II
At a period in his upward climb to fortune, when as yet Hector McKayehad not fulfilled his dream of a factory for the manufacture of hiswaste and short-length stock into sash, door, blinds, moldings, and soforth, he had been wont to use about fifty per cent. of this materialfor fuel to maintain steam in the mill boilers, while the remainderpassed out over the waste-conveyor to the slab pile, where it wasburned.
The sawdust, however, remained to be disposed of, and since it was notpossible to burn this in the slab fire for the reason that the wetsawdust blanketed the flames and resulted in a profusion of smoke thatblew back upon the mill to the annoyance of the employees, for manyyears The Laird had caused this accumulated sawdust to be hauled tothe edge of the bight on the north side of the town, and there dumpedin a low, marshy spot which formerly had bred millions of mosquitoes.
Subsequently, in the process of grading the streets of Port Agnew andexcavating cellars, waste dirt had been dumped with the sawdust, and,occasionally, when high winter tides swept over the spot, sand, smallstones, sea-shells, and kelp were added to the mixture. And as if thiswere not sufficient, the citizens of Port Agnew contributed from timeto time old barrels and bottles, yard-sweepings, tin cans, andsuperannuated stoves and kitchen utensils.
Slowly this dump crept out on the beach, and in order to prevent thecontinuous attrition of the surf upon the outer edge of it frombefouling the white-sand bathing-beach farther up the Bight of Tyee,The Laird had driven a double row of fir piling parallel with andbeyond the line of breakers. This piling, driven as close together aspossible and reenforced with two-inch planking between, formed abulkhead with the flanks curving in to the beach, thus insuringpractically a water-tight pen some two acres in extent; and, with thepassage of years, this became about two-thirds filled with the wastefrom the town. Had The Laird ever decided to lay claim to the SawdustPile, there would have been none in Port Agnew to contest his title;since he did not claim it, the Sawdust Pile became a sort of No Man'sLand.
After The Laird erected his factory and began to salvage his waste,the slab fire went out forever for lack of fuel, and the modicum ofwaste from the mill and factory, together with the sawdust, wasutilized for fuel in an electric-light plant that furnished light,heat, and power to the town. Consequently, sawdust no longermercifully covered the trash on the Sawdust Pile as fast as this trasharrived, and, one day, Hector McKaye, observing this, decided that itwas an unsightly spot and not quite worthy of his town of Port Agnew.So he constructed a barge somewhat upon the principle of a patentdump-wagon, moored it to the river-bank, created a garbage monopoly inPort Agnew, and sold it for five thousand dollars to a pair ofambitious Italians. With the proceeds of this garbage deal, The Lairdbuilt a very pretty little public library.
Having organized his new garbage system (the garbage was to be towedtwenty miles to sea and there dumped), The Laird forbade furtherdumping on the Sawdust Pile. When the necessity for more dredger-workdeveloped, in order to keep the deep channel of the Skookum fromfilling, he had the pipes from the dredger run out to the Sawdust Pileand covered the unsightly spot with six feet of rich river-silt up tothe level of the piling.
"And now," said Hector McKaye to Andrew Daney, his general manager,"when that settles, we'll run a light track out here and use theSawdust Pile for a drying-yard."
The silt settled and dried, and almost immediately thereafter asquatter took possession of the Sawdust Pile. Across the neck of thelittle promontory, and in line with extreme high-water mark on eachside, he erected a driftwood fence; he had a canvas, driftwood, andcorrugated-iron shanty well under way when Hector McKaye appeared onthe scene and bade him a pleasant good-morning.
The squatter turned from his labor and bent upon his visitor anappraising glance. His scrutiny appearing to satisfy him as to theidentity of the latter, he straightened suddenly and touched hisforelock in a queer little salute that left one in doubt whether hewas a former member of the United States navy or the Britishmercantile marine. He was a threadbare little man, possibly sixtyyears old, with a russet, kindly countenance and mild blue eyes; apartfrom his salute, there was about him an intangible hint of the sea. Hewas being assisted in his labors by a ragamuffin girl of perhapsthirteen years.
"Thinking of settling in Port Agnew?" The Laird inquired.
"Why, yes, sir. I thought this might make a good safe anchorage forNan and me. My name is Caleb Brent. You're Mr. McKaye, aren't you?"
The Laird nodded.
"I had an idea, when I filled this spot in and built that bulkhead,Mr. Brent, that some day this would make a safe anchorage for some ofmy lumber. I planned a drying-yard here. What's that you're building,Brent? A hen-house?"
Caleb Brent flushed.
"Why, no, sir. I'm making shift to build a home here for Nan and me."
"Is this little one Nan?"
The ragamuffin girl, her head slightly to one side, had been regardingHector McKaye with alert curiosity mingled with furtive apprehension.As he glanced at her now, she remembered her manners and dropped him acourtesy--an electric, half-defiant jerk that reminded The Laird of asimilar greeting customarily extended by squinch-owls.
Nan was not particularly clean, and her one-piece dress, of heavy bluenavy-uniform cloth was old and worn and spotted. Over this dress shewore a boy's coarse red-worsted sweater with white-pearl buttons. Theskin of her thin neck was fine and creamy; the calves, of her barebrown legs were shapely, her feet small, her ankles dainty.
With the quick eye of the student of character, this man, proud of hisown ancient lineage for all his humble beginning, noted that herhands, though brown and uncared-for, were small and dimpled, withlong, delicate fingers. She had sea-blue eyes like Caleb Brent's,and, like his, they were sad and wistful; a frowsy wilderness ofgolden hair, very fine and held in confinement at the nape of her neckby the simple expedient of a piece of twine, showed all too plainlythe lack of a mother's care.
The Laird returned Nan's courtesy with a patronizing inclination ofhis head.
"Your granddaughter, I presume?" he addressed Caleb Brent.
"No; my daughter, sir. I was forty when I married, and Nan came tenyears later. She's thirteen now, and her mother's been dead tenyears."
Hector McKaye had an idea that the departed mother was probably justas well, if not better, off, free of the battle for existence whichappeared to confront this futile old man and his elf of a daughter. Heglanced at the embryo shack under construction and, comparing it withhis own beautiful home on Tyee Head, he turned toward the bight. Ashort distance off the bulkhead, he observed a staunch forty-footmotor-cruiser at anchor. She would have been the better for a coat ofpaint; undeniably she was of a piece with Caleb Brent and Nan, for,like them, The Laird had never seen her before.
"Yours?" he queried.
"Yes, sir."
"You arrived in her, then?"
"I did, sir. Nan and I came down from Bremerton in her, sir."
The Laird owned many ships, and he noted the slurring of the "sir" asonly an old sailor can slur it. And there was a naval base atBremerton.
"You're an old sailor, aren't you, Brent?" he pursued.
"Yes, sir. I was retired a chief petty officer, sir. Thirty years'continuous service, sir--and I was in the mercantile marine atsixteen. I've served my time as a shipwright. Am--am I intruding here,sir?"
The Laird smiled, and followed the smile with a brief chuckle.
"Well--yes and no. I haven't any title to this land you've elected tooccupy, although I created it. You see, I'm sort of lord of creationaround here. My people call me 'The Laird of Tyee,' and nobody but astranger would have had the courage to squat on the Sawdust Pilewithout consulting me. What's your idea about it, Brent?"
"I'll go if you want me to, sir."
"I mean what's your idea if you stay? What do you expect to do for aliving?"
"You will observe, sir, that I have fenced off only that portion ofthe dump beyond high-water mark. That takes in about half of it--abouta
n acre and a half. Well, I thought I'd keep some chickens and raisesome garden truck. This silt will grow anything. And I have my launch,and can do some towing, maybe, or take fishing parties out. I mightsupply the town with fish. I understand you import your fish fromSeattle--and with the sea right here at your door."
"I see. And you have your three-quarters pay as a retired chief pettyofficer?"
"Yes, sir."
"Anything in bank? I do not ask these personal questions, Brent, outof mere idle curiosity. This is my town, you know, and there is nopoverty in it. I'm rather proud of that, so I--"
"I understand, sir. That's why I came to Port Agnew. I saw your sonyesterday, and he said I could stay."
"Oh! Well, that's all right, then. If Donald told you to stay, stayyou shall. Did he give you the Sawdust Pile?"
"Yes, sir; he did!"
"Well, I had other plans for it, Brent; but since you're here, I'lloffer no objection."
Nan now piped up.
"We haven't any money in bank, Mr. Laird, but we have some saved up."
"Indeed! That's encouraging. Where do you keep it?"
"In the brown teapot in the galley. We've got a hundred and tendollars."
"Well, my little lady, I think you might do well to take your hundredand ten dollars out of the brown teapot in the galley and deposit itin the Port Agnew bank. Suppose that motor-cruiser should spring aleak and sink?"
Nan smiled and shook her golden head in negation. They had beatenround Cape Flattery in that boat, and she had confidence in it.
"Would you know my boy if you should see him again, Nan?" The Lairddemanded suddenly.
"Oh, yes, indeed, sir! He's such a nice boy."
"I think, Nan, that if you asked him, he might help your father buildthis house."
"I'll see him this afternoon when he comes out of high school," Nandeclared.
"You might call on Andrew Daney, my general manager," The Lairdcontinued, turning to Caleb Brent, "and make a dicker with him forhauling our garbage-scow out to sea and dumping it. I observe thatyour motor-boat is fitted with towing-bitts. We dump twice a week. Andyou may have a monopoly on fresh fish if you desire it. We have nofishermen here, because I do not care for Greeks and Sicilians in PortAgnew. And they're about the only fishermen on this coast."
"Thank you, Mr. McKaye."
"Mind you don't abuse your monopoly. If you do, I'll take it away fromyou."
"You are very kind, sir. And I can have the Sawdust Pile, sir?"
"Yes; since Donald gave it to you. However, I wish you'd tear downthat patchwork fence and replace it with a decent job the instant youcan afford it."
"Ah, just wait," old Brent promised. "I know how to make things neatand pretty and keep them shipshape. You just keep your eye on theSawdust Pile, sir." The old wind-bitten face flushed with pride; thefaded sea-blue eyes shone with joyous anticipation. "I've observedyour pride in your town, sir, and before I get through, I'll have aprettier place than the best of them."
A few days later, The Laird looked across the Bight of Tyee from hishome on Tyee Head, and through his marine glasses studied the SawdustPile. He chuckled as he observed that the ramshackle shanty haddisappeared almost as soon as it had been started and in its place asmall cottage was being erected. There was a pile of lumber in theyard--bright lumber, fresh from the saws--and old Caleb Brent and themotherless Nan were being assisted by two carpenters on the TyeeLumber Company's pay-roll.
When Donald came home from school that night, The Laird asked himabout the inhabitants of the Sawdust Pile with relation to the lumberand the two carpenters.
"Oh, I made a trade with Mr. Brent and Nan. I'm to furnish the lumberand furniture for the house, and those two carpenters weren't verybusy, so Mr. Daney told me I could have them to help out. In return,Mr. Brent is going to build me a sloop and teach me how to sail it."
The Laird nodded.
"When his little home is completed, Donald," he suggested presently,"you might take old Brent and his girl over to our old house in townand let them have what furniture they require. See if you cannotmanage to saw off some of your mother's antiques on them," addedwhimsically. "By the way, what kind of shanty is old Brent going tobuild?"
"A square house with five rooms and a cupola fitted up like apilot-house. There's to be a flagpole on the cupola, and Nan saysthey'll have colors every night and morning. That means that you hoistthe flag in the morning and salute it, and when you haul it down atnight, you salute it again. They do that up at the Bremertonnavy-yard."
"That's rather a nice, sentimental idea," Hector McKaye replied. "Irather like old Brent and his girl for that. We Americans are tooprone to take our flag and what it stands for rather lightly."
"Nan wants me to have colors up here, too," Donald continued. "Thenshe can see our flag, and we can see theirs across the bight."
"All right," The Laird answered heartily, for he was always profoundlyinterested in anything that interested his boy. "I'll have the woodsboss get out a nice young cedar with, say, a twelve-inch butt, andwe'll make it into a flagpole."
"If we're going to do the job navy-fashion, we ought to fire a sunriseand sunset gun," Donald suggested with all the enthusiasm of hissixteen years.
"Well, I think we can afford that, too, Donald."
Thus it came about that the little brass cannon was installed on itsconcrete base on the cliff. And when the flagpole had been erected,old Caleb Brent came up one day, built a little mound of smooth,sea-washed cobblestones round the base, and whitewashed them.Evidently he was a prideful little man, and liked to see things donein a seamanlike manner. And presently it became a habit with The Lairdto watch night and morning, for the little pin-prick of color toflutter forth from the house on the Sawdust Pile, and if his owncolors did not break forth on the instant and the little cannon boomfrom the cliff, he was annoyed and demanded an explanation.