At six o'clock Donald came in from the logging-camp. Daney made it his
business to be in the entry of the outer office when his superior took
his mail from his box, and, watching narrowly, thought he observed a
frown on the young laird's face as he read Nan Brent's letter.
Immediately he took refuge in his private office, to which he was
followed almost immediately by Donald.
"That's your handwriting, Mr. Daney," he said, thrusting the large
envelop under Daney's nose. "Another letter in a smaller envelop was
enclosed by you in this large one. You knew, of course, who wrote it."
"Miss Brent brought it personally."
Donald started slightly. He was amazed.
"I take it," he continued, after a slight pause, "that it was entirely
your idea to conceal from the office force the fact that Miss Brent
had written me this letter."
"It was, Don."
"I am at a loss to know why you took such a precaution." Donald's eyes
met Daney's in frank suspicion; the latter thought that he detected
some slight anger in the younger man's bearing.
"I can enlighten you, Don. Miss Brent was at some pains to conceal the
fact that she had written you a letter; she brought it to me to be
handed to you, rather than run the risk of discovery by dropping it in
the post-office for special delivery. Some of the girls in our office
went to school with Nan Brent and might recognize her handwriting if
they saw the envelop. I saw Hetty Fairchaild looking over your letters
rather interestedly the other day, when she was sorting the mail and
putting it in the boxes."
"The entire procedure appears to me to be peculiar and wholly
unnecessary. However, I'm obliged to you, Mr. Daney, for acceding so
thoroughly to Nan's apparent wishes." He frowned as he tore the
envelop into shreds and dropped them in Dahey's waste-basket. "I'm
afraid some young women around this plant are going to lose their jobs
unless they learn to restrain their curiosity and their tongues," he
added.
"I thought I was still general manager," Daney reminded him gently,
"Hiring and firing have always been my peculiar prerogatives."
"Forgive me, Mr. Daney. They shall continue to be." The young Laird
grinned at the rebuke; Daney smiled back at him, and the somewhat
charged atmosphere cleared instantly.
"By the way, Donald, your father is in town. He's going up to Seattle
to-night on the seven-ten train. Your mother and the girls left
earlier in the week. He's dining at the hotel and wishes you to join
him there. He figured that, by the time you could reach The Dreamerie,
shave, bathe, and dress, it would be too late to have dinner with him
there and still allow him time to catch his train."
"How does idleness sit on my parent, Mr. Daney?"
"Not very well, I fear. He shoots and fishes and takes long walks with
the dogs; he was out twice in your sloop this week. I think he and
your mother and the girls plan a trip to Honolulu shortly."
"Good!" Donald yawned and stretched his big body, "I've lost eight
pounds on this chopping-job," he declared, "and I thought I hadn't an
ounce of fat on me. Zounds, I'm sore! But I'm to have an easy job next
week. I'm to patrol the skid-roads with a grease-can. That woods boss
is certainly running me ragged."
"Well, your innings will come later," Daney smiled.
At the mill office, Donald washed, and then strolled over to the hotel
to meet his father. Old Hector grinned as Donald, in woolen shirt,
mackinaw, corduroy trousers, and half-boots came into the little
lobby, for in his son he saw a replica of himself thirty years agone.
"Hello, dad!" Donald greeted him.
"Hello, yourself!"
The father, in great good humor, joined his son, and they proceeded to
dine, chaffing each other good-naturedly the while, and occasionally
exchanging pleasantries with their neighbors at adjoining tables. The
Laird was in excellent spirits, a condition which his interview that
afternoon with Nan Brent had tended to bring about; during the period
that had elapsed between his subsequent doubts and his meeting with
his son, he had finally decided that the entire matter was a mare's
nest and had dismissed it from his mind.
After dinner, they walked down to the railroad station together,
Donald carrying his father's bag. While The Laird was at the
ticket-window purchasing his transportation, his son walked over to a
baggage-truck to rest the bag upon it. As the bag landed with a thud,
a man who had been seated on the truck with his back toward Donald
glanced over his shoulder in a leisurely way, and, in that glance, the
latter recognized one of the Greeks he had evicted from the Sawdust
Pile--the same man who had thrown a beer-bottle at him the day he
motored through Darrow.
"What are you doing in Port Agnew?" Donald demanded.
To his query, the fellow replied profanely that this was none of his
interrogator's affair.
"Well, it is some of my affair," the new boss of Tyee replied. "I have
a crow to pluck with you, anyhow, and I'm going to pluck it now." He
grasped the Greek by his collar and jerked him backward until the man
lay flat on his back across the baggage-truck; then, with his horny
left hand, Donald slapped the sullen face vigorously, jerked the
fellow to his feet, faced him in the direction of Darrow, and, with a
vigorous kick, started him on his way. "That's for throwing
beer-bottles!" he called after the man. "And hereafter you keep out of
Port Agnew. Your kind are not welcome here."
The Greek departed into the night cursing, while The Laird, still at
the ticket-window, glanced interestedly from his son to the Greek and
then back to Donald.
"What's the idea, son?" he demanded.
"A recent dweller on the Sawdust Pile," his son replied easily. "He
declared war on me, so, naturally, he comes into my territory at his
own risk. That scum from Darrow must keep out of our town, dad, and
force is the only argument they can understand. Daney gave them a free
hand and spoiled them, but I'm going to teach them who's boss around
here now. Besides, I owe that fellow a poke. He insulted Nan Brent.
There would have been a bill for repairs on the scoundrel if I had
caught him the day I drove his gang off the Sawdust Pile."
"Well, I approve of your sentiments, Donald, but, nevertheless, it's a
poor practise for a gentleman to fight with a mucker, although," he
added whimsically, "when I was your age I always enjoyed a go with
such fellows. That man you just roughed is George Chirakes, and he's a
bad one. Knifed three of his countrymen in a drunken riot in Darrow
last fall, but got out of it on a plea of self-defense. Keep your eye
on the brute. He may try to play even, although there's no real
courage in his kind. They're born bushwhackers," The Laird glanced at
his watch and saw that it still lacked eight minutes of train-time.
"Wait for me a minute," he told his son. "I want to telephone Daney on
a little matter I overlooked this afternoon."
He entered the telephone-booth in the station and called up Andrew
Daney.
"McKaye speaking," he announced. "I've just discovered Donald has an
enemy--that Greek, Chirakes, from Darrow. Did Dirty Dan come in from
the woods to-night?"
"I believe he did. He usually comes in at week-ends."
"Look him up immediately, and tell him to keep an eye on Donald, and
not to let him out of his sight until the boy boards the logging-train
to-morrow night to go back to the woods. Same thing next week-end, and
when Donald completes his tour of duty in the woods, transfer Dan from
the logging-camp and give him a job in the mill, so he can watch over
the boy when he's abroad nights. He is not, of course, to let my son
know he is under surveillance."
"I will attend to the matter immediately," Daney promised, and The
Laird, much relieved, hung up and rejoined his son.
"Take care of yourself--and watch that Greek, boy," he cautioned, as
he swung aboard the train.
Donald stood looking after the train until the tail-lights had
disappeared round a curve.