The Buccaneer Farmer - Harold Bindloss
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"Next time beck's in flood Osborn can mend his dyke himsel'," said one.
"If five minutes' digging wad save Tarnside Hall, I'd sooner lose my hay
than stir a hand!"
Then they got into the carts, and drove off in the rain.
CHAPTER V
KIT TELLS A STORY
The rain stopped at night, the next day was fine, and in the afternoon
Kit went up the dale to look at the mended dyke. It had stood better
than he had thought, the beck was falling, and Osborn's fields were safe
until another flood came down. Kit did not know if he was pleased or
not. There was some satisfaction in feeling that he had done a good job,
but he did not think Osborn deserved the help his neighbors had given.
Following the dyke until he came to the road, he sat down on the bridge
and lighted his pipe.
The sun was hot and he was glad of the shade of a big alder whose leaves
rustled languidly overhead. The bent-grass on the hillside shone a warm
yellow, wet rocks glittered like silver in the strong light, and the
higher slopes, where belts of green moss checkered the heather, were
streaked by lines of snowy foam. All was very quiet, except for the noise
of running water and the joyous notes of a lark. Kit was not much of a
philosopher; action was easier to him than abstract thought, but he
vaguely felt that the serenity of the dale was marred by human passion.
Man was, no doubt, meant to struggle, but Nature was his proper
antagonist, and while the fight against floods and snow was bracing, one
gained nothing by shabby quarrels that sprang from pride and greed.
Kit was human, however, and owned that he had felt savage when he read
Osborn's note. The fellow had meant to humiliate him, and he got hot
again as he thought about it. Moreover, Osborn had, so to speak, for his
sake, insulted the men he had persuaded to help. They had not worked for
wages, when they fought the swollen beck, and some kindly acknowledgment,
such as a supper at the hall, would have gone far to gain for Osborn a
good will that money could not buy. Anyhow, since he offered pay, the sum
ought to have been a just reward for their toil.
Osborn had been led by personal rancor, and there was no use in Kit's
pretending he did not resent it. The fellow seemed to think he had a
right to command, and got savage when people would not obey. Kit felt he
had done nothing to deserve his hatred, but since Osborn did hate him, he
must brace himself for a struggle, and he meant to win. Then, as he
knocked out his pipe, he saw Grace.
For a few moments Kit hesitated. If Grace knew how Osborn had rewarded
him, the meeting might be awkward, but there was nothing to be gained by
putting it off. He meant to marry Grace, whether Osborn approved or not,
and to some extent frankness was needful. He waited until she reached the
bridge and got up when she stopped. There was some color in her face, but
she gave him a steady look.
"I have been to see the mended dyke," she said, and he knew that she
had pluck.
"It's a rough job. There was no time to finish it neatly."
"I'm surprised you were able to finish it at all."
"I mustn't claim all the credit," Kit rejoined, smiling. "There were a
number of others as well as the Tarnside men."
Grace made an impatient gesture. "Our men could have done nothing useful
if they had been left alone, and the others wouldn't have helped if you
had not persuaded them. Why did you?"
"To some extent, my object was selfish. If the flood had broken through,
it might have done much damage to all the crops, besides your father's."
"It could not have damaged yours."
"Oh, well," said Kit, "I hate to see things spoiled, and am afraid I'm
meddlesome."
Grace's color rose, but she fixed her eyes on him. "That is not kind; I
hardly think it's just. I have not accused you of meddling."
"No," said Kit; "I'm sorry! It was a stupid remark. But I expect you know
what your father thinks."
Grace was silent for a few moments. She did know and would rather not
have met Kit, but was too proud to turn back. Besides, she felt her
father was prejudiced, and although it was a family tradition that the
Osborns stood together, she rebelled and wanted to be just. The situation
was embarrassing, but there was no use in pretense.
"I think you were generous and imagine my mother agrees," she said. "She
wanted to send some lunch to the beck, but the rain was very heavy and
there was nobody to go." Then, remembering something Osborn had said, she
hesitated. "I understand your helpers were paid."
"Oh, yes," said Kit, not with malice, but because he saw he must be
frank. "I was not left out."
Grace turned her head. This was worse than she had thought. She was
angry, and would not let Kit think she approved. Her eyes sparkled as she
looked up. "Ah," she said, "you deserved something very different! I wish
you had not told me!"
"I didn't tell you because I was hurt," Kit replied with grave
quietness. "It looks as if we had got to face things. Your father thinks
me his enemy. I'm not; I have never tried to injure him, and if the dyke
was threatened by another flood, I believe I'd mend it. But, whatever
happens, I mean to do what I think proper, and it's possible we may
clash again."
"Yes," said Grace. "I am afraid this may happen."
"Well, I value your friendship and don't mean to give it up, but I can't
pretend, and think you wouldn't be deceived if I tried."
"You mean you would not do what you thought was shabby in order to
avoid a clash?"
"I mean something like that. Now you know how things are, you must
choose your line. I can't judge how far your duty to your parents binds
you; you can."
Grace felt her heart beat and was silent for a moment or two.
"I cannot criticize my father's deeds and agree with people who are
opposed to him," she said. "All the same, unless he expressly orders it,
I cannot give up my friends."
Kit tried to hide his satisfaction. "We'll let it go; I understand!"
He expected her to move away, and wondered whether it was tactful for him
to stop, but to his surprise she smiled and sat down on the bridge.
"Very well. Suppose we talk about something else? The shade is nice, and
I need not go home yet. You promised to tell me about your adventures and
your uncle. I think you called him a survival from the old romantic days
when the pirates haunted the Gulf of Mexico."
Kit pondered as he leaned against the alder trunk. He thought Grace meant
to banish the strain; anyhow, she was willing to stay and he wanted her
to do so. It was strangely pleasant to loiter on the bridge with her
while the shadows trembled on the road and the beck murmured in the
shade. But if he meant to keep her, he must talk, and although he did
not want to say much about his adventures he had a story to tell. The
story was moving, if he could tell it properly.
"I'm not clever at drawing a portrait, but I'd like to try," he said.
"For one thing, my subject's worth the effort; and then, you see, I was
fond of Adam. In some ways, he was not romantic; in fact, he was
remarkably practical. His bold strokes were made deliberately, after
calculating the cost; but now and then one got a hint of something
strangely romantic and in a sense extravagant. Yet human nature's
curious. When he played out a losing game, knowing he would lose, it was
not from sentimental impulse but a firm persuasion it was worth while."
He paused, and gave Grace an apologetic glance. "I'm afraid this is
rather foggy. Perhaps I'd better begin where I met him, at a Florida
hotel--if I'm not boring you."
Grace said she was not bored and Kit, gaining confidence, narrated how
they bumped the _Rio Negro_ across the surf-swept shoals, landed the
guns, and met Alvarez. His own part in their adventures was lightly
indicated, but the girl's imagination supplied what he left out. She felt
strangely interested as Kit's portrait of his uncle grew into shape,
although her thoughts dwelt largely on the artist. Then the
background--the steamy swamp, old presidio, and dazzling town--had a
romantic fascination, and when he told her about the journey to the
mission and the church where the candles that Adam sent burned before the
Virgin's shrine, her eyes shone.
"Ah," she said, "I am glad you told me! One thinks better of human nature
after hearing a tale like that. In a way, it's a rebuke. Are such men
numerous?"
"I have known two. Perhaps it's a coincidence that both were my
relations. They're commoner than people think."
"You're an optimist, but one likes optimists," Grace remarked with a
gentle smile. "However, what had the president done to deserve the
sacrifice your uncle made?"
"I never knew, but suspect it was something against the laws of his
country. If I told my story properly, you would understand that both were
buccaneers."
"But they had their code! I like the president and your uncle was very
fine. One feels moved when one thinks about the shabby little altar and
the candles love had lighted that never went out--all those years! Adam's
wife loved him. She went to nurse him, although her friends warned her
and she knew the risk."
Grace mused for a time and Kit thought her face disturbed. Then she
looked up quietly.
"One needs courage to know the risk and not to hesitate. But you will
keep those candles burning?"
"Yes," said Kit, "I promised. Besides, I like to think they're burning.
It means something."
"It means much," Grace agreed, and after a pause resumed: "You had no
doubt about taking up your uncle's engagement with the president,
although you saw what it might cost?"
"Of course not," Kit replied. "There was nothing else to be done."
Grace smiled and got up. "No," she said, "there was nothing else you
could do. Well, I must go home."
Kit went back with her for some distance. They talked but little on the
way, but when she left him she gave him her hand and a look that made his
heart beat.
Soon after Grace reached Tarnside, Osborn crossed the lawn to the
tea-table where she and Mrs. Osborn sat beneath a spreading copper-beech.
His face was thoughtful when Mrs. Osborn gave him a cup.
"I met the post as I was driving home," he said. "There's a letter
from Gerald."
"Has he any news?" Mrs. Osborn asked.
"Nothing important. He's well and says he's kept occupied, which is
fortunate. In fact, the harder they work him, the better; I'd sooner
Gerald did not have much time on his hands."
"Then, why did he write?" Grace asked, because Gerald's letters were by
no means regular.
"I hope he did not want money," Mrs. Osborn remarked.
"No," said Osborn. "That is, he did not want it for himself." He
hesitated, and then resumed: "He states that if I could raise a moderate
sum, he knows how we could make a very satisfactory profit in a short
time. It seems he has got a useful hint."
Grace laughed. "About a racehorse? Gerald is always hopeful, but his
confidence in his ability to spot the winner is dangerous. It has been so
often misplaced."
"This has nothing to do with racing," Osborn rejoined angrily. "Gerald
knows the consequences of indulging his folly again. There's a difference
between betting and buying shares."
"I don't know if the difference is very marked," said Grace, with a
curious feeling of annoyance, for there was a note in Osborn's voice that
jarred. He was, like Gerald, a gambler, greedy for money he had not
earned, and she thought about the story Kit had told. Its hero had risked
and lost his life, and Kit had paid in health and fortune, because they
put honor before gain. For all that, she knew she had said enough when
she saw Osborn's frown.
"Gerald is young, but he holds a responsible post and has opportunities
of meeting important stock-brokers and business men," Osborn went on,
turning to his wife. "He is, of course, optimistic and has been rash, but
after all he may have found out something useful. He declares the
venture is absolutely safe."
"But you have no money to invest," Mrs. Osborn insisted anxiously.
"As a matter of fact, I have some. You see, I borrowed a sum not long
since on Ryecote."
"Oh!" said Mrs. Osborn, with a resigned gesture, and then braced herself.
"But if you have got the money, it ought not to be used for speculation.
There is much that needs to be done on the estate."
"That is so; it was my reason for borrowing. All the same, it would be a
very long time before I got back what I meant to spend on drains and
steadings. Besides, the repairs and improvements need not be made just
yet, and I might be able to use the money and earn a good profit first."
"You might lose it all," Mrs. Osborn insisted. "Gerald is rash and
business men don't tell young bank-clerks important secrets. Then,
although it was a shock to hear you had mortgaged Ryecote, the money is
so badly needed that it must not be risked." She paused and resumed with
some color in her face, "It is hard to own, but perhaps Gerald is not
altogether to be trusted."
Osborn moved abruptly. His wife had touched the doubt that made him
hesitate; in fact, this was a matter upon which he wanted her advice. She
knew her son and had judged right when Osborn had been deceived.
"Well," he said, knitting his brows, "I haven't quite decided. I had
thought about asking for particulars, but after all Gerald's hint may not
be worth much and unless one is really well informed speculation is
dangerous."
He looked round and saw Thorn. The latter had come up without disturbing
the group and now joined them with a smile.
"I heard your last remark," he said. "My opinion is your views are
sound. It is very rash to speculate on shares you don't know much about."
Mrs. Osborn felt disturbed, because she wondered how much he had heard,
but he went on carelessly: "Gerald's too young for one to trust his
judgment. My advice is, leave the thing alone."
Grace gave him a grateful glance. She did not like Alan Thorn, but he was
cautious and she saw that Osborn was hesitating. It would not need much
persuasion to move him one way or the other, and she felt that to let
Gerald have the money would be a dangerous mistake.
"You really think I had better keep out of it?" Osborn asked.
"Certainly," said Thorn. "Only a few of the big jobbers can form an
accurate notion how prices ought to go. For people like us speculation is
a plunge in the dark."
Osborn was silent for a few moments, but Grace saw that he was pulled in
different ways by caution and greed. Then, to her relief, he made a sign
of agreement.
"Oh, well! I'll let the thing alone."
Thorn sat down and when Mrs. Osborn had given him some tea they talked
about other matters. Presently Grace got up and he walked with her
across the lawn.
"Were you satisfied with the advice I gave your father?" he asked.
"Yes," said Grace frankly. "I think he was tempted; I was glad you came."
"After all, a hint that he'd better be prudent did not cost me much. You
know I'd do more than that to help you."
"You did all that was necessary," Grace replied. "You have my thanks."
Thorn glanced at her keenly, but there was something chilling in her
calm.
"Well, I'm going to London in a day or two and it might be advisable to
look Gerald up. I will, if you like."
"Yes," said Grace. "If it doesn't give you much trouble."
She left him and Thorn stood still, frowning. Grace was always like
that, friendly but elusive. No matter how he tried, he could not break
down her reserve.
CHAPTER VI
THORN MAKES A PLAN
Thorn went up to town and one evening loitered about the hall of his
club. London rather bored him, but he went there now and then, because he
felt one ought to keep in touch with things. It was, in a sense, one's
duty to know what was going on, and the news he picked up helped him to
look well informed. Thorn had not much imagination, but he was cautious,
calculating, and generally saw where his advantage lay. His small estate
was managed well, in general his tenants liked him, and his investments
were sound. Nevertheless, he was dissatisfied; he had waited long for
Grace Osborn, and feared that in spite of her father's approval he got no
nearer her.
Alan Thorn was not romantic but his love for Grace was, to some extent, a
generous emotion. He knew Osborn's poverty, and it was plain that if he
married Grace he might have to help him out of his embarrassments. He was
fond of money and had grounds for imagining that the daughter of a rich
neighbor would not refuse him; but he wanted Grace and saw he could not
wait much longer. He was fastidious about his clothes, and their color
and loose cut prevented people remarking that he was getting fat; his
dark hair was carefully brushed. He knew, however, that he was getting
heavier fast and that he would soon be bald.
He had meant to go out, but had no particular object and the streets were
hot; besides, after the quiet country, he liked the bustle in the hall.
People were beginning to come in and one could see the crowd stream past
the glass doors. Sitting down in a corner he began to muse. Although he
had been in town some time, he had not seen Gerald. He had called at the
latter's lodgings and found him not at home, while when he went to the
bank he was told that Gerald had been sent to manage a small branch
office. Thorn thought it strange that Osborn had said nothing about this
and wondered whether he knew. Gerald was extravagant and much less frank
than he looked; he might have had an object for hiding his promotion.
Thorn understood that Osborn made him some allowance, but it was hard to
see how the young man was able to belong to his rather expensive club.
After a time, Gerald came in and glanced at two or three men who stood
about. At first, Thorn imagined he was looking for him, but saw he was
not. Gerald went into the telephone box close by and shut the door with a
jerky movement. It jarred and then swung back a few inches as if the
shock had jolted the spring. Thorn, whose curiosity was excited, listened
and heard the number Gerald asked for. Then he heard him say:
"Yes--Osborn! Is that Sanderson? Yes--I said _Ermentrudes_. Any chance
of a recovery? What--none at all? Can't hear--oh, sell at once!
Margin's gone."
Next moment Gerald obviously saw that the door was open, for he banged it
noisily and Thorn heard nothing more. He had, however, heard enough to
give him food for thought and waited until Gerald came out. The young man
stood still with his mouth firmly set and his eyes fixed on the wall as
if he saw nobody. His clothes were in the latest fashion, but the look of
fastidious languidness that generally marked him had gone. Turning
abruptly, he went up the stairs, and Thorn entered the telephone box and
opened the directory. When he came out he went up to a man he knew.
"Can you tell me anything about Short and Sanderson, stockbrokers?"
he asked.
"Not much," said the other. "They're outside brokers. I imagine they're
trustworthy, but it's better to do business through a member of the
Exchange. You'll find it a good rule."
"Thank you," said Thorn, who went upstairs to the smoking-room and found
Gerald sitting in front of a table, with a newspaper that dealt with
financial matters.
"Hallo!" said Thorn. "I have been expecting you for some days. I suppose
you got my message?"
Gerald looked up and his smile was strained. "I did, but have been much
engaged. Sit down and join me in a drink."
"What have you ordered?" Thorn asked, and shrugged when Gerald told him.
"That goes better after dinner. I'd sooner have something cool and
light."
"Oh, well," said Gerald. "I felt I needed bracing. The fact is, I've had
a knock--"
He stopped as a waiter came up and said nothing until the man had gone.
Then he drained his glass and turned to Thorn.
"I'm in a hole. Can you lend me two thousand pounds?"
Thorn hid his surprise. He thought urgent need had forced Gerald to make
his blunt request; it was not his way to plunge at things like that.
"You asked your father for a smaller sum."
"They told you about my letter? Well, things have changed since; changed
for the worse."
"They must have changed rather quickly," Thorn remarked, for his
suspicion was excited and he thought he saw a light. Gerald had been
embarrassed when he wrote to Osborn, and had not wanted the money to
invest but to help him to escape the consequences of some extravagance.
"That has nothing to do with it," Gerald rejoined. "Will you let me have
the money? You can, if you like."
"To begin with, you had better tell me why you want so large a sum."
Gerald hesitated and his eyelids twitched nervously, but he pulled
himself together and Thorn wondered how far he would stick to the truth.
He knew Gerald and did not trust him.
"Very well; I bought some shares. There was good ground for expecting
they'd go up--"
"They went down? When did you buy?"
"Your meaning's plain," said Gerald sullenly. "If you insist, it was
before I wrote home."
"I suspected something like that. However, you have the shares and they
may go up again."
"I haven't got the shares. I bought on a margin, and the margin's gone."
"Then, you're rasher than I thought," Thorn rejoined with a searching
look. "Well, you have lost your money and it's something of a surprise to
hear you had so much. Anyhow, it was yours, and although the loss is
serious, I don't understand how you're embarrassed."
"I borrowed," said Gerald, rather hoarsely. "You can wait; the other
fellow won't. Then, of course, if I renewed the margin, the shares might
recover and put me straight."
Thorn pondered. Gerald's statement was plausible, but he doubted if he
had told him all.
"Two thousand pounds is a large sum," he said. "I don't know yet if I can
lend it you."
Gerald gave him a steady look. His face was haggard and the sweat ran
down his forehead. It was obvious that he was desperate.
"If you hope to marry my sister, you had better help me out."
"I haven't much ground for thinking your sister will agree," Thorn
rejoined with some dryness. "Anyhow, it's doubtful if your influence
would go far with her, if that is what you mean."
"It is not what I mean," Gerald answered in a hoarse voice. "I have given
you a useful hint. You can spare two thousand pounds, and if you let me
have the money, you'll be glad you did."
"I must think about it. You can call me up on the telephone at noon
to-morrow."
Gerald hesitated, and then made an abrupt movement as a man came into the
room. The latter crossed the floor and Gerald got up.
"Very well," he said, and went off.
Soon after Gerald had gone, the man Thorn had met in the hall came in and
he asked: "Do you know anything about _Ermentrudes_, Norton? I suppose
they're mining shares?"
"I wouldn't advise you to invest," the other replied. "The company has
seldom paid a dividend, but not long since a rumor got about that a new
shaft had bottomed on rich ore." He paused and shrugged. "Nobody knows
how such tales are started, but they appeal to optimistic outsiders who
like to think they've got a secret tip. Anyhow, there was some reckless
buying by people who expected developments at the shareholders' meeting.
They were disappointed, and are knocking prices down by their anxiety to
sell out."
Thorn thanked him and began to think. He wondered where Gerald had
managed to get two thousand pounds, since he imagined that nobody would
lend him the sum. He did not know much about banking, but it was possible
that Gerald had used his employers' money, hoping to replace it before he
was found out. Then, since two thousand pounds, used for a margin, would
cover a large number of shares, it looked as if Gerald had lost part of
the sum by previous speculations. While he pondered, the man whose entry
had seemed to disturb Gerald came to his table and sat down opposite.
"You obviously know young Osborn," he remarked.
Thorn said nothing for a moment or two. Hallam was not a public
money-lender, but sometimes negotiated private loans for extravagant
young men about town. One meets such people now and then at smart London
clubs, and Thorn imagined the fellow could throw some light on Gerald's
difficulties.
"We come from the same neighborhood," he replied.
"His father is a large landowner, I believe?"
"He has some land," said Thorn, who began to see his way. He had not yet
decided to help Gerald, but if he did, his help must be made as valuable
as possible. "The rents are low and the estate is encumbered," he
resumed. "On the whole, I don't think you would consider it good
security."
"Thank you for the hint. Osborn looked as if he had got a jar."
"I think he had. He bought some shares that have gone down sharply, and
since he's a bank-clerk I expect the loss is a serious thing for him."
Hallam nodded carelessly. "No doubt! Do you know a man called Askew?"
"I know something about him. He owns a farm in the dale and has recently
spent some money on improvements, although it's doubtful if he'll get
much return. I can't tell you if he has any more or not, but imagine he's
not worth your bothering about. Besides, he's not the man I'd expect to
get into debt."