Hard-Pan: A Story of Bonanza Fortunes

DINNER was coming to an end. The Chinaman, soft-footed in his immaculate white, had just finished his circuit of the table, leaving a tiny gold-rimmed coffee-cup at each of the four plates. Into hers Letitia was lowering a lump of sugar, when a thought occurred to her, and she dropped the sugar into the cup with a little splash, and looking across at her vis-à-vis, said:

“Oh, John, I’ve been going to ask you half a dozen of times, and have always forgotten: did you know that Colonel Ramsay Reed had a daughter?”

To see the effect of her question, she stretched forward a plump white hand and tilted to one side one of the pink silk petticoats that veiled the candle-flames. The obstruction removed, she looked with vivacious interest at the person to whom she had addressed her query. He, too, had just dropped his sugar into his coffee, and was stirring it slowly, watching the little maelstrom in the cup.

“Colonel Ramsay Reed,” he said, without looking up. “Yes, I think I’ve heard something about his having a daughter. But why do you ask me? Isn’t Maud a much better person? She knows everything about everybody.”

He glanced at his sister-in-law, the dark, brown-eyed woman, very splendid in her white-and-yellow dress, who sat at the head of the small table. It was just a family party—Mr. and Mrs. Mortimer Gault, Mrs. Mortimer’s sister, Letitia Mason, and Mortimer’s brother, John Gault. Mrs. Gault, who seemed to be quite oblivious to the impertinence of her brother-in-law’s remark, answered smartly:

“I shouldn’t be surprised to hear that Colonel Reed had daughters by the dozens. Who knows really anything about those old bonanza men who’ve lost their bonanzas? They drop out of sight, and nobody ever hears of them again. Colonel Reed was in his glory before I was born.”

This was a slight exaggeration. Mrs. Mortimer Gault had been born a full thirty-eight years ago, in a house which now has a bakery beneath and furnished rooms above, in the environs of North Beach. It was quite fitting and proper that she should have first seen the light there, as in that day North Beach was fashionable. But that this should have occurred thirty-eight years ago was a subject she quietly ignored. She was still so effective in her dark, quick-flashing style, so much admired and so fond of being admired, that she turned her back on and denied the thirty-eight years whenever she had the chance.