And Phil was not a whit behind, for the spirit of emulation was rife in him. He had been born with a burning ambition to succeed, and now that he saw a lifetime chance, he exerted all his power of mind and body to take advantage of it to the full.
The banking account of the Langford-Ralston Company did not fall lower than that consternation mark of three thousand dollars, and it rapidly increased with the advent of the spring sunshine and the incoming settlers who in ever-increasing numbers had heard of the fertility and the climatic perfection of the Valley; and hearing, came to see; and seeing, succumbed to Dame Nature’s seductiveness. Sales increased; so did the new company’s listings. So rapidly did the Langford-Ralston 339 Financial Corporation go ahead that the other real-estate men in town began to sit up and gasp. They had given the “mushroom outfit” anything from a week to six weeks in which to crumple up, but they rapidly withdrew the time-limit, contenting themselves with wait-and-see, wise-acre nods of their heads.
For the first time since leaving his home, Jim took it upon himself to communicate with his father, who was the head of an old firm of Edinburgh Solicitors and Lawyers. True, his method of communication was somewhat impersonal, consisting as it did solely of a continuous weekly bombardment of pamphlets on the fruit-growing possibilities of the Okanagan Valley, with the Langford-Ralston Corporation writ large on the advertisements thereon; printed dodgers of sub-divisions and ranching first mortgage propositions issued by the Company every few days; and copies of the Vernock and District Advertiser containing the Langford-Ralston Company’s regular full-page advertisement.
“Why don’t you write to him?” asked Phil one day.
Jim laughed.
“Because I know him!” he answered. “If I wrote to him, he’d smell a rat. But the constant drip will have its effect, laddie. His firm has money by the train-load to lend out on good security,––but the security has got to be good. It won’t be long before he is making inquiries through some of the banks. Why, man!––I know that Fraser & Somerville placed a quarter of a million dollars for him on first mortgages a year or so ago. Why shouldn’t we have it?”
In response to Phil’s peculiar look, Jim went on.
“Oh, ay!––you may glower. I know I’ve been a rotter, and I don’t think I deserve any confidences from my old dad. I never played the game with him. All the same, I’m not going to crawl to him for all the money on 340 earth. I’ve come to myself at last and I mean to show him I am still worthy to be called his son,––as the Good Book says. If he is interested in our legitimate business and cares to get in touch in a business-like way, we’ll be mighty glad to show him what we’ve got and accept his fatted calf, or should I say, golden calf, with becoming dignity.”
“Well, Jim,––you’re lucky,” reflected Phil. “I doubt if my father knows now that I am alive. He was a mighty good dad to me, but he doesn’t seem to have allowed much for youthful impetuosity and indiscretion. Evidently, he has never forgiven me for refusing to accept a new mother on a moment’s notice. You may say what you like about Brenchfield, but if it hadn’t been for the kindness of his father and mother, God only knows what and where I would have been to-day.”
“Yes, Sentimental Tommy! And you paid all of it back, a thousand per cent,––so forget that part! A fat lot Graham Brenchfield did for you, personally.”