CHAPTER XX
ON POINT LOMA
Next morning a beautiful bunch of roses was brought to Myrtle's room – roses so magnificent that it seemed impossible they could be grown out of doors. But there are few hothouses in California, and the boy who brought the flowers confided to her the information that they were selected from more than five hundred blooms. She ran to show them to Patsy and Beth, who were amazed not only by the roses but by the fact that the queer Mr. Jones had sent them to Myrtle. There was no card or note accompanying the gift, but after the younger girl had related her conversation with Mr. Jones the previous evening, they could not doubt but he had sent the flowers.
"Perhaps," reflected Patsy, "we've been misjudging him. I never beheld such a stolid, unimpressive countenance in my life; but the man must have a soul of some sort, or he would not think of sending flowers to his new friend."
"It's a pretty idea," said Beth. "He wanted to assure Myrtle that he appreciated her kindness."
"I'm sure he likes me," declared Myrtle, simply. "He wasn't a bit cross when I ran in and took away his pistol, or when I preached to him. I really gave him a good talking to, and he didn't object a bit."
"What he needs," commented Beth, "is to get away from himself, and mingle with people more. I wonder if we could coax him to join us in our ride to Point Loma."
"Would we care to ask him?" said Patsy. "He's as sour and crabbed in looks as he is in disposition, and has treated Uncle John's advances shamefully. I'd like to help Myrtle bring the old fellow back to life; but perhaps we can find an easier way than to shut him up with us in an automobile."
"He wouldn't go, I'm sure," declared Myrtle. "He has mellowed a little – a very little – as these roses prove. But he treated me last night just as he does Mr. Merrick, even after our conversation. When I said 'Good night' I had to wait a long time for his answer. But I'd like you to meet him and help cheer him up; so please let me introduce him, if there's a chance, and do be nice to him."
"I declare," cried Patsy, laughing, "Myrtle has assumed an air of proprietorship over the Sad One already."
"She has a right to, for she saved his life," said Beth.
"Three times," Myrtle added proudly. "He told me so himself."
Uncle John heard the story of Myrtle's adventure with considerable surprise, and he too expressed a wish to aid her in winning Mr. Jones from his melancholy mood.
"Every man is queer in one way or another," said he, "and I'd say the women were, too, if you females were not listening. I also imagine a very rich man has the right to be eccentric, if it pleases him."
"Is Mr. Jones rich, then?" inquired Beth.
"According to the landlord he's rich as Croesus. Made his money in mining – manipulating stocks, I suppose. But evidently his wealth hasn't been a comfort to him, or he wouldn't want to shuffle off his mortal coil and leave it behind"
They did not see the object of this conversation before leaving for the trip to Point Loma – a promontory that juts out far into the Pacific. It is reached by a superb macadamized boulevard, which passes down the north edge of the promontory, rounds the corner where stands the lighthouse, and comes back along the southern edge, all the time a hundred feet or more in elevation above the ocean.
The view from the Point is unsurpassed. Wampus stopped his car beside a handsomely appointed automobile that was just then deserted.
"Some one is here before us," remarked Patsy. "But that is not strange. The wonder is that crowds are not here perpetually."
"It is said," related the Major, who had really begun to enjoy California, "that the view from this Point includes more varied scenery than any other that is known in the world. Here we see the grand San Bernardino range of mountains; the Spanish Bight on the Mexican shore; the pretty city of San Diego climbing its hills, with the placid bay in front, where float the warships of the Pacific Squadron; the broad stretch of orange and lemon groves, hedged with towering palm trees; Santa Catalina and the Coronado Islands; the blue Pacific rolling in front and rugged Loma with its rocky cliffs behind. What more could we ask to see from any one viewpoint?"
"Don't forget the monster hotel, with its hundred towers and gables, dominating the strip of land between the bay and the ocean," added Beth. "How near it seems, and yet it is many miles away."
Some one had told them that moonstones were to be found on the beach at the base of the cliff; so they all climbed down the steep path, followed by Mumbles, who had not perceptibly grown in size during the trip but had acquired an adventurous disposition which, coupled with his native inquisitiveness, frequently led him into trouble.
Now, when they had reached the narrow beach, Mumbles ran ahead, passed around the corner of a cliff that almost touched the water, and was presently heard barking furiously.
"Sounds as if he scented game," said Patsy.
"A turtle, perhaps, or a big fish washed ashore," suggested the Major.
But now the small dog's voice changed suddenly and became a succession of yelps expressing mingled pain and terror.
"Oh, he's hurt!" cried Myrtle; and they all hurried forward, Uncle John leading them on a run, and passed around the big rock to rescue their pet.
Some one was before them, however. The foolish dog had found a huge crab in the sand and, barking loudly, had pushed his muzzle against the creature, with the result that the crab seized his black nose in a gripping claw and pinched as hard as it was able. Mumbles tried to back away, madly howling the while; but the crab, although the smaller antagonist, gripped a rock with its other claw and held on, anchoring the terrified dog to the spot.
But help was at hand. A tall, thin man hurried to the rescue, and just as Uncle John came in sight, leading his procession, a knife severed the crab's claw and Mumbles was free. Seeing his mistress, the puppy, still whining with pain, hurried to her for comfort, while Uncle John turned to the man and said:
"Thank you, Mr. Jones, for assisting our poor beast. Mumbles is an
Eastern dog, you know, and inexperienced in dealing with crabs."
Mr. Jones was examining the claw, the despoiled owner of which had quickly slid into the water.
"It is a species of crawfish," he observed, meditatively. Then, seeing the girls approach, he straightened up and rather awkwardly lifted his hat.
The gesture surprised them all. Heretofore, when they had met, the man had merely stared and turned away, now his attempt at courtesy was startling because unexpected.
Myrtle came close to his side.
"How nice to find you here, Mr. Jones," she said brightly. "And oh, I must thank you for my lovely roses."
He watched her face with evident interest and it seemed that his own countenance had become less haggard and sad than formerly.
"Let me introduce my friends," said the girl, with sudden recollection of her duty. "This is Mr. Merrick, my good friend and benefactor; and this is Major Doyle and his daughter Miss Patricia Doyle, both of whom have the kindest hearts in the world; Miss Beth De Graf, Mr. Merrick's niece, has watched over and cared for me like a sister, and – oh, I forgot; Miss Patsy is Mr. Merrick's niece, too. So now you know them all."
The man nodded briefly his acknowledgment.
"You – you are Mr. Jones, I believe, of – of Boston?"
"Once of Boston," he repeated mechanically. Then he looked at her and added: "Go on."
"Why – what – I don't understand," she faltered. "Have I overlooked anyone?"
"Only yourself," he said.
"Oh; but I – I met you last night."
"You did not tell me your name," he reminded her.
"I'm Myrtle," she replied, smiling in her relief. "Myrtle Dean."
"Myrtle Dean!" His voice was harsh; almost a shout.
"Myrtle Dean. And I – I'm from Chicago; but I don't live there any more."
He stood motionless, looking at the girl with a fixed expression that embarrassed her and caused her to glance appealingly at Patsy. Her friend understood and came to her rescue with some inconsequent remark about poor Mumbles, who was still moaning and rubbing; his pinched nose against Patsy's chin to ease the pain.
Mr. Jones paid little heed to Miss Doyle's observation, but as Myrtle tried to hide behind Beth Mr. Merrick took the situation in hand by drawing the man's attention to the scenery, and afterward inquiring if he was searching for moonstones.
The conversation now became general, except that Mr. Jones remained practically silent He seemed to try to interest himself in the chatter around him, but always his eyes would stray to Myrtle's face and hold her until she found an opportunity to turn away.
"We've luncheon in the car," announced Uncle John, after a time.
"Won't you join us, Mr. Jones?"
"Yes," was the unconventional reply. The man was undoubtedly abstracted and did not know he was rude. He quietly followed them up the rocks and when they reached the automobile remained by Myrtle's side while Wampus brought out the lunch basket and Beth and Patsy spread the cloth upon the grass and unpacked the hamper.
Mr. Jones ate merely a mouthful, but he evidently endeavored to follow the conversation and take an interest in what was said. He finally became conscious that his continuous gaze distressed Myrtle, and thereafter strove to keep his eyes from her face. They would creep back to it, from time to time; but Beth, who was watching him curiously, concluded he was making a serious effort to deport himself agreeably and credited him with a decided improvement in manners as their acquaintance with him progressed.
After luncheon, when their return by way of Old Town and the Spanish Mission was proposed, Mr. Jones said, pointing to the car that stood beside their own:
"This is my automobile. I drive it myself. I would like Myrtle Dean to ride back with me."
The girl hesitated, but quickly deciding she must not retreat, now she had practically begun the misanthrope's reformation, she replied:
"I will be very glad to. But won't you take one of my friends, also?
That will divide the party more evenly."
He looked down at his feet, thoughtfully considering the proposition.
"I'll go with you," said Beth, promptly. "Get into the front seat with
Mr. Jones, Myrtle, and I'll ride behind."
The man made no protest. He merely lifted Myrtle in his arms and gently placed her in the front seat. Beth, much amused, took the seat behind, unassisted save that the Major opened the door for her. Mr. Jones evidently understood his car. Starting the engines without effort he took his place at the wheel and with a nod to Mr. Merrick said:
"Lead on, sir; I will follow."
Wampus started away. He was displeased with the other car. It did not suit him at all. And aside from the fact that the sour-faced individual who owned it had taken away two of Wampus' own passengers, the small shaggy Mumbles, who had been the established companion of Uncle John's chauffeur throughout all the long journey, suddenly deserted him. He whined to go with the other car, and when Patsy lifted him aboard he curled down beside the stranger as if thoroughly satisfied. Patsy knew why, and was amused that Mumbles showed his gratitude to Mr. Jones for rescuing him from the crab; but Wampus scowled and was distinctly unhappy all the way to Old Town.
"Him mebbe fine gentleman," muttered the Canadian to the Major; "but if so he make a disguise of it. Once I knew a dog thief who resemble him; but perhaps Mumble he safe as long as Miss Myrtle an' Miss Beth they with him."
"Don't worry," said the Major, consolingly. "I'll keep my eye on the rascal. But he's a fine driver, isn't he?"
"Oh, that!" retorted Wampus, scornfully. "Such little cheap car like that he drive himself."
At Old Town Mr. Jones left them, saying he had been to the Mission and did not care for it. But as he drove his car away there was a gentler and more kindly expression upon his features than any of them had ever seen there before, and Myrtle suspected her charm was working and the regeneration really begun.
CHAPTER XXI
A TALE OF WOE
That evening after dinner, as Mr. Merrick sat alone in the hotel lobby, the girls having gone to watch the Major bowl tenpins, Mr. Jones approached and sat down in the chair beside him.
Uncle John greeted the man with an attempt at cordiality. He could not yet bring himself to like his personality, but on Myrtle's account and because he was himself generous enough to wish to be of service to anyone so forlorn and unhappy, he treated Mr. Jones with more respect than he really thought he deserved.
"Tell me, Mr. Merrick," was the abrupt request, "where you found
Myrtle Dean."
Uncle John told him willingly. There was no doubt but Myrtle had interested the man.
"My girls found her on the train between Chicago and Denver," he began. "She was on her way to join her uncle in Leadville."
"What is her uncle's name?"
"Anson Jones. But the child was almost helpless, ill and without friends or money. She was not at all sure her uncle was still in Leadville, in which case she would be at the mercy of a cold world. So I telegraphed and found that Anson Jones had been gone from the mining camp for several months. Do you know, sir, I at first suspected you might be the missing uncle? For I heard you were a miner and found that your name is Jones. But I soon discovered you are not Anson Jones, but C.B. Jones – which alters the case considerably."
Mr. Jones nodded absently.
"Tell me the rest," he said.
Uncle John complied. He related the manner in which Beth and Patsy had adopted Myrtle, the physician's examination and report upon her condition, and then told the main points of their long but delightful journey from Albuquerque to San Diego in the limousine.
"It was one of the most fortunate experiments we have ever tried," he concluded; "for the child has been the sweetest and most agreeable companion imaginable, and her affection and gratitude have amply repaid us for anything we have done for her. I am determined she shall not leave us, sir. When we return to New York I shall consult the best specialist to be had, and I am confident she can be fully cured and made as good as new."
The other man had listened intently, and when the story was finished he sat silent for a time, as if considering and pondering over what he had heard. Then, without warning, he announced quietly:
"I am Anson Jones."
Uncle John fairly gasped for breath.
"You Anson Jones!" he exclaimed. Then, with plausible suspicion he added: "I myself saw that you are registered as C.B. Jones."
"It is the same thing," was the reply. "My name is Collanson – but my family always called me 'Anson', when I had a family – and by that name I was best known in the mining camps. That is what deceived you."
"But – dear me! – I don't believe Myrtle knows her uncle's name is
Collanson."
"Probably not. Her mother, sir, my sister, was my only remaining relative, the only person on earth who cared for me – although I foolishly believed another did. I worked for success as much on Kitty's account – Kitty was Myrtle's mother – as for my own sake. I intended some day to make her comfortable and happy, for I knew her husband's death had left her poor and friendless. I did not see her for years, nor write to her often; it was not my way. But Kitty always knew I loved her."
He paused and sat silent a moment. Then he resumed, in his quiet, even tones:
"There is another part of my story that you must know to understand me fully; to know why I am now a hopeless, desperate man; or was until – until last night, perhaps. Some years ago, when in Boston, I fell in love with a beautiful girl. I am nearly fifty, and she was not quite thirty, but it never occurred to me that I was too old to win her love, and she frankly confessed she cared for me. But she said she could not marry a poor man and would therefore wait for me to make a fortune. Then I might be sure she would marry me. I believed her. I do not know why men believe women. It is an absurd thing to do. I did it; but other men have been guilty of a like folly. Ah, how I worked and planned! One cannot always make a fortune in a short time. It took me years, and all the time she renewed her promises and kept my hopes and my ambitions alive.
"At last I won the game, as I knew I should do in time. It was a big strike. I discovered the 'Blue Bonnet' mine, and sold a half interest in it for a million. Then I hurried to Boston to claim my bride… She had been married just three months, after waiting, or pretending to wait, for me for nearly ten years! She married a poor lawyer, too, after persistently refusing me because I was poor. She laughed at my despair and coldly advised me to find some one else to share my fortune."
He paused again and wearily passed his hand over his eyes – a familiar gesture, as Myrtle knew. His voice had grown more and more dismal as he proceeded, and just now he seemed as desolate and unhappy as when first they saw him at the Grand Canyon.
"I lived through it somehow," he continued; "but the blow stunned me. It stuns me yet. Like a wounded beast I slunk away to find my sister, knowing she would try to comfort me. She was dead. Her daughter Myrtle, whom I had never seen, had been killed in an automobile accident. That is what her aunt, a terrible woman named Martha Dean, told me, although now I know it was a lie, told to cover her own baseness in sending an unprotected child to the far West to seek an unknown uncle. I paid Martha Dean back the money she claimed she had spent for Myrtle's funeral; that was mere robbery, I suppose, but not to be compared with the crime of her false report. I found myself bereft of sweetheart, sister – even an unknown niece. Despair claimed me. I took the first train for the West, dazed and utterly despondent. Some impulse led me to stop off at the Grand Canyon, and there I saw the means of ending all my misery. But Myrtle interfered."
Uncle John, now thoroughly interested and sympathetic, leaned over and said solemnly:
"The hand of God was in that!"
Mr. Jones nodded.
"I am beginning to believe it," he replied. "The girl's face won me even in that despairing mood. She has Kitty's eyes."
"They are beautiful eyes," said Uncle John, earnestly. "Sir, you have found in your niece one of the sweetest and most lovely girls that ever lived. I congratulate you!"
Mr. Jones nodded again. His mood had changed again since they began to speak of Myrtle. His eyes now glowed with pleasure and pride. He clasped Mr. Merrick's hand in his own as he said with feeling:
"She has saved me, sir. Even before I knew she was my niece I began to wonder if it would not pay me to live for her sake. And now – "
"And now you are sure of it," cried Uncle John, emphatically. "But who is to break the news to Myrtle?"
"No one, just yet," was the reply. "Allow me, sir, if you please, to keep her in ignorance of the truth a little longer. I only made the discovery myself today, you see, and I need time to think it all out and determine how best to take advantage of my good fortune."
"I shall respect your wish, sir," said Mr. Merrick.
The girls came trooping back then, and instead of running away Anson
Jones remained to talk with them.
Beth and Patsy were really surprised to find the "Sad One" chatting pleasantly with Uncle John. The Major looked at the man curiously, not understanding the change in him. But Myrtle was quite proud of the progress he was making and his improved spirits rendered the girl very happy indeed. Why she should take such an interest in this man she could not have explained, except that he had been discouraged and hopeless and she had succeeded in preventing him from destroying his life and given him courage to face the world anew. But surely that was enough, quite sufficient to give her a feeling of "proprietorship," as Patsy had expressed it, in this queer personage. Aside from all this, she was growing to like the man who owed so much to her. Neither Patsy nor Beth could yet see much to interest them or to admire in his gloomy character; but Myrtle's intuition led her to see beneath the surface, and she knew there were lovable traits in Mr. Jones' nature if he could only be induced to display them.