CHAPTER IX
IN DAVE'S OFFICE
It was the day after the bazaar. Betty had just returned home from herschool for midday dinner. She was sitting at the open window, waitingwhile her aunt set the meal. The cool green of the wild-cucumberscovering the veranda tempered the blistering summer heat whichoppressed the valley. The girl was looking out upon the village belowher, at the woodland slopes opposite, at the distant narrowing of themighty walls which bounded her world, but she saw none of these things.She saw nothing of the beauty, the gracious foliage, the wonderfulsunlight she loved. Her gaze was introspective. She saw only thepictures her thoughts conjured up.
They were not pleasant pictures either, but they were absorbing. Sheknew that she had arrived at a crisis in her life. The scene she hadwitnessed at the bazaar was still burning in her brain. The shame stungand revolted her. The horror of it was sickening. Jim's disgrace wascomplete; yet, in spite of it, she could not help remembering Dave'sappeal for him.
He had said that Jim needed her more than ever now, and the thoughtmade her uneasy, and her tender heart urged her in a direction she knewshe must not take. It was so easy for her to condemn, she who knewnothing of temptation. And yet her position was so utterly impossible.Jim had been in the village all this time and had not been near her,that is except on this one occasion, when he was drunk. He wasevidently afraid to come near her. He was a coward, and she hatedcowards.
He had even persuaded Dave to intercede for him. She smiled as shethought of it. But her smile was for Dave, and not at the other'sdisplay of cowardice. It was not a smile of amusement either. She onlysmiled at the absurdity of Dave pleading for one whom he knew to bewholly unworthy. It was the man's large heart, she told herself. Andalmost in the same breath she found herself resenting his kindlyinterference, and wishing he would mind his own business. Why should hebe always thinking of others? Why should he not think sometimes ofhimself?
Her dreaming now became of Dave alone, and she found herself reviewinghis life as she knew it. Her eyes grew tender, and she basked in thesunlight of a world changed to pleasant thought. His ugliness no longertroubled her--she no longer saw it. She saw only the spirit inside theman, and somehow his roughnesses of voice, manner and appearance seemeda wholly fitting accompaniment to it. Her thoughts of Jim had gone fromher entirely. The crisis which she was facing had receded into theshadows. Dave became her dominant thought, and she started when heruncle's voice suddenly broke in upon her reverie.
"Betty," he said, coming up behind her and laying one lean hand uponher rounded shoulder, "I haven't had time to speak to you about itsince the bazaar, but now I want to tell you that you can have nothingmore to do with young Truscott. He is a thorough-paced young scoundreland----"
"You need say no more, uncle," the girl broke in bitterly. "You cantell me nothing I do not already know of him."
"Then I trust you will send him about his business at once," added heraunt, who had entered the room bearing the dinner joint on a tray, justin time to hear Betty's reply.
Betty looked at her aunt's round, good-natured face. For once it wascold and angry. From her she looked up at her uncle's, and the decisionshe saw in his frank eyes left her no alternative but a direct reply.
"I intend to settle everything this afternoon," she said simply.
"In what way?" inquired her uncle sharply.
Betty rose from her seat and crossed the room to her aunt's side. Thelatter, having set the dinner, was waiting beside her chair ready tosit down as soon as the matter should be settled. Betty placed her armabout her stout waist, and the elder woman's face promptly relaxed. Shecould never long keep up even a pretense of severity where Betty wasconcerned.
The girl promptly addressed herself to her uncle with all the franknessof one assured of a sympathetic hearing.
"You have always taught me, uncle dear, that duty must be my firstconsideration in life," she began steadily. "I have tried to live up tothat, and it has possibly made my conscience a little over keen." Herface clouded, but the clouds broke immediately, chased away by aplaintive smile. "When Jim asked me to marry him five years ago Ibelieved I loved him. At one time I'm sure I did, in a silly, girlishfashion. But soon after he went away I realized that a girlishinfatuation is not real love. This knowledge I tried to hide even frommyself. I would not believe it, and for a long time I almost managed toconvince myself. That was until Jim's letters became fewer and colder.With his change I no longer attempted to conceal from myself the realstate of my own feelings. But even then my conscience wouldn't let mealone. I had promised to wait for him, and I made up my mind that, comewhat might, unless he made it impossible I would marry him." Shesighed. "Well, you know the rest. He has now made it impossible. Whathis real feelings are for me," she went on with a pathetic smile, "Ihave not had an opportunity of gauging. As you know, he has not beennear me. I shall now make it my business to see him this afternoon andsettle everything. My conscience isn't by any means easy about it, butI intend to give him up."
Her aunt squeezed her arm sympathetically, and her uncle nodded hisapproval.
"Where are you going to see him?" the latter asked. "You mustn't seehim alone." Then he burst out wrathfully, "He's a blackguard, and----"
"No, no, uncle, don't say that," Betty interrupted him. "Surely he isto be pitied. Remember him as he was. You cannot tell what temptationshave come his way."
The parson's face cleared at once. His angry outbursts were alwaysshort-lived.
"I'm sorry, Betty," he said. "My dear, you shame me. I'm afraid that myhasty temper is always leading to my undoing as a churchman." Thehalf-humorous smile which accompanied his words passed swiftly. "Whereare you going to see him?" he again demanded.
"Down at Dave's office," the girl replied, after a moment's thought.
"Eh?" Her uncle was startled; but Mary Chepstow smiled on herencouragingly.
"Yes, you see," she went on, "Dave had a good deal to do with--ourengagement--in a way, and----"
"I'm glad Dave is going to help you through this business," said heraunt, with a glance which effectually kept her husband silent. "He's adear fellow, and--let's have our dinner--it's nearly cold."
Aunt Mary was not brilliant, she was not meddlesome, but she had all awoman's intuition. She felt that enough had been said. And for someobscure reason she was glad that Dave was to have a hand in thismatter. Nor had her satisfaction anything to do with the man's abilityto protect her niece from possible insult.
That afternoon Dave received an unexpected visit. He was alone in hisoffice, clad for hard work, without coat, waistcoat, collar or tie. Hehad no scruples in these matters. With all an American's love offreedom he abandoned himself to all he undertook with awhole-heartedness which could not tolerate even the restraint of whathe considered unnecessary clothing. And just now, in the terrific heat,all these things were superfluous.
Betty looked particularly charming as she hurried across thelumber-yard. She was dressed in a spotless white cotton frock, and,under her large sun-hat, her brown hair shone in the sunlight likeburnished copper. Without the least hesitation she approached theoffice and knocked peremptorily on the door.
The man inside grudgingly answered the summons. His books wereoccupying all his attention, and his thoughts were filled with columnsof figures. But the moment he beheld the white, smiling vision the lastof his figures fled precipitately from his mind.
"Why, come right in, little Betty," he cried, hastily setting the onlyavailable chair for her. Then he bethought himself of his attire. "Say,you might have let me know. Just half a minute and I'll fix myself up."
But the girl instantly protested. "You'll do just as you are," sheexclaimed. "Now you look like a lumberman. And I like you best thatway."
Dave grinned and sat down a little self-consciously. But Betty had noidea of letting any conventionalities interfere with the matter she hadin hand. She was always direct, always single-minded, when her decisionwas taken. She gave him no time to speculate as t
o the object of hervisit.
"Dave," she began seriously, "I want you to do me a great favor." Thenshe smiled. "As usual," she added. "I want you to send for Jim Truscottand bring him here."
Dave was on his feet in an instant and crossed to the door. The nextmoment his voice roared out to one of his foremen. It was a shout thatcould have been heard across his own milling floor with every sawshrieking on the top of its work.
He waited, and presently Simon Odd came hurrying across the yard. Hespoke to him outside, and then returned to the office.
"He'll be along in a few minutes," he said. "I've sent Odd with thebuckboard."
"Are you sure he'll come?"
Dave smiled confidently.
"I told Odd to bring him."
"I hope he'll come willingly," the girl said, after a thoughtful pause.
"So do I," observed Dave dryly. "Well, little girl?"
Betty understood the inquiry, and looked him fearlessly in the eyes.
"You sowed your wheat on barren soil, Dave," she said decidedly. "Yourappeal for Jim has borne no fruit."
The man shifted his position. It was the only sign he gave. But thefires were stirred into a sudden blaze, and his blood ran fiercelythrough his veins.
"That's not a heap like you, Betty," was all he said.
"Isn't it?" The girl turned to the window. The dirt on the glass madeit difficult for her to see out of it, but she gazed at it steadily.
"I suppose you'll think me a mean, heartless creature," she saidslowly. "You'll think little enough of my promises, and still lessof--of my loyalty." She paused. Then she raised her head and turned tohim again. "I cannot marry Jim. I cannot undertake his reformation. Icannot give up my life to a man whom I now know I never really loved. Iknow you will not understand. I know, only too well, your own loftyspirit, your absolute unselfishness. I know that had you been in myplace you would have fulfilled your promise at any cost. But I can't. Isimply can't."
"No."
It was the man's only comment. But his mind was busy. He knew Betty sowell that he understood a great deal without asking questions.
"Aunt Mary and uncle know my decision," the girl went on. "They know Iam here, and that I am going to see Jim in your presence. You see, Ithought if I sent for him to come to our house he might refuse. Hemight insult uncle again. I thought, somehow, it would be differentwith you."
Dave nodded.
"I don't blame your uncle and aunt for making you give him up," hesaid. "I'd have done it in their place."
"Yet you appealed for him?"
Betty's eyes questioned him.
"Sure, I promised to help him. That was before the bazaar."
Suddenly Betty held out her hands with a little appealing movement.Dave wanted to seize them and crush them in his own, but he did notstir.
"Tell me you don't think badly of me. Tell me you do not think me aheartless, wretched woman. I have thought and thought, and prayed forguidance. And now it seems to me I am a thoroughly wicked girl. But Icannot--I must not marry him."
The man rose abruptly from his seat. He could no longer look into hertroubled eyes and keep his own secret. When he spoke it was with hisback to her, as he made a pretense of filling his pipe at the tobaccojar on the table. His voice was deep with emotion.
"I thank God you've decided," he said. "You've done right by everybody.And you've shown more courage refusing him than if you'd gone throughwith your promise, because you've done it against your conscience. No,little Betty," he went on, turning to her again with infinite kindnessin his steady eyes, "there's no one can call you heartless, or anyother cruel name--and--and they'd better not in my hearing," hefinished up clumsily.
A few minutes later the rattle of buckboard wheels sounded outside, andbefore Betty could reply Dave took the opportunity of going to thedoor. Jim Truscott was standing outside with the gigantic Simon Oddclose behind him, much in the manner of a warder watching his prisoner.The flicker of a smile came and went in the lumberman's eyes at thesight. Then his attention was held by the anger he saw in Jim'sdissipated face. He was not a pleasant sight. His eyes were heavy andbloodshot, and the lines about them were accentuated by his generalunwashed appearance. Even at that distance, as they stood there facingeach other, he caught the reek of stale brandy the man exhaled. Hisclothes, too, had the appearance of having been flung on hurriedly, andthe shirt and collar he wore were plainly filthy. Altogether he was anobject for pity, and at the same time it was not possible to feelanything for him but a profound repugnance.
"He was abed," said the giant Odd, the moment Dave appeared. Then witha complacent grin, "But he guessed he'd come right along when I toldhim you was kind o' busy an' needed him important."
But Jim's angry face flamed.
"Nothing of the sort. This damned ruffian of yours dragged me out,blast him."
"Cut it!" Dave warned him sharply. "There's a lady here to see you.Come right in."
The warning had instant effect. Truscott stepped into the room andstood face to face with Betty. Dave closed the door and stood aside.For a few intense moments no word was spoken. The man stared stupidlyinto the girl's unsmiling face; then he looked across at Dave. It wasBetty who finally broke the silence.
"Well, Jim," she said kindly, "at last we meet." She noted all thesigns of dissipation in the young face, which, but a few years ago, hadbeen so fresh and clean and good-looking. Now it was so different, and,to her woman's eyes, there was more than the mere outward signs. Therewas a spirit looking out of his bloodshot eyes that she did notrecognize. It was as though the soul of the man had changed; it haddegenerated to a lower grade. There was something unwholesome in hisexpression, as though some latent brutality had been stirred into life,and had obliterated every vestige of that clean, boyish spirit that hadonce been his.
"And," she went on, as he remained silent, "you had to be cajoled intocoming to see me."
Still the man did not speak. Whether it was shame that held him silentit was impossible to tell. Probably not, for there was a steadilygrowing light in his eyes that suggested thoughts of anything but of amoral tone. He was held by her beauty--he was held as a man issometimes held by some ravishing vision that appeals to his lowersenses. He lost no detail of her perfect woman's figure, the seductivecontours so wonderfully moulded. His eyes drank in the sight, and itset his blood afire.
Dave never turned his eyes. He too was watching. And he understood, andresented, the storm that was lashing through the man's veins.
"Have you nothing to say to me after these long years?" the girl askedagain, forced to break the desperate silence. Then the woman in herfound voice, "Oh! Jim, Jim! the pity of it. And I thought you sostrong."
Dave clenched his hands at his sides, but made no other movement. ThenBetty's manner suddenly changed. All the warmth died out of her voice,and, mistress of herself again, she went straight to her object.
"Jim, it was I who sent for you. I asked Dave to do this for me."
"A word from you would have been enough," the man said, with a suddenfire that lost nothing of its fierce passion in the hoarse tone inwhich he spoke.
"A word from me?" There was unconscious irony in the girl's reply.
"Yes, a word. I know. You are thinking of when your uncle came to me;you're thinking of our first meeting on the bridge; you're thinking ofyesterday. I was drunk. I admit it. But I'm not always drunk. I tellyou a word from you would have been enough."
The girl's eyes reproached him.
"A word from me, after five years' absence? It seems to me you shouldnot have needed a word from me. Jim, had you come to me, whatever yourstate, poor or rich, it would have made no difference to me. I shouldhave met you as we parted, ready to fulfil my pledge."
"You mean----"
The man's bloodshot eyes were alight. A tremendous passion was urginghim to the limits of his restraining powers. He had almost forgottenwhere he was. He had quite forgotten Dave. The sight of this woman withher beautiful figure, her sweet face and se
rious eyes, almost maddenedhim. He was from the wilds, where he had long since buried hiswholesome youthful ideals. The life he had lived had entirely deadenedall lofty thought. He only saw with a brain debased to the level of theanimal. He desired her. He madly desired her now that he had seen heragain, and he realized that his desire was about to be thwarted.
Betty drew back a step. The movement was unconscious. It was thewoman's instinct at the sight of something threatening which made herdraw away from the passion she saw blazing in his eyes. Dave silentlywatched the man.
"I mean," said the girl solemnly, "that you have made our pledgeimpossible. I mean," she went on, with quiet dignity, "that I cannotmarry you now, even if you wish it. No, no," as Jim made a suddenmovement to speak, "it is quite useless to discuss the matter further.I insisted on this meeting to settle the matter beyond question. Davehere witnessed our engagement, and I wished him to witness itstermination. You will be better free, and so shall I. There could havebeen no happiness in a marriage between us----"
"But I won't give you up," the man suddenly broke out. He had passedthe narrow limits of his restraint. His face flushed and showedblotched in the sudden scarlet. For a second, after that first fieryoutburst, no words came. Then the torrent flowed forth. "Is this what Iwent away for? Is this what I have slaved for in the wilds of theYukon? Is this what I am to find now that I have made the money youdesired? No, no, you can't get rid of me like that; you don't mean it,you can't mean it. Betty, I want you more than anything on earth," herushed on, his voice dropping to a persuasive note. "I want you, andwithout you life is nothing to me. I must have you!" He took a stepforward. But it was only a step, for the girl's steady eyes held him,and checked his further advance. And something in her attitude turnedhis mood to one of fierce protest. "What is it that has come betweenus? What is it that has changed you?"
Betty snatched at his pause.
"Such questions come well from you, Jim," she said, with somebitterness. "You know the truth. You do not need me to tell you." Hertone suddenly let the demon in the man loose. His passion-lit eyeslowered, and a furtive, sinister light shone in them when he liftedthem again.
"I know. I understand," he cried. "This is an excuse, and it serves youwell." The coldness of his voice was in painful contrast to his recentpassion. "The old story, eh? You have found some one else. I neverthought much of a woman's promise, anyhow. I wonder who it is." Thenwith a sudden vehemence. "But you shan't marry him. Do you hear? Youshan't while I am----"
"Quit it!"
Dave's great voice suddenly filled the room and cut the man's threatsshort.
Jim turned on him in a flash; until that moment he had entirelyforgotten the lumberman. He eyed the giant for a second. Then helaughed cynically.
"Oh, I'd forgotten you. Of course," he went on. "I see now. I neverthought of it before. I remember, you were on the bridge together whenI first----"
Dave had taken a couple of strides and now stood between the two. Hismovement silenced the man, while he addressed himself to Betty.
"You're finished with him?" he inquired in a deep, harsh voice.
There was something so compelling about him that Betty simply nodded.Instantly he swung round on the younger man.
"You'll vacate this place--quick," he said deliberately.
The two men eyed each other for some seconds. Truscott's look meantmischief, Dave's was calmly determined. The latter finally steppedaside and crossing to the door held it open.
"I said you'll--vacate," he said sharply.
Truscott turned and glanced at the open door. Then he glanced at Betty,who had drawn farther away. Finally his frigid eyes turned upon Dave'sgreat figure standing at the door. For an instant a wicked smile playedround his lips, and he spoke in the same cynical tone.
"I never thought of you in the marriage market, Dave," he said, with avicious laugh. "I suppose it's only natural. Nobody ever associated youwith marriage. Somehow your manner and appearance don't suggest it. Iseem to see you handling lumber all your life, not dandling children onyour knee. But there, you're a good catch--a mighty good one. And I wasfool enough to trust you with my cause. Ye gods! Well, your weight ofmoney has done it, no doubt. I congratulate you. She has lied to me,and no doubt she will lie----"
But the man, if he finished his remark at all, must have done so to thestacks of lumber in the yards, and to the accompaniment of the shriekof the saws. There was no fuss. Scarcely any struggle. Dave moved withcat-like swiftness, which in a man of his size was quite miraculous,and in a flash Jim Truscott was sprawling on the hard red ground on theother side of the doorway.
And when Dave looked round at Betty the girl's face was covered withher hands, and she was weeping. He stood for a second all contrition,and clumsily fumbling for words. He believed she was distressed at hisbrutal action.
"I'm sorry, little Betty," he blurted out at last. "I'm real sorry. ButI just couldn't help it."