Flowing Gold

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[Illustration: See p. 34 "I'M AWFULLY SORRY, TOO, DAD"]

FLOWING GOLD

By Rex Beach

TO THE ONE WHOSE FAITH, ENTHUSIASM, AND DEVOTION CONSTITUTE A
NEVER-FAILING SOURCE OF INSPIRATION, MY WIFE, SWEETHEART, AND
PARTNER.

FLOWING GOLD

CHAPTER I

Room service at the Ajax is of a quality befitting the newest, the
largest, and the most expensive hotel in Dallas. While the
standard of excellence is uniformly high, nevertheless some extra
care usually attaches to a breakfast ordered from the Governor's
suite--most elegant and most expensive of all the suites--hence
the waiter checked over his card and made a final, fluttering
examination to be sure that the chilled fruit was chilled and that
the hot plates were hot before he rapped on the door. A voice,
loud and cheery, bade him enter.

Would the gentleman wish his breakfast served in the parlor or
--No, the gentleman would have it right in his bedroom; but first,
where were his cigarettes? He hoped above all things that the
waiter had not forgotten his cigarettes. Some people began their
days with cold showers--nothing less than a cruel shock to a
languid nervous system. An atrocious practice, the speaker called
it--a relic of barbarism--a fetish of ignorance. Much preferable
was a hygienic, stimulating cigarette which served the same
purpose and left no deleterious aftereffects.

The pajama-clad guest struck a light, inhaled with abundant
satisfaction, and then cast a hungry eye over the contents of the
rubber-tired breakfast table. He, too, tested the temperature of the
melon and felt the cover of the toast plate.

"Splendid!" he cried. "Nice rooms, prompt service, a pleasant-faced
waiter. Why, I couldn't fare better in my best club. Thanks to you,
my first impression of Dallas is wholly delightful." He seated himself
in a padded boudoir chair, unfolded a snowy serviette and attacked his
breakfast with the enthusiasm of a perfectly healthy animal.

"Is this your first visit here, sir?"

"Absolutely. Dallas is as foreign to me as Lhasa. It is the Baghdad
of my dreams and its streets are strange. Perhaps they are full of
adventure for me. I hope so. Anything exciting can happen in a
town where one has neither friends nor acquaintances, eh? You are
a well-read man, I take it."

"I? Why--"

"At any rate, you have heard it said that this is a small world."

"Yes, sir."

"Good! I merely wish to deny authorship of the saying, for it is
false. This is a large world. What is more, it is a world full of
cities like Dallas where men like you and me, Heaven be praised,
have neither friends, acquaintances, nor relatives. In that
respect, it is a fine world and we should devoutly give thanks for
its Dallases and its--Dalsatians. Jove! This ham is delicious!"

The waiter was accustomed to "morning talkers," but this gentleman
was different. He had an air of consequence, and his voice, so
deep, so well modulated, so pleasant, invested him with unusual
distinction. Probably he was an actor! But no! Not in the
Governor's suite. More likely he was one of the big men of the
Standard, or the Gulf, or the Texas. To make sure, the waiter
inquired:

"May I ask if you are in oil, sir?"

"In oil? Bless me, what a nauseating question--at this hour of the
day!"

"'Most everybody here is in oil. We turn dozens away every day,
we're that full. It's the boom. I'm in oil myself--in a small way,
of course. It's like this: sometimes gentlemen like--well, like
you, sir--give me tips. They drop a hint, like, about their stocks,
and I've done well--in a small way, of course. It doesn't cost them
anything and--some of them are very kind. You'd really be surprised."

"Oh, not at all." The occupant of the Governor's suite leaned back
in his chair and smiled widely. "As a matter of fact, I am
flattered, for it is evident that you are endowed with the money-
making instinct and that you unerringly recognize it in others.
Very well, I shall see what I can do for you. But while we are on
the subject of tips, would you mind helping yourself to a dollar
out of my trousers pocket?"

The waiter proceeded to do as directed, but a moment later
announced, apologetically: "Here's all I find, sir. It's mostly
pennies." He exposed a handful of small coins.

"Look in my coat, if you will."

But the second search resulted as had the first. "Strange!"
murmured the guest, without rising. "I must have been robbed. I
remember now, a fellow crowded me as I left my train. Um--m!
Robbed--at the very gates of Baghdad! Dallas _is_ a City of
Adventure. Please add your tip to the check, and--make it two
dollars. I'd like to have you serve me every morning, for I cannot
abide an acid face at breakfast. It sours my whole day."

Calvin Gray finished his breakfast, smoked a second cigarette as
he scanned the morning paper, then he dressed himself with
meticulous care. He possessed a tall, erect, athletic form, his
perfectly fitting clothes had that touch of individuality affected
by a certain few of New York's exclusive tailors, and when he
finally surveyed himself in the glass, there was no denying the
fact that he presented an appearance of unusual distinction. As he
turned away, his eyes fell upon the scanty handful of small coins
which the waiter had removed from his pocket and for a moment he
stared at them reflectively, then he scooped them into his palm
and, with a smile, announced to his image:

"It would seem that it is time for us to introduce ourselves to
the management."

He was humming a tune as he strode out of his richly furnished
quarters.

The Governor's suite at the Ajax is on the mezzanine floor, at the
head of the grand staircase. As Gray descended the spacious marble
steps, he saw that the hotel was indeed doing a big business, for
already the lobby was thickly peopled and at the desk a group of new
arrivals were plaintively arguing with a bored and supercilious room
clerk.

Some men possess an effortless knack of commanding attention and
inspiring courtesy. Calvin Gray was one of these. Before many
moments, he was in the manager's office, explaining, suavely, "Now
that I have introduced myself, I wish to thank you for taking care
of me upon such short notice."

"It was the only space we had. If you wish, I'll have your rooms
changed as soon as--"

"Have you something better?"

Haviland, the manager, laughed and shook his head. "Scarcely! That
suite is our pet and our pride. There's nothing to beat it in the
whole Southwest."

"It is very nice. May I inquire the rate?"

"Twenty-five dollars a day."

"Quite reasonable." Mr. Gray beamed his satisfaction.

"It is the only suite we have left. We've put beds in the parlors
of the others, and frequently we have to double up our guests.
This oil excitement is a blessing to us poor innkeepers. I presume
it's oil that brings you here?"

Gray met the speaker's interrogatory gaze with a negative shake of
the head and a smile peculiarly noncommittal. "No," he declared.
"I'm not in the oil business and I have no money to invest in it.
I don't even represent a syndicate of Eastern capitalists. On the
contrary, I am a penniless adventurer whom chance alone has cast
upon your hospitable grand staircase." These words were spoken
with a suggestion of mock modesty that had precisely the
effect of a deliberate wink, and Mr. Haviland smiled and nodded
his complete comprehension.

"I get you," said he. "And you're right. The lease hounds would
devil you to death if you gave them a chance. Now then, if there's
any way in which I can be of service--"

"There is." Gray's tone was at once businesslike. "Please give me
the names of your leading bankers. I mean the strongest and the
most--well, discreet."

During the next few minutes Gray received and swiftly tabulated
in his mind a deal of inside information usually denied to the
average stranger; the impression his swift, searching questions
made upon the hotel manager was evident when the latter told him
as he rose to go:

"Don't feel that you have to identify yourself at the banks to-
day. If we can accommodate you--cash a check or the like--"

"Thank you." The caller shook his head and smiled his appreciation
of the offer. "Your manner of conducting a hotel impresses me
deeply, and I shall speak of it to some of my Eastern friends.
Live executives are hard to find."

It is impossible to analyze or to describe that quality of
magnetic charm which we commonly term personality, nevertheless it
is the most potent influence in our social and our business lives.
It is a gift of the gods, and most conspicuous successes, in
whatever line, are due to it. Now and then comes an individual who
is cold, even repellent, and yet who rises to full accomplishment
by reason of pure intellectual force or strength of character; but
nine times out of ten the man who gets ahead, be he merchant,
banker, promoter, or crook, does so by reason of this abstract
asset, this intangible birthright.

Gray possessed that happy quality. It had made itself felt by the
waiter who brought his breakfast and by the manager of the hotel;
its effect was equally noticeable upon the girl behind the cigar
counter, where he next went. An intimate word or two and she was
in a flutter. She sidetracked her chewing gum, completely ignored
her other customers, and helped him select a handful of her
choicest sixty-cent Havanas. When he finally decided to have her
send the rest of the box of fifty up to his room and signed for
them, she considered the transaction a tribute to her beauty
rather than to her ability as a saleswoman. Her admiring eyes
followed him clear across the lobby.

Even the blase bell-captain, by virtue of his calling a person of
few enthusiasms and no illusions, edged up to the desk and
inquired the name of the distinguished stranger "from the No'th."

Gray appeared to know exactly what he wanted to do, for he stopped
at the telephone booths, inquired the number of the leading
afternoon newspaper, and put in a call for it. When it came
through he asked for the city editor. He closed the sound-proof
door before voicing his message, then he began, rapidly:

"City editor? Well, I'm from the Ajax Hotel, and I have a tip for
you. I'm one of the room clerks. Listen! Calvin Gray is registered
here--got in last night, on gum shoes.... Gray! _Calvin Gray_!
Better shoot a reporter around and get a story.... You _don't_?
Well, other people know him. He's a character--globe trotter,
soldier of fortune, financier. He's been everywhere and done
everything, and you can get a great story if you've got a man
clever enough to make him talk. But he won't loosen easily....
Oil, I suppose, but--... Sure! Under cover. Mystery stuff! Another
big syndicate probably.... Oh, that's all right. I'm an old
newspaper man myself. Don't mention it."

All American cities, these days, are much the same. Character,
atmosphere, distinctiveness, have been squeezed out in the general
mold. For all Calvin Gray could see, as he made his first
acquaintance with Dallas, he might have been treading the streets
of Los Angeles, of Indianapolis, of Portland, Maine, or of
Portland, Oregon. A California brightness and a Florida warmth to the air,
a New England alertness to the pedestrians, a Manhattan majesty to
some of the newer office buildings, these were the most
outstanding of his first impressions.

Into the largest and the newest of these buildings Gray went, a
white tile and stone skyscraper, the entire lower floor of which
was devoted to an impressive banking room. He sent his card in to
the president, and spent perhaps ten minutes with that gentleman.
He had called merely to get acquainted, so he explained; he wished
to meet only the heads of the strongest financial institutions; he
had no favors to ask--as yet, and he might have no business
whatever with them. On the other hand--well, he was a slow and
careful investigator, but when he moved, it was with promptitude
and vigor, and in such an event he wished them to know who he was.
Meanwhile, he desired no publicity, and he hoped his presence in
Dallas would not become generally known--it might seriously
interfere with his plans.

Before he left the bank Gray had met the other officers, and from
their manner he saw that he had created a decided impression upon
them. The bank president himself walked with him to the marble
railing, then said:

"I'd like to have you wait and meet my son, Lieutenant Roswell.
He's just back from overseas, and--the boy served with some
distinction. A father's pride, you understand?"

"Was Lieutenant Roswell in France?" Gray inquired, quickly.

"Oh yes. He'll be in at any minute."

A shadow of regret crossed the caller's face. "I'm sorry, but I've
arranged to call on the mayor, and I've no time to lose. What unit
was your son with?"

"The Ninety-eighth Field Artillery."

The shadow fled. Mr. Gray was vexed at the necessity for haste,
but he would look forward to meeting the young hero later.

"And meanwhile," Roswell, senior, said, warmly, "if we can be of
service to you, please feel free to call upon us. I dare say we'd
be safe in honoring a small check." He laughed pleasantly and
clapped his caller on the back.

A fine man, Gray decided as he paused outside the bank. And here
was another offer to cash a check--the second this morning. Good
address and an expensive tailor certainly did count: with them as
capital, a man could take a profit at any time. Gray's fingers
strayed to the small change in his trousers pocket and he turned
longing eyes back toward the bank interior. Without doubt it was a
temptation, especially inasmuch as at that moment his well-
manicured right hand held in its grasp every cent that he
possessed.

This was not the first time he had been broke. On the contrary,
during his younger days he had more than once found himself in
that condition and had looked upon it as an exciting experience,
as a not unpleasant form of adventure. To be strapped in a mining
camp, for instance, was no more than a mild embarrassment. But to
find oneself thirty-eight years old, friendless and without funds
in a city the size of Dallas--well, that was more than an
adventure, and it afforded a sort of excitement that he believed
he could very well do without. Dallas was no open-handed frontier
town; it was a small New York, where life is settled, where men
are suspicious, and where fortunes are slow in the making. He
wondered now if hard, fast living had robbed him of the punch to
make a new beginning; he wondered, too, if the vague plans at the
back of his mind had anything to them or if they were entirely
impracticable. Here was opportunity, definite, concrete, and
spelled with a capital O, here was a deliberate invitation to
avail himself of a short cut out of his embarrassment. A mere
scratch of a pen and he would have money enough to move on to some
other Dallas, and there gain the start he needed--enough, at
least, so that he could tip his waiter and pay cash for his
Coronas. Business men are too gullible, any how; it would be a
good lesson to Roswell and Haviland. Why not--?

Calvin Gray started, he recoiled slightly, the abstracted stare
was wiped from his face, for an officer in uniform had brushed
past him and entered the bank. That damned khaki again! Those
service stripes! They were forever obtruding themselves, it
seemed. Was there no place where one could escape the hateful
sight of them? His chain of thought had been snapped, and he
realized that there could be no short cut for him. He had climbed
through the ropes, taken his corner, and the gong had rung; it was
now a fight to a finish, with no quarter given. He squared his
shoulders and set out for the hotel, where he felt sure he would
find a reporter awaiting him.

CHAPTER II

The representative of the Dallas _Post_ had anticipated some
difficulty in interviewing the elusive Calvin Gray--whoever he
might be--but luck appeared to be with him, for shortly after his
arrival at the hotel the object of his quest appeared. Mr. Gray
was annoyed at being discovered; he was, in fact, loath to
acknowledge his identity. Having just returned from an important
conference with some of the leading financiers of the city, his
mind was burdened with affairs of weight, and then, too, the mayor
was expecting him--luncheon probably--hence he was in no mood to
be interviewed. Usually Mr. Gray's secretary saw interviewers.
However, now that his identity was known, he had not the heart to
be discourteous to a fellow journalist. Yes! He had once owned a
newspaper--in Alaska. Incidentally, it was the farthest-north
publication in the world.

Alaska! The reporter pricked up his ears. He managed to elicit the
fact that Mr. Gray had operated mines and built railroads there;
that he had been forced into the newspaper game merely to protect
his interests from the depredations of a gang of political
grafters, and that it had been a sensational fight while it
lasted. This item was duly jotted down in the reportorial memory.

Alaska was a hard country, quite so, but nothing like Mexico
during the revolution. Mexican sugar and mahogany, it transpired,
had occupied Mr. Gray's attention for a time, as had Argentine
cattle, Yucatan hennequin, and an engineering enterprise in
Bolivia, not to mention other investments closer to home.

Once the speaker had become reconciled to the distasteful
necessity of talking about himself, he suggested an adjournment to
his rooms, where he would perhaps suffer less embarrassment by reason
of his unavoidable use of the personal pronoun.

Gray noted the effect upon his visitor of the Governor's suite and
soon had the young man at ease, with a Corona between his teeth.
Then followed a full three-quarters of an hour, during which the
visitor discoursed in his very best style and his caller sat
spellbound, making occasional hieroglyphic hen tracks upon his
note paper and congratulating himself upon his good luck in
striking a man like this in one of his rare, talkative moods. Gray
had set himself deliberately to the task of selling himself to
this gentleman of the press, and, having succeeded, he was enough
of a salesman to avoid the fatal error of overselling.

Alone at last, a sardonic grin crept over his features. So far, so
good. Now for the rest of those bankers and the mayor. Gray was
working rapidly, but he knew no other way of working, and speed
was essential. It seemed to him not unlikely that delay of the
slightest might force him to turn in desperation to a length of
lead pipe and a mask, for--a man must live. As yet he had no very
definite plans, he had merely undertaken to establish himself in a
position to profit by the first opportunity, whatever it might be.
And opportunity of some sort would surely come. It always did.
What is more, it had an agreeable way of turning up just when he
was most in need of it.

Gray called at several other banks that morning. He strode in
swiftly, introduced himself with quick incisiveness, and tarried
only long enough to fix himself indelibly in the minds of those he
had come to see, then he left. There are right and wrong ways of
closing a deal or of ending an interview, and Gray flattered
himself that he possessed "terminal facilities." He was very busy,
always a bit pressed for time, always a moment late; his theory of
constant forward motion never permitted an awkward pause in
conversation. On the street, his long legs covered the ground at
something less than a run, his eyes were keenly alert, his face set
in purposeful lines. Pedestrians turned to look after him.

At the mayor's office he was denied admission to the chief
executive, but insisted so peremptorily as to gain his end. Once
inside, he conveyed his compliments with such a graceful flourish
that his intrusion assumed the importance of a ceremony and the
People's Choice was flattered. He inferred that this Calvin Gray
made a practice of presenting his formal respects to the
dignitaries of all the large cities he visited and deemed it a
favor to them. No doubt it was, if he so considered it, for he
appeared to be fully aware of his own importance. After all, it
was an agreeable practice. Since no man in public life can risk
offending people of importance, His Honor unbent. Gray turned a
current jest upon Texas politics into a neat compliment to the
city's executive; they laughed; formality vanished; personal
magnetism made itself felt. The call ended by the two men lunching
together at the City Club, as Gray had assumed it would, and he
took pains that the bankers upon whom he had called earlier in the
morning should see him in company with the mayor.

He returned to his hotel that afternoon pretty well satisfied with
his efforts and hopeful that some of the seed he had sown
broadcast would be ripe for the reaping ere-long. But he received
an electric shock as he approached the desk, for the bell captain
addressed him, saying:

"Mr. Haviland wishes to see you at once, in his office."

"Indeed? Anything important?"

"Very important, sir. I've been waiting for you to come in." There
was something ominous about this unexpected summons, or perhaps
about the manner of its delivery. At any rate, suspicion leaped
into Gray's mind.

So! Haviland was wise! Quick work that. Evidently he had
investigated, through those mysterious sources of information
available to great hotels. Or perhaps some one had seen and
recognized him. Well, that was the way his luck had run, lately
--every break against him.

Now--Gray's shoulders lifted in a shrug of resignation--there
was nothing to do except wave aside the blindfold and face the
firing squad like an officer and a gentleman. But it was a pity
that the crash had come so soon; fortune might have given him at
least a short interval of grace. Haviland was probably in a cold
rage at the discovery of the fraud, and Gray could only hope that
he wouldn't get noisy over it, for scenes were always annoying and
sometimes they ran to unfortunate lengths.

There was a curious brightness to the imposter's eyes, a reckless,
mocking smile upon his lips, when he stepped into the manager's
office and stood beside the desk. He declined Haviland's
invitation to be seated--it seemed more fitting that a man should
take sentence on his feet.

"Have you seen the Post?" the manager inquired.

"No."

Haviland handed him a copy of the leading afternoon paper, and
Gray's eyes flashed to the headline of an article reading:

CALVIN GRAY, HERO OF SENSATIONAL EXPLOITS, IN DALLAS ADVENTURES
READ LIKE PAGE OF ROMANCE FAMOUS FINANCIER ADMITS LARGE OIL
INTERESTS BEHIND HIM

From the opening paragraph Gray judged that he had impressed the
reporter even more deeply than he had supposed, but he took no
satisfaction there from, for Haviland was saying:

"I've read the whole story, but I want you to tell me something
more about yourself."

"What do you wish to know?"

"Were you in France?"

Over the visitor's face there came a subtle change. Whereas, upon
entering, he had worn an expression of careless defiance, now he appeared
to harden in every fiber and to go on guard.

"I have been many times in France."

"I mean during the war. Did you serve?"

There was a pause. "I did." Gray's eyes remained fixed upon his
interrogator, but they had begun to smolder.

"Then you're Colonel Gray. Colonel Calvin Gray."

"Quite so." The speaker's voice was harsh, and it came with an
effort. "But you didn't read _that_ in the _Post_. Come! What's
the idea? Out with it."

The interview had taken an unexpectedly disagreeable turn. Gray
had anticipated an unpleasant moment or two, but this--well, it
was indeed the crash. Calamity had overtaken him from the very
quarter he had least expected and most dreaded, and his mind raced
off at a tangent; a dozen unwelcome queries presented themselves.

"Strange what circles we move in," Haviland was saying. "Do you
know who owns the controlling interest in this hotel? Surely you
must know or can guess. Think a moment. It's somebody you met over
there and have reason to remember."

A sound escaped, from the throat of Colonel Gray--not a cry, but
rather a gasp of amazement, or of rage.

"Aha!" Haviland grinned in triumph. "I thought--"

His guest leaned forward over the desk, with face twitching.
Passion had driven the blood from it, and his whole expression was
one of such hatred, such fury, the metamorphosis was so startling,
that the hotel man stiffened in his chair and stared upward in
sudden amazement.

"_Nelson!_" Gray ejaculated. "Nelson! By God! So! He's _here_!"

During the moment that Haviland sat petrified, Gray turned his
head slowly, his blazing eyes searched the office as if expecting
to discover a presence concealed somewhere; they returned to the
hotel man's face, and he inquired:

"Well, where is he?"

Haviland stirred. "I don't know what you're talking about. Who's
Nelson?" After a second he exclaimed: "Good Lord! I thought I had
a pleasant surprise for you, and I was gracefully leading up to
it, but--I must have jazzed it all up. I was going to tell you
that the hotel and everything in it is yours."

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