Kindred of the Dust

  XXIV

  Following the interview with his father, subsequent to Caleb Brent'sfuneral, Donald McKaye realized full well that his love-affair,hitherto indefinite as to outcome, had crystallized into a definiteissue. For him, there could be no evasion or equivocation; he had tochoose, promptly and for all time, between his family and NanBrent--between respectability, honor, wealth, and approbation on onehand, and pity, contempt, censure, and poverty on the other.Confronting this _impasse_, he was too racked with torment to face hispeople that night and run the gantlet of his mother's sad, reproachfulglances, his father's silence, so eloquent of mental distress, and thestudied scorn, amazement, and contempt in the very attitudes of hisselfish and convention-bound sisters. So he ate his dinner at thehotel in Port Agnew, and after dinner his bruised heart took commandof his feet and marched him to the Sawdust Pile.

  The nurse he had sent down from the Tyee Lumber Company's hospital tokeep Nan company until after the funeral had returned to the hospital,and Nan, with her boy asleep in her lap, was seated in a low rockerbefore the driftwood fire when Donald entered, unannounced save forhis old-time triple tap at the door. At first glance, it was evidentto him that the brave reserve which Nan had maintained at the funeralhad given way to abundant tears when she found herself alone at home,screened from the gaze of the curious.

  He knelt and took both outcasts in his great strong arms, and for along time held them in a silence more eloquent than words.

  "Well, my dear," she said presently, "aren't you going to tell me allabout it?"

  That was the woman of it. She knew.

  "I'm terribly unhappy," he replied. "Dad and I had a definiteshow-down after the funeral. His order--not request--is that I shallnot call here again."

  "Your father is thinking with his head; so he thinks clearly. You,poor dear, are thinking with your heart controlling your head. Ofcourse you'll obey your father. You cannot consider doing anythingelse."

  "I'm not going to give you up," he asserted doggedly.

  "Yes; you are going to give me up, dear heart," she replied evenly."Because I'm going to give you up, and you're much too fine to make ithard for me to do that."

  "I'll not risk your contempt for my weakness. It _would_ be aweakness--a contemptible trick--if I should desert you now."

  "Your family has a greater claim on you, Donald. You were born to acertain destiny--to be a leader of men, to develop your little world,and make of it a happier place for men and women to dwell in. So, dearlove, you're just going to buck up and be spunky and take up your biglife-task and perform it like the gentleman you are."

  "But what is to become of you?" he demanded, in desperation.

  "I do not know. It is a problem I am not going to consider veryseriously for at least a month. Of course I shall leave Port Agnew,but before I do, I shall have to make some clothes for baby andmyself."

  "I told my father I would give him a definite answer regarding you ina month, Nan. I'm going up in the woods and battle this thing out bymyself."

  "Please go home and give him a definite answer to-night. You have notthe right to make him suffer so," she pleaded.

  "I'm not prepared to-night to abandon you, Nan. I must have some timeto get inured to the prospect."

  "Did you come over to-night to tell me good-by before going back tothe woods, Donald?"

  He nodded, and deliberately she kissed him with great tenderness.

  "Then--good-by, sweetheart," she whispered. "In our case, the leastsaid is soonest mended. And please do not write to me. Keep me out ofyour thoughts for a month, and perhaps I'll stay out."

  "No hope," he answered, with a lugubrious smile. "However, I'll be asgood as I can. And I'll not write. But--when I return from that monthof exile, do not be surprised if I appear to claim you for good or forevil, for better or for worse."

  She kissed him again--hurriedly--and pressed him gently from her, asif his persistence gave her cause for apprehension.

  "Dear old booby!" she murmured. "Run along home now, won't you,please?"

  So he went, wondering why he had come, and the following morning,still wrapped in a mental fog, he departed for the logging-camp, butnot until his sister Jane had had her long-deferred inning. While hewas in the garage at The Dreamerie, warming up his car, Jane appearedand begged him to have some respect for the family, even though,apparently, he had none for himself. Concluding a long and bittertirade, she referred to Nan as "that abandoned girl."

  Poor Jane! Hardly had she uttered the words before her father appearedin the door of the garage.

  "One year, Janey," he announced composedly. "And I'd be pleased to seethe photograph o' the human being that'll make me revoke thatsentence. I'm fair weary having my work spoiled by women's tongues."

  "I'll give you my photograph, old pepper-pot," Donald suggested. "Ihave great influence with you have I not?"

  The Laird looked up at him with a fond grin.

  "Well?" he parried.

  "You will remit the sentence to one washing of the mouth with soap andwater to cleanse it of those horrid words you just listened to."

  "That's not a bad idea," the stern old man answered. "Janey, you mayhave your choice, since Donald has interceded for you."

  But Jane maintained a freezing silence and swept out of the garagewith a mien that proclaimed her belief that her brother and fatherwere too vulgar and plebeian for her.

  "I'm having the deil's own time managing my family," old Hectorcomplained, "but I'll have obedience and kindness and justice in myhousehold, or know the reason why. Aye--and a bit of charity," headded grimly. He stood beside the automobile and held up his hand upfor his son's. "And you'll be gone a month, lad?" he queried.

  Donald nodded.

  "Too painful--this coming home week-ends," he explained. "And Nan hasrequested that I see no more of her. You have a stanch ally in her,dad. She's for you all the way."

  Relief showed in his father's troubled face.

  "I'm glad to know that," he replied. "You're the one that's bringingme worry and breaking down her good resolutions and common sense." Heleaned a little closer, first having satisfied himself, by a quick,backward glance, that none of the women of the family waseavesdropping, and whispered: "I'm trying to figure out a nice way tobe kind to her and give her a good start in life without insultingher. If you should have a clear thought on the subject, I'd like youradvice, son. 'Twould hurt me to have her think I was trying to buy heroff."

  "As I view the situation, all three of us have to figure our ownangles for ourselves. However, if a happy thought should dawn on me,I'll write you. Think it over a few weeks, and then do whatever seemsbest."

  So they parted.