A FRESH START
When Orissa appeared at the office Monday morning she went quietly about
her work, feeling very happy indeed. The astonishing generosity of Mr.
Cumberford had relieved all her worries and brought sunshine into her
heart.
Mr. Burthon came at his usual time and on taking his place at the desk
looked inquiringly at Orissa, but said nothing. Neither did she mention
the subject of the aircraft. Her employer, watching her stealthily from
behind his desk, could not fail to note the joy in her face and was
undoubtedly puzzled to account for it—unless, indeed, she and her
brother had decided to accept his proposition. He had an idea that they
would accept; that they must accept; it was the only way they could
carry on their experiment. But he waited for her to refer to the
subject.
Orissa managed to escape that night while a customer was engaging Mr.
Burthon’s attention. She disliked, for some unexplained reason, to tell
him they had decided not to take him for a partner. Arriving home she
found Steve busily at work rebuilding his airship, and it pleased her to
hear his cheery whistle as she approached the hangar. The young fellow
was in capital spirits.
“You see, Ris,” said he, “with all this money to use I shall be able to
make an entirely new automatic balance. I’ve come to the conclusion the
first one doesn’t work smoothly enough to be entirely satisfactory. I
shall also provide a store of extra ribs and such parts as are liable to
get damaged, so that the repair work will be a matter of hours instead
of days. How lucky it was Mr. Cumberford ran out of gasoline yesterday.”
“He’s a queer man,” replied Orissa, thoughtfully. “I can’t make up my
mind yet whether I like him or not.”
“I like his money, anyhow,” laughed Steve; “and we didn’t have to give
him a half interest to get it, either. I imagine the man was really
touched by your endeavor to save him from what you thought was a bad
bargain, and certainly his magnanimous act could have been prompted by
nothing but kindness.”
“It saved our half interest, at least,” she said, evasively. “Has he
been here to-day, Steve?”
“Haven’t seen even his shadow,” was the reply. “I don’t imagine he’ll
bother us much, although he has reserved the right to look around all he
wants to. He must be a busy man, with all his wealth.”
The next morning, however, after Orissa had gone to her work, Mr.
Cumberford’s car spun up the lane and he came into the hangar, nodded to
Steve and sat down quietly on the bench.
For a time he silently watched the young man shave a Cyprus rib into
shape; then got up and carefully examined the motor, which was in good
order. Steve knew, when first Mr. Cumberford began asking questions,
that he understood machinery, and the man was quick to perceive the
value of young Kane’s improvements.
“It interests me,” he drawled, after starting the engines and watching
them work. “As a boy I longed to be a mechanic. Got sidetracked, though,
and became a speculator. Needs almost as much ingenuity to succeed in
that as in mechanics. Pays better, but ruins one’s self-respect. Stick
to mechanics, Kane.”
“I will,” promised Steve, laughing.
“This new profession,” continued Cumberford, “will throw you in with a
lot of ‘queer’ people—same sort that used to follow the races and now
bet on automobile contests. Keep your sister away from them.”
“I’ll try to,” returned Steve, more soberly. “But Orissa is crazy over
aviation, and she’ll have to go everywhere that I do.”
“That’s all right; I like the idea. But don’t introduce her to every
fellow you are forced to associate with. Girls are queer, and your
sister is—beautiful. I’ve a daughter myself.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Steve, not knowing just how to take this remark.
“My daughter is not—beautiful. No. And she’s a demon. I’ll bring her
here to see you and your sister, some day.”
“Thank you,” said Steve, turning red. Certainly this new acquaintance
was odd and unaccountable in some ways. Steve wondered why he should
bring a “demon” to the hangar, and why he described his own daughter in
such uncomplimentary language.
Mr. Cumberford smoked a cigarette thoughtfully.
“Your sister,” he said, “interests me. She’s a good girl. Must have a
good mother.”
“The best in the world,” asserted Steve, proudly.
“My daughter,” resumed Cumberford, “takes after her mother. Girls
usually do. Her mother was—well, she was Burthon’s sister. Catch the
idea? It was all my fault, and Sybil—that’s my daughter—blames me for
her parentage. With apparent justice. Not a joke, Kane. Don’t laugh.”
“I’m not laughing, sir.”
“Speaking of Burthon reminds me of something. I don’t like the idea of
your sister working there—in his office.”
“He has always treated her very nicely, I believe,” said Steve, “and
Orissa feels she must earn some money.”
“Not necessary. You’ve a fortune in your airship. Take the girl away
from Burthon. Keep her at home.”
Steve did not reply to this, but he decided it was not a bad suggestion.
“How old is she?” inquired Cumberford, presently.
“Just seventeen.”
“Too young to work in an office. Finished her education?”
“All we are able to give her, sir.”
“H-m-m. Take my advice. Burthon’s unreliable. I know him. Gorilla
inside, man outside. I—I married a Burthon.”
These brief sentences were spoken between puffs of his cigarette.
Sometimes there would be a very definite pause between them, while the
man smoked and reflected upon his subject. Steve continued his work and
answered when required to do so.
Cumberford stayed at the hangar until nearly noon, watching the boy
work, bearing a hand now and then when a plane rib was awkward to handle
alone, always interested in everything pertaining to the aëroplane. He
made Steve explain the changes he proposed to apply to the lateral
balance and offered one or two rather clever suggestions, showing his
grasp of the subject. But he did not refer to Orissa again and finally
slipped away without saying good-bye.
Steve thought him queerer than during their first interview, but liked
him better.
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