An ordinary seaman, then the second officer of the little steamer passed me on the deck, but both were busy and paid no more attention to my presence than if I had been one of themselves.
I strolled down the narrow companionway, into a cosy, but somewhat cramped, saloon.
After standing for a time in the hope of seeing some signs of life, I pushed open the door of a stateroom on the starboard side. The room had two berths. I tossed my knapsack and clubs into the lower one. As I turned to the door again, I espied a diminutive individual, no more than four and a half feet tall,—or, as I should say, small,—in the full, gold-braided uniform of a ship's chief steward.
He was a queer-looking little customer, grizzled, weather-beaten and, apparently, as hard as nails. He was absolutely self-possessed and, despite his stature, there was "nothing small about him," as an American friend of mine used to put it.
He touched his cap, and smiled. His smile told me at once that he was an Irishman, for only an Irishman could smile as he did. It was a smile with a joke, a drink, a kiss and a touch of the devil himself in it.
"I saw ye come down, sor. Ye'll be makin' for Glasgow?"
Glasgow! I cogitated, yes!—Glasgow as a starting point would suit me as well as anywhere else.
"Correct first guess," I answered. "But, tell me,—how did you know that that was my destination?"
He showed his teeth.
"Och! because it's the only port we're callin' at, sor. Looks like a fine trip north," he went on. "The weather's warm and there's just enough breeze to make it lively. Nothin' like the sea, sor, for keepin' the stomach swate and the mind up to the knocker."
I yawned, for I was dog-weary.
"When ye get to Glasgow, if ye are on the lookout for a place to slape,—try Barney O'Toole's in Argyle Street. The place is nothin' to look at, but it's a hummer inside, sor."
I yawned drowsily once more, but the hint did not stop him.
"If you'll excuse my inquisitiveness, sor,—or rather, what ye might call my natural insight,—I judge you're on either a moighty short tour, or a devil av a long one got up in a hurry."
The little clatterbag's uncanny guessing harried me.
"How do you arrive at your conclusions?" I asked, taking off my jacket and hanging it up.
"Och! shure it's by the size av your wardrobe. No man goes on a well-planned, long trip with a knapsack and a bag av golfsticks."
"Well,—it is likely to be long enough," I laughed ruefully.
"Had a row with the old man and clearin' out?" he sympathised. "Well, good luck to yer enterprise. I did the same meself when I was thirteen; after gettin' a hidin' with a bit av harness for doin' somethin' I never did at all. I've never seen the old man since and never want to. Bad cess to him.
"Would ye like a bite before ye turn in, sor? It's past supper-time, but I can find ye a scrapin' av something."
"A bite and a bath,—if I may?" I put in. "I'm sticky all over."
"A bath! Right ye are. I knew ye was a toff the minute I clapped my blinkers on ye."
In ten minutes my talkative friend announced that my bath was in readiness. For ten minutes more he rattled on to me at intervals, through the bathroom door, poking into my past and arranging my future like a clairvoyant.
Notwithstanding, he had a nice, steaming-hot supper waiting for me when I returned to my stateroom.
As I fell-to, he stood by, enjoying the relish I displayed in the appeasing of my hunger.
"If I was a young fellow av your age, strong build and qualities, do ye know where I would make for?" he ventured.
"Where?" I asked, uninterestedly.
He lowered his eyebrows. "Out West,—Canada," he said, with a decided nod of his head. "And, the farther west the better. The Pacific Coast has a climate like home, only better. For the main part, ye're away from the long winters;—it's a new country;—a young man's country:—it's wild and free:—and,—it's about as far away as ye can get from—from,—the trouble ye're leavin' behind."
I looked across at him.
"Oh! bhoy,—I've been there. I know what I'm talkin' about."
He sighed. "But I'm gettin' old and I've been too long on the sea to give it up."
He pulled himself together suddenly. Owing to his stature, that was not a very difficult task.
"Man!—ye're tired. I'll be talkin' no more to you. Tumble in and sleep till we get to Glasgow."
As he cleared away the dishes, I approached him regarding my fare.
"Look here, steward,—I had not time to book my berth or pay my passage. What's the damage?"
"Ten and six, sor, exclusive av meals," he answered, taking out his ticket book in a business-like way.
"What name, sor?"
"Name!—oh, yes! name!" I stammered. "Why!—George Bremner."
He looked at me and his face fell. I am sure his estimation of me fell with it. I was almost sorry I had not obliged him by calling myself Algernon something-or-other.
I paid him.
"When do you expect to arrive in Glasgow?" I asked.
"Eight o'clock to-morrow morning, sor. And," he added, "there's a boat leaves for Canada to-morrow night."
"The devil it does," I grunted.
He gave me another of his infectious smiles.
"Would ye like another bath in the mornin', sor, before breakfast?" he inquired, as he was leaving.
I could not bear to disappoint the little fellow any more.
"Yes," I replied.
Quarter of an hour later, I was lying on my back in the upper berth, gazing drowsily into the white-enamelled ceiling two feet overhead; happy in the reborn sensations of cleanliness, relaxation and satisfaction; loving my enemies as well, or almost as well, as I loved my friends. I could not get the little steward's advice out of my head. In a jumbled medley, "Out West,—out West,—out West," kept floating before my brain. "The Pacific Coast.—Home climate, only better.—A new country.—A young man's country.—Wild and free.—It's about as far away as ye can get,—as ye can get,—can get,—can get."
The rumbling of the cargo trucks, the hoarse "lower away" of the quartermaster, the whirr of the steam winch and the lapping of the water against the boat,—all intermingled, then died away and still farther away, until only the quietest of these sounds remained,—the lapping of the sea and "Canada,—Canada,—Canada." They kept up their communications with me, sighing and singing, the merest murmurings of the wind in a sea shell:—soothing accompaniments to my unremembered dreams.
When I awoke, the sun was streaming through the porthole upon my face. It was early morning,—Saturday morning I remembered.
From the thud, thud, of the engines and the steady rise and fall, I knew we were still at sea. I stretched my limbs, feeling as a god must feel balancing on the topmost point of a star; so refreshed, so invigorated, so buoyant, so much in harmony with the rising sun and the freshness of the early day, that, to be exact, I really had no feeling.
I sprang to the floor of my cabin and dressed hurriedly in my anxiety to be on deck; but, at the door, I encountered my little Irish steward. He eyed me suspiciously, as if I had had intentions of evading my morning ablution,—so I swallowed my impatience, grabbed a towel and made leisurely for the bathroom, where I laved my face and hands in the cold water, remained inside for a sufficiently respectable time, then ran off the water and, finally, made my exit and clambered on deck.
As I paced up and down, enjoying the beauties of the fast narrowing firth, I no longer felt in doubt as to my ultimate destination. My subconscious self, aided and abetted by the Irish steward, had already decided that for me:—it was Canada, the West, the Pacific.
Soon after I had breakfasted, we reached the Tail of the Bank, and so impatient was I to be on my long journey that I bade good-bye to my little Irishman at Greenock, leaving him grinning and happy in the knowledge that I was taking his advice and was bound for the Pacific Coast.
In forty minutes more, I left the train at Glasgow and started in to a hurried and moderate replenishing of my wardrobe, finishing up with the purchase of a travelling bag, a good second-hand rifle and a little ammunition.
I dispensed with my knapsack by presenting it to a newsboy, who held it up in disgust as if it had been a dead cat. Despite the fact that I was now on my own resources and would have to work, nothing could induce me to part with my golf clubs. They were old and valued friends. Little did I imagine then how useful they would ultimately prove.
At the head office of the steamship company, I inquired as to the best class of travelling when the traveller wished to combine cheapness with rough comfort; and I was treated to the cheering news that there was a rate war on between the rival Trans-Atlantic Steamship Companies and I could purchase a second-cabin steamboat ticket for six pounds, while a further eight pounds, thirteen shillings and four-pence would carry me by Colonist, or third class, three thousand miles, from the East to the Far West of Canada.
I paid for my ticket and booked my berth then and there, counted out my remaining wealth,—ten pounds and a few coppers,—and my destiny was settled.
With so much to tell of what befell me later, I have neither the time nor the inclination to detail the pleasures and the discomforts of a twelve days' trip by slow steamer across a storm-swept Atlantic, battened down for days on end, like cattle in the hold of a cross-channel tramp; of a six days' journey across prairie lands, in a railway car with its dreadful monotony of unupholstered wooden seats and sleeping boards, its stuffiness, its hourly disturbances in the night-time in the shape of noisy conductors demanding tickets, incoming and outgoing travellers and shrieking engines; its dollar meals in the dining car, which I envied but could not afford; its well-nigh unlightable cooking stoves and the canned beef and pork and beans with which I had to regale myself en route.
Jaded, travel-weary and grimy, I reached the end of my journey. It was late in the evening. I tumbled out of the train and into the first hotel bus that yawned for me, and not once did I look out of the window to see what kind of a city I had arrived at.
I came to myself at the entrance to a magnificent and palatial hotel; too much so, by far, I fancied, for my scantily-filled purse. But I was past the minding stage, and I knew I could always make a change on the morrow, if so be it a change were necessary.
And then I began to think,—what mattered it anyway? What were a few paltry sovereigns between one and poverty? Comforting thought,—a man could not have anything less than nothing.
I registered, ordered a bath, a shave, a haircut, a jolly good supper and a bed; and, oh! how I enjoyed them all! Surely this was the most wonderful city in the world, for never did bath, or shave, or supper, or bed feel so delicious as these did.
I swooned away at last from sheer pleasure.
The recuperative powers of youth are marvellously quick. I was up and out to view the city almost as soon as the sun was touching the snow-tipped tops of the magnificent mountain peaks which were miles away yet seemed to stand sentinels at the end of the street down which I walked. I was up and out long ere the sun had gilded the waters of the broad inlet which separated Vancouver from its baby sister to the north of it.
The prospect pleased me; there was freedom in the air, expanse, vastness, but,—it was still a city with a city's artifices and, consequently, not what I was seeking. I desired the natural life; not the roughness, the struggle, the matching of crafty wits, the throbbing blood and the straining sinews,—but the solitude, the quiet, the chance for thought and observation, the wilds, the woods and the sea.
As I returned to breakfast, I wondered if I should find them,—and where.
In the dining-room, during the course of my breakfast,—the first real breakfast I had partaken of in Canada,—my attention was diverted to a tall, well-groomed, muscular-looking man, who sat at a table nearby. He looked a considerable bit on the sunny side of fifty. He was clean shaven, his hair was black tinged with grey, and his eyes were keen and kindly.
Every time I glanced in his direction, I found him looking over at me in an amused sort of way. I began to wonder if I were making some breach of Canadian etiquette of which I was ignorant. True, I had eaten my porridge and cream without sprinkling the dish with a surface of sugar as he had done; I had set aside the fried potatoes which had been served to me with my bacon and eggs;—but these, surely, were trivial things and of no interest to any one but myself.
At last, he rose and walked out, sucking a wooden toothpick. With his departure, I forgot his existence.
After I had breakfasted, I sought the lounge room in order to have a look at the morning paper and, if possible, determine what I was going to do for a living and how I was going to get what I wanted to do.
I was buried in the advertisements, when a genial voice with a nasal intonation, at my elbow, unearthed me.
It was my observer of the dining-room. He had seated himself in the chair next to mine.
"Say! young man,—you'll excuse me; but was it you I saw come in last night with the bag of golf clubs?"
I acknowledged the crime.
He laughed good-naturedly.
"Well,—you had courage anyway. To sport a golfing outfit here in the West is like venturing out with breeches, a walking cane and a monocle. Nobody but an Englishman would dare do it. Here, they think golf and cricket should be bracketed along with hopscotch, dominoes and tiddly-winks; just as I used to fancy baseball was a glorified kids' game. I know better now."
I looked at him rather darkly.
"Oh!—it's all right, friend,—it takes a man to play baseball, same as it takes a man to play golf and cricket. Golfing is about the only vice I have left. Why, now I come to think of it, my wife clipped a lot of my vices off years ago, and since that my daughter has succeeded in knocking off all the others,—all but my cigars, my cocktails and my golf. I'm just plumb crazy on the game and I play it whenever I can. Maybe it's because I used to play it when I was a little chap, away back in England years and years ago."
"I am glad you like the game," I put in. "It is a favourite of mine."
"I play quite a bit back home in Baltimore," he continued, "that's when I'm there. My clubs arrived here by express yesterday. You see, it's like this;—I'm off to Australia at the end of the week, on a business trip,—that is, if I get things settled up here by that time. I am crossing over from there to England, where I shall be for several months. England is some place for golf, so I'm going to golf some, you bet.
"I'm not boring you, young friend?" he asked suddenly.
"Not a bit," I laughed. "Go on,—I am as interested as can be."
"I believe there's a kind of a lay-out they call a golf course, in one of the outlying districts round here. What do you say to making the day of it? You aren't busy, are you?" he added.
"No! no!—not particularly," I answered. I did not tell him that in a few days, if I did not get busy at something or other, I should starve.
"Good!" he cried. "Go to your room and get your sticks. I'll find out all about the course and how to get to it."
The brusk good-nature of the man hit me somehow; besides, I had not had a game for over three weeks. Think of it—three weeks! And goodness only knew when I should have the chance of another after this one. As for looking for work;—work was never to be compared with golf. Surely work could wait for one day!
"All right!—I'm game," I said, jumping up and entering into the spirit of gaiety that lay so easily on my new acquaintance.
"Good boy!" he cried, getting up and holding out his hand. "My name's Horsfal,—K. B. Horsfal,—lumberman, meat-packer, and the man whose name is on every trouser-suspender worth wearing. What's yours?"
"George Bremner," I answered simply.
"All right, George, my boy,—see you in ten minutes. But, remember, I called this tune, so I pay the piper."
That was music in my ears and I readily agreed.
"Make it twenty minutes," I suggested. "I have a short letter to write."
I wrote my letter, gave it to the boy to deliver for me and presented myself before my new friend right up to time.
In the half hour's run we had in the electric tram, I learned a great deal about Mr. K. B. Horsfal.
He had migrated from the Midlands of England at the age of seventeen. He had kicked,—or had been kicked,—about the United States for some fifteen years, more or less up against it all the time, as he expressively put it; when, by a lucky chance, in a poverty-stricken endeavour to repair his broken braces, he hit upon a scheme that revolutionised the brace business: was quick enough to see its possibilities, patented his idea and became famous.
Not content to rest on his laurels,—or his braces,—he tackled the lumbering industry in the West and the meat-packing industry in the East, both with considerable success. Now he had to sit down and do some figuring when he wished to find out how many millions of dollars he was worth.
His wife had died years ago and his only daughter was at home in Baltimore.
Altogether, he was a new and delightful type to one like me,—a young man fresh from his ancestral roof in the north of staid and conventional old England.
He was healthy, vigorous, and as keen as the edge of a razor.
On and on he talked, telling me of himself, his work and his projects.
I got to wondering if he were merely setting the proverbial sprat; but the sprat in his case proved the whale. Every moment I expected him to ask me for some confidences in return, but on this point Mr. K. B. Horsfal was silent.
We discovered our golfing ground, which proved to be a fairly good, little, nine-holed country course, rough and full of natural hazards.
K. B. Horsfal could play golf, that I soon found out. He entered into his game with the enthusiasm and grim determination which I imagined he displayed in everything he took a hand in.
He seldom spoke, so intent was he on the proper placing of his feet and the proper adjustment of his hands and his clubs.
Three times we went round that course and three times I had the pleasure of beating him by a margin. He envied me my full swing and my powerful and accurate driving; he studied me every time I approached a green and he scratched his head at some of my long putts; but, most of all, he rhapsodised on my manner of getting out of a hole.
"Man,—if I only had that trick of yours in handling the mashie and the niblick, I could do the round a stroke a hole better, for there isn't a rut, or a tuft, or a bunker in any course that I seem to be able to keep out of."
I showed him the knack of it as it had been taught me by an old professional at Saint Andrews. K. B. Horsfal was in ecstasies, if a two-hundred-pound, keen, brusk, American business man ever allows himself such liberties.
Nothing would please him but that we should go another round, just to test out his new acquisition and give him the hang of the thing.
To his supreme satisfaction,—although I again beat him by the same small margin,—he reduced his score for the round by eight strokes.
On our journey back to the city, he began to talk again, but on a different tack this time.
"George,—you'll excuse me,—but, if I were you I would put that signet ring you are wearing in your pocket."
I looked down at it and reddened, for my ring was manifestly old, as it was manifestly strange in design and workmanship, and apt to betray an identity.
I slipped it off my little finger and placed it in my vest pocket.
My companion laughed.
"'No sooner said than done,'" he quoted. "You see, George,—any one who saw you come in to the hotel last night could tell you had not been travelling for pleasure. The marks of an uncomfortable train journey, in a colonist car, were sticking out all over you. Now, golf clubs and a signet ring like that which you were sporting are enough to tell any man that you have been in the habit of travelling luxuriously and for the love of it."
I could not help admiring my new friend's method of deduction, and I thanked him for his kindly interest.
"Not a bit," he continued, "so long as you don't mind. For, it's like this,—I take it you have left home for some personal reason,—no concern of mine,—you have come out here to start over, or rather, to make a start. Good! You are right to start at the bottom of the hill. But, from the look of you, I fancy you won't stick at anything that doesn't suit you. You are the kind of a fellow who, if you felt like it, would tell a man to go to the devil, then walk off his premises. You see, I don't tab you as a milksop kind of Englishman exactly.
"Well,—out here they don't like Britishers who receive remittances every month from their mas or pas at home, for they have found that that kind is generally not much good. Hope you're not one, George?"
"No!" I laughed, rather ruefully, almost wishing I were. "With me, it is sink or swim. And, I do not mind telling you, Mr. Horsfal, that it will be necessary for me to leave the hotel to-morrow for less pretentious apartments and to start swimming for all I am worth."
"Good!" he cried, as if it were a good joke. "How do you propose starting in?"
"I have already commenced keeping an eye on the advertisements, which seem to be chiefly for real estate salesmen and partners with a little capital," I said.
"But, the fact is, I have made an application this morning for something I thought might suit me. But, even if I am lucky enough to be considered, the chances are there will be some flies in the ointment:—there always are."
My friend looked at me, as I thought, curiously.
"To-morrow morning," I went on, "it is my intention to begin with the near end of the business district and call on every business house, one after another, until I happen upon something that will provide a start.
"I have no love for the grinding in an office, nor yet for the grubbing in a warehouse, but, for a bit, it will be a case of 'needs must when the devil drives,'—so I mean to take anything that I can get, to begin with, and leave the matter of choice to a more opportune time."
"And what would be your choice, George?" he inquired.
"Choice! Well, if you asked me what I thought I was adapted for, I would say, green-keeper and professional golfer; gymnastic instructor; athletic coach; policeman; or, with training and dieting, pugilist. At a pinch, I could teach school."
K. B. Horsfal grinned and looked out of the car window at the apparently never-ending sea of charred tree stumps through which we were passing.
"Not very ambitious, sonny!—eh!"
"No,—that is the worst of it," I answered. "I do not seem to have been planned for anything ambitious. Besides, I have no desire to amass millions at the sacrifice of my peace of mind. Why!—a millionaire cannot call his life his own. He is at the beck and call of everybody. He is consulted here and harassed there. He is dunned, solicited and blackmailed; he is badgered and pestered until, I should fancy, he wished his millions were at the bottom of the deep, blue sea."
"Lord, man!" exclaimed Mr. Horsfal, "but you have hit it right. One would almost think you had been through it yourself."
"I have not," I answered, "but I know most of the diseases that attack the man of wealth."
"Now, you have given me an idea of what you mighthaveto do. But to get back to desire or choice;—what would it be then?" he inquired, as the electric tram passed at last from the tree stumps and began to draw, through signs of habitation, toward the city.
"If I had my desire and my choice, Mr. Horsfal, they would be: in such a climate as we have here but away somewhere up the coast, with the sea in front of me and the trees and the hills behind me; the open air, the sunlight; contending with the natural,—not the artificial,—obstacles of life; work, with a sufficiency of leisure; quiet, when quiet were desired; and, in the evening as the sun went down into the sea or behind the hills, a cosy fire, a good book and my pipe going good."
K. B. Horsfal, millionaire, patentee, lumberman and meat-packer, looked at me, sighed and nodded his head.
"After all, my boy," he said, almost sadly, "I shouldn't wonder if that isn't better than all the hellish wealth-hunting that ever was or ever shall be. Stick to your ideals. Try them out if you can. As for me,—it's too late. I am saturated with the money-getting mania; I am in the maelstrom and I couldn't get out if I tried. I'm in it for good."
Our conversation was brought to an abrupt ending, as Mr. Horsfal had to make a short call at one of the newspaper offices, on some business matter. We got out of the tram together. I waited for him while he made his call, then we walked back leisurely to the hotel; happy, pleasantly tired and hungry as hunters.
I was regaled in the dining-room as the guest of my American friend.
"Are you going to be in for the balance of the evening?" he asked, as I rose to leave him at the conclusion of our after-dinner smoke.
"Yes!"
"Good!" he ejaculated, rather abruptly.
And why he should have thought it "good," puzzled me not a little as I went up in the elevator.
I had been sitting in my room for two hours, reading, and once in a while, thinking over the strange adventures that had befallen me since I had started out from home some three short weeks before. I was trying to picture to myself how it had all gone in the old home; I was wondering if my father's heart had softened any to his absent son.
I reasoned whether, after all, I had done right in interfering between my brother Harry and his fiancee; but, when I thought of poor little Peggy Darrol and the righteous indignation and anger of her brother Jim, I felt, that if I had to go through all of it again, I would do as I had done already.
My telephone bell rang. I answered.
It was the hotel exchange operator.
"Hello!—is that room 280?"
"Yes!" I answered.
"Mr. George Bremner?"
"Yes!"
"A gentleman in room 16 wishes to see you. Right away, if you can, sir!"
"What name?" I asked.
"No name given, sir."
"All right! I'll go down at once. Thank you!"
I laid aside my pipe and threw on my coat. On reaching the right landing, I made my way along an almost interminable corridor, until I stood before the mysterious room 16.
As I entered, a respectably dressed, middle-aged man was coming out, hat in hand. Two others were sitting inside, apparently waiting an interview, while a smart-looking young lady,—evidently a stenographer,—was showing a fourth into the room adjoining.
It dawned on me that this request to call must be the outcome of the letter I had written that morning in answer to the newspaper advertisement.
I immediately assumed what I thought to be the correct, meek expression of a man looking for work; with, I hope, becoming timidity and nervousness, I whispered my name to the young lady. Then I took a seat alongside one of my fellow applicants, who eyed me askance and with what I took to be amused tolerance.
Five minutes, and the young lady ushered out the man who had been on the point of being interviewed as I had come in.
"Mr. Monaghan?" queried the lady.
Mr. Monaghan rose and followed her.
An interval of ten minutes, and Mr. Monaghan went after his predecessor.
"Mr. Rubenstein?" asked the lady.
Mr. Rubenstein, who, every inch of him, looked the part, went through the routine of Mr. Monaghan, leaving me alone in the waiting room.
At last my turn came and I was ushered into the "sanctum." I had put my head only inside the door, when the bluff voice I had learned that day to know shouted merrily:
"Hello! George. What do you know? Come on in and sit down."
And there was Mr. Horsfal, as large as life, sitting behind a desk with a pile of letters in front of him.
I was keenly disappointed and I fear I showed it. Only this,—after all my rising hopes,—the genial Mr. Horsfal wished to chat with me now that he had got his business worries over.
"Why!—what's the matter, son? You look crestfallen."
"I am, too," I answered. "I was not aware which rooms you occupied and, when I received the telephone message to come here and saw those men waiting, I felt sure I had received an answer to my application for a position I saw in the papers this morning."
Mr. Horsfal leaned back in his chair and surveyed me.
"Well,—no need to get crestfallen, George. When you had that thought, your thinking apparatus was in perfect working order."
My eyes showed surprise. "You don't mean——"
"Yes! George."
"What?—'wanted,—alert, strong, handy man, to supervise up-coast property. One who can run country store preferred. Must be sober,'" I quoted.
"The very same. I've been interviewing men for a week now and I'm sick of it. I got your letter this evening. But all day I have had it in my mind that you were the very man I wanted, sent from the clouds right to me."
"But,—but," I exclaimed. "I am afraid I have not the experience a man requires for such a job."
K. B. Horsfal thumped his desk.
"Lord sakes! man,—don't start running yourself down. Boost,—boost yourself for all you're worth."
"Oh, yes! I know," I said. "But this is different. I have become acquainted with you. I cannot sail under false colours. I have no experience. I am a simple baby when it comes to business."
He banged his desk again.
"George,—I'm the boss of this affair. You must just sit back quiet and listen, while I tell you about it; then you can talk as much as you want.
"There's a thousand acres of property that I, or I should say, my daughter Eileen owns some hundred miles up the coast from here. The place is called Golden Crescent Bay. My wife took a fancy to it in the early days, when she came with me on a trip one time I was looking over a timber proposition. I bought it for her for an old song and she grew so fond of the place that she spent three months of every year, as long as she lived, right on that very land. She left it all to Eileen when she died.
"As a business man, I should sell it, for its value has gone away up; but, as a husband, as a father and as a sentimentalist, I just can't do it. It would be like desecration.
"There's two miles of water frontage to it; there's the house we put up, also a little cabin where the present caretaker lives. The only other place within a couple of miles by water and four miles round by land through the bush, is a cottage that stands on the property abutting Eileen's, and close to her bungalow. It has been boarded up and unoccupied for quite a while. Of course, up behind, over the hills, there are ranches here and there, while, across the bay and all up the coast, there are squatters, settlers, fishermen and ranchers for a fare-you-well."
"You say there is a caretaker there already?" I put in.
"Yes!—I was just getting to that. He's an old Klondike miner; came out with a fortune. Spent the most of it before he got sober. Came to, just in time. Now he hoards what's left like an old skinflint. Won't spend a nickel, unless it's on booze. Drinks like a drowning man and it never fizzes on him. A good enough man for what he's been doing, but no good for what I want now."
"You don't want me to do him out of his place, Mr. Horsfal?" I asked.
"I was coming to that, too,—only you're so darned speedy.
"He's all right as a caretaker with little or nothing to do, and he will prove useful to you for odd jobs,—but, I have a salmon cannery some miles north of this place and I am going to have half a dozen lumber camps operating south, and further up, for the next few years. Some of them are going full steam ahead now.
"They require a convenient store, where they can get supplies; grub, oil, gasoline, hardware and such like. I need a man who could look after a proposition of that kind,—good. The settlers would find a store up there a perfect god-send.
"The property at Golden Crescent is easily got at and is the most central to all my places. Now, having an eye to business, and with Eileen's consent, I have decided to convert the large front living-room of her bungalow into a store. It is plain, and can't be hurt. It's just suited for the purpose. I have had some carpenters up there this past week, putting in a counter and shelves and shutting the new store off completely from the rest of the house.
"A stock of groceries, hardware, etc., has already been ordered from the wholesalers and should be up there in a few days.
"Steamers pass Golden Crescent twice a week. When they have anything for you, they whistle and stand by out in the bay; when you want them, you hoist a white flag on the pole, on the rock, at the end of the little wharf; then you row out and meet them.
"These are the main features, George. Oh, yes! I'm paying one hundred dollars a month and all-found to the right man."
He stopped and looked over at me a little anxiously.
"George!—will you take the job?"
"What about those other poor beggars who have applied?" I asked.
"There you are again," he exclaimed impatiently. "They had the same chance as you had. Didn't I even keep you waiting out there till I had seen them in turn. Not one of them has the qualifications you have. I want a man with a brain as well as a body."
"But you don't know me, Mr. Horsfal. I have no friends, no testimonials; and I might be,—why! I might be the biggest criminal unhung."
"Testimonials be blowed! Who wants testimonials? Any dub can get them. As for the other part,—do you think K. B. Horsfal of Baltimore, U. S. A., by this time, doesn't know a man after he has been a whole day in his company?
"Sonny, take it from me,—there are mighty few American business men, who have topped a million dollars, who don't know a man through and through in less time than that, and without asking very many questions, either. Why, man!—that's their business; that's what makes their millions."
There was no resisting K. B. Horsfal.
"Thanks! I'll take the job," I said. "And I'm mighty grateful to you."
"Good boy! You're all right. Leave it there!" His two hands clasped over mine.
"Gee! but I'm glad that's over at last."
"When do I start in?" I asked.
"Right now. I'll phone for a launch to be ready to start up with us to-morrow morning. I'll show you over the proposition and leave you there. Phone for any little personal articles you may want. I'll attend to the bedding and all that sort of thing. Have the boy call you at six a. m. sharp."
Nothing was overlooked by the masterly mind of my new, my first employer.
We breakfasted early. An automobile was standing waiting for us at the hotel entrance; while, at a down-town slip, a trig little launch, already loaded up with our immediate necessities, was in readiness to shoot out through the Narrows as soon as we got aboard.
This launch was named theEdgar Allan Poe, and, in consequence, I felt as if she were an old friend.
As soon as the ropes were cast from the wharf, a glorious feeling of exhilaration started to run through me; for it seemed that I was being loosed from the old life and plunged into a new; a life I had been for so long hungering; the life of the woods, the hills and the sea, the quiet and freedom; the life of my dreams as well as of my waking fancies. Whether or not it would come up to my expectations was a question of conjecture, but I was not in a mood to trouble conjecturing.
The swift little boat fought the tide rip in the Narrows like a lonely explorer defending his life against a horde of surging savages; and, gradually, she nosed her way through, past Prospect Point, then, inclining to the north shore, but heading forward all the time, past the lighthouse which stands sentinel on the rock at Point Atkinson; and away up the coast, leaving the city, with its dizzying and light-blotting sky-scrapers far and still farther behind, until nothing of that busy terminal remained to the observer but a distant haze.
TheEdgar Allan Poethreaded her way rapidly and confidently among the rocks and fertile little islands, up, up northward, ever northward, amid lessening signs of life and habitation; through the beautiful Strait of Georgia.
From eight o'clock in the morning till three o'clock in the afternoon we sailed on, amid a prodigality of scenic beauty,—sea, mountains and islands; islands, mountains and sea,—enjoying every mile of that beautiful trip. We conversed seldom, although there was much to discuss and our time was short.
At last, we sped past a great looming rock, which stood almost sheer out of the sea, then we ran into a glorious bay, where the sea danced and glanced in a fairy ecstasy.
"Golden Crescent Bay," broke in Mr. Horsfal. "How do you like it?"
"It is Paradise," I exclaimed, in breathless admiration. And never have I had reason to change that first impression and opinion.
We ran alongside a rocky headland close to the shore, on which stood two little wooden sheds bearing the numbers one and two. We clambered up.
"Number one is for gasoline; two for oil," volunteered my ever informing employer.
The rock was connected to the shore by a well-built, wooden wharf on piles, which ran directly into what I rightly guessed had been the summer home of Mrs. Horsfal. It was a plainly built cottage and trim as a warship. It bore signs of having been recently painted, while, all around, the grass was trim and tidy.
On the right of this, about fifty yards across, on the same cleared area, but out on a separate rocky headland, stood another well-built cottage, the windows of which were boarded up.
"My property starts ten yards to the south of the wharf here, George, and runs around the bay as far, almost, as it goes, and back to the hills quite a bit. That over there is the other house I spoke to you about. It, and the property to the south, is owned by some one in the Western States.
"But I wonder where the devil old Jake Meaghan is. Folks could land here and walk away with the whole shebang and he would never know of it."
As he spoke, however, a small boat crept out from some little cove about three hundred yards round the bay. It contained a man, who rowed it leisurely toward the wharf. We leaned over the wooden rail and waited.
The man ran the boat into the shingly beach, pulled in his oars, climbed out and made toward us. An Airedale dog, which had evidently been curled up in the bottom of the boat, sprang out after him, keeping close to him and eyeing us suspiciously and angrily.
In appearance the man reminded me of one of R. L. Stevenson's pirates, or one of Jack London's 'longshoremen.
He wore heavy logging boots, brown canvas trousers kept up by a belt, and a brown shirt, showing hairy brown arms and a bared, scraggy throat. A battered, sun-cast, felt hat lay on his head. His face was wrinkled and weather-beaten to the equivalent of tanned hide. He wore great, long, drooping moustaches snow white in colour. His eyes were limpid blue.
"It's you, Mr. Horsfal," he mumbled rather thickly, in a voice that seemed to come from somewhere underground; "didn't know you in the distance."
"Jake,—shake with Mr. George Bremner;—he's going to supervise the place and the new store, same as I explained to you two weeks ago. Hope you make friends. He's to be head boss man, and his word goes; but you'll find him twenty-four carat gold."
"That's darned fine gold, boss," grunted Jake.
He held out his horny hand and grasped mine, exclaiming heartily enough:
"Glad to meet you, George."
He pulled out a plug of tobacco from his hip pocket, brushed some of the most conspicuous dirt and grime from it, bit off what appeared to me to be a mouthful and began to look me over.
"He's new," he grunted, as if to himself; "but he's young and big. He looks tough; he's got the right kind of jaw."
Then he turned to Mr. Horsfal. "Guess, when he gets the edges rubbed off, he'll more than make it, boss," he said.
K. B. Horsfal laughed loudly.
"That's just what I thought myself, Jake. Now, give us the keys to the oil barns and the new store. Go and help unload that baggage and truck from the launch. You can follow your usual bent after that, for I'll be showing George over the place myself."
I found the prospective store just as it had been described: a large, plain, front room, now fitted with shelves and a counter, and all freshly painted. Everything was in readiness to accommodate the stock, most of which was due to arrive the next afternoon. Where a door had been, leading into the other parts of the house, it was now solidly partitioned up, leaving only front and back entrances to the store.
We spent the afternoon in the open air, inspecting the property, which was perfectly situated for scenic beauty, with plenty of cleared, fertile land near the shore and rich in giant timber behind.
In the early part of the evening, after a cold lunch aboard the launch, we went back to the house and, for the first time, Mr. Horsfal inserted a key into the front door of the dwelling proper.
I had been not a little curious regarding this place and I was still wondering where it was intended that I should take up my quarters.
Jake Meaghan seemed all right in his own Klondikish, pork-and-beans-and-a-blanket way, but I hardly fancied him as a rooming partner and a possible bedfellow. To be candid, I never had had a bedfellow in all my life and I had already made up my mind that, rather than suffer one now, I would fix up one of the several empty barns which were scattered here and there over the property, and thus retain my beloved privacy.
My employer pushed his way into the house and invited me to follow him.
I found myself in a small, front room, neatly but plainly furnished. The floor was varnished and two bearskin rugs supplied the only carpeting. It had a mahogany centre table, on which a large oil-burning reading lamp was set. Three wicker chairs, designed solely for comfort, and a stove with an open front helped to complete its comfortable appearance. A number of framed photographs of Golden Crescent and some water colour paintings decorated the plain, wooden walls. In the far corner, beside a small side window, there stood a writing desk; while, all along that side of the wall, on a long curtain pole, there was hung, from brass rings, a heavy green curtain.
I took in what I could in a cursory glance and I marvelled that there could be so much apparent concentrated comfort so far away from city civilisation; but, when my guide pulled aside the curtain on the wall and disclosed rows and rows of books behind a glass front, books ancient and modern, books of religion, philosophy, medicine, history, fiction and poetry,—at least a thousand of them,—I gave up trying any more to fathom what manner of a man he was.
My eyes sparkled and explained to K. B. Horsfal what my voice failed to utter.
"Well,—what d'ye think of it all?" he asked at last.
"It is a delight,—a positive delight," I replied simply.
As I walked over to the front window, I wondered little that Mrs. Horsfal should have loved the place; and, when I looked away out over the dancing waters, upon the beauties of the bay in the changing light of the lowering sun, upon the rocky, fir-dotted island a mile to sea, and upon the lonely-looking homes of the settlers over there two miles away on the far horn of Golden Crescent, with the great background of mountains in purple velvet,—I wondered less.
"Yes! George,—it's pretty near what heaven should be to look at. But I guess it's the same old story that the poet once sang:
"'Where every prospect pleases and only man is vile.'
"That poet kind of forgot that, if what he said was true, it was only the vile man that the prospect could please, eh!
"You notice the house has been cleaned from top to toe. I had that done last week. I see to that every time I come west."
He put his hand on my shoulder. "George, boy,—no one but myself and Eileen has slept under this roof since my wife died, but I want you to make it your home."
I turned to remonstrate.
"Now,—don't say a word," he hurried on. "You can't bluff me with your self-defamatory remarks. You are not a Jake Meaghan, or one of his stamp. You are of the kind that appreciates a home like this to the extent of taking care of it.
"Come and have a look at the other apartments.
"This is the kitchen. It has a pantry and a good cooking-stove. There are four bedrooms in the house. This can be yours;—it's the one I used to occupy. This is a spare one. This is Eileen's. You won't require it; and one never knows when Eileen might take it into her head to come up here and live.
"This is my Helen's room,—my wife's. It has not been changed since she died."
He went in. I remained respectfully in the adjoining apartment. I waited for five minutes.
When he returned, there were tears in his eyes. He locked the door with a sigh.
"George,—here are the keys to the whole she-bang. There isn't much more to keep me here. You have signed the necessary papers in connection with the trust account for $5,000 in the Commercial Bank of Canada in Vancouver. Draw your wages regularly. Pay Jake his fifty a month at the same time. We find his grub for him.
"Run things at a profit if you can, for that's business. Stand strictly to the instructions I have given you regarding orders for supplies from the various camps and from the cannery. Use your own judgment as to credit with the settlers. I leave you a free hand up here.
"Send your monthly reports, addressed to me care of my lawyers, Dow, Cross & Sneddon of Vancouver. They will forward them.
"If any question should arise regarding the property itself, get in touch with the lawyers."
I walked with him down to the launch as he talked.
"Thanks to you, George,—I'll get to Vancouver in the small hours of the morning and I will be able to pull out for Sydney in the afternoon of to-morrow.
"Good-bye, boy. All being well, I'll be back within a year."
In parting with him, as he shook me by the hand, I experienced a tightening in my throat such as I had never felt when parting from any other man either before or since. Yet, I had only known him for two days. I could see that he, also, was similarly affected. It was as if something above and beyond us were making our farewell singularly solemn.