XLI
The first hint of the tremendous events impending came to Mr. Daneythrough the medium of no less an informant than his wife. Uponreturning from the mill office on the evening of Donald McKaye'smarriage, Mr. Daney was met at his front door by Mrs. Daney who criedtriumphantly:
"Well, what did I tell you about Donald McKaye?"
Mr. Daney twitched inwardly, but answered composedly. "Not one-tenthof one per cent, of what I have discovered without your valuableassistance my dear."
She wrinkled the end of her nose disdainfully. "He's gone motoringwith Nan Brent in a hired car, and they took the baby with them. Theypassed through town about half past two this afternoon and theyhaven't returned yet."
"How do you know all this?" he demanded coolly.
"I saw them as they passed by on the road below; I recognized thatrent limousine of the Central Garage with Ben Nicholson driving it,and a few moments ago I telephoned the Central Garage and asked forBen. He hasn't returned yet--and it's been dark for half an hour."
"Hum-m-m! What do you suspect, my dear?"
"The worst," she replied dramatically.
"What a wonderful fall day this has been," he remarked blandly as hehung up his hat. She turned upon him a glance of fury; he met it withone so calm and impersonal that the good lady quite lost control ofherself. "Why do you withhold your confidence from me?" she criedsharply.
"Because you wouldn't respect it, my dear; also, because I'm paid tokeep the McKaye secrets and you're not."
"Is he going to marry her, Andrew? Answer me," she demanded.
"Unfortunately for you, Mrs. Daney, the young gentleman hasn't takenme into his confidence. Neither has the young lady. Of course Ientertain an opinion, on the subject, but since I am not given todiscussing the intimate personal affairs of other people, you'llexcuse my reticence on this subject, I'm sure. I repeat that this hasbeen a wonderful fall day."
She burst into tears of futile rage and went to her room. Mr. Daneypartook of his dinner in solitary state and immediately after dinnerstrolled down town and loitered around the entrance to the CentralGarage until he saw Ben Nicholson drive in about ten o'clock.
"Hello, Ben," he hailed the driver as Ben descended from his seat. "Ihear you've been pulling off a wedding."
Ben Nicholson lowered his voice and spoke out the corner of his mouth."What do you know about the young Laird, eh, Mr. Daney? Say I could'a' cried to see him throwin' himself away on that Jane."
Mr. Daney shrugged. "Oh, well, boys will be boys," he declared. "Thebigger they are the harder they fall. Of course, Ben, you understandI'm not in position to say anything, one way or the other," he addedparenthetically, and Ben Nicholson nodded comprehension. ThereuponMr. Daney sauntered over to the cigar stand in the hotel, loaded hiscigar case and went down to his office, where he sat until midnight,smoking and thinking. The sole result of his cogitations, however, hesummed up in a remark he directed at the cuspidor just before he wenthome:
"Well, there's blood on the moon and hell will pop in the morning."
For the small part he had played in bringing Nan Brent back to PortAgnew, the general manager fully expected to be dismissed from theMcKaye service within thirty seconds after old Hector should reach themill office; hence with the heroism born of twelve hours ofpreparation he was at his desk at eight o'clock next morning. At nineo'clock The Laird came in and Mr. Daney saw by his face instantly thatold Hector knew. The general manager rose at his desk and bowed withgreat dignity.
"Moritori salutamus, sir," he announced gravely.
"What the devil are you talking about, Daney?" The Laird demandedirritably.
"That's what the gladiators used to say to the Roman populace. Itmeans, I believe, 'We who are about to die, salute you.' Here is myresignation, Mr. McKaye."
"Don't be an ass, Andrew," The Laird commanded and threw the profferedresignation into the waste basket. "Why should you resign?"
"To spare the trouble of discharging me, sir."
"What for?"
"Bringing the Brent girl back to Port Agnew. If I hadn't gotten heraddress from Dirty Dan I would never have suggested to--"
"Enough. We will not discuss what might have been, Andrew. The boyhas married her, and since the blow has fallen nothing that precededit is of the slightest importance. What I have called to say to you isthis: Donald McKaye is no longer connected with the Tyee LumberCompany."
"Oh, come, come, sir," Daney pleaded. "The mischief is done. You'llhave to forgive the boy and make the best of a bad business. Whatcan't be cured must be endured, you know."
"Not necessarily. And you might spare me your platitude, Andrew," TheLaird replied savagely. "I'm done with the lad forever, for son ofmine he is no longer. Andrew, do you remember the time he bought thatred cedar stumpage up on the Wiskah and unloaded it on me at a profitof two hundred thousand dollars?"
Mr. Daney nodded. "And you, in turn, sold it at a profit of fiftythousand," he reminded the irate old man.
"Donald did not retain that profit he made at my expense. 'Twas just ajoke with him. He put the money into bonds and sent them to you withinstructions to place them in my vault for my account." Mr. Daneynodded and The Laird resumed. "Take those bonds to the Sawdust Pile,together with a check for all the interest collected on the couponssince they came into my possession, and tell him from me that I'lltake it kindly of him to leave Port Agnew and make a start for himselfelsewhere as quickly as he can. He owes it to his family not toaffront it by his presence in Port Agnew, giving ground for gossip andscandal and piling needless sorrow upon us. And when the Sawdust Pileis again vacant you will remove the Brent house and put in the dryingyard you've planned this many a year."
"Very well, sir. It's not a task to my liking, but--" His pause waseloquent.
"Have my old desk put in order for me. I'm back in the harness andback to stay, and at that I'm not so certain it isn't the best thingfor me, under the present circumstances. I dare say," he added, with asudden change of tone, "the news is all over Port Agnew this morning."
Mr. Daney nodded.
"You will procure Donald's resignation as President and have himendorse the stock I gave him in order to qualify as a director of thecompany. We'll hold a directors' meeting this afternoon and I'll stepback into the presidency."
"Very well, sir."
"You will cause a notice to be prepared for my signature, to be spreadon the bulletin board in each department, to the effect that DonaldMcKaye is no longer connected in any way with the Tyee LumberCompany."
"Damn it, man," Daney roared wrathfully, "have you no pride? Why washyour dirty linen in public?"
"You are forgetting yourself, my good Andrew. If you do not wish toobey my orders I shall have little difficulty inducing your assistantto carry out my wishes, I'm thinking." The Laird's voice was calmenough; apparently he had himself under perfect control, but--theBlue-Bonnets-coming-over-the-Border look was in his fierce gray eyes;under his bushy iron-gray brows they burned like campfires in twincaverns at night. His arms, bowed belligerently, hung tense at hisside, his great hands opened and closed, a little to the fore; helicked his lips and in the brief silence that followed ere Mr. Daneygot up and started fumbling with the combination to the great vault inthe corner, old Hector's breath came in short snorts. He turned and,still in the same attitude, watched Daney while the latter twirled andfumbled and twirled. Poor man! He knew The Laird's baleful glance wasboring into his back and for the life of him he could not remember thecombination he had used for thirty years.
Suddenly he abandoned all pretense and turned savagely on The Laird.
"Get out of my office," he yelled. "I work for you, Hector McKaye, butI give you value received and in this office I'm king and be damned toyou." His voice rose to a shrill, childish treble that presaged tearsof rage. "You'll be sorry for this, you hard-hearted man. Please GodI'll live to see the day your dirty Scotch pride will be humbled andyou'll go to that wonderful boy and his wife and plead forforgiveness. Why
, you poor, pitiful, pusillanimous old pachyderm, ifthe boy has dishonored you he has honored himself. He's a gallantyoung gentleman, that's what he is. He has more guts than a bear. He's_married_ the girl, damn you--and that's more than you would have doneat his age. Ah, don't talk to me! We were young together and I knowthe game you played forty years ago with the girl at the RatPortage--yes, you--you with your youth and your hot passions--turningyour big proud back on your peculiar personal god to wallow in sin andenjoy it."
"But I--I was a single man then," The Laird sputtered, almostinarticulate with fury and astonishment.
"He was a single man yesterday but he's a married man to-day. And sheloves him. She adores him. You can see it in her eyes when his name ismentioned. And she had no _reason_ to behave herself, had she? She hasbehaved herself for three long years, but did she win anybody'sapprobation for doing it? I'm telling you a masterful man like himmight have had her without the wedding ring, for love's sake, if he'dcared to play a waiting game and stack the cards on her. After all,she's human."
Suddenly he commenced to weep with fury, the tears cascading into hiswhiskers making him look singularly ridiculous in comparison with theexpression on his face, which was anything but grievous. "Marriage!Marriage!" he croaked. "I know what it is. I married a fat-head--andso did my wife. We've never known romance; never had anything but aquiet, well-ordered existence. I've dwelt in repression; never got outof life a single one of those thrills that comes of doing somethingdaring and original and nasty. Never had an adventure; never had awoman look at me like I was a god; married at twenty and never knewthe Grand Passion." He threw up his arms. "Oh-h-h, God-d-d! If I couldonly be young again I'd be a devil! Praise be, I know one man withguts enough to tell 'em all to go to hell."
With a peculiar little moving cry he started for the door.
"Andrew," The Laird cried anxiously. "Where are you going?"
"None of your infernal business," the rebel shrilled, "but if you mustknow, I'm going down to the Sawdust Pile to kiss the bride and shakea man's hand and wish him well. After I've done that I'll deliver yourmessage. Mark me, he'll never take those bonds."
"Of course he will, you old fool. They belong to him."
"But he refused to make a profit at the expense of his own father. Hegave them to you and he's not an Indian giver."
"Andrew, I have never known you to act in such a peculiar manner. Areyou crazy? Of course he'll take them. He'll have to take them in orderto get out of Port Agnew. I doubt if he has a dollar in the world."
Mr. Daney beat his chest gorilla fashion. "He doesn't need a dollar.Boy and man, I've loved that--ahem! son of yours. Why, he always _did_have guts. Keep your filthy money. The boy's credit is good with me.I'm no pauper, even I if do work for you. I work for fun. Understand.Or do you, Hector McKaye?"
"If you dare to loan my son as much as a thin dime I'll fire you outof hand."
Mr. Daney jeered. "How?" he demanded very distinctly, and yet with aqueer, unusual blending of the sentence with a single word, as if thevery force of his breath had telescoped every syllable, "would youlike to stand off in that corner there and take a long runnin' jump atyourself, proud father?"
"Out of this office! You're fired."
Mr. Daney dashed the tears from his whiskers and blew his nose. Thenhe pulled himself together with dignity and bowed so low he lost hiscenter of gravity and teetered a little on his toes before recoveringhis balance. "Fired is GOOD," he declared. "Where do you get thatstuff, eh? My dear old Furiosity, ain't my resignation in thewaste-basket? Good-by, good luck and may the good Lord give you thesense God gives geese. I'm a better man than you are, Gunga Din."
The door banged open. Then it banged shut and The Laird was alone. Theincident was closed. The impossible had come to pass. For the strainhad been too great, and at nine o'clock on a working day morning,steady, reliable, dependable, automatic Andrew Daney having imbibedDutch courage in lieu of Nature's own brand, was, for the first timein his life, jingled to an extent comparable to that of a boiled owl.
Mr. Daney's assistant thrust his head in the door, to disturb TheLaird's cogitations. "The knee-bolters went out at the shingle millthis morning, sir," he announced. "They want a six and a half hour dayand a fifty per cent. increase in wages, with a whole holiday onSaturday. There's a big Russian red down there exhorting them."
"Send Dirty Dan to me. Quick!"
A telephonic summons to the loading shed brought Daniel P. O'Leary onthe run. "Come with me, Dan," The Laird commanded, and started for theshingle mill. On the way down he stopped at the warehouse and selecteda new double-bitted ax which he handed to Dirty Dan. Mr. O'Learyreceived the weapon in silence and trotted along at The Laird's heelslike a faithful dog, until, upon arrival at the shingle mill theastute Hibernian took in the situation at a glance.
"Sure, 'tis no compliment you've paid me, sor, thinkin' I'll be aftherneedin' an ax to take that fella's measure," he protested.
"Your job is to keep those other animals off me while _I_ take hismeasure," The Laird corrected him.
Without an instant's hesitation Dirty Dan swung his ax and charged thecrowd. "Gower that, ye vagabones," he screeched. As he passed theRussian he seized the latter by the collar, swung him and threw himbodily toward old Hector, who received him greedily and drew him tohis heart. The terrible O'Leary then stood over the battling pair, hisax poised, the while he hurled insult and anathema at theknee-bolters. A very large percentage of knee-bolters and shingleweavers are members of the I.W.W. and knowing this, Mr. O'Leary beggedin dulcet tones, to be informed why in this and that nobody seemedwilling to lift a hand to rescue the Little Comrade. He appeared to bekeenly disappointed because nobody tried, albeit other axes were quiteplentiful thereabouts.
Presently The Laird got up and dusted the splinters and sawdust fromhis clothing; the Red, battered terribly, lay weltering in his blood."I feel better now," said The Laird. "This is just what I needed thismorning to bring me out of myself. Help yourself, Dan," and he made adive at the nearest striker, who fled, followed by his fellow-strikers,all hotly pursued by The Laird and the demon Daniel.
The Laird returned, puffing slightly, to his office and once more satin at his own desk. As he remarked to Dirty Dan, he felt better now.All his resentment against Daney had fled but his resolution to pursuehis contemplated course with reference to his son and the latter'swife had become firmer than ever. In some ways The Laird was aterrible old man.
Kindred of the Dust Page 40
