MRS. AUSTIN MEDDLES
Chains rattled, an iron pulley clanked, and Kit went down the ladder.
The heavy steel frame tilted, but its end had not yet reached the
proper spot, and the men stopped for breath. To leave the mass
suspended for the night was risky, and Kit meant to make all fast
before the whistle blew. Jumping from the ladder, he joined the gang.
“Get to it, boys!” he shouted. “Heave and swing her home!”
The men bent their backs, but the pulley wheels did not turn. The gang
was beaten, and if the chain stoppers did not engage smoothly, the
load might get away and plunge through the lower platforms to the
river. Then Kit saw the man in front was Railton, whom he had put off
the bridge.
“You can’t pull, Steve. We must give you a softer job.”
“I reckon I’d pull you off your feet,” the other gasped.
“Show me!” said Kit. “Try again, boys. Steve claims he can boost her.
Stay with it; that’s great! She’s going!”
The frame went, the stoppers held, and a man carrying the fastening
bolts climbed the ladder. Railton turned and rubbed his sweating face
with a greasy rag.
“Looks as if I could pull some! Where’s your soft job?”
“To get mad is foolish, Steve,” Kit remarked with a grin. “When a soft
job is going I won’t forget you.”
He went up the ladder and stopped at a high platform. The plain was
gray and the trees along the bank were bare. The river was dark and
black ice covered the slacks. Thin floes drifted down the open channel
and broke against the bridge piers. The noise they made was monotonous
and like the hum of a small circular saw. All was bleak, the light was
going, and the wind was cold. In a few minutes work would stop, but
Kit must see Wheeler, and he crossed the bridge.
The office was very hot and smelt of tobacco and kerosene. Wheeler
rested his feet on the wood box, and when Kit came in put up some
letters and tilted his chair.
“Well?” he said.
“We have fixed the tie.”
“That’s good! I want the heavy braces in before she freezes up; when
the ice breaks the piers must stand some thrust. The trouble is, we
can’t get the stuff from the rolling mills. Well, do you like it at
the bridge?”
“I don’t grumble,” Kit replied. “In fact, if you suggested it, I think
I’d hold my job.”
“You’re not a Canadian and the cold is fierce. Unless you wear
mittens, you can’t handle iron; anyhow, you can’t let go. I’ve known
men frozen by a blizzard a hundred yards from camp.”
“Still you mean to carry on.”
“I doubt if all we can do will meet the pay-roll, but we can’t shut
down. We’re up against another company, and the railroad engineers
want a number of bridges and tanks. They must have quick construction
and are trying us out. We’ll hold on to a small picked gang and push
ahead when work is possible. I don’t know if I will be around much,
and the man who takes charge must be hard.”
Kit’s heart beat. “If you think I could fill the post, I’ll risk the
cold.”
“Nothing’s fixed, but I reckon you might take two days off and buy
winter clothes at Winnipeg,” said Wheeler, smiling. “You’ll want the
clothes, any way.”
“But suppose you kept me, what about Austin?”
Wheeler’s look got aggressive and he pushed forward his firm jaw.
“Where Austin goes is the company’s business. Bob’s a useful man, and
if we move him, I reckon he’ll be all right, but it hasn’t much to do
with you, and you can pull out.”
Kit went. One did not dispute with Wheeler, and his stating that
Austin would be all right was important, since it indicated that he
wanted to satisfy Kit. As a rule, Wheeler was not apologetic.
When Austin came in for supper Kit narrated his interview, and noting
the other’s thoughtful look, remarked with a touch of embarrassment:
“If I thought my staying might be awkward for you, I’d give up the
idea.”
“For you to refuse would be ridiculous,” Austin rejoined. “I must go
where the bosses send me, and when they push ahead in spring I’d, no
doubt, get back. Then the winter’s fierce, and I expect Carrie would
like it better at an Eastern town. Well, the thing’s not fixed.”
He resumed his supper, and when the meal was over Kit pulled his chair
to the stove. He had agreed he would not for a stipulated time write
to Evelyn, but he wanted Mrs. Haigh to know his luck was turning, and
he hoped she would give Evelyn the short note he enclosed. Then he
wrote to Alan Carson. He knew Alan was interested, and believed he
would inform Evelyn about his progress. Kit was young and hopeful, and
he rather let himself go.
In the morning the light frost broke, and it looked as if Indian
summer had returned. The sky was blue and calm, and pale sunshine
touched the plain. Nobody, however, was cheated, and when dusk fell
the blast-lamps’ white fires tossed along the bridge. Winter was
coming, and the piers must be braced and the girders stiffened before
the arctic frost began.
For a time Kit did not see Austin much. As a rule, when one was at the
bridge the other slept, and when they met for meals they were tired
and did not talk. Some material, however, did not arrive, and one
morning Austin said:
“Wheeler must slack up for a day or two, and I’m going to Fairmead for
a week-end. Carrie hopes you’ll come along.”
Kit hesitated. He had made two or three happy visits to Fairmead, and
he thought he ought not to bother Mrs. Austin. When he indicated
something like that, Austin smiled.
“You’re modest, Kit! Carrie ordered me to bring you.”
Wheeler was willing for them to go, and at the week-end they went down
the line. They got to Fairmead in the evening, and at supper Kit
thought Mrs. Austin preoccupied. When they got up she said to Austin:
“Ought you not to see Phelps, Bob?”
“Why, yes,” said Austin. “I expect he’s shut down at the office. By
and by I’ll go along to his hotel.”
“Since he gets supper at the hotel you had better go now. If you wait,
I expect he’ll be at the pool room and you can’t talk.”
“It is possible,” Austin agreed and turned to Kit. “Will you take a
walk up town?”
Kit thought Mrs. Austin did not want him to go and he waited.
“I’d sooner Kit stayed,” she said. “Alison and Florence are coming
over. Don’t be long, Bob!”
Bob went off and Mrs. Austin took Kit to another room and gave him a
cigarette, but for a few minutes she said nothing and Kit looked
about. Although the furniture was cheap, the small room was pretty and
homelike. The electrolier was shaded and the light was soft. Kit heard
the wind in the basement stove under the thin boards and the dry
warmth was soothing. A willow tapped the window, and he saw frost on
the glass. Then he glanced at his hostess. Carrie Austin was young and
attractive, but now her look was firm.
“Perhaps you know why I sent Bob off?” she said.
“I imagined you had an object,” Kit admitted.
“Well, perhaps you have heard he goes back to the drawing office at
the bridge works for the winter?”
“He said nothing about it. If it implies your giving up your house,
I’m sorry.”
“To give up the house would not disturb me much. Has Wheeler not told
you he means you to carry on?”
“Although I thought nothing was fixed, I expected to stay,” said Kit.
“In fact, I was rather bucked about it, and I hoped for your
congratulations.”
Mrs. Austin gave him a queer look. “Then you must think me very
generous! Bob’s my husband.”
Kit began to see a light. He, however, waited and Mrs. Austin resumed:
“You admit that but for Bob you might not have been promoted?”
“Certainly. He persuaded Wheeler to move me from the forge.”
“Yet you are willing to take the job he ought to get!”
“Not at all,” said Kit. “I really don’t think my habit is to let down
my friends.”
Mrs. Austin said nothing. Kit’s smile was apologetic, but his face was
red. To doubt his sincerity was impossible. She had not really
doubted: she had rather been forced to experiment.
“When Wheeler talked about my carrying on, I inquired if that implied
that he would not want Bob,” Kit resumed. “Wheeler declared the
company had plans for him and he would not grumble. Then he ordered me
off. It looks as if you thought the fellow cheated.”
“Bob is keen to get ahead. If he finishes the bridge, he hopes it will
help him go farther. But I stated something like this before, and you,
of course, could use my argument——”
“I don’t want to use your argument, ma’am; your husband’s my pal.
Since I expect you’d sooner not talk about the thing again, let’s try
to understand each other. Please go on.”
“Very well. Bob has made some inquiries, and all they want at the
office is a second-class draftsman. You know Bob was very ill in
France, and I’d sooner he went to the office. The trouble is, he’s
convinced he can stand the cold, and for my sake he hates to let go
the chance he thinks he’s got.”
“It’s obvious,” said Kit. “Wheeler’s an unscrupulous brute; but I
don’t know why he fixed on me.”
“Bob declares you have talent. Then is not your uncle a famous
engineer?”
“The house is an English house, and although Jasper Carson sometimes
speculates in Canada, he has nothing to do with the bridge. When I
admitted he was my uncle, Wheeler seemed to think it a joke. So far, I
don’t see the joke——”
He stopped and smiled, a crooked smile, for he had boasted to Mrs.
Haigh and Alan about his progress, and had seen himself conquering.
All the same, he must not force Bob to pay for his triumph. In fact,
he must not be a shabby hound.
“You mustn’t bother,” he went on. “I expect the idea was Wheeler’s,
and the head bosses would not approve his giving me control. Anyhow,
I’ll refuse, and I rather think Wheeler’s going to get a jolt.”
Mrs. Austin got up and put her hand impulsively on his arm.
“You are fine, Kit, and I’m horribly selfish! I felt I must fight for
my husband, but I’d hate you to think he agreed.”
“Now you’re ridiculous! I can’t picture Bob’s agreeing, and when you
hustled him off he was puzzled.”
“There’s another thing,” said Mrs. Austin. “Had you and Bob competed
evenly for the post I should not have meddled. But it was not like
that. You were his helper and the post was really his”—she pressed
Kit’s arm and gave him an apologetic glance—“you see it, don’t you,
Kit?”
Kit saw something else. The door was open and Alison came in.
“Florence is sorry she cannot get away——” she said and stopped.
Kit was very quiet. Mrs. Austin’s hand was on his arm and he wanted to
step back, but she did not move and he knew he must not. Alison
studied him rather scornfully and the blood came to her skin. Then
Mrs. Austin laughed.
“You mustn’t be romantic, my dear! But, if you are romantic, whom do
you blame?”
“The door was open,” said Alison. “I didn’t know——”
Kit’s face got red, but Mrs. Austin’s eyes twinkled.
“In the circumstances, I suppose you must know; but Bob must not—I
expect you think it plain? Well, although Kit is very noble, he is not
my lover; I am content with Bob. Perhaps you will satisfy Alison’s
curiosity, Kit?”
Kit said nothing. To proclaim his nobility was not an attractive part,
and Mrs. Austin went on: “Since Kit is modest, I’ll try to enlighten
you.”
She did so, and when she stopped Alison gave Kit an embarrassed
glance. Kit’s heart beat, for although she blushed and hesitated, he
thought her look was proud.
“You could not take another line,” she said. “The post is Austin’s.”
“Of course,” said Kit. “All the same, you mustn’t talk to Bob about
it. When I get back I’ll speak to Wheeler, and in the meantime we have
had enough. I have brought my fiddle. Let’s try the sonata.”
Alison went to the piano and Kit tuned his violin. To play was some
relief. His high hopes had vanished, and before long he might be
forced to take the road and play for his supper. Then he was bothered
by his emotions when Alison came in. For all that, he concentrated on
the awkward rhythm, and after a time the music carried him away. When
they stopped Mrs. Austin looked up.
“Thank you,” she said with a twinkle. “You played up nobly.” Then she
turned to Alison. “Kit does play up. A hard part doesn’t daunt him;
but perhaps you know.”