FRESH PLANS
Geraldine Frobisher, sitting by the hearth in her drawing-room,
glanced compassionately at Andrew. He looked gaunt and very weary, and
she noticed a significant slackness in his pose. There was no one else
in the room; the lamps were lighted and a log fire diffused a pleasant
glow and an aromatic odor.
"You are quiet to-night," she said.
Andrew looked up with a deprecatory smile.
"I fear I'm disgracefully dull; but I don't seem able to think of
anything except that it's very pleasant to be here again."
"You consider that a good excuse?"
"I can't judge; I felt that I needed one. In fact, I don't know what
is the matter with me since I came down-river."
Geraldine had some idea; a glance at the man supplied an explanation.
"You are worn out, for one thing," she answered sympathetically.
He mused for a few moments, and the girl was not displeased. From the
first she had felt on curiously confidential terms with him. He was
direct and sincere and, though by no means shallow, he seldom puzzled
her.
"No," he said, "it's not altogether that. We had a rather bad time
before the relief party arrived, but I felt up to my work--anxious, of
course, but not troubled by the slackness that has since got hold of
me. All this, however, isn't of much consequence. I'm very grateful to
you and your father for sending help--we were in a very tight place
when it came. But I don't understand how you knew we needed it."
Geraldine looked down, to hide her confusion.
"I wonder why you associate me with my father?"
"I can't tell you clearly, but I feel that you had something to do
with the matter. Indeed, it made the relief more welcome. But you
haven't given me an explanation."
"Do you understand why you failed to find the food?"
"Yes," said Andrew grimly. "I've a suspicion that you know as much
about it as I do, though it's hard to see how you came by the
knowledge."
Geraldine looked up with a forced smile. He must not guess how she had
led Mappin to betray himself.
"It is rather astonishing, isn't it? The search gave you trouble, and
you have some respect for your thinking powers."
"I've more respect for Carnally's; he found the clue. But he was on
the spot."
"And I was handicapped by being at home? Do you know I sometimes think
I'm not altogether stupid?"
"You're exceptionally clever," said Andrew warmly. "You have a gift
for seizing on the truth and sticking to it. I think it's because the
truth is in you that you recognize it. That's different from
smartness."
She checked him with a gesture of mocking rebuke.
"You should have learned that I don't expect you to pay me labored
compliments."
"It wasn't labored; I believe it was a flash of insight," Andrew
declared. He glanced at her face and laughed, looking baffled.
There was silence for the next few moments. Geraldine knew what the
man thought of her, but she approved of the respectful diffidence he
generally displayed. Now that he was safe, she preferred that they
remain on a purely friendly footing for a time; he was hers, but she
shrank with a fluttering timidity from an open surrender. It was not
difficult to repulse him gently when he grew too bold. Nevertheless
his wan and downcast appearance roused a deep and tender pity. She
longed to hear his troubles and comfort him.
"You suddenly changed the subject we began," she said. "Were you not
going to tell me why you feel depressed?"
"Something of the kind," replied Andrew. "It didn't seem a very happy
topic."
"That was a mistake," declared Geraldine reproachfully. "You shouldn't
have doubted my interest, and it lightens one's troubles to confide in
a friend."
Andrew, in his dejected mood, felt a longing for sympathy and
encouragement.
"Well," he said, "failure is hard to bear, and I've a strong suspicion
that I've undertaken more than I'm able to carry out. So far, I've
made a deplorable mess of things. We reached the neighborhood of the
lode with no time to search the ground, and, for all the results we
got, we might as well have stayed at home."
"But it's something to have proved that the lode exists."
"I'm not sure it's worth proving. The value of the ore is the most
important point, because a mine could not be worked up there unless it
was very rich. Then there's a risk of Graham's being lamed for life.
Mappin has beaten us badly at the beginning of the fight."
"It's only a small reverse. You would not use the means he employed.
They were infamous!"
"The trouble is that other opponents I shall have to meet may use
similar methods, and unless I do the same, I'll be further
handicapped. As it happens, I'm carrying weight enough already."
Geraldine looked thoughtful.
"In a way, you're right. I've learned something about the situation."
"If we had proved the lode to be rich, I should have had something to
fall back on; but I've failed. Now I must attack strong vested
interests, with the whole influence of my conservative relatives
against me. My chief antagonist enjoys a high prestige, and has made
an excellent profit on the money handed him." Andrew laughed in a
rueful manner. "And I'm the fool of the family, who has lately taken
to upsetting a very satisfactory state of affairs. Can you imagine the
surprise and disgust of everybody concerned?"
"But your people are upright, aren't they?"
"Oh, yes; there's no doubt of that. But, with one or two unimportant
exceptions, they're conventional and prejudiced. They believe in what
they see; the prosperity of Allinson's, the dividends coming in. They
distrust anything that seems out of the usual course, and they
couldn't bring themselves to think there should be anything wrong with
the firm. I, whom they good-naturedly look down on, have to convince
them to the contrary."
"It will be hard; one can understand that. But the feeling of
helplessness that troubles you now will pass. You must remember that
you have borne enough to exhaust you."
"My body's tired," Andrew admitted. "One can get over that. The real
difficulty is that my mind feels sick."
"Is there no connection between the two?" Geraldine smiled at him.
"You make me think it's the first time you have had any serious
difficulties."
"That's true. It looks as if there were some benefit in being dull.
You're saved a good deal of trouble if you don't notice things."
"I didn't mean that," Geraldine objected. "You're not really dull, you
know."
"Then I'm something like it. But you don't think I've been foolish in
starting on this campaign?"
"No!" said Geraldine promptly. "I think you are doing what is fine!
You must go on; I want you to win. The difficulties won't look so
serious if you attack them one by one, and it must be worth something
to have the right on your side. There is so much injustice everywhere
and few people seem to mind. No doubt it's dangerous to interfere, but
it's encouraging to find a man here and there who is not afraid."
She looked up at a sound and saw her father standing in the doorway.
"One here and there?" smiled Frobisher. "You're not exacting. In
France, they once asked for a hundred men who knew how to die, and
found them in one southern town."
Geraldine's color was higher than usual, but she laughed.
"I suppose I am a bit of a sentimentalist; but you're too cynical. I
don't see why you should be proud of your detached and critical
attitude. You look on as if the sight of people struggling amused
you."
"I don't think I really am proud of it, but perhaps there's something
to be said for the intelligent spectator who knows his limitations and
is content with trying to see fair play. However, I came to take
Allinson away for a smoke. If I leave him to you, you'll be sending
him off on some new chivalrous adventure."
Seeing that his host was waiting for him, Andrew rose, but as he
reached the door Geraldine looked at him with a smile.
"What I said was rather crude, but I meant it."
"She generally does mean things; it's a habit that has its drawbacks,"
Frobisher said, as he led Andrew to his smoking-room, where he gave
him a cigar and pointed to an easy-chair.
"What are you going to do about Mappin?" the American asked bluntly.
"Nothing. As he has only to deny what I told him to clear himself,
there's no means of punishing him. I can't see any use in making a
fuss that can have no result. It would simply show I was the weaker
party."
"You're wise," Frobisher agreed. Then his eyes twinkled. "Carnally,
however, seems to have seen a way out of the difficulty. You haven't
heard what happened at the settlement?"
"No; I hired a sleigh and went for a drive. After that I slept until I
came here. I tried to keep out of people's way."
"You missed a dramatic scene at the store. I'm told Carnally threw
Mappin downstairs and out into the snow."
Andrew shook his head dubiously.
"It's a pity, but I might have been prepared for something of the
kind. I can hardly grudge him any satisfaction he derived from it."
"It was a good stroke; Mappin will find it damaging."
"But I understood he was a friend of yours," Andrew said with some
awkwardness.
"He came to my house. I put up with him, which I think describes it
best, though I fail to see much reason for doing so any longer. But
what are you going to do about the lode?"
"Go back and investigate it thoroughly. We'll wait until the spring."
"Then you mean to proceed with your scheme? I see trouble, but I
mustn't discourage you. Now I guess the situation warrants some
candor. Has it struck you that Mappin is working hand in hand with
your brother-in-law?"
"I'm afraid it's true." Andrew's face was grave. "You can see how it
complicates things."
"But you mean to go on?"
"I must," said Andrew simply.
Frobisher leaned forward and touched his arm.
"You have grit, Allinson. It will be a tough fight, but I feel that
you'll make good."
He changed the subject abruptly, and they talked of other matters
until they went back to the drawing-room. Some time afterward there
was a knock at the door, and Geraldine, opening it, held out a
telegram to Andrew.
"It's from the assayer; I left word at the settlement for the message
to be sent on," he explained. "You will excuse my opening it?"
"Of course," said Geraldine. "May it bring you good news!"
Andrew tore open the envelope, and there was an exultant tone in his
voice as he read out:
"_Specimens unpromising._"
Frobisher and Geraldine looked puzzled.
"But you seem satisfied," the girl said.
"I am. I asked the man to let me have his general opinion as soon as
he could; he's to send a regular analysis later. He has been quick,
but perhaps he has some rough preliminary test."
"But he tells you they're unpromising!"
"I'm beginning to think Mr. Allinson is a bit of a genius," Frobisher
observed. "No doubt he'll explain his mysterious proceedings."
"I gave the man a three-word code, reversing the meaning, and his
answer puts the quality of the ore, so to speak, in the comparative
degree. It shows that we have struck the edge of the lode, and careful
prospecting should give us better results."
He broke off, standing still, the message in his hand and a look of
marked relief in his face, and Frobisher turned to his daughter.
"It was a maxim of Napoleon's that one should use every means of
misleading the enemy, and Mr. Allinson seems to know that telegrams
are handled rather casually in these small places. A mineral claim
doesn't belong to its discoverer until it's duly staked off and
recorded; and if all the formalities are not complied with it can be
jumped."
He was called away a few minutes later, and Andrew took his place by
the hearth with Geraldine sitting opposite him.
"I'm very glad you got such good news," she said, with a curious
softness in her voice.
"Thank you. It was you who brought it to me; but that wasn't all you
did. I came here dejected, and now I'm cheerful again."
"But that isn't surprising, after the message."
"It wasn't the message. I was bracing up before it came; you and your
father made me feel that I needn't despair. In fact, I was getting
ashamed of being downcast, after the confidence you seemed to have in
me."
Geraldine smiled at him.
"Ah!" she said. "It must need a good deal of courage to lead a forlorn
hope, and one could imagine that your undertaking looked like that. It
must be much pleasanter to feel that you have some chance of winning.
But what will you do next?"
"Go home, I think. I want to see how I stand there."
"For long?" Geraldine asked quietly.
"No; for a month or so. I shall be eager to get back." Andrew paused
and asked with a hint of tension in his voice: "Will I be missed?"
"Of course!" Geraldine looked up with friendly candor. "But will you
be able to make the double journey and do all that's needful in a few
weeks?"
Andrew felt gently rebuffed. Geraldine had a way of checking him when
he tried to draw closer to her, and her unembarrassed frankness was
deterring.
"I'll try," he said doggedly.
Frobisher came in then, and they chatted about various matters until
Andrew took his leave. When he reached his hotel he wrote a letter
home, announcing his return, and the next morning he had a long talk
with Carnally, whom he empowered to act as his deputy while he was in
England. Then he went to Graham's and found the Winnipeg surgeon
leaving. His report was favorable: Graham's foot could be saved,
though it would be some time before he recovered the use of it.
Andrew was shown into a room where his comrade lay on a couch.
"I've heard the news and I'm very glad," he said. "I was troubled
about you."
"You couldn't hide it." Graham smiled at him. "It wasn't your fault I
got frost-bitten, anyway. But have you heard about the specimens?"
"Yes; the first report's encouraging. Of course, I haven't learned the
full results yet."
Graham's eyes glistened, and he moved into a comfortable pose with a
look of deep content.
"That's good. Now I must try to get about again as soon as possible."
"There's no hurry. As you know, you needn't go back to the mill until
you're able. Then as Carnally and I know where the lode is, it isn't
strictly necessary that you should come with us."
"Isn't it! I've been thinking about that lode for twenty years, and do
you suppose I could let another man locate it? Besides, we must stake
three claims on the best frontage."
"That would be better; but what about Mrs. Graham? Haven't you given
her enough anxiety?"
Graham looked disturbed.
"I can't predict what line she'll take, but I venture to believe
she'll let me go, knowing I'll be satisfied for good when I have
finished my work."
Andrew told him about his trip home and the arrangements he had made
with Carnally, and left soon afterward. During the next week he came
in daily and spent two evenings with the Frobishers, and then he left
the Landing early one morning by the Montreal express.
The Atlantic passage was short and uneventful, and late one afternoon
he alighted from a local train at a wayside station among the English
hills. Wannop and Hilda were waiting on the platform, and after the
first greetings were over, the girl regarded her brother critically.
"Andrew," she exclaimed, "you haven't come back the same! How did you
get those lines on your forehead?"
"Are there some?" Andrew asked with a smile. "I suppose I was anxious
now and then. Not knowing whether you'll get enough to eat makes one
think."
Hilda shook her head.
"No; that's not it. My dear boy, you have been _developing_ since you
went to Canada."
"If you're right," laughed Andrew, "it was getting time I did; but
you're standing in the way of the baggage truck."
They moved on, and when they drove off in Wannop's trap Andrew sat
silent for a while, looking about delightedly. It was open weather; by
comparison with the Canadian cold, the air was soft and mild. A gray
sky hung above the hills, but there was a glimmer of pale red and
saffron low in the west, and the rugged slopes, clothed with withered
fern, shone a rich, warm brown. Then they dipped into a valley which
struck Andrew, accustomed to the monotonous snow-glare, as wonderfully
green. The shining riband of a river wound through its midst; clover
growing among the stubble and broad strips of raw-red soil where
sheep, netted in, stood about the turnip-cutters, checkered the
pasture land. They passed climbing woods where the leafless branches
formed blurs of blue and gray; and here and there a white thread of
foaming water streaked the heights above.
It was a countryside that Andrew loved, but now, while softly
beautiful, it looked strangely small--a narrow green strip, shut in by
lofty moors. Then there were many tall hedgerows and big stone walls;
one could not wander there at will. The wide horizons and the
limitless stretch of trackless woods were missing. It was curious,
Andrew thought, with what content he had once searched stubble and
turnips for partridges, and stood with gun ready outside the woods
from which the pheasants broke on clattering wings. Now all that
seemed tame; he had lost his zest for it in a sterner chase.
Hilda broke in upon his reflections.
"You haven't spared me much attention yet," she said. "How do you
think I'm looking?"
"Now that I think of it, you're growing rather pretty; though that is
what I expected."
"I'm aware of it." Hilda made him the best curtsey that space allowed.
"But don't you notice that I'm looking more mature and intellectual?"
"Steady!" Wannop cautioned. "You nearly knocked the whip out of my
hand. Keep that kind of thing for the ballroom--it's wasted on your
brother."
"The maturity didn't strike me; but you used to show signs of
intelligence now and then," Andrew answered.
"Perhaps it's better to be pretty. Cleverness is open to any one who
is willing to study. But did you see any girl as nice-looking as I am
while you were in Canada?"
"Even at the risk of giving offense, I can think of one--though of
course beauty is largely a matter of taste."
"Ah!" exclaimed Hilda delightedly. "I had my suspicions! I suppose you
mean the girl who wrote to Ethel about you?"
Andrew started and Wannop laughed.
"I knew she was up to something. That is what she has been leading you
on to."
"How did you hear about her?" Andrew asked. "Did Ethel tell you?"
"As a matter of fact, she wasn't very communicative, but I elicited a
few scraps of information. It's surprising how one can follow up a
clue."
"I suppose so," said Andrew. "Whether it leads you right or not is
another matter. I'm thankful I haven't your fervid imagination."
"How he puts it off!" Hilda said to Wannop. "He's been learning
diplomacy in Canada."
Wannop chuckled.
"I always knew he wasn't a fool. But I wish you would keep still. The
horse is fresh and this is a steep bit of road."
Hilda changed the subject, for she had learned enough from her
brother's start to give her food for thought.
"Leonard will be down to-morrow with Florence," Wannop said when they
approached the house. "I suppose you'll have something to tell us. I
needn't remind you that if there's any difficulty you can count on
me."
Andrew gave him a grateful nod, and a few minutes later they drove up
to Ghyllside.