WISBECH MAKES INQUIRIES
A little pale sunshine shone down into the opening between the great
cedar trunks when Laura Waynefleet walked out of the shadowy Bush. The
trail from the settlement dipped into the hollow of a splashing creek,
just in front of her, and a yoke of oxen, which trailed along a rude
jumper-sled, plodded at her side. The sled was loaded with a big sack
of flour and a smaller one of sugar, among other sundries which a
rancher who lived farther back along the trail had brought up from the
settlement in his waggon. Waynefleet's hired man was busy that
morning, and as her stores were running out, Laura had gone for the
goods herself. Other women from the cities have had to accustom
themselves to driving a span of oxen along those forest trails.
The beasts descended cautiously, for the slope was steep, and Laura
was half-way down it when she saw that a man, who sat on the little
log bridge, was watching her. He was clearly a stranger, and, when she
led the oxen on to the bridge, tapping the brawny neck of one with a
long stick, he turned to her.
"Can you tell me if Waynefleet's ranch is near here?" he asked.
Laura glanced at him sharply, for there was no doubt that he was
English, and she wondered, with a faint uneasiness, what his business
was. In the meanwhile the big, slowly-moving beasts had stopped and
stood still, blowing through their nostrils and regarding the stranger
with mild, contemplative eyes. One of them turned its head towards the
girl inquiringly, and the man laughed.
"One could almost fancy they wondered what I was doing here," he
remarked.
"The ranch is about a mile in front of you," said Laura in answer to
his question. "You are going there?"
"I am," said the man. "I want to see Miss Waynefleet. They told me to
ask for her at the store."
Laura looked at him again with some astonishment.
He was a little man, apparently about fifty, plainly dressed in what
appeared to be English clothing. Nothing in his appearance suggested
that he was a person of any importance, or, indeed, of much education,
but she liked the way in which he had laughed when the ox had turned
towards her.
"Then," she replied, "as that is my name, you need not go any
further."
The man made a little bow. "Mine's Wisbech, and I belong to the
Birmingham district, England," he explained. "I walked over from the
settlement to make a few inquiries about a relative of mine called
Derrick Nasmyth. They told me at the store that you would probably
know where he is, and what he is doing."
Laura was conscious of a certain resentment against the loquacious
storekeeper. It was disconcerting to feel that it was generally
recognized that she was acquainted with Nasmyth's affairs, especially
as she realized that the fact might appear significant to his English
relative. It would scarcely be advisable, she decided, to ask the
stranger to walk on to dinner at the ranch, since such an invitation
would probably strengthen any misconceptions he might have formed.
"Mr. Nasmyth is expecting you?" she asked.
"No," said Wisbech--and a little twinkle, which she found vaguely
reassuring, crept into his eyes--"I don't think he is. In all
probability he thinks I am still in England. Perhaps, I had better
tell you that I am going to Japan and home by India. It's a trip a
good many English people make since the C.P.R. put their new Empress
steamers on, and I merely stopped over at Victoria, thinking I would
see Derrick. He is, as perhaps I mentioned, a nephew of mine."
There was a certain frankness and something whimsical in his manner
which pleased the girl.
"You have walked from the settlement?" she asked.
"I have," answered Wisbech. "It is rather a long time since I have
walked as much, and I found it quite far enough. A man is bringing a
horse up to take me back, but I am by no means at home in the saddle.
That"--and he laughed--"is, I suppose, as great an admission in this
country as I have once or twice found it to be at home."
Laura fancied she understood exactly what he meant. Most of her own
male friends in England were accustomed to both horses and guns, and
this man certainly did not bear the unmistakable stamp that was upon
his nephew.
"Then my father and I would be pleased if you will call at the ranch
and have dinner with us," she said, and continued a trifle hastily:
"Anyone who has business at a ranch is always expected to wait until
the next meal is over."
Wisbech, who declared that it was evidently a hospitable land, and
that he would be very pleased, went on with her; but he asked her
nothing about Nasmyth as they walked beside the plodding oxen.
Instead, he appeared interested in ranching, and Laura, who found
herself talking to him freely and naturally, supplied him with
considerable information, though she imagined once or twice that he
was unobtrusively watching her. He also talked to Waynefleet and the
hired man, when they had dinner together at the ranch, and it was not
until the two men had gone back to their work that he referred to the
object he had in hand.
"I understand that my nephew spent some time here," he said.
Laura admitted that this was the case, and when he made further
inquiries, related briefly how Nasmyth had first reached the ranch.
She saw the man's face grow intent, as he listened, and there was a
puzzling look in his eyes, which he fixed upon her.
"So you took him in and nursed him," he said. "I wonder if I might ask
why you did it? He had no claim on you."
"Most of our neighbours would have done the same," Laura answered.
"That hardly affects the case. I presume he was practically
penniless?"
"I wonder why you should seem so sure of that. As a matter of fact, he
had rather more than thirty dollars in his possession when he set out
from the logging camp, but on the journey he lost the belt he kept the
money in."
A queer light crept into Wisbech's eyes. "That is just the kind of
thing one would expect Derrick Nasmyth to do. You see, as I pointed
out, he is my nephew."
"You would not have lost that belt?"
Wisbech laughed. "No," he said, "I certainly would not. What I meant
to suggest was that I am naturally more or less acquainted with
Derrick Nasmyth's habits. In fact, I may admit I was a little
astonished to hear he had contrived to accumulate those thirty
dollars."
Laura did not know exactly why she felt impelled to tell him about the
building of the dam, but she did so, and made rather a stirring story
of it. She was, at least, determined that the man should realize that
his nephew had ability, and it is possible that she told him a little
more than she had intended, for Wisbech was shrewd. Then it suddenly
flashed upon her that he had deliberately tricked her into setting
forth his nephew's strong points, and was pleased that she had made
the most of them.
"The dam seems to have been rather an undertaking, and I am glad he
contrived to carry it through successfully," he commented. Then he
looked at her with a twinkle in his eyes. "I do not know yet where he
got the idea from."
The girl flushed. This was, she felt, regrettable, but she could not
help it, for the man's keenness was disconcerting, and she was, also,
a little indignant with him. She had recognized that Derrick Nasmyth's
character had its defects, but she was by no means prepared to admit
it to his relatives.
"Then it didn't occur to you that an idea of that kind was likely to
appeal to your nephew?" she said.
"No," declared Wisbech, "to be candid, it didn't." He smiled again.
"After all, I don't think we need trouble about that point, especially
as it seems he has acquitted himself very well. I, however, can't help
feeling it was in some respects fortunate that he fell into your
hands."
Laura was usually composed, but he saw her face harden, for she was
angry at his insistence. "It is evident," he went on, "that he would
not have had the opportunity of building the dam unless you had nursed
him back to health and taken him into your employment."
"It was my father who asked him to stay on at the ranch."
"I am not sure that the correction has any very great significance.
One would feel tempted to believe that your father is, to some extent,
in the habit of doing what you suggest."
Laura sat still a moment or two. She was certainly angry with the
stranger, and yet, in spite of that fact, she felt that she liked him.
There was a candour in his manner which pleased her, as his
good-humoured shrewdness did, though she would have preferred not to
have the shrewdness exercised upon herself. It may be that he guessed
what she was thinking, for he smiled.
"Miss Waynefleet," he said, "I almost fancy we should make excellent
friends, but there is a point on which I should like you to enlighten
me. Why did you take the trouble to make me understand that you were
doing nothing unusual when you asked me to dinner?"
Laura laughed. "Well," she said, "if one must be accurate, I do not
exactly know. I may have been a little unwise in endeavouring to
impress it on you. Why did you consider it worth while to explain you
had very seldom been in the saddle?"
Wisbech's manner became confidential. "It's a fact that has counted
against me now and then. Besides, I think you noticed my accent--it's
distinctly provincial, and not like yours or Derrick's--as soon as I
told you I was a relative of his. You see, I know my station. In fact,
I'm almost aggressively proud of it." He spread out his hands in a
forceful fashion. "It's a useful one."
He reached out, and, to the girl's surprise, took up a bowl from the
table, and appeared to weigh it in his hands. It was made of the
indurated fibre which is frequently to be met with in the Bush
ranches.
"This," he said, "is, I suppose, the kind of thing they are going to
turn out at that wood-pulp mill. You have probably observed the
thickness of it?"
"I believe it is, though they are going to make paper stock, too."
"Well," pursued Wisbech; "it may meet the requirements of the country,
but it is a very crude and inartistic production. I may say that it is
my business to make enamelled ware. The Wisbech bowls and cups and
basins are justly celebrated--light and dainty, and turned out to
resemble marble, granite, or the most artistic china. They will
withstand any heat you can subject them to, and practically last for
ever."
He broke off for a moment with a chuckle. "I can't detach myself from
my business as some people seem to fancy one ought to do. After all,
it is only by marriage that Derrick Nasmyth is my nephew." His manner
became grave again. "I married his mother's sister--very much against
the wishes of the rest of the family. As Derrick has lived some time
here, the latter fact will probably not astonish you."
Laura said nothing, though she understood exactly what he meant. She
was becoming more sure that she liked the man, but she realized that
she might not have done so had she met him before she came out to
Canada, where she had learned to recognize the essential points in
character. There were certainly respects in which his manner would
once have jarred upon her.
Her expression was reassuring when he turned to her again.
"I was a retail chemist in a little pottery town when I discovered the
properties of one or two innocuous fluxes, and how to make a certain
leadless glaze," he said. "Probably you do not know that there were
few more unhealthy occupations than the glazing of certain kinds
of pottery. I was also fortunate enough to make a good deal of money
out of my discovery, and as I extended its use, I eventually
started a big enamelling works of my own. After that I married; but
the Nasmyths never quite forgave me my little idiosyncrasies and
some of my views. They dropped me when my wife died. She"--his face
softened curiously--"was in many ways very different from the rest
of them."
He broke off, and when he sat silent a moment or two Laura felt a
curious sympathy for him.
"Won't you go on?" she said.
"We had no children," said the man. "My own folks were dead, but I
contrived to see Derrick now and then. My wife had been very fond of
him, and I liked the lad. Once or twice when I went up to London he
insisted on making a fuss over me--took me to his chambers and his
club, though I believe I was in several ways not exactly a credit to
him."
Laura liked the little twinkle that crept back into his eyes. It
suggested the genial toleration of a man with a nature big enough to
overlook many trifles he might have resented.
"Well," he continued, "his father died suddenly, and, when it became
evident that his estate was deplorably involved, Derrick went out to
Canada. None of his fastidious relatives seemed inclined to hold out a
hand to him. Perhaps this was not very astonishing, but I was a little
hurt that he did not afford me the opportunity. In one way, however,
the lad was right. He was willing to stand on his own feet. There was
pluck in him."
He made an expressive gesture. "Now I'm anxious to hear where he is
and what he is doing."
Laura was stirred by what he had said. She had imagination, and could
fill in many of the points Wisbech had only hinted at. Nevertheless,
she was not quite pleased to recognize that he seemed to consider her
as much concerned about his nephew as he was himself.
"He is"--she tried to speak in an indifferent tone--"He is at present
engaged in building a difficult trestle bridge on a railroad. It is
not the kind of work any man, who shrank from hazardous exertion,
would delight in; but I believe there is a reason why the terms
offered were a special inducement. He has a new project in his mind,
though I do not know a great deal about it."
"I think you might tell me what you do know."
Laura did so, though she had never been in the canyon. The man listened
attentively.
"Well," he said, "I fancy I can promise that he shall, at least, have
an opportunity of putting that project through. You haven't, however,
told me where the railroad bridge is."
The girl made him understand how he could most easily reach it, and,
while she was explaining the various roads he must follow, there was a
beat of hoofs outside. Wisbech rose and held out his hand.
"I expect that is the man with my horse, and I'm afraid I have kept
you talking a very long while." He pressed her hand as he half
apologized. "I wonder if you will permit me to come back again some
time?"
Laura said it would afford her and her father pleasure, and she did
not smile when he went out and scrambled awkwardly into his saddle.
The man who had brought the horse up grinned broadly as he watched
Wisbech jolt across the clearing.
"I guess that man's not going to make the settlement on that horse. He
rides 'most like a bag of flour," he remarked, with evident enjoyment
of the stranger's poor horsemanship.