Kindred of the Dust

  XXXVIII

  At the Sawdust Pile the monotony of Nan Brent's life remainedunbroken; she was marking time, waiting for something to turn up.Since the last visit of the McKaye ambassador she had not altered herdetermination to exist independent of financial aid from the McKayewomen or their father,--for according to her code, the acceptance ofremuneration for what she had done would be debasing. Nan had madethis decision even while realizing that in waiving Mr. Daney's profferof reimbursement she was rendering impossible a return to New Yorkwith her child. The expenses of their journey and the maintenance oftheir brief residence there; the outlay for clothing for both and thepurchase of an additional wardrobe necessitated when, withunbelievable good luck she had succeeded in securing twenty weeks timeover a high-class vaudeville circuit for her "Songs of the 'Sixties,"had, together with the cost of transportation back to Port Agnew, sodepleted her resources that, with the few hundred dollars remaining,her courage was not equal to the problem which unemployment in NewYork would present; for with the receipt of Mrs. McKaye's message, Nanhad written the booking agent explaining that she had been called Weston a matter which could not be evaded and expressed a hope that at alater date the "time" might be open to her. Following her return tothe Sawdust Pile she had received a brief communication stating thatthere would be no opening for her until the following year. Theabandonment of her contract and the subsequent loss of commissions tothe agent had seriously peeved that person.

  The receipt of this news, while a severe disappointment, had notcaused her to flinch, for she had, in a measure, anticipated it andwith the calmness of desperation already commenced giving thought tothe problem of her future existence. In the end she had comfortedherself with the thought that good cooks were exceedingly scarce--soscarce, in fact, that even a cook with impedimenta in the shape of asmall son might be reasonably certain of prompt and well-paidemployment. Picturing herself as a kitchen mechanic brought a wrysmile to her sweet face, but--it was honorable employment and shepreferred it to being a waitress or an underfed and underpaidsaleswoman in a department store. For she could cook wonderfully welland she knew it; she believed she could dignify a kitchen and shepreferred it to cadging from the McKayes the means to enable her towithstand the economic siege incident to procuring a livelihood moredignified and remunerative.

  Thus she had planned up to the day of her unexpected meeting with Janeand Elizabeth McKaye in the Port Agnew telegraph office. On that day,something had happened--something that had constituted a distinctevent in Nan Brent's existence and with which the well-bred insolenceof the McKaye girls had nothing to do. Indirectly old Caleb Brent hadbeen responsible, for by the mere act of dying, his three-guarter payas a retired sailor had automatically terminated, and Nan had writtenthe Navy Department notifying it accordingly.

  Now, the death of a retired member of the Army or Navy, no matter whathis grade may be, constitutes news for the service journals, and thefact that old Caleb had been a medal of honor man appeared, to theeditor of one of these journals, to entitle the dead sailor to threehundred words of posthumous publicity. Subsequently, these threehundred words came under the eye of a retired admiral of the UnitedStates Navy, who thereby became aware that he had an orphanedgrand-daughter residing in Port Agnew, Washington.

  As a man grows old he grows kindlier; those things which, at middleage, appear so necessary to an unruffled existence, frequently undergosuch a metamorphosis, due to the corroding effects of time, that ateighty one has either forgotten them or regards them as something tobe secretly ashamed of. Thus it was with Nan's grandfather. His prideand dignity were as austere as ever, but his withered heart yearnedfor the love and companionship of one of his own blood; now that CalebBrent was dead, the ancient martinet forgot the offense which thissimple sailor had committed against the pride of a long line ofdistinguished gentlemen, members of the honorable profession of arms.He thought it over for a month, and then wrote the only child of hisdead daughter, asking her to come to him, hinting broadly that hisdays in the land were nearly numbered and that, in the matter ofworldly goods he was not exactly a pauper.

  Having posted this letter the old admiral waited patiently for ananswer, and when this answer was not forthcoming within the time hehad set, he had telegraphed the postmaster of Port Agnew, requestinginformation as to her address. This telegram the postmaster hadpromptly sent over to Nan and it was for the purpose of replying to itthat she had gone to the telegraph office on the day when Fate decreedthat Jane and Elizabeth McKaye should also be there.

  After her return to the Sawdust Pile that day Nan's thoughtsfrequently adverted to the Biblical line: "The Lord giveth and theLord taketh away." Certainly, in her case, He appeared to be workingat cross purposes. At a time when she had resigned herself to domesticlabor in order to avoid starvation, her aristocratic, arrogant,prideful grandfather had seen fit to forgive her dead father and offerher shelter from the buffets of the world; yet, even while striving,apparently to be kind, she knew that the reason underlying hisinvitation was plain, old-fashioned heart-hunger, a tender conscienceand a generous admixture of human selfishness. She smiled bitterly athis blunt hint of a monetary reward following his demise; it occurredto her that the stubborn old admiral was striving to buy that which hemight have had for a different asking.

  She read the admiral's letter for the twentieth time--and from thethick white page her glance went to her child. Would he be welcome inthat stern old sea dog's home? Would his great-grandfather forget thebar sinister of little Don's birth and would her own misfortune beviewed by him with the tenderness and perfect understanding accordedher by old Caleb? She did not think so; and with the remembrance ofher dead father, the flames of revolt leaped in her heart. He had beenloyal to her and she would be loyal to him. No, no! She was not yetprepared to come fawning to the feet of that fierce old man who hadrobbed her father of his happiness. What right had he to expectforgiveness, _sans_ the asking, _sans_ an acknowledgment of hisheartlessness?

  With a bitter smile she wrote him a long letter, relating in detailthe incident of her marriage, the birth of her child, her standing inPort Agnew society and her belief that all of this rendered acceptanceof his invitation impossible, if she were to act with deference to hispoint of view and still remain loyal to the memory of her dead father.For these reasons she declined, thanked him for his kindness andremained his very sincerely. When she had posted this letter she feltbetter, and immediately took up the case of the McKayes.

  Until that moment she had not considered seriously the possibility ofa marriage with the young Laird of Port Agnew as a means ofhumiliating these women who had humiliated her. The thought hadoccurred to her in the telegraph office and at the moment had held forher a certain delightful fascination; prior to that meeting herresolution not to permit Donald McKaye to share her uncertain fortuneshad been as adamant. But long and bitter reflection upon the problemthrust upon her by her grandfather had imbued her with a clearer,deeper realization of the futility of striving to please everybody inthis curious world, of the cruelty of those who seek to adjust totheir point of view that of another fully capable of adjusting hisown; of the appalling lack of appreciation with which her piteoussacrifice would meet from the very persons who shrank from theignominy incident to non-sacrifice oft the part of her whom they heldin open contempt!

  Donald McKaye was not unintelligent. He was a man, grown, with all aman's passions, with all the caution to be expected in one of hisclass. If he still loved her sufficiently, following a period ofmature deliberation and fierce opposition from his people, to offerher honorable marriage, would she not be a fool to cast away such apriceless gift? How few men know love so strong, so tender, sounselfish, that they do not shrink from sharing with the object oftheir love, the odium which society has always set upon the womantaken in adultery.

  In rejecting his proffered sacrifice, she had told herself that sheacted thus in order to preserve his happiness, although at the expenseof her own. By so doing Nan realized that sh
e had taken a lofty, anoble stand; nevertheless, who was she that she should presume todecide just wherein lay the preservation of his happiness? In hergrandfather's letter before her she had ample evidence of themiscarriage of such pompous assumptions.

  There is a latent force in the weakest of women, an amazing capacityfor rebellion in the meekest and a regret for lost virtue even in themost abandoned. Nan was neither weak, meek, nor abandoned; wherefore,to be accorded toleration, polite contumely and resentment whereprofound gratitude and admiration were her due, had aroused in her asmouldering resentment which had burned like a handful of oil-soakedwaste tossed into a corner. At first a mild heat; then a dull red glowof spontaneous combustion progresses--and presently flame and smoke.

  It is probable that mere man, who never has been able to comprehendthe intensity of feeling of which a woman is capable, is not equal tothe problem of realizing the effect of solitude, misunderstanding anddespair upon the mind of a woman of more than ordinary sensibilitiesand imagination. The seed of doubt, planted in such soil, burgeonsrapidly, and when, upon the very day that Mr. Daney had made his lastcall at the Sawdust Pile, Nan, spurred to her decision by developmentsof which none but she was aware, had blazed forth in open rebellionand given the Tyee Lumber Company's general manager the fright of hisprosaic existence.