Part 7

"Before you could arrange to speak with him," said Tarrant to the old man, "he was done to death." And as Lafargue shuddered, and the girl turned away, Tarrant went on: "Who was interested in having this man die at this particular time? Could you say? Who stood in fear of what Magruder might tell? Whose rascally dealings were about to be exposed? The people most interested in the house of Stevens, as you know very well!"

"I thank you," said Monsieur Lafargue tremblingly. "You have gone to a deal of trouble, sir, for our sakes, and have probably saved me from a great mistake."

"Avoid all conferences with the Stevens firm, or any one bearing the Stevens name," said Tarrant, shaking his hand. "To deal with them in any way will bring you and your daughter, both, misfortune."

"But how is my business here to be carried forward?" asked the old man.

"Take heed! If you went to them now, you could merely state what you suspect," said Tarrant. "You would be placing yourself in their hands, for you have no proof of anything. My advice to you is to wait." He nodded to the old man understandingly. "Of course, an indefinite stay here will be expensive, and your means are limited; I know that. But I have suggested a way of surmounting the difficulty. Money can be had readily; old Bulfinch is your man; you have only to ask him for it."

"You are kind," said Monsieur Lafargue. "I should feel helpless and alone, indeed, without you."

Tarrant went with them to their carriage; and when he had handed them in, and their driver sat with the reins in his hands, he said:

"Remember what I have told you--both to-day and to-night. I repeat it all now. Keep to yourselves. Do not trust the firm of Stevens--especially do not trust young Anthony of that name; he is, as I have shown you, the most ruthless of them all. Have no confidences with any one; be silent, and you will win through."

Then Tarrant went back to the supper-room; the big young man was seated at the table; and across from him was a white-haired old man, with the rosy, gentle face of a saint.

"Good!" said Tarrant, at sight of the old man. "I had hoped you'd not keep us waiting, old moneybags!"

The new-comer laughed; it was a laugh that had a soothing, oily quality; one white hand stroked his well-shaven chin.

"I strive to be prompt," said he. "It's a virtue that has a deal of value in a business way. And being early to-night repaid me in an unexpected way; for while I waited in the public room I witnessed your encounter with Captain Weir."

Tarrant sat down; with his elbows on the table, his chin in his hands, he cursed in cold anger.

"Some day," he said, "I'll drive a bullet through that man's skull, so help me God!"

But the saintly old man held up a protesting hand.

"No, no!" said he. "Oh, no! We are friends. We are all friends together. We have business relations with Captain Weir. No violence; no discord. It would be to the disadvantage of us all."

"My thought!" said the big young man. "My thought, exactly, Mr. Bulfinch. Let us put all private matters to one side; for the present, at least, let us work for the common good."

Tarrant regarded them both with cold eyes.

"Is it for the common good that Weir affronts me at almost every turn?" said he. "Am I possessed of more patience than the run of men, that I'm continually asked to bear his impertinence?"

"Do not forget," said the old man in his soothing voice, "that the plan we are working under is, in a general way, one laid down by him. And he disapproves of the way you have selected in dealing with young Anthony Stevens; he fears it is not a good way."

Tarrant sneered; but it was the big young man who spoke.

"I have no good reason to hold my hand where this same Anthony Stevens is concerned," said he. "But, on the whole, I agree with Weir. Keen young blades like this are not apt to be budged by hostile talk, or the threat of blows. It only makes them all the more resolved."

"It is the captain's desire," said old Bulfinch, "to manage the matter carefully; he plans to be friends with this young man, to encourage him, to support him. And, then, one day will come an occasion when what is necessary can be done with safety. And it _will_ be done."

"I have no stomach for craft when a smart blow or two will serve as well," said Tarrant bitterly.

But the big young man wagged his head in disagreement.

"I once thought that, myself," he said, "and risked my bones every day for a little gain. But Weir's way gives fine profits and no risks; we squeeze our toll out of shipmen and need never even take to sea. Instead of facing a roused captain, with a ship's company behind him, on his own deck, we now, thanks to Weir's brains, make a little arrangement with that same captain before he goes on board; and the ship and cargo are ours at whatever place we say, and without striking a blow."

Old Amos Bulfinch smiled; his rosy, saint-like face glowed with mildness.

"Could anything be better put?" he asked of Tarrant. "Would it be possible to state a perfect case in more comprehensive words? Sir," to the big young man, "I thank you."

"But even in the thing you give Weir so much credit for," said Tarrant, "all is not done that could be done. Why are our operations held to a single house? Why should we be forced to be content with Rufus Stevens' Sons alone? There is Girard; there is Crousillat; there is a half-dozen more. Good profit is to be had by extending our operations to all of these--"

But the smooth tones of Amos Bulfinch checked him.

"Rich they are, those merchants," agreed old Amos, "and their ships are many. But each man of them is as keen as a knife-blade; each has a thousand eyes! Where a thing can be done in the shadow of Rufus Stevens' Sons with ease and comfort, it could only be undertaken, in the case of these others, with much danger; at almost any moment we could expect to be laid by the heels."

"Weir is a dog-fox; I'd follow his plan without question where I'd not even listen to another," said the big young man. "Leave the other houses alone. This one is rich enough, for the time, at least."

Tarrant regarded the younger man, and then the elder one, with a curl at his lip.

"You both have a deal of respect for Weir's opinions in some things," he said. "And yet, strangely enough, you have very little in others. There is no thing which he has spoken more sharply against than the proposed dealing with the French agent, now on his way here, in the matter of letters of marque. And yet _you_ strongly favor the project."

"The matter of the letters of marque is to be a venture of our own," said the big young man. "That is, if the captain is disinclined to join us."

Old Bulfinch nodded.

"Quite right," he said. "It is to be an affair of our own. But we shall be prudent, for all that. We shall be exceedingly careful that every legal aspect be observed."

Tarrant laughed.

"A saying like that has an odd sound," said he, "when I remember that Blake here," and he pointed to the big young man, "was brought north to take active charge of the matter--Blake, who for years has given as much thought to the legality of any action as he would to a snap of his fingers."

The big young man smiled; but it was old Amos who spoke.

"Blake," said the old man, "is to take charge when all is said and done; the legal status of French privateers, recruited and armed in our ports, will have been passed upon when he sends out the first of them."

"And when they are passed upon and take to sea," smiled the big young man, "then will come the time to forget legal forms; rich merchantmen will be our only need, and the seas between here and Rio are crowded with those."

"Well," said Tarrant, "God knows I don't want to put myself in a position to block any such flow of circumstance. If there are prizes to be had, let us have them. If we get Weir's help in the matter, well and good. If we do not, we can, as you suggest, go on without it."

"This Frenchman, Lafargue, was an excellent thought," said old Bulfinch. "Oh, excellent! He can do much for us if properly managed."

"I have found a way for that," said Tarrant. "He is without money; I have recommended that he go to you."

"I am always ready to accommodate gentlemen, upon good security," said the old money-lender smoothly. "A good name or two on the back of a bill will go far with me."

"His bill will have no name upon it," said Tarrant. "And he has no security."

Old Bulfinch looked at the speaker, astonished.

"What?" said he. "What? Oh, surely, now!"

"In the matter of Lafargue," said Tarrant, "names and securities must be forgotten. You must only remember that Lafargue is a man to receive special treatment."

"Very careful, special treatment," agreed the big young man, nodding. "He must be beholden to us, he must be tied to us, tightly, in some way; and, of all ways, to have him owe you money is the readiest and best."

"In the matter of money," said old Bulfinch, wincing, "it is wise to use care. Money is not easily come by; and it should not be too easily parted with."

"Any money spent in the matter of Lafargue will be well spent," said Tarrant. "We must have his friendship; for through him we hope to gain the countenance of this other Frenchman, Genêt."

"And keep well to mind who and what Genêt is; he is the French minister, now on his way here for the sole purpose of arming American ships to sail under the French flag. He was Lafargue's friend in France," said the big young man, "and we must see to it that he is our friend here."

Tumblers of hot drink were brought them, and, with the plates and cups pushed to one side of the table, they talked and drank and planned. The coming of Lafargue to the city, so it seemed, had startled them, at first. Untold harm might have been done by it, had not Charles Stevens happened to be away. But now, on the whole, they were pleased with the old Frenchman's arrival. Monsieur Lafargue had no legal proof of any slack dealing, and so he could not appeal to the law; they had so filled his mind with apprehension that he'd not dare enter the counting-room of Rufus Stevens' Sons and frankly tell what he thought of the various transactions that troubled him. Altogether it was agreed, they were safe from him. And his tightened circumstances now delivered him into their hands; being a friend to the French agent, he'd have much influence. Legalized piracy! By God, it was like a dream of paradise! You sailed the seas with a good ship under you; you took what you liked, and the law supported you! Oh, yes, on the whole they were now pleased with the old Frenchman's coming. They had hoped in the regular course of things to get commissions for a vessel or two from Genêt; but now, look you, a fleet was not impossible. Give them the harrying of the seas for three months' time, and you, or any one else, could do what you pleased. They would be satisfied.

"But," said old Amos Bulfinch, as he was about to go, "I have seen Lafargue's daughter. She is not one to be easily misled. By some chance she might distrust this matter of ours, and might warn her father away."

"Never fear for that," said Tarrant, as he rang the bell for more drink. "That event has been provided for, and by no less a person than Weir himself. He has suggested a little ruse, to safeguard those things in which he is interested; but it so chances that it safeguards our venture as well. You need fear nothing from the girl; she will have her mind filled with other matters, I promise you that."

"Keep your ears open in the next few days," smiled the big young man. "Common gossip will tell you much."

Old Amos wore the look of a peaceful saint, so calm was he of face, so rosy of color, so white of hair, as he bade them good night; and then he went out, leaving them together at the table awaiting the liquor they had ordered.

X

The next morning as Anthony ate his breakfast at the inn he noticed many glances cast in his direction; waiters spoke to each other behind their hands, while they watched him out of the tails of their eyes. He smiled, even while he frowned.

He had finished, and was seated, with a journal, at a window in the public room, when he noted a slight man of middle age come in, look about, and ask a question of a porter.

"Mr. Stevens," said the man, in a hushed sort of voice, as he came forward. "I am from the counting-house of Rufus Stevens' Sons, and have been sent to say that Mr. Charles Stevens is now in the city."

Anthony felt a thrill of satisfaction.

"Thank you," he said. And then, "Did Mr. Stevens direct you to bring me word?"

"No," said the man. "Not Mr. Stevens--Captain Weir."

"I see," said Anthony.

There was something fragile about the man; his skin had a transparent quality, his hands were thin and nervous, his whole aspect was worn. As Anthony looked at him, he became aware of something that impressed itself upon him as a glow--a pallid, luminous something--white, like moonlight.

"I will step down to the counting-house during the course of the day," said the young man. "I trust Mr. Stevens is well?"

"Quite well," said the man.

This luminous quality which Anthony felt the man threw off also lit up his eyes. They were deep-set eyes, light in color and full of pain; in them a pale hope seemed constantly lifting itself through shadows, only to sink again.

"Is there anything more?" asked Anthony, as the other lingered.

The man shook his head, but did not move.

"I am Tom Horn," said he. "As a boy, I worked as clerk for your grandfather. And now I am clerk again."

There was an oddity in this simple statement that supplied a missing portion of Anthony's conception of the man. Surely he was not quite firm in his mind.

"In your grandfather's time," said Tom Horn, "the circles flowed freely about the world. They were wide and wonderful, and the sun and the wind and the stars were in them." He bent closer to Anthony: "Do you know what makes the wind to blow?" he asked.

"No," said Anthony.

"No more does any one else," said Tom Horn. "No one in all the world knows what makes the wind to blow. And no one knows why water flows in circles, and rings in every ship, every island, and every man. Once," he said, "I saw a circle around the moon. The world moves in a circle. I do, too. I began as a clerk; and I am a clerk once more."

"You held a better position once, then," said Anthony.

"I was supercargo in the _William and Mary_," said Tom Horn. "Three voyages in all. She was a stout ship, and well officered. But what can wooden planks and good intentions do when once the circle begins to narrow? Nothing. It is like one man setting his strength to prevent the world turning over. All circles move. There is no power under God's that can stop them."

With that he turned and went out; but in a few moments Anthony saw him peering in at one of the windows, and in his eyes were at once the hope and fear that, perhaps, marked his madness.

It was well toward the middle of the afternoon when Anthony arrived at Rufus Stevens' Sons and was received by the affable clerk.

"Yes, Mr. Stevens is in, sir," said this personage. "I will speak to him."

He hastened through a doorway, and in a moment hastened out again.

"You are to go right in, sir," said he.

Anthony entered. The room that Charles Stevens had fitted up for himself was low-ceilinged like the others; its width and breadth were great; the floor was laid with rugs of marvelous colors and texture, and the walls were hung with rich draperies, pictures, and strange-looking arms. The furniture was all of far-off lands; there were things of ebony, and ivory, of silk and gold, and the breath of the place was vital with rich essences.

Charles sat upon a divan and nursed his lame foot; he was a young-looking man; his color was fresh, and his hair as dark and thick and vital as it had been at twenty-five. He was talking with a settled-looking person who sat at a table with a quill and an ink-pot, scrawling figures upon a sheet of paper.

"I would not lay out another groat," Charles was saying, "upon a ship of the build and stowage-room such as we now have. They are cramped, they are slow, they are tricky. What we want is vessels that will carry both cargo and canvas, and will stand up under a wind that blows above the ordinary."

The settled man looked up from his figures.

"What results I have reached--what results every ship-builder has reached--are reared upon tried and tested things. Little by little we learn how to improve a hull so that it gives less and less resistance to the water; and carrying-room, Mr. Stevens, is largely dependent upon the shape of this hull. A ship is a ship; it is not a hogshead with masts in it."

Charles Stevens's laugh was singularly young. He got up and limped up and down the floor, both hands waving.

"Siddons," said he, "I have the same struggle with you every time I ask anything that is not customary. It's in the records of the house that my father went through the same thing with your father. But keep this in your mind: it is the necessities of trade that improve ships; if their advance had been left to the builders, we'd still be hugging the coasts in galleys and afraid to venture out of sight of land. The Yankee ships are making ours look like Venetian caracks; they have moved ahead of us, Siddons; they are winging it into Calcutta carrying almost twice our merchandise, and doing it in less time."

The settled man consulted his figures.

"You talk of vessels of seven hundred tons burthen," he said, plaintively. "Who ever heard of such things?"

"In New England," said Charles, "they not only have heard of them but have built them." He held up two fingers of his left hand and pointed to them with the forefinger of his right. "Build me two ships, Siddons,--twins,--of live-oak, clear of all defects, bolted well, with all clamps and spirketings and braces of the best metal, and give me room in their bellies to stow cargoes that'll open the eyes of all Massachusetts."

"But seven hundred tons!" complained Siddons. "Is there water enough in the ocean to keep such a monster afloat?"

"Who said anything of seven hundred tons?" demanded Charles. "It was the Salem ship that measured that. The pair you are to build for me are to be of a thousand tons."

Siddons gasped and curled up in his chair.

"A thousand tons! The seas would break their backs in the first blow."

"Ship-builders have been saying that with each additional inch since the beginning. So don't worry me with it; I want the vessels, and they are to be built on this river. The Siddons yard has always laid down the keels for Rufus Stevens' Sons; so get your computers to work; see that the timbers are properly seasoned, and the ironmongery gotten under way."

"There must be new ways erected; there must be new docks," complained the ship-builder. "The outlay will be frightful."

"But think of the income, Siddons," said Charles. "Think of passing the Delaware Capes, inbound from Calcutta, in seventy days." And as Siddons paused in the act of gathering up his sheets of paper, and gazed at him, his jaw hanging slack, Charles laughed and said, "How old is your son, Siddons?"

"Twenty, passed."

"Get him into the yards as quickly as you can. You need a fresh eye. Before he has reached your limitations, a two months' trip from the same port will be thought a long one." As the ship-builder moved toward the door, Charles added, "When can you give me the figures?"

"In a week," replied the man.

"Excellent! In a week I shall expect them."

A number of times in his limping up and down the floor, Charles had passed within a few feet of Anthony, but he had not paid the slightest attention to him; now, as he closed the door upon Siddons, he turned with a boyish smile and looked at him.

"Anthony!" said he. "Robert's Anthony!" And, as he looked, the smile changed in character; the pleased look in his eyes became one of wonder. "You should have been called Rufus, for your grandfather," he said. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-five," said Anthony.

"At that age your grandfather was master of a ship voyaging half across the world," said Charles, "God was in the same mood when he fashioned you two." He looked for another space, and then added, "Yes, they should have called you after him."

Emerging from the surprise, he shook Anthony's hand with great warmth.

"I'm greatly pleased," said he, his face a shining proof of it; "I'm amazingly pleased. I had no thought that such a pleasure as this awaited me. So your father and mother are both dead." He nodded at his nephew wistfully. "Both dead and gone. And you left alone, and I never so much as sending you a line of writing."

"These things escape one," said Anthony; "especially when they happen so far away."

"A brother is a brother, no matter what the distance; and you were of my own blood. There was never a time when I did not hold your mother as the most beautiful and best of women; there was no reason why all these years should have gone by, and I holding my tongue; no reason at all."

They sat down.

"Have you been in the city long?" asked Charles.

"Less than a week. I inquired here for you, but learned you were away."

"And you've had a devil of a dull time, I know, going about in strange places."

"Why, fortunately, no. I dropped in on Christopher Dent--"

"What--old Kit!" Charles laughed, and curled himself up in a corner of the divan, nursing his lame foot. "Good soul! I'm glad you thought of him."

"And while I was there who should come in but Dr. King, and he, when he found who I was, instantly invited me to supper."

"Excellent!" approved Charles. "It couldn't have been better."