It was well on toward midnight when Emerson reached his hotel, and being too full of his visit with Mildred to sleep, he strolled through the lobby and into the Pompeian Room. The theatre crowds had not dispersed, and the place was a-glitter; for it was the grand-opera season. The room was so well filled that he had difficulty in finding a seat, and he made his way slowly, meditating gloomily upon the fact that out of all this concourse in which he had once figured not a single familiar face greeted him. Finding no unoccupied table, he was about to retreat when he heard his name spoken and felt a vigorous slap upon the back.
"Boyd Emerson! By Jove, I'm glad to see you!" He turned to face an anaemic youth whose colorless, gas-bleached face was wrinkled into an expansive grin.
"Hello, Alton!"
They shook hands like old friends, while Alton Clyde continued to express his delight.
"So you've been roughing it out in Nebraska, eh?"
"Alaska."
"So it was. I always get those places mixed. Come over and have a drink. I want to talk to you. Funny thing, I just met a Klondiker myself this evening. Great chap, too! I want you to know him: he's immense. Only watch out he don't get you full. He's an awful spender. I'm half kippered myself. His name is Froelich, but he isn't a Dutchman. Ever meet him up there?"
"I think not."
"Come on, you'll like him."
Clyde led his companion toward a table, chattering as they went. "Y' know, I'm democratic myself, and I'm fond of these rough fellows. I'd like to go out to Nebraska—"
"Alaska."
"—and punch cows and shoot a pistol and yell. I'm really tremendously rough. Here he is! Mr. Froelich, my old friend Mr. Emerson. We played football together—or, at least, he played; I was too light."
Mr. Froelich shoved back his chair and turned, exposing the face of "Fingerless" Fraser, quite expressionless save for the left eyelid, which drooped meaningly.
"'Froelich'!" said Boyd, angrily; "good heavens, Fraser, have you picked another? I thought you were going to stick to 'Frobisher.'" Turning to Clyde, he observed: "This man's name is Fraser. One of his peculiarities is a dislike of proper names. He has never found one that suited him."
"I like 'Froelich' pretty well," observed the imperturbable Fraser. "It sounds distanguay, and—"
"Don't believe anything he tells you," Boyd broke in, seating himself. "He is the most circumstantial liar in the Northwest, and if you don't watch him every minute he will sell you a hydraulic mine, or a rubber plantation, or a sponge fishery. Underneath his eccentricities, however, he is really a pretty decent fellow, and I am indebted to him for my presence here to-night."
Alton Clyde made his astonishment evident by inquiring incredulously of Fraser, "Then that scheme of yours to establish a gas plant at Nome was all—"
"Certainly!" Emerson laughed. "The incandescent lamp travels about as fast as the prospector. Nome is lighted by electricity, and has been for years."
"Isit?" demanded Fraser, with an assumption of the supremest surprise.
"You know as well as I do."
"H'm! I'd forgotten. Just the same, my plan was a good one. Gas is cheaper." He reached for his glass, at which Clyde's eye fell upon his missing fingers, and the young clubman exploded:
"Well! If that's the kind of pill you are, maybe you didn't lose your mit in the Boer War either."
Emerson answered for the adventurer: "Hardly! He got blood-poisoning from a hangnail."
Clyde began to laugh uncontrollably. "Really! That's great! Oh, that's lovely! Here I've been gobbling fairy tales like a black bass at sunset. He! he! he! I must introduce Mr. Froel—Mr. Fra—Mr. What's-his-name to the boys. He! he! he!"
It was evident that Fraser was not accustomed to this sort of treatment; his injured pride took refuge in a haughty silence, which further stirred the risibilities of Clyde until that young man's thin shoulders shook, and he doubled up, his hollow chest touching his knees. He pounded the tiles with his cane, stamped his patent-leather boots, and wept tears of joy.
"What's the joke?" demanded the rogue. "Anybody would thinkIwas the sucker."
"Where is George?" questioned Boyd, to change the subject.
"In his trundle-bed, I suppose," said Fraser, stiffly.
"Along about nine o'clock he begins to yawn like a trained seal. That's how I came to fall in with—this." He indicated the giggling Clyde. "I didn't have anything better to do."
"Did you show George around, as I asked?"
"Sure! After that fairy—farrier, I should say—finished his front feet, I took him out and let him look at the elevated railroad. Then he came back and hunted up the janitor of the building. He spent the evening in the basement with the engineer. Oh, he's had a splendid day!"
"I say, Boyd, have you got another one like—like this?" Clyde asked, nodding at Fraser, who snorted indignantly.
"Not exactly. Balt is quite the antithesis of Mr. Fraser. He is a fisherman, and he has never been East before."
"He's learning the manicure business," sniffed the adventurer. "He has his nails curried every day. Says it tickles."
"Oh, glory be!" ejaculated the clubman. "I must meet him, too. Let me show him the town, will you? I'll foot the bills; I'll make it something historic. Please do! I'm bored to death."
"We can't spare the time; we are here on business," said Emerson.
"Business!" Clyde remarked. "That sounds interesting. I haven't seen anybody for years who was really busy at anything that was worth being busy at. It must be a great sensation to really do something."
"Don't you do anything?"
"Oh yes; I'm as busy as a one-legged sword-dancer, but I don'tdoanything. It's the same old thing: leases to sign, rents to collect, and that sort of rot. My agent does most of it, however. I wish I were like you, Boyd; you always were a lucky chap." Emerson smiled rather grimly at thought of the earlier part of the evening and of his present fortune.
"Oh, I mean it!" said Clyde. "Look how lucky you were at the university. Everything came your way. Even M—" He checked himself and jerked his head in the direction of the North Side. "You know! She's never been able to see any of us fellows with a spy-glass since you left, and I have proposed regularly every full moon." He wagged his curly head solemnly and sighed. "Well, there is only one man I'd rather see get her than you, and that's me—or I—whichever is proper."
"I'm not sure it's proper for either of us to get her," smiled Boyd.
"Well, I'm glad you've returned anyhow; for there's an added starter."
"Who is he?"
"He's some primitive Western fellow like yourself! I don't know his name—never met him, in fact. But while we Chicago fellows were cantering along in a bunch, watching each other, he got the rail."
"From the way her father spoke and acted I judged he had somebody in sight." Boyd's eyes were keenly alight, and Clyde continued.
"We've justgotto keep her in Chicago, and you're the one to do it. I tell you, old man, she has missed you. Yes, sir, she has missed you a blamed sight more than the rest of us have. Oh, you don't know how lucky you are."
"I lucky! H'm! You fellows are rich—"
"Bah!I'mnot. I've gone through most of what I had. All that is left are the rents; they keep me going, after a fashion. Now that it is too late, I'm beginning to wake up; I'm getting tired of loafing. I'd like to get out and do something, but I can't; I'm too well known in Chicago, and besides, as a business man I'm certainly a nickel-plated rotter."
"I'll give you a chance to recoup," said Boyd. "I am here to raise some money on a good proposition."
The younger man leaned forward eagerly. "If you say it's good, that's all I want to know. I'll take a chance. I'm in for anything from pitch-and-toss to manslaughter."
"I'll tell you what it is, and you can use your own judgment."
"I haven't a particle," Clyde confessed. "If I had, I wouldn't need to invest. Go ahead, however; I'm all ears." He pulled his chair closer and listened intently while the other outlined the plan, his weak gray eyes reflecting the old hero-worship of his college days. To him, Boyd Emerson had ever represented the ultimate type of all that was most desirable, and time had not lessened his admiration.
"It looks as if there might be a jolly rumpus, doesn't it?" he questioned, when the speaker had finished.
"It does."
"Then I've got to see it. I'll put in my share if you'll let me go along."
"You go! Why, you wouldn't like that sort of thing," said Emerson, considerably nonplussed.
"Oh, wouldn't I? I'deatit! It's just what I need. I'd revel in that out-door life." He threw back his narrow shoulders. "I'm a regular scout when it comes to roughing it. Why, I camped in the Thousand Islands all one summer, and I've been deer-hunting in the Adirondacks. We didn't get any—they were too far from the hotel; but I know all about mountain life."
"This is totally different," Boyd objected; but Clyde ran on, his enthusiasm growing as he tinted the mental picture to suit himself.
"I'm a splendid fisherman, too, and I've plenty of tackle."
"We shall use nets."
"Don't do it! It isn't sportsmanlike. I'll take a book of flies and whip that stream to a froth." Emerson interrupted him to explain briefly the process of salmon-catching, but the young man was not to be discouraged.
"You give me something to do—something where I don't have to lift heavy weights or carry boxes—and watch me work! I tell you, it's what I've been looking for, and I didn't know it; I'll get as husky as you are and all sunburnt. Tell me the sort of furs and the kind of pistols to buy, and I'll put ten thousand dollars in the scheme. That's all I can spare."
"You won't need either furs or firearms," laughed Boyd. "When we get back to Kalvik the days will be long and hot, and the whole country will be a blaze of wild flowers."
"That's fine! I love flowers. If I can't catch fish for the cannery,I'll make up for it in some other way."
"Can you keep books?"
"No; but I can play a mandolin," Clyde offered, optimistically. "I guess a little music would sound pretty good up there in the wilderness."
"Can you play a mandolin?" inquired "Fingerless" Fraser, observing the young fellow with grave curiosity.
"Sure; I'm out of practice, but—"
"Take him!" said Fraser, turning upon Emerson.
"He can set on the front porch of the cannery with wild flowers in his hair and playLa Paloma. It will make those other fish-houses mad with jealousy. Get a window-box and a hammock, and maybe Willis Marsh will run in and spend his evenings with you."
"Don't josh!" insisted Clyde, seriously. "I want to go—"
"Me josh?" Fraser's face was like wood.
"I'll think it over," Emerson said, guardedly.
Without warning, the adventurer burst into shrill laughter.
"Are you laughing at me?" angrily demanded the city youth.
Fraser composed his features, which seemed to have suddenly disrupted. "Certainly not! I just thought of something that happened to my father when I was a little child." Again he began to shake, at which Clyde regarded him narrowly; but his merriment was so impersonal as to allay suspicion, and the young fellow went on with undiminished enthusiasm:
"You think it over, and in the mean time I'll get a bunch of the fellows together. We'll all have lunch at the University Club to-morrow, and you can tell them about the affair."
Fraser abruptly ended his laughter as Boyd's heel came heavily in contact with his instep under the table. Clyde was again lost in an exposition of his fitness as a fisherman when Fraser burst out:
"Hello! There's George. He's walking in his sleep, and thinks this is a manicure stable."
Emerson turned to behold Balt's huge figure all but blocking the distant door. It was evident that he had been vainly trying to attract their attention for some time, but lacked the courage to enter the crowded room, for, upon catching Boyd's eye, he beckoned vigorously.
"Call him in," said Clyde, quickly. "I want to meet him. He looks just my sort." And accordingly Emerson motioned to the fisherman. Seeing there was no help for it, Big George composed himself and ventured timidly across the portal, steering a tortuous course toward his friends; but in these unaccustomed waters his bulk became unmanageable and his way beset with perils. Deeming himself in danger of being run down by a waiter, he sheered to starboard, and collided with a table at which there was a theatre party. Endeavoring to apologize, he backed into a great pottery vase, which rocked at the impact and threatened to topple from its foundation.
"I'd rather take an ox-team through this room than him," said Fraser."He'll wreck something, sure."
Conscious of the attention he was attracting on all sides, Big George became seized with an excess of awkwardness; his face blazed, and the perspiration started from his forehead.
"I hope the head waiter doesn't speak to him," Boyd observed. "He is mad enough to rend him limb from limb." But the words were barely spoken when they saw a steward hasten toward George and address him, following which the big fellow's voice rumbled angrily:
"No, I ain't made any mistake! I'm a boarder here, and you get out of my way or I'll step on you." He strode forward threateningly, at which the waiter hopped over the train of an evening dress and bowed obsequiously. The noise of laughter and many voices ceased. In the silence George pursued his way regardless of personal injury or property damage, breaking trail, as it were, to his destination, where he sank limply into a chair which creaked beneath his weight.
"Gimme a lemonade, quick; I'm all het up," he ordered. "I can't get no footholt on these fancy floors, they're so dang slick."
After a half-dazed acknowledgment of his introduction to Alton Clyde, he continued: "I've been trying to flag you for ten minutes." He mopped his brow feebly.
"What is wrong?"
"Everything! It's too noisy for me in this hotel. I've been trying to sleep for three hours, but this band keeps playing, and that elevated railroad breaks down every few minutes right under my window. There's whistles blowing, bells ringing, and—can't we find some quiet road-house where I can get an hour's rest? Put me in a boiler-shop or a round-house, where I can go to sleep."
"The hotels are all alike," Boyd answered. "You will soon get used to it."
"Who, me? Never! I want to get back to God's country."
"Hurrah for you!" ejaculated Clyde. "Same here. And I'm going with you."
"How's that?" questioned George.
"Mr. Clyde offers to put ten thousand dollars into the deal if he can go to Kalvik with us and help run the cannery," explained Emerson.
George looked over the clubman carefully from his curly crown to his slender, high-heeled shoes, then smiled broadly.
"It's up to Mr. Emerson. I'm willing if he is." Whereupon, vastly encouraged, Clyde proceeded to expatiate upon his own surpassing qualifications. While he was speaking, a party of three men approached, and seated themselves at an adjoining table. As they pulled out their chairs, Big George chanced to glance in their direction; then he put down his lemonade glass carefully.
"What's the matter?" Boyd demanded, in a low tone, for the big fellow's face had suddenly gone livid, while his eyes had widened like those of an enraged animal.
"That's him!" George growled, "That's the dirty hound!"
"Sit still!" commanded Fraser; for the fisherman had shoved back from the table and was rising, his hands working hungrily, the cords in his neck standing out rigidly. Seeing the murder-light in his companion's eyes, the speaker leaned forward and thrust the big fellow back into the chair from which he had half lifted himself.
"Don't make a fool of yourself," he cautioned.
Clyde, who had likewise witnessed the giant's remarkable metamorphosis, now inquired its meaning.
"That's him!" repeated George, his eyes glaring redly. "That's WillisMarsh."
"Where?" Emerson whirled curiously; but there was no need for George to point out his enemy, for one of the strangers stood as if frozen, with his hand upon the back of his chair, an expression of the utmost astonishment upon his face. A smile was dying from his lips.
Boyd beheld a plump, thick-set man of thirty-eight in evening dress. There was nothing distinctive about him except, perhaps, his hair, which was of a decided reddish hue. He was light of complexion; his mouth was small and of a rather womanish appearance, due to the full red lips. He was well groomed, well fed, in all ways he was a typical city-bred man. He might have been a broker, though he did not carry the air of any particular profession.
That he was, at all events, master of his emotions he soon gave evidence. Raising his brows in recognition, he nodded pleasantly to Balt; then, as if on second thought, excused himself to his companions and stepped toward the other group. The legs of George's chair scraped noisily on the tiles as he rose; the sound covered Fraser's quick admonition:
"Take it easy, pal; let him talk."
"How do you do, George? What in the name of goodness are you doing here? I hardly recognized you." Marsh's voice was round and musical, his accent Eastern. With an assumption of heartiness, he extended a white-gloved hand, which the big, uncouth man who faced him refused to take. The other three had risen. George seemed to be groping for a retort. Finally he blurted out, hoarsely:
"Don't offer me your hand. It's dirty! It's got blood on it!"
"Nonsense!" Marsh smiled. "Let's be friends again, George. Bygones are bygones. I came over to make up with you and ask about affairs at Kalvik. If you are here on business and I can help—"
"You dirty rat!" breathed the fisherman.
"Very well; if you wish to be obstinate—" Willis Marsh shrugged his shoulders carelessly, although in his voice there was a metallic note. "I have nothing to say." He turned a very bright and very curious pair of eyes upon George's companions, as if seeking from them some hint as to his victim's presence there. It was but a momentary flash of inquiry, however, and then his gaze, passing quickly over Clyde and Fraser, settled upon Emerson.
"Mr. Balt and I had a business misunderstanding," he said, smoothly, "which I hoped was forgotten. It didn't amount to much—"
At this Balt uttered a choking snarl and stepped forward, only to meetBoyd, who intercepted him.
"Behave yourself!" he ordered. "Don't make a scene," and before the big fellow could prevent it he had linked arms with him, and swung him around. The movement was executed so naturally that none of the patrons of the cafe noticed it, except, perhaps, as a preparation for departure. Marsh bowed civilly and returned to his seat, while Boyd sauntered toward the exit, his arm which controlled George tense as iron beneath his sleeve. He felt the fisherman's great frame quivering against him and heard the excited breath halting in his lungs; but possessed with the sole idea of getting him away without disorder, he smiled back at Clyde and Fraser, who were following, and chatted agreeably with his prisoner until they had reached the foyer. Then he released his hold and said, quietly:
"You'd better go up to your room and cool off. You came near spoiling everything."
"He tried to shake hands," George mumbled, "with me!That thieving whelp tried to shake—" He trailed off into an unintelligible jargon of curses and threats which did not end until he had reached the elevator. Here Alton Clyde clamored for enlightenment as to the reason for this eruption.
"That is the fellow we will have to fight," Boyd explained. "He is the head of the cannery combination at Kalvik, and a bitter enemy of George's. If he suspects our motives or gets wind of our plans, we're done for."
Clyde spoke more earnestly than at any time during the evening. "Well, that absolutely settles it as far as I am concerned. This is bound to end in a row."
"You mean you don't want to join us?"
"Don't want to!Why, I've justgotto, that's all. The ten thousand is yours, but if you don't take me along I'll stow away."
Nearly a month had elapsed when Emerson at last expressed to George the discouragement that for several days had lain silently in both men's minds.
"It looks like failure, doesn't it?"
"Sure does! You've played your string out, eh?"
"Absolutely. I've done everything except burglary, but I can't raise that hundred thousand dollars. From the way we started off it looked easy, but times are hard and I've bled my friends of every dollar they can spare. In fact, some of them have put in more than they can afford."
"It's an awful big piece of money," Balt admitted, with a sigh.
"I never fully realized before how very large," Boyd said. "And yet, without that amount the Seattle bank won't back us for the remainder."
"Oh, it's no use to tackle the business on a small scale." Big George pondered for a moment. "We can't wait much longer. We'd ought to be on the coast now. We're shy twenty-five thousand dollars, eh?"
"Yes, and I can't see any possible way of raising it. I've done the best I could, and so has Clyde, but it's no use."
The strain of the past month was evident in Emerson's face, which was worn and tired, as if from sleepless nights. Of late he had lapsed again into that despondent mood which Fraser had observed in Alaska, his moments of depression growing more frequent as the precious days slipped past. Every waking hour he had devoted to the promotion of his enterprise. He had laughed at rebuffs and refused discouragement; he had solicited every man who seemed in any way likely to be interested. He had gone from office to office, his hours regulated by watch and note-book, always retailing the same facts, always convincingly lucid and calmly enthusiastic. But a scarcity of money seemed prevalent. Those who sought investment either had better opportunities or refused to finance an undertaking so far from home, and apparently so hazardous.
During those three years in the North, Boyd had worked with feverish haste and suffered many disappointments; but never before had he used such a vast amount of nervous force as in this short month, never had fortune seemed so maddeningly stubborn. But he had hung on with bulldog tenacity, not knowing how to give up, until at last he had placed his stock to the extent of seventy-five thousand dollars, only to realize that he had exhausted his vital force as well as his list of acquaintances. In public he maintained a sanguine front, but in private he let go, and only his two Alaskan friends had sounded the depths of his disappointment.
One other, to be sure, had some inkling of what troubled him, yet to Mildred he had never explained the precise nature of his difficulties. She did not even know his plans. He spent many evenings with her, and she would have given him more of her society had he consented to go out with her, for the demands upon her time were numerous; but this he could never bring himself to do, being too wearied in mind and body, and wishing to spare himself any additional mental disquiet.
Neither Mildred nor her father ever spoke of that unknown suitor in his presence, and their very silence invested the mysterious man with menacing possibilities which did not tend to soothe Boyd's troubled mind. In fact, Mr. Wayland, despite his genial manner, inspired him with a vague sense of hostility, and, as if he were not sufficiently distracted by all this, Fraser and George kept him in a constant state of worry from other causes. The former was continually involving him in some wildly impossible enterprise which seemed ever in danger of police interference. He could not get rid of the fellow, for Fraser calmly included him in all his machinations, dragging him in willy-nilly, until in Boyd's ears there sounded the distant clank of chains and the echo of the warden's tread. A dozen times he had exposed the rogue and established his own position, only to find himself the next day wallowing in some new complication more difficult than that from which he had escaped. Ordinarily it would have been laughable, but at this crisis it was tragic.
As for George, he had been very quiet since the night of his encounter with Marsh, and he spent much of his time by himself. This was a relief to Boyd, until he happened several times to meet the big fellow in strange places at unexpected hours, surprising in his eyes a look of expectant watchfulness, the meaning of which at first puzzled him. It took but little observation, however, to learn that the fisherman spent his days in hotel lobbies, always walking about through the crowd, and that by night he patrolled the theatre district, slinking about as if to avoid observation. Emerson finally realized with a shock that George was in search of his enemy; but no amount of argument could alter the fellow's mind, and he continued to hunt with the silence of a lone wolf. What the result of his meeting Marsh would be Boyd hesitated to think, but neither George nor he discovered any trace of that gentleman.
These various cares, added to the consequences of his inability to finance the cannery project, had reduced Emerson to a state bordering upon collapse. Balt had entered his room that morning for his daily report of progress, and after his partner's confession of failure had fetched a deep sigh.
"Well, it's tough, after all we've went through," he said. Then, after a pause, "Cherry will be broken-hearted."
"I hadn't thought of her," confessed the other.
"You see, it's her last chance, too."
"So she told me. I'm sorry I brought you all these thousands of miles on a wild-goose chase, but—"
"I don't care for myself. I'll get back somehow and live in the brush, like I used to, and some day I'll get my chance. But she's a woman, and she can't fight Marsh like I can."
"Just who or what is she?" Boyd inquired, curiously, glad of anything to divert his thoughts from their present channel.
"She's just a big-hearted girl, and the only person, red, white, or yellow, who gave me a kind word or a bite to eat till you came along. That's all I know about her. I'd have gone crazy only for her." The big man ground his teeth as the memory of his injuries came uppermost.
Before Boyd could follow the subject further, Alton Clyde strolled in upon them, arrayed immaculately, with gloves, tie, spats, and a derby to match, a striped waistcoast, and a gold-headed walking-stick.
"Salutations, fellow-fishermen!" he began. "I just ran in to settle the details of our trip. I want my tailor to get busy on my wardrobe to-morrow." Boyd shook his head.
"Ain't going to be no wardrobe," said Balt.
"Why? Has something happened to scare the fish?"
"I can't raise the money," Emerson confessed.
"Still shy that twenty-five thou?" questioned the clubman.
"Yes! I'm done."
"That's a shame! I had some ripping clothes planned—English whip-cord—"
"That stuff won't rip," George declared. "But over-alls is plenty good."
Clyde tapped the narrow points of his shoes with his walking-stick, frowning in meditation. "I'm all in, and so are the rest of the fellows. By Jove, this will be a disappointment to Mildred! Have you told her?"
"No. She doesn't know anything about the plan, and I didn't want to tell her until I had the money. Now I can't go to her and acknowledge another failure."
"I'm terribly disappointed," said Clyde. There was a moment's silence; then he went to the telephone and called the hotel office: "Get me a cab at once—Mr. Clyde. I'll be right down."
Turning to the others, he remarked: "I'll see what I can do; but as a promoter, I'm a joke. However, the trip will do me good, and I am hungry for the fray; the smell of battle is in my nostrils, and I am champing at my bit. Woof! Leave it to me." He smote the air with his slender cane, and made for the door with an appearance of fierce determination upon his colorless face. "You'll hear from me in the morning. So long!"
His martial air amused the two, but Boyd soon dismissed him from his mind and spent that evening in such moody silence that, in desperation, Big George forsook him and sought out the manicure parlor. Fraser was busied on some enterprise of his own.
The thought of Alton Clyde's raising twenty-five thousand dollars where he had failed was ridiculous to Emerson. He was utterly astounded when that radiantly attired youth strolled into his room on the following morning and tossed a thick roll of bills upon the table, saying, carelessly:
"There it is; count it."
"What?"
"Twenty-five one-thousand-dollar notes. Anyhow, I think there are twenty-five of them, but I'm not sure. I counted them twice: once I made twenty-four and the next time twenty-six, but I had my gloves on; so I struck an averages and took the paying teller's word for it."
Emerson leaped to his feet, staring at the dandy as if not comprehending this sudden turn of fortune.
"Did you rustle this money without any help?" he demanded.
"Abso-blooming-lutely!"
"Is it your own?"
"Well, hardly! It is so far from it that I was sorely tempted to spread my wings and soar to foreign parts. It wouldn't have taken much of a nudge to butt me clear over into Canada this morning."
"Where in the world did you get it, Al?"
"What difference does that make? Igotit, didn't I?" He slapped his trousers leg daintily with his stick. "You can issue the stock in my name."
Boyd seized the little fellow and whirled him around the room, laughing gleefully, lifted in one moment from the pit of despair to the height of optimism.
"Stop it! I'm all rumpled!" gasped Clyde, finally, sinking into a chair "When I get rumpled in the morning I stay rumpled all day. Don't you touch me!"
"Whose money is this? What good angel took pity on us?"
Clyde's faded eyes dropped. "Well, I turned a trick, and to all intents and purposes it is mine. There it is. I didn't steal it, and—you don't have to knoweverything,do you? That is why I got the check cashed."
"I beg your pardon," Boyd apologized; "I didn't mean to pry into your affairs, and it is none of my business, anyhow. I'm glad enough to get the money, no matter where it came from. I'd forgive you if you had stolen it." He began to dress hurriedly. "You are the fairy prince of this enterprise, Alton, and you can go to Kalvik and pick flowers or play the mandolin or do anything you wish. Now for a telegram to the bank at Seattle. We leave to-morrow."
"Oh, here, now! I can't get my wardrobe ready."
"Ward—nothing! You don't need any clothes! You can get all that stuff in Seattle."
"Must have wardrobe," firmly maintained Clyde. "No can do without."
"George and I will be in Seattle for several weeks, so you can come on later."
"No, sir! I'm going to trail my bet with yours. I might change my mind if I hung around here alone. I'll make my tailor work all night to-night; it will do him good. But it upsets me to be hurried; it upsets me worse than being rumpled in the morning."
That was a busy day for Boyd Emerson, but he was too elated to notice fatigue, even while dressing for the Waylands'. He had arranged to come an hour before dinner, that Mildred and he might have a little time to themselves, and his haste to acquaint her with the news of his success brought him to the Lake Shore house ahead of time. She did not keep him waiting, however, and when she appeared, gowned for dinner, he fairly swept her off her feet with his abruptness.
"It's a go, my Lady; I have succeeded."
"I knew it by your smile. I am so glad!"
"Yes. I have all the money I need, and I am off for the Coast to-morrow."
"Oh!" She drew back from him. "To-morrow! Why, you wretch! You seem actually glad of it!"
"I am."
"Confusion! Of all the discourteous lovers—!" She simulated such an expression of injury that his dancing eyes became grave. "My poor heart!"
"Are you sorry?"
"Sorry? Indeed! La, la!" She gave a dainty French shrug of her bare shoulders and tossed her head. "I summon my pride. My spirit is aroused. I rejoice; I laugh; I sing! Sorry? Pooh!" Then she melted with an impulsiveness rare in her, saying, "Tell me all about it, please; tell me everything."
He held her slender hand. "This morning I was bluer than a tatooed man, but to-night I am in the clouds, for I have overcome the greatest obstacle that stands between us. It is only a question of months now until I can come to your father with sufficient means to satisfy him. Of course, there are chances of failure, but I don't admit them. I have such a superabundance of courage now that I can't imagine defeat."
"Do you know," she said, hesitatingly, "you have never told me anything about this plan of yours? You have never takes me into your confidence in the slightest degree."
"I didn't think you would care to know the details, dear. This is so entirely a business matter. It is so sordidly commonplace, and you are so very far removed from sordid things that I didn't think you would care to hear of it. My mind won't associate you with commercialism. I have always burned incense to you; I have always seen you in shaded light and through the smoke of altar fires, so to speak."
"I realize that I don't appreciate the things that you have done," said the girl, "but I should like to know more about this new adventure."
"I warn you, it is not romantic," he smiled, "although to me anything which brings me closer to you is invested with the very essence of romance." He told her briefly of his enterprise and the difficulties he had conquered. "It looks like plain sailing now," he concluded. "I will have to work hard, but that just suits me, for it will occupy the time while I am away from you. There will be no mail or communication with the outside world after we sail, except at long intervals. But I am sure you will feel the messages I shall send you every hour."
"And so you are going to put fish into little tin cans?" said Mildred.
"Very prosy, isn't it?"
"Of course, you will have men to do it. You won't do that sort of thing yourself?"
"Assuredly not. There will be some hundreds of Chinese."
"Will you have to catch the fish? Will you pull on a long fish-line? I should think that would be rather nice."
"No," he laughed.
"At any rate, you will wear oilskins and a 'sou'wester,' won't you?"
"Yes, just like the pictures you see on bill-boards."
She meditated for an instant. "Why don't you build a railroad or do something such as father does? He makes a great deal of money out of railroads."
"He is also a director in the largest packing concern at the StockYards," Boyd reminded her. "This is much the same sort of thing."
"To be sure! Do you know, he has become greatly interested in your country of late. I have heard him speak of Alaska frequently. In fact, I think that is one reason why he has been so nice to you; he wants to learn all he can about it."
"Why?"
"Oh, dear, I never know why he does anything."
"Tell me, does he still legislate in favor of this mysterious suitor whose identity you have never revealed to me?"
"Nonsense!" said the girl. "There is no mysterious suitor, and father does not legislate for or against any one. He isn't that sort."
"And yet I never seem to meet this stranger."
"Indeed!" she observed, a trifle indifferently. "It is your own fault. You never go out any more. However, you won't have long to wait. Father telephoned that he is to dine with us."
"To-night?"
"Yes."
"But, Mildred, this is our last evening together," said Emerson, seriously. "Can't we have it alone?"
"I am afraid not. I had nothing to say in the matter. It is some business affair."
So the fellow was a business associate of the magnate, thought Boyd."Who is he?"
"He is merely—" Mildred paused to listen. "Here they are now. Please don't look so tragic, Othello."
Hearing voices outside the library, the young man asked, hurriedly:"Give me some time alone with you, my Lady. I must leave early."
"We will come in here while they are smoking," she said.
There was time for no more, for Wayne Wayland entered, followed by another gentleman, at the first sight of whom Emerson started, while his mind raced off into a dizzy whirl of incredulity. It could not be! It was too grotesque—too ridiculous! What prank of malicious fate was this? He turned his eyes to the door again, to see if by any chance there were a third visitor, but there was not, and he was forced to respond to Mr. Wayland's greeting. The other man had meanwhile stepped directly to Mildred, as if he had eyes for no one else, and was bowing over her hand when her father spoke.
"Mr. Emerson, let me present you to Mr. Marsh. I believe you have never happened to meet here." Marsh turned as if reluctant to release the girl's hand, and not until his own was outstretched did he recognize the other. Even then he betrayed his recognition only by a slight lift of the eyebrows and an intensification of his glance.
The two mumbled the customary salutations while their eyes met. At their first encounter Boyd had considered Marsh rather indistinct in type, but with a lover's jealousy he now beheld a rival endowed with many disquieting attributes.
"You two will get along famously," said Mr. Wayland. "Mr. Marsh is acquainted with your country, Boyd."
"Ah!" Marsh exclaimed, quickly. "Are you an Alaskan, Mr. Emerson?"
"Indeed, he is so wedded to the country that he is going back to-morrow," Mildred offered.
Marsh's first look of challenge now changed to one of the liveliest interest, and Boyd imagined the fellow endeavoring to link him, through the affair at the restaurant, with the presence of Big George in Chicago. Although the full significance of the meeting had not struck the young lover yet, upon the heels of his first surprise came the realization that this man was to be not only his rival in love, but the greatest menace to the success of his venture—that venture which meant the world to him.
"Yes," he answered, cautiously, "I am a typical Alaskan—disappointed, but not discouraged."
"What business?"
"Mining!"
"Oh!" indifferently. Marsh addressed himself to Mr. Wayland: "I told you the commercial opportunities in that country were far greater than those in the mining business. All miners have the same story." Sensing the slight in his tone, rather than in his words, Mildred hastened to the defence of her fiance, nearly causing disaster thereby.
"Boyd has something far better than mining now. He was telling me about it as—"
"You interrupted us," interjected Emerson, panic stricken. "I didn't have time to explain the nature of my enterprise."
The girl was about to put in a disclaimer, when he flashed a look at her which she could not help but heed. "I am very stupid about such things," she offered, easily. "I would not have understood it, I am sure." To her father, she continued, leaving what she felt to be dangerous ground: "I didn't look for you so early."
"We finished sooner than I expected," Mr. Wayland answered, "so I drove Willis to his hotel and waited for him to dress. I was afraid he might disappoint us if I let him out of my sight. I couldn't allow that—not to-night of all nights, eh?" The magnate laughed knowingly at Marsh.
"I have never yet disappointed Miss Wayland, and I never shall," the new-comer replied, eying the girl in such a way that Boyd felt a sudden desire to choke him until his smooth, expressionless face matched the color of his evening coat. "I can imagine your daughter's feminine guests staying away, Mr. Wayland, but her masculine friends, never!"
"What rot!" thought Emerson.
"Well, I couldn't take any chances to-night," the father reasserted, "for this is a celebration. I will tell Hawkins to open a bottle of that Private Cuvee, '86."
"What machinations have you precious conspirators been at now?" queriedMildred.
"My dear, I have effected a wonderful deal to-day," said her father. "With the help of Mr. Marsh, I closed the last details of a consolidation which has occupied me for many months."
"Another trust, I suppose."
"Certain people might call it that," chuckled the old man. "Willis was the inspiring genius, and did most of the work; the credit is his."
"Not at all! Not at all!" disclaimed the modest Marsh. "I was but a child in your father's hands, Miss Wayland. He has given me a liberal education in finance."
"It was a beautiful affair, eh?" questioned the magnate.
"Wonderful."
"May I inquire the nature of this merger?" Emerson ventured, amazed at this disclosure of the intimate relations existing between the two.
"Certainly," replied Wayne Wayland. "There is no longer any secret about it, and the papers will be full of the story in the morning. I have combined the packing industries of the Pacific Coast under the name of the North American Packers' Association."
Boyd felt himself growing numb.
"What do you mean by 'packing industries'?" asked Mildred.
"Canneries—salmon fisheries! We own sixty per cent. of the plants of the entire Coast, including Alaska. That's why I've been so keen about that north country, Boyd. You never guessed it, eh?"
"No, sir," Boyd stammered.
"Well, we control the supply, and we will regulate the market. We will allow only what competition we desire. Oh, it is all in our hands. It was a beautiful transaction, and one of the largest I ever effected."
Was he dreaming? Boyd wondered. His mouth was dry, but he managed to inquire:
"What about the independent canneries?"
Marsh laughed. "There is no sentiment in business! There are about forty per cent. too many plants to suit us. I believe I am capable of attending to them."
"Mr. Marsh is the General Manager," Wayland explained. "With the market in our own hands, and sufficient capital to operate at a loss for a year, or two years, if necessary, I don't think the independent plants will cost us much."
Emerson found his sweetheart's eyes fixed upon him oddly. She turned to her father and said: "I consider that positively criminal."
"Tut, tut, my dear! It sounds cruel, of course, but it is business, and it is being done every day; isn't it, Boyd?"
Boyd made no answer, but Marsh hastened to add:
"You see, Miss Wayland, business, in the last analysis, is merely a survival of the fittest; only the strong and merciless can hold their own."
"Exactly," confirmed her father. "One can't allow sentiment to affect one. It isn't business. But you don't understand such things. Now, if you young people will excuse me, I shall remove the grime of toil, and return like a giant refreshed." He chuckled to himself and left the room, highly pleased with the events of the day.