Masters of the Wheat-Lands Part 29

"No," said Mrs. Hastings reflectively. "I think one could call it a reaction, and it's probable that some very worthy people in the Old Country are to blame for it. Sproatly is not the only young man who has suffered from having too many rules and conventions crammed down his throat. In fact, they're rather plentiful."

Agatha said nothing further, for the little girls appeared just then, and it was not until the next afternoon that she and Mrs. Hastings were again alone together. Then as they drove across the prairie the older woman spoke of the business they had in hand.

"Gregory must keep those men," she said. "There's no doubt that Harry meant to do it, and it would be horribly unfair to turn them loose now when there is absolutely nothing going on. Besides, Tom Moran is a man I'm specially sorry for. As I told you, he left a young wife and a very little child behind him when he came out here."

"One would wonder why he did it," responded Agatha.

"He had to. There seems to be a notion in the Old Country that we earn our money easily, but it's very wrong. We'll take that man's case as an example. He has a little, desolate holding up in the bush of Ontario, a hole chopped out of the forest and studded all over with sawn-off fir-stumps. On it is a little two-roomed log shack. In all probability there isn't a settlement within two or three leagues of the spot. Now, as a rule, a place of that kind won't produce enough to keep a man for several years after he has partially cleared it, and unless he can earn something in the meanwhile he must give it up. Moran, it seems, got heavily into debt with the nearest storekeeper, and had to choose between selling the place or coming out here where wages are higher.

Well, you can probably imagine what it must be to the woman who stayed behind in the desolate bush, seeing n.o.body for weeks together, though I've no doubt that she'd bear it uncomplainingly believing that her husband would come back with enough to clear the debt."

Agatha could imagine the state of affairs in the little home, and a certain indignation against Gregory crept into her heart. She had once liked to think of him as pitiful and chivalrous, and now, it seemed, he was quite willing that this woman should make her sacrifice in vain.

"But why have you taken the trouble to impress this on--me?" she asked.

Mrs. Hastings smiled. "I want you to plead that woman's cause. Gregory may do what you ask him gracefully. That would be much the nicest way out of it."

"The nicest way?"

"Yes," answered Mrs. Hastings, "there is another one. Gregory is going to keep Tom Moran, anyway. Harry has one or two friends in this neighborhood who feel it more or less of an obligation on them to maintain his credit."

Agatha felt the blood rise to her face. It was an unpleasant thing to admit, but she fancied that Gregory might yield to judicious pressure when he would not be influenced by either compa.s.sion or a sense of equity. It flashed upon her that had Mrs. Hastings believed that she still retained any tenderness for the man, the story of Moran would not have been told to her. The whole situation was horribly embarra.s.sing, but Agatha had courage in her.

"Well," she promised simply, "I will speak to him."

They said nothing more until they approached the Range, and as they drove by the outbuildings Agatha glanced about her curiously. It occurred to her that the homestead did not look quite the same as it appeared when Wyllard was there. A wagon without one wheel stood near the straw pile. A door of the barn hung awkwardly open in a manner which suggested that it needed mending, and the snow had blown inside the building. In the side of one sod and pole structure there was a gap which should have been repaired. Several other things suggested slackness and indifference. She saw Mrs. Hastings frown.

"There is a change in the place already," said her friend. They alighted in another minute or two, and when they entered the house the gray-haired Swedish woman greeted them moodily. She seemed to notice the glance Mrs. Hastings cast around her, and her manner became deprecatory.

"I can't keep things straight now. It is not the same," she complained.

Mrs. Hastings asked if Hawtrey was in, and hearing that he was, turned to Agatha. "Go along and talk to him. I've something to say to Mrs.

Nansen," she said.

CHAPTER XIX

THE PRIOR CLAIM

It was with confused feelings, among which a sense of repugnance predominated, that Agatha walked toward Hawtrey's room. She was not one of the women who take pleasure in pointing out another person's duty, for, while she had discovered that this task is apparently an easy one to some people, she was aware that a duty usually looks much more burdensome when it is laid upon one's self. Indeed, she was conscious just then that one might be shortly thrust upon her, which she would find it very hard to bear, and she became troubled with a certain compunction as she remembered how she had of late persistently driven all thought of it out of her mind.

There was no doubt that she was still pledged to Gregory, and that she had loved him once. Both facts had to be admitted, and it seemed to her that if he insisted she must marry him. Deep down in her there was an innate sense of right and honesty, and she realized that the fact that he was not the man she had once imagined him to be did not release her.

It was clear that, if he was about to commit a cruel and unjustifiable action, she was the one person of all others whose part it was to restrain him.

The color was a little plainer in her face than usual when she entered the room where he lay, pipe in hand, in a lounge chair. His att.i.tude of languid ease irritated her. She had seen that there were several things outside which should have had some claim on his attention. A litter of letters and papers lay upon a little table at his side, but the fact that he could not reach them as he lay was suggestive. He did not notice her entrance immediately. He rose, when he saw her, and came forward with outstretched hand.

"I didn't hear you," he said. "This is a pleasure I scarcely antic.i.p.ated."

Agatha sat down in the chair that he drew out for her near the stove. He noticed that she glanced at the papers on the table, and he laughed.

"Bills, and things of that kind. They've been worrying me for a week or two," he said lightly. He seized the litter, and bundling it together flung it into an open drawer, which he shut with a snap. "Anyway, that's the last of them for to-day. I'm awfully glad you drove over."

Agatha smiled. The action was so characteristic of the man. She had once found no fault with Gregory's careless habits, and his way of thrusting a difficulty into the background had appealed to her. It had suggested his ability to straighten out the trouble when it appeared advisable.

Now she told herself that she would not be absurdly hypercritical, and, as it happened, he had given her the lead that she desired.

"I should think that you would have had to give them more attention as wheat is going down," she remarked.

Hawtrey looked at her with an air of reproach. "It must be nearly three weeks since I have seen you, and now you expect me to talk of farming."

He made a rueful gesture. "If you quite realized the situation it would be about the last thing you would ask me to do."

Agatha was astonished to remember that three weeks had actually elapsed since she had last met him, and they had only exchanged a word or two then. He had certainly not obtruded himself upon her, for which she was grateful.

"n.o.body is talking about anything except the fall in prices just now,"

she persisted. "I suppose it affects you, too?"

Gregory, who seemed to accept this as a rebuff, looked at her rather curiously, and then laughed.

"It must be admitted that it does. In fact, I've been acquiring parsimonious habits and worrying myself about expenses lately. The expenses have to be kept down somehow, and that's a kind of thing I never took kindly to."

"You feel it a greater responsibility when you're managing somebody else's affairs?" suggested Agatha, who was still awaiting her opportunity.

"Well," replied Hawtrey, in whom there was, after all, a certain honesty, "that's not quite the only thing that has some weight with me. You see, I'm not altogether disinterested. I get a certain percentage--on the margin--after everything is paid, and I want it to be a big one. Things are rather tight just now, and the wretched mortgage on my place is crippling me."

It had slipped out before he quite realized what he was saying, and he saw the girl's look of concern. She now realized what Sproatly had meant.

"You are in debt, Gregory? I thought you had, at least, kept clear of that," she said.

"So I did--for a while. In any case, if Wyllard stays away, and I can run this place on the right lines, I shall, no doubt, get out of it again."

She was vexed that he should speak so selfishly, for it was clear to her that, if Wyllard did not return until another crop was gathered in, it would be because he was held fast among the Northern ice in peril of his life. Then another thought struck her. She had never quite understood why Gregory had been willing to undertake the management of the Range.

In view of the probability that Wyllard had plainly told him what to expect concerning herself, she had been greatly puzzled by his acquiescence. But he had made that point clear by admitting that he had been burdened with a load of debt. But why had he incurred debts? The answer came to her as she remembered having heard Mrs. Hastings or somebody else say that he had spent a great deal of money upon his house and the furnis.h.i.+ngs for it. It brought her a sudden sense of confusion, for as one result of that expenditure he had been forced into doing what she fancied must have been a very repugnant thing. And she had never even crossed his threshold!

"When did you borrow that money?" she asked sharply.

There was no doubt that Gregory was embarra.s.sed, and her heart softened toward him for his hesitation. It was to further her comfort that he had laid that load upon himself, and he was clearly unwilling that she should know it. That counted for much in her favor.

"Was it just before I came out?" she asked again.

Hawtrey made a little sign of expostulation. "You really mustn't worry me about these matters, Aggy. A good many of us are in the storekeepers'

or mortgage-jobbers' hands, and there's no doubt that if I have another good year at the Range I shall clear off the debt."

Agatha turned her face away from him for a moment or two. The thing that Gregory had done laid a heavy obligation on her, and she remembered that she had only found fault with him! Even then, stirred as she was, she was conscious that all the tenderness that she had once felt for him had vanished. The duty, however, remained, and with a little effort she turned to him again.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "I'm so sorry."

Hawtrey smiled. "I really don't think I deserve a very great deal of pity. As I have said, I'll probably come out all right next year if I can only keep expenses down."