Kindred of the Dust

by Peter B. Kyne

  III

  Hector McKaye and his close-mouthed general manager, Andrew Daney,were the only persons who knew the extent of The Laird's fortune. Eventheir knowledge was approximate, however, for The Laird disliked todelude himself, and carried on his books at their cost-priceproperties which had appreciated tremendously in value since theirpurchase. The knowledge of his wealth brought to McKaye a goodlymeasure of happiness--not because he was of Scottish ancestry and hadinherited a love for his baubees, but because he was descended from afierce, proud Scottish clan and wealth spelled independence to him andhis.

  The Laird would have filled his cup of happiness to overflowing had hemarried a less mediocre woman or had he raised his daughters as he hadhis son. The girls' upbringing had been left entirely in theirmother's hands. Not so with young Donald, however--wherefore it was abyword in Port Agnew that Donald was his father's son, a veritablechip of the old block.

  By some uncanny alchemy, hard cash appears to soften the heads andrelax the muscles of rich men's sons--at least, such had been oldHector's observation, and on the instant that he first gazed upon theface of his son, there had been born in him a mighty resolve that,come what might, he would not have it said of him that he had made afool of his boy. And throughout the glad years of his fatherhood, withthe stern piety of his race and his faith, he had knelt night andmorning beside his bed and prayed his God to help him not to make afool of Donald--to keep Donald from making a fool of himself.

  When Donald entered Princeton, his father decided upon an experiment.He had raised his boy right, and trained him for the race of life, andnow The Laird felt that, like a thoroughbred horse, his son faced thebarrier. Would he make the run, or would he, in the parlance of thesporting world, "dog it?" Would his four years at a great Americanuniversity make of him a better man, or would he degenerate into asnob and a drone?

  With characteristic courage, The Laird decided to give him ampleopportunity to become either, for, as old Hector remarked to AndrewDaney: "If the lad's the McKaye I think he is, nothing can harm him.On the other hand, if I'm mistaken, I want to know it in time, for mymoney and my Port Agnew Lumber Company is a trust, and if he can'thandle it, I'll leave it to the men who can--who've helped me createit--and Donald shall earn his bread by the sweat of his brow. Tools,"he added, "belong to the men that can use them."

  When Donald started East for college, old Hector accompanied him asfar as Seattle. On the way up, there was some man-talk between them.In his youth, old Hector had not been an angel, which is to state thathe had been a lumberjack. He knew men and the passions that besetthem--particularly when they are young and lusty--and he was far frombeing a prude. He expected his son to raise a certain amount of wildoats; nay, he desired it, for full well he knew that when the firesof youth are quenched, they are liable to flare disgracefully inmiddle life or old age.

  "Never pig it, my son," was his final admonition. "Raise hell if youmust, but if you love your old father, be a gentleman about it. You'vesprung from a clan o' men, not mollycoddles."

  "Hence the expression: 'When Hector was a pup,'" Donald repliedlaughingly. "Well, I'll do my best, father--only, if I stub my toe,you mustn't be too hard on me. Remember, please, that I'm only halfScotch."

  At parting, The Laird handed his son a check for twenty-five thousanddollars.

  "This is the first year's allowance, Donald," he informed the boygravely. "It should not require more than a hundred thousand dollarsto educate a son of mine, and you must finish in four years. I wouldnot care to think you dull or lazy."

  "Do you wish an accounting, father?"

  The Laird shook his head.

  "Keeping books was ever a sorry trade, my son. I'll read theaccounting in your eye when you come back to Port Agnew."

  "Oh!" said young Donald.

  At the end of four years, Donald graduated, an honor-man in all hisstudies, and in the lobby of the gymnasium, where the athletic heroesof Princeton leave their record to posterity, Hector McKaye read hisson's name, for, of course, he was there for commencement. Then theyspent a week together in New York, following which old Hectorannounced that one week of New York was about all he could stand. Thetall timber was calling for him.

  "Hoot, mon!" Donald protested gaily. He was a perfect mimic of SirHarry Lauder at his broadest. "Y'eve nae had a bit holiday in all yerlife. Wha' spier ye, Hector McKaye, to a trip aroond the worl', wi' awee visit tae the auld clan in the Hielands?"

  "Will you come with me, son?" The Laird inquired eagerly.

  "Certainly not! You shall come with me. This is to be my party."

  "Can you stand the pressure? I'm liable to prove an expensivetraveling companion."

  "Well, there's something radically wrong with both of us if we can'tget by on two hundred thousand dollars, dad."

  The Laird started, and then his Scotch sense of humor--and, for allthe famed wit of the Irish, no humor on earth is so unctuous as thatof the Scotch--commenced to bubble up. He suspected a joke on himselfand was prepared to meet it.

  "Will you demand an accounting, my son?"

  Donald shook his head.

  "Keeping books was ever a sorry trade, father, I'll read theaccounting in your eye when you get back to Port Agnew."

  "You braw big scoundrel! You've been up to something. Tell it me, man,or I'll die wi' the suspense of it."

  "Well," Donald replied, "I lived on twenty-five hundred a year incollege and led a happy life. I had a heap of fun, and nothing went byme so fast that I didn't at least get a tail-feather. My collegeeducation, therefore, cost me ten thousand dollars, and I managed tosqueeze a roadster automobile into that, also. With the remainingninety thousand, I took a flier in thirty-nine hundred acres of redcedar up the Wiskah River. I paid for it on the instalment plan--yearly payments secured by first mortgage at six per cent., and----"

  "Who cruised it for you?" The Laird almost shouted. "I'll trust nocruiser but my own David McGregor."

  "I realized that, so I engaged Dave for the job. You will recall thathe and I took a two months' camping-trip after my first year inPrinceton. It cruised eighty thousand feet to the acre, and I paid twodollars and a half per thousand for it. Of course, we didn't succeedin cruising half of it, but we rode through the remainder, and it allaveraged up very nicely. And I saw a former cruise of it made by adisinterested cruiser----"

  The Laird had been doing mental arithmetic.

  "It cost you seven hundred and eighty thousand dollars--and you'vepaid ninety thousand, principal and interest, on account. Why, youdidn't have the customary ten per cent, of the purchase-price as aninitial payment!"

  "The owner was anxious to sell. Besides, he knew I was your son, and Isuppose he concluded that, after getting ninety thousand dollars outof me at the end of three years, you'd have to come to my rescue whenthe balance fell due--in a lump. If you didn't, of course he couldforeclose."

  "I'll save you, my son. It was a good deal--a splendid deal!"

  "You do not have to, dad. I've sold it--at a profit of an even twohundred thousand dollars!"

  "Lad, why did you do it? Why didn't you take me into your confidence?That cedar is worth three and a half. In a few years, 'twill be worthfive."

  "I realized that, father, but--a bird in the hand is worth two in thebush--and I'm a proud sort of devil. I didn't want to run to you forhelp on my first deal, even though I knew you'd come to my rescue andask no questions. You've always told me to beware of asking favors,you know. Moreover, I had a very friendly feeling toward the man Isold my red cedar to; I hated to stick him too deeply."

  "You were entitled to your profit, Donald. 'Twas business. You shouldhave taken it. Ah, lad, if you only knew the terrible four years I'vepaid for yon red-cedar!"

  "You mean the suspense of not knowing how I was spending myallowance?"

  The Laird nodded.

  "Curiosity killed a cat, my son, and I'm not as young as I used tobe."

  "I had thought you'd have read the accounting in my eye. Take anotherlook, H
ector McKaye." And Donald thrust his smiling countenance closeto his father's.

  "I see naught in your eye but deviltry and jokes."

  "None are so blind as they that will not see. If you see a joke, dad,it's on you."

  Old Hector blinked, then suddenly he sprang at his son, grasped him bythe shoulders, and backed him against the wall.

  "Did you sell me that red cedar?" he demanded incredulously.

  "Aye, mon; through an agent," Donald burred Scottishly. "A' did naeha' the heart tae stick my faither sae deep for a bit skulin'. A'm aprood man, Hector McKaye; a'll nae take a grrand eeducashun at sic aprice. 'Tis nae Christian."

  "Ah, my bonny bairn!" old Hector murmured happily, and drew his fineson to his heart. "What a grand joke to play on your puir old father!Och, mon, was there ever a lad like mine?"

  "I knew you'd buy that timber for an investment if I offered it cheapenough," Donald explained. "Besides, I owed you a poke. You wanted tobe certain you hadn't reared a jackass instead of a man, so you gaveme a hundred thousand dollars and stood by to see what I'd do withit--didn't you, old Scotty?" Hector nodded a trifle guiltily. "AndrewDaney wrote me you swore by all your Highland clan that the man whosold you that red cedar was ripe for the fool-killer."

  "Tush, tush!" The Laird protested. "You're getting personal now. Idislike to appear inquisitive, but might I ask what you've done withyour two hundred thousand profit?"

  "Well, you see, dad, I would have felt a trifle guilty had I kept it,so I blew it all in on good, conservative United States bonds,registered them in your name, and sent them to Daney to hide in yourvault at Port Agnew."

  "Ah, well, red cedar or bonds, 'twill all come back to you some day,sonny. The real profit's in the fun--"

  "And the knowledge that I'm not a fool--eh, father?"

  Father love supernal gleamed in The Laird's fine gray eyes.

  "Were you a fool, my son, and all that I have in the world would cureyou if thrown into the Bight of Tyee, I'd gladly throw it and take upmy life where I began it--with pike-pole and peavy, double-bitted ax,and cross-cut saw. However, since you're not a fool, I intend tocontinue to enjoy my son. We'll go around the world together."

  Thus did the experiment end. At least, Donald thought so. But when heleft the hotel a few minutes later to book two passages to Europe, TheLaird of Tyee suddenly remembered that thanks were due hisPresbyterian God. So he slid to his old knees beside his bed andmurmured:

  "Lord, I thank thee! For the sake of thine own martyred Son, setangels to guard him and lead him in the path of manly honor that comesat last to thy kingdom. Amen."

  Then he wired Andrew Daney a long telegram of instructions and a stiffraise in salary.

  "The boy has a head like a tar-bucket," he concluded. "Everything Iever put into it has stuck. We are going to frolic round the worldtogether, and we will be home when we get back."