JERNYNGHAM MAKES A DECISION
Prescott's guests had spent a week at his homestead with content when
Colston and his wife sat talking one morning.
"I'm frankly puzzled," said Colston, opening his cigar case; "I can't
make Cyril out. He's frugal, remarkably industrious--I think the
description's warranted--and, from all that one can gather, as steady as
a rock. This, of course, is gratifying, but it's by no means what I
expected."
"He certainly doesn't fit in with the picture his sister Gertrude drew
me, though she conveyed the impression that she was softening things
down. There can be no doubt that he was wild. That might, perhaps, be
forgiven, but one or two of the stories I've heard about him filled me
with disgust."
Her husband looked thoughtful. He had not noticed that Muriel was sitting
just outside the open window, though Mrs. Colston, being in a different
position, had done so. She thought their voices would reach the girl, and
if anything strongly in Cyril's disfavor cropped up during the
conversation it might be as well that she should hear it. Mrs. Colston
was willing that he should be reconciled to his relatives, but a reformed
rake was not the kind of man to whom she wished her sister to be
attracted. One could not tell whether the reformation would prove
permanent.
"After all, I never heard any really serious offense proved against him,"
Colston rejoined. "It's sometimes easy to acquire a reputation without
doing anything in particular to deserve it. People are apt to jump at
conclusions."
"When there's a general concurrence of opinion it's wiser to fall in with
it. But what did he say about his father's suggestion that he should go
home?"
"Asked for a day or two to think it over; I fancied that he wished to
consult somebody. Then he promised to give me an answer."
"On the whole, I think they need have no hesitation about taking him back
now," Mrs. Colston responded; and Muriel agreed with her. "There's
another point," she added. "How long shall we stay here?"
"I don't know. I've a growing liking for Cyril, the place is pleasant,
and though things are rather rudimentary, the air's wonderfully bracing.
He urged me to stay some little time, and I felt that he wished it."
Mrs. Colston considered. She was enjoying her visit; everything was
delightfully novel and she felt more cheerful and more vigorous than she
had done for some time. But Muriel seemed to find the prairie pleasant,
and there was a possibility of danger there.
"We might, perhaps, remain another week," she suggested.
As it happened, Colston's suspicion that his host wished to consult
somebody was correct, for Prescott was then driving in to the settlement
to lay his visitor's message before the man it most concerned. He found
him lounging in the hotel bar, and, drawing him into the general-room, he
sat down opposite him in a hard wooden chair. The apartment had no floor
covering and was cheerless and dirty; there was not even a table in it;
and only a railroad time-table and advertisements of land sales hung on
its rough pine walls. Jernyngham, however, looked in keeping with his
surroundings. The dirty bandage still covered his forehead, his clothes
were stained and untidy, and he had an unkempt, dissipated air.
"Well," he asked with a grin, "how are you getting on with your new
friends?"
"I don't know; I'm curious about what they think of me. Anyway, I found
the thing harder than I expected. Why didn't you tell me Mrs. Colston was
bringing her sister?"
"If I ever heard she had one, I forgot it; suppose I couldn't have read
the letter properly. What's she like?"
"Herself," said Prescott. "I can't think of anybody we know I could
compare her with."
He had endeavored to speak carelessly, but something in his voice
betrayed him and Jernyngham laughed.
"That's not surprising. If you want to play your part properly, you had
better make love to her. It's what would be expected of me, and it
couldn't do any harm, because these people would very soon head you off.
Harry Colston's sister-in-law would look for an assured position and at
least five thousand dollars a year. When are they going?"
"I've asked them to stay a little longer and I think they'll agree. But
that is not what I came to see you about. Colston laid a proposition
before me--you're formally invited to return home."
"On what terms?"
Prescott detailed them, watching his companion. The latter sat silent for
a minute or two, and then he said slowly:
"It's a handsome offer, but it was made under a mistake. There's no doubt
that Colston was trusted with powers of discretion. He must be satisfied
with you--don't you feel complimented, Jack?"
"What I feel is outside the question."
"Well," continued Jernyngham thoughtfully, "I suppose if I indulged in a
spell of hard work in the open and practised strict abstinence it might
improve my appearance, and I could, perhaps, keep out of Colston's way,
or if needful, own up to the trick. The old man would hold to his
bargain: he's that kind. It's a strong temptation--you see what I'd stand
to gain--a liberal allowance, a life that's wildly luxurious by
comparison with the one I'm leading, the society of people of the stamp
I've been brought up among. Jack, I feel driven to the point of yielding.
But it's a pity this offer has come too late."
"Is it too late?"
"Think! Would it be fair to go? For a month or two I might keep straight,
then--I've tried to describe my people--you can imagine their feelings at
the inevitable outbreak. Besides, there's a more serious difficulty."
Jernyngham's tense face relaxed into a grim smile. "Can you imagine
Ellice an inmate of an English country house, patronizing local
charities, presiding over prim garden parties? The idea's preposterous!
And that's not all."
Prescott knew little about England, but he could imagine her making an
undesirable sensation in Montreal or Toronto.
"You force me to ask something. Is she Mrs. Jernyngham?" he said,
hesitatingly.
"I used to think so; there's a doubt about the matter now."
"One would have imagined that was a point you would have been sure
about."
"I understood her husband was dead when we were married in Manitoba. She
was a waitress in a second-rate hotel; the brute had ill-used and
deserted her. But there's now some reason to believe he's farming in
Alberta. I haven't made inquiries: I didn't think it would improve
matters."
Prescott said nothing. In face of such a situation, any remarks that he
could make would be superfluous. There was a long silence; and then
Jernyngham spoke again, slowly, but resolutely.
"You see how it is, Jack--where my interest lies. Against that, there's
the feelings of my father and sister to consider. Then my reinstatement
would have to be bought by casting off the woman who has borne with my
failings and stuck to me pluckily. I haven't sunk quite so far as that.
You'll have to tell Colston that I'm staying here!"
He got up and Prescott laid a hand on his arm.
"It's hard; but you're doing the square thing, Cyril."
Jernyngham shook off his hand.
"Don't let us talk in that strain. Come and see Ellice and try to amuse
her. Don't know what's wrong with the woman; she has been moody of late."
"I must get back as soon as I can and I've some business to do."
"Oh, well," acquiesced Jernyngham, walking with him to the bar, which was
the quickest way of leaving.
On reaching it he turned and glanced about sardonically. The room was
dark, filled with flies, and evil smelling, as well as thick with smoke;
half a dozen, untidy men leaned against the counter.
"What a set of loafing swine you are!" he coolly remarked. "It's not to
the point that I'm no better, but if any of you feel insulted, I'll be
happy to make what I've said good."
"Cut it out, Cyril! Can't have a circus here!" exclaimed the bar-tender.
"You needn't be afraid. They look pretty tame," Jernyngham rejoined, and
going on to the door, shook hands with Prescott.
"Tell Colston he has my last word," he said.
Turning away, he proceeded to the untidy parlor where he found Ellice
dawdling over a paper. Her white summer dress was stained in places and
open at the neck, where a button had come off. The short skirt displayed
a hole in one stocking and a shoe from which a strap had been torn.
Jernyngham leaned on the table regarding her with a curious smile.
"What's Jack come about?" she asked.
"To say my fastidious relatives want me to go home, which would mean
leaving you behind."
She looked at him searchingly, and then laughed.
"And you won't go?"
"That's the message I sent."
Ellice's face softened, though there was a hint of indecision in it.
"You're all right, Cyril, only a bit of a fool."
"A bit?" he said dryly. "I'm the whole blamed hog. But enough of that.
We'll pull out for the homestead to-morrow. I expect Wandle is robbing
me."
"He's been robbin' you ever since you bought the ranch. I don't know why
you stopped me from gettin' after him."
"He saves me trouble," explained Jernyngham, and they discussed the
arrangements for their return.
Prescott, arriving home, had a brief private interview with Colston, who
realized with some disappointment that his errand had failed. Then the
rancher harnessed a fresh team and proceeded to a sloo where his
Scandinavian hired man was cutting prairie hay. An hour or two later
Muriel went out on the prairie and walked toward a poplar bluff, in the
shadow of which she gathered ripe red saskatoons, and then sat down to
look about.
The dazzling blue of the sky was broken by rounded masses of silver-edged
clouds that drove along before a fresh northwest breeze. Streaked by
their speeding shadows, the great plain stretched away, checkered by
ranks of marigolds and tall crimson flowers of the lily kind that swayed
as the rippling grasses changed color in the wind. A mile or two distant
stood the trim wooden homestead, with a tall windmill frame near by, girt
by broad sweeps of dark-green wheat and oats. These were interspersed
with stretches of uncovered soil, glowing a deep chocolate-brown, which
Muriel knew was the summer fallow resting after a cereal crop. Beyond the
last strip of rich color, there spread, shining delicately blue, a great
field of flax; and then the dusky green of alfalfa and alsike for the
Hereford cattle, standing knee-deep in a flashing lake. The prairie, she
thought, was beautiful in summer; its wideness was bracing, one was
stirred into cheerfulness and bodily vigor by the rush of its fresh
winds. She felt that she could remain contentedly at the homestead for a
long time; and then her thoughts centered on its owner.
This was perhaps why she rose and strolled on toward the sloo, though she
would not acknowledge that she actually wished to meet him. The man was
something of an enigma and therefore roused in her an interest which was
stronger because of some of the things she had heard to his discredit.
Following the rows of wheelmarks, she brushed through the wild barley,
whose spiky heads whipped her dress, passed a chain of glistening ponds,
a bluff wrapped in blue shadow, and finally descended a long slope to the
basin at its foot where the melting snow had run in spring. Now it had
dried and was covered with tall grass which held many flowers and
fragrant wild peppermint.
A team of horses and a tinkling mower moved through its midst, and at one
edge Prescott was loading the grass into a wagon. Engrossed as he was in
his task, he did not notice her, and she stood a while watching him. He
wore no jacket; the thin yellow shirt, flung open at the neck and tightly
belted at the waist, and the brown duck trousers, showed the lithe grace
of his athletic figure. His poise and swing were admirable, and he was
working with determined energy, his face and uncovered arms the warm
color of the soil.
Muriel drew a little closer and he stopped on seeing her. His brown skin
was singularly clean, his eyes were clear and steady, though they often
gave a humorous twinkle. If this man had ever been a rake, his
reformation must have been drastic and complete, because although she had
a very limited acquaintance with people of that sort, it was reasonable
to conclude that they must bear some sign of indulgence or sensuality.
The rancher had no stamp of either.
He showed his pleasure at her appearance.
"You have had quite a walk," he said. "If you will wait while I put up
the load, I'll take you back."
Muriel sat down and watched him fling the grass in heavy forkfuls on to
the growing pile, until at last he clambered up upon the frame supporting
it and, pulling some out and ramming the rest back, proceeded to excavate
a hollow.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"Making a nest for you," he told her with a laugh. "Now, if you'll get
up."
While she mounted by the wheel he stood on the edge of the wagon, leaning
down toward her. There did not seem to be much foothold, the grass looked
slippery, and the hollow he had made was beyond her reach, but she seized
the hand he held out and he swung her up. For a moment his fingers
pressed tightly upon her waist, and then she was safe in the hollow,
smiling at him as he found a precarious seat on the rack.
"You couldn't see how you were going to get up, but you didn't hesitate,"
he said with a soft laugh, when he had started his team.
"No," she smiled back at him. "Somehow you inspire one with confidence. I
didn't think you would let me fall."
"Curious, isn't it?"
She reclined in the recess among the grass, which yielded to her limbs in
a way that gave her a sense of voluptuous ease. Her pose, although
scarcely a conventional one, showed to advantage the fine contour of her
form; and the lilac-tinted dress that flowed in classic lines about her
made a patch of cool restful color on the warm ocher of her surroundings.
It was easy to read the man's admiration in his glance, and she became
suddenly filled with mischievous daring.
"Cyril," she said, "you are either an excellent actor, or else--"
"I have been maligned. Is that what you meant?"
"I think I did mean something of the kind."
"Then I'm a very poor actor. That should settle the question."
"I've wondered how you became so very Canadian," she said thoughtfully.
"What's the matter with the Canadians?"
"Nothing. I haven't met very many yet, but on the whole I'm favorably
impressed by them. They're direct, blunt, perhaps less complex than we
are."
"No trimmings," he suggested. "They don't muss up good material so that
it can hardly be recognized. You can tell what a man is when you see him
or hear him talk."
"I don't know," Muriel argued. "I've an idea that it might be difficult,
even in Canada."
He let this pass.
"What do you think of the country?" he asked.
She glanced round. It was late in the afternoon and somewhat cooler than
it had been. Half the plain lay in shadow, but the light was curiously
sharp. A clump of ragged jack-pines stood on a sandhill miles away, and a
lake twinkled in the remote distance. The powerful Clydesdale horses
plodded through short crackling scrub; a fine scent of wild peppermint
floated about.
"Oh," she responded, "it's delightful! And everybody's so energetic! You
move with a spring and verve; and I don't hear any grumbling, though
there seems to be so much to do!"
"And to bear now and then: crops wiped out--I've lost two of them. The
work never slackens, except in winter, when you sit shivering beside the
stove, if you're not hauling in building logs or cordwood through the
arctic frost. At night it's deadly silent, unless there's a blizzard
howling; the plains are very lonely when the snow lies deep. Don't you
think you're better off in England, taking it all 'round?"
He laid respectful fingers on the hem of her skirt, touching the fine
material, as if appraising its worth.
"Our wheat-growers' wives and daughters are lucky if they've a couple of
moderately smart dresses, but I suppose you have several trunks full of
things like this. That and the kind of life it implies must count for
something."
"I believe I have," said Muriel with candor, answering his steady
inquiring glance. "Still, I've felt that we drift along from amusement to
amusement in a purposeless way, doing nothing that's worth while. There
might come a time when one would grow very tired of it."
"It must come and bring trouble then. Here one goes on from task to task,
each one bigger and more venturesome than the last; acre added to acre, a
gasoline tractor to the horse-plow, another quarter-section broken. Mind
and body taxed all day and often half the night. One can't sit down and
mope."
This was, she thought, a curious speech for a man who had been described
as careless, extravagant, and dissolute; but he was getting too serious,
and she laughed.
"You were energetic enough in England, if reports are true. I've often
thought of your right-of-way adventure. It must have been very dramatic
when you appeared at the garden party covered with fresh tar."
"Sounds like that, doesn't it?" he cautiously agreed. "How do they tell
the tale?"
"Something like this--you were at the Hall with Geoffrey when the
townspeople were clamoring about Sir Gilbert's closing the path through
the wood, and for some reason you assisted them in attacking the
barricade. It had been well tarred as a defensive measure, hadn't it?
Then you returned, triumphant, black from head to foot, when you thought
the guests had gone, and plunged into the middle of the last of
them--Maud always laughs when she talks about it. Sir Gilbert was
somewhere out of sight when you related the rabble's brilliant victory,
but he dashed out red in face when he understood and never stopped until
he jumped into his motor. I don't think Geoffrey's wife has forgiven
you."
Prescott smiled.
"Well," he said, "I must have grown very staid since then."
Muriel changed the subject, but they talked with much good-humor until
they reached the homestead, where the man alighted and held out his arms
to her. She hesitated a moment, and then was seized by him and swung
gently to the ground, but she left him with a trace of heightened color
in her face and went quietly into the house.