make the shipmaster. Gorman will do very well; I'm glad of him in the emergency."

Anthony looked at his uncle; it was in his mind to tell him what old Bulfinch had said. But he frowned, listened, and held his tongue; for what purpose would the telling serve? The vessel was thousands of miles away, and her prow would be turned homeward months before any word could reach Calcutta. Also, he knew Charles's bounding, sanguine spirit would at once cry the thing down. What? give credit to the maunderings of an old wretch like Bulfinch? If one had given ear, and he could fancy Charles saying this, to the ravings of every one stricken with the plague, God knows what would have become of matters! For they had been made mad by it; and the words of people in that condition should not be listened to, much less remembered! So Anthony held his peace--and waited.

And now the ship was on the sea; the wonderous freight she carried was blowing nearer and nearer each day. The mind of Charles mounted into thin air; his spirits sang; his sayings were like things printed in old books. He laughed at the dull routine of the counting-room, and the bent shoulders and moody brows he saw there; and he put a good-humored curse on their doings and bade Anthony take his mind from worrying.

"But," said the young man, "the claims made against us must be understood and met. They are real; they are heaping up; I can only hope they'll not fall in on us."

"They are nothing. When the _Rufus Stevens_ comes into the river we'll be able to pay every claim made upon us, three times over."

"But," said Anthony, "suppose she does not come?"

Charles laughed at this.

"Take your mind from provoking things," he insisted. "The world is full of such, but they were never made to think about. To-day is shabby and has nothing to give you; keep your thoughts on to-morrow."

But the gaunt present had its spell on Anthony; and he could not take his mind from its grim approach. Later he spoke bitterly to Captain Weir.

"There is enough come to us already to give us our deaths, once the weight of it falls together; and what _is_ to come, in his expectations, rests upon no better foundation than a tale told to children. But, nevertheless, the stroke of fortune you spoke of some time since seems the only thing that promises. If the house is to go on at all,--and I see the thing plainer each day,--my uncle's dream must come true."

"His visionings of the past had a way of doing so," said Weir. "And, who knows? fortune may repeat itself. This I know: let the ship once come to port, and there will be enough money to enrich a prince."

Two days later the sky, in the morning, was leaden; a bitter wind blew out of the northeast; the river was sealed, but there was a broad channel through the bay from New Castle to the sea, and ships attempting to beat out, so the news came up to the city, were driven back. For a week the wind continued, and the sky lowered like a dismal casque upon the world. The news of what was happening trickled in slowly, from down the river, from across the Jerseys, from New York. The gale was the heaviest known in years; the hardiest mariners, the stoutest ships had ridden in the bays, content to tug at their anchors and with no thought to face it. It had torn and yelled along the coast; the ocean had risen until spent waves were sweeping between the huts in some of the fishing hamlets.

Charles and Anthony had gone out early of an afternoon to get a bite at the City Tavern, and had paused to read a bulletin posted at the door; as they were turning from it they met old Martin Dacy, mate of many a deep-water ship and master of more than one coastwise brig.

"Eh?" said old Dacy. "Wild winds! And no fresh news? Leave it alone, Mr. Stevens; leave it alone. The news'll come fast enough. What the winds have done inside the capes and along the coast is all you've heard of yet. You'll hear more than that as the days go on; and when the thing's blown itself out you'll hear the worst. This has been none of your gusty blows, none of your mad things that don't know their own minds. There's been a devil behind this one, a bitter, wicked devil, and he's pressed steadily for days and days in the one direction, and he's piled seas before him so that out there it must look as though the whole world were a-churning. The news'll come later; and that merchant is lucky, sir, who has no ships at sea; and that sailor is lucky that has a fire to sit at, ashore, and a chimney for the wind to roar in."

Charles and Anthony went into the tavern.

"Old seamen are fond of mumbling such prophecies," smiled Charles, as they sat down at a table in the public room. "As they grow weaker themselves, the danger and power of the ocean magnifies in their minds. What would have been the day's work in their youth or their prime comes to be looked upon as vast peril in their old age. God help them," said Charles, "it may be a sort of compensation; they, like enough, think themselves fortunate in having grown well away from such dangerous days."

But, though there was a smile in Charles's eyes as he said this, Anthony saw a look of strained wistfulness; and, for all the laugh, there was something fixed and frightened in his face.

"What are ships for," said Charles, "if it is not to weather storms? With honest planks and plenty of deep water, a good sailor can outlive the roughest wind that ever came out of the north. And the _Rufus Stevens_ is an honest ship, I'll take oath to that; and what deeper water do you want, than the Atlantic? And, again, while a storm may blow here or there, there may be calm weather enough in another place. I doubt if our ship has come far enough to feel even the edge of this."