Читать книгу My "Pardner" and I - Emerson Willis George - Страница 6

AT TEN O’.LOCK the following morning, Vance sent in his card to the chief, and was immediately admitted to his presence. “Good morning, Mr. Gilder.”

“Good morning, sir,” was Vance’s prompt reply.

“I sent for you,” said the chief, as he industriously looked over a bundle of papers on his desk, “To discuss a matter I have had in mind for some time.”

“Yes, sir,” was Vance’s laconic reply.

The chief having found the paper he evidently had been searching for, motioned Vance to be seated, and turning to him, asked:

“Have you ever traveled much in the west?”

“Have never been west of Buffalo.”

“Your work,” observed the chief, “has been very satisfactory – I may say, especially so – and it is the policy of the Banner not only to reward those who have talent, but also to keep pace with the times, and give its readers reliable information upon all questions of moment and importance. The great Northwest has been opening up for the last half century. There have been booms and counter-booms out in that country, spasmodically, for many years, and a great many fortunes have been lost by ill advised investors, but I am not personally familiar with anyone who has bettered his condition in western speculations. Just at the present time the northwest is attracting, as you are doubtless aware, considerable attention, and the effort to popularize it by the western press, seems unabating. Our eastern people, even some of the oldest families of New York, are becoming poisoned with the virus of western investments. My private opinion is that instead of receiving dividends on these holdings, they will lose principal and all.

“We want,” said he, “a level-headed correspondent in that western country. Mark, I say level-headed, for the reason that not infrequently an eastern man, especially if he is unacquainted with the wonderland of the west, loses his head, figuratively speaking, and becomes won over by the fairy tales of prospective wealth, as told by the average real estate boomer.

“You, Mr. Gilder,” said the chief, eying Vance with great directness, “have been selected for this important position of trust. I might,” he continued, as if it were an afterthought, “modify my remarks by saying there are some places in the west worthy of credence, possessing real merit; but in nine cases out of ten, the new towns that are ringing up throughout the north western portion of the United States are, in my judgment, intangible as moonshine. In short, there is entirely too much capital flowing from the east into those wildcat western speculations, and we desire to give a series of letters descriptive of that country to the readers of the Banner, containing the facts stripped of all allurement, and dissuade them from such unstable investments as are daily being made.

"I deem,” continued the chief, “these few suggestions necessary for your good in governing the character of your correspondence from that western country to the columns of the Banner. I shall expect you to be ready tomorrow evening, and start on the six o’clock train. As you will probably be away for some time, it would be well for you to arrange your private affairs accordingly.

Call tomorrow at eleven o’clock, and I will have ready the necessary credentials, transports and instructions.”

Vance bowed his acquiescence and turned to go, when the chief said, “By the way, instead of $40 a week, your present salary, you will receive $60 and expenses, which doubtless will be satisfactory.”

Vance attempted to express his appreciation of the confidence that had been reposed in him, of so important an undertaking; but the chief waved him to silence and muttered something about “time being money,” and at once turned to other affairs that were awaiting his attention.

That afternoon Vance was not found among the staff, and a new man occupied his chair. He called on Thomas Patten, Esq., the attorney who had represented the Gilder family for many years, and named in his father’s will as trustee, and explained to him his promotion, telling him he would start for the west the next evening.

His old associates at the Banner were asking questions of one another as to what had transpired between Vance and the chief, but no one seemed to know anything about it, except that a new man was on duty and Vance absent.

At half past eleven o’clock that night the dramatic critic hurried in from the street and passed word around among the coterie that a surprise was waiting for them over at Thompson’s cafe. Thompson’s is, and has been for many years, a favorite resort for newspaper men. Vance Gilder was well known to the manager as a member of the Banner staff, and when that afternoon he requested that a lunch something better than the ordinary be prepared, he was assured that everything would be in readiness.

The dramatic critic ushered his associates into a private room precisely at twelve o’clock. Vance was in waiting, and a warm greeting was exchanged. The religious editor declared that he believed a conspiracy of gigantic proportions had been laid to entrap the meek and lowly, but, nevertheless, he took his place with alacrity at the table to enjoy the modest but excellent feast prepared for the occasion.

A few bottles of rare old wine added interest to the surprise which Vance had so cleverly arranged. After the glasses had been tilled and drained, the political editor moved that an explanation was in order.

“My friends,” said Vance, “the most important disclosure I have to make is that my salary has been raised to $60 a week.”

The religious editor said, “By Gad,” and fell from his chair, declaring that his nerves were so unstrung that it would require another glass of wine to restore them. After Vance had carefully narrated his interview with the chief, he received the hearty congratulations of his associates. Each vied with the others in wishing him unbounded success as a western correspondent for the Banner. "I understand,” said the political editor, after clearing his throat with a glass of wine, “that the west is teeming with opportunities in a political way; and I would not be surprised,” he added, “if the Honorable Vance Gilder would be the next thing we hear of, as mayor of some municipality in the Rocky Mountain region, or possibly as a member of Congress from the Third District.”

“Or still better,” observed the religious editor, “president of one of those bonanza gold mines that advertise themselves as being the greatest dividend paying properties in the world.”

“What’s the matter,” said the police reporter, “of being moderate in your expectations? Suppose Vance secures the position of judge of the police court in one of those western towns, where from a dozen to twenty drunks and brawls occur every twenty-four hours – ye gods! what a country for rich morsels of crime!”

It was conceded by all that Vance would have abundant opportunity for making investments here and there in the growing west that would materially increase his financial prospects.

“Sixty dollars,” said the dramatic critic, as he finished his third glass of wine, “is quite a step up, but evidently a mere bagatelle to the ‘pick-ups’ on the side, in a new country that is just developing like the west is at the present time.”

That Vance was one of the luckiest fellows living was the verdict of all his associates. After the lunch had been disposed of and a good-night glass of wine drunk to Vance’s success, he bade his companions good-night, and was soon being driven rapidly up Eighth Avenue to Central Park, west.

On reaching his room he began to feel more than ever that he had awakened to find himself famous, and that a great honor had been thrust upon him.

His gratitude to his chief was unbounded, but like the young and ambitious everywhere, his own personal advancement in a financial sense was a consideration not to be overlooked. While he knew personally very little about the Western country, the many allusions of his companions to the rare opportunities which awaited him in the new world he was about to visit filled him with a vague, indescribable sense of importance.

As he retired for the night, he assured himself that Gold Bluff, Idaho, would be one of his objective points, and hoped he would be there when the shaft reached the 300 foot level. He was beginning to share the old miner’s enthusiasm and confidence in Gray Rocks.

He drifted away into a restful sleep, while visions of a lovely girl in early womanhood, with beautiful blue eyes, “gentle grace and sovereign sweetness,” rose in a mist before him, and he dreamed he was at Gold Bluff.