SALVAGE
Another and greater enterprise was diverting Mr. Gwynne's attention from
the delinquencies of his debtors, namely: the entrance of the National
Machine Company into the remote and placid life of Mapleton and its
district. The manager of this company, having spent an afternoon with
Mr. Gwynne in his store and having been impressed by his charm and power
of persuasive talk, made him a proposition that he should act as agent
of the National Machine Company. The arrangement suggested was one that
appealed to Mr. Gwynne's highly optimistic temperament. He was not
to work for a mere salary, but was to purchase outright the various
productions of the National Machine Company and receive a commission
upon all his sales. The figures placed before Mr. Gwynne by the manager
of the company were sufficiently impressive, indeed so impressive that
Mr. Gwynne at once accepted the proposition, and the Mapleton branch of
the National Machine Company became an established fact.
There was no longer any question as to the education of his family. In
another year when his boy had passed his entrance examinations he would
be able to send him to the high school in the neighbouring town of
Easton, properly equipped and relieved of those handicaps with which
poverty can so easily wash all the colour out of young life. A brilliant
picture the father drew before the eyes of his wife of the educational
career of their boy, who had already given promise of exceptional
ability. But while she listened, charmed, delighted and filled with
proud anticipation, the mother with none the less painful care saved her
garden and poultry money, cut to bare necessity her household expenses,
skimped herself and her children in the matter of dress, and by every
device which she had learned in the bitter school of experience during
the ten years of her Canadian life, made such preparation for the
expenses of her boy's education as would render it unnecessary to call
upon the wealth realised from the National Machine Company's business.
In the matter of providing for the expense of his education Larry
himself began to take a not unimportant part. During the past two years
he had gained not only in size but in the vigour of his health, and in
almost every kind of work on the farm he could now take a man's place.
His mother would not permit him to give his time and strength to their
own farming operations for the sufficient reason that from these there
would be no return in ready money, and ready money was absolutely
essential to the success of her plans. The boy was quick, eager
and well-mannered, and in consequence had no difficulty in finding
employment with the neighbouring farmers. So much was this the case that
long before the closing of school in the early summer Larry was offered
work for the whole summer by their neighbour, Mr. Martin, at one dollar
a day. He could hardly believe his good fortune inasmuch as he had never
in all his life been paid at a rate exceeding half that amount.
“I shall have a lot of money, mother,” he said, “for my high school now.
I wonder how much it will cost me for the term.”
Thereupon his mother seized the opportunity to discuss the problem with
him which she knew they must face together.
“Let us see,” said his mother.
Then each with pencil and paper they drew up to the table, but after the
most careful paring down of expenses and the most optimistic estimate of
their resources consistent with fact, they made the rather discouraging
discovery that they were still fifty dollars short.
“I can't do it, mother,” said Larry, in bitter disappointment.
“We shall not give up yet,” said his mother. “Indeed, I think with what
we can make out of the farm and garden and poultry, we ought to be able
to manage.”
But a new and chilling thought had come to the lad. He pondered
silently, and as he pondered his face became heavily shadowed.
“Say, mother,” he said suddenly, “we can't do it. How much are you going
to spend on your clothes?”
“All I need,” said his mother brightly.
“But how much?”
“I don't know.”
“How much did you spend last year?”
“Oh, never mind, Lawrence; that really does not matter.”
But the boy insisted. “Did you spend thirty-one dollars?” His mother
laughed at him.
“Did you spend twenty?”
“No.”
“Did you spend fifteen?”
“I do not know,” said his mother, “and I am not going to talk about it.
My clothes and the girls' clothes will be all right for this year.”
“Mother,” said Larry, “I am not going to school this year. I am not
going to spend thirty-one dollars for clothes while you and the girls
spend nothing. I am going to work first, and then go to school. I am not
going to school this year.” The boy rose from his chair and stood and
faced his mother with quivering lips, fighting to keep back the tears.
Mother reached out her hand and drew him toward her. “My darling boy,”
she said in a low voice, “I love to hear you, but listen to me. Are you
listening? You must be educated. Nothing must interfere with that.
No suffering is too great to be endured by all of us. The time for
education is youth; first because your mind works more quickly and
retains better what it acquires, and second because it is a better
investment, and you will sooner be able to pay us all back what we spend
now. So you will go to school this year, boy, if we can manage it, and
I think we can. Some day,” she added, patting him on the shoulder, and
holding him off from her, “when you are rich you will give me a silk
dress.”
“Won't I just,” cried the boy passionately, “and the girls too, and
everything you want, and I will give you a good time yet, mother. You
deserve the best a woman ever had and I will give it to you.”
The mother turned her face away from him and looked out of the window.
She saw not the fields of growing grain but a long vista of happy days
ever growing in beauty and in glory until she could see no more for the
tears that quietly fell. The boy dropped on his knees beside her.
“Oh, mother, mother,” he said. “You have been wonderful to us all, and
you have had an awfully hard time. A fellow never knows, does he?”
“A hard time? A hard time?” said his mother, a great surprise in her
voice and in her face. “No, my boy, no hard time for me. A dear, dear,
lovely time with you all, every day, every day. Never do I want a better
time than I have had with you.”
The event proved the wisdom of Mrs. Gwynne's determination to put little
faith in the optimistic confidence of her husband in regard to the
profits to be expected from the operations of the National Machine
Company. A year's business was sufficient to demonstrate that the
Mapleton branch of the National Machine Company was bankrupt. By
every law of life it ought to be bankrupt. With all his many excellent
qualities Mr. Gwynne possessed certain fatal defects as a business man.
With him the supreme consideration was simply the getting rid of the
machines purchased by him as rapidly and in such large numbers as
possible. He cheerfully ignored the laws that governed the elemental
item of profit. Hence the relentless Nemesis that sooner or later
overtakes those who, whether ignorantly or maliciously, break laws, fell
upon the National Machine Company and upon those who had the misfortune
to be associated with it.
In the wreck of the business Mr. Gwynne's store, upon which the National
Machine Company had taken the precaution to secure a mortgage, was also
involved. The business went into the hands of a receiver and was bought
up at about fifty cents on the dollar by a man recently from western
Canada whose specialty was the handling of business wreckage. No
one after even a cursory glance at his face would suspect Mr. H. P.
Sleighter of deficiency in business qualities. The snap in the cold
grey eye, the firm lines in the long jaw, the thin lips pressed hard
together, all proclaimed the hard-headed, cold-hearted, iron-willed
man of business. Mr. Sleighter, moreover, had a remarkable instinct for
values, more especially for salvage values. It was this instinct that
led him to the purchase of the National Machine Company wreckage, which
included as well the Mapleton general store, with its assets in stock
and book debts.
Mr. Sleighter's methods with the easy-going debtors of the company in
Mapleton and the surrounding district were of such galvanic vigour
that even so practiced a procrastinator as Farmer Martin found himself
actually drawing money from his hoarded bank account to pay his store
debts--a thing unheard of in that community--and to meet overdue
payments upon the various implements which he had purchased from the
National Machine Company. It was not until after the money had been
drawn and actually paid that Mr. Martin came fully to realise the
extraordinary nature of his act.
“That there feller,” he said, looking from the receipt in his hand
to the store door through which the form of Mr. Sleighter had just
vanished, “that there feller, he's too swift fer me. He ain't got any
innards to speak of; he'd steal the pants off a dog, he would.”
The application of these same galvanically vigorous methods to Mr.
Gwynne's debtors produced surprising results. Mr. Sleighter made
the astounding discovery that Mr. Gwynne's business instead of being
bankrupt would produce not only one hundred cents on the dollar, but a
slight profit as well. This discovery annoyed Mr. Sleighter. He hated
to confess a mistake in business judgment, and he frankly confessed
he “hated to see good money roll past him.” Hence with something of a
grudge he prepared to hand over to Mr. Gwynne some twelve hundred and
fifty dollars of salvage money.
“I suppose he will be selling out his farm,” said Mr. Sleighter in
conversation with Mr. Martin. “What's land worth about here?”
“Oh, somewhere about a hundred.”
“A hundred dollars an acre!” exclaimed Mr. Sleighter. “Don't try to put
anything over on me. Personally I admire your generous, kindly nature,
but as a financial adviser you don't shine. I guess I won't bother about
that farm anyway.”
Mr. Sleighter's question awakened earnest thought in Mr. Martin, and the
next morning he approached Mr. Gwynne with a proposition to purchase his
farm with its attached buildings. Mr. Martin made it clear that he was
chiefly anxious to do a neighbourly turn.
“The house and the stable ain't worth much,” he said, “but the farm
bein' handy to my property, I own up is worth more to me than to other
folks, perhaps. So bein' old neighbours, I am willin' to give four
thousand dollars, half cash down, for the hull business.”
“Surely that is a low figure,” said Mr. Gwynne.
“Low figure!” exclaimed Mr. Martin. “All right, I ain't pressin' it on
you; but if you could get any one in this neighbourhood to offer four
thousand dollars for your farm, I will give you five hundred extra.
But,” he continued, “I ain't pressin' you. Don't much matter to me.”
The offer came at a psychologically critical moment, when Mr. Gwynne was
desperately seeking escape from an intolerable environment.
“I shall consult Mrs. Gwynne,” he said, “and let you know in a few
days.”
“Don't know as I can wait that long,” said Mr. Martin. “I made the offer
to oblige you, and besides I got a chance at the Monroe fifty.”
“Call to-morrow night,” said Mr. Gwynne, and carried the proposal home
to his wife.
The suggestion to break up her home to a woman of Mrs. Gwynne's type
is almost shattering. In the big world full of nameless terrors the
one spot offering shelter and safety for herself and her family was her
home. But after all, her husband was her great concern, and she could
see he was eager for the change. She made up her mind to the sacrifice
and decided that she would break up the home in Mapleton and with her
husband try again their fortune.
“But four thousand dollars,” she said, “is surely a small price.”
“Small? I know it is small, but Martin knows I am in a corner. He is a
highway robber.”
It was a bitter experience for him to be forced to confess himself a
business failure, and with this bitterness there mingled a feeling of
hostility toward all successful business men. To him it seemed that in
order to win success in business a man must become, like Mr. Martin,
a highway robber. In this mood of bitterness and hostility toward
successful men, Mr. Sleighter found him the next day.
“Couldn't find you at the store,” said that gentleman, walking in with
his hat on his head. “I wanted to get this business straightened up,
so I just came in. Won't take more than five minutes. I guess you won't
mind taking a little check from me. Your business turned out better than
that fool of an assignee thought. Don't hurt me any, of course. I got
all that was comin' to me out of it, but here's this check. Perhaps
you'll sign the receipt. I guess they been puttin' it over you all
right. You're a little too soft with 'em.”
Mr. Gwynne was an even-tempered man, but Mr. Sleighter's patronising
manner and his criticism of his business ability wrought in him a rage
that he could with difficulty control. He remembered he was in his own
house, however, and that the man before him was a stranger. While he was
searching for pen and ink the door opened and his wife entered the room.
Mr. Sleighter, with his hat still upon his head, was intently gazing
out of the window, easily rocking on the two hind legs of the chair. The
door opened behind him.
“My dear,” said Mr. Gwynne, “will you excuse me? I am engaged.”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, I didn't know any one was here. I merely
wanted--”
Mr. Sleighter glanced over his shoulder.
“Mr. Sleighter,” said Mr. Gwynne. “My wife.”
It was not his tone, however, that brought Mr. Sleighter hurriedly to
his feet with his hat in his hand. It was something in the bearing of
the little lady standing behind him.
“Pleased to meet you, ma'am. I hope you are well,” he said, bowing
elaborately before her.
“Thank you very much, I am quite well. I have heard a great deal about
you, Mr. Sleighter. I am glad to meet you.”
Mr. Sleighter held her hand a moment while her eyes rested quietly and
kindly, if searchingly, upon his face. This was the man who had profited
by her husband's loss. Was he too a highway robber? Mr. Sleighter
somehow felt as if his soul were being exposed to a searchlight. It made
him uncomfortable.
“It's a fine day, ma'am,” he remarked, seeking cover for his soul in
conversation. “A little warm for the time,” he continued, wiping his
forehead with a highly coloured silk handkerchief.
“Won't you sit down, Mr. Sleighter? Do you find it warm? I thought there
was quite a chilly wind to-day. But then you are more accustomed to the
wind than I.”
The searching eyes were holding him steadily, but the face was kindly
and full of genuine interest.
“I guess so,” he said with a little laugh. He would have scorned to
acknowledge that his laugh was nervous and thin. “I come from the windy
side of the earth.”
“Oh!”
“Yes, I am from out West--Alberta. We have got all the winds there is
and the Chinook besides for a change.”
“Alberta? The Chinook?” The eyes became less searching.
“Yes, that's the wind that comes down from the mountains and licks up
the snow at ten miles an hour.”
“Oh!”
“It was an Alberta man, you know, who invented a rig with runners in
front and wheels behind.” The lady was bewildered. “To catch up with the
Chinook, you see. One of my kid's jokes. Not much of a joke I guess, but
he's always ringin' 'em in.”
“You have a son, Mr. Sleighter? He's in Alberta now?”
“No, the missis and the kids, three of them, are in Winnipeg. She got
tired of it out there; she was always wantin' the city, so I gave in.”
“I hear it's a beautiful country out there.”
“Now you're talkin', ma'am.” She had touched Mr. Sleighter's favourite
theme. Indeed, the absorbing passion of his life, next to the picking
up of good salvage bargains, was his home in the Foothill country of the
West.
While he was engaged in an enthusiastic description of the glories of
that wonderland the children came in and were presented. Mr. Gwynne
handed his visitor his receipt and stood suggestively awaiting his
departure. But Mr. Sleighter was fairly started on his subject and was
not to be denied. The little girls drew shyly near him with eyes
aglow while Mr. Sleighter's words roiled forth like a mountain flood.
Eloquently he described the beauty of the rolling lands, the splendour
of the mountains, the richness of the soil, the health-giving qualities
of the climate, the warm-hearted hospitality of the settlers.
“None of your pin-head two-by-four shysters that you see here in the
East,” exclaimed Mr. Sleighter. “I mean some folks, of course,” he
explained in some confusion.
“And the children, did they like it?” inquired Mrs. Gwynne.
“You bet they did. Why, they was all over the hull prairie, all day and
all night, too, mostly--on ponies you know.”
“Ponies!” exclaimed Larry. “Did they have ponies? Could they ride? How
big are they?”
“How big? Blamed if I know. Let's see. There's Tom. He's just about a
man, or thinks he is. He's sixteen or seventeen. Just now he's in the
high school at Winnipeg. He don't like it though.” Here a shadow fell on
Mr. Sleighter's face. “And the girls--there's Hazel, she's fifteen,
and Ethel Mary, she's eleven or somewhere thereabouts. I never can keep
track of them. They keep againin' on me all the time.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Gwynne. “It is hard to realise that they are growing up
and will soon be away from us.”
“That's so,” said Mr. Sleighter.
“And the schools,” continued Mrs. Gwynne, “are there good schools?”
“Schools?” exclaimed Mr. Sleighter. “There's a real good school not more
than a couple of miles away.”
“Two miles,” exclaimed the mother aghast.
“Oh, that's nothin'. They ride, of course. But we ain't got much of a
master now. He's rather--you know.” Mr. Sleighter significantly tipped
up with his little finger and winked toward Mr. Gwynne.
“But you love that country,” she said.
“Yes, I love it and I hated to leave it. But the missis never liked
it. She was city born and bred. She wanted the lights, I guess, and the
shows. I don't blame her, though,” he continued rapidly. “It's kind of
lonely for women, you know. They've got to have amusements and things.
But it's God's own country, believe me, and I would go back to-morrow,
if I could.”
“You still own your ranch?”
“Yes; can't sell easily. You see there's not much broke on it--only a
hundred acres or so.”
“Why, how big is the ranch?”
“Five hundred acres and a wood lot. I did not farm much, though--mostly
cattle and horses. I was away a good deal on the trail.”
“The trail?”
“Yes, buying cattle and selling again. That was the worst of it. I am
not much of a farmer, though farming's all right there, and I was away
almost all of the time. I guess that made it pretty hard for the missis
and the kids.”
At this point the Widow Martin came in to lay the table for tea. Mr.
Sleighter took the hint and rose to go.
“You will do us the pleasure of staying for tea, Mr. Sleighter?” said
Mrs. Gwynne earnestly.
“Oh, do,” said the youngest little girl, Nora, whose snapping black eyes
gleamed with eager desire to hear more of the wonderful western land.
“Yes, do, and tell us more,” said the boy.
“I hope you will be able to stay,” continued Mrs. Gwynne.
Mr. Sleighter glanced at her husband. “Why, certainly,” said Mr. Gwynne,
“we would be glad to have you.”
Still Mr. Sleighter hesitated. “Say, I don't know what's come over me. I
feel as if I had been on the stump,” he said in an embarrassed voice.
“I ain't talked to a soul about that country since I left. I guess I got
pretty full, and when you pulled the cork, out she come.”
During the tea hour Mrs. Gwynne tried to draw her visitor out to talk
about his family, but here she failed. Indeed a restraint appeared to
fall upon him that nothing could dispel. Immediately after tea Mrs.
Gwynne placed the Bible and Book of Prayers on the table, saying,
“We follow the custom of reading prayers every evening after tea, Mr.
Sleighter. We shall be glad to have you join us.”
“Sure thing, ma'am,” said Mr. Sleighter, pushing back his chair and
beginning to rock on its hind legs, picking his teeth with his pen
knife, to the staring horror of the little girls.
The reading was from the Scripture to which throughout the centuries the
Christian Church has gone for authority and guidance in the exercise
of charity and in the performance of social service, the story of the
Samaritan gentleman to whom the unhappy traveller whose misfortune it
was to be sorely mishandled by thieves owed his rescue and his life.
Throughout the reading Mr. Sleighter paid the strictest attention and
joined in the prayers with every sign of reverence. At the close he
stood awkwardly shifting from one foot to another.
“Well, I'll be goin',” he said. “Don't know how you roped me in for this
here visit, ma'am. I ain't et in any one's house since I left home, and
I ain't heard any family prayers since my old dad had 'em--a regular old
Methodist exhorter he was. He used to pray until all was blue, though
most times, specially at night, I used to fall asleep. He was great on
religion.”
“I don't suppose he was any the worse for that,” said Mrs. Gwynne.
“Not a mite, not a mite, ma'am. A little strict, but straight as a
string, ma'am. No one could say anythin' against Hiram Sleighter--H. P.
Sleighter. I was named for him. He used to pray to beat creation, and
then some, but he was a straight man all right. And to-night your kids
and your family prayers made me think of them old days. Well, good-night
and thank you for the good time you gave me. Best I've had in a dog's
age.”
“You will come again, Mr. Sleighter,” said Mrs. Gwynne, giving him her
hand.
“Yes, and tell us more about that new country,” added her son. “My, I'd
like to go out there!”
“It's a wonderful country all right and you might do a hull lot worse.”