CARSON OF RED RIVER




                      BY THE SAME AUTHOR

        Carson of Red River       The League of the Leopard
        Green Timber              The Intriguers
        The Wilderness Patrol     Prescott of Saskatchewan
        The Bush-Rancher          Ranching for Sylvia
        Northwest!                The Long Portage
        The Man from the Wilds    Vane of the Timberlands
        Kit Musgrave’s Luck       A Prairie Courtship
        Lister’s Great Adventure  Master of the Wheatlands
        The Wilderness Mine       The Gold Trail
        Wyndham’s Pal             Thurston of Orchard Valley
        Partners of the Out-Trail The Greater Power
        The Buccaneer Farmer      Thrice Armed
        The Lure of the North     By Right of Purchase
        The Girl from Keller’s    Delilah of the Snows
        Carmen’s Messenger        For Jacinta
        Brandon of the Engineers  Winston of the Prairie
        Harding of Allenwood      The Dust of Conflict
        The Secret of the Reef    Alton of Somasco
        For the Allison Honor     The Cattle Baron’s Daughter




                         CARSON OF RED RIVER

                          By HAROLD BINDLOSS

              Author of “Green Timber,” “The Wilderness
              Patrol,” “The Bush-Rancher,” “Northwest!,”
              “The Man From the Wilds,” “Kit Musgrave’s
          Luck,” “Lister’s Great Adventure,” “The Wilderness
               Mine,” “Partners of the Out-Trail,” ETC.

[Illustration]

                               NEW YORK
                     FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
                               MCMXXIV




                         Copyright, 1924, by
                     Frederick A. Stokes Company

       PUBLISHED IN ENGLAND UNDER THE TITLE, “THE LUTE PLAYER”

                         All rights reserved
               Printed in the United States of America




                          TABLE OF CONTENTS

                      I Blake’s Piano
                     II The Drawing Office
                    III Netherhall
                     IV The Call
                      V Kit Plays Up
                     VI Kit Takes a Knock
                    VII Evelyn Conquers
                   VIII Kit Tunes His Fiddle
                     IX The Road to the West
                      X A Rest by the Way
                     XI The Road Forks
                    XII Kit Plays for His Supper
                   XIII The Cook’s Musician
                    XIV The Water Cure
                     XV Kit Makes Progress
                    XVI Kit Goes Visiting
                   XVII Lost Lake
                  XVIII Mrs. Austin Meddles
                    XIX Kit Takes His Cue
                     XX Austin’s Understudy
                    XXI Jasper Experiments
                   XXII Mrs. Haigh Reviews Her Plans
                  XXIII Blake’s Confession
                   XXIV A Stolen Excursion
                    XXV Ledward’s Present
                   XXVI The Breaking Strain
                  XXVII Jasper Waits
                 XXVIII Kit Goes Ahead
                   XXIX The Storm
                    XXX Alison Steals Away
                   XXXI Whinnyates Farm
                  XXXII Kit Claims His Reward
                 XXXIII Jasper Wins




CARSON OF RED RIVER


CHAPTER I

BLAKE’S PIANO


The evening was calm, and the window at Blake’s flat by the river
mouth was open. Kit Carson, standing with his back against the
curtains, felt the rather shabby room was homelike, and for long he
had not known a home. When he got a holiday he went to Netherhall, and
after the drawing office, he liked to carry a gun across the moors;
but the big house at the dale head had not the charm that marked
Blake’s cheap flat.

Kit, however, thought the room less shabby than usual. For one thing,
Mrs. Blake had got a new rug and the soft green harmonized with the
brown stained boards. Then a new cottage piano occupied a corner and a
water-color drawing, Kit’s present to Mabel Blake, was on the wall.
Kit had an eye for line and he thought the drawing was not bad.
Perhaps its purchase was something of an extravagance, but Kit was
extravagant and Mabel was his pal’s wife.

Kit felt the charm that marked the flat was really Mabel’s. She was
plucky and cheerful, although her fight was hard. Blake was a sober
fellow, but when he married her had debts, and his pay, like Kit’s,
was small. Kit was his groom, and at the wedding had rather thought to
lose his friend. Instead, he had got another.

Mrs. Blake, carrying a tray, came in, and when Blake took her load,
gave Kit a happy smile.

“The pennies for the meter did not run out, and my birthday feast is
served,” she said, and balancing on an arched foot, as if she meant to
dance, indicated her dress. “But how do you like my new clothes?”

Kit studied her. Mabel Blake was short and light; her figure was
boyish and Kit knew her boyishly alert and happy.

“I can’t judge the material, but the lines are good. One gets a sense
of balance and poise, which, I think, is not altogether the
dressmaker’s art. Anyhow, you can dance, and if the shipyard company
goes broke we’ll try our luck on the road. You will dance for crowded
houses and I will play the lute. Tom, perhaps, might be business
manager.”

Mabel laughed and Blake grinned, for he knew the others knew his money
went.

“Isn’t the lute rather out-of-date?” he inquired.

“Ah,” said Kit, “there’s its attraction! The troubadours used the lute
and your wife has got the joy and confidence people knew in the old
spacious days.”

“I wonder whether those days were joyous,” said Blake. “All the same,
Mabel’s pluck is good. When we married she undertook an awkward job,
but she never grumbles. Anyhow, you’re not a troubadour. Your job’s to
make drawings for modern machines.”

“There’s sober Tom!” Mabel remarked. “But supper will soon get cold.”

They sat down at the little round table, and Mabel, glancing at Kit,
rather thought he ascribed to her qualities that were properly his.
Kit, like her husband, had a post in the drawing office at the
shipbuilding yard. He was thin but athletic, and as a rule his eyes
twinkled. Kit indulged his whimsical imagination and sometimes one did
not know if he joked. Mrs. Blake knew him generous and romantic, but
he was a first-class draftsman and made progress at the office. In the
meantime, Kit, with frank satisfaction, used his knife and fork. At
Netherhall one dined ceremoniously and wore evening clothes, but one
did not get food like the suppers Mabel cooked on the gas stove. By
and by she indicated the piano.

“Sometimes you’re not very keen, Kit. For example, I was forced to
point out I’d got new clothes and ask for a compliment; and now it
looks as if you had not noticed all Tom’s extravagance. But perhaps
you want to be polite?”

“I saw the piano, and after supper I’ll try it. Just now I’m very
happily occupied. All the same, I’m glad to see Tom’s luck has
turned.”

“The piano’s not yet ours and we’ll talk about it again,” said Blake.
“Until Kit has satisfied his appetite you must leave him alone, Mabel.
Although he’s sometimes romantic, he’s frankly flesh and blood.”

“The flesh is not very conspicuous,” Kit rejoined, and gave Mrs. Blake
his plate. “One sees why Tom gets fat. If you’d like a sincere
compliment may I have some more?”

By and by Blake and Kit carried off the plates, and when they came
back Kit turned down the light and signing the others to the window,
pulled the curtain along the rod. The flat was at the top of a tall
building, the night was fine, and one looked down on rows of houses
and the dark river. On the other bank blast-lamps’ flames tossed, and
the trembling illumination touched skeleton ships. Hammers rang with a
rhythmic beat; and at the top of the steep slope steelworks engines
throbbed. In the background a pillar of fire, intense and white, was
reflected by a cloud. The pillar sank and vanished, and by contrast
all was dark.

“Janions’ converter,” said Kit. “If they roll us the plates as they
agreed, you ought soon to run the _Mariposa_ down the launching ways.
I don’t know if her boiler will be ready.”

“Then you’re not satisfied about the circulation?” Blake inquired, and
Kit thought his interest rather keen.

“We are nearly satisfied. Colvin’s hurrying me, and when Mabel has had
enough I must go back to the office: the tube-shop foreman wants some
particulars. Anyhow, we mustn’t bore Mabel. I like your window, madam.
It commands a moving view.”

“The fires and grime of industry?” said Mabel and laughed. “I begin to
doubt if I know you, Mr. Carson. Sometimes you’re the minstrel you
talk about, and sometimes a shipbuilder. Which would you really like
to be?”

“I don’t know. There’s the trouble. Anyhow, I do like your window. It
commands the road to countries not yet modernized—where men beat the
monkey-skin drums and play the pipes, make love by primitive rules and
kill their rivals. For example——”

A whistle shrieked on a high note and dropped to a harmonious chord; a
ruby beam moved across the trembling reflections. Then a funnel and a
vague, long hull stole through the shipyard smoke. The beam faded, the
hull was foreshortened and the ship went round a bend. The wave she
threw off beat the bank and melted in the dark.

“The _Negapatam_, bound for Singapore and the Malay seas,” said Kit.
“But I expect you get cold.”

Blake shut the window and pulled chairs to the small gas fire; and Kit
thought his doing so characteristic. Tom was a very good sort, but he
was sober and, so to speak, rather soft.

“Why must you go back to the office on my birthday?” Mrs. Blake
inquired.

“Well, you see, I get my pay for building ships, and the _Mariposa_
will soon be waiting for her fast-steaming, anti-incrustation boiler.
Our boiler; the very latest thing of the water-tube type!”

“What is a water-tube boiler? And why are you so keen about the
_Mariposa’s_?”

“In an ordinary marine boiler the flame goes through the flues; in the
water-tube pattern the water circulates in tubes and the flame is
outside. The type has some drawbacks I mustn’t bother you about, but
it steams fast and carries a heavy pressure. Well, a foreign
government requires four small, swift, shallow boats for tropical
rivers and has ordered two; one from us, and one from the opposition
yard.”

Mrs. Blake nodded. “The _Mariposa’s_ yours; if she beats the other
boat, you will build the lot?”

“Colvin hopes we’ll do so. The rivers she’ll navigate are muddy, and
in a water-tube boiler mud is awkward. We have been forced to modify
our standard pattern, but if we get the results we expect, we reckon
on beating the other boat. The improvements cannot be patented, and in
consequence we don’t talk about our plans.”

“But if the _Mariposa_ wins, your competitors may bribe somebody to
study her boiler.”

“It’s possible,” Kit agreed. “All the same, the tubes are covered by a
casing, and if the opposition did find out something useful, we’d have
begun to build the fleet. Now you know all about it and we have done
with shipbuilding. Let’s try the new piano!”

He went to the piano and began to play. The others knew his talent,
but they thought the music strange and melancholy. Yet the air was
haunting.

“It is not piano music,” Blake remarked.

“I expect it was first written for the guitar; Spanish music’s Moorish
music. Don’t you hear the strings and the wind in the sand? Can’t you
picture the camel-dung fires in front of the black tents, and smell
the curling smoke. But I’ll try a song. It’s about the King of Spain
who lost Gibraltar, but did not lose all the fellow lost who lost his
heart. Do you hear the guitars tinkle under the lattice window?”

“I do not,” said Blake, smiling. “Still, you see, I’m not a lute
player.”

“Oh, well, the next lot’s blatantly pictorial,” said Kit and pushed
down the pedal. “Shipyard hammers! You can hear that! Now the
_Negapatam’s_ whistle calls in the smoke and fog. She steals down
river; her screw throbs steadily and stops. The pilot’s boat vanishes
and the engines beat a quicker rhythm. The dark water heaves and
splashes at the bows. She steers south for sunshine and the islands of
pearls and spice.”

He shut the piano and swung the revolving stool. “Well, the
instrument’s jolly good and I hope it will soon be yours.”

“The company stipulates for punctual payments,” Blake remarked.

“If you can stand for my bringing my fiddle and Mabel will play, I’ll
meet the next installment. I’ve got some fresh music, but my
landlady’s restive and I imagine she means to be firm.”

“Practise when you like,” said Mabel. “You have talent, Kit, and I
think you know our house is yours.”

“I know you are very kind, and Tom’s a first-class sort. When I joined
up at the yard I was raw and trustful, but he saw me through the
boiler shop and steered me past some awkward pitfalls. At the yard,
he’s old Tom and famous for his staunchness and soberness. Then when
he married I got another friend and now your house is home. Well, I
hope your birthdays will be happy and numerous. Your faithful servant,
ma’am!”

Blake’s look was rather embarrassed, but Mabel’s smile was frank and
kind. She trusted her husband and Tom was altogether her lover. Kit
admitted he had not used much reserve, but Mabel knew his sincerity,
and when he declared he was her servant he did not boast. He owed his
friends much and his habit was to pay his debts. Then Mabel turned her
head, as if she listened, and got up.

“I haven’t yet given you coffee, and I believe the stove is out. Have
you a penny, Tom?”

“Perhaps it’s strange, but I have two shillings, and I don’t know a
stove that cooks like yours,” said Kit. “To-night’s a festival. Let’s
be generous!”

“You don’t keep house,” Mabel rejoined. “So long as the stove is just,
I’m content, but sometimes I doubt.”

She took the penny, and when she went off Blake pulled out his wallet.

“My debt has bothered me, Kit, and to pay is some relief. I’m afraid I
forced you to be frugal.”

Kit left the notes alone. When Blake married he was embarrassed for
money and Kit urged him to use his.

“You must think for Mabel. I don’t want the sum.”

“Take the notes,” said Blake, and indicated the piano. “My luck has
rather obviously begun to turn.”

“I admit I wondered,” Kit remarked.

Blake lighted his pipe and knitted his brows. Kit had recently
imagined Tom’s look was careworn.

“You are entitled to inquire. Not long since I took my model to
Allinson and he was interested. In fact he was willing to help me
experiment.”

“Splendid!” said Kit, for Blake had long experimented on an
improvement for the marine oil-engine. “Allinson’s the man to make the
thing go.”

“If I’d seen him sooner, it would have helped,” Blake remarked, rather
moodily. “Anyhow, he agrees the gear will work, and since he thinks we
can get a patent, he gave me a small sum for an option. It accounts
for the piano, and my paying my debt. The notes are yours. Thank you,
Kit!”

Kit took the notes and soon afterwards Mabel carried in the coffee.
They began to talk about Blake’s invention, but by and by she asked:
“Are you going to Netherhall for your holidays, Kit?”

“I hope to get off after the _Mariposa’s_ trial run.”

Mrs. Blake smiled, a sympathetic smile. “You want to feel you go in
triumph? Well, since you made the boiler drawings, if the _Mariposa_
steams very fast, it will be something of a triumph.”

“I’d like Evelyn to know I made some progress,” Kit admitted modestly.

“You promised to show me her portrait. Have you got it?”

Kit pulled out his pocket-book and Mabel studied the photograph.
Evelyn was obviously young, and Mabel thought her attractive, but she
was not altogether satisfied. Evelyn’s mouth was ominously firm, and
one got a hint of hardness. The girl was perhaps ambitious; she was
not generous....

“She has not yet promised to marry you?”

“Not yet. Our relations know my hopes and I think, on the whole,
approve, but Evelyn is not rich and my poverty is notorious. There’s a
sort of agreement that if I make good and get a proper post, we may
talk about an engagement.”

“But are not your relations rich?”

“My uncle, Alan Carson, was accountable for my premium at the
shipyard,” Kit replied in a thoughtful voice. “He’s a very good sort,
but he’s justified to stop; then, although Netherhall’s a beautiful
old house, the estate is his wife’s. To get me a proper job is my
other uncle’s part, but, so far, I haven’t bothered him, and it does
not look as if he were very keen. Anyhow, if he does get me a post, it
will probably be abroad.”

“Ah,” said Blake, “the power your old, landowning families use is
strange! You command our battleships, you rule the Indian Civil
Service, and you marry American millionaires. But where do you expect
to go?”

Kit smiled. “The Carsons are not landlords, and belong to another lot.
We have nothing to do with India and battleships. Our business is to
hammer iron, and for the most part our investments are in Canada....”

He stopped and getting up, resumed: “Mabel’s tired; I expect you have
had enough, and I must push off for the office.”

Mabel gave him her hand, told him to come back soon, and let him go.




                              CHAPTER II

                          THE DRAWING-OFFICE


At the top of the steps to the drawing-office Kit stopped and leaned
against the rails. The building slips were occupied, and when work was
pushed ahead at night he liked to look about the yard. Smoke rolled
across the river; the tide ebbed and wet mudbanks reflected the
steelworks fires. When the flames got dim, smaller lights trembled on
the curving channel. On one side bare, skeletons of ships melted in
the gloom, and behind dark walls wheels rolled. Then sparks blew from
twinkling forges on a wooden stage and light hammers rattled like a
rifle volley.

Kit knew the rivet gang fastened the _Mariposa’s_ plates, but he must
get to work and he pulled out his key. The head draftsman, Blake, and
the night watchman had other keys. When Kit opened the door he heard
steps and somebody shouted:

“Hello, Mr. Carson!”

Kit turned and saw the boiler-shop foreman in the yard.

“When do you reckon to start us on the _Mariposa’s_ job?”

“You’ll get the drawings in a day or two,” Kit replied. “I expect
Robbins will take the plans to Colvin in the morning, and if he is
satisfied, we’ll make the blue prints. You have, no doubt, got your
orders?”

“All’s ready to shove ahead. Robbins doesn’t want the tubes to stand
in frame for folks to look at, and as soon as the joints are made
we’ll put the casing on. Well, I reckon my lot won’t talk, and nobody
but myself will handle the plans. The boat’s a pretty model and looks
as if she’d go, but our job’s to drive her, and I expect the
opposition would give something for your prints.”

“It’s possible,” Kit agreed. “All the same, I understand their boat’s
frames are up, and they have, no doubt, begun the boiler. I must get
to work at ours. Good-night, Seeley!”

He shut the door, switched on a light, and sat down. The spacious
office throbbed and when the hammers crashed the windows rattled, but
on the whole the noise was soothing. For the greater part of twelve
hours Kit had been strenuously occupied, and now for a few minutes he
could relax.

He pictured Blake and Mabel by the gas fire at the little flat,
talking about Tom’s good luck. Well, Tom deserved his luck; he was a
first-class pal, and at the beginning had helped Kit more than he
knew. Then Kit imagined for Tom to meet his household bills was hard;
his clothes were not very good and he brought his lunch to the office.
Tom, however, had Mabel, and Kit thought she justified all the
self-denial a man, for her sake, could use.

Kit pictured her shopping where food was cheap, counting the pennies
for the meter-stove, and improvising supper for her husband’s friends.
Yet she was happy. Mabel had a man’s pluck, and sometimes when Kit
thought about her he was moved. But he was not at all her lover. Mabel
was his pal’s wife and, when he was rich, he was going to marry
Evelyn. To think about it would not help and he must get his
drawing-board.

Unlocking a cupboard, he carried the board to a table and put out his
drawing instruments. The boiler was the manager’s and the head
draftsman’s job, but they did not draw the plans. They told Kit their
notions, gave him rough sketches, and allowed him to calculate
dimensions and work out details. His part was important, and he liked
to know the others trusted him. In fact, if the boiler steamed as it
ought to steam, he imagined they would frankly acknowledge his help,
and their doing so implied his getting a better post. On the whole, he
would rather stay at the yard than bother his uncle. So far, it did
not look as if his progress interested Jasper Carson.

Kit measured some tubes on the drawing and began to calculate. The
calculations were intricate, and by and by he pulled out his watch.
His brain was getting dull, and since he did not want to stop until
morning, he must brace up. He tried again and found his reckoning
accurate. The trouble was, a curved tube was rather small, and the
bend was sharp. It might check the water’s even flow and one must
allow for incrustation.

Now Kit thought about it, he had stated something like that to Colvin,
and in the first plans the tube was larger. He was persuaded the first
plans would work, but Colvin did not agree. Kit went to the cupboard
for the drawings he had made some time since, and stretching the paper
on a board, stopped and moved the light. Where he had used the
compasses another time he saw two small marks, as if somebody had used
a larger radius to sweep the curve. Kit knitted his brows; he did not
think he had lengthened the radius, but if he had done so, it would
give an easier curve. He had argued that the curve ought to be easier.

He experimented with his compass. Unless he pressed hard, its point
did not leave a mark like the other, and he was puzzled. The plans
were kept in the cupboard, and he carried the key; and for some time
nobody but Blake had gone to the office at night. Blake had nothing to
do with the boiler, and all knew him trustworthy.

Kit admitted it was possible his compass had made the mark, and he
resolved he would not bother about it. The tube must be a little
larger and the curve easier. He got his scale and a book of tables and
resumed his calculations. At length he was satisfied, and all was
ready for Robbins to approve. Kit knew Robbins would approve. For long
he had labored at the job, but the job was good. Now he was frankly
tired and, stretching his arms across the table, he let himself go
slack.

He was young and romantic, and the _Negapatam’s_ whistle had excited
his imagination. Sometimes he felt the steamer’s whistles called him
from the drawing-office and the smokey yard. He pictured the
_Mariposa_ pushing up a big calm river and the muddy wave she threw
off lapping the mangrove roots. He saw dazzling sunbeams pierce the
forest and touch tangled creepers and orchids on the rotting trunks.
The little boat stemmed the yellow flood and her boiler steamed as the
company’s boiler ought to steam.

When the boat had run her trial Kit was going for a holiday, and he
saw another picture. Evelyn, carrying a fishing rod, balanced on a
ledge by a sparkling pool. Her clothes harmonized with the lichen on
the stones, and her slender body was posed like a Greek statue. The
rod bent, and Kit, in the water, held the landing-net.

The picture melted, and another got distinct. Evelyn occupied a
hammock under the big oaks at Netherhall; Kit lay in the grass, and in
the shade water splashed. Sometimes he joked and Evelyn smiled;
sometimes he talked about the _Mariposa’s_ boiler. When one talked
about things like that Evelyn was not bored. Kit sensed in her a
practical vein, and she knew he must make his mark. Steamship whistles
did not call Evelyn, but Kit smiled, a happy smile. Her part was to
make home beautiful, and he was willing for her to curb his romantic
extravagance.

Kit straightened his bent shoulders. Unless he got on his feet, he
would soon be asleep, and he put the plans in the cupboard and locked
the door. When he got his hat the watchman came in and pushed a peg
into the clock.

“You’re going, Mr. Carson! I s’pose nobody else was in the office
since I was round?”

“I was alone. Why do you want to know?”

“Mr. Robbins’s orders was, if anybody but you and Mr. Blake came back
at night, I must report.”

Kit smiled and went down the steps. Old Robbins used some caution, but
he ought to know his men. All the same, since the boiler’s advantages
could not be patented, perhaps caution was justified.

In the morning Kit carried the plans to the head draftsman’s table,
and for a time Robbins measured and calculated. Then he said: “You
have used a longer radius for the intake tube’s curve. In fact, to
some extent, you have gone back to our original notion.”

“That is so,” Kit agreed. “The water must circulate freely.”

Robbins smiled. “You’re an obstinate young fellow. I know you liked
the first plan, but I begin to think you logical.”

He used his scale, and Kit thought about the mark on the other
drawing. His experiment with his compass did not banish all doubt, and
he admitted he was obstinate. Obsessed by the advantage of a flowing
curve, he had perhaps unconsciously tried a longer radius. Then
Robbins looked up.

“Well, I believe all is right, and if Colvin agrees, we’ll make the
prints and templates for the shops. The job’s good, and if the
_Mariposa_ beats the other boat, I’ll see your part is known. I rather
think Colvin studies you, and when a young man’s wanted for a good
post his word carries weight.”

Kit went back to his table and took his tools from a drawer. Pulling
about some at the bottom, he saw a small worn eraser he knew was not
his, for the rubber was not the stuff the company’s draftsmen used.
Blake, however, was fastidious and liked another sort. Kit imagined
Tom had left the piece on his board, or perhaps he had carelessly
carried off Tom’s. He put the thing in his pocket and got to work.

The plans were sent to the shops and the boiler was built. The steamer
was launched, and one morning Kit climbed to a stage by the waterside.
Fifty yards off, the _Mariposa_ rode at a mooring buoy and a number of
important gentlemen had gone on board. The current went up river, and
oily black eddies revolved along the mud-bank’s edge, but the tide was
not yet full and for an hour or two large steamers would not come up
the channel.

By contrast with the murky water, dark sheds, smoke, and cinder heaps,
the _Mariposa_ was spotlessly clean. Her low hull was finely moulded,
and the long shade-deck overhead followed her rail’s bold curve.
Tapered masts and slanted funnel harmonized with the flowing lines
below. But for her brown teak deckhouse and the black clothes and
green and gold uniforms of the group by a door, all on board was
white; Kit thought her beautiful. Moreover, she looked speedy.

A bell rang, a little smoke curled from the funnel, and Kit pulled out
his watch. The fires were lighted and since the foreign government
stipulated that the boiler must steam fast, he must know when steam
was up. The smoke was thin and indistinct, and he saw the combustion
was good. So far, all went well, but to wait was hard and he lighted a
cigarette. A very small defect would spoil the trial, and one could
not altogether guard against another’s carelessness. Workmen were
human.

After a time, steam blew from a pipe and stopped. The mooring chains
splashed, a bell rang, and the engines began to throb. Foam tossed
about the screw and the _Mariposa_ leaped ahead. Her bows lifted and
rode on a muddy wave. The wave sank, and re-forming at her rounded
stern, broke and trailed away in a long, eddying wake. Small, angry
rollers splashed against the mud and Kit’s heart beat. Steam was up
before the stipulated time and the boat’s speed was good, but the
harbor commissioners’ rules were stern and the engineers dared not yet
let her go. When she reached open water, all on board would
acknowledge he and Robbins had made a first-class job. After a few
minutes the _Mariposa_ vanished round a curve and Kit returned to his
drawing-table.

In the afternoon he was called to the manager’s office. Two or three
directors were in the room, and one said: “You are Jasper Carson’s
relation?”

Kit said Jasper was his uncle, and the director nodded.

“Then, it looks as if you had inherited some of his qualities. Mr.
Robbins declares your help was useful, and perhaps you’ll be glad to
know the boiler does all we claim, and the boat is nearly a knot
faster than the buyers stipulated. Stick to your job and by and by you
may get a better. Our rule is to push on a keen man.”

“There’s another thing, Carson,” said the manager. “I have given the
cashier some orders—you can take it for a mark of the company’s
appreciation.”

Kit, with something of an effort, replied politely, and went off. His
heart beat and the blood came to his skin. He was young and triumph
carried a thrill.




                             CHAPTER III

                              NETHERHALL


Bleak moors, seamed by dark gullies, enclose Netherdale, and a river,
leaping from the peat, breaks on whinstone ledges and plunges into
alder-shaded pools. Where the valley widens, larch woods roll up the
slopes and Netherhall and its oaks occupy a flat round which the water
curves. The house is old and dignified, and belonged to Mrs. Alan
Carson. The Carsons were ironmasters, but when Alan married he sold
his foundry. For some time the business had not prospered, and Alan
was glad to let it go. He was cautious and hesitating, and when he
faced obstacles he went another way. As a rule, since his marriage,
the way was Mrs. Carson’s way.

Four or five hours after Kit left the shipyard, he sat in the grass at
Netherhall by Evelyn Haigh’s basket chair. He smoked a cigarette and
sometimes he talked, but for the most part he was content to look
about and study Evelyn. The picture was attractive. For a background,
old oaks, tufted by shaggy moss, rolled down to the stream. The leaves
were touched by the coppery gleams that mark the oak when summer is
young, and blue shadows lurked among the trunks.

Evelyn’s clothes were white, but her shady hat and her belt were
yellow. Her hair was black; her face was small, rather thin and finely
molded. She was lightly built and her pose was graceful, but her mouth
was firm and sometimes her look was calculating. Kit, however, did not
notice things like that.

He rested his back against a tree and let himself go slack. The
afternoon was hot, and but for the splash of the river, all was quiet.

“You look tired, Kit,” Evelyn remarked.

“I expect I’m lazy. All the same, at the office we were pretty
strenuously occupied, and I was keen about the boiler. Now the boat
has run her trial, I feel I’m entitled to relax, and when one wants to
loaf I don’t know a better spot than Netherhall.”

Evelyn agreed. Slanted sunbeams pierced the shade and touched
springing fern and the velvet grass where rabbits fed. Outside the
thin wood, a lily-pool in the wide lawn reflected dazzling light, and
the sun was on the old house’s front. The stone was stained by
lichens, and yellow roses climbed the wall. One smelt flowers and
heard the languid hum of bees.

“But the boat’s steaming fast was your triumph,” Evelyn resumed. “Then
did you not get a reward?”

“I got fifty pounds a year extra pay and thought myself fortunate!”

“The company is not very generous,” said Evelyn, and laughed.
“Sometimes I feel your part, like mine, is rather a joke. You labor at
the shipyard for ridiculous pay, but when you visit at Netherhall you
fish and shoot and drive expensive cars. Your aunt and my mother rule
the dale, but when nobody is about we use stern economy. You don’t,
Kit——” She stopped, and touching the little yellow jewel on her neck,
resumed: “In fact, I feel you’re rashly extravagant.”

“To buy keen satisfaction is not extravagant, and when I see you wear
my present I know the investment’s sound. Anyhow, Mrs. Haigh would not
allow me to give you a ring.”

Evelyn blushed. Kit was not her acknowledged lover, and Mrs. Haigh
declared that before they talked about his marrying Evelyn he must be
able to support a wife.

“Mother is very firm, but I think we’ll let it go. Well, if you are
not extravagant, you certainly are generous. You sister wanted a
wrist-watch, and she has got the watch!”

“Oh, well. Not long since, a pal at the yard paid his debt, and since
I didn’t expect to be paid, I thought I was entitled to use the
money.”

“I don’t know if you’re logical, Kit. If you did not expect to be
paid, why did you lend?”

“As a rule, I hate to be logical,” Kit rejoined. “You see, Tom’s pay
is small and the girl he wanted to marry lost her post and could not
get another. She had no home and her savings melted. Then relations in
New Zealand sent money for her ticket and urged her to join them; but
if she went it looked as if she must go for good....” Kit stopped and
resumed in a thoughtful voice: “Sometimes one must take a plunge, and
Mabel’s pluck was fine. She married Tom, and although their fight was
hard, now he’s patenting a useful invention, I think their troubles
are over.”

“Ah,” said Evelyn, “perhaps pluck is the greatest quality! So long as
one is not afraid, one is not tempted to shabbiness; but after all,
the risk your friends ran was daunting, and I’m not very brave.”

Kit’s mouth got tight. Evelyn’s color came and went, and he knew she
was moved. She, like him, was young, and passion and adventure called.
Perhaps, if he used a strong effort he might carry her away. For all
that, Kit knew he must not do so. He did not see Evelyn happy at a
flat like Blake’s, and to picture her saving the pennies for the stove
was ridiculous. Besides, he had agreed that he must get a proper post.

“Oh, well,” he said, “I expect Tom’s luck was rather remarkable, and
his plunge might have cost him and Mabel much. Besides, we agreed we
would not be rash.”

Evelyn gave him a strange look, and he doubted if she altogether
approved his resignation. To know he had taken the proper line was not
much comfort. Then Evelyn smiled.

“What did you buy for yourself? Since you got the money, I expect you
bought something,” she said in a careless voice.

Kit played up. “I bought a fiddle bow at a second-hand shop. A pretty
good example of a fine old maker’s workmanship. In fact, I think the
dealer didn’t know the treasure he had.”

“Then, you did not enlighten him?” said Evelyn, and laughed. “I like
to feel you can sometimes conquer your scruples. But suppose the
dealer was cleverer than you thought? Don’t they fake old fiddle
bows?”

“I’m a shipyard draftsman, and you don’t cheat a fellow who uses
scientific tools.”

“It’s possible,” Evelyn agreed. “At all events, I imagine one does not
cheat your Uncle Jasper.”

Kit looked up. An old gentleman crossed the grass and stopped a few
yards off. Jasper Carson was tall and thin. His hair and brows were
white, and his face was lined. His dress was careless and his look, as
a rule, ironically humorous, but one got a hint of force. He gave
Evelyn a rather baffling smile and said to Kit:

“Loafing after your recent efforts?”

“My efforts were pretty strenuous, sir. Then, on a summer afternoon,
loafing has some charm.”

Jasper’s glance rested on Evelyn. His look was inscrutable, but Kit
thought hers got harder, as if she knew him antagonistic.

“In the circumstances, perhaps it’s justifiable. You may think my
statement strange, Miss Haigh, but long ago I was romantic, and when
the days were golden we studied Tennyson. His verses harmonized with
old English houses and ancestral trees, but the oaks at Netherhall are
not the Carsons’ oaks and will certainly not be Kit’s. Harry’s claim
is first and his type’s the landlord type.”

Evelyn sensed a sneer. Harry Ledward was Mrs. Carson’s relation.

“Tennyson is out-of-date, and we are modern,” she rejoined. “Kit
talked about a steamship boiler and I was not bored.”

“Kit’s an optimist,” Jasper remarked, and turned to his nephew. “The
_Mariposa_ made a first-class trial run, but perhaps you ought to wait
until the other boat has steamed across the measured marks.”

“I’m not anxious. The other boat’s no doubt a good boat, but she has
not our boiler. In the meantime, it’s not important, and although you
banter me about loafing, it doesn’t look as if you were very much
engaged.”

“Netherhall is soothing,” Jasper agreed. “Still I’m not altogether
slack. Sometimes I ponder and sometimes I plan.”

He went off, and Kit’s eyes twinkled. “Jasper’s plans work, and his
obvious duty is to plan for me. All the same, if he wants to send me
to Canada, I doubt if I’ll go. He has much to do with Canadian
engineering and bridge-building works, but I’m satisfied to stop in
the Old Country.”

“He’s your friend; I doubt if he is mine,” said Evelyn. “I like Alan
Carson better.”

“Alan is a very good sort, but when you doubt Jasper you exaggerate.
All who know you are your friends.”

“I wonder——” said Evelyn in a thoughtful voice. “But, if you’re not
too languid, let’s go to the waterside and see where the big trout
rise.”

Kit got up and they went to the river, but he felt the tranquillity he
had enjoyed was gone. Although he declared Evelyn exaggerated, Jasper
had disturbed the brooding calm.

In the evening Kit leaned against the terrace wall and tuned a violin.
The long drawing-room window was open, and his sister, Agatha, struck
a note on the piano. The evening was hot and the light had begun to
go. One smelt wet grass and flowers touched by dew. In the gloom the
river throbbed.

Evelyn, Mrs. Haigh, and Mrs. Carson occupied a bench. Mrs. Haigh was
short, alert and resolute. Her lips were thin, and when she pondered
her mouth got tight. Although she was rather important at Netherdale,
she was not rich. Mrs. Carson was tall and dignified. She sprang from
old land-owning stock; Netherhall was hers, and she ruled her husband.
Alan Carson, on the terrace steps, smoked a cigar. His skin was red,
he was rather fat, and dully urbane. Since his marriage he was
satisfied to potter about his wife’s small estate.

“The Spanish fellow’s music,” said Kit, going to the window. “Try to
follow me; I mayn’t stick to the score.”

Agatha struck a few notes and Kit’s bow touched the strings. He used
double stops and the strange chords disturbed Evelyn. When the chords
melted in melancholy arpeggios she set her mouth. She felt the man who
stopped the strings was a man she did not know, and she liked to think
she knew her lover. She was very quiet. All were quiet, for Kit’s
playing on the terrace was justified. The music was not for the
Victorian drawing-room, but it harmonized with the dark woods and
throbbing river. By and by Kit turned to the others and laughed.

“Well? Do you like it?”

“I do not,” said Mrs. Carson. “What did you play?”

“A Spanish muleteer’s song, but I expect the air was known in the
desert before the Moors conquered Spain and the singers were vagabond
Bedouin. The people who built Netherhall and planted the oaks would
not have much use for music like that.”

“I expect that is so,” Mrs. Carson agreed, and added meaningly: “Your
business is to build ships.”

“Oh, well,” said Kit, “the strongest ships we build are soon out of
date, but Netherhall has stood for three hundred years. In the morning
the Bedouin strikes his tent and drives his camels to another well.
The muleteer loads up his wine-skins and takes the road. He has no
house; I dare say the mules are a moneylender’s, and all he owns he
wears. All the same, he sings and sometimes he dances....” He signed
his sister. “Let’s try the Sevillana.”

Agatha touched the piano and Kit began to play. He plucked the
strings, and when he used the bow the double stops rang like
harmonized guitars. Evelyn felt moved to dance and calm was rather
hard. The music was exotic and marked by a touch of melancholy, but it
fired her blood. As a rule, she hated to be moved, and she wanted Kit
to stop. By and by he did so and carried his violin to the
drawing-room.

“Thank you, Agatha; they have had enough,” he said, and laughed a
careless laugh. “I don’t know about my playing, but the bow I bought
is good. A straight stick and a fine spring; the old Frenchman knew
his job.”

Agatha Carson came down the iron steps. She was tall and went quietly,
but she was sister at a famous hospital, and her calm carried a hint
of command.

“Your composer’s mood is strange, Kit,” she said.

“I expect his mood was his ancestors’ mood and they were romantic
vagabonds. You get a sense of a sombre background, but it did not
bother them. They owned nothing; so long as they could sing and dance,
they did not want much. Perhaps their philosophy was sound.”

“It is not our philosophy, and poverty is not a joke,” Mrs. Haigh
remarked.

“To see the joke implies some pluck,” Kit agreed. “Spaniards and Moors
are fatalists; but I expect you feel one ought to be resigned. One
ought to fight for all one can get?”

“The Anglo-Saxons are gatherers and builders,” Mrs. Carson observed.
“Our aim is permanence and stability. The things we get we make
better. For example, Netherdale was a dreary bog, but we turned the
floods by dykes; we drained and planted and built——”

“Your work stands,” said Jasper Carson. “Netherdale’s a noble
monument, but it cost three hundred years’ effort. Something of a
job!”

Evelyn looked up, for she had not heard Jasper arrive. He leaned
against the wall and smiled, but she knew his humor was generally
stern.

“Sometimes the Anglo-Saxons used another plan; they took the goods
others gathered,” he resumed. “At the beginning Frisians and Danes
sharpened their battle-axes and drove the long galleys for the Humber
and the Wash. In later days their descendants steered for the Spanish
Main. The tradition is, Netherhall folk bought ships, and although
they carried little abroad, they brought rich cargoes back. Perhaps
Kit is their type; I doubt if he’s a gatherer.”

“Kit does not spring from Netherhall stock,” said Mrs. Carson.

“It is rather evident,” Jasper agreed.

Alan looked up, as if he were annoyed. “All the same, he’s my nephew
and when he’s not at the ship-yard Netherhall’s his home.” He gave Kit
a friendly touch. “You know that, my lad!”

“I have known it since I knew you, sir.”

“Oh, well,” said Alan, “when people philosophize I get bored and I
think I’ll go for a drink. Are you coming, Jasper?”

Jasper remained, and by and by Mrs. Haigh and Mrs. Carson went to the
house.

“Alan is not a philosopher; he’s a country gentleman,” Jasper remarked
and gave Agatha a smile. “Mrs. Carson’s rules are not yours and
Kit’s?”

“Ah,” said Agatha, “some get, but some must give.”

“At the shipyard one does not get much,” said Kit. “Unless they soon
promote me, I think I’ll start off with my fiddle, like the old
minstrels.”

“Your talent for music was your mother’s gift,” Jasper remarked. “The
Carsons hammer iron, and to use the hammer hardens one. Perhaps Agatha
has inherited something of the vein; I don’t yet know about you.”

He and Agatha went off, and Evelyn knitted her brows.

“You are rather puzzling, Kit, and your uncle’s very queer.”

“He’s a grim old fellow, but we won’t bother about him,” Kit replied
and put his arm round her.

“Oh, Kit, you ought not——” said Evelyn, and looked about.

Kit said nothing. He laughed and kissed Evelyn.




                              CHAPTER IV

                               THE CALL


For a week, Kit was happy at Netherhall.

Although he liked to joke and sometimes music carried him away, he had
sober ambitions. Kit was modest, but his modesty was not exaggerated
and he thought his efforts to some extent accounted for the
_Mariposa’s_ doing all her builders claimed. Then, although frankness
was not Jasper Carson’s habit, he owned himself satisfied. Mrs. Carson
was gracious, and Kit thought it important that Mrs. Haigh left him
and Evelyn alone.

Ledward’s arrival, however, annoyed Kit. Ledward was Mrs. Carson’s
relation and rather a handsome fellow, but he began to get fat and Kit
thought him sleek. Although he had not much money, he was not forced
to follow an occupation, and when town bored him he visited at
Netherhall. At Oxford he was famous for his scholarship and debating
skill; his talk was interesting and he was an accomplished
philanderer. In fact, there was the trouble, since Kit imagined Harry
tried to interest Evelyn. For all that, so long as the trout fishing
was good, Kit did not bother. Evelyn was a sport, but to wade about
angry pools and crawl under branches had not much charm for Harry.

Kit and Evelyn returned one afternoon from an excursion to a tarn some
distance off, and although Kit’s basket was not full his mood was
buoyant. They had caught some trout and picnicked on the moor. After
the noisy shipyard, the spaciousness and calm were bracing, and Evelyn
was kinder than Kit had known. When they reached the gate at
Netherhall they saw a group about the tea-table under a copper beech
on the lawn, and Kit pulled out his watch.

“Four o’clock. Did you know?”

Evelyn did know, but she saw Kit did not.

“When one is happily engaged, one does not . bother about the time,”
she said and smiled. “Until the sun got bright, the trout rose nobly.”

“Ah,” said Kit, “I did not bother about the trout. So long as you were
not bored, I was content to loaf and talk.”

“One can talk on the lawn,” Evelyn remarked.

“That is so. The drawback is, when one finds a quiet, shady spot
somebody arrives. In fact, I begin to feel Harry, so to speak, is
ubiquitous, but he has not much use for the climb to the tarn. Then to
see the shadows sweep the hills and hear the wind in the heather was
worth some effort. The day was glorious. Let’s go back in the
morning?”

Evelyn shook her head. “You don’t know where to stop, Kit, and
greediness is rash. If you got another day, it might not be glorious.
But the others see us, and I want some tea.”

They crossed the grass and Kit threw down his creel by Mrs. Carson’s
chair and pushed back his cap. His unconscious pose was firm and
somewhat alert; his eyes sparkled joyously. Agatha thought him vivid;
it was perhaps the proper word, but her calm glance got disturbed. She
knew much about pain and suffering, and Kit could not escape man’s
common inheritance. So far, he was marked by a careless happiness, but
he must face trouble, and she wondered. Mrs. Haigh studied Evelyn, but
saw nothing to account for Kit’s satisfaction. Evelyn’s look was
rather tired.

“Was the fishing good?” Mrs. Carson asked.

“Pretty good,” said Kit, and opened his basket.

“Troutlings! The best is hardly four ounces,” Ledward remarked. “You
are a queer fellow, Kit. When there are big fish in a pool three
hundred yards off, you climb the moor for things like these.”

“The tarn is a long way off; perhaps that accounts for it. I expect
you don’t know the satisfaction going somewhere gives. Then the peat
water was amber and silver, the yellow bent-grass shone, and the moors
melted into glorious blue. Sunshine, line and color! When you get all
that, you don’t bother about fish.”

“Evelyn waits for some tea, and you might give me your cup,” said Mrs.
Carson. “A telegram for you arrived two or three hours ago. Perhaps
you ought to see what it is about.”

Kit sat down and when he tore open the envelope he frowned.

“They want me at the office. I must report to Colvin, the manager, at
ten o’clock in the morning, and he does not apologize for bothering
me. If I dared refuse, I wouldn’t go.”

“Perhaps they want you to design a liner,” Ledward remarked.

“The telegram does not indicate anything like that, but the fellow
states he expects me to be there. Politeness would cost an extra
twopence; they’re a parsimonious lot,” said Kit, and turned to Mrs.
Carson. “Well, I suppose I must get the evening train. May I use the
car?”

Mrs. Carson agreed, and soon afterwards Kit drove to the station. When
he reached the town at the river mouth, he pulled out his watch, and
after pondering for a few moments, started for Blake’s flat.

The night was hot, shipyard and steel works smoke floated across the
grimy houses, and the street was crowded. After the spacious moors and
the calm at Netherhall, the noisy traffic jarred; Kit shrank from the
smell of stale fish by the dark shops, and when he was stopped by the
crowd coming from a glittering music hall he frowned. He had not
bothered about things like that before, but he admitted he was
annoyed. His glorious day had not ended as he had thought, and the
manager’s call was ominous. Blake, however, might know something about
it, and Kit pushed savagely through the noisy groups that blocked the
pavement.

When he got to the flat, Blake was not at home. Mrs. Blake said he had
gone to a seaport where a dredger the company had built was at work.
She forced Kit to stay for supper and he remarked that her appetite
was not good. She pushed the plates about nervously, and he thought
her highly strung. When the meal was over, she rested her arms on the
table and with something of an effort faced Kit.

“Now we must talk about the telegram. You don’t know what Colvin
wants?”

“I’m altogether in the dark,” Kit replied.

Mrs. Blake’s glance was searching, but he knew she did not doubt him.

“Then, I can give you some light. The opposition boat has run her
trial and has beaten yours. She is half a knot faster, but that is not
all. She gets up steam in a shorter time.”

“It’s awkward,” said Kit, and frowned, for the news disturbed him.
“Fast steaming’s important, but I’m puzzled. Our boiler’s famous, and
we reckoned we had adapted it to the job. Robbins declared it would
beat the other.”

“Perhaps he didn’t boast. Mr. Colvin reckons the other people’s
draftsman knew the improvements you had made, and used your plans.”

“By George!” said Kit, and clenched his fist. “But it’s impossible! We
locked up the plans, and nobody but men we trust saw the boiler in the
erecting shop.”

“You don’t yet see!” said Mrs. Blake in a trembling voice. “Colvin
claims somebody at the drawing office copied the plans.”

“His notion’s ridiculous!” Kit declared, with a laugh, although the
laugh was forced. “Colvin ought to know a respectable shipbuilding
company doesn’t bribe another’s servants. Besides, he ought to know
nobody at the office would take a bribe.”

“All the same, he’s convinced your competitors got the plans. Tom was
in his private room for half an hour. Colvin was furious——”

Kit set his mouth. The thing was awkward, but he saw Mabel waited and
he felt she expected him to be frank.

“One sympathizes with Colvin, but he’s a fool. Old Robbins is
altogether trustworthy and was at the yard when the company was
floated. If we leave him out, only Tom and I could get at the
drawings.”

“Colvin argued like that, Kit. There’s the trouble!”

“Now I do see,” said Kit, in a hoarse voice, and looked at Mabel hard.

Her face got red, and then her color went. Kit thought she blushed for
her husband, and he knew her afraid. She pulled straight the
tablecloth and pushed back a plate. Her pose was stiff but her hands
shook.

“Only you and Tom,” she said. “It’s rather horrible, Kit!”

For a minute or two Kit was quiet and he looked about the room.
Although the furniture and ornaments were cheap, they had cost stern
self-denial. Mabel loved her home and to let it go would hurt, but if
Blake were forced to leave the office, they could not stay at the
flat. Tom would not get another post and to reckon on his invention’s
supporting him was rash. Kit saw Mabel doubted Tom, but although he
thought her ashamed, she was somehow resolute. Kit was sorry for her
and humiliated for his friend.

Brooding unhappily, he saw a fresh light, and thought he could account
for Mabel’s resolution. In fact, he wondered whether he had not been
very dull. Perhaps she was entitled to think for her husband; but
suppose she soon must think for another? A woman’s instinct was to
fight for her child. Unconsciously he looked up. Mrs. Blake blushed
and turned her head, and he knew his supposition accurate. Kit’s mouth
got very tight. If the company had been cheated, Mabel must not pay.

“When will Tom be back?” he inquired.

Mrs. Blake said she did not expect him for two or three days; the
dredger’s machinery did not work properly, and Tom and a foreman must
find out the defect. Kit got up, and although the effort was hard, he
smiled.

“Since Colvin gave Tom an important job, he obviously does not think
he copied the plans. When he knew our boat was beaten he got savage
and felt he must hit out, but he’s not a bad sort, and when I see him
in the morning I expect to put all straight. Anyhow, you mustn’t
bother. Colvin will soon admit Tom is not the man.”

Mrs. Blake gave him her hand, hesitated for a moment, and then let him
go. The door shut, but the panels were thin, and Kit, in the passage,
heard uneven steps and a chair crack. Then a plate jarred and he knew
Mrs. Blake had thrown herself down in the chair and stretched her arms
across the table. Kit pictured her bent head and her slack body.
Sometimes perhaps he indulged his imagination, but he knew the picture
accurate, and his look got stern.

When he reached his lodgings he lighted his pipe and reflected with
grim humor that one ought not to talk about a glorious day until the
day was gone. All the same, it was not important, and he pondered
moodily. To begin with, Blake had paid his debt and stated he was
sorry he had not taken his model to Allinson before. Moreover, the
money he gave Kit had melted, and Kit imagined his relations at
Netherhall had remarked his extravagance.

Tom stayed late at the office, and sometimes Kit went across to the
boiler shop. Then somebody left an eraser on Kit’s drawing-board, and
the eraser was Tom’s. Kit recaptured other incidents he now thought
significant, and weighing the evidence carefully, knew his friend
condemned. The trouble was, Tom’s wife must bear his punishment. Their
relations were poor and shipbuilding was very slack. Tom would not get
another post and his invention might carry him nowhere. If the engine
worked, somebody would use his model, and Tom and Allinson must
enforce their claims. A dispute about a patent was a slow and
expensive business. Then before shipbuilders tried the machine some
time must go.

Kit refused to picture Mabel and her baby in the streets. Yet the
company had been cheated, and somebody must pay. He was not going to
think about his relations; they must take the knock, but it looked as
if he had not thought much for Evelyn. Well, it was done with. He had
promised to put all straight, and his word went. Evelyn knew him, and
he had not thought they could marry for some time. He was young, and
if he could not get a post in England, he must emigrate. In the
Dominions an engineer was a useful man.

Kit knocked out his pipe, stretched his arms as if he were tired, and
resolved to go to bed. Now he thought about it, he was tired, and his
brain was dull, but he began to see his line, and that was something.
He went to bed and was soon asleep.




                              CHAPTER V

                             KIT PLAYS UP


At ten o’clock in the morning, Kit went quietly into the manager’s
office. Perhaps it was strange, for until he talked to Mrs. Blake he
had not faced a crisis, but he was calm. His rather boyish
carelessness had vanished; his glance was steady and his step firm.

The chair Colvin gave him faced the window. Kit had expected something
like that, and had thought to be embarrassed, but he was not.
Meredith, the director who had talked to him about Jasper Carson,
Colvin and Robbins, the head draftsman, occupied chairs at the table.
Kit waited.

He had undertaken to see Mrs. Blake out, and he meant to do so, but
the game was intricate. To clear Blake was all he wanted; he was not
forced to entangle himself. To convict him was the company’s business.

For a moment or two he studied the others. Robbins was rather
embarrassed, the manager’s look was grim, and Meredith, in the shadow,
rested his face on his hand. Kit thought the old fellow’s arriving at
ten o’clock significant. Although it looked as if Colvin wanted a
victim, Kit imagined Meredith would be just.

“You are punctual, Carson. I don’t know if I altogether expected you,”
Colvin remarked, meaningly.

Meredith looked up, as if he did not approve, and Kit’s eyes sparkled.

“My habit is to be punctual, sir.”

“I don’t know an occasion when Carson was not up to time,” said
Robbins, and Kit thought him glad to urge something in his favor.

“Very well,” Colvin resumed, fixing his eyes on Kit. “I expect you
know why I called you to the office?”

“Until I saw Mrs. Blake, I did not know.”

“I doubt if Mrs. Blake was entitled to inform you,” Colvin rejoined.
“Well, when we got to work at the _Mariposa’s_ boiler, you approved
the first plan. In fact, you claimed the alterations Mr. Robbins
sketched would not give as good results?”

“That is so,” said Kit, and Colvin turned to the others, as if he
wanted them to note Kit’s agreement.

“It looks as if your claim was justified. Mrs. Blake, no doubt, told
you our competitors’ boat has beaten the _Mariposa_ and they used our
boiler; but the pattern was the modified pattern we experimented with
in the original plan. The plan you preferred!”

Kit saw where the other led. Colvin plainly meant to make him
accountable.

“I suppose you have grounds to imagine the people did use our pattern,
sir?”

“Our grounds are very good,” said Colvin, dryly. “All our competitors
did not use was a fitting we patented. In fact, we are satisfied they
got our plans——” He stopped and giving Kit a steady glance, resumed:
“How did they get the plans?”

“I cannot tell you, sir.”

“Do you imply that you’re unable? Or that you’re not willing?”

Kit did not hesitate. When he arrived at the office, he saw his line,
and it did not lead to his declaring he had cheated.

“I don’t _know_,” he said quietly.

Robbins gave him a reproachful glance. “You ought to help us, Carson.
Our experiments cost the company much, and we must know whom we can
trust. Very well; only you and Blake could get at the plans, and to
make the drawings and calculations was your business. Don’t you see
you must be frank?”

“The business was mine,” Kit agreed. “When I stopped work I locked the
drawings in the cupboard.”

“Sometimes Blake was late at the office. When you were there was he
about?”

“Perhaps three or four times,” said Kit. “All the same, he was not at
my table; his is across the floor.”

“Was he at your table in the daytime?”

“So far as I remember, not when I was engaged on the boiler drawings.
Besides, when the others were at work he could not make notes and
copies.”

“I expect you see your clearing Blake implicates yourself?” Colvin
remarked.

For a moment or two Kit was quiet. He knew Meredith studied him and
Meredith knew Jasper Carson. Colvin was resolved to punish somebody,
but he had fixed on Kit only because he thought him the proper man. In
fact, Kit imagined all were willing for him to vindicate himself.
Well, Blake’s eraser was in his pocket, and when he went to the boiler
shop one evening and Tom was at the office he left his drawing-board
on the table. When he came back, he heard steps, hurried steps he
thought; but he was not going to talk about it. He had stated he did
not sell the plans.

“Something like that is evident, sir,” he said to Colvin.

“You admit it was awkward, if not impossible, for Blake to make a
copy,” Meredith remarked. “Since you see all it implies, your
frankness carries weight; and we want to be fair. Do you urge nothing
for yourself?”

“There’s nothing for me to urge, sir. I have stated I didn’t cheat
you. That’s all.”

Colvin frowned. “Very well, we must weigh the evidence we have got,
but you have not helped us much.” He looked at Meredith, and resumed:
“When we see the line we ought to take we will let you know.”

Kit went out, and when he went through the office, looked straight in
front and said nothing to the clerks. In the yard hammers beat and the
riveters’ forges glimmered among the ships. Kit was keen about
shipbuilding and had been happy at the yard; and he stopped for a
moment in front of the wicket in the big doors. He had known ambition
and had thought to make his mark, but he felt when the wicket shut it
would shut him out for good. Mechanically he turned the handle and was
in the street behind the high wall.

His train did not start for some time, and he went to Blake’s flat.
Mrs. Blake was at home; he knew she expected him, and he sat down on a
little shabby couch. Now the strain was gone he was dull and slack.
Mrs. Blake leaned against the table and he thought she trembled.

“Well?” she said.

Kit smiled. “All’s straight and my news is good. Colvin and Meredith
are satisfied Tom didn’t copy the drawings.”

“You satisfied them?” said Mrs. Blake in a hoarse voice. “Oh, Kit!”

“I wasn’t forced to use much argument. The job was mine, and Tom had
nothing to do with the boiler.”

“But you didn’t admit you sold the plans?”

“I did not,” said Kit. “All I wanted was for Colvin to see he mustn’t
suspect Tom. Who did steal the plans is another thing, and my business
is not to find out. If Colvin solves the puzzle, he’s cleverer than I
thought——”

He stopped, for although he had played up, his part was hard. It
looked as if Mabel doubted Tom, but Kit did not really know. Anyhow,
she would not let her husband down and he agreed that she ought not.

“But suppose Colvin thinks you the man? He’d refuse to take you back,”
she said.

Kit smiled, and his smile was easier, for he was now on ground he
knew.

“After all, to leave the yard would not bother me much. Shipbuilding
gets monotonous and perhaps I have a talent for music. Anyhow, I like
to play the fiddle, and when I’m in the vein, I’m not a bad clown.
Labor’s dreary and people like a joke and a merry tale; sometimes they
reward the joker. Well, I think I’ll copy the old minstrels and take
the road with my pack and lute.”

“To let a good post go is not a joke,” said Mrs. Blake. “You must
think soberly!”

“If Colvin has no more use for me, thinking won’t help, and one can be
sober when one is old. Then, if a musician’s not foolishly modest he
need not starve. A pal of mine in America got a good push off because
he could play in the band. The town didn’t pay the bandsmen, but
somebody found them soft jobs. A soft job and leisure to study the
drum or the cornet is about my mark.”

Mrs. Blake smiled. When Kit joked one was forced to smile, but tears
were near her eyes and her hands were not still.

“Oh, Kit!” she said, “your pluck is very fine!”

“I wonder——” said Kit. “On the whole, I think I’d sooner trust my
luck. But I mustn’t philosophize; I must get my train.”

Mrs. Blake gave him his hat and stopped for a moment at the door.

“Evelyn is fortunate. You are stanch and true as the steel you used,”
she said, and kissing Kit, gently pushed him out.

When the train started, Kit, in a third-class smoking compartment,
speculated about Mrs. Blake. She was a very good sort and her kiss had
braced him. He thought she knew much, and perhaps she knew all. Mabel
was not shabby, but she was a woman, and her code was a woman’s code.
Her proper part was to stick to her husband and see him out; Kit
thought she would not shrink.

Then he mused about Evelyn. Mabel declared she was fortunate but Kit
doubted. If Colvin did not take him back, Evelyn would get a nasty
knock. All the same, they were young, and Evelyn had known Jasper
would probably send him to a Canadian engineering works. Now he might
be forced to start for Canada sooner than they had thought, but since
Evelyn knew he must go, it was perhaps not important. Kit fixed on
Canada because the Carsons went to the Dominion, although he did not
think he would take Jasper’s help.

In the meantime, he resolved to say nothing. He did not yet know if
Colvin meant to dismiss him. After all, he thought the manager saw it
was possible somebody at the boiler shop had given the company’s
competitors a useful hint, and Kit reckoned on his making cautious
inquiries about the workmen. On the whole, he imagined some days might
go before Colvin saw his line, and he might admit that he was baffled.
Kit was not hopeful, but there was no use in brooding.

When he arrived at Netherhall the afternoon was hot and Mrs. Carson
and the others were on the shady terrace; but for Kit to see Evelyn
was not about was some relief.

“You are soon back,” Alan Carson remarked with a friendly smile. “I
was afraid the manager might cut short your holiday.”

“I may not get as long as I expected; I don’t know yet,” said Kit, and
Mrs. Carson looked up.

Kit’s voice was careless, but she thought carelessness cost him
something, and he frowned. Mrs. Carson knew he was not the joyous
young fellow who started for the shipyard the evening before, but she
must not yet indulge her curiosity. Then Ledward gave Kit an
interested glance.

“Well, did you get a fresh important job?”

“I did not,” Kit replied rather grimly, for he sensed a sneer. “In
fact, there was some trouble at the yard——” He turned to Mrs. Carson.
“Where is Uncle Jasper?”

Mrs. Carson said Jasper was called away by a telegram, and Kit went to
his room. He did not want to talk, and when tea was served he would
meet Evelyn. Before he did so he must brace up, and to brace up was
rather hard. If the company had no use for him, he ought perhaps to
let Evelyn go. He frankly dared not think about it, and he tried to
picture his relations’ line.

Alan Carson was kind and might sympathize; he would know Kit had not
cheated the shipyard company, but Mrs. Carson ruled her husband. She
was old-fashioned, parsimonious and conventional, and Kit imagined she
had not from the beginning approved his making Netherhall his home. At
all events, if he went to Canada, she would be resigned. Her favorite
was Harry Ledward.

Jasper was older than Alan, and Kit had thought he acknowledged his
nephew’s claim, but he was inscrutable and marked by baffling humor.
His word went, and people reckoned Jasper rich. Kit did not see his
line, but he thought he saw Mrs. Haigh’s.

Kit knew her frugal, calculating and ambitious. In fact, he had
thought her allowing him to cultivate Evelyn strange. If he lost his
post, he was persuaded she would force her daughter to break her
conditional engagement, and Evelyn dared not rebel. Mrs. Haigh was
firm. On the whole, Kit admitted she would be justified and he must
agree.

He got up and went to the window. A servant carried tea to a table at
a shady spot and he must go down.




                              CHAPTER VI

                          KIT TAKES A KNOCK


Although much rain falls at Netherdale, three or four days after Kit’s
return were fine, and he seized all the opportunity for enjoyment the
good weather gave. When the west wind curled the tarn Evelyn and he
went fishing; when the water shone like glass and motionless silver
clouds dotted the tranquil sky they picnicked in the heather, and Kit
felt he got nearer Evelyn than he had yet got. Sometimes she had
baffled him, and he sensed a reserve he could not break. Now she was
kind and frank.

For all that, he knew his mood was reckless and he doubted if he were
honest. He felt like a gambler betting on a chance he could not
estimate; he risked much, and if he lost he must pay. Moreover, for
him to lose might cost Evelyn something; but he felt she would brace
up. Kit knew she was not altogether romantic; he had remarked in her a
shrewdly practical vein. Anyhow, the splendid days were going, and he
resolved to take all they gave.

In fine weather, tea was served on the lawn at Netherhall, and Kit one
afternoon joined the group round the table under a tree. The soft
patter of the leaves was soothing and one heard the river splash. Kit,
sitting on a mossy bank, languidly looked about. Evelyn’s dress and
shady hat were white, but her hair was black. Kit saw her face in
profile and thought it cut the dark green background like a delicate
cameo. His sister faced him; Agatha’s skin was white and her clothes
were blue. One remarked her calm and quiet dignity. Mrs. Carson’s thin
face was rather pinched, and her clothes were old-fashioned, but
somehow one knew her important. Alan Carson’s red face harmonized with
his rough, belted coat and knickerbockers. He was obviously a country
gentleman; one knew that was all. Jasper and Ledward were in the
shadow, and Kit thought the old fellow exotic; his was another type.

In the background, flower borders, smooth grass, pastures, and shady
woods rolled down the valley to a blue and indistinct sweep of plain.
Kit felt the group and the landscape harmonized. The people were the
sort of people one reckoned to meet at an old-fashioned country house.
All but Jasper were marked by a cultivated serenity, and the serenity
had charm. Yet Kit knew they were not his sort, and he doubted if they
were Jasper’s. On a summer holiday he liked to be at Netherhall, but
his business was where men sweated by the furnaces and engines
throbbed. Then perhaps it was significant that Jasper’s chair was
outside the circle.

“You were not back for lunch, Kit,” said Mrs. Carson. “Were you
fishing?”

“The water was low and I went across the moor to Swinside Pike. At the
cairn I loafed and smoked. The heather was soft, the moor was red and
the sky was very blue. In the distance the sea shone and I thought
about the shipyard. On the whole, I was glad it was a long way off.”

“But you are a shipbuilder and must soon go back.”

Kit smiled. “You don’t indulge me much! At the cairn I tried to see
myself ruling an estate like Netherhall, and the picture was
attractive. After the shipyard, to get up when I wanted and go
shooting would be something fresh.”

“A landlord’s main occupation is to meet his bills,” Alan Carson
remarked. “The politicians sacrifice us to the manufacturers. They
want cheap food and low wages. Our part’s to pay the taxes.”

“Food is not cheap,” said Jasper. “You’re monopolists, and although
you ought to pay, you don’t pay all you ought. When iron goes up,
smelting companies build new furnaces and increased production cuts
the price. When corn goes up you can’t enlarge your farms; at all
events, you don’t. You’d like to stop competition and take your
profit.” He turned and gave Kit a smile. “You’re not the landlord type
and your chance of getting an estate is not good. It looks as if you
must stick to your proper business.”

“I must try, sir, but that’s another thing. Draftsmen are rather
numerous and shipbuilding is slack. Suppose the company lets me down?
Do you think you could get me a Canadian post?”

“It’s possible. Do you expect the company to let you down?”

“One doesn’t know when one’s luck may turn. Then sometimes I’m
ambitious, and ambitious Carsons go to Canada.”

“I don’t think Kit bothers where he goes. So long as he starts, he’s
satisfied,” Evelyn remarked.

“Oh, well,” said Kit, rather moodily, “if you’re resigned to go when
you’re forced to go, it’s something.”

Mrs. Haigh gave him a keen glance, and began to talk, but Kit was
quiet. The afternoon was hot and one got languid. Moreover, the post
would soon arrive, and he was anxious.

By and by a servant carrying some letters crossed the grass, and Mrs.
Carson gave Kit an envelope. He knew the company’s stamp, and when he
pulled out the letter his hand shook. Then for a few moments he looked
straight in front.

“Have the shipyard people called you back?” Ledward inquired, and
picked up a slip of paper. “You dropped something; it looks like a
check.”

“Thanks!” said Kit, and pushing the crumpled check into his pocket,
turned to the others. “I’m not going back. The letter states the
directors have no more use for me.”

Although his heart beat he was cool. He saw the blood come to Evelyn’s
skin, and then she turned her head. Agatha’s glance was steady, and
Kit knew her stanch. He thought Mrs. Haigh pondered; Mrs. Carson was
frankly annoyed.

“You’re rather theatrical, Kit, but perhaps you’d like to tell us
something more,” said Jasper, and beckoned Alan. “Let’s go for a
smoke.”

They crossed the grass to another bench, and Kit leaned against a tree
a few yards off. Alan awkwardly stuffed his pipe, and Kit saw he was
disturbed. Jasper’s look was inscrutable, and he gave Kit a cigarette.
Kit gave him the letter, and Jasper nodded.

“The secretary knows the rules. The company does not require your
services and he encloses a check for a month’s pay! Well, the
communication does not carry us very far.”

“There’s his check!” said Kit, and tore the form. “Perhaps I’m
extravagant, but I don’t see myself using their money.”

“Sometimes to let yourself go is expensive,” Jasper remarked.
“However, I imagined you were going to give us your confidence.”

Kit frowned and his pose got stiff. The lines of his athletic body
were youthful, but he faced the others steadily and his look was
stern. Alan was puzzled. He knew Kit’s cheerful carelessness, and had
thought to see him embarrassed, but the lad was marked by something of
Jasper’s calm. In fact, he looked like Jasper. Kit narrated his
interview with Colvin and Meredith. He saw Jasper was interested, but
that was all, and when he stopped the old fellow lighted a cigarette.

“Since it looks as if the company’s competitors copied the boiler, I
rather think Colvin’s annoyance is logical. You declared you had
nothing to do with it?”

“That is so, sir. I was some time at the yard, and I thought Colvin
ought to know me.”

“A big company’s manager does not take much for granted. You were
content with a plain denial? You did not try to indicate who was
accountable?”

Kit hesitated. He had said nothing about Blake and did not mean to do
so, but Jasper was very keen, and Kit saw he noted his hesitation.

“I don’t know, sir. Besides, it’s possible the plans were not copied.”

“Colvin does not seem to doubt,” said Jasper dryly. “You were rather
generous not long since!”

“It looks as if I were rash; but I didn’t reckon on your imagining I
used money I ought not have.”

“I imagined others might argue that a draftsman’s pay was small,”
Jasper rejoined, and gave Alan an ironical smile. “You agree it’s
possible?”

Alan’s face got red, for he knew Mrs. Carson would argue like that.

“I’d bet all I’ve got on Kit’s honesty!”

“Thank you,” said Kit, and gave him a grateful look.

“Well, I expect you have told us all you think it useful for us to
know,” Jasper remarked with some dryness. “In the morning I start for
a steelworks on the coast, and if you like I’ll look up Meredith. I
might induce him to make a fresh inquiry.”

Kit pondered. He had declared his innocence, and since he had engaged
to see Mabel out, he must be satisfied. A fresh inquiry might put
Colvin on Blake’s track. He dared not risk it, but the strain was
getting hard, and he was bothered by Jasper’s searching glance.

“If you want to see Meredith, I am willing; but if he agreed to take
me back, I would not go.”

“Then I suppose you have a plan?”

“That is so,” said Kit, and turned to Alan. “You are kind and trust
me, but others will not, and I mustn’t stay at Netherhall.”

“Netherhall’s your home, Kit. You must stay here until you get a
post.”

Jasper looked up. “You’re stanch, Alan, but perhaps you’re rash. Then
I doubt if Kit would get a post in England.”

“I shall not try,” said Kit. “As soon as I can find out about a boat,
I’ll start for Montreal.”

“Your plan’s a good one,” Jasper agreed. “I expect my engineering
friends in the Dominion would help——”

“You mustn’t ask them, sir. In the circumstances, all I want is for my
relations to leave me alone.”

Jasper shrugged. “Very well. I like your pluck.”

“My pluck’s not all you think,” said Kit and, turning to Alan, smiled,
a rather dreary smile. “I don’t dare face the others, and you might
inform my aunt. Then I think Mrs. Haigh ought to know.”

He went to the house. By and by he must enlighten Evelyn, but so long
as the others were about he could not talk to her, and he frankly
shrank from the interview. Although he could take a knock, to hurt
Evelyn was another thing.

Alan returned to the tea-table. When he arrived Evelyn and Agatha were
gone and Ledward went off. As a rule Ledward used some tact. Alan was
embarrassed, and he awkwardly narrated all he knew. In the meantime,
Mrs. Haigh saw Jasper in the shady path; he went slowly and his brows
were knit. Mrs. Haigh was keen, and she had some grounds to think the
grim old fellow would support his nephew. For all that, she imagined
Kit and the others doubted. Jasper Carson was rather baffling.

“I admit I am not very much surprised,” Mrs. Carson remarked when her
husband stopped. “Since Kit was called to the office, he has been
restless and moody, and I thought him anxious. Then, although he jokes
about his poverty, his presents were extravagant. One speculated where
he got the sum——”

“Do you imply my nephew took a bribe to cheat his employers?” Alan
asked.

Mrs. Carson smiled, a rather scornful smile. She was jealous, and she
had not wanted Kit at Netherhall.

“The company was cheated; but perhaps Kit has accounted for his
extravagance?”

“He got better pay.”

“I imagine the company pays when the pay is earned, and Kit’s money
melts.”

Mrs. Haigh looked up. She acknowledged Mrs. Carson’s importance, but
she had pondered, and she saw her part.

“One must not condemn Kit on the evidence we have,” she said.
“Besides, he declares he is innocent, and his word goes. I am
persuaded the company is not just, and I feel Kit’s friends ought to
support him.”

“If Kit will take my support, it’s his,” said Alan firmly.

Mrs. Carson colored and looked at Mrs. Haigh with annoyed surprise.
Mrs. Haigh got up and smiled.

“Frankness has some advantages, and now you know my point of view. But
Evelyn has gone, and I expect you and Mr. Carson have much to talk
about.”

She went off, and Mrs. Carson mused.

“I wonder——” she said. “All the same, if Marion allows Evelyn to be
entangled, she is a fool.”

Some time afterwards, Agatha came to Kit’s room. Kit stood by the
window, and when he turned his head she saw his forehead was wrinkled
and his mouth was tight. Agatha gave him a sympathetic glance.

“Of course, you did not sell the plans; but I suppose you cannot clear
yourself?” she said.

“There is no use in trying. Colvin’s determined to punish somebody,
and I admit it looks as if he had the proper man.”

“You have not yet told Evelyn. Are you afraid?”

Kit frowned. He knew Agatha did not want to hurt him, and as a rule
she had an object for her remarks. Yet she did hurt. Now he was broken
and done for, he acknowledged Evelyn was not for him, but he hated to
think his disgrace would daunt her.

“Evelyn is ruled by Mrs. Haigh, and her line is plain,” he replied.

“Yours is plain, Kit.”

“My part’s the conventional part, and I must play up. All the same, I
see another; to face the risks and take the plunge. However, there’s
no use in talking. I must think for Evelyn——”

“Sometimes a rash plunge pays; but I doubt if it would pay with
Evelyn. Evelyn is a charming girl, but she is not the sort to run much
risk. You must give her up, Kit.”

“I’ll try,” said Kit. “It’s going to be hard.”

Agatha touched him gently. “For you to see you were selfish and your
selfishness cost Evelyn much would be harder. You must take the knock.
There is no other plan.”

She went off, and Kit brooded. He thought Agatha did not urge him to
be generous because, in the circumstances, generosity, so to speak,
was conventional. Agatha did not follow old-fashioned rules, and she
was not daunted by a risk. She wanted him to give up Evelyn, but not
because others might think he ought. Agatha thought he ought. Well,
Kit agreed, and he tried for resignation.




                             CHAPTER VII

                           EVELYN CONQUERS


The red sunset shone behind the trees and the light was going. A lamp
burned in Mrs. Haigh’s drawing-room, and Kit, at the gate, smelt
flowers and freshly mown grass. He had borne some strain, and now he
must fight his hardest fight; he went slowly up the path.

In the east the sunset touched the moor’s high top; the lower slopes
were dusky blue. Across the clipped hedge the river shone with faint
reflections and brawled across the stones. In the hedge was a nook and
an old stone bench where Evelyn and Kit had talked on languid summer
afternoons.

Kit had been happy in the garden, and although he was young he had
felt something of its tranquil charm. Tranquillity, however, was not
for him, and the happy days were gone. Soon he must go down the path,
and he would not come back.

A white figure crossed the shadowy terrace and waved from the steps.
Kit knew Evelyn watched for him, and when he advanced his heart beat.
Evelyn put her hand on his arm and steered him to the bench. Kit
stopped by the clipped hedge and waited. All was quiet, and only the
faint beam from the window marked the house.

“I know all, Kit,” said Evelyn. “Alan Carson told mother.”

Kit said nothing. Since Alan had enlightened Mrs. Haigh, he thought
her allowing Evelyn to join him in the garden strange. He did not
doubt she knew where her daughter went.

“The shipyard people are a shabby, unjust lot,” Evelyn resumed. “Their
thinking you dishonest is ridiculous. I’m glad you have done with
them.”

“I don’t know if it’s much comfort,” Kit remarked with some dryness,
for he dared not indulge the thrill he got. “Since Colvin has turned
me down there’s not much use in my trying for a post at another yard.”

“But might not the company’s competitors——?”

“No!” said Kit firmly. “If they employed me they’d expect to get some
useful hints about the others’ tools and models. Besides, it would
look as if I had cheated and had got my reward.”

“Oh, well, you’re rather noble, but I’d like Colvin to pay. He has
made you suffer, and I hate the fellow. But you musn’t own you’re
beaten. We’ll find a way out.”

Kit hesitated. As a rule Evelyn maintained a baffling reserve. Now she
talked as if he were her acknowledged lover and he got a hint of
passion. Her voice trembled, and although the light was going he saw
her color was high. Well, she was a girl, and for her sake he must be
firm.

“In England I’m done for. Perhaps I could get a Canadian engagement; I
mean to see if it’s possible.”

“But if you go to Canada you may stay long.”

“I may stay for good,” said Kit drearily. “My relations think I’ve
humiliated them, and I can’t take their help. In fact, but for Alan I
doubt if they’re keen to help. Then Alan’s money is his wife’s, and
Mrs. Carson will force him to leave me alone. She has, of course, some
grounds——”

“When you’re romantic I like you better,” Evelyn remarked. “Not long
ago you wanted to take the road and play the lute. Perhaps you didn’t
know you moved me then, but I was moved. Now you’re horribly
practical——”

Kit smiled, but his smile was forced. The fight was harder because he
tried to observe rules that were not his. His habit was to trust his
luck and follow joyous adventure. Yet all adventure was not joyous,
and Evelyn had not known poverty.

“Sometimes one’s forced to ponder,” he rejoined. “I expect the
minstrel’s road is rocky, and when your road is awkward you ought to
go alone.”

“Ah, you’re not logical. One can help another, and perhaps a woman’s
help is worth more than you think. Would you sooner start alone, Kit?”

“If I thought for myself, I’d carry you off. We’d steal away to
Liverpool and sail by the first boat; but I’m not a fool. I don’t see
you going third-class, and I’d hate to see you use a room in a crowded
tenement house.”.

“Do you think poor food and a shabby room very important?” Evelyn
asked, and came near Kit. “Do you think I know nothing about
frugality?”

“The frugality your mother uses is not hard to bear,” said Kit, and
indicated the beautiful garden. “There’s your proper background:
spaciousness and calm.”

“I wonder——” said Evelyn quietly. “Perhaps you’re not selfish, but it
looks as if you did not want me very much.”

Kit tried to be firm. He felt he took the proper course, and he had
expected Evelyn to agree.

“You are all I want, but you mustn’t pay for my selfishness. I’m
broken and done for. Nobody in England would employ me——”

“But you will get a post in Canada. You have pluck and talent, and
your luck will turn. I’m not afraid. Dare you risk it, Kit?”

“One must get to Canada, and then look for a post. All I’ve got is
thirty pounds.”

“I think I’ve got five pounds,” said Evelyn, and began to laugh, a
strange, dreary laugh. “If it wasn’t tragic, it would be humorous! But
you mustn’t steal off and leave me. I’m not hard and firm like Agatha;
I hate to be alone. If I let you go, you must solemnly promise——”

Her hoarse, trembling voice jarred Kit, and he put his arm round her.
“Stop!” he said. “Your mother will hear you. Try for calm!”

Evelyn leaned against him and her body went slack. Kit was flesh and
blood, and he kissed her and knew himself conquered. For a few moments
she held him fast and then gently pushed him back.

“I’m not afraid, my dear; but if I cannot go with you, I’ll wait until
you send for me,” she said, and now her voice was level. “You will
mend your fortunes, Kit, and perhaps it won’t be very long——”

“To begin with, I must talk to Mrs. Haigh. I doubt if she’ll consent.”

“Ah,” said Evelyn, “you don’t yet know Mother.”

Kit admitted he had not known Evelyn, and he was ashamed. She was
splendidly loyal and although he had not thought her passionate she
was passionate. Anyhow she had banished his scruples and given him
confidence. For her sake he had tried to be cautious, but he really
thought caution shabby. All the same, he did not expect Mrs. Haigh to
sympathize.

Evelyn pushed back the long window, and since the ledge was high Kit
gave her his hand. She gently urged him forward, and when he stopped
and faced Mrs. Haigh she was at his side. Her color was rather high
and her eyes sparkled, but although Kit was embarrassed he saw Evelyn
was not. Mrs. Haigh looked up and her glance was not at all disturbed.

“Kit thought you ought to know I have promised to marry him as soon as
he makes some progress in Canada,” Evelyn said. “Perhaps it looks as
if we’re foolish, but Kit is clever and he’s going to be famous.”

“I expect I rather carried Evelyn away,” said Kit. “In the
circumstances, I know I ought not——”

Evelyn smiled. “Kit is very noble; he wants you to believe he
persuaded me. Sometimes he thinks he’s romantic, but he’s really
conventional. If he did persuade me, it was because I was willing.”

For a moment or two Mrs. Haigh pondered.

“Which persuaded the other is not important. You are very rash,” she
said.

“We are young,” Kit rejoined. “I have got an awkward knock, but I have
time to recover, and people soon forget. When you’re young you look
ahead, and since Evelyn trusts me I know I can make good.”

“I don’t think your habit is to look far in front. Evelyn’s engagement
must not stand, but if you are fortunate in Canada I may agree to her
marrying you, when you can support a wife. That is all, Kit, and I
doubt if my promising as much is wise.”

Kit had reckoned on Mrs. Haigh’s antagonism, but she was kinder than
he thought, and he gave her a grateful look.

“Thank you. Unless I do make progress I will not claim Evelyn; but
I’ll make all the effort flesh and blood can to push ahead.”

Mrs. Haigh studied him. Kit was a handsome, athletic young fellow and
his attracting Evelyn was not strange. His pose was firm. One got a
sense of confidence and resolution, and Mrs. Haigh felt he stood for
hopeful, conquering youth. Yet it was not his charm that moved her.
Mrs. Haigh was not moved by things like that.

“Something must be stipulated,” she said. “I do not acknowledge an
engagement, and you must not write to Evelyn as if you were her lover.
I think a letter in three or four months must be all. Do you agree?”

“I dare not refuse. All the same, the stipulation’s hard. Are you
satisfied my word goes?”

Mrs. Haigh smiled. “Had I doubted your sincerity, I would have broken
the engagement for good, but I did not doubt, and I know the
ship-building company was not just. Well, since I trust you, you must
play up.”

“I’ll try. After all, you go farther than I hoped,” said Kit.

Kit stayed for dinner. At Netherhall he felt he was in disgrace, and
where his relations were not frankly hostile they gave him a rather
scornful pity. Mrs. Haigh, however, was kind, and her cheerful talk
banished the strain he had for some time borne. She implied that he
suffered unjustly and she expected him soon to vindicate himself. Kit
did not remark her cleverness; he was flattered and grateful.

For all that, he was disturbed. Mrs. Haigh was frugal, but her
frugality was not conspicuous. Kit noted the good glass and china and
the flowers in the tall silver stands. The lamps had rose-colored
shades; the soft light fell where one wanted light, and where one did
not there was restful gloom. The long window was open, and one smelt
flowers. In fact, Kit thought the small dining-room a charming room.

The important thing was, Evelyn harmonized with all he saw. Cultivated
tranquillity was her proper background, and if she married him she
must go without refinements she valued. It would be long before he
could give her a house like Mrs. Haigh’s. When he thought about it,
Mrs. Haigh’s indulging him was rather remarkable, but he must not
exaggerate. After all, he had some useful abilities, and although the
fight might be long, he would win.

Evelyn went with him to the gate, and for a time they talked
hopefully. When Kit got to Netherhall nobody but Agatha was about. She
occupied a corner in the hall, and he believed she waited for him.

“You were at Mrs. Haigh’s?” she said.

“That is so,” Kit agreed in an apologetic voice. “When I started I
meant to say good-bye to Evelyn, but when I saw her my resolution
melted. Perhaps I was selfish, for Evelyn was splendid.”

“You imply she means to stick to you?”

“She’s stanch as steel,” said Kit, and his eyes sparkled. “Sometimes I
imagine you don’t like Evelyn; but you don’t know her. She doesn’t
hesitate and think for herself. Her pluck’s fine.”

Agatha’s glance was cool and searching.

“And Mrs. Haigh? Does she approve?”

“At all events, she’s resigned. Evelyn, however, does not engage to
marry me; for Mrs. Haigh to allow it would be remarkable. I get my
chance to make good, and if I do so, I may claim my reward. In the
meantime that is all, but I feel it’s much. Anyhow, your satisfaction
isn’t very marked.”

Agatha got up and put her arm round his neck.

“You are all I’ve got, Kit, and I see obstacles,” she said gently.
“Yet you’re not soon daunted, and Evelyn is fine. Well, now you have
an object, you must fight hard, and I’ll hope for your success.”

Kit kissed her, and she went off. He saw she was not altogether
satisfied, but he admitted she had not much grounds for satisfaction,
and she was kind. He smoked a cigarette and went to bed.

In the morning he carried a newspaper to a bench in front of the house
and began to study the steamship advertisements. Soon afterward Jasper
Carson came along the terrace.

“My sister-in-law is across at Mrs. Haigh’s,” he said. “I understand
Evelyn means to stick to you.”

“That is so, sir,” Kit agreed.

Jasper gave him a queer look and his mouth went crooked, as if he were
amused.

“Then Miss Haigh is nobler than I thought! I suppose she has not
persuaded you to stay in England?”

“I am looking up the Montreal steamers.”

“Very well. When I get back from the coast we must make some plans,”
said Jasper, and went down the steps.

Kit frowned. The old fellow’s sneer annoyed him, and he resolved they
would not talk about his plans. In fact, when Jasper arrived Kit
imagined he would be on board ship. He wanted nothing from his
relations. Mrs. Carson thought him a wastrel, and it looked as if
Jasper thought him a romantic fool.

Jasper joined Agatha in the garden and inquired: “What do you think
about your brother’s experiment?”

“On the whole, I don’t approve,” said Agatha in a quiet voice.

“Your habit’s not to exaggerate,” Jasper remarked. “I see you’re
disturbed. For whose sake are you disturbed?”

“For Kit’s,” Agatha replied.

Jasper nodded. “You’re not a fool; my sister-in-law is a jealous fool,
and we know Alan. Well, Kit’s my nephew, and I’d be sorry to see him
start wrong.”

“I imagined something like that, but I doubt if Kit does,” said Agatha
calmly. “Have you some grounds to think his marrying Evelyn Haigh
would be a wrong start?”

“She’s her mother’s daughter.”

“Mrs. Haigh has some useful qualities.”

“She has all the shabby, utilitarian virtues,” Jasper agreed.

“Are some virtues shabby?”

“Don’t you know?” said Jasper with a dry smile. “However, we mustn’t
philosophize. If Kit does marry Evelyn, I’d sooner she were like her
father; Haigh was a humorous and rather generous wastrel. All the
same, Kit is not yet married, and to get rich in Canada is harder than
he thinks.”

“But you could help!”

“It’s possible. If my helping implies Miss Haigh’s rewarding Kit, I’m
not very keen. In fact, there’s the trouble. Now perhaps you can
account for my annoyance. I am annoyed, particularly since I want to
be at Netherhall, but I must start for the coast.”

“Kit is obstinately independent,” said Agatha, and seeing Jasper pull
out his watch, let him go.




                             CHAPTER VIII

                         KIT TUNES HIS FIDDLE


Newfoundland was not far off, and a keen northwester sang in the
_Falernian’s_ shrouds. Her lights swung with a measured heave and
green halos shone and melted in the foam that leaped about her
starboard bow. When the long rollers broke one felt the shock, but the
big engines throbbed steadily and the keen bows thrust ahead.
Sometimes a broken sea rolled across the forward well, and the spray
from the plunging forecastle beat the navigation officers keeping
dreary watch on the inclined bridge.

The _Falernian_, however, was large, and in the third-class saloon
near the water line one hardly felt the deck planks heave, and the
turmoil of the flung-back seas was dull and soothing. Benches and
chairs were occupied, and a big red ensign hung like a curtain by the
piano. The blue and white crosses reflected the electric light, and
when the flag wavered in the draft it looked as if the Beaver carried
the maple leaf across the crimson field.

A thin young man at the piano sang a song from the music-halls. His
accent was the Lancashire accent and he struck wrong notes, but his
audience was not fastidious. The passengers wanted to be amused, for
when one laughs one forgets. Kit, in the gloom behind the flag,
fingered his violin. His turn was soon, and he thought a new string
stretched.

People smiled, but he imagined the smiles were rather brave than
humorous. He saw shabby clothes, careworn faces, and bent shoulders.
In the back row a tired woman soothed a fretful child. Another leaned
against her husband and held a handkerchief to her mouth. Her face was
pinched, and Kit heard her straining cough; he doubted if the
immigration officers would allow her to land. He saw young men and
women, and some laughed, but for the most part their look was not
joyous. A number were broken by war; others had borne dreary labor and
grinding poverty. They were on board because they hoped in Canada
their luck might turn.

The strange thing was, Kit thought they heard the Old Country call. In
the morning they would see Newfoundland, and the _Falernian_ would
carry them up the St. Lawrence to the West optimistic advertisements
declared was golden. Yet one does not gladly leave all one knows, and
the stern Old Country was home.

By and by the music stopped, and a girl advanced. Kit had talked to
Alison Forsyth and he gave her a smile. He thought her attractive, but
he did not altogether know where was her charm. Although she was
short, she carried herself well, and her neck and shoulders were
strong; her hair and eyes were brown and her look was frank. Now she
was obviously nervous, and when she put some music on the stand her
color came and went. Then she turned, and tilting her head a little,
faced the audience. Although Kit saw her hand shake, her pose was
firm.

He could not fix the tinkling prelude, but he thought it was not
strange and the song was out-of-date. Then the girl began to sing, and
he looked up sharply.

“Had I the wings of a dove....”

Although her voice was not cultivated, it was musical. Her intonation
was good and she sang with feeling; in fact, Kit began to see she sang
with emotion. He thought her rash. She was young, and it looked as if
the music might break her control.

“.... I would flee, Just for to-night to my own country.”

Kit frowned and studied the groups in front. With a song like that one
could carry them away, and Alison was doing so; but it was not the
song he would have sung. Besides, he doubted if she could keep it up.
Her voice shook on a top note, her skin got very white, and although
her eyes shone they shone as if they were wet. She began another verse
falteringly, and he knew she was going to stop. One could not trust
the fellow at the piano to support her, and Kit lifted his violin.

“Go on! I’ll carry you through,” he said.

He drew the bow across the strings, and the harmonious chords gave her
confidence. For a few bars he followed the melody, and then he knew
she had got back her control, and he signed the accompanist to stop.

Alison’s voice grew clear and firm, and Kit carried her triumphantly
along. For an emigrants’ concert, she struck a risky note, but he had
gone to her rescue and he must see her out. Besides, the verses moved
him. He pictured the oaks at Netherhall, and Evelyn walking in the
shade. Her white clothes cut the gloom, and behind the trunks the
river sparkled.

Alison stopped, and for a moment all was quiet. Men looked straight in
front. Some were stern and some indulged a gentle melancholy. A woman
frankly cried. Then heavy boots beat the deck and a storm of noise
swept the saloon. The noise did not stop, and Alison, flushed and
highly strung, looked at Kit.

“No!” he said. “You mustn’t risk it yet.”

He went to the piano and struck a note, for the string had stretched.

“Miss Forsyth will sing by and by,” he said, and began to play.

Not to bother about the piano was some relief. Kit was going to
improvise and work on the reaction he knew would soon begin. Miss
Forsyth had moved the emigrants to sadness; he must move them to hope
by the marching song.

The first chords rang joyously, but the prelude sank. One heard the
pilgrims start, some distance off. Kit’s fingers were busy on the
strings, but his eyes were fixed on the rows of faces. Unless the
others heard all he heard, his effort was lost. He saw they felt for
his meaning and wondered where he led; and then the puzzled looks
began to vanish. The audience was going with him. Tired and daunted
people heard the beat of marching feet.

Perhaps Kit exaggerated, but he had feeling and talent and he let
himself go. He must banish the others’ moodiness and his own; he and
they steered West, where better fortune was, and all must push ahead.
He frankly used all the tricks he knew, but the emigrants were not
critical, and the march fired their blood. The music got loud, as if
it marked a triumphant advance, and then Kit took the fiddle from his
neck. The others went where he wanted, and he knew where to stop.

People shouted and beat the tables, but Kit vanished behind the flag,
put up his fiddle and started for the deck. At the rails by the ladder
to the forward well he stopped. The spot was high, and across the well
he saw the forecastle heave and plunge. Long, white-topped seas rolled
up from the dark, broke against the bows, and melted in foam. Spray
leaped up, blew like smoke, and beat the screens on the bridge. There
was no moon, but the stars shone, and the combers’ broken tops cut the
gloom. Kit felt the ship heave along, and to know he was going
somewhere and went fast carried a thrill. The music had braced him and
his heart beat with hope. In the West his luck would turn, and Evelyn
was stanch. He began to think about her with romantic tenderness.

After a few minutes he saw he was not alone. Somebody leaned against
the rails under a lifeboat, and he thought the figure was a girl’s.
She turned her head, and Kit advanced.

“Miss Forsyth? I thought nobody was about. Why did you not speak?”

“In the dark I didn’t know you,” Alison Forsyth replied. “Then I
rather wanted to be alone.”

Kit thought her voice trembled. Brisk steps beat the deck overhead and
he heard a woman’s careless laugh. The first-class passengers walked
about and joked, and, by contrast, the girl was forlorn.

“Oh, well,” he said, “I was going——”

“Now I do know you, you needn’t go,” Alison replied with some
embarrassment.

Kit laughed. “An unconscious compliment carries weight, and I’d rather
stay. Then, if you’re downhearted, perhaps you oughtn’t to be alone.”

“I was rather downhearted,” Alison admitted. “You see, my nerve wasn’t
all I thought. I knew I was going to be ridiculous. In a moment or two
I must have stopped; and then you came to help——”

“If you were bothered because you hesitated, you were ridiculous. Your
song was a triumph.”

“The triumph wasn’t mine, and when you played the march I was ashamed.
I felt I was afraid for nothing.”

Kit saw her mood was emotional. She was young and, so far as he knew,
she had no friends on board the crowded ship. It looked as if her
loneliness weighed, and to talk might cheer her.

“After your song, my march was perhaps a contrast, but a contrast, so
to speak, is not a contradiction. To be sad because something you
loved is gone is human; but it’s human to brace up and look for better
luck. You did brace up nobly. All the same, I didn’t play to cheer
you; I myself was doleful.”

“Ah,” said Alison, “in a way, my nearly stopping was not important,
but I thought it ominous. It looked as if I’d started on an adventure
I couldn’t carry out.”

“The adventure was your starting for Montreal?”

Alison hesitated, but her loneliness weighed, and somehow she trusted
Kit.

“Yes,” she said. “You see, I wasn’t altogether forced to go. My father
and mother are dead, but my relations in the North wanted me to join
them. Until trade got slack I was at a manufacturer’s office, and then
I couldn’t find another post. I wanted to go to Whinnyates, but I knew
if I went and helped my aunt I might stay for good. Whinnyates is a
small moorland farm.”

“But if you were not happy at Whinnyates, when business was better you
might have gone back to the town.”

“I doubt——” said Alison thoughtfully. “One is soon forgotten and one
forgets one’s job. Whinnyates, at the dalehead, is very quiet; you
only see the sheep on the fellside and the cattle by the beck. A rock
shuts in the valley and old ash-trees hide the house. At a spot like
that you get slow and perhaps you get dull. You think about the dairy
and the calves, and until dark comes work must go on. At a modern
office they do not want a girl whose back is bent by turning the
churn.”

“Have you turned a churn?”

Alison smiled. “My father was a small farmer in the bleak North. The
soil is barren and one must fight floods and storms; but somehow when
one knows the moors one does not go away. Well, I was afraid; I wanted
to be where people traffic and life is thrilling.”

“All the same, to-night you felt Whinnyates called?”

“I expect I wasn’t logical, but in summer, when the wind drops and the
fern is long, Whinnyates is a charming spot. While I sang I saw the
hills get dark and my aunt by the fire; the rough-haired dogs, and my
uncle on the oak bench. They’re kind, blunt folks. I knew they thought
about me, and I wanted to be back.”

“In some respects you are luckier than I am. I believe my relations
are glad I went. But are you joining friends in Canada?”

“I have a friend at a Manitoba town, and she thinks I might get
employment.”

“You are going to do so. So long as you’re not daunted, you’ll get all
you’d like to get.”

Alison smiled, for Kit’s talk was bracing. “You are very hopeful, but
as a rule one must be resigned to go without. For example, I wanted,
just for once, to walk about the first-class passengers’ deck.”

“Then let’s go; it’s pretty dark,” said Kit, and gave her his arm.

They went up a ladder and round the spacious deck, but the wind was
keen, and Kit steered Alison to a nook behind a boat. Two or three
people occupied the sheltered spot, and by and by a steward, carrying
a tray, came along the deck.

“Grilled sardines and toast, sir? Prawns is off,” he said to a man in
the group.

“The company doesn’t pander to our appetites,” Kit remarked to Alison.
“Do you like grilled sardines?”

The steward turned his head and Alison’s heart beat, but the adventure
was intriguing and she felt Kit would not let her down. Kit beckoned
the man.

“Two portions, please! Have you coffee?”

“Coffee’s not served after dinner. I might, perhaps——”

“Never mind; we musn’t break the rules,” said Kit. “Bring the
sardines.”

The steward went off, and when he returned he carried two plates.
Alison took her plate. Kit had banished her moodiness, and although
she doubted if she ought to agree, his ordering a first-class
passenger’s supper was something of a joke. After a time she got up,
and he put a coin on a plate.

“I’m not scrupulous about cheating a steamship company, but one ought
not to cheat a steward,” he remarked. “Then, since he reckons on
getting his tips at Montreal, he’ll speculate about our generosity,
and he may see the joke. Unless the other sees it, a joke has not much
point.”

They stole away, and at the bottom of the ladder Alison laughed.

“Your code’s elastic.”

“Oh, well,” said Kit, “I don’t know if one is justified to rob the
rich, but one ought not to rob the poor. Anyhow, in the old romantic
days it was supposed to be the rule. Now perhaps it’s out of date; but
since I’m starting off with my fiddle like the ancient minstrels, I
must play up. Well, you remarked my bluffing the steward, and the
motto is: When you undertake an adventure, you mustn’t hesitate!” They
were opposite a light, and Alison gave him a grateful look.

“Ah,” she said, “my hesitation’s gone! You gave me back the pluck I
lost. But we have stayed for some time, and you said I would sing
again.”




                              CHAPTER IX

                         THE ROAD TO THE WEST


Dust rolled about the jolting cars and sifted through every opening.
Cinders rattled on the roofs and the long train noisily followed the
river. Although the afternoon was hot, a stove burned in the
compartment at the back of the Colonist car, and Alison waited for a
tin kettle to boil. Kit leaned against the partition and entertained
two children by pulling a bootlace through a knot.

“Why, that’s just too cute!” one exclaimed, and seized Kit’s hand.
“You held on to both ends, but you pulled another through the loop.
How’d you fix it?”

“Ah,” said Kit, “there’s the puzzle! You see, a bootlace only has two
ends.”

The other child laughed. “A bootlace? Don’t you know it’s a
shoe-string?”

“I forgot,” said Kit. “I reckon sometimes it’s a shoe-tie. When you
come to think about it, the proper name’s important. People go by
names——”

“You talk queer. Say, where was you raised?”

“A conjurer’s habit is to talk. When you want folks to think a thing
is something it is not, high-faluting language helps. Magicians,
politicians and company floaters know the trick. However, if you fix
your eye on the shoe-string, I expect you’ll see it’s got four ends.”

“You’re surely smart,” the child remarked. “But where was you raised?”

“I doubt if I was raised; I rather think I was allowed to grow up,”
Kit replied in a sober voice. “Anyhow, I grew up at an old house by a
wood in England. A river went by the wood and the trees were planted
three hundred years ago. The fairies like old trees, and when the moon
was full they played about and rang the bluebells for music. If you
got up early in the morning, you saw the rings where they danced. Now
perhaps you know why I’m a conjurer.”

“My teacher allowed the fairies and spooks and ha’ants was gone. She
reckoned they couldn’t stand for locomotives and flivvers.”

“Well, I expect we have fired out the haunts and their rattling
chains; but the fairies are not yet out of date. Although you can’t
see them, sometimes you hear their music; in fact, when music is very
good, I think the fairies play. However, we’ll try a fresh experiment
with the magic shoe-string——”

A man carrying a frying-pan pushed back the door.

“You mustn’t let the kiddies bother you,” he said, and turned to
Alison. “I don’t want to hustle you, but when you’re through at the
stove I’ll get busy.”

“Let him use the stove; I’d sooner you didn’t roast yourself,” said
Kit. “The train stops at Ottawa, and we’ll get some food at a
restaurant.”

Alison smiled. “In a moment or two the water will boil, and we agreed
to get our meals on board. Then we bought the kettle, the tin plates,
and a quantity of groceries, and in order to get our money back the
things must be used.”

“People talk about women’s extravagance!” Kit remarked. “The women I
know are parsimonious.”

The passenger who carried the frying-pan grinned. “You’re young, but I
guess you know them, and your dame’s plan’s all right. When you want a
cheap eat, eat on the cars. If you get off at a meal-station, they
hand you red-hot hash and shout ‘_All aboard_.’ Well, I been married
some time, and my motto is: If you want to pay off your mortgage, the
dame must keep the wad.”

Kit thought Alison blushed, but she turned her head.

Alison brewed some coffee and Kit carried the pot to a second-class
car. A porter fixed a board for a table, and Alison, unpacking a
basket, began to cut sandwiches. Kit, until she stopped him,
extravagantly opened packets and cans. They had agreed to share
expenses, and Alison found that Canadian fruit and canned goods were
cheaper than she had thought. Kit said nothing, for he had flagrantly
cheated.

Lunch was a cheerful function. The coffee was good and all Alison put
on the tin plates was appetizing. Kit felt the meal was not a picnic;
it was a feast. Then, although dust and locomotive cinders blew about,
Alison’s clothes were not stained, and her hair was smooth and bright.
In the hot and dusty car, she looked strangely fresh and clean.

When the meal was over she carried off the plates and repacked the
basket. Nothing was left about. Kit noted her fastidious neatness, and
admitted that their housekeeping was marked by an intriguing charm. It
was not altogether because he liked to lunch with an attractive girl;
Alison gave the meal a friendly, homelike touch he had not known at
Netherhall. Yet she was not a sentimentalist. Only when she sang about
the Old Country had he thought her romantic. She was frank and cool
and, so to speak, capable.

The train followed the river. Dark pines, zigzag fences, wooden
farmsteads and silo towers rolled by the windows. One saw shining
water, and in the distance faint blue hills. Sometimes Kit studied a
newspaper and Alison sewed. Sometimes they talked and watched the
landscape speed by.

“Does the Canadian news interest you?” Alison inquired.

“The advertisements interest me, but so far nothing’s doing,” Kit
replied. “Somebody wants a man for a drygoods store and another who
can sell patent medicines is required. Well, I cannot. Perhaps it’s
strange, but, as a rule, men who make things can’t persuade folks to
buy. Nobody wants a minstrel. Gramophones and electric organs have
knocked us out. If I were rich, I’d have bought the organ at the
Montreal restaurant and wheeled it to the St. Lawrence in order to see
it splash.”

Alison smiled. She liked Kit’s humor, but sometimes she thought he did
not altogether joke.

“Until you’re famous, I expect music doesn’t pay. Haven’t you another
occupation?”

“One doesn’t start by being famous, but until you are famous you’re
not allowed to start. The critics are not logical,” said Kit. “Well,
perhaps I do know something about machine tools, and if the railroads
are building bridges and water-tanks, I might get a job. The Carsons’
business is to hammer iron. If you don’t mind, I’ll turn up the
commercial news.”

He folded the newspaper and Alison resumed her sewing. By and by the
conductor came along the passage and asked for their tickets.

“Your company’s generous,” Kit remarked. “My ticket’s a foot long. If
I was going to the Pacific, I expect you’d give me a yard.”

“Something like that,” the conductor agreed. “If you haven’t a slip
for each division, you’re put off the cars!” He turned to Alison. “I
reckon you want a sleeper berth?”

“Of course,” said Alison, but a train hand came from the vestibule and
beckoned the conductor.

“See you again,” he said and went off.

In the afternoon the train stopped at Ottawa, and when dusk began to
fall, Kit, in a corner of the smoking compartment, watched the Ontario
woods roll by. Dark pines cut the red sunset, but the woods were
broken, and rivers, streaked by tossing rapids, pierced the gloom.
Sometimes Kit saw a lake shine with faint reflections and melt. A
light wind blew through the compartment and carried the smell of
pines. By and by a porter lighted the lamp, and Kit got up. He thought
he would see if Alison had got her berth.

When he opened the door he noted that the porter had let down the
higher shelves and pulled the curtains. For the most part, the
passengers had gone to bed, and the fellow was arranging two or three
lower berths between the seats. Alison sat by a window and Kit thought
her disturbed. Her folding ticket was on the seat, and when she took a
thin roll of bills from her wallet she frowned.

“Hello!” said Kit. “Hasn’t the fellow fixed your berth?”

“He wants a ticket. At the steamship office they stated that sleeping
accommodation was supplied on board the trains.”

“That is so,” said Kit, who began to see a light. “The conductor’s not
about, but if you wait a few minutes, I expect to put all straight.”

He went off, but he did not look for the conductor. When he reached
the smoking compartment he pulled out some paper money and knitted his
brows. He had been extravagant, his wad had melted, and he did not
know when he would get a job. All the same, he imagined Alison’s wad
was smaller than his, and he understood her embarrassment.

On the Colonist cars sleeping accommodation, of a sort, is supplied
without charge; on board the other cars one must, as usual, buy a
ticket for a berth, but Alison had not reckoned on paying more.
Sometimes to go to bed on board a second-class car is awkward, and
Alison was fastidious. For her to use a Colonist car, crowded by
foreign emigrants, was unthinkable. Well, Kit had cheated her about
the lunch basket and he must cheat her again. He pulled out his
sleeper ticket, but since Alison imagined he looked for the conductor,
he resolved to wait for two or three minutes.

The train stopped, and Kit, going to the vestibule, saw a water tank,
a few indistinct houses and the station agent’s office. In the
background were dusky woods, and he heard cowbells chime. The guard
rail on the car platform was open, as if somebody had got down. Then a
man coming from the next car pushed past. His step was uneven, and he
lurched against the door. Kit wondered whether he was drunk, but he
turned the handle and vanished.

After a few moments somebody waved a lantern, the bell tolled, and the
cars jerked forward. In the quiet dark, the locomotive’s explosive
snorts rang like cannon shots; the train was heavy, and Kit thought
the track went up hill. He, however, must rejoin Alison, but when he
reached the car he stopped.

A man leaned over the seat Alison occupied. She faced the stranger,
but he blocked the passage between the benches and she had not got up.
The other passengers were in their berths behind the curtains, wheels
rolled, and the locomotive labored noisily up the incline. The fellow
certainly was drunk and carried a pocket flask and a shining cup. It
looked as if he urged Alison to take the cup, for her face was red.
Then she saw Kit, and her relief was flattering.

Signing her to be quiet, Kit advanced noiselessly. The stranger looked
the other way, and Kit stopped a few yards off. To disturb the
passengers by an angry dispute would embarrass Alison, and he doubted
if the other would weigh a logical argument. Then the fellow tried to
push the cup into Alison’s hand.

“The stuff’s all right. Fine club whisky; I got it at Quebec. They’ve
no use for Pussyfoots down the river.”

“I hate whisky,” said Alison in a quiet voice.

The other laughed. “Oh, shucks! You’re playing shy. Anyhow, you got to
sample some. I took a shine to you.” He stopped and the liquor
splashed. “Leg-go. Who the——?”

Kit pulled him from the bench and turned him round. The man was big,
but he was not steady on his feet and, since Kit was behind him, he
could not seize his antagonist. Kit kept behind, and holding him
firmly, pushed him to the door. They had not disturbed the passengers,
but since he must disengage one hand, the door was an obstacle. When
he let go, the other turned and drove the flask against his face.
Although the knock was hard, Kit turned the handle, and the fellow
plunged across the platform, got his balance, swore and came back. Kit
had thought he would be satisfied to put the other out, but the blow
had hurt and anger conquered him.

They grappled. The flask rolled under Kit’s foot, and his antagonist
knocked his head against the door. He began to think he had an awkward
job, but he had played Rugby football and studied Cumberland
wrestling. He tried for a proper hold and when he knew the hold was
good made a savage effort. His antagonist let go, plunged down the
steps, and vanished.

Kit, rather horrified, jumped for the bottom step, seized a brass loop
and leaned out. The beam from the windows swept the ground by the
track, and at the other end of the long train somebody got up and
began to run awkwardly after the cars. Kit sat down on the step and
laughed, a rather breathless laugh. Although the train was not going
very fast, he thought the other’s luck was good.

“You’re pretty hefty at a rough-house stunt,” somebody remarked, and
Kit saw the passenger who had waited for Alison at the stove.

“I don’t think I meant to put him off,” he said in an apologetic
voice.

“Well, you put up a useful fight and I wasn’t going to see you beat.
When my kiddies were peeved and train-sick you helped them keep bright
and they took a shine to you. I reckon you’re not a tourist. What’s
your line?”

“I’d like to get on a bridge or tank-building job. I can use a
fitter’s tools.”

“A construction company’s putting a new bridge across Harper’s Bar,
and when I’ve dumped the kiddies, I expect to make the camp. The
bosses know me, and if you look me up I might fix something. Ask for
Jake Gordon.”

“Thank you,” said Kit, and the conductor and a train hand crossed the
platform.

“Did you see the Montreal drummer?” the conductor inquired.

“I saw a pretty drunk man,” Kit replied. “Do you want the fellow?”

“Sure! He was making trouble in a first-class sleeper; tried to pull
out a passenger whose berth he claimed. Where’s he gone?”

“He went down the steps,” said Kit. “A minute or two since he was
running after the train.”

The train hand lifted his lantern and the conductor saw a red mark on
Kit’s face.

“Looks as if something hit you,” he said meaningly.

“The drummer’s flask. The knock accounts for his getting off the
train.”

“You put him off?” said the railroad man. “You have surely got some
gall! Well, you’ve saved me trouble, and when he gets tired I reckon
he’ll steer for the depot.”

He banged the door and Kit pulled his clothes straight and rejoined
Alison.

“The fellow who bothered you is gone and I saw the conductor,” he
said, and gave her his sleeper ticket. “The porter’s coming and will
make up your berth. Good-night!”

Alison thanked him, and he went along the train to an emigrant car.
Pulling a shelf from the roof he climbed up and folded his coat for a
pillow. The polished shelf was hard and Kit had no rug, but he was
young and the night was hot. The roll of the wheels got soothing and
died away, and he was asleep.




                              CHAPTER X

                          A REST BY THE WAY


Thunder rolled across the woods, but the lake sparkled in the sun. A
light wind ruffled the shining surface and dark-blue smears broke the
silver reflections. For three or four hundred yards the dusty cars
curved along the bank, and the locomotive pump’s sharp throb pierced
the languid splash of water.

Not far from the engine the track was cut. Gravel and ties and rails
had gone down, and two broken freight cars blocked a swollen creek.
Sweating, bare-armed men labored in the gap the flood had made. The
shovels flashed and the gravel they threw about rattled noisily.
Behind the train, rocks and woods rolled back to Hudson Bay.

Alison, under a slanted pine, occupied herself with some sewing. Kit
helped the workmen who unloaded the broken cars, but by and by he
climbed the bank.

“In Canada, the main thing is to get on a move. Economy’s not
important,” he remarked. “I supposed they’d carry the undamaged goods
back to the line, but the foreman’s orders were to fire the blamed
stuff into the creek. It’s now going in. I wonder whether the company
will meet the bill.”

“When do we start?” Alison inquired.

“They expect a construction train in two or three hours, but we may
not get off for some time afterwards. Suppose we light a fire and
picnic by the lake?”

Alison agreed, and he carried the basket along the line. The day was
hot and groups of passengers sat on the car steps and lay about in the
shade. For the most part their clothes were threadbare and dusty and
their faces were lined. Kit thought they had known poverty in the
countries from which they came, and after the stormy voyage they had
sweated and jolted in the crowded Colonist cars. To rest by the way
was some relief, and nobody was keen to resume the journey. In hot
weather a Colonist car has drawbacks, and one gets train-sick.

Other groups loafed about the woods and picked wild berries. Where a
smooth rock sloped down to the water, women washed clothes, and
garments thrown down to dry dotted the stone. All but the children
were quiet, and their shouts were spiritless. It looked as if a
pilgrim caravan had stopped to rest in the lonely wilds. The
locomotive pump and the noisy shovels struck a jarring, modern note.

Kit lighted a fire behind a rock and thin blue smoke floated across
the water. The pine twigs snapped and one smelt the resin in the wood.
In front, languid ripples beat the stones. Alison brewed coffee and
unpacked the basket.

“Our stock gets low, but it ought to carry us to Winnipeg,” said Kit
in a sober voice. “I expect another meal is all we’ll need.”

Alison gave him a quiet glance and then looked in front. Kit’s brows
were knit, and she admitted she was melancholy. She was not a romantic
sentimentalist and Kit was not a philanderer; in fact, he had told her
something about Evelyn. They were travelling companions who had met by
chance, and at Winnipeg their roads went different ways. Yet but for
Kit Alison knew she would have been lonely, and some time before
morning she must let him go. To think about it disturbed her.

“Where do you start for when we get to Winnipeg?” she asked.

“I think I’ll get off at Harper’s Bar. Gordon, the fellow with the
frying-pan, talked about a new bridge and thought the engineer might
engage me. Since you made friends of Gordon’s kiddies perhaps I owe
you something. You see, I must get a job as soon as possible.”

“I owe you much,” said Alison. “Then the children were your friends.”

“Well, let’s agree they were our friends. I don’t know if mutual
debts, so to speak, cancel out, but I hope they do not, and I don’t
want to cancel mine. You undertook the housekeeping and you feasted
me.”

Alison knew her debt would stand. When her pluck was breaking Kit
braced her up. His jokes had banished her dreariness and in his
society she had got back hope and calm.

“I wonder whether my train starts from Winnipeg before yours,” she
said. “I wouldn’t like to be left at the station——”

“Yours goes first, and I’ll see you on board, but we won’t talk about
it yet. Let’s pretend we’re picnicking in the Old Country; for
example, at a tarn I know. Imagine the train and the pines have
vanished, and red heath and bright green moss roll down to the water.
Little Herdwick sheep dot the slopes, and at the top the moor is
broken by a dark gash the storms have cut. A beck sparkles in the
stones and at the bottom leaps across a ledge——”

“The tarn ripples,” said Alison. “A keen wind blows across the fells,
but behind the steep bank, where the mountain ashes grow, the water’s
smooth and stained by the peat. In the sun it shines like amber; where
the clouds’ shadows fall it’s dark like claret.”

“Do you know the mountain ashes grow up the bank?”

“I know Swinset tarn,” said Alison. “Whinnyates is four or five miles
off across the moor. But take your coffee. And you might give me the
fruit can.”

Kit took the coffee and began his lunch, but after a time Alison
looked up.

“You have stayed for a holiday at Netherdale?”

“That is so. In summer, Netherdale’s an attractive spot.”

“Were you at the post office? Mrs. Grey takes boarders.”

Kit hesitated. He did not want to say he was at Netherhall; for one
thing, he believed his relations had done with him. Then Mrs. Carson
was an important lady, and he would sooner Alison did not know Alan
was his uncle.

“I stopped farther up the valley. You see, I wanted to get on the
moors, and at the dalehead the fishing’s good.”

Alison gave him a queer look, and he wondered whether she knew Alan
Carson preserved the fishing.

“When you were at Whinnyates I suppose you went to Netherdale
village?” he said.

“For a time I was teacher at the school. To cross the moor was
awkward, and in winter my pony could not face the storms. Then the pay
was small and I was ambitious, but sometimes at the office I wanted to
be back. Perhaps my habit is to undertake too big a job.”

“Ah,” said Kit, “when you get to the obstacles that bother you they
begin to melt. The proper plan’s to set your mouth and shove ahead.
Since you left Whinnyates I imagine you have gone some distance, but
until you get where you want you mustn’t stop.”

“You’re an optimist,” Alison remarked with a smile. “Have you gone
far?”

“I’ve gone _back_” said Kit rather moodily. “All the same, I am not
beaten, and I expect to make a fresh start.”

For a few minutes Alison said nothing and Kit was quiet. He thought
she sympathized and perhaps she was curious, but he doubted if she
wanted him to give her his confidence. Anyhow, he had not boasted; he
was not beaten. In the meantime he was sorry for Alison. For a girl to
face loneliness and struggle in a new country was hard. All was fresh
and to some extent antagonistic. She must obey rules she did not know
and be resigned to much that jarred.

Kit thought Canadians had not much use for beginners, and to find an
occupation might be awkward. He wondered whether Alison was daunted,
and admitted he did not know. She was quiet and perhaps rather
melancholy, but that was all. Anyhow, he could not help. At Winnipeg
their roads forked and each must start alone. Kit owned he did not
want to think about it.

“I wonder whether I can telegraph when we get to Winnipeg,” Alison
said by and by. “If Florence knew when I’d arrive, she would meet me.
One likes to be met. I’d hate to get off the cars and see nobody I
knew. But perhaps the office will be shut.”

“I fancy the Canadian telegraph offices do not shut, and after a fixed
time you can send a night letter, a long message for a small charge.
We’ll send your friend a summons that will bring her to the station.
After weighing words against pennies in England we can be royally
extravagant.”

“Is your habit to weigh your words?” Alison inquired.

“In a telegram, yes,” said Kit. “I don’t know if it’s strange, but as
a rule the pennies tipped the beam. When my remarks cost something,
I’m parsimonious.”

Alison gave him a kind smile. “You’re modest. At all events, I’m glad
you were not parsimonious on the train. Your humor helped——”

“Oh, well, I doubt if my humor’s cultivated, but it’s, so to speak, my
stock-in-trade. You see, I may not get a post, and if I do not, I
think I’ll push out for the lonely settlements and play the fiddle. It
looks as if the North Americans are a strenuous rather than
light-hearted lot, but so long as some days are dreary and folks are
sad, perhaps to joke and play the fiddle is a useful job.”

Alison turned her head and looked about. The light wind had dropped
and the sun was very hot. The calm lake shone dazzlingly and one smelt
the pines, and the creosote in the railroad ties. But for the clash of
shovels, all was quiet, and groups of listless emigrants occupied the
belts of shade. Nobody talked, and the children had stopped their
play. In the Canadian woods one knew them forlorn strangers.

“They’re tired, Kit,” said Alison. “Play them something.”

Kit went for his violin, and sitting in the stones, pulled the bow
across the strings. His clothes were not conspicuous and his figure
melted in the shadow of the trees. The calm water was like a sounding
board, and when he began to play, the great composer’s march seemed to
float across the lake. Alison wondered whether Kit consciously helped
the illusion, for the music was distant and somehow fairylike. Perhaps
it was monotonous, for Kit was satisfied to mark the rhythm, but she
felt it called, and the measured beat carried her along. She pictured
people going somewhere, going steadfastly, and she wanted to join
their advance.

The emigrants were no longer listless. People turned their heads as if
to see who played, and Alison thought a number knew the music, because
they smiled. Some got up and came nearer the shady rock, but although
Kit knew he had captured his audience he used control. Their stopping
at the lake was but a rest by the way and nobody yet saw the journey’s
end. One shouldered one’s load and went forward; that was all.

When Kit put down his violin a crowd surrounded the rock. Alison heard
English voices and calls in languages she did not know.

“They have not had enough,” she said. “They want you to begin again.”

“I think not,” Kit replied. “I played the march on board the ship and
we’ll try something fresh. All are not foreigners, and you’ll sing our
lot a love song that’s famous where the English language goes.”

He put the fiddle to his neck and for a minute or two played, like an
overture, two or three old Scottish airs. Then he nodded to Alison and
began a prelude on the lower strings.

Alison got up. Her color was high, but she trusted Kit’s support. Her
voice was steady and carried far.

“Maxwelltoun braes are bonnie——”

Kit knew she was going to triumph; his part was to help by quiet
harmonies. As a rule her mood was sober, but he imagined she was moved
by something of the tenderness and passion the dark North hides. Then,
for the most part the British emigrants were North British, and Canada
wears a Scottish stamp. Alison felt her power and she let herself go.

“Like dew on the gowan lying——”

Train hands came from baggage cars and the locomotive cab. They
advanced noiselessly, and the crowd was still. In the distance shovels
clashed, but the musical voice dominated all, and Burns’ love song
floated, undisturbed, across the Canadian lake.

Kit lowered his violin, and Alison gave the crowd a shy smile. She was
not a concert singer; all the music she knew she had studied at a
village school. When the cheers and shouts began she blushed and
turned to Kit.

“Let’s go. I don’t think I could sing again.”

They stole away, and when Kit put his violin in the car they followed
the track. A throbbing noise rolled across the woods, and presently a
long black plume of smoke streaked the trees. The throb got louder and
the advancing smoke leaped from the forest as if shells exploded along
its track. Kit knew a locomotive hauled a heavy load up-hill and he
frowned. The construction gang would soon arrive, and when the line
was mended the emigrant train would start.

“I expect they’re bringing a load of ballast and when they have dumped
the stuff we’ll get off,” he remarked in a careless voice.

Alison said nothing. But for Kit, and another whom she had not seen
for long, she had not a friend in the new country. Loneliness was hard
to bear and to know Kit was about was some comfort. At Winnipeg they
must separate.

They sat down in the shade by the broken track. The train had arrived
and men swarmed about the line. The cars carried gravel and a massive
plow topped the piles of stones. Kit was interested. The track was not
like an English track; the rails were light and not altogether even.
The cross-ties were loosely ballasted and some were out of line. Yet
they carried loads Old Country engineers had not tried to move.

Then, for a thousand miles, the road pierced a wilderness where the
traffic would not pay for locomotive coal. The men who pushed the line
across the rocks and woods obviously had pluck. Moreover, when the
road reached the plains, but for the Red River settlement, Manitoba
was a wilderness. In the West, the plow followed the locomotive and
where the rails went homesteads sprang up.

Kit thought the engineers’ haste was justified. They started the
trains running and afterwards filled up the muskegs and cut out
awkward curves. North Americans did not expect their work to stand;
their children would use fresh plans. At Montreal merchants pulled
down office blocks and built higher. The streets were bordered by
scaffold poles, cranes rattled, and cement blew about. All was
growing; one saw no static calm. Turmoil and destruction of the
obsolete marked the nation’s swift advance.

Kit, however, did not want to philosophize, and he studied the
construction gang. Old Country methods were obviously out of date; the
engineers were not going to throw off the ballast by hand. The cars’
sides went down and the big plow forged ahead. A cataract of stones
marked its progress along the train, and the shovel gang went forward
behind the noisy wave. Hollows vanished and a bank of gravel soon
stretched across the gap. Men dragged clanging rails and hammers beat.

“Everybody has got his job; I don’t see a fellow who could slack,” Kit
remarked and laughed. “In a way, their hustling’s ominous. To keep up
with a lot like that would bother a stranger!”

After a time the gravel train steamed away, and Kit and Alison went
back along the line. Alison cooked supper, and when all was ready Kit
picked up the basket.

“We shall not need the stuff that’s left and I don’t expect the
emigrants’ children have got very much,” he said.

Alison agreed and Kit carried the basket to the Colonist car. She
thought him melancholy, and when he came back she smiled. She herself
was not cheerful, but at their last supper she must not brood. She
served the meal and when Kit began to banter her she joked. The jokes,
however, were flat and her appetite was not good. By and by she heard
the conductor shout: “All aboard. Next stop’s Winnipeg.”

The cars jolted and the wheels began to roll. Alison put up the tin
plates and got her sewing bag. The train slowly crossed the mended
line and plunged into the woods. Rocks and tangled pines rolled by and
thick smoke blew about the shaking cars. Kit studied the newspaper;
Alison sewed and mused.




                              CHAPTER XI

                            THE ROAD FORKS


Winnipeg station was crowded by dejected emigrants. The broken line
had disorganized the traffic and nobody knew when the west-bound
trains would start, but the fashionable young woman at the information
office thought none would go for two or three hours. Kit saw his
polite inquiries bored her, but she haughtily indicated the telegraph
office, and when he sent off Alison’s message they started for the
town.

The night was hot, the pavements were wet, and thunder clouds rolled
across the moon. For the most part the stores were shut, and Main
Street was quiet but for the groups at the doors of the large hotels.
Only that people who came out jostled others going in, it looked as if
they went to a theatre. The Canadians’ habit is to perambulate the
hotels in the evening, and the rotunda is the citizen’s free club.

At the cheap hotels rows of men occupied the window chairs and rested
their boots on the radiator pipes. Some smoked and ruminated; some
frankly slept, and on the whole Kit thought them a dreary lot. He
followed Main Street to Portage Avenue and noted the new ambitious
office buildings. A Deer Park car was starting, and Alison stopped for
a few moments to watch the passengers get on board. They were
obviously going home and she envied them.

She touched Kit, and they went along a side street to the river.
Lights burned in the small frame houses, and the reflections from the
windows touched the trees in the narrow garden-lots. Wooden pillars
and sawn scrolls ornamented the shiplap fronts, and although the
verandas were enclosed like meat-safes by mosquito mesh, Alison
thought the houses picturesque.

Sometimes she heard cheerful voices and sometimes a gramophone. By and
by she stopped opposite a window behind which a woman sang. Heavy
drops splashed from the trees and the sidewalk was muddy; her boots
were wet and a mosquito bit her neck.

“Oh,” she said, savagely brushing off the insect, “that’s the second!
I hope I killed the brute! Perhaps I’m revengeful, but it looks as if
the mosquitoes knew we were strangers. Haven’t you got bitten?”

“If it would be some comfort, we’ll stop until I do get bitten,” Kit
replied.

“You are rather noble,” Alison remarked with a laugh. “You see, I felt
the mosquitoes were not just; but I’d really sooner they left you
alone, and we won’t stop.” She indicated the little houses and the
cheerful domestic lights. “Don’t you feel as if we were shut out?”

“To control your imagination is a useful plan. When the Canadians know
you, they won’t want to shut you out. So far, they have not had much
chance to cultivate us.”

“You are some comfort,” said Alison in a quiet voice. “Let’s see the
river, and then I think we’ll go back to the station. I feel the noise
is bracing.”

They went to the river. The moon was on the water, and the current
revolved in muddy eddies along the high bank. Vague trees marked the
top, and in the distance pale lightning flickered across the sky. For
a minute or two big drops splashed the pools and Alison felt the
moisture warm on her skin. Then the rain stopped and a motor boat
forged noisily up-stream and vanished in the dark.

“Perhaps the boat is typical,” Kit remarked. “Not very long since, the
half-breed voyagers poled their canoes up the Assiniboine and settlers
crossed the plains in Red River carts. Now I expect a flour-mill clerk
goes as far on a holiday afternoon as the voyagers went in a week.
Although the romance the others knew is gone, a gasoline launch and a
railroad car have some advantages.”

“Do you think the Red River settlers were romantic?”

“If the folk in the hotel windows are their descendants, I begin to
doubt. All the same, when you see them mend a broken track, you’re
forced to acknowledge them a hefty lot. Well, suppose we admit the Red
River man’s main object was to get there? Don’t you see his doing so
is important?”

“I’d sooner talk about something else,” said Alison quietly. “When you
arranged about my sleeper I was not altogether satisfied, and to-day I
made inquiries. You gave me your ticket.”

“So long as you are satisfied we won’t dispute,” said Kit. “Since I
knew your independence I might, of course, have bought another ticket
and allowed you to pay; but I did not. I got a berth for nothing on
board the Colonist, and since I slept until morning neither of us has
much grounds to grumble.”

Alison touched his arm. “I didn’t want to grumble. I think I wanted
you to know I knew. To find people do things like that is
encouraging.”

“You mustn’t exaggerate. To-night we’re forlorn strangers, but when
you are a big company’s secretary and I have built a famous bridge
we’ll meet for dinner at an expensive hotel and talk about the evening
we arrived at Winnipeg.”

“Ah,” said Alison, “I may not get the chance I want; but if I am
lucky, I’ll know you helped and I’ll meet you where you like. In the
meantime, perhaps, we ought to start for the station.”

They went back. Nobody yet knew when the trains would go, and Kit put
Alison’s rug on a bench in the waiting hall and sat down on his bag.
The spacious hall was rather like a palace than an English
waiting-room. The light was soft and clear. Noble columns supported
the huge glass dome and good pictures of Canadian landscapes occupied
the walls. The ornamental benches were moulded to one’s body and the
floor was white marble.

The passengers, however, did not harmonize with the hall. Listless,
dusty emigrants leaned against the pillars and crowded the benches.
For the most part their clothes were threadbare and their boots were
broken. They used bundles for pillows, and some who slept extended
arms and legs in uncouth poses. A number had spread ragged blankets on
the marble flags, and dejected groups, surrounded by their baggage,
lay about. Kit saw broken boxes, bundles covered by colored quilts,
and rolls of dirty bedding. It looked as if the foreigners had brought
all their household goods and would not risk the stuff in the baggage
cars.

They threw paper matches, fruit bags and banana skins about the floor,
and the hall smelt of musty clothes and rank tobacco. Men smoked and
brooded, women talked in moody voices, and jaded children cried.
Nobody bothered about them, for Colonist passengers cannot buy
civility. They did not know when their trains would start, and Kit
doubted if all knew where they went. They had bought a ticket for a
spot on the map, at which, perhaps, somebody from their native village
had prospered.

One got a sense of apathetic resignation, but Kit remarked that some
mouths were firm and some brows were knit. After all, the slack and
hopeless do not emigrate, and those who took the plunge had virile
qualities. Their patience was perhaps remarkable, but Kit thought they
could be moved. To put the crowd on the cars, however, was the
railroad company’s business, and Kit gave Alison a packet of candies
he had bought and lighted a cigarette. Alison motioned him to rest his
back against the rug she pulled across the bench. By and by a bell
tolled and wheels rattled.

“My train?” said Alison, and Kit stopped a railroad official.

“Winnipeg Beach excursion,” said the man, and Kit thought Alison was
glad because she need not go.

When the excursionists crossed the hall he studied the groups. The
girls’ clothes were fashionable; the young men wore straw hats and
summer flannels. They carried themselves well, their steps were quick,
and their voices happy. Kit thought them keen and optimistic, and he
speculated about their occupations. For one thing, it looked as if
their pay was good. Alison frowned, for she marked a contrast. The
excursionists were going home after a holiday. In the morning they
would resume their well-rewarded labors at office and store, but she
had no home, and it might be long before she got a post.

A girl gave her a sympathetic glance and touched her companion. He was
a rather handsome young fellow and he stopped in front of Kit. Kit,
sitting on his bag, leaned against Alison’s bench, and her dress
touched his clothes.

“You’re from the Old Country? Waiting for the west-bound?” the
Canadian inquired in a friendly voice.

“That is so,” said Kit. “Do you know anything about the trains? So far
as we can find out, the railroad men do not.”

The other laughed. “In the West you don’t bother the railroad gang.
They don’t like it. You buy your ticket and wait until they think you
ought to start. However, the yard loco’s moving some cars, and I
expect the Vancouver express will soon pull out. Well, I reckon you’re
going the proper way. On the plains we’ll cut a record crop and trade
will boom. If you’re willing to hustle, you’ll make good. Will you
take a cigarette?”

He gave Kit a package, and the girl gave Alison a bag of fruit. When
they went off Alison’s eyes twinkled, but Kit thought her color rather
high.

“They’re good sorts,” he remarked. “Husband and wife?”

“Not yet,” said Alison, as if she knew. “They are going to be married;
I think they fixed it, not long since, at Winnipeg Beach. The girl’s
kind, and because she’s happy she wanted to sympathize.”

She turned her head and Kit saw a light. Perhaps the others thinking
them man and wife was not remarkable, and he began to muse. Although
the Winnipeg girls were attractive, none had a charm like Alison’s.
Their walk and carriage indicated that they knew their power to
attract, but Alison’s charm was unconscious. Kit liked her level
glance, her touch of quiet humor and her independence. When she was
gone he would be lonely. Since he was not a romantic sentimentalist,
there was the puzzle.

Alison knew he was Evelyn’s lover, and although now he thought about
it, she had some physical charm, her beauty did not move him. In fact,
he was not attracted because she was a girl; sex had nothing to do
with it. Perhaps her trusting him accounted for much. One liked to be
trusted and one liked people one helped; but Kit doubted if it
accounted for all. Anyhow, he did not want to let her go. Alison was
quiet, and he lighted a cigarette from the Canadian’s package.

At length, a bell rang and a long train rolled into the station.
Alison got up, as if she braced herself, and Kit seized her bag. He
told her to hold his arm and they were carried to the door by a
jostling crowd. On the platform the crowd stopped and surged
tumultuously about. Tall iron rails enclosed the space and a group of
muscular railroad men kept the gate. Kit supposed they wanted to
examine the tickets, since another train started soon.

The emigrants, however, had waited long, and now they saw the train
they meant to get on board. A number knew no English. On board ship
and at the stations strangers drove them about and penned them up like
cattle. It looked as if they had had enough and their dull resignation
vanished. They growled sullenly, and Kit thought “growl” was the
proper word, for the noise carried a hint of animal savageness. When
the shipyard gates stopped a strikers’ march, Kit had heard the
ominous note before.

“Give me your ticket,” he said to Alison. “I’ll see you on the cars.”

“But the railway people will turn you back.”

“I think not; if they try, they’re fools,” said Kit. “This crowd’s
going through.”

For a few minutes the railroad men struggled to hold the jostling
passengers, and then one shut the ponderous gate. The mob howled and
rolled ahead, and the group was flung against the rails. A whistle
pierced the turmoil; porters and train-hands ran to help, but the
emigrants’ blood was fired and they raged behind the barrier. A few,
perhaps, were fanatic anarchists; others had borne oppression and
stern military rule. Now authority again blocked their road they meant
to fight.

The rails were high, but men getting on others’ backs began to climb
across. Then somebody reopened the gate and a fresh guard tried to
hold the gap. Kit liked the fellows’ pluck, but he thought them
foolish. Anyhow, they were not going to stop him. Alison must get her
train.

Clutching the bag, he steered her into the press. He stumbled against
luggage the emigrants dropped and doubted if Alison kept her feet, but
she stuck to him and they got nearer the gate. In front he saw heaving
shoulders and bent backs. The men’s arms were jambed; it was like a
Rugby scrimmage. Women screamed, and one, jerking up her hand, struck
Kit’s face. He did not know if he jostled her, but in the turmoil he
must go where the others went. People strained and gasped and fought.
Jambed tight, they pushed for the barrier; and then the thick rails
crashed.

The crowd spilled out across the platform as a flood leaps a broken
dam, and Kit, plunging forward, had room to choose his line. The
emigrants meant to get on board as soon as possible and they swarmed
about the cars nearest the broken rails. Kit saw a better plan.

“Come on!” he shouted, and started for the front of the long train.

After a minute or two he stopped at a second-class car. Behind him
others ran along the line and he pushed Alison up the steps. A colored
porter came from the vestibule.

“Have you got a sleeper berth?” Kit asked.

“The conductor’ll fix you all right,” said the porter. “Where’s your
grip?”

Kit gave him the bag, and when the fellow went off turned and looked
about. The group he had remarked steered for the vestibule.

“We mustn’t block the steps, and you ought to get your place,” he
said.

Alison on the top step hesitated, and then put her hand on his
shoulder.

“Good-bye! Thank you for all, Kit,” she said and turned her head.

Kit kissed her and jumped back. The crowd had reached the car and
people pushed him from the steps. For a moment Alison leaned over the
rail and he waved his cap.

“Cheerio! Look in front!” he shouted, and Alison smiled and vanished.

Two or three minutes afterwards the cars jolted and smoke and cinders
blew about. Lights rolled by and melted, the locomotive bell stopped
and the train was gone. Kit went back to the waiting hall, but he did
not steer for the bench Alison had occupied. Sitting down across the
floor, he moodily lighted his pipe.




                             CHAPTER XII

                       KIT PLAYS FOR HIS SUPPER


In the morning Kit’s train stopped at a prairie station and he went
along the line to the baggage car. The door rolled back, and when he
jumped on the step a sack plunged out and rolled down the bank. Then a
box crashed on the ballast, and since Kit did not want to be knocked
off he moved along the step. Inside the car a muscular fellow pulled
down a pile of baggage and another waited to throw out the stuff.
Although Kit beckoned, the men did not stop.

“Have you got a small brown steamer trunk?” he inquired.

“We have not,” said one. “Get out of the light!”

“The trunk was loaded up at Montreal——”

The baggage man gave an order to his mate, and they dragged a box to
the door and pushed it from the ledge. In order to avoid a collision
Kit jumped down and when he climbed back his face was red.

“Where is my trunk?”

“Search me! You’re a sticker all right,” the railroad man remarked and
threw a bag as if he aimed at Kit.

Kit thought the next bag might hit him, and he got down. A man from
the office pushed past and, refusing to stop, climbed on board the
car. When the train started he gave Kit a careless glance.

“Are you wanting something?”

“I want my trunk. At Montreal your baggage clerk said I’d get it when
I arrived.”

“Sure!” remarked the agent. “Those fellows do talk like that; it’s in
the company’s folders. Have you got a check.”

Kit pulled out a check he got at Montreal.

“Well,” said the agent, “your trunk’s not on the train. She may come
along in the morning and she may be a week. Depends on your luck.”

He went off and shut his office. Nobody came for the baggage and Kit
sat down on the broken box. The cars had begun to melt into the plain
and the smoke that rolled across the grass got faint. Fifty yards off
a small frame hotel faced the track. The next building was a grocery,
and then six or seven little shiplap houses bordered the wagon trail.
There was no pavement, and the black soil was torn by wheels, but a
few planks went along the front of the houses. By the hotel, two light
wagons and a battered car were in the grass, and on the veranda a man
smoked his pipe. Harper’s Bar was obviously a tranquil spot.

Although the settlement had not much charm, the background pleased
Kit. The prairie was not the monotonous flat he had pictured. The
plain rolled, and the grass was dotted by tall red flowers like
lilies. Ponds shone in the hollows, poplar bluffs checkered the rises,
and at one spot yellow sandhills reflected the sun. A belt of trees,
marking a river, curved about a shallow valley, and in the distance
the green and ocher of the grass melted into ethereal blue.

The landscape was not like an English landscape, for the colors were
vivid and the outlines sharp. Although the sun was hot, a keen wind
rolled white clouds across the sky, and Kit got a sense of
spaciousness and freedom. For one thing, he saw no fences. Only a
skeleton windmill and a wooden homestead, a mile or two off, indicated
that the prairie was not a wilderness.

Kit pulled out his wallet. In England he had reckoned by shillings,
and now he had begun to reckon by dollars; his wad of paper money was
ominously thin. All the same, his last meal was the supper Alison
cooked on board the cars, and he glanced at the hotel. On the whole he
thought he would try the grocery and he crossed the track.

Although the skeleton door was covered by a mosquito net, flies
swarmed about the grocery. Dead flies stuck to the paper traps and
dotted the dusty floor. The room was very hot and Kit sat down on a
barrel. After he had knocked for some time, a man came in. The
storekeeper had no coat and his white shirt was crumpled and soiled.

“I was hoeing up my potato hills,” he said. “The boys expect me to sit
around and be sociable evenings.”

“Can you sell me something to eat?” Kit inquired.

“Crackers?” suggested the other. “Maybe some cheese? I might give you
butter, but you’d want to use a can.”

Kit bought cheese and crackers; and then asked: “How far is the new
bridge?”

“Eight miles. Sometimes a supply train stops at the station tank, but
if you want to ride, your plan’s to hire Cassidy’s flivver. I reckon
he’d take you out for three or four dollars.”

“It looks as if I’d have to walk,” said Kit. “Which way do you go?”

The storekeeper told him and resumed: “You talk like you was from the
Old Country. Are you looking for a job?”

Kit said it was so and the other smiled.

“I was raised in England; the orphanage shipped me out and a whiles
since they put a picture of my store in their little book. Two fellows
loading a wagon at the steps and a big freight train on the track in
front! Thomas Lightfoot, merchant. Another —— boy does well in Canada,
printed at the top. I don’t grumble, but if the boys would pay their
bills, I might do better. Well, the sun is pretty fierce and maybe
you’ll take a drink.”

He went off and came back carrying two glasses of pale green liquor in
which ice floated.

“Good luck!” he said. “I’m a lawful citizen; the stuff’s soft all
right.”

“Thank you! You’re a first-class sort,” said Kit, and drained his
glass, for the lemonade was cold and good.

“If the bridge bosses turn you down, you might go on to Jardine, where
the boys are putting up a tank,” Lightfoot resumed, and looking about
his shelves, gave Kit a small can of fruit. “Another on me! I reckon
it will help your lunch.”

Kit thanked him and started for the bridge. The storekeeper’s kindness
was encouraging, because he had begun to feel that Canada was a
foreign country. He did not know if the Canadians were antagonistic,
but they were not polite. Kit thought the baggage man’s ordering him
to get out was typical, but in a sense perhaps it was logical. The
fellow did not have his trunk and there was no use in talking. Kit
smiled and looked in front.

The trail went up a gentle slope, and where the wheels had torn the
sod the black soil reflected the light as if the stuff was greasy. The
wheel-marks were not straight; they curved about clumps of brush and
sloos where the grass was high. Near the top, a farmer turned the
clods in the summer fallow and dust rolled like smoke about indistinct
horses and sparkling steel.

By and by the soil got lighter and the grass was rather gray than
green. The black stuff was the _gumbo_ in which the wheat plant
thrives, but it looked as if the fertile belt followed the river, and
on the high ground the wheels plowed up sandy gravel. Although Kit had
thought to see homesteads, and fields of wheat rolling in the wind,
Manitoba was yet marked by spaces cultivation had not touched.

After a time he sat down in the grass by a sparkling pond. Behind the
pond was a poplar bluff, and cool shadows trembled on the grass. Kit,
pulling out the cheese and crackers, began his lunch. His violin was
all he carried, he did not know when he would get his trunk, and his
money was nearly gone. Then it was possible the bridge engineers would
have no use for him. Perhaps he had some grounds to be anxious, but he
was not.

The wind and the sunshine banished moody thought. The sky was blue and
to look across the spacious plain was bracing. One saw it melt in the
distance, and the distance called. If he did not get a job, he must
fiddle for his supper, and in the morning he would push on again.
Sometimes in England he had pictured humorously a minstrel’s life, and
now it looked as if the life might be his.

A gopher stole from the grass and plunged into a hole. A flock of
birds flew along the edge of the bluff. They were like English
blackbirds, but their wings were marked by golden bars. Splendid red
lilies dotted the plain, the tossing branches made a soothing noise
and the wind blew away the flies.

Kit opened the fruit can. He had meant to be frugal, but he was
hungry, and the acid currants helped the cheese and crackers. When he
had satisfied his appetite all was gone and he lighted his pipe. He
was not bothered by luggage and when one travelled light one went
farthest. To start with a fiddle and two or three small bills was
something of an adventure. Lying in the grass he smoked and mused.

He pictured Evelyn under the big oaks at Netherhall. Her white dress
cut the shadows and her voice harmonized with the river’s languid
splash. She was serene and graceful, and she carried herself proudly.
One felt the sweep of smooth grass, the flower borders, and the
dignified old house were proper. To see her at the tarn was harder,
and the picture got indistinct. On the bleak moor Evelyn was somehow
exotic, and Kit admitted he could not see her on board the emigrant
ship. When he thought about it, he smiled. To picture Evelyn’s singing
in the third-class saloon was ridiculous.

Kit let it go and pondered tranquilly. On the whole, he thought
temperament rather than circumstances accounted for one’s adventures.
In a sense he was not forced to start for Canada; were he another he
might have taken another line. He was resting by the Manitoba bluff
because he was Christopher Carson and had inherited qualities that
persuaded him to go; he did not see Evelyn in the third-class saloon
because she was Evelyn. Anyhow, it was something like that, but he was
not a philosopher, and he began to muse about Alison.

Although he knew her fastidious, when she cooked supper on the train
and occupied the bench at Winnipeg station, her surroundings did not
jar. One felt shabbiness and dreariness vanished when she was about.
It looked as if she had power to transmute the ugly things she touched
to something fine. Kit wondered whether he was romantic, but he did
not think he exaggerated much.

Yet Alison, so to speak, was not at all remarkable, and when one
speculated where her charm was one did not know. All the same, she had
charm; perhaps it was her frank, thoughtful look, her obvious
sincerity. Kit saw her, tired and forlorn but smiling, on the bench at
the marble waiting-hall; and the emigrants lying drearily about the
flags. Then the train rolled into the station and the passion of the
crowd was roused. Alison clung to him and they fought to reach the
gate. The rails went down, they sped across the platform and he pushed
her up the steps.

Perhaps it was strange, but Kit did not remember all he said.
Something about bracing up and looking in front. Well, he was a fool,
for now he thought about it, Alison had braced him. Anyhow, he kissed
her and the cars began to roll ahead. He wanted to jump on board, but
the train went faster and the lights got faint.... The dim reflections
melted ... and Kit was asleep.

When he looked up, the shadows had moved across the grass and he
pulled out his watch. If he wanted to reach the bridge for supper, he
must start, and picking up his violin case, he set off. The trail
dipped to hollows where the grass was tall, and curved round shady
bluffs. Gophers ran about, and a flock of prairie chickens sprang
noisily from the brush. Sometimes Kit saw a homestead and a belt of
dark green wheat; sometimes he labored across sandhills where stable
litter bound the road. In front the wheel-marks went across the
horizon.

At length a belt of trees began to get distinct and Kit saw smoke. The
smoke trailed far across the grass, and when he got nearer, was
pierced by a shining plume of steam. Hammers beat like chiming bells,
and he heard the musical clash of steel. Kit unconsciously went
faster. Where men hammered iron was the place for him.

After a time he reached a gap in the trees. The railroad pierced the
wood, and on one side the birches and poplars were chopped back. The
trunks lay beside a forking row of rails and Kit smelt sappy wood and
withering leaves. Following the branch track, he stopped at a river.
Log shacks, tents, and two or three iron shanties occupied the high
clay bank, and a wooden bridge carried the line across. A hundred
yards off, clusters of iron columns, strongly braced, broke the muddy
current. Steel girders and a network of tie-rods and wooden platforms
joined the columns to the bank.

Work had stopped and brown-skinned men swarmed about the tin basins on
the benches in front of the bunk-house. The men’s shirts and brown
overalls were stained by grease and clay. Kit thought them an athletic
lot, and he stopped one.

“Is your boss about?” he inquired.

“He’s not,” said the other and started for the washing bench.

Kit got in front of the fellow. “When will the boss arrive? I’m
looking for a job.”

“I sure don’t know. You might see the foreman. He’s by the shack.”

Kit steered for the spot, and the foreman looked at him thoughtfully.

“Are you a blacksmith?”

“I am not, but I can use a forge hammer and sharpen tools.”

“We want a blacksmith,” remarked the foreman, and began to move away.

“Can’t you give me a job of some sort?”

“Nothing doing; we’re full up. You might try the tank at Jardine. It’s
ten miles west,” said the foreman and went off.

Kit frowned. In twenty-four hours all he had eaten was a small can of
fruit and some crackers and cheese. He was young and his appetite was
good; he did not see himself walking to Jardine and waiting for
breakfast. Besides, he might not get breakfast. Then he began to
smile. After all, he might earn his supper by fiddling, and he tuned
his violin.

In two or three minutes a crowd of muscular workmen surrounded the
spot. Kit played Mendelssohn’s “Wings of Song,” but he felt calm and
stately music did not go, and since he did not know much ragtime, he
experimented with Scottish airs. A ranting, clanging reel captured his
audience, and Kit knew he was on the proper track, for he saw long
boots beat the ground and brown hands mark the time. He tried a
Strathspey, but Strathspeys are awkward music, unless one is a Scot,
and he began a Highland chieftain’s march. Then a man came from the
bunk-house and looked about.

“Wha’s playing?” he inquired.

The others indicated Kit, and the man signed him to advance.

“Yon reel was not bad; ye got the lilt and swing o’t,” he remarked.
“Ye cannot play a Strathspey; I dinna ken about the march. In a dance
tune a fiddle’s heartsome, but for real music ye need the pipes.”

“A fiddle has some limitations,” Kit agreed in a sober voice. “Its
line is melody. Where you want volume, perhaps an organ——”

“An organ canna’ beat the pipes,” the other rejoined, and the workmen
began to laugh.

“We like you, Jock, but we want our supper,” said one. “Quit talking
and set up the hash.”

The cook did not turn his head; he studied Kit.

“Ye’ll not have got supper yet?”

Kit said he had not, and the cook pointed to the bunk-house door.

“Ye ken something about music. Come away in.”

“Speed up! We want supper,” shouted the workmen, and the cook and Kit
started for the shack in front of a noisy mob.




                             CHAPTER XIII

                         THE COOK’S MUSICIAN


Kit did not know where he would get breakfast, and he indulged his
appetite. The food was good and all that bothered him was he could not
copy the workmen’s speed. Bacon, fried potatoes, beans and slabs of
pie vanished; the men drained cans of tea and shouted for fresh
supplies. They were muscular fellows. Although they were Western, Kit
thought their type simpler, and, in a way, more primitive than the
mechanics he had known. The shipyard workers were sportsmen,
politicians, and sometimes philosophers. At the engine shops one heard
much about racing, football and social economics. It looked as if the
Canadians concentrated on their occupation, and now they frankly
concentrated on their supper. In fact, Kit felt the rude feast was
marked by something of a Homeric touch.

The men’s clothes were thin, and one saw their bodies were molded on
classical lines; sometimes an unconscious pose was statuesque. Then
one got a hint of careless, optimistic confidence. The bridge gang
obviously did not bother; they labored, fought, and trusted their
luck. Kit felt the gang and the bunk-house harmonized. The piles of
food, rusty stove, and battered tin lamps were properly in the
picture. All was rude and vigorous, and had nothing to do with modern
cultivation.

Before Kit was altogether satisfied the men were gone, and the cook
began to carry off the plates. Kit helped and afterwards they lighted
their pipes.

“If ye’ll get your fiddle, I’ll let ye see how yon march should go,”
the cook said by and by.

Kit played a few bars; and then the other, drumming on the table,
marked the puzzling rhythm.

“I think I see,” said Kit. “It’s a linked note trick; you drive the
last quaver across the bar. Let’s try——”

“Noo ye have got it,” the cook approved. “If ye could stop for a week,
I’d show ye how a Strathspey is played. Highland music is no’ like
ither music.”

“Five beats to a bar are awkward,” Kit agreed. “Anyhow, I can’t stop
for a week. In fact, since your foreman has no use for me I ought to
shove off.”

“Ye’ll get breakfast before ye tak’ the road. Do ye waken early?”

Kit said when he was at the shipyard he was forced to get up soon, and
the cook nodded.

“Then, if ye’ll light the stove in the morning and play yon march, ye
might bide until the boss comes back. We do not expect him for two,
three days. I reckon ye’d help me chop wood and cut potatoes?”

Kit was willing. He liked the cook and it was not important that the
hospitality the fellow offered was the company’s.

“Thank you,” he said. “But why do you want me to play the march?”

The other told him. Long since, when he was a herd boy, a Highland
gentleman occupied a shooting lodge near the Scottish village, and in
the morning his piper played on the terrace. Kit had not thought the
Scots romantically sentimental, and he remarked the cook’s apologetic
smile. The fellow admitted that he himself played the pipes.

“To hear the music in the fresh morning was fine,” he said. “I was
away early with the dogs when a’ was quiet and only the sheep were
moving on the moor. Maybe ye’d hear a cock-grouse crow, and then the
pipes began. Weel, I was a raw herd laddie and I thought, if I got
rich, my piper would waken me with music like yon. Ye see, the march
is famous; I’m thinking the Prince’s pipers played it on the road to
Derby....”

He knocked out his pipe, smiled, and resumed:

“It’s lang syne and I’m no yet rich. To the moor where the sheep fed
is a far cry, but when ye began yon march I saw the mist roll up the
brae and I thought the grouse were calling. Weel, until the boss comes
back I’ve got my piper, and I’ll lie until ye play for me the morn. In
the meantime I must make the coffee and slice the breakfast pork.”

He went to his store, and Kit went to a bench in front of the shack.
In the distance the prairie was blue; the sky was saffron and red. By
the river bank dark trees cut the sunset, and fading reflections
touched the stream. The camp was quiet but hammers rang along the
bridge, and after a time a pillar of fire leaped up. For a few moments
the flame was smoky, and then the light got clear and Kit knew
somebody adjusted the blast-lamp’s valves.

Braced columns and steel lattice shone like silver, and on the high
platforms workmen’s figures, in black silhouette, cut the strong
illumination. Grass and leaves sparkled as if touched by frost, and a
glittering flood broke against the piers. The sunset’s reflections
vanished, and where the bright beam did not reach all was dark.

The hammers beat faster and small pale flames marked the rivet forges.
Kit saw red specks move along the bridge and sparks fly, and he
ruminated humorously. His fiddle had earned his supper, and for two or
three days he could reckon on his food and a bunk-house bed; but he
was not ambitious to be a cook’s musician. His job was at the bridge.
Well, there was no use in brooding, and his first post in Canada was
rather a joke. By and by he returned to the bunk-house and was soon
asleep.

Not long after daybreak he got down from his bunk and stole across the
floor. The bridge gang slept noisily, and to waken the men before the
usual time might be rash. To light the stove was perhaps not a
minstrel’s job, but he had undertaken to do so, and since it was his
first experiment, he had got up early.

The stove was in a lean-to shed and did not bother Kit. The poplar
billets snapped behind the bars and the iron got red. He liked the
smell of the wood, the morning was fresh, and the warmth was soothing.
Pulling out his watch, he saw he did not waken the cook for some time,
and he made coffee and found a slab of pie. When he had drained the
can and the pie was gone, he lighted his pipe. After all, to help the
cook had some advantages.

At length, he got up and tuned his fiddle by the track. Mist floated
about the river and dew sparkled on the grass. All was fresh and
bracing, and Kit’s mood was buoyant. He put the fiddle to his shoulder
and a joyous reveille roused the sleeping gangs. Then for a few
moments Kit stopped. Sometimes at camps he had known reveille was not
joyous, and he pictured tight-mouthed men strapping up packs and
ground-sheets and taking the muddy road. The road faced the rising
sun, but it had carried Kit’s pals West.

Well, it was done with and one must look ahead. Kit was the cook’s
piper, and he pulled the bow across the lower strings. He thought the
pipes began on under tones; and then he leaped an octave to the
ranting tune. The music was not great music, but it fired the blood
and moved one’s feet. Kit was not playing for critics; he called
muscular men to work. Perhaps the chords were like the pipes, but no
pipes could give the clear ringing notes one got from the high
strings. If the cook had imagination, he would hear the broadswords
rattle and the clansmen’s feet. The Highlanders marched for Derby to a
tune like that.

The music carried far and men came from the house and tents, splashed
at the wash bench, and waved to Kit.

“Some tune, stranger! Hit her up!”

By and by the foreman walked along the line.

“I reckoned you had quit!”

Kit said the cook had stated he might stay for a day or two, and the
other nodded.

“Well, you can play mornings and evenings. If I hear the fiddle after
the boys get busy, I’ll put you off the camp.”

It looked as if the cook were important, but somebody beat a suspended
iron bar and the men started for the house. Kit went with the others
and the cook pushed a big coffee can into his hands.

“Hustle round the table and keep the boys supplied. When all’s gone
ye’ll get a fresh lot in the shack.”

Kit saw he must earn his breakfast. In Canada, a minstrel was
evidently not an honored guest, but he must not grumble, and he ran
about with the can. When the men went off, the cook gave him a heaped
plate and he noticed that the bacon was thin and crisp and the sliced
potatoes were golden brown. Kit imagined the gang did not get the
best.

After breakfast they cleaned the plates, and then Kit chopped wood and
carried water. In the afternoon he pulled down and mended the smoking
stove pipe, and when dusk fell he admitted that to help the cook was
not the joke he thought.

A day or two afterwards he carried a tub of potatoes to a shady spot
under the trees, and sitting down in the chopped branches, sharpened
his knife on his boot. The bridge gang was not fastidious, and the
knife was dull. His clothes were greasy and his skin was not clean,
for he had recently scraped the stove flues, and the soap was not very
good. Then he had burned his hand and to play the fiddle hurt, but in
the morning he must play the Highland chieftain’s march. The march
began to get monotonous, and on the whole Kit thought when the
construction boss returned and sent him off he would be resigned to
go.

By and by he heard steps and looked up. Gordon, whose children he had
amused on board the cars, stopped in front of the potato tub. He threw
down the pack he carried, and when he studied Kit his eyes twinkled.

“You made it! A fellow at the settlement reckoned I’d find you at the
bridge.”

“I arrived two or three days ago, but I’m not staying long.”

“Don’t you like your job?”

“The trouble is, I haven’t got a job. Anyhow, I’m not on the pay-roll.
My business is to play the fiddle mornings and evenings. Between times
I carry coal, cut potatoes, and clean the stove, so to speak, for
relaxation.”

“Something fresh?” said Gordon. “In the Old Country you didn’t carry
coal.”

“At an English shipyard the trucks discharge into the furnace hoppers.
All the same, at the beginning I used a forge hammer.”

“Now you talk!” said Gordon. “If you were at a shipyard I guess I can
fix you. We’ll go along and see the smith.”

“I saw the foreman and admitted I was not a smith. He stated he had no
use for a roustabout.”

“A foreman knows where he mustn’t make trouble.”

“I fancied that was so, because your cook allowed me to stay. I expect
a good cook is important.”

“A good smith’s important, and Bill’s my pal. Come on. We’ll see what
he can do.”

They went along the track and Kit inquired for the children.

“They’re pretty spry,” said Gordon. “When I dumped them at Portage
they allowed if I met up with you I was to send you back. They’re
surely keen on conjuring.”

Kit laughed and remarked that he thought Portage was on another line.
Gordon nodded.

“That’s so. I went back to Winnipeg. Mr. Austin’s at the _Strathcona_,
and since I was some time in Ontario, I wanted to see if he’d kept my
job.”

“But has a gentleman at Winnipeg something to do with the bridge?”

“Mr. Austin’s the company’s engineer; he took a holiday. Wheeler’s
head construction boss, but he’s not around all the time. If we can
fix you up, you’ll like Austin. He’s a pretty good sort of boss.”

Kit was not interested, and by and by Gordon stopped at the forge. The
smith threw a glowing iron in a tank and looked up. He was a big
fellow and his lined face was wet by sweat. He knitted his brows as if
he frowned unconsciously.

“Howd’y, Jake. You’re back. Are you wanting something?”

“You want help, Bill, my partner, Carson, is your man. He was raised
at an Old Country shipyard, but he can clean a cook stove, conjure
with a shoe-string, and play the fiddle.”

“Can he sharpen tools?” Bill inquired.

“Let me try,” said Kit, and the smith pulled some chisels from a box.
Then he turned to Gordon.

“I don’t want you, Jake. Get going!”

Gordon gave Kit a smile, and when he went off Kit looked about. A
revolving shaft crossed the roof, and when he put a belt on a pulley,
a small thick wheel began to spin. At the shipyard, Kit was for a time
at the lathe-shop, and he thought he knew something about grinding
tools. Moreover, he saw he must not bother the smith. He claimed he
could sharpen tools and the fellow had given him the chisels. When Kit
carried back the chisels he would know. The Canadians were a sternly
logical lot.

To hold the steel on the spinning stone absorbed Kit. He liked to mold
the bevel and see the thick edge melt to an almost invisible line. The
roll of the shaft and the noise the slapping belt made were soothing.
Perhaps he had some talent for music, but he was, by inheritance, an
engineer. After a time, Bill picked up a chisel and felt the edge.

“Pretty good! You can go ahead.”

Kit turned and pulled off the belt.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t stay.”

“Then why in thunder did you begin?”

“Gordon thought you wanted help, but the boys will soon be ready for
supper, and I left a tub of potatoes by the track. Jock expects me to
cut the potatoes, and I think he’s asleep.”

“Some folks get their dollars easy,” the smith remarked. “Well, I
reckon I could put you on the pay-roll, but I want you now.”

“It’s awkward,” said Kit. “I’d sooner grind the tools, but when I
arrived Jock gave me supper, and until he lets me go I’m his man.”

“You get your grub; but you don’t know if I can hire you up?”

“I don’t think it’s altogether my argument,” Kit replied. “If you
like, I’ll come back in the morning.”

“You make me tired,” said the smith. “You better cut your blamed
potatoes. Get out!”

Kit went and rather moodily helped the cook serve supper. In Canada a
smith’s pay is good, but a minstrel’s reward was small. Moreover, at
the smithy the glimmering forge, the red iron, and the rows of tools
had called. There was Kit’s occupation; he did not know much about
cooking, and all he did know he did not like. When the plates were
cleaned he went to the bridge-head and lighted his pipe. After
breakfast he resolved to start for the water tank. By and by Gordon
arrived, and when he noted Kit’s rueful look he smiled.

“Bill wants you in the morning. The foreman agrees he can try you
out.”

“Then I expect you’re accountable,” said Kit. “Bill declared I made
him tired and ordered me to be off.”

“Bill is like that, but I reckon you don’t get us,” Gordon remarked
with a grin. “You want to remember you have done with the Old
Country.”

“It’s rather obvious,” said Kit. “All the same, I begin to think a
good Canadian’s a first-class type. I won’t bother you by examples,
but I met a young fellow at Winnipeg station I’d like to meet another
time. However, Jock expects some music, and I’m in the mood to play a
rousing tune.”




                             CHAPTER XIV

                            THE WATER CURE


In the morning Kit went to the forge. When he arrived the smith was
pulling about some iron, but by and by he gave Kit a nod.

“You cut them potatoes?”

“I expect you ate some for supper.”

“Maybe so,” agreed the smith. “I don’t claim I’m sick!”

Kit studied the fellow. Nothing indicated that he was humorous. His
glance was hard and he pushed forward his heavy jaw. Kit, however, did
not think him antagonistic. For the most part the bridge gang were a
sober lot.

“Shall I start the blower for you?” he inquired.

“You can start your wheel and grind them tools,” replied Bill.

Kit got to work and the revolving grindstone bit the steel. Bill set
the blower going and its rhythmic throb shook the iron walls. Blue
flames danced about the forge, and the iron bedded in the coal began
to shine. Bill, leaning down, turned the glowing lump and the
reflections touched his face. The lines were deep and Kit remarked the
white hair on his knitted brows. His large mouth was firm and his look
was grim. In the background smoke and dust floated about.

Bill pulled the iron from the fire and the gloom was banished. The
heavy hammer crashed and dazzling sparks leaped up. To steady the lump
and use the hammer was awkward, but Kit stayed at the grindstone. Bill
was not the man to whom one rashly offered help.

After a time he gave Kit a bar, marked by a punch where holes must be
made, and Kit clamped the iron on the machine-drill table. The wrench
he used was worn and slipped on the nuts, and Bill gave him a
sliding-jaw spanner.

“When you’re through, put her in the box,” he said.

Kit saw the spanner was a well-made, accurate tool. At the back of the
jaw he noted two small holes, and he smiled.

“To know your tools is useful,” he remarked.

“Sure,” said Bill. “Anyhow, the spanner’s a daisy, and I don’t want
her left about. When the slobs at the bridge drop their truck
overboard they come for mine.”

Kit drilled the holes and thought Bill was satisfied. In the afternoon
the forge was hot, but all he did interested him and he had sweated by
shipyard fires. For two or three days nothing disturbed him; and then
a man from the bridge arrived one morning and threw down some tools.

“You’ll grind them before you stop,” he said, and put a bar on the
anvil. “Eye’s broke. We want her welded up. I’ll wait.”

“That’s so,” said Bill dryly and resumed his hammering.

The workman sat down and began to cut tobacco.

“You don’t want to hustle for me; I’ll take a smoke. Mr. Austin’s
waiting for the bar.”

“Now you talk!” Bill remarked. “Mr. Austin’s the company’s engineer,
but not long since you were slinging rails. I don’t want you near my
tool rack. Skat!”

The other pushed the keg he occupied farther from the wall, and by and
by Bill beckoned Kit. Kit went to the anvil, and for a minute or two
steadied the glowing iron Bill pulled from the forge. The hammer
crashed on the hot metal, and Kit turned his head from the flying
sparks. When the eye was welded Bill plunged the iron in the tank and
threw it on the floor.

“There’s your bolt. Light out!”

The workman went off, and some time afterwards Kit moved some drills
on a bench.

“I don’t see the spanner.”

Bill frowned. “If she’s gone, I know where she went. Railton was
pretty smart.”

“You think he picked up the tool when we welded the bolt? If that is
so, I’m accountable, and I’ll go after the fellow. Suppose you give me
a message for somebody at the bridge?”

“If you went now, Railton would guess we were on his track. You want
to wait until he gets careless. Maybe I’ll think of something in the
afternoon.”

Kit agreed, and at four o’clock he started for the bridge. The foreman
said that the thickness of the stuff the smith inquired about was
standard thickness, and he reckoned Bill ought to know. Kit went back
along the platform and, stopping at the end, looked about.

The afternoon was very hot and the river shone dazzlingly. An angry
turmoil broke against the iron piers, and for some distance
down-stream the current was marked by lines of foam. In the shadow of
the trees on the high bank dark eddies revolved. Across the river,
grass and poplar bluffs rolled back to the horizon.

The landscape, however, did not much interest Kit and he studied the
workmen. Some were occupied on stages hung between the piers; some
crawled about the lattice girders like spiders on a web; their figures
were dark against the thin gray steel and shining water. The wind had
dropped, and along the bank smoke and steam went straight up. In
England Kit had not known the sun as hot.

The men moved languidly, and where a big tie was hoisted two or three
disputed. Kit thought it was the sort of afternoon on which a good
foreman leaves the gang alone. For him to claim the forge spanner
might make trouble; but he must get the tool.

By and by he noted three or four men on a stage who lifted a heavy
brace. They obviously meant to fasten the brace across the lattice for
the riveters. Kit thought one was Railton, and he climbed to the
stage. The men faced the lattice and did not notice his advance. The
stage was four or five feet broad and the other side was open to the
river, twenty feet below. Tools were scattered about the planks, but
Kit did not see the spanner, and he stopped behind Railton. The
fellow’s hip-pocket bulged and Kit believed the spanner accounted for
the bulge.

“Can’t you hold up your end?” one of the gang inquired.

“I’ve most got her fixed,” said Railton. “Ease her to me and the bolt
will go through.”

Kit knew Railton would in a few moments feel for the spanner, and
something must be risked. Moving noiselessly, he pushed his hand into
the bulging pocket. Railton’s hand went round his back, but he dared
not let go the brace, and Kit pulled out the spanner. He stepped back,
and striking his foot against a tool-box, rolled across the planks.
When he jumped up Railton blocked the way to the ladder. Railton’s
face was red and he clenched his fist.

“Did you reckon I carried my wad in my overalls?”

“I reckoned you carried Bill’s spanner,” Kit rejoined.

“Maybe it was Bill’s, but all you can get out of the smithy is yours
for keeps. Hand over!”

Kit began to think he must fight for the tool, but he did not mean to
do so unless he was forced. Railton was big and had, no doubt, for
long been engaged in strenuous labor. Kit was rather lightly built,
and at the drawing office one got soft.

“If your argument’s good, the spanner’s mine. You see, I got the thing
out of your pocket.”

“One on you, Steve!” a man remarked. “Can you beat it?”

“Oh, shucks! I’ve no use for talking,” said Steve. “If you can keep
the spanner for five minutes, Kid, I’ll allow it’s yours.”

Kit doubted. The platform was narrow and encumbered by the tool-box
and a forge. He must fight on awkward ground, and he did not think his
antagonist would use the rules of the boxing ring. He expected to be
beaten, but if he refused the challenge he must leave the camp.

“I’ll try,” he said.

Railton jumped across the platform, as if he trusted his weight and
strength. Kit’s guard was beaten down and his jarred right arm
dropped. He felt as if he were struck by a forge hammer, and he fell
against the lattice. Another knock like that would put him out, and if
he fell the other way he would go into the river. The foreman was some
distance off and, if he resolved to stop the fight, a minute or two
must go before he reached the spot.

Kit edged away from the lattice and tried to maneuver. He hit Railton,
and then the forge blocked his way and he took another knock. He knew
his face was cut; he was dizzy and his breath was going. The group on
the platform melted and his antagonist was indistinct. If he did not
get back to the lattice he must go over the planks, and if he did get
back Railton would batter him against the bars. All the same, he meant
to stick to the spanner.

Then Railton’s arm went round his neck, and he began to hope. On the
narrow stage, where one could not get about, the other’s weight and
muscular force counted for much; but he was a fool to clinch. When one
wrestled by Cumberland rules one did not need much room. Kit was
something of a wrestler, and he knew his antagonist was not. In fact,
if he could brace up for a minute or two, Railton would pay for his
rashness. Kit had turned his head and the fellow could not hit his
face, and for him to use his heavy boots was risky. Railton’s legs
would soon be occupied.

Kit spread his legs, took a smashing blow on his ribs, and grimly felt
for a good hold. When a Cumberland wrestler gets a good hold the
struggle is over. Gasping and straining, he leaned forward and locked
his arms round the other’s back. Then he stiffened his body, set his
mouth, and lifted.

Railton’s feet left the boards and he swayed in Kit’s tense arms. His
body bent and his legs went up. Kit, battered and exhausted, let go
and fell against the forge. Somebody shouted, men ran across the
platform, and Kit saw Railton was not about. The fellow was in the
river. Kit pushed back the others and jumped.

The plunge braced him, and when he came up his dizziness was gone. Not
far off he saw Railton’s head. The fellow tossed about in the broken
water behind the columns, and when Kit tried to reach the spot an eddy
swung him round. Railton vanished, but a few moments afterwards Kit’s
leg was seized and he was strongly pulled down. He got loose and
reached the surface. Railton came up behind him, pushed Kit’s head
under, and let him go.

Kit, fighting for breath, went down-stream. He thought he heard the
men on the stage laugh, and he began to see the joke. He had gone to
help a first-class swimmer. Railton, a yard or two off, turned and
gave him a humorous grin.

“You have surely got some gall! Steer for the bank. I’ll see you
through.”

They were carried down-stream, and when they struggled in the eddies
along the steep bank Railton, a yard or two in front, seized a willow
branch and stretched out his hand.

“Hang on, sonny! I’ll boost you up.”

“If you leave me alone, I can get up,” Kit gasped.

“Get a holt,” said Railton. “You’re going to be pulled up.”

Kit thought he saw a light. The men on the bridge were interested, and
Railton played for their applause.

“Very well,” he said. “I stick to the spanner.”

“That’s so,” Railton agreed, and seized Kit’s hand.

The current swept Kit into the tree, and crawling through the
branches, he reached the bank. Railton pulled him up a steep pitch,
and at the top they saw a man on the path whose clothes were not a
workman’s clothes.

“Mr. Austin! Now I beat it,” said Railton, and plunged into the trees.

Kit stopped. He was battered, and doubted if he could go very fast.
Moreover, to jump for the brush was ridiculous. He turned and faced
the young fellow who gave him the cigarettes at Winnipeg station.
Austin studied him with a twinkle. Kit’s face was cut and the water
ran from his greasy clothes.

“You have rather obviously got up against it,” Austin remarked. “What
was the trouble?”

“I don’t know that it was very important. Railton claimed a spanner I
didn’t think was his,” Kit replied.

“A forge spanner? Well, I’ve known Bill grumble about his tools
vanishing, but a number of the boys stopped for some minutes to watch
the fight, and the company won’t stand for your holding up the gang.”

“I was not at all keen to fight, but I felt I must get the spanner,”
said Kit, in an apologetic voice.

“Steve Railton’s a hefty fellow,” Austin remarked. “Since you threw
him off the stage, perhaps your jumping after him was humorous.”

“The joke was, I went to help a man who swims better than I. No doubt
you noted he pulled me into the willows.”

“I imagine Steve wanted the boys to note it,” said Austin dryly.
“Another time, you must wait until the whistle blows.”

He let Kit go, and Kit, starting for the forge, gave Bill the spanner.

“I got it, but the job was harder than I thought.”

“Looks like that,” the smith agreed. “Did Steve put you in the river?”

“I put Steve in,” Kit replied modestly. “Then I thought I ought to go
after him. I didn’t know he could swim.”

“You have surely got some gall,” said the smith with a hoarse laugh,
and resumed his hammering.

Kit noted the laugh. Although he had not known Bill laugh before, the
fellow was human; but he had begun to shiver and he pulled off his wet
clothes. The forge was very hot and the garments he did not pull off
would soon dry. Kit could not put on other clothes because his trunk
had not yet arrived.




                              CHAPTER XV

                          KIT MAKES PROGRESS


For two or three weeks Kit was strenuously, and on the whole happily,
occupied at the forge. When the sun was on the roof the iron shack got
very hot, and sometimes the labor was severe, but Kit was interested
and the pay was good. His trunk, broken by the baggage gang, had
arrived, and in the cool evenings to put on clean clothes and play the
violin for an attentive audience was some relief. Then he liked the
smith. Bill was sternly quiet and admitted he had no use for
politeness. As a rule, when he did talk, his remarks were aggressive,
but he was a skilful workman and asked from his helper nothing he
himself did not undertake.

For all that, Kit sometimes brooded. If he remained until the bridge
was built he would not be rich, and his ambition was not to help a
smith. Moreover, he feared when the frost began the company would pay
him off, and in the North winter work was hard to get. Then he had
promised he would not, for a stipulated time, write to Evelyn. She
would be anxious for him, and since he had work, of a sort, he wanted
her to know.

Sometimes he speculated about Alison. She was at Fairmead, and
although the settlement was not far off, it was on another line. Kit
did not know if she would stay for long, and when he put her on the
car at Winnipeg he felt they said good-bye for good. All the same, he
was sorry. Alison was a first-class pal; but she was gone, and he was
Evelyn’s lover and must concentrate on mending his broken fortunes.

When dusk began to fall one evening, he put up his violin and lighted
his pipe. The men had gone to the bunk-house and all was quiet. Kit
heard the current break against the piers, and in the distance
cow-bells faintly chimed. He thought about the river that ran by the
oaks at Netherhall. Somehow when he pictured Netherhall it was summer
afternoon, and Evelyn and he walked in the shade. The cow-bells,
however, struck a foreign note, and when Kit heard mosquitoes he
frowned.

By and by Austin came along the track. He was an athletic young
fellow, but his look was thoughtful. Kit began to think the Canadians’
habit was to concentrate. None he so far knew was remarkably
light-hearted.

“I heard you play,” said Austin. “You have some talent; but for a
construction camp, was not the music rather good?”

“The boys did not grumble. My notion is, uncultivated people like
better music than some composers think. Anyhow, I risked it. I don’t
know that I have much talent, but two or three Canadians informed me
that I have some gall.”

Austin smiled, for he thought the compliment justified. In a rather
stern country, Kit’s joyous carelessness struck a foreign note. Then
he was independent, and North American democracy cultivates a type.
All the same, Austin noted that when he began to talk Kit got up.
Since work had stopped, Austin did not want the other to acknowledge
him boss, and he sat down and lighted a cigarette.

“Well, Bill wants to keep you, and he’s pretty fastidious about his
helpers. I don’t know what you think about staying; but I don’t know
your proper occupation.”

Kit hesitated. Austin was friendly, but Kit did not want to use his
friendliness. He admitted he was perhaps extravagantly proud.

“When I arrived I was a strolling musician and was glad to fiddle for
my supper,” he said. “So long as Bill thinks me useful, I’m satisfied
to remain.”

“Wheeler, the construction boss, is willing. I expect you know Miss
Forsyth has got a post at Fairmead?”

“I don’t know,” said Kit, and his glance got keen. “In fact, I don’t
altogether see——”

“You may remember the lady who talked to Miss Forsyth at Winnipeg
station? Well, sometimes I go home week-ends to Fairmead, and not long
ago we met Miss Forsyth. She’s clerk at a creamery and was interested
to know you were at the bridge.”

“Fairmead’s on the other line. Do you go to Winnipeg?”

“The conductor’s allowed to stop the cars at Willows, and a flag
station on the other line is not far.”

Kit saw Austin thought him keen to go; in fact, he admitted Austin had
perhaps some grounds to think him Alison’s lover. When Kit stated he
did not know she had got a post, Austin was clearly puzzled.

“Oh, well,” he said, “if I can get leave I’d like to see Miss Forsyth;
but I mustn’t ask for a holiday yet. Anyhow, your stopping for a few
moments at the waiting-room was kind. Before you came along we felt
rather forlorn.”

“Something of the sort was plain. The crowd was a foreign crowd and
you were British. Then we saw your violin-case, and we doubted if you
knew Canada, which for a beginner is a pretty hard country. Well,
Carrie and I were going home, and the contrast was rather marked. I
expect it accounted for our stopping.”

Kit wondered. Alison had accounted for the others’ stopping and he
thought her supposition accurate. He began to talk about the bridge,
and after a time Austin went to his office.

On the whole. Kit thought he would not go to Fairmead. For one thing,
the journey was awkward and they were busily occupied at the forge.
Moreover, he doubted if he ought to go. Alison’s charm was strong and
he was flesh and blood.

A week or two afterwards, when he raked up the fire one evening, Bill
gave him some patterns he marked by chalk.

“You’ll take the templates to Mr. Austin. I can make the truck the way
he wants, but a square end costs less to forge and leaves more metal
when you cut the slot. You want to show him——”

Kit noted the smith’s remarks and after supper started for Austin’s
office. The evening was cold and the woods were wet. For two or three
days the rain had not stopped, and big drops splashed in the trampled
mud along the track.

When Kit pushed back the door Austin looked up and frowned. The lamp
was lighted and the small room was hot, but Austin sat by the stove
and had pulled a rug across his legs. When he saw Kit he put a
drawing-board on the floor.

“What’s the trouble?” he inquired.

Kit told him, and Austin examined the patterns. “So long as the slots
will take the cotters, Bill can forge the ends as he likes. But sit
down and smoke a cigarette.”

“It looks as if you were busy——”

“I’m willing to stop,” said Austin, and shivered. “My back hurts and
my head aches. A chill, maybe. The rain was pretty fierce and I used
up all my dry clothes. Since I lay out in the mud at Paschendaele I
can’t stand for much wet and cold.”

“Then you were in the big fight?”

“For twenty-four hours I was in a flooded shell-hole, and when the
stretcher-bearers found me I went to the hospital—a broken leg and
rheumatic fever. All the use they had for me afterwards was at a base
camp. Were you in France?”

They talked about their adventures, but by and by Austin threw his
cigarette in the stove and gave Kit the drawing-board.

“My tobacco’s not good, and the plan must be ready in the morning.
Perhaps you can reckon up the rivet-holes; I own I cannot. The
spacing’s even and the holes must not finish on an odd number. I get
one short.”

Kit used Austin’s scale and dividers. “The holes are accurately
spaced. I expect you didn’t note that the end rivet goes through the
gusset-plate.”

“You have got it!” Austin agreed, and resolved to experiment, for he
saw Kit knew the use of drawing-tools.

“Another thing rather bothers me, and when I get a chill I’m not very
bright,” he resumed. “The drawings of the girders on the wall were
made at the head office, but I’m not satisfied about the bars in
tension. I don’t want to bother Wheeler; sometimes he gets annoyed.”

Kit carried the drawings to the table and was absorbed. He did not see
Austin studied him, and he forgot he was the smith’s helper. He
thought the plan typically American. The scheme was bold and
imaginative, and the engineers did not follow old-fashioned rules.
Their object was to save labor and build with speed. Kit approved, but
when he examined a detail plan he knitted his brows. The fellows were
bolder than he had thought and his interest carried him away.

“In tension, the ties would carry twenty-five tons to the square
inch,” he said. “Your safety margin is not very large.”

“The margin is large enough. In Canada we don’t build bridges for our
grandchildren. We reckon they will not have much use for locomotives
like ours.”

“It’s possible,” said Kit. “All the same, your diagonal braces take
some transverse strain, and you must reckon on the shearing effort
across the bolts. I’d straighten three or four members. Like this——”

He got a pencil, and Austin, with some surprise, studied the sketch.
He thought Kit had solved the puzzle, and he resolved to talk to
Wheeler about it in the morning. Kit was not the man to stay at the
forge.

“You are satisfied your plan would work?”

“If the job were mine I’d try it; but I’m not a bridge architect,” Kit
replied modestly.

“Then what are you?” Austin inquired.

Kit looked up and colored. Austin’s eyes were fixed on him and his
glance was keen.

“In the Old Country I was a shipbuilder’s draftsman.”

“Now I begin to see. The drawing office got monotonous?”

“Not at all,” said Kit. “I was fired.”

Austin remarked his frankness, but he had reckoned on Kit’s being
frank.

“Are you willing to talk about it?”

“I don’t see much use in talking. The company’s firing somebody was
logical. I claimed they had not spotted the proper man. But you’re not
very well, and I expect you’re tired.”

Austin agreed, and Kit went back to the bunkhouse. In the morning a
workman arrived at the forge.

“The boss wants Carson at the office,” he said.

Kit went with the man, who stopped at the door.

“The gang dropped a big tie-rod overboard, and I guess he’s riled. You
want to watch out,” he remarked, and vanished.

Somebody ordered Kit to come in, and when he rather nervously advanced
Wheeler got up and put a plan on the table. Wheeler was a big fellow
and his loose slicker exaggerated his bulkiness. His face was fleshy,
his mouth was hard and his glance commanding. Kit knew him for a good
engineer and something of a bully.

“Study up that bow-girder,” he said. “The load she’s designed for is
marked. Well, suppose we sent an extra big locomotive across, where do
you reckon she’d go through?”

“It’s obvious,” Kit replied, and indicated the spot.

“Then how’d you strengthen her for a double load?”

“I think I’d sooner build a fresh bridge; but I don’t know much about
bridges.”

“You’re not a railroad treasurer,” Wheeler rejoined. “Well, a
construction problem is a construction problem, whether you get up
against it in a bridge or, for example, a ship. Suppose you were
forced to strengthen the girder, where’d you start. Take ten minutes
for a rough sketch. Use the tools in front of you.”

Kit got to work and Wheeler lighted a cigar. By and by he picked up
the sketch.

“You were at an English shipyard. Why did you quit?”

“Since Mr. Austin knows, I expect you know.”

“Austin does not know much,” said Wheeler dryly. “I can’t force you to
talk.”

“A draftsman gave away some improvements the company could not patent.
The chiefs suspected me.”

Wheeler nodded. He knew men, and he thought if Kit had cheated he
would have talked at length.

“Well, there was no use in your applying at another yard? When you
resolved to pull out, why did you fix on Canada?”

“Montreal was nearer than Melbourne. Then, you see, for a long time
our folks were engineers and interested in Canadian industries.”

Kit imagined Wheeler looked at him rather hard.

“I expect Carsons are pretty numerous in the Old Country, but you
state your lot are engineers. Do you know Jasper Carson?”

“Jasper Carson of the Yorkshire forge is my uncle.”

“I reckon he could have got you a fresh engagement.”

“In the circumstances, I didn’t want to bother my relations. When I
started for Canada I doubt if Jasper Carson knew where I went.”

Wheeler smiled, as if he saw a joke. “And you hit our bridge and hired
up to help the smith? Well, you surely have——”

“To begin with, I helped the cook,” Kit interrupted. “I doubt if I
have much gall, and I’d sooner know if you think I have some talent
for engineering.”

“We’ll try you out,” Wheeler replied with a chuckle, as if the joke
got better. “On Monday you’ll go to Austin’s office, and if he thinks
you useful, we’ll fix your pay. In the meantime your job’s at the
forge. Get to it.”

Kit went back to the forge. He was puzzled but triumphant. In a few
days he would resume his proper occupation, and he felt he made some
progress.




                             CHAPTER XVI

                          KIT GOES VISITING


Kit pushed some calculations across the office table, and tilting his
chair against the wall, put his feet on the stove. His gum boots were
battered, but his clothes were good. His shirt was striped and his
blue tie was knitted silk. The color harmonized with his blue eyes and
sunburned skin. Scale drawings and patterns covered the cracked
matchboard walls. Oil-drums occupied a corner, and measuring tools
were on the table. In the austerely utilitarian office Kit’s careless
pose was somehow foreign.

Austin concentrated on some plans. His clothes were gray and his look
was sober. Kit thought the tools and oil-drums were in the picture;
Bob, so to speak, was utilitarian. He had recently married, and
sometimes Kit speculated about Mrs. Austin. By and by Kit lighted a
cigarette.

“To slack up is something fresh, but on the whole I think I’m entitled
to take a quiet smoke. I’d sooner play the fiddle, but Wheeler is
about, and to inform the camp I’m relaxing might be rash. In Canada
you’re a strenuous lot.”

“I expect that is so,” Austin agreed. “Canada’s a hard country; one’s
forced to hustle.”

“You like to hustle; you feel loafing’s wrong. One senses the Puritan
vein, and I imagine your ancestors were the folks we shipped off to
New England when they made us tired. The reformation had some
drawbacks. It banished the joy of life.”

“I reckon the Puritans went and had some trouble to make their
get-away,” Austin rejoined. “My folks, however, are Ontario Scots,
good old-fashioned Presbyterians. You’re another stamp, and I like
your sporting clothes. I expect you burned the other lot?”

“Not at all,” said Kit. “I gave Pete a dollar to boil the articles and
they are in the trunk your baggage-handlers smashed. In the North of
England we are not extravagant. Then, although my luck’s been pretty
good, sometimes one’s luck turns.” He paused and gave Austin a
friendly smile when he resumed: “I expect I owe my getting a soft job
to your meddling, Bob.”

“Oh, shucks! Wheeler’s pretty keen, and he had spotted you; but I want
to talk about another thing. Wheeler will be around for the week-end,
and since all is pretty straight I expect he’d give us a holiday. I’m
going to Fairmead, and Carrie wants to meet you. Will you come along?”

“If Wheeler agrees, I’ll be happy to go,” said Kit.

Wheeler was willing, and when the construction train went down the
line Kit was on board. A battered car waited at a flag-station by a
tank and carried them noisily across the plain. Summer and the
boisterous winds and thunderstorms were gone. The afternoon was calm,
and after his labors at the bridge Kit got a sense of brooding
tranquillity. In the foreground the grass was gray and silver; in the
distance all was misty blue. The sunshine touched the bluffs and ponds
with subdued yellow light.

The plain rolled, and the trail went up rises and plunged into
ravines. Sometimes it curved round fences, and when fresh wire blocked
the way the driver swore.

“The blamed country’s filling up,” he said. “Not long since you could
drive straight to the United States. Soon you’ll be forced to keep the
road reserve.”

Brick homesteads and windmill frames began to dot the prairie, and Kit
saw belts of wheat. Sometimes the binders’ varnished arms tossed in
the tall grain, but for the most part red-gold stooks dotted the long
fields. Wagons rolled about the stubble, smoke trailed languidly
across the sky, and dust clouds marked the spots where the threshers
were at work.

One machine was near the trail, and Kit saw chaff and beaten straw
fall like a yellow cataract from the elevator. Where the stuff came
down sweating men piled bags of grain.

“A prairie wheat bin; the fellow means to hold his crop,” Austin
remarked. “When I first knew the prairie the storekeeper took the lot
and charged ten per cent, on the bill he carried over. He couldn’t
take the farm, because another fellow held a mortgage. When the farmer
had had enough, he quit, and all his creditors found was a notice,
‘Pulled out for British Columbia.’ The hard men stayed with it, and
although some grumble they acknowledge they got their reward. Well,
railroading’s strenuous, but by contrast with farming I reckon it
easy. What’s your notion, Dick?”

The driver turned and grinned. “I’d sooner drive a flivver over the
meanest trail. Them fellows began at sun-up and they won’t stop so
long as they can see. Packing two-hundred-pound wheat-bags soon makes
me tired.”

“But what helped the farmers to make good?” Kit asked.

“In Canada the question is, _who_ helped? You think us a sober lot,
but Nature’s our antagonist, and the fight is pretty stern. At the
beginning, the settlers’ wheat rusted, was hailed out, and frozen in
the fall. Then the scientific experimenter got to work. He
cross-fertilized the plants and grew wheat that ripened before the
frost arrived. To haul wheat a long distance to the elevators is
expensive, and our railroad engineers pushed branch tracks across the
plains. We don’t go where the traffic waits; we shove ahead into the
wilds and the traffic follows us. Our roads are rough, but the cars
get there.”

“In Manitoba railroads will soon be numerous,” Kit remarked. “For all
that, cultivation’s spotty. The province is an old province, but one
crosses belts where one does not see a homestead. How do you account
for it?”

“Now I’m beaten! Perhaps our temperament accounts for something. We
like fresh ground, and we like to go as far as possible. In the sandy
belts, blowing grit cuts the wheat, and in places the water’s
alkaline. All the same, when you can get gumbo soil in Manitoba, to
start for the Peace River isn’t sensible. In fact, on the plains
settlement’s capricious. Saskatoon, so to speak, sprang up, but
Regina’s growth was slow. Brandon’s old and small, and Fairmead, for
example, has not grown for twenty years.”

“Quit talking and hold tight!” said the driver, and they plunged into
a ravine.

Somehow they got round the corner by the narrow bridge, but the front
wing was over the creek. On the hill in front the car rocked, rattled
savagely, and stopped.

“She won’t make it with three aboard,” said the driver. “You got to
get down and shove.”

Kit and Austin jumped down, and at a soft spot the other joined them,
but he did not stop the engine.

“The rut will hold her straight, and I guess she won’t get away from
us,” he said.

Kit looked up the curving trail. The boggy soil was torn by wheels and
the pitch was very steep. Small poplars and willows covered the
awkward slope.

“I think you might risk it.”

“When Blain was riding to the station one day his car stalled. He got
down to shove some brush under her wheels. She knocked him over and
went off.”

“Where did she go?” Kit inquired.

“I wasn’t around,” said the driver. “Blain allowed she went up a
tree!”

They pushed the car up the hill, and when they got on board Kit
remarked: “To haul their wheat across must bother the farmers.”

“They use the new elevators along our line,” Austin replied. “Before
the track was built they dumped their loads at the bridge and carried
the bags across the boggy piece. A four-bushel bag weighs pretty near
two hundred and fifty pounds.”

“Something of a job where ravines are numerous!” said Kit in a
thoughtful voice. “One likes the fellows’ pluck.”

By and by they got down at a small station, and soon afterwards a
black smoke plume rolled across the plain. The locomotive hauled two
cars, and Kit, sitting by a window, saw shining ponds, birch and
poplar bluffs, and rows of stooked sheaves on yellow stubble. The
light was going, but men and teams labored in the fields and the smoke
from the threshers floated about the sky.

At Fairmead three grain elevators like castles broke the sweep of
plain. Dim lights burned behind high windows and wheels throbbed. Dark
boxcars blocked the tracks and a yard locomotive pushed a fresh row
across the switches. The beams from the engines’ headlamps joined, and
for half a mile the silver light flashed along a waiting train. The
new wheat was going East.

When Kit left the station he thought Fairmead marked by a prosperous
and friendly calm. The wide street was evenly graded and went up a
gentle incline. The wooden sidewalks were broad and level, and a
printed notice warned strangers that one was fined for expectorating
on the boards.

Two wooden hotels and three or four stores occupied the bottom of the
hill, and Kit noted indistinct groups on the verandas and the grocery
steps. Behind the sidewalks were trees and garden lots. The trees were
small, for the prairie winds are keen, and the gardens were not
fenced. To look up the hill was like looking across a long, narrow
lawn.

Kit thought the little frame houses picturesque, but they got
indistinct and for the most part the lamps were not lighted. The
evening was calm, and quiet voices indicated that family groups took
the air by the front porch. One, however, heard mosquitoes, and
sometimes Kit rubbed his neck. He approved Fairmead. For a prairie
settlement, the town was old, and it looked as if the citizens were
rather tranquilly satisfied than vulgarly ambitious.

At the top of the street Austin went up a short path. Lights pierced
the trees in front of a house, and Kit thought about the evening
Alison and he went drearily along the avenue by the river at Winnipeg.
Now he was not a stranger, but he speculated about Alison. He wondered
whether she was happy, and resolved to find out.

A woman came down the steps and kissed Austin. She gave Kit her hand
and they went into the house. The matchboarded hall was narrow, and
when Mrs. Austin pushed back a door Kit stopped, for Alison got up
from a chair in the little room. Her clothes were fashionable, her
pose was confident, and her look was bright. Kit had known she had
charm, but now he felt her charm was marked, and when he saw her smile
was for Austin he was moved by unreasonable jealousy. Then she saw
Kit, and a touch of color came to her skin.

“Why, Kit! I didn’t know——”

Kit advanced, and when Alison gave him her hand her look was frank and
kind.

“I didn’t know,” he said. “The joke is Mrs. Austin’s. All the same, I
meant to look you up.”

Alison said nothing. She could talk to Kit again, and she wondered. On
the whole, she thought Mrs. Austin experimented.

Mrs. Austin beckoned Kit and he was presented to Miss Florence Grey.
Miss Grey declared politely she was pleased to meet him, but he felt
her searching glance was hostile. Moreover, he was puzzled. Alison had
talked about joining an English friend, but he thought Miss Grey
altogether North American. Her accent, her clothes, and her rather
aggressive look certainly were not English.

“You were some time at the bridge?” she said, as if Kit’s being there
was an offense.

“That is so,” he agreed. “When they allowed me to stop I was lucky.”

“Perhaps your job’s important,” Miss Grey remarked. “Bob Austin comes
over week-ends, but then he’s a boss.”

“I dare say that explains it. You see, the boys eat on Sundays, and
when you help the cook you can’t very well get off.”

“Don’t I know?” said Miss Grey in a scornful voice. “For some time I
was at a prairie farm, and loafing men eat double. But did you help
the cook?”

“Sure,” said Kit. “I cut potatoes, fried pork, and cleaned the
plates.”

Miss Grey coolly studied him. Kit’s clothes were good; he was rather a
handsome fellow and one got a hint of cultivation.

“Then, since they let you stop, I reckon your luck was good.”

“One on you, Kit!” said Austin. “But supper’s ready. Come along.”

They went to another room, and when Kit saw Miss Grey opposite him
across the table he was rather resigned than pleased. She, however,
was Alison’s friend and he gave her an interested glance. She was thin
and her mouth was ominously firm, but although her look was scornful
he thought her sincere. Her color was not, like Alison’s, delicate and
fresh. Miss Grey had occupied small rooms and borne the stove’s dry
heat; she, rather evidently, used powder.

“You’re a Toronto girl, Carrie,” she remarked to Mrs. Austin. “Toronto
folks have homes and don’t live at restaurants. I hope you won’t
hustle us. I like to squander a few minutes over supper.”

“We will not get up until you wish to, and if you like, we’ll stop for
half an hour. How long do they allow you at the bridge, Mr. Carson?”

“At the bunk-house ten minutes, and as a rule I was left. When Bob and
I dine at the office fifteen minutes sees us out. You’re a hospitable
lot, but to hold on for half an hour at Western speed is impossible.”

“Then you think us hospitable?”

“I have some grounds, ma’am. When I got off the cars, I was tired and
hungry, but my wad was five dollars, and I saw I must not be
extravagant——” “Was that all, Kit?” Alison inquired, and blushed.

“About five dollars,” said Kit with some embarrassment. “Well, a
storekeeper gave me an iced drink and a can of fruit. At the bridge
the cook gave me supper and appointed me his musician. Soon afterwards
a man I met on the cars got me a job at the forge. When you know
yourself a stranger things like that weigh.”

“Jock’s a Scot,” Austin remarked.

“He was born in Scotland, and the storekeeper stated he was sent out
by an English orphanage; but they’re now Canadians. One observes that
when an Old Country man has been a few years in Canada he is stanchly
Canadian. I expect the fellows who don’t like you soon go back.”

“It’s possible,” said Austin and gave Miss Grey a smile. “You’re good
mixers.”

Florence Grey looked up and her eyes sparkled.

“In England I was poor and nobody had much use for me. For long I went
without proper food; I wore shabby clothes and lived at crowded
lodgings. In Manitoba I got a fighting chance and fair pay for all I
did. I’m happy at Fairmead and my friends are good. Canada’s my
country; I’ve no use for the other.”

Austin was quiet and Kit said nothing. He thought Miss Grey challenged
him, but he was not going to dispute. Although he thought poverty did
not altogether account for her bitterness, her argument was logical.

“I rather think in Canada we use a standard model,” Mrs. Austin
remarked. “We are a democracy, and a democracy works for a uniform
type. Well, it has some advantages——”

“So long as the type’s a good type, ma’am,” said Kit.

Mrs. Austin smiled. “Your approval’s flattering, but I have known
Englishmen who did not agree. Their model was not our model. There’s
the drawback of standardizing.”

By and by she got up. Austin went with Kit and Alison to another room,
put out some cigarettes, and vanished. A rattling noise indicated that
Mrs. Austin carried off the plates, and Kit thought Bob and Miss Grey
helped. All was strangely like the suppers at Blake’s flat, but Kit
did not want to dwell on that. Alison occupied the little couch, and
he would sooner talk.

“Perhaps the couch suggests it, but I see you on the bench at Winnipeg
station,” he remarked.

“Ah,” said Alison, “don’t you see the emigrants lying about the
flags?”

“They’re the background for the picture,” said Kit. “When I think
about the waiting-room, the crowd is indistinct.”

Alison gave him a friendly smile. “You cheated me on the train. You
forced me to take your sleeper ticket, and I did not pay for half the
food. Yet all you had was five dollars.”

“You didn’t get half the food,” Kit rejoined. “Perhaps I was not quite
honest about the ticket, but I admitted my dishonesty before.”

“Well, I oughtn’t to be embarrassed because you were kind; but I
didn’t know, and, by contrast, I was rich. Besides, I was going to
Florence, and you had not a friend.”

“I had my fiddle, and the trail was open. I’d wanted to be a minstrel
and I got my chance, but I admit I didn’t reckon on fiddling for the
cook.”

“In a way, it was humorous,” said Alison in a gentle voice. “When
Austin told me I laughed, but I wasn’t altogether amused. Sometimes
one laughs when one is sorry. Yet I liked to think about your getting
up at daybreak and playing for the men. You see, Austin talked about
you; he knew I was interested.”

Kit was rather embarrassed. Alison had followed his adventures, but he
had not bothered to find out about her. All the same, he had wanted to
find out. The obstacle was, he was going to marry Evelyn, and he was
flesh and blood.

“I’d sooner you told me something about yourself,” he said.

Alison indulged him. She had found a post at a creamery. On the whole,
she liked the post and the pay was good. That was all. When she
stopped Miss Grey came in.

“On the plains men help clean up after supper, but I expect you had
enough at the camp,” she said to Kit. “Your sort’s fastidious.”

“Do you know my sort?” Kit inquired.

“Oh, yes. In the Old Country I knew one or two like you. The stamp is
plain, but in Manitoba it’s not admired.”

Kit was puzzled. He wondered whether Miss Grey was antagonistic to the
stamp she thought he wore or to him himself. To see Mrs. Austin arrive
was some relief.

“Oh, well,” he said. “I have cleaned supper plates, and my notion is,
where food must be served and the tables cleared at high speed, a man
can beat a very active woman. Would you like to try?”

“Mrs. Austin’s plates are thin, and in Canada crockery is expensive.
The food men cook at construction camps only construction gangs can
eat.”

“Yet you declare I’m fastidious!”

“I expect you were hungry. A man’s appetite is remarkable,” Miss Grey
rejoined.

“You must not dispute, and Mr. Carson is going to play for us,” said
Mrs. Austin, and Kit tuned his violin.

At ten o’clock Miss Grey stated firmly that she and Alison must go,
and Kit turned to Austin.

“Cannot we fix up a picnic for to-morrow, Bob? I expect I could get a
car.”

“Your idea’s good. Lost Lake’s picturesque,” Austin agreed.

“You mustn’t reckon on me,” said Miss Grey. “If I go, Ted Harries will
drive me to the lake.”

“But you will go with Mrs. Austin?” Kit asked Alison.

“I’d like to go,” said Alison, and when she went off all was arranged.

Mrs. Austin did not come back from the porch, and Austin gave Kit a
cigarette.

“Florence rather got after you!”

“I really don’t see why I annoyed her. I felt as apologetic as I felt
when I faced the lady at the railroad inquiry office.”

Austin smiled. “Florence is certainly fierce, but she’s stanch, and so
long as she is about nobody will hurt Alison. When she arrived she was
employed as bookkeeper at Jason’s grocery. Jason’s old and something
of a slouch; his wife is an invalid, but they were good to Florence
and she’s a first-class business woman. When she took control all went
straight, and Jason’s customers found out they must meet their bills.
The opposition store tried to bribe her by high pay, but Florence
stops with Jason. Now perhaps you get her. Well, let’s join Carrie on
the porch.”




                             CHAPTER XVII

                              LOST LAKE


A light wind moved the poplar branches and sparkling ripples rolled
across Lost Lake. Along the margin the cracked mud was white with
salt; the leaves in the bluff were going yellow and cut the turquoise
sky. In the distance belts of stubble reflected the sunshine and
withered grass rolled back to the horizon. The lake was perhaps not
beautiful, but Kit acknowledged the spacious landscape’s tranquil
charm.

At one time Lost Lake was a landmark for the Hudson Bay _courreurs_
steering south behind their dog-teams for the Assiniboine. Now a wagon
trail went by the bluff, and, some distance off, railroad telegraph
posts melted in the grass. The _courreurs_ were long since gone, and
on summer holidays picnic parties from two prairie towns arrived on
board noisy automobiles.

Alison occupied a birch log under the trees; Kit lay in the grass and
smoked. A hundred yards off Austin was engaged at the car. It looked
as if he were annoyed and Mrs. Austin soothed him.

“Carrie’s proper plan is to leave Bob alone,” said Kit. “If she stops
much longer I expect he will break something. When you’re up against
an obstinate engine to talk politely is hard.”

“Perhaps one ought to use some control,” Alison remarked. “But you are
an engineer. Cannot you help?”

“I doubt,” said Kit. “The makers claim a flivver’s foolproof, and my
clothes are rather good. Then until Bob’s satisfied he won’t stop. The
engine ought not to knock, and he’s resolved to see it does not. Since
the car is not his, I don’t think he’s reasonable.”

“Your argument is rather labored. You feel you must justify your
selfishness?”

“Sometimes selfishness is justified, and I expect Miss Grey will soon
arrive. It looks as if she thought I ought not to talk to you unless
she’s about. Well, I want to talk to you; I don’t want to dispute with
your friend.”

Alison smiled. “Florence is a useful friend, and she does not really
dislike you. She rather doubts all she thinks you stand for.”

“Since she’s aggressively democratic and I stand for small pay and
strenuous labor, I don’t see much light.”

“Florence is keen,” said Alison and gave Kit a thoughtful glance. “She
thinks you the English college and country house type: for example,
the Netherhall type.”

“Sometimes I did stop at Netherhall for a holiday, but it was not my
home. My father was not rich, and my poverty’s obvious. Why does Miss
Grey hate the Netherhall type?”

“I don’t altogether know, Kit, but I feel she has good grounds—— Well,
I oughtn’t to speculate about it, and I owe her much. She got me my
post at the creamery, and, in order to be with me, she stops at the
boarding-house. We have one room, the dining-room, for fourteen
people; you cannot be alone, and sometimes you get tired of the
crowd.”

“A crowd is tiresome,” Kit agreed in a sympathetic voice. “In Canada
one is never alone. The Canadians are a co-operative, gregarious lot;
anyhow they go about in flocks. If Miss Grey went to another house, I
expect she would not get much space and quiet.”

“The grocery is large. Jason is old and his wife gets infirm. They are
kind people and want Florence to live with them; but, for my sake, she
comes to the boarding-house as soon as the store is shut.”

“Ah,” said Kit, “I begin to like Miss Grey; but if she had waited a
little longer I would not have grumbled——”

He indicated a large red motorcycle. A tall thin young man leaned over
the handles and his glance was fixed in front; Miss Grey was on the
carrier, and her clothes blew in the wind. The machine lurched and
jolted, the engine fired explosively, and the blue exhaust stained the
tossing dust. Kit, studying the broken trail, understood the driver’s
concentration. At the edge of the bluff Miss Grey jumped down and the
other stopped the motorcycle.

“She made it!” he shouted in a triumphant voice. “The sand belt was
fierce, but we went through like a snow-plow.”

“We came off twice,” Miss Grey remarked, and beat her dusty clothes.

Then she called her companion, and Kit was presented to Mr. Ted
Harries. Harries was tall and carried himself awkwardly. His bony
wrists and ankles were conspicuous, as if his clothes had been made
for a standard figure. Miss Grey stated that he was a grain storage
company’s clerk, and he gave Kit a friendly grin.

“You’re the fellow who put the railroad man off the bridge? I’m surely
pleased to meet you. If you’ll put my boss off the elevator, I’ll loan
you my wheel.”

“I mightn’t be as lucky another time. To know where to stop is
useful,” Kit remarked.

“See you again,” said Harries and seized Miss Grey. “Bob Austin’s up
against it, and maybe I can help him out. Come on, Florence! Alison
has no use for you!”

Kit laughed. “I think I like Ted! Florence is gone, but I imagine she
means to come back, and you have not yet told me much about Fairmead.
For example, where did you meet Mrs. Austin?”

“She was at the grocery when I went for Florence one evening, and she
knew me. She and Bob had come from the train and were bothered because
their house was not ready. In an hour Florence put all straight. At
the settlement she’s important.”

“It’s rather plain. When Harries firmly led her off I thought his
nerve was good. But perhaps Miss Grey approves his type?”

Alison smiled. “I think Ted attracts Florence because he’s a contrast
from another she knew in England; but you inquired about the Austins.
Carrie’s charming, and to go to her house is like going home. Then
she’s cultivated; I think her father was a lecturer at Toronto
University, but she’s happy to keep her husband’s house, and although
they must be frugal she does not grumble. I expect you know Austin’s
pay is not large. Perhaps it’s strange, but I think people who are
poor are kindest.”

“Bob’s a first-class sort and to know his wife’s your friend is some
relief. But do you like your job at the creamery?”

“I’m satisfied. I was not as rich before, and so long as I carry out
my orders nobody bothers me. I don’t know about the winter, but if I’m
not wanted, Florence thinks she can get me another post.”

“Well, I like to know you’re content. For a time I was rather
disturbed about you.”

“Yet you did not inquire,” Alison remarked in a quiet voice.

“That is so,” Kit admitted with some embarrassment. “All the same——”

He stopped, for Alison gave him a queer smile.

“You thought you ought not? Well, a good friend is worth much, and I’d
sooner not think you were altogether willing to let me go. But Austin
has put the engine straight, and Carrie wants help to serve our
lunch.”

She joined Mrs. Austin, but Kit stopped and pondered. His emotions
were rather mixed, but he was glad Alison had not wanted him to let
her go. Now he thought about it, it was all she had really told him.
Alison did not try to move one; one liked her for her friendly calm.

Lunch was a cheerful and rather noisy function, for Florence and
Harries disputed and sometimes she entangled Kit in humorous argument.
When the meal was over and the others went off he helped Mrs. Austin
clean the plates. He knew she wanted him to stop, and after they
re-packed the basket he brought her a rug and sat in the grass. The
wind dropped and the calm lake shone. The afternoon was hot, but the
shadow of the bluff crept across the spot.

Mrs. Austin was young, but Kit, studying her, got a sense of maturity;
he knew her thoughtful and sincere. Although she was obviously
cultivated, she was somehow franker than the Englishwomen he had
known. She told him to smoke and he lighted a cigarette. He felt she
waited for him to talk, and although she did not indicate the line she
wanted him to take, he thought he knew.

“Until Bob told me Miss Forsyth was at the creamery and came to your
house I was anxious for her,” he said. “Now I know she has good
friends, I want to thank you, ma’am.”

“We thought you philosophical,” Mrs. Austin remarked, and gave him a
steady glance.

Kit hesitated, and then took a photograph from his wallet.

“The ground’s awkward; but perhaps the portrait makes things plainer.”

Mrs. Austin studied the picture. The girl was beautiful and somehow
thoroughbred. To contrast her and Alison was perhaps ridiculous. For
one thing, Alison was not beautiful; yet she had a charm the other had
not.

“I think I see! You are going to marry the English girl?”

“If I make good—Alison knows,” Kit replied. “I feel I must make good.
When others doubted and all was dark, Evelyn trusted me. I expect you
know why I lost my English post?”

Mrs. Austin gave him back the portrait and her look was kind.

“Yes. Bob thinks you did not tell him all, and the shipyard chief did
not spot the proper man.”

“I felt I ought to satisfy you,” said Kit with an apologetic smile.
“You have helped Alison and I owe Bob much. In fact, now I think about
it, when we met you at Winnipeg our luck began to turn. Well, I
suppose you imagined—I don’t know about Alison, but I was
embarrassed.”

“In some circumstances a girl is less embarrassed than a man. I rather
think Alison saw why we tried to encourage you.”

Kit said nothing, and Mrs. Austin resumed: “Well, I admit I was
romantically sympathetic. I had not long before promised to marry
Bob.”

“Then I suppose Bob was at Toronto? Toronto’s your home town?”

“Bob was at the University; I talked to him for ten minutes at a
college function. Afterwards I did not see him until I visited
relations at Winnipeg, three weeks before we met you at the station
waiting-room.”

For a few moments Kit mused. Mrs. Austin was frank, and he wondered
whether she meant to indicate that she was his friend.

“Ah,” he said, “I suppose one knows——”

Mrs. Austin smiled, but he thought the look she gave him queer.

“One knows the real thing.”

Kit wondered. For long he had hoped to marry Evelyn, if he got rich;
but until he must start for Canada she had not moved him to keen
romantic passion. All the same, one did not talk about things like
that, and he must not bore Mrs. Austin.

“Fairmead’s an attractive spot; but after Toronto I expect it’s
sometimes dreary,” he said. “The advantage is, Bob can get home from
the bridge.”

“The advantage is important; but I doubt if we will stay for long.
Bob’s ambitious and has talent. Besides, the bridge will presently be
built.”

“It will not be built before the river freezes and much of the work
must stop; but I understand, as far as possible, the engineers will
carry on.”

“Are you anxious about your post?”

Kit was rather anxious, but he laughed. “I hope Wheeler may have some
use for me, but if he has not, I can take the road and play the
fiddle. You, however, have got a pretty house, and if the company sent
Bob back to the workshops you would be forced to quit.”

“Bob believes Wheeler has some use for you. If he went to the
workshops for the winter, I would be resigned. The trouble is, he
thinks to help finish the bridge would lead to his promotion, and he’s
very keen. Sometimes I cannot persuade him I’m satisfied with a little
house and cheap furniture.”

“Your husband’s a first-class engineer and ought to go ahead.”

“For all that, he carries an awkward load. His pluck is fine, but he
was very ill in France, and he cannot stand for much wet and cold. On
the plains in winter the cold is fierce.”

Kit pictured Austin’s shivering by the stove, and thought Mrs.
Austin’s doubts justified; but since he did not know if Bob had talked
about it, he must not.

“After all, our job at the bridge is softer than the workmen’s, and if
Bob is cautious——”

“It looks as if you did not know Bob; but I think you are his friend,
and perhaps you can induce him not to be rash. Then you can see he
puts on dry clothes and gets proper food. You can keep the stove
going, and so forth——”

Kit imagined it was not all Mrs. Austin wanted. The important thing
was, she acknowledged him her husband’s friend.

“Where it’s possible for me to help I promise to do so,” he said and
Mrs. Austin got up.

“Thank you, Kit. Let’s join the others.”

Two or three hours afterwards they boiled a kettle and brewed tea. The
shadows were longer and half the lake was dark, but the sunshine was
on the plain. In the distance gray smoke stained the sky, and going
black, advanced across the grass. Then metal began to sparkle, and one
saw a locomotive, rolling dust and a row of cars. The train dominated
the landscape, and Kit thought it half a mile long.

“The new wheat is going East,” said Mrs. Austin. “Two thousand tons, I
reckon, and to haul a load like that is some exploit. Well, I own when
I see the big wheat trains I get a thrill. Before the railroad crossed
the plains Manitoba was the halfbreeds’ furs preserve, and when I was
a girl and visited at Winnipeg the mills could hardly use the broken
farmers’ frost-nipped grain. Now the farmers are getting rich, and
Manitoba flour goes across the world. Well, my husband’s a railroad
builder, and I suppose I mustn’t boast.”

“After all, the farmers grow the wheat,” Austin remarked and pulled
out his watch. “Kit and I must be at the bridge in the morning, and we
ought to shove off.”

Harries went for his motorcycle, Florence jumped up, and the big
machine rolled noisily away. When the rocking figures vanished behind
the bluff Austin laughed and steered his car into the trail.

“Florence’s nerve is pretty good, but if Ted drives like that in the
sand belt, something’s coming to her.”

The car started, and Kit, sitting at the back with Alison, was sorry
to go. After the turmoil at the bridge, to loaf about the quiet wood
and talk to Alison was soothing. Now his holiday was almost gone, he
felt melancholy, but they were not yet at Fairmead and he began to
joke.

The trail was torn by wheels and long grass grew between the ruts. The
car rocked and the wheels skidded, but until the track pierced the
sand belt they made progress. At an awkward corner Austin stopped, and
Kit saw the motorcycle a few yards in front. Harries had pulled off
his coat and knelt by the machine. His face was red and his hands were
smeared by sooty oil.

Miss Grey sat in the sand. Her eyes sparkled, and dark spots on her
clothes indicated engine grease.

“She jumped the track and fired us,” Harries shouted. “Something’s
broke and I guess I’m beat. You’re engineers. Come on and help!”

Austin pulled out his watch. “Sorry, Ted, but unless we’re at the
bridge in the morning the chief will make trouble. Can I loan you some
tools?”

“I’d like a big hammer,” said Harries meaningly. “Anyhow, be a sport
and take Florence along. She reckons she can show me, but she doesn’t
know the first thing about a wheel.”

“I know all Ted knows,” Florence rejoined. “If he’d let me help, the
engine would start, but he gets mad and throws things about. A man
ought to be calm.”

“Well, I won’t give Ted the hammer, but you had better get on board.
You see, our train won’t wait.”

“Then, start your car. I’m not going!”

“I sure like Florence, but she’s blamed obstinate,” Harries remarked.

“Jump up, Florence,” said Alison. “You can’t help and you embarrass
Ted.”

“Ted ought to be embarrassed,” Florence rejoined. “He bothered me to
go to the lake, and if he’s forced to wheel me he’s got to take me
home.”

Austin started the car and smiled.

“Florence is a sport. All she really wants is to see Ted out. If they
don’t arrive soon, you must send the garage boys along for them,
Carrie.”

Although the trail was uneven, he drove faster. The red sunset melted
and the plain got blue and dim. Elevator towers began to cut the sky
and silver beams from locomotive lamps pierced the gloom. After a
time, the lights got dazzling and bells tolled. One saw rows of houses
and dark wheat cars. The automobile bumped across the rail, and Kit’s
holiday was over.




                            CHAPTER XVIII

                         MRS. AUSTIN MEDDLES


Chains rattled, an iron pulley clanked, and Kit went down the ladder.
The heavy steel frame tilted, but its end had not yet reached the
proper spot, and the men stopped for breath. To leave the mass
suspended for the night was risky, and Kit meant to make all fast
before the whistle blew. Jumping from the ladder, he joined the gang.

“Get to it, boys!” he shouted. “Heave and swing her home!”

The men bent their backs, but the pulley wheels did not turn. The gang
was beaten, and if the chain stoppers did not engage smoothly, the
load might get away and plunge through the lower platforms to the
river. Then Kit saw the man in front was Railton, whom he had put off
the bridge.

“You can’t pull, Steve. We must give you a softer job.”

“I reckon I’d pull you off your feet,” the other gasped.

“Show me!” said Kit. “Try again, boys. Steve claims he can boost her.
Stay with it; that’s great! She’s going!”

The frame went, the stoppers held, and a man carrying the fastening
bolts climbed the ladder. Railton turned and rubbed his sweating face
with a greasy rag.

“Looks as if I could pull some! Where’s your soft job?”

“To get mad is foolish, Steve,” Kit remarked with a grin. “When a soft
job is going I won’t forget you.”

He went up the ladder and stopped at a high platform. The plain was
gray and the trees along the bank were bare. The river was dark and
black ice covered the slacks. Thin floes drifted down the open channel
and broke against the bridge piers. The noise they made was monotonous
and like the hum of a small circular saw. All was bleak, the light was
going, and the wind was cold. In a few minutes work would stop, but
Kit must see Wheeler, and he crossed the bridge.

The office was very hot and smelt of tobacco and kerosene. Wheeler
rested his feet on the wood box, and when Kit came in put up some
letters and tilted his chair.

“Well?” he said.

“We have fixed the tie.”

“That’s good! I want the heavy braces in before she freezes up; when
the ice breaks the piers must stand some thrust. The trouble is, we
can’t get the stuff from the rolling mills. Well, do you like it at
the bridge?”

“I don’t grumble,” Kit replied. “In fact, if you suggested it, I think
I’d hold my job.”

“You’re not a Canadian and the cold is fierce. Unless you wear
mittens, you can’t handle iron; anyhow, you can’t let go. I’ve known
men frozen by a blizzard a hundred yards from camp.”

“Still you mean to carry on.”

“I doubt if all we can do will meet the pay-roll, but we can’t shut
down. We’re up against another company, and the railroad engineers
want a number of bridges and tanks. They must have quick construction
and are trying us out. We’ll hold on to a small picked gang and push
ahead when work is possible. I don’t know if I will be around much,
and the man who takes charge must be hard.”

Kit’s heart beat. “If you think I could fill the post, I’ll risk the
cold.”

“Nothing’s fixed, but I reckon you might take two days off and buy
winter clothes at Winnipeg,” said Wheeler, smiling. “You’ll want the
clothes, any way.”

“But suppose you kept me, what about Austin?”

Wheeler’s look got aggressive and he pushed forward his firm jaw.

“Where Austin goes is the company’s business. Bob’s a useful man, and
if we move him, I reckon he’ll be all right, but it hasn’t much to do
with you, and you can pull out.”

Kit went. One did not dispute with Wheeler, and his stating that
Austin would be all right was important, since it indicated that he
wanted to satisfy Kit. As a rule, Wheeler was not apologetic.

When Austin came in for supper Kit narrated his interview, and noting
the other’s thoughtful look, remarked with a touch of embarrassment:
“If I thought my staying might be awkward for you, I’d give up the
idea.”

“For you to refuse would be ridiculous,” Austin rejoined. “I must go
where the bosses send me, and when they push ahead in spring I’d, no
doubt, get back. Then the winter’s fierce, and I expect Carrie would
like it better at an Eastern town. Well, the thing’s not fixed.”

He resumed his supper, and when the meal was over Kit pulled his chair
to the stove. He had agreed he would not for a stipulated time write
to Evelyn, but he wanted Mrs. Haigh to know his luck was turning, and
he hoped she would give Evelyn the short note he enclosed. Then he
wrote to Alan Carson. He knew Alan was interested, and believed he
would inform Evelyn about his progress. Kit was young and hopeful, and
he rather let himself go.

In the morning the light frost broke, and it looked as if Indian
summer had returned. The sky was blue and calm, and pale sunshine
touched the plain. Nobody, however, was cheated, and when dusk fell
the blast-lamps’ white fires tossed along the bridge. Winter was
coming, and the piers must be braced and the girders stiffened before
the arctic frost began.

For a time Kit did not see Austin much. As a rule, when one was at the
bridge the other slept, and when they met for meals they were tired
and did not talk. Some material, however, did not arrive, and one
morning Austin said:

“Wheeler must slack up for a day or two, and I’m going to Fairmead for
a week-end. Carrie hopes you’ll come along.”

Kit hesitated. He had made two or three happy visits to Fairmead, and
he thought he ought not to bother Mrs. Austin. When he indicated
something like that, Austin smiled.

“You’re modest, Kit! Carrie ordered me to bring you.”

Wheeler was willing for them to go, and at the week-end they went down
the line. They got to Fairmead in the evening, and at supper Kit
thought Mrs. Austin preoccupied. When they got up she said to Austin:

“Ought you not to see Phelps, Bob?”

“Why, yes,” said Austin. “I expect he’s shut down at the office. By
and by I’ll go along to his hotel.”

“Since he gets supper at the hotel you had better go now. If you wait,
I expect he’ll be at the pool room and you can’t talk.”

“It is possible,” Austin agreed and turned to Kit. “Will you take a
walk up town?”

Kit thought Mrs. Austin did not want him to go and he waited.

“I’d sooner Kit stayed,” she said. “Alison and Florence are coming
over. Don’t be long, Bob!”

Bob went off and Mrs. Austin took Kit to another room and gave him a
cigarette, but for a few minutes she said nothing and Kit looked
about. Although the furniture was cheap, the small room was pretty and
homelike. The electrolier was shaded and the light was soft. Kit heard
the wind in the basement stove under the thin boards and the dry
warmth was soothing. A willow tapped the window, and he saw frost on
the glass. Then he glanced at his hostess. Carrie Austin was young and
attractive, but now her look was firm.

“Perhaps you know why I sent Bob off?” she said.

“I imagined you had an object,” Kit admitted.

“Well, perhaps you have heard he goes back to the drawing office at
the bridge works for the winter?”

“He said nothing about it. If it implies your giving up your house,
I’m sorry.”

“To give up the house would not disturb me much. Has Wheeler not told
you he means you to carry on?”

“Although I thought nothing was fixed, I expected to stay,” said Kit.
“In fact, I was rather bucked about it, and I hoped for your
congratulations.”

Mrs. Austin gave him a queer look. “Then you must think me very
generous! Bob’s my husband.”

Kit began to see a light. He, however, waited and Mrs. Austin resumed:

“You admit that but for Bob you might not have been promoted?”

“Certainly. He persuaded Wheeler to move me from the forge.”

“Yet you are willing to take the job he ought to get!”

“Not at all,” said Kit. “I really don’t think my habit is to let down
my friends.”

Mrs. Austin said nothing. Kit’s smile was apologetic, but his face was
red. To doubt his sincerity was impossible. She had not really
doubted: she had rather been forced to experiment.

“When Wheeler talked about my carrying on, I inquired if that implied
that he would not want Bob,” Kit resumed. “Wheeler declared the
company had plans for him and he would not grumble. Then he ordered me
off. It looks as if you thought the fellow cheated.”

“Bob is keen to get ahead. If he finishes the bridge, he hopes it will
help him go farther. But I stated something like this before, and you,
of course, could use my argument——”

“I don’t want to use your argument, ma’am; your husband’s my pal.
Since I expect you’d sooner not talk about the thing again, let’s try
to understand each other. Please go on.”

“Very well. Bob has made some inquiries, and all they want at the
office is a second-class draftsman. You know Bob was very ill in
France, and I’d sooner he went to the office. The trouble is, he’s
convinced he can stand the cold, and for my sake he hates to let go
the chance he thinks he’s got.”

“It’s obvious,” said Kit. “Wheeler’s an unscrupulous brute; but I
don’t know why he fixed on me.”

“Bob declares you have talent. Then is not your uncle a famous
engineer?”

“The house is an English house, and although Jasper Carson sometimes
speculates in Canada, he has nothing to do with the bridge. When I
admitted he was my uncle, Wheeler seemed to think it a joke. So far, I
don’t see the joke——”

He stopped and smiled, a crooked smile, for he had boasted to Mrs.
Haigh and Alan about his progress, and had seen himself conquering.
All the same, he must not force Bob to pay for his triumph. In fact,
he must not be a shabby hound.

“You mustn’t bother,” he went on. “I expect the idea was Wheeler’s,
and the head bosses would not approve his giving me control. Anyhow,
I’ll refuse, and I rather think Wheeler’s going to get a jolt.”

Mrs. Austin got up and put her hand impulsively on his arm.

“You are fine, Kit, and I’m horribly selfish! I felt I must fight for
my husband, but I’d hate you to think he agreed.”

“Now you’re ridiculous! I can’t picture Bob’s agreeing, and when you
hustled him off he was puzzled.”

“There’s another thing,” said Mrs. Austin. “Had you and Bob competed
evenly for the post I should not have meddled. But it was not like
that. You were his helper and the post was really his”—she pressed
Kit’s arm and gave him an apologetic glance—“you see it, don’t you,
Kit?”

Kit saw something else. The door was open and Alison came in.

“Florence is sorry she cannot get away——” she said and stopped.

Kit was very quiet. Mrs. Austin’s hand was on his arm and he wanted to
step back, but she did not move and he knew he must not. Alison
studied him rather scornfully and the blood came to her skin. Then
Mrs. Austin laughed.

“You mustn’t be romantic, my dear! But, if you are romantic, whom do
you blame?”

“The door was open,” said Alison. “I didn’t know——”

Kit’s face got red, but Mrs. Austin’s eyes twinkled.

“In the circumstances, I suppose you must know; but Bob must not—I
expect you think it plain? Well, although Kit is very noble, he is not
my lover; I am content with Bob. Perhaps you will satisfy Alison’s
curiosity, Kit?”

Kit said nothing. To proclaim his nobility was not an attractive part,
and Mrs. Austin went on: “Since Kit is modest, I’ll try to enlighten
you.”

She did so, and when she stopped Alison gave Kit an embarrassed
glance. Kit’s heart beat, for although she blushed and hesitated, he
thought her look was proud.

“You could not take another line,” she said. “The post is Austin’s.”

“Of course,” said Kit. “All the same, you mustn’t talk to Bob about
it. When I get back I’ll speak to Wheeler, and in the meantime we have
had enough. I have brought my fiddle. Let’s try the sonata.”

Alison went to the piano and Kit tuned his violin. To play was some
relief. His high hopes had vanished, and before long he might be
forced to take the road and play for his supper. Then he was bothered
by his emotions when Alison came in. For all that, he concentrated on
the awkward rhythm, and after a time the music carried him away. When
they stopped Mrs. Austin looked up.

“Thank you,” she said with a twinkle. “You played up nobly.” Then she
turned to Alison. “Kit does play up. A hard part doesn’t daunt him;
but perhaps you know.”




                             CHAPTER XIX

                          KIT TAKES HIS CUE


Wheeler put down the Montreal newspaper and knitted his brows. Snow
beat the office windows and the lamp burned unsteadily. A savage wind
screamed in the trees and the river brawled. Winter ought to have
begun, and Wheeler had expected keen frost to follow the snow, but all
the snow that fell melted, and when it went cold rain swelled the
pools along the muddy track.

Had the frost arrived, Wheeler would have sent off most of the men and
cut expenses by keeping only the limited number he could usefully
employ. Now, however, he must carry on as long and fast as possible.
The drawback was, he might not finish all he began, and when the
spring floods hurled the ice floes against the piers, girders and
columns must be firmly stayed. A Canadian river’s breaking is an
impressive spectacle.

In the meantime, frost and thaw and rain embarrassed the gangs. The
boys did not earn their pay, and at the head office construction costs
were keenly scrutinized. Then, as soon as the real frost did begin,
the company would call Wheeler East and he must fix on the proper man
to superintend the cutdown gang. Austin was a good engineer, but
sometimes he got sick, and he could not handle the boys like young
Carson. Austin’s soberness was not altogether an advantage; when the
gang was tired and sullen, Carson’s humorous banter went farther than
a command.... Wheeler turned his head, for the door rattled and Kit
came in.

Kit’s long boots were muddy and wet snow stuck to his slickers. He
shook the melting slush from his hat, and when he faced Wheeler his
look was grim. Wheeler thought the boy was riled.

“Hello!” he said. “Is somebody making trouble?”

“The boys are not,” said Kit. “Have you decided who’s to stay at the
bridge?”

“You’re pretty frank,” Wheeler remarked. “If you like, you can have
the job.”

“Then, I suppose you’re sending Austin to the workshops?”

“Where the company sends Austin has nothing to do with you.”

“You stated something like that before. Well, all I’m entitled to say
is, if Austin goes, I won’t stay.”

Wheeler smiled, a rather grim smile. He began to see a light, and he
admitted the boy had grit.

“You reckon, unless you see us out, we can’t put the bridge across?”

“I’m not a fool,” said Kit. “Engineers are pretty numerous. All the
same, there’s something you ought to weigh: for a time the job would
bother a fresh man.”

“It’s possible,” Wheeler agreed. “I begin to get your argument, but go
ahead——”

Kit’s eyes twinkled. In a way, his talking to Wheeler was humorous.
The fellow was his commanding officer and his rule was firm. Kit had
thought to annoy him, but so far as he could see, Wheeler was not
annoyed. Well, if he wanted to argue, Kit was willing.

“Austin knows his job, and I am, so to speak, his understudy. Then
it’s important that the boys know us. I expect you have got a pick on
Austin and thought you’d ship him off and give me his part. The plan
won’t work.”

“Now I get you; but you can’t bluff a big Canadian company. You claim,
unless we hold on to Austin, you will let us down? We’ll risk it. When
do you pull out?”

Kit had thought to conquer; but perhaps in a sense, he had conquered,
since Wheeler could not use him.

“I imagine I’m engaged for a month——”

Wheeler laughed and indicated a chair. “If you’re resolved, we won’t
hold you longer than you want; but suppose you let me talk? To begin
with, I have not a pick on Austin. Bob’s a useful man, but I don’t
know if he’s the proper man to stay at the bridge. If you quit, you’ll
get your pay up to date, but you want to consider. In winter, Canada’s
a pretty hard country. You’d find the labor agents have no use for a
tenderfoot, and the cheap boarding-houses are crowded by broken
roustabouts, waiting for the spring. Since the war I reckon the dollar
hotels have shut down. However, if your wad is big——”

“My wad is not big. For all that, I’m not going to take Austin’s
post.”

“Very well! You claimed you were not a fool. Suppose I send you East?
If the company tried you out at the office, would it meet the bill?”

“I’d be glad to go,” said Kit. “Since I meant to bluff you, you’re
generous.”

“Then, it’s fixed, but until the frost stops us, we want you at the
bridge. I guess that’s all, and you won’t talk to Austin about it.”

Kit went off. He had not helped Austin, but he had done all he
promised to do, and to know he would pay for his meddling was some
relief. Since he could not bluff Wheeler, there was no use in hurting
himself.

For a week, rain and snow embarrassed the workmen. Sometimes in the
morning the mud about the camp was frozen and hoar frost sparkled on
the trees, but in a few hours the rain began. The swollen river
undermined the bank, and the material stacked along the track sank in
the mire. To handle the wet and greasy steel was awkward, but arctic
winter would soon arrive, and the work was stubbornly pushed on.

Then a telegram called Wheeler to the company’s office and the strain
got worse, for the gangs did not stop at night, and somebody besides
the foremen must be about. Kit thought the extra effort bothered
Austin, and when he returned one stormy evening to the shack he found
Bob by the stove. His face was pinched and he was wrapped in a
blanket.

“I was forced to stop, but I’m getting warm,” he said in an apologetic
voice. “If you think all’s pretty straight, I’ll go to bed after
supper. A good sleep will fix me up.”

Kit said he did not expect trouble, and for an hour or two he meant to
loaf. To pull off his muddy boots and wet slickers was some relief,
and after supper he carried his chair to the stove and lighted his
pipe. Austin, sitting opposite rested his feet on a box. His pose was
slack, and sometimes he shivered.

“After all, I don’t think you ought to complain about the company’s
sending you off,” Kit remarked.

“I don’t know that I do complain,” Austin rejoined. “If I was often
bothered like this, I’d be resigned to quit, but I’m persuaded the
trouble’s going. One can stand for keen frost—to wear wet clothes, to
jump up as soon as you get to sleep and tumble about in the rain and
dark is another proposition. To-night my back hurts and I’m dull and
cold, but I expect to be all right in the morning.”

Kit doubted, but he said: “Mrs. Austin would sooner you were at the
drawing office.”

“Carrie’s glad,” Austin agreed. “Still at Toronto she was rather
important, and she ought to have cultivated friends. She likes music
and pictures and so forth, but so long as my pay is small she must go
without. I had hoped to get ahead and give her a better time. To be
beaten by a weak body is riling.”

“Philosophy’s the proper plan; but perhaps you ought to go to bed.”

“I’ll go soon. Now I’ve got myself fixed right and my back is easier,
I don’t want to move.”

Kit said nothing. Snow beat the windows and the iron roof rattled; he
was tired and frankly did not want to face the storm. The stove-front
got red and the heat was soothing. For an hour he resolved to let
himself go slack.

By and by a foreman pushed back the door. He breathed fast, and his
look was grim.

“We have got the brace across at the end pier, but the ends won’t meet
the bolt holes in the lugs.”

Austin threw off the blanket and jumped up.

“Are the ends much short?”

“Maybe an inch, but we can’t spring the frames. I’ve sent for jacks
and the chain tackle. Looks as if the outside lug wasn’t plumb in
line——”

“Get to it,” said Austin. “I’ll be along in a few minutes.”

The other went off, and Kit was sorry Wheeler was not about. He
thought a screw pile carrying a column had sunk. The brace the men
tried to fix would support the column, but the bolts must reach the
holes. A bridge is not geometrically accurate and one must sometimes
_spring_ a member to its place. In a snowstorm, however, to force the
stiff frames to meet would be hard.

“Stop by the stove,” he said. “As soon as I think we win out, I’ll
send you word.”

“I’m going,” Austin rejoined. “When Wheeler’s not around I’m in
control. Besides, if I go sick when I’m wanted, the company would be
entitled to keep me at the office. I can’t risk it.”

They disputed, but Austin was firm and Kit helped him pull on his
thick clothes. When he picked up Austin’s slicker he saw the back was
torn.

“A bolt end,” said Austin. “I helped the boys throw some heavy stuff
from a trolley.”

“Take my coat,” said Kit, and when he put on Austin’s he turned his
head and smiled.

In a way, Bob’s obstinacy was justified, for the man who makes good is
the man who is where he is wanted; but Kit began to see a plan. He had
stated that he was Austin’s understudy, and the torn slicker was his
cue. The tear was conspicuous and was made when the men were about.
Now, however, Kit had got the coat, the night was dark, and the snow
was thick. If Austin were knocked out, Kit thought he could play his
part.

“You’re stubborn, Bob, but let’s get off,” he said.




                              CHAPTER XX

                         Austin’s understudy


Snow blew about the bridge and the savage wind screamed in the
lattice. The planks laid across the ties were slippery; the flames
from the throbbing blast-lamps slanted, and sometimes all was dark.
Then the white fires leaped up and a dazzling illumination touched the
netted steel. At awkward spots Kit seized Austin’s arm. Bob was not
steady, the planks were narrow, and if one went across the edge one
would plunge to the river.

For a few moments the wind dropped, and the reflections flickered
across the shore end of the bridge. The steep bank was faced by stone,
and broken rock was stacked along the line. To grade the approach to
the bridge was the railroad company’s business, but Kit supposed he
could use their material.

“I think we’ll dump some rock about the shaky pile,” he said.

Austin’s brain was dull and to keep his feet was hard, but he nodded.

“Very well. Send a gang along.”

“You are chief. The order ought to come from you,” Kit remarked.

A few minutes afterwards they met the foreman.

“We’re surely up against it,” said the man. “The outside column’s
sagging. If we could bolt up the truss, we might hold her, but the
straps won’t come across.”

“Turn out a fresh gang,” Austin ordered. “Load up rock and run the
trolleys across the bridge. Then rig a derrick and dump the stuff.”

“A great notion!” said the foreman. “I’ll get busy.”

He vanished in the snow, and Austin leaned against the lattice.

“I’m rattled, Kit, but I think you’ve got it. If the pile sinks, the
lot will go.... But what about dumping some bags of cement?”

“Wheeler’s construction boss, and we don’t know what he’d do,” Kit
replied. “To move the cement might bother him, but, if he wanted, he
could dredge up the broken rock. You, however, ought to be in bed.”

“If I’d gone to bed, I’d acknowledge I ought not to hold my post. I’ve
got to stay with it.”

“Oh, well, your cap will blow off,” said Kit, and pulling down the
oilskin cap, he firmly tied the strings.

At the end of the bridge they stopped. The beam from the lamps did not
travel far, and in front was a dark gap. Twenty feet below, the river
brawled among the piers and its turmoil faintly pierced the scream of
the gale. A ladder went down into the tossing snow, and one heard
chains rattle and hoarse shouts. Then a slanted flame leaped upright,
and platforms and workmen’s figures got distinct. Kit thought Austin
ought not to go down, but Bob was obstinate and he could not force him
back.

He went in front, and where it was possible, steadied the other. By
and by he pulled Austin on to a platform, and bracing himself against
the gale, he looked about. The snow blew obliquely across the bridge
and the light was puzzling. Sometimes shining columns and skeleton
trusses cut the hazy background; sometimes the flames sank and the
netted steel melted in the gloom.

Men, balanced awkwardly on narrow bars, steadied a big steel frame
suspended by wire tackles. Another group hauled on a chain and when
they reached for a fresh hold the platform rocked. Two or three more,
on the beams overhead, turned a screw. The suspended frame did not
altogether span the gap and reach the fastenings on the pillar. To
pull the mass into line looked impossible, but one must try, and the
screws and multiplying tackle were powerful. Kit touched Austin.

“I think she’ll come across, and if we can get the bolts through the
bottom lugs, we ought to fix the top. Anyhow, I’ll go up. Keep the
boys to it.”

He had got Austin’s coat and, in the snow and turmoil, he thought the
men would not know him from Bob; they were much the same height and
build. Jumping for a tie-rod, he went up into the snow, and when a
beam from a lamp searched the spot he reached, the torn slicker was
conspicuous. Underneath were two small platforms and the angry flood.
His hands were numb and his skin smarted, but after all the snow was
wet. Flesh and blood could not labor in the frost that dries the snow
to dust.

He shouted. A straining wire rope groaned and the bottom of the truss
jarred the column. Kit took a bolt from a workman and went down an
inclined rod. A man on the opposite column waved his arms, as if to
indicate that the end was fast, and Kit guided the bored steel strap
to the proper spot. The end moved very slowly, but it did move; the
holes were almost opposite, and although the heavy frame oscillated in
the wind, he thought in a few moments he would push in the bolt. Then
a noise disturbed him and he saw Austin was coming up.

Kit frowned. Bob ought not to risk the climb; but he must concentrate
on guiding the strap to the socket and he could hardly use his stiff
hands. He pushed the bolt through the holes and straightened his back.
The job was not finished, but the worst strain was over. They had put
the truss where it ought to go and the bolts would hold until all was
fast.

Then Kit remembered Austin. Bob had stopped, as if he saw he was not
needed. He turned and pushed his hand along a bar, and Kit thought he
meant to go down. A foreman shouted, and the wire tackles running from
the girder overhead went slack. A big iron pulley dropped a foot or
two and the hook it carried disengaged. Kit doubted if the hook struck
Austin, but it looked as if he heard the noise and tried to avoid the
shock. His boots rattled on the iron and his shoulders went back. Kit
saw he was letting go, and he swung himself down to a fresh support
and put his arm round the other.

“Stick tight!” he said. “I’ll help you to the ladder.”

They reached the ladder, but the effort cost Kit much, and when he saw
Austin take hold he stopped to get his breath.

“If you can reach the platform, we’ll send you up in the skip,” he
gasped.

“I think I can make it,” said Austin, and they went down.

At the platform Kit pushed Austin to a tool-box. Snow blew about, the
lamp’s flame tossed and all was indistinct. The current broke noisily
against the piers and the wind screamed in the bridge. When a foreman
advanced Kit bent his head.

“The boys have rigged the derrick. Shall we start in to dump the
rock?”

Kit nodded, and when the man vanished, touched Austin.

“Don’t talk, Bob. Let me handle things. We’ll soon have all fixed.”

“I don’t want to talk,” said Austin. “I want to lie down.”

Kit waited with some anxiety. Bob was obviously ill, but the men must
not know, and Kit hoped the skip would soon arrive. By and by a big
steel bucket swung across the platform and a load of broken rock
splashed in the river. Austin got into the skip awkwardly, for Kit
dared not help, but when he jumped on the edge and seized the chain,
he called the foreman.

“Keep going! I’ll be back as soon as possible.”

The bucket went up and stopped at the plankway along the bridge. Kit
saw the gang was occupied, and putting his arm round Austin, steered
him to an unloaded trolley. Austin leaned against him and Kit imagined
he did not know where they went. When they got on board he shouted for
two or three men.

“My office! Shove her along!”

The trolley rolled ahead and the tossing fires melted in the snow. The
trees along the track bent in the wind and the noise was like the roar
of the sea. One could not see four yards in front; but at length a
faint glimmer pierced the snow and the trolley stopped. Austin got
down, Kit signalled the others to go back, and when the trolley
vanished guided Austin to the door. When they got inside, Austin
dropped into a chair. His eyes were half shut, he shivered and his
face was gray.

“I expect the pulley hit me, although I didn’t feel the knock,” he
said. “However, I ought not to quit——”

“Since all was straight before you went you needn’t bother,” Kit
replied in a cheerful voice. “But put your feet on the box, I’m going
to pull off your boots.”

Austin gave him a dull, puzzled look.

“You were on the tie-rod? I’ve a notion I came near to letting go; but
I don’t remember much——”

“Oh, well,” said Kit, “it doesn’t matter, and the boys want me. I’ll
help you to bed.”

He pulled off Austin’s clothes and put him in his bunk. Austin said
nothing and after a few minutes Kit thought him asleep. He dared not
stop, and throwing Austin’s torn slicker under some clothes, he got
his own coat and faced the gale.

Some time after daybreak he started for the office. He was exhausted
and the morning was very cold. The wind had dropped, the sky was
clear, and the snow on the planks was hard. Shining icicles hung from
the ironwork and Kit concluded winter had at length arrived. At the
bridge-head a man stopped him.

“Did the pulley hit you, Mr. Carson? I reckoned she was going to knock
you off the frame.”

“I got two or three knocks,” Kit replied with a laugh. “On the whole,
I imagine cooking’s a softer job than running a bridge gang.”

He stopped for a few minutes at the bunkhouse, and then went to the
office. Austin had got up and some color had come back to his skin.
Kit pulled off his long boots and lighted a cigarette. The stove was
red hot, and after the cold and strain he was willing to relax.

“How are you, Bob?” he asked.

Austin said he was shaky, but he expected soon to be better and he
must try to get about. Kit agreed. If it were but for an hour or two,
Bob ought to superintend.

“Jock will send us breakfast in a few minutes,” he said. “When you
have got some food you might take a walk along the girder. Put on your
big coat and skin-cap. The cold is fierce.”

“Your plan’s rather obvious, Kit. However, I expect I must play up;
people indulge you. I don’t know another man who could persuade a camp
cook to serve breakfast when it was not the proper time.”

“Well, you see, I was Jock’s piper. Besides, you’re not forced to
advertise that you’re not very fit. When you were wanted, you were on
the spot.”

“I doubt if I helped much,” said Austin in a thoughtful voice. “When
the boys let go the tackle, you jumped across and helped me down—did
you not? Perhaps it’s strange, but I don’t remember all we did.”

“It isn’t strange,” said Kit. “The wind was savage and the snow was
thick. We were highly strung and I suppose we worked mechanically. All
we knew was, we must get the truss across. Well, before you went the
truss was in place.”

“When did I go?”

“Now I’m beaten! When I stopped I felt as if I’d fought the gale for a
week. Anyhow, it was some time in the morning and the worst strain was
over. I expect you saw we didn’t need you and you went slack.”

“You are a good pal,” Austin remarked in a meaning voice. “Well, I
wonder——”

Kit frowned. He thought he had cheated the workmen, but unless he
cheated Austin he had not gained much. Bob would not allow himself to
be rewarded for another’s efforts. Moreover, he was not a fool and Kit
was tired.

“Sometimes you’re horribly obstinate, but if you’re not satisfied, you
must talk to the boys. They saw you about and they’ll admit they took
your orders. If you study the job, I expect you’ll see the orders were
good.”

Austin’s look was thoughtful, but Kit imagined he was to some extent
convinced, and soon afterwards the cook carried in their breakfast.

After a few days Wheeler arrived and approved all the others had done.
When he had examined their work he called Kit to his office.

“You’ll be glad to hear we have arranged for Austin to take control?”

“I think you have got the proper man, but when we talked about it you
did not agree.”

Wheeler shrugged. “My word goes, but I’m not head boss. At all events,
you didn’t put across your bluff and have got to quit! Now the frost’s
begun, we’ll break the gangs and you can pull out for the workshops.”

“So long as you have given me another post I mustn’t grumble,” Kit
remarked with a smile. “In fact, on the whole, I think my luck is
pretty good. To bluff a big construction company is rash.”

Wheeler gave him a queer look. “Well, I don’t know if you’d hesitate
about bluffing a construction gang! All the same, if you stay with it
at the shops, I’ll send for you when we start up in spring. Now you
had better pack your trunk. A train goes down the line in the
afternoon.”

Kit packed his trunk, and at dusk a locomotive and a row of flat cars
rolled across the old wooden bridge. The cook and a foreman put Kit’s
trunk in the calaboose, and for a few minutes he talked to Austin and
looked about.

The snowy woods shone in the sunset and the broad white plain melted
in ethereal blue; by contrast, the open channel of the river was black
like ink. Two or three faint plumes of smoke went straight up, and
along the bridge a few hammers beat. That was all and Kit felt the
camp was strangely quiet. Winter had arrived. Then somebody signalled
and Austin gave Kit his hand.

“Good luck!” he said. “Stay with it, partner. I think Wheeler bets on
you; he’ll see you get your chance.”

Kit jumped for the step, the bell clanged, and the train steamed away
into the gloom. When a brakesman pulled the door across, Kit sat down
and lighted his pipe. Rob had kept his post and that was something,
but he had given up his and for four or five months his work would be
monotonous and unimportant. He had seen himself triumphant at the
bridge; to copy plans at the drawing office was another thing.
Although he felt he had taken the proper line, he wondered whether
Evelyn would approve. Mrs. Haigh certainly would not.




                             CHAPTER XXI

                          JASPER EXPERIMENTS


Dinner was over at Netherhall, and Mrs. Carson’s party had gone to the
drawing-room. Mrs. Carson was conservative and she refused to banish
the early-Victorian walnut furniture. She claimed Gibbons carved the
noble fireplace, but the plate glass carried across above the big
grate did not altogether stop the smoke. Tall brass pillars supported
oil lamps; the piano and card-table were lighted by candles in old
silver sticks.

Although the furniture was ugly, the spacious room had dignity and
Mrs. Carson harmonized. Her mouth was thin and her face was pinched.
Sometimes her look was mean, she was frankly parsimonious, and her
clothes were not good, but her stamp was the stamp of the proud old
school.

For Netherhall, the party was large. Jasper had arrived from
Liverpool; he had rooms at Sheffield and London, but his habit was to
stop for a day or two with his brother. Agatha had arrived from the
hospital, and Ledward from town. When he was bored he visited at
Netherhall. Ledward was Mrs. Carson’s favorite and he cleverly
cultivated her. Mrs. Carson knew her nephew, but she was flattered.
Mrs. Haigh and Evelyn were her friends, and as a rule they came across
when she had other guests.

“You were at Liverpool?” she said to Jasper.

“I was sending off a man to Montreal. I myself ought to have gone, but
when the St. Lawrence freezes one must go by Halifax or New York, and
now I get old I begin to hate the shaking cars.”

Smoke whirled about the glass shield, rain beat the windows, and the
trees by the river roared like the sea.

“I should hate the steamer,” Mrs. Carson remarked. “So long as another
was willing to go for me, I would be content.”

“The trouble is, I’m forced to be content. Ambitious young men, keen
to undertake my job, are numerous, but I doubt their talent, and since
I have not an engineer relation I must hold out as long as possible.”

“We thought Kit might have helped,” Alan Carson remarked.

“Kit had other plans,” said Jasper dryly and turned to Agatha. “You
are an independent lot. When I could have got you an easier post you
stuck to your hospital.”

“At the hospital I have some authority, and one likes to command,”
said Agatha, smiling. “Independence is attractive.”

“Sometimes it’s expensive. I suppose you get news from your brother?”

“Kit has not written to me for some time. All I know is he was engaged
at a Manitoba bridge.”

“We got two letters,” said Mrs. Haigh. “The first was optimistic; Kit
was to stay at the bridge for the winter and superintend. The other
was rather apologetic. He had given up his post and was going to the
company’s workshops.”

“He stated he had _resigned_ his post?”

“The engineer at the bridge wanted him to stay. Kit’s grounds for
refusing were not very clear and his note was short.”

“Kit’s habit is to resign his posts. To know he was not forced to do
so is some comfort,” Mrs. Carson remarked.

“He was certainly not forced,” said Evelyn, with an angry blush. “We
don’t know why he went, but his object was good.”

Jasper gave her a queer, fixed look and then studied Mrs. Haigh. She
obviously agreed with Evelyn, but he thought Kit’s not remaining at
the bridge had annoyed her. In fact, since he imagined she did not
like to own Kit had omitted to seize his opportunity, her frankness
was perhaps strange. Mrs. Haigh, however, knew where frankness paid.

“Do you know who are his employers?” he inquired.

Mrs. Haigh stated the company’s title, and Alan looked up with
surprise. Jasper smiled ironically.

“I was willing to go without my nephew’s help, but I didn’t reckon on
his joining my antagonists,” he said and turned to Mrs. Carson. “The
company is the competitor of a Canadian house in which I’m interested.
Just now, a railroad weighs its tenders for some important contracts
against ours.”

“You don’t imply that Kit knew?” Evelyn rejoined.

“It’s possible he did not. For all that, I imagine the bridge company
knew whom they employed. When one engages an engineer one makes
inquiries, and a number of people know I support the opposition.”

“I don’t see the others’ object,” said Alan in a disturbed voice.

“It looks like a joke, but Canadian engineers are not remarkably
humorous. Then, although I expect they found out about Kit’s leaving
the shipyard, they risked engaging him.”

“Kit was not bound to enlighten the people,” Mrs. Haigh remarked.

“Something depends upon one’s point of view,” Jasper replied, and
turned to Agatha. “What do you think about it?”

“When Kit was engaged his employers knew all that weighed against
him.”

“If they found out he was your nephew, they perhaps hoped they might
use him,” said Mrs. Carson.

Agatha looked up, but she saw Evelyn’s eyes sparkle and she waited.

“Then they were very foolish; Kit would not take a bribe to be
shabby,” Evelyn declared, and Jasper gave her an indulgent smile.

“On the whole, I agree. There’s another thing; Canadians are not
fools, and if they studied Kit for a very short time, they’d be
satisfied he had not much talent for intrigue. Well, I think we’ll let
it go.”

Mrs. Carson beckoned her husband, and Mrs. Haigh and Jasper went with
them to the card-table, but Agatha stopped in the corner by the
fireplace. She had studied the others and now she pondered.

Mrs. Carson was frankly spiteful; she, no doubt, felt Kit had
humiliated his relations and ought to be punished. Alan was Kit’s
friend, but he dared not oppose his wife, and Agatha thought Jasper’s
remark about the Carsons’ independence carried a sneer. Since Evelyn
was not plucky, her championing Kit was curious; Agatha wondered
whether she had reckoned on her mother’s support. Yet, as a rule, Mrs.
Haigh played up to Mrs. Carson. Moreover, she was something of an
adventuress and Kit was poor and, so to speak, in disgrace. Agatha
admitted she did not see much light.

Ledward had said nothing, but the ground was awkward, and his habit
was to be tactful. Although Agatha thought Evelyn attracted him,
Ledward was not the man to marry a poor wife. Agatha did not see him
carried away by romantic passion. Harry was clever and had made his
mark at Oxford, but, although he was not rich, he was apparently
satisfied to do nothing. Now he talked to Evelyn and Evelyn smiled.

Jasper excited Agatha’s curiosity. She imagined he had studied the
group with a sort of ironical humor, and when he talked about Kit she
got a hint of antagonism. She thought it strange, because the old
fellow was rather inscrutable; and if he were antagonistic, she
fancied he would not be willing for the others to know. Well, there
was not much use in speculating, and she joined Evelyn.

When Agatha sat down Ledward went off. For a young man he was rather
fat; but he was a handsome fellow and marked by a cultivated urbanity.
Agatha let him go and turned to Evelyn. “You’re loyal,” she said. “I
thought you plucky!”

“Kit’s my lover. I promised to marry him when he makes good.”

“Then the stipulation was not, _if he made good_?”

“Sometimes you’re like Jasper Carson; one doubts if you are kind.”

“I’m Kit’s sister; perhaps I’m shabbily jealous,” Agatha replied.

“Oh, well, I’m going to be frank. Mrs. Carson hates Kit and mother’s
afraid of her; she punishes people who do not agree. I really think I
was noble, because when we got Kit’s last letter I was annoyed. I felt
he had thrown away another chance.”

Agatha’s look got sympathetic. “Since to go cost him something, I
expect he went because he was convinced he ought to go.”

“It’s possible,” Evelyn agreed in a moody voice. “Kit’s romantic and
sometimes I’d sooner he was selfish. We don’t yet altogether know why
he gave up his post at the shipyard; but, if he had thought only for
himself, he need not have done so. Now I wonder whether he has not
again allowed his rash generosity to carry him away.”

Agatha had speculated about something like that. Evelyn knew her
lover, but it looked as if she did not approve. In the circumstances,
for her to do so would perhaps be hard.

“Sometimes I feel Kit does not think of me,” Evelyn resumed, and
although she blushed her look was calculating. “We are poor and I hate
poverty. The proper plan was to make a good marriage. Yet I stuck to
Kit. To talk about it jars, but I’m human and I’m bothered. For one
thing, mother indulged me although she knew I was foolish, and I’d
hate to feel Kit had disappointed her.”

“Kit does not disappoint his friends,” Agatha remarked in a quiet
voice.

“But he ought to be ambitious. One must not be generous where another
is forced to pay. Kit does not weigh things; I expect he’s plunged
into a fresh entanglement, but he ought not to be rash. You see, I
must stop at dreary Netherdale. Then people know Kit’s poverty, and
when they pretend to sympathize I feel they sneer. Mrs. Carson’s
remarks hurt worse because she was persuaded they were justified.
There’s the trouble—it looks as if the people who doubted Kit were
justified——”

Agatha was disturbed. Evelyn’s loyalty cost her something and might
yet cost her much. So far she had paid, but Agatha wondered whether
she could keep it up. Evelyn was selfish and rather shabbily
ambitious. All the same, one must acknowledge her part was hard.

“You must not exaggerate, my dear,” she said. “Kit has talent, and
he’ll soon make progress.” After a time the card party broke up. Alan
Carson and Ledward went to the billiard-room and Agatha went for a
book. When she came back she saw Jasper in the hall and she stopped.

“It looked as if Miss Haigh gave you her confidence,” he said.

“Evelyn was angry. Aunt was not kind.”

“So far as she sees, my sister-in-law is sincere. Do you imply that
her unkindness was all that bothered Miss Haigh?”

“You implied that our talk was confidential,” Agatha rejoined. “In a
way, I’m sorry for Evelyn. You don’t like her?”

“You’re blade-straight and keen as steel,” said Jasper with a dry
smile. “Well, I own I don’t like Mrs. Haigh and one inherits much. I’d
sooner trust a fool than a calculating woman.”

“It doesn’t look as if Evelyn calculated. She means to stick to Kit.”

“I wonder whether you thought it remarkable,” Jasper observed.

Agatha said nothing and he resumed: “Had you chosen a wife for your
brother, would you have chosen Miss Haigh?”

“Perhaps I would not. Our business, however, is not to choose Kit’s
wife, and we ought not to meddle.”

“Then Miss Haigh has your support?”

“She has my sympathy,” Agatha replied, and Jasper gave her a queer
smile and went off.

For a few minutes Agatha stopped by the fire in the hall. On the whole
she liked Jasper Carson, but he puzzled, and sometimes daunted her.
Now she saw he had tried to find out if she believed Evelyn really
meant to stick to her lover, and she thought his interest ominous.
When she went back to the drawing-room, Jasper was not about and Mrs.
Carson said he and Ledward had gone to smoke.

In the smoking-room Jasper gave Ledward a cigar.

“You ought to have an occupation, Harry. Have you thought about it?”

“I rather thought I might be a barrister, but I don’t know.... One
must keep twelve terms at an inn; something like three years before
one can start.”

Jasper nodded. “Then, unless you’re lucky and remarkably talented, the
reward’s not large. What about business?”

“If I sold all I have got, the sum I could invest would not carry me
far, and since I’m not much attracted, I’d hesitate to face the risk.
Then, if I took a post, I imagine the pay would be small, and so long
as I’m not extravagant I can meet my bills.”

“You might resolve to marry. When one is married one’s bills go up.”

“It’s possible,” Ledward agreed in a careless voice. “So far, I have
not thought much about marriage.”

“Suppose I offered you a good post?”

“That’s another thing. I’d weigh your offer.”

“Very well! I’m getting old and begin to feel I need help. Although I
can buy help, I want a man I know, whose interests would be mine. At
one time I thought I might use Kit, and by and by he might carry on
the forge, but I saw the plan would not work.”

Ledward thought his luck was good. Jasper was not looking for a clerk;
he implied he wanted a man who would take control when he was forced
to let things go. In fact, he really wanted something like an heir.
Kit was his relation, but he had not taken the proper line and now
Jasper hinted that he had done with him. All the same, one must use
some caution.

“The difficulty is, I am not an engineer.”

“At Oxford you were a mathematician, and I want help to handle rather
complicated finance. If you are willing, I’ll try you out.”

“I’m keen, sir,” Ledward replied.

“Then, I must arrange for you to meet me at my town office. If I am
satisfied, you will not grumble about the pay.”

“Thank you,” said Ledward. “In the meantime, would you sooner I did
not talk about it?”

“I think we will not yet announce our agreement,” Jasper replied. “For
one thing, I don’t know if you have the qualities I want; and then you
may not like your job.”




                             CHAPTER XXII

                     MRS. HAIGH REVIEWS HER PLANS


Ledward went to the London office and for a time was at the
bookkeeper’s desk. At the beginning the bookkeeper, who did not need
much help, speculated about his employer’s object, but he soon
admitted that Ledward had qualities he had not thought to find in a
fashionable loafer. Jasper Carson, however, did not want a clerk. All
he really wanted only he himself knew. In the meantime, he meant Harry
to be useful.

Ledward was something of a Hedonist. He took the pleasures he could
get without much risk and effort, and when he did make an effort he
wanted a reward. He was not remarkably scrupulous, but he observed
conventional rules and went soberly because he knew one must pay for
indulgence.

For all that, he was interested and Jasper’s business transactions
fired his imagination. Ledward frankly acknowledged the old fellow’s
cleverness. Jasper was not as rich as his relations thought; for the
most part, he used others’ money and all he earned was re-invested in
fresh ventures. His finance, however, was sound and honest, and his
shares were worth a considerable sum.

Ledward began to think himself fortunate. Engineering was not his
line, but he had a talent for calculation. He knew his help was worth
something and Jasper had indicated that his reward might be generous.
He wanted money; for one thing he wanted to marry Evelyn.

Ledward was not romantic, and he knew Evelyn. Then he knew Mrs. Haigh,
and Evelyn was her daughter. In a sense, she was not fastidious, and
he knew her shallow; shallow was perhaps the proper word, because her
cleverness, so to speak, was surface cleverness and selfish. For all
that, she attracted him and he was moved by her beauty. When he could
support a wife he meant to marry Evelyn, and her having engaged to
marry Kit was not an obstacle. After a time, Jasper one morning came
to the office.

“My relations have not heard you have joined me, and since you are
going to stay, perhaps they ought to know,” he said. “On Wednesday my
sister-in-law and her party will arrive. She and Alan go to Hampshire,
and Mrs. Haigh visits with some friends in Surrey. They will be in
town for a day or two and will dine with me on Wednesday evening. I
thought we might announce our agreement. You perhaps are not engaged?”

Ledward said he had not an engagement, and his satisfaction was keen,
for he had not known if Jasper wanted him to stay. Sometimes the old
fellow indulged his freakish humor, and Ledward knew he studied him.
Although he had said nothing about Evelyn, Ledward supposed she would
arrive with Mrs. Haigh. Perhaps Jasper had wanted to see if he would
inquire.

“Then we’ll fix it,” said Jasper, and presently went off.

The dinner was at a famous hotel, and Ledward had thought to get there
early and meet Evelyn before his employer was about, but he was
occupied by some intricate accounts. Jasper had given him the awkward
job, which could not be left for the morning, and when Ledward reached
the hotel the party waited in the big glass-roofed court.

Crossing the floor, he gave the others an interested glance. Mrs.
Carson’s smile was friendly and Mrs. Haigh’s polite. Ledward thought
she speculated about his being Jasper’s guest. Evelyn’s look was
puzzled, and he doubted if Jasper had told his guests for whom they
waited.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I felt I must finish the piece of work, and when
I got away the traffic stopped my cab.”

Jasper nodded, and Alan Carson laughed.

“For you to be strenuously occupied is something fresh!”

“Harry’s business was rather important and I’m accountable for his
being late. The work that delayed him was mine,” Jasper remarked.
“However, I expect our table’s ready. Shall we go in?”

The head waiter led them across the polished floor, and when they sat
down Jasper engaged the others in careless talk. Ledward said nothing;
he felt when Jasper wanted him to speak he would get his cue. The old
fellow, so to speak, was a good stage manager. In the meantime, Harry
studied the group.

Jasper was urbanely inscrutable, but one got a sense of command. Alan
tried to control his curiosity. Mrs. Carson’s clothes were
out-of-date, but she and Jasper wore a stamp the others did not. Yet
Mrs. Haigh and Evelyn were fashionable and harmonized with the
expensively dressed crowd. By and by Mrs. Carson turned to Ledward.

“You are quiet, Harry, and we have not heard from you since you went
back to town. Have you begun your studies for the Bar?”

“I have not,” said Ledward smiling, and noting Jasper’s glance,
resumed: “I rather think I have got a better job!”

“Harry tries to flatter me,” Jasper remarked. “Not long since I
admitted I got old, and now he has agreed to help. I’m glad to
acknowledge his help is worth something.”

“Then, he’s at your office?” said Alan with keen surprise.

“That is so,” Jasper agreed, and called a waiter. “By and by I expect
he will be my head man, and perhaps for you to wish the combine good
luck would not be theatrical.”

Ledward thought Jasper theatrical. At all events he had given the
announcement a dramatic touch, and Ledward saw he surveyed his guests
with dry amusement.

Mrs. Carson’s approval was obvious, but it looked as if Alan were
annoyed. Evelyn’s look got hard, and Mrs. Haigh’s face was slightly
red. She had got a nasty knock, but she lifted her glass.

“We knew your helper’s cleverness, but it seems he has abilities we
did not guess,” she said in a level voice. “I hope your experiment
will go as you expect!”

“Thank you,” said Jasper. “One likes one’s friends’ approval. So far
as the experiment has gone I have good grounds to be satisfied.”

“You have got the proper man,” said Mrs. Carson. “You would not have
been satisfied with Kit.”

“It’s possible,” Jasper agreed, and Ledward fancied Mrs. Carson had
unconsciously given him his cue. “I had meant the post for Kit. For
one thing, he’s my relation and an engineer. I thought he might by and
by carry on the forge, but I acknowledge I’m sometimes cheated.”

He began to talk about something else and Mrs. Haigh supported him,
but the effort cost her much, and when the others joined she stopped
and mused. The economy she was forced to practice jarred, and
Netherdale was a dreary spot; she liked to dine at expensive hotels
and mix with fashionable people. The music, the cultivated voices, and
the women’s jewels excited her, and she had thought, for a day or two,
to follow her bent and forget that she was poor.

Mrs. Haigh knew she had social talents, and had she the others’
chance, she could make her mark. Poverty was an awkward obstacle, and
in order to mend her broken fortunes she had planned to use Evelyn’s
beauty. Evelyn was young, and it looked as if she were romantic, but
Mrs. Haigh knew she had inherited much from her. As a rule, she saw
where her advantage was, and in puzzling circumstances her judgment
was unconsciously, and perhaps instinctively, sound. For example, she
had refused to let Kit go.

Now, however, Mrs. Haigh felt Kit had let her down. She doubted if
Jasper were often cheated, but he had cheated her and calm was hard.
All the same, Mrs. Haigh’s pluck was good, and she tried to be
philosophical. Since the plan from which she had hoped for much would
not work, she must make another. She was not yet beaten, and she
thought Jasper did not know his antagonist.

After dinner, Jasper and Alan went off for a smoke. When Alan lighted
a cigarette he frowned.

“You are a business man and perhaps I ought not to meddle; but do you
think you can trust Harry?”

“Ledward is your relation.”

“He’s my wife’s relation,” Alan rejoined. “I don’t imply that he’d rob
you; but, if he’s going to be useful, you must give him your
confidence....”

“To some extent, that is so. Well?”

Alan hesitated. His habit was to hesitate and he said awkwardly:
“Where you have keen competitors, your servants must be stanch. If I
carried on a business like yours and engaged Harry, I’d use some
reserve.”

“Oh, well,” said Jasper, “I reckon I can trust the fellow as far as
I’m forced....” He stopped for a moment and lighted a cigarette, for
he wanted to strike a note he had struck before. Alan was dull and
would not think his doing so significant.

“Frankness is rather embarrassing,” he resumed. “You see. Kit is my
relation, but I don’t feel I could reckon on his trustworthiness.”

“Kit’s straight; we don’t know all,” said Alan stubbornly. “In fact,
I’m convinced he’s your proper helper and I thought you agreed.”

“You stated something like that before,” Jasper remarked, and added
with a smile: “Well, it looks as if you, and perhaps others, bet on
the wrong man.”

Alan frowned, and after a few minutes got up.

“My wife and Mrs. Haigh are going to the West End, and I believe
Evelyn means to look up a friend. Perhaps I’d better inquire when they
want to start.”

Soon after Jasper went to the smoking-room Ledward lighted a cigarette
in the court. A band played quiet music and people walked about.
Nobody came to Ledward’s corner and he was content to muse. He saw
Jasper had meant the others to know he, so to speak, was the favorite,
but the old fellow’s object was another thing. Anyhow, Jasper had
undertaken to push him ahead, and since his word went, Ledward thought
he was entitled to enjoy his satisfaction.

By and by he saw Evelyn on the other side of the court. He thought she
looked for somebody, but he did not see the others and he crossed the
floor. Evelyn went to a bench under a palm and Ledward sat down.

“I don’t think you congratulated me about my good luck,” he said.

Evelyn’s eyes sparkled. “For you to expect my congratulations was
rather remarkable! Although you were Kit’s friend, you took his post.”

“I sympathize with your annoyance, but you’re not just. You see, I
took nothing he wanted from Kit. All I got he, in a sense, had already
refused. Although he’s Jasper’s nephew, he made it plain that he would
sooner his uncle left him alone.”

“Perhaps that is so, Kit is independent,” Evelyn admitted.

“Very well! I’m not independent; for one thing I’m not rich and for me
to refuse a useful occupation and first-class pay was ridiculous.
Since Kit had gone off to Canada and joined his uncle’s competitors, I
seized the opportunity he rather scornfully neglected.”

Evelyn’s color got high and her look was hard, but it was not because
Ledward offended her. After all, Harry was logical, and Kit was not.
He was not rich and he ought to have cultivated his relation, but he
indulged his romantic pride. Then, when he began to make progress, he
again gave up his post. In fact, Kit did not think for her. Ledward
saw her pre-occupation and knew he had struck the proper note.

“We mustn’t dispute about it and I like your championing Kit,” he
resumed.

“Ah,” said Evelyn moodily, “perhaps Kit needs a champion!”

Ledward let it go, and for a few minutes they talked about something
else. Then Mrs. Haigh and Mrs. Carson arrived.

“We must start, and I rather think you ought to go with us,” Mrs.
Haigh said to Evelyn.

“Clara expects me, and I can get a cab.”

Ledward thought Mrs. Haigh hesitated, and he saw his opportunity.

“If you like and Evelyn agrees, I will take her to Miss Chisholm’s.”

Mrs. Haigh thanked him and soon afterwards the party went off. Ledward
imagined Evelyn had gone for her coat and he waited, but when she
rejoined him she wore her evening clothes.

“Mother is rather old-fashioned,” she remarked. “Since you offered to
see me out, I expect you have not an engagement?”

“I have not,” said Ledward. “When you are ready I’ll send for a cab.”

Evelyn smiled. “If you don’t mind, we might stay for a time. I like
the music and I like to see the people.”

“Then, we’ll stay as long as you like. But what about Miss Chisholm?
Will she not wait for you?”

“I’m not very keen about seeing Clara. All I wanted was not to be
forced to go with mother. Perhaps you know the Lomaxes?”

Ledward said he did not, and Evelyn resumed: “Oh well, they’re sober,
old-fashioned bores and I imagine Mrs. Carson will stay until midnight
and talk about people they knew when she was young. Mother will play
up; I rather think she’ll like it. But I’d soon be horribly tired.”

“Then, let’s wait,” said Ledward. “The band is pretty good, and you
can study the fashions.”

Evelyn saw he wanted to wait, but she had reckoned on his agreeing and
her annoyance was gone. After all, his apology was logical, and she
was willing to use him.

“Perhaps I’m shabby, but I don’t mind very much,” she said. “Since I’m
in town only for a day or two, I want to use every minute. I admit I
like hotels and shops and fashionable crowds. All is interesting, and
after Netherdale, one needs some stimulation. Then, you see, although
Clara’s an art student, she’s not the modern sort. She paints
seriously, and I don’t know much about pictures. Now I am in town I
want to be excited and to feel I am alive.”

On the whole, Ledward thought she did not exaggerate. For a young,
ambitious girl Netherdale was dull, and he knew Mrs. Haigh’s
frugality. He sympathized with Evelyn and thought he could indulge
her.

“I’ve got something like an inspiration,” he remarked. “Suppose you
cut out your engagement with Miss Chisholm and we go to a theatre? I
know a good musical comedy and perhaps the house is not full.”

“Oh,” said Evelyn, “it would be splendid! The drawback is, I’m afraid
mother would not be pleased.”

Ledward had remarked Mrs. Haigh’s willingness for him to convey Evelyn
to her friend’s studio. Moreover he thought a hint of intrigue
attracted the girl.

“We might look up Miss Chisholm for a few minutes and perhaps take her
with us,” he suggested carelessly. “Then, if our relations are some
time at the Lomaxes and we don’t stay for the last act——”

“I ought to refuse,” said Evelyn, and then gave Ledward a smile.
“Sometimes one does things one ought not. Let’s go!”

She went for her cloak. Ledward went to the telephone and ordered a
cab.




                            CHAPTER XXIII

                          BLAKE’S CONFESSION


Evelyn went to the musical comedy and the excursion carried a thrill.
She was young, and to steal off with Ledward was something of an
adventure. Ledward knew Evelyn better than she imagined and he humored
her cleverly. Although he declared her going was justified, he
contrived to give the excursion a touch of intimate secrecy. Evelyn
had inherited some skill for intrigue, and she rather liked to feel
she and Harry were conspirators. In fact, she admitted that for all to
know she went with him would rob the evening of its charm.

Three or four days afterwards Evelyn and a young relation started for
the post-office at a Surrey village. A long row of red-roofed houses
began by the railway and stopped at the wide heath; the tarred road
and high telegraph posts went on to London. Mrs. Haigh had not gone
back to town, and Evelyn began to feel that she was bored. Her hosts
were not fashionable, and the people she met did not interest her.
Then Hannah Grant was recently from school, and a raw girl’s society
had not much charm.

By and by a car crossed the heath and stopped by the post-office. The
driver called a telegraph boy and then went slowly up the street as if
he looked for a house. After a few moments Evelyn’s dulness vanished;
the man was Harry Ledward and she knew he looked for Mrs. Grant’s. She
waved and he stopped by the path.

“The weather’s good and when I got to the office Jasper stated I might
take a holiday,” he said. “I thought I’d look you up and risk your
being occupied. What does one do here on a fine afternoon?”

“We play golf,” Evelyn replied. “Sometimes we go for a walk.”

Ledward smiled and Hannah Grant gave him an approving look.

“Sometimes one gets deadly bored,” she remarked. “Well, we can give
you tea and polite conversation, but perhaps you’d like a round of
golf? My handicap’s thirty and Evelyn foozles.”

“I’ve another plan,” said Ledward. “I wonder whether you and Evelyn
would like to run to town? But perhaps you go often and it does not
attract you much?”

“I go when return tickets are cheap,” Hannah replied. “If you want to
take Evelyn, you must take me. Mother and Mrs. Haigh are very proper,
but I don’t mind admitting I am not. Besides I’d love to go!”

“Then, jump up. Where’s your house?”

“At the end of the row; the pond is in front. Father declares it gives
the spot a rural touch and he likes the white ducks. The drawback is
the ducks are not its only occupants.... But get in, Evelyn. Your
part’s to persuade mother.”

“To begin with, we must persuade Evelyn,” said Ledward and started the
car.

Hannah smiled, but she said nothing, and when they stopped at a new
rough-cast house Ledward was not forced to use much persuasion.

“I wonder whether you would like to see a play,” he said to Mrs.
Haigh. “There’s a rather good matinee, and I would drive you down in
the evening. The car carries four passengers.”

Mrs. Haigh and Mrs. Grant refused politely, but they agreed for Evelyn
and Hannah to go. The girls went off to get other clothes, and Hannah
stopped for a moment at Evelyn’s room.

“I like the lean, dark type, and Mr. Ledward’s rather fat; otherwise I
think him top-hole,” she said. “You feel he knows something; and for
the most part very young men are fools. Your mother’s a sport, but
since you have a lover in Canada, perhaps her letting you go was
strange.”

“Harry’s an old friend and almost like a relation,” Evelyn replied and
sent Hannah off, but when she shut the door she pondered.

Kit was in Canada. There was the trouble, because Evelyn felt he need
not have gone. She knew he had not cheated the shipyard company. Kit
did not cheat, but he was ridiculously proud and he ought not to be
generous where his generosity cost her much. Harry, of course, was
another sort, and Evelyn knew him selfish, but she approved his
cleverness, and to some extent he attracted her. Anyhow, she liked
excitement, and in a few days she would be back at Netherdale. She got
up and thoughtfully studied her clothes and hats.

A week or two afterward, Jasper, going to a Cumberland ironworks,
stopped for the week-end at Netherhall. The evening he arrived was
cold and a savage wind beat the thick walls. After dinner the party
went to the drawing-room fire, and by and by a servant carried in a
card.

“The gentleman is in the hall.”

Alan Carson took the card and turned to Jasper. “Thomas Blake; a
Glasgow address! Looks like a business card. I don’t know the fellow.
Perhaps a shipbuilding customer has got on your track.”

“I’ll see what he wants,” said Jasper and went off with the servant.

A fire burned in the big hall, but only one lamp was lighted and the
illumination did not carry far. A young man and woman waited by the
fireplace and got up when Jasper advanced. The girl’s look was
embarrassing and her face was pinched by cold. Her clothes were
ordinary outdoor clothes, and Jasper thought them cheap. The young
man’s look was resolute.

“Mr. Carson? Christopher Carson’s uncle?” he inquired.

Jasper was interested. He thought Blake wanted Alan, but he did not
yet know if the young fellow ought to see him.

“Christopher is my nephew. Perhaps you were his friend at the
shipyard?”

“He thought me his friend,” the other replied and indicated Mrs.
Blake. “I could not leave my wife in the car; when we were on the
moors the wind broke the hood. Besides, I rather wanted her support.”

Jasper turned and pointed to a seat in the corner by the big grate.

“When the _Hellan_ wind blows down the fells the cold is keen,” he
said, and rang for a servant. “Bring some wine and sandwiches, and let
Mrs. Carson know I’ll be engaged for a time.”

Mrs. Blake drained her glass and went to the fire, for she was very
cold and bore some strain. Jasper knitted his brows and waited. Mabel
thought he harmonized with the big austere hall and dark panelling,
but somehow he was like Kit, and she was vaguely comforted. Blake
pushed back his glass.

“I thank you for your kindness to my wife, but I mustn’t take your
hospitality. Well, I was at Newcastle and I resolved to see you. To
begin with, do you know where Kit Carson is?”

“Kit is in Canada. Perhaps I could find him, but I don’t know.”

“You imply that you were willing to leave him alone?” said Mrs. Blake.
“Well, Kit need not have gone! You must tell him he need not and you
must try to bring him back——”

Jasper had begun to see a light, and he gave Mrs. Blake a smile. “It
looks as if my nephew had a strong champion; but I doubt if he would
come back. He is independent, and I understand he’s satisfied in
Canada. You might, however, state your grounds for thinking he need
not have gone, unless, perhaps, your husband feels he ought to do so.”

Mrs. Blake was puzzled. When Kit talked about his uncle he said Alan
was a kind old fellow and a good sort, but somehow Mabel had pictured
a rather futile country sportsman. Carson, however, was not at all
like the portrait Kit had unconsciously drawn. Jasper saw she was
puzzled and thought he could account for it. Then Blake faced him as
if he tried to brace up.

“If you will give me a few minutes, I’ll try to enlighten you. When
Kit was at the shipyard he was our friend and was often at our flat.
Perhaps you know about the small, fast steamer we built for a foreign
government?”

Jasper nodded. “Your boat was beaten. The opposition yard used a
better boiler.”

“They used _our_ boiler. You see, the head draftsman and Kit had
worked out improvements we could not patent. The opposition people
bought the plans.”

“The company is large and important. I doubt if the directors would
agree to bribe a competitor’s servant.”

“It’s possible the directors did not know. Managers and secretaries
transact the business, and perhaps you can picture an ambitious head
draftsman’s saying nothing. Then, the bribe was not very large, and
might be charged to an account. As a rule directors don’t
investigate——”

“All are not confiding,” Jasper remarked dryly. “However, your
employers believed somebody did sell the plans, and Kit was
implicated.”

“That is so, sir,” said Blake, and his face got red. “Kit had nothing
to do with it. I stole the plans!”

“Ah!” said Jasper. “Now I begin to see why you wanted Mrs. Blake’s
support! I suppose she urged you to make your rather late confession?”

“Tom was slow, Mr. Carson, but it was for my sake he took the bribe,”
said Mrs. Blake. “His pay was small and he had debts he did not want
me to bother about. All the same, I cannot justify him; there is no
proper apology.”

“How long have you known your husband’s part?” Jasper inquired.

Mrs. Blake blushed, but she faced the stern old man. Although his look
was daunting, somehow she was not afraid.

“I think I knew for some time. At all events, I knew Kit did not steal
the plans, but I hated to think Tom did so. Then to inquire got
harder; I dared not run the risk. All the same, I was bothered about
Kit. He did not write and we could get no news, but we knew he had not
much money.”

Jasper nodded. A woman’s habit was to fight for her child, and perhaps
she was justified.

“Kit, no doubt, intimated that his relations were not poor.”

“Ah,” said Mrs. Blake, “so long as you thought him dishonest, we knew
he would not take your help!”

“I rather think you know my nephew,” Jasper remarked, and turned to
Blake. “Well, at length you allowed your wife to persuade you to be
honest! Since the company could not send you to jail, frankness would
not have cost you very much at the beginning.”

“I was afraid for my post, sir. Had the company sent me off, I was
done for. Then my luck began to turn. I patented an invention, a
manufacturer was interested. The thing began to go, and now we have
started a workshop——”

“You are not rash,” said Jasper dryly. “When you no longer wanted your
post, you resolved to vindicate your pal! Have you informed the
shipyard manager that Kit is innocent?”

“When I get to Glasgow I’ll write a letter,” Blake replied with some
embarrassment. “I thought I’d first see you and find out where Kit
was.”

Jasper knitted his brows. Blake obviously thought him Alan, but Alan
must not meet the fellow. For a time he would sooner the others did
not know Kit was vindicated. Jasper was sorry for Mrs. Blake; the
car’s hood was broken and she had not proper clothes. For all that, he
must let her go.

“You must write to Mr. Colvin; but you had better state you have
informed me,” he said to Blake. “I doubt if you can cross the moors,
but there is an inn not far aff.”

“We must get back to the main road; we telegraphed for a room at a
Carlisle hotel.”

“It will be some time before you get to Carlisle, and Mrs. Blake will
need food,” said Jasper.

Mabel ate some sandwiches and forced one or two on Blake, and then
Jasper let them go. When they started he went back to the
drawing-room.

“The fellow was an engineer and his wife was with him,” he said to
Mrs. Carson. “I gave them some wine and sandwiches.”

“Of course,” said Mrs. Carson. “Since he did not stop for the storm, I
expect his business was important.”

“In a way it was important,” Jasper agreed.




                             CHAPTER XXIV

                          A STOLEN EXCURSION


Dusk had begum to fall, and Evelyn, returning from Netherdale village,
stopped at the garden gate. Dark came early, Mrs. Haigh was not at
home, and the evening would be long. In winter the evenings were
intolerably long, and Evelyn rather moodily looked about.

A half-moon rose behind the trees and the wind had dropped. The sheep
knew the night would be fine and went up the hill to pastures by the
limestone crags. On the long, dark slopes their faint bleating was
musical. Down the dale, where all was indistinct, a farm dog barked.

The silver-firs about the house were sharp, black spires, but the moon
touched their tops and the needles reflected the light. Evelyn smelt
resin, and thyme in a plot across the hedge. Sometimes, when Kit was
with her, she had sensed the beauty of the quiet dale, but Kit was
gone and all was flat.

Evelyn knew her beauty. She wanted excitement and admiration; in fact,
she wanted to try her power. Yet when she married Kit she must,
perhaps for long, be resigned to sober economy, and rather give than
get. Evelyn was not generous, and she vaguely knew she had not much to
give.

Mrs. Haigh was poor, and although at Netherdale she was important, she
owed much to Mrs. Carson’s friendship and, so to speak, shone in the
other’s reflected light. Mrs. Carson, however, forced one to pay for
her favors. Her rewards were not very liberal, but her punishments
were stern.

There was the puzzle, for although Mrs. Carson did not approve of Kit,
Mrs. Haigh had been his friend and sometimes his resolute defender.
Recently Evelyn had begun to remark a change. Mrs. Haigh did not talk
much about Kit, and when she did talk she was apologetic. Then it
looked as if she began to cultivate Harry Ledward; at all events, she
was willing for him to cultivate Evelyn.

On the whole, Evelyn liked Harry, and she was annoyed by Kit’s
carelessness. Jasper Carson was his uncle, and his duty was to push
his nephew ahead, but Kit had antagonized the old fellow. Then Kit had
given up a good post in Canada. His letter was vague, but Evelyn was
persuaded he had allowed a rash impulse to carry him away. All the
same, to brood about it would not help, and she opened the gate.

In the path she stopped. An engine throbbed, a bright beam sped along
the hedge, and a car rolled up to the gate. Ledward jumped down and
pulled off his thick gloves.

“My luck’s in! I did not know if you were at home.”

“Your doubting’s strange,” Evelyn rejoined. “Our rule is to be at
home, but to-night mother is not, and she will not be back for two or
three days.”

“Then I expect it’s dull for you,” said Ledward. “You don’t like to be
alone.”

Evelyn remarked his sympathy. Kit would not have thought about her
being lonely.

“Are you at Netherhall?” she inquired.

“I was at Sheffield and am going to meet my employer at Netherhall.
When he was called to a steelworks on the coast I took the road. Will
you come and look at my new car?”

Evelyn went. She was not at all a mechanic but she knew the small car
was expensive, and she was envious. It would be long before Kit could
buy her a toy like that. She pictured his playing the violin for the
cook, and by contrast with Ledward’s extravagance the picture jarred.

“From Sheffield is a long way,” she said in a careless voice. “I
suppose the car is fast?”

“Would you like to try? The evening’s fine and the wind is gone.”

“If you will come in, I can give you some tea, and I might afterwards
go to Netherhall.”

“I have another plan. Suppose we get tea at Hadriansford? I reckon we
could get there in forty minutes. The road’s pretty good.”

Evelyn hesitated. Hadriansford was twenty miles off, and Mrs. Haigh
was not at home. All the same, she wanted to go. To steal off to the
little town would banish her moodiness.

“If we could be back in two hours——”

“I’ll promise to do so,” Ledward replied, and Evelyn went for a thick
coat.

The car climbed a long hill, and at the top Evelyn looked about.
Although the moon was shining, the sunset was not gone, and far off
across the misty plain the sky was red. In front, the moor, broken by
dark gullies and dotted by sparkling pools, rolled back in the
moonlight, and the wet road was like a silver riband. A curfew called,
and the high, trembling note gave the wilds a touch of mystery.

Evelyn admitted that all was beautiful, and she pictured Kit’s
enthusiasm for the moors when they picnicked at the tarn. The open
spaces called Kit; he was romantic and followed his bent. He stood for
something fine and elusive, and she had tried to play up, but her
pluck was not like Kit’s. Where she hesitated he went joyously
forward.

Ledward was rather her sort; he stood for prudence, comfort and
conventional rules. Although he had tempted her to adventures, she
knew she risked nothing. Harry, so to speak, was safe and solid. Now
he wore his thick driving coat his figure was bulky, but its bulkiness
was somehow reassuring. He kept the crown of the road, and when they
plunged into a ghyll his foot was on the brake. Evelyn approved his
caution, but Kit would have let the car go.

“You are Jasper Carson’s secretary, are you not?” she said.

“I rather think I’m his _factotum,”_ Ledward replied with a laugh. “I
help where he reckons my help is useful, and undertake odd jobs.”

“Kit was really the man for Jasper.”

“That is so,” Ledward agreed. “Had Kit wanted the post, it was his,
but he did not. However, I think you admitted I did not push him out.
When Jasper engaged me Kit was gone.”

Evelyn acknowledged that she could not logically make Ledward
accountable. Kit ought to have stayed and claimed all that was his.

“Do you like Jasper?” she resumed.

“I don’t know,” said Ledward in a thoughtful voice. “The old fellow’s
just, and although I’m his servant he’s polite. All the same, he’s
baffling, and his humor’s grim. Sometimes I feel he’s cynically
amused, but I cannot see the joke.”

He stopped, and Evelyn thought he pondered. The moon got bright and
the pools in the road sparkled. The moor was gray and silver, and
melted into blue; on one side, faint black hills cut the sky. In the
distance were two or three dim lights. A covey of grouse flew noisily
across the headlamp’s beam. When they vanished all was quiet but for a
little beck in the heather. The tinkling splash got louder, and Evelyn
saw the road went down-hill.

“In the North evenings like this are not numerous,” Ledward remarked.
“When the moon’s on the heather and the sky is serene, the moor has
some charm.”

“When all you hear is the wind and the sheep, serenity gets
monotonous,” Evelyn rejoined. “In winter Netherdale’s deadly quiet,
and winter is not short. I like crowds and lights and noise, and
sometimes I feel the dale’s a prison. Perhaps it explains my agreeing
to our excursion.”

“Hadriansford is not remarkably noisy. Then you have some social
functions; perhaps festivities is not the word. For example, Mrs.
Holroyd gives a ball. I suppose you’re going?”

“Oh, yes,” said Evelyn. “A ball for us is an important event. We get
two a year, and as soon as the night is fixed one begins to calculate.
You see, to disguise a modern frock is hard, and to bring an old one
up-to-date is almost impossible. Well, one goes, and when one comes
back one feels like Cinderella; only the prince does not arrive.”

“The prince is occupied in Canada! Well, Kit is something of a prince.
Anyhow, we have some grounds to think him royally generous, and he’s
royally extravagant.”

“Is extravagance royal?” Evelyn inquired, and her voice was hard, for
she weighed Ledward’s remark.

“I admit I don’t know; but Kit’s royalty is not modern and
constitutional. He goes back to the old spacious days of the minstrels
and wandering knights. Perhaps Richard Lion-heart is his type. You can
picture Kit’s stealing across Austria; he’d think it a first-class
joke. Was he not something like a minstrel at the Canadian camp?
Richard, however, did not cheat his enemy, and to get him out of jail
cost his subjects much.”

Evelyn smiled, but she wondered whether Harry implied that others must
pay for Kit’s exploits. If it were so, he did not exaggerate, for she
had begun to meet the bill.

They crossed the edge of the tableland; the road went down steeply and
in the distance the reflections from a furnace glimmered in the sky.
Lights dotted the dale, and chimney-stacks and smoke marked a coalpit.
A shining train curved along the hillside and vanished. Then the road
went round a bend and Ledward slowed the engine.

“The moors and the moonlight are done with. We are going down to the
gas-lamps and ground we know; in fact, I think we are going where we
belong.”

“It looks as if you were happy to get back,” said Evelyn.

“Oh, well, when you’re not romantic the heights are bleak and cold. On
the whole I’m not romantic. My job’s where people make things and
dispute about the price.”

“You like a safe job?”

“Safety first is a useful rule,” Ledward agreed. “For all that, where
I thought a risk worth while I might risk something.”

The hill got steeper and he concentrated on his driving. Dry-stone
walls enclosed boggy fields, and one side a high bank bordered the
curving road. The splash of water indicated that a little beck flowed
through the gloom.

By and by the bank cut the view, and when the car went round the curve
Ledward’s foot jarred on the brake. A few yards off, a smoky light
melted in the headlamp’s beam, and Evelyn saw a cart across the road.
Nobody was by the horse, but boots rattled on the stones and a dark
figure jumped from a gate.

The cart carried a load of turnips and the horse’s head was down.
Where the rope-traces rubbed, the animal’s coat was white, and the
steam from its sweating body floated about. In the dazzling beam all
was distinct; cart and running driver leaped out of the dark like a
cinema picture.

Evelyn knew the man could not reach the horse in time to avoid a
collision. Ledward could not stop the car, and the horse was at the
side by which he ought to pass. He swerved, let the brake go, and
steered for the bank. The wheels went up, the car tilted, and Evelyn
was flung about. Ledward stuck to the wheel, the inclined seat got
level, and they were in the road.

“All’s right, I think,” Ledward gasped, but Evelyn knew him cool.
“There’s not much use in stopping; I don’t expect the fellow would
argue logically. Besides, he was forced to open the gate, and if the
horse had fronted up the hill it could not have held the load.”

“Don’t talk!” said Evelyn. “There’s another corner.”

“I don’t expect another cart,” Ledward rejoined, and steered round the
curve.

For a time Evelyn was quiet. Harry had not boasted; where a risk was
justified he did not hesitate. Had he tried to stop, they must have
struck the horse. She pictured the broken car, the plunging animal,
and herself, battered by its iron shoes. Well, Harry had saved her. He
was not at all athletic, but his nerve was good, and she mechanically
contrasted him and Kit. Kit was moved by impulse; Harry calculated and
went where he resolved to go. Evelyn thought he would go far.

The valley got wide and lights dotted the slope to a river. By and by
Evelyn saw noble trees and an abbey behind the branches; then they
rolled across a quiet market-place, by a dark tower, and up a broad
street. Ledward stopped in front of a white hotel, and they went to
the spacious old-fashioned dining-room. Ledward pulled out his watch.

“If we must be back when you stipulate, we ought to start in half an
hour.”

“My holidays are not numerous, and since I did steal off, I think I
might risk another hour,” said Evelyn with a smile.

Ledward summoned a waitress, and the food she brought was good. But
for two gentlemen at the other end, the big room was quiet, and Evelyn
began to talk carelessly.

“You are Mrs. Carson’s relation, and she was a Netherdale Loreburn,”
she said after a time. “The Carsons are another type. Do you know much
about them?”

“I know something about Jasper Carson. It looks as if he interested
you!”

“People do interest me, and Jasper’s a commanding figure,” Evelyn
agreed in a thoughtful voice. “Sometimes I imagine he rules us, but I
mustn’t be fanciful—Kit claimed his independence and defied his
uncle.”

“I wonder,” said Ledward. “Jasper likes control and people go where he
wants. However, all I really know about the Carsons is: Jasper’s
grandfather was a blacksmith; he started a little machine shop and
mended things for Lancashire cotton mills. He obviously got rich, for
his son, Thomas Carson, built a foundry, and afterwards a forge.
Canada was developing and for some time bought iron goods in England.
The Carsons cultivated the trade and Canadian manufacturers liked
their stuff. Since then they have speculated in Canadian industries.
The connection between some English families and the Dominions is
rather remarkable——”

“Mrs. Carson’s lot go to India,” said Evelyn. “But please don’t stop.”

“Thomas Carson had three sons. Jasper got the forge, which is now
famous; Alan, for a time, carried on the foundry; Kit’s father went to
a shipyard and married a concert singer. When he died he was poor. In
fact, only Jasper seems to have inherited the blacksmith’s talent.”

“Nothing indicates that Jasper’s ancestor was a blacksmith.”

“Oh, well,” said Ledward, “the old fellow’s cultivated and his friends
are famous steelmakers and engineers. All the same, sometimes one
senses the Lancashire workman’s vein. I think my aunt does so, and
Jasper knows. On the whole, I expect he’s amused, but his springing
from the old Lancashire radical may account for some antagonism.
Anyhow, I am cautious, although he’s a just, and rather kind,
employer. Well, I mustn’t bore you! The theatre is shut, but I see a
good picture advertised. Should we look in?”

“Let’s go,” said Evelyn. “Mother would not approve, but after
Netherdale the cinema’s exciting.”

They went to the picture house and stayed for a time. The film was not
remarkably exciting, but to sit in the dark by Ledward carried a
thrill of intrigue for Evelyn. When they were in the street Ledward
went towards the station.

“The hour you fixed is nearly up; but we might get some new magazines
at the railway bookstall.”

He bought Evelyn one or two women’s magazines, and then a train
arrived, and they waited to let the passengers go by. A big lamp was
overhead, and not far off a gate opened to the road. By and by Evelyn
turned rather quickly and Ledward looked round. Jasper Carson came
along the platform.

Ledward calculated. The gate was six or seven yards off, but since the
people steered for the main door, he and Evelyn, standing by the
bookstall, were rather conspicuous. He gave Evelyn a careless glance
and thought her disturbed, but she obviously waited for him. Ledward
would sooner Carson had not got off the train.

“We’ll meet him; I don’t suppose he’ll keep us long,” he said, and
they crossed the platform.

Jasper stopped and gave Evelyn a smile, and Ledward a nod.

“I thought you started soon after breakfast, Harry. Did the car bother
you?”

“The car went very well, sir, and I got to Netherdale some time since.
The evening was fine, you have kept me pretty busy, and I thought I’d
like a run across the moors. Miss Haigh was willing to spend an hour
at Hadriansford. We got tea and went to the pictures.”

“Exactly!” said Jasper. “Your explanation’s rather long. Were I young,
I would feel Miss Haigh’s willingness was all I need state. But my
train goes in a few minutes and I must telegraph Alan to send the car.
I suppose he does not expect me until the morning?”

“I was not at Netherhall. You see, I stopped at Mrs. Haigh’s——”

“Then, since your aunt does not know you were in the neighborhood, she
will not wonder why you do not arrive,” Jasper remarked. “If you drive
fast you may get back for dinner. Well, my porter waits. Good-night,
Miss Haigh!”

He crossed the platform and the others went to the hotel. Ledward
talked carelessly, but he was annoyed, and Evelyn was thoughtful.
Jasper had indicated that he sympathized and would not enlighten his
hosts about their excursion. The trouble was, his doing so implied
that he knew the excursion was stolen. Moreover, he knew Evelyn was,
conditionally, engaged to marry Kit.

Jasper sent his telegram, and when the train started smiled, a cynical
smile that nevertheless carried a hint of satisfaction.




                             CHAPTER XXV

                          LEDWARD’S PRESENT


Evelyn folded her ball dress and tried to be resigned. The dress was a
triumph for clever economy, but it was not all she wanted, and she
thought luckier girls would know the country milliner’s touch. The
shoes and gloves, for which she had sent to town, however, ought to be
good, and would soon arrive by the evening post.

After a few minutes she heard steps on the gravel path, and a servant
carried in some letters and packages. Mrs. Haigh gave Evelyn the
packages and cut open the envelopes. By and by she looked up.

“The letter is from Kit; he sticks to his undertaking scrupulously.
Some time must go before his next letter is due, but he thought he
might be allowed to write me, and his news is not very good. He’s
still at the company’s workshops, and doubts if he will get back to
the bridge. I imagine he’s disturbed about it; but you can have the
letter. It’s not at all romantic.”

“Kit is scrupulous,” said Evelyn, and took the letter.

The lamp was between her and Mrs. Haigh, and to know she could not be
studied was some relief. On the surface, Kit’s remarks were cheerful,
but Evelyn knew him to be disappointed and saw he thought he must be
frank. He got the same pay as at the bridge, but his work was a junior
draftsman’s work. At the drawing office one could not use one’s
abilities, promotion was slow, and so forth.

Evelyn frowned, for although she was sorry for Kit she was resentful.
Kit did not know when his luck was good. In England, his folly had
cost him his uncle’s support; in Canada he had, with typical rashness,
refused to seize a fresh opportunity. Well, she must not allow Kit’s
disappointment to damp her spirits for the ball, and she began to open
the packages.

The shoes and gloves were satisfactory, and she picked up a small
cardboard box. She thought she had ordered nothing that would go into
the box, and with some curiosity she broke the seal. Inside was a
Russia leather case, and in the case a jewel. Evelyn’s eyes sparkled,
but she covered the box with her hand. Mrs. Haigh studied a document,
and her look implied that the document was the dressmaker’s bill.
Evelyn took a card from the box and knew Ledward’s hand. He stated
that her birthday was soon and he hoped she would wear his present at
the ball. If he could get there he would claim a dance.

For a few minutes Evelyn was very quiet. Her birthday was not yet, but
it looked as if Harry knew she wanted an ornament for her ball dress.
He knew her proper color; Harry noted things like that. The trouble
was, he would think her wearing his present significant, and she had
meant to use Kit’s.

The jewel Kit had given her was small and the setting plain. Harry’s
was large, and the goldsmith had used his art to mark its beauty.
Evelyn noted the contrast. She ought to wear Kit’s humble gift and
send back the other, but she hesitated. Her jewels were few; the
splendid stone sparkled, and she would hate to let it go. Then Harry
would see all her refusal implied.

Evelyn admitted she did not want him to see. Kit was her lover, but he
was at the Canadian bridge works and she must stay at dreary
Netherdale. Sometimes Harry banished the dreariness, and although he
was not, like Kit, romantic, he was clever and would be rich. He stood
for much she wanted: modern cultivation, fashion, and the thrill of
the city. If she married Ledward——

She stopped. She did not want to marry Ledward, but she saw where she
rather carelessly went, and where Ledward, who was not at all
careless, tried to steer her. In the meantime she must wear one of the
two presents, and she shrank from choosing. Besides, if she chose
Harry’s she could not cheat her mother. Getting up, she carried the
box to Mrs. Haigh.

“The note is Harry Ledward’s.”

Mrs. Haigh took the jewel, and when it sparkled under the lamp her
mouth got tight. Then she studied the writing on the card and smiled.

“He shows some tact.”

“Harry is tactful,” said Evelyn. “But I don’t see what I ought to do.”

Mrs. Haigh gave her a keen glance. Evelyn’s color was rather high and
her hands were not still.

“My rules are old-fashioned, but when I was a girl one took presents
only from the man one was going to marry. In the circumstances, your
hesitating is perhaps ominous.”

“I rather think some modern girls take all the presents they can get,”
Evelyn remarked.

“Had Harry considered you their sort, he would not have sent the
jewel.”

“Then you think I might keep his present?”

“I think you ought to weigh things; perhaps you have begun to do so,”
Mrs. Haigh replied in a meaning voice. “Kit is an attractive fellow,
but some talent for engineering and music is all he has.”

“Yet you knew his poverty and you were his champion!”

“I am Kit’s friend, but I am your mother, and I would sooner you did
not begin a fight like mine. To go without is not all the trouble;
poverty means hateful shabbiness and humiliating pretense. Then Kit
was not forced to be poor. He was willing, in a sense he chose, to be
poor.”

Evelyn felt the statement was accurate, and she waited. For a few
moments Mrs. Haigh pondered and then resumed:

“Kit is properly Jasper Carson’s heir, and I believed Jasper meant to
acknowledge his claim. His plan was to try Kit at the shipyard, and if
he was satisfied send him to the forge. By and by Kit might have been
his partner. The trial was not satisfactory——”

“But you admitted you did not doubt Kit’s innocence.”

“I think Kit, carried away by his boyish generosity, paid for
another’s fault,” Mrs. Haigh agreed. “The important thing is, Jasper
knew. When Kit resolved to start for Canada, his uncle was willing to
help, and although Kit did not want his help, I doubt if he was
offended. He liked the boy’s independence. In fact, Kit got his chance
to vindicate himself.”

Evelyn saw a light and the blood came to her skin. Kit’s innocence and
his romantic charm had not moved her mother. Only his uncle’s
suppostitious plans for him had weighed. Mrs. Haigh had reckoned on
his being Jasper’s heir.

“You imply he disappointed Jasper another time?”

“It is rather obvious,” Mrs. Haigh replied. “As soon as Kit arrived in
Canada he joined his uncle’s antagonists. Then he gave up his
appointment and went to the bridge works, where he admits he cannot
make much progress. He does not state why he went, but I expect
something like a repetition of his folly at the shipyard accounts for
it. Well, Jasper Carson is sternly practical, and has no use for
fools. He has done with Kit!”

“You want me to copy Jasper?” said Evelyn in a queer, hard voice.

“I want you to consider. That is all,” said Mrs. Haigh, and went off
quietly.

Evelyn put away her clothes and gloves and sat down by the fire; she
felt she did not want to go to the ball. Harry was going, and he had
forced her to indicate whether she was loyal to Kit. If she sent back
his present, he would know.

Then her mother’s calculating cleverness jarred. Mrs. Haigh had
supported Kit because she thought him Jasper’s favorite; when she knew
he was not she supported Ledward. She knew where to stop, and when she
had pointed out the consequences of Kit’s folly she allowed Evelyn to
finish the argument. Since Harry had the advantages Kit ought to have
got, the argument was plain.

Although Evelyn knew herself shabby, the advantages weighed. She liked
a noble part, and until Kit let her down she had meant to be noble.
Romance called, but to follow romance one must be brave, and Evelyn
knew her pluck was not very great. Besides, Harry attracted her; he
was really her sort, and to some extent Kit was not. In fact, had she
not known Kit——

Mechanically she picked up the leather case and pressed the spring.
The jewel flashed in the light, and she knew she would hate to send it
back. She would go to the ball and trust her luck.

The ballroom at the big country house was crowded and the floor was
good. Evelyn was a graceful dancer and her partners were numerous, but
she refused to fill her card. Since she had put on Harry’s present he
was entitled to some reward. Yet she was not ready to give all she
thought he claimed, and she rather hoped he would not arrive. In the
meantime the music, the crowd and the beat of feet carried her away.
She liked excitement and admiration, and she followed her bent. When
the dance was over she must go back, like Cinderella, to Mrs. Haigh’s
quiet house. Evelyn felt she hated the bleak moors, the savage wind,
and the clouds that rolled about Netherdale.

At length, when she talked to a young sportsman, Ledward crossed the
floor. By contrast with her brown-skinned, athletic partner, Harry’s
figure was bulky, but he carried his weight well, and Evelyn noted his
urbane confidence. He had remarked that she wore the jewel, and her
heart beat.

“I hope you have not forgotten me,” he said, and took her from the
other.

“I have kept two dances.”

“Then I claim both. I don’t know if one can earn a favor like that,
but I’ve made some effort. We lunched at Glasgow with a shipyard
manager who wanted some expensive forgings for a new liner, and for
some time it looked as if I ought to stay; but Jasper’s a sport, and
when he knew I’d fixed to meet you he sent me off. Then the express
was late, and at Carlisle my train was gone. I was forced to use the
other line and hire a car for twenty miles.”

“You were very keen.”

“I don’t boast. All I wanted was to apologize because I did not arrive
before,” Ledward rejoined.

Evelyn doubted. She thought Harry wanted to imply that he was occupied
by important transactions and, so to speak, stood for power and
riches. To some extent he did so, but the power was Jasper Carson’s,
and Harry admitted that Jasper let him go. Somehow it bothered Evelyn.
She was vaguely, and perhaps instinctively, afraid of Jasper.

“At all events, your keenness was rather nice,” she said with a smile,
and allowed Ledward to steer her into the dance.

The music was good. Although Ledward was strongly built his step was
light, and Evelyn gave herself to the rhythm of the swinging tune. She
need not measure distance and avoid collision. To do so was Harry’s
business, and he knew his part. Evelyn thought it important. Harry’s
rules were her rules, and if she agreed, he would carry her soberly
along the safe, beaten track.

For all that, she was vaguely disturbed. Not long since she had
dreamed about plunging into the wilds with Kit. Kit had a strange,
elfin charm the other had not. He indulged his rather fantastic
imagination and he had fired hers. She wanted to follow him and share
his romantic adventures, but she was afraid.

With something of an effort she banished her moody thoughts. She knew
Ledward saw the jewel shine on her white skin and she felt his grasp
get firm, but she did not get the thrill she got when Kit told her she
was beautiful. The beauty Kit saw was not the beauty that moved
Ledward, and she knew it was not really hers. Yet she had loved Kit
for his generous trust.

When they swung at a turn, Ledward held her tight and the jewel
touched his coat.

“You dear!” he said softly, but his voice was calm and somehow
confident.

Soon afterwards the music stopped and he steered her to a bench.

“The next dance is mine; but perhaps you are tired?”

“Since you were at Glasgow and drove across the moors, I doubt if you
are very fresh,” said Evelyn.

“In the morning I must be at Sheffield. All the same, if you were my
partner I’d dance until daybreak.”

“Then you start to-night?”

“In an hour,” said Ledward. “Since you must dance with others, I’m
willing to take the road.”

“To get the Sheffield train you must cross the moors again. Then you
must wait for some time at the bleak junction. Don’t you feel you’re
rash?”

“Not at all,” said Ledward, smiling. “I expect you know I am cautious,
but when I started from Glasgow I didn’t bother about the obstacles.
All I thought about was the dance I hoped to get.”

“Then you must take the next. The band has changed the music. Let’s
get up.”

The violins began, and Ledward gave Evelyn his arm, but he did not
take all the dance. When they swung past a door he swept her from the
gliding crowd and into the quiet hall. Then he took her in his arms
and kissed her.

“You darling!” he said. “When will you marry me?”

Evelyn firmly pushed him back. Her heart beat and her color came and
went. To face the crisis was harder than she had thought.

“You mustn’t,” she said. “You know I’m going to marry Kit!”

Ledward smiled and indicated a bench by the fireplace. Nobody was
about, and he leaned against the Jacobean carving a yard or two off.

“Was there not a stipulation? Kit must make good? From a practical
point of view, he will not do so. Besides, one cannot marry a
will-o’-the-wisp. Kit is something like that.”

“At all events, Kit is luminous,” Evelyn rejoined. “He shines in
dreary places, and one likes to follow the light.”

“Ah,” said Ledward, “I’m a sober fellow and I have got an awkward
antagonist. Kit is fantastic and elusive; but your charm is, you are
flesh and blood. You cannot go where Kit goes; he’d lead you into a
bog. We are sober people and we need much Kit thinks of no account;
for example, money, proper food, fashionable clothes, and houses like
our host’s——”

He indicated the spacious, panelled  hall, and Evelyn heard the
violins and the beat of dancing feet. She knew Harry’s argument was
sound, but her eyes sparkled.

“My ambition’s not altogether mean. And if I do like pretty clothes
and beautiful houses, I could go without.”

“You’re a darling!” Ledward declared. “For all that, we live in a
modern, materialistic world, and Kit, so to speak, does not.”

“There’s another thing,” Evelyn resumed. “Your present is beautiful,
but when you sent it you thought you would force me—— Kit would not
have used your plan.”

“It’s possible. Perhaps I was shabby; but when I weighed all I risked,
my pluck vanished. I thought, if you were very kind, you might make a
sign——Well, you wear my gift. Will you marry me, Evelyn?”

“At the beginning you inquired when I would marry you, and now you’re
modest I like you better,” Evelyn rejoined. “I don’t know, Harry. If
you urge me, I must refuse——”

She stopped, for a young man crossed the floor. “Sorry I didn’t find
you,” he said in an apologetic voice. “The band has played the best
half of our dance.”

“Then we mustn’t miss the other half,” Evelyn replied, and giving
Ledward a smile, went off.




                             CHAPTER XXVI

                         THE BREAKING STRAIN


The electric light at the forge test-house sparkled on polished metal
and touched the group by a big machine. Two were dark-skinned foreign
navy officers; another was consul for the foreign government. Jasper
Carson talked to an English naval architect and a steel inspector;
Ledward waited by the clerk’s table, on which were printed forms and
measuring tools. In the background a workman turned a wheel.

A weight travelled slowly along a shining beam. The machine’s jaws
moved apart and a small bar they gripped got longer; one saw the tough
steel stretch. By and by the machine clanged and the bar broke. Jasper
pointed to a scale, and taking out the broken pieces, gave them to the
clerk.

“Perhaps you would like to check the measurements and calculations,
gentlemen. We reckon by decimals,” he said.

The steel inspector and the naval architect went to the table. Jasper
gave the party cigars and Ledward lighted a cigarette. The forge was a
model forge, and Jasper knew the importance of clever advertisement.
He liked to convoy shipbuilders and foreign admiralty officers about
his works. They saw all he thought they ought to see, but as a rule he
fixed their visits for the evening. Jasper was a first-class showman,
and after dark operations at the forge were spectacular.

“Well? I hope the tests are satisfactory,” he said when the clerk gave
the others the printed forms.

“_Moi, je vous en félicite. C’est une merveille!_” a dark-skinned
gentleman replied in awkward French.

Jasper bowed. “You are polite, _Almirante_; but I think the steel is
pretty good. Our own stuff, from the beginning!”

“The stuff is first-class,” the English inspector agreed. “In fact,
for the high tensile strength the elongation is rather remarkable. The
usual plan, however, is perhaps to buy the raw material from the large
steelworks.”

“We do buy some soft-steel blooms, but where high tension is required
we cast the ingots. Although it’s possible one or two makers could
supply us cheaper, our plan gives us exactly the stuff we want.”

“Yours is a rather bold claim,” said the naval architect.

“Oh, well, since I talk to experts, for the most part we get what we
try for, but sometimes I admit we are baffled.”

“You are baffled?” said a foreign gentleman. “Have you not the
mechanical rule and the chemical formula?”

Jasper smiled. “Scientific rules are useful, but steel-making is not
altogether a mechanical process. Something depends on the workman’s
inherited, and perhaps instinctive, skill. There’s the weak link,
because human nature is not stable. Man goes by sight and touch, and,
so far as he is mechanical, a small defect puts the machine out of
gear. I expect bad cooking accounts for some bad steel.”

“I’ve known bad brewing accountable,” remarked the inspector.

“We use some precautions,” said Jasper dryly, and addressed the
foreigners. “The rules and formulæ help, but one is fronted by an
incalculable factor. Sometimes it’s human weakness; sometimes it’s the
contrary chance, that is as yet determined by rules we do not know.
When one gets old, one finds out that man’s knowledge is limited.”

“_Es verdad. Ya lo creo!_” said the dark-skinned admiral. “_Monsieur
est philosophe!_”

“I’m a steel-forger, and I agreed to show you the process by which we
make the goods you want,” said Jasper, smiling. “Lets go to the
casting-pit.”

They crossed a big open-sided shed and climbed to an iron platform
surrounding a circular pit. The evening was cold and a boisterous wind
blew about the forge and scattered clouds of iron scale. Naked lights
in long rows flickered and slanted; dazzling reflections leaped from
furnace doors, and a trail of radiance marked the passage of a
white-hot bloom. When the noisy truck vanished all by contrast got
indistinct but for the sparks that tossed about the crashing
steam-hammers.

Engines throbbed, heavy wheels rolled, and metal clanged on iron
floors. In the smoke and turmoil shadowy workmen moved about. For a
few moments Jasper leaned against the greasy rails and his glance
searched the forge, but Ledward knew he listened. The machines were
like an orchestra, and a jarring note would indicate that an
instrument was out of tune. Jasper knew the pitch of all; the
cold-saws’ thin treble, the roll-trains’ measured rumble, and hammers’
thunderous bass.

The platform was a semi-circle and on each side was a large,
pear-shaped iron vessel lined by fireclay. The vessels were pivoted
near the middle, and turned up and down. Above each was a hole in the
roof. Underneath, four or five yards below the platform, a row of
hollow iron molds, about three feet high, went round the pit. In the
gloom workmen waited.

“For soft steel we use the open-hearth, but for stuff like yours the
Bessemer process has advantages,” said Jasper, turning to the
pear-shaped vessels. “By comparison with a steelworks plant, our
converters are small. Well, we start with the melted pig-iron, a
special hæmatite mixture, and we burn up the sulphur, silicon, and so
forth——”

He signalled, and a man across the pit replied: “Mr. Marsden’s at the
cupolas. All’s ready, sir.”

A bell rang, and a converter tilted until the party looked into its
luminous red throat. Then the roof and floor and columns shone, and a
ladle swung across the pit. One did not see the stuff it carried, but
trembling illumination marked its track. The ladle turned up, and a
cascade of liquid iron poured into the converter’s mouth. Then it
vanished and, but for the ghostly, phosphorescent glow about the
converter, all was dark. The converter swung up, until its muzzle was
under the pierced roof, and the gloom was banished by a flood of
intense, overwhelming light.

A splendid pillar of flame leaped through the gap. One saw the flakes
of scale on the iron floor and the scratches in the plates. Ledward
noted the lines in Jasper’s face and thought him preoccupied. Carson
studied the tossing fire, and then touched Ledward.

“I don’t know who is blowing, but the fellow seems clumsy. Go for
Marsden; he’s at the cupolas.”

Ledward nodded and went down the steps. His shortest line was along
the platform, but by the converters the rail was cut and the smooth
plates were touched by puzzling light and shadow. Harry did not want
to risk a plunge to the pit. Crossing the floor, he found the manager
by the upright furnaces where the pig-iron was melted.

“Mr. Carson wants you. I think he’s not satisfied about the converter
man.”

“Black’s a first-class blower,” Marsden replied. “I’ll come along.”

When Ledward went off Carson resumed:

“The air blown into the vessel is burning up the impurities. As the
temperature rises they leave the iron and combine with the oxygen.
Each gives the flame its characteristic tint, and the blower goes by
time and color. If he did not stop at the proper moment, the iron
would burn——”

The flame lost its intense brightness and began to sink. Jasper pulled
out his watch.

“All now left is liquid iron, but since we want tough steel we must
back some carbon and a quantity of manganese.”

The converter tilted down and stopped. Its lowered mouth pointed
obliquely across the platform to the long crowded shed. But for the
white glow shimmering about the vessel, platform and pit were gloomy.
A bell rang and the ladle swung across the gap. A fresh load poured
from its brim and vanished in the converter. The empty ladle swung
back, and that was all.

Jasper frowned. The blow was not finished, and delay might spoil the
steel. All did not go as smoothly as he demanded at the forge. Yet
Marsden was works manager and Jasper must not meddle, unless he were
forced.

“You’re losing heat,” said the inspector. “The fellow’s very slow. By
George! he’s _turning on the blast_——”

To turn on the blast and turn up the converter was the proper course,
but the big vessel swung down for a few degrees and its mouth
commanded the forge. White reflections played about the fireclay and
Jasper and the inspector knew the fluid metal seethed to the brim. If
the full blast were turned on, the load would sweep the forge like an
exploding shell.

Jasper jumped for the blower’s platform. The inspector was not the
company’s servant, but he knew the risk the party ran and he pushed
the others behind an iron pillar. Jasper vanished in the dark, and the
converter began to swing. It went up smoothly, and when the flame
leaped out its muzzle pointed for the gap in the roof.

A shout pierced the throbbing roar, and a dark object reeled across
the platform. A man’s bent, black figure cut the dazzling background.
He stretched out his arm, as if to seize the rail, but by the
converter the rail was cut, and the man plunged into the pit. The
inspector jumped for the steps and workmen ran across the floor.

Ledward, returning with Marsden, saw Jasper fall, and when they
reached the casting-pit he lay by an ingot mold. Overhead the
converter throbbed and sparks came down in glittering showers.
Jasper’s eyes were shut, and but for the blood about his mouth his
face was colorless.

“Is he dead?” Ledward asked hoarsely.

Marsden felt for Jasper’s heart, and then drew his hand along his
slack body. He was cool and gentle, for a forge manager knows
something about broken men.

“I think not. To move him is risky, but we must get him out.”

He turned and waved back the men. Four of the works ambulance pushed
through the group. Marsden, kneeling by the ingot mold, gave some
orders, and in a few moments Jasper was on the stretcher. They carried
him to the office, Marsden telephoned, and soon afterwards a hospital
ambulance arrived.

“Go back to the visitors and persuade them Carson is not much hurt,”
Marsden said to Ledward. “Give them some wine, and when you get them
off ask for me at the hospital.”

As a rule Ledward’s nerve was good, but politeness cost him something,
and he was relieved to see the party go. Then he went to the hospital
and joined Marsden in the waiting-room. The night was cold, and
Ledward shivered. The room was bleak and very clean, like a prison.

“Have you seen the doctors?” he inquired.

“They haven’t finished their examination. I expect the house surgeon
will come down presently. The forge and the rolling mills are pretty
good customers.”

“Do you know why Carson fell?”

“All I saw you saw. Something went wrong and he was in time to turn up
the converter. Then perhaps he was dazzled by the flame; or perhaps
the jump to the platform shook him. The floor plates are greasy——”

Ledward nodded. “How do you explain the converter man’s slackness? Had
liquor something to do with it?”

“Not at all. Men who drink much don’t stop long at the forge. I expect
you think us an extravagant, drunken lot. It’s your folks’ point of
view.”

Ledward looked up rather haughtily. Marsden was a clever works
manager, but he was not cultivated and was sometimes aggressive.

“Our disputing about things like that will not help. I inquired——”

“Oh, well, I’m anxious, and perhaps I was nasty. Then I’m a
steelworker and I know the men; some went with me to a council school.
Anyhow our blowers, head-rollers, and hammer-men are aristocrats in a
highly skilled trade, and Black is a grim teetotaller. If he got his
way, back-street beerhouses and your fashionable clubs would be shut.
I imagine the man was ill, but I’m going to find out.”

“You’re a queer lot,” said Ledward, and stopped, for the house surgeon
came in.

“Mr. Carson’s obvious injuries are a broken arm and a broken rib,” he
said. “In themselves they are not dangerous, but for an old man the
shock is severe. I must not be technical, and perhaps if I state we
suspect some _complications_——In a day or two I may give you better
news, but Mr. Carson must stay with us.”

“I suppose we mustn’t recommend him to your particular care?” said
Ledward. “However, if to modify your ordinary arrangements would help,
the company would be glad——”

The doctor smiled. “Mr. Carson is our benefactor, but all our patients
are entitled to the best service we can give. So far as your seeing
him when he is able to see you and so forth goes, we will not stick to
the usual rules.”

He let them go, and when they were in the street Marsden said: “I’m
wanted at the forge. Will you come back with me?”

Ledward went, and for some time waited at the office. Then Marsden
came in and gave him a cigarette. The works manager was short and
lightly built, but his mouth was firm and his glance keen. Ledward
knew him sternly efficient.

“Until Carson is again about we must carry on,” he said. “His Canadian
speculations are the London office’s business; I’m responsible for the
forge. Well, in the North we’re blunt, and you begin to see how things
are done. The company’s a limited company, but the directors don’t
meddle; their part’s to approve. When you meet the gentlemen you’ll
reply to inquiries politely and not bother them. You will see
important customers and get the sort of orders we can profitably
execute.”

“The difficulty is, I don’t know the sort of orders——”

“_I’ll tell you_,” said Marsden. “When fresh transactions are
negotiated you will come to me.”

Ledward looked at him rather hard. “You consider you are entitled to
superintend?”

“I know my job; you don’t yet know yours. The office gang are useful
clerks, that’s all. Then the forge is Carson’s main support. For you
to cross me and let down the business would be risky.”

“Oh, well,” said Ledward, “I want your help, and since I’m a beginner
I must agree to your control. Have you inquired about the blower?”

“Black was ill. He has been ill for three or four months, and owns he
ought not to have taken the night shift. When he tried to turn up the
converter he got faint and his hand slipped.”

“But you don’t allow a sick man——”

“Until Carson sent for me I did not imagine Black was sick, but he has
done with the converter,” said Marsden grimly. “Well, you haven’t
smoked your cigarette, and perhaps the story’s interesting. You have
heard about our war-time extravagance, and all was not exaggeration;
but it was the extravagance of folks who, for once, were not forced to
pinch. On the whole, in the North we’re a parsimonious lot——”

“Anyhow, Black is parsimonious, and his wife had three hundred pounds.
When houses can be got, houses are our favorite speculation, and Black
joined a building club. He drew a lucky number and bought two
cottages. He claims he has not lost a shift since he began at the
forge, and I imagine he saved all the pay it was possible to save.
Well, he built and mortgaged, and built again, until he owns one side
of a new street. He had not, however, used the end plot, and the
plot’s important.

“Labor and stern economy imply some strain, and Black is not young. He
got tired and knew he soon must stop, but when he did stop he meant to
build a corner shop and round off the block. He was not much short of
the sum he needed, and although he was ill he carried on. Well,
there’s the story!”

Ledward got up and threw his cigarette in the grate.

“It looks as if the company and Carson must meet the bill; but I must
call at the newspaper office. We don’t want a disturbing paragraph
printed. I’ll see you in the morning.”




                            CHAPTER XXVII

                             JASPER WAITS


A servant pushed Jasper’s long chair across the terrace at Netherhall,
and stopping at a sunny spot, went off. Across the lawn bare branches
tossed, but the buds were breaking, and under the trees daffodils
nodded in the wind. Larches, bright with fresh tassels, checkered the
dark firs, and a thorn hedge was touched by shining green. A throbbing
noise got fainter up the dale, and the car carried a famous surgeon to
the train.

The surgeon had visited Netherhall before, but only Jasper knew all he
thought; one was frank with Jasper Carson. His face was thin and his
body was slack, but he was something of a stoic, and when his glance
rested on the group farther along the terrace his eyes twinkled. His
relations knew where to leave him alone, and although he imagined they
were curious they would wait.

By and by a young woman carried some documents from the house, put a
camp stool by the chair, and pulled out a notebook. Jasper studied the
documents and dictated one or two letters. Then he said: “Give me your
notebook and read Marsden’s letter. Don’t read fast.”

The girl did so, and Jasper, using the pencil awkwardly, covered a
page with clumsy curves and strokes.

“Well?” he said and gave her the book. “Can you read the stuff?”

“Oh yes! Your hand is firmer.”

“That’s something. I like to feel I command my muscles. But perhaps
you think you ought to humor a sick man?”

Miss Niven blushed. “Not at all, Mr. Carson. The characters are
properly shaped; you do write better. Besides, I think I’d be afraid
to cheat you.”

“My despotic days are gone. Authority deserts—but after all I’m not
yet dying, and I will not want you for some time. Type the letters and
then take a walk; but if you’d sooner rest, I sent some chocolates and
a novel by an author you admire to your room. You can go.”

Miss Niven went. At the beginning Jasper had daunted her; now she
thought she knew him she was his willing servant. Although his humor
was grim and freakish, he was kind. When she crossed the terrace
Jasper addressed the group on the steps.

“My business is transacted; the _levee_ may begin,” he said. “_Levee_,
however, is perhaps not the proper word, because I don’t know when I
shall get up.”

“Then Sir Antony was not encouraging?” said Mrs. Carson in a
sympathetic voice.

Jasper gave her a smile. Since his doctors prescribed quiet and
bracing air, he had gone to Netherhall. Alan had urged it, and
although he did not think Mrs. Carson was disturbed about him, she was
a polite hostess. She knew his importance, and he was her nephew’s
employer.

“I have no particular grounds to be encouraged, or daunted. One tries
to be philosophical.”

“But the fellow told you _something_” said Alan.

“Sir Antony took some wine and knitted his brows. Since his remarks
are expensive, perhaps he felt he ought not to be extravagant. In the
meantime, mine are not, and I talked. Sir Antony made some notes; I
think that was all. It’s possible he gave my nurse his confidence, but
I doubt.”

“We are sorry,” said Mrs. Carson, and motioned her husband to be
quiet.

Jasper evidently did not want to talk about the doctor’s visit, and
she knew his man’s reserve.

“Do you think you ought to indulge your secretary?” she inquired after
a few moments. “Since Miss Niven may feel the contrast afterwards,
perhaps it really is not kind.”

“Miss Niven is not my secretary. She’s a stenographer I engaged for a
time from a typewriting office. The time will soon be up, but I may be
forced to ask if she will remain.”

“I expect she’ll agree! Her duties are light and the pay is generous.”

Jasper smiled. Mrs. Carson liked to rule, but at Netherhall she was
entitled to do so, and where she meddled his habit was to banter her.

“I rather think Miss Niven’s pay helps to support two poor but
remarkably respectable old people; but I don’t know if her duties are
very light. She types my letters, reads the newspapers for me, and
sometimes selected passages from popular novels. Miss Niven’s muse is
tragic, but her reading’s spirited. Then she teaches me shorthand.”

“Is shorthand useful to you?” Mrs. Haigh inquired.

“So far, I admit it is not, because I cannot afterwards read the
script, and Miss Niven is puzzled; but she states I make some
progress. Then, when your nervous control is weak, to economize
muscular effort helps, and shorthand’s advantage is that it is short.
But I think I tried to justify my indulging my stenographer. You see,
she’s a capable young woman and sternly conscientious. I imagine her
only weaknesses are chocolate and sentimental novels, and to supply
the articles is not a great extravagance.”

For a moment or two the others said nothing, but Jasper knew them
interested, and their speculations excited his amusement. Perhaps they
thought he pondered marrying his stenographer. Sometimes an infirm old
man did marry a useful servant.

“Harry wants to see you, and you must not stay out long. The wind is
cold,” said Mrs. Carson.

The party went down the steps, and Ledward, carrying some papers,
advanced.

“Marsden thought you would like to know all we are doing, and we made
some notes about the fresh orders on which we have started at the
forge. We have marked the prices and the manufacturing costs.”

Jasper took the papers and was quiet for some minutes. Then he nodded.

“It looks as if I’m not indispensable! When do you go back?”

“I ought to get the afternoon train. Simmonds calls me to London; he’s
bothered about the recent Canadian contract, and in the morning he’ll
give me particulars. If he lets me go soon, I might be back to report
before you go to bed to-morrow.”

“You earn your pay,” said Jasper. “Do you and Marsden agree?”

“On the whole——” said Ledward, and stopped.

“Marsden jars? Well, he’s my forge manager. A rough dog, but stanch.
Since you have got to work with him, you must use some tact.”

For a time they talked about the forge, and Ledward heard the others
in a path behind a beech hedge. He thought somebody had arrived, but
the dead leaves still clung to the branches and he did not know who it
was. By and by he said: “The Savile Tube Company are issuing new
shares. The prospectus is attractive, and Marsden states the tubes are
first-class. What would you think about a speculation, sir?”

Jasper took the prospectus. “They don’t exaggerate much; their stuff
is good. The ordinary shares ought to be a sound investment; but I
didn’t know you speculated. Sometimes when a young man wants money it
is because he thinks about marriage. You, however, declared you did
not.”

Ledward hesitated. Jasper had met him and Evelyn at Hadriansford, and
Kit was Evelyn’s lover. Moreover, he was Jasper’s nephew, but Ledward
had not thought the old fellow annoyed.

“Until recently, for me to think about marrying would have been
ridiculous,” he said. “Now, perhaps, I would not be very rash. Your
generosity would justify the plunge.”

“I wonder,” Jasper remarked, and gave Ledward a baffling smile. “I
doubt if I am generous, Harry; I try to be just. Well, if the lady
were not extravagant, you could support a wife.”

The others crossed the grass, and Ledward wondered whether Jasper had
noted Evelyn’s arrival. His remark about his being just was puzzling
and somehow ominous. Ledward felt he had got a hint, but he did not
see where the other led. By and by Jasper let him go, and Alan Carson
came up the steps.

“You were engaged with Harry, and I waited,” he said. “We hoped Sir
Antony’s report might be encouraging, but you did not tell us much,
and I thought you were disappointed. Did he not give you some notion
about when you might get up?”

“_He doesn’t know_,” Jasper replied in a quiet voice.

Alan’s look was disturbed, and Jasper knew his emotion sincere.

“After all,” he resumed, “I’m getting old, and since, for the most
part, I’ve gone where I wanted to go, when I’m forced to stop I
mustn’t grumble.”

“Your pluck’s good,” said Alan. “But you made the forge famous, and to
give up control and perhaps see others let down the business would
hurt.”

“For a time, at all events, I expect to carry on. I can trust Marsden,
and Harry’s useful. He thinks about getting married. Perhaps you
know?”

Alan frowned. “Since I can’t meddle, I’m not interested. Harry’s my
wife’s relation and your secretary; but I don’t like the fellow. Why
don’t you send for Kit? He’s your man.”

“Kit is my Canadian competitors’ man.”

“If I didn’t know your cleverness, I’d think you a fool!” Alan
rejoined. “You don’t, after all, believe Kit sold the shipyard’s plans
and joined the construction company in order to spite you?”

“I do not. I think I’m logical.”

“Then you ought to bring the boy back and give him a fresh chance.
He’s an engineer and your nephew. In some respects he’s strangely like
you.”

“I know where to wait,” said Jasper in a meaning voice.

“But I don’t see——”

“Oh, well, for one thing, Kit has not yet tried his powers. He’s good
stuff, but he’s raw, untempered stuff and hasn’t felt the fire and the
hammer. At the Canadian bridge he’ll no doubt be forced to take some
knocks. Well, I’d sooner you didn’t talk about it to your wife, and
I’m tired. You might call my man.”

Alan admitted Jasper’s argument was plausible, but he knew his
brother, and fancied he had not told him all. He went to look for the
servant, and they wheeled Jasper to the house.

Some time afterwards Ledward joined Mrs. Haigh, and she stopped at a
bench in a quiet sunny spot.

“Have you heard the doctor’s opinion?” she inquired.

“I have not. Jasper does not talk about his illness. All the same, he
does not seem to get much better.”

“His illness is awkward for you, and no doubt implies extra labor and
responsibility. In fact, one feels you bear some strain. You’re
preoccupied and you get thin.”

“I don’t know if it’s a drawback,” said Ledward, smiling, and pondered
for a few moments. He thought he saw where Mrs. Haigh led, and he had
waited for a sign.

“My load is rather heavy,” he resumed. “Jasper has good servants, but
each was required to stick to his particular job, and the control was
single. Jasper alone knew the plans, and although the company’s a
limited company, he, so to speak, held the reins. Now he’s forced to
let go, the consequences are embarrassing. Since he’s remarkably keen,
I expect he knew he ought to have an understudy. We of course thought
Kit the man——”

“Ah,” said Mrs, Haigh, “Kit is rather dull and he’s obstinate. When he
indicated that he did not want the part his uncle was perhaps entitled
to be offended.”

“At all events, he offered me the part, and I saw no reason to refuse.
The trouble is, I’m not an engineer, but I begin to understand the
rather complicated business, and by and by I hope some difficulties
will vanish. In the meantime, I think my employer’s satisfied.”

“If he does not get better, you will have control. In fact, it may be
yours for good,” Mrs. Haigh remarked in a thoughtful voice.

Ledward felt she gave him his cue, and he resolved to play up.

“It is possible. At all events, Jasper has agreed that so long as I am
content the post I now have is mine. The important thing is, it
enables me to support a wife. Well, I expect you know I not long since
asked Evelyn to marry me?”

“She refused.”

“That is so,” said Ledward. “All the same, I thought she hesitated,
and her refusal was not very firm. Well, I felt I must not urge her.
Kit’s my friend; he’s a generous, attractive fellow. The trouble is,
he’s young and impulsive. Somehow I think Canada will claim him, and
he will not come back. Then Jasper is willing for him to stay. The
ground is awkward, but after all, Kit to some extent did let the old
fellow down.”

Mrs. Haigh saw his cleverness, but his argument was logical. In fact,
she herself had argued like that.

“One must not be shabby, and Evelyn is stanch,” she said. “She did not
altogether engage to marry Kit, but we agreed, if he made good
progress in Canada, we would talk about it again. My stipulation was,
he must for twelve months use his best efforts and not bother Evelyn.
Well, the twelve months are not gone.”

“Do you imply that when the time is gone I might try again?”

“Ah!” said Mrs. Haigh, “my duty is rather hard. Kit trusts me, and he
has some charming qualities, but I must think for my daughter. If you
can persuade Evelyn, I will not refuse. But I cannot cheat Kit, and
you must wait. When he started it was summer, and summer will not be
long.”

She got up, but she signed Ledward to stay and he gathered she would
sooner the others did not know they had engaged in confidential talk.
On the whole, Ledward was satisfied. When he again urged Evelyn he
thought he could reckon on her mother’s support. Moreover, he imagined
Evelyn would weigh the argument by which he had moved Mrs. Haigh. He
was now Jasper’s favorite, and Kit was done with.




                            CHAPTER XXVIII

                            KIT GOES AHEAD


Melting snow dripped from the bridge-works roof and the snow in the
street was gray and honeycombed. The trees along the sidewalk had
shaken off their load, and a sunbeam touched the branches and sooty
walls. Kit by the drawing office window saw the beam get brighter, and
he frowned.

Winter was not gone. In Canada the cold holds on stubbornly, but
spring was not far off, and nobody had yet suggested his going back to
the bridge. At the office his work, for the most part, was mechanical;
he enlarged plans and marked templates for the machine shops. He felt
he could not use his talents, and he got no chance to push ahead.
Moreover, although he was in the evenings allowed to play dance tunes
at the boarding-house, his landlady declared she would not stand for
his practicing high-brow music. By and by a clerk crossed the floor.

“Looks as if you were in for it! The boss wants you!”

Kit’s heart beat. To be called to the office was ominous, but he
believed the plans he had recently sent to the workshops were
accurate. Besides, he had had enough at the bridge-works, and to be
fired would not much bother him. He pushed back the door and saw
Wheeler. Wheeler was burly and as a rule his look was hard, but
sometimes when he talked to Kit his eyes twinkled. His hands were in
his pockets and he chewed a cigar. Another gentleman behind a big desk
looked up.

“You were a shipyard draftsman, Carson. You know something about
working steel plates?”

Kit agreed and the manager gave him some plans.

“Railroad tanks. They’re large; the water’s alkaline and chemicals are
used to precipitate the salts. What do you think about the plating?”

“If Carson states all he thinks, I expect the designer will get a
jolt,” Wheeler remarked.

Kit wondered whether Wheeler’s joke carried a hint, but he did not
know and he studied the plans.

“The construction’s cheap,” he said. “I suppose the pressure’s light?”

“The weight of the enclosed water; that’s all.”

“Then, if the caulking’s really good, perhaps the tanks ought not to
leak.”

Wheeler laughed. “They do leak! They’re trickling right across the
alkali belt, and to make them tight will cost the opposition high. You
see, they’re not _our_ tanks.”

“The company has got an order for a fresh lot along the new line,”
said the manager. “The railroad, however, will not pay us a better
price, and the construction must be cheap. The problem is to carry a
heavy load on thin material. If the job were yours, how’d you get
about it?”

Kit saw they tried him out; in fact, he had before imagined he was
studied. He knew Western engineers thought English methods
out-of-date, but he was moved by reckless humor and he had known the
bold line pay.

“You are experts and I ought to be modest,” he replied. “However, to
make a thin joint tight you must have good caulking, and good caulking
implies long practice and inherited skill. To begin with, I’d send for
an English boiler gang. If you got me men from Lancashire, I’d engage
to make the landings tight.”

“Carson’s young, but he certainly has some sand,” Wheeler remarked,
and the manager looked at Kit rather hard.

“Your plan won’t go. We use Canadian workmen.”

“Then, I expect you’ll use Canadian material, and perhaps your rolling
mills can supply the plates I want. At the shipyard our specialty was
light construction for fast small steamers, and we were forced to
study problems like yours——”

He drew two or three sketch plans and elevations, and resumed:
“There’s my notion. The measurements, of course, are not accurate.”

“We’ll send for you again,” said the manager, and when Kit went off
gave Wheeler the drawings.

“I believe the boy has got it!”

“Looks like that,” Wheeler agreed with a chuckle. “The proposition
beat our gang.”

“But how do you account for a raw lad’s——?”

“The boy was a shipbuilder and I figured on the Jasper Carson touch.
We take a kid from a farm and send him to the machine shops; another
from a backwoods store goes to an engineering college. In the Old
Country they have folks whose grandfathers handled machine tools.
Carson belongs to a lot like that; I guess you can hand him the job.”

After a time they sent for Kit and the manager said: “We’ll try out
your plan and you can start on your calculations. As soon as the
plates are rolled, we’ll give you a picked gang and you’ll begin the
first tank on the division west of Harper’s. If your tank is tight,
you can build the lot and I reckon we can satisfy you about your pay.
In the meantime, we’ll raise you fifty per cent.”

“If the tank is not tight, you can look for another job,” Wheeler
added.

“Thank you,” said Kit. “The test is pretty stern, but I admit it’s
logical. I must try to make good.”

They let him go and when he returned to his drawing board he thrilled
triumphantly. If his tanks carried their load, promotion would be
swift and for a shipbuilder to put up the tanks was not really hard.
He pictured the letter he would write to Evelyn, but when after supper
he went to his room at the boarding-house he hesitated and lighted his
pipe. To boast was risky; he had boasted at the bridge. The tanks were
not yet built, and one must reckon on obstacles. Sometimes thin steel
got brittle around the rivet holes; sometimes the rivets did not
properly pull up the seam. Workmen were careless, and so forth.

Moreover, Kit began to feel he was not really keen to write. He had
not for some time received a letter from Evelyn, and the last was cold
and vaguely resentful. Perhaps she had reason to be disappointed and
Kit was sorry, but her grumbling jarred. Anyhow, the thrill was gone.
At length, he was going ahead, but his start was late and the proper
time to celebrate his triumph was when he arrived. The strange thing
was, on the whole he was resigned to wait.

Kit put up his writing pad and got his violin. For half an hour he
played merry tunes in the dining-room; and then he and another went up
town for a game of pool.

A week or two afterwards a freight train stopped by a creek some
distance from the bridge, and Kit and a number of workmen got down
from the caboose. A bluff sheltered the spot, and Kit was glad to get
behind the trees, for the wind was keen. On the Western plains the
snow is thin, and where the rises faced south the grass was dry and
bleached. Winter was going but was not altogether gone, and under the
boggy surface the soil was frozen. Thick clouds floated about the
dreary sky and the light got faint. A flat car carried a wooden house,
framed in sections, and Kit called his men.

“We’ll put up the shack, boys, and fix the stove. If you want supper
and a bed, you have got to hustle.”

The house went up and was bolted fast in the dark, although to level
the ground was ominously hard. The bunks were fixed and soon the stove
snapped cheerfully, and one smelt coffee, frying pork, and the resin
in the boards. At supper Kit’s appetite was good. At length he had got
independent command and his hopes were high. He liked the gang; the
muscular, white-skinned fellows were from city workshops and he
thought he knew their type. He had stipulated for a first-class cook,
and if good food would buy the men’s support, he must risk the
company’s grumbling about the bill. Kit thought all were content and
he went happily to bed.

In the morning he got to work and soon knew he had not an easy task. A
solid foundation was needed to carry the big tank, but when he broke
the surface the soil was like iron; storms of rain and sleet drove the
men to shelter and at night the trampled slush froze. To handle the
cold, sharp-edged steel was awkward, and Kit wondered whether he had
not started a month too soon. All the same, speed was important and he
pushed stubbornly ahead. The gang was willing and the tank began to
grow.

One Saturday evening Kit went to the bridge. The big girders now
spanned the river and a service locomotive pushed across the rails and
ballast for the approach track. Austin had borne the winter better
than Kit had expected. His skin was darkened by frost and the
reflection from the snow, his step was firm and his look was tranquil.
Kit knew him modestly proud, and when he studied the bridge and
pictured the effort it had cost he thought Bob had some cause for
satisfaction.

On the whole, Kit thought his going to the workshops was justified.
Bob had seized his opportunity and, no doubt, would get his reward;
moreover, in one sense, to help his friend had not cost Kit much. The
trouble was, Evelyn was disappointed and perhaps thought him slack.
She did not know his object for giving up his post, and, when he
pondered it, he saw his not enlightening her was significant. He had
not expected Evelyn to see he was forced to think for Bob, although
Alison had done so and approved his resolve. Well, he was not going to
bother about it. Evelyn was ambitious for him, and when the tank was
finished she would know he had conquered.

The Sunday was bleak, the dinner Jock gave them was something of a
feast, and in the afternoon they sat by the stove and talked. After a
time Austin said: “Carrie was delighted to know the bosses sent you to
put up the tanks. I’m not at all jealous, Kit, but my wife’s your
admirer. You attract women of the best sort. Carrie, for example, is
fastidious and cleverer than I am, but she has certainly taken a shine
to you.”

Kit knew Bob, in some respects, was not clever; he did not suspect
that Kit and Mrs. Austin had plotted for him to remain at the bridge.

“Oh, well,” he said with a smile, “I really think my charm’s
unconscious.”

“Sometimes a charm like that is embarrassing,” Austin remarked.
“Carrie, however, wants to congratulate you, and if you can stay for a
week-end with us, I’d be very glad. When can you fix it?”

Kit said he could not yet get off, and Austin resumed: “Then, since
Carrie’s coming to see the bridge we’ll run out to the tank. In fact,
you may have a surprise party, because I expect Alison, Florence Grey,
and Harries will join us. They haven’t yet been to the bridge and all
want to see you.”

“That’s fine! I fancy my cook will see me out. All the same, I’d
sooner you gave me a date.”

“Something depends on the weather, but it must be soon. When your
letter arrived, Alison was at our house and she was interested. She
wants to go with us and she may not be at Fairmead long.”

“Then, you think Miss Forsyth isn’t satisfied at the creamery?” said
Kit in a disturbed voice.

“Not at all. They’re putting up fresh plant and a larger building, and
she reckons on getting better pay, but she’s bothered about her
relations in England. An aunt at a lone homestead is sick and may want
her. If she’s called, I guess she’ll go.”

Kit knocked out his pipe and for a few moments was quiet. He admitted
he was not reasonable, but he hated to think about Alison’s going.
Moreover, he knew her ambitious, and now she made progress for her to
go was hard. Yet when he recaptured her portrait of the kind dalesfolk
at lonely Whinnyates, he knew she would not hesitate. Well, he was not
entitled to grumble and Bob must not think him disturbed.

“To quit will be something of a knock for Alison, but she’s fine
stuff,” he said.

“Carrie fell for her at the Winnipeg station waiting-room,” Austin
resumed. “Perhaps because we were happy the picture sticks; the
pillars, the marble flags and the shabby crowd; you on your battered
gripsack, and Alison on the bench. She was tired and lonesome; Carrie
reckoned she was near crying, but when we stopped she smiled. That was
all; the smile got my wife. Carrie declared she was clean sand, the
sort to stay with a hard job and help another.... I reckon she helped
you. At Fairmead she talked about you and when we met up at the bridge
I own I put Wheeler on your track. Well, I expect you’d have made
good, anyhow; but Alison is accountable for your getting a show.”

Kit mused rather unhappily. He knew he did owe Alison much, but he did
not altogether see the object of Austin’s remarks. Bob was not a
sentimentalist.

“As soon as possible you must fix a date for your visit,” he said. “If
your party cannot get across, I’ll start for Fairmead.”

They began to talk about something else, and in the evening Kit went
back to the tank.

A week afterwards, Kit one afternoon waited by the top of the grade
behind the poplar bluff. The spot commanded two or three miles of the
undulating line and a black smoke plume streaked a rise. A bitter
north wind swept the plain and the dry white grass rippled like the
sea, but the soil was hard like concrete. It looked as if arctic
winter had returned and Kit thought the landscape’s distinctness
ominous.

Dark clouds rolled up from the northern horizon; in the south, pale
sunshine touched the grass, and bluffs and clumps of brush were
sharply clear. In the distance a ravine pierced broken ground, and the
small trees and ragged bank cut the gray slope in sharp black
silhouette. Kit’s visitors, however, would arrive and go by train, and
he watched the locomotive steam up the grade.

The flat rail cars stopped by the tank, and Austin helped Florence
Grey from the locomotive cab. She gave Kit her hand, rather as if she
were forced, and began to talk.

“Hold the train, Bob, until we collect all the gang. Ted went for
Carrie and Alison, and I expect they’re on board the caboose. I had
not been on a loco, Kit, and Bob put me in the cab, but the engineer
wouldn’t stand for the lot and Alison has a smart new coat. Come on
and help her down!”

They went along the track, but when they got to the caboose Harries
jumped off and a brakesman shut the door.

“Where’s Carrie?” Florence inquired, and Harries gave her a puzzled
look.

“I sure don’t know! I thought Mrs. Austin and Alison went with you.
They certainly were not at the smith’s shop, and when the train was
starting I jumped on board.”

“Oh, shucks! Didn’t you look in the office?”

“Why’d I look in the office? You said I’d get them at the smithy,”
Harries rejoined.

“You’re not very bright, Ted. Alison’s clothes are new. Why did you
think I reckoned she was at the smoky forge?”

“Search me!” said Harries. “You did think she was there. I don’t know
much about women’s clothes, but you’ve got some grease on yours.”

“Men are like that!” Florence remarked scornfully. “However, Bob’s
waiting, and I expect the engineer’s getting mad.”

They started for the front of the train and Harries gave Kit a smile.
Kit knew Florence’s habit was to dispute with her lover, but he was
annoyed, for he had wanted to see Alison. When they reached the
locomotive, the engineer looked out from the cab.

“Two of your party short-shipped? Well, maybe they’ll make it on the
gravel train. If the pile’s not frozen she ought to come along by and
by. I reckon she’ll go back before us, but the gang will be on board
and you better wait. If I see your flag I’ll pick you up. So long!”

He shut the window and the cars rolled ahead. Kit and Austin studied
the skeleton tank, and then the party went to his shack. Not long
afterwards the gravel train steamed by.

Kit’s disappointment was keen. Alison had not arrived and all was
flat. Sometimes Florence bantered him and he played up. Austin talked
and Harries was naively humorous, but Kit could not banish his
moodiness. Alison was going to England and he might not see her before
she went.




                             CHAPTER XXIX

                              THE STORM


After a time Kit heard a locomotive whistle and he went to the door.
The wind was very cold and the sky was dark. Thick smoke blew about
the wood; the gravel train was stopping for some damaged material Kit
wanted to send back.

“If Miss Grey and you don’t mind, Bob, I’ll go to the bridge,” he
said. “Mrs. Austin may find waiting dull and I want to see Alison, but
I’d like you to stay. For one thing, the cook has planned a supper he
declares they couldn’t beat at a Winnipeg hotel.”

“We mean to stay,” Austin agreed. “Florence and Ted have got a
holiday, and when I do get off the bridge I’m not keen about rushing
back.”

“It’s going to storm, Bob. We ought to start,” Miss Grey remarked.

“You can’t start,” Austin rejoined. “The loading gang have got the
caboose and the engineer won’t carry the lot in his cab. Besides,
she’s a greasy old service loco, and you must think about your
clothes.”

Miss Grey gave him a keen glance. “You’re bluffing, Bob! Kit has
framed it up for you to keep me.”

“I want to stay; Ted wants to stay, and if you go we’ll be lonesome,”
said Austin humorously. “Be a sport and see us out!”

“Florence is a sport, but she’s blamed obstinate,” Harries remarked.

Miss Grey turned and faced her lover, and Kit stole away. Running
behind the cars, he jumped on board the locomotive.

“My stuff is on the car. Start her up.”

The big engine snorted, the wheels began to roll, and Kit looking from
the window saw Miss Grey push back Harries and run for the line. The
noisy cars, however, were going fast, and Kit was satisfied to know
she could not get on board. He was resolved to see Alison, and he
imagined that when he did so Florence had meant to be about.

When the train stopped at the bridge, thin snow had begun to fall and
the light was going. Kit went to the office and Mrs. Austin got up
languidly from a camp chair. By contrast with the biting frost, the
small room was hot, and Mrs. Austin’s look was dully surprised.

“Why Kit! Has Bob come back?”

“Where is Alison?” Kit inquired.

Mrs. Austin looked about, as if she expected to see Alison. Then she
turned to the door, and remarking the gloom outside, braced up.

“She was here after the train went, but, now I think about it, perhaps
she got another.”

Kit said Alison had not arrived and saw Mrs. Austin was disturbed.

“Then, I don’t know where she is. Somehow we were left behind, and
when a man said he thought another train was going Alison went to
inquire. I waited, but we started from Fairmead early and the office
was hot. It looks as if I went to sleep.... But you must find out
where Alison is.”

“I’m going to try,” said Kit, rather sternly. “You must wait. Bob and
the others will arrive before very long, and the cold is fierce.”

A few minutes afterwards a workman informed him that a lady had gone
along the track. Another stated that the dame had asked about the
train and crossed the bridge. Kit went across and at the other end two
men admitted they had told Alison a train was loading gravel at a pit
along the line.

Kit knew the spot was three miles off and he inquired: “Did the train
leave the bridge long before the lady talked to you?”

“About five minutes. As soon as he knew the rail cars were past the
pit the engineer pulled out. We reckoned the dame ought to make it
before the boys loaded up.”

Kit nodded and set off as fast as possible along the track. The plain
in front was dark, the savage wind buffeted him, and the snow got
thick. Sometimes he struck his foot against a tie; sometimes he
plunged into the rough, frozen ballast, and he wondered whether he
ought not to have gone back for two or three men and a trolley. To get
the men and put the trolley on the rails would, however, occupy some
time, and he did not think Alison was far off. When she found the
gravel train was gone she would return to the bridge.

For all that, Kit was anxious. As a rule, one did not get a blizzard
in spring, but the wind got colder and his hands were numb. The snow
was dry and its dryness implied that the thermometer went far below
freezing-point. Then had Alison kept the track, he ought to have seen
her from the window of the locomotive cab.

His breath got short and his side began to hurt. Stopping for a
moment, he tried to shout, but he doubted if his hoarse voice carried
fifty yards. The snow beat his face and all he saw was the tossing
flakes. Lowering his head, he pushed on stubbornly although he began
to wonder whether he and Alison could reach the bridge. She would be
exhausted, and he himself had had enough.

Not far ahead the track curved round broken ground and a short trestle
carried the rails across a ravine. The carpenters who built the bridge
had put up a small turf shack, and Kit resolved when he met Alison he
would try to reach the spot. If they got there, he might stop the rail
train.

After a time he fancied something moved in the snow, and he shouted.
He heard a faint cry, and plunging forward, collided with an
indistinct white object.

“Alison!” he gasped, and she clung to him.

Kit put his arm round her. “Brace up! How far’s the ravine?”

“I crossed the bridge not long since, but the camp’s the other way,”
said Alison faintly.

“We’re going to the carpenters’ shack. Come on!” said Kit.

To advance was awkward. Alison was exhausted, Kit was tired, and one
could hardly face the gale. For all that, unless they got to the
shack, Kit knew they would freeze. Feeling for the rails with his
boots, he kept the track, and by and by saw a white mound three or
four yards in front. The door was not gone, and forcing it open Kit
pushed Alison into the hut. Then he pulled off his skin coat, and
after breaking two or three matches, got a light.

The roof and turf walls were good, and he saw a cracked stove and a
broken box. A few creosoted billets, hacked from a railroad tie, and
two or three lumps of coal were in a corner. Somebody had left a sheet
torn from a newspaper in which the man perhaps had carried lunch. Then
the match went out.

“Pull off and shake your coat,” said Kit. “Keep going; I’ll light a
fire.”

He felt for the box, tore off a broken board and opened his knife. His
hands were numb, and in the dark to whittle the wood was awkward, but
he must husband his matches. By and by he picked up the newspaper.

“Beat your hands,” he said to Alison, and when she did so he gave her
the matches. “I want a light.”

Alison used three or four matches and he carefully put the chips and
paper and a fire-stick whittled to a ragged end in the stove. Then the
light went out and Alison said: “Are you ready, Kit? The matches are
nearly gone.”

“Give me another—I think it’s all we’ll need,” Kit replied and Alison,
kneeling down, put a match to the fuel.

A pale flame touched the chips and flickered along the ragged stick. A
puff of smoke blew from the stove door, and then all was dark.

“How many matches have you now?” Kit inquired.

“Three or four,” said Alison quietly.

Kit frowned. His hands were stiff and he could not properly cut the
end of the fire-stick, but he pulled out his tobacco pouch. In Western
Canada smokers often roll the cigarettes they use, and Kit had some
papers. When he found the packet, however, it felt very thin. All the
same, he must get a fire. The cold was arctic, and the railroad gangs
talked of men frozen by blizzards when all thought winter gone. Kit
felt for his wallet.

“We’ll try another match,” he said.

Alison gave him the light and saw the flame curl about two or three
small strips of printed paper. The cigarette papers began to burn, the
newspaper smoked and the bottom edge got red. She was very quiet; and
Kit’s heart beat, for if the fire went out he knew they might freeze.
For a few moments the newspaper smouldered and then a blaze leaped up.
The fire-stick snapped and a bright beam shone from a crack in the
iron. Kit threw in a billet and a lump of coal.

“The fire’s going!” he shouted triumphantly.

“This time it lighted soon,” Alison remarked. “What were the papers
you burned?”

Kit laughed. “I hope they were dollar bills, because I had some larger
notes. One talks about burning money, but in the circumstances perhaps
I was not extravagant.”

He put the broken box in the corner by the stove for Alison, and
sitting down, rested his back against the turf. After the turmoil
outside, to sit behind thick walls was some relief, but the shack was
very cold and they had not much fuel. Kit doubted if the fire would
burn for long. Alison, however, must not know he was anxious, and he
began to talk.

“The rail train will soon come along, and now we have got a light I
can signal the engineer,” he said, and tried to cut a fresh fire-stick
from a creosoted billet. “When I saw you were not with Austin I was
terribly disappointed. How did you get left behind?”

“Bob ordered the engineer to move some empty cars. It was very cold
and Carrie and I went back to the office. Florence said she would call
us, but she did not.”

“Then Miss Grey knew you were at the office?”

“Of course,” said Alison. “She was two or three yards off.”

“Harries declares she sent him to the smithy,” Kit remarked.

Alison looked surprised, but she resumed: “A man said another train
was going, but when I found out where it loaded I had crossed the
bridge. The men thought the train would not wait long and I did not go
back for Carrie. I wanted to see you, Kit.”

Kit noted that her color had come back; in fact, he thought it rather
high.

“If I had missed you I’d have started for Fairmead in the morning,” he
said. “You are going to England?”

“I must go; perhaps I ought not to have waited for the cablegram. My
aunt at Whinnyates is very ill.”

“But you have recently got a better post, and Bob states if you stay
at the creamery they’ll make you head clerk.”

“Oh, well, I mustn’t think about that. My aunt was very kind and my
uncle’s old. When my mother died I stayed with them and I owe them
something. You see, they’re old-fashioned, lonely people, Kit, and
they don’t care for strangers. I am their relation and now they want
me I cannot refuse.”

Kit agreed, but he was disturbed. In fact, he dared not speculate
about his emotions. Perhaps the proper line was to joke.

“But what about the feast we fixed to celebrate our triumph? I’m not
yet famous and your aunt may want you for some time.”

“That is so,” said Alison, soberly. “If she does not get better, I may
be forced to stay for good. However, if I do come back, I’ll be your
guest for dinner when you are famous.”

She smiled, but Kit saw she shivered, and he put all the wood and coal
in the stove.

“To begin with, we’ll celebrate your return by a royal feast. But when
you left the bridge did you know how far off the gravel pit was?”

“The men said it was a piece up the track, but I ought to make it
before the train was loaded and I hurried off. You see, in four days I
must be at Montreal....”

Kit saw she did not want to go without saying good-bye to him, and he
was moved. Alison had run a worse risk than she knew, and he pictured
his remarks to the railroad men.

“When I got to the pit the train was gone. I saw a storm was coming
and I must reach the bridge as soon as possible,” Alison continued.
“The track curves round some high ground and I thought I’d take a
short line across the loop, and I got entangled in the bluffs and when
I found the rails again the snow was thick. Until I met you, I was
afraid.... But do you hear something?”

Kit jumped up. When he pulled back the door a fan-shaped beam pierced
the snow, and running for the fire-stick, he pushed the end in the
stove. A few moments afterwards he waved the burning stick by the
track, but the wind cut the small flame and it presently went out.

Three or four yards off, a high headlamp glimmered like a foggy moon.
In the snow the roll of wheels was muffled, and Kit shouted with all
his force, but the explosive snorts from the locomotive drowned his
voice. The frozen ground shook and he jumped back. He saw the cab
windows shine, and then all was dark. Thick smoke blew about him, and
when he tried to shout he choked. Indistinct cars rolled by and
vanished, and Kit leaned against the shack and clenched his fist.

The bridge camp was two or three miles off; but one could not get
there, and the engineer would only stop for Austin to get down. Bob
thought Kit and Alison at the office, and when he found out they were
not, the train would be gone. Then he might get a hand-car and try to
search the line, but the snow clogged the rails and Kit doubted if
flesh and blood could face the storm.

Well, Alison must not know and he went back to the hut. Snow had blown
across the floor. The stuff was dry and some about the bottom of the
stove did not melt. Kit thought the stove got empty, but the wood and
coal were gone. Alison shivered and her face was pinched.

“The train did not stop,” she said.

“When she gets to the bridge Bob will send back the locomotive,” Kit
replied. “In the meantime we mustn’t freeze. Suppose you get up and
dance?”

Beating time with his numbed feet, he tried to whistle, but he could
not command his cold lips, and after a few bars he stopped.

“We must imagine the music; it goes something like that,” he remarked
and Alison gave him her hand.

To turn was awkward, and when Kit swung Alison round his head struck
the slanted roof. Tramping the powdery snow, they went back and he
struck the frozen turf. All the light was the reflection from the
cracked stove, and one must keep the wall where the roof was high; but
Kit thrilled to hold Alison in his arms and for a few moments forgot
that they might freeze. Then he got a harder knock and he thought
their dancing in the snow was grimly humorous. The joy of harmonious
movement was not theirs; they danced in order to keep alive and their
music was the screaming gale. One advanced three or four steps and
struck the wall; after another few steps one risked a collision with
the stove.

Kit knew Alison’s pluck, but he doubted if she could keep it up and he
began to get dizzy. At length she leaned against him and her body went
slack. Although she was breathless he felt she shivered.

“I’m sorry, but I must stop.... If one could go straight ... by and
by, perhaps, we’ll try another step.”

“Thank you,” said Kit with ceremonious politeness. “I can’t get you an
ice and I doubt if you’d enjoy it. I can, however, find you a cool
spot, and our band does not get tired. Since we have not a bench under
flowering plants and rose-shaded lamps we must use the box.”

He pushed the box against the stove and sitting on the floor, gave
Alison his skin coat.

“I’m not horribly selfish, Kit,” she said.

“Well, if you like, we’ll share the coat. At Winnipeg station I used
your rug and the coat is big. I expect it was made for a fat
profiteer, and I admit I bought the thing at a foreign broker’s shop.
Still, when one thinks about it, profiteers don’t use coats from which
the fur comes off, and perhaps mine belonged to a railroad man. We’re
not fastidious. As a rule, the men who make things don’t get rich.”

Alison smiled, but her smile was brave rather than humorous.

“There’s no use in pretending, Kit. Suppose the train starts before
Austin finds out we are not at the bridge?”

“Then Bob will put a trolley on the line and the boys will shove her
along. We are not yet beaten, and we were up against it another time.
Let’s imagine we are back again at the Winnipeg waiting-room—_pilgrims
and strangers, fronting all dangers_.”

“Ah!” said Alison, “Carrie and Bob helped us at the waiting-room.”

Kit touched the stove. The fire was very low and the iron got cold. He
awkwardly pulled out his watch.

“Bob is starting to help us at the bridge. Don’t you see him loading
up blankets and sending for his best men? Old Bob is not the sort to
let a pal freeze, and a Canadian doesn’t stop for snow!”

For a time they were silent. The blizzard beat the walls and the stove
got cold. Then Alison said in a quiet voice:

“The train has gone down the line, but I’m not very much afraid. At
Winnipeg I was afraid. You see, I knew I must go alone.... The snow is
getting deep, and I daresay it blocks the track....”

Kit saw he had not persuaded her help would arrive. Well, for as long
as possible, she must not freeze, and he took her in his arms. The
coat would now go round both and Alison did not push him back.

“If you hadn’t bothered about seeing me, you would have been on board
the train,” he said.

“But, until I had seen you I couldn’t go away,” Alison replied. “I did
see you; you went to look for me in the storm! You don’t really think
the trolley will reach us. Perhaps it’s strange, but I don’t
bother.... I get dull, Kit, and I’m horribly cold.”

Kit held her fast and kissed her. His feet and hands were numb, but he
thought the warmth of his body would keep her from freezing.

“Brace up, my dear,” he said. “Austin has started and help’s not far
off. We are going to beat the storm. Now I know you belong to me, and
all that’s mine I keep!”

Alison said nothing, but her arm was round his neck and for a time he
indulged a strange lethargic satisfaction. Then he tried to conquer
his languidness. If he slept, he could not fight the paralyzing cold.
Only a faint glimmer from a crack marked the stove, and the hut was
dark. The door shook and he knew the gale yet raged.

At length Alison said: “Perhaps I was asleep, but I heard bells
chime!”

Kit heard the blizzard and thought she dreamed. He said nothing, but
Alison turned and tried to get up.

“Something does chime—like cow-bells in a bluff.”

“A locomotive bell!” Kit gasped and pulled Alison to her feet. “A
train is stopping. Bravo, Bob!”

He let her go, and crept along the wall to the door, for his joints
were stiff and his legs would hardly carry him. A loud bell tolled and
a light pierced the snow, and Kit shouted. The light touched his face
and passed. Then he saw a huge dark mass and steam roared in the gale.
Indistinct figures jumped down and a lantern flickered. Somebody ran
against Kit and he knew Austin’s voice.

“Hello! We’ve got soup and blankets. Where is Alison?”

Kit turned and the lantern searched the shack. Alison leaned against
the wall and smiled, but Kit knew her smile was not for Bob. He saw
Austin and another wrap a blanket round Alison, and one said: “Help me
carry her to the cab.”

“The job’s mine,” said Kit, and clumsily lifting Alison, he started
for the door.

He struck the post, but he reached the locomotive and somebody pulled
Alison up the steps. Then he was on a tool locker in the cab and drank
some thick, hot liquid from a nickel cup. The locomotive was going and
that was all he knew.




                             CHAPTER XXX

                          ALISON STEALS AWAY


Kit, in Austin’s office at the bridge, heard escaping steam and a
locomotive pump’s monotonous throb. When the train stopped, somebody
pushed him from the cab, and although he had wanted to wait and see it
start, firmly steered him to the office. The painful reaction from the
cold was over, but he was dull and slack and could not rouse himself
for the effort to go back to the line. By and by Florence Grey came
in.

“We are going in two or three minutes and I cannot wait, but I hope
you are not frost-bitten,” she said.

“I’m not much damaged, thank you,” Kit replied. “Anyhow, I’d sooner
you looked after Alison and you mustn’t miss the train.”

“Carrie and Ted are with her, and Bob will call me. There’s something
I must tell you: Alison ought not to have gone to the gravel pit.”

“It’s rather obvious,” said Kit. “I don’t yet see why you and Ted left
her at the bridge.”

Florence’s look got embarrassed and she blushed. “Since my plan didn’t
work, perhaps you ought to know.... Well, I didn’t want Alison to meet
you, and when the train was starting I sent Ted to the smithy,
although I knew she wasn’t there.”

“Ah,” said Kit, “now I do see! You hadn’t heard the gravel train was
going, and you thought in a few days Alison would be on board the
steamer. Well if she had got frozen I’d have hated you.... However,
since I’d have frozen by morning, you would not have had much grounds
to be afraid of me. You plotted better than you thought!”

“I have got my punishment,” said Florence in a quiet voice. “Alison is
my chum and perhaps suspense is as hard to bear as cold. Then she
doesn’t suspect my shabby trick and I dare not tell her. For all that,
my object was good.”

“Your nerve is pretty good,” Kit rejoined. “I’ll soon be all right and
I’m not revengeful, but Alison ran an awkward risk, and that’s another
thing. Besides, I can’t imagine why you were determined I shouldn’t
meet her.”

For a few moments Florence was quiet and her face was red. Somehow
Kit’s anger vanished. From the beginning she had doubted him, but when
she claimed to be Alison’s chum she did not boast.

“Very well,” she said, “you are not the man for Alison. You belong to
another lot, but you have some charm and she’s romantic. At all events
you interested her and she thought about you. I don’t claim you
consciously worked upon her, but it’s possible, and when she was
called to England I was glad. The drawback was she was resolved to see
you before she went. We are flesh and blood, and I thought when you
knew she might not come back you might try to carry her away. Did you,
Kit?”

Kit looked up. His mouth was tight and he knitted his brows.

“Yes,” he said. “We were freezing and I took Alison in my arms and
kissed her. Well, I admit your not trusting me was justified. Alison
knows I love her, but I ought to marry a girl in England.”

“You must take one of two lines: ask Alison to marry you, or tell her
frankly why you cannot.”

“That is so. As soon as a train goes down the line I’ll start for
Fairmead; there’s no use in my going to Harper’s now, because Alison
mustn’t be bothered yet. I hope you don’t feel you ought to hate me?”

“One cannot hate you, Kit. I’m sorry for you—” Florence replied, and
Austin opened the door.

“Come on!” he said. “The engineer won’t wait.” He pushed Florence out,
and coming back a few moments afterwards, sat down opposite Kit.

“Did Florence state why she sent Ted to the smithy? My notion is she
didn’t want Alison to get the train.”

“It’s possible, but we won’t bother about it,” Kit replied. “How did
you get the locomotive?”

Austin smiled. “You’re not going to put me wise? Well, when we made
the bridge, all Carrie could tell me was you had gone to look for
Alison. The snow was fierce and when I found out Alison was at the
gravel pit and you had started up the line, the train had left
Harper’s. I was scared, Kit, but Florence was _desperate_. She
declared, if our feet were cold we could stop by the stove; she would
shove off for the gravel pit.”

“Miss Grey is obstinate,” Kit remarked with a twinkle. “You wouldn’t
stop for cold feet, Bob, and I daresay you knew mine were colder. But
go ahead!”

“We put a trolley on the rails. I hustled Florence into the office and
told Carrie to stand against the door. We crossed the bridge and soon
afterwards hit an Awkward drift. When the trolley jumped the rails we
tried to carry her across. The snow was dry and loose and we went in
to the waist; the wind lashed the stuff about us, and we must lift the
heavy car. I doubted if we could make it, but the boys were willing.
They meant to get you.”

Kit nodded. “I can picture the fight, but when you’re up against a
blizzard pluck and muscle won’t carry you very far. Well?”

“By and by my foreman came along. They’d got a phone call from
Harper’s; the train had run into a big drift a few miles east, and the
engineer steamed back to the settlement. In the meantime, the Winnipeg
bosses had wired the operator to hold all traffic until the plows
arrived. He had got my message and he sent the loco to the bridge. We
butted her through the drift that stopped the trolley, and made the
shack. Carrie and the others are at the Harper’s hotel——”

The cook carried in some hot food, and soon after Kit got supper he
went to bed.

In the morning the gale had dropped and the thermometer rose, but Kit
was forced to wait until the track was cleared. After some hours a big
rotary plow and a freight locomotive arrived from the east, and
hurling back waves of snow, rolled across the bridge. When the smoke
melted in the plain Kit got a hand-car and two men and set off. The
plow had cleared the rails and the car made good progress, but Kit
brooded moodily.

He recaptured his walking from Harper’s to the bridge when he first
arrived. Flowers dotted the prairie, the sun was hot, and although he
knew himself a stranger, his hopes were high. The trail, like a dark
riband, curved in front and he steered joyously for the horizon.

Now the sky was dark, the day was bleak, and he did not know where he
went. He ought to marry Evelyn, but he loved Alison. Moreover, Alison
knew he loved her and since she knew about Evelyn she had cause to
think him a philandering wastrel. Anyhow, if Alison did not, Evelyn
was entitled to do so.

Well, he must take one of two lines, and he frankly hesitated. For him
to pay for his folly was just, but it looked as if another must pay.
Evelyn’s letters were cold and carried a hint of resentment. If she
knew he had gone to the workshops sooner than take his friend’s post,
she would be annoyed; Alison knew and approved. Yet although he wanted
Alison, his duty was to marry Evelyn. In the meantime he must see
Alison; it was all he really knew.

At length the roofs at Harper’s broke the snowy plain, and Kit saw
freight-cars on the side-track. The locomotive faced west and he knew
the rail train had gone, but he hoped Mrs. Austin would wait for the
passenger-cars and her party was yet at the hotel. When he inquired at
the office the landlord said they had started east soon after the plow
arrived, and gave Kit a note.

Kit knew Alison’s hand, and he went to the stove in the dining-room,
but when he tore open the envelope his hand shook. Then he set his
mouth, for Alison firmly pointed the proper line.

“There is no use in pretending, Kit,” she wrote. “At the shack I was
willing for you to know I loved you. You see, my dear, I did not
believe help would reach us; I thought we soon would freeze. In the
numbing cold, when hope was gone, all I wanted was to have you near
me.

“Well, it’s done with, and when Florence said you were coming to
Harper’s I saw I must steal away. You must not cheat, Kit; and if, for
my sake, you broke your word I would be ashamed. I would hate to feel
I’d stolen another’s lover. You must do all you engaged to do, and I
will wish you luck. Perhaps my letter’s cold, but I must use control
and you will not get another. When you arrive I shall be at Winnipeg
and soon afterwards on board the ship. Good-bye, Kit. Go straight—the
way you like to go—and look in front. By and by the road will get
easy.”

Kit put the letter in the stove. All was done with, for Alison was
proud and firm, but when the paper flared and blackened he clenched
his fist.

For a time he was very quiet; and then he heard a locomotive whistle
and he went to the track. The freight train was pulling out, the men
had put the trolley on a flat car, and Kit jumped for the caboose. He
dared not think about Alison and he tried to look in front. To begin
with he must build the tank, and then, if all went well, he would
claim Evelyn. In the meantime he would say nothing; until his work was
tested he must not boast.

The blizzard was winter’s last belated fury. The snow melted in the
hot sun and the bleached grass got green. Sandhill cranes trailed
across the sky, and ducks and geese steering north stopped to rest by
the prairie sloos. Kit moodily concentrated on his building. To be
occupied was some relief and the tank grew fast.

At length, one day when the birches and poplars in the bluff unfolded
their fresh leaves, a locomotive and an observation car arrived, and
three or four gentlemen got down. Kit stopped the noisy pump that fed
the tank and went to meet the party. Although he must reckon on expert
criticism he was cool. The job was good, but if the others were not
satisfied it would not bother him.

Wheeler presented him to a railroad engineer, and the party walked
about the tank and climbed to the top. Kit had pumped in the full
load, but all the joints were tight and the steel was dry and clean.
After a time the party returned to the open gallery at the back of the
car and the railroad engineer said to Kit:

“I like your tank and reckon she will carry her load, but we have
agreed about some alterations of which your chief will give you
particulars. Although your construction’s first-class, we see a better
plan to filter out the salts. Will you take a smoke?”

He pulled out some cigarettes and when Kit thanked him went into the
car. Kit knew he had got a compliment from a famous man. Wheeler and
another stopped, and Kit remarked his twinkle.

“You have put it across, young fellow! To get a cigar from Jameson is
like getting a riband for your coat. He acknowledges you Companion in
the Knights of the Track.”

“I suppose I ought to’ be flattered, but I imagined in Canada you had
not much use for ribands,” Kit rejoined, and turned to the other
gentleman. “All I really want, sir, is the company’s approval.”

“You’re modest,” remarked the bridge-works manager. “There was a sort
of agreement that if you put up the tank we would put up your pay, and
if you undertake to build the row the agreement stands. The only
stipulation is, you must stay for twelve months, after which we’ll
talk about things again. The railroad engineers, however, have
modified the plans.”

Wheeler gave Kit some drawings, and after a few minutes he said:

“I’m keen to stay, sir, and the alterations ought not to bother us.
All the same you must use heavier columns and wider plates.”

“That is so. We must wait for the material. The molders strike has
stopped the foundries, and the rolling mills cannot supply the plates
for some time. In fact, we may be held up for five or six weeks.”

Kit saw his opportunity. Evelyn did not know his luck had turned. She
ought to know and he could go across and see her.

“Before I start on the fresh job I want a holiday and since you must
wait for the steel my going will not embarrass you. I’ll undertake to
be back in a month, but I’d like to be longer.”

“Oh, well,” said Wheeler, “I knew you had some gall! Now you have
built a tank you reckon we ought to stand for a month’s pay?”

“I suppose the pay begins when I get to work, but it’s not important.
Anyhow, I must go across to the Old Country. The formula is urgent
private affairs.”

Wheeler turned to the manager. “Carson’s obstinate and I reckon his
modesty’s not conspicuous, but I’ll be accountable for his coming back
on time.”

The other nodded, and Wheeler said to Kit: “You can pull out when you
like, and when you claim your pay I guess the clerk will meet the
bill. There’s another thing—we can fix it for you to get a free ride
to Montreal.”

Kit thanked him and went back to the tank. Soon afterwards the train
steamed off, and sitting in the grass he lighted his pipe. Wheeler was
a useful friend. On the surface the fellow was a bully, and where he
ruled a slacker’s lot was hard, but Kit knew him for a first-class
sort. All the same he did not want to think about Wheeler.

Evelyn’s letters bothered him. It looked as if she bore some strain
and got tired. Well, he was engaged to marry her and so long as she
was willing the engagement stood. When he saw her he would know; but
she must join him in Canada. He could get a house at Fairmead, and
Carrie Austin would be kind. To picture Evelyn’s ruling a home like
Carrie’s was hard, but Kit began to see she was not the girl her lover
ought to leave alone.

Then he knocked out his pipe and smiled, a rather moody smile. He
admitted his luck was remarkably good. He had conquered, but in the
circumstances his conquering was a grim joke. Alison was gone and all
was flat. When he looked forward he saw a long, dreary road. Yet there
was no use in brooding, he must brace up and push ahead.

By and by the cook called him for supper; and two or three days
afterwards he started for Montreal. When he arrived in Canada he went
second-class; now he travelled by Pullman, but the hope he had known
had vanished.




                             CHAPTER XXXI

                           WHINNYATES FARM


Ten days after Kit left the tank he got down at a quiet station in the
North of England. The train rolled on across a bridge, and by contrast
with the trains in Canada, he thought it ridiculously small. A few
country people crossed the platform, and a farmer’s gig and a battered
car waited at the gate. Although Kit had telegraphed from Liverpool,
the Netherhall car had not arrived and he saw nobody he knew.

Putting his bag and coat on a bench he looked about. The evening was
cold, and in the west yellow light shone behind lead-colored clouds.
Bleak moors, in dark silhouette, cut the ominous glow; a flooded river
brawled under the railway bridge, and the road that went up-hill was
wet. At the top of the hill a ragged firwood loomed indistinctly in
rolling mist. Kit smiled. It was summer in the north, and all he saw
threatened storm.

Netherhall was eight miles off, and the nearest inn was at the village
in the dale. Before long heavy rain would sweep the moors and Kit
doubted if the car would arrive. It did not look as if his relations
were very keen to welcome him, but he reflected with rather grim humor
that he had gone away in disgrace, and although he was perhaps
entitled to claim he came back in triumph, nobody yet knew. To some
extent, he had been afraid to boast; to some extent he admitted he had
indulged his rather boyish pride.

Then he began to think about Evelyn. Where others doubted she believed
in him; she had stuck to him nobly and for his sake had borne some
strain. After a time, perhaps, she got daunted, but she had grounds
for disappointment, and the news he sent had not helped her much.
Well, in two or three hours she would know he had made good; but he
must take the road.

The wind was cold and Kit put on his coat and seized his bag. He set
off briskly, but when he got to the top of the long hill he admitted
the bag was heavier than he had thought, and he speculated about the
Netherhall car. Mrs. Carson had got his telegram, but perhaps her
husband had not. Kit’s mouth curved in a crooked smile, but he would
not trouble Mrs. Carson for long. Her fastidiousness accounted for his
carrying the bag, although he doubted if she would approve the
dinner-jacket he bought at Montreal.

By and by he heard an engine throb and he stepped on the grass. A car
stopped, and Kit looked up. Two or three large dusty sacks occupied
the back, a wing was broken and the shabby paint was scratched. The
engine rattled noisily and Kit knew the rattle. In Canada he had used
cars like that. A brown-skinned young fellow held the wheel.

“Are you going far?” he inquired. Kit said he was bound for
Netherdale, and the other told him to jump up.

“I’ll give you a lift for three or four miles. Don’t know, but I might
go by village and over gap. I’m carrying some calf meal for Tyson o’
Whinnyates; my farm’s not far from his. We’s see when we get to
water-splash.”

“Mrs. Tyson was ill,” said Kit when the car rolled ahead. “Do you know
if she’s better?”

“She begins to get aboot, but for a time she was near away with it,
and Joe Tyson sent for’s niece in Canada.”

“Is Miss Forsyth now at Whinnyates?”

“She was there in t’morning when I started for market, but Joe was
yoking pony to tak’ her to Langrigg, and he reckoned she’d stop for
t’night. D’ye ken Miss Forsyth?”

Kit said he met Alison in Canada, and the other resumed: “Then, ye ken
a leal, kind lass! She came back four thousand miles to nurse her
aunt, and Joe reckons she did as much as doctor to pull old body
round——”

He slowed at an awkward corner, and Kit speculated about Alison. If
Mrs. Tyson did not need her she might return to the creamery, and Kit
hoped she would do so. Alison ought not to remain at Whinnyates; she
had qualities and talents she could not use at the lonely farm, but if
she did not go soon the moors might claim her. One lost the alert
keenness Canadians valued, and in the bleak dales a woman’s work was
hard. Kit hated to picture Alison’s laboring at the byres and perhaps
in the fields.

Then a pale yellow beam touched the road and he looked about. Thin
mist rolled across the broken moor and vague, dark hills melted in
thunder-clouds. The road curved across open heath, and white, wild
cotton bent in the wind. Big drops splashed in the pools and stopped.
Then a guide-post cut the threatening sky and Kit remarked: “There’s
your road; I’ll get down.”

“If we can get through water-splash, I’ll go by village. Gap bank’s
easier than t’other, and she’s carrying a good load.”

They ran down a hill and at the bottom the driver slackened speed, for
an angry flood swept the hollow. At one side a white turmoil and a
broken rail marked the narrow footbridge.

“You’ll not get across and if I tried’t I reckon car would stall,” the
farmer remarked. “Mireside brig’s not far from Whinnyates. We’ll go by
Birkfell.”

He turned the car, and when they climbed the hill rushy fields and wet
moors melted in the rain. The car had not a hood, but the driver
pulled out a tarpaulin, and crouching behind the battered sheet, they
fronted the deluge. Water streamed from the glass and leaped about the
wheels. Rivulets cut the mossy bank and one could not see two hundred
yards. Kit, however, knew the north, and at Netherdale floods in
summer are not remarkable.

After a time the car jolted up an uneven track. Kit saw a wet hillside
and by and by white buildings behind bent ash trees. When the car
stopped he knew they had arrived at Whinnyates, but Alison was
visiting with friends and he would not meet her.

“I must help Joe tak’ in bags,” said the driver and blew his horn. “I
doubt he does not hear us and you might gan to door. When we’re
unloaded you’ll come home with me and wait for rain to blow off.”

Kit went up the path, but after a few moments he stopped and his heart
beat. Alison came to the door and waved to the man in the road.

“Wait a moment, Jim; I’ll send Uncle Joe!”

Then she saw Kit and the blood came to her skin.

“Oh, Kit!” she said, “I didn’t know you were back!”

“It looks as if nobody knew,” Kit remarked with a twinkle, because he
saw he must be cool. “When I arrived, half an hour since, the car was
not at the station and your friend picked me up. I was going to his
house.”

“If you go to Jim’s, my uncle will be much annoyed,” Alison replied.
“But I must send him to unload the meal. Come in!”

“Perhaps I ought to thank your friend,” said Kit, and went back to the
road, where Jim pulled a heavy bag from the car. Kit did not see Tyson
and he seized the bag.

“Help me up with it! There’s no use in your getting wet.”

He got the load on his back, and lowering his head, steered for the
barn. At the door an old man advanced, as if to help.

“Don’t bother! Show me where to dump the stuff,” Kit gasped.

After a moment or two he threw down his load and straightened his
back. The meal stuck to his wet coat, and his soft hat was crushed and
marked by a grey patch. Kit laughed, smoothed his hat, and turned to
the farmer. Tyson was tall, but his shoulders were bent. His hair was
white and his brown face was lined, and Kit thought him a typical
dalesman: the older dalesfolk were not cultivated, but they were
shrewd, laborious, independent and frugal. Tyson gave him his hand.

“You were kind to our lass, Mr. Carson, and you’re varra welcome. Gan
to hoose. I’se wait for Jim.”

Jim arrived with another bag and Kit crossed the yard. Alison was at
the back porch. Her color was rather high, but she gave Kit a level,
inquiring glance, and he knew he must explain his arrival.

“I expect you’re puzzled, and perhaps you’re sympathetic,” he remarked
with a smile. “Looks as if I’d got fired?”

“No,” said Alison quietly. “Had the company turned you down, you would
not have come back. You have built the tanks!”

“To feel somebody believes in you is comforting,” said Kit. “The first
tank is built, and when the manager ordered me to put up the lot I
felt I was entitled to take a holiday. I think that’s all. I did not
expect to see you; Jim stated you were visiting friends.”

He imagined Alison knew it was all he dared talk about, but the look
she gave him was strange and searching.

“I started for a farm across the hills, but the storm was bad and the
water was on the road,” she said. “But my aunts want to see you and I
must get supper.”

She showed Kit into a big flagged kitchen. Old ash trees grew near the
window and the rain beat the glass. For the most part the kitchen was
dark, but a fire burned in the big grate and the reflections touched
polished brass and oak furniture. Kit thought the furniture was made
when the house was built, and the crooked beams that carried the
ceiling were cut long since.

An old woman got up from a chair by the fire, and when she gave Kit
her hand he saw she studied him. Well, some curiosity was justified.
Mrs. Tyson knew who he was; she probably knew he was forced to leave
the shipyard, and Alison had talked about their adventures. Mrs. Tyson
was thin and worn by sickness and labor, but her glance was keen, and
her calm, somehow, was proud.

“You’re welcome. If the rain does not stop you’ll bide for the night.”

“I must try for Netherhall,” said Kit. “You ought not to have got up.
I hope you’re better?”

“Getting up is boddersome, but when you must you can,” Mrs. Tyson
replied, and put some old blue-pattern plates on the table.

Kit went to a settle by the fire, and after a few moments Alison came
in and helped her aunt. Kit was satisfied to watch her. Alison moved
harmoniously, and he liked her background. For all its austerity, the
big room was homelike. Dark wood shone in the reflections from the
grate, and he remarked the ruddy gleam of copper. Nothing was modern,
but he felt all was good. The dalesfolk had no use for ambitious
pretense. Their virtues and their drawbacks were primitive. Kit knew
he himself sprang from stock like that, and he had inherited a
primitive vein, perhaps from his ancestor the smith. He thought he saw
where Alison got her pluck and balance.

Mrs. Tyson called him to supper. The food was good, and to know his
hosts were kind helped his appetite. In the farm kitchen he was at
home. He had felt at home at the Canadian camps, but at Netherhall he
had not. Somehow he was conscious of a subtle antagonism.

“Will you take some more, Kit?” Alison inquired. “Since steamship
cooking’s luxurious, I’m glad you like your supper.”

“My liking it is rather obvious,” said Kit, and gave his plate.
“Anyhow, I know your cooking; I have not forgotten our feasts on board
the cars. When I think about them, I recapture my lunch by the bluff
at Harper’s—crackers and cheese and the canned fruit the storekeeper
gave me. How do you account for it?”

He thought Alison blushed, but she began to talk about Austin and
Florence, and after a time Mrs. Tyson said:

“You’ll not have got much news from Netherhall latterly?”

Kit remarked her use of the negative form, but he said he had not got
much news and he thought she pondered. Alison was quiet, and Tyson
talked about the floods. At length Mrs. Tyson got up and Kit went to
the window. The ash trees shook in the wind and big drops splashed on
the grass but the rain had stopped.

“I’m sorry to go, but I must take the road,” he said.

“You had better get over fell in daylight,” Tyson agreed. “We’re plain
folks, Mr. Carson, but if you’re lonesome at Netherhall, we’ll be glad
to see ye back.”

Kit got his coat and Alison went with him to the door. When they
reached the porch Kit stopped and looked about. Mist rolled across the
moors and the hills melted in the dark. A cold wind tossed the ash
branches, and he heard a flooded beck. All was bleak and daunting, but
the cheerful firelight flickered about the kitchen. Kit admitted he
was not keen to start, and when he looked at Alison he knew she knew.
Yet he felt she was somehow remote and elusive; in Canada Alison was
frank.

“In the dark the fell road’s awkward,” she remarked.

“You want me to push off?”

“I think you ought to go,” said Alison in a quiet, meaning voice.

Kit smiled, but the smile cost him much.

“Well, I’ve got to indulge you. When you stole away from Harper’s you
showed me my proper road, and the road was straight. That’s all, my
dear. Are you going back to Fairmead?”

“I don’t know, Kit,” said Alison. “If the old folks need me, I’ll be
content to stop. To come back was hard, but after all to be head clerk
at the creamery is not a great ambition. One must take some knocks,
but sometimes the knocks one is forced to take don’t hurt as much as
one imagines.”

She gave Kit her hand and when he took the hill track he was puzzled.
Alison knew why he went to Netherhall and why he used control. All the
same he fancied she and her relations knew something he did not.
Anyhow she did not want another’s lover; Alison was kind, but she was
firm and proud. Kit set his mouth and pushed ahead.




                            CHAPTER XXXII

                        KIT CLAIMS HIS REWARD


Dinner was over at Netherhall, and Kit thought the old servant who
took his bag and coat gave him a queer look. The man said Mrs. Carson
had not yet gone to the drawing-room and opened a door.

Kit’s boots were muddy, and now the light was good he saw he had not
altogether brushed the calf-meal from his damp clothes. It did not
look as if he were expected. Tyson’s remarks bothered him, and he
half-consciously braced up.

“Mr. Christopher!” said the servant, and Kit advanced.

The hall was spacious and the ceiling high. Only two tall pillar lamps
were lighted, and Kit imagined Mrs. Carson would soon go to the
drawing-room. She occupied a chair by the fireplace, and the
illumination touched the group about her. All were quiet, and Kit
stopped.

He knew he ought not to stop; he hated to be theatrical, but he felt
his arrival was dramatic, and for a moment he did not see his part.
The people by the fire had obviously got something of a jolt—all,
perhaps, but Mrs. Carson, for Kit did not think her surprised. Mrs.
Haigh turned her head sharply, and Alan Carson’s face got red. Farther
back, Kit saw Jasper on a big couch. His look was inscrutable, but
somehow Kit thought him amused.

Then Alan crossed the floor. His embarrassment was marked, and Kit
knew he had forgotten his wife was hostess and was jealous for her
authority.

“I’m glad to see you back,” he said. “You can hardly have got my
letter?”

“The last letter I got arrived some time ago and was about the
accident at the forge,” Kit replied, and turned to Jasper. “I hope you
are better, sir!”

“Thank you,” said Jasper with dry politeness. “We will talk about my
injuries again. In the meantime, your arrival has excited some
curiosity——”

“That is so,” Alan agreed. “Why did you not write to us, Kit?”

Kit went to the fireplace. Mrs. Carson waited, and he addressed her.

“I started rather suddenly and expected to arrive as soon as a letter.
I telegraphed from Liverpool.”

“Then we did not get your message,” said Alan, and turned to Mrs.
Carson. “Shall I ring for Stubs and inquire? The fellow is careless.”

Mrs. Carson stopped him, and giving Kit her hand, indicated a chair.
She was polite and not at all embarrassed, and Kit imagined she knew
something about the telegram. He, however, did not find out.

“At any rate, Kit wants some food, and I don’t know if a room is
ready,” Alan went on. “Let me call Stubs.”

“Stubs knows his business,” Mrs. Carson rejoined. “I expect Kit would
like to rest for a few minutes.”

Kit sat down. Alan’s fussy kindness was sincere, but Kit saw he was
disturbed, and the others’ satisfaction certainly was not marked.
Sometimes in Canada he had pictured his triumphant return.

“Please don’t bother,” he said. “You see, I got some food at
Whinnyates.”

“At Whinnyates? But why did you go to the farm?” Mrs. Carson asked.

“A fellow driving a car picked me up on the road. I helped unload some
cattle-meal, and Tyson gave me supper. When the rain went off I took
the path across the fell,” Kit replied, and thought he had told the
others all they ought to know.

“Kit’s clothes support his statement,” Jasper remarked. “His habit is
to undertake humorous adventures. Well, I don’t see Harry carrying
cattle-meal.”

Kit turned his head. Evelyn and Ledward crossed the floor, and Kit
thought her startled. Ledward’s smile was rather forced.

“Hello, Kit! I don’t know if we expected you, but your coming across
was kind.”

Evelyn gave Kit her hand. Her skin was cold and her color had
vanished. When others were about one controlled one’s emotions, but it
did not look as if Evelyn’s were joyous. She said nothing, and Mrs.
Carson remarked:

“We don’t yet know why you have come back, Kit, and I admit some
curiosity. Although Evelyn told us you expected to get promoted at the
Manitoba bridge, you soon went away. I hope you have not given up
another post!”

Kit knew Mrs. Carson’s antagonism, and he got a hint of rather cruel
satisfaction. Mrs. Haigh’s look was hard, and Evelyn’s was strange,
but as a rule, when Kit was perplexed he indulged his freakish humor,
and his mouth curved in a crooked smile.

“Since you know my habits, I expect you hope I was not dismissed,” he
said. “On the whole, however, I think my not staying at the bridge was
the proper plan. I went to the workshops, and after a time the company
undertook to build some locomotive tanks. The tanks are large, and the
cheap construction’s awkward; but at a shipyard one learns something
about the obstacles the engineers were up against. Well, I mustn’t
bore you. The company approved my suggestions, and when I put up an
experimental tank they ordered me to build the lot. Since we were
forced to wait for the material, I took a holiday.”

Mrs. Carson’s surprise was frank, Mrs. Haigh’s look got thoughtful,
and Jasper chuckled.

“You don’t boast, Kit! I know something about the undertaking. The
opposition’s tanks leak, and if yours are tight I reckon your advance
will be fast.”

“It’s possible, sir. All the same, the tanks are not yet built, and
another time when I got an important job my luck was not very good.”

The others said nothing, and Kit thought their quietness ominous.
Jasper had indicated that he had made good, and all knew the reward he
was entitled to claim. After a moment or two, however, Mrs. Carson
looked up.

“We hope you will be successful, Kit, and you no doubt deserve a
holiday; but when you arrived we imagined you had got your uncle’s
letter and had come for the wedding.”

“Whose wedding?” Kit asked sharply.

“Evelyn’s and mine,” said Ledward. “We are to be married very soon.”

Kit tried for control. Mrs. Haigh had cheated him, and he turned and
faced her. Her mouth was crooked and her face was lined; he felt he
saw her as she really was—unscrupulous, shabbily ambitious, and
altogether mean. The strange thing was, he knew she pondered.

“Since all is fixed, there is not much use in talking; but perhaps I
am entitled to inquire from Evelyn why she decided to turn me down,”
he said in a level voice.

“After all, Evelyn did not promise to marry you.”

“That is so. The stipulation was, I must get a good post. Well, my
post is pretty good and I expect promotion; but to see Evelyn for two
or three minutes is all I ask.”

Mrs. Haigh signified agreement, and Mrs. Carson said, “The lamps are
lighted in the drawing-room.”

Evelyn went to the drawing-room and stopped by the fireplace. Kit
leaned against a table a yard or two off. He knitted his brows, but
his mouth curved, and Evelyn sensed ironical humor. In fact, she
thought him like his uncle.

“Well?” she said, with an effort for calm.

“I’m not going to bully you. I want to know how far Mrs. Haigh is
accountable for your dropping me. No doubt she used some persuasion!”

“You believe she coerced me?”

“It’s possible. When others thought me a thief and you’d have been
justified to let me go, you were splendidly stanch.”

“I was very rash,” Evelyn rejoined. “But suppose I admitted I agreed
to marry Ledward because my mother urged?”

“Then I’d see you did not!” said Kit in a quiet voice. “Although I’m
not rich, I can support a wife, and I begin to go ahead. Perhaps my
argument’s not a lover’s argument, but it has some weight. If you’ll
risk the plunge, I’ll carry you off.”

Evelyn was moved and humiliated. Kit was the reckless, impulsive lover
she had thought. Yet she felt she must punish him for her shabbiness,
and she laughed.

“It looks as if you knew mother, but did not know me! I’m not at all
romantic and I weigh things. When you gave up your post at the
shipyard I saw you did not think for me——”

“The shipyard people sent me off,” said Kit.

“I am not a fool,” Evelyn rejoined. “You might have stayed and allowed
the thief to be found out; but so long as you felt you were very
noble, you were satisfied to leave me alone. A girl hates to be left
alone, Kit. She expects her lover to admire her, to help her get all
she wants and make life joyous. Well, I admit I like to be where
people are; I like fashionable clothes, and I hate poverty. You knew,
and you ought to have made some effort to get rich; but when you went
to Canada you once more indulged your romantic vein. You didn’t bother
about my waiting at dreary Netherdale, pitied, rather contemptuously,
by my relations.”

“It looks as if I was selfishly careless, but until about a week since
I couldn’t meddle. I didn’t know I would build the tanks, and my pay
was small. The strange thing was, you thought Harry would see you out!
I imagine he’s not rich.”

Evelyn was highly strung, and Kit’s coolness broke her control. She
saw she had not yet hurt him much.

“Jasper Carson was your friend and meant to help, but you antagonized
him. Harry seized the chance you rather scornfully refused. He’s your
uncle’s manager.”

“Now I see!” said Kit, with a crooked smile. “Your object was to marry
my rich uncle’s favorite? Well, since Ledward has knocked me out,
there’s nothing to be said; but to know his personal charm hadn’t much
to do with it is some comfort.”

Evelyn turned and faced him. Her skin was very white and her look was
strained.

“You have some charm, Kit. Perhaps the trouble is, I have not much
pluck. After all, I’m sorry——” she said, and signed him to go.

Kit went, and his emotions were very mixed. At length he knew Evelyn,
and yet he felt she was sorry; he had sensed a note of sincere regret.
Well, her remarks were justified, and he certainly was a fool; she was
not the girl her lover ought to leave alone. Then he clenched his
fists and frowned. For Evelyn’s sake he had tried to conquer his love
for Alison, and when he thought Mrs. Haigh bullied her he had meant to
carry her off. His anger vanished; he saw his heroic plan was
humorous, and all he felt was relief. Evelyn was her mother’s
daughter, and she had given him his freedom.

When he got back to the hall Jasper gave him a smile.

“Then you are resigned, Kit? Since you like romantic exploits, I
wondered whether you might not copy young Lochinvar’s.”

“The romantic days are gone, sir, and the bride was not willing,” Kit
replied, and turned to Mrs. Carson. “I shall not be long in England,
and for me to stay at Netherhall might be embarrassing. In the
circumstances, I’ll go to the inn.”

“If you would sooner, Kit, I must agree.”

“Kit must stay here!” said Alan, and his eyes sparkled. “You have got
a nasty knock, my boy, and I understand your feeling sore. In fact,
I’ll risk stating that you have some cause to be annoyed. For all
that, you’re my nephew and you are not going to the inn.”

“You are kind, sir, but I think you’re my only friend,” said Kit, and
faced the others. “When I left the shipyard you were willing for me to
steal off to Canada. I expect you really doubted my innocence, and you
afterwards took it for granted I carelessly refused to use the chances
I got. My remaining might be awkward, and I think you’ll be
philosophical.”

“Come here, Kit!” said Jasper. “I want you and I cannot get up.”

Kit went to the couch. He felt he owed Jasper nothing and the old
fellow had joined his antagonists. For all that, his weakness bothered
him.

“You must be just, and your statement was not accurate,” Jasper
resumed. “I, at all events, did not think you robbed the shipyard
company.”

“If you felt I was not the sort to let down my employers, I’m
flattered; but I imagine you had some other grounds——”

“Your keenness is remarkable! Your friend Blake and his wife looked me
up. I rather think Mrs. Blake forced her husband to be frank. Anyhow,
I know who did sell the plans.”

Kit glanced at the others. For Jasper to vindicate him was something
of a triumph. Mrs. Carson’s pose was stiff, and she turned her head.
Alan frankly exulted. Mrs. Haigh looked straight in front and her thin
mouth was tight. Kit saw she was disturbed, but he turned to Jasper.

“Yet you said nothing! You allowed me to carry a hateful load.”

“To begin with, I did not know where you were,” said Jasper dryly. “I
might have found out, but since you obviously did not want me to know,
I hesitated to inquire. All the same, I informed Meredith and Colvin,
and if you like you can go back to the yard. Well, I suppose you are
angry. Perhaps my line was puzzling; but as a rule I have an object——”

Mrs. Haigh gave Jasper a queer look, and Kit thought she saw his
object; but it was not important.

“I am not going back to the shipyard, sir. I have a better job!”

“Then before you start for Canada I want to see you. I am your uncle
and the head of the house, and to meet me will not cost you much.
Since getting about is awkward, perhaps you will allow me to fix the
time and spot.”

Kit was savage, but the old fellow’s infirmity disarmed him. He
agreed, and with an effort for politeness took his leave of Mrs.
Carson, gave Alan his hand, and went off.




                            CHAPTER XXXIII

                             JASPER WINS


In the morning Kit crossed the moor to Whinnyates. The sun shone, the
wind was fresh, and swift cloud-shadows checkered the dry bent-grass.
A larch wood on the hillside was bright like an emerald; the sheltered
hollows were green with springing fern.

Kit went fast, and his mood was buoyant. He had done all he agreed to
do, and now he was entitled to think for himself. Since Evelyn had
cheated, he was free to marry where he loved. For all that, he had not
yet persuaded Alison, and in the circumstances she might hesitate. Kit
banished his doubts and smiled. As a rule, where he thought he had a
rather heroic part the part was humorous, but he tried to play up.
Well, Alison knew his follies and extravagances, and somehow he hoped
she was not daunted.

When he got to Whinnyates nobody was about. The old ash trees tossed
and the shadows of their thin leaves trembled on the stones. In the
background sheep climbed the broken hillside and their faint bleating
was musical. A noisy beck plunged down a ghyll and vanished behind a
wall.

Kit crossed the farmyard to the porch. The door was open, and by
contrast with the sunshine the kitchen was dark. Mrs. Tyson occupied a
rocking-chair; Tyson by the chimney stirred a big black pot. When he
heard Kit’s step he turned and his eyes twinkled.

“You’re back? Weel, we’s glad t’ see you. You’ll stop for dinner?”

“Thank you,” said Kit. “You’re hospitable folk. I wonder whether you
expected me?”

Tyson looked at his wife. The dalesfolk are keen, but they are
cautious. Mrs. Tyson gave Kit a thoughtful glance.

“We reckoned you might come across. You kenned you’d be welcome.”

“That’s something,” said Kit. “You see, I want to marry Alison. I
thought you ought to know.”

“Alison’s a fine lass. You’ll get none better, but she’s not your
aunt’s sort,” Mrs. Tyson remarked.

“Her father was a statesman, but when he died farm was sold to pay his
debts, and t’lass came to us,” said Tyson. “Tom Forsyth’s land was wet
and sour; maybe he was a bit feckless, but his luck was bad. Alison’s
her mother’s dowter, an Wythops o’ Lang Fell are canny, striving folk.
Weel, my farm’s landlord’s, and when I and Kate are gone t’lass will
maybe get five hundred pounds. I reckon it’s aw’.”

Kit knew a statesman is a yeoman farmer, owning the soil he
cultivates, and he smiled.

“Mrs. Carson is not my aunt; I doubt if she’d admit I am her sort, and
my fortune is sixty pounds. Perhaps for Alison to marry me would be
rash, but I’ve got a good job and I know her pluck.”

“It’s for t’lass to choose,” said Mrs. Tyson. “You’ll find her by
t’beck.”

Kit went along a stony lane. The splash of water got louder, and by
and by Alison, carrying a large bucket, pushed back a gate. Her
clothes were cotton print and she wore a blue sun-bonnet. When she saw
Kit she stopped, and her color came and went. Kit put the bucket on
the wall and held the gate.

“I think you know I love you, Alison.”

“You did not tell me properly, Kit; but I did know,” said Alison in a
quiet voice.

“Then why did you let me go to Netherhall? You had heard about the
marriage my relations planned.”

“I thought you ought to go,” Alison replied, and gave Kit a level
glance. “If you had not gone, you would always have been sorry.
Besides, I’d hate to think I tempted you to shabbiness.”

“You are very proud, my dear, but I like your pride. Well, you tried
me out, and now you ought to be kind, because the test was hard. In a
week or two I must go back and get to work. Will you marry me before I
start?”

“Are you altogether sure you want me, Kit?”

Kit smiled. “Perhaps your inquiry’s logical, but I don’t think you
doubt. I wanted you, unconsciously, at the Winnipeg waiting-room, and
when your train went I was forlorn. Afterwards, when I stayed with Bob
for week-ends my visits were marked by a happiness for which I could
not account. I thought Austin’s home charming; I didn’t know the real
charm was you were at the house.”

“Ah,” said Alison, “I wonder whether Florence enlightened you! Now I
think about it, she forced the locomotive engineer to wait——”

“Florence admitted she was jealous, but we won’t talk about Miss Grey.
The light broke when I found you in the snow, and I was dazzled and
carried away. For long I was strangely dull; but you know all and
you’re generous. I need you in Canada. You risk it?”

Alison blushed and gave him her hand.

“I’ll marry you when you like, Kit, but I cannot yet leave
Whinnyates.”

Kit took her in his arms, and by and by he said, “Well, if Mrs. Tyson
wants you, I must be resigned. You pay your debts and I cannot dispute
her claim.”

“When I join you all our debts will be gone; we will start without a
load and look in front. In the meantime, aunt waits for the water.”

Kit laughed and seized the bucket; Alison’s thinking about the water
was typical. They went to the house, and in the afternoon Kit started
for the post-office. Mrs. Tyson stipulated for a wedding at the
village church, and he must send Wheeler a cablegram.

Not long afterwards Ledward one afternoon arrived at Netherhall and
joined Jasper in the library. For a time they talked about the forge
and the letters Ledward brought; and then Jasper said:

“Your wedding is not for a few days, Harry, but you must go to
Sheffield in the morning, and I thought I’d give you my present.”

Ledward thanked him, and when he took the check looked up in surprise.
Almost he doubted if he read the figures accurately, but the writing
in the body of the form agreed.

“Your generosity is almost embarrassing, sir. I feel I ought not to
take a sum like this——”

“When one marries I imagine money’s useful, and I didn’t see much
advantage in your waiting for a legacy. Besides, to know an avaricious
Government will not claim its share is some comfort,” Jasper replied.

Ledward began to understand, but he waited, and Jasper continued:

“I am accountable for your starting on a business career. I excited
your ambition, and perhaps your hopes.”

“You made it possible for me to marry——” Ledward remarked, and
stopped, for he saw Jasper’s twinkle.

“The ground is awkward? Your beaten rival is my nephew. Well, if
Evelyn and you are happy, Kit must bear his loss; and I want to talk
about something else. Your help is useful, and since a wife is
expensive, I must put up your pay.” Jasper stated the increase and
resumed: “So long as I can carry on and you are willing to work for
me, you will get the sum. The important thing is, it’s all you will
get.”

Ledward tried to brace up. The wedding present and increased pay was
not all he had thought to get; but he admitted his employer was just.

“I am content, sir.”

“Very well. I don’t know if Evelyn will be as philosophical, but
that’s another thing. Before very long I shall be forced to stop, and
you are not my heir. For all that, my successor will need you, and I
will stipulate for you to keep your post.”

For a few moments Ledward was quiet. He had perhaps been justified in
thinking himself Jasper’s heir. At all events, Mrs. Haigh had reckoned
on his inheriting, and he imagined she and Evelyn would get a nasty
jolt.

All the same, he had some money; Jasper’s wedding present was a useful
sum, and his pay was good. For himself he was not remarkably
ambitious, and he had taken the post because he wanted to marry
Evelyn. He knew her calculating selfishness, and perhaps it was
strange, but he was not much daunted. Evelyn was not a fool, and by
and by he thought she would see she had not much grounds for
discontent.

“I expect you know, I’m rather disappointed, but I must not grumble,”
he said. “When I joined you I was a fastidious loafer and was getting
slack. You gave me an occupation I was soon keen about and made it
possible for me to marry the girl I want. I owe you much, sir, and on
the whole I think I’m fortunate. Anyhow, so long as you feel my help
is useful, it is yours.”

“Your judgment is sound and I like your pluck,” Jasper remarked.
“However, I get tired, and I expect your aunt will be interested.”

Ledward agreed, and finding Mrs. Carson had gone to Mrs. Haigh’s, he
followed her to the house. Although he thought he could picture Mrs.
Haigh’s emotions, he was rather disturbed than sympathetic. When he
arrived tea was served, and Mrs. Haigh handed him a cup.

“Jasper has given me a wedding present,” he said, and put the check on
the table.

“He is extremely generous,” Mrs. Carson remarked with keen surprise;
but when Mrs. Haigh noted the sum her color got high and she set her
thin mouth.

“He declares he is not,” said Ledward. “You see, he says it’s all I
shall get.”

Mrs. Haigh’s hand shook, and she put down the teapot.

“Ah!” she said, “since the evening Kit arrived I think I expected
something like that.”

Ledward saw the knock was hard, but he knew her nerve was good, and he
was moved to grim humor. Although Mrs. Haigh had lost the prize for
which she planned, he thought she would not refuse the second best.

“But I don’t see——” said Mrs. Carson in a puzzled voice; and then her
eyes sparkled. “Jasper has cheated you!” she exclaimed and Ledward did
not know whether she addressed him or her hostess. “From the beginning
he plotted——”

“I think your relation did plot,” Mrs. Haigh agreed, with an effort
for calm. “Harry, however, has not yet told us very much.”

Ledward began to narrate his interview with Jasper. After a few
moments Evelyn came in, but he did not stop. Evelyn ought to know, and
he did not want to talk about the thing again. She rested her arm on
the table and her color came and went. All were very quiet, and
Ledward felt his voice jarred. When he stopped Mrs. Carson’s look got
very hard.

“Kit has conquered!” she remarked. “He gets all, and he will soon be
your employer.”

“Oh, well,” said Ledward, “I think Kit’s part was an unconscious part,
and he’s not revengeful. Jasper promises that I shall keep my post.”

“He made a tool of you; he tricked us all——” said Mrs. Carson, and
stopped, for she saw what her remarks implied. She frowned and got up.
“Alan waits for me. We are going to Hadriansford.”

Mrs. Haigh went with her to the gate, and Evelyn gave Ledward an
embarrassed glance. Jasper had used her and Harry, and she was
humiliated because she thought Harry knew. All the same, Harry would
not admit it. His part was obvious, and she expected he would play up.

She pictured Kit’s romantic charm; sometimes Kit had moved her
strongly, but Harry did not. She had weighed Harry’s advantages, and
her mother’s arguments had tipped the beam. For the most part, his
advantages had vanished, but she could not call back Kit.

“I’m sorry,” said Ledward; “I expect your disappointment’s keen. Some
of our plans for the future must go, but after all we really shall not
be forced to be very economical.”

Evelyn blushed and gave him a queer smile. “That is something! Since
you’re frank, I admit I hate to be frugal, but it looks as if Jasper
did not altogether cheat you, and I suppose we must be content. Well,
we won’t talk about it. Do you want some tea?”

Ledward said he did not. He thought Evelyn’s inquiry typical, and they
went to the garden.

In the morning Kit, at Whinnyates, gave Alison a note in which Jasper
stated that if the afternoon were fine he would try to reach the
Netherdale inn.

“You agreed to meet me, and although, I doubt if you were very
willing, your word goes,” Jasper wrote. “Then I would like you to
bring Miss Forsyth. Perhaps I am not entitled to ask this favor, but I
cannot get to the farm, and I hope she will indulge me.”

“Perhaps I ought to go,” said Alison. “I feel he’s kind.”

“He’s a queer old fellow. For long I thought he didn’t mean to bother
about me, but I begin to doubt. I certainly did not try to win him
over.”

“I will go,” said Alison in a thoughtful voice.

In the afternoon they crossed the moors. When they reached Netherdale
a man pushed a wheeled chair along the road. A thick larch wood rolled
down the hill and the sun was on the fresh green foliage and a high
mossy bank. Jasper ordered the man to stop by a large beech trunk.

“Take a smoke and wait until I call,” he said, and when the servant
went off turned to Alison.

“You know who I am, and we won’t bother Kit to present me. I did not
invite you to Netherhall because the house is not mine, and I dare say
you know my nephew’s independence. Then since the spot is quiet and
sunny, there is not much use in going on to the inn. You see, I soon
get tired.”

Alison saw he gave her ceremonious politeness, but his look was kind,
and she smiled.

“Kit is independent, but sometimes independence like his is
justified.”

“It’s possible,” Jasper agreed. “Your championing Kit is natural,
because I believe you are going to marry him very soon.”

“I wonder whether you think I ought,” said Alison quietly, and
motioned Kit to wait.

“You are frank, but I like your frankness,” Jasper replied. “Well,
your lover is my nephew, and I know something about you. You spring
from old yeoman stock and I think its virtues are yours. Our fortunes
are recent and the founder of our house was a blacksmith. However, I
want to talk to Kit, and I hope to have your support.”

He indicated the smooth trunk and turned to Kit. “I imagine you feel
you do not owe me much?”

“Perhaps I did feel something of the sort, but now I don’t know. All
the same, I’m puzzled. You found out Blake sold the boiler drawings.
Yet you said nothing!”

“My reserve was calculated. From the beginning I had plans for you.
Then I felt the money I used, which might be yours, was not altogether
mine. Some I inherited, but all was got by sweat of brain and muscle
at office and forge; I was resolved our fortune must not be squandered
in social ambitions and extravagance. It must be used to forge steel,
to build ships and bridges and rolling mills. Our business is to
hammer iron and I felt I’d sooner see my nephew labor with a navvy’s
shovel than loaf about town.”

“But since I did not want to loaf, I don’t yet see——”

“I think Alison sees,” said Jasper, and gave her a smile. “When a man
marries he is not altogether a free agent; much depends on his wife
and something on her relations. Well, I expect you will find Mrs.
Carson’s point of view is mine, Kit, and in the meantime we’ll let it
go. I wanted you to try your powers, to face obstacles, and get
control and balance. In fact, I wanted to learn if you could go
alone.”

“I begin to understand, sir. You tried me out?”

“Yes; I experimented. I felt I was trustee for my fortune and the
business the others had built, and when I was forced to quit I wanted
a man all could trust to carry on my job. Now I am satisfied, and I
offer you the post!”

Kit said nothing, but the blood came to his skin. He admitted he had
not known Jasper, and his dulness humiliated him.

“You ought to agree, Kit. The job is yours,” said Alison in a quiet
voice.

“Thank you, my dear,” said Jasper. “I reckoned on your support. Well,
Kit?”

“I’m embarrassed, sir, and half ashamed. At the shipyard I thought you
might some time help me get a post; but that was all, and when the
company turned me down I resolved I wouldn’t bother you. Since I’d got
entangled, I myself must break the entanglement. Now I hesitate. I’m
young, I don’t know if I’ve yet got my proper balance, and the job’s
important. Then I undertook to build the tanks for the Canadian
company, and I must make good.”

“That is so,” said Jasper. “When you have carried out your
undertaking, will you come back and talk about my plan again?”

“Yes, sir,” Kit replied quietly.

“It’s all I want; you must do what you agreed to do,” said Jasper.
“Well, I doubt if I can get to your wedding; but perhaps Alison and
you will meet me another time before you start?”

He turned and gave Alison a gentle look. “I expect you know your
lover. Kit is good stuff, and now he will go soberly I feel you and he
will go far. I soon must stop, but you have youth and hope. Your road
runs on across the horizon; perhaps to a better country than we old
folks know.”

Alison kissed him, and he gave Kit his hand and called his servant.
The man pushed his chair down the hill and they presently vanished in
the shadows of the wood. Then Alison turned to Kit.

“Your uncle is very fine! We must try to go where he expects.”

Kit said nothing, but he kissed her, and they started up-hill in the
sun.

                               THE END