MERRIL CAPITULATES
Merril was not in his house when Jimmy reached it, but it appeared that
he was expected shortly, and the latter, who resolved to wait for him,
was shown into a big artistically furnished room. He sat there at least
ten minutes, alone and grim in face, with a growing disquietude, for his
surroundings had their effect on him. The house was built of wood, but
expense had not been spared, and those who have visited the Western
cities know how beautiful a wooden dwelling can be made. Jimmy looked
out through the open windows on to a wide veranda framed with a slender
colonnade of wooden pillars supporting fretted arches of lace-like
delicacy. The floor of the room, which was choicely parquetted in
cunningly contrasted wood, also caught his eye, and there were
Indian-sewn rugs of furs on it of a kind that he knew was rarely
purchased in the north, except on behalf of Russian princes and American
railroad kings. The furniture, he fancied by the timber, was
Canadian-made, but it had evidently been copied from artistic European
models; and though he was far from being a connoisseur in such things,
they had all a painful significance to him just then.
They suggested wealth and taste and luxury; and it seemed only fitting
that the woman he loved should have such a dwelling, while he realized
that it was his hand which must deprive her of all the artistic
daintiness to which she had grown accustomed and no doubt valued. He, a
steamboat skipper of low degree, had, like blind Samson, laid a brutal
grasp upon the pillars of the house, and he could feel the trembling of
the beautiful edifice. This would have afforded him a certain grim
satisfaction, had it not been for the fact that it was impossible to
tell whether the woman he would have spared every pain might not be
overwhelmed amid the ruin when he exerted his strength. It must be
exerted. In that he could not help himself.
While he sat there with a hard, set face, she came in, dressed, as he
realized, in harmony with her surroundings. Her gracious patrician
quietness and her rich attire troubled him, and he felt, in spite of all
Eleanor had said, that it would be a vast relief if he could abandon
altogether the purpose that had brought him there, though to do so
would, it was evident, set the girl further apart from him than ever,
since her father's station naturally stood as a barrier between them.
Still, he remembered what he owed the men who had sent him on board the
_Shasta_--Jordan, Forster, old Leeson, and two or three more; he could
not turn against them now.
Anthea stood still just inside the door, looking at him half-expectant,
but with something that was suggestive of apprehension in her manner,
and Jimmy felt the hot blood creep into his face when he moved quietly
forward and kissed her. In view of what he had to do, it would, he
felt, have been more natural if she had shrunk from him in place of
submitting to his caress. She appeared to recognize the constraint that
was upon him, for she turned away and sat down a little distance from
him.
"Jimmy," she said, "I'm glad to see you back. I have been lonely without
you--and a little uneasy. Indeed, though I don't know exactly why, I am
anxious now."
Then she looked at him steadily. "It is the first time you have been
here. Something unusual must have brought you. Jimmy, is it war?"
The man made a deprecatory gesture. "I'm afraid it is," he said. "I
don't think there can be any compromise."
"Ah!" said the girl, with a start, "you don't look like a man who has
come to offer terms."
Jimmy was still standing, and he leaned somewhat heavily on the back of
a chair. "I have to do something that I shrink from, but it must be
done. If there were no other reason, I daren't go back on the men who
have confidence in me; that is--not altogether, though in a way--I am
now betraying them. Anthea, you will not let this thing stand between
us?"
"No;" and the girl's voice was steady, though a trifle strained. "At
least, not always. Still, I have felt that some day I should have to
choose whom I should hold to--my father or you. It is very hard to face
that question, Jimmy."
"Yes," said Jimmy gravely; "I am afraid you must choose to-night. You
know how much I want you, but I have sense enough to recognize that I
may bring trouble on both of us if I urge you to do what you might
afterward regret."
Anthea said nothing for almost a minute, and because of the restraint he
had laid upon himself Jimmy understood the cost of her quietness. It
seemed necessary that both should hold themselves in hand. Then she
turned to him again.
"You are quite sure there can be no compromise?"
"It is for many reasons out of the question. In fact, I think the
decisive battle will be fought to-night. I have strained every point to
make it easier for you, or I should not have come at all, and it is very
likely that my comrades will discard me when they hear what I have done.
I am willing to face their anger, but, to some extent, at least, I must
keep my bargain with them."
He moved a pace or two, and stood close by her chair looking down at
her. "If you understood everything, you would not blame me."
Anthea glanced at him a moment, and he fancied that a shiver ran through
her. "I do not blame you now, though it is all a little horrible. I
cannot plead with you, and if I did I see that you would not listen. You
must do what you feel you have to."
Neither of them spoke for a while, though Jimmy felt the tension was
almost unendurable. It was evident that the girl felt it too, for he
could see the signs of strain in her face. So intent were they that
neither heard the door open, and Jimmy turned with a little start when
the sound of a footstep reached them. Merril was standing not far away,
little, portly, and immaculately dressed, regarding them with an
inscrutable face.
"I understand you wish to see me, Mr. Wheelock," he said. "Anthea, you
will no doubt allow us a few minutes."
The girl rose and moved toward the door, but before she went out she
turned for a moment and glanced at Jimmy. Then it closed softly, and he
saw that Merril was regarding him with a sardonic smile.
"I heard that you had made my daughter's acquaintance, but I was not
aware that it had gone as far as I have some grounds for supposing now,"
he said.
"That," said Jimmy quietly, "is a subject I may mention by and by. In
the meanwhile I have something to say that concerns you at least as
closely. As it has a bearing on the other question, we might discuss it
first."
"I am at your service for ten minutes;" and Merril pointed to a chair.
Jimmy sat down, but said nothing for a few moments. Apart from the
trouble that he must bring upon Anthea, he felt that it was a big and
difficult thing he had undertaken. He was a steamboat skipper, and the
man in front of him one skilled in every art of commercial trickery
whose ability was recognized in that city. Still, he felt curiously
steady and sure of himself, for Jimmy, like other simple-minded men, as
a rule appeared to advantage when forced suddenly to face a crisis. He
felt, in fact, much as he had done when he stood grimly resolute on the
_Shasta_'s bridge while the _Adelaide_, sheering wildly, dragged her
toward the spouting surf. Then he turned to Merril.
"I called on you once before to make a request," he said.
"And your errand is much the same now, though one could fancy that you
feel you have something to back it?" his companion suggested dryly.
"No," said Jimmy, "I have nothing to ask you for this time. Instead, I
am simply going to mention certain facts, and leave you to act on the
information in the only way open to you; that is, to get out of
Vancouver as soon as possible. I am giving you the opportunity in order
to save Miss Merril the pain of seeing you prosecuted. You are in our
hands now."
Merril scarcely moved a muscle. "You are prepared to make that assurance
good?"
"I am;" and Jimmy's voice had a little ring in it. "If you will give me
your attention I'll try to do it. You have no news of the _Adelaide_
yet, and, to commence with, you will have to face the fact that she is
not on the rocks. She was just ready to steam south with a derangement
of her high-pressure engine when I last saw her."
Though his companion's face was almost expressionless, Jimmy fancied
that this shot had reached its mark, and he proceeded to relate what had
happened since he fell in with the _Adelaide_. He did it with some
skill, for this was a subject with which he was at home, and he made the
feelings of her skipper and second engineer perfectly clear. Then,
though he had not mentioned Robertson's confession, he sat still,
wondering at Merril's composure.
"It sounds probable," said the latter, with a little smile. "You expect
the skipper and the second engineer to bear you out? No doubt they
promised, but when they get here the thing will wear another aspect. In
fact, in all probability it will look too big for them. You see, they
have merely put a certain construction upon one or two occurrences. It's
quite likely they will be willing to admit that it is, after all, the
wrong one."
"Since we intend to claim half the value of the _Adelaide_, they would
have to answer on their oath in court."
Merril shook his head. "Half her value! I commence to understand," he
said. "An appeal to the court is, as a rule, expensive, as I guess you
know. It is generally wiser to be reasonable and make a compromise."
The suggestion was so characteristic of the man that Jimmy lost a little
of his self-restraint.
"There will be no compromise in this case," he said. "If it were
necessary we would drag you through every court in the land; but, as a
matter of fact, there will be no need for that. You made a mistake in
your opinion of the courage of your skipper and your second engineer.
You also made a more serious one in putting the screw too hard on
Robertson.".
"Ah!" said Merril sharply, at last, "there is something more?"
Jimmy took a paper from his pocket, and gravely handed it to him. "I am
quite safe in allowing you to look at it. It wouldn't be advisable for
you to make any attempt to destroy it. You will excuse my mentioning
that."
Merril unfolded the document, and Jimmy noticed that the
half-contemptuous toleration died out of his face as he read it. Then he
quietly handed it back, and sat very still for at least a minute before
he turned to his companion again.
"That rather alters the case. You have something to go upon. Do you mind
telling me what course you purpose to take?"
"As I mentioned, I don't purpose to take any. Still, the _Shasta_
Company will send in a claim for salvage to-morrow, and afterward sue
you--or whoever you entrust with your affairs--unless it is met. The
_Adelaide_ should also be here in the course of the next day or two, and
you will have your skipper and second engineer, as well as the miner who
witnessed the statement, to face. They appear determined on raising as
much unpleasantness as possible, though they were willing to hold back
until I had taken the first steps."
He stopped a moment, and then leaned forward in his chair with a little
forceful gesture. "Though it would please me to see you prosecuted and
disgraced, I will at least take no steps to prevent your getting out of
this city quietly."
"Ah!" said Merril, "you no doubt expect something for that concession?"
"No," and Jimmy stood up, "I expect nothing. It would hurt me to make a
bargain of any kind with you, and it would, I think, be illegal. Still,
I have the honor of informing you that I purpose to marry Miss Merril as
soon as it appears convenient to her, in spite of any opposition that
you may think fit to offer."
Merril showed neither astonishment nor anger. Instead he smiled quietly,
and his companion surmised that he had already with characteristic
promptness decided on his course of action.
"You have no objections to my sending for her?"
Jimmy said he had none, and five minutes later Anthea appeared. She
stood near the door looking at the men, and saw that Jimmy's face was
darkly flushed. Her father, however, appeared almost as composed as
usual. Jimmy felt that he dare not look at her, and the tense silence,
which lasted a few moments, tried his courage hard. It cost him an
effort to hold himself in hand when Merril turned to the girl.
"I understand from Mr. Wheelock that you are willing to marry him. Is
that the case?" he said.
"Yes," replied Anthea simply, while the blood crept into her cheeks.
"That is, I shall be willing when circumstances permit."
"Then, in the meanwhile, at least, you would consider my wishes?"
Anthea glanced at Jimmy. "I think he understands that."
Merril said nothing for almost half a minute, and sat still regarding
them with a sardonic smile, though his eyes were gentler than usual.
"Well," he said at last, "that is no more than one would have expected
from you. Mr. Wheelock is, however, quite prepared to disregard my
opposition. In fact, one could almost fancy that he will be a little
grieved when I say that I do not mean to offer any."
Jimmy was certainly astonished, for he had at least expected that the
man would make an attempt to play upon the girl's feelings. However, he
said nothing, and Merril turned to her again.
"Well, I fancy that he has shown himself capable of looking after you,
and there is a certain forceful simplicity in his character that, when
I consider him as my daughter's husband, somewhat pleases me. With
moderate good fortune it may carry him a long way."
It seemed an almost incomprehensible thing to Jimmy that the man should
show no trace of vindictiveness, and perhaps the latter guessed it, for
he laughed softly.
"Mr. Wheelock," he said, "as you have no doubt guessed, I never had much
faith in the conventional code of morality, but since you seem
determined to marry Anthea, I am in one respect glad that you evidently
have, though that is perhaps not a very logical admission. I was out
after money, and allowed no other consideration to influence me. It is
probable that I should have accumulated a good deal of it had not
everything gone against me lately. Well, if I showed no pity, I at least
seldom allowed any rancor to betray me into injudicious action when
other people treated me as I should have treated them; but, after all,
that is not the question, and we will be practical. You will not see or
write to Anthea for six months from to-day, and then if neither of you
has changed your mind you can understand that you have my good-will. She
will advise you of her address--in Toronto--in the meanwhile. It is not
a great deal to promise."
Jimmy glanced at the girl, and turned again to Merril when she nodded.
"I pledge myself to that," he said.
"Then," said Merril, "you will leave us now. I have a good deal to say
to Anthea."
Jimmy moved away without a word, and went down the corridor with every
nerve in him tingling.