Nan was not at all surprised when, upon responding to a peremptory
knock at her front door she discovered Andrew Daney standing without.
The general manager, after his stormy interview with The Laird had
spent two hours in the sunny lee of a lumber pile, waiting for the
alcoholic fogs to lift from his brain, for he had had sense enough
left to realize that all was not well with him; he desired to have his
tongue in order when he should meet the bride and groom.
"Good morning, Mr. Daney," Nan greeted him. "Do come in."
"Good morning, Mrs. McKaye. Thank you. I shall with pleasure."
He followed her down the little hallway to the living room where
Donald sat with his great thin legs stretched out toward the fire.
"Don't rise, boy, don't rise," Mr. Daney protested. "I merely called
to kiss the bride and shake your hand, my boy. The visit is entirely
friendly and unofficial."
"Mr. Daney, you're a dear," Nan cried, and presented her fair cheek
for the tribute he claimed.
"Shake hands with a rebel, boy," Mr. Daney cried heartily to Donald.
"God bless you and may you always be happier than you are this
minute."
Donald wrung the Daney digits with a heartiness he would not have
thought possible a month before.
"I've quarreled with your father, Donald," he announced, seating
himself. "Over you--and you," he added, nodding brightly at both young
people. "He thinks he's fired me." He paused, glanced around, coughed
a couple of times and came out with it. "Well, what are you going to
do now to put tobacco in your old tobacco box, Donald?"
Donald smiled sadly. "Oh, Nan still has a few dollars left from that
motor-boat swindle you perpetrated, Mr. Daney. She'll take care of me
for a couple of weeks until I'm myself again; then, if my father still
proves recalcitrant and declines to have me connected with the Tyee
Lumber Company, I'll manage to make a living for Nan and the boy
somewhere else."
Briefly Mr. Daney outlined The Laird's expressed course of action with
regard to his son.
"He means it," Donald assured the general manager. "He never bluffs.
He gave me plenty of warning and his decision has not been arrived at
in a hurry. He's through with me."
"I fear he is, my boy. Er-ah-ahem! Harumph-h-h! Do you remember those
bonds you sent me from New York once--the proceeds of your deal in
that Wiskah river cedar?"
"Yes."
"Your father desires that you accept the entire two hundred thousand
dollars worth and accrued interest."
"Why?"
"Well, I suppose he thinks they'll come in handy when you leave Port
Agnew."
"Well, I'm not going to leave Port Agnew, Andrew."
"Your father instructed me to say to you that he would take it kindly
of you to do so--for obvious reasons."
"I appreciate his point of view, but since he has kicked me out he
has no claim on my sympathies--at least not to the extent of forcing
his point of view and causing me to abandon my own. Please say to my
father that since I cannot have his forgiveness I do not want his
bonds or his money. Tell him also, please, that I'm not going to leave
Port Agnew, because that would predicate a sense of guilt on my part
and lend some support to the popular assumption that my wife is not a
virtuous woman. I could not possibly oblige my father on this point
because to do so would be a violent discourtesy to my wife. I am not
ashamed of her, you know."
Mr. Daney gnawed his thumb nail furiously. "'The wicked flee when no
man pursueth'," he quoted. "However, Mr. Donald, you know as well as I
do that if your father should forbid it, a dicky bird couldn't make a
living in this town."
"There are no such restrictions in Darrow, Mr. Daney. The
superintendent up there will give me a job on the river."
Mr. Daney could not forbear an expression of horror. "Hector McKaye's
son a river hog!" he cried incredulously.
"Well, Donald McKaye's father was a river hog, wasn't he?"
"Oh, but times have changed since Hector was a pup, my boy. Why, this
is dreadful."
"No, Mr. Daney. Merely unusual."
"Well, Donald, I think your father will raise the ante considerably in
order to avoid that added disgrace and force you to listen to reason."
"If he does, sir, please spare yourself the trouble of bearing his
message. Neither Nan nor I is for sale, sir."
"I told him you'd decline the bonds. However, Mr. Donald, there is no
reason in life why you shouldn't get money from me whenever you want
it. Thanks to your father I'm worth more than a hundred thousand
myself, although you'd never guess it. Your credit is A-1 with me."
"I shall be your debtor for life because of that speech, Mr. Daney.
Any news from my mother and the girls?"
"None."
"Well, I'll stand by for results," Donald assured him gravely.
"Do not expect any."
"I don't."
Mr. Daney fidgeted and finally said he guessed he'd better be trotting
along, and Donald and Nan, realizing it would be no kindness to him to
be polite and assure him there was no need of hurry, permitted him to
depart forthwith.
"I think, sweetheart," Donald announced with a pained little smile, as
he returned from seeing Mr. Daney to the front gate, "that it wouldn't
be a half bad idea for you to sit in at that old piano and play and
sing for me. I think I'd like something light and lilting. What's that
Kipling thing that's been set to music?"
So we went strolling,
Down by the rolling, down by the rolling sea.
You may keep your croak for other folk
But you can't frighten me!
He lighted a cigarette and stretched himself out on the old divan.
She watched him blowing smoke rings at the ceiling--and there was no
music in her soul.
In the afternoon the McKaye limousine drew up at the front gate and
Nan's heart fluttered violently in contemplation of a visit from her
husband's mother and sisters. She need not have worried, however. The
interior of the car was unoccupied save for Donald's clothing and
personal effects which some thoughtful person at The Dreamerie had
sent down to him. He hazarded a guess that the cool and practical
Elizabeth had realized his needs.