Chapter I.

by Bret Harte

　　The principal parlor of the New Golden Gate Hotel in San Francisco,fairly reported by the local press as being "truly palatial" in itsappointments, and unrivaled in its upholstery, was, nevertheless,on August 5, 1860, of that startling newness that checked anyfamiliarity, and evidently had produced some embarrassment on thelimbs of four visitors who had just been ushered into its glories.After hesitating before one or two gorgeous fawn-colored brocadedeasy-chairs of appalling and spotless virginity, one of them seatedhimself despairingly on a tete-a-tete sofa in marked and painfulisolation, while another sat uncomfortably upright on a sofa. Thetwo others remained standing, vaguely gazing at the ceiling, andexchanging ostentatiously admiring but hollow remarks about thefurniture in unnecessary whispers. Yet they were apparently men ofa certain habit of importance and small authority, with more orless critical attitude in their speech.To them presently entered a young man of about five-and-twenty,with remarkably bright and singularly sympathetic eyes. Havingswept the group in a smiling glance, he singled out the lonelyoccupier of the tete-a-tete, and moved pleasantly towards him. Theman rose instantly with an eager gratified look."Well, Paul, I didn't allow you'd remember me. It's a matter offour years since we met at Marysville. And now you're bein' agreat man you've"--No one could have known from the young man's smiling face that hereally had not recognized his visitor at first, and that hisgreeting was only an exhibition of one of those happy instincts forwhich he was remarkable. But, following the clew suggested by hisvisitor, he was able to say promptly and gayly:--"I don't know why I should forget Tony Shear or the Marysvilleboys," turning with a half-confiding smile to the other visitors,who, after the human fashion, were beginning to be resentfullyimpatient of this special attention."Well, no,--for I've allus said that you took your first start fromMarysville. But I've brought a few friends of our party that Ireckoned to introduce to you. Cap'n Stidger, Chairman of ourCentral Committee, Mr. Henry J. Hoskins, of the firm of Hoskins andBloomer, and Joe Slate, of the 'Union Press,' one of our mostpromising journalists. Gentlemen," he continued, suddenly andwithout warning lifting his voice to an oratorical plane instartling contrast to his previous unaffected utterance, "I needn'tsay that this is the honorable Paul Hathaway, the youngest statesenator in the Legislature. You know his record!" Then,recovering the ordinary accents of humanity, he added, "We read ofyour departure last night from Sacramento, and I thought we'd comeearly, afore the crowd.""Proud to know you, sir," said Captain Stidger, suddenly liftingthe conversation to the platform again. "I have followed yourcareer, sir. I've read your speech, Mr. Hathaway, and, as I wastelling our mutual friend, Mr. Shear, as we came along, I don'tknow any man that could state the real party issues as squarely.Your castigating exposition of so-called Jeffersonian principles,and your relentless indictment of the resolutions of '98, were--were"--coughed the captain, dropping into conversation again--"werethe biggest thing out. You have only to signify the day, sir, thatyou will address us, and I can promise you the largest audience inSan Francisco.""I'm instructed by the proprietor of the 'Union Press,'" said Mr.Slate, feeling for his notebook and pencil, "to offer you itscolumns for any explanations you may desire to make in the form ofa personal letter or an editorial in reply to the 'Advertiser's'strictures on your speech, or to take any information you may havefor the benefit of our readers and the party.""If you are ever down my way, Mr. Hathaway," said Mr. Hoskins,placing a large business card in Hathaway's hand, "and will drop inas a friend, I can show you about the largest business in the wayof canned provisions and domestic groceries in the State, and giveyou a look around Battery Street generally. Or if you'll name yourday, I've got a pair of 2.35 Blue Grass horses that'll spin you outto the Cliff House to dinner and back. I've had Governor Fiske,and Senator Doolan, and that big English capitalist who was herelast year, and they--well, sir,--they were pleased! Or if you'dlike to see the town--if this is your first visit--I'm a hand toshow you.Nothing could exceed Mr. Hathaway's sympathetic acceptance of theircourtesies, nor was there the least affectation in it. Thoroughlyenjoying his fellowmen, even in their foibles, they found himirresistibly attractive. "I lived here seven years ago," he said,smiling, to the last speaker."When the water came up to Montgomery Street," interposed Mr.Shear, in a hoarse but admiring aside."When Mr. Hammersley was mayor," continued Hathaway."Had an official position--private secretary--afore he was twenty,"explained Shear, in perfectly audible confidence."Since then the city has made great strides, leaping full-grown,sir, in a single night," said Captain Stidger, hastily ascendingthe rostrum again with a mixed metaphor, to the apparent concern ofa party of handsomely dressed young ladies who had recently enteredthe parlor. "Stretching from South Park to Black Point, andrunning back to the Mission Dolores and the Presidio, we arebuilding up a metropolis, sir, worthy to be placed beside theGolden Gate that opens to the broad Pacific and the shores of farCathay! When the Pacific Railroad is built we shall be the naturalterminus of the Pathway of Nations!"Mr. Hathaway's face betrayed no consciousness that he had heardsomething like this eight years before, and that much of it hadcome true, as he again sympathetically responded. Neither was hisattention attracted by a singular similarity which the attitude ofthe group of ladies on the other side of the parlor bore to that ofhis own party. They were clustered around one of their own number--a striking-looking girl--who was apparently receiving theirmingled flatteries and caresses with a youthful yet criticalsympathy, which, singularly enough, was not unlike his own. It wasevident also that an odd sort of rivalry seemed to spring upbetween the two parties, and that, in proportion as Hathaway'sadmirers became more marked and ostentatious in their attentions,the supporters of the young girl were equally effusive andenthusiastic in their devotion. As usual in such cases, the realcontest was between the partisans themselves; each successivedemonstration on either side was provocative or retaliatory, andwhen they were apparently rendering homage to their idols they werereally distracted by and listening to each other. At last,Hathaway's party being reinforced by fresh visitors, a tallbrunette of the opposition remarked in a professedly confidentialbut perfectly audible tone:--"Well, my dear, as I don't suppose you want to take part in apolitical caucus, perhaps we'd better return to the Ladies'Boudoir, unless there's a committee sitting there too.""I know how valuable your time must be, as you are all businessmen," said Hathaway, turning to his party, in an equally audibletone; "but before you go, gentlemen, you must let me offer you alittle refreshment in a private room," and he moved naturallytowards the door. The rival fair, who had already risen at theircommander's suggestion, here paused awkwardly over an embarrassingvictory. Should they go or stay? The object of their devotion,however, turned curiously towards Hathaway. For an instant theireyes met. The young girl turned carelessly to her companions andsaid, "No; stay here--it's the public parlor;" and her followers,evidently accustomed to her authority, sat down again."A galaxy of young ladies from the Convent of Santa Clara, Mr.Hathaway," explained Captain Stidger, naively oblivious of anydiscourtesy on their part, as he followed Hathaway's glance andtook his arm as they moved away. "Not the least of our treasures,sir. Most of them daughters of pioneers--and all Californian bredand educated. Connoisseurs have awarded them the palm, and declarethat for Grace, Intelligence, and Woman's Highest Charms the Eastcannot furnish their equal!" Having delivered this Parthiancompliment in an oratorical passage through the doorway, thecaptain descended, outside, into familiar speech. "But I supposeyou will find that out for yourself if you stay here long. SanFrancisco might furnish a fitting bride to California's youngestsenator.""I am afraid that my stay here must be brief, and limited tobusiness," said Hathaway, who had merely noticed that the principalgirl was handsome and original-looking. "In fact, I am here partlyto see an old acquaintance--Colonel Pendleton."The three men looked at each other curiously. "Oh! HarryPendleton," said Mr. Hoskins, incredulously "You don't know him?""An old pioneer--of course," interposed Shear, explanatorily andapologetically. "Why, in Paul's time the colonel was a big manhere.""I understand the colonel has been unfortunate," said Hathaway,gravely; "but in my time he was President of the El Dorado Bank.""And the bank hasn't got through its settlement yet," said Hoskins"I hope you ain't expecting to get anything out of it?""No," said Hathaway, smiling; "I was a boy at that time, and livedup to my salary. I know nothing of his bank difficulties, but italways struck me that Colonel Pendleton was himself an honorableman.""It ain't that," said Captain Stidger energetically, "but thetrouble with Harry Pendleton is that he hasn't grown with theState, and never adjusted himself to it. And he won't. He thinksthe Millennium was between the fall of '49 and the spring of '50,and after that everything dropped. He belongs to the old days,when a man's simple word was good for any amount if you knew him;and they say that the old bank hadn't a scrap of paper for halfthat was owing to it. That was all very well, sir, in '49 and '50,and--Luck; but it won't do for '59 and '60, and--Business! And theold man can't see it.""But he is ready to fight for it now, as in the old time," said Mr.Slate, "and that's another trouble with his chronology. He's donemore to keep up dueling than any other man in the State, and don'tknow the whole spirit of progress and civilization is against it."It was impossible to tell from Paul Hathaway's face whether hissympathy with Colonel Pendleton's foibles or his assent to thecriticisms of his visitors was the truer. Both were no doubtequally sincere. But the party was presently engaged in theabsorption of refreshment, which, being of a purely, spirituous andexhilarating quality, tended to increase their good humor with thehost till they parted. Even then a gratuitous advertisement of hisvirtues and their own intentions in calling upon him wasoratorically voiced from available platforms and landings, in thehalls and stairways, until it was pretty well known throughout theGolden Gate Hotel that the Hon. Mr. Paul Hathaway had arrived fromSacramento and had received a "spontaneous ovation."Meantime the object of it had dropped into an easy-chair by thewindow of his room, and was endeavoring to recall a less profitablememory. The process of human forgetfulness is not a difficult onebetween the ages of eighteen and twenty-six, and Paul Hathaway hadnot only fulfilled the Mayor's request by forgetting theparticulars of a certain transfer that he had witnessed in theMayor's office, but in the year succeeding that request, beingabout to try his fortunes in the mountains, he had formallyconstituted Colonel Pendleton to act as his proxy in theadministration of Mrs. Howard's singular Trust, in which, however,he had never participated except yearly to sign his name. He was,consequently, somewhat astonished to have received a letter a fewdays before from Colonel Pendleton, asking him to call and see himregarding it.He vaguely remembered that it was eight years ago, and eight yearshad worked considerable change in the original trustees, greatestof all in his superior officer, the Mayor, who had died the yearfollowing, leaving his trusteeship to his successor in office, whomPaul Hathaway had never seen. The Bank of El Dorado, despite Mrs.Howard's sanguine belief, had long been in bankruptcy, and,although Colonel Pendleton still survived it, it was certain thatno other president would succeed to his office as trustee, and thatthe function would lapse with him. Paul himself, a soldier offortune, although habitually lucky, had only lately succeeded to aprofession--if his political functions could be so described. Evenwith his luck, energy, and ambition, while everything was possible,nothing was secure. It seemed, therefore, as if the soullessofficial must eventually assume the duties of the two sympathizingfriends who had originated them, and had stood in loco parentis tothe constructive orphan. The mother, Mrs. Howard, had disappeareda year after the Trust had been made--it was charitably presumed inorder to prevent any complications that might arise from herpresence in the country. With these facts before him, PaulHathaway was more concerned in wondering what Pendleton could wantwith him than, I fear, any direct sympathy with the situation. Onthe contrary, it appeared to him more favorable for keeping thesecret of Mrs. Howard's relationship, which would now die withColonel Pendleton and himself; and there was no danger of anyemotional betrayal of it in the cold official administration of aman who had received the Trust through the formal hands ofsuccessive predecessors. He had forgotten the time limited for theguardianship, but the girl must soon be of age and off their hands.If there had ever been any romantic or chivalrous impression leftupon his memory by the scene in the mayor's office, I fear he hadput it away with various other foolish illusions of his youth, towhich he now believed he was superior.Nevertheless, he would see the colonel, and at once, and settle thequestion. He looked at the address, "St. Charles Hotel." Heremembered an old hostelry of that name, near the Plaza. Could itbe possible that it had survived the alterations and improvementsof the city? It was an easy walk through remembered streets, yetwith changed shops and houses and faces. When he reached thePlaza, scarce recognizable in its later frontages of brick andstone, he found the old wooden building still intact, with itsvilla-like galleries and verandas incongruously and ostentatiouslyoverlooked by two new and aspiring erections on either side. Foran instant he tried to recall the glamour of old days. Heremembered when his boyish eyes regarded it as the crowning work ofopulence and distinction; he remembered a ball given there on somepublic occasion, which was to him the acme of social brilliancy anddisplay. How tawdry and trivial it looked beside those later andmore solid structures! How inconsistent were those long latticedverandas and balconies, pathetic record of that first illusion ofthe pioneers that their climate was a tropical one! A restaurantand billiard-saloon had aggrandized all of the lower story; butthere was still the fanlight, over which the remembered title of"St. Charles," in gilded letters, was now reinforced by the toodemonstrative legend, "Apartments and Board, by the Day or Week."Was it possible that this narrow, creaking staircase had onceseemed to him the broad steps of Fame and Fortune? On the firstlanding, a preoccupied Irish servant-girl, with a mop, directed himto a door at the end of the passage, at which he knocked. The doorwas opened by a grizzled negro servant, who was still holding apiece of oily chamois-leather in his hand; and the contents of adueling-case, scattered upon a table in the centre of the room,showed what had been his occupation. Admitting Hathaway with greatcourtesy, he said:--"Marse Harry bin havin' his ole trubble, sah, and bin engaged justdis momen' on his toylet; ef yo'll accommodate yo'self on de sofa,I inform him yo' is heah."As the negro passed into the next room, Paul cast a hasty glancearound the apartment. The furniture, originally rich and elegant,was now worn threadbare and lustreless. A book-case, containing,among other volumes, a few law books--there being a vaguetradition, as Paul remembered, that Colonel Pendleton had once beenconnected with the law--a few French chairs of tarnished gilt, arifle in the corner, a presentation sword in a mahogany case, a fewclassical prints on the walls, and one or two iron deed-boxesmarked "El Dorado Bank," were the principal objects. A mild flavorof dry decay and methylated spirits pervaded the apartment. Yet itwas scrupulously clean and well kept, and a few clothes neatlybrushed and folded on a chair bore witness to the servant's care.As Paul, however, glanced behind the sofa, he was concerned to seea coat, which had evidently been thrust hurriedly in a corner, withthe sleeve lining inside out, and a needle and thread stillsticking in the seam. It struck him instantly that this had beenthe negro's occupation, and that the pistol-cleaning was a politefiction."Yo' 'll have to skuse Marse Harry seein' yo in bed, but his laig'spow'ful bad to-day, and he can't stand," said the servantreentering the room. "Skuse me, sah," he added in a dignifiedconfidential whisper, half closing the door with his hand, "but ifyo' wouldn't mind avoidin' 'xcitin' or controversical topics in yo'conversation, it would be de better fo' him."Paul smilingly assented, and the black retainer, with even morethan the usual solemn ceremonious exaggeration of his race, usheredhim into the bedroom. It was furnished in the same faded glory asthe sitting-room, with the exception of a low, iron camp-bedstead,in which the tall, soldierly figure of Colonel Pendleton, clad inthreadbare silk dressing-gown, was stretched. He had changed ineight years: his hair had become gray, and was thinned over thesunken temples, but his iron-gray moustache was still particularlylong and well pointed. His face bore marks of illness and care;there were deep lines down the angle of the nostril that spoke ofalternate savage outbreak and repression, and gave his smile asardonic rigidity. His dark eyes, that shone with the exaltationof fever, fixed Paul's on entering, and with the tyranny of aninvalid never left them."Well, Hathaway?"With the sound of that voice Paul felt the years slip away, and hewas again a boy, looking up admiringly to the strong man, who nowlay helpless before him. He had entered the room with a faintsense of sympathizing superiority and a consciousness of having hadexperience in controlling men. But all this fled before ColonelPendleton's authoritative voice; even its broken tones carried theold dominant spirit of the man, and Paul found himself admiring aquality in his old acquaintance that he missed in his newerfriends."I haven't seen you for eight years, Hathaway. Come here and letme look at you."Paul approached the bedside with boyish obedience. Pendleton tookhis hand and gazed at him critically."I should have recognized you, sir, for all your moustache and yourinches. The last time I saw you was in Jack Hammersley's office.Well, Jack's dead, and here I am, little better, I reckon. Youremember Hammersley's house?""Yes," said Paul, albeit wondering at the question."Something like this, Swiss villa style. I remember when Jack putit up. Well, the last time I was out, I passed there. And what doyou think they've done to it?"Paul could not imagine."Well, sir," said the colonel gravely, "they've changed it into achurch missionary shop and young men's Christian reading-room! Butthat's 'progress' and 'improvement'!" He paused, and, slowlywithdrawing his hand from Paul's, added with grim apology, "You'reyoung, and belong to the new school, perhaps. Well, sir, I've readyour speech; I don't belong to your party--mine died ten years ago--but I congratulate you. George! Confound it where's that boygone?"The negro indicated by this youthful title, although he must havebeen ten years older than his master, after a hurried shuffling inthe sitting-room eventually appeared at the door."George, champagne and materials for cocktails for the gentleman.The best, you understand. No new-fangled notions from that newbarkeeper."Paul, who thought he observed a troubled blinking in George'seyelid, and referred it to a fear of possible excitement for hispatient, here begged his host not to trouble himself--that heseldom took anything in the morning."Possibly not, sir; possibly not," returned the colonel, hastily."I know the new ideas are prohibitive, and some other blank thing,but you're safe here from your constituents, and by gad, sir, Ishan't force you to take it! It's my custom, Hathaway--an old one--played out, perhaps, like all the others, but a customnevertheless, and I'm only surprised that George, who knows it,should have forgotten it.""Fack is, Marse Harry," said George, with feverish apology, "it bingone 'scaped my mind dis mo'nin' in de prerogation ob business, butI'm goin' now, shuah!" and he disappeared."A good boy, sir, but beginning to be contaminated. Brought himhere from Nashville over ten years ago. Eight years ago theyproved to him that he was no longer a slave, and made him d--dunhappy until I promised him it should make no difference to himand he could stay. I had to send for his wife and child--ofcourse, a dead loss of eighteen hundred dollars when they set footin the State--but I'm blanked if he isn't just as miserable withthem here, for he has to take two hours in the morning and three inthe afternoon every day to be with 'em. I tried to get him to takehis family to the mines and make his fortune, like those fellowsthey call bankers and operators and stockbrokers nowadays; or to goto Oregon where they'll make him some kind of a mayor or sheriff--but he won't. He collects my rents on some little property I haveleft, and pays my bills, sir, and, if this blank civilization wouldonly leave him alone, he'd be a good enough boy."Paul couldn't help thinking that the rents George collected weresomewhat inconsistent with those he was evidently mending when hearrived, but at that moment the jingle of glasses was heard in thesitting-room, and the old negro reappeared at the door. Drawinghimself up with ceremonious courtesy, he addressed Paul. "Wo'd yo'mind, sah, taking a glance at de wine for yo' choice?" Paul rose,and followed him into the sitting-room, when George carefullyclosed the door. To his surprise Hathaway beheld a tray with twoglasses of whiskey and bitters, but no wine. "Skuse me, sah," saidthe old man with dignified apology, "but de Kernel won't have anybut de best champagne for hono'ble gemmen like yo'self, and I'sedespaired to say it can't be got in de house or de subburbs. Debest champagne dat we gives visitors is de Widder Glencoe. Wo'dyo' mind, sah, for de sake o' not 'xcitin' de Kernel wid triflin'culinary matter, to say dat yo' don' take but de one brand?""Certainly," said Paul, smiling. "I really don't care for anythingso early;" then, returning to the bedroom, he said carelessly,"You'll excuse me taking the liberty, colonel, of sending away thechampagne and contenting myself with whiskey. Even the best brand--the Widow Cliquot"--with a glance at the gratified George--"I findrather trying so early in the morning.""As you please, Hathaway," said the colonel, somewhat stiffly. "Idare say there's a new fashion in drinks now, and a gentleman'sstomach is a thing of the past. Then, I suppose, we can spare theboy, as this is his time for going home. Put that tin box with theTrust papers on the bed, George, and Mr. Hathaway will excuse yourwaiting." As the old servant made an exaggerated obeisance toeach, Paul remarked, as the door closed upon him, "George certainlykeeps his style, colonel, in the face of the progress you deplore.""He was always a 'dandy nigger,'" returned Pendleton, his faceslightly relaxing as he glanced after his grizzled henchman, "buthis exaggeration of courtesy is a blank sight more natural andmanly than the exaggeration of discourtesy which your superiorcivilized 'helps' think is self-respect. The excuse of servitudeof any kind is its spontaneity and affection. When you know a manhates you and serves you from interest, you know he's a cur andyou're a tyrant. It's your blank progress that's made menialservice degrading by teaching men to avoid it. Why, sir, when Ifirst arrived here, Jack Hammersley and myself took turns as cookto the party. I didn't consider myself any the worse master forit. But enough of this." He paused, and, raising himself on hiselbow, gazed for some seconds half cautiously, half doubtfully,upon his companion. "I've got something to tell you, Hathaway," hesaid, slowly. "You've had an easy time with this Trust; your shareof the work hasn't worried you, kept you awake nights, orinterfered with your career. I understand perfectly," hecontinued, in reply to Hathaway's deprecating gesture. "I acceptedto act as your proxy, and I have. I'm not complaining. But it istime that you should know what I've done, and what you may stillhave to do. Here is the record. On the day after that interviewin the Mayor's office, the El Dorado Bank, of which I was, andstill am, president, received seventy-five thousand dollars intrust from Mrs. Howard. Two years afterwards, on that same day,the bank had, by lucky speculations, increased that sum to thecredit of the trust one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, ordouble the original capital. In the following year the banksuspended payment."