Selected Stories of Bret Harte

  THE MAN OF NO ACCOUNT

  His name was Fagg--David Fagg. He came to California in '52 with us,in the SKYSCRAPER. I don't think he did it in an adventurous way. Heprobably had no other place to go to. When a knot of us young fellowswould recite what splendid opportunities we resigned to go, and howsorry our friends were to have us leave, and show daguerreotypes andlocks of hair, and talk of Mary and Susan, the man of no account used tosit by and listen with a pained, mortified expression on his plain face,and say nothing. I think he had nothing to say. He had no associatesexcept when we patronized him; and, in point of fact, he was a good dealof sport to us. He was always seasick whenever we had a capful of wind.He never got his sea legs on, either. And I never shall forget howwe all laughed when Rattler took him the piece of pork on a string,and--But you know that time-honored joke. And then we had such asplendid lark with him. Miss Fanny Twinkler couldn't bear the sight ofhim, and we used to make Fagg think that she had taken a fancy to him,and send him little delicacies and books from the cabin. You oughtto have witnessed the rich scene that took place when he came up,stammering and very sick, to thank her! Didn't she flash up grandly andbeautifully and scornfully? So like "Medora," Rattler said--Rattler knewByron by heart--and wasn't old Fagg awfully cut up? But he got over it,and when Rattler fell sick at Valparaiso, old Fagg used to nurse him.You see he was a good sort of fellow, but he lacked manliness andspirit.

  He had absolutely no idea of poetry. I've seen him sit stolidly by,mending his old clothes, when Rattler delivered that stirring apostropheof Byron's to the ocean. He asked Rattler once, quite seriously, if hethought Byron was ever seasick. I don't remember Rattler's reply, but Iknow we all laughed very much, and I have no doubt it was something goodfor Rattler was smart.

  When the SKYSCRAPER arrived at San Francisco we had a grand "feed."We agreed to meet every year and perpetuate the occasion. Of course wedidn't invite Fagg. Fagg was a steerage passenger, and it was necessary,you see, now we were ashore, to exercise a little discretion. But OldFagg, as we called him--he was only about twenty-five years old, by theway--was the source of immense amusement to us that day. It appearedthat he had conceived the idea that he could walk to Sacramento, andactually started off afoot. We had a good time, and shook hands with oneanother all around, and so parted. Ah me! only eight years ago, and yetsome of those hands then clasped in amity have been clenched at eachother, or have dipped furtively in one another's pockets. I know thatwe didn't dine together the next year, because young Barker sworehe wouldn't put his feet under the same mahogany with such a verycontemptible scoundrel as that Mixer; and Nibbles, who borrowed moneyat Valparaiso of young Stubbs, who was then a waiter in a restaurant,didn't like to meet such people.

  When I bought a number of shares in the Coyote Tunnel at Mugginsville,in '54, I thought I'd take a run up there and see it. I stopped at theEmpire Hotel, and after dinner I got a horse and rode round the town andout to the claim. One of those individuals whom newspaper correspondentscall "our intelligent informant," and to whom in all small communitiesthe right of answering questions is tacitly yielded, was quietly pointedout to me. Habit had enabled him to work and talk at the same time, andhe never pretermitted either. He gave me a history of the claim, andadded: "You see, stranger," (he addressed the bank before him) "gold issure to come out'er that theer claim, (he put in a comma with his pick)but the old pro-pri-e-tor (he wriggled out the word and the point of hispick) warn't of much account (a long stroke of the pick for a period).He was green, and let the boys about here jump him"--and the rest of hissentence was confided to his hat, which he had removed to wipe his manlybrow with his red bandanna.

  I asked him who was the original proprietor.

  "His name war Fagg."

  I went to see him. He looked a little older and plainer. He had workedhard, he said, and was getting on "so-so." I took quite a liking tohim and patronized him to some extent. Whether I did so because I wasbeginning to have a distrust for such fellows as Rattler and Mixer isnot necessary for me to state.

  You remember how the Coyote Tunnel went in, and how awfully weshareholders were done! Well, the next thing I heard was that Rattler,who was one of the heaviest shareholders, was up at Mugginsville keepingbar for the proprietor of the Mugginsville Hotel, and that old Fagg hadstruck it rich, and didn't know what to do with his money. All this wastold me by Mixer, who had been there, settling up matters, and likewisethat Fagg was sweet upon the daughter of the proprietor of the aforesaidhotel. And so by hearsay and letter I eventually gathered that oldRobins, the hotel man, was trying to get up a match between NellieRobins and Fagg. Nellie was a pretty, plump, and foolish little thing,and would do just as her father wished. I thought it would be a goodthing for Fagg if he should marry and settle down; that as a married manhe might be of some account. So I ran up to Mugginsville one day to lookafter things.

  It did me an immense deal of good to make Rattler mix my drinks forme--Rattler! the gay, brilliant, and unconquerable Rattler, who hadtried to snub me two years ago. I talked to him about old Fagg andNellie, particularly as I thought the subject was distasteful. He neverliked Fagg, and he was sure, he said, that Nellie didn't. Did Nellielike anybody else? He turned around to the mirror behind the bar andbrushed up his hair! I understood the conceited wretch. I thought I'dput Fagg on his guard and get him to hurry up matters. I had a long talkwith him. You could see by the way the poor fellow acted that he wasbadly stuck. He sighed, and promised to pluck up courage to hurrymatters to a crisis. Nellie was a good girl, and I think had a sort ofquiet respect for old Fagg's unobtrusiveness. But her fancy was alreadytaken captive by Rattler's superficial qualities, which were obvious andpleasing. I don't think Nellie was any worse than you or I. We are moreapt to take acquaintances at their apparent value than their intrinsicworth. It's less trouble, and, except when we want to trust them, quiteas convenient. The difficulty with women is that their feelings are aptto get interested sooner than ours, and then, you know, reasoning is outof the question. This is what old Fagg would have known had he been ofany account. But he wasn't. So much the worse for him.

  It was a few months afterward and I was sitting in my office when inwalked old Fagg. I was surprised to see him down, but we talked over thecurrent topics in that mechanical manner of people who know that theyhave something else to say, but are obliged to get at it in that formalway. After an interval Fagg in his natural manner said:

  "I'm going home!"

  "Going home?"

  "Yes--that is, I think I'll take a trip to the Atlantic States. I cameto see you, as you know I have some little property, and I have executeda power of attorney for you to manage my affairs. I have some papers I'dlike to leave with you. Will you take charge of them?"

  "Yes," I said. "But what of Nellie?"

  His face fell. He tried to smile, and the combination resulted in oneof the most startling and grotesque effects I ever beheld. At length hesaid:

  "I shall not marry Nellie--that is"--he seemed to apologize internallyfor the positive form of expression--"I think that I had better not."

  "David Fagg," I said with sudden severity, "you're of no account!"

  To my astonishment his face brightened. "Yes," said he, "that's it!--I'mof no account! But I always knew it. You see I thought Rattler lovedthat girl as well as I did, and I knew she liked him better than she didme, and would be happier I dare say with him. But then I knew that oldRobins would have preferred me to him, as I was better off--and thegirl would do as he said--and, you see, I thought I was kinder in theway--and so I left. But," he continued, as I was about to interrupt him,"for fear the old man might object to Rattler, I've lent him enoughto set him up in business for himself in Dogtown. A pushing, active,brilliant fellow, you know, like Rattler can get along, and will soon bein his old position again--and you needn't be hard on him, you know, ifhe doesn't. Good-by."

  I was too much disgusted with his treatment of that Rattler to be at allamiable, but as his business was profitable, I promised to atten
d toit, and he left. A few weeks passed. The return steamer arrived, and aterrible incident occupied the papers for days afterward. People in allparts of the State conned eagerly the details of an awful shipwreck, andthose who had friends aboard went away by themselves, and read the longlist of the lost under their breath. I read of the gifted, the gallant,the noble, and loved ones who had perished, and among them I think I wasthe first to read the name of David Fagg. For the "man of no account"had "gone home!"