The Project Gutenberg EBook of Trent''''s Trust and Other Stories, by Bret Harte potx

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Trent's Trust and Other Stories, by Bret Harte This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.. You may

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Trent's Trust and Other Stories, by Bret Harte This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

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Title: Trent's Trust and Other Stories Author: Bret Harte

Release Date: May 16, 2006 [EBook #2459] Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK TRENT'S TRUST AND OTHER STORIES ***

Produced by Donald Lainson; David Widger

TRENT'S TRUST AND OTHER STORIES

By Bret Harte

A PUPIL OF CHESTNUT RIDGEDICK BOYLE'S BUSINESS CARD

TRENT'S TRUST

I

Randolph Trent stepped from theStockton boat on the San Francisco wharf,penniless, friendless, and unknown.Hunger might have been added to histrials, for, having paid his last coin inpassage money, he had been a day and ahalf without food Yet he knew it only by

an occasional lapse into weakness asmuch mental as physical Nevertheless, hewas first on the gangplank to land, andhurried feverishly ashore, in that vaguedesire for action and change of scene

common to such irritation; yet after mixingfor a few moments with the departingpassengers, each selfishly hurrying tosome rendezvous of rest or business, heinsensibly drew apart from them, with theinstinct of a vagabond and outcast.Although he was conscious that he wasneither, but merely an unsuccessful minersuddenly reduced to the point of solicitingwork or alms of any kind, he tookadvantage of the first crossing to plungeinto a side street, with a vague sense ofhiding his shame.

A rising wind, which had rocked theboat for the last few hours, had nowdeveloped into a strong sou'wester, withtorrents of rain which swept the roadway.His well-worn working clothes, fitted to

the warmer Southern mines, gave himmore concern from their visible, absurdcontrast to the climate than from any actualsense of discomfort, and his feverishnessdefied the chill of his soaking garments, as

he hurriedly faced the blast through thedimly lighted street At the next corner hepaused; he had reached another, and, fromits dilapidated appearance, apparently anolder wharf than that where he had landed,but, like the first, it was still a stragglingavenue leading toward the higher andmore animated part of the city He againmechanically—for a part of his troublewas a vague, undefined purpose—turnedtoward it

In his feverish exaltation his powers ofperception seemed to be quickened: he

was vividly alive to the incongruous, marine, half-backwoods character of thewarehouses and commercial buildings; tothe hull of a stranded ship already builtinto a block of rude tenements; to the darkstockaded wall of a house framed ofcorrugated iron, and its weird contiguity

half-to a Swiss chalet, whose galleries wereused only to bear the signs of the shops,and whose frame had been carried acrossseas in sections to be set up at randomhere

Moving past these, as in a nightmaredream, of which even the turbulency of theweather seemed to be a part, he stumbled,blinded, panting, and unexpectedly, with

no consciousness of his rapid pace beyondhis breathlessness, upon the dazzling main

thoroughfare of the city In spite of theweather, the slippery pavements werethronged by hurrying crowds of well-dressed people, again all intent on theirown purposes,—purposes that seemed sotrifling and unimportant beside his own.The shops were brilliantly lighted,exposing their brightest wares throughplate-glass windows; a jeweler's glitteredwith precious stones; a fashionableapothecary's next to it almost outrivaled itwith its gorgeous globes, the gold andgreen precision of its shelves, and themarble and silver soda fountain like ashrine before it All this specious show ofopulence came upon him with the shock ofcontrast, and with it a bitter revulsion offeeling more hopeless than his feverishanxiety,—the bitterness of disappointment.

For during his journey he had beenbuoyed up with the prospect of findingwork and sympathy in this youthful city,—

a prospect founded solely on hisinexperienced hopes For this he hadexchanged the poverty of the miningdistrict,—a poverty that had nothingignoble about it, that was a part of theeconomy of nature, and shared with hisfellow men and the birds and beasts intheir rude encampments He had given upthe brotherhood of the miner, and thatpractical help and sympathy whichbrought no degradation with it, for thisrude shock of self-interested, self-satisfied civilization He, who would nothave shrunk from asking rest, food, or anight's lodging at the cabin of a brotherminer or woodsman, now recoiled

suddenly from these well-dressed citizens.What madness had sent him here, anintruder, or, even, as it seemed to him inhis dripping clothes, an impostor? And yetthese were the people to whom he hadconfidently expected to tell his story, andwho would cheerfully assist him withwork! He could almost anticipate the hardlaugh or brutal hurried negative in theirfaces In his foolish heart he thanked God

he had not tried it Then the apatheticrecoil which is apt to follow any keenemotion overtook him He was dazedlyconscious of being rudely shoved once ortwice, and even heard the epithet "drunkenlout" from one who had run against him

He found himself presently staringvacantly in the apothecary's window How

long he stood there he could not tell, for

he was aroused only by the door opening

in front of him, and a young girl emergingwith some purchase in her hand He couldsee that she was handsomely dressed andquite pretty, and as she passed out shelifted to his withdrawing figure a pair ofcalm, inquiring eyes, which, however,changed to a look of half-wondering, half-amused pity as she gazed Yet that look ofpity stung his pride more deeply than all.With a deliberate effort he recovered hisenergy No, he would not beg, he wouldnot ask assistance from these people; hewould go back—anywhere! To thesteamboat first; they might let him sleepthere, give him a meal, and allow him towork his passage back to Stockton Hemight be refused Well, what then? Well,

beyond, there was the bay! He laughedbitterly—his mind was sane enough forthat—but he kept on repeating it vaguely

to himself, as he crossed the street again,and once more made his way to the wharf

The wind and rain had increased, but he

no longer heeded them in his feverishhaste and his consciousness that motioncould alone keep away that dreadfulapathy which threatened to overcloud hisjudgment And he wished while he wasable to reason logically to make up hismind to end this unsupportable situationthat night He was scarcely twenty, yet itseemed to him that it had already beendemonstrated that his life was a failure; hewas an orphan, and when he left college toseek his own fortune in California, he

believed he had staked his all upon thatventure—and lost.

That bitterness which is the suddenrecoil of boyish enthusiasm, and is nonethe less terrible for being withoutexperience to justify it,—that melancholy

we are too apt to look back upon withcynical jeers and laughter in middle age,

—is more potent than we dare to think,and it was in no mere pose of youthfulpessimism that Randolph Trent nowcontemplated suicide Such scraps ofphilosophy as his education had given himpointed to that one conclusion And it wasthe only refuge that pride—real or false—offered him from the one supreme terror ofyouth—shame

The street was deserted, and the few

lights he had previously noted inwarehouses and shops were extinguished.

It had grown darker with the storm; theincongruous buildings on either side hadbecome misshapen shadows; the longperspective of the wharf was a strangegloom from which the spars of a shipstood out like the cross he remembered as

a boy to have once seen in a picture of thetempest-smitten Calvary It was his onlyfancy connected with the future—it mighthave been his last, for suddenly one of theplanks of the rotten wharf gave waybeneath his feet, and he felt himselfviolently precipitated toward the gurglingand oozing tide below He threw out hisarms desperately, caught at a stronggirder, drew himself up with the energy ofdesperation, and staggered to his feet

again, safe—and sane For with thisterrible automatic struggle to avoid thatdeath he was courting came a flash ofreason If he had resolutely thrown himselffrom the pier head as he intended, would

he have undergone a hopeless revulsionlike this? Was he sure that this might not

be, after all, the terrible penalty of destruction—this inevitable fierce protest

self-of mind and body when TOO LATE? Hewas momentarily touched with a sense ofgratitude at his escape, but his reason toldhim it was not from his ACCIDENT, butfrom his intention

He was trying carefully to retrace hissteps, but as he did so he saw the figure of

a man dimly lurching toward him out ofthe darkness of the wharf and the crossed

yards of the ship A gleam of hope cameover him, for the emotion of the last fewminutes had rudely displaced his prideand self-love He would appeal to thisstranger, whoever he was; there was morechance that in this rude locality he would

be a belated sailor or some humblerwayfarer, and the darkness and solitudemade him feel less ashamed By the lastflickering street lamp he could see that hewas a man about his own size, withsomething of the rolling gait of a sailor,which was increased by the weight of atraveling portmanteau he was swinging inhis hand As he approached he evidentlydetected Randolph's waiting figure,slackened his speed slightly, and changedhis portmanteau from his right hand to hisleft as a precaution for defense

Randolph felt the blood flush his cheek

at this significant proof of his disreputableappearance, but determined to accost him

He scarcely recognized the sound of hisown voice now first breaking the silencefor hours, but he made his appeal Theman listened, made a slight gestureforward with his disengaged hand, andimpelled Randolph slowly up to the streetlamp until it shone on both their faces.Randolph saw a man a few years hissenior, with a slightly trimmed beard onhis dark, weather-beaten cheeks, well-cutfeatures, a quick, observant eye, and asailor's upward glance and bearing Thestranger saw a thin, youthful, anxious, yetrefined and handsome face beneathstraggling damp curls, and dark eyespreternaturally bright with suffering

Perhaps his experienced ear, too, detectedsome harmony with all this in Randolph'svoice.

"And you want something to eat, anight's lodging, and a chance of workafterward," the stranger repeated withgood-humored deliberation

"Yes," said Randolph

"You look it."

Randolph colored faintly

"Do you ever drink?"

"Yes," said Randolph wonderingly

"I thought I'd ask," said the stranger, "as

it might play hell with you just now if you

were not accustomed to it Take that Just

a swallow, you know—that's as good as ajugful."

He handed him a heavy flask Randolphfelt the burning liquor scald his throat andfire his empty stomach The strangerturned and looked down the vacant wharf

to the darkness from which he came Then

he turned to Randolph again and saidabruptly,—

"Strong enough to carry this bag?"

"Yes," said Randolph The whiskey—possibly the relief—had given him newstrength Besides, he might earn his alms

"Take it up to room 74, Niantic Hotel—top of next street to this, one block that

way—and wait till I come."

"What name shall I say?" askedRandolph

"Needn't say any I ordered the room aweek ago Stop; there's the key Go in;change your togs; you'll find something inthat bag that'll fit you Wait for me Stop—no; you'd better get some grub there first."

He fumbled in his pockets, but fruitlessly

"No matter You'll find a buckskin purse,with some scads in it, in the bag So long."And before Randolph could thank him, helurched away again into the semi-darkness

of the wharf

Overflowing with gratitude at ahospitality so like that of his recklessbrethren of the mines, Randolph picked up

the portmanteau and started for the hotel.

He walked warily now, with a newinterest in life, and then, suddenly thinking

of his own miraculous escape, he paused,wondering if he ought not to warn hisbenefactor of the perils of the rottenwharf; but he had already disappeared.The bag was not heavy, but he found that

in his exhausted state this new exertionwas telling, and he was glad when hereached the hotel Equally glad was he inhis dripping clothes to slip by the porter,and with the key in his pocket ascendunnoticed to 74

Yet had his experience been larger hemight have spared himself thatsensitiveness For the hotel was one ofthose great caravansaries popular with the

returning miner It received him and hisgold dust in his worn-out and bedraggledworking clothes, and returned him the nextday as a well-dressed citizen onMontgomery Street It was hard indeed torecognize the unshaven, unwashed, andunkempt "arrival" one met on the principalstaircase at night in the scrupulously neatstranger one sat opposite to at breakfastthe next morning In this daily whirl ofmutation all identity was swamped, asRandolph learned to know.

At present, finding himself in acomfortable bedroom, his first act was tochange his wet clothes, which in thewarmer temperature and the decline of hisfeverishness now began to chill him Heopened the portmanteau and found a

complete suit of clothing, evidently aforeign make, well preserved, as if for

"shore-going." His pride would havepreferred a humbler suit as lessening hisobligation, but there was no other Hediscovered the purse, a chamois leatherbag such as miners and travelers carried,which contained a dozen gold pieces andsome paper notes Taking from it a singlecoin to defray the expenses of a meal, herestrapped the bag, and leaving the key inthe door lock for the benefit of hisreturning host, made his way to the diningroom

For a moment he was embarrassedwhen the waiter approached himinquisitively, but it was only to learn thenumber of his room to "charge" the meal

He ate it quickly, but not voraciously, forhis appetite had not yet returned, and hewas eager to get back to the room and seethe stranger again and return to him thecoin which was no longer necessary.

But the stranger had not yet arrivedwhen he reached the room Over an hourhad elapsed since their strange meeting Anew fear came upon him: was it possible

he had mistaken the hotel, and hisbenefactor was awaiting him elsewhere,perhaps even beginning to suspect not onlyhis gratitude but his honesty! The thoughtmade him hot again, but he was helpless.Not knowing the stranger's name, he couldnot inquire without exposing his situation

to the landlord But again, there was thekey, and it was scarcely possible that it

fitted another 74 in another hotel He didnot dare to leave the room, but sat by thewindow, peering through the streamingpanes into the storm-swept street below.Gradually the fatigue his excitement hadhitherto kept away began to overcomehim; his eyes once or twice closed duringhis vigil, his head nodded against thepane He rose and walked up and downthe room to shake off his drowsiness.Another hour passed—nine o'clock,blown in fitful, far-off strokes from somewind-rocked steeple Still no stranger.How inviting the bed looked to his wearyeyes! The man had told him he wantedrest; he could lie down on the bed in hisclothes until he came He would wakenquickly and be ready for his benefactor'sdirections It was a great temptation He

yielded to it His head had scarcely sunkupon the pillow before he slipped into aprofound and dreamless sleep.

He awoke with a start, and for a fewmoments lay vaguely staring at thesunbeams that stretched across his bedbefore he could recall himself The roomwas exactly as before, the portmanteaustrapped and pushed under the table as hehad left it There came a tap at the door—the chambermaid to do up the room Shehad been there once already, but seeinghim asleep, she had forborne to wake him.Apparently the spectacle of a gentlemanlying on the bed fully dressed, even to hisboots, was not an unusual one at that hotel,for she made no comment It was twelveo'clock, but she would come again later

He was bewildered He had slept theround of the clock—that was natural afterhis fatigue—but where was hisbenefactor? The lateness of the timeforbade the conclusion that he had merelyslept elsewhere; he would assuredly havereturned by this time to claim hisportmanteau The portmanteau! Heunstrapped it and examined the contentsagain They were undisturbed as he hadleft them the night before There was afurther change of linen, the buckskin bag,which he could see now contained acouple of Bank of England notes, withsome foreign gold mixed with Americanhalf-eagles, and a cheap, roughmemorandum book clasped with elastic,containing a letter in a boyish handaddressed "Dear Daddy" and signed

"Bobby," and a photograph of a boy taken

by a foreign photographer at Callao, as theprinted back denoted, but nothing givingany clue whatever to the name of theowner

A strange idea seized him: did theportmanteau really belong to the man whohad given it to him? Had he been theinnocent receiver of stolen goods fromsome one who wished to escapedetection? He recalled now that he hadheard stories of robbery of luggage bythieves "Sydney ducks"—on the desertedwharves, and remembered, too,—he couldnot tell why the thought had escaped himbefore,—that the man had spoken with anEnglish accent But the next moment herecalled his frank and open manner, and

his mind cleared of all unworthysuspicion It was more than likely that hisbenefactor had taken this delicate way ofmaking a free, permanent gift for thattemporary service Yet he smiled faintly atthe return of that youthful optimism whichhad caused him so much suffering.

Nevertheless, something must be done:

he must try to find the man; still moreimportant, he must seek work before thisdubious loan was further encroachedupon He restrapped the portmanteau andreplaced it under the table, locked thedoor, gave the key to the office clerk,saying that any one who called upon himwas to await his return, and sallied forth

A fresh wind and a blue sky of scuddingclouds were all that remained of last

night's storm As he made his way to thefateful wharf, still deserted except by anoccasional "wharf-rat,"—as the longshorevagrant or petty thief was called,—hewondered at his own temerity of last night,and the trustfulness of his friend inyielding up his portmanteau to a stranger

in such a place A low drinking saloon,feebly disguised as a junk shop, stood atthe corner, with slimy green steps leading

to the water

The wharf was slowly decaying, andhere and there were occasional gaps in theplanking, as dangerous as the one fromwhich he had escaped the night before Hethought again of the warning he might havegiven to the stranger; but he reflected that

as a seafaring man he must have been

familiar with the locality where he hadlanded But had he landed there? ToRandolph's astonishment, there was nosign or trace of any late occupation of thewharf, and the ship whose crossyards hehad seen dimly through the darkness thenight before was no longer there Shemight have "warped out" in the earlymorning, but there was no trace of her inthe stream or offing beyond A bark andbrig quite dismantled at an adjacent wharfseemed to accent the loneliness Beyond,the open channel between him and VerbaBuena Island was racing with white-maned seas and sparkling in the shiftingsunbeams The scudding clouds above himdrove down the steel-blue sky The lateensails of the Italian fishing boats were likeshreds of cloud, too, blown over the blue

and distant bay His ears sang, his eyesblinked, his pulses throbbed, with theuntiring, fierce activity of a San Franciscoday.

With something of its restlessness hehurried back to the hotel Still the strangerwas not there, and no one had called forhim The room had been put in order; theportmanteau, that sole connecting link withhis last night's experience, was under thetable He drew it out again, and againsubjected it to a minute examination Afew toilet articles, not of the best quality,which he had overlooked at first, thelinen, the buckskin purse, thememorandum book, and the suit of clothes

he stood in, still comprised all he knew ofhis benefactor He counted the money in

the purse; it amounted, with the Bank ofEngland notes, to about seventy dollars, as

he could roughly guess There was a scrap

of paper, the torn-off margin of anewspaper, lying in the purse, with anaddress hastily scribbled in pencil Itgave, however, no name, only a number:

"85 California Street." It might be a clue

He put it, with the purse, carefully in hispocket, and after hurriedly partaking of hisforgotten breakfast, again started out

He presently found himself in the mainthoroughfare of last night, which he nowknew to be Montgomery Street It wasmore thronged than then, but he failed to

be impressed, as then, with the selfishactivity of the crowd Yet he was halfconscious that his own brighter fortune,

more decent attire, and satisfied hungerhad something to do with this change, and

he glanced hurriedly at the druggist'sbroad plate-glass windows, with a fainthope that the young girl whose amusedpity he had awakened might be thereagain He found California Street quickly,and in a few moments he stood before No

85 He was a little disturbed to find it arather large building, and that it bore theinscription "Bank." Then came the usualshock to his mercurial temperament, andfor the first time he began to consider theabsurd hopelessness of his clue

He, however, entered desperately, andapproaching the window of the receivingteller, put the question he had formulated

in his mind: Could they give him any

information concerning a customer orcorrespondent who had just arrived in SanFrancisco and was putting up at theNiantic Hotel, room 74? He felt his faceflushing, but, to his astonishment, the clerkmanifested no surprise "And you don'tknow his name?" said the clerk quietly.

"Wait a moment." He moved away, andRandolph saw him speaking to one of theother clerks, who consulted a largeregister In a few minutes he returned

"We don't have many customers," hebegan politely, "who leave only theirhotel-room addresses," when he wasinterrupted by a mumbling protest fromone of the other clerks "That's verydifferent," he replied to his fellow clerk,and then turned to Randolph "I'm afraid

we cannot help you; but I'll make other

inquiries if you'll come back in tenminutes." Satisfied to be relieved from thepresent perils of his questioning, anddoubtful of returning, Randolph turnedaway But as he left the building he saw awritten notice on the swinging door,

"Wanted: a Night Porter;" and this onechance of employment determined hisreturn

When he again presented himself at thewindow the clerk motioned him to stepinside through a lifted rail Here he foundhimself confronted by the clerk andanother man, distinguished by a certain air

of authority, a keen gray eye, andsingularly compressed lips set in a closelyclipped beard The clerk indicated himdeferentially but briefly—everybody was

astonishingly brief and businesslike there

—as the president The presidentabsorbed and possessed Randolph witheyes that never seemed to leave him Thenleaning back against the counter, which helightly grasped with both hands, he said:

"We've sent to the Niantic Hotel to inquireabout your man He ordered his room byletter, giving no name He arrived there ontime last night, slept there, and hasoccupied the room No 74 ever since WEdon't know him from Adam, but"—hiseyes never left Randolph's—"from thedescription the landlord gave our clerk,you're the man himself."

For an instant Randolph flushedcrimson The natural mistake of thelandlord flashed upon him, his own