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Updated: June 17, 2025
Now he hoards what's left like an old skinflint. Won't spend a nickel, unless it's on booze. Drinks like a drowning man and it never fizzes on him. A good enough man for what he's been doing, but no good for what I want now." "You don't want me to do him out of his place, Mr. Horsfal?" I asked. "I was coming to that, too, only you're so darned speedy.
Already, I was beginning to think that Mr. K. B. Horsfal had erred in regard to his man and that it was Jake Meaghan who was twenty-four carat gold. If any man ever did deserve two breakfast cups brimful of whisky, neat, before turning in, it was old, walrus-moustached, weather-battered, baby-eyed, sour-dough Jake, in the small, early hours of that Sabbath morning.
Horsfal should have loved the place; and, when I looked away out over the dancing waters, upon the beauties of the bay in the changing light of the lowering sun, upon the rocky, fir-dotted island a mile to sea, and upon the lonely-looking homes of the settlers over there two miles away on the far horn of Golden Crescent, with the great background of mountains in purple velvet, I wondered less.
Horsfal, they would be: in such a climate as we have here but away somewhere up the coast, with the sea in front of me and the trees and the hills behind me; the open air, the sunlight; contending with the natural, not the artificial, obstacles of life; work, with a sufficiency of leisure; quiet, when quiet were desired; and, in the evening as the sun went down into the sea or behind the hills, a cosy fire, a good book and my pipe going good."
I am saturated with the money-getting mania; I am in the maelstrom and I couldn't get out if I tried. I'm in it for good." Our conversation was brought to an abrupt ending, as Mr. Horsfal had to make a short call at one of the newspaper offices, on some business matter. We got out of the tram together.
K. B. Horsfal, millionaire, patentee, lumberman and meat-packer, looked at me, sighed and nodded his head. "After all, my boy," he said, almost sadly, "I shouldn't wonder if that isn't better than all the hellish wealth-hunting that ever was or ever shall be. Stick to your ideals. Try them out if you can. As for me, it's too late.
I laughed, rather ruefully, almost wishing I were. "With me, it is sink or swim. And, I do not mind telling you, Mr. Horsfal, that it will be necessary for me to leave the hotel to-morrow for less pretentious apartments and to start swimming for all I am worth." "Good!" he cried, as if it were a good joke. "How do you propose starting in?"
In the vast, awesome stillness of the forest behind and the swishing and shuffling of the incoming tide on the shingles on the beach, I thought of what my good friend, K. B. Horsfal, had quoted: "Where every prospect pleases and only man is vile." Rita of the Spanish Song Next morning I was awakened bright and early by the singing of birds.
Those banks are practically guaranteed by the country and the wealthiest men in Canada use them. Why! Mr. Horsfal has thousands in the Commercial Bank of Canada now. Here is the bank book, see for yourself! I send in a deposit every week for him." Jake was impressed, but not unduly. He suddenly switched. "Say, George, who told you I had any dough?" "Oh! I knew you had, Jake.
But all day I have had it in my mind that you were the very man I wanted, sent from the clouds right to me." "But, but," I exclaimed. "I am afraid I have not the experience a man requires for such a job." K. B. Horsfal thumped his desk. "Lord sakes! man, don't start running yourself down. Boost, boost yourself for all you're worth." "Oh, yes! I know," I said. "But this is different.
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