The Short Line War Part 11

"Because there is coal on the line."

"Is Mr. Weeks firmly in control?"

Harvey leaned over the oars.

"I wish I knew--" he hesitated. "Are we good friends?"

"I can speak for myself."

"Why are you interested in this business?"

"Because--well, I will tell you the truth. Of course I know that father and Mr. Weeks are--I suppose you would call it fighting. Father doesn't understand how I could ask you down to-day."

"I am glad you did."

"I wanted you to feel that--you see we have been good friends, and it would be too bad to let a thing like this--don't you understand?"

Harvey leaned forward and impulsively extended his hand. She drew back.

"Just shake hands," said Harvey. He clasped hers firmly, releasing it with a quiet "Thank you."

They were drifting down stream under the trees with no sound save a faint rustle from overhead. Strands of moonlight sifted through the foliage, blurring the east bank into shadow.

"Do you know what I am thinking of?" Harvey asked in a low tone. She smiled faintly and shook her head. They swung into a patch of moonlight, and for a moment their eyes met; then she looked away and said,--

"We must go back."

"It isn't late," Harvey remonstrated.

"We must go back."

Harvey obediently took up the oars, then hesitated.

"Please don't stay here," she said.

They went up the path in silence. The brake stood at the steps, and the other members of the party were laughing and talking on the veranda.

Harvey stopped before they left the shadow. Miss Porter walked a few steps, then turned and faced him.

"What is the matter?" he asked. "Can't you trust me? Are you afraid of me?"

She came forward and laid her hand upon his arm.

"Don't misunderstand me," she said with hesitation. "If I were as sure of myself as I am of you--Come, they are watching us."

An hour later they stood at Mr. Porter's door.

"Good night," said Harvey, but she lingered.

"Shall I see you to-morrow?"

"Do you think I had better come?"

"Why not?"

"Perhaps your father--"

"I want you to. Anyway," smiling, "father is in Chicago."

Harvey smiled too.

"I'll send the trap for you, and we'll drive--at ten, say. I suppose you are at the hotel."

"Yes," said Harvey. "Good night."

Mr. Porter's summer home was located on the river bank, something less than a mile from the Truesdale Hotel. The walk was somewhat lonely, and it gave Harvey time to think. At first he was bewildered. She had seemed to be mistress of the situation, but at any rate he had told her nothing about M. & T. affairs. There came into his mind a suspicion that she knew more than she had led him to believe, for she would naturally not let a man who had no claim upon her sway her loyalty to her father. And yet, those eyes were honest. They had looked into his with an expression that would charm away graver doubts than his. "I'll make her tell me," he thought. "I'll find out to-morrow just what she means, and if--" In spite of himself, Harvey's heart beat fast at thought of the possibilities which lay behind that "if." From doubt, he drifted back into a review of the evening. He called up pictures of her on the brake, on the boat, or on the shaded path. When he reached the hotel he sat down on the veranda and lighted a cigar. "Yes," he repeated to himself, "I'll make her tell me."

But in the morning, after a more or less steady sleep, Harvey looked out at the calm sunlight and changed his mind. "I'll wait," he thought, "and see what happens."

At ten, the Porter trap stood in front of the hotel, and Harvey climbed into the trap and took the reins. As he started, a telegraph boy ran down the steps calling to him. Harvey took the yellow envelope and with a thought of Jim's errand he thrust it between his teeth, for the horses were prancing. Later he stuffed it into his pocket until he should reach the Porters'. The drive was exhilarating, and by the time he pulled up in the porte-cochere he had himself well in control. She did not keep him waiting, and they were soon whirling down the old river road.

Katherine was in a bright mood. For a s.p.a.ce they talked commonplaces.

Harvey thought of the telegram, but dared not take his attention from the horses until they should run off a little spirit, so he let them go.

"Isn't it splendid," she said, drawing in the brisk air and looking at the broad stream on their right. "Do you know, I never see the river without thinking of the old days when this country was wild. It seems so odd to realize that Tonty and La Salle paddled up and down here. They may have camped where we are now. Sometimes in the evenings when we are on the river, I imagine I can see a line of canoes with strange, dark men in buckskin, and painted Indians, and solemn old monks, with Father Hennepin in the first canoe. So many curious old memories hover over this stream."

The horses were slowing. Harvey said abruptly,--

"Will you mind if I open a telegram?"

"Certainly not." She reached out and took the reins. Harvey opened the envelope with his thumb. He read the message twice, then lowered it to his knees with a puzzled expression.

"Bad news?" asked Miss Porter.

"I don't know. Read it if you like."

She handed back the reins and read the following:--

Mr. Harvey West:

You are receiver M. & T. Come to Manchester at once.

Weeks.

"Well," he said, "what do you think?"

She slowly folded the paper and creased it between her fingers.

"Can you make it?" she asked.