WYLLARD COMES HOME
Harvest had commenced at the Range, and the clashing binders were moving
through the grain when Hawtrey sat one afternoon in Wyllard's room. It
was about five o'clock, and every man belonging to the homestead was
toiling, bare-armed and grimed with dust, among the yellow oats, but
Hawtrey sat at a table gazing with a troubled face at the litter of
papers in front of him. He wore a white shirt and store clothes, which
was distinctly unusual in case of a Western farmer at harvest time, and
Edmonds, the mortgage-jobber, leaned back in a big chair quietly
watching him.
Edmonds had called at a singularly inconvenient time, and Hawtrey was
anxious to get rid of him before the arrival of the guests that he
expected. It was Sally's birthday, and, since she took pleasure in
simple festivities of any kind, he had arranged to celebrate it at the
Range. He was, however, sufficiently acquainted with the money-lender's
character to realize that it was most unlikely that he would take his
departure before he had accomplished the purpose which had brought him
there. This was to collect several thousand dollars.
It was quite clear to Hawtrey that he was in an unpleasantly tight
place. Edmonds held a bond upon his homestead, teams and implements as
security for a short date loan, repayment of which was due, and he was
to be married to Sally in a month or so.
"Can't you wait a little?" he asked at length.
"I'm afraid not," was the uncompromising reply. "Money's tight this
fall, and things have gone against me. Besides, you could pay me off if
you wanted to."
Edmonds turned toward an open window, and glanced at the great stretch
of yellow grain that ran back across the prairie. Dusty teams and
binders with flashing wooden arms moved half-hidden along the edge of
the vast field, and the still, clear air was filled with a clash and
clatter and the rustle of flung-out sheaves.
There was no doubt that money could be raised upon that harvest field.
Indeed, Hawtrey fancied that his companion would be quite content to
take a bond for the delivery of so many thousand bushels in repayment of
the loan, but while he had already gone further than he had at one time
contemplated doing, this was a course he shrank from suggesting. After
all, the grain was Wyllard's, and there was the difficulty that Wyllard
might still come back. If Wyllard failed to return, an absence of
another few months would entitle his executors to consider him dead. In
either case, Hawtrey would be required to account for his property.
"No," he decided, "I can't take--that way."
There was a trace of contempt in the mortgage-jobber's smile. "You of
course understand just how you're fixed, but it seemed to me from that
draft of the arrangement with Wyllard that you have the power to do
pretty much what you like. Anyway, if you gave me a bond on as much of
that grain as would wipe out the loan at the present figure, it would
only mean that you would have Wyllard's trustees for creditors instead
of me, and it's probable that they wouldn't be as hard upon you as I'm
compelled to be. As things stand, you have got to square up or I throw
your place on the market."
Hawtrey's face betrayed his dismay; and Edmonds believed that he would
yield to a little further pressure. Gregory had not said anything about
the mortgage to Sally, and it would be extremely unpleasant to be turned
out upon the prairie within a month or two of his marriage, for he could
not count upon being left in possession of the Range much longer.
"I'm only entitled to handle Wyllard's money on his account," he
objected.
Edmonds appeared to reflect. "So far as I can remember there was nothing
of that kind stated in the draft of the arrangement. It empowered you to
do anything you thought fit with the money, but it's altogether your own
affair. I can, of course, get my money back by selling your homestead,
and I must decide if that must be done or not before I leave."
Edmonds had very little doubt as to what the decision would be. Hawtrey
would yield, and afterwards it would not be difficult to draw him into
some unwise speculation with the object of getting the money back, which
he imagined that Hawtrey would be desperately anxious to do. As the
result of this, he expected to get such a hold upon the Range that he
would be master of the situation when the property fell into the hands
of Wyllard's trustees. That Hawtrey would be disgraced as well as ruined
naturally did not count with him.
Gregory took up one of the papers, and read it through. Then he rose,
and stood leaning on the table while he gazed at the teams toiling amid
the grain. There was wealth enough yonder to release him from his
torturing anxieties, and after all, he felt, something must turn up
before the reckoning was due. It was not in his nature to face a crisis,
and with him a trouble seemed less formidable if it could only be put
off a little. Edmonds, who knew with what kind of man he had to deal,
said nothing further, and quietly reached out for another cigar. He saw
vacillation in his victim's manner.
Meantime, though neither of the men were aware of it, Sally had alighted
from her wagon on the other side of the house, and two other vehicles
were growing larger upon the sweep of whitened prairie. As she entered
the homestead the girl met Mrs. Nansen, who informed her that Hawtrey
was busy with Edmonds in Wyllard's room. Sally's eyes sparkled when she
heard it, and her face grew hard.
"That man!" she exclaimed. "Well, I guess I'll go right in to them."
In another minute she opened the door, and answered the mortgage-jobber's
embarrassed greeting with a frigid stare. Having had some experience with
Sally's uncompromising directness, he was inclined to fancy that the game
was up, but he waited calmly.
"What's this man doing here again?" Sally asked, fixing her eyes on
Hawtrey. "You promised me you would never make another deal with him."
Gregory flushed. Had he thought it would be the least use he would have
made some attempt to get Sally out of the room, but he was unpleasantly
sure that unless she was fully satisfied first it would only result in
failure. Driven to desperation, as he was, he had a half-conscious
feeling that she might provide him with some means of escape. Sally had
certainly saved him once, and, humiliating as the thought was, he had an
idea that she did not expect too much from him. She might be very angry,
but Sally's anger was, after all, less difficult to face than Agatha's
quiet scorn.
"I haven't made another deal. It's--a previous one," Gregory explained
lamely.
Sally swung around on Edmonds. "You have come here for money? You may as
well tell me. I won't leave you with Gregory until you do."
It was quite evident that she would make her promise good, and Edmonds
nodded.
"Yes," he said, "about three thousand dollars."
"And Gregory can't pay you?"
Edmonds thought rapidly, and decided to take a bold course. He was
acquainted with Hawtrey's habit of putting things off, and fancied that
his debtor would seize upon the first loophole of escape from an
embarrassing situation. That was why he gave him a lead.
"Well," he said, "there is a way in which he could do it if he wished.
He has only to fill in a paper and hand it to me."
Edmonds had not sufficiently counted on Sally's knowledge of his
victim's affairs, or her quickness of wit, for she turned to Hawtrey
with a commanding gesture.
"Where are you going to get three thousand dollars from?" she asked.
The blood rushed into Hawtrey's face, for this was a thing he could not
tell her; but a swift suspicion, flashed into her mind as she looked at
him.
"Perhaps it could be--raised," he answered.
"To pay this mortgage off?" Sally swung round on Edmonds now, as she
questioned him.
"Yes," he admitted, "he can easily do it."
Then the girl turned to Hawtrey. "Gregory," she said with harsh
incisiveness, "there's only one way you could get that money--and it
isn't yours."
Hawtrey made no reply. He could not meet her gaze, and when he turned
from her she looked back at the mortgage-broker.
"If you're gone before I come back there'll sure be trouble," she
informed him, and sped swiftly out of the room.
Hawtrey sat down limply in his chair, and Edmonds laughed in a jarring
manner. The game was up, but, after all, if he got his three thousand
dollars he could be satisfied, for one way or another he had already
extracted a great deal of money from Hawtrey.
"If I were you I'd marry that girl right away," Edmonds advised Hawtrey.
"You'd be safer if you had her to look after you."
Hawtrey let the jibe pass. For one thing, he felt that it was warranted,
and just then his anxiety was too strong for anger.
In the meanwhile, Sally had run out of the house to meet Hastings, who
had just handed his wife down from their wagon. The girl drew him a pace
or two aside.
"I'm worried about Gregory," she said; "he's in trouble--big trouble.
Somehow we have got to raise three thousand dollars. Edmonds is inside
with him."
Hastings did not seem surprised. "Ah!" he said, "I guess it's over that
mortgage of his. It would be awkward for you and Gregory if Edmonds took
the homestead and turned him out."
Sally's face grew white, but she met his gaze steadily.
"Oh," she replied, "that's not what I would mind the most."
Hastings reflected a moment or two. He thought that it was a very
difficult admission for the girl to make, and that she had made it
suggested that Hawtrey might become involved in more serious
difficulties. He had also a strong suspicion of what they were likely to
be.
"Sally," questioned Hastings quietly, "you are afraid of Edmonds making
him do something you would not like?"
Though she did not answer directly, he saw the shame in the girl's face,
and remembered that he was one of Wyllard's trustees.
"I must raise that money--now--and I don't know where to get more than
five hundred dollars from. I might manage that," she said.
"Well," answered Hastings, "you want me to lead you then, and I'm not
sure that I can. Still, if you'll wait a few minutes I'll see what I can
do."
Sally left him, and he turned to his wife, whose expression suggested
that she had overheard part of what was said and had guessed the rest.
"You mean to raise that money? After all, we are friends of his, and it
may save him from letting Edmonds get his grip upon the Range," she
said.
Hastings made a sign of reluctant assent. "I don't quite know how I can
do it personally, in view of the figure wheat is standing at, and I
don't think much of any security that Gregory could offer me. Still,
there is, perhaps, a way in which it could be arranged, and it's one
that, considering everything, is more or less admissible. I think I'll
wait here for Agatha."
Agatha was in the wagon driven by Sproatly. When Sproatly had helped her
and Winifred to alight, Hastings, who walked to the house with them,
drew Agatha into an unoccupied room.
"I'm afraid that Gregory's in rather serious trouble. Sally seems very
anxious about him," he said. "It's rather a delicate subject, but I
understand that in a general way you are on good terms with both of
them?"
Agatha met his embarrassed gaze with a smile. She knew that what he
really wished to discover was whether she still felt any bitterness
against Gregory or blamed him for pledging himself to Sally.
"Yes," she answered, "Sally and I are good friends, and I am very sorry
to hear that Gregory is in any difficulty."
Hastings still seemed embarrassed, and she was becoming puzzled by his
manner.
"Once upon a time you would have done anything possible to make things
easier for him," he said. "I wonder if I might ask if to some extent you
have that feeling still?"
"Of course. If he is in serious trouble I should be glad to do anything
within my power to help him."
"Even if it cost, we will say, about six hundred English pounds?"
Agatha gazed at him in bewilderment.
"There are some twenty dollars in my possession which your wife handed
me not long ago," she remarked in a puzzled tone.
"Still, if you had the money, you would be glad to help him--and would
not regret it afterwards?"
"No," asserted Agatha decisively; "if I had the means, and the need was
urgent, I should be glad to do what I could." Then she laughed. "I can't
understand in the least how this is to the purpose."
"If you will wait for the next two or three months I may be able to
explain it to you," replied Hastings. "In the meanwhile, there are one
or two things I have to do."
When he left her, Agatha sat still, wondering what he could have meant,
but feeling that she would be willing to do what she could for Gregory.
Hastings' suggestion that it was possible that she still cherished any
sense of grievance against him because he was going to marry Sally,
brought a scornful smile to her lips. It was easy to forgive Gregory
that, for she now saw him as he was--shallow, careless, shiftless, a man
without depth of character. He had a few surface graces, and on occasion
a certain half-insolent forcefulness of manner which in a curious
fashion was almost becoming. There was, however, nothing beneath the
surface. He was, it seemed, quite willing that a woman should help him
out of the trouble in which he had involved himself, for she had no
doubt that Sally had sent Hastings on his incomprehensible errand.
Then a clear voice came in through the window, and turning towards it
Agatha discovered that a young lad clad in blue duck was singing as he
drove his binder through the grain. The song was a simple one which had
some vogue just then upon the prairie, but her eyes grew suddenly hazy
as odd snatches of it reached her through the beat of hoofs, the clash
of the binder's arms and the rustle of the flung-out sheaves.
"My Bonny lies over the ocean,
My Bonny lies over the sea."
The youth called to his horses, and it was a few moments before she
heard again--
"Bring back my Bonny to me."
A quiver ran through her as she leaned upon the window frame. There was
a certain pathos in the simple strain, and she could fancy that the lad,
who was clearly English, as an exile felt it, too. Once more as the
jaded horses and clashing machine grew smaller down the edge of the
great sweep of yellow grain, his voice came faintly up to her with its
haunting thrill of longing and regret--
"Bring back my Bonny to me."
This in her case was more than anyone could do, and as she stood
listening a tear splashed upon her closed hands. The man, by comparison
with whom Gregory appeared a mere lay figure, was in all probability
lying still far up in the solitudes of the frozen North, with his last
grim journey done. This time, however, he had not carried her picture
with him. Gregory was to blame for that, and it was the one thing she
could not forgive him.
She leaned against the window for another minute, struggling with an
almost uncontrollable longing, and looking out upon the sweep of golden
wheat and whitened grass with brimming eyes, until there was a rattle of
wheels, and she saw Edmonds drive away. She heard voices in the
corridor, and it became evident that Hastings was speaking to his wife.
"I've got rid of the man, and it's reasonable to expect that Gregory
will keep clear of him after this," he said.
"Don't you mean that Agatha did it?"
It was Mrs. Hastings who asked the question, and Agatha became intent as
she heard her name. She did not, however, hear the answer, and Mrs.
Hastings spoke again.
"Allen," she said, "you don't keep a secret badly, though Harry pledged
you not to tell. Still, all that caution was a little unnecessary. It
was, of course, just the kind of thing he would do."
"What did he do?" Hastings asked, and Agatha heard Mrs. Hastings' soft
laugh, for they were just outside the door now.
"Left the Range, or most of it, to Agatha in case he didn't come back
again."
They went on, and Agatha, turning from the window, sat down limply with
the blood in her face and her heart beating fast. Wyllard's last care,
it seemed, had been to provide for her, and that fact brought her a
curious sense of solace. In an unexplainable fashion it took the
bitterest sting out of her grief, though how far he had succeeded in his
intentions did not seem to matter in the least.. It was sufficient to
know that amid all the haste of his preparation he had not forgotten
her.
Becoming a little calmer, she understood what had been in Hastings' mind
during the interview that had puzzled her, and was glad that she assured
him of her willingness to sacrifice anything that might be hers if it
was needed to set Gregory free. It was, she felt, what Wyllard would
have done with the money. He had said that Gregory was a friend of his,
and that, she knew, meant a great deal to him.
She suddenly realized that she must join the others if she did not wish
her absence to excite comment. Going out, she came face to face with
Sally in the corridor. The girl stopped, and saw the sympathy in her
eyes.
"Yes," she said impulsively, "I've saved him. Edmonds has gone. Hastings
bought him off, and, though I don't quite know how, you helped him. He
stayed behind to wait for you."
Agatha smiled. The vibrant relief in her companion's voice stirred her,
and she realized once more that in choosing this half-taught girl
Gregory had acted with a wholly unusual wisdom. It was with a sense of
half-contemptuous amusement at her own folly that she remembered how she
had once fancied that Gregory was marrying beneath him. Sally was far
from perfect, but in the essentials the man was not fit to brush her
shoes.
"My dear," responded Agatha, "I really don't know exactly what
I--have--done, but if it amounts to anything it is a pleasure to me."
They went together into the big general room where Gregory was talking
to Winifred somewhat volubly. Agatha, however, judged from his manner
that he had, at least, the grace to feel ashamed of himself. Supper, she
heard Mrs. Nansen say, would be ready very shortly, and feeling in no
mood for general conversation, she sat near a window looking out across
the harvest field until she heard a distant shout, and saw a wagon
appear on the crest of the hill. To her astonishment, two of the binders
stopped, and she saw the men who sprang down from them run to meet the
wagon. In another moment or two more of the teams stopped, and a faint
clamor of cries went up, while here and there little running figures
straggled up the slope. All the occupants of the room clustered about
her at the window, and Winifred turned to Hastings.
"What are they shouting for?" she asked. "They are all crowding about
the wagon now."
Agatha felt suddenly dazed and dizzy, for she knew what the answer to
that question must be even before Mrs. Hastings spoke.
"It's Harry coming back!" she gasped.
In another moment they all hastened out of the house, and Agatha found
it scarcely possible to follow them, for the sudden revulsion of feeling
had almost overpowered her. Still, she reached the door, and saw the
wagon drawn up amid a cluster of struggling men. Presently Wyllard, whom
they surrounded, broke from them. She stood on the threshold waiting for
him, and in the moment of her exultation a pang smote her as she saw how
gaunt and worn he was. He came straight toward her, apparently
regardless of the others, and, clasping the hands she held out, drew her
into the house.
"So you have not married Gregory yet?" he questioned, and laughed
triumphantly when he saw the answer in her shining eyes.
"No," she said softly, "it is certain that I will never marry him."
Wyllard drew her back still further with a compelling grasp.
"Why?" he asked.
Agatha looked up at him, and then turned her eyes away.
"I was waiting for you," she said simply.
Then he took her in his arms and kissed her before he turned, still with
her hand in his, to face the others who were now flocking back to the
house. In another moment they went in together, amid a confused clamor
of good wishes.
THE END
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Two Vanrevels, The. By Booth Tarkington.
Up From Slavery. By Booker T. Washington.
Vashti. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
Viper of Milan, The (original edition). By Marjorie Bowen.
Voice of the People, The. By Ellen Glasgow.
Wheel of Life, The. By Ellen Glasgow.
When Wilderness Was King. By Randall Parrish.
Where the Trail Divides. By Will Lillibridge.
Woman in Grey, A. By Mrs. C. N. Williamson.
Woman in the Alcove, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
Younger Set, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
The Weavers. By Gilbert Parker.
The Little Brown Jug at Kildare. By Meredith Nicholson.
The Prisoners of Chance. By Randall Parrish.
My Lady of Cleve. By Percy J. Hartley.
Loaded Dice. By Ellery H. Clark.
Get Rich Quick Wallingford. By George Randolph Chester.
The Orphan. By Clarence Mulford.
A Gentleman of France. By Stanley J. Weyman.
* * * * *
Popular Copyright Books
AT MODERATE PRICES
Any of the following titles can be bought of your
bookseller at 50 cents per volume.
Purple Parasol, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
Princess Dehra, The. By John Reed Scott.
Making of Bobby Burnit, The. By George Randolph Chester.
Last Voyage of the Donna Isabel, The. By Randall Parrish.
Bronze Bell, The. By Louis Joseph Vance.
Pole Baker. By Will N. Harben.
Four Million, The. By O. Henry.
Idols. By William J. Locke.
Wayfarers, The. By Mary Stewart Cutting.
Held for Orders. By Frank H. Spearman.
Story of the Outlaw, The. By Emerson Hough.
Mistress of Brae Farm, The. By Rosa N. Carey.
Explorer, The. By William Somerset Maugham.
Abbess of Vlaye, The. By Stanley Weyman.
Alton of Somasco. By Harold Bindloss.
Ancient Law, The. By Ellen Glasgow.
Barrier, The. By Rex Beach.
Bar 20. By Clarence E. Mulford.
Beloved Vagabond, The. By William J. Locke.
Beulah. (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans.
Chaperon, The. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
Colonel Greatheart. By H. C. Bailey.
Dissolving Circle, The. By Will Lillibridge.
Elusive Isabel. By Jacques Futrelle.
Fair Moon of Bath, The. By Elizabeth Ellis.
54-40 or Fight. By Emerson Hough.