“Bought your ship yet?”
“Just about.”
Joe Callan, a heavy mountain of a man, studied him thoughtfully.
“So you’re Seldon’s fisherman,” he said. Marcy, his daughter, clung to his arm.
8 0
H o w a r d F a s t
“I’m nobody’s fisherman, Mr. Callan,” Dan replied. “Not even yours.”
Jean ignored Marcy and steered Dan away. “You’ve just insulted the richest man in California. Do you know who he is?”
“The hell with him.”
“I adore you. And this is our new mayor. Mayor McCarthy, this is Dan Lavette.”
They shook hands. McCarthy’s blue eyes twinkled. “Ah, lad,” he said, “you got the prize of the evening.”
“I have.”
“And I hear you’re a plain man, like myself.” He leaned toward Dan. “’Tis a den of thieves that we’re in. Watch your step, laddie.”
“What did he say?” Jean wanted to know.
“That I’m in a den of thieves.”
“Delicious.” She faced her mother, who nodded coldly to Dan.
“Mr. Lavette.”
“Thank you for asking me to come here,” Dan said.
“Yes.” Mother and daughter exchanged looks, and Jean steered Dan away.
“What was that all about?”
“Nothing. Here’s Daddy. Be very nice.”
He shook hands with Seldon. “Glad to see you,” Seldon said.
“We’ll find time for a chat later.”
The introductions went on: heavy-jowled men who smelled of power and success, stout bejeweled women who smelled of fine French perfume. Names Dan had heard about, names that were in the newspapers; he nodded, smiled, took hands that were offered to him, and then breathed a sigh of relief when Jean drew him out of the crowd into the solarium. There, sheltered by the palms and ferns, Jean said, “You don’t like us very much, do you?”
“They don’t like me.”
“‘Granddad worked in the placer mines, Daddy’s on Nob Hill.
t H e I m m I g r a n t s
8 1
If it weren’t for Sutter and Sutter’s gold, I’d still be sucking swill.’ I learned that when I was five. It used to enrage Mother. She’s from Boston. The fact is that you are the envy of every woman in the room. I love your dinner jacket.”
“We got the loan, Jean. Mark Levy and I are buying the Oregon Queen . We’ve been fighting over the price with Swenson for two weeks and now we made the deal. It’s just the beginning. I swear to you, it’s just the begin ning.” He took her in his arms.
“Danny, someone will see us.”
“To hell with them!”
When Dan left—the party still in progress—Jean went directly to her room, and it occurred to her that one way to deal with this would be to go to bed and turn off the lights and give her parents until morning to cool off. But she was too stimulated, too alive, too excited to go to sleep or to lie in the dark and pretend she was asleep, as she had done so often as a little girl. Indeed, a part of her wanted the encounter and looked forward to it. She changed into a dressing gown of pale blue velvet and Alençon ruffled lace, picked up her copy of Vanity Fair , stretched out on her chaise, and waited. She tried to read, but the words were meaningless, and she let herself float into fantasy. It was about an hour later that they knocked at the door.
“Come in. I’m awake,” Jean said.
Her mother entered, followed by her father. He tem porized immediately. “I think this should wait for the morning, Mary.”
“I don’t,” his wife said.
“I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” Jean said mildly. “You gave a party. I invited a friend. I’ve done that before.”
“I told you I did not want him in this house,” her mother said icily.
8 2
H o w a r d F a s t
“I thought it was my home too. Or was I mistaken?”
“For heaven’s sake, Mary,” Seldon said, “he came here first as my guest. If Jean took a fancy to him, it’s my fault.” And to Jean, “All the same, you showed poor judgment asking him here.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like the idea of your going with a
“Just about.”
Joe Callan, a heavy mountain of a man, studied him thoughtfully.
“So you’re Seldon’s fisherman,” he said. Marcy, his daughter, clung to his arm.
8 0
H o w a r d F a s t
“I’m nobody’s fisherman, Mr. Callan,” Dan replied. “Not even yours.”
Jean ignored Marcy and steered Dan away. “You’ve just insulted the richest man in California. Do you know who he is?”
“The hell with him.”
“I adore you. And this is our new mayor. Mayor McCarthy, this is Dan Lavette.”
They shook hands. McCarthy’s blue eyes twinkled. “Ah, lad,” he said, “you got the prize of the evening.”
“I have.”
“And I hear you’re a plain man, like myself.” He leaned toward Dan. “’Tis a den of thieves that we’re in. Watch your step, laddie.”
“What did he say?” Jean wanted to know.
“That I’m in a den of thieves.”
“Delicious.” She faced her mother, who nodded coldly to Dan.
“Mr. Lavette.”
“Thank you for asking me to come here,” Dan said.
“Yes.” Mother and daughter exchanged looks, and Jean steered Dan away.
“What was that all about?”
“Nothing. Here’s Daddy. Be very nice.”
He shook hands with Seldon. “Glad to see you,” Seldon said.
“We’ll find time for a chat later.”
The introductions went on: heavy-jowled men who smelled of power and success, stout bejeweled women who smelled of fine French perfume. Names Dan had heard about, names that were in the newspapers; he nodded, smiled, took hands that were offered to him, and then breathed a sigh of relief when Jean drew him out of the crowd into the solarium. There, sheltered by the palms and ferns, Jean said, “You don’t like us very much, do you?”
“They don’t like me.”
“‘Granddad worked in the placer mines, Daddy’s on Nob Hill.
t H e I m m I g r a n t s
8 1
If it weren’t for Sutter and Sutter’s gold, I’d still be sucking swill.’ I learned that when I was five. It used to enrage Mother. She’s from Boston. The fact is that you are the envy of every woman in the room. I love your dinner jacket.”
“We got the loan, Jean. Mark Levy and I are buying the Oregon Queen . We’ve been fighting over the price with Swenson for two weeks and now we made the deal. It’s just the beginning. I swear to you, it’s just the begin ning.” He took her in his arms.
“Danny, someone will see us.”
“To hell with them!”
When Dan left—the party still in progress—Jean went directly to her room, and it occurred to her that one way to deal with this would be to go to bed and turn off the lights and give her parents until morning to cool off. But she was too stimulated, too alive, too excited to go to sleep or to lie in the dark and pretend she was asleep, as she had done so often as a little girl. Indeed, a part of her wanted the encounter and looked forward to it. She changed into a dressing gown of pale blue velvet and Alençon ruffled lace, picked up her copy of Vanity Fair , stretched out on her chaise, and waited. She tried to read, but the words were meaningless, and she let herself float into fantasy. It was about an hour later that they knocked at the door.
“Come in. I’m awake,” Jean said.
Her mother entered, followed by her father. He tem porized immediately. “I think this should wait for the morning, Mary.”
“I don’t,” his wife said.
“I don’t know what all the fuss is about,” Jean said mildly. “You gave a party. I invited a friend. I’ve done that before.”
“I told you I did not want him in this house,” her mother said icily.
8 2
H o w a r d F a s t
“I thought it was my home too. Or was I mistaken?”
“For heaven’s sake, Mary,” Seldon said, “he came here first as my guest. If Jean took a fancy to him, it’s my fault.” And to Jean, “All the same, you showed poor judgment asking him here.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t like the idea of your going with a
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