Oil (filmed as There Will Be Blood) (60 page)

Paul was going to speak at a meeting of Communists the next evening, and Bunny must go to that meeting, of course. But what was he to do with Vee? She would not be interested in hearing Paul tell about Russia; she had learned all about it from her friend, Prince Marescu. Bunny bethought him of Dad and the seances, and by tactful manipulation he caused the old gentleman to call up Vee and tell her about an especially interesting seance they were going to have that evening. Vee promised to come, and Bunny thought he was free. But then about lunch-time Bertie called him on the phone. "So your old Paul is in Paris!" Bunny was startled; having thought he was keeping a secret. Then he laughed. "So your old secret service has been at work!" Said his sister, "I just thought you might be interested to know—your old Paul is not going to speak tonight. The police have arrested him." "Who told you that?" "They've just notified the embassy. He's to be expelled—in fact he's on his way now." "My God, Bertie, are you sure?" "Of course I'm sure. Did you think they'd let him make Bolshevik speeches in France?" "I mean—are you sure they're going to expel him?" Bunny had learned so much about the treatment accorded to the reds—all Europe had adopted the sweet custom of the American police, to beat their prisoners with rubber hose, which leaves no marks upon the skin. So there began a wrangle over the phone, Bunny in a panic, insisting upon knowing what official had given the information to Eldon; and Bertie insisting that Bunny should not make another of his stinks in Paris, and maybe get himself deported, and his brother-in-law ruined in the eyes of all Europe. In the end Bunny hung up, and called the office of the Communist newspaper. Did they know about the arrest of Comrade Puull Votkan—so it was necessary to say it. No, they knew nothing about it, they would endeavor to find out. And Bunny jumped into a taxi-cab and hastened to the office of the Prefet de Police, where he was received with a lack of that courtesy which police officials usually display to young gentlemen properly tailored. They had no information to give about the American, Puull Votkan, but they would like to receive information about an American named Zhay Arnoll R-r-rosss feess, and how long he expected to abuse the hospitality of the French government by giving sums of money to enemies of public safety. Meantime Bertie, in her desperation, was appealing to Vee Tracy, begging her to make one more effort to get Bunny out of this hideous entanglement. Vee answered that she would make one more, and only one. She turned from the telephone and ordered her maid to pack her belongings, and when Bunny came back from his visit to the police, he found a note in his mail-box: "Dear Bunny: I have just learned why I was to be put off with a spiritualist seance tonight, instead of going to the opera with you! The time has come when you have to choose between your red friends and me, and I have moved to another hotel until you make up your mind. Please give me your decision by letter. Do not try to see me, because I will not speak to you again until this matter has been settled. If it is to be all over between us, a quick clean cut is the way I choose. I will no longer endure the humiliation of being associated with dangerous criminals; and unless you can say that you love me enough to change your associates, I mean that you are never to see me again. Take time to think it over, but not too much time. Yours, Vee." As a matter of fact, Bunny did not need any time. Even while he was reading the letter, a voice was telling him that he had known it was coming. After the first shock of pain had passed, he sat himself down and wrote: "Dear Vee: We have had great happiness together. I have suffered for a long time, because I knew it had to end. I won't waste your time arguing in defense of my ideas; I have some, and cannot give them up, any more than you can yours. I wish you every happiness that can come to you in life, and hope you will not cherish bitterness in your heart, because it is something I truly cannot change. If ever the time comes that I can aid you, I will be yours to command. With just the same affection, Bunny-rabbit." Bunny must not stop to nourish his grief, but must hurry to call upon the French Communists and offer to pay the costs of a lawyer to institute legal proceedings and find out what was happening to Paul. But as a matter of fact the effort was not necessary, for next morning all the newspapers had the story: a notorious American Bolshevik agitator had been escorted by the authorities to Havre and placed on board a steamer to sail that day. The Communist paper in its report commented sarcastically; this was one Bolshevik agitator whom the American government could not very well refuse to admit, since they had him under bond of twenty thousand dollars to make his appearance in court! Bunny had so little confidence in the French authorities that he took the precaution to wireless Paul to the steamer with reply prepaid; and a few hours later he got the words, "On the way to Paradise"—a code message from Paul! Three days later came a message from his sweetheart—no code this time, but a proclamation to the whole world. The newspapers of Paris and all other capitals—of Madagascar, Paraguay, Nova Zembla, Thibet and New Guinea—announced the engagement of Viola Tracy, American screen actress, to Prince Marescu of Roumania; the wedding was to take place in the great cathedral of Bucharest, and Queen Marie herself would attend. The efficient publicity organization of Schmolsky-Superba had contrived many a stunt in its time, but never one so effective as this which fate handed to it, free, gratis, and for nothing! And so there was a chapter closed in Bunny's life. The door which had led from his suite in the hotel to Vee's suite was locked, and a piece of furniture moved in front of it. But there was no piece of furniture that could be moved in front of the memory in Bunny's mind! Nothing could shut out that slender white figure, so vivid and eager, and the memory of the delights she had brought to him. He was maimed in soul, as the victims of the White Terror were maimed in body—and in the same cause! There were women here, of all kinds and sizes, native and American, young ladies of the highest fashionableness, willing to receive the attentions of a young oil prince. They knew about his romance and his broken heart; and their shrewd mammas told them an ancient formula, known to the feminine world since the dawn of coquetry—"Catch him on the rebound!" Bunny was besought to attend tea-parties and dances, but mostly he went to Socialist meetings; and when he thought about girls, it was to Angel City that his fancy fled. Ruth Watkins was so gentle and quiet, yet brave—not giving up her brother because he turned into a Bolshevik! And Rachel Menzies was so steady, so grim in her determination to send him a four-page paper, as regular as the calendar, and always telling him everything he wanted to know! Once every month she sent an itemized statement of receipts and expenditures, typed with her own fingers, and always exactly right— whatever dollars were left over went for sample copies, so he was never troubled by either surplus or deficit!

IX

September, and Dad came bringing an announcement that caused him to hesitate, and turn fiery red after he got going. "You know, son, I have got to be very good friends with Alyse, we—that is, we are interested in the same ideas, and we realize that we can help each other." "Yes, Dad, of course." "Well, the fact is—you know how it is—I've been imposing on you for so long, but now you will be free, because I've asked Alyse to marry me, and she consents." "Well, Dad, I've been expecting that for quite a while. I'm sure you will be happy." . Dad looked very much relieved—had he feared a tantrum, after the fashion of Bertie? He hastened to say, "I want to tell you— Alyse and I have talked the matter over, and we agree—she is fond of you, and appreciates your standing by me and all, and she wants you to know that she's not marrying me for my money." "No, Dad, I don't think that." "Well, you know Bertie, and what she thinks. Bertie is mercenary—I suppose she got it from her mother. Anyhow, I'm not a-goin' to say anything to her about this, it is none of her business;

we'll just get married on the quiet, and Bertie can read about it in the papers. What I'm a-goin' to do is this—Alyse says she hasn't had anything to do with helping me make my money, and she don't want my children to hate her, as they will if she comes in and takes a big share." "Oh, but I won't, Dad!" "We've agreed that I'm to make a will, and leave a million dollars to her, and the rest will go to you and Bertie, and Alyse will be satisfied with that—it will give her enough to carry on the psychic work she's interested in. You understand, she wants to do that—" "Yes, of course, Dad. I am a propagandist too!" "I know, son; and what I've been thinking—you have a right to express your ideas. And while I don't agree with that little paper, I can see that it's honest, it says what you think; so I'm a-goin' to make over a million dollars worth of Ross stock to you, and you can just go ahead and do what you please with that. I hope you won't turn into a Bolsheviki like Paul, and I hope you won't find it necessary to get into jail." "It would be pretty hard to keep me in jail if I had a million dollars, Dad." The old man grinned; the mediums and the spirits had not yet driven the old devil entirely out of him. He went on to say that of course they weren't going to have as much money as he had once thought. Those government suits were a-goin' to dig a big hole in it—no doubt the politicians would fix it so Dad and Verne would lose. Of course they might get a pile out of these new deals abroad, but that was speculative—not the sort of thing Dad fancied, but he was leaving it to Verne. "What are you and Mrs.—Alyse going to do, Dad?" "Well, we want to have a sort of—you might call it a Spiritualist honeymoon. We'll go see that medium in Vienna, and there's another in Frankfort that we've heard about. It'll depend for one thing on what you want. Maybe you'll go back to California." "I think I will, Dad, for a while—if you are sure you can spare me." Yes, Dad said he and Alyse would get along all right; his secretary had learned enough French for practical purposes, and they would have a courier or interpreter for their stay in Germany. He hoped the climate there would agree with him; he didn't seem ever to be strong now. That flu had sort of done him up. The preliminary steps were taken, and Bunny and his father and the secretary and Mrs. Alyse Huntington Forsythe Olivier all put on their best glad rags and appeared before the maire of one of the small towns on the outskirts of Paris and were duly wedded, and Bunny kissed his new stepmother on both cheeks, and the maire did the same, and also kissed Bunny and Dad on both cheeks. And then Dad took his son to one side and placed an envelope in his hands. It was an order on Verne to turn over thirty-two hundred shares of Ross Consolidated Class B stock; a little more than a million at the market. They were "street certificates," Dad explained—he had already signed them and left them with Verne, in case they wished to market them. "And now, son," said the old man, "have a little sense—this is a pile of money, and don't throw it away. Take your time, and be sure what you want to do, and don't let yourself be plucked by grafters that will come round just as soon as they smell it!" The same old Dad! They gave each other hugs and squeezes; there were tears in everybody's eyes, even the secretary, and the maire and his clerks, who had never heard of such fees for a wedding—marvelous people, ces Americains! And Bunny said for Dad to write all the news, and Dad said for Bunny to write all the news; and Bunny said he would return to France next summer if Dad were not able to come to America, and Dad said he was sure Verne would have it all fixed up before that. And then Bunny kissed his stepmother again, and then he hugged Dad again, and then shook hands with the secretary—a regular debauch of the sweet sorrows of parting, with the officials and a crowd of street urchins standing by on the sidewalk, staring at the grand rich car and the grand rich Americans. Bunny was glad to look back on it in after years—at least that once the old man had been happy! All the chatter, and the messages, and the flowers, the baggage to be seen to and the robes to be tucked in—and then at last they were rolling down the street, amid waving of hands and cheers— headed for a Spiritualist seance in Frankfort-am-Main! Bunny took a train back to Paris, and wrote out two messages announcing that he was sailing for home; one to Ruth Watkins and one to Rachel Menzies—playing no favorites! Then he bought a paper, and read a brief despatch—"Great California Oil Fire." A bolt of lightning had struck one of the storage tanks of the Ross Consolidated Oil Company at Paradise, California, and as a high wind was blowing, it was not thought possible to save any portion of the tank-farm, and possibly the whole field might be destroyed. When Bunny got back to the hotel, there was a cablegram from Angel City. It was impossible to make any guess what the damage would be, but they were fully insured and nothing to worry about, "A. H. Dory"—still Verne's signature when he wanted to be playful. Bunny forwarded the message to his father, and asked if he should wait; but Dad's answer was, no, whatever he had to say could be said by letter or cable, and he would be glad to have Bunny on the scene to report. "Love and best wishes," were the concluding words—the last that Dad was ever to say to his son, except through the channel of the spirits!

X

A steamer took Bunny out to sea—one of those floating hotels, like the one he had left in Paris, fitted in the style of a palace, mahogany finish and silken draperies and cushions, and the most elegant society, flashing jewels and costly gowns—five thousand dollars per female person would have been a modest estimate for evenings in the dining saloon. And very soon the tongues of gossip began to buzz—"His father's the California oil man, they say he owns whole fields out there, but one of them is burning up, according to the papers. The Ross that was in the scandal, you remember, he's hiding abroad, been there nearly a year, but the son can come back, of course. They say he was one of the lovers of Viola Tracy, but she chucked him and married the Roumanian prince. Catch him on the rebound, my dear!" So everybody was lovely to Bunny; so many charming young things to dance with, until any hour of the morning; or to stroll on deck and be lost in the darkness with, if on« preferred. All day they flitted about him, casting coy and seductive glances: they were interested in everything he was interested in, even the book he was reading—provided he would talk about it instead of reading it. There were some who would say that they were interested in Socialism, they didn't know much about it, but were eager to learn. Until the second morning out, when the young Socialist received a wireless which entirely removed him from fashionable society: "Your father very ill with double pneumonia have obtained best medical attention will keep you informed deepest sympathy and affection Alyse." So then Bunny walked the deck alone, and suffered exactly those torments of remorse which Vernon Roscoe had predicted for him. Oh, surely he could have been kinder, more patient with that good old man! Surely he could have tried harder to understand and to help! Now fate was taking him away, five or six hundred miles every day—and at any moment might snatch him to a distance beyond calculation. His father himself had felt it—Bunny went over what he had said, and realized that Dad had faced the thought of death, and had been giving his son such last advice as he could. At first nothing but remorse. But then little by little the debate— the old, old dispute that had torn Bunny's mind in half. Was it possible for men to go on doing what Dad had been doing in the conduct of his business? Could any civilization endure on the basis of such purchase of government? No, Bunny told himself; but then—he should have tried harder, more lovingly, and persuaded his father to stop it! But at what stage? Dad had been purchasing government ever since Bunny could remember, as a little boy. All the oil men purchased government, all big business men did it, either before or after election. And at what stage of life shall a boy say to his father, your way of life is wrong, and you must let me take charge of it? There was no new thought that Bunny could think about all this; any more than in the case of Vee Tracy. Just the grief, and the ache of loneliness! Old things going; they kept going—and where did they go? It was a mystery that made you dizzy, at moments like this; you stood on the brink of a precipice and looked down into a gulf! The most incredible idea, that his father, who was so real, and had been for so long a part of his being—should suddenly disappear and cease to be! For the first time Bunny began to wonder, could Alyse be right about the spirits? Another message in the evening. "Condition unchanged will keep you advised sympathy and affection." These last words never failed in the messages; the next day, when Dad's condition was the same and the crisis expected tomorrow; and then tomorrow, when Dad was sinking; and then, the morning after, when Alyse wired, "Your father's spirit has passed from this world to the next but he will never cease to be with you he spoke of you at the last and promises that if you will communicate with a good medium in Angel City he will guide your life with love and affection as ever Alyse." And then a message from Bertie: "I was with Dad at the end and he forgave me will you forgive me also." When Bunny read that, he had to hurry to his stateroom, and lie there and cry like a little child. Yes, he would forgive her, so he wired in reply, and might whoever had made them forgive them all!