But the hanging of the light-blue paper — at fifty cents a roll — was the only improvement undertaken at the Grand Hotel.
— 7—
It was during Robert’s third winter in the ghost town that his illness began. It started as a persistent fatigue which did not disappear with rest, a hollow, empty cough, and sometimes tearing pain in his stomach. He lost his appetite, couldn’t keep down the food he swallowed; he lost weight, grew wan. Already before this he had grown thinner, and the fat gold lice had long ago deserted his body; now not the smallest nits could find nourishment there. He stayed in bed for a while and felt a little better. For short periods he felt almost well. But the illness came back, and then his teeth began to fall out.
When he looked in a mirror he didn’t recognize himself.
Fred often would say to him: “Your face is pale as hell, Bob!”
Because his partner looked so yellow Fred wondered if Robert hadn’t perchance caught the yellow fever while he looked after Vallejos. Perhaps it had entered his body and not broken out until now? Robert didn’t think so, but then he knew nothing about disease. He had never had any ailment except his bad ear.
By spring he had recuperated enough to be up and about but he felt far from well; the oppressive fatigue remained in his body, and he was almost unable to do anything. He no longer could assist Fred in running the hotel. And he had grown tired of the ghost town and wanted to get away from it as soon as he felt strong enough.
He had told Fred that his older brother had taken up a claim in Minnesota, and now Robert hinted that perhaps it would be best for him to return to his brother.
Fred replied enthusiastically. Since Robert didn’t feel well he ought to be where he could get care and rest. He himself could not look after his friend and countryman in the manner he would wish. But Robert’s relatives would surely do so and help him regain his health and strength.
“Bob, you needn’t be a burden to your brother. I will of course return the money you put into my hotel! I’ll not only pay back the capital — I’ll pay interest as well, the highest interest in North America.”
Fredrik Mattsson from Asarum would, in every detail, keep the promise he had given his countryman. And Robert in turn assured him that he had always trusted his friend in their mutual business. He had never heard of one Swede cheating another in America.
“Of course not! I’ve increased our money! I know how to handle money in America, Bob. I know how to pay out the capital and still have it!”
From his vest pocket he fished up a five-cent coin and held it before Robert’s eyes.
“See this nickel? With this one single coin I paid for my food a whole winter in Chicago!”
“You couldn’t!” exclaimed Robert. “Unless you were a magician or something. .”
Fred explained that it had nothing to do with tricks or miracles; it was pure business ability. That winter in Chicago he had had no cash except this coin. He had lived with a woman friend, free of charge, and he had eaten all his meals at a saloon on Clark Street where every customer who bought anything for at least five cents could eat a free meal. Each morning he had gone to this saloon and bought a five-cent cigar. Then he had eaten his breakfast. But he did not smoke his cigar — when he emerged onto the street he sold it to anyone he happened to meet for the same price he himself had paid. In that way he got back his five cents. At dinnertime he went back to the saloon, bought a fresh cigar, ate the dinner he was entitled to, and then went outside and sold his cigar for five cents. In that way he retrieved his nickel so he could buy a new cigar in the morning and have his breakfast, and so on.
He had lived in this way the whole winter through buying and selling two cigars a day and eating two solid meals. And when he left Chicago in the spring he still had his nickel, even though it had paid for his food for a whole winter.
Fred threw the coin into the air and caught it on the downfall.
“You see, I know how to handle capital! I pay out and still have it! I’ve done the same with your money, Bob. I know the tricks. Life is easy in America if you know the tricks.”
Up to the very last moment of Robert’s stay, the host of the Grand Hotel was helpful and generous to his friend and partner. He arranged for his trip home: an ox train would soon be due in Grand City on its way east to St. Louis, and from St. Louis Robert could take the paddle steamer as soon as the northern Mississippi was open. Robert remembered the route; it would be his third journey on the broad river.
“You must get yourself some decent clothes, Bob,” insisted Fred. “You must return as a gentleman!”
A few hundred dollars in silver were still left in Roberts black pouch — enough for his trip home, a suit of clothes, and a new rucksack. Now anyone could see he was returning from the goldfields, said Fred.
Thus one day in April 1855, the younger partner in the Grand Hotel, Grand City, was ready to leave the business and the town. The ox train for St. Louis had arrived. The two friends stood at the counter in Fred’s Tavern, and the one who would stay behind solemnly opened a bottle of Kentucky Straight. With controlled emotion Fred said they must drink the painful Skol of farewell. For the last time they would use the beloved Swedish word of greeting to each other. From then on the word Skol would never more be heard in this room.
And now at their parting the moment had come for him to repay Robert’s loan as he had promised.
“My dear friend, after two years your capital has doubled. In this way you are getting 100 per cent interest. I owe you four thousand dollars!”
Fredrik Mattsson put two heavy bundles of bills on the counter in front of his friend; he had of course changed Robert’s gold into bills. This had to be done before money could circulate and grow, and he was repaying him in bills.
He looked at his countryman, as if to see his reaction.
“Have you ever seen or heard of wildcats out here?”
“Wildcats? Do you mean those wild animals. .?”
“No. I mean free money in America. What you see before you on the counter is four thousand dollars in wildcat money. You get your capital back in sound, free money.”
For the first time Robert saw wildcat money and he liked the name; to him it had something to do with freedom and liberty; the bills had probably been given that name because they in some way echoed the freedom of the wildcats in the forest.
“Here you are, Bob. One hundred per cent interest!”
Robert was overcome by the great generosity his friend displayed at their parting. Was it right for him to accept these big bundles of money, four thousand dollars? He felt like a miser, a usurper. No, he couldn’t accept all this money — he hadn’t earned it. And he said if he accepted it he would ever after feel he had skinned a countryman and friend.
“No, Fred, you’re too generous to me!”
But Fred forced him to take it, he himself pushed the bundles into the black leather pouch. He knew how Robert felt, but after all, it was only his own money that had doubled in two years by constant, careful handling. He paid back in wildcats — sound, free money that would double again if handled wisely. They were as good as gold in the right hands. Up in Minnesota, where there were few banks, these bills might be worth even more than out here, probably more than gold.