Jimmy's courage had fallen very low, dragging with it the last remnants
of hope and ambition. Every loophole of escape from poverty seemed
closed against him. For days he had tramped the streets of Vancouver,
making the rounds of the wharves and mills in search of work, and had
found nothing. He loathed the dreary patrol of the wet streets; he
abhorred his comfortless quarters in the third-rate hotel; and the curt
refusals that followed his application for a humble post were utterly
disheartening. Worse than all, he felt that he had drifted very far from
the girl who was constantly in his thoughts. He had almost lost hope of
the salvage scheme's succeeding, but he was pledged to his comrades, and
they meant to try again if they could finance another venture with
Jaques' assistance. They must pick up a living somehow, and, if
possible, save a few dollars before the time to start arrived.
One gloomy afternoon Jimmy stood outside an employment bureau among a
group of shabbily dressed, dejected men, some of whom were of distinctly
unprepossessing appearance. One had roughly pushed him away from the
window; but he did not rouse himself to resent it. He felt listless and
low-spirited, and to wait a little would pass the time. Besides, he
thought he had read all the notices about men required which the agent
displayed, and had offered himself for several of the posts without
success. He got his turn at the window at last, and left it moodily; but
when he reached the edge of the sidewalk he stopped suddenly and the
blood rushed to his face. Ruth Osborne was crossing the street toward
him.
Jimmy looked around desperately, but it was too late to escape; he could
only hope that Miss Osborne would pass without recognizing him. He did
not want her to see him among the group of shabby loungers. His own
clothes were the worse for wear, and he knew that he had a broken-down
appearance. The employment bureau's sign suggested what he was doing
there, and he would not have the girl know how low he had fallen. He had
turned his back toward her and pulled his shabby hat low down over his
eyes, when her voice reached him.
"Mr. Farquhar!"
Jimmy turned, thrilled but embarrassed, and Ruth smiled at him.
"I can't compliment you upon your memory," she said.
Jimmy saw that the other men were regarding them curiously. He was not
surprised, for Ruth had a well-bred air and her dress indicated wealth
and refinement, while his appearance was greatly against him; but it was
insufferable that those fellows should speculate about her, and he moved
slowly forward.
"I think my memory's pretty good," he answered with a steady glance.
"That makes your behavior worse, because it looks as if you meant to
avoid me."
"I'll confess that I did; but I'm not sure that you can blame me. No
doubt you saw how I was employed?"
Ruth's eyes sparkled and there was more color than usual in her face.
"I do blame you; it's no excuse. Did you think I was mean enough to let
that prevent me from speaking to you?"
"Since you have asked the question, I can't imagine your being mean in
any way at all," Jimmy answered boldly. "I'm afraid I was indulging in
false sentiment, but perhaps that wasn't unnatural. We all have our
weaknesses."
"That's true; mine's a quick temper, and you nearly made me angry. I
feel slighted when people I know run away from me."
"One wouldn't imagine it often happens. Anyhow, I've pleaded guilty."
"Then, as a punishment, you must come with me to our hotel and tell us
of your voyage to the North. My father will not be back until late, but
I think you'll like my aunt."
Jimmy looked surprised.
"You knew I was in the North?"
"Yes," she answered, smiling. "Does that seem very strange? Perhaps you
find it easy to let a pleasant acquaintance drop."
"I found it very hard," Jimmy said with some warmth.
Then he pulled himself up, remembering that this was not the line he
ought to take. "After all," he added, "it doesn't follow that a
friendship made on a voyage can be kept up ashore. A steamboat officer's
privileges end when he reaches land."
"Where he seems to lose his confidence in himself. You're either
unusually modest or unfairly bitter."
"It's not that. I hope I'm not a fool."
Ruth felt half impatient and half compassionate. She understood why he
had made no attempt to follow up their acquaintance; but she thought he
insisted too much upon the difference between their positions in the
social scale.
"I suppose your father learned where I had gone?"
"No; it was Aynsley Clay who told me. My father certainly asked one of
the _Empress_ mates what had become of you, but learned only that you
had left the ship. You must remember Aynsley, the yachtsman you met on
the island."
"Yes," said Jimmy incautiously. "My partners and I worked in his mill
until a week or two ago. Then we were turned out."
"Turned out? Why? I can't imagine Aynsley's being a hard master."
"He isn't. We got on very well. I don't believe we owe our dismissal to
him."
Ruth started. She was keen-witted and quick to jump to conclusions.
Jimmy's statement bore out certain troublesome suspicions, and she
remembered that she had forced Aynsley to speak about him in Clay's
presence. Perhaps she was responsible for his misfortunes; she felt
guilty.
"Then whatever you were doing in the North was not a success?" she
suggested.
"It was not," Jimmy answered with some grimness.
Ruth studied him with unobtrusive interest. It was obvious that he was
not prospering, and he looked worn. This roused her compassion, though
she realized that there was nothing that she could do. The man's pride
stood between them.
"I'm sorry," she said gently. "You may be more fortunate another time. I
suppose you have some plans for the future?"
She seemed to invite his confidence, and he saw that her interest was
sincere. It was unthinkable that she should have any knowledge of the
conspiracy between her father and Clay, but he could not speak to her
openly. Loyalty to his friends prevented his taking such a course,
because she might inadvertently mention what she had heard, and it was
impossible to ask her to keep it secret from her relatives.
"They're indefinite," he answered. "I expect we'll find something that
will suit us by and by."
She saw that he was on his guard, and felt hurt by his reserve,
particularly as she had made several advances which he would not meet.
Then, glancing down a street that led to the wharf, she saw, towering
above the sheds, a steamer's tunnel and a mast from which a white and
red flag fluttered.
"That's your old boat; she came in this morning," she said. "I wonder
whether we might go on board? After the pleasant trip we had in her, I
feel that I'd like to see the ship again."
"As you wish," said Jimmy, with obvious hesitation.
Ruth regretted the mistake that she had made, because she thought she
understood his reluctance. He looked as if he had come down in the
world, and would no doubt find it painful to re-visit the boat on board
of which he had been an officer.
"Perhaps there isn't time, after all," she said. "I told my aunt when I
would be back at the hotel, and we are almost there. She will be glad to
talk with you."
Jimmy glanced at the building and stopped. Several luxuriously appointed
automobiles were waiting in front of it, and a group of well-dressed
people stood on the steps. He felt that he would be out of place there.
"I'm afraid I must ask you to excuse my not coming in," he said.
"But why? Have you anything of importance to do just now?"
"No," said Jimmy with a smile; "unfortunately I can't give that as a
reason. I wish I could."
"You're not very flattering, certainly."
"I'm sorry. What I meant was that I'd kept you rather long already, and
of course one can't intrude."
She looked at him steadily, offering him no help in his embarrassment.
"You're very kind," he said with determined firmness. "But I don't
intend to take advantage of that by coming in."
"Very well," she acquiesced; and, giving him her hand, she let him go.
The calmness with which she had dismissed him puzzled Jimmy as he went
away. He wondered whether he had offended her. He had, no doubt, behaved
in an unmannerly way, but there was no other course open. Indeed, it was
fortunate that he had kept his head, and she might come to see that it
was consideration for her that had influenced him. Then he reflected
bitterly that she might not trouble herself any further about the matter
and that it would be more useful if he resumed his search for something
to do.
But Ruth did trouble herself. That evening she and her father were
sitting in the rotunda of the big hotel with Aynsley and Clay. The
spacious hall was lavishly decorated and groups of well-dressed men and
women moved up and down between the columns and sat chatting on the
lounges. Some were passengers from the _Empress_ and some leading
inhabitants of the town who, as is not uncommon in the West, dined at
the hotel. Outside there was obviously a fall of sleet, for the men who
came in stamped their feet in the vestibule and shook wet flakes from
the fur-coats they handed to a porter.
Perhaps it was the air of luxury, the company of prosperous people, and
the glitter of the place, that made Ruth think of Jimmy walking the wet
streets. The contrast between his lot and the comfort she enjoyed was
marked, and she felt disturbed and pitiful. This, however, could not
benefit Jimmy; and, although he had rather pointedly avoided any attempt
to presume upon their friendship or to enlist her sympathy, she longed
to offer him some practical help. She must try to find out something
about his affairs, using subtlety where needed; while generally frank,
she was not repelled by the idea of intriguing, so long as her object
was good. It was obvious that in Clay she had a clever man to contend
against; but this rather added to the fascination of the thing, and she
had some confidence in her own ability.
"I met Jimmy Farquhar this afternoon," she said abruptly, speaking to
her father.
"The _Empress's_ mate? What is he doing in Vancouver, and why didn't you
ask him in?"
"He wouldn't come. I gathered that he'd been having rather a hard time
lately."
The remark she had made at a venture had not been wasted. Her father's
easy manner was not assumed; it was natural, and convinced her that he
was not connected with Jimmy's misfortunes. This was a relief, but she
had learned something else, for, watching Clay closely, she had seen him
frown. The change in his expression was slight, but she had expected him
to exercise self-control and she saw that he was displeased at the
mention of Farquhar. This implied that he had a good reason for keeping
his dealings with Jimmy in the dark.
"Then I must try to overcome his objections if I run across him," said
Osborne. "I liked the man."
"The C.P.R. pick their officers carefully," Clay remarked with a
careless smile at Ruth. "Still, the fellow didn't show much taste when
he refused your invitation."
"I really didn't feel flattered," Ruth said lightly, wondering whether
he had imagined that he might learn something from an unguarded reply.
"I guess he's not worth thinking much about. You wouldn't have had to
ask me twice when I was a young man, but it's my opinion that the
present generation have no blood in them."
"I believe that's an old idea," Ruth laughed. "Your father may have
thought the same of you."
Clay was quick to seize the opportunity for changing the subject.
"You're not right there," he chuckled. "My folks were the props of a
small, back-East meeting house, and did their best to pound the wildness
out of me. It wasn't their fault they didn't succeed, but I'd inherited
the stubbornness of the old Puritan strain, and the more they tried to
pull me up the hotter pace I made. That's why I've given Aynsley his
head, and he trots along at a steady clip without trying to bolt."
Ruth paid little attention to what he was saying. She was puzzling about
Clay's connection with Jimmy's affairs, searching for some reason for
Clay's evident attitude. She was not sorry when he and Osborne rose and
turned toward the smoking-room, for she wanted to question Aynsley.
"Why did you turn Jimmy Farquhar out of your mill?" she asked as soon as
they were alone.
Aynsley was taken by surprise.
"As a matter of fact, I didn't turn him out."
"Then did he and his friends go of their own accord?"
"No," said Aynsley with some awkwardness; "I can't say that they did."
"Then somebody must have dismissed them. Who was it?"
He could not evade the direct question, for he had none of his father's
subtlety, but he felt a jealous pang. Ruth would not have insisted on an
answer unless she had an interest in one of the men. Farquhar was a
good-looking fellow with taking manners; but Aynsley erred in imagining
that she was concerned only about Jimmy. The girl saw that there was
more in the matter and she was feeling for a clue.
"The old man came along when I was away and cut down the yard gang," he
explained. "He's smart at handling men economically, and thought I was
paying too much in wages."
"But why did he pick out those three? Didn't they work well?"
Aynsley felt confused; but he would not seek refuge in deceit.
"So far as I could see, they were pretty smart; but I'm not so good a
judge. Anyway, he didn't explain."
"Then you asked him about it?"
"Yes," Aynsley answered lamely. "Still, I couldn't go too far. I didn't
want him to think I resented his interfering. After all, he bought me
the mill."
Ruth saw that he suspected Clay's motive. So did she, but she did not
think he could tell her anything more, and, to his relief, she changed
the subject.