Sonnie-Boys People | Page 9

got me, but you haven't; for I've always said that being born in poverty fits a man to make money above all things, because he's brought up to value it out of all proportion to everything else. But where are they after they get it? America's full of millionaires who came up out of nothing, but who had to work so hard getting started that they'd nothing left in 'em or didn't know anything but money when they got to where they could stop to look around. If they had any genius to start with, it was dried out of 'em trying to get going. Hitch any two-mile trotter to an ice-wagon and where will he finish? You overweight your boy going off and he will be handicapped out of the race, too. But can I have another one of those cigars?"
"Help yourself."
"Thanks. I wish I had your pull with old Cabada. Now, Welkie, I'm only trying to show you where you ought to cast aside certain outworn traditions and face actual present-day truths. Now listen. You probably don't believe I'm a villain, Welkie, and you know I represent a powerful corporation--reputable even if powerful. Yes. Well, this work of ours is good, useful work--don't you think we can fairly claim that?"
"Beautiful work--beautiful."
"Good. Then wouldn't you like to see that work growing under your hand--ten thousand men driving night and day, and that concrete structure reaching out, as you've planned it, in long white stretches to the sea?"
"It's certainly a fine prospect."
"Then why not do it? What's the use, Welkie? You're the best man in the country for us and we're the best concern for you. We offer you the biggest job in sight. What d'y' say? You've been turning us down, but think it over now."
Welkie shook his head.
"Why not?"
"Because--but they are coming back."
Necker could see the hands of Balfe and Miss Welkie unclasping in the half-darkness as they entered. He touched Welkie on the arm. "Why not tell Miss Welkie and Mr. Balfe what it is I'm after?"
"But I'm doing work here that I've got to finish, and they know that."
"I know you are, but consider this. What does the government pay you here, Welkie? I probably know, but no matter."
"Two hundred a month and this house."
"And I'm offering you two thousand! And--listen to this, please, Miss Welkie. In place of a mosquito-infested shoe-box of a shack in a God-forsaken hole, we'll give you and your brother a fine concrete house on a breezy hill in God's own country--a real home, Miss Welkie, with great halls and wide verandas and sun-lighted rooms through which the sea breezes will blow at night so you can sleep in peace. A mansion, Miss Welkie, with reception and music rooms, where you can receive your friends in the style a lady should, or a man of your brother's ability should. A place to be proud of, Miss Welkie--palm-studded, clean-clipped lawn rolling down to the sea. And a sea--I'll bet you know it, Mr. Balfe--a blue-and-green sea rolling down over to coral reefs as white as dogs' teeth, a shore-front that needs only building up to be as pretty as anything in your swell Mediterranean places. What d'y' say, Welkie? And here's the contract now, all ready for you, and pay begins to-day."
"It's alluring, it surely is. But I must finish here."
"But you'll soon be done here. A few weeks more, they told me in Washington. What are you going to do then?"
"I hadn't thought."
"Well, why not think of it now? Consider your boy, what it will mean to him some day. Why not ask Miss Welkie?"
Welkie turned gravely to his sister. "What do you say to that fine house with the grand dining-room, and the music-room, and a jasmine-twined pergola to sit out under of a night--and watch the moon roll up from the shining sea? I know the house--it's all that Mr. Necker says it is."
"And mahogany, and all kinds of beautiful linen for the table, Miss Welkie. Imagine that, with cut glass and silver and the electric candles gleaming over it of a night."
"I would dearly love to preside at the head of that table, Mr. Necker, but Mr. Balfe was speaking of something that perhaps my brother should hear about first."
"What's that, Andie?"
"Let it wait, Greg."
"Better now. What is it?"
"You may not like it."
"Maybe not, but we may as well have it now, Andie."
"I was to tell you that after this work is done there's another job waiting you on the west coast, just as important, just as needful of your supervision, and no more reward to it than this."
"Whee-eu!" whistled Necker. "The steamer captain had him right."
"Then I'm afraid"--Welkie turned to Necker--"it's off between us."
"Don't say that yet. Wait till you hear. What are you working for? Leaving