"I don't play in public and I never had a lesson in my life."
"But this isn't public," she countered; "I think it's--well--rather
private."
He laughed, went to the piano and his fingers began to explore the
keys. The others sat motionless. Elsie's eyes were fixed, not on
Clark but on Belding, and in them was an unanswered question. The
music was not anything she knew but the chords were compelling and she
perceived in them that which this strange personality could not or did
not put into words--his hopes, his courage, his inflexible will and the
deep note of his power. Suddenly she recognized in him a lonely man.
Her heart went out and her eyes filled with tears. Presently he looked
over his shoulder.
"The gods are good to me to-day."
"Yes?" Her voice was very uncertain.
"I've found something for which I've been looking for years past."
Belding's brows furrowed. There was that in Clark's manner which
baffled him. Elsie seemed more than ever dainty and desirable in this
unusual setting. Had Clark seen this too?
"I'm so glad." The girl's eyes were very soft.
The two went home rather silently. Elsie seemed to be in a dream, and
Belding had no words for that which now worked poisonously in his
brain, but just so often as he yielded to the sharp pang of jealousy
just so often did his faith in his chief rise in protest.
The engineer had seen Clark in many moods and under many circumstances.
There were times when only the driving force of the man had pulled
things through, and he was transformed into an agency that worked its
invincible will. There was another thing. So far as Belding knew,
Clark had no links, sentimental or otherwise, with the rest of the
world. No whisper had come from outside regarding his past, and it was
only when he himself talked that any light was thrown upon his former
years. He seemed, in consequence, to be enviably free and ready for
anything. Unfettered by tradition or association, he was a pendulum,
balanced to swing potently in either direction. And what darkened
Belding's horizon was the thought that Clark, at any moment, might
swing toward Elsie Worden.
Two miles away, Fisette was at home with his children. He was tired
but in no way worn out, and in his pocket was one single piece of ore
kept as a souvenir. Clark's check lay safely deposited in the bank and
the halfbreed's teeth gleamed when he thought of the mortgage. It was
only a thousand dollars. Therese, four years and three days old, was
on his knee. They were all very happy, though only Fisette knew
exactly why. With eyes half closed, he contentedly examined the cracks
in the big iron box stove and, since the night was cool, stuffed in
more wood. It was in the back of his head that he had done what so
many men had failed to do, and soon, when Monsieur Clark gave the word,
he would be known as the man who had found iron in Algoma.
At the big jail, halfway between Fisette and Clark, Manson sat at his
desk in his little square office. He was very sore and very stiff, and
however savage he might feel about his defeat he could not but admire
the fierce loyalty of the halfbreed. It was what he would have liked
one of his own men to do. Now, however he might ache, he had a glow in
every strained joint. There was iron in Algoma and not far from St.
Marys.
Deliberately he shut away all outside thoughts and put himself to this,
perceiving what iron would mean to Clark, this new factor that might
upset every pessimistic opinion which he himself had voiced. He sat
biting at his big black mustache, till suddenly his imagination leaped
clear of St. Marys and took flight to Philadelphia. What would the
discovery of iron mean there? Instantly he saw a swift rise in
Consolidated stock and neither Manson nor any man in St. Marys owned a
share of that stock.
In two days he was on the train for Toronto, and, in three, was the
owner, on margin, of two hundred thousand dollars' worth of
Consolidated shares. The broker through whom he dealt looked curiously
at this new customer, the only man from St. Marys who had evidenced any
financial interest in Clark's enterprise, and, concluding that there
was more in the transaction than met the eye, bought forthwith for
himself. Then the two shook hands very cheerfully, the broker
promising to watch Consolidated like a hawk, while Manson bulged with
satisfaction. He would be known as the only man in St. Marys who had
made a fortune out of Clark's undertakings and that was satisfying to
Manson.
On the journey back he sat for hours staring out of the windows. He
had shaken free from the drowsiness of a former existence. His eyes
were open to the ease with which fortunes are made by those who do not
hesitate but seize the opportunity. He thought rather compassionately
of Worden, Dibbott and the rest, good natured but thick headed. What a
surprise it would be for them. But not once did Manson imagine that he
was trading peace for anxiety, and the even tenor of his former ways
for the hectic restlessness of the speculator.
As he boarded the train he noticed that Clark's private car was at the
end, and inside saw Riggs, Wimperley and the rest. They were talking
very earnestly, oblivious to anything that went on outside. Manson,
watching them from under the brim of his hat, felt a surge of
satisfaction. He guessed the momentous news which brought them, and,
late that night, as the train plunged through the wilderness, lay awake
in his berth thinking of many things, while the occupants of the
private car talked till they were weary and leaden-eyed of that which
they must do at St. Marys. They were caught up, all of them, in
something greater than they. Forces had been set in motion by the
amazing brain of Clark which they might modulate, but could not, in any
way, entirely control. The moving finger was writing, and they could,
like him, only follow its mysterious command.
The private car swung along over the clicking rail joints and the
directors glanced without interest at the country they traversed. The
latter part of their journey was through a wilderness, wild and
unpromising. At Sudbury they saw evidence of what science and energy
could do in what was not long ago unbroken forest, and what wealth lay
beneath the tangled roots of spruce and tamarac, but the scene did not
impress them. It was a single undertaking with a single object and
vitally different from their own ramified efforts, and the desolation
of the country in which it flourished only accentuated their own
misgivings. They were tired before the train drew in to St. Marys and
decided to discuss nothing that evening. At the works station Clark
met them. He was cheerful and debonair.
"Hullo, Wimperley, glad to see you. Had a good trip? You and
Stoughton are coming to the blockhouse with me. The others are at the
hotel. Sorry I can't put you all up."
Birch put down his bag and held out a clammy hand. "What about it?"
He shot a quick glance at Wimperley.
The president of the Consolidated shook his head. "No, no, we're not
going to put you out, and besides I can't trust these fellows alone.
We'll all go to the hotel. See you first thing in the morning. Matter
of fact, Birch talked business all the time and we're dog tired."
Clark's lips pressed a shade tighter, then his eyes twinkled. Riggs,
observing him closely, wondered whether he had interpreted the
expression which all four were stolidly endeavoring to mask. But so
cheerful was he and so apparently unconcerned with anything but their
comfort, that Riggs decided a difficult moment had been safely passed.
Later at the hotel he asked the others.
"Knew," said Birch acidly, "of course he knew. The very fact that we
hung together told him the whole thing. However, it might just as well
begin that way."
Wimperley laughed, a foolish little laugh that drew the older man's
puzzled glance. "There's something ridiculous about all this," he
tittered suddenly. "We're like a flock of sheep afraid of a dog. We
need a ram. You'd better be the ram, Stoughton, you're the bulkiest."
Stoughton grinned, but there was no humor in it. "It's going to take a
composite ram. We've got to put down our heads and bunt together.
Riggs, you can snap at his heels and distract him. Good night."
They met at the works after breakfast, and Clark, in a flood of
confidence, announced the program.
"I want this to be a real visit," he said cheerfully; "it's some time
since you were all here together and there's a good deal to see. When
you get tired let me know. I've not forgotten the time I nearly froze
Riggs to death."
As he turned to lead the way, Wimperley sent a swift signal to his
companions, Clark was to have his head for the time being. Birch
nodded approvingly. This was one method of finding out a good deal he
wanted to know.
"Water lots," said Clark, waving a hand toward the bay that cut in
below the rapids. On one side of it spread the works and on the other
the town of St. Marys. "Channel dredged through, and docks, you see,
are commenced."
"Why docks?" asked Stoughton patiently.
"We'll be shipping our own products in our own vessels before very
long, I hope," came back the clear voice. "Save a lot that way,--I'll
show you the figures. That's one thing I want to talk about later.
Come on into the mill. Extensions are about completed."
They went through the great building whose floor seemed to palpitate
delicately with hidden forces, and began to feel the slow fascination.
They saw dripping logs snatched from the water by mechanical fingers
that cut them to length and stripped the brown bark till the soft white
wood lay round, naked and shining. They saw the wood ground implacably
by giant stones and emerge from a milky bath in a thick wet sheet that
slid on a hot drum and coiled itself in massive rolls. Power,
controlled and manipulated, was the universal servant. The whole thing
was punctuated by keen remarks from Clark, who shot out answers to
every imaginable question with extraordinary facility. They walked up
the swiftly flowing head race while the general manager pointed out its
proposed expansion, and explained the pressing need for diverting more
water from the rapids. As they progressed it seemed there was always
more to discover. They inspected great rafts of logs, fresh from the
waters of Lake Superior, then came to timber mills and machine shops.
And with all Clark was supremely familiar. In the middle of it Riggs
volunteered that he was tired, so they trailed back to the private
office in the administration building, where Clark unrolled maps and
pointed out colored areas of pulp wood which were tributary to the
mills, and had been compiled from the reports of his explorers.