XIX
MISS APPLETON MAKES A SACRIFICE
Tom Slater came puffing up the hill to the Appleton bungalow, plumpedhimself into a chair, and sighed deeply.
"What's the matter? Are you played out?" asked Eliza.
"No. I'm feeling like a colt."
"Any news from Omar Khayyam?"
"Not a word."
Eliza's brows drew together in a worried frown, for none of Murray's"boys" had awaited tidings from him with greater anxiety than she.
It had been a trying month for them all. Dr. Gray, upon whom theheaviest responsibility rested, had aged visibly under the strain;Parker and Mellen and McKay had likewise become worn and grave as thedays passed and they saw disaster approaching. Even Dan was blue; andSheldon, the light-hearted, had begun to lose interest in hiscommissary duties.
After the storm at Kyak there had been a period of fierce rejoicing,which had ended abruptly with the receipt of O'Neil's curt cablegramannouncing the attitude of the Trust. Gloom had succeeded the firstsurprise, deepening to hopeless despondency through the days thatfollowed. Oddly enough, Slater had been the only one to bear up; underadversity he blossomed into a peculiar and almost offensivecheerfulness. It was characteristic of his crooked temperament thatmisfortune awoke in him a lofty and unshakable optimism.
"You're great on nicknames, ain't you?" he said to Eliza, regarding herwith his never-failing curiosity. "Who's this Homer Keim you're alwaystalking about?"
"He isn't any more: he WAS. He was a cheerful old Persian poet."
"I thought he was Dutch, from the name. Well! Murray's cheerful too.Him and me are alike in that. I'll bet he isn't worrying half so muchas Doc and the others."
"You think he'll make good?"
"He never fails."
"But--we can't hold on much longer. Dan says that some of the men aregetting uneasy and want their money."
Tom nodded. "The men are all right--Doc has kept them paid up; it's theshift bosses. I say let 'em quit."
"Has it gone as far as that?"
"Somebody keeps spreading the story that we're busted and that Murrayhas skipped out. More of Gordon's work, I s'pose. Some of thesore-heads are coming in this evening to demand their wages."
"Can we pay them?"
"Doc says he dassent; so I s'pose they'll quit. He should have fired'em a week ago. Never let a man quit--always beat him to it. We couldhold the rough-necks for another two weeks if it wasn't for thesefellows, but they'll go back and start a stampede."
"How many are there?"
"About a dozen."
"I was afraid it was worse. There can't be much owing to them."
"Oh, it's bad enough! They've been letting their wages ride, that's whythey got scared. We owe them about four thousand dollars."
"They must be paid," said Eliza. "It will give Mr. O'Neil another twoweeks--a month, perhaps."
"Doc's got his back up, and he's told the cashier to make 'em wait."
Eliza hesitated, and flushed a little. "I suppose it's none of mybusiness," she said, "but--couldn't you boys pay them out of your ownsalaries?"
Mr. Slater grinned--an unprecedented proceeding which lent his face analtogether strange and unnatural expression.
"Salary! We ain't had any salary," he said, cheerfully--"not formonths."
"Dan has drawn his regularly."
"Oh, sure! But he ain't one of us. He's an outsider."
"I see!" Eliza's eyes were bright with a wistful admiration. "That'svery nice of you men. You have a family, haven't you, Uncle Tom?"
"I have! Seven head, and they eat like a herd of stock. It looks like alean winter for 'em if Murray don't make a sale--but he will. Thatisn't what I came to see you about; I've got my asking clothes on, andI want a favor."
"You shall have it, of course."
"I want a certificate."
"Of what?"
"Ill health. Nobody believes I had the smallpox."
"You didn't."
"Wh-what?" Tom's eyes opened wide. He stared at the girl in hurtsurprise.
"It was nothing but pimples, Tom."
"Pimples!" He spat the word out indignantly, and his round cheeks grewpurple. "I--I s'pose pimples gave me cramps and chills and backache andpalpitation and swellings! Hunh! I had a narrow escape--narrow's theword. It was narrower than a knife-edge! Anything I get out of lifefrom now on is 'velvet,' for I was knocking at death's door. The graveyawned, but I jumped it. It's the first sick spell I ever had, and Iwon't be cheated out of it. Understand?"
"What do you want me to do?" smiled the girl.
"You're a writer: write me an affidavit--"
"I can't do that."
"Then put it in your paper. Put it on the front page, where folks cansee it."
"I've quit The Review. I'm doing magazine stories."
"Well, that'll do. I'm not particular where it's printed so long as--"
Eliza shook her head. "You weren't really sick, Uncle Tom."
At this Mr. Slater rose to his feet in high dudgeon.
"Don't call me 'Uncle,'" he exclaimed. "You're in with the others."
"It wouldn't be published if I wrote it."
"Then you can't be much of a writer." He glared at her, and slowly,distinctly, with all the emphasis at his command, said: "I hadsmallpox--and a dam' bad case, understand? I was sick. I had miseriesin every joint and cartage of my body. I'm going to use a pick-handlefor a cane, and anybody that laughs will get a hickory massage that'lltake a crooked needle and a pair of pinchers to fix. Thank God I've gotmy strength back! You get me?"
"I do."
He snorted irately and turned to go, but Eliza checked him.
"What about those shift bosses?" she asked.
Slater rolled his eyes balefully. "Just let one of 'em mentionsmallpox," he said, "and I'll fill the hospital till it bulges."
"No, no! Are you going to pay them?"
"Certainly not."
Eliza considered for a moment. "Don't let them see Dr. Gray," she said,at length. "He has enough to worry him. Meet them at the train andbring them here."
"What for? Tea?"
"You boys have done all you can; I think it's time Dan and I didsomething."
Tom stared. "Are YOU going to pay 'em?" he asked, gruffly.
"Yes. Mr. O'Neil needs time. Dan and I have saved four thousanddollars. I'd offer it to Dr. Gray--"
"He wouldn't take it."
"Exactly. Send Dan up here when you see him."
"It doesn't seem exactly right." Tom was obviously embarrassed. "Yousee, we sort of belong to Murray, and you don't, but--" He shook hishead as if to rid himself of unwelcome emotion. "Women are funnythings! You're willing to do that for the chief, and yet you won'twrite me a little affidavit!" He grunted and went away, still shakinghis head.
When Eliza explained her plan to Dan she encountered an opposition thatshocked and hurt her.
"I won't do it!" he said, shortly.
"You--WHAT?"
"We can't build the S. R.
"Yes, and made you love him, too," said Dan, roughly. "I can see that."
Eliza lifted her head and met his eyes squarely.
"That's true! But why not? Can't I love him? Isn't it my privilege tohelp him if I want to? If I had two million dollars instead of twothousand I'd give it to him, and--and I wouldn't expect him to care forme, either. He'll never do that. He couldn't! But--oh, Danny, I've beenmiserable--"
Dan felt a certain dryness of the throat which made speech oddlydifficult. "I don't see why he couldn't care for you," he said, lamely.
Eliza shook her head hopelessly. "I'm glad it happened," shesaid--"glad. In writing these articles I've tried to make himunderstood; I've tried to put my whole soul into them so that thepeople will see that he isn't, wouldn't be, a thief nor a grafter. I'vedescribed him as he is--big, honorable, gentle--"
"I didn't know you were writing fiction," said her brother, impatiently.
"I'm not. It's all true. I've cried over those articl
es, Dan. I'vepetted them, and I've kissed his name--oh, I've been silly!" She smiledat him through a sudden glimmer of tears.
Dan began to wonder if his sister, in spite of her exemplary conduct inthe past, were after all going to have hysterics. Women were especiallylikely to, he reflected, when they demanded the impossible. At last hesaid, uncomfortably: "Gee, I thought I was the dippy member of thefamily!"
"It's our chance to help him," she urged. "Will you--?"
"No! I'm sorry, Sis, but my little bit wouldn't mean anything to him;it means everything to me. Maybe that's selfish--I don't care. I'm asmad over Natalie as you seem to be over him. A week's delay can't makeany difference now--he played and lost. But I can't afford to lose.He'll make another fortune, that's sure--but do you think I'll everfind another Natalie? No! Don't argue, for I won't listen."
He left the house abruptly, and Eliza went into the white bedroom whichO'Neil had fitted up for her. From the remotest corner of her lowestbureau drawer she drew a battered tin box, and, dividing the money itcontained into two equal parts, placed one in the pockets of hermannish jacket.
It was dark when Tom Slater arrived, at the head of a group of soiledworkmen whom he ushered into the parlor of the bungalow.
"Here's the bunch!" he announced, laconically.
As the new-comers ranged themselves uncomfortably about the wall DanAppleton entered and greeted them with his customary breeziness.
"The pay-master is busy, and Doc Gray has a surgical case," he said,"so I'll cash your time-checks. Get me the box, will you, Sis?"
He had avoided Eliza's eyes upon entering, and he avoided them now, butthe girl's throat was aching as she hurried into her bedroom andhastily replaced the rolls of greenbacks she had removed from the tinbox.
When he had finished paying off, Dan said, brusquely:
"Now we mustn't have any loafing around town, understand?"
"We can't get back to-night," said one of the men.
"Oh yes, you can. I ordered an engine out."
"We hear--there's talk about quitting work," another ventured. "Where'sO'Neil?"
"He's in the States buying a steamship," answered Dan, unblushingly."We can't get stuff fast enough by the regular boats."
"Good! That sounds like business. We don't want to quit."
"Now hurry! Your parlor-car is waiting."
When he and Eliza were alone he turned to her with a flush ofembarrassment. "Aren't we the darnedest fools, Sis? I wouldn't mind ifwe had done the chief any good, but we haven't." He closed the lid ofthe tin box, which was nearly empty now, and pushed it away from him,laughing mirthlessly. "Hide that sarcophagus where I can't see it," hecommanded. "It makes me sick."
Eliza flung her arm about his neck and laid her cheek against his."Poor Danny! You're a brick!"
"It's the bread-line for us," he told her.
"Never mind. We're used to it now." She laughed contentedly andsnuggled her face closer to his.
It was on the following morning that O'Neil's cablegram announcing theresult of his interview with Illis reached Omar. Dr. Gray brought thenews to the Appleton bungalow while Dan and his sister were still atbreakfast. "Happy Tom" came puffing and blowing at his heels with ahighly satisfied I-told-you-so expression on his round features.
"He made it! The tide has turned," cried the doctor as he burst inwaving the message on high. "Yes!" he explained, in answer to theirexcited questions. "Murray got the money and our troubles are over. Nowgive me some coffee, Eliza. I'm all shaky."
"English money!" commented Slater. "The same as we used on the NorthPass."
"Then he interested Illis!" cried Dan.
"Yep! He's the white-winged messenger of hope. I wasn't worried for aminute," Tom averred.
The breakfast which followed was of a somewhat hysterical andfragmentary nature, for Eliza felt her heart swelling, and the faithfulGray was all but undone by the strain he had endured. "That's the firstfood I've tasted for weeks," he confessed. "I've eaten, but I haven'ttasted; and now--I'm not hungry." He sighed, stretched his long limbsgratefully, and eyed the Appletons with a kindly twinkle. "You were upin the air, too, weren't you? The chief will appreciate last night'saffair."
Eliza colored faintly. "It was nothing. Please don't tell him." At theincredulous lift of his brows she hastened to explain: "Tom said youmen 'belonged' to Mr. O'Neil and Dan was an outsider. That hurt medreadfully."
"Well, he can't say that now; Dan is one of Murray's boys, all right,and you--you must be his girl."
At that moment Mellen and McKay burst into the bungalow, demanding thetruth behind the rumor which had just come to their ears; and therefollowed fresh explanations and rejoicings, through which Eliza satquietly, thrilled by the note of genuine affection and loyalty thatpervaded it all. But, now that the general despondency had vanished andjoy reigned in its place, Tom Slater relapsed into his habitual gloomand spoke forebodingly of the difficulties yet to be encountered.
"Murray don't say how MUCH he's raised," he remarked. "It may be only adrop in the bucket. We'll have to go through all this again, probably,and the next time he won't find it so easy to sting a millionaire."
"We'll last through the winter anyhow--"
"Winter!" Slater shook his bald head. "Winter is hard on old men likeme."
"We'll have the bridge built by spring, sure!" Mellen declared.
"Maybe! I hope so. I wish I could last to see it, but the smallpoxundermined me. Perhaps it's a mercy I'm so far gone; nobody knows yetwhether the bridge will stand, and--I'd hate to see it go out."
"It won't go out," said the engineer, confidently.
"Maybe you're right. But that's what Trevor said about his breakwater.His work was done, and ours isn't hardly begun. By the way, Murraydidn't say he HAD the money; he just said he expected to get it."
"Go out and hang your crepe on the roundhouse," Dan told him; "this isa jubilee. If you keep on rejoicing you'll have us all in tears." Whenthe others had gone he turned to Eliza. "Why don't you want O'Neil toknow about that money, Sis?" he asked, curiously. "When I'm a hero Ilike to be billed as one."
"Please!" She hesitated and turned her face away. "You--you are sostupid about some things."
On the afternoon of this very day Curtis Gordon found Natalie at awindow staring out across the sound in the direction of Omar. He laid awarm hand upon her shoulder and said:
"My dear, confess! You are lonesome."
She nodded silently.
"Well, well! We mustn't allow that. Why don't you run over to Omar andsee your friend Miss Appleton? She has a cheerful way with her." "I'mafraid things aren't very gay over there," said Natalie, doubtfully.
"Quite probably. But the fact that O'Neil is on his last legs needn'tinterfere with your pleasure. A change will do you good."
"You are very kind," she murmured. "You have done everything to make mehappy, but--it's autumn. Winter is coming. I feel dull and lonely andgray, like the sky. Are you sure Mr. O'Neil has failed?"
"Certainly. He tried to sell his holdings to the Trust, but theyrefused to consider it. Poor fellow!" he continued, unctuously. "Nowthat he's down I pity him. One can't dislike a person who has lost thepower of working harm. His men are quitting: I doubt if he'll dare showhis face in this country again. But never mind all that. There's a boatleaving for Omar in the morning. Go; have a good time, return when youwill, and tell us how they bear up under their adversity." He pattedher shoulder affectionately and went up to his room.
It was true enough that Natalie had been unhappy since returning toHope--not even her mother dreamed how she rebelled at remaining here.She was lonely, uninterested, vaguely homesick. She missed the intimatecompanionship of Eliza; she missed Dan's extravagant courting andO'Neil's grave, respectful attentions. She also felt the loss of thehonest good-fellowship of all those people at Omar whom she had learnedto like and to admire. Life here was colorless, and was still hauntedby the shadow of that thing from which she and her mother had fled.
Gordon
, indeed, had been generous to them both. Since his marriage hisattitude had changed entirely. He was polite, agreeable, charminglydevoted: no ship arrived without some tangible and expensive evidenceof his often-expressed desire to make his wife and stepdaughter happy;he anticipated their slightest wish. Under his assiduous attentionsNatalie's distrust and dislike had slowly melted, and she came tobelieve that she had misjudged him. There were times when he seemed tobe overdoing the matter a bit, times when she wondered if his courtesycould be altogether disinterested; but these occasions were rare, andalways she scornfully accused herself of disloyalty. As for Gloria, shewas deeply contented--as nearly happy, in fact, as a woman of hertemperament could be, and in this the daughter took her reward.
Natalie arrived at Omar in time to see the full effect of the good newsfrom New York, and joined sincerely in the general rejoicing. Shereturned after a few days, bursting with the tidings of O'Neil'svictory.
Gordon listened to her with keenest attention; he drew her outartfully, and when he knew what he had sent her to learn he gave voiceto his unwelcome surprise.
"Jove!" he snarled. "That beggar hoodwinked the Heidlemanns, after all.It's their money. What fools! What fools!"
Natalie looked up quickly.
"Does it affect your plans?" she asked.
"Yes--in a way. It consolidates my enemies."
"You said you no longer had any ill feeling toward Mr. O'Neil."
Gordon had resumed his usual suavity. "When I say enemies," hequalified, "of course, I mean it only in a business sense. I heard thatthe Trust had withdrawn, discouraged by their losses, but, now thatthey re-enter the field, I shall have to fight them. They would havedone well to consult me--to buy me off, rather than be bled by O'Neil.They shall pay well for their mistake, but--it's incredible! That manhas the luck of the devil."
That evening he and Denny sat with their heads together until a latehour, and when they retired Gordon had begun to whip new plans intoshape.