A REST BY THE WAY
It was afternoon when Julius Savine, accompanied by Summers, had
entered Thurston's tent. On the way from the railroad, Summers had
explained to the contractor all that had happened. Geoffrey rose to
greet Savine, glancing at his employer with some curiosity, for he had
not met him before. Savine was a man of quick, restless movements and
nervous disposition. The gray that tinged his long mustache, lightly
sprinkled his hair, gave evidence of his fifty years of intense living.
He was known to be not only a daring engineer, but a generally
successful speculator in mining and industrial enterprises.
Nevertheless, Geoffrey fancied that something in his face gave a hint
of physical weakness.
"I have heard one or two creditable things about you, and thought of
asking you to run up to my offices, but I'm glad to meet you now," said
Savine with a smile, adding when Thurston made a solemn bow, "There,
I've been sufficiently civil, and I see you would rather I talked
business. I'm considerably indebted to you for the way you tackled the
late crisis, and approve of the log-guard's extension. How much did
the extra work cost you?"
"Here is the wages bill and a list of the iron work charged at cost,"
Thurston answered. "As I did the work without any orders you would be
justified in declining to pay for it, and I have included no profit."
"Ah!" said Savine, who glanced over the paper and scribbled across it.
Looking up with a twinkle in his eye, he asked: "Have you been
acquiring riches latterly? My cashier will pay that note whenever you
hand it in at Vancouver. I'll also endorse your contract for payment
if you will give it me. Further, I want to say that I've been to look
at your work, and it pleases me. There are plenty of men in this
province who would have done it as solidly, but it's the general design
and ingenious fixings that take my fancy. May I ask where you got the
ideas?"
"In England," answered Geoffrey. "I spent some time in the drawing
office of a man of some note." He mentioned a name, and Savine, who
looked at him critically, nodded as if in recognition. The older man
smiled when Thurston showed signs of resenting his inspection.
"In that case I should say you ought to do," Savine observed,
cheerfully.
"I don't understand," said Thurston, and Savine answered:
"No? Well, if you'll wait a few moments I'll try to make things plain
to you. I want a live man with brains of his own, and some knowledge
of mechanical science. There is no trouble about getting them by the
car load from the East or the Old Country, but the man for me must know
how to use his muscles, if necessary, and handle ax and drill as well.
In short, I want one who has been right through the mill as you seem to
have been, and, so long as he earns it, I'm not going to worry over his
salary."
"I'm afraid I would not suit you," said Geoffrey. "I'm rather too fond
of my own way to make a good servant, and of late I have not done badly
fighting for my own hand. Therefore, while I thank you, and should be
glad to undertake any minor contracts you can give me, I prefer to
continue as at present."
"I should not fancy that you would be particularly easy to get on
with," Savine observed with another shrewd glance, but with unabated
good humor. "Still, what you suggest might suit me. I have rather
more work at present than I can hold on to with both hands, and have
tolerably good accounts of you. Come West with me and spend the week
end at my house, where we could talk things over quietly."
Geoffrey was gratified--for the speaker was famous in his
profession--and he showed his feeling as he answered: "I consider
myself fortunate that you should ask me."
"I figured you were not fond of compliments, and I'm a plain man
myself," declared Savine, with the humor apparent in his keen eyes
again. "I will, however, give you one piece of advice before I forget
it. My sister-in-law might be there, and if she wants to doctor you,
don't let her. She has a weakness for physicking strangers, and the
results are occasionally embarrassing."
It happened accordingly that Thurston, who had overhauled his wardrobe
in Vancouver, duly arrived at a pretty wooden villa which looked down
upon a deep inlet. He knew the mountain valleys of the Cumberland, and
had wandered, sometimes footsore and hungry, under the giant ramparts
of the Selkirks and the Rockies, but he had never seen a fairer spot
than the reft in the hills which sheltered Savine's villa, and was
known by its Indian name, "The Place of the Hundred Springs."
For a background somber cedars lifted their fretted spires against the
skyline on the southern hand. Beneath the trees the hillsides closed
in and the emerald green of maples and tawny tufts of oak rolled down
to a breadth of milk-white pebbles and a stretch of silver sand, past
which clear green water shoaling from shade to shade wound inland.
Threads of glancing spray quivered in and out among the foliage, and
high above, beyond a strip of sparkling sea and set apart by filmy
cloud from all the earth below, stretched the giant saw-edge of the
Coast Range's snow.
The white-painted, red-roofed dwelling, with its green-latticed
shutters, tasteful scroll work and ample, if indifferently swarded,
lawns, was pleasant to look upon, but Thurston found more pleasure in
the sight of its young mistress, who awaited him in a great cool room
that was hung with deer-head trophies and floored with parquetry of
native timber.
Helen Savine wore a white dress and her favorite crimson roses nestled
in the belt. Though she greeted Geoffrey with indifferent cordiality,
the girl was surprised when her eyes rested upon him. Thurston was not
a man of the conventional type one meets and straightway forgets, and
she had often thought about him; but, since the night at Crosbie Ghyll,
his image had presented itself as she first saw him--ragged, hungry,
and grim, a worthy descendant of the wild Thurstons about whom Musker
had discoursed. Now, in spite of his weather-beaten face and hardened
hands, he appeared what he was, a man of education and some refinement,
and his resolute expression, erect carriage, and muscular frame,
rendered lithe and almost statuesque by much swinging of the ax, gave
him an indefinite air of distinction. Again she decided that Geoffrey
Thurston was a well-favored man, but remembering Musker's stories, she
set herself to watch for some trace of inherent barbarity. This was
unfortunate for Geoffrey, because in such cases observers generally
discover what they search for.
Geoffrey was placed beside Helen at dinner, and having roughed it since
he left England, and even before that time, it seemed strange to him to
be deftly waited upon at a table glittering with silver and gay with
flowers. Mrs. Thomas Savine sat opposite him, between her husband and
the host, and Helen found certain suspicions confirmed when Savine
referred to the crushing of the strike. Previously, he had given his
daughter a brief account of it.
"It was daringly done," said Helen, "but I wonder, Mr. Thurston, if you
and others who hold the power ever consider the opposite side of the
question. It may be that those men, whose task is evidently highly
dangerous, have wives and children depending upon them, and a few extra
dollars, earned hardly enough, no doubt, might mean so much to them."
"I am afraid I don't always do so," answered Geoffrey. "I have toiled
tolerably hard as a workman myself. If any employe should consider
that he was underpaid for the risk he ran, and should say so civilly, I
should listen to him. On the other hand, if any combination strove by
unfair means to coerce me, I should spare no effort to crush it!"
Thurston generally was too much in earnest to make a pleasant
dinner-table conversationalist. As he spoke, he shut one big brown
hand. It was a trifling action, and he was, perhaps, unconscious of
it, but Helen, who noticed the flicker in his eyes and the vindictive
tightening of the hard fingers, shrank from him instinctively.
"Is that not a cruel plan of action, and is there no room for a gentler
policy in your profession? Must the weak always be trampled out of
existence?" she replied, with a slight trace of indignation.
Thurston turned towards her with a puzzled expression. Julius Savine
smiled, but his sister-in-law, who had remained silent, but not
unobservant, broke in: "You believe in the hereditary transmission of
character, Mr. Thurston?"
"I think most people do to some extent," answered Geoffrey. "But why
do you ask me?"
"It's quite simple," said Mrs. Savine, smiling. "Did my husband tell
you that when we were in England, we were held up by a storm there one
night in your ancestral home? There was a man there who ought to
belong to the feudal ages. He was called Musker, and he told us quaint
stories about some of you. I fancy Geoffrey, who robbed the king's
dragoons, must have looked just like you when you shut your fingers so,
a few minutes ago."
"I am a little surprised," Geoffrey returned with a flush rising in his
cheeks. "Musker used to talk a great deal of romantic nonsense.
Crosbie Ghyll is no longer mine. I hope you passed a pleasant night
there." Mrs. Savine became eloquent concerning the historic interest
of the ancient house and her brother-in-law, who appeared interested,
observed.
"So far, you have not told me about that particular adventure."
Again the incident was unfortunate for Geoffrey, because Helen, who had
no great respect for her aunt's perceptions, decided that if the
similitude had struck even that lady, she was right in her own
estimation of Thurston's character.
"We heard of several instances of reckless daring, and we Colonials
consider all the historic romance of the land we sprang from belongs to
us as well as you," Mrs. Savine said. "So, if it is not an intrusion,
may I ask if any of those border warriors were remarkable for deeds of
self-abnegation or charity?"
"I am afraid not," admitted Geoffrey, rather grimly. "Neither did any
of them ever do much towards the making of history. All of them were
generally too busy protecting their property or seizing that of their
neighbors! But, at least, when they fought, they seem to have fought
for the losing side, and, according to tradition, paid for it dearly.
However, to change the subject, is it fair to hold any man responsible
for his ancestors' shortcomings? They have gone back to the dust long
ago, and it is the present that concerns us."
"Still, can anybody avoid the results of those shortcomings or
virtues?" persisted Helen, and her father said:
"I hardly think so. There is an instance beside you, Mr. Thurston.
Miss Savine's grandfather ruled in paternally feudal fashion over a few
dozen superstitious habitants way back in old-world Quebec, as his
folks had done since the first French colonization. That explains my
daughter's views on social matters and her weakness for playing the
somewhat autocratic Lady Bountiful. The Seigneurs were benevolent
village despots with very quaint ways."
Savine spoke lightly, and one person only noticed that the face of his
daughter was slightly less pale in coloring than before, but that one
afterwards remembered her father's words and took them as a clue to the
woman's character. He discovered also that Helen Savine was both
generous and benevolent, but that she loved to rule, and to rule
somewhat autocratically.
The first day at the Savine villa passed like a pleasant dream to the
man who had toiled for a bare living in the shadowy forests or knelt
all day among hot rocks to hold the weary drill with bleeding fingers.
Mr. Savine grew more and more interested in Geoffrey, who, during the
second day, made great advances in the estimation of Mrs. Thomas
Savine. Bicycles were not so common a woman's possession in Canada, or
elsewhere, then. In fact, there were few roads in British Columbia fit
to propel one on. An American friend had sent Miss Savine a wheel
which, after a few journeys over a corduroy road, groaned most
distressfully whenever she mounted it. Helen desired to ride in to the
railroad, but the gaudy machine complained even more than usual, and
when at last one of its wheels declined to revolve, Julius Savine
called Geoffrey's attention to it.
"If you are anxious for mild excitement, and want to earn my daughter's
gratitude, you might tackle that confounded thing, Mr. Thurston," he
said. "The local blacksmith shakes his head over it, and sent it back
the last time worse than ever, with several necessary portions missing.
After running many kinds of machines in my time, I'm willing to own
that this particular specimen defies me."
Thurston had stripped and fitted various intricate mining appliances,
but he had never struggled with a bicycle. So, when Helen accepted his
offer of assistance, he wheeled the machine out upon the lawn and
proceeded light-heartedly to dismantle it, while the Savine brothers
lounged in cane chairs, encouraging him over their cigars. The
dismantling was comparatively simple, but when the time for
reassembling came, Thurston, who found that certain cups could not by
any legitimate means be induced to screw home into their places, was
perforce obliged to rest the machine upon two chairs and wriggle
underneath it, where he reclined upon his back with grimy oil dripping
upon his forehead. Red in the face, he crawled out to breathe at
intervals, and Helen made stern efforts to conceal her mingled alarm
and merriment, when Thomas Savine said:
"Will you take long odds, Thurston, that you never make that invention
of his Satanic Majesty run straight again?"
Mrs. Savine cautioned the operator about sunstroke and apoplexy. When
Thomas Savine caught Helen's eye, both laughed outright, and Geoffrey,
mistaking the reason, felt hurt; he determined to conquer the bicycle
or remain beneath it all night. When at last he succeeded in putting
the various parts together and straightened his aching back, he hoped
that he did not look so disgusted, grimy and savage as he undoubtedly
felt.
"You must really let it alone," said Helen. "The sun is very hot, and
perhaps, you might be more successful after luncheon. I have noticed
that when mending bicycles a rest and refreshment sometimes prove
beneficial."
"That's so!" agreed Thomas Savine. "Young Harry was wont to tackle it
on just those lines. He used up several of my best Cubanos and a
bottle of claret each time, before he had finished; and then I was
never convinced that the thing went any better."
"You must beware of ruining your health," interposed Mrs. Savine.
"Mending bicycles frequently leads to an accumulation of malevolent
humors. Did I interrupt you, Mr. Thurston?"
"I was only going to say that it is nearly finished, and that I should
not like to be vanquished by an affair of this kind," said Geoffrey
with emphasis. "Would it hurt the machine if I stood it upon its head,
Miss Savine?"
"Oh, no, and I am so grateful," Helen answered assuringly, noticing
guiltily that there were oil and red dust, besides many somber smears,
upon the operator's face and jacket, while the skin was missing from
several of his knuckles.
It was done at last, and Geoffrey sighed, while the rest of the party
expressed surprise as well as admiration when the wheels revolved
freely without click or groan. Julius Savine nodded, with more than
casual approval, and Helen was gracious with her thanks.
"You look quite faint," observed Mrs. Savine. "It was the hot sun on
your forehead, and the mental excitement. Such things are often
followed by dangerous consequences, and you must take a dose of my
elixir. Helen, dear, you know where to find the bottle."
Julius Savine was guilty of a slight gesture of impatience. His
brother laughed, while Helen seemed anxious to slip away. Geoffrey
answered:
"I hardly think one should get very mentally excited over a bicycle. I
feel perfectly well, and only somewhat greasy."
"That is just one of the symptoms. Yes, you have hit it--greasy
feeling!" broke in the amateur dispenser, who rarely relaxed her
efforts until she had run down her victim. "Helen, why don't you hunt
round for that bottle?"
"I mean greasy externally," explained Geoffrey in desperation, and
again Thomas Savine chuckled, while Helen, who ground one little
boot-heel into the grasses, deliberately turned away. Mrs. Savine,
however, cheerfully departed to find the bottle, and soon returned with
it and a wine glass. She filled the glass with an inky fluid which
smelt unpleasant, and said to Geoffrey:
"You will be distinctly better the moment you have taken this!"
Geoffrey took the goblet, walked apart a few paces, and, making a wry
face, heroically swallowed the bitter draught, after which Mrs. Savine,
who beamed upon him, said:
"You feel quite differently, don't you?"
"Yes!" asserted Geoffrey, truthfully, longing to add that he had felt
perfectly well before and had now to make violent efforts to overcome
his nausea.
His heroism had its reward, however, for when Helen returned from her
wheel ride, she said: "I was really ashamed when my aunt insisted on
doctoring you, but you must take it as a compliment, because she only
prescribes for the people she takes a fancy to. I hope the dose was
not particularly nasty?"
"Sorry for you, Thurston, from experience!" cried Thomas Savine. "When
I see that bottle, I just vacate the locality. The taste isn't the
worst of it by a long way."
That night Julius Savine called Geoffrey into his study, and, spreading
a roll of plans before him, offered terms, which were gladly accepted,
for the construction of portions of several works. Savine said: "I
won't worry much about references. Your work speaks for itself, and
the Roads and Trails surveyor has been talking about you. I'll take
you, as you'll have to take me, on trust. I keep my eye on rising
young men, and I have been watching you. Besides, the man who could
master an obstinate bicycle the first time he wrestled with one must
have some sense of his own, and it isn't everybody who would have
swallowed that physic."
"I could not well avoid doing so," said Geoffrey, with a rueful smile.
"I feel I owe you an apology, but it's my sister-in-law's one weakness,
and you have won her favor for the rest of your natural life," Savine
returned. "You have had several distinguished fellow-sufferers,
including provincial representatives and railroad directors, for to my
horror she physicked a very famous one the last time he came. He did
not suffer with your equanimity. In fact, he was almost uncivil, and
said to me, 'If the secretary hadn't sent off your trestle contract, I
should urge the board to reconsider it. Did you ask me here that your
relatives might poison me, Savine?'"
Geoffrey laughed, and his host added:
"I want to talk over a good many details with you, and dare say you
deserve a holiday--I know I do--so I shall retain you here for a week,
at least. I take your consent for granted; it's really necessary."