THE DAWN OF HOPE
Alexander Hendrie started round at the sound of the servant's voice.
He was in the library. Night had fallen, and the room was in darkness.
He had been staring blankly at one of the windows, across which the
curtains had not yet been drawn. For hours his mind had been
concentrated upon the one eternal problem which confronted him. He was
beset with doubts, hopes, fears, each one of which he examined closely,
dismissed or accepted, and pigeon-holed the latter in the back cells of
memory for future use.
The man was obsessed with one idea only. The fulfilment of Doctor
Fraser's demands, and the saving of the one precious life which was far
more to him than his own. The nervous tension at which his efforts left
him made him literally jump at the sound of the voice of the man who
had entered the room so silently.
"Miss Raysun would be glad to know if you would spare her a few
minutes, sir. She say's it's a matter of importance."
The millionaire swung his chair about, and faced the man in the
darkness.
"Turn on the lights," he said sharply. "You can draw the curtains; then
tell Miss Raysun to come right along."
The electric switch clicked and the room was flooded with light. Then
the servant crossed the room silently and drew the curtains. Then he
moved over to the door, hesitated, and finally stopped.
"She has some one with her, sir," he said doubtfully.
This man was in full possession of the gossip of the house. Besides, he
valued his position.
"Who?"
Hendrie's question came with an alert inflection. He understood the
man's doubt.
"It's Mr. Smith--Mr. Frank Smith--I think, sir."
"Well?"
There was no mistaking the tone of the second inquiry. The man hastened
to remedy his mistake.
"Beg pardon, sir, I--I thought I'd just mention it."
"That will do."
Hendrie appeared to occupy himself with the papers on his desk as the
man hurried out.
But the moment he was alone the millionaire gave up the pretense. Again
he sat back in his chair, and gazed unblinkingly at the reading lamp
before him. All in a moment, it seemed, from comparative indifference
at Phyllis's desire for an interview, his mood had leaped to impatience
for her coming. Frank was with her--why? Here, at a moment when he knew
he was face to face with, perhaps, the greatest disaster of his life;
here, when almost every man's hand seemed to be turning against him;
here, when all his powers of achievement were being taxed to the limit,
he was to be confronted with his own natural son, Frank. Again his
groping mind questioned--why?
Thought traveled swiftly back over other scenes, scenes he would gladly
have shut out of memory--now. But they were always there ready to
confront him with his own mis-doings. He thought of the poor woman on
the lonely Yukon trail. He thought of the hardships with which she must
have been beset. He thought of the young life-burden she had been
bearing. Then he remembered the stalwart youth who had refused to
betray Monica's secret, preferring to face penal servitude as an
alternative. Then he remembered the honest youth championing the cause
of the oppressed before his cold argument. And again he questioned the
meaning of his coming now.
But his reflections were cut short. He glanced across at the door as it
opened, and Phyllis hurried in. She was still dressed in her riding
suit, her face and eyes, beneath the soft, wide-brimmed prairie hat she
was wearing, shining with an excitement she could hardly restrain.
Behind her came the great figure of Frank, and the millionaire's eyes
were for him alone.
He rose and silently placed a chair for the girl. But Phyllis refused
it and remained standing. She turned to Frank.
"You sit down, Frank," she said, with a peremptoriness begot of her
excitement.
Without thinking the man obeyed.
Hendrie's eyes were still upon him.
"Well?" he inquired, almost gently.
Frank glanced up at the girl. The situation troubled him. But the
memory of the scene he had just witnessed was still with him, and his
sudden and utter loathing for the man Leyburn sent hot words surging to
his lips.
"I hadn't a thought to come here, Mr. Hendrie," he cried, on the
impulse of his feelings. "Maybe you won't thank me for it, anyway.
Still, I've got to tell you things. I've come to tell you, you were
right, and I was all wrong. I've come to tell you there's no honesty in
these professional leaders of labor--to tell you that the whole game is
a baser and far worse side of the competition of life than is that of
the men it is directed against. Yes, I see it all now. The bonding of
labor is the raising of an army of physical force, normally to work
peacefully for its common welfare, but, in reality, to tyrannize and to
wrest by any means in its power, by violence, by fire, by bloodshed, if
necessary, those benefits which it covets, regardless of all right and
justice, and which, individually, its members have not the capacity to
achieve honestly for themselves. I want to tell you this now while my
heart is burning with the realization of the truth; while my eyes are
open to the deviltry of these men who endeavor to blind the world to
their own selfish motives by crying out in the name of justice and fair
dealing. There is no justice in them. It is all self, and the purblind
workers are the helpless tools by which they seek to achieve their
ends. I have done with it forever. There is no such thing as universal
brotherhood--there never can be. You are right. So long as human nature
remains human nature, self will dominate the world, and charity must
become a luxury for moments of cessation from hostilities in the battle
of life."
The tide of the man's hot words swept on without pause for a second,
and both Phyllis and the millionaire knew they came from his heart.
But now, having made clear his own feelings, he rushed headlong to the
warning he had to impart.
"It doesn't matter--the details--how I witnessed it, how Phyllis, here,
shared with me in the contemplation of a scene such as we never want to
witness again. It was the man I have been working with, the most
prominent figure in the labor movement of this country, the man who has
organized the railroad strike which is to bar the way to the help my
moth--Mrs. Hendrie needs, talking to your workers who are on strike."
"Austin Leyburn," said Hendrie dryly.
"Yes," cried Frank. "That is the scoundrel who disguises his villainous
heart under a cloak of philanthropy. That is the man. He has come down
here secretly, leaving his legitimate work at Calford and Winnipeg to
incite your hands to burn your crop out, and to drive the niggers off
the land by violence, by shooting them down. Why he has come is beyond
my comprehension. I can only imagine that he has some personal
grievance against you which he wishes to satisfy. Whatever it is the
fact remains. The men have been made half drunk, when they cannot be
wholly responsible for their actions, and he is urging them to burn you
out and shoot up the niggers. Mr. Hendrie, something's got to be done
at once. I don't know what, I don't know how, but that man is driving
them to a great crime which they would never otherwise dream of. That
crime must be stopped. Oh, if I could only think how. But I can't.
You--you, Mr. Hendrie. It is for you to think of this thing, and
whatever your plan you can count on me for--anything."
Frank was leaning forward in his chair. His great hands were clasped,
and hung down between his parted knees, upon which his elbows rested.
The earnest light of his eyes was shining with a deep fire, and
Phyllis, watching him, yearned to fling her arms about him, and tell
him something of the love and sympathy running such riot in her heart.
Alexander Hendrie had turned toward his desk. A paper knife was in his
right hand, and its ivory blade was gently tapping the pad of
blotting-paper spread out before him.
He spoke at last, and his manner was quite unusual. Ordinarily he would
have attacked the threat against himself in a sharp, brusque way. But
somehow Frank's presence had a distinctly softening effect upon him.
"It's not easy, is it, boy?" he said, glancing round with a half-smile.
"Easy? But it--means murder. Murder of those niggers."
The thought revolted the man. It seemed to him that Hendrie had missed
the appalling nature of the situation.
"Yes. It looks like it," said Hendrie, still almost indifferently. "But
I think we can save that. The moment Angus returns the niggers can be
scattered. Angus will be back soon--to-night."
"To-night? But we must act--now."
"Yes." Hendrie agreed. Then he smiled confidently. "But there's more
time than you think, boy. I know men. These boys won't start shooting
till they've worked themselves up to it. They'll likely work 'emselves
up by firing my crop."
Frank started incredulously.
"You--you will let them?" he gasped.
Phyllis was watching the millionaire. He shrugged.
"It'll help to manure the soil--for next year," he said indifferently.
"But--but--the loss!" Frank's protest came in an awed whisper.
Hendrie smiled.
"That's up to me," he said enigmatically. Then he faced round, and
fixed Frank with his steady eyes. "See here, listen. You don't just
reckon all this means to me--your coming and telling me this, and that
other--that you've quit Austin Leyburn," he said. "It's put something
into me. I can't just explain--now. But I want to tell you of other
things. There's things in my mind just now that make matters like the
burning of my crop, yes, and even the shooting up of niggers seem kind
of small. Don't think I'm standing for a racket like that. No, sir.
We'll see those black devils right, or---- However, it's about this
Leyburn. Guess you're right. He's got a grievance, and it's so big it's
got to come to a burst up between us. One of us'll have to get right
down and out." He drew a deep breath, and his manner became thoughtful.
"Guess it'll have to be Leyburn," he said, after a pause. "Yes, there's
work for me yet." Suddenly he looked up with a question in his eyes.
"Say, boy, you don't owe me a hell of a lot. And yet you come to me
with--all this?" He gazed thoughtfully, studying the strong, earnest
young face before him.
"I told you I hadn't thought of coming until----" Frank broke off as
Phyllis completed the explanation.
"I persuaded him, Mr. Hendrie. You see----"
"I guessed that." Hendrie nodded. Then he smiled. "Guess it's generally
a woman fixes things easy for men-folk, when the road's rough."
Then quite suddenly he leaned forward in his chair, his great hands
gripping its arms with enormous force.
"Say, you two," he cried, a sudden fierce light shining in his t yes,
"we're wasting precious minutes. You, boy, you've come to me with talk
of this crime to be committed. Guess your heart's just full of it. But
I've no room for it now. I'm just full to the brim of another crime
that your man Leyburn's committed. He can burn my crop; he can shoot
down every nigger in the country for all I care, while this other thing
is threatening. Say, there's no nigger or white man I'd raise a hand to
help if it's at the expense of one moment I need to stop the completion
of that other crime. Boy, boy, I don't care if the roof of this world
falls in and crushes every living soul, so long as Monica is saved.
She, and she alone, is my one thought, and I tell you right here that
if she dies--she will not die alone. Oh, don't think I am mad," he
cried, as Frank stared in alarm at the passionate, working face. "I am
sane--sane as you are. Now answer me, answer me as you love your God,
as you love the woman who cared for you from your childhood. Why are
you here? I want the blank truth. You have no love for me, and that
you've cut Leyburn out of your life is insufficient reason. Why--why
are you here?"
He gazed into the boy's face as though he would compel him. Phyllis
waited without a word.
Frank needed little consideration. His reply came promptly, and full of
sincerity.
"I came to see if I could help her in any way." he said. "You're right.
I should not have come for those other matters. Phyllis could have
warned you. I am not here because of you. I am here because I--I helped
to make that railroad strike, and I love my--I love Mrs. Hendrie. I
said you could count on me for--anything, and I meant it. I'd willingly
sacrifice everything, even my life, for Monica."
Hendrie suddenly released his hold upon the arms of his chair and sat
back. His eyes were smiling, and, just for a moment, a wave of great
peace swept over his stormy heart.
"I'm glad, boy," he said simply. "Monica is lying upstairs surrounded
by everything the world can give her but the help which alone can save
her life. You owe her much, but you owe her nothing compared with my
debts to her. Now she is in need of the payment of every outstanding
debt, and it is up to us. How can we bring Professor Hinkling from
Winnipeg? That is the question that is now filling my heart and brain.
When we have solved it, when that help is brought to her, then some of
our debts will have been paid. How? How? How can this be done? How can
this man Leyburn be bested. How?"
The man's words came hotly. He was not asking his questions of the
others. He was simply reiterating the straining thought in his mind.
Phyllis understood this, but Frank accepted the question as addressed
to himself. His mind was not subtle. His simplicity at times was almost
child-like. His prompt answer had something of that nature in it now.
"Why, the railroad is the only way," he said.
Hendrie threw up his hands in an ecstasy of irritation.
"The strike, man! The strike!" he cried. "There's not a passenger can
travel. If it were attempted the permanent way would be torn up by
Leyburn's orders. The railroad company would never risk the attempt."
Frank's eyes opened wide.
"Well?" he cried. "That's all right, If he can order the track torn up,
he can order a train through--or order the strikers to let a train
through."
The millionaire's eyes were fixed on the other's ingenuous face. He was
exasperated at what he considered his display of almost imbecile
childishness.
"But I tell you he would do anything to hurt or ruin me," he cried,
rapidly losing all patience.
The sight of his evident impatience had a marked effect upon Frank.
Phyllis, watching both men, saw her lover's eyes suddenly harden. His
rather large mouth, so like the millionaire's, suddenly shut tight, and
the movement was accompanied by a fierce setting of the jaws. A wave of
anxiety for what was coming swept over her. Then came Frank's voice, as
fierce and harsh as ever she had heard in Alexander Hendrie.
"If this man Hinkling's coming means saving Mrs. Hendrie's life, and
Leyburn has power to let him through in time, and refuses it, I'll kill
him, Mr. Hendrie," he cried, in a deep, stern voice. "I'll choke the
rotten life out of him with these two hands," he added, in a sudden
frenzy, reaching out toward the other with his fists clenching, as
though they were grasping the labor leader's throat.
Hendrie's eyes lit as he heard the other's words and saw the
murderously inspired action. The man meant it. He recognized the fierce
spirit which underlay a nature of kindliness and gentle feeling, and,
curiously enough, it warmed him, as the gentler side of the man had
left him untouched.
He was about to reply when quite suddenly Phyllis cried out.
"I see. I see," she said. "Frank's right, Mr. Hendrie. Leyburn has the
power, and, if he will not use it, he must be made to----"
But before she could proceed further the door was unceremoniously flung
open, and Angus Moraine, lean, vulture-like, hurried in.
"It's no good, Mr.---- Oh, beg pardon. I didn't just know----" He
paused, as though about to withdraw at the sight of Frank and Phyllis.
"Guess I'll come along later," he said. "There's a fire way out to the
west. I saw it as I came along. Looks like the prairie. I'll just get
around. You won't need the automobile. It'll take me quicker."
Phyllis started.
"Fire?" she demanded, in sudden alarm.
"Out west?" cried Frank, rising abruptly from his seat.
Angus nodded.
"Why, yes," he said. "Guess it's just the prairie."
Suddenly the millionaire laughed aloud.
"Prairie?" he cried. "Say, Angus, my boy, that's my crop. They've fired
the crop. They're going to break me. Austin Leyburn and his scallywags.
They're going to smash me by burning my crop, and then they're going to
shoot down every nigger on the place while they let my wife die in her
bed for want of a surgeon's aid. Do you get that all? Do you? That's
Leyburn. Austin Leyburn, who came here days ago and promised he'd smash
me for things done way back on the old Yukon trail. Hey! Stop right
here and listen. I've got it now, and this boy, here, and this child,
too, have shown me the way. There's no train to go through, eh? That's
what they've told you in Calford. A million dollars won't take one
through. Well, a tram's going through, and for a deal less than a
million. The railroaders need Leyburn's order. Leyburn's order!" He
laughed in a wild sort of sarcasm. "Well, by God, he shall give it!
This boy and girl are on. It don't need any telling. You are on, my
dour Scot--I know you. We'll let him burn the crop, let him shoot up
the niggers, I don't care a curse. He's going to send that train
through. Sit right down and I'll tell you 'bout it."