IX

For several weeks after her nephew's visit, Mrs. Champney occupied many

of her enforced leisure half-hours in trying to put two and two together

in their logical combination of four; but thus far she had failed. She

learned through Octavius that Champney had returned to New York on

Saturday evening; that in consequence he was obliged to give up the

cruise with the Van Ostends; from Champney himself she had no word. Her

conclusion was that there had been no chance for him to see Aileen

during the twelve hours he was in town, for the girl came home as

requested shortly before six, but with a headache, and the excuse for it

that she had rowed too far in the sun on the way up to the sheds.

"My nephew told me he was going to row up to the sheds, too--did you

happen to meet him there?" she inquired. She was studying the profile of

the girl's flushed and sunburned face. Aileen had just said good night

and was about to leave Mrs. Champney's room. She turned quickly to face

her. She spoke with sharp emphasis:

"I did _not_ meet your nephew at the sheds, Mrs. Champney, nor did I see

him there--and I'll thank you, after what you said to me this morning,

to draw no more conclusions in regard to your nephew's seeing or meeting

me at the sheds or anywhere else--it's not worth your while; for I've no

desire either to see or meet him again. Perhaps this will satisfy you."

She left the room at once without giving Mrs. Champney time to reply.

A self-satisfied smile drew apart Mrs. Champney's thin lips; evidently

the girl's lesson was a final and salutary one. She would know her place

after this. She determined not to touch on this subject again with

Aileen; she might run the risk of going too far, and she desired to keep

her with her as long as possible. But she noticed that the singing voice

was heard less and less frequently about the house and grounds. Octavius

also noticed it, and missed it.

"Aileen, you don't sing as much as you did a while ago--what's the

matter?" he asked her one day in October when she joined him to go up

street after supper on an errand.

"Matter?--I've sung out for one while; I'm taking a rest-cure with my

voice, Tave."

"It ain't the kind of rest-cure that'll agree with you, nor I guess any

of us at Champo. There ain't no trouble with her that's bothering you?"

He pointed with a backward jerk of his thumb to the house.

"No."

"She's acted mad ever since I told her Champney had to go back that

night and tend to business; guess she'd set her heart on his making a

match on that yachting cruise--well, 't would be all in the family,

seeing there's Champney blood in the Van Ostends, good blood

too,--there's no better," he added emphatically.

"Oh, Tave, you're always blowing the Champneys' horn--"

"And why shouldn't I?"--he was decidedly nettled. "The Champneys are my

folks, my townspeople, the founders of this town, and their interests

have always been mine--why shouldn't I speak up for 'em, I'd like to

know? You won't find no better blood in the United States than the

Champneys'."

Aileen made no reply; she was looking up the street to Poggi's fruit

stall, where beneath a street light she saw a crowd of men from the

quarries.

"Romanzo said there was some trouble in the sheds--do you know what it

is?" she asked.

"No, I can't get at the rights of it; they didn't get paid off last

week, so Romanzo told me last night, but he said Champney telegraphed

he'd fix it all right in another week. He says dollars are scarce just

at this time--crops moving, you know, and market dull."

She laughed a little scornfully. "You seem to think Mr. Googe can fix

everything all right, Tave."

"Champney's no fool; he's 'bout as interested in this home work as

anybody, and if he says it'll be all right, you may bet your life it

will be--There's Jo Quimber coming; p'raps he's heard something and can

tell us."

"What's that crowd up to, Uncle Jo?" said Aileen, linking her arm in the

old man's and making him right about face to walk on with them.

"Talkin' a strike. I heerd 'em usin' Champ's name mighty free, Tave,

just now--guess he'd better come home an' calm 'em down some, or

there'll be music in the air thet this town never danced to yet. By A.

J., it riles me clear through to hear 'em!"

"You can't blame them for wanting their pay, Uncle Jo." There was a

challenge in the girl's voice which Uncle Jo immediately accepted.

"So ye've j'ined the majority in this town, hev ye, Aileen? I don't say

ez I'm blamin' anybody fer wantin' his pay; I'm jest sayin' it don't set

well on me the way they go at it to get it. How's the quickest way to

git up a war, eh? Jest keep talkin' it up--talkin' it up, an' it's sure

to come. They don't give a man like Champ a chance--talkin' behind his

back and usin' a good old Flamsted name ez ef 't wuz a mop rag!" Joel's

indignation got the better of his discretion; his voice was so loud that

it began to attract the attention of some men who were leaving Poggi's;

the crowd was rapidly dispersing.

"Sh--Joel! they'll hear you. You've been standing up for everything

foreign that's come into this town for the last seven years--what's come

over you that you're going back on all your preaching?"

"I ain't goin' back on nothin'," the old man replied testily; "but a

man's a man, I don't keer whether he's a Polack or a 'Merican--I don't

keer nothin' 'bout thet; but ef he's a man he knows he'd oughter stop

backbitin' and hittin' out behind another man's back--he'd oughter come

out inter the open an' say, 'You ain't done the right thing by me, now

let's both hev it out', instead of growlin' and grumblin' an' spittin'

out such all-fired nonsense 'bout the syndicaters and Champ--what's

Champ got to do with it, anyway? He can't make money for 'em."

The crowds were surging past them; the men were talking together; their

confused speech precluded the possibility of understanding what was

said.

"He's no better than other men, Uncle Jo," the girl remarked after the

men had passed. She laughed as she spoke, but the laugh was not a

pleasant one; it roused Octavius.

"Now, look here, Aileen, you stop right where you are--"

She interrupted him, and her voice was again both merry and pleasant,

for they were directly opposite Luigi's shop: "I'm going to, Tave; I'm

going to stop right here; Mrs. Champney sent me down on purpose to get

some of those late peaches Luigi keeps; she said she craved them, and

I'm going in this very minute to get them--"

She waved her hand to both and entered the shop.

Old Quimber caught Octavius by the arm to detain him a moment before he

himself retraced his steps up street.

"What d'ye think, Tave?--they goin' to make a match on't, she an' Poggi?

I see 'm together a sight."

"You can't tell 'bout Aileen any more'n a weather-cock. She might go

farther and fare worse."

"Thet's so, Tave; Poggi's a man, an' a credit to our town. I guess from

all I hear Romanzo's 'bout give it up, ain't he?"

"Romanzo never had a show with Aileen," Octavius said decidedly; "he

ain't her kind."

"Guess you're right, Tave--By A. J. there they go now!" He nudged

Octavius with his elbow. Octavius, who had passed the shop and was

standing on the sidewalk with old Quimber, saw the two leave it and walk

slowly in the direction of The Bow. He listened for the sound of

Aileen's merry laugh and chat, but he heard nothing. His grave face at

once impressed Joel.

"Something's up 'twixt those two, eh, Tave?" he whispered.

Octavius nodded in reply; he was comprehending all that old man's words

implied. He bade Quimber good night and walked on to The Greenbush. The

Colonel found him more taciturn than usual that evening....

"I can't, Luigi,--I can't marry you," she answered almost irritably. The

two were nearing the entrance to Champo; the Italian was pleading his

cause. "I can't--so don't say anything more about it."

"But, Aileen, I will wait--I can wait; I've waited so long already. I

believe I began to love you through that knothole, you remember?"

"I haven't forgotten;" she half smiled at the remembrance; "but that

seems so long ago, and things have changed so--I've changed, Luigi."

The tone of her voice was hard. Luigi looked at her in surprise.

"What has changed you, Aileen? Tell me--can't you trust me?"

"Luigi!"--she faced him suddenly, looking straight up into his handsome

face that turned white as he became aware that what she was about to say

was final--"I'd give anything if I could say to you what you want me

to--you deserve all my love, if I could only give it to you, for you are

faithful and true, and mean what you say--it would be the best thing for

me, I know; but I can't, Luigi; I've nothing to give, and it would be

living a lie to you from morning till night to give you less than you

deserve. I only blame myself that I'm not enough like other girls to

know a good man when I see him, and take his love with a thankful heart

that it's mine--but it's no use--don't blame me for being myself--" Her

lips trembled; she bit the lower one white in her effort to steady it.

For a moment Luigi made no reply. Suddenly he leaned towards her--she

drew away from him quickly--and said between his teeth, all the

long-smouldering fire of southern passion, passion that is founded on

jealousy, glowing in his eyes:

"Tell me, Aileen Armagh, is there another man you love?--tell me--"

Rag who had been with her all the afternoon moved with a quick

threatening motion to her side and a warning _gurr--rrrr_ for the one

who should dare to touch her.

"No." She spoke defiantly. Luigi straightened himself. Rag sprang upon

her fawning and caressing; she shoved him aside roughly, for the dog was

at that moment but the scapegoat for his master; Rag cowered at her

feet.

"Ah--" It was a long-drawn breath of relief. Luigi Poggi's eyes

softened; the fire in them ceased to leap and blaze; something like hope

brightened them.

"I could bear anything but that--I was afraid--" He hesitated.

"Afraid of what?" She caught up his words sharply, and began to walk

rapidly up the driveway.

He answered slowly: "I was afraid you were in love with Mr. Googe--I saw

you once out rowing with him--early one morning--"

"I in love with Mr. Googe!" she echoed scornfully, "you needn't ever be

afraid of that; I--I hate him!"

Luigi stared at her in amazement. He scarce could keep pace with her

rapid walk that was almost a run. Her cheeks were aflame; her eyes

filled with tears. All her pent up wretchedness of the last two months,

all her outraged love, her womanhood's humiliation, a sense of life's

bitter injustice and of her impotence to avenge the wrong put upon her

affections, found vent in these three words. And Luigi, seeing Aileen

Armagh changed into something that an hour before he would not have

believed possible, was gripped by a sudden fear,--he must know the truth

for his own peace of mind,--and, under its influence, he laid his hand

on her arm and brought her to a standstill.

Rag snarled another warning; Aileen thrust him aside with her foot.

"What has he done to you to make you hate him so?"

Because he spoke slowly, Aileen thought he was speaking calmly. Had she

not been carried away by her own strength of feeling, she would have

known that she might not risk the answer she gave him.

"Done to me?--nothing; what could he do?--but I hate him--I never want

to see his face again!"

She was beside herself with anger and shame. It was the tone of Luigi's

voice that brought her to her senses; in a flash she recalled Octavius

Buzzby's warning about playing with "volcanic fires." It was too late,

however, to recall her words.

"Luigi, I've said too much; you don't understand--now let's drop it."

She drew away her arm from beneath his hand, and resumed her rapid walk

up the driveway, Rag trotting after her.

"And you mean what you say--you never want to see him again?" He spoke

again slowly.

"Never," she said firmly.

Luigi made no reply. They were nearing the house. She turned to him when

they reached the steps.

"Luigi,"--she put out her hand and he took it in both his,--"forget what

I've said about another and forgive me for what I've had to say to

yourself--we've always been such good friends, that now--"

She was ready with the smile that captivated him, but it was a tremulous

one for she smiled through tears; she was thinking of the contrast.

"And always will be, Aileen, when we both know for good and all that we

can be nothing more to each other," he answered gently.

She was grateful to him; but she turned away and went up the steps

without saying good-bye.

X

"'Gad, I wish I was well out of it!"

For the first time within the memory of Elmer Wiggins and Lawyer Emlie,

who heard the Colonel's ejaculation, his words and tone proclaimed the

fact that he was not in his seemingly unfailing good spirits. He was

standing with the two at the door of the drug shop and watching the

crowds of men gathered in groups along the main street.

It was Saturday afternoon and the men were idle, a weekly occurrence the

Colonel had learned to dread since his incumbency as deputy sheriff and,

in consequence of his office, felt responsible for the peace of the

community at large until Monday morning.

Something unusual was in the air, and the three men were at once aware

of it. The uneasiness, that had prevailed in the sheds and at The Gore

during the past month, was evidently coming to a crisis now that the

men's pay was two weeks overdue.

Emlie looked grave on replying, after a pause in which the three were

busy taking note of the constantly increasing crowd in front of the town

hall:

"I don't blame you, Colonel; there'll be the deuce to pay if the men

don't get paid off by Monday noon. They've been uneasy now so long about

the piece work settlement, that this last delay is going to be the match

that fires the train--and no slow match either from the looks; I don't

understand this delay. When did Romanzo send his last message?"

"About an hour ago, but he hasn't had any answer yet," replied the

Colonel, shading his eyes with his hat to look up street at the town

hall crowd. "He has been telephoning and telegraphing off and on for the

last two weeks; but he can't get any satisfaction--corporations, you

know, don't materialize just for the rappings."

"What does Champney say?" inquired Mr. Wiggins.

"State of the market," said the Colonel laconically.

The men did not look at one another, for each was feeling a certain

degree of indignation, of humiliation and disappointment that one of

their own, Champney Googe, should go back on Flamsted to the extent of

allowing the "market" to place the great quarry interests, through

non-payment of the workers, in jeopardy.

"Has Romanzo heard direct from him to-day?" asked Emlie.

"No; the office replied he was out of the city for Saturday and Sunday;

didn't give his address but asked if we could keep the men quiet till

the middle of next week when the funds would be forwarded."

"I wired our New York exchange yesterday," said Emlie, "but they can't

give us any information--answered things had gone to pot pretty

generally with certain securities, but Flamsted was all right,--not tied

up in any of them. Of course, they know the standing of the syndicate.

There'll have to be some new arrangement for a large reserve fund right

here on home soil, or we'll be kept in hot water half the time. I don't

believe in having the hands that work in one place, and the purse that

holds their pay in another; it gets too ticklish at such times when the

market drops and a plank or two at the bottom falls out."

"Neither do I;" Mr. Wiggins spoke emphatically. "The Quarries Company's

liabilities run up into the millions on account of the contracts they

have signed and the work they have undertaken, and there ought to be a

million of available assets to discount panics like this one that looks

pretty threatening to us away off here in Maine. Our bank ought to have

the benefit of some of the money."

"Well, so far, we've had our trouble for nothing, you might say. You, as

a director, know that Champney sends up a hundred thousand say on

Thursday, and Romanzo draws it for the pay roll and other disbursements

on Saturday morning; they hold it at the other end to get the use of it

till the last gun is fired." He spoke with irritation.

"It looks to me as if some sort of a gun had been fired already," said

Mr. Wiggins, pointing to the increasing crowd before the hall.

"Something's up," said Emlie, startled at the sight of the gathering

hundreds.

"Then there's my place," said the Colonel--the other two thought they

heard him sigh--and started up the street.

Emlie turned to Mr. Wiggins.

"It's rough on the Colonel; he's a man of peace if ever there was one,

and likes to stand well with one and all. This rough and tumble business

of sheriff goes against the grain; his time is up next month; he'll be

glad enough to be out of it. I'll step over to the office for the paper,

I see they've just come--the men have got them already from the stand--"

Elmer Wiggins caught his arm.

"Look!" he cried under his breath, pointing to the crowd and a man who

was mounting the tail of an express wagon that had halted on the

outskirts of the throng. "That's one of the quarrymen--he's ring-leader

every time--he's going to read 'em something--hark!"

They could hear the man haranguing the ever-increasing crowd; he was

waving a newspaper. They could not hear what he was saying, but in the

pauses of his speechifying the hoarse murmur of approval grew louder and

louder. The cart-tail orator pointed to the headlines; there was a

sudden deep silence, so deep that the soft scurrying of a mass of fallen

elm leaves in the gutter seemed for a moment to fill all the air. Then

the man began to read. They saw the Colonel on the outside of the crowd;

saw him suddenly turn and make with all haste for the post-office; saw

him reappear reading the paper.

The two hurried across the street to him.

"What's the matter?" Emlie demanded.

The Colonel spoke no word. He held the sheet out to them and with

shaking forefinger pointed to the headlines: