The Way of the Strong Part 63

He pa.s.sed them over to the other.

"Take 'em," he said easily. "Read 'em over at your leisure. You got property in this trust. Maybe you'll read something there that's cost me a deal of thought. That's the United Owners' Protection Schedule.

You'll find in it a tabulated list of every property in the combine.

Its area of grain. Its locality. Also a carefully detailed list of _Owner Workers_, their numbers, and supplies of machinery for seeding and _harvesting_. You'll also find a detailed distribution sheet of how these, in case of emergency, can be combined and distributed, and, aided with additional machinery, supplied by the trust, can complete the harvest on all trust lands _without the help of one single hired man_. The machinery is ordered, and is being distributed now--in case the railroad troubles develop about harvest time. There's also another doc.u.ment there of no small importance. It was pa.s.sed unanimously at the last general meeting of directors, and is inspired by these--darned labor troubles. It empowers me to sell crops _standing_ in the ear, at a margin under antic.i.p.ated market price to speculators--if it's deemed advisable by the directors. This again is for our protection."

Then he held up a bunch of telegrams.

"These are wires from some of the big speculators. They're in code, so you can't read 'em. They're offers to buy--now. These offers, increasing in price each time as we get nearer the harvest, will come along from now on till the grain is threshed. I can close a deal any moment I choose to put pen to paper. Well?"

"Well?"

Angus looked into the man's fearless eyes, marveling at the wonder of foresight he displayed. For the moment he almost pitied the dull-witted farmhand who contemplated pitting himself against such caliber.

"Say, Angus, boy," Hendrie went on, after a pause. "Sometimes I sort of feel the game isn't worth it, fighting this mush-headed crowd who have to get other folks to think for 'em, and tell 'em when they're not satisfied. It's like shooting up women and children, in spite that any half-dozen could literally eat me alive. I tell you brain's got muscle beat all along the line. Give every man an equal share all over the world, and in six months' time it will be cornered again by brain that isn't equally distributed, and never will be."

"I'm getting another crew of n.i.g.g.e.rs up from the south, and you'll have 'em put on 'time' right here at Deep Willows," he went on, after a pause. "I'm going to run my land in my own way. They need fight? They can get it. I'm in the humor to fight. And if they shout much more I'll get Chinamen down from Vancouver to bear a hand in the work."

Hendrie stood for a moment with his hand on the open door. His eyes were still alight with the fire of battle which Angus's visit had inspired. The reckless spirit of defiance was still stirring, a recklessness which was, perhaps, unusual in him. The strongest characteristic of this man was his invincible resolution. It was his deliberateness of purpose, urged by supreme personal force that had placed him where he was--not recklessness.

But just now an actual desire for recklessness was running riot through his hot veins. He wanted to fight. He felt it was the safety valve necessary for his own desperate feelings.

Monica's condition more than troubled him. All the more so because he knew that his own actions had helped her peculiar ailing, which was rapidly sapping all her vitality at the time she most needed it. He knew, no one better, that Frank's troubles, his absence, and the uncertainty of his future, had played upon her nervous system till she was left no longer fit to bear her burden of motherhood.

Oh yes, he knew. He knew of the shattered wreck of her woman's heart, and it maddened him to think that the cause of it lay at his door. More than this, the black, haunting shadow of memory left him no peace. It was with him at all times, now jeering and mocking, now threatening him. But his own remorse he felt he could bear. He was a fighter; he could battle with self as with any other foe. But, for Monica, his love drove him to a desperation which sometimes threatened to overwhelm him.

He closed the door behind him, and hurried toward the entrance hall. As he reached it he saw the figure of Phyllis Raysun ascending the stairs.

He promptly called to her.

"Tell me," he cried. "Well, child? What is Dr. Fraser's report?"

The girl turned, and almost reluctantly descended the stairs.

Monica's appeal to her to come to her had been irresistible to the heart of the sympathetic girl. The appeal had been conveyed to her by Hendrie himself, the man whom she believed she hated as a monster of cruelty. She had listened to him, and something in the manner in which he had urged her, promising that the work of her farm should go forward during her absence by his own men, and that her mother should lack for no comfort that money could purchase, gave her an insight into a nature that began at once to interest her, in spite of her definitely formed opinions of him. The man certainly puzzled her young, but, for a girl of her upbringing, wide understanding.

Nor had her stay at Deep Willows lessened her interest.

Now she looked at him with unsmiling eyes.

"The doctor's just gone right into Everton for special physic," she said.

"Yes, yes. But--his report?"

Phyllis's gaze wandered to the front door, out of which the doctor had just pa.s.sed.

"He says--slight improvement," she replied coldly.

"Ah! Improvement! Yes?"

The man sighed. He was clinging to the meager encouragement of that single word.

Phyllis understood. She nodded. Then her eyes lit with a sudden purpose, and she dashed his hope.

"Oh, but say, Mr. Hendrie," she cried. "It doesn't just mean a thing.

It doesn't sure--sure. There's just one hope for Mo--for Mrs. Hendrie.

It's Frank. You don't understand. How can you understand us women? Get Frank right back to her, and--and you won't need Doc. Fraser for her any more than I want him. That's what you'll need to do. She's pining her life right away for him. She loves him. He's--he's her son. Can't you see? She just wors.h.i.+ps you right through, because you're her husband. But Frank? Why, she thinks of the days when his little hands used to cling around her, tearing her fixings, that cost money, and all that. She--she just loves every hair of his poor head."

The girl's hands were held out appealingly, and the man's eyes dared not look in their direction. She had poured an exquisite torture into his already troubled heart, and her appealing hands had twisted the knife that probed its depths. She could not add one detail to his knowledge of all it would mean, not only to Monica, but to himself, if only Frank could be brought home to the great house at Deep Willows.

One hand went up to his clammy brow. The square-tipped fingers ran their way through his ample, graying hair. Then, with a sudden nervous movement, his arms flung out.

"Oh, G.o.d!" he cried, his eyes suddenly blazing with a pa.s.sion that had for one brief moment broken the bonds which usually so sternly controlled it. "What do you know, child? What can you know of the awful longing I have to bring that boy here? You say I do not know you women.

I tell you you do not know all that men can feel. You think me a brute, a monster; I have seen it in your eyes. You think my every thought is money and self. Maybe you are justified. It is money--gold that has been my undoing. It is that which has wrecked my life. Pshaw! You don't understand. n.o.body does--but myself. But I tell you, here and now, I'd give all I have, everything I possess in life, even life itself, to bring that boy here, and know that he would remain with us for--ever."

His outburst left the girl half frightened. But his pa.s.sion died out almost as swiftly as it had arisen. His control was not long yielded, and, as his eyes resumed their wonted steadiness, and looked up into Phyllis's with something almost like a smile, she timidly sought to help him.

"I'm--I'm sorry," she said, on the impulse. Then she leaned forward eagerly. "But--but can't it--be done? Oh, if he would only come--in time. I know he will come--some day. If I did not--then--then I shouldn't want to go right on living."

The man started slightly.

"I--I had forgotten--you," he said.

Phyllis nodded.

"Frank is in--Calford," she said slowly. "I had mail from him yesterday."

She was speaking in the hope that what she said might help to stir him to some definite action. She was beginning to understand the powers which he possessed.

The man appeared to be lost in thought.

"I am going to marry Frank--one day," she went on, in her confident little way.

Suddenly Hendrie looked round at her. His eyes surveyed her closely. He became aware for the first time of the strength of her pretty face. The bright intelligence looking out of her deep eyes. The firmness of her mouth and chin. These things left a marked effect upon him. His manner became almost gentle.

"What is he doing in Calford?" he asked abruptly.

A faint smile lit the girl's eyes for a moment, and then pa.s.sed.

"He's--guess you'd call it 'agitating.' He doesn't. I'd say he calls it preaching brotherhood and equality to a gang of railroaders."

Again the man started.

"He's--working on the--railroad trouble?" he demanded incredulously.

Phyllis nodded. Hendrie drew a deep breath.

"Yes. He's been working hard for a year now, and--and I believe he's just thrown himself into the cause of--Socialism with all his might.

He--he gets talking everywhere. His name's always in the papers. Say, can't you do a thing? Can't you help--bring him here?"