Kindred of the Dust

by Peter B. Kyne

  XXX

  As a wife, it is probable that Nellie McKaye had not been analtogether unqualified success. She lacked tact, understanding andsympathy where her husband was concerned; she was one of that numeroustype of wife who loses a great deal of interest in her husband aftertheir first child is born. The Laird's wife was normally intelligent,peacefully inclined, extremely good-looking both as to face andfigure, despite her years, and always abnormally concerned over whatthe most inconsequential people in the world might think of her andhers. She had a passion for being socially "correct." Flights ofimagination were rarely hers; on the few occasions when they were, herthoughts had to do with an advantageous marriage for Jane andElizabeth, who, it must be confessed, had not had very good luckholding on to the few eligible young bachelors who had seemed, for abrief period, to regard them with serious intent. The poor soul wasworried about the girls, as well she might be, since the strides oftime were rapidly bearing both into the sere-and-yellow-leaf period oflife. For her son, she had earnest, passionate mother love, but since,like all mothers, she was obsessed with the delusion that every girlin the world, eligible and ineligible, was busy angling for herdarling, she had left his matrimonial future largely to his father.Frequently her conscience smote her for her neglect of old Hector, butshe smoothed it by promising herself to devote more time to him, morestudy to his masculine needs for wifely devotion, as soon as Elizabethand Jane should be settled.

  Her son's acute illness and the possibility that he might not surviveit had brought her closer to The Laird than these twain had been intwenty years; the blow that had all but crushed him had not evenstaggered her, for she told herself that, during this crisis she mustkeep her feet and her head. A wave of pity for her husband and a tingeof shame for her years of neglect of him revived more than a modicumof the old honeymoon tenderness, and, to her mild amazement, shediscovered that she was still, in old Hector's eyes, young andbeautiful; her breast, her lips, still had power to soothe andcomfort.

  In those trying days she was The Laird's greatest asset. With maternalstubbornness, she resolutely refused to entertain the thought that herson might die. She could understand the possibility of some otherwoman's son dying, but not hers! she, who knew him so well (or thoughtshe did, which amounts to the same thing), met with gentle toleranceand contempt the portentous nods and anxious glances of doctors andtrained nurses. 'Fraid-cats--every last one of them! She told oldHector so and, to a considerable extent, succeeded in making himbelieve it.

  After The Laird's interview with Andrew Daney he came home that nightto The Dreamerie, and, to please Nellie, he pretended to partake ofsome dinner. Also, during the course of the meal he suddenly decidedto relate to his wife and daughters as much as he knew of the courseof the affair between Donald and Nan Brent; he repeated hisconversation with Nan on the two occasions he had spoken with her,and gave them to understand that his efforts to induce Donald to "besensible" had not been successful. Finally, his distress making himmore communicative, he related the cunning stratagem by which Daneyhad made it possible for Donald to be separated from the source oftemptation.

  Elizabeth was the first to comment on his extraordinary revelationswhen he appeared to have finished his recital.

  "The girl has a great deal more character than I supposed," she opinedin her soft, throaty contralto.

  "She played the game in an absolutely ripping manner!" Jane declaredenthusiastically. "I had no idea she was possessed of so much force.Really, I should love to be kind to her, if that were at all possiblenow."

  The Laird smiled but without animus.

  "You had ample opportunity once, Janey," he reminded her. "But then,of course, unlike Donald and myself, you had no opportunity forrealizing what a fine, wholesome lass she is." He lowered his gaze androlled a bread-crumb nervously between thumb and forefinger. "Theytell me at the hospital, Nellie," he began again presently, "that herabsence is killing our boy--that he'll die if she doesn't come back.They've been whispering to Daney, and this afternoon he mentioned thematter to me." Three pairs of eyes bent upon him; gazes of mingledcuriosity and distress. "Have you heard aught of such talk from thedoctors and nurses," he continued, addressing them collectively.

  "I have," said Mrs. McKaye meekly, and the two girls nodded. "I thinkit's all poppycock," Jane added.

  "It isn't all poppycock, my dear," old Hector rebuked her. He rolledanother bread-crumb. "Andrew has her address," he resumed after a longsilence. "She's in New York. He asked me to wire her to comeimmediately, or else permit him to wire her in my name. I refused. Itold Daney that our boy's case was in the hands of God Almighty."

  "Oh, Hector!" Mrs. McKaye had spoken. There was gentle reproach andprotest in her voice, but she camouflaged it immediately by adding:"You poor dear, to be called upon to make such a decision."

  "His decision was absolutely right," Elizabeth declared. "I'd almostprefer to see my brother decently dead than the laughing-stock of thetown, married to a woman that no respectable person would dare receivein her home."

  Old Hector looked up in time to see Jane nod approval of her sister'ssentiments, and Mrs. McKaye, by her silence, appeared also to agreewith them. The Laird reached forth and laid his great hand over hers.

  "Poor Nellie!" he murmured affectionately. "'Tis hard to stand betweenour love and duty, is it not, lass? By God, sweetheart, I had to doit. I couldn't stand to see him wedded wie a lass that any man orwoman could throw mud at." His voice shook with the intensity of hisemotion; his flashing glance swept the board in pitiful defiance. "Ihave a right to protect my honor and the honor of my house!" he criedsharply. "Is not Jesus Christ the embodiment of honor? How can Heblame me if I trust in His power and discretion. I've prayed toHim--ach, man, how I've prayed to Him--to keep my son from makin' afule o' himself--"

  "Now, there you go again, Hector, dear," his wife soothed. She rosefrom her place at the table, came round to him, put her arms aroundhis great neck, and laid her cheek against his. "An open confession isgood for the soul, they say, Hector. I'm glad you've taken us intoyour confidence, because it permits us to share with you an equalburden of this heart-breaking decision. But you mustn't feel badly,father. Haven't I told you our boy isn't going to die?"

  "Do you really think so, Nellie?" he pleaded childishly, and for thehundredth time.

  "Silly old Hector! I know so." And this time there was in her voicesuch a new note of confidence and in her eyes such a gleam of triumphthat she actually did succeed in comforting him. "Ah, well, God's willbe done," he said piously, and attacked his dinner again, while Mrs.McKaye slipped out of the room and up-stairs on some pretext. Once inher bedroom, she seized the extension telephone and called up AndrewDaney.

  "Andrew," she said softly but distinctly, "this is Nellie McKayespeaking. Hector and I have been discussing the advisability ofsending for the Brent girl."

  "I--I was goin' to take the matter up with you, Mrs. McKaye. I had atalk with your husband this afternoon, but he was a bit wild--"

  "He isn't so wild now, Andrew. He's talked it over with the girls andme. It's a terrible alternative, Andrew, but it simply means our boy'slife for the gratification of our own selfish family pride--"

  "Exactly! Exactly! And though I understand just how you feel, Mrs.McKaye, after all, now, it's only a nine days' wonder, and you can'tkeep people from talking anyhow, unless you gag the brutes. The boyhas been raving, and some of the hospital attendants have talked, andthe gossip is all over town again. So why not send for her? Shedoesn't have to marry him just because her presence will revive hissinking morale--"

  "Certainly not. My idea, exactly, Andrew. Well, Andrew, suppose youtelegraph her--"

  "No, no, no! I'll telephone her. Remember, we have a transcontinentaltelephone service nowadays. She might not realize the vital necessityfor speed; she might question her right to come if I tried to coverthe situation in a telegram. But, catch her on the 'phone, Mrs.McKaye, and you can talk to her and convince her."

  "Oh, that's perfectly
splendid! Place the call for me immediately,Andrew, please. And--Andrew, don't mention to Hector what I've done.He wants to do it, poor man, but he simply cannot bring himself to thepoint of action."

  "Don't I know it?" Daney's voice rose triumphant. "The blessed oldduffer!" he added. "I'll put in a call for New York immediately. Weought to get it through in an hour or two."