Radlett pounded upon the nickel bell on the smoking table, and ordered two cigars. Stephen bit the end of his cigar hastily, while Radlett produced a clipper from his pocket, and carefully cut the end of his. These unconscious actions portrayed well the differences in their characters. Drawing a match from the white earthenware holder, Baird scratched it on the rough surface, and then held the light to Stephen’s cigar. “Mine is lighted, thank you, Baird,” said Loring, and through blue circles of smoke he watched Radlett light his own cigar.
“I had almost forgotten what a stocky old brute Baird was,” he mused. “I do not think, though, that I could ever forget that dear old face. Of all the faces that I ever knew his is the homeliest, and the kindest! If he poked that long jaw of his out at me, and looked at me with those honest eyes, he might tell me that[215] black was white, and I should fight the man who said that it was not true.”
Radlett also utilized those first moments of silence brought about by a good cigar, an old friend, and a comfortable chair, to make a few observations of his own.
“In five years, Steve has changed a great deal,” he thought. “Five years of failure, and drifting, such as I judge these to have been, leave their mark on any man, definitely and indefinitely. Imagine Loring, the fastidious, in those clothes five years ago! And then the old frank manner has become a bit hesitant. He seems always on the defensive. Poor old chap, he must have had some pretty hard blows. The old light in his eyes is no longer there; but after all he has that same quality of winning appeal, of humor and of latent strength, which nothing can obliterate, which always has made and always will make every one who knows him hope for the best, and pardon the worst.” At the conclusion of his reflections, Baird’s eyes were damp.
Stephen smoked slowly, as one would sip a rare old wine. Then, taking the cigar from his mouth, he held it before his eyes, twirling[216] the label slowly around, and looking at it appreciatively.
“It is eleven months since I smoked a good cigar, Baird; perhaps you can guess how this one tastes to me,” said Loring softly, almost as if talking to himself. Then he relapsed again into silence.
Radlett puffed vigorously on his cigar, then said: “Steve, it is your own fault that you are not smoking good cigars all the time.”
“Perhaps it is,” answered Loring; “but the fact remains, and eleven months is a long time out of one’s life to lose such happiness.”
“The last time that I heard of you, you were in Chicago,” remarked Radlett. “Some one told me that you had a good position there. What happened to you?”
“Fired,” was the laconic answer.
“Did you deserve to be?”
“Yes.”
One of the things that Loring’s friends held dearest in him was the fact that he never shirked the truth in the matter of his delinquencies. His own word on the matter was final. In the old days Loring’s deficiencies had been among his most charming attributes. People[217] had always spoken hopefully of “When he buckles down.” Now the “When he will,” had become “Now that he has not,” and his deficiencies were not so charming.
Radlett smoked on imperturbably. When he again spoke, his voice was thick with smoke.
“What was your last position?”
“Hoist engineer, Quentin Mining Company.”
Again the query: “Why did you leave?”
“Fired,” repeated Stephen, flushing savagely. Then looking Radlett in the eyes, he added: “I was drunk, and through my fault two men were killed.”
Leaning forward, Radlett laid his hand on Loring’s shoulder, and gripped it tightly with his strong fingers.
“Steve, old man, I am sorry for you. I know what this must mean to you. You were always the most kind-hearted fellow on earth, and I can see how this has crushed and saddened you. I’m—I’m damned sorry—but, Steve, you needed it. It will be the making of you, Steve. We have all been wanting to help you, and we could not; you would not let us. You have lost almost everything in the world,—your money, your position, your family. You[218] have lost prize after prize which you might have won; and all these things have not held you. You still had that quality of drifting. You used to think,—I remember well how we used to talk it over,—that love would hold a man. It won’t. If you have tried it, you know”—Loring breathed hard—“if you have not, then you have been spared one more blow. You never had, or could have had, religion; I don’t know what that might have done for you.” Radlett was speaking fast now, and though he struck hard, Loring never flinched.
“You always knew that you were hurting yourself by what you did; but that did not check you,” went on Radlett. “You had, I remember, a creed of ethics in which, so you said, you logically believed. You know how much good that has done you.
“Steve, I am as sorry for you as if you were myself—yes, sorrier.” In the intensity of their grasp, his fingers almost crushed Loring’s shoulder. “I know what it seems to you, the feeling of guilt, and of remorse; but you deserved it and you needed it. The one thing that could have stopped your drifting was to find that your destiny and actions are inextricably[219] tangled with those of other men. Now that you have learned that by drifting you may sink other ships, you won’t drift. I know you, Steve, and I swear it. This has been your salvation.” Radlett stopped short, and sank back into his chair.
Stephen sat looking sternly into the smoke. There were deep lines beneath his eyes, showing dark against his pallor, for so great was the tumult within him that even through his heavy tan his face showed white. When he spoke it was as a man who opens his mouth, and does not know whether the words that he speaks are loud or soft.
“You are right, Baird. I was wrong, and Baird, I’ve thrown over everything in the world that I cared about. There was a girl, Baird; you were right about that, too. She believed in me, even though she did not care. I cared for her more than for anything that I have ever dreamed of in the world. She was everything to me, Baird, and I promised her that I would make good. I broke my word. It was the only thing that I had not broken before. Well, my love for her did not check me.
“But since that—that—murder,” he spoke[220] now from deep in his chest, “I have gripped myself; I have found myself. I am going to work up again, Baird. I can,—I am on the up grade. I am sure of it. It is a hard struggle, but the fight of it makes it all the more worth while. It will be hard, and it will take time; but I can do it.”
Radlett stared out of the window for a few moments, as though deeply absorbed in watching a passing carriage. Letting his eyes travel back to Loring, he asked: “Did you ever hear of the Kay mine? I think that it was situated near where you were last working.”
Stephen nodded. He was re............