Women are more readily affected by names than we are, and there was a
certain Highland respectability about this that, albeit, not knowing
its possessor, impelled Mrs. Catron to send word that she "would be
down in a few moments." At the end of this femininely indefinite
period,—a quarter of an hour by the French clock on the
mantel-piece,—Mrs. Roger Catron made her appearance in the
reception-room. It was a dull, wet day, as I have said before, but on
the Contra Costa hills the greens and a few flowers were already
showing a promise of rejuvenescence and an early spring. There was
something of this, I think, in Mrs. Catron's presence, shown perhaps in
the coquettish bow of a ribbon, in a larger and more delicate ruche, in
a tighter belting of her black cashmere gown; but still there was a
suggestion of recent rain in the eyes, and threatening weather. As she
entered the room, the sun came out, too, and revealed the prettiness
and delicacy of her figure, and I regret to state, also, the somewhat
obtrusive plainness of her visitor.
"I knew ye'd be sorter disapp'inted at first, not gettin' the regular
bearings o' my name, but I'm 'Captain Dick.' Mebbe ye've heard your
husband—that is, your husband ez waz, Roger Catron—speak o' me?"
Mrs. Catron, feeling herself outraged and deceived in belt, ruche, and
ribbon, freezingly admitted that she had heard of him before.
"In course," said the captain; "why, Lord love ye, Mrs. Catron,—ez
waz,—he used to be all the time talkin' of ye. And allers in a free,
easy, confidential way. Why, one night—don't ye remember?—when he
came home, carryin', mebbee, more canvas than was seamanlike, and you
shet him out the house, and laid for him with a broomstick, or one o'
them crokay mallets, I disremember which, and he kem over to me, ole
Captain Dick, and I sez to him, sez I, 'Why, Roger, them's only love
pats, and yer condishun is such ez to make any woman mad-like.' Why,
Lord bless ye! there ain't enny of them mootool differences you and him
hed ez I doesn't knows on, and didn't always stand by, and lend ye a
hand, and heave in a word or two of advice when called on."
Mrs. Catron, ice everywhere but in her pink cheeks, was glad that Mr.
Catron seemed to have always a friend to whom he confided EVERYTHING,
even the base falsehoods he had invented.
"Mebbe now they WAZ falsehoods," said the captain, thoughtfully. "But
don't ye go to think," he added conscientiously, "that he kept on that
tack all the time. Why, that day he made a raise, gambling, I think,
over at Dutch Flat, and give ye them bracelets,—regular solid
gold,—why, it would have done your heart good to have heard him talk
about you—said you had the prettiest arm in Californy. Well," said
the captain, looking around for a suitable climax, "well, you'd have
thought that he was sorter proud of ye! Why, I woz with him in 'Frisco
when he bought that A1 prize bonnet for ye for $75, and not hevin' over
$50 in his pocket, borryed the other $25 outer me. Mebbe it was a
little fancy for a bonnet; but I allers thought he took it a little too
much to heart when you swopped it off for that Dollar Varden dress,
just because that Lawyer Maxwell said the Dollar Vardens was becomin'
to ye. Ye know, I reckon, he was always sorter jealous of that thar
shark—"
"May I venture to ask what your business is with me?" interrupted Mrs.
Catron, sharply.
"In course," said the captain, rising. "Ye see," he said,
apologetically, "we got to talking o' Roger and ole times, and I got a
little out o' my course. It's a matter of—" he began to fumble in his
pockets, and finally produced a small memorandum-book, which he glanced
over—"it's a matter of $250."
"I don't understand you," said Mrs. Catron, in indignant astonishment.
"On the 15th of July," said the captain, consulting his
memorandum-book, "Roger sold his claim at Nye's Ford for $1,500. Now,
le's see. Thar was nigh on $350 ez he admitted to me he lost at poker,
and we'll add $50 to that for treating, suppers, and drinks
gin'rally—put Roger down for $400. Then there was YOU. Now you spent
$250 on your trip to 'Frisco thet summer; then $200 went for them
presents you sent your Aunt Jane, and thar was $400 for house expenses.
Well, thet foots up $1,250. Now, what's become of thet other $250?"
Mrs. Catron's woman's impulse to retaliate sharply overcame her first
natural indignation at her visitor's impudence.
Therein she lost, woman-like, her ground of vantage.
"Perhaps the woman he fled with can tell you," she said savagely.
"Thet," said the captain, slowly, "is a good, a reasonable idee. But it
ain't true; from all I can gather SHE lent HIM money. It didn't go
THAR."
"Roger Catron left me penniless," said Mrs. Catron, hotly.
"Thet's jist what gets me. You oughter have $250 somewhar lying round."
Mrs. Catron saw her error. "May I ask what right you have to question
me? If you have any, I must refer you to my lawyer or my
brother-in-law; if you have none, I hope you will not oblige me to call
the servants to put you from the house."
"Thet sounds reasonable and square, too," said the captain,
thoughtfully; "I've a power of attorney from Roger Catron to settle up
his affairs and pay his debts, given a week afore them detectives
handed ye over his dead body. But I thought that you and me might save
lawyer's fees and all fuss and feathers, ef, in a sociable, sad-like
way,—lookin' back sorter on Roger ez you and me once knew him,—we had
a quiet talk together."
"Good morning, sir," said Mrs. Catron, rising stiffly. The captain
hesitated a moment, a slight flush of color came in his face as he at
last rose as the lady backed out of the room. "Good morning, ma'am,"
said the captain, and departed.
Very little was known of this interview except the general impression
in the family that Mrs. Catron had successfully resisted a vague
attempt at blackmail from one of her husband's former dissolute
companions. Yet it is only fair to say that Mrs. Catron snapped up,
quite savagely, two male sympathizers on this subject, and cried a good
deal for two days afterward, and once, in the hearing of her
sister-in-law, to that lady's great horror, "wished she was dead."
A week after this interview, as Lawyer Phillips sat in his office, he
was visited by Macleod. Recognizing, possibly, some practical
difference between the widow and the lawyer, Captain Dick this time
first produced his credentials,—a "power of attorney." "I need not
tell you," said Phillips, "that the death of your principal renders
this instrument invalid, and I suppose you know that, leaving no will,
and no property, his estate has not been administered upon."
"Mebbe it is, and mebbe it isn't. But I hain't askin' for anythin' but
information. There was a bit o' prop'ty and a mill onto it, over at
Heavytree, ez sold for $10,000. I don't see," said the captain,
consulting his memorandum-book, "ez HE got anything out of it."
"It was mortgaged for $7,000," said the lawyer, quickly, "and the
interest and fees amount to about $3,000 more."
"The mortgage was given as security for a note?"
"Yes, a gambling debt," said the lawyer, sharply.
"Thet's so, and my belief ez that it wasn't a square game. He
shouldn't hev given no note. Why, don't ye mind, 'way back in '60,
when you and me waz in Marysville, that night that you bucked agin
faro, and lost seving hundred dollars, and then refoosed to take up
your checks, saying it was fraud and a gambling debt? And don't ye
mind when that chap kicked ye, and I helped to drag him off ye—and—"
"I'm busy now, Mr. Macleod," said Phillips, hastily; "my clerk will
give you all the information you require. Good morning."
"It's mighty queer," said the captain, thoughtfully, as he descended
the stairs, "but the moment the conversation gets limber and
sociable-like, and I gets to runnin' free under easy sail, it's always
'Good morning, Captain,' and we're becalmed."
By some occult influence, all the foregoing conversation, slightly
exaggerated, and the whole interview of the captain with the widow with
sundry additions, became the common property of Sandy Bar, to the great
delight of the boys. There was scarcely a person who had ever had
business or social relations with Roger Catron, whom "The Frozen
Truth," as Sandy Bar delighted to designate the captain, had not
"interviewed," as simply and directly. It is said that he closed a
conversation with one of the San Francisco detectives, who had found
Roger Catron's body, in these words: "And now hevin' got throo'
bizness, I was goin' to ask ye what's gone of Matt. Jones, who was with
ye in the bush in Austraily. Lord, how he got me quite interested in
ye, telling me how you and him got out on a ticket-of-leave, and was
chased by them milishy guards, and at last swam out to a San Francisco
bark and escaped;" but here the inevitable pressure of previous
business always stopped the captain's conversational flow. The natural
result of this was a singular reaction in favor of the late Roger
Catron in the public sentiment of Sandy Bar, so strong, indeed, as to
induce the Rev. Mr. Joshua McSnagly, the next Sunday, to combat it with
the moral of Catron's life. After the service, he was approached in
the vestibule, and in the hearing of some of his audience, by Captain
Dick, with the following compliment: "In many pints ye hed jess got
Roger Catron down to a hair. I knew ye'd do it: why, Lord love ye, you
and him had pints in common; and when he giv' ye that hundred dollars
arter the fire in Sacramento, to help ye rebuild the parsonage, he said
to me,—me not likin' ye on account o' my being on the committee that
invited ye to resign from Marysville all along o' that affair with
Deacon Pursell's darter; and a piece she was, parson! eh?—well, Roger,
he ups and sez to me, 'Every man hez his faults,' sez he; and sez he,
'there's no reason why a parson ain't a human being like us, and that
gal o' Pursell's is pizen, ez I know.' So ye see, I seed that ye was
hittin' yourself over Catron's shoulder, like them early martyrs." But
here, as Captain Dick was clearly blocking up all egress from the
church, the sexton obliged him to move on, and again he was stopped in
his conversational career.
But only for a time. Before long, it was whispered that Captain Dick
had ordered a meeting of the creditors, debtors, and friends of Roger
Catron at Robinson's Hall. It was suggested, with some show of reason,
that this had been done at the instigation of various practical jokers
of Sandy Bar, who had imposed on the simple directness of the captain,
and the attendance that night certainly indicated something more than a
mere business meeting. All of Sandy Bar crowded into Robinson's Hall,
and long before Captain Dick made his appearance on the platform, with
his inevitable memorandum-book, every inch of floor was crowded.
The captain began to read the expenditures of Roger Catron with
relentless fidelity of detail. The several losses by poker, the whisky
bills, and the record of a "jamboree" at Tooley's, the vague expenses
whereof footed up $275, were received with enthusiastic cheers by the
audience. A single milliner's bill for $125 was hailed with delight;
$100 expended in treating the Vestal Virgin Combination Troupe almost
canonized his memory; $50 for a simple buggy ride with Deacon Fisk
brought down the house; $500 advanced, without security, and unpaid,
for the electioneering expenses of Assemblyman Jones, who had recently
introduced a bill to prevent gambling and the sale of lager beer on
Sundays, was received with an ominous groan. One or two other items of
money loaned occasioned the withdrawal of several gentlemen from the
audience amidst the hisses or ironical cheers of the others.
At last Captain Dick stopped and advanced to the footlights.
"Gentlemen and friends," he said, slowly. "I foots up $25,000 as Roger
Catron hez MADE, fair and square, in this yer county. I foots up
$27,000 ez he has SPENT in this yer county. I puts it to you ez
men,—far-minded men,—ef this man was a pauper and debtor? I put it to
you ez far-minded men,—ez free and easy men,—ez political
economists,—ez this the kind of men to impoverish a county?"
An overwhelming and instantaneous "No!" almost drowned the last
utterance of the speaker.
"Thar is only one item," said Captain Dick, slowly, "only one item,
that ez men,—ez far-minded men,—ez political economists,—it seems to
me we hez the right to question. It's this: Thar is an item, read to
you by me, of $2,000 paid to certing San Francisco detectives, paid out
o' the assets o' Roger Catron, for the finding of Roger Catron's body.
Gentlemen of Sandy Bar and friends, I found that body, and yer it is!"
And Roger Catron, a little pale and nervous, but palpably in the flesh,
stepped upon the platform.
Of course the newspapers were full of it the next day. Of course, in
due time, it appeared as a garbled and romantic item in the San
Francisco press. Of course Mrs. Catron, on reading it, fainted, and
for two days said that this last cruel blow ended all relations between
her husband and herself. On the third day she expressed her belief
that, if he had had the slightest feeling for her, he would, long
since, for the sake of mere decency, have communicated with her. On
the fourth day she thought she had been, perhaps, badly advised, had an
open quarrel with her relatives, and intimated that a wife had certain
obligations, etc. On the sixth day, still not hearing from him, she
quoted Scripture, spoke of a seventy-times-seven forgiveness, and went
generally into mild hysterics. On the seventh, she left in the morning
train for Sandy Bar.
And really I don't know as I have anything more to tell. I dined with
them recently, and, upon my word, a more decorous, correct,
conventional, and dull dinner I never ate in my life.
