THE REAL BOSS
"How have you been getting on in the bush?" Frobisher asked his guest
when they sat talking in his smoking-room. "You look worried."
"There's a reason for it--the mine's no good." Andrew looked Frobisher
steadily in the face. "I dare say you knew that some time ago."
"I had my suspicions. I wasn't singular in that."
"So it seems. I must ask you to believe that it was only during the
last few days that I found out the truth."
Frobisher smiled.
"After that, I'd better say that I exonerated you--I think it's the
right word--as soon as we'd had our first talk. I saw that you were
being made a tool of."
"You were right," said Andrew. "It isn't a pleasant situation. I don't
mind its not being flattering; that's the least trouble."
"What are you going to do about it?"
"The square thing, so far as I'm able. Allinson's, so to speak,
guaranteed the undertaking."
There was some extra color in Andrew's face and pride in his voice,
though he spoke quietly, and Frobisher sat silent a moment or two.
"Have you made any plans yet?" the American then asked.
Andrew told him that he proposed to take Carnally and Graham north to
search for the silver lode; and Frobisher looked grave.
"There's a point to be remembered," he cautioned. "Minerals in Canada
belong to the State, which makes a grant of them to the discoverer on
certain terms. The lode will therefore become the property of whoever
first locates and records it, which will be open to any member of your
party."
"I've thought of that. The expedition will be financed by me, and I'll
have an understanding with Graham and Carnally as to their share
before we start."
"Three claims could be staked, and your companions could make them
over to you when the development work was done. If properly patented,
you would be the legal owner."
"I intend to become the owner."
Frobisher looked as if the statement surprised him.
"Then you'd better cut your connection with Rain Bluff before you set
off," he advised. "It might prevent some complications. The directors
might contend that you were not entitled to undertake private mining
operations while you represented the Company and drew its pay."
"I don't think you understand. I mean to hold the claims in my own
name, so as to strengthen my position, which will need it. I expect to
have serious trouble over the Company's affairs."
Frobisher laughed softly.
"You're no fool! You feel that you undertook to look after the
shareholders' interests when you came over, and you have to make
good?"
"Yes," Andrew assented; "I feel something of the kind."
"Then we'll assume that you find the lode and that it's as rich as
Graham believes--which is taking a good deal for granted. Your
shareholders, learning that Rain Bluff is worthless, would probably
jump at a proposition that would give them back their money, or even
part of it. You could buy them out and afterward repay yourself
handsomely by developing the new mine."
Andrew's face hardened.
"When these people gave us their money, they did so expecting to get
any profit that could be made. It's their due and, so far, Allinson's
has never broken faith with those who trusted it."
Frobisher was not surprised at the answer. There was, he had seen, a
clean pride in the man, whom he felt disposed to pity. Allinson had
obviously little knowledge of business, and would have to meet the
determined opposition of the clever tricksters who had floated the
Company. He was entering on a hard fight with unaccustomed weapons.
Nevertheless, Frobisher would not venture to predict his defeat.
Courage such as Allinson showed often carried one a long way, and he
had the right upon his side. Frobisher's business experience had not
made him an optimist, but he was prepared to watch this altruistic
champion's struggles with friendly interest and to assist him as far
as he could.
"You have undertaken a pretty big thing," he said. "To begin with,
it's a lonely country that you're going into, and though having the
lakes and rivers frozen may simplify traveling, you'll find it tough
work living in the open with the thermometer at forty below. Winter's
a bad time for prospecting; but as timber's plentiful, you may be able
to thaw out enough of the surface to test the lode, and something
might be done with giant-powder. Provisions will be your chief
difficulty. You will need a number of packers."
"If possible, I must make the trip with no companions except Carnally
and Graham. Everybody at the Landing has heard about the lode, and if
we took up a strong party and failed to locate it, we'd have shown
them roughly where it lay. That would give the packers a chance for
forestalling our next attempt. Their right to record the minerals
would be as good as ours."
Frobisher was somewhat surprised. Allinson had thought out the matter
in a way that would have done credit to a more experienced man.
"Suppose we go down now," he suggested after a while. "I'll get
Geraldine to sing for us."
Andrew agreed, and was glad he had done so when Miss Frobisher opened
the piano. He was not a musician, but there was a sweetness in her
voice that greatly pleased him. He sat listening with quiet enjoyment
to her first song, watching her with appreciation. The light from a
shaded lamp forced up the strong warm coloring of her hair and fell on
her face, which was outlined in delicate profile against a background
of ebony. Her figure lay half in shadow, but the thin evening-dress
shimmered in places, flowing about her in graceful lines.
He grew more intent when she sang again. It was a ballad of toil and
endeavor, and the girl had caught its feeling. Andrew wondered whether
she had chosen it by accident, for the words chimed with his mood, and
he was stirred and carried away as he listened. Obscure feelings deep
in his nature throbbed in quick response. After wasted years of
lounging, he had plunged into the struggle of life and become a
citizen of the strenuous world. Ingenuous as he was, some of his lost
youthful fervor awoke again; he would never sink back into his former
state of slothful ease; bruised, beaten perhaps, he must go on. The
duty to which he had long been blind now burned like a beacon through
the mists ahead. Yet it was no evanescent, romantic sentiment. Andrew
was a solid and matter-of-fact person.
When Geraldine closed the piano he rose and looked at her with a gleam
in his eyes.
"Thank you; I mean it sincerely," he said. "It's a very fine song."
"It's stirring," she replied. "I dare say it's true--one would like to
think so."
There was some color in her face, and his heart throbbed at the
knowledge that she had meant the song for him.
Then Frobisher broke in humorously:
"That kind of thing appeals more to young folk. When one gets to my
age, one would rather be soothed. We've had enough of the
rough-and-tumble scuffle; it's time to retire from the ring and sit
comfortably in a front seat, looking on."
"It would soon get tiresome," declared Geraldine. "You would want to
take a side and instruct the combatants," she added with an
affectionate smile. "The temptation would be irresistible if somebody
whom you thought didn't deserve it were getting badly hurt."
"I don't know. Interfering is a dangerous habit, and people aren't
always grateful." Frobisher's glance rested for a moment on his guest.
"However, I might still step into the ring if the provocation were
very strong."
Then they engaged in casual talk until it got late, and when Geraldine
and her father wished him goodnight Andrew said diffidently:
"I'm grateful to you for keeping me here. I'll go back feeling
brighter than when I came."
He left them and Frobisher looked after him with a humorous
expression.
"That young man has chosen a hard row to hoe, though I don't think he
quite sees all he's up against. It's safer to take a bone from a
hungry dog than to do a business man out of the pickings he thinks
he's entitled to, especially if he's engaged in floating companies."
"But that is part of your business."
"Sure!" said Frobisher. "It's wiser to speak of the things you know.
I've picked up one or two good bones."
"But you had a right to them," Geraldine declared confidently.
Frobisher's eyes twinkled.
"I believe there was a difference of opinion on the point, but I'd got
my teeth in first. However, I'll admit that unless Allinson was
convinced the bone belonged to him he'd let it go. That's the kind of
man he is, and he's not likely to grow more prudent if you let him see
that you agree with him."
"Do you think I've done so?" Geraldine asked.
"I don't know," Frobisher smiled. "It seems possible; but I've no
doubt your intentions were excellent. You're a bit of an idealist.
However, the fellow will do you credit. He has sense and grit, though
he's what one might perhaps call superfluously honest."
"How could his virtues reflect any credit on me?" Geraldine retorted.
"Besides, your cynicism is assumed. I don't believe you ever took a
dollar you were not entitled to. Why do you always make a joke of
things?"
"It's true that my ventures have generally paid a dividend, but I've a
suspicion that it was a lucky accident that one or two of them did so.
When I was young, I was as serious as Mr. Allinson, but people
sometimes grow more humorous as they get older. They don't expect so
much and they learn to make allowances."
"That's a mistake," said Geraldine. "I should never be content with
the mediocre."
She left him with a smile, but Frobisher looked thoughtful as he
lighted a last cigar. He had led a strenuous life, stubbornly
struggling upward from a humble beginning, and the years of effort had
tried him hard. He had taken big risks, and exacted every dollar he
could, but after all he did not think he had wronged anyone badly. Now
that he had acquired power and influence, he regarded human nature
with whimsical forbearance, but he was glad that his daughter seemed
to demand conformity with higher standards, thought she was free from
the cant and prudery he hated. Then he thought of Allinson, for whom
he had a warm liking. He had fought many a stern battle before he was
Allinson's age, but this did not make him contemptuous. Allinson was
late in beginning, but he showed a determination and, what was more
remarkable, a sagacity that pleased Frobisher well. Besides this, the
purity of his motives and his fastidious honesty roused the American's
admiration. Frobisher would not have embarked on a long struggle for a
principle, but he could respect a man who did so. Allinson and
Geraldine had apparently the same ideals, they had rapidly fallen
into confidential terms--but that was a subject on which it was
premature to speculate.
Andrew left the house the next day, and on entering his hotel in the
afternoon he found Mappin sitting in the unoccupied general-room. He
laid down his newspaper as Andrew came in and looked up with a
truculent expression in his heavy face.
"I got your letter at Fort William as I was coming here," he said. "It
seemed to need an explanation. What d'you mean by giving me warning to
quit?"
His tone was offensive, but Andrew sat down quietly, knowing it was
desirable to keep cool.
"I thought I'd better send you notice that we may terminate our
arrangements in three months, as we have the option of doing," he
replied.
"But why do you want to terminate them?"
"We may shut down the Rain Bluff. It's not paying."
Mapping gave a snorting laugh.
"What has that to do with it?"
"It ought to be obvious," Andrew said curtly. "If the mine won't pay,
it must be closed. Allinson's is not in the habit of carrying on a
business for its private benefit at the investors' expense."
"I shouldn't have thought it," Mappin sneered, and looked hard at
Andrew. "You seem to be taking a pretty decided line. May I ask whom
you are speaking for?"
"For myself, in the first place, but I believe the shareholders would
support me. Though I haven't interfered much so far, I'm the head of
the firm."
Mappin was impressed by Andrew's manner, and his tone became more
conciliatory.
"I'm afraid you have kept out of business so long that you don't quite
understand matters. Your brother-in-law has arranged things here much
better than you, in your inexperience, could do. This proposition's
too big and complicated for a beginner to meddle with; you'd only
involve yourself and everybody concerned in a deplorable mess. Be
warned and let up. Make any small improvements and economies you can,
but leave the main points of Hathersage's scheme alone."
There was some ground for Mappin's opinion, and his air of conviction
had weight; but Andrew had no thought of yielding.
"So far, I can't tell what changes may be necessary, but I expect to
make them, whatever they are, as occasion arises."
"Then hadn't you better wait until you know?"
Mappin took a letter from his pocket. "Suppose you tear this thing
up?"
"No," Andrew said firmly; "the notice stands."
There was a moment's silence while their glances met, and each
recognized that there should be no compromise: henceforward they must
be enemies.
"Oh, well," said Mappin, with an air of ironic resignation, "I'll
continue to look after your transport until the time expires. Now that
we understand things, let's talk of something else. Have you seen
Frobisher lately? I'm going across to his place after supper."
A sudden anger seized Andrew, though he scarcely realized that it
sprang from jealousy. This coarse fellow with his low cunning and
sensual nature had no right to enter the house that sheltered
Geraldine Frobisher. It was repugnant to think of his meeting her on
friendly terms and, having heard that he had been a frequent visitor,
he wondered what had induced Frobisher to tolerate him. An unpleasant
suspicion crept into his mind--perhaps the man had a friend in Mrs.
Denton, who differed from her brother in many ways. However, Andrew
concealed his annoyance.
"It will be a fine night, though the snow's rather deep," he said.
"Now what about the provisions I ordered?"
They discussed the matter for a while, and then Andrew went out to
look for Graham. He found him alone in the mill office, and the elder
man listened eagerly to what he had to say. Then Graham jumped up and
strode excitedly up and down the room.
"After all the years of waiting, I can hardly realize that I'm to have
my chance!" he exclaimed. "I feel dazed; the thing's--overwhelming!"
"There's no doubt about it," said Andrew. "I've arranged matters
satisfactorily with your president. You have only to say that you will
come."
"Come!" Graham's eyes glowed; but he paused in sudden hesitation.
"Still, I don't know how my wife will face it. She must be told at
once. Come with me and explain--I think you will do it better than I
can."
He threw a book into the desk, shut the desk noisily, and took out his
watch.
"Mr. Allinson," he said, "I believe this office has never been closed
five minutes before the proper time since I first entered it, but the
habits of twenty years have lost their grip to-night. I feel like a
man unexpectedly let out of prison."
Andrew went out with him and nothing was said until they reached his
house. The table was neatly laid for supper, and Mrs. Graham was
cheerfully bustling about it. She stopped and looked at her husband
with a start when he came in. The man was trying hard to maintain his
usual calm, but his expression was strained and eager, and his manner
deprecatory, as if he were half ashamed. Andrew thought Mrs. Graham
knew.
"Can you spare me a few minutes?" Andrew asked. "I have something to
say."
She sat down with forced quietness, though her color faded.
"I'm afraid it will be a shock, Martha," Graham broke in; "he means to
tell you that I am going north to look for the lode with him."
The woman did not flinch. She looked at her husband gravely, with no
sign of reproach; and Andrew saw that she had courage.
"I have expected this; I knew it must come sooner or later," she said
quietly. "But go on, Mr. Allinson; I will listen."
Andrew felt relieved. She would give no trouble, but her tense
expression caused him a sense of guilt. He explained the arrangements
he had made and handed her two or three documents, which included an
order on a bank for certain payments to be made her if the expedition
did not return by a specified date.
Mrs. Graham took the papers with a gesture of repugnance, but a moment
later she looked up quietly.
"It's fair; it's generous, Mr. Allinson. I am getting old and my
daughter is very young." Then her lips quivered and she broke into a
pitiful smile. "You have done what you can, but it doesn't cover the
greatest risk I run."
"I know," responded Andrew gently; "I am asking a great deal from
you."
"Well," she said, "for his sake, perhaps for my sake, I must try to
let him go." She paused for a moment and then asked with an effort:
"When do you start?"
"As soon as we can." Andrew felt that it would be tactful to take his
leave. "But I have a letter I must mail."
"Come back, please," she said. "Supper will be ready in about ten
minutes."
When Andrew had gone out Graham turned to his wife.
"I'm sorry, Martha. I feel that I must go."
She came to him and put her hands on his shoulders, smiling bravely.
"Why, of course, dear! I wouldn't stop you."
Graham threw his arms around her.
"It isn't all restlessness, Martha--there is a chance! What have I
done so far but keep you poor? It has hurt me to see you always hard
at work at some drudgery, living in this poor little house, planning
to save a few cents wherever you could. Now there may be a change; our
life will be very different and the children's future brighter if I
can find the lode. But if I am to find it, I must go now. In a few
more years it would be too late."
"Yes," she said softly. "But, after all, we have been happy here."
He kissed her, protesting that he had been far happier than he
deserved; but she drew away from him.
"Still, you have had your bad hours. Do you think I don't know? It
wasn't easy to go to the office day after day and keep accounts, with
the longing you couldn't get over, and dreams of riches in your
mind."
"I'm afraid I let you guess it. But they're not dreams. I found a lode
rich in silver; I may locate it again."
Mrs. Graham smiled rather wearily.
"Dear, I hardly care whether you find the lode or not. You will be
content when you have looked for it, and I shall be happier knowing
that the restlessness you couldn't master has gone and will never
trouble us again."
When Jim and his sister came in for supper, Andrew joined them, and
found that he was expected to talk over his plans. It was obvious that
Graham had not strained his authority: his was a harmonious household
and its younger members expressed their opinions with freedom. Andrew
was, however, amused to see that their father had risen in their
esteem. They had never attached much importance to his belief in the
lode; but since he had gained the support of a man of means, it looked
as if there might be something in the project. Nevertheless, they
bantered Andrew freely and he took it in good part. When he left, Mrs.
Graham accompanied him to the door.
"You'll try to forgive me?" he begged, stopping a moment in the
narrow, shabby hall.
"Yes," she said. "I can't fairly blame you, and I have been prepared
for what has happened." Then she laid her hand on his arm. "I am
trusting you with a great deal, Mr. Allinson. It's a heavy
responsibility."