company; Dempster had guaranteed him that. Baird regarded his interest
in the company as the important thing. He had very little money of his
own, the disastrous two years in South America had cleaned him out, so,
while he spent the mornings in Carter's office going over Dempster's
plans and specifications for the new factory and took charge of the
correspondence connected with it, he had been considering ways and means
of pushing his own interests.
He wanted a larger interest in the company. Dempster and Carter meant to
keep the controlling interest in their own hands, but they would welcome
sums of which they might have the handling, additions to the company of
men like Edward Westmore who would be content simply to draw dividends
and interfere in no way with the management of the concern. If he could
capture for them several such men as Edward Westmore, his own reward
would be an increased interest in the company. Just let him once get on
his feet, have some negotiable paper at his command, and he would
outdistance both Dempster and Carter; he had a better business brain
than either of them. Baird was not in the least modest about his own
capability, and he had learned the wisdom of going slowly.
The two hunt clubs had seemed to him a good field for operations;
certainly the best he could command. He would meet there just the sort
of men who would be useful to him. Though unacquainted with Baird's
reasons, Edwin Carter had willingly put him up at the Ridge Club, and
his recommendation of the young man was genuine enough. Baird's good
sense had both surprised and pleased him. The young fellow had the
qualities of a winner; most young men with the attractions of a city
open to them would not care to sleep where the whip-poor-wills held
sway.
Things were working out well for Baird. At the Fair Field Club he had
secured one man for his company, and when Edward Westmore came forward
with his guarantee for Garvin he would present them both to Carter with
the certainty of accrued interest in the company.
But Baird was not thinking of business when he rode away from Westmore
that night. For the first time he was thinking really seriously of a
woman. Until he met Judith Westmore, women had been merely incidents to
him, and to-night he had been brought face to face with marriage, the
thing he had not intended to consider for years to come.
He and Judith had seen each other frequently during the last weeks. They
had ridden together, spent long evenings together, been bidden together
to all the Ridge gatherings. And yet, throughout, Judith had maintained
a certain distance, attracting him, and yet restraining him. He had
struggled against her dominance, as he would always struggle to conquer
anything that eluded him. Judith had hovered just beyond his reach, and
he had been forced into an impassioned deference, been held to it so
determinedly that his capturing instinct had been fully aroused. The
eight years' difference in their ages had vanished from his
consideration. Was she playing with him, or was she not? What he wanted
was a more satisfying response to his love.
For Baird had decided that for the first time in his life he was in
love. For the first time a woman had interested him completely, stirred
all that was decentest in him, held him to deference while she showed
herself supremely attractive. When he had come upon Ann that afternoon,
he had been wondering what Judith would say or do if he should suddenly
lift her from her horse and kiss her; tell her that he loved her? How
much would he learn of the real Judith?
He had been on the very verge of some such avowal when he had looked up
and seen Ann. Their little episode had long since been relegated to the
background which was studded by such careless incidents; he felt no
particular self-consciousness at the sight of Ann, but it did strike him
as unnecessarily cruel of Judith to cut the girl. Ann was so appealingly
pretty as she stood there, wide-eyed and startled, then so lovely when
radiated by her eager smile. "Damn their stupid family quarrel!" had
been Baird's inward comment.
The thing had chilled him, and they had ridden in silence until Judith
asked brightly, "Who is that pretty girl we just passed? She gave you a
brilliant smile, Mr. Baird."
Baird had been surprised into saying, "Ann Penniman--but it was you she
was speaking to--she gave me only the tail of her eye," and his
annoyance at Judith made him add, "I think she is the prettiest girl
I've met on the Ridge."
"Ann Penniman? Why, I don't know her--I never spoke to a Penniman in my
life," Judith had returned with a faintly questioning, half-amused,
half-regretful note. "If she is the little girl who belongs to the farm
beyond the woods there, she has grown up quickly. I'm sorry if I was
really included in that smile and didn't realize it."
Judith had done her feminine best to nullify her act and at the same
time convey to Baird the status of Ann Penniman. Baird had not fathomed
her, or guessed the swift jealousy that had instantly struck at Ann.
Ann's smile was certainly meant for Judith, but if Judith had not
realized it, it was all right enough. Garvin had told him that no
Penniman ever bowed to a Westmore. The odd thing was that Ann should
have risked being cut. But why should he think twice about the thing--he
had no interest either in their quarrels or their attempts at
reconciliation.
Baird promptly forgot the incident, for, throughout the afternoon,
Judith was so utterly charming to him. They had had the club to
themselves; it was a little as if he were entertaining her at his own
house, a new sensation to Baird--every step of his intimacy with Judith
had been a new experience.
They had ridden slowly back to Westmore then, through the tender green
of the woods, both the languor and the stir of spring having their way
with him, his eyes saying to Judith the things his lips did not. Then
Westmore had deepened, as it always did, the impression of
unattainability that Judith gave. Their walk on the terrace after dinner
had softened the impression. Judith had talked about herself, and one
admission she made had impressed Baird more than anything she had ever
said; she was speaking of Westmore and of Edward:
"I have been mistress of Westmore for a long time, but I realize that
Edward will probably marry--he is only thirty-nine.... In a way, it will
be a relief to me, and yet I shall feel a little desolate."
"But you will marry," Baird had said.
"If I love a man enough, I will."
Baird did not know why he had not spoken, then and there. Why the thing
had come suddenly and in the way in which it had--when his horse had
been brought to the front door and Judith stood beside him as he was
about to mount. He had tested the saddle, Judith was afraid that it
might be loose, they stood together, their hands touching, and suddenly
her nearness had pervaded him. He had caught her to him, held her for
the instant of yielding, and then their lips had met.
It was a woman's kiss he had received; a woman's clinging embrace, as
passionate as the pressure of his own arms--for the long moment before
withdrawal. He had tried to keep her. "Judith, we love each other--" he
said, but the arms that held him off were like steel.
"It's--Edward--" she whispered breathlessly. "You must let me go--" When
he loosed her, she gained the portico. She had heard when he had not
Edward's approach around the side of the house.
When Edward came up, Baird stood back to his horse, his grasp already on
a degree of composure. He had been conscious that Edward had spoken
absently, that he stood absently beside Judith while Baird told Judith
that he would see her the next day. He had lifted his cap and ridden
away, with only the one very clear impression, that before he saw Judith
again he would settle something that was a chaotic uncertainty in his
mind.
He was trying to settle it when Garvin met him, and took it up again
when they parted: was he ready to marry--even for love? There were minor
considerations that occurred to Baird: he had gone far, and Judith was
not a woman to be played with; she would be a superb wife; she loved him
and he loved her, but did he love her enough to give up his beloved
freedom? to settle down to home-building?... He thought he did.
Baird shouldered the thing finally, with an all-pervading sense of
responsibility; went soberly to bed with it.
XXI
A LOT OF PLANNING
Baird rose early the next morning in the same soberly responsible frame
of mind, fully conscious that he was about to enter upon an entirely new
phase. He had no joking word for Sam--and no shining half-dollar--he
would have to be more careful of his half-dollars after this, a family
man had to think of such things.
Though it was Saturday, he had to go into the city that morning, for
Edward had promised that if, after considering Baird's proposition over
night, he decided that he wanted to close with it, he would come to
Carter's office, talk the matter over with him as well, and sign the
necessary papers. Halstead, the Fair Field investor whose promise Baird
had secured, was also coming. It would be a triumph for Baird, for the
two were so exactly the sort of men his firm would welcome.
For the three morning hours Baird was too alertly busy to think of his
matrimonial plans. Both Edward and Halstead appeared promptly, settled
their business without hesitation, and, when Edward took leave of Baird
at noon, Garvin's position was secure. There was already a city agency
for the Dempster machines, and as soon as the present agent could be
transferred to an agency elsewhere Garvin was to take his place. Carter
thought that Garvin could take charge in about a month, and in the
meantime he would receive commissions on any Dempsters he might be able
to sell.
Baird had the satisfaction of knowing that Carter was well pleased; the
extra interest in the company which he craved was certain to be his.
Carter lunched him royally at his club when the morning's business was
ended, and invited him for the afternoon and for Sunday to his palatial
new home in Spring Valley, but Baird had other plans; he meant to go to
Westmore that evening.
"An attraction on the Ridge, I suppose," Carter said, with a twinkle in
his eye.
"Yes," Baird confessed, but with the air of the man who meant to say no
more.
Carter turned to business. "Dempster says the first thing for us to do
is to get out a new model that's something ahead of anything on the
market yet."
"We have to compete with the French machines," Baird said. "If we can
evolve a model that offers the qualities of the best French traveler,
we'll have accomplished something. And there's a big future for the
truck, too.... I went into the Gaylord factories after I came back from
South America, worked eight months there, on purpose to get ideas for a
model car and truck I've had in mind ever since I first saw a motor
chugging along in Chicago. It was the trial trip of the orneriest excuse
for a car man ever invented. I bought my way on her second trip just to
study her. Then I took up mechanical engineering, or, rather, I went on
with it. Except for the two years I spent on a ranch in Wyoming, I was
always knocking around machine shops; my father couldn't keep me out of
them."
Carter was thinking. "You've had a course in engineering, then?" he
asked.
"Four years in Chicago University. That's what took me out to South
America. I saw a chance to make money there and I made it, fifty
thousand in one year--the next year I dropped it, partly because I
hadn't experience enough, and partly because I had the Brazilian
government against me.... But I've told you that story before."
Carter had followed his line of thought to a conclusion. "How would you
like to go to France for a few months, go this autumn, and go the rounds
of the factories there, while Dempster is enlarging the plant, and bring
us back your ideas?"
It was the thing Baird desired most. He had puzzled over some means of
getting to Europe and still keeping in close touch with the company.
Here was his opportunity, nevertheless his instant thought was, "If I do
you'll pay me well for it--and you won't get my best ideas, either, not
unless I get a lion's share of the profits." To Carter he said, "It
wouldn't be a bad scheme--it would pay the company in the end, I
think."
"I'll suggest it to Dempster when he comes in." Carter relaxed into
chuckles then. "I've got a word to say to him about the present Dempster
car, too. Spring Valley is duly impressed by the shining thing, which
was my object in having it sent on, and I've gladly spent a hundred
dollars or so on coats and bonnets and veils for Mrs. Carter and
Christine, but, lord, Baird, every damned thing that could go wrong with
an engine and four wheels has happened to that thing! I meant to run it
myself and take a little quiet joy in doctoring its ills, but no, thank
you! I'm done! I've advertised for a first-class chauffeur who'll take
charge of it and swear to all the neighbors that the beast is an angel.
It probably will sell Dempster cars, but I'll own to you that I'm sorry
for the man who buys one."
"They're no good," Baird agreed, "but no make on the market is
satisfactory, for that matter. We've simply got to get out a better
machine." Then he laughed. "Garvin Westmore is having his trials, too,
and keeping quiet about it. Every man will keep as quiet as possible
about his engine troubles, keep a debit and credit sheet--debit, temper
and money--credit, the envy of his neighbors and the possession of a
high-priced convenience. And the credit sheet will win out every time.
The craze is on and will go the lengths--until we begin to travel the
air."
"I suppose you'll be advocating a flying-machine annex to the factory
next," Carter said.
Baird did not say that he had given a great deal of thought to aerial
navigation. He bid Carter a laughing good-by and took the first train to
the Ridge.
He settled quickly into the gravity that had held him ever since he had
parted from Judith.... Judith would enjoy Europe. She had never been to
Europe; neither had he.... And when they returned they would have to go
west to live; he would have to be near the factory. He thought, with
something of a glow, that Judith would be a queen anywhere, beautiful
and capable--and a passionately loving woman--her kiss had told him
that.
He pondered Judith a little. She was no longer a mystery to him; just a
splendid sort of woman who had plenty of will, will enough to have
devoted herself to Westmore through the hard years, but, throughout, a
woman desirous of love. He had wanted to discover her, and it had led to
this. He couldn't ask for a better helpmate than Judith; she was a deal
too fine for him, in fact; he would have to live up to Westmore
ideals.... There was a lot of planning to do for the future.... It was
almost four o'clock--he would fill in the time till evening, then go to
Judith.
XXII
IMPRESSIONS
So Baird had decided when he alighted from the train and went down into
the village for his horse which he always left at one of the village
stables while he was in the city. He stopped at the little
store-post-office for his mail, then rode up the Post-Road, across the
railroad track and past the station. A short distance away he noticed a
shining new buggy drawn close to the edge of the road, and his next
glance told him that the girl in the buggy was Ann Penniman. He had not
recognized her at first, in her red coat and big white hat; he had not
immediately connected her with the new buggy and capable horse, either.
Baird was in a mood to be regretful for past misdemeanors; never in his
life had he felt so solemnly retrospective for so many consecutive
hours. He rode directly up to Ann, undeterred by the way in which she
looked through him, much as Judith had looked through her on the day
before.
Baird brought his horse to a stop beside her. "How do you do?" he said
gravely.
Ann's beautiful brows lifted. "I am well, thank you." Baird could not
have imagined a more icy greeting.
"Will you endure my presence long enough for me to say something?" he
asked with unabated gravity.
"Why--certainly--" Ann's brows were still raised.
"I want to apologize humbly, for the way in which I repaid your kindness
the other day. I behaved abominably."
Ann paused an instant for a choice of words. "I reckon I was
too--pleasant to a stranger--an' you behaved the way that's natural to
you. I haven't thought much about it, so it doesn't matter at all."
"I guess you're right about my being an ill-mannered brute--it's about
time I reformed," Baird returned with perfect sincerity. "I'm very sorry
I did what I did.... You see, Miss Ann, you're very sweet and pretty,
the prettiest girl I've ever seen, I think, and I clean forgot
myself--was just abominably natural, as you say."
Baird would not have been Baird had he not added this codicil to his
apology and signed it by the look he gave Ann, an appreciative study of
the water-lily hat and the flower-like face it framed. Her red coat
became her wonderfully, made her clear skin still more white,
intensified the gray in her hazel eyes, deepened the black in her hair.
She was a study in contrasts, and really very beautiful. And it struck
Baird that she looked much more mature. There were shadows beneath her
eyes, and her mouth looked firmer, like that of a girl grown rather
suddenly into womanhood.
Ann increased the impression by the way in which she disposed of his
speech. She shrugged slightly, shelving both his apology and his
admiration with utter indifference. "I am waiting for my father--I
reckon he must have missed the last train. Do you know what time it is?"
Baird looked at his watch. "The next train will be along in ten
minutes."
"As soon as that? I'm glad.... I don't like to go any nearer the
station, for we don't know yet whether this horse is train-broke."
Baird repeated his stock phrase. "You ought to have an automobile--it
wouldn't take fright."
Ann smiled involuntarily at the thought of a Penniman's investing in an
automobile, and also at Baird's business alertness; she had heard much
of Baird from Garvin. "You ought to talk to father," she said. When she
smiled she looked more like the mischievous child Baird had seen playing
in the barn; her eyelids drooped and the corners of her mouth lifted.
"I will," Baird returned promptly. "I'll wait here and meet him, if you
don't mind."
Ann decided to offer no objection. She had brought it on herself, but
she felt quite capable of enduring his presence with equanimity. And if
her father treated him with scant courtesy, so much the better. She
settled back in the buggy, and Baird also chose a more negligent
attitude. He sat sidewise and surveyed Ann.
She was certainly worth looking at as she sat there, relaxed and with
eyes down, an air of self-absorption that was tantalizing. Apparently,
she was quite indifferent whether there was any conversation or not.
"Have you seen Garvin Westmore driving his new machine?" he asked at
random.
"No," Ann answered, without raising her eyes. She was thinking of Garvin
and the night before; she had thought of little else all day.
Baird noted her manner, and launched into an account of Garvin's trial
trip down the Post-Road. He exaggerated the dangers they encountered,
and Ann woke to new interest, even to terror, when he assured her that
it was all a man's life was worth to drive a car over some of the Ridge
roads.
"An' Garvin's so reckless--about drivin'," she said, wide-eyed, and
added severely, "You ought to tell him to be careful--you sold him the
horrid thing."
"He'd pay more attention if you told him, don't you think?" Baird
suggested tentatively.
Ann flushed deeply enough, but not so deeply as she did a moment later,
when she saw Edward Westmore within a few yards of them. He was riding
up from the village, and neither of them had noticed until he was almost
upon them, for the soft dirt road had dulled sound. He had seen them as
soon as he had crossed the railroad track; looked at them closely and
observantly as he came on.
The change in Ann was instantaneous. She grew crimson and sat up
abruptly, her whole aspect, for the brief moment until Edward smiled,
uncertain and appealing. Then, as if she had won pardon for some fault,
the smile that vivified her was sweeter than the May sunshine. Baird
thought she was the loveliest thing he had ever seen, with her lips a
little apart, her eyes shining. No wonder Edward looked at her as if he
were absorbing her. Baird felt a sudden envy of Edward; no girl had ever
looked at him like that!... But there were not many girls who could look
like Ann.
Baird also had straightened, for the look Edward had given him was
somewhat coolly level; Baird felt that Edward's smile was entirely for
Ann. But it was to him Edward spoke: "Just out from town, Baird?"
"Yes. I'm waiting now to talk Dempsters to Mr. Penniman--Miss Ann thinks
I can sell him one." Baird did not know why he explained his presence so
promptly; perhaps because Edward's manner made him uncomfortable.
"I thought I would like to see you try," Ann said with an indifference
that had nothing to do with the way in which she was looking at Edward.
"I'm waiting for father to come on the next train," she explained, and
told Edward about the horse. "Ben Brokaw says he's afraid Billy's a
runaway horse."
"You ought not to be driving him, then," Edward said with concern.
It struck Baird that Edward's entire manner was anxious and concerned.
That he had looked keenly and anxiously at Ann as he had approached. He
had been brief enough over their business transaction that morning, as
if he had far more important matters on his mind.
"I reckon I shouldn't," Ann agreed. "I'll see how he behaves when the
train comes."
"That's reckless. I wish you wouldn't do such things."
Baird was surprised at the intimacy the remark implied. Were both
brothers in love with her? If one judged from appearances, Ann favored
Edward.... Or was she simply a born coquette? She was certainly enough
to turn any man's head, and an infatuation on Garvin's part was natural,
he was that sort; but Edward Westmore?
"I won't any more," Ann promised with pretty submission.
Though he looked at Ann, Edward's next speech was directed to Baird. "I
was at the club about an hour ago--I went by the Back Road and left some
papers for you, Baird. You can look them over and bring them to Westmore
this evening--that is if you thought of coming over."
It was a reminder of Judith, though Baird knew Edward did not intend it
as such; that would be too unlike him. "Yes, I am coming after dinner,"
Baird said gravely.
Ann knew just what Edward intended; she saw it in his eyes--that he had
left a book for her--and she answered his look.
"There is the train," Edward said warningly. "Be careful, Ann." He
brought his horse closer to her. "Keep your eye on the horse, Baird."
Ann sat taut, reins well held, and her eyes watchful. The train had
whistled at the junction, and the next moment it roared along below
them, making the usual racket as it slowed up, and it was quite plain
that Ann's horse was not trustworthy. He quivered, backed and plunged
and showed all the signs of fright.
"Don't touch him!" Ann said resolutely. "I can manage him." And to the
horse, "You idiot, you! Sho, now, Billy--quiet, suh--quiet--"
She handled him well, and without a particle of nervousness, though for
a few moments it seemed likely that the buggy would be overturned; the
animal backed perilously near the edge of the road. Edward kept near
enough to draw Ann from danger if that should happen, and Baird watched
for the runaway that was certain to follow if the buggy overturned. They
were tense moments--until the train snorted its onward way around the
curve and the horse gradually quieted.
"All right, now," Baird said, "but the brute's not safe, Miss Ann--he's
particularly stupid."
Ann looked at Edward, her eyes blazing. "He needed the whip! I'd have
given it to him--_hard_--but I was afraid I'd frighten you." Baird
thought she looked rather like Garvin with that flame in her eyes; both
her cool handling of the horse and her lift into excitement surprised
him; it altered his opinion of Ann Penniman somewhat.
Edward was a little gray about the lips. "Ann, promise me you will never
drive that horse again."
"I'm not afraid of him!"
"Promise me," Edward repeated.
Ann drew a long breath, then smiled. "Yes, I promise. I promised
before."