Osborne did not go to town on Saturdays, and he and Ruth were sitting in
a shady corner of the lawn during the hot afternoon when a cloud of dust
whirled up among the firs. The speed with which it streaked the climbing
forest had its significance to Ruth, but when a big gray car flashed
across an opening her expression changed.
"There's no mistaking Aynsley's trail," Osborne laughed. "He blazes it
on the bodies of straying chickens and hogs; but I imagine you noticed
that he wasn't alone."
"I did; and I would have been quite as pleased if he had left his father
at home."
"So I surmised." Osborne smiled. "It seems to be what the older
generation is intended for; but Clay's not the man to take kindly to the
shelf and, everything considered, you couldn't blame him. Aynsley's the
more ornamental--a fine figure of a man as he sits at the wheel; but his
father's the driving force that makes the machine go. So far, his son
hasn't made much of anything unless the material was put ready to his
hand."
"At least, he has done no harm."
"That's a very negative virtue. It isn't thought highly of in this
country."
"I told him not long ago that he ought to work," Ruth replied in
unguarded confidence.
"It will be interesting to see if he follows your advice. His friends
have been urging the course for several years without much effect."
"He means to take charge of the Canadian mill; but, of course, he may
have a number of reasons for doing so," Ruth added hastily.
Osborne made no comment. Of late, he had begun to wonder where her
friendship for Aynsley would lead, and although it would not have
displeased him had she shown any tenderness for the man, he could
discover no sign of this.
He went forward to meet his guests, and when they came out of the house
a few minutes later Aynsley went straight across the lawn to greet Ruth
and Miss Dexter, who had joined her niece, while Clay and Osborne
followed a path which led through the pines. Clay was strongly made and
burly, with very dark hair and eyes and a somewhat fleshy face. He
looked as if he enjoyed good living; but the alertness of his expression
redeemed it from sensuality. He had an air of rakish boldness which
rather became him, and his careless dress added to this effect. In white
Panama hat, well-cut clothes negligently put on, with a heavy gold
watch-chain, diamond studs, and a black silk band round his waist, Clay
looked more of a swashbuckler than a sober business man. His appearance
was not altogether deceptive, for, although he used modern methods with
great shrewdness, he had habits and characteristics more in keeping with
the romantic '49.
"Have you held on to those Elk Park building lots?" he asked.
Osborne nodded. "Yes."
"Still got an option on the adjoining frontage?"
"I believe so; the offer wasn't quite formal."
"Then wire and clinch the deal. Do it right now."
"Ah! The municipal improvement scheme is going through?"
"Sure. I got the tip by 'phone as I was leaving. Whatcom serves me
pretty well, but there are other fellows to take a hand in the game, and
the news will leak out some time this evening. We're an hour or two
ahead--that's all. Here, write your message."
Taking a telegram blank from his pocket, he handed it to Osborne; and
then swung off his hat with ceremonious gallantry as he came suddenly
upon the others through an opening in the pines. Ruth gave him a rather
cold bow, for his voice carried well, and she had heard enough to
disturb her. She did not expect much from Clay; but it looked as if her
father were abetting him in a conspiracy to take an unfair advantage of
some civic improvements. She had no justification for questioning either
of them; but her aunt, who was seldom diffident, proceeded to deal with
the matter boldly when Osborne joined them after dispatching the
telegram.
"What's this I hear, Henry?" Miss Dexter asked.
"I can't say. You were not intended to hear anything," Osborne replied
with a patient air.
"Then your friend should talk lower. Have you been buying up property
the city needs?"
"It's a fairly common practice. I suppose you don't approve of it?"
"Need you ask?" Miss Dexter bristled with Puritanical indignation. "Have
you any moral right to tax the people because they want a healthier and
cleaner town? Is this the example you would set your daughter?"
Osborne smiled tolerantly.
"It's hardly likely that Ruth will feel tempted to speculate in real
estate. Besides, the tax is optional. The people needn't pay it unless
they like."
"That's a quibble," Miss Dexter replied shrewdly. "They wouldn't buy
your lots at an extravagant price if there was another site available."
"It's unwise to jump at conclusions. As a matter of fact, there are two
better sites in the market."
Miss Dexter looked puzzled.
"If that's true," she declared, "the matter's more suspicious than
before. There's something not straight."
"I'm afraid there often is," Osborne responded good-humoredly. "Still,
while I can't hope for your approval of all my doings, I don't think you
have much reason to question my veracity."
"I have none. I beg your pardon, Henry," Miss Dexter said with some
dignity. "I'm glad to say that I've always found your word reliable."
"That's something to my credit, anyway." Osborne turned to Clay. "My
sister-in-law has no admiration for our modern business ethics."
"There she shows sense," Clay answered with a smile. "I'm old-fashioned
enough to believe, ma'am, that the less women have to do with business
the better."
"Why?" Miss Dexter demanded sternly.
"You have a better part in life; we look to you to raise the national
tone, to protect the family morals, and keep the home clean."
Osborne looked amused, and Aynsley undutifully grinned, but Miss
Dexter's expression hinted at rather grim astonishment.
"How is it to be done?" she asked. "What's the use in our cleaning when
you men are allowed to muss up things?"
"That sounds logical," Aynsley put in. "I'm afraid we really need
reforming."
"You do," Miss Dexter replied with an air of dry amusement which
somewhat surprised her niece. "Idle men in particular are bound to make
trouble."
"It was the busy ones I was thinking of. My idea is that a man's most
dangerous when he's making money."
"What's that?" Clay turned upon his son sternly.
"I believe I heard you agree with Miss Dexter, sir, when she condemned
our commercial morality?"
"There's a difference; she's a lady," Clay replied in a decided tone.
Aynsley laughed and turned away with Ruth, who was in a thoughtful mood,
for what she had heard deepened her distrust of Clay and made her
anxious about his influence on her father. She admitted that, in her
inexperience she could not presume to judge what was right for him, but
she felt troubled.
"Have you told your father you will take over the mill?" she asked
Aynsley.
"Yes; and I believe he was immensely gratified, though he only said he
was glad to see I was coming to my senses. However, on thinking it over,
I half regret my decision. The old man has money enough for both of us,
and, to my mind, driving a car or sailing a yacht is much less risky
work than trying to get ahead of the people you deal with."
"But is that necessary? Can't you carry on a business without taking
advantage of your rivals and customers?"
"I'm hardly in a position to judge, but from what I've heard it seems
difficult. When I take up the mill I've got to make it pay. It would be
a bad shake-up for the old man if I only lost the money he put in. He'd
feel himself disgraced, and it would be a heavy strain on his affection.
Though he tells me I'm a fool pretty often, he's really fond of me."
"Yes," said Ruth; "I've noticed that, and I like him for it. After all,
you need some sympathy. The situation's complicated."
"That's so. I'm half afraid I'm not smart enough to grapple with it. Of
course, there is such a thing as compromise: you can do your best all
round, but make a small concession here and there."
"I'm not sure that would work. Isn't there a risk of the concessions
becoming too numerous? It would be safer not to give way at all."
"It sounds a drastic rule. The trouble is that my relatives and friends
expect too much of me, and I suspect that some of them are pulling
opposite ways."
Ruth felt sorry for him. Though he was careless, he was honest, and she
thought he would shrink from anything that was mean and savored of
trickery. Now, however, he had to stand a searching test: he would be
expected to make the sawmill pay, and Clay would not be satisfied with a
small profit. Ruth felt that she had assumed some responsibility in
persuading him to undertake an uncongenial task; for if he proved
unfitted for it, his troubles would be numerous. For all that, she could
not believe that it was impossible to get rich uprightly.
"After all," she said, "you will have every advantage. The best
assistants and the latest machinery."
"That's true. But they're liabilities. I mean they'll be scored against
me, and I'll have to prove I've made the most efficient use of them. In
a way, I'd rather make a start with poorer tools."
"That sounds weak; and you're not often so hesitating."
"It's something to know your limitations," Aynsley answered. "Besides, I
feel that I have to do you and the old man credit after the rather
reckless confidence you have both shown in me."
"I am sure mine was justified," Ruth said softly.
Aynsley turned to her quickly. She was wonderfully attractive with her
slender figure in light summer drapery outlined against the darkness of
the surrounding pines; and the dusky background emphasized her fine
coloring. Her face, however, was quietly grave. He could see no trace of
the tender shyness he longed for, not even a hint of coquetry, which
might have warranted some advance. He sometimes thought that Ruth did
not know her power and had not quite awakened yet; but it was obvious
that she had spoken in mere friendly kindness, and he must be content
with that.
"Thank you," he answered in a voice that was slightly strained. "I'll
certainly have to pull myself together and see what I can do."
They heard his father calling and, turning back to the lawn, they found
Clay ready to go. He had, he explained to Miss Dexter, only called for a
word with Osborne, though he found it hard to tear himself away. She
heard him with a twinkle in her eyes, and afterward watched him cross
the lawn with his jaunty air. Somehow he made a more romantic figure
than his handsome son.
"A man of many talents, I think," she said. "One wonders whether he
makes the best use of them."
"That depends on one's point of view; and it's not our affair," Osborne
remarked.
"It is certainly not mine. How far it may be yours, I can't tell, but a
man of that kind doesn't walk alone. Where he goes he drags others after
him."
Osborne laughed as the hum of the car rushing along the hillside came
back to them.
"The pace he sets is generally hot," he admitted; "but I imagine his son
is at present gratifying his love of speed."
As a matter of fact, Clay was then leaning back on the cushions, with
his hat jammed tightly on, while he watched Aynsley, whose face was
presented to him in clearly cut profile. The car was traveling very fast
along one of the rough dirt-roads of the country, throwing up red dust
and withered needles and bouncing among the ruts. High overhead there
hung a roof of somber foliage, pierced by shafts of glittering light and
supported by the columnar trunks of great Douglas firs. There were holes
in the uneven surface of the road deep enough to wreck the machine, and
though boggy stretches had been laid with small, split logs, these left
bare, broad spaces where the wheels sank in the soft soil. Aynsley never
slackened speed. He avoided the dangers with judgment and nerve, while
the car lurched as it twisted in and out, now clinging to the edge of
the bank with tires that brushed the fern, now following a devious track
made by wagon wheels. It was an exhibition of fine driving; and Clay,
who was a shrewd judge of men, noticed the coolness, courage, and quick
decision his son displayed. He took risks that could not be avoided, but
he was bold without being rash, and this appealed to his father, who
studied him with a puzzled feeling. Considering his strength of
character, it was strange that Aynsley had done nothing yet; and Clay
was, perhaps, not altogether mistaken in deeming no occupation of
importance, unless it was connected with the earning of money. He held
that a calling which enriched a man was generally of some benefit to his
country.
"I had a letter from Vancouver this morning," he said, as they climbed a
hill and the slower pace made conversation possible. "They're putting
the new engine in and expect to start the mill in a fortnight."
"I'll be ready then," said Aynsley.
Clay noticed that, although his tone conveyed no hint of eagerness, his
expression was resolute. If the boy's task was not quite congenial, he
meant to undertake it, which was satisfactory.
"There's another matter I want to talk about. That's a nice girl of
Osborne's, though I guess you might do better."
Aynsley turned his head so he could see his father.
"The remark is obviously absurd, sir."
Clay chuckled.
"It's a proper feeling. I find no fault with it. Anyway, I'm glad to see
that this time you're looking nearer your own level. I felt a bit
worried about you some years ago."
Taken by surprise, as he was, the blood crept into Aynsley's face. He
had been infatuated with a girl in a cigar store, and it was
disconcerting to learn that his father had known all about the affair.
Clay had said nothing, but Aynsley had no doubt that he would have acted
had he thought it needful.
"Well," he said with some confusion, "I was at a sentimental age, but I
wasn't so foolish as you seem to think. Miss Neston was quite good
enough for me, and I'd like you to remember it, since you have mentioned
the matter."
"We'll let it go," Clay answered dryly. "I guess you have a different
idea of your value now. But you don't seem to be making much progress
with Ruth Osborne. I suppose you really want her?"
They had passed the steepest pitch of the hill, but Aynsley threw in the
lowest gear and turned quietly to his father.
"You have a rather crude way of putting things; but you can take it that
I want her more than anything in the world."
"Very well. I can get her for you."
Aynsley made an abrupt movement, and then said slowly, "I think not.
This is a matter in which you can't help me; I want you to understand
it."
His resolute manner puzzled Clay, who had not often found him so
determined.
"It seems to me that needs an explanation."
"Then I'll try to give you one. You have given me many things for which
I'm grateful, and now that you have bought me the sawmill, I'll do the
best I can with it. I've allowed you to choose my career; but I think
I'm justified in choosing my wife myself."
"You're young," laughed Clay, "or you'd have learned that it's very
seldom a man with red blood chooses his wife; in fact, it much oftener
happens the other way about. He meets her and that settles him. If you'd
been capable of going round with a list of qualifications looking for a
girl who could satisfy them, you'd be no son of mine. However, I'm not
dictating what you call your choice. I don't object to it; that's all."
"It's enough. How would you get Miss Osborne if I gave you permission?"
Though the question was awkward, Clay smiled. The boy was shrewder than
he thought.
"Oh," he said, "I have some influence with Osborne. He owes me several
favors."
"A man wouldn't give up his daughter in return for a favor. What is your
hold on him?"
"I don't see much reason why you should know."
"You may be right." Aynsley's tone was determined as he continued:
"Let's try to understand each other. If Miss Osborne marries me because
that's her wish, I'll be a very fortunate man; but it's unthinkable that
she should be forced to do so. I can't have any pressure put upon her
father."
"When I want a thing, I get after it the best way I can."
"I believe that's true," Aynsley answered with a smile. "In this case,
however, the way's important. I must ask you to leave it alone."
"Very well," acquiesced Clay. "As usual, though, I'll be around if you
should want me. I guess I haven't failed you yet."
"You have not, Dad," Aynsley replied in an affectionate tone. "Sit
tight; I'm going to stir up the machine."