Produced by Donald Lainson
TO HIM THAT HATH
A NOVEL OF THE WEST OF TODAY
By Ralph Connor
CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I THE GAME
II THE COST OF SACRIFICE
III THE HEATHEN QUEST
IV ANNETTE
V THE RECTORY
VI THE GRIEVANCE COMMITTEE
VII THE FOREMAN
VIII FREE SPEECH
IX THE DAY BEFORE
X THE NIGHT OF VICTORY
XI THE NEW MANAGER
XII LIGHT THAT IS DARKNESS
XIII THE STRIKE
XIV GATHERING CLOUDS
XV THE STORM
XVI A GALLANT FIGHT
XVII SHALL BE GIVEN
TO HIM THAT HATH
CHAPTER I
THE GAME
“Forty-Love.”
“Game! and Set. Six to two.”
A ripple of cheers ran round the court, followed by a buzz of excited
conversation.
The young men smiled at each other and at their friends on the side
lines and proceeded to change courts for the next set, pausing for
refreshments on the way.
“Much too lazy, Captain Jack. I am quite out of patience with you,”
cried a young girl whose brown eyes were dancing with mock indignation.
Captain Jack turned with a slightly bored look on his thin dark face.
“Too lazy, Frances?” drawled he. “I believe you. But think of the
temperature.”
“You have humiliated me dreadfully,” she said severely.
“Humiliated you? You shock me. But how, pray?” Captain Jack's eyes
opened wide.
“You, a Canadian, and our best player--at least, you used to be--to
allow yourself to be beaten by a--a--” she glanced at his opponent with
a defiant smile--“a foreigner.”
“Oh! I say, Miss Frances,” exclaimed that young man.
“A foreigner?” exclaimed Captain Jack. “Better not let Adrien hear you.”
He turned toward a tall fair girl standing near.
“What's that?” said the girl. “Did I hear aright?”
“Well, he's not a Canadian, I mean,” said Frances, sticking to her guns.
“Besides, I can't stand Adrien crowing over me. She is already far too
English, don-che-know. You have given her one more occasion for triumph
over us Colonials.”
“Ah, this is serious,” said Captain Jack. “But really it is too hot you
know for--what shall I say?--International complications.”
“Jack, you are plain lazy,” said Frances. “You know you are. You don't
deserve to win, but if you really would put your back into it--”
“Oh, come, Frances. Why! You don't know that my cousin played for his
College at Oxford. And that is saying something,” said Adrien.
“There you are, Jack! That's the sort of thing I have to live with,”
said Frances. “She thinks that settles everything.”
“Well, doesn't it rather?” smiled Adrien.
“Oh, Jack, if you have any regard for your country, not to say my
unworthy self, won't you humble her?” implored Frances. “If you would
only buck up!”
“He will need to, eh, Adrien?” said a young fellow standing near, slowly
sipping his drink.
“I think so. Indeed, I am quite sure of it,” coolly replied the girl
addressed. “But I really think it is quite useless.”
“Ha! Ha! Cheer up, Jack,” laughed the young man, Stillwell by name.
“Really, old chap, I feel I must beat you this set,” said Captain Jack
to the young Englishman. “My country's credit as well as my own is at
stake, you see.”
“Both are fairly assured, I should say,” said the Englishman.
“Not to-day,” said Stillwell, with a suspicion of a polite sneer in his
voice. “My money says so.”
“Canada vs. the Old Country!” cried a voice from the company.
“Now, Jack, Jack, remember,” implored Frances.
“You have no mercy, Miss Frances, I see,” said the Englishman, looking
straight into her eyes.
“Absolutely none,” she replied, smiling saucily at him.
“Vae victis, eh, old chap?” said Sidney, as they sauntered off together
to their respective courts. “By the way, who is that Stillwell chap?” he
asked in a low voice of Captain Jack as they moved away from the others.
“Of any particular importance?”
“I think you've got him all right,” replied Jack carelessly. The
Englishman nodded.
“He somehow gets my goat,” said Jack. The Englishman looked mystified.
“Rubs me the wrong way, you know.”
“Oh, very good, very good. I must remember that.”
“He rather fancies his own game, too,” said Jack, “and he has come
on the last year or two. In more ways than one,” he added as an
afterthought.
As they faced each other on the court it was Stillwell's voice that rang
out:
“Now then, England!”
“Canada!” cried a girl's voice that was easily recognised as that of
Frances Amory.
“Thumbs down, eh, Maitland?” said the Englishman, waving a hand toward
his charming enemy.
Whatever the cause, whether from the spur supplied by the young lady who
had constituted herself his champion or from the sting from the man
for whom for reasons sufficient for himself he had only feelings of
hostility and dislike, the game put up by Captain Jack was of quite a
different brand from that he had previously furnished. From the
first service he took the offensive and throughout played brilliant,
aggressive, even smashing tennis, so much so that his opponent appeared
to be almost outclassed and at the close the figures of the first set
were exactly reversed, standing six to two in Captain Jack's favour.
The warmth of the cheers that followed attested the popularity of the
win.
“My word, old chap, that is top-hole tennis,” said the Englishman,
warmly congratulating him.
“Luck, old boy, brilliant luck!” said Captain Jack. “Couldn't do it
again for a bet.”
“You must do it just once more,” said Frances, coming to meet the
players. “Oh, you dear old thing. Come and be refreshed. Here is the
longest, coolest thing in drinks this Club affords. And one for you,
too,” she added, turning to the Englishman. “You played a great game.”
“Did I not? I was at the top of my form,” said the Englishman gallantly.
“But all in vain, as you see.”
“Now for the final,” cried Frances eagerly.
“Dear lady,” said Captain Jack, affecting supreme exhaustion, “as you
are mighty, be merciful! Let it suffice that we appear to have given you
an exposition of fairly respectable tennis. I am quite done.”
“A great win, Jack,” said Adrien, offering her hand in congratulation.
“All flukes count, eh, Maitland?” laughed Stillwell, unable in spite of
his laugh to keep the bite out of his voice.
“Fluke?” exclaimed the Englishman in a slow drawling voice. “I call it
ripping good tennis, if I am a judge.”
A murmur of approval ran through the company, crowding about with
congratulations to both players.
“Oh, of course, of course,” said Stillwell, noting the criticism of
his unsportsmanlike remark. “What I mean is, Maitland is clearly out
of condition. If he were not I wouldn't mind taking him on myself,” he
added with another laugh.
“Now, do you mean?” said Captain Jack lazily.
“We will wait till the match is played out,” said Stillwell with easy
confidence. “Some other day, when you are in shape, eh?” he added,
smiling at Maitland.
“Now if you like, or after the match, or any old time,” said Captain
Jack, looking at Stillwell with hard grey, unsmiling eyes. “I understand
you have come up on your game during the war.”
Stillwell's face burned a furious red at the little laugh that went
round among Captain Jack's friends.
“Frankly, I have had enough for to-day,” said the Englishman to Jack.
“All right, old chap, if you don't really mind. Though I feel you would
certainly take the odd set.”
“Not a bit of it, by Jove. I am quite satisfied to let it go at that. We
will have another go some time.”
“Any time that suits you--to-morrow, eh?”
“To-morrow be it,” said the Englishman.
“Now, then, Stillwell,” said Captain Jack, with a curt nod at him.
“Whenever you are ready.”
“Oh, come, Maitland. I was only joshing, you know. You don't want
to play with me to-day,” said Stillwell, not relishing the look on
Maitland's face. “We can have a set any time.”
“No!” said Maitland shortly. “It's now or never.”
“Oh, all right,” said Stillwell, with an uneasy laugh, going into the
Club house for his racquet.
The proposed match had brought a new atmosphere into the Club house, an
atmosphere of contest with all the fun left out.
“I don't like this at all,” said a man with iron grey hair and deeply
tanned face.
“One can't well object, Russell,” said a younger man, evidently a friend
of Stillwell's. “Maitland brought it on, and I hope he gets mighty well
trimmed. He is altogether too high and mighty these days.”
“Oh, I don't agree with you at all,” broke in Frances, in a voice coldly
proper. “You heard what Mr. Stillwell said?”
“Well, not exactly.”
“Ah, I might have guessed you had not,” answered the young lady, turning
away.
Edwards looked foolishly round upon the circle of men who stood grinning
at him.
“Now will you be good?” said a youngster who had led the laugh at
Edwards' expense.
“What the devil are you laughing at, Menzies?” he asked hotly.
“Why, don't you see the joke?” enquired Menzies innocently. “Well, carry
on! You will to-morrow.”
Edwards growled out an oath and took himself off.
Meantime the match was making furious progress, with the fury, it must
be confessed, confined to one side only of the net. Captain Jack was
playing a driving, ruthless game, snatching and employing without mercy
every advantage that he could legitimately claim. He delivered his
service with deadly precision, following up at the net with a smashing
return, which left his opponent helpless. His aggressive tactics gave
his opponent almost no opportunity to score, and he kept the pace
going at the height of his speed. The onlookers were divided in their
sentiments. Stillwell had a strong following of his own who expressed
their feelings by their silence at Jack's brilliant strokes and their
loud approval of Stillwell's good work when he gave them opportunity,
while many of Maitland's friends deprecated his tactics and more
especially his spirit.
At whirlwind pace Captain Jack made the first three games a “love”
score, leaving his opponent dazed, bewildered with his smashing play and
blind with rage at his contemptuous bearing.
“I think I must go home, Frances,” said Adrien to her friend, her face
pale, her head carried high.
Frances seized her by the arm and drew her to one side.
“Adrien, you must not go! You simply must not!” she said in a low tense
voice. “It will be misunderstood, and--”
“I am going, Frances,” said her friend in a cold, clear voice. “I have
had enough tennis for this afternoon. Where is Sidney? Ah, there he is
across the court. No! Let me go, Frances!”
“You simply must not go like that in the middle of a game, Adrien. Wait
at least till this game is over,” said her friend, clutching hard at her
arm.
“Very well. Let us go to Sidney,” said Adrien.
Together they made their way round the court almost wholly unobserved,
so intent was the crowd upon the struggle going on before them. As the
game finished Adrien laid her hand upon her cousin's arm.
“Haven't you had enough of this?” she said. Her voice carried clear
across the court.
“What d'ye say? By Jove, no!” said her cousin in a joyous voice. “This
is the most cheering thing I've seen for many moons, Adrien. Eh,
what? Oh, I beg pardon, are you seedy?” he added glancing at her. “Oh,
certainly, I'll come at once.”
“Not at all. Don't think of it. I have a call to make on my way home.
Please don't come.”
“But, Adrien, I say, this will be over now in a few minutes. Can't you
really wait?”
“No, I am not in the least interested in this--this kind of tennis,” she
said in a bored voice.
Her tone, pitched rather higher than usual, carried to the ears of the
players who were changing ends at the moment. Both of the men glanced at
her. Stillwell's face showed swift gratitude. On Jack's face the shadow
darkened but except for a slight straightening of the line of his lips
he gave no sign.
“You are quite sure you don't care?” said Sidney. “You don't want me?
This really is great, you know.”
“Not for worlds would I drag you away,” said Adrien in a cool, clear
voice. “Frances will keep you company.” She turned to her friend. “Look
after him, Frances,” she said. “Good-bye. Dinner at seven to-night, you
know.”
“Right-o!” said Sidney, raising his hat in farewell. “By Jove, I
wouldn't miss this for millions,” he continued, making room for Frances
beside him. “Your young friend is really somewhat violent in his style,
eh, what?”
“There are times when violence is the only possible thing,” replied
Frances grimly.
“By the way, who is the victim? I mean, what is he exactly?”
“Mr. Stillwell? Oh, he is the son of his father, the biggest merchant in
Blackwater. Oh, lovely! Beautiful return! Jack is simply away above his
form! And something of a merchant and financier on his own account, to
be quite fair. Making money fast and using it wisely. But I'm not going
to talk about him. You see a lot of him about the Rectory, don't you?”
“Well, something,” replied Sidney. “I can't quite understand the
situation, I confess. To be quite frank, I don't cotton much to him. A
bit sweetish, eh, what?”
“Yes, at the Rectory doubtless. I would hardly attribute to him a sweet
disposition. Oh, quit talking about him. He had flat feet in the war, I
think it was. Jack's twin brother was killed, you know--and mine--well,
you know how mine is.”
A swift vision of a bright-faced, cheery-voiced soldier, feeling his way
around a darkened room in the Amory home, leaped to Sidney's mind and
overwhelmed him with pity and self-reproach.
“Dear Miss Frances, will you forgive me? I hadn't quite got on to the
thing. I understand the game better now.”
“Now, I don't want to poison your mind. I shouldn't have said
that--about the flat feet, I mean. He goes to the Rectory, you know. I
want to be fair--”
“Please don't worry. We know all about that sort at home,” said Sidney,
touching her hand for a moment. “My word, that was a hot one! The
flat-footed Johnnie is obviously bewildered. The last game was sheer
massacre, eh, what?”
If Maitland was not in form there was no sign of it in his work on the
court. There was little of courtesy, less of fun and nothing at all of
mercy in his play. From first to last and without reprieve he drove
his game ruthlessly to a finish. So terrific, so resistless were his
attacks, so coldly relentless the spirit he showed, ignoring utterly all
attempts at friendly exchange of courtesy, that the unhappy and enraged
Stillwell, becoming utterly demoralized, lost his nerve, lost his
control and hopelessly lost every chance he ever possessed of winning a
single game of the set which closed with the score six to nothing.
At the conclusion of the set Stillwell, with no pretense of explanation
or apology, left the courts to his enemy who stood waiting his
appearance in a silence so oppressive that it seemed to rest like a
pall upon the side lines. So overwhelming was Stillwell's defeat, so
humiliating his exhibition of total collapse of morale that the company
received the result with but slight manifestation of feeling. Without
any show of sympathy even his friends slipped away, as if unwilling to
add to his humiliation by their commiseration. On the other side, the
congratulations offered Maitland were for the most part lacking in the
spontaneity that is supposed to be proper to such a smashing victory.
Some of his friends seemed to feel as if they had been called upon to
witness an unworthy thing. Not so, however, with either Frances Amory or
Sidney Templeton. Both greeted Captain Jack with enthusiasm and warmth,
openly and freely rejoicing in his victory.
“By Jove, Maitland, that was tremendous, appalling, eh, what?”
“I meant it to be so,” said Maitland grimly, “else I should not have
played with him.”
“It was coming to him,” said Frances. “I am simply completely
delighted.”
“Can I give you a lift home, Frances?” said Maitland. “Let us get away.
You, too, Templeton,” he added to Sidney, who was lingering near the
young lady in obvious unwillingness to leave her side.
“Oh, thanks! Sure you have room?” he said. “All right. You know my
cousin left me in your care.”
“Oh, indeed! Well, come along then, since our hero is so good. Really, I
am uplifted to quite an unusual height of glorious exultation.”
“Don't rub it in, Frank,” said Jack gloomily. “I made an ass of myself,
I know quite well.”
“What rot, Jack. Every one of your friends was tickled to death.”
“Adrien, for instance, eh?” said Jack with a bitter little laugh, taking
his place at the wheel.
“Oh, Adrien!” replied Frances. “Well, you know Adrien! She is--just
Adrien.”
As he turned into the street there was a sound of rushing feet.
“Hello, Captain Jack! Oh, Captain Jack! Wait for me! You have room,
haven't you?”
A whirlwind of flashing legs and windblown masses of gold-red hair,
which realised itself into a young girl of about sixteen, bore down on
the car. It was Adrien's younger sister, Patricia, and at once her pride
and her terror.
“Why, Patsy, where on earth did you come from? Of course! Get in! Glad
to have you, old chap.”
“Oh, Captain Jack, what a game! What a wonderful game! And Rupert has
been playing all summer and awfully well! And you have hardly played a
game! I was awfully pleased--”
“Were you? I'm not sure that I was,” replied Captain Jack.
“Well, you WERE savage, you know. You looked as if you were in a fight.”
“Did I? That was very rotten of me, wasn't it?”
“Oh, I don't know exactly. But it was a wonderful game. Of course, one
doesn't play tennis like a fight, I suppose.”
“No! You are quite right, Pat,” replied Captain Jack. “You see, I'm
afraid I lost my temper a bit, which is horribly bad form I know,
and--well, I wanted to fight rather than play, and of course one
couldn't fight on the tennis court in the presence of a lot of ladies,
you see.”
“Well, I'm glad you didn't fight, Captain Jack. You have had enough of
fighting, haven't you? And Rupert is really very nice, you know. He has
a wonderful car and he lets me drive it, and he always brings a box of
chocolates every time he comes.”
“He must be perfectly lovely,” said Captain Jack, with a grin at her.
The girl laughed a laugh of such infectious jollity that Captain Jack
was forced to join with her.
“That's one for you, Captain Jack,” she cried. “I know I am a pig where
chocs are concerned, and I do love to drive a car. But, really, Rupert
is quite nice. He is so funny. He makes Mamma laugh. Though he does
tease me a lot.”
Captain Jack drove on in silence for some moments.
“I was glad to see you playing though to-day, Captain Jack.”
“Where were you? I didn't see you anywhere.”
“Not likely!” She glanced behind her at the others in the back seat. She
need not have given them a thought, they were too deeply engrossed to
heed her. “Do you know where I was? In the crutch of the big elm--you
know!”
“Don't I!” said Captain Jack. “A splendid seat, but--”
“Wouldn't Adrien be shocked?” said the girl, with a deliciously
mischievous twinkle in her eye. “Or, at least, she would pretend to be.
Adrien thinks she must train me down a bit, you know. She says I have
most awful manners. She wants Mamma to send me over to England to her
school. But I don't want to go, you bet. Besides, I don't think Dad can
afford it so they can't send me. Anyway, I could have good manners if
I wanted to. I could act just like Adrien if I wanted to--I mean, for a
while. But that was a real game. I felt sorry for Rupert, a little. You
see, he didn't seem to know what to do or how to begin. And you looked
so terrible! Now in the game with Cousin Sidney you were so different,
and you played so awfully well, too, but differently. Somehow, it was
just like gentlemen playing, you know--”
“You have hit it, Patsy,--a regular bull!” said Captain Jack.
“Oh, I don't mean--” began the girl in confusion, rare with her.
“Yes, you do, Pat. Stick to your guns.”
“Well, I will. The first game everybody loved to watch. The second
game--somehow it made me wish Rupert had been a Hun. I'd have loved it
then.”
“By Jove, Patsy, you're right on the target. You've scored again.”
“Oh, I'm not saying just what I want--but I hope you know what I mean.”
“Your meaning hits me right in the eye. And you are quite right.
The tennis court is no place for a fight, eh? And, after all, Rupert
Stillwell is no Hun.”
“But you haven't been playing this summer at all, Captain Jack,” said
the girl, changing the subject. “Why not?” The girl's tone was quite
severe. “And you don't do a lot of things you used to do, and you don't
go to places, and you are different.” The blue eyes earnestly searched
his face.
“Am I different?” he asked slowly. “Well, everybody is different. And
then, you know, I am busy. A business man has his hours and he must
stick to them.”
“Oh, I don't believe you a bit. You don't need to be down at the mills
all the time. Look at Rupert. He doesn't need to be at his father's
office.”
“Apparently not.”
“He gets off whenever he wants to.”
“Looks like it.”
“And why can't you?”
“Well, you see, I am not Rupert,” said Captain Jack, grinning at her.
“Now you are horrible. Why don't you do as you used to do? You know you
could if you wanted to.”
“Yes, I suppose, if I wanted to,” said Captain Jack, suddenly grave.
“You don't want to,” said the girl, quick to catch his mood.
“Well, you know, Patsy dear, things are different, and I suppose I am
too. I don't care much for a lot of things.”
“You just look as if you didn't care for anything or anybody sometimes,
Captain Jack,” said Patricia quietly. Then after a few moments she burst
forth: “Oh, don't you remember your hockey team? Oh! oh! oh! I used to
sit and just hold my heart from jumping. It nearly used to choke me when
you would tear down the ice with the puck.”
“That was long ago, Pat dear. I guess I was--ah--very young then, eh?”
“Yes, I know,” nodded the girl. “I feel the same way--I was just a kid
then.”
“Ah, yes,” said Captain Jack, with never a smile. “You were just--let's
see--twelve, was it?”
“Yes, twelve. And I felt just a kid.”
“And now?” Captain Jack's voice was quite grave.
“Now? Well, I am not exactly a kid. At least, not the same kind of kid.
And, as you say, a lot of things are different. I think I know how you
feel. I was like that, too--after--after--Herbert--” The girl paused,
with her lips quivering. “It was all different--so different. Everything
we used to do, I didn't feel like doing. And I suppose that's the way
with you, Captain Jack, with Andy--and then your Mother, too.” She
leaned close to him and put her hand timidly on his arm.
Captain Jack, sitting up very straight and looking very grave, felt the
thrill of the timid touch run through his very heart. A rush of warm,
tender emotion such as he had not allowed himself for many months
suddenly surprised him, filling his eyes and choking his throat. Since
his return from the war he had without knowledge been yearning for just
such an understanding touch as this child with her womanly instinct
had given him. He withdrew one hand from the wheel and took the warm
clinging fingers tight in his and waited in silence till he was sure of
himself. He drove some blocks before he was quite master of his voice.
Then, releasing the fingers, he turned his face toward the girl.
“You are a real pal, aren't you, Patsy old girl?” he said with a very
bright smile at her.
“I want to be! Oh, I would love to be!” she said, with a swift intake of
breath. “And after a while you will be just as you were before you went
away.”
“Hardly, I fear, Patsy.”
“Well, not the same, but different from what you are now. No, I don't
mean that a bit, Captain Jack. But perhaps you know--I do want to see
you on the ice again. Oh, it would be wonderful! Of course, the old team
wouldn't be there--Herbert and Phil and Andy. Why! You are the only
one left! And Rupert.” She added the name doubtfully. “It WOULD be
different! oh, so different! Oh! I don't wonder you don't care, Captain
Jack. I won't wonder--” There was a little choke in the young voice. “I
see it now--”
“I think you understand, Patsy, and you are a little brick,” said
Captain Jack in a low, hurried tone. “And I am going to try. Anyway,
whatever happens, we will be pals.”
The girl caught his arm tight in her clasped hands and in a low voice
she said, “Always and always, Captain Jack, and evermore.” And till they
drew up at the Rectory door no more was said.
Maitland drove homeward through the mellow autumn evening with a warmer,
kindlier glow in his heart than he had known through all the dreary
weeks that had followed his return from the war. For the war had wrought
desolation for him in a home once rich in the things that make life
worth while, by taking from it his mother, whose rare soul qualities had
won and held through her life the love, the passionate, adoring love
of her sons, and his twin brother, the comrade, chum, friend of all his
days, with whose life his own had grown into a complete and ideal
unity, deprived of whom his life was left like a body from whose raw and
quivering flesh one-half had been torn away.
The war had left his life otherwise bruised and maimed in ways known
only to himself.
Returning thus from his soul-devastating experience of war to find
his life desolate and maimed in all that gave it value, he made the
appalling discovery that he was left almost alone of all whom he had
known and loved in past days. For of his close friends none were left
as before. For the most part they were lying on one or other of the five
battle fronts of the war. Others had found service in other spheres.
Only one was still in his home town, poor old Phil Amory, Frances'
brother, half-blind in his darkened room, but to bring anything of his
own heart burden to that brave soul seemed sacrilege or worse. True
enough, he was passing through the new and thrilling experience of
making acquaintance with his father. But old Grant Maitland was a hard
man to know, and they were too much alike in their reserve and in their
poverty of self-expression to make mutual acquaintance anything but a
slow and in some ways a painful process.
Hence in Maitland's heart there was an almost extravagant gratitude
toward this young generous-hearted girl whose touch had thrilled
his heart and whose voice with its passionate note of loyal and
understanding comradeship still sang like music in his soul, “Always and
always, Captain Jack, and evermore.”
“By Jove, I have got to find some way of playing up to that,” he said
aloud, as he turned from the gravelled driveway into the street. And in
the months that followed he was to find that the search to which he then
committed himself was to call for the utmost of the powers of soul which
were his.