A Little Girl in Old San Francisco

  CHAPTER XVI

  IN THE BALANCE

  Agnes Westbury had listened all the early part of the evening to herhusband's enthusiastic plans. Good fortune expanded him in everydirection. It was true that quicksilver had been discovered atAlameda, also that the new process of separating gold was a greatsaving. Working mines had been most extravagant and wasteful. Some ofthe old ones had been deserted that no doubt would pay again. He hadtaken options for the London Company, he had two or three for himself.Luck had surely come his way. Now they must leave as soon as possible.

  Had she enjoyed herself? Had the landlady been satisfactory? Had shegone about and seen much, made any pleasant friends? San Francisco wasa strange and wonderful place. It had risen up in a night, as it were.It was in the line of the Eastern trade, it would be the great mart ofthe world. What was Congress thinking about not to establish a throughroute, but depend on this miserable overland accommodation for thecrowds who would come! Its very wildness and sublimity outdid Europe.Some day it would be a worldwide attraction for tourists. Suchmountains, such a range of climate, such a profusion of everything,such a seacoast line.

  David Westbury was pacing up and down the apartment with a light,springy step. He had been in his youth a tall and rather lankydown-easter. Now he had filled out, was fine and robust, with a goodclear skin. In those days his nose had been too large, his mouth wide,with rather loose lips. Now the rest of his face had rounded out, hislips had grown firm-set, decisive, and his mustache was trimmed in thelatest style. Just at the corners of his mouth his beard had begun towhiten a little, his lightish hair had turned darker. Prosperity hadmade a man of him. He had grown sharp, far-sighted, but he had anamiability that was more than pleasing--attractive. He had learned touse his own phrase, "not to buck against the world." Where he had beenrather credulous and lax in early life, he had become wary and shrewd,and did not hesitate if he could turn the best of the deal his way.

  "Yes, she had enjoyed herself very much. Mrs. Folsom and her son hadbeen most attentive, there had been some star players at the theatresand a noted singer or two. She had met some nice people, there was agood deal of crudeness and display, but on the whole it was very fairfor a new place. And some odd, quaint individuals, some really refinedwomen from Boston, and such a charming young girl that she coveted;she wished she had her for a daughter."

  "That's a queer wish; too, I thought you were not fond of children."

  "Well, I am not generally. I'd like them full-grown, and attractive,"laughing.

  "I wouldn't mind a fine, upright, sober, honorable son that one couldtrust in all things, but they are scarce."

  "David, what will you do with your money?"

  "Well,"--he laughed a little. "Let me see--endow a hospital perhaps,or build a college. But we must have all the pleasure we desire."

  She gave a little sigh.

  "About this girl, now?" he queried.

  "She's the dearest, sweetest, simplest body, not foolish, notsentimental, but like water in a ground glass globe, if you canunderstand. She's one of the old settlers, and that's laughable, camein '51, round the Horn, from Maine, I believe, with an uncle and somefriends. He is a Mr. Chadsey, and keeps a big warehouse, shippingstores and what not, and is, I believe, making a fortune--to take herjourneying round the world."

  "Chadsey," he said thoughtfully. "Chadsey. What is the girl's name?"

  "Oh, Chadsey, too."

  "Ah!" nodding, yet he drew his brows a little.

  "I suppose he was her mother's brother. Her mother died just beforethey came out here."

  He made a brief calculation. "Yes, it was in '51 that _she_ died. AndJason Chadsey was there, he took the little girl away. At Boston alltrace was lost, though he had _not_ searched very exhaustively forher. He had a feeling that she would be well cared for."

  David Westbury glanced at his wife. Her elbow was on the window silland her cheek rested on her hand. There was a touch of sadness in herface, a longing in her eyes. He loved her more now than when he hadmarried her. She was a little exacting then. She had been very fond ofpleasure, theatres, balls, fine dinners at hotels, journeys, dress,jewels. He enjoyed them, too, with the zest that generally comes toone who has been deprived of them in early life, and whose traininghas been to consider them reprehensible.

  They had taken their fill. Now his mind was all on business; he likedto surmount difficulties, to bring success out of chaos. He had toleave her alone a good deal. She used to find entertainment inconquering the admiration of young men, but these last few years shehad found herself less attractive, except as she listened to theirlove troubles and begged her for advice. He did not understand this atall, only he felt he had an engrossing business and she had nothingbut looking on.

  "You like this girl very much?"

  "Yes, I can't tell just why, except that she is so honestly sweet, soready to give of her best without expecting any return. Do youremember Lady Westmere and her two daughters? They were fine girls anddevoted to her. I had not considered it much before, but I understoodthen what an interest and solace a young girl of the right sort wouldbe. You know I had Gladys Wynne to stay a month with me when you wereover to Paris. I had half a mind to engage her as a sort of companion,and she would have been glad enough to come. But I found she had somemean, underhand tricks, and was looking out for her own advantagewhile she was trying to persuade you that it was yours. And she toldlittle fibs. So I gave up the idea. A maid, you know, is no company,though one must have her abroad. But we couldn't coax or kidnap thisgirl," and she sighed in the midst of a sad smile.

  He still paced up and down. How long since he had thought of that oldlife. He had always said to himself that he had been a fool to marryLaverne Dallas, but he had taken a good deal of satisfaction then in"cutting out" Jason Chadsey. What fools young fellows were!

  "Agnes," he began, "before I married you I did not tell you my wholestory. I said I had lost my wife and child, that ill luck had draggedme through those early years. She had another lover, Jason Chadsey, aseafaring man, of whom she had not heard in a long time, when shemarried me. Some years later I was at a low ebb and away, trying tomake money for them as well as myself. When I had a little success Iwent back. She was dead and buried. Chadsey had come back, it seems,and taken the child, since there were no near relatives to say himnay. At Boston I lost trace of them."

  "Oh, David!" She sprang up and flung both arms about him. "You don'tthink--this Laverne--why, what if she should be yours!"

  "She came here late in '51. Her mother died early in the springbefore. She must have been about eight. Why, it's quite a romance forthis prosaic world."

  "If you are her father, you have the best right. Oh, David, I shouldlove her and be so good to her. She should have everything, and Iwould be so happy. Oh, you _must_ see to-morrow."

  There was a hysterical catch in her voice, and a great throb at herheart.

  "There, don't get into a fit. Why, I didn't suppose you could care somuch. Yes, I know you will be good to her. Chadsey may kick aboutgiving her up, but I doubt if he took any steps toward legal adoption.Oh, I think there will not be any real trouble unless she will notcome."

  "But she ought to have some regard for her father! And he isn't reallyher uncle or guardian. Why, it wouldn't be quite the thing for her totravel round the world with him."

  They talked it over until their plans seemed most reasonable. And thenthey wondered at the strangeness of it. He had no real compunctions ofconscience about the past, though of course he would have accepted theresponsibility of his daughter if he could have found her. He had apractical business way of looking at matters. And while Agnes Westburylay awake, and had vague visions, dropping now and then into snatchesof dreams, he slept soundly and awoke with a resolve to settle thequestion with just the same purpose as if he had resolved to buy hiswife thousands of dollars' worth of jewels.

  They had begun the necessary sea wall that was to safeguard the piersand the shipping that grew more extensive eve
ry year. Here was the oldFisherman's Pier, then steamers, trading vessels, queer foreign ships,business places of all sorts, many of them quite dilapidated, fringedEast Street. Here, where Clay Street ran down, almost meetingSacramento, there were warehouses, packing houses, boxes and bales andgeneral confusion. The one-story place with the sign "J. Chadsey" overthe wide doorway, not much handsomer than that of a barn, butstrengthened with iron bars and great bolts, had stretched out andout, and now they were packing in stores from the Orient, stores fromthe Isthmus, that were being unloaded from two vessels. Jason Chadseyhad been giving orders here and there, setting men at work, and waswarm and tired when word came that a gentleman wanted to see him inthe office. They made distinctions in those days, even if the countrywas new and rough.

  That was no strange summons. He pulled out his handkerchief, and wipedthe sweat and grime from his face, listened a moment to the wrangling,swearing, strange Chinese chatter, songs in various languages, thenturned and went in, hardly able to see at first from the glitter ofthe sun that had drenched him. This was a place just now with two bigdesks and a clerk writing at one. The inner office had a window on thestreet side and two wooden stools, one dilapidated leathern chairbefore another desk.

  A man rose up and faced him. A well-dressed, well-kept man, with acertain air of prosperity and authority, and if he had any scheme toexploit it would no doubt have some advantage in it. But he was astranger.

  "You are Jason Chadsey?" Westbury would have known him anywhere.Except to grow older, to be a little more wrinkled,--weatherbeaten, hehad always been,--and his hair slightly grizzled at the temples, hewas the same. There was honesty, truth, and goodness in the face thathad not changed either.

  "Yes," Chadsey replied briefly.

  "And you don't remember me?"

  Chadsey tried to consider the voice, but that had grown rounder,fuller, and lost all the Maine twang. There had been so many facesbetween youth and this time.

  "Well, I am David Westbury."

  Jason Chadsey dropped on a stool and stared, then mopped his faceagain, while a shiver passed over him that seemed to wring his veryvitals, turn him stone-cold.

  "It's odd how things come about." The man of the world had his rivalat a disadvantage. "I'd had runs of hard luck," in an easy, almostindifferent tone, being where he could laugh at the past, "and I'dtried about everything in vain. I was too proud to come back toLaverne empty-handed. Then, when I had made something, I turned,hoping to ease up her hard life, and found she was dead and buried.You had befriended her; thank you for that. But you took my child. Itraced you to Boston. After that my search was vain. I have lookedover lists of vessels, thinking to strike your name as captain ormate, and finally given up search. Business brought me here, perhapsfate, too, had a hand in it. My wife has seen and known the child, andalready loves her. I am grateful for your care all these years, but Iwould rather have had her in my keeping. I am a rich man--if I was apoor devil I would put in no claim, no matter how dear she was to me,but a father has the best right."

  Jason Chadsey rose. For a moment he had murder in his heart. The man'sevident prosperity and effrontery stung him so. The past came rushingover him.

  "Do you know how I found her?" he began hoarsely. "I had resolved tocome out here. I was getting tired of seafaring. I went to Munro tosay good-by to a few old friends. I expected to find her a happy wifeand mother, with little ones about her. Instead it was a virtuallydeserted wife, who had heard nothing of her husband in a long while,who had used up all her little store and was in debt besides, who wassuffering from cold, want, heartbreak, and dying, knowing no refugefor her child except the poor farm or to be bound out to someneighbor."

  "No, she would not have been," was the almost fierce interruption.

  "The dying woman did not know that. She had some comfort in her lastmoments," and his voice softened curiously with remembered pathos."She gave me the child. I have been father and mother to her. Youcannot have her."

  "I believe the law gives the parent the right to the child until sheis of age. You had no consent of mine. You could not legally adopther, at least, it would not hold in law."

  Jason Chadsey turned pale under the tan of years. Why, he had not eventhought of any legal protection for his claim. It rested only on loveand care.

  "You see," continued the confident voice, "that my right has been inno way jeopardized. I am Laverne Westbury's father, amply able to carefor her in an attractive and refined manner, place her in the bestsociety, to give her whatever education and accomplishment she needs,the protection of a mother, the standing of a father, travel--we areto go to England shortly--and it would be worse than folly to stand inher way."

  "She will not go," Jason Chadsey said sturdily.

  "She will if the law directs."

  "She will not when she knows the struggle of the last year of hermother's life. Why, you robbed _her_ mother, the poor, old, helplesswoman, of the little she had. You persuaded her to take up money onthe house--it was not worth much, but it was a home to shelter them."

  "Laverne was as anxious to get out of the place as I. What could I dothere? She was willing that I should try. I was unfortunate. Other menhave been--you find wrecks everywhere. I struggled hard to recover,and did, even if it was too late for her. We thank Providence for oursuccesses--doesn't the same power direct reverses? It wasn't my fault.Luck runs against a man his whole life sometimes."

  "You could have written. That would have cheered her solitary hours.She would have told you she was dying, and begged you to come. When Ithink of what that dreary winter was to her----"

  "You were there to comfort her." There was a half sneer on the face."See here, Jason Chadsey, you were her first lover, not a very ardentone, I fancy, either. I was a fool to persuade her to marry me, thoughI think her grandmother had a strong hand in it. You were there thoselast weeks. Did she confess her mistake, and admit that you had heldher heart all these years? What confidences took place?"

  "None that you might not hear. Nothing but some truths that I guessed,and wrung out of her--your neglect. You would not dare to stain themother's memory to the child. If you did I think I could kill you. Anyone who knows aught about those New England women, brought up amongthe snowy hills like nuns, would know it was a base lie!"

  "Come, come, we won't slop over into melodrama. We will leave it tothe law if you agree to abide by the decision."

  "The law will not force her to go."

  "I think she will be convinced. You are no kin to her. Now that she isgrown, it is hardly the thing for her to go on living in this fashion.You may mean to marry her. That would be monstrous!"

  "Go your way, go your way, David Westbury," and he made an indignantgesture as if he would sweep him out of the place. "I have othermatters on hand. I have no time to parley."

  Then Chadsey turned and, being near the door, made a rush for thestreet, plunging the next minute into the thick of business. Westburylaughed a moment, lighted a cigar, and sauntered out at his leisure.Up in a more respectable street he glanced about, finding a lawyer'soffice, and though he guessed the opinion must be in his favor hewanted an assurance.

  "If there had been an assignment under belief that the father wasdead, he could recover, if it was proved he was the proper person tohave the care of the child, and amply able to support it."

  Jason Chadsey worked furiously. He would not think. It was high noonbefore he found a respite. Then he went in the office instead of goingto lunch. He could not eat.

  The shadow that would hang over him now and then, that he had alwaysmanaged to drive away, had culminated at length in a storm that wouldsweep from its moorings the dearest thing he held on earth, that hehad toiled for, that he had loved with the tenderness of a strong,true heart, that had been all his life. Without her it would only be abreathing shell of a body, inert, with no hope, no real feeling. Ah,if they had been ready to go away a few months ago! If Laverne was ofage! If he had a legal adoption, they might make a fight on that. Hehad noth
ing. But she would not go, she would not go.

  Ah, how could he tell her? Perhaps her father and yes, thatsoft-spoken, insinuating woman, was her stepmother, and Laverne had ayoung girl's fancy for her--perhaps they would go and lay the casebefore her, persuade, entreat--oh, no, they could not win, he feltsure of that. How could he ever go home! What would the home bewithout her! What would life be--the money--anything!

  It was quite late when he climbed the ascent, growing worse and worse.There had been two landslides. Why, presently they would be sweptaway.

  "Oh, how late you are!" cried the soft, girlish voice. "How did youget up? Isn't it dreadful! Have you had a hard day? Was there asteamer in? Do you suppose we shall ever have a letter from theHudsons?"

  Nothing had happened. Perhaps David Westbury did not dare. He almostcrushed the slim figure in his arms.

  "Oh, what a bear hug!" she cried, when she could get her breath. "Andyou are so late. We had such a splendid big fish that Pablo caught andcooked, and it was delicious. And I made a berry cake, but you likethat cold, and we will have the fish heated up. Was it an awful busyday?"

  "Yes, a vessel in, and another to be loaded up."

  His voice shook a little.

  "Oh, you dear old darling, you are tired to death. Here's a cup ofnice tea. And if you were a young lover, I would sing you thedaintiest little Spanish song. Isola and I made it up. You see, thingsdon't sound quite so bare and bald in Spanish, and you can make therhymes easier. The music is all hers. We are supposed to sing it tosome one gone on a journey that we want back with us."

  "Well, I'm an old lover; sing it to me!" Then she would not noticethat he was not eating much supper.

  The guitar had a blue ribbon, and she threw it over her shoulder andshook her golden hair about. Tinkle, tinkle, went the softaccompaniment. She had a sweet parlor voice, with some sad notes init, wistful, longing notes. He wondered if she was thinking of any onemiles and miles across the water.

  "It is tender and beautiful," he said, "sing something else."

  "You are not eating your cake."

  "But I shall." He must choke down a little.

  Afterward they strolled about the hill. There was no moon, but thestars were like great golden and silver globes, and the air was sweetwith a hundred fragrances. Nothing had happened, and he wondered alittle at it. Suddenly she said:

  "Oh, you must go to bed after such a hard day's work. And I am crueldragging you about."

  He could not tell her. Oh, what if he should never need to tell her!How could he give her up? Was life all sacrifice?

  Something odd had happened to her. She sat by the window living itover. She had gone around by Folsom House to see Mrs. Westbury,thinking how she should miss her when they went back to England. Sheran up to her room. There was a thin lace drapery in the doorway tobring a breeze through and yet shield the occupant from the passer-by.

  "Oh, you sweet little darling! Did you dream that I was wishing foryou? I've been just crazy to see you all day."

  She was in a dainty white silk negligee, with cascades of lace andsome pale pink bows. She wore such pretty gowns, Laverne thought.

  "Do you know that in about a week we shall go away? And I shan't knowhow to live without you. I love you so! Why do you suppose I should bealways longing for you, thinking about you? Last night----"

  She gave her a rapturous embrace and kissed lips and brow and eyelids.Sometimes Isola Savedra caressed her this way. But Isola was just agirl, musical, vehement, Spanish.

  "I couldn't sleep for thinking of you, longing for you. Shall I stealyou and take you away? Oh, if you loved me well enough to come, youshould have everything heart could desire. I am so lonesome at times."

  "I shouldn't come for the things," she returned, coloring. "And if Iloved you ever so much----"

  "No, don't say you wouldn't. Oh, to-morrow I shall have somethingstrange to tell you, but now I say over and over again I want you, Iwant you!"

  Laverne drew a long breath. She was half magnetized by the intensity,by the strange expression in the face, the eager eyes.

  "I shall be sorry to have you go." She hardly knew what to say. Sorrowdid not half express it.

  "Don't mind me--yes, it is true, too. But I heard a story last nightthat suggested such a splendid possibility. I couldn't sleep. And Ican't tell you just yet, but when you hear it--oh, you'll be tenderand not break my heart that is so set upon it. Something you can dofor me."

  "I will do anything in my power."

  "Remember that when I ask you."

  She was fain to keep her longer, but Laverne had a curious feelingthat she could not understand, a half fear or mystery. And then shehad some translation to make for to-morrow. She was studying Germannow.

  She worked steadily at her lessons. Then she had a race with Bruno,and waited out on the steps for Uncle Jason. What would happen to herto-morrow? It might be an elegant parting gift. How strange Mrs.Westbury had been. No one had influenced her in just that way before.

  Then she went to bed and fell asleep with the ease of healthy youth.Jason Chadsey tossed and tumbled. What would to-morrow bring? Howwould Laverne take it? Must she go? Would she go? How could he endureit?

  "One," the solemn old clock downstairs said. "Two." He had half a mindto get up. Hark, what was that? Or was he dreaming? Oh, again, now aclang sharp enough to arouse any one. Fire! Fire! He sprang out of bedand went to the window. Was it down there on the bay? He stoodparalyzed while the clamor grew louder, and flames shot up in greatspires, yellow-red against the blue sky. And now an immense sheet thatseemed to blot out the middle of the bay, as if it could run across."Clang, clang," went the bells.

  "Oh, what is it, fire?" cried Miss Holmes.

  "Fire down on the docks. I must go. Do not disturb Laverne."

  Let her sleep now. She would know sorrow soon enough.

  He dressed hurriedly and went out. The stars were still shining in theblue sky, though round the edges toward the eastward there were fainttouches of grayish white. But the zenith seemed aflame. Up went thegreat spires grandly, a thing to be admired if it brought no loss. Hewent stumbling down the rough ways in the semi-darkness. Once a stonerolled and he fell. Then he hurried on. Other people were out--youcould discern windows crowded with heads. Was San Francisco to haveanother holocaust? There were shrieks and cries. The noise of theengines, blowing of horns, whistles, boats steaming up, others beingtowed out in the bay, wooden buildings hastily demolished to stay theprogress of the red fiend. Crowds upon crowds, as if the sight were anew one.

  On the corner of Davis Street he sat down on a barrel, close by astoop, overwhelmed by the certainty. Why go any nearer? The rigging ofa vessel had caught, the flames twisted this way and that by their ownforce, as there was no wind, fortunately.

  All the labor of years was swallowed up, her fortune, her luxuries,her pleasures. Another twelve months and it would have been secured.But, alas! she would not be here to share it. Did it matter so verymuch? His soul within him was numb. Since he had lost her, what needhe care for a prosperity she could not share?

  The hot air swept his face. Pandemonium sounded in his ears. Men ranto and fro, but he sat there in a kind of dumb despair that all hislife should have gone for nought, labor, and love as well.