XIX
A week elapsed before Hector McKaye would permit his son to return tohis duties. By that time, the slight wound in the latter's arm wherethe vein had been opened had practically healed. Dirty Dan continuedto improve, passed the danger-mark, and began the upward climb to hisold vigor and pugnacity. Port Agnew, stirred to discussion over theaffray, forgot it within three days, and on the following Mondaymorning Donald returned to the woods. The Laird of Tyee carried hisworries to the Lord in prayer, and Nan Brent frequently forgot herplight and sang with something of the joy of other days.
A month passed. During that month, Donald had visited the Sawdust Pileonce and had written Nan thrice. Also, Mrs. Andrew Daney, hard besetbecause of her second experience with the "Blue Bonnet" glance of aMcKaye, had decided to remove herself from the occasions of gossip andbe in a position to claim an alibi in the event of developments. Soshe abandoned Daney to the mercies of a Japanese cook and departed forWhatcom to visit a married daughter. From Whatcom, she wrote herhusband that she was enjoying her visit so much she hadn't theslightest idea when she would return, and, for good and sufficientreasons, Daney did not urge her to change her mind.
Presently, Mrs. McKaye and her daughters returned to Port Agnew. Hiswife's letters to The Laird had failed to elicit any satisfactoryreason for his continued stay at home, and inasmuch as all threeladies were deferring the trip to Honolulu on his account, they hadcome to a mutual agreement to get to close quarters and force adecision.
Mrs. McKaye had been inside The Dreamerie somewhat less than fiveminutes before her instinct as a woman, coupled with her knowledge asa wife, informed her that her spouse was troubled in his soul. Alwaystactless, she charged him with it, and when he denied it, she wascertain of it. So she pressed him further, and was informed that hehad a business deal on; when she interrogated him as to the nature ofit (something she had not done in years), he looked at her and smokedcontemplatively. Immediately she changed the subject of conversation,but made a mental resolve to keep her eyes and her ears open.
The Fates decreed that she should not have long to wait. Donald camehome from the logging-camp the following Saturday night, and thefamily, having finished dinner, were seated in the living-room. TheLaird was smoking and staring moodily out to sea, Donald was reading,Jane was at the piano softly playing ragtime, and Mrs. McKaye andElizabeth were knitting socks for suffering Armenians when thetelephone-bell rang. Jane immediately left the piano and went out intothe entrance-hall to answer it, the servants having gone down to PortAgnew to a motion-picture show. A moment later, she returned to theliving-room, leaving the door to the entrance-hall open.
"You're wanted on the telephone, Don!" she cried gaily. "Such a sweetvoice, too!"
Mrs. McKaye and Elizabeth looked up from their knitting. They werenot accustomed to having Donald called to the telephone by youngladies. Donald laid his magazine aside and strode to the telephone;The Laird faced about in his chair, and a harried look crept into hiseyes.
"Close the door to the entrance-hall, Jane," he commanded.
"Oh, dear me, no!" his spoiled daughter protested. "It would be toogreat a strain on our feminine curiosity not to eavesdrop on Don'slittle romance."
"Close it!" The Laird repeated. He was too late. Through the opendoor, Donald's voice reached them:
"Oh, you poor girl! I'm so sorry, Nan dear. I'll be over immediately."His voice dropped several octaves, but the words came to the listenersnone the less distinctly. "Be brave, sweetheart."
Mrs. McKaye glanced at her husband in time to see him avert his face;she noted how he clutched the arm of his chair.
To quote a homely phrase, the cat was out of the bag at last. Donald'sface wore a troubled expression as he reentered the living-room. Hismother spoke first.
"Donald! _My_ son!" she murmured tragically.
"Hum-m--!" The Laird grunted. The storm had broken at last, and,following the trend of human nature, he was conscious of suddenrelief.
Jane was the first to recover her customary aplomb.
"Don dear," she cooed throatily, "are we mistaken in our assumptionthat the person with whom you have just talked is Nan Brent?"
"Your penetration does you credit, Jane. It was."
"And did our ears deceive us or did we really hear you call her'dear' and 'sweetheart'?"
"It is quite possible," Donald answered. He crossed the room andpaused beside his father. "Caleb Brent blinked out a few minutes ago,dad. It was quite sudden. Heart-trouble. Nan's all alone down there,and of course she needs help. I'm going. I'll leave to you the job ofexplaining the situation to mother and the girls. Good-night, pop; Ithink you understand."
Mrs. McKaye was too stunned, too horrified, to find refuge in tears.
"How dare that woman ring you up?" she demanded haughtily. "Thehussy!"
"Why, mother dear, she has to have help," her son suggestedreproachfully.
"But why from you, of all men? I forbid you to go!" his motherquavered. "You must have more respect for us. Why, what will peoplesay?"
"To hell with what people say! They'll say it, anyhow," roared oldHector. Away down in his proud old heart he felt a few cheers risingfor his son's manly action, albeit the necessity for that action waswringing his soul. "'Tis no time for idle spierin'. Away with you,lad! Comfort the puir lass. 'Tis no harm to play a man's part. Hearme," he growled; "I'll nae have my soncy lad abused."
"Dad's gone back to the Hielands. 'Nough said." Elizabeth hadrecovered her customary jolly poise. Wise enough, through longexperience, to realize that when her father failed to throttle thatvocal heritage from his forebears, war impended, she gathered up herknitting and fled to her room.
Jane ran to her mother's side, drew the good lady's head down on hershoulder, and faced her brother.
"Shame! Shame!" she cried sharply. "You ungrateful boy! How could youhurt dear mother so!"
This being the cue for her mother to burst into violent weeping,forthwith the poor soul followed up the cue. Donald, sore beset,longed to take her in his arms and kiss away her tears, but somethingwarned him that such action would merely serve to accentuate thedomestic tempest, so, with a despairing glance at old Hector, he leftthe room.
"Pretty kettle o' fish you've left me to bring to a boil!" the old mancried after him. "O Lord! O Lord! Grant me the wisdom of Solomon, thepatience of Job, and the cunning of Judas Iscariot! God help mymildewed soul!"
Kindred of the Dust Page 19