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Gordon Keith written by Thomas Nelson Page

T >> Thomas Nelson Page >> Gordon Keith




This time there was no doubt that the color meant anger.

"What do you mean?" she demanded, looking him once more full in the
eyes.

"I refer to what the world says, especially as he himself is such a
model of all the Christian virtues."

"What the world says? What do you mean?" she persisted, never taking her
eyes from his face.

He simply shrugged his shoulders.

"So I assume Mr. Keith is the fortunate suitor for the remnant of your
affections: Keith the immaculate--Keith the pure and pious gentleman who
trades on his affections. I wish you good luck."

At his insolence Mrs. Lancaster's patience suddenly snapped.

"Go," she said, pointing to the door. "Go."

When Wickersham walked out into the street, his face was white and
drawn, and a strange light was in his eyes. He had played one of his
last cards, and had played it like a fool. Luck had gone against him,
and he had lost his head. His heart--that heart that had never known
remorse and rarely dismay--began to sink. Luck had been going against
him now for a long time, so long that it had swept away his fortune and
most of his credit. What was worse to him, he was conscious that he had
lost his nerve. Where should he turn? Unless luck turned or he could get
help he would go down. He canvassed the various means of escape. Man
after man had fallen away from him. Every scheme had failed.

He attributed it all to Norman--to Norman and Keith. Norman had ruined
him in New York; Keith had blocked him and balked him in the South. But
one resource remained to him. He would make one more supreme effort.
Then, if he failed? He thought of a locked drawer in his desk, and a
black pistol under the papers there. His cheek blanched at the thought,
but his lips closed tight. He would not survive disgrace. His disgrace
meant the known loss of his fortune. One thing he would do. Keith had
escaped him, had succeeded, but Norman he could overthrow. Norman had
been struck hard; he would now complete his ruin. With this mental tonic
he straightened up and walked rapidly down the street.

That evening Wickersham was closeted for some time with a man who had of
late come into especial notice as a strong and merciless
financier--Mr. Kestrel.

Mr. Kestrel received him at first with a coldness which might have
repelled a less determined man. He had no delusions about Wickersham;
but Wickersham knew this, and unfolded to him, with plausible frankness,
a scheme which had much reason in it. He had at the same time played on
the older man's foibles with great astuteness, and had awakened one or
two of his dormant animosities. He knew that Mr. Kestrel had had a
strong feeling against Norman for several years.

"You are one of the few men who do not have to fall down and worship the
name of Wentworth," he said.

"Well, I rather think not," said Mr. Kestrel, with a glint in his eyes,
as he recalled Norman Wentworth's scorn of him at the board-meeting
years before, when Norman had defended Keith against him.

"--Or this new man, Keith, who is undertaking to teach New York
finance?"

Mr. Kestrel gave a hard little laugh, which was more like a cough than
an expression of mirth, but which meant that he was amused.

"Well, neither do I," said Wickersham. "To tell you frankly, I hate them
both, though there is money, and big money, in this, as you can see for
yourself from what I have said. This is my real reason for wanting you
in it. If you jump in and hammer down those things, you will clean them
out. I have the old patents to all the lands that Keith sold those
people. They antedate the titles under which Rawson claims. If you can
break up the deal now, we will go in and recover the lands from Rawson.
Wentworth is so deep in that he'll never pull through, and his friend
Keith has staked everything on this one toss."

Old Kestrel's parchment face was inscrutable as he gazed at Wickersham
and declared that he did not know about that. He did not believe in
having animosities in business matters, as it marred one's judgment.
But Wickersham knew enough to be sure that the seed he had planted would
bear fruit, and that Kestrel would stake something on the chance.

In this he was not deceived. The next day Mr. Kestrel acceded to his
plan.

For some days after that there appeared in a certain paper a series of
attacks on various lines of property holdings, that was characterized by
other papers as a "strong bearish movement." The same paper contained a
vicious article about the attempt to unload worthless coal-lands on
gullible Englishmen. Meantime Wickersham, foreseeing failure, acted
independently.

The attack might not have amounted to a great deal but for one of those
untimely accidents that sometimes overthrow all calculations. One of the
keenest and oldest financiers in the city suddenly dropped dead, and a
stampede started on the Stock Exchange. It was stayed in a little while,
but meantime a number of men had been hard hit, and among these was
Norman Wentworth. The papers next day announced the names of those who
had suffered, and much space was given in one of them to the decline of
the old firm of Wentworth & Son, whose history was almost contemporary
with that of New York.

By noon it was extensively rumored that Wentworth & Son would close
their doors. The firm which had lasted for three generations, and whose
name had been the synonym for honor and for philanthropy, which had
stood as the type of the highest that can exist in commerce, would go
down. Men spoke of it with a regret which did them honor--hard men who
rarely expressed regret for the losses of another.

It was rumored, too, that Wickersham & Company must assign; but this
caused little surprise and less regret. Aaron Wickersham had had
friends, but his son had not succeeded to them.

Keith, having determined to talk to Alice Lancaster about Lois, was
calling on the former a day or two after her interview with Wickersham.
She was still somewhat disturbed over it, and showed it in her manner so
clearly that Keith asked what was the trouble.

It was nothing very much, she said. Only she had broken finally with a
friend she had known a long time, and such things upset her.

Keith was sympathetic, and suddenly, to his surprise, she broke down and
began to cry. He had never seen her weep before since she sat, as a
girl, in the pine-woods and he lent her his handkerchief to dry her
tears. Something in the association gave him a feeling of unwonted
tenderness. She had not appeared to him so soft, so feminine, in a long
time. He essayed to comfort her. He, too, had broken with an old friend,
the friend of a lifetime, and he would never get over it.

"Mine was such a blow to me," she said, wiping her eyes; "such cruel
things were said to me. I did not think any one but a woman would have
said such biting things to a woman."

"It was Ferdy Wickersham, I know," said Keith, his eyes contracting;
"but what on earth could he have said? What could he have dared to say
to wound you so?"

"He said all the town was talking about me and Norman." She began to cry
again. "Norman, dear old Norman, who has been more like a brother to me
than any one I have ever known, and whom I would give the world to bring
back happiness to."

"He is a scoundrel!" exclaimed Keith. "I have stood all--more than I
ever expected to stand from any man living; but if he is attacking
women"--he was speaking to himself rather than to her--"I will unmask
him. He is not worth your notice," he said kindly, addressing her again.
"Women have been his prey ever since I knew him, when he was but a young
boy." Mrs. Lancaster dried her eyes.

"You refer to the story that he had married that poor girl and abandoned
her?"

"Yes--partly that. That is the worst thing I know of him."

"But that is not true. However cruel he is, that accusation is
unfounded. I know that myself."

"How do you know it?" asked Keith, in surprise.

"He told me the whole story: explained the thing to my satisfaction. It
was a poor crazy girl who claimed that he married her; said Mr. Rimmon
had performed the ceremony She was crazy. I saw Mr. Rimmon's letter
denying the whole thing."

"Do you know his handwriting?" inquired Keith, grimly.

"Whose?"

"Well, that of both of them?"

She nodded, and Keith, taking out his pocket-book, opened it and took
therefrom a slip of paper. "Look at that. I got that a few days ago from
the witness who was present."

"Why, what is this?" She sprang up in her excitement.

"It is incredible!" she said slowly. "Why, he told me the story with the
utmost circumstantiality."

"He lied to you," said Keith, grimly. "And Rimmon lied. That is their
handwriting. I have had it examined by the best expert in New York City.
I had not intended to use that against him, but only to clear the
character of that poor young creature whom he deceived and then
abandoned; but as he is defaming her here, and is at his old trade of
trying to deceive women, it is time he was shown up in his true colors."

She gave a shudder of horror, and wiped her right hand with her left.
"Oh, to think that he dared!" She wiped her hand on her handkerchief.

At that moment a servant brought in a card. As Mrs. Lancaster gazed at
it, her eyes flashed and her lip curled.

"Say that Mrs. Lancaster begs to be excused."

"Yes, madam." The servant hesitated. "I think he heard you talking,
madam."

"Say that Mrs. Lancaster begs to be excused," she said firmly.

The servant, with a bow, withdrew.

She handed the card to Keith. On it was the name of the Rev. William H.
Rimmon.

Mr. Rimmon, as he stood in the hall, was in unusually good spirits,
though slightly perturbed. He had determined to carry through a plan
that he had long pondered over. He had decided to ask Mrs. Lancaster to
become Mrs. Rimmon.

As Keith glanced toward the door, he caught Mr. Rimmon's eye. He was
waiting on the threshold and rubbing his hands with eager expectancy.
Just then the servant gave him the message. Keith saw his countenance
fall and his face blanch. He turned, picked up his hat, and slipped out
of the door, with a step that was almost a slink.

As Mr. Rimmon passed down the street he knew that he had reached a
crisis in his life. He went to see Wickersham, but that gentleman was in
no mood for condolences. Everything had gone against him. He was facing
utter ruin. Rimmon's upbraiding angered him.

"By the way, you are the very man I wanted to see," he said grimly. "I
want you to sign a note for that twenty thousand I lost by you when you
insisted on my holding that stock."

Rimmon's jaw fell. "That you held for me? Sign a note! Twenty-six
thousand!"

"Yes. Don't pretend innocence--not on me. Save that for the pulpit. I
know you," said the other, with a chilling laugh.

"But you were to carry that. That was a part of our agreement. Why,
twenty thousand would take everything I have."

"Don't play that on me," said Wickersham, coldly. "It won't work. You
can make it up when you get your widow."

Rimmon groaned helplessly.

"Come; there is the note. Sign."

Rimmon began to expostulate, and finally refused pointblank to sign.
Wickersham gazed at him with amusement.

"You sign that, or I will serve suit on you in a half-hour, and we will
see how the Rev. Mr. Rimmmon stands when my lawyers are through with
him. You will believe in hell then, sure enough."

"You won't dare do it. Your marriage would come out. Mrs. Lancaster
would--"

"She knows it," said Wickersham, calmly. And, as Rimmon looked
sceptical, "I told her myself to spare you the trouble. Sign." He rose
and touched a bell.

Rimmon, with a groan, signed the paper.

"You must have showed her my letter!"

"Of course, I did."

"But you promised me not to. I am ruined!"

"What have I to do with that? 'See thou to that,'" said Wickersham, with
a bitter laugh.

Rimmon's face paled at the quotation. He, too, had betrayed his Lord.

"Now go." Wickersham pointed to the door.

Mr. Rimmon went home and tried to write a letter to Mrs. Lancaster, but
he could not master his thoughts. That pen that usually flowed so glibly
failed to obey him. He was in darkness. He saw himself dishonored,
displaced. Wickersham was capable of anything. He did not know where to
turn. He thought of his brother clergymen. He knew many good men who
spent their lives helping others. But something deterred him from
applying to them now. To some he had been indifferent, others he had
known only socially. Yet others had withdrawn themselves from him more
and more of late. He had attributed it to their envy or their folly. He
suddenly thought of old Dr. Templeton. He had always ignored that old
man as a sort of crack-brained creature who had not been able to keep up
with the world, and had been left stranded, doing the work that properly
belonged to the unsuccessful. Curiously enough, he was the one to whom
the unhappy man now turned. Besides, he was a friend of Mrs. Lancaster.

A half-hour later the Rev. Mr. Rimmon was in Dr. Templeton's simple
study, and was finding a singular sense of relief in pouring out his
troubles to the old clergyman. He told him something of his unhappy
situation--not all, it is true, but enough to enable the other to see
how grave it was, as much from what he inferred as from what Rimmon
explained. He even began to hope again. If the Doctor would undertake to
straighten out the complications he might yet pull through. To his
dismay, this phase of the matter did not appear to present itself to the
old man's mind. It was the sin that he had committed that had
touched him.

"Let us carry it where only we can find relief;" he said. "Let us take
it to the Throne of Grace, where we can lay all our burdens"; and before
Rimmon knew it, he was on his knees, praying for him as if he had been a
very outcast.

When the Rev. Mr. Rimmon came out of the shabby little study, though he
had not gotten the relief he had sought, he, somehow, felt a little
comforted, while at the same time he felt humble. He had one of those
brief intervals of feeling that, perhaps, there was, after all,
something that that old man had found which he had missed, and he
determined to find it. But Mr. Rimmon had wandered far out of the way.
He had had a glimpse of the pearl, but the price was great, and he had
not been able to pay it all.

* * * * *

Wickersham discounted the note; but the amount was only a bagatelle to
him: a bucket-shop had swallowed it within an hour. He had lost his
instinct. It was only the love of gambling that remained.

Only one chance appeared to remain for him. He had made up with Louise
Wentworth after a fashion. He must get hold of her in some way. He might
obtain more money from her. The method he selected was a desperate one;
but he was a desperate man.

After long pondering, he sat down and wrote her a note, asking her "to
meet some friends of his, a Count and Countess Torelli, at supper"
next evening.



CHAPTER XXXII

THE RUN ON THE BANK

It was the day after the events just recorded that Keith's deal was
concluded. The attack on him and the attempt made by Wickersham and
Kestrel to break up his deal had failed, and the deeds and money
were passed.

Keith was on his way back to his office from his final interview with
the representative of the syndicate that had bought the properties. He
was conscious of a curious sensation, partly of exhilaration, partly of
almost awe, as he walked through the crowded streets, where every one
was bent on the same quest: gold. At last he had won. He was rich. He
wondered, as he walked along, if any of the men he shouldered were as
rich as he. Norman and Ferdy Wickersham recurred to him. Both had been
much wealthier; but Wickersham, he knew, was in straits, and Norman was
in some trouble. He was unfeignedly glad about Wickersham; but the
recollection of Norman clouded his face.

It was with a pang that he recalled Norman's recent conduct to him--a
pang that one who had always been his friend should have changed so; but
that was the way of the world. This reflection, however, was not
consoling.

He reached his office and seated himself at his desk, to take another
look at his papers. Before he opened them he rose and locked the door,
and opening a large envelope, spread the papers out on the desk
before him.

He thought of his father. He must write and tell him of his success.
Then he thought of his old home. He remembered his resolution to restore
it and make it what it used to be. But how much he could do with the
money it would take to fit up the old place in the manner he had
contemplated! By investing it judiciously he could double it.

Suddenly there was a step outside and a knock at his door, followed by
voices in the outer office. Keith rose, and putting his papers back in
his pocket, opened the door. For a second he had a mingled sensation of
pleasure and surprise. His father stood there, his bag clutched in his
hand. He looked tired, and had aged some since Keith saw him last; but
his face wore the old smile that always illumined it when it rested
on his son.

Keith greeted him warmly and drew him inside. "I was just thinking of
you, sir."

"You would not come to see me, so I have come to see you. I have heard
from you so rarely that I was afraid you were sick." His eyes rested
fondly on Gordon's face.

"No; I have been so busy; that is all. Well, sir, I have won." His eyes
were sparkling.

The old gentleman's face lit up.

"You have? Found Phrony, have you? I am so glad. It will give old Rawson
a new lease of life. I saw him after he got back. He has failed a good
deal lately."

"No, sir. I have found her, too; but I mean I have won out at last."

"Ah, you have won her? I congratulate you. I hope she will make you
happy."

Keith laughed.

"I don't mean that. I mean I have sold my lands at last. I closed this
morning with the Englishmen, and received the money."

The General smiled.

"Ah, you have, have you? That's very good. I am glad for old Adam
Rawson's sake."

"I was afraid he would die before the deeds passed," said Keith. "But
see, here are the drafts to my order." He spread them out. "This one is
my commission. And I have the same amount of common stock."

His father made no comment on this, but presently said: "You will have
enough to restore the old place a little."

"How much would it cost to fix up the place as you think it ought to be
fixed up?"

"Oh, some thousands of dollars. You see, the house is much out of
repair, and the quarters ought really all to be rebuilt. Old Charlotte's
house I have kept in repair, and Richard now sleeps in the house, as he
has gotten so rheumatic. I should think five or six thousand dollars
might do it."

"I can certainly spare that much," said Keith, laughing.

"How is Norman?" asked the General.

Keith was conscious of a feeling of discontent. His countenance fell.

"Why, I don't know. I don't see much of him these days."

"Ah! I want to go to see him."

"The fact is, we have--er--had--. There has been an unfortunate
misunderstanding between us. No one regrets it more than I; but I think
I can say it was not at all my fault, and I have done all and more than
was required of me."

"Ah, I am very sorry for that. It's a pity--a pity!" said the old
General. "What was it about?"

"Well, I don't care to talk about it, sir. But I can assure you, I was
not in the least to blame. It was caused mainly, I believe, by that
fellow, Wickersham."

"He's a scoundrel!" said the General, with sudden vehemence.

"He is, sir!"

"I will go and see Norman. I see by the papers he is in some trouble."

"I fear he is, sir. His bank has been declining."

"Perhaps you can help him?" His face lit up. "You remember, he once
wrote you--a long time ago?"

"I remember; I have repaid that," said Keith, quickly. "He has treated
me very badly." He gave a brief account of the trouble between them.

The old General leant back and looked at his son intently. His face was
very grave and showed that he was reflecting deeply.

"Gordon," he said presently, "the Devil is standing very close to you. A
real misunderstanding should always be cleared up. You must go to him."

"What do you mean, sir?" asked his son, in some confusion.

"You are at the parting of the ways. A gentleman cannot hesitate. Such a
debt never can be paid by a gentleman," he said calmly. "You must help
him, even if you cannot restore the old place. Elphinstone has gone for
a debt before." He rose as if there was nothing more to be said. "Well,
I will go and wait for you at your rooms." He walked out.

Keith sat and reflected. How different he was from his father! How
different from what he had been years ago! Then he had had an affection
for the old home and all that it represented. He had worked with the
idea of winning it back some day. It had been an inspiration to him. But
now it was wealth that he had begun to seek.

It came to him clearly how much he had changed. The process all lay
before him. It had grown with his success, and had kept pace with it in
an almost steady ratio since he had set success before him as a goal. He
was angry with himself to find that he was thinking now of success
merely as Wealth. Once he had thought of Honor and Achievement, even of
Duty. He remembered when he had not hesitated to descend into what
appeared the very jaws of death, because it seemed to him his duty. He
wondered if he would do the same now.

He felt that this was a practical view which he was now taking of life.
He was now a practical man; yes, practical like old Kestrel, said his
better self. He felt that he was not as much of a gentleman as he used
to be. He was further from his father; further from what Norman was.
This again brought Norman to his mind. If the rumors which he had heard
were true, Norman was now in a tight place.

As his father had said, perhaps he might be able to help him. But why
should he do it? If Norman had helped him in the past, had he not
already paid him back? And had not Norman treated him badly of late
without the least cause--met his advances with a rebuff? No; he would
show him that he was not to be treated so. He still had a small account
in Norman's bank, which he had not drawn out because he had not wished
to let Norman see that he thought enough of his coldness to make any
change; but he would put his money now into old Creamer's bank. After
looking at his drafts again, he unlocked his door and went out on
the street.

There was more commotion on the street than he had seen in some days.
Men were hurrying at a quicker pace than the rapid gait which was always
noticeable in that thoroughfare. Groups occasionally formed and, after a
word or two, dispersed. Newsboys were crying extras and announcing some
important news in an unintelligible jargon. Messengers were dashing
about, rushing in and out of the big buildings. Something unusual was
evidently going on. As Keith, on his way to the bank of which Mr.
Creamer was president, passed the mouth of the street in which Norman's
office was situated, he looked down and saw quite a crowd assembled. The
street was full. He passed on, however, and went into the big building,
on the first floor of which Creamer's bank had its offices. He walked
through to the rear of the office, to the door of Mr. Creamer's private
office, and casually asked the nearest clerk for Mr. Creamer. The young
man said he was engaged. Keith, however, walked up to the door, and was
about to knock, when, at a word spoken by his informant, another clerk
came hastily forward and said that Mr. Creamer was very busily engaged
and could see no one.

"Well, he will see me," said Keith, feeling suddenly the courage that
the possession of over a quarter of a million dollars gave, and he
boldly knocked on the door, and, without waiting to be invited in,
opened it.

Mr. Creamer was sitting at his desk, and two or three other men, one or
two of whom Keith had seen before, were seated in front of him in close
conference. They stared at the intruder.

"Mr. Keith." Mr. Creamer's tone conveyed not the least feeling, gave no
idea either of welcome or surprise.

"Excuse me for interrupting you for a moment," said Keith. "I want to
open an account here. I have a draft on London, which I should like to
deposit and have you collect for me."

The effect was immediate; indeed, one might almost say magical. The
atmosphere of the room as suddenly changed as if May should be dropped
into the lap of December. The old banker's face relaxed. He touched a
bell under the lid of his desk, and at the same moment pushed back
his chair.

"Gentlemen, let me introduce my friend, Mr. Keith." He presented Keith
in turn to each of his companions, who greeted him with that degree of
mingled reserve and civility which is due to a man who has placed a
paper capable of effecting such a marked change in the hands of the most
self-contained banker in Bankers' Row.

A tap at the door announced an answer to the bell, and the next moment a
clerk came in.

"Ask Mr. Penwell to come here," said Mr. Creamer. "Mr. Penwell is the
head of our foreign department," he added in gracious explanation
to Keith.