CHAPTER VIII--PUZZLING QUESTIONS
Hot sunshine poured into the clearing on the shore of Puget Sound whereHenry Osborne had his dwelling. The pretty, wooden house, with its wideveranda and scrollwork decoration, was finely situated in a belt of tallpine forest. The resinous scent of the conifers crept into its rooms;and in front a broad sweep of grass, checkered with glowing flower-beds,ran down to the shingle beach. Rocky islets, crested with somber firs,dotted the sparkling sound, and beyond them, climbing woods and hills,steeped in varying shades of blue, faded into the distance, with behindthem all a faint, cold gleam of snow. The stillness of the afternoon wasemphasized by the soft splash of ripples on the beach and the patter ofthe water which the automatic sprinklers flung in glistening showersacross the thirsty grass.
Caroline Dexter, lately arrived from a small New England town, sat inthe shade of a cedar. She was elderly and of austere character. Theplain and badly cut gray dress displayed the gauntness of her form, andher face was of homely type; but her glance was direct, and those whoknew her best had learned that her censorious harshness covered a warmheart. Now she was surveying her brother-in-law's house and garden witha disapproving expression. All she saw indicated prosperity and taste,and though she admitted that riches were not necessarily a snare, shehoped Henry Osborne had come by them honestly.
She had never been quite sure about him, and it was not with hergoodwill that he had married her younger sister. She thought him lax andworldly; but after his wife's death, which was a heavy blow to Caroline,she had taken his child into her keeping and tenderly cared for her.Indeed, she ventured to believe that she had molded Ruth Osborne'scharacter and won her affection. The girl might have fallen into worsehands, for, in spite of her narrow outlook, Caroline Dexter wasunflinchingly upright.
Sitting stiffly erect in the garden chair, she turned to her niece, whoreclined with negligent grace in a canvas lounge. This, Carolinethought, was typical of the luxurious indolence of the youngergeneration, but, for all that, Ruth had some of the sterner virtues. Thegirl was pretty, and though her aunt believed that beauty is a deceptivething, it was less dangerous when purged of pride and vanity. Carolinehoped that the strictness with which she had brought up her niece hadfreed her of these failings.
"Well, dear," she said, "this is a pretty place; and your father'saffairs have evidently improved. It's sad your dear mother didn't liveto enjoy it."
Though her dress and appearance were provincial, the austere simplicityof her manner had in it something of distinction, and her accent wassingularly clean.
Ruth looked up at her with an air of thoughtful regret.
"Yes; I often feel that, when I think of the hard struggle she must havehad. Though I was very young then, I can remember the shabbyboardinghouses we stayed in, and my mother's pale, anxious face when sheand my father used to talk in the evenings. He seldom speaks about thosedays, but I know he does not forget."
"It is to his credit that he never married again," Miss Dexter remarkedwith a bluntness in which there was nothing coarse. "He loved yourmother, and one can forgive him much for that."
"But have you much to forgive? And, after all, men do sometimes marrytwice."
"And sometimes oftener! No doubt they're good enough for the women whotake them; but the love of a true man or woman is stronger than death!"
There was a warmth in the voice of this apparently unsentimental auntthat surprised Ruth.
"You seem to speak with feeling," the girl said, half mockingly.
A shadow crept into Miss Dexter's eyes as she gazed, unseeingly, at aseabird poised over the water; but almost immediately she turned to herniece with her usual matter-of-fact calm.
"We were talking of your father's affairs," she said. "I notice a sinfulextravagance here: servants you do not need, a gasoline launch, and twoautomobiles."
Ruth laughed.
"Father must get to town quickly, and cars sometimes break down;besides, I believe he can afford them all. I sometimes think you arerather hard on him."
"I'll admit that I have often wondered how he got his money. One cannotmake a fortune quickly without meeting many temptations. I suppose youknow your Uncle Charles had to lend him a thousand dollars soon afteryou were born, and it was not paid back until a few years ago? Does yourfather never tell you anything about his business?"
"I haven't thought of asking him," Ruth answered with some warmth. "Hehas always been very kind to me, and I know that whatever he does isright."
"A proper feeling," her aunt commented. "No doubt, he is no worse thanthe others; but men's ideas are very lax nowadays."
Ruth was more amused than resentful. Though she was her father's staunchpartisan, she believed her aunt distrusted the makers of rapid fortunesas a class rather than her brother-in-law in particular, and that herfrugal mind shrank with old-fashioned aversion from modern luxury. Forall that, Caroline Dexter had roused the girl's curiosity as to herfather's fortune and she determined to learn something about his yearsof struggle when opportunity offered.
A moving cloud of dust rose among the firs where the descending roadcrossed the hillside, and a big gray automobile flashed across anopening. Ruth knew the car, and there was only one man of heracquaintance who would bring it down the water-seamed dip at thatreckless speed.
"It's Aynsley," she said, with a pleased expression. "I'll bring himhere."
"And who is Aynsley?"
"I forgot you don't know. He's Aynsley Clay, the son of my father's oldpartner, and runs in and out of the house when he's at home."
Turning away, she hurried toward the house, and as she reached it ayoung man came out on the veranda. He was dressed in white flannel, witha straw hat and blue serge jacket, and his pleasant face was bronzed bythe sea.
"I came right through," he said, holding out his hand. "It wasparticularly nice of you to leave your chair to meet me."
"I'm glad to see you back," Ruth responded. "Did you have a pleasanttime? When did you get home?"
"Left the yacht at Portland yesterday, and came straight on. Found theold man out of town, and decided I'd stop at Martin's place. I'm duethere this evening."
"But it's twenty miles off over the mountains, and this isn't thenearest way."
Clay laughed, with a touch of diffidence that became him.
"What's twenty miles, even on a hill road, when you're anxious to seeyour friends?"
He watched her as closely as he dared, for some hint of response, but hewas puzzled by her manner.
"It isn't a road," she laughed. "Some day you'll come here in pieces."
"I wonder whether you'd be sorry?"
"You ought to know. But come along--I believe my aunt is curious aboutyou."
When he was presented, Miss Dexter gave him a glance of candid scrutiny.Aynsley was marked by a certain elegance and careless good humor, whichwere not the qualities she most admired in young men, but she liked hisface and the frankness of his gaze. If he were one of the idle rich, hewas, she thought, a rather good specimen.
"What is your profession?" she asked him bluntly, when they had talked afew moments.
"It's rather difficult to state, because my talents and pursuits arevaried. I'm a bit of a naturalist, and something of a yachtsman, while Ireally think I'm smart at handling a refractory automobile. When I wasyounger, it was my ambition to ride a raw cayuse, but now one grappleswith the mysteries of valves and cams. The times change, though onecan't be sure that they improve."
"Then you don't do anything?"
"I'm afraid you hold my father's utilitarian views, but there's room fora difference of opinion about what constitutes hard work. To-day, forinstance, I spent two hours lying on my back beneath the car and fittingawkward little bolts into holes; then I drove her fifty miles in threehours over a villainous road, graded with rocks and split fir-trees. AsI've another twenty miles to go, my own opinion is that I'll have doneenough for any ordinary man when I get through."
"And how much better off is the comm
unity for your labors?"
"It's some consolation that nobody's much the worse, but I've known thecommunity suffer when it was slow in getting out of the way."
Though she shook her head disapprovingly, there was a gleam of amusementin Miss Dexter's eyes.
"I suppose you're a product of your age, and can't be blamed for theoutlook your environment has forced upon you. After all, there are moreharmful toys than cars and yachts; enjoy them strenuously while you can.It may fit you for something sterner when you lose your taste for them.And there's something in your look which makes me think that time maycome."
A half-hour later Ruth and Aynsley were strolling together through agrove of pines by the water's edge.
"What did you think of my aunt?" she asked.
"I think Miss Dexter is a very fine lady. What's more, I begin to seewhere you got something I've noticed about you. I suppose you know thatyou and she are not unlike?"
Ruth smiled. Her aunt was hard-featured and very badly dressed; but sheknew that these were not the points which had impressed him.
"The good impression seems to have been mutual," she said; "and to tellthe truth, I was slightly surprised. She's generally severe to idlers."
"I knew she'd spot me by my clothes, and I played up to the part. Itpleases people when you fall in with the ideas they form about you. Butspeaking of idlers reminds me that before I went away the old man wasgetting after me about wasting my talents; opined it was time I didsomething, and said he'd stand for the losses I'd no doubt make in thefirst two years if I'd run the Canadian mill he's lately bought. Ipointed out that it might cost him more than the boats and cars, and heanswered that he'd consider it as a fine for the way he brought me up.However, we won't talk about that. It's too fine a day."
This was characteristic of him and Ruth laughed. He was careless andinconsequent, but they had been friends for a long time and she likedhim. It was perhaps curious that she had never troubled herself abouthis feeling for her, and had gone on taking his unexacting friendshipfor granted. It was seldom that he became sentimental, and then she hadno trouble in checking him.
"Well," she said, "you have told me nothing about your voyage. You musthave seen something of interest, and had a few adventures."
"It's a good rule to avoid adventures when you can, and we followed it.Perhaps the most interesting thing was my meeting with three men whowere fishing on a lonely island far up to the north."
"Fishing? That doesn't sound very exciting."
They sat down where an opening in the pines gave them a view of climbingforests and sparkling sound, and Aynsley lighted a cigarette.
"That's what they seemed to be doing, but I've had my suspicions aboutit since. If they caught anything, it would be a long way from a market,and, though they were dirty and ragged enough, two of them hadn't thelook of regular fishermen. One rather amusing fellow was very much ofthe kind you'd meet at a sporting club, and the other had the stamp of anavy or first-class mailboat man. He was English."
Ruth looked up quickly. Jimmy had often been in her thoughts since shehad last seen him; although, as he had shown no anxiety to avail himselfof her invitation, she had made no inquiries about him. Osborne,however, had visited Vancouver, and, seeing the vessel at the wharf, hadinquired about Farquhar and learned that he had left the ship on herprevious voyage. Ruth resented his silence, but she could not forgethim.
"What was the man like?" she asked.
"Which of them?"
"The last one; the navy man." She found it slightly embarrassing toanswer the question.
Aynsley gave her a keen glance.
"So far as I can recollect, he had light hair, and his eyes were adarker blue than you often see; about my age, I think, and unmistakablya sailor, but he had a smart look and the stamp of command. Do you knowanybody like that?"
Ruth did not answer with her usual frankness; although she did not doubtthat this was the second mate with whom she had spent many evenings onthe big liner's saloon deck.
"Oh, of course, we met several steamboat officers, and they're much of atype," she answered in an indifferent tone.
Aynsley saw that she was on her guard. Girls, he understood, often had apartiality for mailboat officers who were generally men of prepossessingappearance and manners. However, he kept his thoughts to himself, for hewas usually diffident with Ruth. Although he had long admired her, heknew that he would not gain anything by an attempt to press his suit.
"Anyway," he said, "they were pleasant fellows, and seemed to be havinga hard time. Between the ice and gales and fog, it's by no means acharming neighborhood."
"Wasn't it on one of those islands that my father was wrecked, and lostthe gold he was bringing down?"
"Somewhere about there. Islands are plentiful in the North." Aynsleypaused and laughed. "Still, as my respected parent had some interest inthe gold, I shouldn't imagine they lost much. Losing things is not ahabit of his. I believe he had a share in the vessel, too."
"But she went down."
"That wouldn't matter. The underwriters would have an opportunity forpaying up--probably rather more than she was worth. Considering myparentage, it's curious I have no business talent."
"Your father and mine have had dealings for a long time, haven't they?"
"They have stood by each other for a good many years. It looks as if youand I were destined to be friends; but I sometimes think you don'tunderstand just what your friendship is to me."
"Of course, we are good friends," Ruth said carelessly; "but you haveplenty others."
"I have a host of acquaintances; but you're different from the rest.That doesn't sound very original, but it's what I feel. There's anintangible something that's very fine about you; something rare andold-fashioned that belongs more to the quiet corners of the New EnglandStates than to our mushroom cities. It comes of long and carefulcultivation, and isn't to be found in places that spring up in a night."
"Both my father's and my mother's people lived frugally in a veryprovincial Eastern town."
"It proves my point. I know the kind of place: a 'Sleepy Hollow,' wherenothing happens that hasn't happened in the same way before, left as itwas when the tide of American life poured West across the plains. Onecan imagine your mother's people being bound by old traditions andclinging to the customs of more serious days. That, I think, is how yougot your gracious calm, your depth of character, and a sweetness I'vefound in no one else."
Ruth rose with a smiling rebuke, and firmly turned the conversation intoanother channel.
"Yes, I know," Aynsley said despondently. "I'm not to talk like that.When I play the good-natured idiot people applaud, but they put me downsmartly when I speak the truth."
"You are never in the least idiotic," Ruth smiled. "But if you are tocross the hills before dark, it's time we gave you something to eat."
He turned to her, half resigned and half indignant.
"Oh, well! If the auto jumps a bushman's bridge or goes down into agulch, you'll be sorry you snubbed me."
"We won't anticipate anything so direful," Ruth responded; then, with asudden change of tone, she added: "Take that post in your father's mill,Aynsley; I think you ought."
He studied her a moment and then made a sign of assent.
"All right! I'll do it," he said.
An hour later she watched him start the car, and then sat down among thepines to think, for there were questions which required an answer.Aynsley was very likable. Beyond that she did not go. Her thoughtsturned to Farquhar, and she wondered why she so resented his droppingout of sight. She knew little about him, but she could not forget theevenings when they leaned on the rails together as the great ship wentsteadily across the moonlit sea. Now, for she believed he was the manAynsley had met, he was in the desolate North, and she wondered what hewas doing there, and what perils he had to face. It cost her an effortto banish him from her mind; but there was another question which hadaroused her curiosity. How had her father spent the years when she wasin her
aunt's care, before he had grown rich? He had told her nothingabout his struggles, but she must ask. Sometimes he looked careworn andshe could give him better sympathy if it were based on understanding.And how had his riches been gained, so quickly? Ruth had the utmostconfidence in her father, which even her aunt's doubts could not shake;nevertheless, she resolved to question him.
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