Poor Sutro! It was a bitter notion, and one that made his face grow pale as he contemplated it. He didn’t want to die; he loved life dearly—dearly! Even at this strange East, where it rained whenever it felt like it, and not at stated seasons when people were prepared for it and duly expectant—as at San’ Felisa,—even here, and with disagreeable Resolved Tubbs “to boot,” existence had many pleasures,—not the least among these being Mary Jane’s excellent cookery. To die—to put himself forever out of the reach not only of the Little Un, but of Mazan´ to whom he had hoped to be reunited, and of delicious chicken-patties, all at one fell swoop—that was too much!
“Very well, then. I will delay the evil day, no? They are not suffering now; and if this thousand dollars is not paid yet—why, when it falls due, there will still be time! En verdad. Is it not so, Señor Juez?”
“I do not understand you, Caballero; but if you have finished your directions I will put aside these notes for the present. The will shall be duly drawn up and read to you; when, if satisfactory, it can be attested by your own chosen witnesses. It is about time for me to take my second lesson in colt training; and before I go, I want to ask you if you have heard the Calthorp family speak of this great bank failure, which has ruined so many?”
“Have I not? Si? Is it not that which has prompted, this day so soon, the testamento? That, but for this sudden poverty, I could have postponed till some far away mañana [future]. Señor Tubbs says that my people have become poor—poor—poor. My Señor Calthorp goes into his room and broods and broods; and Señora, the Madam, she smiles,—but with pale lips and heavy eyes. Ah, it is cruel, cruel! I do not understand. I am no—what shall I say? Here, in my head, it is not clear to comprehend this ‘business’ of the Americans, I. It was that ‘business’ which was wrong when Santa Felisa Rancho passed from my family to other men. It is ‘business’ again,—a ‘bank,’ which is worst of all,—and, lo! to-day our pockets burst with the gold, to-morrow they hold not a coin. Por Dios! It is all wrong—”
The Judge listened gravely. The flying rumors he had heard were confirmed by Sutro’s statement. He had known, all along, that his old friends would be losers to some extent by this failure; but the fact that it involved their all was new to him and very painful. How to assist them would be the question. The legal advice he could give them would be theirs without the asking; but if the reports were wholly true, they would need something besides legal advice to put the bread into their mouths.
“Papa! Are you never coming? We were as good as we could be, yesterday; but we were better to-day! And we were let off from study five minutes before the eleven o’clock. Come, please! Won’t you? I want to see you and Diablo take your lesson, now Steenie and I have done.”
Beatrice’s interruption was a pleasant relief to the sombre thoughts of both lawyer and client; and Diablo’s owner answered, promptly, “Oh! oh! That is all, is it? Revenge? You wish to see somebody else suffer the torture which the last two hours have been to you? Eh? For lessons and torture are synonyms in your book-hating mind, I fancy, my daughter.”
“Now, Papa Courtenay! ’Xcuse me, but it’s no such thing. You’re teasing me. And I shouldn’t think it hard work just to play with a colt!”
“Should you not? Unless I mistake my valiant small girl, entirely, I think it would take a deal of persuasion to make her exchange even her dull lessons for mine!”
At which playful irony Beatrice pouted, then laughed good-naturedly. She had now no ambition horseward, beyond riding a very gentle old pony at odd times; but she did enjoy the spectacle of others doing that which she feared.