Prosper's "Old Mother"
"It's all very well," said Joe Wynbrook, "for us to be sittin'here, slingin' lies easy and comfortable, with the wind whistlin'in the pines outside, and the rain just liftin' the ditches to fillour sluice boxes with gold ez we're smokin' and waitin', but I tellyou what, boys--it ain't home! No, sir, it ain't HOME!"The speaker paused, glanced around the bright, comfortable barroom,the shining array of glasses beyond, and the circle of complacentfaces fronting the stove, on which his own boots were cheerfullysteaming, lifted a glass of whiskey from the floor under his chair,and in spite of his deprecating remark, took a long draught of thespirits with every symptom of satisfaction."If ye mean," returned Cyrus Brewster, "that it ain't the oldfarmhouse of our boyhood, 'way back in the woods, I'll agree withyou; but ye'll just remember that there wasn't any gold placerslying round on the medder on that farm. Not much! Ef thar hadbeen, we wouldn't have left it.""I don't mean that," said Joe Wynbrook, settling himselfcomfortably back in his chair; "it's the family hearth I'm talkin'of. The soothin' influence, ye know--the tidiness of the womenfolks.""Ez to the soothin' influence," remarked the barkeeper, leaning hiselbows meditatively on his counter, 'afore I struck these diggin'sI had a grocery and bar, 'way back in Mizzoori, where there wasfive old-fashioned farms jined. Blame my skin ef the men folksweren't a darned sight oftener over in my grocery, sittin' onbarrils and histin' in their reg'lar corn-juice, than ever any ofyou be here--with all these modern improvements.""Ye don't catch on, any of you," returned Wynbrook impatiently."Ef it was a mere matter o' buildin' houses and becomin' familymen, I reckon that this yer camp is about prosperous enough to doit, and able to get gals enough to marry us, but that would be onlyborryin' trouble and lettin' loose a lot of jabberin' women togossip agin' each other and spile all our friendships. No,gentlemen! What we want here--each of us--is a good old mother!Nothin' new-fangled or fancy, but the reg'lar old-fashioned motherwe was used to when we was boys!"The speaker struck a well-worn chord--rather the worse for wear,and one that had jangled falsely ere now, but which still producedits effect. The men were silent. Thus encouraged, Wynbrookproceeded:--"Think o' comin' home from the gulch a night like this and findin'yer old mother a-waitin' ye! No fumblin' around for the matchesye'd left in the gulch; no high old cussin' because the wood waswet or you forgot to bring it in; no bustlin' around for your drythings and findin' you forgot to dry 'em that mornin'--buteverything waitin' for ye and ready. And then, mebbe, she bringsye in some doughnuts she's just cooked for ye--cooked ez only SHEkin cook 'em! Take Prossy Riggs--alongside of me here--forinstance! HE'S made the biggest strike yet, and is puttin' up ahigh-toned house on the hill. Well! he'll hev it finished off andfurnished slap-up style, you bet! with a Chinese cook, and a Biddy,and a Mexican vaquero to look after his horse--but he won't have nomother to housekeep! That is," he corrected himself perfunctorily,turning to his companion, "you've never spoke o' your mother, so Ireckon you're about fixed up like us."The young man thus addressed flushed slightly, and then nodded hishead with a sheepish smile. He had, however, listened to theconversation with an interest almost childish, and a reverentadmiration of his comrades--qualities which, combined with anintellect not particularly brilliant, made him alternately the buttand the favorite of the camp. Indeed, he was supposed to possessthat proportion of stupidity and inexperience which, in miningsuperstition, gives "luck" to its possessor. And this had beensingularly proven in the fact that he had made the biggest "strike"of the season.Joe Wynbrook's sentimentalism, albeit only argumentative and halfserious, had unwittingly touched a chord of simple history, and theflush which had risen to his cheek was not entirely bashfulness.The home and relationship of which they spoke so glibly, HE hadnever known; he was a foundling! As he lay awake that night heremembered the charitable institution which had protected hisinfancy, the master to whom he had later been apprenticed; that wasall he knew of his childhood. In his simple way he had beengreatly impressed by the strange value placed by his companionsupon the family influence, and he had received their extravagancewith perfect credulity. In his absolute ignorance and his lack ofhumor he had detected no false quality in their sentiment. And avague sense of his responsibility, as one who had been theluckiest, and who was building the first "house" in the camp,troubled him. He lay staringly wide awake, hearing the mountainwind, and feeling warm puffs of it on his face through the crevicesof the log cabin, as he thought of the new house on the hill thatwas to be lathed and plastered and clapboarded, and yet void andvacant of that mysterious "mother"! And then, out of the solitudeand darkness, a tremendous idea struck him that made him sit up inhis bunk!A day or two later "Prossy" Riggs stood on a sand-blown, wind-sweptsuburb of San Francisco, before a large building whom forbiddingexterior proclaimed that it was an institution of formal charity.It was, in fact, a refuge for the various waifs and strays of ill-advised or hopeless immigration. As Prosper paused before thedoor, certain told recollections of a similar refuge were creepingover him, and, oddly enough, he felt as embarrassed as if he hadbeen seeking relief for himself. The perspiration stood out on hisforehead as he entered the room of the manager.It chanced, however, that this official, besides being a man ofshrewd experience of human weakness, was also kindly hearted, andhaving, after his first official scrutiny of his visitor and hisresplendent watch chain, assured himself that he was not seekingpersonal relief, courteously assisted him in his stammeringrequest."If I understand you, you want some one to act as your housekeeper?""That's it! Somebody to kinder look arter things--and me--ginrally," returned Prosper, greatly relieved."Of what age?" continued the manager, with a cautious glance at therobust youth and good-looking, simple face of Prosper."I ain't nowise partickler--ez long ez she's old--ye know. Yefollow me? Old--ez of--betwixt you an' me, she might be my ownmother."The manager smiled inwardly. A certain degree of discretion wasnoticeable in this rustic youth! "You are quite right," heanswered gravely, "as yours is a mining camp where there are noother women, Still, you don't want any one TOO old or decrepit.There is an elderly maiden lady"-- But a change was transparentlyvisible on Prosper's simple face, and the manager paused."She oughter be kinder married, you know--ter be like a mother,"stammered Prosper."Oh, ay. I see," returned the manager, again illuminated byProsper's unexpected wisdom.He mused for a moment. "There is," he began tentatively, "a ladyin reduced circumstances--not an inmate of this house, but who hasreceived some relief from us. She was the wife of a whalingcaptain who died some years ago, and broke up her home. She wasnot brought up to work, and this, with her delicate health, hasprevented her from seeking active employment. As you don't seem torequire that of her, but rather want an overseer, and as yourpurpose, I gather, is somewhat philanthropical, you might induceher to accept a 'home' with you. Having seen better days, she israther particular," he added, with a shrewd smile.Simple Prosper's face was radiant. "She'll have a Chinaman and aBiddy to help her," he said quickly. Then recollecting the tastesof his comrades, he added, half apologetically, half cautiously,"Ef she could, now and then, throw herself into a lemming pie or apot of doughnuts, jest in a motherly kind o' way, it would pleasethe boys.""Perhaps you can arrange that, too," returned the manager, "but Ishall have to broach the whole subject to her, and you had bettercall again to-morrow, when I will give you her answer.""Ye kin say," said Prosper, lightly fingering his massive goldchain and somewhat vaguely recalling the language of advertisement,"that she kin have the comforts of a home and no questions asked,and fifty dollars a month."Rejoiced at the easy progress of his plan, and half inclined tobelieve himself a miracle of cautious diplomacy, Prosper, two dayslater, accompanied the manager to the cottage on Telegraph Hillwhere the relict of the late Captain Pottinger lamented the loss ofher spouse, in full view of the sea he had so often tempted. Ontheir way thither the manager imparted to Prosper how, according tohearsay, that lamented seaman had carried into the domestic circlethose severe habits of discipline which had earned for him theprefix of "Bully" and "Belaying-pin" Pottinger during his strenuouslife. "They say that though she is very quiet and resigned, sheonce or twice stood up to the captain; but that's not a bad qualityto have, in a rough community, as I presume yours is, and wouldinsure her respect."Ushered at last into a small tank-like sitting room, whose chiefdecorations consisted of large abelone shells, dried marine algae,coral, and a swordfish's broken weapon, Prosper's disturbed fancydiscovered the widow, sitting, apparently, as if among herhusband's remains at the bottom of the sea. She had a dejected yetsomewhat ruddy face; her hair was streaked with white, but primlydisposed over her ears like lappets, and her garb was cleanly butsombre. There was no doubt but that she was a lugubrious figure,even to Prosper's optimistic and inexperienced mind. He could notimagine her as beaming on his hearth! It was with some alarm that,after the introduction had been completed, he beheld the managertake his leave. As the door closed, the bashful Prosper felt themurky eyes of the widow fixed upon him. A gentle cough,accompanied with the resigned laying of a black mittened hand uponher chest, suggested a genteel prelude to conversation, withpossible pulmonary complications."I am induced to accept your proposal temporarily," she said, in avoice of querulous precision, "on account of pressing pecuniarycircumstances which would not have happened had my claim againstthe shipowners for my dear husband's loss been properly raised. Ihope you fully understand that I am unfitted both by ill health andearly education from doing any menial or manual work in yourhousehold. I shall simply oversee and direct. I shall expect thatthe stipend you offer shall be paid monthly in advance. And as mymedical man prescribes a certain amount of stimulation for mysystem, I shall expect to be furnished with such viands--or even"--she coughed slightly--"such beverages as may be necessary. I amfar from strong--yet my wants are few.""Ez far ez I am ketchin' on and followin' ye, ma'am," returnedProsper timidly, "ye'll hev everything ye want--jest like it wasyer own home. In fact," he went on, suddenly growing desperate asthe difficulties of adjusting this unexpectedly fastidious andsuperior woman to his plan seemed to increase, "ye'll jest considerme ez yer"-- But here her murky eyes were fixed on his and hefaltered. Yet he had gone too far to retreat. "Ye see," hestammered, with a hysterical grimness that was intended to beplayful--"ye see, this is jest a little secret betwixt and betweenyou and me; there'll be only you and me in the house, and it wouldkinder seem to the boys more homelike--ef--ef--you and me had--youbein' a widder, you know--a kind of--of"--here his smile becameghastly--"close relationship."The widow of Captain Pottinger here sat up so suddenly that sheseemed to slip through her sombre and precise enwrappings with anexposure of the real Mrs. Pottinger that was almost improper. Herhigh color deepened; the pupils of her black eyes contracted in thelight the innocent Prosper had poured into them. Leaning forward,with her fingers clasped on her bosom, she said: "Did you tell thisto the manager?""Of course not," said Prosper; "ye see, it's only a matter 'twixtyou and me."Mrs. Pottinger looked at Prosper, drew a deep breath, and thengazed at the abelone shells for moral support. A smile, halfquerulous, half superior, crossed her face as she said: "This isvery abrupt and unusual. There is, of course, a disparity in ourages! You have never seen me before--at least to my knowledge--although you may have heard of me. The Spraggs of Marblehead arewell known--perhaps better than the Pottingers. And yet, Mr.Griggs"--"Riggs," suggested Prosper hurriedly."Riggs. Excuse me! I was thinking of young Lieutenant Griggs ofthe Navy, whom I knew in the days now past. Mr. Riggs, I shouldsay. Then you want me to"--"To be my old mother, ma'am," said Prosper tremblingly. "That is,to pretend and look ez ef you was! You see, I haven't any, but Ithought it would he nice for the boys, and make it more like homein my new house, ef I allowed that my old mother would be comin' tolive with me. They don't know I never had a mother to speak of.They'll never find it out! Say ye will, Mrs. Pottinger! Do!"And here the unexpected occurred. Against all conventional rulesand all accepted traditions of fiction, I am obliged to state thatMrs. Pottinger did NOT rise up and order the trembling Prosper toleave the house! She only gripped the arm of her chair a littletighter, leaned forward, and disdaining her usual precision andrefinement of speech, said quietly: "It's a bargain. If THAT'Swhat you're wanting, my son, you can count upon me as becoming yourold mother, Cecilia Jane Pottinger Riggs, every time!"A few days later the sentimentalist Joe Wynbrook walked into theWild Cat saloon, where his comrades were drinking, and laid aletter down on the bar with every expression of astonishment anddisgust. "Look," he said, "if that don't beat all! Ye wouldn'tbelieve it, but here's Prossy Riggs writin' that he came across hismother--his MOTHER, gentlemen--in 'Frisco; she hevin', unbeknownstto him, joined a party visiting the coast! And what does thisblamed fool do? Why, he's goin' to bring her--that old woman--HERE! Here--gentlemen--to take charge of that new house--and spoilour fun. And the God-forsaken idiot thinks that we'll LIKE it!"It was one of those rare mornings in the rainy season when therewas a suspicion of spring in the air, and after a night of rainfallthe sun broke through fleecy clouds with little islets of blue sky--when Prosper Riggs and his mother drove into Wild Cat camp. Anexpression of cheerfulness was on the faces of his old comrades.For it had been recognized that, after all, "Prossy" had a perfectright to bring his old mother there--his well-known youth andinexperience preventing this baleful performance from beingestablished as a precedent. For these reasons hats were cheerfullydoffed, and some jackets put on, as the buggy swept up the hill tothe pretty new cottage, with its green blinds and white veranda, onthe crest.Yet I am afraid that Prosper was not perfectly happy, even in thetriumphant consummation of his plans. Mrs. Pottinger's sudden andbusiness-like acquiescence in it, and her singular lapse from hergenteel precision, were gratifying but startling to hisingenuousness. And although from the moment she accepted thesituation she was fertile in resources and full of precautionagainst any possibility of detection, he saw, with some uneasiness,that its control had passed out of his hands."You say your comrades know nothing of your family history?" shehad said to him on the journey thither. "What are you going totell them?""Nothin', 'cept your bein' my old mother," said Prosper hopelessly."That's not enough, my son." (Another embarrassment to Prosper washer easy grasp of the maternal epithets.) "Now listen! You wereborn just six months after your father, Captain Riggs (formerlyPottinger) sailed on his first voyage. You remember very little ofhim, of course, as he was away so much.""Hadn't I better know suthin about his looks?" said Prospersubmissively."A tall dark man, that's enough," responded Mrs. Pottinger sharply."Hadn't he better favor me?" said Prosper, with his small cunningrecognizing the fact that he himself was a decided blond."Ain't at all necessary," said the widow firmly. "You were alwayswild and ungovernable," she continued," and ran away from school tojoin some Western emigration. That accounts for the difference ofour styles.""But," continued Prosper, "I oughter remember suthin about our oldtimes--runnin' arrants for you, and bringin' in the wood o' frostymornin's, and you givin' me hot doughnuts," suggested Prosperdubiously."Nothing of the sort," said Mrs. Pottinger promptly. "We lived inthe city, with plenty of servants. Just remember, Prosper dear,your mother wasn't THAT low-down country style."Glad to be relieved from further invention, Prosper was,nevertheless, somewhat concerned at this shattering of the idealmother in the very camp that had sung her praises. But he couldonly trust to her recognizing the situation with her usualsagacity, of which he stood in respectful awe.Joe Wynbrook and Cyrus Brewster had, as older members of the camp,purposely lingered near the new house to offer any assistance to"Prossy and his mother," and had received a brief and passingintroduction to the latter. So deep and unexpected was theimpression she made upon them that these two oracles of the campretired down the hill in awkward silence for some time, neitherdaring to risk his reputation by comment or oversurprise.But when they approached the curious crowd below awaiting them,Cyrus Brewster ventured to say, "Struck me ez ef that old gal wasrather high-toned for Prossy's mother."Joe Wynbrook instantly seized the fatal admission to show theadvantage of superior insight:--"Struck YOU! Why, it was no more than I expected all along! Whatdid we know of Prossy? Nothin'! What did he ever tell us'?Nothin'! And why'? 'Cos it was his secret. Lord! a blind mulecould see that. All this foolishness and simplicity o' his come o'his bein' cuddled and pampered as a baby. Then, like ez not, hewas either kidnapped or led away by some feller--and nearly brokehis mother's heart. I'll bet my bottom dollar he has beenadvertised for afore this--only we didn't see the paper. Like asnot they had agents out seekin' him, and he jest ran into theirhands in 'Frisco! I had a kind o' presentiment o' this when heleft, though I never let on anything.""I reckon, too, that she's kinder afraid he'll bolt agin. Did yenotice how she kept watchin' him all the time, and how she did thebossin' o' everything? And there's ONE thing sure! He's changed--yes! He don't look as keerless and free and foolish ez he uster."Here there was an unmistakable chorus of assent from the crowd thathad joined them. Every one--even those who had not been introducedto the mother--had noticed his strange restraint and reticence. Inthe impulsive logic of the camp, conduct such as this, in the faceof that superior woman--his mother--could only imply that herpresence was distasteful to him; that he was either ashamed oftheir noticing his inferiority to her, or ashamed of THEM! Wildand hasty as was their deduction, it was, nevertheless, voiced byJoe Wynbrook in a tone of impartial and even reluctant conviction."Well, gentlemen, some of ye may remember that when I heard thatProssy was bringin' his mother here I kicked--kicked because itonly stood to reason that, being HIS mother, she'd be that foolishshe'd upset the camp. There wasn't room enough for two suchchuckle-heads--and one of 'em being a woman, she couldn't be shutup or sat upon ez we did to HIM. But now, gentlemen, ez we see sheain't that kind, but high-toned and level-headed, and that she'sgot the grip on Prossy--whether he likes it or not--we ain't goin'to let him go back on her! No, sir! we ain't goin' to let himbreak her heart the second time! He may think we ain't good enoughfor her, but ez long ez she's civil to us, we'll stand by her."In this conscientious way were the shackles of that unhallowedrelationship slowly riveted on the unfortunate Prossy. In hisintercourse with his comrades during the next two or three daystheir attitude was shown in frequent and ostentatious praise of hismother, and suggestive advice, such as: "I wouldn't stop at thesaloon, Prossy; your old mother is wantin' ye;" or, "Chuck that'ere tarpolin over your shoulders, Pross, and don't take your wetduds into the house that yer old mother's bin makin' tidy." Oddlyenough, much of this advice was quite sincere, and represented--forat least twenty minutes--the honest sentiments of the speaker.Prosper was touched at what seemed a revival of the sentiment underwhich he had acted, forgot his uneasiness, and became quite himselfagain--a fact also noticed by his critics. "Ye've only to keep himup to his work and he'll be the widder's joy agin," said CyrusBrewster. Certainly he was so far encouraged that he had a longconversation with Mrs. Pottinger that night, with the result thatthe next morning Joe Wynbrook, Cyrus Brewster, Hank Mann, andKentucky Ike were invited to spend the evening at the new house.As the men, clean shirted and decently jacketed, filed into theneat sitting room with its bright carpet, its cheerful fire, itsside table with a snowy cloth on which shining tea and coffee potswere standing, their hearts thrilled with satisfaction. In a largestuffed rocking chair, Prossy's old mother, wrapped up in a shawland some mysterious ill health which seemed to forbid any exertion,received them with genteel languor and an extended black mitten."I cannot," said Mrs. Pottinger, with sad pensiveness, "offer youthe hospitality of my own home, gentlemen--you remember, Prosper,dear, the large salon and our staff of servants at LexingtonAvenue!--but since my son has persuaded me to take charge of hishumble cot, I hope you will make all allowances for itsdeficiencies--even," she added, casting a look of mild reproach onthe astonished Prosper--"even if HE cannot.""I'm sure he oughter to be thankful to ye, ma'am," said JoeWynbrook quickly, "for makin' a break to come here to live, jest ezwe're thankful--speakin' for the rest of this camp--for yerlightin' us up ez you're doin'! I reckon I'm speakin' for thecrowd," he added, looking round him.Murmurs of "That's so" and "You bet" passed through the company,and one or two cast a half-indignant glance at Prosper."It's only natural," continued Mrs. Pottinger resignedly, "thathaving lived so long alone, my dear Prosper may at first be alittle impatient of his old mother's control, and perhaps regrethis invitation.""Oh no, ma'am," said the embarrassed Prosper.But here the mercurial Wynbrook interposed on behalf of amity andthe camp's esprit de corps. "Why, Lord! ma'am, he's jest binlongin' for ye! Times and times agin he's talked about ye; sayin'how ef he could only get ye out of yer Fifth Avenue saloon to sharehis humble lot with him here, he'd die happy! YOU'VE heard himtalk, Brewster?""Frequent," replied the accommodating Brewster."Part of the simple refreshment I have to offer you," continuedMrs. Pottinger, ignoring further comment, "is a viand the exactquality of which I am not familiar with, but which my son informsme is a great favorite with you. It has been prepared by Li Sing,under my direction. Prosper, dear, see that the--er--doughnuts--are brought in with the coffee."Satisfaction beamed on the faces of the company, with perhaps thesole exception of Prosper. As a dish containing a number of brownglistening spheres of baked dough was brought in, the men's eyesshone in sympathetic appreciation. Yet that epicurean light wasfor a moment dulled as each man grasped a sphere, and then satmotionless with it in his hand, as if it was a ball and they werewaiting the signal for playing."I am told," said Mrs. Pottinger, with a glance of Christiantolerance at Prosper, "that lightness is considered desirable bysome--perhaps you gentlemen may find them heavy.""Thar is two kinds," said the diplomatic Joe cheerfully, as hebegan to nibble his, sideways, like a squirrel, "light and heavy;some likes 'em one way, and some another."They were hard and heavy, but the men, assisted by the steamingcoffee, finished them with heroic politeness. "And now,gentlemen," said Mrs. Pottinger, leaning back in her chair andcalmly surveying the party, "you have my permission to light yourpipes while you partake of some whiskey and water."The guests looked up--gratified but astonished. "Are ye sure,ma'am, you don't mind it?" said Joe politely."Not at all," responded Mrs. Pottinger briefly. "In fact, as myphysician advises the inhalation of tobacco smoke for my asthmaticdifficulties, I will join you." After a moment's fumbling in abeaded bag that hung from her waist, she produced a small blackclay pipe, filled it from the same receptacle, and lit it.A thrill of surprise went round the company, and it was noticedthat Prosper seemed equally confounded. Nevertheless, thisawkwardness was quickly overcome by the privilege and example giventhem, and with, a glass of whiskey and water before them, the menwere speedily at their ease. Nor did Mrs. Pottinger disdain tomingle in their desultory talk. Sitting there with her black pipein her mouth, but still precise and superior, she told a thrillingwhaling adventure of Prosper's father (drawn evidently from theexperience of the lamented Pottinger), which not only deeplyinterested her hearers, but momentarily exalted Prosper in theirminds as the son of that hero. "Now you speak o' that, ma'am,"said the ingenuous Wynbrook, "there's a good deal o' Prossy in thatyarn o' his father's; same kind o' keerless grit! You remember,boys, that day the dam broke and he stood thar, the water up to hisneck, heavin' logs in the break till he stopped it." Briefly, theevening, in spite of its initial culinary failure and itssurprises, was a decided social success, and even the bewilderedand doubting Prosper went to bed relieved. It was followed by manyand more informal gatherings at the house, and Mrs Pottinger so farunbent--if that term could be used of one who never altered herprimness of manner--as to join in a game of poker--and evenpermitted herself to win.But by the end of six weeks another change in their feelingstowards Prosper seemed to creep insidiously over the camp. He hadbeen received into his former fellowship, and even the presence ofhis mother had become familiar, but he began to be an object ofsecret commiseration. They still frequented the house, but amongthemselves afterwards they talked in whispers. There was no doubtto them that Prosper's old mother drank not only what her son hadprovided, but what she surreptitiously obtained from the saloon.There was the testimony of the barkeeper, himself concerned equallywith the camp in the integrity of the Riggs household. And therewas an even darker suspicion. But this must be given in JoeWynbrook's own words:--"I didn't mind the old woman winnin' and winnin' reg'lar--forpoker's an unsartin game;--it ain't the money that we're losin'--for it's all in the camp. But when she's developing a habit o'holdin' FOUR aces when somebody else hez TWO, who don't like to leton because it's Prosper's old mother--it's gettin' rough! Anddangerous too, gentlemen, if there happened to be an outsider in,or one of the boys should kick. Why, I saw Bilson grind his teeth--he holdin' a sequence flush--ace high--when the dear old critterlaid down her reg'lar four aces and raked in the pile. We had tonearly kick his legs off under the table afore he'd understand--nothavin' an old mother himself.""Some un will hev to tackle her without Prossy knowin' it. For itwould jest break his heart, arter all he's gone through to get herhere!" said Brewster significantly."Onless he DID know it and it was that what made him so sorrowfulwhen they first came. B'gosh! I never thought o' that," saidWynbrook, with one of his characteristic sudden illuminations."Well, gentlemen, whether he did or not," said the barkeeperstoutly, "he must never know that WE know it. No, not if the oldgal cleans out my bar and takes the last scad in the camp."And to this noble sentiment they responded as one man.How far they would have been able to carry out that heroic resolvewas never known, for an event occurred which eclipsed itsimportance. One morning at breakfast Mrs. Pottinger fixed aclouded eye upon Prosper."Prosper," she said, with fell deliberation "you ought to know youhave a sister.""Yes, ma'am," returned Prosper, with that meekness with which heusually received these family disclosures."A sister," continued the lady, "whom you haven't seen since youwere a child; a sister who for family reasons has been living withother relatives; a girl of nineteen.""Yea, ma'am," said Prosper humbly. "But ef you wouldn't mindwritin' all that down on a bit o' paper--ye know my short memory!I would get it by heart to-day in the gulch. I'd have it all patenough by night, ef," he added, with a short sigh, "ye waskalkilatin' to make any illusions to it when the boys are here.""Your sister Augusta," continued Mrs. Pottinger, calmly ignoringthese details, "will be here to-morrow to make me a visit."But here the worm Prosper not only turned, but stood up, nearlyupsetting the table. "It can't be did, ma'am it MUSTN'T be did!"he said wildly. "It's enough for me to have played this camp withYOU--but now to run in"--"Can't be did!" repeated Mrs. Pottinger, rising in her turn andfixing upon the unfortunate Prosper a pair of murky piratical eyesthat had once quelled the sea-roving Pottinger. "Do you, myadopted son, dare to tell me that I can't have my own flesh andblood beneath my roof?""Yes! I'd rather tell the whole story--I'd rather tell the boys Ifooled them--than go on again!" burst out the excited Prosper.But Mrs. Pottinger only set her lips implacably together. "Verywell, tell them then," she said rigidly; "tell them how you luredme from my humble dependence in San Francisco with the prospect ofa home with you; tell them how you compelled me to deceive theirtrusting hearts with your wicked falsehoods; tell them how you--afoundling--borrowed me for your mother, my poor dead husband foryour father, and made me invent falsehood upon falsehood to tellthem while you sat still and listened!"Prosper gasped."Tell them," she went on deliberately, "that when I wanted to bringmy helpless child to her only home--THEN, only then--you determinedto break your word to me, either because you meanly begrudged herthat share of your house, or to keep your misdeeds from herknowledge! Tell them that, Prossy, dear, and see what they'llsay!"Prosper sank back in his chair aghast. In his sudden instinct ofrevolt he had forgotten the camp! He knew, alas, too well whatthey would say! He knew that, added to their indignation at havingbeen duped, their chivalry and absurd sentiment would rise in armsagainst the abandonment of two helpless women!"P'r'aps ye're right, ma'am," he stammered. "I was only thinkin',"he added feebly, "how SHE'D take it.""She'll take it as I wish her to take it," said Mrs. Pottingerfirmly."Supposin', ez the camp don't know her, and I ain't bin talkin' o'havin' any SISTER, you ran her in here as my COUSIN? See? Youbein' her aunt?"Mrs. Pottinger regarded him with compressed lips for some time.Then she said, slowly and half meditatively: "Yes, it might bedone! She will probably be willing to sacrifice her nearerrelationship to save herself from passing as your sister. It wouldbe less galling to her pride, and she wouldn't have to treat you sofamiliarly.""Yes, ma'am," said Prosper, too relieved to notice theuncomplimentary nature of the suggestion. "And ye see I couldcall her 'Miss Pottinger,' which would come easier to me."In its high resolve to bear with the weaknesses of Prosper'smother, the camp received the news of the advent of Prosper'scousin solely with reference to its possible effect upon the aunt'shabits, and very little other curiosity. Prosper's own reticence,they felt, was probably due to the tender age at which he hadseparated from his relations. But when it was known that Prosper'smother had driven to the house with a very pretty girl of eighteen,there was a flutter of excitement in that impressionable community.Prosper, with his usual shyness, had evaded an early meeting withher, and was even loitering irresolutely on his way home from work,when, as he approached the house, to his discomfiture the doorsuddenly opened, the young lady appeared and advanced directlytowards him.She was slim, graceful, and prettily dressed, and at any othermoment Prosper might have been impressed by her good looks. Buther brows were knit, her dark eyes--in which there was anunmistakable reminiscence of Mrs. Pottinger--were glittering, andalthough she was apparently anticipating their meeting, it wasevidently with no cousinly interest. When within a few feet of himshe stopped. Prosper with a feeble smile offered his hand. Shesprang back."Don't touch me! Don't come a step nearer or I'll scream!"Prosper, still with smiling inanity, stammered that he was only"goin' to shake hands," and moved sideways towards the house."Stop!" she said, with a stamp of her slim foot. "Stay where youare! We must have our talk out HERE. I'm not going to waste wordswith you in there, before HER."Prosper stopped."What did you do this for?" she said angrily. "How dared you? Howcould you? Are you a man, or the fool she takes you for?""Wot did I do WOT for?" said Prosper sullenly."This! Making my mother pretend you were her son! Bringing herhere among these men to live a lie!""She was willin'," said Prosper gloomily. "I told her what she hadto do, and she seemed to like it.""But couldn't you see she was old and weak, and wasn't responsiblefor her actions? Or were you only thinking of yourself?"This last taunt stung him. He looked up. He was not facing ahelpless, dependent old woman as he had been the day before, but ahandsome, clever girl, in every way his superior--and in the right!In his vague sense of honor it seemed more creditable for him tofight it out with HER. He burst out: "I never thought of myself!I never had an old mother; I never knew what it was to want one--but the men did! And as I couldn't get one for them, I got one formyself--to share and share alike--I thought they'd be happier efthere was one in the camp!"There was the unmistakable accent of truth in his voice. Therecame a faint twitching of the young girl's lips and the dawning ofa smile. But it only acted as a goad to the unfortunate Prosper."Ye kin laugh, Miss Pottinger, but it's God's truth! But one thingI didn't do. No! When your mother wanted to bring you in here asmy sister, I kicked! I did! And you kin thank me, for all yourlaughin', that you're standing in this camp in your own name--andain't nothin' but my cousin.""I suppose you thought your precious friends didn't want a SISTERtoo?" said the girl ironically."It don't make no matter wot they want now," he said gloomily."For," he added, with sudden desperation, "it's come to an end!Yes! You and your mother will stay here a spell so that the boysdon't suspicion nothin' of either of ye. Then I'll give it outthat you're takin' your aunt away on a visit. Then I'll make overto her a thousand dollars for all the trouble I've given her, andyou'll take her away. I've bin a fool, Miss Pottinger, mebbe I amone now, but what I'm doin' is on the square, and it's got to bedone!"He looked so simple and so good--so like an honest schoolboyconfessing a fault and abiding by his punishment, for all his sixfeet of altitude and silky mustache--that Miss Pottinger loweredher eyes. But she recovered herself and said sharply:--"It's all very well to talk of her going away! But she WON'T. Youhave made her like you--yes! like you better than me--than any ofus! She says you're the only one who ever treated her like amother--as a mother should be treated. She says she never knewwhat peace and comfort were until she came to you. There! Don'tstare like that! Don't you understand? Don't you see? Must Itell you again that she is strange--that--that she was ALWAYS queerand strange--and queerer on account of her unfortunate habits--surely you knew THEM, Mr. Riggs! She quarreled with us all. Iwent to live with my aunt, and she took herself off to SanFrancisco with a silly claim against my father's shipowners.Heaven only knows how she managed to live there; but she alwaysimpressed people with her manners, and some one always helped her!At last I begged my aunt to let me seek her, and I tracked herhere. There! If you've confessed everything to me, you have mademe confess everything to you, and about my own mother, too! Now,what is to be done?""Whatever is agreeable to you is the same to me, Miss Pottinger,"he said formally."But you mustn't call me 'Miss Pottinger' so loud. Somebody mighthear you," she returned mischievously."All right--'cousin,' then," he said, with a prodigious blush."Supposin' we go in."In spite of the camp's curiosity, for the next few days theydelicately withheld their usual evening visits to Prossy's mother."They'll be wantin' to talk o' old times, and we don't wanter betoo previous," suggested Wynbrook. But their verdict, when they atlast met the new cousin, was unanimous, and their praisesextravagant. To their inexperienced eyes she seemed to possess allher aunt's gentility and precision of language, with a vivacity andplayfulness all her own. In a few days the whole camp was in lovewith her. Yet she dispensed her favors with such tactfulimpartiality and with such innocent enjoyment--free from anysuspicion of coquetry--that there were no heartburnings, and theunlucky man who nourished a fancied slight would have been laughedat by his fellows. She had a town-bred girl's curiosity andinterest in camp life, which she declared was like a "perpetualpicnic," and her slim, graceful figure halting beside a ditch wherethe men were working seemed to them as grateful as the new springsunshine. The whole camp became tidier; a coat was considered derigueur at "Prossy's mother" evenings; there was less horseplay inthe trails, and less shouting. "It's all very well to talk about'old mothers,'" said the cynical barkeeper, "but that gal, singlehanded, has done more in a week to make the camp decent than oldMa'am Riggs has in a month o' Sundays."Since Prosper's brief conversation with Miss Pottinger before thehouse, the question "What is to be done?" had singularly lapsed,nor had it been referred to again by either. The young lady hadapparently thrown herself into the diversions of the camp with thethoughtless gayety of a brief holiday maker, and it was not for himto remind her--even had he wished to--that her important questionhad never been answered. He had enjoyed her happiness with therelief of a secret shared by her. Three weeks had passed; the lastof the winter's rains had gone. Spring was stirring in underbrushand wildwood, in the pulse of the waters, in the sap of the greatpines, in the uplifting of flowers. Small wonder if Prosper'sboyish heart had stirred a little too.In fact, he had been possessed by another luminous idea--a wildidea that to him seemed almost as absurd as the one which hadbrought him all this trouble. It had come to him like that one--out of a starlit night--and he had risen one morning with afeverish intent to put it into action! It brought him later totake an unprecedented walk alone with Miss Pottinger, to lingerunder green leaves in unfrequented woods, and at last seemed aboutto desert him as he stood in a little hollow with her hand in his--their only listener an inquisitive squirrel. Yet this was all thedisappointed animal heard him stammer,--"So you see, dear, it would THEN be no lie--for--don't you see?--she'd be really MY mother as well as YOURS."The marriage of Prosper Riggs and Miss Pottinger was quietlycelebrated at Sacramento, but Prossy's "old mother" did not returnwith the happy pair.Of Mrs. Pottinger's later career some idea may be gathered from aletter which Prosper received a year after his marriage."Circumstances," wrote Mrs. Pottinger, "which had induced me toaccept the offer of a widower to take care of his motherlesshousehold, have since developed into a more enduring matrimonialposition, so that I can always offer my dear Prosper a home withhis mother, should he choose to visit this locality, and a secondfather in Hiram W. Watergates, Esq., her husband."
zpostcode
Recruit
weather
mreligion
Yellowpages
sport
constellation
shopping
name
game
directory
literature
Word
tour
furnish
Lottery
tftnews
lyrics
News
digital
car
dir
Edu
Finance
