The Rise Of Silas Lapham By William Dean Howells Part 1, William Dean Howells [the red fox clan txt] 📗

And Rushed it--All I Could,"

Said Lapham,  With Less Satisfaction Than He Had Hitherto

Shown In his Autobiography.  "But I Found That I Had Got

Back To Another World.  The Day Of Small Things Was Past,

And I Don'T Suppose It Will Ever Come Again In this Country.

My Wife Was At Me All The Time To Take A Partner--Somebody

With Capital; But I Couldn'T Seem To Bear The Idea.

That Paint Was Like My Own Blood To Me.  To Have Anybody

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Else Concerned in it Was Like--Well,  I Don'T Know What.

I Saw It Was The Thing to Do; But I Tried to Fight It Off,

And I Tried to Joke It Off.  I Used to Say,  'Why Didn'T

You Take A Partner Yourself,  Persis,  While I Was Away?'

And She'D Say,  'Well,  If You Hadn'T Come Back,  I Should,

Si.' Always Did Like A Joke About As Well As Any Woman I

Ever Saw.  Well,  I Had To Come To It.  I Took A Partner."

Lapham Dropped the Bold Blue Eyes With Which He Had Been

Till Now Staring into Bartley'S Face,  And The Reporter

Knew That Here Was A Place For Asterisks In his Interview,

If Interviews Were Faithful.  "He Had Money Enough,"

Continued lapham,  With A Suppressed sigh; "But He Didn'T Know

Anything about Paint.  We Hung On Together For A Year Or Two.

And Then We Quit."

 

"And He Had The Experience," Suggested bartley,

With Companionable Ease.

 

"I Had Some Of The Experience Too," Said Lapham,

With A Scowl; And Bartley Divined,  Through The Freemasonry

Of All Who Have Sore Places In their Memories,  That This

Was A Point Which He Must Not Touch Again.

 

"And Since That,  I Suppose,  You'Ve Played it Alone."

 

"I'Ve Played it Alone."

 

"You Must Ship Some Of This Paint Of Yours To Foreign Countries,

Colonel?" Suggested bartley,  Putting on A Professional Air.

 

"We Ship It To All Parts Of The World.  It Goes To South America,

Lots Of It.  It Goes To Australia,  And It Goes To India,

And It Goes To China,  And It Goes To The Cape Of Good Hope.

It'Ll Stand Any Climate.  Of Course,  We Don'T Export

These Fancy Brands Much.  They'Re For Home Use.  But We'Re

Introducing them Elsewhere.  Here." Lapham Pulled open

A Drawer,  And Showed bartley A Lot Of Labels In different

Languages--Spanish,  French,  German,  And Italian.

"We Expect To Do A Good Business In all Those Countries.

We'Ve Got Our Agencies In cadiz Now,  And In paris,

And In hamburg,  And In leghorn.  It'S A Thing that'S Bound

To Make Its Way.  Yes,  Sir.  Wherever A Man Has Got A Ship,

Or A Bridge,  Or A Lock,  Or A House,  Or A Car,  Or A Fence,

Or A Pig-Pen Anywhere In god'S Universe To Paint,  That'S The

Paint For Him,  And He'S Bound To Find It Out Sooner Or Later.

You Pass A Ton Of That Paint Dry Through A Blast-Furnace,

And You'Ll Get A Quarter Of A Ton Of Pig-Iron. I Believe

In My Paint.  I Believe It'S A Blessing to The World.

When Folks Come In,  And Kind Of Smell Round,  And Ask Me

What I Mix It With,  I Always Say,  'Well,  In the First Place,

I Mix It With Faith,  And After That I Grind It Up

With The Best Quality Of Boiled linseed oil That Money

Will Buy.'"

 

Lapham Took Out His Watch And Looked at It,  And Bartley

Perceived that His Audience Was Drawing to A Close.

"'F You Ever Want To Run Down And Take A Look At Our Works,

Pass You Over The Road,"--He Called it Rud--"And It Sha'N'T Cost

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You A Cent." "Well,  May Be I Shall,  Sometime," Said Bartley.

"Good Afternoon,  Colonel."

 

"Good Afternoon.  Or--Hold On! My Horse Down There Yet,

William?" He Called to The Young Man In the Counting-Room

Who Had Taken His Letter At The Beginning of The Interview.

"Oh! All Right!" He Added,  In response To Something

The Young Man Said.

 

"Can'T I Set You Down Somewhere,  Mr. Hubbard? I'Ve Got

My Horse At The Door,  And I Can Drop You On My Way Home.

I'M Going to Take Mis' Lapham To Look At A House I'M Driving

Piles For,  Down On The New Land."

 

"Don'T Care If I Do," Said Bartley.

 

Lapham Put On A Straw Hat,  Gathered up Some Papers Lying

On His Desk,  Pulled down Its Rolling cover,  Turned the

Key In it,  And Gave The Papers To An Extremely Handsome

Young Woman At One Of The Desks In the Outer Office.

She Was Stylishly Dressed,  As Bartley Saw,  And Her Smooth,

Yellow Hair Was Sculpturesquely Waved over A Low,

White Forehead.  "Here," Said Lapham,  With The Same

Prompt Gruff Kindness That He Had Used in addressing

The Young Man,  "I Want You Should Put These In shape,

And Give Me A Type-Writer Copy To-Morrow."

 

"What An Uncommonly Pretty Girl!" Said Bartley,  As They

Descended the Rough Stairway And Found Their Way Out To

The Street,  Past The Dangling rope Of A Block And Tackle

Wandering up Into The Cavernous Darkness Overhead.

 

"She Does Her Work," Said Lapham Shortly.

 

Bartley Mounted to The Left Side Of The Open Buggy Standing at

The Curb-Stone,  And Lapham,  Gathering up The Hitching-Weight,

Slid It Under The Buggy-Seat And Mounted beside Him.

 

"No Chance To Speed a Horse Here,  Of Course," Said Lapham,

While The Horse With A Spirited gentleness Picked her Way,

With A High,  Long Action,  Over The Pavement Of The Street.

The Streets Were All Narrow,  And Most Of Them Crooked,

In That Quarter Of The Town; But At The End Of One

The Spars Of A Vessel Pencilled themselves Delicately

Against The Cool Blue Of The Afternoon Sky.  The Air

Was Full Of A Smell Pleasantly Compounded of Oakum,

Of Leather,  And Of Oil.  It Was Not The Busy Season,

And They Met Only Two Or Three Trucks Heavily Straggling

Toward The Wharf With Their Long String teams; But The

Cobble-Stones Of The Pavement Were Worn With The Dint Of

Ponderous Wheels,  And Discoloured with Iron-Rust From Them;

Here And There,  In wandering streaks Over Its Surface,

Was The Grey Stain Of The Salt Water With Which The Street

Had Been Sprinkled.

 

After An Interval Of Some Minutes,  Which Both Men

Spent In looking round The Dash-Board From Opposite

Sides To Watch The Stride Of The Horse,  Bartley Said,

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With A Light Sigh,  "I Had A Colt Once Down In maine

That Stepped just Like That Mare."

 

"Well!" Said Lapham,  Sympathetically Recognising the

Bond That This Fact Created between Them.  "Well,  Now,

I Tell You What You Do.  You Let Me Come For You 'Most

Any Afternoon,  Now,  And Take You Out Over The Milldam,

And Speed this Mare A Little.  I'D Like To Show You What

This Mare Can Do.  Yes,  I Would."

 

"All Right," Answered bartley; "I'Ll Let You Know

My First Day Off."

 

"Good," Cried lapham.

 

"Kentucky?" Queried bartley.

 

"No,  Sir.  I Don'T Ride Behind Anything but Vermont; Never Did.

Touch Of Morgan,  Of Course; But You Can'T Have Much Morgan

In A Horse If You Want Speed.  Hambletonian Mostly.

Where'D You Say You Wanted to Get Out?"

 

"I Guess You May Put Me Down At The Events Office,

Just Round The Corner Here.  I'Ve Got To Write Up This

Interview While It'S Fresh."

 

"All Right," Said Lapham,  Impersonally Assenting

To Bartley'S Use Of Him As Material.

 

He Had Not Much To Complain Of In bartley'S Treatment,

Unless It Was The Strain Of Extravagant Compliment Which

It Involved.  But The Flattery Was Mainly For The Paint,

Whose Virtues Lapham Did Not Believe Could Be Overstated,

And Himself And His History Had Been Treated with As Much

Respect As Bartley Was Capable Of Showing any One.

He Made A Very Picturesque Thing of The Discovery Of The

Paint-Mine. "Deep In the Heart Of The Virgin Forests

Of Vermont,  Far Up Toward The Line Of The Canadian Snows,

On A Desolate Mountain-Side,  Where An Autumnal Storm Had Done

Its Wild Work,  And The Great Trees,  Strewn Hither And Thither,

Bore Witness To Its Violence,  Nehemiah Lapham Discovered,

Just Forty Years Ago,  The Mineral Which The Alchemy

Of His Son'S Enterprise And Energy Has Transmuted

Into Solid Ingots Of The Most Precious Of Metals.

The Colossal Fortune Of Colonel Silas Lapham Lay At The

Bottom Of A Hole Which An Uprooted tree Had Dug For Him,

And Which For Many Years Remained a Paint-Mine Of No More

Appreciable Value Than A Soap-Mine."

 

Here Bartley Had Not Been Able To Forego Another Grin;

But He Compensated for It By The High Reverence With Which

He Spoke Of Colonel Lapham'S Record During the War Of The

Rebellion,  And Of The Motives Which Impelled him To Turn Aside

From An Enterprise In which His Whole Heart Was Engaged,  And

Take Part In the Struggle.  "The Colonel Bears Embedded in the

Muscle Of His Right Leg A Little Memento Of The Period In the

Shape Of A Minie-Ball,  Which He Jocularly Referred to As His

Thermometer,  And Which Relieves Him From The Necessity Of

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Reading 'The Probabilities' In his Morning paper.  This Saves

Him Just So Much Time; And For A Man Who,  As He Said,  Has Not A

Moment Of Waste Time On Him Anywhere,  Five Minutes A Day Are

Something in the Course Of A Year.  Simple,  Clear,  Bold,  And

Straightforward In mind And Action,  Colonel Silas Lapham,  With

A Prompt Comprehensiveness And A Never-Failing business

Sagacity,  Is,  In the Best Sense Of That Much-Abused term,  One

Of Nature'S Noblemen,  To The Last Inch Of His Five Eleven And A

Half.  His Life Affords An Example Of Single-Minded application

And Unwavering perseverance Which Our Young Business Men Would

Do Well To Emulate.  There Is Nothing showy Or Meretricious

About The Man.  He Believes In mineral Paint,  And He Puts His

Heart And Soul Into It.