Long before the sun came creeping up beyond Mt. Diablo, Dan Pritchard made the discovery that the man who has too many things to think about cannot devote constructive thought to any of them. After being the innocent cause of more discomfort than Dan had thought it possible for any man to experience in a single evening, Tamea had swept from his heart in a moment a feeling of resentment, or irritation, that had been developing there. Her tender little speech, evidencing as it did the essential nobility of her primitive soul, had surrounded the girl, in Dan’s eyes, with a newer, more distinctive charm, and rendered more distressing the prospect of the impending parting. For all the embarrassment she had caused him in Maisie’s presence, Dan realized that Tamea was not gauche, that she possessed in full measure a characteristic rather uncommon among her white sisters, and that was sportsmanship.
Tamea fought in the open; she was above a mean, small, underhanded action. Notwithstanding the fact that Tamea’s calm announcement to her rival that Dan was her man had caused him to yearn for a hole into which he might disappear, effectually dragging the aperture in after him, Dan had a hearty man’s hearty appreciation of her frankness, her simplicity, her utter lack of dissembling, of feminine guile. He entertained a similar feeling of admiration for Maisie, in whom the exigencies of this peculiar situation had developed similar characteristics. And lastly, he was sensible of a little titillation to his masculine vanity in the knowledge that two glorious women desired him, that they were engaged in a battle of wits and charm to win him.
He was, on the whole, however, very uncomfortable and apprehensive of unfortunate developments. Mellenger, beloved pal of his boyhood and steadfast friend of his mature years, had read him truthfully and then told him that which he had read. Dan was unwilling to believe that Mellenger had read him aright yet he had lacked the courage to deny it.
What a keen fellow Mark Mellenger was! How prudent, farseeing and fearless! And how charitable, how thoroughly understanding! Dear old Mel! He hadn’t gotten ahead in life. His one great ambition had failed dismally of realization, and he had had to content himself with second place; nevertheless he was not embittered. His life was taken up with doing well the task he could do so much better than others; no hint of the sadness of unfulfilled dreams ever escaped him, and until tonight Dan had never seen him excited or distressed about anything.
“The old boy has a tremendous affection for me,” Dan meditated as he got out of bed, donned dressing gown and slippers and sat by the window to watch the sun rise over San Francisco bay. “What a blow it would be to him were I to—but of course I shall not. The idea is unthinkable.”
Gradually his mind turned to thoughts of business, to the increasing annoyance of association with old John Casson, to the rice market. He would call upon Ridley, the rice broker, and put pressure behind the selling drive if Ridley failed to render an encouraging report by noon. Once in the clear on those rice deals, he was resolved to do one of two things—buy John Casson out or force Casson to buy him out.
And then there was the accursed question of what to do with Tamea. That also would have to be solved today.
At seven o’clock he heard Sooey Wan puttering about in the kitchen below, so he shaved, bathed, dressed and descended for an early breakfast. Sooey Wan served him in profound silence, but eyed him with a steady, speculative gaze; from time to time he shook his old head as if he, too, wrestled with problems hard to solve. When Dan left the house Sooey Wan accompanied him into the hall, helped him into his overcoat and handed him hat and stick. Then he voiced something of what was on his mind.
“Boss, how soon you mally Captain’s girl?”
“How dare you ask me such a question? Mind your own business, you grinning old idol, or I’ll fire you one of these bright days. I’m not going to marry the Captain’s girl.”