The Short Line War Part 10

Cordially,

KATHERINE PORTER.

Harvey slowly folded the note and replaced it in his pocket. Then he spoke to Jim.

"Mr. Weeks, will you need me to-morrow?"

Jim looked up pleasantly. Since the recent issue of M. & T. stock, Jim's eyes had smiled almost continuously.

"Guess not," he replied. "Going away?"

"Just over Sunday."

"You aren't going anywhere near Truesdale, are you?"

"Why, yes."

Jim whirled around to his desk and rummaged through some pigeonholes.

"I want to get word to a man down there," he said,--"some fellow that Fox talks about, who has a good team to sell. I thought I had his card. Well, never mind, I'll call up Fox in the morning and get his name and address.

Then if you have time"--Jim smiled--"you might talk with him and see what they are. Don't commit yourself; just size things up."

Harvey bowed.

"I don't believe you need come around in the morning. I'll call you up or wire you. But don't lose any dinners on account of it."

The next morning Harvey went to Truesdale.

The Oakwood Club House stands on a knoll some eight miles up the river from Truesdale. Giant elms shade the wide veranda, while others droop over the white macadam drive that swings steeply down to the bridge and vanishes in a grove of oak, hickory, and birch. If you stand on the steps and look west, you can see, through the immediate foliage, the Maiden County hills, their blue tops contrasting with the nearer green of the valley. To the left, an obtruding wing checks the view; on the right, leading straight down to the river, is a well-worn path.

After dinner the party strolled up and down the veranda, gradually separating into couples. The twilight creeping down found Harvey and Miss Porter alone by the railing. She stood erect, looking out over the valley, her scarlet golf jacket thrown back, her hair disordered by the long ride and curling about her face. Harvey watched her in silence. He was glad that she was tall; he liked to meet her eyes without looking down. He had often tried to remember the color of those eyes. Presently she turned and looked at him.

"They're gray," he said, half to himself.

"No," she replied; "sometimes they are brown and sometimes green. They are not gray."

Harvey leaned forward.

"I'm sure they are."

For a moment they stood looking into each other's eyes, then she turned away with a little laugh and removed her sailor hat, swinging it from her hand.

"Look," she said, with an impulsive gesture toward the west. Harvey followed her gaze. The dark was settling into the valley. There were splotches of foliage and waves of meadow, with a few winding strips of silver where the river broke away from the trees. "And to think that we have only a few more such days."

"Yes,"--he spoke softly,--"we don't see things like that in Chicago."

"Why don't you come to Truesdale?"

"So long as Mr. Weeks stays in Chicago, I am likely to be there too."

"You are fond of Mr. Weeks?"

"Yes, I am."

"I never met him--I've heard a great deal about him." She sat upon the railing and leaned back against a pillar, her eyes turned to the foliage.

"Father says he is a good business man."

"He is."

"Mr. West," she threw her head back with a peremptory toss--"I want you to tell me something."

"Wait," he replied, "come to the river. Then I'll tell you anything."

She smiled, but acquiesced, and they went down the path. Harvey drew up a cedar boat and extended his hand, but she stepped lightly aboard without his aid. Harvey pushed away from the bank and began slowly to paddle against the current.

"Now," he said, "the Sister Confessor may proceed."

She looked up at him. He thought she was smiling, but she spoke earnestly.

"I want you to tell me about this M. & T. fight."

"I don't believe there is anything to tell."

"You think I am not interested."

"No--not that."

"You men are all alike. You think a girl can't understand business." She seemed to be musing. "You like a girl who is helpless and fluttery, who can be patronized."

"No," said Harvey, "not that either."

"I wish you would tell me."

"How much do you know?"

Before replying she looked out over the water for several moments. Harvey rested his oars and waited. She turned to him, still musing.

"I'll be frank," she said. "I am not going to say how much I know, but I want you to tell me all about it."

Harvey began to row.

"Of course," she went on, "I have heard father's friends talking."

Harvey smiled.

"You puzzle me," he remarked.

"Why should any one wish to get control of your road?"