“'A man's a man for a' that;The rank is but the guinea's stamp;The man's the gowd for a' that.'”
At this old McTavish surprised the audience and himself by crying out, “Hear-r-r, hear-r-r,” glancing round defiantly as if daring anyone to take up his challenge.
“In matters of religion,” continued the speaker, “the churches of Canada hold a position of commanding influence, not because of any privileges accorded them by the State, nor because of any adventitious or meretricious aids, but solely because of their ability to minister to the social and spiritual needs of the people.”
Briefly the speaker proceeded to touch upon some characteristic features of Canadian political institutions.
“Nowhere in the world,” he said, “do the people of a country enjoy a greater measure of freedom. We belong to a great world Empire. This connection we value and mean to cherish, but our Imperial relations do not in the slightest degree infringe upon our liberties. The Government of Canada is autonomous. Forty-six years ago the four provinces of Canada were united into a single Dominion with representative Government of the most complete kind. Canada is a Democracy, and in no Democracy in the world does the will of the people find more immediate and more complete expression than in our Dominion. With us political liberty is both a heritage and an achievement, a heritage from our forefathers who made this Empire what it is, and an achievement of our own people led by great and wise statesmen. This priceless possession of liberty we shall never surrender, for the nation that surrenders its liberty, no matter what other possessions it may retain, has lost its soul.”
The address concluded with an appeal to the people for loyal devotion to the daily duties of life in their various relations as members of families, members of the community, citizens of the Province and of the Dominion. In the applause that followed the conclusion of this address, even old McTavish was observed to contribute his share with something amounting almost to enthusiasm.
It was finally agreed that a part at least of the responsibility for the disturbance which marred the harmony of the Dominion Day celebration at Wolf Willow upon this occasion must rest on the shoulders of Mr. Alvin P. Jones. The impressive presentation by Mr. Gilchrist of Canada's greatness and the splendour of her future appeared to stimulate Mr. Jones to unusual flights of oratory. Under ordinary circumstances Mr. Jones' oratory was characterised by such extraordinary physical vigour, if not violence, and by such a fluency of orotund and picturesque speech, that with the multitude sound passed for eloquence and platitudes on his lips achieved the dignity of profound wisdom. Building upon the foundation laid by the previous speaker, Mr. Jones proceeded to extol the grandeur of the Dominion, the wonders of her possessions, the nobility of her people, the splendour of her institutions, the glory of her future. He himself was not by birth a Canadian, but so powerful a spell had the Dominion cast over him that he had become a Canadian by adoption. Proud of his American birth and citizenship, he was even more proud of his Canadian citizenship. He saw before him a large number of American citizens who had come to throw in their lot with the Dominion of Canada. He believed they had done a wise thing, and that among the most loyal citizens of this Dominion none would be found more devoted to the material welfare and the spiritual well-being of Canada than those who came from the other side of the line. He saw a number of those who were sometimes improperly called foreigners. He said “improperly” because whatever their origin, whether Ruthenian, Swede, French, German, or whatever their race might be, here they were simply Canadians with all the rights of Canadian citizenship assured to them. He was glad to see so many of his German friends present. They represent a great nation whose achievements in every department of human activity, in learning, in industrial enterprise, in commerce, were the envy and admiration of the world (excursus here in glorification of the great German people): To these, his German fellow citizens, he would say that no matter how deep their devotion to the Vaterland (Mr. Jones pronounced it with a “v”) he knew they would be loyal citizens of Canada. The German Empire had its differences and disagreements with Great Britain, the American Republic has had the same, and indeed it was possible that there were a number present who might not cherish any very passionate regard for the wealthy, complaisant, self-contained somewhat slow-going old gentleman, John Bull. But here in Canada, we were all Canadians! First, last and all the time, Canadians (great applause). Whatever might be said of other countries, their wealth, their power, their glory, Canada was good enough for him (more applause, followed by a further elaboration of Canada's vast resources, etc., etc.). Canada's future was unclouded by the political complications and entanglements of the older countries in Europe. For one hundred years they had been at peace with the Republic south of that imaginary line which delimited the boundaries, but which did not divide the hearts of these two peoples (great applause). For his part, while he rejoiced in the greatness of the British Empire he believed that Canada's first duty was to herself, to the developing here of a strong and sturdy national spirit. Canada for Canadians, Canada first, these were the motives that had guided his life both in public service and as a private citizen (loud applause). In this country there was a place for all, no matter from what country they came, a place for the Ruthenian (enumeration of the various European and Asiatic states from which potential citizens of Canada had come). Let us join hands and hearts in building up a great empire where our children, free from old-world entanglements, free to develop in our own way our own institutions (eloquent passages on freedom) in obedience to laws of our own making, defended by the strong arms and brave hearts of our own sons, aided (here the speaker permitted himself a smile of gentle humour) by the mighty wing of the American eagle (references to the Monroe Doctrine and its protection of Canada's shores) we shall abide in peace and security from all aggression and all alarm. (Thunderous and continued applause, during which the speaker resumed his seat.)
It was old McTavish who precipitated the trouble. The old Highlander belonged to a family that boasted a long line of fighting forbears. Ever since The Forty-five when the German king for the time occupying the English throne astutely diverted the martial spirit of the Scottish clans from the business of waging war against his own armies, their chief occupation, to that of fighting his continental foes, The McTavish was to be found ever in the foremost ranks of British men-of-war, joyously doing battle for his clan and for his king, who, if the truth were told, he regarded with scant loyalty. Like so many of the old timers in western Canada, this particular McTavish had been at one time a servant of the Hudson Bay Company and as such had done his part in the occupation, peaceful and otherwise, of the vast territories administered by that great trading company. In his fiery fighting soul there burned a passionate loyalty to the name and fame of the land of his birth, and a passionate pride in the Empire under whose flag the Company's ships had safely sailed the northern seas and had safely traded in these vast wild lands for nearly three hundred years. Deep as this loyalty and pride in the soul of him there lay a cold suspicion of the Yankee. He had met him in those old days of trade war, had suffered and had seen his Company suffer from his wiles, and finally had been compelled to witness with bitter but unavailing hate the steady encroachment of those rival traders upon the ancient prerogatives and preserves of his own Company, once the sole and undisputed lords of the northern half of the American continent. In the person of Mr. Alvin P. Jones, McTavish saw the representative of those ancient enemies of his, and in the oration to which he had just listened he fancied he detected a note of disloyalty to the flag, a suggestion of a break in the allegiance of Canada to the Empire, and worst of all, a hint that Canada might safely depend for protection upon something other than the naval power which had guarded the shores of his country these many years from enemy invasion. These things wrought in old McTavish an uncontrollable anger, and no sooner had the tumultuous applause died away than he was on his feet and in a high, rasping voice demanding audience.
“Will ye per-r-rmit me, Mr. Chair-r-rman, a few words in regar-r-d to the remarkable address to which we haf listened?” Permission was graciously granted by the chairman, surprise and complaisant delight mantling the steaming face of Mr. Alvin P. Jones, albeit at his heart there lurked a certain uneasiness, for on more than one occasion had he suffered under the merciless heckling of the little Scotchman.
“'Tis a wonderful address we haf been hearing, an eloquent address. Some of it iss true an' some of it iss lies [commotion in the audience—the smile on Mr. Alvin P. Jones's face slightly less expansive]. The speaker has told us about Canada, its great extent, its vast r-r-resources. Some of us haf known about these things while yet his mother was still sucking him [snickers of delight from the younger members of the audience and cries of, 'Go to it, Mack]. 'Tis a great Dominion whatefer and will be a gr-r-reater Dominion yet so lang as it keeps to right ways. He has told us of the mighty achievements of Cher-r-rmany. I will jist be askin' him what has Cher-r-rmany done for this country or for any country but her ainsel? She has cluttered us up wi' pot-metal, cutlery an' such things, an' cheap cloth that ye can put yer finger through, an' that will be done in a month's wear-r-ring. Musick, ye'll be sayin'! Musick! I was in Calgary not long since. They took me to what they will be callin' a music-kale [delighted roars of laughter from the audience]. A music-kale indeed! I haf hear-r-rd of cauld kale an' het kale, of kale porridge an' kale brose, but nefer haf I hear-r-rd before of a music-kale. Bless me, man, I cud make neither head nor tail o' it, and they wer-r-re no better themsel's. They had printed notes about it an' a bit man makin' a speech about it, but not one of them knew a thing about the hale hypotheck. Musick, quare musick I call it! If it is musick yer wantin', gif me Angus there wi' the pipes [wild cheers testifying to Angus's popularity] or the master-r-r himsel' an' the young lady here [this with a courteous bow to Miss Switzer] wi' their feeddles. That's what I will be callin' musick. An' lairnin'! Lairnin' that will lay sacraleegious hands upon the Sacred Word, an' tear-r-r it to bits. That like thing the Cher-r-rman lairnin' is doin', and ye can ask Mr. Rhye yonder. An' other things the Cher-r-rmans are doin' that keep us all from restin' quiet in our beds. Let them come her-r-re to us if they will. Let them come from all the countries of the ear-r-rth. We will share wi' them what we haf, provided they will be behavin' themsel's and mindin' their peeziness. But this man is sayin' somethin' more. He is tellin' us how safe we are, an' that the great Republic south o' us will be guar-r-rdin' us frae our enemies. I doubt it will be the fox guar-r-rdin' the chicken frae the weasel. Now I'll ask this gentleman what it is that has guar-r-rded these shores for the past two hundred and fifty year-r-rs? I will tell him—the Br-r-ritish Navy. What has kept the peace of Europe once an' again? The Br-r-ritish Navy. Aye, what has protected America not once or twice frae her enemies? The Br-r-ritish Navy, an' that same Br-r-ritish Navy is gude enough fer me.”
The tumultuous din that followed the conclusion of the cantankerous little Highlander's speech was beyond all words, but before the chairman could get to his feet, through the uproar a voice strident with passion was demanding a hearing. “Mr. Ernest Switzer has the floor,” said the chairman.
The young man's face was white and his voice shaking when he began. “Mr. Chairman, Ladies and Gentlemen: I stand here to claim the fair play that you say is British for myself and for my race. I am a Canadian citizen. I was born in America, but my blood is German. As a Canadian citizen, as an American by birth, as a German by blood, I have been insulted to-night, and I demand the right to reply to the man who has insulted me. There are Canadians here to guard their own honour; the Americans can be trusted to protect themselves. Germany is not here to refute the slanders uttered against her, but I claim the honour to speak for that great nation, for she is a great nation. There is none greater. There is none so great in the world to-day.” The young man's voice rang out with passionate conviction, his pale set face, his blue eyes flaming with rage proclaimed the intensity of his emotion. Before his flaming passion the audience was subdued into a silence tense and profound. “What has Germany done for the world? this man asks. I would like to ask in reply where he has lived for the last twenty-five years, and if during those years he has read anything beyond his local newspaper? What has Germany done for the world? Germany has shown the way to the world, even to America, in every activity of life, in industrial organisation, in scientific inquiry in the laboratory and in the practical application of science to every-day life. Where do your philosophers go for their training? To German universities where they seek to understand the philosophy of the immortal Emanuel Kant. Where in the world has social reform reached its highest achievement? In Germany. Where do you go for your models for municipal government? To Germany. Mention any department of human enterprise to-day and in that department Germany stands easily in the lead. This man asks what has kept Europe at peace all these years, and suggests the British Navy, the one constant menace to the peace of Europe and to the freedom of the seas. No, if you ask who has kept the peace of Europe I will tell you. The German Kaiser, Wilhelm II. To him and to the Empire of which he is the glorious head Europe owes its peace and the world its greatest blessings to-day.”
When Switzer sat down a half a dozen men were on their feet demanding to be heard. Above the din a quiet, but penetrating voice was distinguished. “Mr. Romayne has the floor,” said the Reverend Mr. Rhye, who himself was tingling with desire for utterance. Mr. Romayne's appearance and voice suggested the boredom of one who felt the whole thing to be rather a nuisance.
“Ladies and Gentlemen,” he began, “I must apologise for venturing to speak at all, having so recently come to this country, though I am glad to say that I have been received with such cordial kindness that I do not feel myself a stranger.”
“You're all right, Jack,” cried a voice. “You're right at home.”
“I am at home,” said Jack, “and that is one thing that makes me able to speak. Few of you can understand the feeling that comes to one who, travelling six thousand miles away from the heart of the Empire, finds himself still among his own folk and under the same old flag. Nor can I express the immense satisfaction and pride that come to me when I find here in this new world a virile young nation offering a welcome to men of all nationalities, an equal opportunity to make home and fortune for themselves, and find also these various nationalities uniting in the one purpose of building solid and secure an outpost of the Empire to which we all belong. I rise chiefly to say two things. The first is that if Germany continues in her present mind she will be at war with our country within a very short time. The young man who has just sat down assures us that Germany is a great country. Let us at once frankly grant this fact, for indeed it is a fact. Whether she is as wonderful or as great as she thinks herself to be may be doubted. But it is of importance to know that the opinion stated here to-night is the opinion held by the whole body of the German people from the Kaiser to the lowest peasant in the Empire. The universal conviction throughout that Empire is that not only is Germany the greatest nation on earth, but that it has a divine mission to confer her own peculiar quality of civilisation upon the other nations of Europe, and indeed upon the whole world. We might not quarrel with Germany for cherishing this pleasing opinion in regard to herself, but when this opinion is wrought into a purpose to dominate the whole world in order that this mission might be accomplished the thing takes on a somewhat serious aspect. Let me repeat, Germany is a great nation, marvellously organised in every department of her life, agricultural, manufacturing, educational, commercial. But to what intent? What is the purpose dominating this marvellous organisation? The purpose, Ladies and Gentlemen, is war. The supreme industry of the German nation is the manufacturing of a mighty war machine. I challenge the gentleman who has just spoken to deny either of these statements, that Germany believes that she has a definite mission to lift up the other nations of Europe to her own high level and that to fulfil this mission it is necessary that she be in a position of control.” The speaker paused for a moment or two. “He cannot deny these because he knows they are true. The second thing I wish to say is that the Kaiser means war and is waiting only for the favourable moment. I believe it is correct to say that for many years after his accession to the throne he used his influence on the side of peace, but I have every reason to believe that for some years past he has cherished another purpose, the purpose of war.”
At this point Switzer sprang to his feet and cried, “I challenge the truth of that statement. Modern European history proves it to be false, and again and again the Kaiser has prevented war. So much is this the case that the trustees of the only European fund that recognises distinguished service in the interests of peace bestowed upon the Kaiser the Nobel Prize.”
“That is quite true,” replied Mr. Romayne. “But let me recall to this young man's mind a few facts. In 1875 Bismarck was determined to make war upon France. He was prevented by the united action of England and Russia. Germany made the same attempt in '87 and '91. In 1905 so definite was the threat of war that France avoided it only by dismissing her war minister, Delcasse. Perhaps my young friend remembers the Casablanca incident in 1908 where again the Kaiser threatened France with war. Indeed, for the last twenty years, even while he was doubtless anxious to maintain peace, he has been rattling his sword in his scabbard and threatening war against the various nations of Europe. In most of these cases even when he wanted peace he bluffed with threats of war. Then came the Agadir incident in 1911 when once more the Kaiser bluffed. But Great Britain called his bluff that time and the great War Lord had to back down with great loss of prestige not only with his own people but with the whole of Europe. It hurt the Kaiser to think that any nation in Europe should move in any direction without his consent. Agadir taught him that he must quit bluffing or make up his mind to fight.”
Again Switzer was upon his feet. “This is a slanderous falsehood,” he cried. “How does this man know?”
“I happened to be there,” was the quiet reply.
“How do we know?” again cried Switzer.
“Will you kindly repeat that remark?” said Mr. Romayne quietly.
“I believe this statement,” shouted Switzer, “to be a slanderous falsehood.”
“If you accuse me of falsehood,” said Romayne even more quietly, “that is a matter of which we shall not discuss here, but later. But these statements that I have made are history. All Germany knows, all Europe knows, that at Agadir the Kaiser backed down. He was not ready to fight, and he lost prestige by it. When Italy, one of the Triple Alliance, went to war against Turkey without consulting him, this lowered still further German prestige. In the late Balkan War Germany was again humiliated. She backed the wrong horse. Her protege and pupil in war, Turkey, was absolutely beaten. These things convince me that Germany knows that her hope of dominating Europe is rapidly waning, and she believes that this hope can only be realised by war and, therefore, I repeat that the Kaiser and his people are only waiting a favourable moment to launch war upon Europe and more particularly upon the British Empire, which, along with the great American democracy, stands between her and the realisation of her dream.”
“The British Empire!” cried Switzer scornfully as Romayne took his seat, “the British Empire! at the first stern blow this ramshackle empire will fall to pieces. Then Great Britain will be forced to surrender her robber hold upon these great free states which she has stolen and which she now keeps in chains.” (Cries of “Never!” “Rot!” “Shut your trap!”) Switzer sprang to his feet and, shaking his fist in their faces, cried: “I know what I am saying. This you will see before many months have passed.”
Again Romayne rose to his feet and waited till a silence fell upon the audience. “Ladies and Gentlemen,” he said solemnly, “this German officer knows what he is talking about. That Germany within a few months will make her supreme attempt to smash the British Empire I believe is certain. I am equally certain that the result of that attempt will not be what this gentleman anticipates and desires.”
For some moments the silence remained unbroken. Then young Monteith sprang to his feet and led the audience in a succession of mad cheers that indicated the depth of passion to which they were stirred. After the cheering had subsided Larry rose and in a slightly querulous tone and with a humorous smile upon his face he said:
“Mr. Chairman, don't you think we are becoming unnecessarily serious? And are there not certain things on which we all agree? First that we are all Canadians, first, last and all the time. Secondly, that we greatly respect and admire our American cousins and we desire only better mutual acquaintance for our mutual good. Third, that we are loyal to and immensely proud of our Empire, and we mean to stick to it. And fourth, that Germany is a great country and has done great things for the world. As to the historical questions raised, these are not settled by discussion but by reliable historic documents. As to the prophecies made, we can accept or reject them as we choose. Personally I confess that I am unable to get up any real interest in this German war menace. I believe Germany has more sense, not to say proper Christian feeling, than to plunge herself and the world into war. I move, Mr. Chairman, that we pass to the next order of business.”
“Hear! Hear!” cried some. “Go on with the programme.”
“No! No!” said others. “Let's have it out.”
“Mr. Chairman,” said Hec Ross, rising to his feet, “this thing is better than any silly old programme, let's have it out.”
But the chairman, much against his inclination, for he was a fighter, ruled otherwise. “The differences that separate us from one another here to-night are not differences that can be settled by argument. They are differences that are due partly to our history and partly to the ideals which we cherish. We shall go on with the programme.”
At first the people were in no mood for mere amusement. They had been made to face for a brief moment the great and stern reality of war. The words and more the manner of Jack Romayne had produced a deep sense in their minds of the danger of a European conflagration, and the ominous words of the young German spoken as from intimate knowledge only served to deepen the impression made by Romayne. But the feeling was transitory, and speedily the possibility of war was dismissed as unthinkable. The bogey of a German war was familiar and therefore losing its power to disturb them. So after two or three musical numbers had been given the audience had settled back into its normal state of mind which accepted peace as the natural and permanent condition for the world.
The entertainment would have come to a perfectly proper and harmonious close had it not been for the unrestrained exuberance of Sam's humorous qualities on the one hand and the complete absence of sense of humour in Ernest Switzer on the other. The final number on the programme, which was to be a series of humorous character sketches, had been left entirely in Sam's hands and consisted of a trilogy representing the characteristics as popularly conceived of the French Canadian habitant, the humorous Irishman and the obese Teuton. Sam's early association with the vaudeville stage had given him a certain facility in the use of stage properties and theatrical paraphernalia generally, and this combined with a decided gift of mimicry enabled him to produce a really humorous if somewhat broadly burlesqued reproduction of these characters. In the presentation of his sketch Sam had reserved to the close his representation of the obese Teuton. The doings of this Teuton, while sending the audience into roars of laughter, had quite a different effect upon Switzer, who after a few moments of wrathful endurance made toward the rear of the audience.
Meantime the obese Teuton has appeared upon the stage in a famished condition demanding vociferously and plaintively from the world at large sausage. But no sausage is available. At this point a stray dog wanders upon the stage. With a cry of delight the famished Teuton seizes the unfortunate cur and joyously announcing that now sausage he will have, forthwith disappears. Immediately from the wings arise agonised canine howlings with which mingles the crashing of machinery. Gradually the howlings die into choking silence while the crash of the machinery proceeds for a few moments longer. Thereupon reappears the Teuton, ecstatic and triumphant, bearing with him a huge sausage, which he proceeds to devour with mingled lamentations over his departed “hund” and raptures over its metamorphosed condition. In the midst of this mingled lamentation and rapture is heard in the distance upon a mouth organ band the sound of the German national air. The Teuton is startled, drops his sausage upon the stage and exclaiming “Der Kronprinz,” hastily beats a retreat.
At the mention of this august name Switzer disappears from the rear of the audience and makes his way to the back of the stage. In the meantime, to the accompaniment of organs and drums, appears upon the stage no less a personage than “der Kronprinz,” to the reproduction of whose features Sam's peculiar facial appearance admirably lends itself. From this point the action proceeds with increased rapidity. No sooner had “der Kronprinz,” who is also in a famished condition, appeared upon the stage than his eyes light upon the sausage. With a cry of delight he seizes it and proceeds ravenously to devour it. But at the first mouthful renewed howlings arise. “Der Kronprinz,” in a state of intense excitement, drops his sausage and begins a wild search in the corners of the stage and in the wings for the source of the uproar. The sausage thus abandoned, aided by an invisible cord, wabbles off the stage before the eyes of the wondering and delighted audience. Thereafter “der Kronprinz” reappears with his “hund” under his arm and begins an active and distracted search for his precious sausage. Disappointed in his search for the sausage and rendered desperate by his famished condition, he seizes the wretched cur and begins gnawing at the tail and retires from the scene, accompanied by the howls of the unhappy canine and the applauding shouts of the audience.
Meantime while Sam is engaged in executing a lightning change from the role of “der Kronprinz” to that of the original obese Teuton, Switzer beside himself with rage comes upon him at the precise moment when he is engaged in tying up his shoe preparatory to making his final entry upon the stage. The posture is irresistibly inviting. The next instant the astonished audience beholds the extraordinary spectacle of the obese Teuton under the impulse of the irate Switzer's boot in rapid flight across the stage upon all fours, bearing down with terrific speed upon the rear of the unsuspecting chairman who, facing the audience and with a genial smile upon his countenance, is engaged in applauding Sam's previous performance. Making frantic but futile efforts to recover himself, Sam plunges head on with resistless impact full upon the exact spot where the legs of the parson effect a junction with the rest of his person and carries that gentleman with him clear off the stage and fairly upon the top of old McTavish, who at that moment is engaged in conversation with little Miss Haight immediately behind him. Immediately there is a terrific uproar, in which through the delighted yells of the crowd, the crashing of the overturned chairs, and the general confusion could be heard the shrieks of the little spinster and weird Scotch oaths from McTavish. After the noise had somewhat subsided and when the confusion had been reduced to a semblance of order, McTavish was discovered with his hand upon the collar of the dazed parson who in turn held the obese Teuton in a firm and wrathful grip, at which once more the whole crowd rocked with an unholy but uncontrollable joy.
It was Larry who saved the situation by appearing upon the stage and gravely announcing that this unfortunate catastrophe was due to a sudden international upheaval which as usual in such cases had come about in an absolutely unexpected manner and as a result of misunderstandings and mistakes for which no one could be held responsible. He proposed in the name of the audience votes of thanks to those who had laboured so diligently to make the Dominion Day celebration so great a success, especially to the ladies and gentlemen who had served upon the various committees, to the speakers of the evening, to those who had provided the entertainment, and last but not least to the chairman who had presided with such grace and dignity over the proceedings of the evening. The motion was carried with tumultuous applause, and after the singing of “The Maple Leaf” and the national anthem, the meeting came to a close.
After the entertainment was over Larry and his mother slowly took the trail homewards, declining many offers of a lift from their friends in cars and carriages. It was the Harvest Moon. Upon the folds of the rolling prairie, upon the round tops of the hills, upon the broad valleys, and upon the far-away peaks in the west the white light lay thick and soft like a mantle. Above the white-mantled world the concave of the sky hung blue and deep and pricked out with pale star points. About the world the night had thrown her mystic jewelled robes of white and blue, making a holy shrine, a very temple of peace for God and man. For some minutes they walked together in silence, after they had bidden good-night to the last of their friends.
“What a world it is, Mother!” said Larry, gazing about him at the beauty of the night.
“Yes, but alas, alas, that God's own children should spoil all this glory with hatred and strife! This very night in the unhappy Balkan States men are killing each other. It is too sad and too terrible to think of. Oh, if men would be content only to do justly by each other.”
“Those people of the Balkan States are semi-barbarians,” said Larry, “and therefore war between them is to be expected; but I cannot get myself to believe in the possibility of war between Christians, civilised nations to-day. But, Mother, for the first time in my life, listening to those two men, Romayne and Switzer, I had a feeling that war might be possible. Switzer seemed so eager for it, and so sure about it, didn't he? And Romayne, too, seemed ready to fight. But then I always remember that military men and military nations are for ever talking war.”
“That is quite true, my dear,” said his mother. “I too find it difficult to believe that war is possible in spite of what we have heard to-night. Our Friends at Home do not believe that war is imminent. They tell me that the feeling between Germany and Britain is steadily improving.”
“And yet two years ago, Mother, in connection with the Agadir incident war might have happened any minute.”
“That is true,” replied his mother, “but every year of peace makes war less likely. The Friends are working and praying for a better understanding between these nations, and they are very confident that these peace delegations that are exchanging visits are doing a great deal for peace. Your Uncle Matthew, who has had a great deal to do with them, is very hopeful that a few years of peace will carry us past the danger point.”
“Well, I hope so, Mother. I loathe the very thought of war,” said Larry. “I think I am like you in this. I never did fight, you know; as a boy I always got out of it. Do you know, Mother, I think I would be afraid to fight.”
“I hope so,” replied his mother. “Fighting is no work for man, but for brute.”
“But you would not be afraid, Mother. I know you would stand up to anything.”
“Oh, no, no,” cried his mother. “I could stand up to very little. After all, it is only God that makes strong to endure.”
“But it is not quite the question of enduring, it is not the suffering, Mother. It is the killing. I don't believe I could kill a man, and yet in the Bible they were told to kill.”
“But surely, Larry, we read our Bible somewhat differently these days. Surely we have advanced since the days of Abraham. We do not find our Lord and master commanding men to kill.”
“But, Mother, in these present wars should not men defend their women and children from such outrages as we read about?”
“When it comes to the question of defending women and children it seems to me that the question is changed,” said his mother. “As to that I can never quite make up my mind, but generally speaking we hold that it is the Cross, not the sword, that will save the world from oppression and break the tyrant's power.”
“But after all, Mother,” replied Larry, “it was not Smithfield that saved England's freedom, but Naseby.”
“Perhaps both Naseby and Smithfield,” said his mother. “I am not very wise in these things.”
At the door of their house they came upon Nora sitting in the moonlight. “Did you meet Ernest and Mr. Romayne?” she inquired. “They've only gone five minutes or so. They walked down with us.”
“No, we did not meet them.”
“You must be tired after the wild excitement of the day, Mother,” said Nora. “I think you had better go at once to bed. As for me, I am going for a swim.”
“That's bully; I'm with you,” said Larry.
In a few minutes they were dressed in their bathing suits, and, wrapped up in their mackintosh coats, they strolled toward the little lake.
“Let's sit a few moments and take in this wonderful night,” said Nora. “Larry, I want to talk to you about what we heard to-night from those two men. They made me feel that war was not only possible but near.”
“It did not impress me in the very least,” said Larry. “They talked as military men always talk. They've got the war bug. These men have both held commissions in their respective armies. Romayne, of course, has seen war, and they look at everything from the military point of view.”
As he was speaking there came across the end of the lake the sound of voices. Over the water the still air carried the words distinctly to their ears.
“Explain what?” It was Switzer's voice they heard, loud and truculent.
“Just what you meant by the words 'slanderous falsehood' which you used to-night,” replied a voice which they recognised to be Jack Romayne's.
“I meant just what I said.”
“Did you mean to impugn my veracity, because—”
“Because what?”
“Because if you did I should have to slap your face just now.”
“Mein Gott! You—!”
“Not so loud,” said Romayne quietly, “unless you prefer an audience.”
“You schlap my face!” cried the German, in his rage losing perfect control of his accent. “Ach, if you were only in my country, we could settle this in the only way.”
“Perhaps you will answer my question.” Romayne's voice was low and clear and very hard. “Did you mean to call me a liar? Yes or no.”
“A liar,” replied the German, speaking more quietly. “No, it is not a question of veracity. It is a question of historical accuracy.”
“Oh, very well. That's all.”
“No, it is not all,” exclaimed the German. “My God, that I should have to take insult from you! In this country of barbarians there is no way of satisfaction except by the beastly, the savage method of fists, but some day we will show you schwein of England—”
“Stop!” Romayne's voice came across the water with a sharp ring like the tap of a hammer on steel. “You cannot use your hands, I suppose? That saves you, but if you say any such words again in regard to England or Englishmen, I shall have to punish you.”
“Punish me!” shouted the German. “Gott in Himmel, that I must bear this!”
“They are going to fight,” said Nora in an awed and horrified voice. “Oh, Larry, do go over.”
“He-l-l-o,” cried Larry across the water. “That you, Switzer? Who is that with you? Come along around here, won't you?”
There was a silence of some moments and then Romayne's voice came quietly across the water. “That you, Gwynne? Rather late to come around, I think. I am off for home. Well, Switzer, that's all, I think, just now. I'll say good-night.” There was no reply from Switzer.
“You won't come then?” called Larry. “Well, goodnight, both of you.”
“Good-night, good-night,” came from both men.
“Do you think they will fight?” said Nora.
“No, I think not. There's Switzer riding off now. What fools they are.”
“And Jack Romayne is so quiet and gentlemanly,” said Nora.
“Quiet, yes, and gentlemanly, yes too. But I guess he'd be what Sam calls a 'bad actor' in a fight. Oh, these men make me tired who can't have a difference of opinion but they must think of fighting.”
“Oh, Larry, I don't understand you a bit,” cried Nora. “Of course they want to fight when they get full of rage. I would myself.”
“I believe you,” said Larry. “You are a real Irish terrier. You are like father. I am a Quaker, or perhaps there's another word for it. I only hope I shall never be called on to prove just what I am. Come on, let's go in.”
For a half hour they swam leisurely to and fro in the moonlit water. But before they parted for the night Nora returned to the subject which they had been discussing.
“Larry, I don't believe you are a coward. I could not believe that of you,” she said passionately; “I think I would rather die.”
“Well, don't believe it then. I hope to God I am not, but then one can never tell. I cannot see myself hitting a man on the bare face, and as for killing a fellow being, I would much rather die myself. Is that being a coward?”
“But if that man,” breathed Nora hurriedly, for the household were asleep, “if that man mad with lust and rage were about to injure your mother or your sisters—”
“Ah,” said Larry, drawing in his breath quickly, “that would be different, eh?”
“Good-night, you dear goose,” said his sister, kissing him quickly. “I am not afraid for you.”
It was early in July that Mr. Gwynne met his family with a proposition which had been elaborated by Ernest Switzer to form a company for the working of Nora's mine. With characteristic energy and thoroughness Switzer had studied the proposition from every point of view, and the results of his study he had set down in a document which Mr. Gwynne laid before his wife and children for consideration. It appeared that the mine itself had been investigated by expert friends of Switzer's from the Lethbridge and Crows' Nest mines. The reports of these experts were favourable to a degree unusual with practical mining men, both as to the quality and quantity of coal and as to the cost of operation. The quality was assured by the fact that the ranchers in the neighbourhood for years had been using the coal in their own homes. In addition to this Switzer had secured a report from the Canadian Pacific Railway engineers showing that the coal possessed high steaming qualities. And as to quantity, the seam could be measured where the creek cut through, showing enough coal in sight to promise a sufficient supply to warrant operation for years to come. In brief, the report submitted by the young German was that there was every ground for believing that a paying mine, possibly a great mine, could be developed from the property on Mr. Gwynne's land. In regard to the market, there was of course no doubt. Every ton of coal produced could be sold at the mine mouth without difficulty. There remained only the question of finance to face. This also Switzer had considered, and the result of his consideration was before them in a detailed scheme. By this scheme a local company was to be organised with a capitalisation of $500,000, which would be sufficient to begin with. Of this amount $200,000 should be assigned to the treasury, the remaining $300,000 disposed of as follows: to Mr. Gwynne, as owner of the mine, should be allotted $151,000 stock, thus giving him control; the remaining $149,000 stock should be placed locally. The proposition contained an offer from Switzer to organise the company and to place the stock, in consideration for which service he asked a block of stock such as the directors should agree upon, and further that he should be secretary of the company for a term of five years at a salary of $2,000 per annum, which should be a first charge upon the returns from the mine.
“Ernest insists on being secretary?” said Nora.
“Yes, naturally. His interests are all here. He insists also that I be president.”
“And why, Dad?” enquired Nora.
“Well,” said Mr. Gwynne, with a slight laugh, “he frankly says he would like to be associated with me in this business. Of course, he said some nice things about me which I need not repeat.”
“Oh pshaw!” exclaimed Nora, patting him on the shoulder, “I thought you were a lot smarter man than that. Can't you see why he wants to be associated with you? Surely you don't need me to tell you.”
“Nora dear, hush,” said her mother.
With an imploring look at her sister, Kathleen left the room.
“Indeed, Mother, I think it is no time to hush. I will tell you, Dad, why he wants to be associated with you in this coal mine business. Ernest Switzer wants our Kathleen. Mother knows it. We all know it.”
Her father gazed at her in astonishment.
“Surely this is quite unwarranted, Nora,” he said. “I cannot allow a matter of this kind to be dragged into a matter of business.”
“How would it do to take a few days to turn it over in our minds?” said his wife. “We must not forget, dear,” she continued, a note of grave anxiety in her voice, “that if we accept this proposition it will mean a complete change in our family life.”
“Family life, Mother,” said Mr. Gwynne with some impatience. “You don't mean—”
“I mean, my dear,” replied the mother, “that we shall no longer be ranchers, but shall become coal miners. Let us think it over and perhaps you might consult with some of our neighbours, say with Mr. Waring-Gaunt.”
“Surely, surely,” replied her husband. “Your advice is wise, as always. I shall just step over to Mr. Waring-Gaunt's immediately.”
After Mr. Gwynne's departure, the others sat silent for some moments, their minds occupied with the question raised so abruptly by Nora.
“You may as well face it, Mother,” said the girl. “Indeed, you must face it, and right now. If this Company goes on with Ernest as secretary, it means that he will necessarily be thrown into closer relationship with our family. This will help his business with Kathleen. This is what he means. Do you wish to help it on?”
The mother sat silent, her face showing deep distress. “Nora dear,” at length she said, “this matter is really not in our hands. Surely you can see that. I can't discuss it with you.” And so saying she left the room.
“Now, Nora,” said Larry severely, “you are not to worry Mother. And besides you can't play Providence in this way. You must confess that you have a dreadful habit of trying to run things. I believe you would have a go at running the universe.”
“Run things?” cried Nora. “Why not? There is altogether too much of letting things slide in this family. It is all very well to trust to Providence. Providence made the trees grow in the woods, but this house never would have been here if Mr. Sleighter had not got on to the job. Now I am going to ask you a straight question. Do you want Ernest Switzer to have Kathleen?”
“Well, he's a decent sort and a clever fellow,” began Larry.
“Now, Larry, you may as well cut that 'decent sort,' 'clever fellow' stuff right out. I want to know your mind. Would you like to see Ernest Switzer have Kathleen, or not?”
“Would you?” retorted her brother.
“No. I would not,” emphatically said Nora.
“Why not?”
“To tell the truth, ever since that concert night I feel I can't trust him. He is different from us. He is no real Canadian. He is a German.”
“Well, Nora, you amaze me,” said Larry. “What supreme nonsense you are talking! You have got that stuff of Romayne's into your mind. The war bug has bitten you too. For Heaven's sake be reasonable. If you object to Ernest because of his race, I am ashamed of you and have no sympathy with you.”
“Not because of his race,” said Nora, “though, Larry, let me tell you he hates Britain. I was close to him that night, and hate looked out of his eyes. But let that pass. I have seen Ernest with 'his women' as he calls them, and, Larry, I can't bear to think of our Kathleen being treated as he treats his mother and sister.”
“Now, Nora, let us be reasonable. Let us look at this fairly,” began Larry.
“Oh, Larry! stop or I shall be biting the furniture next. When you assume that judicial air of yours I want to swear. Answer me. Do you want him to marry Kathleen? Yes or no.”
“Well, as I was about to say—”
“Larry, will you answer yes or no?”
“Well, no, then,” said Larry.
“Thank God!” cried Nora, rushing at him and shaking him vigorously. “You wretch! Why did you keep me in suspense? How I wish that English stick would get a move on!”
“English stick? Whom do you mean?”
“You're as stupid as the rest, Larry. Whom should I mean? Jack Romayne, of course. There's a man for you. I just wish he'd waggle his finger at me! But he won't do things. He just 'glowers' at her, as old McTavish would say, with those deep eyes of his, and sets his jaw like a wolf trap, and waits. Oh, men are so stupid with women!”
“Indeed?” said Larry. “And how exactly?”
“Why doesn't he just make her love him, master her, swing her off her feet?” said Nora.
“Like Switzer, eh? The cave man idea?”
“No, no. Surely you see the difference?”
“Pity my ignorance and elucidate the mystery.”
“Mystery? Nonsense. It is quite simple. It is a mere matter of emphasis.”
“Oh, I see,” said Larry, “or at least I don't see. But credit me with the earnest and humble desire to understand.”
“Well,” said his sister, “the one—”
“Which one?”
“Switzer. He is mad to possess her for his very own. He would carry her off against her will. He'd bully her to death.”
“Ah, you would like that?”
“Not I. Let him try it on. The other, Romayne, is mad to have her too. He would give her his very soul. But he sticks there waiting till she comes and flings herself into his arms.”
“You prefer that, eh?”
“Oh, that makes me tired!” said Nora in a tone of disgust.
“Well, I give it up,” said Larry hopelessly. “What do you want?”
“I want both. My man must want me more than he wants Heaven itself, and he must give me all he has but honour. Such a man would be my slave! And such a man—oh, I'd just love to be bullied by him.”
For some moments Larry stood looking into the glowing black eyes, then said quietly, “May God send you such a man, little sister, or none at all.”
In a few weeks the Alberta Coal Mining and Development Company was an established fact. Mr. Waring-Gaunt approved of it and showed his confidence in the scheme by offering to take a large block of stock and persuade his friends to invest as well. He also agreed that it was important to the success of the scheme both that Mr. Gwynne should be the president of the company and that young Switzer should be its secretary. Mr. Gwynne's earnest request that he should become the treasurer of the company Mr. Waring-Gaunt felt constrained in the meantime to decline. He already had too many irons in the fire. But he was willing to become a director and to aid the scheme in any way possible. Before the end of the month such was the energy displayed by the new secretary of the company in the disposing of the stock it was announced that only a small block of about $25,000 remained unsold. A part of this Mr. Waring-Gaunt urged his brother-in-law to secure.
“Got twenty thousand myself, you know—looks to me like a sound proposition—think you ought to go in—what do you say, eh, what?”
“Very well; get ten or fifteen thousand for me,” said his brother-in-law.
Within two days Mr. Waring-Gaunt found that the stock had all been disposed of. “Energetic chap, that young Switzer,—got all the stock placed—none left, so he told me.”
“Did you tell him the stock was for me?” enquired Romayne.
“Of course, why not?”
“Probably that accounts for it. He would not be especially anxious to have me in.”
“What do you say? Nothing in that, I fancy. But I must see about that, what?”
“Oh, let it go,” said Romayne.
“Gwynne was after me again to take the treasurership,” said Waring-Gaunt, “but I am busy with so many things—treasurership very hampering—demands close attention—that sort of thing, eh, what?”
“Personally I wish you would take it,” said Romayne. “You would be able to protect your own money and the investments of your friends. Besides, I understand the manager is to be a German, which, with a German secretary, is too much German for my idea.”
“Oh, you don't like Switzer, eh? Natural, I suppose. Don't like him myself; bounder sort of chap—but avoid prejudice, my boy, eh, what? German—that sort of thing—don't do in this country, eh? English, Scotch, Irish, French, Galician, Swede, German—all sound Canadians—melting pot idea, eh, what?”
“I am getting that idea, too,” said his brother-in-law. “Sybil has been rubbing it into me. I believe it is right enough. But apart altogether from that, frankly I do not like that chap; I don't trust him. I fancy I know a gentleman when I see him.”
“All right, all right, my boy, gentleman idea quite right too—but new country, new standards—'Old Family' idea played out, don't you know. Burke's Peerage not known here—every mug on its own bottom—rather touchy Canadians are about that sort of thing—democracy stuff and all that you know. Not too bad either, eh, what? for a chap who has got the stuff in him—architect of his fortune—founder of his own family and that sort of thing, don't you know. Not too bad, eh, what?”
“I quite agree,” cried Jack, “at least with most of it. But all the same I hope you will take the treasurership. Not only will you protect your own and your friends' investments, but you will protect the interests of the Gwynnes. The father apparently is no business man, the son is to be away; anything might happen. I would hate to see them lose out. You understand?”
His brother-in-law turned his eyes upon him, gazed at him steadily for a few moments, then taking his hand, shook it warmly, exclaiming, “Perfectly, old chap, perfectly—good sort, Gwynne—good family. Girl of the finest—hope you put it off, old boy. Madame has put me on, you know, eh, what? Jolly good thing.”
“Now what the deuce do you mean?” said Romayne angrily.
“All right—don't wish to intrude, don't you know. Fine girl though—quite the finest thing I've seen—could go anywhere.”
His brother-in-law's face flushed fiery red. “Now look here, Tom,” he said angrily, “don't be an ass. Of course I know what you mean but as the boys say here, 'Nothing doing!'”
“What? You mean it? Nothing doing? A fine girl like that—sweet girl—good clean stock—wonderful mother—would make a wife any man would be proud of—the real thing, you know, the real thing—I have known her these eight years—watched her grow up—rare courage—pure soul. Nothing doing? My God, man, have you eyes?” It was not often that Tom Waring-Gaunt allowed himself the luxury of passion, but this seemed to him to be an occasion in which he might indulge himself. Romayne stood listening to him with his face turned away, looking out of the window. “Don't you hear me, Jack?” said Waring-Gaunt. “Do you mean there's nothing in it, or have you burned out your heart with those fool women of London and Paris?”
Swiftly his brother-in-law turned to him. “No, Tom, but I almost wish to God I had. No, I won't say that; rather do I thank God that I know now what it is to love a woman. I am not going to lie to you any longer, old chap. To love a sweet, pure woman, sweet and pure as the flowers out there, to love her with every bit of my heart, with every fibre of my soul, that is the finest thing that can come to a man. I have treated women lightly in my time, Tom. I have made them love me, taken what they have had to give, and left them without a thought. But if any of them have suffered through me, and if they could know what I am getting now, they would pity me and say I had got enough to pay me out. To think that I should ever hear myself saying that to another man, I who have made love to women and laughed at them and laughed at the poor weak devils who fell in love with women. Do you get me? I am telling you this and yet I feel no shame, no humiliation! Humiliation, great heaven! I am proud to say that I love this girl. From the minute I saw her up there in the woods I have loved her. I have cursed myself for loving her. I have called myself fool, idiot, but I cannot help it. I love her. It is hell to me or heaven, which you like. It's both.” He was actually trembling, his voice hoarse and shaking.
Amazement, then pity, finally delight, succeeded each other in rapid succession across the face of his brother-in-law as he listened. “My dear chap, my dear chap,” he said when Romayne had finished. “Awfully glad, you know—delighted. But why the howl? The girl is there—go in and get her, by Jove. Why not, eh, what?”
“It's no use, I tell you,” said Romayne. “That damned German has got her. I have seen them together too often. I have seen in her eyes the look that women get when they are ready to give themselves body and soul to a man. She loves that man. She loves him, I tell you. She has known him for years. I have come too late to have a chance. Too late, my God, too late!” He pulled himself up with an effort, then with a laugh said, “Do you recognise me, Tom? I confess I do not recognise myself. Well, that's out. Let it go. That's the last you will get from me. But, Tom, this is more than I can stand. I must quit this country, and I want you to make it easy for me to go. We'll get up some yarn for Sibyl. You'll help me out, old man? God knows I need help in this.”
“Rot, beastly rot. Give her up to that German heel-clicking bounder—rather not. Buck up, old man—give the girl a chance anyway—play the game out, eh, what? Oh, by the way, I have made up my mind to take that treasurership—beastly nuisance, eh? Goin'? Where?”
“Off with the dogs for a run somewhere.”
“No, take the car—too beastly hot for riding, don't you know. Take my car. Or, I say, let's go up to the mine. Must get to know more about the beastly old thing, eh, what? We'll take the guns and Sweeper—we'll be sure to see some birds and get the evening shoot coming back. But, last word, my boy, give the girl a chance to say no. Think of it, a German, good Lord! You go and get the car ready. We'll get Sybil to drive while we shoot.”
Tom Waring-Gaunt found his great, warm, simple heart overflowing with delight at the tremendous news that had come to him. It was more than his nature could bear that he should keep this from his wife. He found her immersed in her domestic duties and adamant against his persuasion to drive them to the mine.
“A shoot,” she cried, “I'd love to. But, Tom, you forget I am a rancher's wife, and you know, or at least you don't know, what that means. Run along and play with Jack. Some one must work. No, don't tempt me. I have my programme all laid out. I especially prayed this morning for grace to resist the lure of the outside this day. 'Get thee behind me—' What? I am listening, but I shouldn't be. What do you say? Tom, it cannot be!” She sat down weakly in a convenient chair and listened to her husband while he retailed her brother's great secret.
“And so, my dear, we are going to begin a big campaign—begin to-day—take the girls off with us for a shoot—what do you say, eh?”
“Why, certainly, Tom. Give me half an hour to get Martha fairly on the rails, and I am with you. We'll take those dear girls along. Oh, it is perfectly splendid. Now let me go; that will do, you foolish boy. Oh, yes, how lovely. Trust me to back you up. What? Don't spoil things. Well, I like that. Didn't I land you? That was 'some job,' as dear Nora would say. You listen to me, Tom. You had better keep in the background. Finesse is not your forte. Better leave these things to me. Hurry up now. Oh, I am so excited.”
Few women can resist an appeal for help from a husband. The acknowledgment of the need of help on the part of the dominating partner is in itself the most subtle flattery and almost always irresistible. No woman can resist the opportunity to join in that most fascinating of all sport—man-hunting. And when the man runs clear into the open wildly seeking not escape from but an opening into the net, this only adds a hazard and a consequent zest to the sport. Her husband's disclosures had aroused in Sybil Waring-Gaunt not so much her sporting instincts, the affair went deeper far than that with her. Beyond anything else in life she desired at that time to bring together the two beings whom, next to her husband, she loved best in the world. From the day that her brother had arrived in the country she had desired this, and more or less aggressively had tried to assist Providence in the ordering of events. But in Kathleen, with all her affection and all her sweet simplicity, there was a certain shy reserve that prevented confidences in the matter of her heart affairs.
“How far has the German got with her? That is what I would like to know,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt to herself as she hastily prepared for the motor ride. “There's no doubt about him. Every one can see how he stands, and he has such a masterful way with him that it makes one think that everything is settled. If it is there is no chance for Jack, for she is not the changing kind.” Meantime she would hope for the best and play the game as best she could.
“Would you mind running into the Gwynnes' as we pass, Tom?” said his wife as they settled themselves in the car. “I have a message for Nora.”
“Righto!” said her husband, throwing his wife a look which she refused utterly to notice. “But remember you must not be long. We cannot lose the evening shoot, eh, what?”
“Oh, just a moment will do,” said his wife.
At the door Nora greeted them. “Oh, you lucky people—guns and a dog, and a day like this,” she cried.
“Come along—lots of room—take my gun,” said Mr. Waring-Gaunt.
“Don't tempt me, or I shall come.”
“Tell us what is your weakness, Miss Nora,” said Jack. “How can we get you to come?”
“My weakness?” cried the girl eagerly, “you all are, and especially your dear Sweeper dog there.” She put her arms around the neck of the beautiful setter, who was frantically struggling to get out to her.
“Sweeper, lucky dog, eh, Jack, what?” said Mr. Waring-Gaunt, with a warm smile of admiration at the wholesome, sun-browned face. “Come along, Miss Nora—back in a short time, eh, what?”
“Short time?” said Nora. “Not if I go. Not till we can't see the birds.”
“Can't you come, Nora?” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, “I want to talk to you, and we'll drive to-day and let the men shoot. Where is Kathleen? Is she busy?”
“Busy? We are all positively overwhelmed with work. But, oh, do go away, or I shall certainly run from it all.”
“I am going in to get your mother to send you both out. Have you had a gun this fall? I don't believe you have,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
“Not once. Yes, once. I had a chance at a hawk that was paying too much attention to our chickens. No, don't go in, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, I beg of you. Well, go, then; I have fallen shamelessly. If you can get Kathleen, I am on too.”
In a few moments Mrs. Waring-Gaunt returned with Kathleen and her mother. “Your mother says, Nora, that she does not need you a bit, and she insists on your coming, both of you. So be quick.”
“Oh, Mother,” cried the girl in great excitement. “You cannot possibly get along without us. There's the tea for all those men.”
“Nonsense, Nora, run along. I can do quite well without you. Larry is coming in early and he will help. Run along, both of you.”
“But there isn't room for us all,” said Kathleen.
“Room? Heaps,” said Mr. Waring-Gaunt. “Climb in here beside me, Miss Nora.”
“Oh, it will be great,” said Nora. “Can you really get along, Mother?”
“Nonsense,” said the mother. “You think far too much of yourself. Get your hat.”
“Hat; who wants a hat?” cried the girl, getting in beside Mr. Waring-Gaunt. “Oh, this is more than I had ever dreamed, and I feel so wicked!”
“All the better, eh, what?”
“Here, Kathleen,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, “here between us.”
“I am so afraid I shall crowd you,” said the girl, her face showing a slight flush.
“Not a bit, my dear; the seat is quite roomy. There, are you comfortable? All right, Tom. Good-bye, Mrs. Gwynne. So good of you to let the girls come.”
In high spirits they set off, waving their farewell to the mother who stood watching till they had swung out of the lane and on to the main trail.