The following day their work brought Donald and his companions to the
top of the falls near Connie’s fairy nest. The melting snows from above
had swelled the water until it filled the narrow gorge to the brim.
As Donald viewed the thundering river he was impressed by the potential
power in the mighty surge of water that flung itself in a cascade of
foam to the rocks below. “Good place for a dam!” he shouted to Gillis,
as he pointed to the narrow canyon and then to the slanting walls that
formed a natural basin.
That night, while Andy pursued his studies on flowers, Donald covered
several sheets of notepaper with drawings and figures. He became so
deeply engrossed in his work that he sat up long after the others had
gone to bed. At breakfast he placed the result of his night’s work near
Gillis’s plate. “Jack, I believe we could put in an electric mill that
would be successful,” he said earnestly.
Gillis studied the papers carefully, then passed them to Douglas. “Might
be done,” he said non-committally. “I don’t know nothin’ ’bout
electricity; do you?”
“I’ve had a little experience,” admitted Donald modestly.
Douglas, who had been poring over the drawings, spoke emphatically.
“I’ll bet Dad would be interested in this. I’ve heard him say that all
mills would be electrically driven sometime. He’s up-to-date—always
willing to listen to new ideas.”
“But old ‘Moss-back’ ain’t,” growled Gillis.
“Who’s old ‘Moss-back’?”
“One of the office men by name of Renwick. He’s one of them
narrow-’tween-the-eyes, psalm-singin’ old has-beens that sez ‘tut tut’
every time he hears a logger say ‘damn.’ His health is poor, so they’re
goin’ to send him up here to take charge of this mill. Thanks be, I’m
goin’ to have charge in the woods, so I won’t have nothin’ to do with
him.”
They discussed the matter during the day, and that evening they again
visited the falls. From the trapper Donald learned that the supply of
water was unfailing. Owing to the natural formation, the cost of
building the dam would be small. Donald’s friends became as enthusiastic
as himself.
“We’ll be finished to-morrow night, Douglas,” announced Gillis that
evening. “If you and Donald want to, you can go to town and put this
proposition up to your father.”
The lines of steel were creeping north slowly but surely. As they left
the cabin to start for the Coast, the first faint boom of a blast was
brought to their ears by the southern breeze. Ten miles south of the
lake they came to steel and rode to Squamish in the cab of a locomotive,
reaching Vancouver that night.
Douglas informed Donald over the ’phone the next morning that his father
would give him a hearing at two o’clock that afternoon.
As Donald thought of the impending meeting he experienced certain inward
qualms. He felt that Renwick would oppose him, and wondered if Robert
Rennie would consider him conceited and forward in suggesting such a
radical innovation.
At the appointed hour Donald and Douglas entered the office of the R. C.
& L. Co. Robert Rennie greeted Donald with a friendly smile and motioned
to chairs near the desk. “You have some papers with you, I presume,” he
said.
Donald placed the rough plans on the desk before him. For five minutes
Robert Rennie studied them quietly while Donald fidgeted. Without
comment, he leaned back in his chair for a moment, apparently in deep
thought. Presently he pressed a button at the side of his desk.
“Send Renwick, Bolton and King here,” he said to the boy who answered
the bell.
As the men entered the room Donald had no difficulty in recognizing
Renwick from Gillis’s description. Robert Rennie rose to introduce
Donald, then spoke in quick, flashing sentences, that went straight to
the heart of things, as he spread the plans on the table before them.
As Donald had anticipated, Renwick, after a short scrutiny of the
papers, objected strenuously, his chief objection being the initial
cost, together with the fact that experience had demonstrated that only
small mills had proved a success when electrically driven. Bolton was of
the same opinion, but he admitted that if the supply of timber were
sufficient to keep the mill in operation for years, the initial cost
would be offset by the economy of operation.
King, the company’s chief engineer, vouchsafed no opinion, but sat with
Donald’s plans before him, copying the figures in his note-book.
Robert Rennie glanced at Donald expectantly.
Donald spoke of the lessened cost of operation in an electrically-driven
mill by the reduction of the number of millwrights, oilers and helpers,
the lower insurance rates, the saving on line-shafting, belts and oil,
of the advantage in speed over a steam-mill, etc. As he warmed to the
subject he came to his feet and leaned over the desk.
“As you gentlemen know, the greatest enemy of the mill-owner is fire.
With a steam-mill of the size you are to build, with donkey engines and
locomotives operated by steam, you will have a battery of smokestacks
that will be an hourly menace during the summer months in the dry air at
that altitude. Electrify your mill and donkey engines and you will
reduce the fire hazard by seventy-five per cent. I don’t ask you to
accept my opinion. I advise you to investigate thoroughly before
deciding. An electric mill with the enormous power available would be a
credit, not only to this company, but to the Province as well.”
Robert Rennie’s brain functioned with a clear-cut precision. He would
listen to the advice of his experts with an attentive ear, and his
decision was usually made before the last one had ceased talking.
While Donald was talking Robert Rennie sat forward in his chair with a
look of almost strained attention. As Donald finished he swung quickly
to his chief engineer. “King, to-morrow you go to Summit Lake. Furnish a
full report. If your figures correspond with McLean’s we will install an
electric plant. Bolton, get quotations at once on electrical equipment.
That’s all,” he finished tersely.
He turned to the two young men as the door closed. “Beginning with the
first of next month, McLean, if you so wish, you will act as assistant
manager at the Summit Lake Mill. And you,” he turned to Douglas, “will
occupy a similar position at the Cheakamus plant.” He rang for his
stenographer, who entered at once.
Donald muttered an embarrassed thanks, and as he passed through the door
he heard Robert Rennie’s voice in rapid dictation.
They spent the remainder of the afternoon buying supplies from the list
which Andy had furnished them. There were numerous delicacies in the
items of foodstuffs that brought exclamations of surprise from Douglas.
“There is everything here to serve a banquet; even tablecloths and
napkins. What is the little beggar up to now, I wonder?” he said
laughingly.
“His birthday,” explained Donald. “He is going to invite the Wainwrights
and John Hillier. And besides,” he added, “I think he wants to show the
old trapper that he can do a little fancy cooking himself.”
Janet Rennie could not interpret the inner urge that prompted her to
arise at an early hour the next morning to drive her brother to the
wharf. It rather bewildered her—made her ashamed of herself that she
could not put Donald from her mind entirely. “Why can’t you forget him?”
she asked herself in protest for the thousandth time. As the boat pulled
away from the dock she waved an adieu and, with a troubled look in her
eyes, swung her car cityward.
For two days after their return to the mountains, their little cabin was
a hive of industry. Andy banished his fellow-lodgers to the outdoors at
every opportunity while he performed mysterious rites over the small
stove. “I’ll show that juggling old pirate what a real meal is like,” he
chuckled to himself.
Their guest arrived late in the afternoon and sat outside in the warm
sun while Andy busied himself behind the closed door.
Old John’s face shone from the vigorous application of soap and towel.
His sole change in attire for the occasion was a clean buckskin coat
from the breast pocket of which protruded the corner of a red silk
handkerchief.
Connie’s abundant golden hair had been carefully brushed, and hung over
her shoulders in glistening, billowy waves that reached to her
waist-line. She seated herself a short distance from the party and took
no part in the conversation. This was her first social affair and she
felt ill at ease. Donald’s repeated attempts to break her reserve were
answered in monosyllables.
The door opened to disclose a remarkable figure framed in the entrance.
Andy stood before them in the most ridiculous make-up of a butler. An
old black coat of Gillis’s, cut off at the sides to form a
“claw-hammer,” hung loosely over his narrow shoulders; side-whiskers of
tree moss were stuck to his cheeks, and his face was as stolid as a
graven image.
“Dinner is now being served in the main dining-’all, me lord,” he
intoned slowly.
They applauded Andy’s effort heartily, and as they laughingly entered
the cabin a scene met their eyes that was remarkably incongruous amid
such drab surroundings.
A snow-white cloth covered the rough board table. A huge turkey, with
bulging breast browned to a crispness, graced the centre of the board.
Oysters in the shell, celery, salads, several kinds of vegetables, pies,
cookies and fancy cheeses were in tempting abundance; and in a place of
honour near the turkey reposed Andy’s birthday cake, its frosted surface
covered with tiny candles.
Connie’s blue eyes opened wide with wonder. “Oh, Dad!” she cried
joyously, “it’s just like stories, isn’t it?”
John tossed his hat to the floor in the corner. “You can deliver the
goods, ol’ timer, sure enough,” he commended in a tone of respect.
It was an odd party that gathered in the log hut in the wilderness to
celebrate Andy’s birthday—a wilderness whose silence was soon to be
broken by the crash of trees and the clang of steel. A late blast, so
near that the cabin trembled, caused the old trapper to shiver slightly.
“Trains will soon be running through your backyard, John,” observed
Douglas.
The old man shook his head sadly. “Yes,” he concurred, “an’ I’ll hev’ to
be hittin’ the trail agin before long.”
Andy’s banquet proceeded merrily, and when the last course was finished
Donald took a bundle from the shelf and placed it in Connie’s hands.
“Something I brought from town for you,” he smiled.
Connie’s colour heightened. “For me?” she asked incredulously.
“Yes, some reading matter.”
“Thank you,” she murmured softly, as her quick fingers unwrapped the
package. She cried aloud with delight as half a dozen novels and as many
magazines were disclosed to view.
“And here, Andy, is a present for you,” said Donald as he dragged a box
from the corner; “something to assist in passing away the time
pleasantly.”
Andy’s joy knew no bounds when, opening the box, a superb Victrola was
disclosed to view.
Suddenly the sweet strains of a full orchestra playing the “Barcarolle”
filled the room. Connie was enraptured. She stood with bowed head and
closed eyes, her hands pressed to her throbbing breast, as the music
stirred her emotional soul to its depths. She sighed deeply and her
cheeks were wet with tears as she moved to the machine when the music
ceased.
They all sang the chorus to the “Old Oaken Bucket,” “Suwannee River” and
“Annie Laurie.” Connie’s embarrassment had vanished and her clear voice
rang in sweet harmony with the deeper tones of the men.
At the conclusion of “Home Sweet Home,” old John Hillier blew his nose
vigorously and surreptitiously dabbed the big red handkerchief to his
eyes.
The words of “A Dream,” sung in an impassioned tenor voice, came with
surprising distinctness:
“I dreamed thou wert living, my darling, my darling,
I dreamed that I pressed thee once more to my breast.
Thy soft perfumed tresses and gentle caresses
Thrilled me and stilled me and lulled me to rest.”
Donald saw that Wainwright was deeply moved. His throat was working
convulsively, and he seemed to have difficulty in lighting his pipe. His
shaking hands were cupped over his pipe-bowl in an attempt to hide his
emotion. His face was pale and tears brimmed his clear grey eyes.
“Come on, John, let’s ’it up a jig!” cried Andy as he capered across the
room and pulled the trapper to his feet. To the lilt of the “Irish
Washerwoman” the odd pair smacked the floor with their feet, whirled in
giddy circles, and whooped like wild men. They linked arms and spun like
a top until John’s moccasined foot trod on Andy’s long coat and brought
them to the floor in a heap.
The comedy helped Wainwright to regain his composure, and sent Connie
into screams of happy laughter.
“I’ve had a most wonderful evening, Andy,” said Connie gratefully as
they were leaving. “The most wonderful in my life,” she added softly.
“By the way, Mr. Pettray,” spoke Mr. Wainwright from the doorway, “how
are you progressing with your studies?”
“Not ’arf bad,” answered Andy. “I ’ave learned about the sepals, calyx,
corolla, pistil, filament, anther, pollen, style and stigma.” As he
rattled off these words he glanced at Gillis and Douglas. He had been
longing for this chance to air his newly-acquired knowledge.
“Fine,” complimented Wainwright smilingly. “You are having no
difficulty, then?”
Andy wrinkled his brows. “I ’ave found it a bit difficult,” he began
importantly; “just a bit, you know, to classify the flowers as to
whether they are oxillary, confulate, peduncular, polyandrous,
gynandrous, zygomorphic——”
“Holy mackerel!” roared Gillis, as he clapped his hands over his ears.
“Stop him, somebody!”
Douglas caught Andy by the coat-tail and dragged him from the door.
Connie’s cheerful laughter drifted back to them through the darkness.
The Breed crossed the outer edge of light thrown from the doorway and
limped to the trail. Wherever Connie went her argus-eyed guardian
flitted in the background.