Lord Stranleigh Abroad by Robert Barr (romantic love story reading txt) 📕

I'll guarantee you a living wage and an eight hours' day."

"Should I be required to carry about crystal blocks of the product?"

"No; you're frigid enough as it is. Besides, ice at the present moment is too scarce to be expended on even so important a matter as advertisement."

Banks wheeled forward an arm chair, and sat down opposite his lordship. A useful feature of a panama hat is its flexibility. You may roll one brim to fit the hand, and use the other as a fan, and this Banks did with the perfection of practice.

"What's the cause of the unrest, Stranleigh?"

"Thinking. That's the cause of unrest all the world over. Whenever people begin to think, there is trouble."

"I've never noticed any undue thoughtfulness in you, Stranleigh."

"That's just it. Thinking doesn't agree with me, and as you hint, I rarely indulge in it, but this is a land that somehow stimulates thought, and thought compels action. Action is all very well in moderation, but in these United States of yours it is developed into a fever, or frenzy rather, curable only by a breakdown or death."

"Do you think it's as bad as all that?"

"Yes, I do. You call it enterprise; I call it greed. I've never yet met an American who knew when he'd had enough."

"Did you ever meet an Englishman who knew that?"

"Thousands of them."

Banks laughed.

"I imagine," he said, "it's all a matter of nomenclature. You think us fast over here, and doubtless you are wrong; _we_ think _you_ slow over there, and doubtless we are wrong. I don't think we're greedy. No man is so lavish in his expenditure as an American, and no man more generous. A greedy man does not spend money. Our motive power is interest in the game."

"Yes; everyone has told me that, but I regard the phrase as an excuse, not as a reason."

"Look here, Stranleigh, who's been looting you? What deal have you lost? I warned you against mixing philanthropy with business, you remember."

Stranleigh threw back his head and laughed.

"There you have it. According to you a man cannot form an opinion that is uninfluenced by his pocket. As a matter of fact, I have won all along the line. I tried the game, as you call it, hoping to find it interesting, but it doesn't seem to me worth while. I pocket the stakes, and I am going home, in no way elated at my success, any more than I should have been discouraged had I failed."

Leaning forward, Mr. Banks spoke as earnestly as the weather permitted.

"What you need, Stranleigh, is a doctor's advice, not a lawyer's. You have been just a little too long in New York, and although New Yorkers don't believe it, there are other parts of the country worthy of consideration. Your talk, instead of being an indictment of life as you find it, has been merely an exposition of your own ignorance, a sample of that British insularity which we all deplore. I hope you don't mind my stating the case as I see it?"

"Not at all," said Stranleigh. "I am delighted to hear your point of view. Go on."

"Very well; here am I plugging away during this hot weather in this hot city. Greed, says you."

"I say nothing of the kind," replied his lordship calmly. "I am merely lost in admiration of a hard-working man, enduring the rigours of toil in the most luxurious club of which I have ever been an honorary member. Let me soften the asperities of labour by ordering something with ice in it."

The good-natured attorney accepted the invitation, and then went on--

"We have a saying regarding any futile proposition to the effect that it cuts no ice. This is the position of the Trust in which I am interested. In this hot weather we cut no ice, but we sell it. Winter is a peaceable season with us, and the harder the winter, the better we are pleased, but summer is a time of trouble. It is a period of complaints and law-suits, and our newspaper reading is mostly articles on the greed and general villainy of the Trust. So my position is literally that of what-you-may-call-him on the burning deck, whence almost all but he have fled to the lakes, to the mountains, to the sea shore. Now, I don't intend to do this always. I have set a limit of accumulated cash, and when I reach it I quit. It would be high falutin' if I said duty held me here, so I will not say it."

"A lawyer can always out-talk a layman," said Stranleigh, wearily, "and I suppose all this impinges on my ignorance."

"Certainly," said Banks. "It's a large subject, you know. But I'll leave theory, and come down to practice. As I said before, you've had too much of New York. You are known to have a little money laid by against a rainy day, so everybody wants you to invest in something, and you've got tired of it. Have you ever had a taste of ranch life out West?"

"I've never been further West than Chicago."

"Good. When you were speaking of setting a limit to financial ambition, I remembered my old friend, Stanley Armstrong, the best companion on a shooting or fishing expedition I ever encountered. It is not to be wondered at that he is an expert in sport, for often he has had to depend on rod and gun for sustenance. He was a mining engineer, and very few know the mining west as well as he does. He might have been a millionaire or a pauper, but he chose a middle course, and set his limit at a hundred thousand pounds. When land was cheap he bought a large ranch, partly plain and partly foothills, with the eternal snow mountains beyond. Now, if you take with you an assortment of guns and fishing rods, and spend a month with Stanley Armstrong, your pessimism will evaporate."

"A good idea," said Stranleigh. "If you give me a letter of introduction to Mr. Armstrong, I'll telegraph at once to be sure of accommodation."

"Telegraph?" cried the lawyer. "He'd never get your message. I don't suppose there's a telegraph office within fifty miles. You don't need a letter of introduction, but I'll write you one, and give your name merely as Stranleigh. You won't have any use for a title out there; in fact, it is a necessary part of my prescription that you should get away from yours, with the consequences it entails. Not that you're likely to come across would-be investors, or any one with designs on your wealth. As for accommodation, take a tent with you, and be independent. When I return to my office, I'll dictate full instructions for reaching the ranch."

"Is it so difficult of access as all that?"

"You might find it so. When you reach the nearest railway station, which is a couple of days' journey from the ranch, you can acquire a horse for yourself, and two or three men with pack mules for your belongings. They'll guide you to Armstrong's place."

Stranleigh found no difficulty in getting a cavalcade together at Bleachers' station, an amazingly long distance west of New York. A man finds little trouble in obtaining what he wants, if he never cavils at the price asked, and is willing to pay in advance. The party passed through a wild country, though for a time the road was reasonably good. It degenerated presently into a cart-track, however, and finally became a mere trail through the wilderness. As night fell, the tent was put up by the side of a brawling stream, through which they had forded.

Next morning the procession started early, but it was noon before it came to the clearing which Stranleigh rightly surmised was the outskirts of the ranch. The guide, who had been riding in front, reined in, and allowed Stranleigh to come alongside.

"That," he said, pointing down the valley, "is Armstrong's ranch."

Before Stranleigh could reply, if he had intended doing so, a shot rang out from the forest, and he felt the sharp sting of a bullet in his left shoulder. The guide flung himself from the saddle with the speed of lightning, and stood with both hands upraised, his horse between himself and the unseen assailant.

"Throw up your hands!" he shouted to Stranleigh.

"Impossible!" was the quiet answer, "my left is helpless."

"Then hold up your right."

Stranleigh did so.

"Slide off them packs," roared the guide to his followers, whereupon ropes were untied on the instant, and the packs slid to the ground, while the mules shook themselves, overjoyed at this sudden freedom.

"Turn back!" cried the guide. "Keep your hand up, and they won't shoot. They want the goods."

"Then you mean to desert me?" asked Stranleigh.

"Desert nothing!" rejoined the guide, gruffly.

"We can't stand up against these fellows, whoever they are. We're no posse. To fight them is the sheriff's business. I engaged to bring you and your dunnage to Armstrong's ranch. I've delivered the goods, and now it's me for the railroad."

"I'm going to that house," said Stranleigh.

"The more fool you," replied the guide, "but I guess you'll get there safe enough, if you don't try to save the plunder."

The unladen mules, now bearing the men on their backs, had disappeared. The guide washed his hands of the whole affair, despite the fact that his hands were upraised. He whistled to his horse, and marched up the trail for a hundred yards or so, still without lowering his arms, then sprang into the saddle, fading out of sight in the direction his men had taken. Stranleigh sat on his horse, apparently the sole inhabitant of a lonely world.

"That comes of paying in advance," he muttered, looking round at his abandoned luggage. Then it struck him as ridiculous that he was enacting the part of an equestrian statue, with his arm raised aloft. Still, he remembered enough of the pernicious literature that had lent enchantment to his early days, to know that in certain circumstances the holding up of hands was a safeguard not to be neglected, so he lowered his right hand, and took in it the forefinger of his left, and thus raised both arms over his head, turning round in the saddle to face the direction from whence the shots had come. Then he released the forefinger, and allowed the left arm to drop as if it had been a semaphore. He winced under the pain that this pantomime cost him, then in a loud voice he called out:

"If there is anyone within hearing, I beg to inform him that I am wounded slightly; that I carry no firearms; that my escort has vanished, and that I'm going to the house down yonder to have my injury looked after. Now's the opportunity for a parley, if he wants it."

He waited for some moments, but there was no response, then he gathered up the reins, and quite unmolested proceeded down the declivity until he came to the homestead.

The place appeared to be deserted, and for the first time it crossed Stranleigh's mind that perhaps the New York lawyer had sent him on this expedition as a sort of practical joke. He couldn't discover where the humour of it came in, but perhaps that might be the density with which his countrymen were universally credited. Nevertheless, he determined to follow the adventure to an end, and