Two Men of Sandy Bar Part 8

Enter MISS MARY from schoolhouse.

Miss Mary (slowly refolding letter). You are aware, then, of the contents of this note; and you are the friend of Alexander Morton, sen.?

Col. Starbottle. Permit me a moment, a single moment, to--er--er--explain. I am Mr. Morton's legal adviser. There is--er--sense of--er--responsibility,--er--personal responsibility, about the term "friend," that at the--er--er--present moment I am not--er--prepared to a.s.sume. The substance of the letter is before you.

I am here to--er--express its spirit. I am here (with great gallantry) to express the--er--yearnings of cousinly affection. I am aware--er--that OUR conduct,--if I may use the--er--the plural of advocacy,--I am aware that--er--OUR conduct has not in the past years been of--er--er--exemplary character. I am aware that the--er--death of our lamented cousin, your sainted mother, was--er--hastened--I may--er--say--pre--cip--itated--by our--er--indiscretion But we are hereto--er--confess judgment--with--er--er--costs.

Miss Mary (interrupting). In other words, your client, my cousin, having ruined my father, having turned his own widowed relation out of doors, and sent me, her daughter, among strangers to earn her bread; having seen my mother sink and die in her struggle to keep her family from want,--this man now seeks to condone his offences--pardon me, sir, if I use your own legal phraseology--by offering me a home; by giving me part of his ill-gotten wealth, the a.s.sociation of his own hypocritical self, and the company of his shameless, profligate son--

Starbottle (interrupting). A moment, Miss Morris,--a single moment!

The epithets you have used, the--er--vigorous characterization of our--er--conduct, is--er--within the--er--strict rules of legal advocacy, correct. We are--er--rascals! we are--er--scoundrels! we are--er--well, I am not--er--prepared to say that we are not--er--demn me--hypocrites! But the young man you speak of--our son, whose past life (speaking as Col. Starbottle) no one more sincerely deprecates than myself,--that young man has reformed; has been for the past few months a miracle of sobriety, decorum, and industry; has taken, thanks to the example of--er--friends, a position of integrity in his father's business, of filial obedience in his father's household; is, in short, a paragon; and, demn me, I doubt if he's his father's son.

Miss Mary. Enough, sir! You are waiting for my answer. There is no reason why it should not be as precise, as brief, and as formal as your message. Go to my cousin; say that you saw the person he claims as his relation; say that you found her, a poor schoolmistress, in a rude mining camp, dependent for her bread on the scant earnings of already impoverished men, dependent for her honor on the rude chivalry of outcasts and vagabonds; and say that then and there she repudiated your kins.h.i.+p, and respectfully declined your invitation.

Starbottle (aside). Ged! Star! this is the--er--female of your species!

This is the woman--the--er--one woman--for whom you are responsible, sir!--personally responsible!

Miss Mary (coldly). You have my answer, sir.

Col. Starbottle. Permit me--er--single moment,--a single moment!

Between the er--present moment, and that of my departure--there is an--er--interval of twelve hours. May I, at the close of that interval--again present myself--without prejudice, for your final answer?

Miss Mary (indifferently). As you will, sir. I shall be here.

Col. Starbottle. Permit me. (Takes her hand gallantly.) Your conduct and manner, Miss Morris, remind me--er--singularly--of--er beautiful creature--one of the--er--first families. (Observing MISS MARY regarding him amusedly, becomes embarra.s.sed.) That is--er--I mean--er--er--good morning, Miss Morris! (Pa.s.ses by schoolhouse door, retreating and bowing, and picks up flowers from door-step.) Good morning!

Miss Mary. Excuse me, Col. Starbottle (with winning politeness), but I fear I must rob you of those flowers. I recognize them now as the offering of one of my pupils. I fear I must revoke my gift (taking flowers from astonished colonel's hand), all except a single one for your b.u.t.tonhole. Have you any choice, or shall I (archly) choose for you? Then it shall be this. (Begins to place flowers in b.u.t.tonhole, COL. STARBOTTLE exhibiting extravagant grat.i.tude in dumb show. Business prolonged through MISS MARY's speech.) If I am not wrong, colonel, the gentleman to whom you so kindly pointed out the road this morning was not a stranger to you. Ah! I am right. There, one moment,--a sprig of green, a single leaf, would set off the pink nicely. Here he is known only as "Sandy": you know the absurd habits of this camp. Of course he has another name. There! (releasing the colonel) it is much prettier now.

Col. Starbottle. Ged, madam! The rarest exotic--the Victoria Regina--is not as--er--graceful--er--tribute!

Miss Mary. And yet you refuse to satisfy my curiosity?

Col. Starbottle (with great embarra.s.sment, which at last resolves itself into increased dignity of manner). What you ask is--er--er--impossible!

You are right: the--er--gentleman you allude to is known to me under--er--er--another name. But honor--Miss Morris, honor!--seals the lips of Col. Starbottle. (Aside.) If she should know he was a menial!

No. The position of the man you have challenged, Star, must be equal to your own. (Aloud.) Anything, Miss Morris, but--er--that!

Miss Mary (smiling). Be it so. Adios, Col. Starbottle.

Col. Starbottle (gallantly). Au revoir, Miss Morris. [Exit, impressively, L.

Miss Mary. So! Sandy conceals another name, which he withholds from Red Gulch. Well! Pshaw! What is that to me? The camp is made up of refugees,--men who perhaps have good reason to hide a name that may be infamous, the name that would publish a crime. Nonsense! Crime and Sandy! No, shame and guilt do not hide themselves in those honest but occasionally somewhat bloodshot eyes. Besides, goodness knows! the poor fellow's weakness is palpable enough. No, that is not the reason. It is no guilt that keeps his name hidden,--at least, not his. (Seating herself, and arranging flowers in her lap.) Poor Sandy! he must have climbed the eastern summit to get this. See, the rosy sunrise still lingers in its very petals; the dew is fresh upon it. Dear little mountain baby! I really believe that fellow got up before daylight, to climb that giddy height and secure its virgin freshness. And to think, in a moment of spite, I'd have given it to that bombastic warrior!

(Pause.) That was a fine offer you refused just now, Miss Mary. Think of it: a home of luxury, a position of a.s.sured respect and homage; the life I once led, with all its difficulties smoothed away, its uncertainty dispelled,--think of it! My poor mother's dream fulfilled,--I, her daughter, the mistress of affluence, the queen of social power! What a temptation! Ah, Miss Mary, WAS it a temptation? Was there nothing in your free life here that stiffened your courage, that steeled the adamant of your refusal? or was it only the memory of your mother's wrongs? Luxury and wealth! Could you command a dwelling more charming than this? Position and respect! Is not the awful admiration of these lawless men more fascinating than the perilous flattery of gentlemen like Col. Starbottle? is not the devotion of these outcasts more complimentary than the lip-service of perfumed gallantry? (Pause.) It's very odd he doesn't come. I wonder if that conceited old fool said anything to him. (Rises, and then seats herself, smiling.) He HAS COME.

He is dodging in and out of the manganita bushes below the spring. I suppose he imagines my visitor still here. The bashful fool! If anybody should see him, it would be enough to make a petty scandal! I'll give him a talking-to. (Pause.) I wonder if the ridiculous fool has gone to sleep in those bushes. (Rises.) Well, let him: it will help him to recover his senses from last night's dissipation; and you, Miss Mary, it is high time you were preparing the lessons for to-morrow. (Goes to schoolhouse, enters door, and slams it behind her; after a moment reappears with empty bucket.) Of course there's no water, and I am dying of thirst. (Goes slowly to left, and pauses embarra.s.sedly and bashfully, presently laughs,--then suddenly frowns, and a.s.sumes an appearance of indignation.) Miss Mary Morris, have you become such an egregious fool that you dare not satisfy the ordinary cravings of human nature, just because an idle, dissipated, bashful blockhead--nonsense! [Exit, brandis.h.i.+ng pail.

SCENE 3.--The Same.

(A pause. SANDY'S voice, without.) This way, miss: the trail is easier.

(MISS MARY'S voice, without.) Never mind me; look after the bucket.

Enter SANDY, carrying bucket with water, followed by MISS MARY. SANDY sets bucket down.

Miss Mary. There, you've spilt half of it. If it had been whiskey, you'd have been more careful.

Sandy (submissively). Yes, miss.

Miss Mary (aside). "Yes, miss!" The man will drive me crazy with his saccharine imbecility. (Aloud.) I believe you would a.s.sent to anything, even if I said you were--an impostor!

Sandy (amazedly). An impostor, Miss Mary?

Miss Mary. Well, I don't know what other term you use in Red Gulch to express a man who conceals his real name under another.

Sandy (embarra.s.sed, but facing MISS MARY). Has anybody been tellin' ye I was an impostor, miss? Has thet derned old fool that I saw ye with--

Miss Mary. "That old fool," as you call him, was too honorable a gentleman to disclose your secret, and too loyal a friend to traduce you by an epithet. Fear nothing, Mr. "Sandy": if you have limited your confidence to ONE friend, it has not been misplaced. But, dear me, don't think I wish to penetrate your secret. No. The little I learned was accidental. Besides, his business was with me: perhaps, as his friend, you already know it.

Sandy (meekly). Perhaps, miss, he was too honorable a gentleman to disclose YOUR secret. His business was with me.

Miss Mary (aside). He has taken a leaf out of my book! He is not so stupid, after all. (Aloud.) I have no secret. Col. Starbottle came here to make me an offer.

Sandy (recoiling). An offer!

Miss Mary. Of a home and independence. (Aside.) Poor fellow! how pale he looks! (Aloud.) Well, you see, I am more trustful than you. I will tell you MY secret; and you shall aid me with your counsel. (They sit on ledge of rocks.) Listen! My mother had a cousin once,--a cousin cruel, cowardly, selfish, and dissolute. She loved him, as women are apt to love such men,--loved him so that she beguiled her own husband to trust his fortunes in the hands of this wretched profligate. The husband was ruined, disgraced. The wife sought her cousin for help for her necessities. He met her with insult, and proposed that she should fly with him.

Sandy. One moment, miss: it wasn't his pardner--his pardner's wife--eh?

Miss Mary (impatiently). It was the helpless wife of his own blood, I tell you. The husband died broken-hearted. The wife, my mother, struggled in poverty, under the shadow of a proud name, to give me an education, and died while I was still a girl. To-day this cousin,--this more than murderer of my parents,--old, rich, self-satisfied, REFORMED, invites me, by virtue of that kins.h.i.+p he violated and despised, to his home, his wealth, his--his family roof-tree! The man you saw was his agent.

Sandy. And you--

Miss Mary. Refused.

Sandy (pa.s.sing his hand over his forehead). You did wrong, Miss Mary.

Miss Mary. Wrong, sir? (Rising.)

Sandy (humbly but firmly). Sit ye down, Miss Mary. It ain't for ye to throw your bright young life away yer in this place. It ain't for such as ye to soil your fair young hands by raking in the ashes to stir up the dead embers of a family wrong. It ain't for ye--ye'll pardon me, Miss Mary, for sayin' it--it ain't for ye to allow when it's TOO LATE fur a man to reform, or to go back of his reformation. Don't ye do it, miss, fur G.o.d's sake,--don't ye do it! Harkin, Miss Mary. If ye'll take my advice--a fool's advice, maybe--ye'll go. And when I tell ye that that advice, if ye take it, will take the suns.h.i.+ne out of these hills, the color off them trees, the freshness outer them flowers, the heart's-blood outer me,--ye'll know that I ain't thinkin' o' myself, but of ye. And I wouldn't say this much to ye, Miss Mary; but you're goin'

away. There's a flower, miss, you're wearin' in your bosom,--a flower I picked at daybreak this morning, five miles away in the snow. The wind was blowing chill around it, so that my hands that dug for it were stiff and cold; but the roots were warm, Miss Mary, as they are now in your bosom. Ye'll keep that flower, Miss Mary, in remembrance of my love for ye, that kept warm and blossomed through the snow. And, don't start, Miss Mary,--for ye'll leave behind ye, as I did, the snow and rocks through which it bloomed. I axes your parding, miss: I'm hurtin' yer feelin's, sure.

Miss Mary (rising with agitation). Nothing,--nothing; but climbing these stupid rocks has made me giddy: that's all. Your arm. (To SANDY impatiently). Can't you give me your arm? (SANDY supports MISS MARY awkwardly toward schoolhouse. At door MISS MARY pauses.) But if reformation is so easy, so acceptable, why have you not profited by it? Why have you not reformed? Why have I found you here, a disgraced, dissipated, anonymous outcast, whom an honest girl dare not know? Why do you presume to preach to me? Have you a father?

Sandy. Hush, Miss Mary, hus.h.!.+ I had a father. Harkin. All that you have suffered from a kins.h.i.+p even so far removed, I have known from the hands of one who should have protected me. MY father was--but no matter. You, Miss Mary, came out of your trials like gold from the was.h.i.+ng. I was only the dirt and gravel to be thrown away. It is too late, Miss Mary, too late. My father has never sought me, would turn me from his doors had I sought him. Perhaps he is only right.

Miss Mary. But why should he be so different from others? Listen. This very cousin whose offer I refused had a son,--wild, wayward, by all report the most degraded of men. It was part of my cousin's reformation to save this son, and, if it were possible, s.n.a.t.c.h him from that terrible fate which seemed to be his only inheritance.

Sandy (eagerly). Yes, miss.

Miss Mary. To restore him to a regenerated home. With this idea he followed his prodigal to California. I, you understand, was only an after-thought consequent upon his success. He came to California upon this pilgrimage two years ago. He had no recollection, so they tell me, by which he could recognize this erring son; and at first his search was wild, profitless, and almost hopeless. But by degrees, and with a persistency that seemed to increase with his hopelessness, he was rewarded by finding some clew to him at--at--at--