Mr. Bridge_ A Novel - Evan S. Connell [42]
“I believe she was interested in astrology,” said Mrs. Bridge.
“I know what I want,” said Douglas. “A racing bike. Can I?”
“May I,” his mother said.
“It’s your money,” his father said. “If that’s what you want. What about you two?” he asked the girls.
Ruth said she was going to buy clothes.
“And you,” he asked Carolyn, “as long as the others can’t think past tomorrow, what are you going to do with your windfall? Squander it?”
Carolyn said, “I want an oil well.”
“Who doesn’t?”
She was not amused. “You told Mother you almost made a million dollars once.”
“I said that? I don’t think so. I think you must be mistaken. I’m sure I never told your mother such a thing.”
“You did so,” Carolyn said.
“Oh my, I’m starting to remember,” said Mrs. Bridge. “Years ago. Corky, you can’t remember anything that far back. Surely you can’t.”
“Yes, I do,” said Carolyn.
“Well, I don’t,” said Mr. Bridge. “You’ll have to enlighten me.”
“It had something or other to do with your friend Henry Gutekunst. When he first moved to Oklahoma.”
“Henry Gutekunst,” he exclaimed, looking incredulously at Carolyn. “You couldn’t have been more than five years old when Henry Gutekunst moved to Oklahoma.”
“Younger than that,” Mrs. Bridge said, patting Carolyn on the back.
“I remember,” Carolyn insisted. “You told Mother you’d be a millionaire if you had any sense.”
Now it had begun to sound familiar. He listened while Carolyn repeated what he had said. He was astonished. She seemed to be reading or reciting rather than remembering. She scarcely hesitated. He recognized certain words he often used, and the rhythm of his speech, and it brought back a moment he had nearly forgotten. He had read aloud an article from the financial page of the Star. Henry Gutekunst had found oil in a field a few miles south of Tulsa. It was the first of many wells he brought in. Gutekunst was now a multimillionaire. Six months before the first strike he had suggested going into partnership.
Carolyn went on: “You said to Mother prospecting for oil was the quickest way on earth to lose money. You said that’s why you didn’t give Mr. Gutekunst any money when he offered you a partnership.”
“You might be correct,” he said. “I must admit I’m impressed by your memory. And it’s true that if I’d taken up his offer I’d be wealthy by now. However, that’s long past and has nothing to do with the present situation. My friend Mr. Gutekunst did become wealthy, but he was the fortunate exception. For every man like Henry Gutekunst who does strike oil there are hundreds upon hundreds of men who lose every cent they own. They throw away their money on a wild-goose chase. I’ve seen it happen, I can tell you. I’ve seen it happen too often.”
“But you said you were sorry you didn’t give him the money.”
“Had I known in advance that there was an enormous oil field exactly where Henry Gutekunst thought there was, naturally I would have invested. Certainly I wish I had known, Carolyn. The trouble is that we have no way of determining these things in advance. He could just as easily have lost his shirt.”
Mrs. Bridge said, “It was a nice idea, Corky, but of course your father knows best. You wouldn’t want to lose your money, would you? Then, too, although three hundred and thirty-three dollars is an awful lot, I’m just not sure if it would be enough to do whatever it is you wanted to do.”
Mr. Bridge said, “Let me make a suggestion. I think we can solve this problem. Cork can be part-owner of thousands of oil wells. Now, how does that sound?”
Carolyn was suspicious.
“I happen to know of a number of fine, well-established companies in the oil industry. Standard of Indiana is one. Texaco is another. We can get you a few shares of stock in one of those companies. Your money will be safe, and each time your company brings in a well you’ll own a bit of it. What do you think?”
“Why, that’s a good idea!” said Mrs. Bridge.
Everybody looked at Carolyn.
“How about it?” Mr. Bridge asked.
“I want one of my own,” she said.
Mr.