Читать книгу The Whiteoak Brothers - Mazo de la Roche - Страница 4

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Eden did not often make a confidant of Piers, so that when he beckoned Piers to follow him into his room, shut the door after them, and asked—“Can you keep a secret?” Piers felt a glow of pleasure.

“Of course I can,” he answered.

Eden perched himself on his desk and lighted a cigarette. “I’m an idiot for telling this, but I simply can’t help it. It’s so interesting.”

“What is it?”

“Well ... I know a way of making quite a lot of money ... if I can get others interested.”

Piers liked money. All the young Whiteoaks liked it, but, though they lived well, there was seldom much cash available to them. Their grandmother had a fair-sized fortune, comfortably invested, but she hated to part with money. Indeed she liked to pose as rather badly off and never dropped a hint as to whom her will would benefit. But it was usually taken for granted that Renny would be her heir. He had inherited the estate from his father, her youngest son Philip, and it was natural that she should make her home with him, as she had with his father. Indeed it had been stipulated in her husband’s will that Jalna should always provide a home for her. Nicholas and Ernest, so long as they had plenty of money to spend, had spent it in London, only returning to Jalna during the war. They were welcome doubly, for their family held them in great affection. Their brother Philip and his second wife had died within a few months of each other while Renny was with his regiment in France.

Piers now said—“I’m interested in making money. How’s it to be done?”

A smile flickered across Eden’s lips. He said—“I hadn’t thought of you. But, of course, if you’d like to invest in this thing—if you have any capital—you’re welcome to.”

Piers was disappointed. “Oh, I thought you meant me.”

“I do mean you—if you have the wherewithal.”

Piers had, during the past two years, helped with the work of the farm in his holidays, ploughing the land, learning the methods of spraying the apple-orchard, grading and packing apples for shipment, as well as helping to school polo-ponies. At the end of the coming term he would matriculate, quit school, and settle down to the work he loved. He strained toward the day.

He now said—“I have two hundred dollars saved.” He could not keep the pride out of his voice.

Eden looked at him in wonder. “However do you do it?” he exclaimed.

“I’ve worked pretty hard, haven’t I? All you do in your spare time is to write poetry.”

“I’m no good at physical labour.”

“Well, of course, you’re going to be a lawyer. What a life! Gosh, I’d hate it.”

Again Eden smiled. “I believe I am going to hate it too,” he said. Then his voice became confidential. “Listen, Piers. The other day I met a man named Kronk in the city. He’s a mining man and he’s one of a company who are developing a new gold-mine in the north. It’s called the Indigo Lake Mine. They’ve found rich deposits there. As they are just in the early stages of this project they are interested in quite—well, what you might call insignificant shareholders—like you and me.”

Piers was astonished. “Have you money too?”

“No, not exactly. But I should get a commission on the shares I sell. Why, look here, Piers, this Kronk told me the stock is rising so fast that he knows a man who is making ten per cent on his investment and if he chose to sell out to-day he could double his money. But naturally he wouldn’t dream of selling.”

Piers’s prominent blue eyes were bright with the lust for gain. He asked—“How much are the shares?”

“Fifty cents each.”

“Fine! I’ll take four hundred.”

Eden gave Piers an approving smile. “Good man! I thought you would.”

Then Piers’s face fell. “What will Renny say? He’ll never let me.”

“He mustn’t know; he has nothing of the speculator in him, except in horse-flesh. We must keep it dark. Then—when you have made a good fat profit, you may like to tell him.” He gave Piers a cigarette, adding—“I’m going to tackle the uncles now and see if they’d like to join in the fun.”

Piers laughed sceptically. He was feeling immensely exhilarated and mature. He said, blowing a smoke ring—“They’ll never speculate again. Uncle Ernest lost a lot of money once, didn’t he?”

“This is different. It’s absolutely safe. You should hear Mr. Kronk talk of it. He’s put everything he owns into it. And his wife too. She’s put everything she owns into it.”

Piers was now even more impressed. He asked—“How did you meet him?”

“Met him on the train. I must introduce you. He’s quite an amazing fellow. Come up from scratch. Look at this prospectus he gave me.”

The two pored over the bright-coloured prospectus, Piers’s muscular hands now and again touching Eden’s slender, loosely put together ones. When Piers had gone Eden sat down by the desk, as though weary. Why, he thought, resting his head on his hands, was he forced to go through all this in order to secure enough money for his heart’s desire? His uncles, when they were young, had taken the pleasures of travel as a matter of course. Renny had been about a good deal—to Ireland, to England, to France during the war, to New York to ride in horse shows. But he—he who wanted with all his soul to go to France and Italy—must be stuck in this backwater where the chief ambition of his family was to preserve the traditions of the past. There was more in life than mere good living, well-bred horses, healthy fruit-trees, going to morning service on Sunday in the little church his grandfather had built. It was all very well for Renny. It suited him down to the ground. And Piers—it would suit him down to the ground—the earth to which he would willingly be tied. It was all very well for a woman nearing one hundred, but she had had a colourful past in Ireland and in India—not that she lived in the past, as did most very old people. She lived greedily in the present and quite often spoke of the future—bless her heart. But before long she must die ... she was worth at least a hundred thousand dollars ... supposing she left fifty thousand to Renny and divided the remainder equally among her other grandchildren. Ten thousand to each. What could he not do with ten thousand dollars! He would slough off the study of law like the abominably stifling skin of a snake, and go forth and see the world. But he could do it on so much less than ten thousand. Just a little money! He was not greedy—yet all his short life, he was to lack it.

He found Nicholas comfortably disposed after a nap—gouty leg resting on a large ottoman, massive head, with its untidy greying hair, lolling against the back of his padded leather chair. His large brown eyes were but half-open and in one handsome hand with its seal ring he held a meerschaum pipe, the mouth-piece of which disappeared beneath his shaggy moustache. He had responded to Eden’s knock with a lazy “Come in,” but when he saw who entered his eyes opened wide and he said—“Hello, Eden. Finished your work for the day? And what a day! What a hopeless-looking day! The time of year one should spend on the Riviera.”

“And you used to, didn’t you—in the old times?”

“I did indeed. Sit down.”

“Shall I make you uncomfortable if I sit on this thing? No? I want to talk.” He sat down on the ottoman, careful not to incommode Nicholas. It was only then that he noticed Nip, the tiny Yorkshire terrier, luxuriating on his master’s relaxed middle—the grey of his long silky hair so blended with the grey tweed. Nip gave Eden a defensive look and wriggled a little closer to the massive comfort of Nicholas, who answered:

“He hates this weather too.”

“Lucky dog, to be able to forget it.”

“Well, he was put out this morning as usual but stayed not a minute longer than was necessary. What’s that you’ve got?”

“A prospectus, Uncle Nick, of a gold mine called Indigo Lake Mine. Wonderful new veins have been discovered there.”

Nicholas laid down the law with his meerschaum. “Keep away from speculation. Nothing in it but worry—and loss. God—what your Uncle Ernest has lost!”

“I know. But this is different.”

“They’re all different till you get involved. Then they’re all the same. Loss and anxiety and—more loss.”

Eden said—“I have nothing to invest and don’t expect I ever shall have. But—if I had—this is what I’d go into. Look here.” He put the prospectus almost caressingly into Nicholas’s hands. It crackled across the little dog’s body and he twitched in annoyance. Eden, in his freshness and strength, pressed close to Nicholas’s leg. With the professional air of a mining promoter he poured out the benefits of this investment.

“But what is there in it for you?” asked Nicholas. “If I let you persuade me? Which I shan’t.”

“I’d get a commission from Mr. Kronk.”

“Depending on how foolish I am. Better let me give you something and have done with it.”

Eden drew back stung. He folded up the prospectus. “It isn’t in the least like that, Uncle Nick. This is a purely business deal. One chance in a lifetime. I wish you could meet this man Kronk. Will you let me bring him out?”

“God, no. It would never do at all.”

“Well, I shan’t try to persuade you. Though it is a wonderful opportunity. The gold’s just lying there waiting to be dug out. What will happen is that American speculators will jump in, the way they do, and buy up all the shares.” Eden put the prospectus in his pocket, leant forward and laid his cheek against Nip, who, opening his eyes, gave Eden a swift lick with his pointed tongue, then resolutely went to sleep again.

Nicholas looked down at Eden with a sudden pity—inexplicable, for the boy was young and—what was he, besides being young? How little one knew of those who were nearest one. And Eden was near, very near, though more comfortably so when he brought in a new poem to read it to him.

“Look at this day,” Eden was exclaiming. “Look at it—and you might be in Rapallo or Venice or Taormina—if ...” He smiled into his uncle’s eyes.

Nicholas looked out at the day, then down at his gouty knee. “I’m not fit for travel now,” he said.

“But you could get rid of that knee. Look how much better it is in the summer. Why, Uncle Nick, you’re not going to spend the rest of your days stuck here at Jalna, are you?”

Nicholas took the prospectus from Eden’s pocket. He put on his glasses and studied it.

“It’s nicely got up,” he said. “If I had any spare cash to play with I shouldn’t mind.”

“This is what they call getting in on the ground floor, Uncle Nick. You’d be there before the big speculators send the stock soaring.”

“How you talk!” laughed Nicholas. “How much are the shares?”

“Only fifty cents each. Tempting, eh?”

The window was blinded by rain. But now Nicholas saw a sapphire sea, a wall overhung by wistaria and mimosa. He saw too the face of his wife from whom he had been divorced for many years. But her face faded. In truth he could not clearly remember what she looked like. The sea and the garden remained. He shifted in his chair.... He repeated—“Fifty cents each ... two thousand shares for a thousand dollars.”

Eden’s face came closer. “Uncle Nick,” he breathed, “you ought to come into this.”

“Now I won’t be stampeded,” growled Nicholas.

“Of course not. Not for the world. But these shares are going like hot cakes. By the end of next week they’ll be over-subscribed, Mr. Kronk says.”

Nicholas blew through his moustache. “I’ll take two thousand shares. Not going to let a chance like this get away. I’ll take four thousand.”

They laughed in triumph, as though over an enemy defeated. “Not a word of this investment to the family,” cautioned Nicholas. “If your Uncle Ernest knew he’d want to be into it himself and he has already lost too much in stocks.”

‘ “I’ll not tell him you’ve invested in this, but believe me you won’t lose. This is safe, Uncle Nick. It’s gold—right there in the rocks. You’ll be spending next winter in Italy.”

Nicholas heaved himself out of his chair, deposited Nip carefully on the bed, and limped to the piano, on which stood a siphon of soda-water and a tantalus with a bottle of Scotch, one of brandy, and one of gin.

“Must have a drink to celebrate,” he said, and poured a fair amount of whisky into a tumbler, adding a splash of soda-water. “Have one?” he asked.

“No, thanks.” And he thought—better not smell of spirits when I interview Uncle Ernest.

Outside in the passage he hesitated. What if this stock were not as sound as it seemed? What if—but then he remembered Mr. Kronk and that air of security exuded by him and his well-furnished flat. The broker had taken him there instead of to his office, because, as he said, he had such a special feeling for him.

In the passage, dim because of early falling darkness, Eden overtook Finch. He caught the boy’s wrist in his hand. He said:

“You couldn’t look sadder. You are a funny kid. I believe you were so upset by the joke we played on you that you haven’t recovered. You know it was one of Meg’s subtle ideas. Fun on a rainy day sort of thing.”

“It was fun,” Finch said heavily.

Eden was so happy in his success with Nicholas that a feeling of affection for the awkward boy warmed his heart. He threw an arm about his shoulders and gave him a hug. Finch’s eager response startled him. It was almost as though Finch would embrace him in return. Why—he was like a lonely young dog you had patted.

Now he gave Finch a little push and said—“I must go in to see Uncle Ernest,” and he could not resist adding—“on business.”

“Business?” Finch echoed vaguely.

“Yes. But don’t mention it to Piers or to anyone.”

“I never talk to Piers—about anything.” Finch was pleased that Eden should have confided even so little to him.

Left to himself, Nicholas refilled his pipe, refilled his glass. He seldom allowed himself to take so much whisky at a time because he knew it was bad for his gout. What was that newfangled word they had for it? Arthritis. Yes—that was it. A miserable-sounding word. He’d rather call it gout. But now he was exhilarated by the speculation in which he had indulged. There was no doubt about it, these gold mines did exist and there was no reason why he should not make a little money when the chance came his way. That prospectus had been very attractive indeed. It showed photographs of the actual operations. Indigo Lake. That was a name you couldn’t forget. He felt restless and yet happy. The winter had been very long. Lately, he thought, he’d had a touch of claustrophobia—another newfangled word. There was nothing like a little fling with one’s money and, if the Indigo Lake business prospered, he’d invest more. He might even advise old Ernie to buy a few shares. But for the present the transaction should be secret between Eden and himself.

But Eden was already displaying the prospectus to Ernest, repeating all he had told Nicholas of the unique nature of this investment. Ernest had a strain of the gambler in him. It was a long while since he had been offered anything so enticing as these shares in the Indigo Lake Mine. His colour rose and he walked eagerly about his bedroom. Nicholas had been persuaded to buy four thousand shares. Ernest jumped at eight thousand. He too would like to spend the following winter in Europe. He too felt restive. Life had once been an exciting affair—a very pleasant affair, especially as he had never put his neck under the yoke of marriage, as Nicholas had done—but now it had become a little tame. A good deal of time was spent in attendance on his irascible old mother who, though he loved her dearly, could be very trying. He was very fond of his nephews but there were so many of them and they were often noisy and difficult. A change would be delightful. Why, he and Nicholas had been nowhere since they had returned from England during the war.

He agreed with Eden that it would be well to keep the Indigo Lake transaction between themselves for the present. Nicholas would be against it and he had a very unpleasant way of recalling one’s past unfortunate speculations. Such things were better forgotten. He enjoyed the intimacy of conspiring, as it were, with Eden. He had an especial feeling for his nephew who had undeniably poetic talent and a face that matched it, who appreciated Ernest’s own literary interests. They two were different from all others of the family. They two spoke a language in common. The other nephews were dear boys, but Eden ...

As for Eden, any doubts that assailed him were dispersed by his next meeting with Mr. Kronk. Nicholas and Ernest had bought their shares in the nick of time. By the end of that week there would not be another share available. Mrs. Kronk too had taken a great fancy to the frank young man. The Kronks, man and wife, were eager for the family at Jalna to have as many shares of the Indigo Lake Gold Mine as possible. Mrs. Kronk, a tall large-boned woman, with straight fair hair brushed severely back from her intelligent face, was especially interested in Eden. He wondered what she had found to attract her in the little bilious-looking man whom she appeared alternately to bully and to mother. He could not help noticing how her attitude toward himself changed when they found themselves alone together. Then she would stretch out her arms along the back of the sofa and speak to him in a low, matter-of-fact tone, as though they had years of familiar conversation behind them.