The Coming of Mary Grant
When first I arrived at Golden Crescent, I was not a little worried as
to whether or not there would be sufficient work in the store and on
the property to keep two men busy. It did not take me long to discover
that there really was not; but then, few people in and around that
easy-going little settlement cared about being very busy. Still, when
Jake and I wished for work, there was always enough of it at hand; just
as, when we felt inclined to be idle, there was no very special reason
why we should not, for there seldom was anything calling for immediate
accomplishment unless it were the transporting of goods from the
up-going steamers to the store and the putting up of camp orders. I
did not have to concern myself much over the fixing of leaky boats, the
building and repairing of fences, the erection of any small sheds or
buildings required, the felling of trees, the sawing and splitting up
of our winter supply of fuel, the raising and feeding of our very small
poultry family and the tending of the garden. These had been Jake's
departments before my coming, and, as he looked after them as no other
man I knew could have done, they remained his especial cares.
Jake was never tremendously occupied, yet he always was doing something
during the day time,--something worth while, something that showed.
However, when there was a particularly big wash-up on the beach of
stray timber logs from some of the booms travelling along the coast,
both Jake and I had to knuckle down with a will and an energy in order
to push them off with the next out-going tide so as to prevent them
jamming and piling on our tidy, clear and well-kept foreshore.
Outside of an almost unnecessary supervision, the store was my only
care; consequently, once things were running properly, I had lots of
time on my hands to fish over by Rita's Isle if I so desired, to shoot
in the woods behind when the inclination seized me, to swim, to smoke,
or read and daydream as fancy dictated.
I thrived on the life. Maybe, I grew lazy. Anyway, I enjoyed every
minute of it, working or idling, waking or sleeping.
I soon got to know the men from the Camps, and they me. With the
knowledge of them came an ever-increasing regard and admiration for
those simple, uncomplaining, hard-working, easily led world-wanderers,
who, most of them, were ever ready to gamble all they had on the toss
of a coin or the throw of a die and, if they lost, laugh, and start off
afresh.
That there were evilly disposed men among them,--men who would stop at
nothing,--men who, already, had stopped at nothing,--I knew, but with
most of them, their hearts were good.
Joe Clark did not honour me with a visit for many a day after our first
encounter. Almost I had begun to congratulate myself that he had
decided to let slumbering dogs lie, when, one afternoon, as I was
sorting the newly arrived and scanty mail, I was surprised to find a
letter bearing the name of Dow, Cross & Sneddon of Vancouver and
addressed:--
Mr. George Bremner,
Superintendent, Golden Crescent Trading Co.,
Golden Crescent Bay, B. C.
Hello! I thought; Joe Clark at last has been putting some of his
threats into execution. Now for the fireworks!
I opened the envelope and found that my conjecture was a wrong one and
that Joe Clark's knife for me,--if he had one,--was not yet sharpened.
"Dear Sir," the letter ran,
"We have received a letter from Messrs. Eldergrove & Price, Solicitors
for the property adjoining that of the Golden Crescent Co.'s, informing
us that some friends of the owner have permission from him to occupy
his house at Golden Crescent. This refers to the house in proximity to
the wharf and the store. It is at present boarded up.
"Two Japanese women will arrive by the steamer _Cloochman_ at the end
of the week to open up, air, clean out the house and put it in order.
These cleaners will return to Vancouver by the same steamer on her
southward journey the following week.
"This letter is written simply to inform you of the facts, so that you
may know that nothing illegal is going on.
"Of course, we are in no way interested in this property.
"Yours truly,
"DOW, CROSS & SNEDDON."
I showed the letter to Jake, who expressed a fear that the Bay was
becoming "a damned pleasure resort," as this would make the second time
in five years that visitors had been staying in that house. On the
strength of the news, he drank an extra half-cup of whisky, then said,
for decency's sake he would row out and bring the Japs ashore when the
_Cloochman_ came in.
Two shy, pretty, little women they proved, who thanked Jake with smiles
and profuse bows, much to that old rascal's confusion. They were all
bustle and work. They had the boards down from the windows and had the
doors and windows wide open five minutes after they got ashore.
Morning, noon and night, they were scrubbing, washing, beating,
dusting, polishing and airing, until I was more inquisitive than an old
maid's cat to view the results of their labours. But my sense of
propriety overcame my curiosity, and, for the time being, I remained in
ignorance.
One night, after the little workers had gone back to Vancouver, I was
lying in my bed enjoying Robert Louis Stevenson's "Virginibus
Puerisque," when I fancied I heard the throbbing of a gasoline launch.
I rose and looked out at the open window; but it was one of those
inky-black nights, without either moon or stars, a night when even the
sea became invisible,--so I saw nothing.
When the throbbing ceased, I heard the sound of oars and, as a small
boat evidently neared the shore, there came a sound of voices, both
male and female.
Two trips were made from the launch, one bearing the people, I
presumed, the other conveying their baggage. I had no doubt in my mind
that my new neighbours were arriving, although I might have been
stone-blind so far as anything being visible was concerned.
It was chilly standing there at the window, in the night air, in my
pyjamas. The nights were always chilly at Golden Crescent. So I went
back to bed, determined to wait and see what the morrow would disclose.
My first glance out of doors, early next morning, materialised what I
had a vague notion might have been a dream. There was no sign of any
stir in the house across the little, wooden, rustic bridge that
connected it, over a narrow creek, with the roadway leading to the
store. That was only natural, as, in all probability, the travellers
were journey-weary. But a freshly painted rowing boat, with light
oars, was made fast to the off side of the wharf, while several leather
travelling bags and other packages were piled on the veranda of that
house over the way.
I had shaved, parted my hair at its most becoming angle and dressed
myself with particular care that morning, going to the extent of sewing
a burst seam in my breeches and polishing my leggings; all in
anticipation of a visit from the new arrivals, thinking they would be
almost certain to call at the store that forenoon to arrange for their
supplies.
I dusted the shelves, polished the scales, put the sacks of potatoes
where they belonged, mopped up some molasses that had escaped to the
floor from a leaky can and swept out the store; then I waited in
blissful anticipation for my new customers.
I caught a glimpse of Jake in the distance. In some strange,
wireless-telepathic manner, he must have got wind of what had occurred
during the night, for I noticed that he had been suddenly attacked by
the same fever for cleanliness and smartness as I had been. He had
turned his neckcloth, and the clean side of it was now trying to delude
the innocent outside world that it (the neckcloth) had been freshly
washed. Mike,--bad luck to his drunken carcass,--looked sick and
appeared to be slowly recovering from the evil effects of a bath.
As the morning wore on I saw an elderly, rotund lady come out to the
veranda and take the baggage inside. That was the only bit of
excitement that happened, after all my preparations.
Later, a launch called from Camp No. 1, with an order for a thousand
and one different commodities, and all required right away. That put
idle, inquisitive thoughts out of my head for the remainder of the
forenoon.
I got out of my best clothes, donned a half-dirty shirt, a suit of
overalls and a pair of old boots, then got busy selecting, sorting and
packing until my brow was moist and my hair was awry.
I had just got rid of the men and was standing surveying my topsy-turvy
store, with everything lying around in tremendous confusion and all
requiring to be set to rights again before I would know where to lay my
hands on a single article; when a melodious, but rather measured,
feminine voice, in the vicinity of my left shoulder, startled me into
consternation.
A young lady, almost of a height with me, was standing by my side,
while a stout, elderly lady,--the same lady I had seen on the veranda
over the way,--was filling the doorway.
I was messy all over with flour dust, brown earth from the potato
sacks, grease and grime. I had slipped at the water edge while
assisting the loggers to load their goods, and this did not contribute
to the improvement of my personal appearance. I wiped my hands on my
damp overalls, and my hands came out of the contact worse than before.
"I wish to see the manager," demanded the melodious voice, its owner
raising her skirts and displaying,--ah, well!--and stepping over some
excelsior packing which lay in her way.
"Your wish is granted, lady," I answered.
"Are you the manager?" she asked, raising her eyebrows in unfeigned
astonishment.
"I have that honour, madam," I responded with a bow, but not daring to
look at her face in my then dishevelled state.
"I am Miss Grant," she said.
"Miss Grant! Pleased to meet you."
I shoved out a grimy paw, like the fool I was. When it was too late, I
remembered my position and brought the paw back to my side.
The young lady had already drawn herself up with an undefinable dignity.
It was a decided snub, and well merited, so I could hardly blame her.
I saw, in the hurried glimpse I got of her then, that she was hatless
and that her hair was a great crown of wavy, burnished gold, radiating
in the sunlight that streamed through the doorway despite the
obstruction of the young lady's companion.
"It is our intention to live at Golden Crescent for some time, sir. I
understand we may purchase our supplies here?"
"Yes! madam,--miss."
I backed, in order to get round to my proper side of the counter. But,
unfortunately, I backed without looking; I stumbled over an empty box
and sprawled like a clown into the corner, landing incontinently among
bundles of brooms and axe handles.
Never in all my life did I feel so insignificant or so foolish as then.
The very devil himself seemed to have set his picked imps after me; for
it was my habit, ordinarily, to be neither dirty as I was then, nor
clownish as I must have appeared.
To put it mildly, I was deeply embarrassed, and at a woman, too. Oh!
the degradation of it.
As I rose, I fancied that my ears caught the faintest tinkle of a
laugh. I turned my frowning eyes on the young lady, but she was a very
owl for inscrutable solemnity. I looked over at the elderly person in
the doorway; she was smiling upon me with a most exasperating benignity.
"What kind of business do you run here?" asked the self-possessed young
lady.
"Strictly cash, miss,--excepting the Camps and the better class of
settlers."
"I did not inquire _how_ you ran your business, but what kind of
business you ran," she retorted icily. "Of course,--we shall pay as we
purchase."
I was hastening from bad to worse. I could have bitten my tongue out
or kicked myself. With a tremendous effort, I pulled myself together
and assumed as much dignity as was possible in my badly ruffled
internal and external condition.
"Are there any men about the place?" she asked, changing the subject
with disconcerting suddenness.
I flushed slightly at the taunt.
"N-no! miss," I replied, in my best shop-keeper tone, "sorry,--but we
are completely out of them."
She must have detected the flavour of sarcasm, for her lips relaxed for
the briefest moment, and a smile was born which showed two rows of even
white teeth. I ventured a smile in return, but it proved a sorry and
an unfortunate one, for it killed hers ruthlessly and right at the
second of its birth, too.
I almost waited for her to tell me I was "too fresh," but she did not
do so. She had a more telling way. She simply wilted me with a silent
reserve that there was no combating.
Only on one or two occasions had I encountered that particular shade of
reserve that adjusts everything around to its proper sphere and level
without hurting, and it was always in elderly, aristocratic, British
Duchesses; never in a young lady with golden hair and eyes,--well! at
that time, I could not tell the colour of her eyes, but there was
something in them that completed a combination that I seemed to have
been hunting for all my life and had never been able to find.
"Mr. Store-keeper," she commenced again.
I felt like tearing my hair and crying aloud. "Mr. Store-keeper,"
forsooth.
"You appear anxious to misconstrue me. Let me explain,--please."
I bowed contritely. What else could I do?
"This afternoon, I have a piano,--boxed,--coming by the steamer
_Siwash_. I would like if you could find me some assistance to get it
ashore and placed in my house."
She said it so easily and it sounded so simple. But what a poser it
was! Bring a full-fledged piano from a steamer three hundred yards out
in the Bay, land it and place it in a house on the top of a rock.
Heaven help the piano! I thought, as I gaped at her in bewilderment.
"Oh!--of course," she put in hurriedly, toying with the chain of her
silver purse,--"if you are afraid to tackle it, why!--I'll--we shall do
it ourselves."
She turned on her heel.
She looked so determined that I had not the least doubt but that she
would have a go at it anyway.
"Not at all,--not at all. It will be a pleasure,--I am sure," I said
quickly, as if I had been reared all my life on piano-moving.
She turned and smiled; a real, full-grown, able-bodied, entrancing,
mischievous smile, and all of it full on the dirty, grimy
individual,--me.
"It does not happen to be the kind of piano one can take to pieces,
Miss Grant, is it?" I asked.
"It is," she answered, "but that one might not be able to put it
together again."
It was another bull's eye for the lady.
She went on. "I have never received a piano,--knocked down."
Something inside of me sniggered at the phrase, for it was purely a
business one. But I was too busy just then figuring the ins and outs
of the matter to give way to any hilarity.
"Thanks so much! What a relief!" she sighed, with a nod to her silent
companion, who nodded in return.
"Oh!--may I have five cents' worth of pins,--Mister, Mister----"
"Mr. Bremner," I added.
"Thank you!"
"Hair pins, hat pins, safety pins or clothes pins?" I queried.
"Just pins,--with points and heads on them,--if you don't mind."
I bowed ceremoniously.
"We shall be over this afternoon, when we have made a list of the
supplies we require," she went on.
As I hunted for the pins, she began to look in her purse for a five
cent piece.
"Oh!--never mind," I said; "I can charge these to your bill in the
afternoon."
"No! thank you," she replied, airily and lightly;--oh! so very, very
airily that I would not have been surprised had she flown away.
"Your terms are strictly cash;--I would not disturb your business
routine for worlds."
As I held out the package to her, I stopped and, for the first time, I
felt really at ease and equal to her.
"Possibly you would prefer that I send this package round by the
delivery wagon?" I said.
She picked the paper package from between my fingers and her chin went
into the air at a most dangerous elevation, while her eyelids closed
over her eyes, allowing long, golden-brown lashes to brush her cheeks.
Then, without a word, she turned her back on me and passed through the
doorway with her companion, or chaperon, or aunt, or whatever relation
to her the elderly lady might be.
"So foolish!" I heard her exclaim, under her breath, then she went over
something on her fingers to the elderly lady, who laughed and started
in to talk volubly.
The mystery of that madam's benign smile solved itself: she was
evidently talkative enough, but she was as deaf as a wooden block and
used her smile to cover her deficiency.
Had I only known, how I could have defended myself against, and lashed
out in return at, that tantalising, self-possessed, wit-battling, and,
despite it all, extremely feminine young lady!
They left my place and went over to their own bungalow. Soon they
reappeared with large sun-hats on their heads, for the sun was
beautifully bright and exceedingly warm. They went down to the beach
together. The elderly lady got into the rowing boat, while my late
antagonist pushed it into the water and sprang into it with a most
astounding agility. In a few moments, they were out on the Bay.
Miss Grant,--as I remembered her name was,--handled the oars like an
Oxford stroke and with that amazing ease, attained only after long
practice, which makes the onlooker, viewing the finished article in
operation, imagine that he can do it as well himself, if not a shade or
so better,--yes! and standing on his head at that.
For an hour, I worked in the store righting the wrongs that were
visible everywhere, vowing to myself that never again would it be found
in such a disgraceful condition; not even if the three Camps should
come down together and insist on immediate service.
At high noon, I went over to Jake's shack and found him preparing his
usual clammy concoction.
I broached the subject of the piano to him, putting it in such a way
that I left him open to refuse to do the job if he felt so inclined.
He did not speak for a minute or two, but I knew he was thinking hard.
"Well,--I'll be gol-darned," he said at last. "They'll be transporting
skating rinks and picture shows up here next. It'll be me for the tall
timbers then, you bet."
A little later, he went on,
"Guess, George,--we got to do it, though. Young ladies is young ladies
these days, and we might as well be civil and give in right at the
start, for we got to do it in the finish."
I agreed.
As we were in a hurry, I helped Jake to eat his clam chowder. We went
down to the beach to review the situation and inspect the apparatus we
had to work with.
I told Jake the piano would probably weigh about five hundred pounds
and that we would require to bolster up the raft sufficiently to carry
some three hundred pounds more in order to be safe.
As it stood, the raft was capable of carrying some four hundred pounds,
so we had just to double its capacity.
Jake knew his business. He rowed along the beach, and picked out short
logs to suit his needs. He lashed them together and completed a raft
that looked formidable enough to carry the good ship _Siwash_ herself
across the Bay to the shore.
We put off with a rowing boat fore and aft, long before the _Siwash_
whistle announced her coming.
Had the sea been otherwise than calm as a duck pond, we would have
experienced all kinds of trouble, for our raft was nothing more or less
than an unwieldy floating pier.
When the steamer ran into the Bay, I noticed Miss Grant put out alone
and row toward us.
"Jake," I exclaimed somewhat hotly, "if that young lady interferes with
the way we handle this job, by as much as a single word, we'll steer
straight for the shore and leave the piano to sink or swim."
"You bet!" agreed Jake.
"Skirts is all right, but they ain't any good movin' pianners off'n
steamers. Guess we ain't proved ourselves much good neither, so far,
George," he added with a grin.
The _Siwash_ came to a standstill and we threw our ropes aboard and
were soon made fast alongside.
Everything there went like clockwork. The piano was on the lower deck
and slings were already round it, so that all that was necessary to do
was to get the steamer's winch going, hoist the instrument overboard
and lower it on to the raft. The piano was set on a low truck with
runners, contrived for the purpose of moving. I arranged that this
truck be left with us and I would see to its return on the steamer's
south-bound journey.
Our chiefest fear was that the piano might get badly placed or that the
balance of the raft might prove untrue, the whole business would topple
over and the piano would be dispensing nautical airs to the mermaids at
the bottom of Golden Crescent Bay.
Jake's work stood the test valiantly, and, with the hooks and rings he
had fixed into the logs at convenient distances, we lashed the
instrument so firmly and securely that nothing short of a hurricane or
a collision could possibly have dislodged it.
Miss Grant stood by some fifteen yards away, watching the proceedings
interestedly, and anxiously as I thought; but not a word did she utter
to show that she had anything but absolute confidence in our ability.
Finally, they cast our ropes off, and Jake and I, with our four oars,
manned our larger rowing boat and headed for shore. It was hard
pulling, but we ran in on the off side of the wharf, directly in line
with the rocks at the back of which Miss Grant's bungalow was
built,--all without mishap.
Despite the great help of the piano-truck, Jake and I, strive as we
liked, were unable to move the heavy piece of furniture from the raft.
We tugged, and pulled, and hoisted, but to no purpose, for the wheels
of the truck got set continually between the logs.
Once, I went head over heels backward into the water; and once Jake
tripped over a cleat and did likewise.
"All we need, Jake," I remarked, "is about one hundred and fifty pounds
more leverage."
Miss Grant heard and jumped out of her boat.
"Mr.--Mr. Bremner,--could I lend you that extra hundred and fifty
pounds or so?"
I looked at her. She was all willingness and meekness; the latter a
mood which I, even with my scant knowledge of her, did not altogether
believe in.
"Sure, miss," put in Jake. "Come on, if you ain't skeered o' soilin'
your glad rags."
She waited for my word.
"I am sure your help would be valuable, Miss Grant," I said. "It might
just turn the trick in our favour."
She scrambled up the rock and returned in half a minute with a pair of
stout leather gloves on her hands. She jumped up on to the raft and
lent her leverage, as Jake and I got our shoulders under the lift.
Bravo! It lifted as easily as if it had been a toy. All it had
required was that little extra aid.
We three ran it clear of the raft, down on to the beach, over the
pebbles and right under the rocks.
I knew, in the ordinary course, that our troubles would only be
beginning, but I had figured out that the only possible way to get over
this difficulty of the rocks was to erect a block and tackle to the
solid branch of a tree which, fortunately, overhung the face of the
cliffs.
In half an hour, we had all secure and ready for the attempt.
I worked the gear, while Jake did the guiding from below.
When we had the piano safely swung, it took our combined strength and
weight to bring it in on top of the rocks. After that, it was simply a
matter of hard work.
So, in three hours after receiving it from the steamer _Siwash_, the
piano was out of its casing and set safely, without a scratch on it, in
a corner of Miss Grant's parlour.
Jake and I never could have done it ourselves. Both of us knew that.
It was Miss Grant's untiring assistance that pulled the matter to a
successful conclusion.
She thanked us without ostentation, as she would have thanked a
piano-mover or the woodman in the city.
It nettled me not a little, for, to say truth, I was half dead from the
need of a cup of good strong tea and my appetite gnawed over the odour
of home-made scones that the elderly, rotund lady was baking on Miss
Grant's kitchen stove. All day I had been picturing visions of being
invited to remain for tea, of my making witty remarks under Jake's
mono-syllabic applause, looking over the photo albums and listening in
raptures to Miss Grant's playing and singing. And I was sour as old
cider as I descended the veranda steps, soaking, as I was, with brine
and perspiration.
Jake was perfectly happy, however, and all admiration over Miss Grant's
physical demonstration.
"Gee! Miss," he exclaimed, in a sort of Klondike ecstasy, "but you're
some class at heavin' cargo. Guess, if you put on overalls and cut off
your hair, you could get a fifty-cents-an-hour job at pretty near any
wharf on the Pacific seaboard."
I could see that Jake's doubtful compliment was not exactly relished by
the lady. Nevertheless, she smiled on him so sweetly that he stood
grinning at her, and might still have been so standing had not I pulled
him to earth by the sleeve, three steps at a time.