XLIII
Returning to the mill office, Mr. Daney sat at his desk and started tolook over the mail. The Laird heard his desk buzzer soundingfrequently and rightly conjecturing that his general manager was backon the job, he came into the latter's office and glared at him.
"I thought I fired you?" he growled.
"I know. You thought you did," the rebel replied complacently. "I seeby your knuckles you've been fighting. Hope it did you good."
"It did. Are you going to leave this office?"
"No, sir."
"I didn't think you would. Well, well! Out with it."
Mr. Daney drew a deal of pleasure from that invitation. "The boydirects me to inform you, sir, that he will not accept the bonds norany monies you may desire to give him. He says he doesn't need thembecause he isn't going to leave Port Agnew."
"Nonsense, Andrew. He cannot remain in this town. He hasn't thecourage to face his little world after marrying that girl. And he hasto make a living for her."
"We shall see that which we shall see," Mr. Daney repliedenigmatically.
"I wonder if it is possible he is trying to outgame me," old Hectormused aloud. "Andrew, go back and tell him that if he will go toCalifornia to live I will deed him that Lassen county sugar and whitepine and build him the finest mill in the state."
"The terms are quite impossible," Daney retorted and explained why.
"He shall get out of Port Agnew," The Laird threatened. "He shall getout or starve."
"You are forgetting something, sir."
"Forgetting what?"
"That I have more than a hundred thousand dollars in bonds right inthat vault and that I have not as yet developed paralysis of the righthand. The boy shall not starve and neither shall he crawl, like abeaten dog currying favor with the one that has struck him."
"I am the one who has been struck--and he has wounded me sorely," TheLaird cried, his voice cracked with anger.
"The mischief is done. What's the use of crying over spilled milk?You're going to forgive the boy sooner or later, so do it now and begraceful about it."
"I'll never forgive him, Andrew."
Mr. Daney walled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Thank God," he murmuredpiously, "I'm pure. Hereafter, every time Reverend Mr. Tingley saysthe Lord's prayer I'm going to cough out loud in church at the line:'Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass againstus.' You'll hear that cough and remember, Hector McKaye."
A deeper shadow of distress settled over The Laird's stern features."You're uncommon mean to me this bitter day, Andrew," he complainedwearily. "I take it as most unkind of you to thwart my wishes likethis."
"I'm for true love!" Mr. Daney declared firmly. "Ah come, come now!Don't be a stiff-necked old dodo. Forgive the boy."
"In time I may forgive him, Andrew. I'm not sure of myself where he isconcerned, but we canna receive the girl. 'Tis not in reason that weshould."
"I believe I'll cough twice," Daney murmured musingly.
And the following day being Sunday, he did! He sat two rows behind theMcKaye family pew but across the aisle, and in a cold fury The Lairdturned to squelch him with a look. What he saw in the Daney pew,however, chilled his fury and threw him into a veritable panic ofembarrassment. For to the right of the incomprehensible generalmanager sat the young ex-laird of Port Agnew; at Daney's left the oldLaird beheld his new daughter-in-law, while further down the pew asfar as she could retreat, Mrs. Daney, with face aflame, sat rigid, herbovine countenance upraised and her somewhat vacuous glance fixedunblinkingly at a point some forty feet over Mr. Tingley's pious head.Donald intercepted the old man's amazed and troubled glance, andsmiled at his father with his eyes--an affectionate overture that wasnot lost on The Laird ere he jerked his head and eyes once more to thefront.
Mrs. McKaye and her two daughters were as yet unaware of the horrorthat impended. But not for long. When the congregation stood to singthe final hymn, Nan's wondrous mezzo-soprano rose clear and sweet overthe indifferent-toned notes of every other woman present; to the mostdull it would have been obvious that there was a trained singerpresent, and Mrs. McKaye and her daughters each cast a covert glancein the direction of the voice. However, since every other woman in thechurch was gazing at Nan, nobody observed the effect of her presenceupon the senior branch of the McKaye family, for which small blessingthe family in question was duly grateful.
At the conclusion of the service old Hector remained in his pew untilthe majority of the congregation had filed out; then, assuring himselfby a quick glance, that his son and the latter's wife had precededhim, he followed with Mrs. McKaye and the girls. From the church stepshe observed Donald and Nan walking home, while Mr. Daney and hisoutraged spouse followed some twenty feet behind them. Quickly TheLaird and his family entered the waiting limousine; it was the firstoccasion that anybody could remember when he had not lingered to shakehands with Mr. Tingley and, perchance, congratulate him on theexcellence of his sermon.
They were half way up the cliff road before anybody spoke. Then, witha long preliminary sigh, The Laird voiced the thought that obsessedthem all.
"That damned mutton-head, Daney. I'd run him out of the Tyee employ ifit would do a bit of good. I cannot run him out of town or out ofchurch."
"The imbecile!" Elizabeth raged. Jane was dumb with shame and rage andMrs. McKaye was sniffling a little. Presently she said:
"How dare he bring her right into church with him," she criedbrokenly. "Right before everybody. Oh, dear, oh dear, is my sontotally lacking in a sense of decency? This is terrible, terrible."
"I shall not risk such another awful Sunday morning," Elizabethannounced.
"Nor I," Jane cried with equal fervor.
"We shall have to leave Port Agnew now," Mrs, McKaye sobbed.
Old Hector patted her hand. "Yes, I think you'll have to, Nellie.Unfortunately, I cannot go with you. Daney doesn't appear to be quitesane of late and with Donald out of the business I'm chained to a deskfor the remainder of my life. I fear, however," he added savagely, "Ido not intend to let that woman run me out of my own church. Not by adamned sight!"
The instant they entered the house, rightly conjecturing that theDaneys had also reached their home, Mrs. McKaye went to the telephoneand proceeded to inform Mr. Daney of the opinion which the McKayefamily, jointly and severally, entertained for his idea of comedy.Daney listened respectfully to all she had to say touching his sanity,his intelligence, his sense of decency, and his loyalty to Hector andwhen, stung because he made no defense, she asked: "Have you noexplanation to make us for your extraordinary behavior?" he replied:
"I am an usher of our church, Mrs. McKaye. When Donald and his wifeentered the church the only vacant seats in it were in my pew; theonly person in the church who would not have felt a sense of outrageat having your daughter-in-law seated with his or her family, was myself-sacrificing self. I could not be discourteous to Donald and I'mquite certain his wife has as much right in our church as you have. SoI shooed them both up to my pew, to the great distress of Mrs. Daney."
"You should be ashamed of yourself, Andrew. You should!"
"I'm not ashamed of myself, Mrs. McKaye. I've been a pussy-foot allmy life. I had to do something I knew would detract from mypopularity, but since I had to do it I decided to do it promptly andas if I enjoyed it. Surely you would not have commended me had I metthe young couple at the door and said to them: 'Get out of thischurch. It is not for such as you. However, if you insist uponstaying, you'll have to stand up or else sit down on the floor. Nobodyhere wants to sit with you. They're afraid, too, they'll offend theChief Pooh-bah of this town'."
"You could have pretended you did not see them."
"My dear Mrs. McKaye," Daney retorted in even tones, "do you wish meto inform your husband of a certain long distance telephoneconversation? If so--"
She hung up without waiting to say good-by, and the following day sheleft for Seattle, accompanied by her daughters.
Throughout the week The Laird fo
rbore mentioning his son's name to Mr.Daney; indeed, he refrained from addressing the latter at all unlessabsolutely necessary to speak to him directly--wherefore Daney knewhimself to be blacklisted. On the following Sunday The Laird sat alonein the family pew and Mr. Daney did not cough during the recital ofthe Lord's prayer, so old Hector managed to conquer a tremendousyearning to glance around for the reason. Also, as on the previousSunday, he was in no hurry to leave his pew at the conclusion of theservice, yet, to his profound irritation, when he did leave it andstart down the central aisle of the church, he looked squarely intothe faces of Donald and Nan as they emerged from the Daney pew. Mrs.Daney was conspicuous by her absence. Nan's baby boy had fallen asleepduring the service and Donald was carrying the cherub.
Old Hector's face went white; he gulped when his son spoke to him.
"Hello, Dad. You looked lonely all by yourself in that big pew.Suppose we come up and sit with you next Sunday?"
Old Hector paused and bent upon his son and Nan a terrible look."Never speak to me again so long as you live," he replied in a lowvoice, and passed out of the church.
Donald gazed after his broad erect figure and shook his headdolefully, as Mr. Daney fell into step beside him. "I told you so," hewhispered.
"Isn't it awful to be Scotch?" Nan inquired.
"It is awful--on the Scotch," her husband assured her. "The dear oldfraud gulped like a broken-hearted boy when I spoke to him. He'drather be wrong than president."
As they were walking home to the Sawdust Pile, Nan captured one of herhusband's great fingers and swung it childishly. "I wish you didn'tinsist upon our going to church, sweetheart," she complained. "We'respoiling your father's Christianity."
"Can't help it," he replied doggedly. "We're going to be thoroughbredsabout this, no matter how much it hurts."
She sighed. "And you're only half Scotch, Donald."
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