The Coming of Bill Read online

  Chapter XI

  Stung to Action

  It was in the third year of the White Hope's life that the placidevenness of Kirk's existence began to be troubled. The orderlyprocession of the days was broken by happenings of unusual importance,one at least of them extraordinarily unpleasant. This was the failureof a certain stock in which nearly half of Kirk's patrimony wasinvested, that capital which had always seemed to him as solid a partof life as the asphalt on which he walked, as unchangeable a part ofnature as the air he breathed. He had always had it, and he couldhardly bring himself to realize that he was not always to have it.

  It gave him an extraordinary feeling of panic and discomfort when atlength he faced the fact squarely that his private means, on thepossession of which he had based the whole lazy scheme of his life,were as much at the mercy of fate as the stake which a gambler flingson the green cloth. He did not know enough of business to understandthe complicated processes by which a stock hitherto supposed to be asimpregnable as municipal bonds had been hammered into a ragged remnantin the course of a single day; but the result of them was unpleasantlyclear and easily grasped.

  His income was cut in half, and instead of being a comfortably offyoung man, idly watching the pageant of life from a seat in the grandstand, he must now plunge into the crowd and endeavour to earn a livingas others did.

  For his losses did not begin and end with the ruin of this particularstock. At intervals during the past two years he had been nibbling athis capital, and now, forced to examine his affairs frankly andminutely, he was astonished at the inroads he had made upon it.

  There had been the upkeep of the summer shack he had bought inConnecticut. There had been expenses in connection with WilliamBannister. There had been little treats for Ruth. There had been cigarsand clothes and dinners and taxi-cabs and all the other trifles whichcost nothing but mount up and make a man wander beyond the bounds ofhis legitimate income.

  It was borne in upon Kirk, as he reflected upon these things, that theonly evidence he had shown of the possession of the artistictemperament had been the joyous carelessness of his extravagance. Inthat only had he been the artist. It shocked him to think how littlehonest work he had done during the past two years. He had lived in agolden haze into which work had not entered.

  He was to be shocked still more very soon.

  Stung to action by his thoughts, he embarked upon a sweeping attack onthe stronghold of those who exchange cash for artists' dreams. Heransacked the studio and set out on his mission in a cab bulging withlarge, small, and medium-sized canvases. Like a wave receding from abreakwater he returned late in the day, a branded failure.

  The dealers had eyed his canvases, large, small, and medium-sized, and,in direct contravention of their professed object in life, had refusedto deal. Only one of them, a man with grimy hands but a moderatelygolden heart, after passing a sepia thumb over some of the moreambitious works, had offered him fifteen dollars for a little sketchwhich he had made in an energetic moment of William Bannister crawlingon the floor. This, the dealer asserted, was the sort of "darned mushystuff" the public fell for, and he held it to be worth the fifteen, butnot a cent more. Kirk, humble by now, accepted three battered-lookingbills and departed.

  He had a long talk with Ruth that night, and rose from it in the frameof mind which in some men is induced by prayer. Ruth was quitemarvellously sensible and sympathetic.

  "I wanted you," she said in answer to his self-reproaches, "and here weare, together. It's simply nonsense to talk about ruining my life anddragging me down. What _does_ it matter about this money? We havegot plenty left."

  "We've got about as much left as you used to spend on hats in the olddays."

  "Well, we can easily make it do. I've thought for some time that wewere growing too extravagant. And talking of hats, I had no right tohave that last one you bought me. It was wickedly expensive. We caneconomize there, at any rate. We can get along splendidly on what youhave now. Besides, directly you settle down and start to paint, weshall be quite rich again."

  Kirk laughed grimly.

  "I wish you were a dealer," he said. "Fifteen dollars is what I havemanaged to extract from them so far. One of the Great Unwashed on SixthAvenue gave me that for that sketch I did of Bill on the floor."

  "Which took you about three minutes to do," Ruth pointed outtriumphantly. "You see! You're bound to make a fortune if you stick toit."

  Kirk put his arm round her and gave her a silent hug of gratitude. Hehad dreaded this talk, and lo! it was putting new life into him.

  They sat for a few moments in silence.

  "I don't deserve it," said Kirk at last. "Instead of comforting me likethis, and making me think I'm rather a fine sort of a fellow, you oughtto be lashing me with scorpions. I don't suppose any man has ever madesuch a criminal idiot of himself in this city before."

  "You couldn't tell that this stock was going to fail."

  "No; but I could have done some work these last three years and madeit not matter whether it failed or not. You can't comfort me out ofthat knowledge. I knew all along that I was being a waster and a loafer,but I was so happy that I didn't mind. I was so interested in seeingwhat you and the kid would do next that I didn't seem to have time towork. And the result is that I've gone right back.

  "There was a time when I really could paint a bit. Not much, it's true,but enough to get along with. Well, I'm going to start it again inearnest now, and if I don't make good, well, there's always Hank'soffer."

  Ruth turned a little pale. They had discussed Hank's offer before, butthen life had been bright and cloudless and Hank's offer a thing tosmile at. Now it had assumed an uncomfortably practical aspect.

  "You will make good," said Ruth.

  "I'll do my best," said Kirk. But even as he spoke his mind waspondering on the proposition which Hank had made.

  Hank, always flitting from New York into the unknown and back again,had called at the studio one evening, after a long absence, lookingsick and tired. He was one of those lean, wiry men whom it is unusualto see in this condition, and Kirk was sympathetic and inquisitive.

  Hank needed no pressing. He was full of his story.

  "I've been in Colombia," he said. "I got back on a fruit-steamer thismorning. Do you know anything of Colombia?"

  Kirk reflected.

  "Only that there's generally a revolution there," he said.

  "There wasn't anything of that kind this trip, except in my interior."Hank pulled thoughtfully at his pipe. The odour of his remarkable brandof tobacco filled the studio. "I've had a Hades of a time," he saidsimply.

  Kirk looked at him curiously. Hank was in a singularly chastened moodto-night.

  "What took you there?"

  "Gold."

  "Gold? Mining?"

  Hank nodded.

  "I didn't know there were gold-mines in that part of the world," saidKirk.

  "There are. The gold that filled the holds of Spanish galleons in thesixteenth century came from Colombia. The place is simply stiff withold Spanish relics."

  "But surely the mines must have been worked out ages ago."

  "Only on the surface."

  Kirk laughed.

  "How do you mean, only on the surface? Explain. I don't know a thingabout gold, except that getting it out of picture-dealers is likegetting blood out of a turnip."

  "It's simple enough. The earth hoards its gold in two ways. There'sauriferous rock and auriferous dirt. If the stuff is in the rock, youcrush it. If it's in the dirt, you wash it."

  "It sounds simple."

  "It is. The difficult part is finding it."

  "And you have done that?"

  "I have. Or I'm practically certain I have. At any rate, I know that Ihave discovered the ditches made by the Spaniards three hundred yearsago. If there was gold there in those days there is apt to be goldthere now. Only it isn't on the surface any longer. They cleaned up asfar as the surface is concerned, so I have to sink shafts and digtunnels."

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p; "I see. It isn't so simple as it used to be."

  "It is, practically, if you have any knowledge of mining."

  "Well, what's your trouble?" asked Kirk. "Why did you come back? Whyaren't you out there grabbing it with both hands and getting yourselfinto shape to be a walking gold-mine to your friends? I don't like tosee this idle spirit in you, Hank."

  Hank smoked long and thoughtfully.

  "Kirk," he said suddenly.

  "Well?"

  Hank shook his head.

  "No, it's no good."

  "What is no good? What do you mean?"

  "I came back," said Hank, suddenly lucid, "with a wild notion ofgetting you to come in with me on this thing."

  "What! Go to Colombia with you?"

  Hank nodded.

  "But, of course, it's not possible. It's no job for a married man."

  "Why not? If this gold of yours is just lying about in heaps it seemsto me that a married man is exactly the man who ought to be aroundgrabbing it. Or do you believe that old yarn about two being able tolive as cheaply as one? Take it from me, it's not so. If there is goldwaiting to be gathered up in handfuls, me for it. When do we start? CanI bring Ruth and the kid?"

  "I wish we could start. If I could have had you with me these last fewmonths I'd never have quit. But I guess it's out of the question.You've no idea what sort of an inferno it is, and I won't let you comeinto it with your eyes shut. But if ever you are in a real tight cornerlet me know. It might be worth your while then to take a few risks."

  "Oh! there are risks?"

  "Risks! My claims are located along the Atrato River in the Chocodistrict. Does that convey anything to you?"

  "Not a thing."

  "The workings are three hundred miles inland. Just three hundred milesof pure Hades. You can get all the fevers you ever heard of, and a fewmore, I got most of them last trip."

  "I thought you were looking pretty bad."

  "I ought to be. I've swallowed so much quinine since I saw you lastthat my ears are buzzing still. And then there are the insects. Theyall bite. Some bite worse than others, but not much. Darn it! even thebutterflies bite out there. Every animal in the country has some otheranimal constantly chasing it until a white man comes along, when theycall a truce and both chase him. And the vegetation is so thick andgrows so quickly that you have to cut down the jungle about theworkings every few days or so to avoid being swamped by it. Otherwise,"finished Hank, refilling his pipe and lighting it, "the place is apretty good kind of summer resort."

  "And you're going back to it? Back to the quinine and the beasts andthe butterflies?"

  "Sure. The gold runs up to twenty dollars the cubic yard and is wortheighteen dollars an ounce."

  "When are you going?"

  "I'm in no hurry. This year, next year, some time, never. No, notnever. Call it some time."

  "And you want me to come, too?"

  "I would give half of whatever there is in the mine to have you come.But things being as they are, well, I guess we can call it off. Isthere any chance in the world, Kirk, of your ever ceasing to be abloated capitalist? Could any of your stocks go back on you?"

  "I doubt it. They're pretty gilt-edged, I fancy, though I've neverstudied the question of stocks. My little gold-mine isn't in the sameclass with yours, but it's as solid as a rock, and no fevers andinsects attached to it, either."

  * * * * *

  And now the gold-mine had proved of less than rock-like solidity. Themost gilt-edged of all the stocks had failed. The capitalist had becomein one brief day the struggling artist.

  Hank's proposal seemed a good deal less fantastic now to Kirk as heprepared for his second onslaught, the grand attack, on the strongholdof those who bought art with gold.