Summer has come: along the banks of the repentant stream the willows are
in full leaf; stretches of grass, braving the coal smoke and dust hide
the ugly red earth. The roads are dry again; the slopes of the “fill”
once more are true; all the arches in the mouth of the tunnel are
finished; the tracks have been laid and the first train has crawled out
on the newly tracked road where it haggled, snorted and stopped, only to
crawl back and be swallowed by The Beast.
And with the first warm day came Miss Felicia. “When your wretched,
abominable roads, my dear, dry up so that a body can walk without
sinking up to their neck in mud--” ran Miss Felicia's letter in answer
to Ruth's invitation,--“I'll come down for the night,” and she did,
bringing Ruth half of her laces, now that she was determined to throw
herself away on “that good-for nothing--Yes, Jack, I mean you and nobody
else, and you needn't stand there laughing at me, for every word of it's
true; for what in the world you two babes in the wood are going to live
on no mortal man knows;” Ruth answering with her arm tight around
the dear lady's neck,--a liberty nobody,--not even Peter, ever dared
take--and a whisper in her ear that Jack was the blessedest ever,
and that she loved him so sometimes she was well-nigh distracted--a
statement which the old lady remarked was literally true.
And we may be sure that Peter came too--and we may be equally positive
that no impassable roads could have held him back. Indeed, on the very
afternoon of the very day following the receipt of the joyful telegram,
he had closed his books with a bang, performed the Moses act until he
had put them into the big safe, slipped on his coat, given an extra
brush to his hat and started for the ferry. All that day his face had
been in a broad smile; even the old book-keeper noticed it and so did
Patrick, the night-watchman and sometimes porter; and so did the line
of depositors who inched along to his window and were greeted with a
flash-light play of humor on his face instead of the more sedate, though
equally kindly expression which always rested on his features when
at work. But that was nothing to the way he hugged Jack and
Ruth--separately--together--then Ruth, then Jack--and then both together
again, only stopping at MacFarlane, whose hand he grabbed with a “Great
day! hey? Great day! By Cricky, Henry, these are the things that put new
wine into old leather bottles like you and me.”
And this was not all that the spring and summer had brought. Fresh sap
had risen in Jack's veins. This girl by his side was his own--something
to work for--something to fight for. MacFarlane felt the expansion and
put him in full charge of the work, relieving him often in the night
shifts, when the boy would catch a few hours' sleep, and when, you may
be sure, he stopped long enough at the house to get his arms around Ruth
before he turned in for the night or the morning, or whenever he did
turn in.
As to the injury which McGowan's slipshod work had caused to the “fill,”
the question of damages and responsibility for the same still hung in
the air. The “fill” did not require rebuilding--nor did any part of the
main work--a great relief. The loss had not, therefore, been as great as
MacFarlane had feared. Moreover, the scour and slash of the down-stream
slope, thanks to Jack's quick work, required but few weeks to repair;
the culvert, contrary to everybody's expectation, standing the test, and
the up-stream slope showing only here and there marks of the onslaught.
The wing walls were the worst; these had to be completely rebuilt,
involving an expense of several thousands of dollars, the exact amount
being one point in the discussion.
Garry, to his credit, had put his official foot down with so strong
a pressure that McGowan, fearing that he would have to reconstruct
everything from the bed of the stream up, if he held out any longer,
agreed to arbitrate the matter, he selecting one expert and MacFarlane
the other; and the Council--that is, Garry--the third. MacFarlane had
chosen the engineer of the railroad who had examined McGowan's masonry
an hour after the embankment had given way. McGowan picked out a brother
contractor and Garry wrote a personal letter to Holker Morris, following
it up by a personal visit to the office of the distinguished architect,
who, when he learned that not only Garry, MacFarlane, and Jack were
concerned in the outcome of the investigation, but also Ruth--whose
marriage might depend on the outcome,--broke his invariable rule of
never getting mixed up in anybody's quarrels, and accepted the position
without a murmur.
This done everybody interested sat down to await the result of the
independent investigations of each expert, Garry receiving the reports
in sealed envelopes and locking them in the official safe, to be opened
in full committee at its next monthly meeting, when a final report, with
recommendations as to liability and costs, would be drawn up; the same,
when adopted by a majority of the Council the following week, to be
binding.
It was during this suspense--it happened really on the morning
succeeding the one on which Garry had opened the official
envelopes--that an envelope of quite a different character was laid on
Jack's table by the lady with the adjustable hair, who invariably made
herself acquainted with as much of that young gentleman's mail as could
be gathered from square envelopes sealed in violet wax, or bearing
family crests in low relief, or stamped with monograms in light blue
giving out delicate perfumes, each one of which that lady sniffed
with great satisfaction; to say nothing of business addresses and
postal-cards,--the latter being readable, and, therefore, her delight.
This envelope, however, was different from any she had ever fumbled,
sniffed at, or pondered over. It was not only of unusual size, but it
bore in the upper left-hand corner in bold black letters the words:
ARTHUR BREEN & COMPANY, BANKERS.
It was this last word which set the good woman to thinking. Epistles
from banks were not common,--never found at all, in fact, among the
letters of her boarders.
Jack was even more astonished.
“Call at the office,” the letter ran, “the first time you are in New
York,--the sooner the better. I have some information regarding the ore
properties that may interest you.”
As the young fellow had not heard from his uncle in many moons, the
surprise was all the greater. Nor, if the truth be known, had he laid
eyes on that gentleman since he left the shelter of his home, except at
Corinne's wedding,--and then only across the church, and again in
the street, when his uncle stopped and shook his hand in a rather
perfunctory way, complimenting him on his bravery in rescuing
MacFarlane, an account of which he had seen in the newspapers, and
ending by hoping that his new life would “drop some shekels into his
clothes.” Mrs. Breen, on the contrary, while she had had no opportunity
of expressing her mental attitude toward the exile, never having seen
him since he walked out of her front door, was by no means oblivious to
Jack's social and business successes. “I hear Jack was at Mrs. Portman's
last night,” she said to her husband the morning after one of the
ex-Clearing House Magnate's great receptions. “They say he goes
everywhere, and that Mr. Grayson has adopted him and is going to leave
him all his money,” to which Breen had grunted back that Jack was
welcome to the Portmans and the Portmans to Jack, and that if old
Grayson had any money, which he very much doubted, he'd better hoist
it overboard than give it to that rattlebrain. Mrs. Breen heaved a deep
sigh. Neither she nor Breen had been invited to the Portmans', nor
had Corinne (the Scribe has often wondered whether the second scoop
in Mukton was the cause)--and yet Ruth MacFarlane, and Jack and Miss
Felicia Grayson, and a lot more out-of-town people--so that insufferable
Mrs. Bennett had told her--had come long distances to be present, the
insufferable adding significantly that “Miss MacFarlane looked too
lovely and was by all odds the prettiest girl in the room, and as for
young Breen, really she could have fallen in love with him herself!”
Jack tucked his uncle's letter in his pocket, skipped over to read it to
Ruth and MacFarlane, in explanation of his enforced absence for the
day, and kept on his way to the station. The missive referred to the
Morfordsburg contract, of course, and was evidently an attempt to gain
information regarding the proposed work, Arthur Breen & Co. being the
financial agents of many similar properties.
“I will take care of him, sir,” Jack had said as he left his Chief. “My
uncle, no doubt, means all right, and it is just as well to hear what
he says--besides he has been good enough to write to me, and of course I
must go, but I shall not commit myself one way or the other--” and with
a whispered word in Ruth's ear, a kiss and a laugh, he left the house.
As he turned down the short street leading to the station, he caught
sight of Garry forging ahead on his way to the train. That rising young
architect, chairman of the Building Committee of the Council, trustee of
church funds, politician and all-round man of the world--most of which
he carried in a sling--seemed in a particularly happy frame of mind
this morning judging from the buoyancy with which he stepped. This had
communicated itself to the gayety of his attire, for he was dressed in a
light-gray check suit, and wore a straw hat (the first to see the light
of summer) with a green ribbon about the crown,--together with a white
waistcoat and white spats, the whole enriched by a red rose bud which
Corinne had with her own hands pinned in his buttonhole.
“Why, hello! Jack, old man! just the very fellow I'm looking for,” cried
the joyous traveller. “You going to New York?--So am I,--go every day
now,--got something on ice,--the biggest thing I've ever struck. I'll
show that uncle of yours that two can play at his game. He hasn't lifted
his hand to help us, and I don't want him to,--Cory and I can get along;
but you'd think he'd come out and see us once in a while, wouldn't you,
or ask after the baby; Mrs. Breen comes, but not Breen. We live in the
country and have tar on our heels, he thinks. Here,--sit by the window!
Now let's talk of something else. How's Miss Ruth and the governor? He's
a daisy;--best engineer anywhere round here. Yes, Cory's all right. Baby
keeps her awake half the night; I've moved out and camp upstairs;
can't stand it. Oh, by the way, I see you are about finishing up on the
railroad work. I'll have something to say to you next week on the damage
question. Got all the reports in last night. I tell you, my old chief,
Mr. Morris, is a corker! What he doesn't know about masonry isn't worth
picking up;--can't fool him! That's what's the matter with half of our
younger men; they sharpen lead-pencils, mix ink, and think they are
drawing; or they walk down a stone wall and don't know any more what's
behind it and what holds it up than a child. Mr. Morris can not only
design a wall, but he can teach some first-class mechanics how to lay
it.”
Jack looked out the window and watched the fences fly past. For the
moment he made no reply to Garry's long harangue--especially the part
referring to the report. Anxious as he was to learn the result of the
award, he did not want the facts from the chairman of the committee in
advance of the confirmation by the Council.
“What is it you have on ice, Garry?” he asked at last with a laugh,
yielding to an overpowering conviction that he must change the
subject--“a new Corn Exchange? Nobody can beat you in corn exchanges.”
“Not by a long shot, Jack,--got something better; I am five thousand
ahead now, and it's all velvet.”
“Gold-mine, Garry?” queried Jack, turning his head. “Another Mukton
Lode? Don't forget poor Charlie Gilbert; he's been clerking it ever
since, I hear.”
“No, a big warehouse company; I'll get the buildings later on. That
Mukton Lode deal was a clear skin game, Jack, if it is your uncle, and
A. B. & Co. got paid up for it--downtown and uptown. You ought to hear
the boys at the Magnolia talk about it. My scheme is not that kind;
I'm on the ground floor; got some of the promoter's stock. When you are
through with your railroad contract and get your money, let me know.
I can show you a thing or two;--open your eyes! No Wall Street racket,
remember,--just a plain business deal.”
“There won't be much money left over, Garry, from the 'fill' and tunnel
work, if we keep on. We ought to have a cyclone next to finish up with;
we've had about everything else.”
“You're all through, Jack,” replied Garry with emphasis.
“I'll believe that when I see it,” said Jack with a smile.
“I tell you, Jack, YOU ARE ALL THROUGH. Do you understand? Don't ask
me any questions and I won't tell you any lies. The first thing that
strikes you will be a check, and don't you forget it!”
Jack's heart gave a bound. The information had come as a surprise and
without his aid, and yet it was none the less welcome. The dreaded
anxiety was over; he knew now what the verdict of the Council would
be. He had been right from the first in this matter, and Garry had
not failed despite the strong political pressure which must have been
brought against him. The new work now would go on and he and Ruth could
go to Morfordsburg together! He could already see her trim, lovely
figure in silhouette against the morning light, her eyes dancing, her
face aglow in the crisp air of the hills.
Garry continued to talk on as they sped into the city, elaborating the
details of the warehouse venture in which he had invested his present
and some of his future commissions, but his words fell on stony ground.
The expected check was the only thing that filled Jack's thoughts. There
was no doubt in his mind now that the decision would be in MacFarlane's
favor, and that the sum, whether large or small, would be paid without
delay,--Garry being treasurer and a large amount of money being still
due McGowan on the embankment and boulevard. It would be joyous news to
Ruth, he said to himself, with a thrill surging through his heart.
Jack left Garry on the Jersey side and crossed alone. The boy loved
the salt air in his face and the jewelled lights flashed from the
ever-restless sea. He loved, too, the dash and vim of it all. Forcing
his way through the crowds of passengers to the forward part of the
boat, he stood where he could get the full sweep of the wonderful
panorama:
The jagged purple line of the vast city stretching as far as the eye
could reach; with its flat-top, square-sided, boxlike buildings, with
here and there a structure taller than the others; the flash of light
from Trinity's spire, its cross aflame; the awkward, crab-like movements
of innumerable ferry-boats, their gaping alligator mouths filled with
human flies; the impudent, nervous little tugs, spitting steam in every
passing face; the long strings of sausage-linked canalers kept together
by grunting, slow-moving tows; the great floating track-yards bearing
ponderous cars--eight days from the Pacific without break of bulk; the
skinny, far-reaching fingers of innumerable docks clutching prey
of barge, steamer, and ship; the stately ocean-liner moving to sea,
scattering water-bugs of boats, scows and barges as it glided on its
way:--all this stirred his imagination and filled him with a strange
resolve. He, too, would win a place among the masses--Ruth's hand fast
in his.