II
Long afterward he used to wonder how it had ever come to pass—that first false step of his, the surrender of his profession, and so of his liberty. Before middle life a man sometimes forgets the imperious secret of the springs that moved his youthful actions. In reality, the mechanism of his decision was very simple.
“How can I give up my profession?” he asked Virginia.
She smiled up into his eyes, her own expressing a divine confidence. “But how can you give up me?”
Though his doubts were not thereby laid to rest, the matter was practically settled, and it was understood between them that he was to accept her father’s unnecessarily liberal offer, and take his place in John Fenley’s business as his own son might have done. This may have been unwise, but it was not unnatural, and if there was any unwisdom in the proceeding, it was apparent to no eyes but Roderick’s own. Other people said what other people always say under such circumstances—that young Le Garde was in luck; that he would have a “soft snap” of it as John Fenley’s son-in-law; that he had shown more sagacity in feathering his own nest than could have been expected of such an impractical young fellow. They did not understand his chill reserve when congratulated on this brilliant bit of success in life. If they had spoken of his good fortune in being loved by Virginia, that was something a man could understand. The gods might envy Virginia’s lover, but that he, Roderick Le Garde, should be congratulated on becoming John Fenley’s son-in-law was intolerable.
He by no means pretended to scorn money, however, and he felt as strongly as did Fenley that Virginia must have it. Luxury was her natural atmosphere—any woman’s perhaps, but surely hers. Other men sacrificed other things for the women that they loved. He gave up his proud independence and his proper work, and was sublimely sure that Virginia understood what the sacrifice cost him.
But it was true that he was not a business man by nature, and his first few years in John Fenley’s service were not the exacting drill which would have given him what he lacked. Although he conscientiously endeavored to carry his share of the burden and do well what fell to him to do, the fact was that John Fenley was a great deal too energetic and too fond of managing his own affairs to give up any duties to another which he could possibly perform for himself. Thus Roderick’s various positions were always more or less of sinecures as far as responsibility was concerned, and he had a large margin of leisure as well as a sufficient amount of money to devote to good books and good horses, pursuits which met the approval of his father-in-law as being the “tastes of a gentleman.”
John Fenley did not show his usual foresight, certainly, in encouraging Roderick to be in the business and not of it; but then he confidently expected to live to settle up all his own affairs, and turn his large fortune into a shape in which it would be more easily managed than in its primitive form of timber lands and sawmills. No one could have anticipated his death, which occurred in the prime of his active life, some five years after his daughter’s marriage.
Even then his son-in-law hardly took the position expected of him. His long habit of standing aside was not easily overcome, and Mrs. Le Garde, who had a taste for affairs, and Mr. Rogers, her father’s private secretary, had actually more to do with certain important transactions than the nominal head of the business.
One of these transactions was as follows:
“Mrs. Le Garde,” said Mr. Rogers, being shown into the library one chilly afternoon in early October, “Macomb has cabled from Vienna to his agent here to close with us for that tract of Michigan timber, paying the price agreed upon for cash. I have had the papers ready for some time, and they only want signing. If you can come down town at once——”
Virginia looked down at her tea-gown, and then at the cheerful little fire on the hearth, and her novel lying face downward on the easiest chair.
“Won’t to-morrow morning do as well?” she asked, languidly.
“If you will permit me to say so, by no means, Mrs. Le Garde,” said Mr. Rogers, suavely.
Something in his manner attracted her attention.
“Why not?” she demanded.
Mr. Rogers looked at the fire for a moment before replying. “You wish to realize upon the land, you see,” he observed, vaguely. “The cablegram was received this morning. Macomb’s agent has no choice but to act on it now. By to-morrow, or next day at the farthest, there may be reasons apparent which would justify him in declaring the deal off. It is worth your while, and it should be made worth mine,” said Mr. Rogers, leaning upon the words, “to see that the matter is settled this afternoon. I have private advices that forest fires have started in northern Michigan—ah—somewhat in this vicinity, and their spread is greatly to be feared. I have not mentioned this to Mr. Le Garde.”
Mrs. Le Garde hesitated a moment. It would be charitable to suppose that she did not understand the situation so lightly sketched in, but I am afraid she did. Mr. Rogers did not raise his eyes.
“Oh, well,” she said, carelessly, “to-day or to-morrow, it doesn’t signify. If you will have a notary and Macomb’s agent at Mr. Le Garde’s office in half an hour, Mr. Rogers, I will be there.”
So it was that the papers were executed and payment made that afternoon. The next day but one, “Forest Fires. Danger to Lumber Interests in Michigan,” was a prominent head-line in the morning papers.
When Macomb came home from Vienna to look after his own affairs a month later he found himself the owner of a diminished bank account and some hundreds of acres of smoking pine-stumps.
He made a trip to northern Michigan to survey these latter possessions, and while there succeeded in securing some interesting statements which it pleased him to call “facts.” Armed with these, he went to Roderick Le Garde, and laid his case before him.
“First of all, I want to say that I have always thought you an honest man, Le Garde,” he observed, “and I wish to say that I am bringing no personal accusations, though the case looks black for you. But I know your man Rogers is a d——d scoundrel, though I fail to see how the sale could profit him, apart from its advantages to you. But you will see I have proof that he was well-informed on the day the transfer took place that that tract of timber was already on fire in a dozen places, and nothing on earth could save it from destruction. I call that obtaining money under false pretences, and I warn you if you don’t desire to repurchase the entire tract at the price I paid for it, that I propose to see at once what the courts will call it.”
“Much obliged for your good opinion of me,” said Le Garde, dryly. “I have perfect confidence in Rogers”—this was not strictly true, but Roderick was angry—“and none at all in your so-called ‘proofs.’ I shall do a little investigating for myself. If I find, as I believe, that Rogers had no other information in the matter than I myself possessed, and that you have met with your losses only in the ordinary course of events, you may bring as many suits as you like, and rest assured that the Fenley estate will fight them to the last dollar. If it is otherwise—but nothing else is possible! Good-morning, sir.”