The Rapids

  XIII.--THE VOICE OF THE RAPIDS

  It fell on a morning that Clark, sitting at his desk, felt within himthat strange stirring to which he had long since learned to give heed,it being his habit at such moments to leave the works and resignhimself completely to these subtle processes. He now walked slowlyacross toward the river, and seated himself where, years before, he hadwatched the triumphant kingfisher. The place had a peculiarfascination for him, and had by his orders been kept in its pristinewildness. Half a mile away the pulp mill was grinding dully, on theupper reaches of the great bay circular saws were ripping into logsfresh from Baudette's operations on the Magwa River, and seventy milesup the river a large crew was shipping and excavating at the iron mine.These things and many others being on foot, Clark had experienced thatintellectual restlessness which in him was the precursor of furthereffort.

  Listening to the boom of the river he reflected that the water he haddiverted to his own purposes was but a fraction of the whole mightytorrent racing in front of him. Into the scant half mile between shoreand shore was forced the escaping flood of the mighty Superior, andsuch was the compression that, midway, the torrent heaped itself upinto a low ridge of broken plunging crests. Just over the ridge hecould see the opposite shore line. It did not occur to him, as itwould to many, how puny were the greatest efforts of man beside thisprodigious mass. The manner of his mind was, too objective. The sightof the United States so close at hand only suggested that in thecountry from which he came he had as yet made no physical mark. Therewas the town with the rapids close beside it, just as in Canada. Moreand more the inward stirring captured him. Why should he not create inhis own land what he had already created in Canada?

  The idea was stimulating, and very carefully he reviewed the situationas it there existed. His supporters were keen men in Philadelphia andthe unexpected announcement of Fisette's discovery had electrified themarket. Shares in all the allied companies touched hitherto unreachedvalues. The more he thought the more he luxuriated in this new sweepof imagination, while intermittently there came to him the dull boom ofblasting at the works.

  Presently his mind turned to money and personal wealth. He had nevergiven it much thought, and only seriously considered money in terms ofwhat it could accomplish. Now he was receiving a very large salary andhad, as well, holdings in shares of the various companies. He dwelt onthe fact for a while, not that he had ever aimed at riches, but becausehis financial position was infinitely better than ever before. Itwould be easy, he reflected, to sell out, retire and live at ease. Hechuckled audibly at the picture, realizing that if he stopped work hewould die of a strangulated spirit.

  Presently as he listened it seemed that the rapids took on a new pitch.He had remarked before that, varying with the direction of the wind,their call was not always in one great thundering diapason butsometimes in a gigantic hubbub made up, as it were, of the confusedblending of many notes. Now, he imagined, he could discern themall--querulous, angry, contented, pleading, defiant, threatening andtriumphant, and he perceived in them but the echo of changing humanmoods. To-day he distinguished chiefly a voice that was dominant andimperative.

  Still in profound contemplation he surveyed the rapids' gigantic sweep,the proud and tossing billows shot through with sunlight and vibrantwith speed. He made out those smooth and glistening emerald cellarsinto which the flashing river pitched to rise again in tossing crests.He followed back through the icy depths of the great lake stretchingwestward to hidden swamps in that vast wilderness where these waterswere born, and shouting rivers down which they poured through silentpools and over leaping cataracts to Superior. He saw still anotherriver that, growing in power and majesty, moved royally past the citiesof men, healing, sustaining and inspiring. And, last of all, heperceived these waters of half a continent blend silently with thebrackish tides and lose themselves in the eternal sea.

  This translation of vision moved him profoundly, for it was the natureof his remote personality to be stirred more deeply by the revelationsof his own soul than by anything extraneous to its strange reactions.Then gradually the voice of the river resolved itself into one clearand unmistakable summons. "Use me while you may. I shall flow onforever, while you have but a moment in eternity."

  And this satisfied him.

  He got up and walked slowly back, plunged in thought, but not of thosewho passed and touched their hats and to whom he was thepersonification of power. There was in his mind the talk he had withWimperley, a few months before. "We're in your hands," he had said,"but there's a limit to what we can raise. Push on with work and don'tforget about dividends."

  Remembering it, Clark smiled. The dividends might be delayed a year orso, but when they came it would be in a flood like the rapids. At hisoffice he found a telegram from the purchasing agent in the UnitedStates. Blast furnaces were under way, and, he reported, he hadsecured an option on a rail mill. It was not new, but could be had atonce. To dismantle and reerect would save six months as against thetime required to build a new one. This purchase would also savehundreds of thousands of dollars.

  He pondered for some time, with Wimperley's remarks about dividendskeeping up an irritating onslaught. He was aware in a strange butquite unmistakable way that this decision now to be made was in a quitepositive sense more momentous than appeared on the surface. He hungover it, balancing the advantages of a new mill against a definitesaving. It was not the sum about which he hesitated, but a touch ofuncertainty as to just how much capital Wimperley and the rest couldactually provide. Then suddenly he decided to be economical, eventhough a secondhand mill had obvious weaknesses.

  In the next moment he rang for Belding. The engineer answered with aweariness daily becoming more settled, and which was only relieved bythe spontaneous loyalty he had from the first conceived for his chief.Of late he never entered Clark's office without anticipating someaddition to burdens he had already determined were too heavy for hisyoung shoulders. But now, too, as always, he had no sooner closed thedoor and caught the extraordinary power in Clark's eyes than he wascaught up in the grip of his chief's confidence and felt ready for theeffort.

  "You know the ground on the other side of the river?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I wish you would take a look over it very quietly and bring me a townmap on which you have indicated the cheapest possible route for anotherpower canal."

  "Another canal!" said Belding involuntarily.

  "It's important that it should be the cheapest possible," went onClark, apparently without hearing, "and you'll have to balance up thematerial to be excavated by a longer route against the cost of moreimproved land by one that is more direct."

  "How much power is required?" The question came dully.

  "Not less than thirty thousand. I'm going to make carbide. At least,"he added with a short laugh, "if I don't, some one else will."

  Belding drew a long breath. He had a swift and discomfortingconviction that this man, whom he felt forced to admire, was going toofast. Around him were all the evidences that he had not gone too fastand there seemed to be unlimited support behind him. But yet--

  The engineer grew very red in the face. "Do you think that's wise,sir?" he said with a tremendous effort.

  Clark glanced up in astonishment and his expression grew rigid. "Justwhat do you mean, Belding?"

  "I am sorry, sir. I know it sounds impertinent but I've a rottenfeeling that things--that things--" He broke off in distress.

  "I'll trouble you to finish your sentence." The voice was like ice.

  "Don't misunderstand me," the young man went valiantly on. "It isn'tfor myself, it's for you."

  "Why me?" Clark's glance softened ever so little at the thought.

  "New schemes are piling up every day. We're not out of one beforewe're into another."

  "We?" The voice had a touch of irony.

  "Yes, sir, we--because I'm with you to the end, whatever that may be.I don't care if I go to sma
sh and lose my job, but what about you? Idon't want to be disrespectful, but if this company fails it's you thatwill have failed. I won't count except to myself. You're doing morenow than ten ordinary men. Isn't there enough without that?" Beldingpointed across the river.

  Then, to the young man's amazement, Clark began to laugh, not riotouslybut with a gradual abandonment that shook his thickset body withsuccessive convulsions of mirth. Presently he wiped his eyes.

  "Sit down, Belding, but first of all, thank you from the bottom of myheart. You make a brilliant contrast with a group I know who had tobolster themselves up for days to get courage to say something of thesame kind, and they were thinking of their own skins, not mine. Now Iwant to tell you something."

  Belding nodded. His brain was too confused for speech.

  "It really doesn't matter about me. Long ago I decided that I wasmeant for a certain purpose in this world. I'm trying to carry it out.I may reach it here--or elsewhere, frankly I don't know. But all I doknow is that there are certain things here that I was meant to tackleand this new canal is one of them. If I go to smash it was intendedthat I smash, and that doesn't worry me a bit. I'm not working formyself, or even in a definite way for my shareholders, but I'm tryingto adapt the forces and resources of nature to the use of man. Don'tyou see?"

  "I think so." Belding began to perceive that he was caught up as asmall unit in a great forward movement that encompassed not onlyhimself but thousands of others.

  "So once again, thank you for what you said. It was a bit of a job,wasn't it?"

  "The toughest thing I ever tackled."

  Clark's eyes twinkled with amusement. "I know it. Now, remember Idon't want advice and if I smash--and I really won't smash--I don'twant sympathy. It's the kind of balm I've no use for. Some people areso hungry for sympathy that they forget their jobs. And, Belding!"

  "Yes, sir."

  "I'm going to see you through, remember that. Now make me that map,and," he concluded with a provocative drawl, "don't forget howfortunate it is for you and me that water runs down hill."

  Belding's mind was in a whirl. "There's one other thing," he said,"I've promised to build a cathedral for the bishop. Peterson has giventhe stone and--"

  "I told him to," broke in Clark; "couldn't you guess that? He spoke tome about it. But understand that neither the bishop nor any one elsemust know it. I told them all except Ryan, and I didn't like to treadon his religious toes."

  Belding laughed. "I should have guessed it. The thing was too easy,and Ryan came up to the scratch with the rest."

  In September the pro-cathedral was completed. Belding, faithful to histrust, had made almost daily visits of inspection, when he often foundthe bishop seated on a half-cut stone and talking with evident interestto the workmen. It seemed that the big man's presence pushed the workalong at top speed. On one occasion, a few days before the openingceremony, the engineer was watching a mason laying the machicolatedcoping on the tower when the trowel slipped and dropped forty feet tothe ground. Instantly there arose a stream of profanity from the topof that sacred edifice. Came a chuckle at Belding's shoulder.

  "Unquestionably the effect of Ryan's cement, but it's going to hold ourchurch together."

  Glancing down, the mason caught sight of the black coated figure. Hisprofanity ceased abruptly.

  "Will you please throw me up that trowel, sir?"

  The bishop laughed and the trowel gyrated skywards. "It makes me thinkof all that goes into the making of a church nowadays," he saidthoughtfully. "By the way I wonder if my friend Mr. Clark will turn upnext Sunday."

  And Clark, to every one's surprise, did turn up, after most of St.Marys had seated themselves in the new oak pews. There was Dibbott, incarefully pressed light gray trousers, white waistcoat and a red flowerin his buttonhole; Mrs. Dibbott in spotless linen, for the day waswarm. Then the Bowers, the husband with his metropolitan manneracquired on frequent business trips to Philadelphia and converse withcity capitalists, his wife in silk and a New York hat, at which Mrs.Dibbott glanced with somewhat startled eyes. Things had gone well withthe Bowers. There were the Wordens, with Elsie and Belding, the latteraccepting whispered congratulations on his work but wanting only a lookwhich he could not draw from the girl beside him. Filmer was there,his black whiskers unusually glossy. He pulled at them caressingly andnow and again cleared his throat, for he was to sing the tenor solo.At the door, Manson hung about till old Dibbott, glaring amiably downthe isle, marched out and dragged the chief constable and his wife to afront seat. And last of all came Clark, who, slipping into a backcorner, refused to move. Then the old bell ceased swinging in the newstone tower and the service began.

  It was all very simple and touching. Filmer's melodious tenor neversounded better and the bishop's talk was straight to the point. Thispro-cathedral, built out of love and faith, he told them, linked theold days with the new. The labor of many, freely given, had gone intoit--here his kindly gaze dwelt for an instant on the gray-coated figurein the corner--and it augured well for the future. From this buildingmust spread the doctrine of charity and fellowship and courage.

  It was but for a few moments that he spoke, and when it was all overthe old bell rang joyously as though for a wedding. Belding tried tocatch Elsie's glance, but she only flushed and watched the majesticfigure of the bishop retire into the little vestry. He had adespondent impression that an impalpable barrier lay between them. Onthe way out they met Clark and the girl's eyes brightened miraculously.

  "Isn't it a charming church?" she said.

  Clark nodded. "It's very pretty. St. Marys owes a good deal to Mr.Belding for this."

  "He made the plans, I know, but think of all the people who gave thelabor and the things to build it with."

  Belding was about to blurt out that it was Clark who gave the things tobuild it with, but a swift signal imposed silence.

  "I know, it's excellent. You have not been at the works lately."

  "I was there last week."

  "And I was in Philadelphia. I'm sorry."

  She said good-by and, with Belding at her side, turned homeward, Clarklooked after them curiously, his eyes half closing as though to hide aquestion that moved in their baffling depths.

  The congregation dispersed slowly with the conviction that there hadbeen created one of those memories to which in later years thereflective mind delights to return. Quite naturally, and as they oftendid, Mrs. Manson and Mrs. Bowers dropped into the Dibbott house withits mistress. Dibbott was already there. He was about to start on oneof his official journeys, and just now was rooting things out of a backcupboard with explosive energy.

  "Well," said Mrs. Bowers, folding her large, capable hands, "wasn't itlovely?"

  The rumble of a street car sounded outside. "It revives old times,"Mrs. Manson said softly, "but I don't believe we've changed much.We're too bred in the bone."

  "Do we want the old times back?" asked Mrs. Bowers, to whom the pastyears had been kind.

  "For some things, yes, and for others, no. Living's a great deal moreexpensive, and my husband's income is just the same," put in Mrs.Dibbott after a pause. "Taxes are up, and I'm not any happier though Isuppose I'm better informed. John won't sell the place though he hasbeen offered a perfectly splendid price, and it's noisy--but I like it,and there's the garden. Things don't happen to me--they just happenround me."

  "And you, my dear," continued Mrs. Bowers with an inquisitive glance atthe chief constable's wife, "what about you? Your husband's supposedto have done better than any one except Mr. Filmer."

  The little woman flushed. She was perfectly aware that Manson wascredited with making his fortune, and perhaps he had. But she had noknowledge of it. For a while she knew he was dealing in property, andthen one morning he told her he had sold out. Her heart leaped at thenews, for Manson in the past year or so had changed. Invariablyaustere, he had been nevertheless kind and considerate--but soon afterthe real estate ventu
re ended he became only austere, to which therewas added something almost like apprehension. And this in her husbandwas to her of intense concern.

  "I can't say," she began a little timidly. "Peter has been telling mefor months he's going to resign and live at ease, but it's always amatter of waiting just a little longer. I can't help longing for theold days. Perhaps there was less comfort but--" she addedpathetically, "there was also less restlessness. I suppose I'm out ofdate."

  "Did you see Mr. Clark to-day?" broke in Mrs. Dibbott, changing thesubject with swift intuition.

  "Yes, the first time he has been in church."

  "He's not interested in us," announced Mrs. Bowers, with the manner ofone who delivers an axiom, "not a little bit. St. Marys happens to bethe town near the works, and we happen to be the people in it, that'sall."

  Mrs. Dibbott's flexible fingers curved and met. "Why should he be? Wehaven't done anything for him, except allow him to shoulder the towndebt. And there isn't a woman alive who means anything to him, in onesense. He's in love--but with his work. There's no room for one ofus, and, if he had a wife we'd only discuss her like a lot of cats.Let's be honest--you both know we would."

  The others laughed and went their way, Mrs. Bowers to the big housenear the station. It had a new porch and an iron fence and was freshlypainted. In former days it never suggested personal resources as itdid now. A little later Mrs. Manson turned into the gravel walk thatled to the small stone annex of the big stone jail. Instead of goingupstairs, she stopped at her husband's office and knocked, as shealways did.

  "Come in," boomed a deep voice.

  Manson was at his desk and still in his Sunday best. He had taken theflower out of his buttonhole and laid it on a printed notice of thenext assize court. She stood looking at him, their faces almostlevel--such was his great bulk.

  "Peter," she said gravely, "I want to talk to you."

  Something in her manner impressed him and he pushed back his chair."What is it?"

  "We don't seem to have much time to talk nowadays."

  "There's no reason we shouldn't."

  "That's just it--but we don't. Now I want to ask you something and,Peter, you mustn't put me off--as you always do.

  "It's about ourselves," she went on, with a long breath, "butprincipally about you--and it concerns the children. Everything'schanged and you're not what you used to be and something has comebetween us. I don't feel any more that we're the most important thingsin your life--as I used to."

  He shook his head grimly. "You're all more important than ever, if youonly knew it." Manson had a faint sense of injustice. It was for themhe was wading through depths of anxiety. "You're shortly going to getthe surprise of your life," he added with a note of triumphantconviction.

  "Is it money?" she said slowly.

  He nodded. "Yes, a pile of it."

  "I don't want any more money, Peter, I'd sooner have you." The littlewoman's voice was very pleading.

  "Look here, Barbara," he exploded, "I've made nearly thirty thousanddollars out of real estate. I got the money, you understand, but thegame was too stiff and took too much time, so I put that and what elseI could raise into stock--in Toronto. I've already made twentythousand more, that's fifty, and the last twenty was without any effortor time on my part. I've only got to leave it alone for another year,and I'll pull out with an even hundred thousand and retire and devotethe rest of my time to you and the children. Isn't that fair enough?"

  "Do you say that you have already made fifty thousand dollars?" Shewas staring at him with startled and incredulous eyes. The sumstaggered her.

  "Yes," he chuckled contentedly.

  She put her arms around his neck. "Then, Peter," she implored, "stopnow. It's enough--it's marvelously more than I ever dreamed of. Oh!we can be so happy."

  He shook his head. "I've set my mind on the even hundred. Can't youstand another year of it?"

  "I can, but not you," she implored. "You don't know how you'vechanged. Peter, I beg you."

  "I've got to leave that fifty where it is to make the next," he saidwith slow stubbornness. "I'll be the only man in St. Marys who waswise enough to make hay when the sun shone. You needn't be frightenedfor me."

  "I'm frightened for myself," she answered shakily. "Won't you do whatI ask? Sometimes," she ventured with delicate courage, "sometimes awoman can see furthest--though she doesn't know why."

  "A year from to-day you'll thank me for sticking it out," came backManson stolidly.

  "And if it shouldn't turn out as you expect," she replied with a lookthat was at once sudden and profound, "you'll remember that I beggedand you refused."

  The door closed noiselessly behind her and Manson stared at his deskwith a queer sense of discomfort. Consolidated stock had moved upbuoyantly on the news of the discovery of iron, and he had establishedfor himself with his Toronto brokers the reputation of a shrewdoperator who worked on the strength of inside information. In front ofhim were Toronto letters asking that his agent be kept informed ofdevelopments at St. Marys. It pleased him that this had been achievedoutside his own town and without its knowledge, and he saw himself aman who was vastly underestimated by his fellow citizens. But in spiteof it all he was daily more conscious of a worm of uncertainty thatgnawed in his brain. The thing was safe, obviously and demonstrablysafe. Against his thousands others had invested millions with which tobuttress the whole gigantic concern. And yet--!