Home > Authors Index > Rex Beach > Ne'er-Do-Well > This page
The Ne'er-Do-Well, a novel by Rex Beach |
||
Chapter 17. Garavel The Banker |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER XVII. GARAVEL THE BANKER These were busy days for the Cortlandts. They entertained constantly, and the occasions when they dined without from one to a dozen guests became so exceptional as to elicit remark around the hotel. Most of their efforts were devoted to certain Panamanians of the influential class, and in company with one or more of these Cortlandt made frequent trips to the various quarters of the Republic, sometimes absenting himself for days at a time. During these intervals his wife assumed the direction of affairs, and continued to entertain or be entertained. Her energy and resource seemed inexhaustible. The officials of both governments treated her with punctilious respect, and the prestige gained in this way she used to enhance her reputation as a hostess. Soon she became the social dictator of the city, and the most exclusive circles, American and Panamanian alike, allowed her to assume control. The result was just what had been designed. Tourists and visiting newspaper people spoke glowingly of the amity between the two nations, and wondered at the absence of that Spanish prejudice of which they had heard so much. Those who chanced to know the deeper significance of it all, and were aware of the smouldering resentment that lay in the Latin mind, commented admiringly upon her work, and wondered what effect it would have upon the coming election. Already this event had cast its shadow ahead, bringing memories of the last election with its disturbances and ragged uncertainty. That had been a pregnant epoch. Armed guards, hidden behind American walls, had listened to the growing clamor and prepared to fire. American marines had been held in readiness to take such action as might have convulsed the other watchful World Powers. Since then the fuse had burned steadily, if slowly. As the time drew near, there were those who openly predicted trouble. Others scoffed at the idea, although they claimed that this would be the last election ever held in Panama. But all united in declaring that, whatever the work to which the Cortlandts had been assigned, they were doing it well. No one but the woman herself and her husband really understood the tremendous difficulties of their task or the vital issues at stake. Although they seemed to be making progress, they knew that they were dealing with a people not only excitable and egotistic, but steeped in guile, and distrustful by nature. The fire was close to the magazine. But this was Edith Cortlandt's chosen field, and she brought to bear a manlike power of cool calculation, together with a brilliant intuition of her own. Never had her tact, her knowledge of human nature, her keen realization of political values been called into such play as now. So triumphantly did she exercise these qualities that all who came into contact with her recognized the master mind directing the campaign, and, consciously or unconsciously, relegated her husband to the background. To the Latin intellect this display of power, on the part of a woman, was a revelation. She knew the effect she produced, and made the most of it. Old Anibal Alfarez was, perhaps, the last fully to appreciate her. He did, however, learn in time that while he could successfully match his craft against that of the husband, the wife read him unerringly. The result was that he broke with them openly. When news of this reached the members of the Canal Commission, they were alarmed, and Colonel Jolson felt it necessary to make known their views upon the situation. Accordingly, a few nights later, the Cortlandts dined at his handsome residence on the heights above Culebra. After their return to Panama, the Colonel, in whom was vested the supreme authority over his nation's interests, acknowledged that his acquaintance with diplomacy was as nothing compared with Edith Cortlandt's. It was to Colonel Bland, in charge of the Atlantic Division, that he confessed: "In all my life I never met a woman like her. Cortlandt, as you know, is a clever fellow, and I flatter myself that I'm no mental invalid; but we were like children in her hands. He sided with me at first, but she talked us both around in spite of ourselves. I agree with her now, perfectly, and I am content to let her have free rein." "General Alfarez is the strongest man in the Republic," said Colonel Bland. "As Governor of Panama Province, he's the logical next President. Besides that, he has the machinery behind him. I don't see who there is to defeat him." "We argued the same thing. She thinks Garavel is the proper man." "Garavel is a banker; he's not a politician." The chief-engineer laughed. "All Spanish-Americans are politicians, Colonel; they can't help it." "Would he accept?" "It is her business to find out. I had my doubts." "But could he win? It would be a calamity if he had American backing and failed; it would mean a disaster." "Cortlandt has been working carefully, and he has been in all the seven Provinces. He admits that it might be done; and she is certain. You see, their part in the Colombian affair makes them strong with the leaders, and they have already whipped the foreign influences into line. Of course, it will mean a fight--Alfarez won't give up easily--but, if Garavel should be the next President, it would be a fine thing for both countries." The other commissioner shook his white head doubtfully. "I supposed it was all settled; Cortlandt himself told me Alfarez was a good man the last time I talked with him. My God, it seems to me we've got enough on our hands without being guardians for a two- by-four republic filled with maniacs. We've got to finish this job on time. I can't understand this change of sentiment." "Oh, it isn't settled. There is ample time for anything to happen. When the psychological moment comes, Cortlandt will be in position to swing his influence whichever way he thinks best." "Well, it's a puzzling situation," Colonel Bland admitted. "And I wish it were over." Then he branched off on the subject of a cargo of cement which had not been up to standard and might have to be rejected. Over at Panama the Cortlandts were looking for a house to lease. Affairs had reached a point where it seemed advisable to give up their quarters at the Tivoli and enter into closer contact with the life of the Spanish city. One reason for the move was the necessity for a greater privacy than the hotel afforded, for the time was not far distant when privacy might prove of paramount importance. Meanwhile they gave a ceremonious little dinner, the one and only guest being Andres Garavel, the banker. Of all the charming peoples of Central America there are, perhaps, none more polished and well-bred than the upper-class Panamanians. Of this agreeable type, Senor Garavel was an admirable example, having sprung from the finest Castilian stock, as a name running back through the pages of history to the earliest conquests attested. Other Garavels had played important parts in the troubled affairs of Guatemala, and it was the banker's proud boast that one of his ancestors had assisted Alvarado to christen the first capital of that country--the city of St. James the Gentleman--in 1524. The name had later figured prominently in Antigua, that Athens of the New World where the flower of Spanish America gathered. A later forebear had fled southward at the time of the disturbances incidental to the revolt of the colonies, but in his departure there had been no disgrace, and since that time the Garavels had worthily maintained the family traditions of dignity and honor. The present bearer of the name was of distinguished appearance. He was swarthy of skin, his hair was snow-white, and he had stern, black eyes of great intelligence. In size he was not above the medium, but his manner fully made up for any deficiency of stature. He was courtly and deliberate, evincing a pride that sprang not only from good blood but from good deeds. His poise was that of a man with heavy responsibilities, for Andres Garavel was a careful banker and a rich one. He was widely travelled, well- informed, an agreeable talker, and the conversation at Mrs. Cortlandt's table did not lag. "I am so disappointed that your daughter could not come," Edith told him for the second time. "I'm afraid she objects to our American informality." "No, no, my dear lady," said their guest. "She admires American customs, as I do. We are progressive--we have travelled. In my home, in my private life, perhaps, I am Panamanian, but in my business and in my contact with other peoples I am as they are. It is the same with my daughter." "When you Latins really become cosmopolitan you are more so than we Americans," Cortlandt acknowledged. "We assume foreign airs and customs that please us and forget to retain our own, while you-- well, with Germans you are German, with Englishmen you are English, and yet you never forget to be Spaniards." The banker smiled. "My daughter has had a wide education for a child. She has travelled, she speaks five languages--and yet, underneath it all she is a Garavel and hence a Panamanian. She is all I have, and my life is hers." "When we are settled in our new house we hope to see something of you both." "You have effected a lease of the Martinez home, I believe?" "Yes. Do you know it?" "As my own. You are indeed fortunate to secure so fine a place. I wish that in some way I might be of service to you." "The wish is mutual," Cortlandt answered, meaningly, but Senor Garavel concealed any recognition of the tone by a formal bow, and the meal progressed with only the customary small talk to enliven it. As soon as the three had adjourned to the Cortlandt's suite the host of the evening proceeded to approach the subject in his mind as directly as the circumstances permitted. Through a series of natural transitions the conversation was brought around to politics, and Garavel was adroitly sounded. But he displayed little interest, maintaining a reserve that baffled them. It was impossible to betray him into an expression of feeling favorable to their views. When at last he consented to show his awareness of the suggestion so constantly held out, he spoke with deliberate intention. "General Alfarez is my respected friend," he said, with a quietness that intensified his meaning, "and I rejoice that he will be the next President of Panama." "You, of course, know that there is opposition to him?" "All Panama knows that." "General Alfarez does not seem to be a friend of the United States." "There are few who hold the views I do. He is a man of strong character, he has no commercial interests to influence him as I have, and so we differ. Yet I respect him--" "It is precisely because of those views of yours that I wish to consult you," said Cortlandt, slowly. "In all the Republic there is no one so progressive as you. May I speak frankly?" Garavel inclined his white head without removing his intense, dark eyes from the speaker. "Don Anibal Alfarez can never be President of Panama!" The banker made no visible movement, yet the effect of this positive declaration was almost like that of a blow. After a pause he said: "May I tell him you said so?" "If you wish, but I do not think you will." The hearer let his eyes flit questioningly to Mrs. Cortlandt's face to find her smiling at him. "Believe me, dear lady," he said, "I suspected that there were grave reasons for this interview, but as yet I am at sea. I am not a politician, you know. I shall have no voice in our political affairs." "Of course we know that, Senor Garavel, and of course there are grave reasons why we wished to talk with you. As Stephen has said, General Alfarez cannot be President--" "Madame," he said, coldly, "Panama is a republic. The voice of the people is supreme." "Down in your heart do you really think so?" She was still smiling at him. "No! The United States is supreme." "Ah! That day will come, perhaps--I have said so; I look forward to it as the best solution, but--" "The day has come." "Even so, Alfarez is an honorable man, a strong man, and the wealthiest man in our country. He is a politician--" "But he is not a friend of our country." "I am not so sure." Garavel frowned at his cigar for a moment, while the room became silent. "What has this to do with me, madame?" he asked, at last. "Can't you guess?" The intensity of her look caused him to rise hurriedly and cast a quick glance from one to the other. "You are also a rich man, a man of ability," said Cortlandt, quick to seize the momentary advantage. "Your name is second to none in all Central America. The next President must possess intelligence, honor, ability; he must be a friend of our people. There is no one better--" "Impossible!" exclaimed the banker, in a strange voice. "_I_? No, no!" "And why not? Have you never had political aspirations?" "Of course. All men have dreams. I was Secretary of Finance under Amador, but the Garavels have never really been public men. Politics have been a curse to our house. My grandfather--" "I know," broke in Mrs. Cortlandt. "But times have changed. Panama has seen her last revolution, and she needs a business man at her head. Presidents are not made now by rifle and sword, and the man with the machete must give way to the man with a capacity for handling big affairs. There will be no more swineherd Presidents like your Guatemalan countryman Corera, nor tyrants like Zelaya. Panama is a healthy country, with no national debt; she is growing, developing. She holds the gateway to the Western World, and her finances must be administered wisely. You, Mr. Garavel, are one of the few who are clear-headed enough to see that her destiny is linked with ours, and there is no one who can direct her so well as you." "It is impossible!" repeated Garavel, his agitation growing more pronounced. "General Alfarez is my friend. His son will be my son." "Ramon! Is Ramon engaged to your daughter?" "Yes," exclaimed the banker, shortly. He began to pace the room. "What difference would that make, if the young people love each other?" "Certainly," Cortlandt agreed. "They are not children." "As for love, Ramon loves, and--my daughter will love also, once she is married, for she is a Garavel." "If Ramon isn't satisfactory to her, ought you to force her inclination?" Mrs. Cortlandt offered, eagerly. But the banker flung his arms aloft in a gesture of half-humorous despair. "Oh-h! These young ladies!" he cried. "They do not know what they want. What pleases to-day, displeases to-morrow. It is 'Yes' and 'No,' 'Yes' and 'No,' until one must decide for them. That, after all, is best." He paused abruptly. "This comes upon me like a flood, my friends. I am swept away, and yet I--I will need to think seriously." "Certainly." "To an honorable man the salary will mean nothing. I have many affairs; I fear I cannot afford this sacrifice." "Would you retire in favor of some one who could afford it?" "Alfarez is honest." "Alfarez cannot be President." "It would require a great deal of money. I am considered a rich man, but I have discounted the future, and my enterprises--" He flung out his arms. "I have spread out. I must be careful. It is not alone MY money that I have invested." "It will require very little money," said Cortlandt. "I have been from David to Darien, from Bocas to Colon and I know the public sentiment." "Speaking of David," his wife added; "it was you who first projected the railroad to that point, Senor Garavel." "Yes, I saw that it was needed. It would make Panama," he said, simply. "Under your administration it can be built. Mr. Cortlandt can assure you of our government's earnest co-operation. That would not be the case if General Alfarez were elected. Perhaps the Colombian boundary can be settled. There also our influence might avail. Those two steps forward would make the name of Garavel as famous in Panama as it is in Guatemala." "Those are important issues for any loyal Panamanian," he admitted. "And you love your daughter--you say your life is, hers. Your honor would be hers also. Senorita Garavel would have no cause to regret her father's presidency." "Oh, it is useless to argue," smiled the Spaniard. "I am weak. I am human. I am also patriotic, and I realize that our little country must look to your great one for its stimulus. Our life must be moulded after yours. For years I have dreamed of a railroad to David, which would some day form a link in the great system that will join the three Americas. I have pictured our inland jungles replaced with homes; a great traffic flowing from end to end of the Republic. But I have also seen that our people would not profit by it. The languor of the tropics is in their blood, and you Yankees would be needed to inspire them." His voice shook with emotion as he went on: "They are good, simple people, no more than children, and I love them. A gracious Providence gave us the key to the world's commerce, but we could not use it. It needs all our wisdom now to adapt ourselves to the conditions that have arisen. 'Andres Garavel, President of the Republic of Panama!' It has a sweet sound, my friends, and yet--I have fears." "Let's take them one by one," laughed his host, "and prove them imaginary. I see a great good-fortune in store for you." It was midnight before Senor Andres Garavel, the banker, bade his friends good-bye. When he descended the hotel steps to his carriage, he held his white head proudly erect, and there was new dignity in his bearing. As he was whirled homeward behind his spirited Peruvian mare, a wonderful song was singing in his heart. _ |
||