THE WEST
The meeting of the share-holders of the British-American Lumber and
Coal Company was, on the whole, a stormy one, for the very best of
reasons--the failure of the company to pay dividends. The annual report
which the president presented showed clearly that there was a slight
increase in expenditure and a considerable falling off in sales, and it
needed but a little mathematical ability to reach the conclusion that
in a comparatively short time the company would be bankrupt. The
share-holders were thoroughly disgusted with the British Columbia end
of the business, and were on the lookout for a victim. Naturally their
choice fell upon the manager. The concern failed to pay. It was the
manager's business to make it pay and the failure must be laid to his
charge. Their confidence in their manager was all the more shaken by the
reports that had reached them of his peculiar fads--his reading-room,
library, etc. These were sufficient evidence of his lack of business
ability. He was undoubtedly a worthy young man, but there was every
ground to believe that he was something of a visionary, and men with
great hesitation intrust hard cash to the management of an idealist. It
was, perhaps, unfortunate for Mr. St. Clair that he should be appealed
to upon this point, for his reluctance to express an opinion as to the
ability of the manager, and his admission that possibly the young man
might properly be termed a visionary, brought Colonel Thorp sharply to
his feet.
“Mr. St. Clair,” said the colonel, in a cool, cutting voice, “will not
hesitate to bear testimony to the fact that our manager is a man whose
integrity cannot be tampered with. If I mistake not, Mr. St. Clair has
had evidence of this.”
Mr. St. Clair hastened to bear the very strongest testimony to the
manager's integrity.
“And Mr. St. Clair, I have no doubt,” went on the colonel, “will be
equally ready to bear testimony to the conspicuous ability our manager
displayed while he was in the service of the Raymond and St. Clair
Lumber Company.”
Mr. St. Clair promptly corroborated the colonel's statement.
“We are sure of two things, therefore,” continued the colonel, “that
our manager is a man of integrity, and that he has displayed conspicuous
business ability in his former positions.”
At this point the colonel was interrupted, and his attention was called
to the fact that the reports showed an increase of expenditure for
supplies and for wages, and on the other hand a falling off in the
revenue from the stores. But the colonel passed over these points as
insignificant. “It is clear,” he proceeded, “that the cause of failure
does not lie in the management, but in the state of the market. The
political situation in that country is very doubtful, and this has an
exceedingly depressing effect upon business.”
“Then,” interrupted a share-holder, “it is time the company should
withdraw from that country and confine itself to a district where the
market is sure and the future more stable.”
“What about these fads, Colonel?” asked another share-holder; “these
reading-rooms, libraries, etc? Do you think we pay a man to establish
that sort of thing? To my mind they simply put a lot of nonsense
into the heads of the working-men and are the chief cause of
dissatisfaction.” Upon this point the colonel did not feel competent to
reply; consequently the feeling of the meeting became decidedly hostile
to the present manager, and a resolution was offered demanding his
resignation. It was also agreed that the board of directors should
consider the advisability of withdrawing altogether from British
Columbia, inasmuch as the future of that country seemed to be very
uncertain. Thereupon Colonel Thorp rose and begged leave to withdraw his
name from the directorate of the company. He thought it was unwise to
abandon a country where they had spent large sums of money, without a
thorough investigation of the situation, and he further desired to enter
his protest against the injustice of making their manager suffer for a
failure for which he had in no way been shown to be responsible. But the
share-holders refused to even consider Colonel Thorp's request, and both
the president and secretary exhausted their eloquence in eulogizing his
value to the company. As a compromise it was finally decided to continue
operations in British Columbia for another season. Colonel Thorp
declared that the reforms and reorganization schemes inaugurated by
Ranald would result in great reductions in the cost of production, and
that Ranald should be given opportunity to demonstrate the success or
failure of his plans; and further, the political situation doubtless
would be more settled. The wisdom of this decision was manifested later.
The spirit of unrest and dissatisfaction appeared again at the next
annual meeting, for while conditions were improving, dividends were
not yet forthcoming. Once again Colonel Thorp successfully championed
Ranald's cause, this time insisting that a further test of two seasons
be made, prophesying that not only would the present deficit disappear,
but that their patience and confidence would be amply rewarded.
Yielding to pressure, and desiring to acquaint himself with actual
conditions from personal observation, Colonel Thorp concluded to visit
British Columbia the autumn preceding the annual meeting which was to
succeed Ranald's period of probation.
Therefore it was that Colonel Thorp found himself on the coast steamship
Oregon approaching the city of Victoria. He had not enjoyed his voyage,
and was, consequently, in no mood to receive the note which was handed
him by a brisk young man at the landing.
“Who's this from, Pat,” said the colonel, taking the note.
“Mike, if you please, Michael Cole, if you don't mind; and the note is
from the boss, Mr. Macdonald, who has gone up the country, and can't be
here to welcome you.”
“Gone up the country!” roared the colonel; “what the blank, blank, does
he mean by going up the country at this particular time?”
But Mr. Michael Cole was quite undisturbed by the colonel's wrath. “You
might find the reason in the note,” he said, coolly, and the colonel,
glaring at him, opened the note and read:
“MY DEAR COLONEL THORP: I am greatly disappointed in not being able to
meet you. The truth is I only received your letter this week. Our mails
are none too prompt, and so I have been unable to re-arrange my plans.
I find it necessary to run up the river for a couple of weeks. In the
meantime, thinking that possibly you might like to see something of
our country, I have arranged that you should join the party of the
Lieutenant Governor on their trip to the interior, and which will take
only about four weeks' time. The party are going to visit the most
interesting districts of our country, including both the famous mining
district of Cariboo and the beautiful valley of the Okanagan. Mr. Cole,
my clerk, will introduce you to Mr. Blair, our member of Parliament for
Westminster, who will present you to the rest of the party. Mr. Blair, I
need not say, is one of the brightest business men in the West. I shall
meet you at Yale on your return. If it is absolutely impossible for you
to take this trip, and necessary that I should return at once, Mr. Cole
will see that a special messenger is sent to me, but I would strongly
urge that you go, if possible.
“With kind regards.”
“Look here, young man,” yelled the colonel, “do you think I've come all
this way to go gallivanting around the country with any blank, blank
royal party?”
“I don't know, Colonel,” said young Cole, brightly; “but I tell you I'd
like mighty well to go in your place.”
“And where in the nation IS your boss, and what's he after, anyway?”
“He's away up the river looking after business, and pretty big business,
too,” said Coley, not at all overawed by the colonel's wrath.
“Well, I hope he knows himself,” said the colonel.
“Oh, don't make any mistake about that, Colonel,” said young Cole; “he
always knows where he's going and what he wants, and he gets it.” But
the colonel made no reply, nor did he deign to notice Mr. Michael Cole
again until they had arrived at the New Westminster landing.
“The boss didn't know,” said Coley, approaching the colonel with some
degree of care, “whether you would like to go to the hotel or to his
rooms; you can take your choice. The hotel is not of the best, and he
thought perhaps you could put up with his rooms.”
“All right,” said the colonel; “I guess they'll suit me.”
The colonel made no mistake in deciding for Ranald's quarters. They
consisted of two rooms that formed one corner of a long, wooden,
single-story building in the shape of an L. One of these rooms Ranald
made his dining-room and bedroom, the other was his office. The rest
of the building was divided into three sections, and constituted a
dining-room, reading-room, and bunk-room for the men. The walls of these
rooms were decorated not inartistically with a few colored prints
and with cuts from illustrated papers, many and divers. The furniture
throughout was home-made, with the single exception of a cabinet organ
which stood in one corner of the reading-room. On the windows of the
dining-room and bunk-room were green roller blinds, but those of the
reading-room were draped with curtains of flowered muslin. Indeed the
reading-room was distinguished from the others by a more artistic and
elaborate decoration, and by a greater variety of furniture. The room
was evidently the pride of the company's heart. In Ranald's private room
the same simplicity in furniture and decoration was apparent, but when
the colonel was ushered into the bedroom his eye fell at once upon two
photographs, beautifully framed, hung on each side of the mirror.
“Hello, guess I ought to know this,” he said, looking at one of them.
Coley beamed. “You do, eh? Well, then, she's worth knowin' and there's
only one of her kind.”
“Don't know about that, young man,” said the colonel, looking at the
other photograph; “here's one that ought to go in her class.”
“Perhaps,” said Coley, doubtfully, “the boss thinks so, I guess, from
the way he looks at it.”
“Young man, what sort of a fellow's your boss?” said the colonel,
suddenly facing Coley.
“What sort?” Coley thought a moment. “Well, 'twould need a good
eddication to tell, but there's only one in his class, I tell you.”
“Then he owes it to this little woman,” pointing to one of the
photographs, “and she,” pointing to the other, “said so.”
“Then you may bet it's true.”
“I don't bet on a sure thing,” said the colonel, his annoyance vanishing
in a slow smile, his first since reaching the province.
“Dinner'll be ready in half an hour, sir,” said Coley, swearing
allegiance in his heart to the man that agreed with him in regard to the
photograph that stood with Coley for all that was highest in humanity.
“John,” he said, sharply, to the Chinese cook, “got good dinner, eh?”
“Pitty good,” said John, indifferently.
“Now, look here, John, him big man.” John was not much impressed. “Awful
big man, I tell you, big soldier.” John preserved a stolid countenance.
“John,” said the exasperated Coley, “I'll kick you across this room and
back if you don't listen to me. Want big dinner, heap good, eh?”
“Huh-huh, belly good,” replied John, with a slight show of interest.
“I say, John, what you got for dinner, eh?” asked Coley, changing his
tactics.
“Ham, eggs, lice,” answered the Mongolian, imperturbably.
“Gee whiz!” said Coley, “goin' to feed the boss' uncle on ham and eggs?”
“What?” said John, with sudden interest, “Uncle boss, eh?”
“Yes,” said the unblushing Coley.
“Huh! Coley heap fool! Get chicken, quick! meat shop, small, eh?” The
Chinaman was at last aroused. Pots, pans, and other utensils were in
immediate requisition, a roaring fire set a-going, and in three-quarters
of an hour the colonel sat down to a dinner of soup, fish, and fowl,
with various entrees and side dishes that would have done credit to a
New York chef. Thus potent was the name of the boss with his cook.
John's excellent dinner did much to soothe and mollify his guest;
but the colonel was sensitive to impressions other than the purely
gastronomic, for throughout the course of the dinner, his eyes wandered
to the photographs on the wall, and in fancy he was once more in the
presence of the two women, to whom he felt pledged in Ranald's behalf.
“It's a one-horse looking country, though,” he said to himself, “and no
place for a man with any snap. Best thing would be to pull out, I
guess, and take him along.” And it was in this mind that he received the
Honorable Archibald Blair, M. P. P., for New Westminster, president of
the British Columbia Canning Company, recently organized, and a director
in half a dozen other business concerns.
“Colonel Thorp, this is Mr. Blair, of the British Columbia Canning
Company,” said Coley, with a curious suggestion of Ranald in his manner.
“Glad to welcome a friend of Mr. Macdonald's,” said Mr. Blair, a little
man of about thirty, with a shrewd eye and a kindly frank manner.
“Well, I guess I can say the same,” said Colonel Thorp, shaking hands.
“I judge his friends are of the right sort.”
“You'll find plenty in this country glad to class themselves in that
list,” laughed Mr. Blair; “I wouldn't undertake to guarantee them all,
but those he lists that way, you can pretty well bank on. He's a young
man for reading men.”
“Yes?” said the colonel, interrogatively; “he's very young.”
“Young, for that matter so are we all, especially on this side the water
here. It's a young man's country.”
“Pretty young, I judge,” said the colonel, dryly. “Lots of room to
grow.”
“Yes, thank Providence!” said Mr. Blair, enthusiastically; “but there's
lots of life and lots to feed it. But I'm not going to talk, Colonel. It
is always wasted breath on an Easterner. I'll let the country talk. You
are coming with us, of course.”
“Hardly think so; my time is rather limited, and, well, to tell the
truth; I'm from across the line and don't cater much to your royalties.”
“Royalties!” exclaimed Mr. Blair. “Oh, you mean our governor. Well,
that's good rather, must tell the governor that.” Mr. Blair laughed long
and loud. “You'll forget all that when you are out with us an hour. No,
we think it well to hedge our government with dignity, but on this trip
we shall leave the gold lace and red tape behind.”
“How long do you propose to be gone?”
“About four weeks. But I make you a promise. If after the first week you
want to return from any point, I shall send you back with all speed. But
you won't want to, I guarantee you that. Why, my dear sir, think of
the route,” and Mr. Blair went off into a rapturous description of the
marvels of the young province, its scenery, its resources, its climate,
its sport, playing upon each string as he marked the effect upon his
listener. By the time Mr. Blair's visit was over, the colonel had made
up his mind that he would see something of this wonderful country.
Next day Coley took him over the company's mills, and was not a little
disappointed to see that the colonel was not impressed by their size or
equipment. In Coley's eyes they were phenomenal, and he was inclined to
resent the colonel's lofty manner. The foreman, Mr. Urquhart, a shrewd
Scotchman, who had seen the mills of the Ottawa River and those in
Michigan as well, understood his visitor's attitude better; and besides,
it suited his Scotch nature to refuse any approach to open admiration
for anything out of the old land. His ordinary commendation was,
“It's no that bad”; and his superlative was expressed in the daring
concession, “Aye, it'll maybe dae, it micht be waur.” So he followed the
colonel about with disparaging comments that drove Coley to the verge of
madness. When they came to the engine room, which was Urquhart's pride,
the climax was reached.
“It's a wee bit o' a place, an' no fit for the wark,” said Urquhart,
ushering the colonel into a snug little engine-room, where every bit of
brass shone with dazzling brightness, and every part of the engine moved
in smooth, sweet harmony.
“Slick little engine,” said the colonel, with discriminating admiration.
“It's no that bad the noo, but ye sud hae seen it afore Jem, there, took
a hand o' it--a wheezin' rattlin' pechin thing that ye micht expect tae
flee in bits for the noise in the wame o't. But Jemmie sorted it till
it's nae despicable for its size. But it's no fit for the wark. Jemmie,
lad, just gie't its fill an' we'll pit the saw until a log,” said
Urquhart, as they went up into the sawing-room where, in a few minutes,
the colonel had an exhibition of the saw sticking fast in a log for lack
of power.
“Man, yon's a lad that kens his trade. He's frae Gleska. He earns his
money's warth.”
“How did you come to get him?” said the colonel, moved to interest by
Urquhart's unwonted praise.
“Indeed, just the way we've got all our best men. It's the boss picked
him oot o' the gutter, and there he is earnin' his twa and a half a
day.”
“The boss did that, eh?” said the colonel, with one of his swift glances
at the speaker.
“Aye, that he did, and he's only one o' many.”
“He's good at that sort of business, I guess.”
“Aye, he kens men as ye can see frae his gang.”
“Doesn't seem to be able to make the company's business pay,” ventured
the colonel.
“D'ye think ye cud find one that cud?” pointing to the halting saw. “An
that's the machine that turned oot thae piles yonder. Gie him a chance,
though, an' when the stuff is deesposed of ye'll get y're profit.”
Urquhart knew what he was about, and the colonel went back with Coley
to his rooms convinced of two facts, that the company had a plant that
might easily be improved, but a manager that, in the estimation of those
who wrought with him, was easily first in his class. Ranald could have
adopted no better plan for the enhancing of his reputation than by
allowing Colonel Thorp to go in and out among the workmen and his
friends. More and more the colonel became impressed with his manager's
genius for the picking of his men and binding them to his interests, and
as this impression deepened he became the more resolved that it was
a waste of good material to retain a man in a country offering such a
limited scope for his abilities.
But after four weeks spent in exploring the interior, from Quesnelle to
Okanagan, and in the following in and out the water-ways of the coast
line, the colonel met Ranald at Yale with only a problem to be solved,
and he lost no time in putting it to his manager.
“How in thunder can I get those narrow-gauge, hidebound Easterners to
launch out into business in this country?”
“I can't help you there, Colonel. I've tried and failed.”
“By the great Sam, so you have!” said the colonel, with a sudden
conviction of his own limitations in the past. “No use tryin' to tell
'em of this,” swinging his long arm toward the great sweep of the Fraser
Valley, clothed with a mighty forest. “It's only a question of holdin'
on for a few years, the thing's dead sure.”
“I have been through a good part of it,” said Ranald, quietly, “and I am
convinced that here we have the pick of Canada, and I venture to say
of the American Continent. Timber, hundreds of square miles of it,
fish--I've seen that river so packed with salmon that I couldn't shove
my canoe through--”
“Hold on, now,” said the colonel, “give me time.”
“Simple, sober truth of my own proving,” replied Ranald. “And you saw a
fringe of the mines up in the Cariboo. The Kootenai is full of gold and
silver, and in the Okanagan you can grow food and fruits for millions of
people. I know what I am saying.”
“Tell you what,” said the colonel, “you make me think you're speakin'
the truth anyhow.” Then, with a sudden inspiration, he exclaimed: “By
the great Sammy, I've got an idea!” and then, as he saw Ranald waiting,
added, “But I guess I'll let it soak till we get down to the mill.”
“Do you think you could spare me, Colonel?” asked Ranald, in a dubious
voice; “I really ought to run through a bit of timber here.”
“No, by the great Sam, I can't! I want you to come right along,” replied
the colonel, with emphasis.
“What is he saying, Colonel?” asked Mr. Blair.
“Wants to run off and leave me to paddle my way home alone. Not much! I
tell you what, we have some important business to do before I go East.
You hear me?”
“And besides, Macdonald, I want you for that big meeting of ours next
week. You simply must be there.”
“You flatter me, Mr. Blair.”
“Not a bit; you know there are a lot of hot-heads talking separation and
that sort of thing, and I want some level-headed fellow who is in with
the working men to be there.”
And as it turned out it was a good thing for Mr. Blair and for the cause
he represented that Ranald was present at the great mass-meeting held
in New Westminster the next week. For the people were exasperated beyond
all endurance at the delay of the Dominion in making good the solemn
promises given at the time of Confederation, and were in a mood to
listen to the proposals freely made that the useless bond should be
severed. “Railway or separation,” was the cry, and resolutions embodying
this sentiment were actually proposed and discussed. It was Ranald's
speech, every one said, that turned the tide. His calm logic made clear
the folly of even considering separation; his knowledge of, and his
unbounded faith in, the resources of the province, and more than all,
his impassioned picturing of the future of the great Dominion reaching
from ocean to ocean, knit together by ties of common interest, and a
common loyalty that would become more vividly real when the provinces
had been brought more closely together by the promised railway. They
might have to wait a little longer, but it was worth while waiting, and
there was no future in any other policy. It was his first speech at a
great meeting, and as Mr. Blair shook him warmly by the hand, the crowd
burst into enthusiastic cries, “Macdonald! Macdonald!” and in one of
the pauses a single voice was heard, “Glengarry forever!” Then again
the crowd broke forth, “Glengarry! Glengarry!” for all who knew Ranald
personally had heard of the gang that were once the pride of the Ottawa.
At that old cry Ranald's face flushed deep red, and he had no words to
answer his friends' warm congratulations.
“Send him East,” cried a voice.
“Yes, yes, that's it. Send him to Ottawa to John A. It's the same clan!”
Swiftly Mr. Blair made up his mind. “Gentlemen, that is a good
suggestion. I make it a motion.” It was seconded in a dozen places,
and carried by a standing vote. Then Ranald rose again and modestly
protested that he was not the man to go. He was quite unknown in the
province.
“We know you!” the same voice called out, followed by a roar of
approval.
“And, besides,” went on Ranald, “it is impossible for me to get away;
I'm a working man and not my own master.”
Then the colonel, who was sitting on the platform, rose and begged to be
heard. “Mr. Chairman and gentlemen, I ain't a Canadian--”
“Never mind! You can't help that,” sang out a man from the back, with a
roar of laughter following.
“But if I weren't an American, I don't know anything that I'd rather
be.” (Great applause.) “Four weeks ago I wouldn't have taken your
province as a gift. Now I only wish Uncle Sam could persuade you to
sell.” (Cries of “He hasn't got money enough. Don't fool yourself.”)
“But I want to say that this young man of mine,” pointing to Ranald,
“has given you good talk, and if you want him to go East, why, I'll let
him off for a spell.” (Loud cheers for the colonel and for Macdonald.)
A week later a great meeting in Victoria indorsed the New Westminster
resolutions with the added demand that the railway should be continued
to Esquinalt according to the original agreement. Another delegate was
appointed to represent the wishes of the islanders, and before Ranald
had fully realized what had happened he found himself a famous man, and
on the way to the East with the jubilant colonel.
“What was the great idea, Colonel, that struck you at Yale?” inquired
Ranald, as they were fairly steaming out of the Esquinalt harbor.
“This is it, my boy!” exclaimed the colonel, slapping him on the back.
“This here trip East. Now we've got 'em over the ropes, by the great
and everlasting Sammy!” the form of oath indicating a climax in the
colonel's emotion.
“Got who?” inquired Ranald, mystified.
“Them gol-blamed, cross-road hayseeds down East.” And with this the
colonel became discreetly silent. He knew too well the sensitive pride
of the man with whom he had to deal, and he was chiefly anxious now that
Ranald should know as little as possible of the real object of his going
to British Columbia.
“We've got to make the British-American Coal and Lumber Company know the
time of day. It's gittin'-up time out in this country. They were talkin'
a little of drawin' out.” Ranald gasped. “Some of them only,” the
colonel hastened to add, “but I want you to talk like you did the other
night, and I'll tell my little tale, and if that don't fetch 'em then
I'm a Turk.”
“Well, Colonel, here's my word,” said Ranald, deliberately, “if the
company wish to withdraw they may do so, but my future is bound up with
that of the West, and I have no fear that it will fail me. I stake my
all upon the West.”