The Treasure of Hidden Valley. Emerson Willis George
I expected. By gad, it seems to run in the blood! Did I not warn you, when you insisted on risking your meagre capital of two thousand dollars in New York instead of settling down with what would have been a comfortable nest egg here, that if you ever touched mining it would be your ruin? Did I not tell you your father’s story, how the lure of prospecting possessed him, how he could never throw it off, how it doomed him to a life of hardship and poverty, and how it would have left you, his child, a pauper but for an insurance policy which it was his one redeeming act of prudence in carrying?”
“Please do not speak like that of my father,” protested Roderick, drawing himself up with proud
The banker’s manner softened; a kindlier glow came into his eyes.
“Well, boy, you know I loved your father. If your father had only followed my path he would have shared my prosperity. But it was not to be. He lost all he ever made in mining, and now you are flinging the little provision his death secured for you into the same bottomless pool. And this despite all my warnings, despite my stern injunctions so long as it was my right as your guardian to enjoin. The whole thing disgusts me more than words can tell.”
Into the banker’s voice the old bitterness, if not the anger, had returned. He rose and restlessly paced the room. A silence followed that was oppressive. Roderick Warfield’s mind was in the future; he was wondering what would happen should his uncle remain obdurate. The older man’s mind was in the past; he was recalling events of the long ago.
Roderick Warfield’s father and Allen Miller had as young men braved perils together in an unsuccessful overland trip when the great California gold rush in the early fifties occurred. At that time they were only boys in their ‘teens. Years afterward they married sisters and settled down in their Iowa homes – or tried to settle down in Warfield’s case, for in his wanderings he had been smitten with the gold fever and he remained a mining nomad to the end of his days. Allen Miller had never been blessed with a child, and it was not until late in their married life that any addition came to the Warfield family. This was the beginning of Roderick Warfield’s career, but cost the mother’s life. Ten years later John Warfield died and his young son Roderick was given a home with Mr. and Mrs. Allen Miller, the banker accepting the guardianship of his old friend’s only child.
The boy’s inheritance was limited to a few thousand dollars of life insurance, which in the hands of anyone but Allen Miller would have fallen far short of putting him through college. However, that was not only accomplished, but at the close of a fairly brilliant college career the young man had found himself possessed of a round couple of thousand dollars. Among his college friends had been the son of a well-to-do New York broker, and it was on this friend’s advice that Roderick had at the outset of his business life adventured the maelstrom of Gotham instead of accepting the placid backwaters of his Iowan home town. Hence the young man’s present difficulties and precarious future, and his uncle’s bitterness of spirit because all his past efforts on Roderick’s account had proved of such little avail.
At last the banker resumed his chair. The tightly closed lips showed that his mind was made up to a definite line of action. Roderick awaited the decision in silence – it was not in his nature to plead a cause at the cost of losing his own self-respect He had already returned the unopened bundle of mining papers to the inner pocket of his coat.
“As for any advance to meet speculative mining commitments,” began the man of finance, “I do not even desire to know the amount you have had in mind. That is a proposition I cannot even entertain – on principle and for your own ultimate good, young man.”
“Then I lose all the money I have put in to date.”
“Better a present loss than hopeless future entanglements. Your personal obligations? As you have been using all available funds for speculation, I presume you are not free from some debts.”
“Less than a thousand dollars all told.”
“Well, you have, I believe, $285.75 standing to your personal credit in this bank – the remnant of your patrimony.”
“I did not know I had so much,” remarked Roderick with a faint smile.
“All the better, perhaps,” replied the banker, also smiling grimly. “The amount would have doubtless been swallowed up with the rest of your money. As matters stand, some payment can be made to account of your obligations and arrangements entered into for the gradual liquidation of the outstanding balance.” Young Warfield winced. The banker continued: “This may involve some personal humiliation for you. But again it is against my principles to pay any man’s debts. Anyone who deliberately incurs a liability should have the highly beneficial experience of earning the money to liquidate it I propose to give you the chance to do so.”
Roderick raised his eyebrows in some surprise. “In New York?” he enquired.
“No, sir,” replied Allen Miller rather brusquely and evidently nettled at the very audacity of the question. “Not in New York, but right here – in Keokuk. Calm your impatience, please. Just listen to the proposals I have to make – they have been carefully thought out by me and by your Aunt Lois as well. In the first place, despite your rather reckless and improvident start in life, I am prepared to make you assistant cashier of this bank at a good salary.” Again Roderick evinced amazement. He was quite nonplussed at his uncle’s changed demeanor. The conciliatory manner and kindly tone disarmed him. But could he ever come to renounce his New York ambitions for humdrum existence in the old river town of Keokuk? He knew the answer in his heart. The thing was impossible.
“And if you are diligent,” continued the banker, “prove capable and make good, you may expect in time to be rewarded with a liberal block of stock in the bank. Come now, what do you say to this part of my programme?” urged the speaker as Roderick hesitated.
The young man’s mind was already made up. The offer was not even worth considering. And yet, he must not offend his guardian. It was true, Allen Miller’s guardianship days were past, but still in his rapid mental calculations Roderick thought of his stanch old stand-by, Uncle Allen Miller, as “Guardian.” He lighted a cigar to gain time for the framing of a diplomatic answer.
“Well,” said the banker, with a rising inflection, “does it require any time to consider the generous offer I make?”
Roderick pulled a long breath at his cigar and blew rings of smoke toward the ceiling, and said: “Your offer, Uncle, is princely, but I hardly feel that I should accept until I have thought it all over from different points of view and have the whole question of my future plans fully considered. What are the other items on your programme?”
“They should be rather counted as conditions,” replied the banker drily. “The conditions on which the offer I have just made are based.”
“And they are what?”
“You must quit speculation, give up all expensive habits, marry and settle down.” The words were spoken with all the definiteness of an ultimatum.
Again Roderick winced. He might have been led to all or at least some of these things. But to be driven, and by such rough horse-breaking methods – . never! no, never. He managed to restrain himself, however, and replied quietly: “My dear uncle, the idea of marrying for some years yet, to tell you the truth, has never entered my head. Of course,” he went on lightly, “there is a young lady over at Galesburg, Stella Rain, where my Knox college days were spent, the ‘college widow,’ in a way a very lovely sort and in whom I have been rather interested for some two years, but – ”
“That will do, young man,” interrupted Allen Miller, sharply and severely. “Never mind your society flyers – these lady friends of yours in Galesburg. Your Aunt Lois and myself have already selected your future wife.”
He laughed hoarsely, and the laugh sounded brutal even to his own ears. Allen Miller realized uncomfortably that he had been premature and scored against himself.
“Oh, is that so?” ejaculated Roderick in delicate irony. A pink flush had stolen into his cheeks.
The old banker hesitated in making reply. He grew hot and red and wondered if he had begun his match-making