Lord Stranleigh Abroad

“I met Mrs. Anson, a kindly woman, but realised in a moment that no authority had been delegated to her. She appeared afraid to suggest anything, but called in her only daughter to assist at our conference. The girl at once said she would accompany me to the mill, and did so. I shall never forget with what infinite tact and persuasiveness she won over the foreman, and it was quite evident that the workmen all knew and liked her, for her very presence appeared to dissipate distrust. I saw Miss Anson home, and it seemed, as my investigations progressed, many conferences became more and more necessary. You’re a young man, and doubtless you know how it is yourself.”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” interjected Stranleigh, “but I can guess.”

“Well – your guess is right. We had no difficulty with Mrs. Anson, but both mother and daughter were uneasy about how the father would take it. I wrote him what I hoped was a straightforward letter, putting the case to him as man to man. He answered with a very brief and terse letter that left me no doubt regarding his opinion, but my own communication had arrived at an unfortunate time; the day after he had been ordered out of our office. He at once enclosed my letter to Mr. Langdon, saying in effect: —

“‘This is the sort of man you sent like a wolf in sheep’s clothing to my home.’”

“Langdon telegraphed, asking if this was true. I, of course, had to admit it was, with the result of instant dismissal. I never would have let either mother or daughter know about this, but my reticence was vain, for Mr. Anson wrote a stinging letter to his daughter saying she could do what she pleased about marrying me, but that he had secured my dismissal. It is strange,” Challis murmured reflectively, speaking more to himself than to his companion, “it is strange that a father rarely recognises that when he comes to a difference with one of his children, he is meeting, in part at least, some of his own characteristics. I wonder if I shall ever be so unreasonable as – ”

Stranleigh’s eye twinkled as he remembered how firm the girl had been in refusing the automobile invitation, yet giving no explanation of that refusal.

“What Gertrude said to me was, holding her head very proudly: ‘I have received my father’s permission to marry you, and if you are ready for an immediate ceremony, I am willing.’

“We were married before the old man returned from New York.”

“Has there been no further communication between Mr. Anson and yourself?”

“On my part, yes; ignored by him. It was Gertrude who wished to stay in Altonville. She knew a financial crisis was threatening her father, and she hoped that in some way I should be able to advise him. That was not to be. She requested permission to take away her belongings. This was refused. Everything she possessed, Mr. Anson said, had been purchased with his money. They remained at his home, and she was welcome to use them at his house, any time she chose to return, but having exchanged his care for that of another man, it was the other man’s duty to provide what she needed. This ended our communication, and brings us to the present moment.”

“Can you drive a car?” asked Stranleigh.

“Yes.”

“The immediate question strikes me as being that of wearing apparel. I propose to return with at least a box full. I don’t like to be baffled, and I wish Mrs. Challis to come out with us for a run. Will you exchange seats, and drive me down to the mill?”

“You’re up against a tough proposition,” demurred Challis.

“A proposition usually gives way if you approach it tactfully, as Miss Anson approached the manager. If you have never seen her father, he will not recognise you, so let us call at the mill.”

“He would not recognise me, but the foreman would, also many of the men.”

“We must chance that.”

The two young men exchanged seats, and Challis at the wheel, with more caution than ever Stranleigh used, sent the car spinning down the slightly descending road by the margin of the lake, until they came to the water level. No word was spoken between them, but his lordship studied with keen scrutiny from the corner of his eye, the profile of the intent driver. He was immensely taken with the young man, and meditated on the story to which he had listened. The effect left on his mind by that recital surprised him. It was a feeling of sympathy with the old man who had acted so obstreperously, and gradually he placed this feeling to the credit of Challis, who had shown no rancour against his father-in-law, either in word or tone. Yes; he liked Challis, and was sorry for the elderly Anson, one evidently advanced in years, battling against forces that were too much for him, stubbornly using antiquated methods in a world that had out-grown them; the muzzle-loader against the repeating rifle. These two men should be pulling together.

“There’s the factory,” said Challis, at last, and Stranleigh, looking up, beheld further down the valley a three-storied structure, unexpectedly huge, built apparently for all the ages. There was no sign of activity about it; but the roar of waters came to their ears; idle waters, nevertheless, that were turning no wheels, the muffled sound of an unimpeded minor cataract.

“By Jove!” cried Stranleigh, jumping out as the car stopped.

Challis said nothing, but an expression of deep anxiety darkened his countenance. There were plastered here and there on the stone walls great white posters, bearing printing like the headings of a sensational newspaper, magnified several hundred times.

AUCTION SALEBY ORDER OF THE BANKRUPTCY COURT,

that desirable property known as Anson’s Mill, fully equipped with machinery, in condition for immediate use, with never-failing water power, which at slight expense may be enormously increased; together with ten acres of freehold land; without reserve to the highest bidder; on the Seventeenth of November!

“A desirable property,” said Challis, sadly, “which nobody desires except the Trust, and probably it cares nothing about it now.”

“You forget that it is desired by Stanmore Anson.”

“I am afraid that even he is tired of it by this time. I am sorry, but I feared it was inevitable.”

Stranleigh looked up at him.

“Could you make this factory pay, if it were given into your charge?”

“Not in its present condition.”

“I mean, of course, with your recommendations carried out. If the mill, free from all encumbrances, filled with modern machinery, rightly placed, were put under your management, could you make it pay?”

Challis did not answer for some moments. His brow was wrinkled in thought, and he seemed making some mental calculations.

“There would need to be a suitable amount of working capital – ”

“Yes, yes; all that is understood. Could you make it pay?”

“I am almost sure I could, but there is that incalculable factor, the opposition of the Trust.”

“Damn the Trust!” cried Stranleigh. “I beg your pardon; I should have said, blow the Trust! I thought I had lost the power of becoming excited, not to say profane. It must be the exhilarating air of America. The sale is a good way off yet, and I think it will be further off before I get through with it. If you will accept the management, and your father-in-law proves at all reasonable, I guarantee to find the necessary money.”

“You mean that, Mr. Ponderby – ”

“Exactly. I am his chief business adviser, as well as his only chauffeur. But we are forgetting the matter in hand. We must rescue the wardrobe of Mrs. Challis. Drive on to the mansion. You know the way, and I don’t.”

“I’m a warned-off trespasser, but here goes.”

“You won’t be called on to trespass very much. You’re my chauffeur, pro tem. Perhaps you won’t need to enter the house at all. I shall see Mrs. Anson before I meet her husband, if possible, and will try to persuade her to give me the wardrobe.”

“She would not have the courage to do that without her husband’s permission, and he will never give it.”

“We’ll see about that. Ah, the mill is not the only piece of property to be sold!”

They had turned into a well-shaded avenue, to the massive stone gate-pillars of which were attached posters similar to those at the mill, only in this case it was “This valuable, desirable and palatial residence,” with the hundreds of acres of land attached, that were to be knocked down by the auctioneer’s hammer.

“I might have known,” commented Stranleigh, “that if Mr. Anson was bankrupt at his mill, he was also bankrupt at his house.”

They drew up at the entrance. Stranleigh stepped down, and rang the bell, Challis remaining in the car. Shown into the drawing-room, the visitor was greeted by a sad-looking, elderly woman.

“Mrs. Anson,” said the young man, very deferentially, “I expect your forgiveness for this intrusion on my part when I say that I am here in some sense as an ambassador from your daughter.”

“From my daughter!” gasped the old lady in astonishment. “Is she well, and where is she?”

“She is very well, I am glad to say, and is living with her husband over in the village.”

“In her last letter she said her husband was taking her to New York. There had been a – misunderstanding.” The old lady hesitated for a moment before using that mild term. “On the day her letter was received, I went to the hotel at which they were stopping, and was told by the landlord they had gone, he did not know where. Do you tell me they have been living in Altonville all the time?”

“I think so, but cannot be sure. I met Mr. and Mrs. Challis for the first time only a week ago.”

“I hope she is happy.”

“She is,” said Stranleigh confidently, “and before the day is done her mother will be happy also.”

Mrs. Anson shook her head. She was on the verge of tears, which Stranleigh saw and dreaded. So he said hurriedly:

“You will select me what you think she should have at once, and I will take the box or parcel to Altonville in my car.”

“When at last her father saw that everything we possessed must be sold,” rejoined Mrs. Anson, “he packed up in trunks what belonged to Gertrude, and as we could not learn where to send them, Mr. Asa Perkins, a friend of ours, who lives in Boston, lent us a room in which to store the things, and they are there now.”

“How odd!” exclaimed Stranleigh. “I met Mr. Perkins just before he left his summer residence, and took the place furnished, acting for the present tenant. It is much too large for him, and some of the rooms are locked. Do you happen to have the key?”

“No; it is in the possession of the housekeeper. She is there still, is she not?”

“Yes; I took the house as it stood, servants and all.”

“I’ll write a note to the housekeeper, then. What name shall I say?”

“Please write it in the name of Mr. Challis. He’s outside now, in my car.”

“May I bring him in?” she asked, eagerly.

“Certainly,” said Stranleigh, with a smile. “It’s your house, you know.”

“Not for long,” she sighed.

“Ah, – ” drawled Stranleigh, “Mr. Challis and I propose that this sale shall not take place. If I may have a short conversation with your husband, I think we shall come to terms.”

An expression of anxiety overspread her face.

“Perhaps I had better not ask Jim to come in,” she hesitated.

“Your husband does not know him, and I would rather you did not tell him who is with me. Just say that Henry Johnson and a friend wish to negotiate about the factory.”

Stanmore Anson proved to be a person of the hale old English yeoman type, as portrayed by illustrators, although his ancestors originally came from Sweden. His face was determined, his lips firm, and despite his defeats, the lurking sparkle of combat still animated his eyes.

“Before we begin any conversation regarding a sale,” he said, “you must answer this question, Mr. Johnson. Are you connected in any way, directly or indirectly, with the G.K.R. Trust?”

“I am not connected with it, directly or indirectly.”

“You state that on your honour as a man?”

“No; I simply state it.”

“You wouldn’t swear it?”

“Not unless compelled by force of law.”

“Then I have nothing further to say to you, sir.”

The old man seemed about to withdraw, then hesitated, remembering he was in his own house. Stranleigh sat there unperturbed.

“You have nothing further to say, Mr. Anson, because two thoughts are sure to occur to you. First, a man whose word you would not accept cannot be believed, either on his honour or his oath. Second, the Trust doesn’t need to send an emissary to you; it has only to wait until November, and acquire your factory at its own figure. No one except myself would bid against the Trust.”

“That’s quite true,” agreed Anson. “I beg your pardon. What have you to propose?”

“I wish to know the sum that will see you clear and enable you to tear down those white posters at the gates, and those on the mill.”

Stanmore Anson drew a sheet of paper from his pocket, glanced over it, then named the amount.

“Very good,” said Stranleigh, decisively. “I’ll pay that for the mill and the ten acres.”

“They are not worth it,” said Anson. “Wait till November, and even though you outbid the Trust, you’ll get it at a lower figure.”

“We’ll make the mill worth it. You may retain the residence and the rest of the property.”

“There is but one proviso,” said the old man. “I wish to name the manager.”

“I regret I cannot agree to that, Mr. Anson, I have already chosen the manager, and guarantee that he will prove efficient.”

“I’ll forego your generous offer of the house and property if you will allow me to appoint the manager.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Anson, but you touch the only point on which I cannot give way.”

“Very well,” cried Anson, angrily, his eyes ablaze. “The arrangement is off.”

Both young men saw that Stanmore Anson was indeed difficult to deal with, as his ancestors had been in many a hard-fought battle.

“Wait a moment! Wait a moment!” exclaimed Challis. “This will never do. It is absurd to wreck everything on a point so trivial. I am the man whom Mr. Johnson wishes to make manager. I now refuse to accept the position, but if the bargain is completed, I’ll give Mr. Anson and his manager all the assistance and advice they care to receive from me, and that without salary.”

“Be quiet, Challis!” cried Stranleigh.

“Challis! Challis!” interrupted the old man, gazing fiercely at his junior. “Is your name Challis?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re not my son-in-law?”

“I am, sir.”

“I did you a great injustice,” admitted Anson. “No man has a right to deprive another of his livelihood. I have bitterly regretted it. It is you I wish appointed manager.”

“Challis,” said Stranleigh, “take the car, and bring your wife. Say her father wishes to see her.”

Challis disappeared, and in an incredibly short space of time, during which Anson and Stranleigh chatted together, the door opened, and Gertrude Challis came in.

“Father,” she cried, “Jim says he’s going to scrap all the machinery in the factory. Shall we throw our differences on that scrap-heap?”

The old man gathered her to his breast, and kissed her again and again. He could not trust his voice.

IV. – THE MAD MISS MATURIN

“Would you like to meet the most beautiful woman in America?” asked Edward Trenton of his guest.

Lord Stranleigh drew a whiff or two from the favourite pipe he was smoking, and the faint suggestion of a smile played about his lips.

“The question seems to hint that I have not already met her,” he said at last.

“Have you?”

“Of course.”

“Where?”

“In every town of any size I ever visited.”

“Oh, I daresay you have met many pretty girls, but only one of them is the most beautiful in America.”

Again Stranleigh smiled, but this time removed his pipe, which had gone out, and gently tapped it on the ash tray.

“My dear Ned,” he said at last, “on almost any other subject I should hesitate to venture an opinion that ran counter to your own experience, yet in this instance I think you wrong the great Republic. I am not very good at statistics, but if you will tell me how many of your fellow-countrymen are this moment in love, I’ll make a very accurate estimate regarding the number of most beautiful women there are in the United States.”

“Like yourself, Stranleigh, I always defer to the man of experience, and am glad to have hit on one subject in which you are qualified to be my teacher.”

“I like that! Ned Trenton depreciating his own conquests is a popular actor in a new rôle. But you are evading the point. I was merely trying in my awkward way to show that every woman is the most beautiful in the world to the man in love with her.”

“Very well; I’ll frame my question differently. Would you like to meet one of the most cultured of her sex?”

“Bless you, my boy, of course not! Why, I’m afraid of her already. It is embarrassing enough to meet a bright, alert man, but in the presence of a clever woman, I become so painfully stupid that she thinks I’m putting it on.”

“Then let me place the case before you in still another form. Would your highness like to meet the richest woman in Pennsylvania?”

“Certainly I should,” cried Stranleigh, eagerly.

Trenton looked at him with a shade of disapproval on his brow.

“I thought wealth was the very last qualification a man in your position would care for in a woman, yet hardly have I finished the sentence, than you jump at the chance I offer.”

“And why not? A lady beautiful and talented would likely strike me dumb, but if she is hideously rich, I may be certain of one thing, that I shall not be asked to invest money in some hare-brained scheme or other.”

“You are quite safe from that danger, or indeed from any other danger, so far as Miss Maturin is concerned. Nevertheless, it is but just that you should understand the situation, so that if you scent danger of any kind, you may escape while there is yet time.”

“Unobservant though I am,” remarked Stranleigh, “certain signs have not escaped my notice. This commodious and delightful mansion is being prepared for a house-party. I know the symptoms, for I have several country places of my own. If, as I begin to suspect, I am in the way here, just whisper the word and I’ll take myself off in all good humour, hoping to receive an invitation for some future time.”

“If that’s your notion of American hospitality, Stranleigh, you’ve got another guess coming. You’re a very patient man; will you listen to a little family history? Taking your consent for granted, I plunge. My father possessed a good deal of landed property in Pennsylvania. This house is the old homestead, as they would call it in a heart-throb drama. My father died a very wealthy man, and left his property conjointly to my sister and myself. He knew we wouldn’t quarrel over the division, and we haven’t. My activity has been mainly concentrated in coal mines and in the railways which they feed, and financially I have been very fortunate. I had intended to devote a good deal of attention to this estate along certain lines which my father had suggested, but I have never been able to do so, living, as I did, mostly in Philadelphia, absorbed in my own business. My sister, however, has in a measure carried out my father’s plans, aided and abetted by her friend, Miss Constance Maturin. My sister married a man quite as wealthy as herself, a dreamy, impractical, scholarly person who once represented his country as Minister to Italy, in Rome. She enjoyed her Italian life very much, and studied with great interest the progress North Italy was making in utilising the water-power coming from the Alps. In this she was ably seconded by Miss Maturin, who is owner of forests and farms and factories further down the river which flows past our house. Her property, indeed, adjoins our own, but she does not possess that unlimited power over it which Sis and I have over this estate, for her father, having no faith in the business capacity of woman, formed his undertakings into a limited liability company where, although he owned the majority of stock during his life, he did not leave his daughter with untrammelled control. Had the old man known what trouble he was bequeathing to his sole heir, I imagine he would have arranged things a little differently. Miss Maturin has had to endure several expensive law-suits, which still further restricted her power and lessened her income. So she has ceased to take much interest in her own belongings, and has constituted herself adviser-in-chief to my dear sister, who has blown in a good deal of money on this estate in undertakings that, however profitable they may be in the future, are unproductive up to date. I am not criticising Sis at all, and have never objected to what she has done, although I found myself involved in a very serious action for damages, which I had the chagrin of losing, and which ran me into a lot of expense, covering me with injunctions and things of that sort. No rogue e’er felt the halter draw, with a good opinion of the law, and perhaps my own detestation of the law arises from my having frequently broken it. If this long diatribe bores you, just say so, and I’ll cut it short.”

“On the contrary,” said Stranleigh, with evident honesty, “I’m very much interested. These two ladies, as I understand the case, have been unsuccessful in law – ”

“Completely so.”

“And unsuccessful in the projects they have undertaken?”

“From my point of view, yes. That is to say, they are sinking pots of money, and I don’t see where any of it is coming back.”

“Of what do these enterprises consist?”

“Do you know anything about the conservation controversy now going on in this country?”

“I fear I do not. I am a woefully ignorant person.”

“My father had ideas about conservation long before the United States took it up. It is on these ideas that Sis has been working. You preserve water in times of flood and freshet to be used for power or for irrigation throughout the year. Her first idea was to make a huge lake, extending several miles up the valley of this river. That’s where I got into my law-suit. The commercial interests down below held that we had no right to put a huge concrete dam across this river.”

“Couldn’t you put a dam on your own property?”

“It seems not. If the river ran entirely through my own property, I could. Had I paid more attention to what was being done, I might perhaps have succeeded, by getting a bill through the Legislature. When I tried that, I was too late. The interests below had already applied to the courts for an injunction, which, quite rightly, they received. Attempting to legalise the action, not only did I find the Legislature hostile, but my clever opponents got up a muck-raking crusade against me, and I was held up by the Press of this State as a soulless monopolist, anxious to increase my already great wealth by grabbing what should belong to the whole people. The campaign of personal calumny was splendidly engineered, and, by Jupiter! they convinced me that I was unfit for human intercourse. Tables of statistics were published to prove how through railway and coal-mine manipulation I had robbed everybody, and they made me out about a hundred times richer than I am, although I have never been able to get any of the excess cash. Sermons were preached against me, the Pulpit joining the Press in denunciation. I had no friends, and not being handy with my pen, I made no attempt at defence. I got together a lot of dynamite, blew up the partially-constructed dam, and the river still flows serenely on.”

“But surely,” said Stranleigh, “I saw an immense dam on this very river, when you met me at Powerville railway station the other day?”

Trenton laughed.

“Yes; that was Miss Maturin’s dam.”

“Miss Maturin’s!” cried Stranleigh in astonishment.

“It was built years ago by her father, who went the right way about it, having obtained in a quiet, effective way, the sanction of legislature. Of course, when I say it belongs to Miss Maturin, I mean that it is part of the estate left by her father, and the odd combination of circumstances brought it about that she was one of my opponents in the action-at-law, whereas in strict justice, she should have been a defendant instead of a plaintiff. The poor girl was horrified to learn her position in the matter, and my sister was dumbfounded to find in what a dilemma she had placed me. Of course, the two girls should have secured the advice of some capable, practical lawyer in the first place, but they were very self-confident in those days, and Sis knew it was no use consulting her husband, while her brother was too deeply immersed in his own affairs to be much aid as a counsellor.