Kindred of the Dust

by Peter B. Kyne

  XXXI

  It was Mr. Daney's task to place the call for Nan Brent in New YorkCity and while he did not relish the assignment, nevertheless he wasfar from shrinking from it. While the citizens of Port Agnew had beenaware for more than two years that transcontinental telephoning waspossible, they knew also that three minutes of conversation fortwenty-five dollars tended to render silence more or less golden. Asyet, therefore, no one in Port Agnew had essayed the great adventure;wherefore, Mr. Daney knew that when he did his conversation would belistened to eagerly by every telephone operator in the local officeand a more or less garbled report of same circulated through the townbefore morning unless he took pains to prevent it. This he resolved todo, for the Tyee Lumber Company owned the local telephone company andit was quite generally understood in Port Agnew that Mr. Daney washigh, low, and jack and the game, to use a sporting expression.

  He stood by the telephone a moment after hanging up the receiver, andtugged at his beard reflectively.

  "No," he murmured presently, "I haven't time to motor up-country fortyor fifty miles and place the call in some town where we are not known.It just isn't going to be possible to smother this miserable affair;sooner or later the lid is going to fly off, so I might as well begame and let the tail go with the hide. Oh, damn it, damn it! If Ididn't feel fully responsible for this dreadful state of affairs, Iwould most certainly stand from under!"

  He turned from the 'phone and beheld Mrs. Daney, alert of countenanceand fairly pop-eyed with excitement. She grasped her husband by thearm.

  "You have a private line from the mill office to The Dreamerie," shereminded him. "Have the call run in on your office telephone, thencall Mrs. McKaye, and switch her in. We can listen on the officeextensions."

  Upon his spouse Mr. Daney bent a look of profound contempt.

  "When I consider the loyalty, the love, the forebearance, andChristian charity that have been necessary to restrain me from tearingasunder that which God, in a careless moment, joined together, Mary,I'm inclined to regard myself as four-fifths superman and the otherfifth pure angel," he declared coldly. "This is something you're notin on, woman, and I hope the strain of your curiosity will make yousick for a week."

  He seized his hat and fled, leaving his wife to shed bitter, scaldingtears at his cruel words. Poor thing! She prided herself upon beingthe possessor of a superior brand of virtue and was always quick totake refuge in tears when any one decried that virtue; indeed, shenever felt quite so virtuous as when she clothed herself, so to speak,in an atmosphere of patient resignation to insult and misunderstanding.People who delude themselves into the belief that they can camouflagetheir own nastiness and weaknesses from discovery by intelligentpersons are the bane of existence, and in his better half poor Daneyhad a heavy cross to bear.

  He left the house wishing he might dare to bawl aloud with anguish atthe knowledge that he was yoked for life to a woman of whom he wassecretly ashamed; he wished he might dare to get fearfully intoxicatedand remain in that condition for a long time. In his youth, he hadbeen shy and retiring, always envying the favor which the ladiesappeared to extend to the daring devils of his acquaintance;consequently, his prenuptial existence had not been marked by anymemorable amourous experiences, for where other young men sowed wildoats Mr. Daney planted a sweet forget-me-not. As a married man, he wasa model of respectability--sacrosanct, almost. His idea of worldlyhappiness consisted in knowing that he was a solid, trustworthybusiness man, of undoubted years and discretion, whom no human beingcould blackmail. Now, as he fled from the odor of respectability heyearned to wallow in deviltry, to permit his soul, so long cramped invirtue, to expand in wickedness.

  On his way down-town he met young Bert Darrow, son of the man afterwhom the adjacent lumber-town had been christened. Mr. Darrow hadrecently been indicted under the Mann law for a jolly littleinterstate romance. But yesterday, Mr. Daney had regarded Bert Darrowas a wastrel and had gone a block out of his way to avoid thescapegrace; to-night, however, Bert appealed to him as a man ofcourage, a devil of a fellow with spirit, a lover of life in itsinfinite moods and tenses, a lad with a fine contempt for publicopinion and established morals. Morals? Bah, what were they! InFrance, Bert Darrow would have earned for himself a wink and a shrug,as though to say: "Ah, these young fellows! One must watch out for therascals!" In the United States, he was a potential felon.

  "Evening, Bert," Mr. Daney saluted him pleasantly, and paused longenough to shake the latter's hand. "I saw your ad in the Seattle_P.I._ this morning. You young dog! Hope you crawl out of that messall right."

  "_C'est la guerre_," Bert murmured nonchalantly. "Thanks, awfully."

  Mr. Daney felt better after that brief interview. He had clasped handswith sin and felt now like a human being.

  He went directly to the local telephone office and placed his New Yorkcall with the chief operator, after which he sat in the manager'soffice and smoked until ten o'clock, when New York reported "Ready!"

  "You young ladies," said Mr. Daney, addressing the two young women onduty, "may take a walk around the block. Port Agnew will not requireany service for the next twenty minutes."

  They assimilated his hint, and when he was alone with the chiefoperator Mr. Daney ordered her to switch the New York call on to Mrs.McKaye at The Dreamerie. Followed ten minutes of "Ready, Chicago.""All right, New York. Put your party on the line!"--a lot ofpersistent buzzing and sudden silence. Then: "Hello, Port Agnew."

  Mr. Daney, listening on the extension in the office of the manager,recognized the voice instantly as Nan Brent's.

  "Go on, Mrs. McKaye," he ordered. "That's the Brent girl calling PortAgnew."

  "Hello, Miss Brent. This is Donald McKaye's mother speaking. Can youhear me distinctly?"

  "Yes, Mrs. McKaye, quite distinctly."

  "Donald is ill with typhoid fever. We are afraid he is not going toget well, Miss Brent. The doctors say that is because he does not wantto live. Do you understand why this should be?"

  "Yes; I think I understand perfectly."

  "Will you come back to Port Agnew and help save him? We all think youcan do it, Miss Brent. The doctors say you are the only one that cansave him." There was a moment of hesitation. "His family desires this,then?" "Would I telephone across the continent if we did not?"

  "I'll come, Mrs. McKaye--for his sake and yours. I suppose youunderstand why I left Port Agnew. If not, I will tell you. It was forhis sake and that of his family."

  "Thank you. I am aware of that, Miss Brent. Ah--of course you will beamply reimbursed for your time and trouble, Miss Brent. When he iswell--when all danger of a relapse has passed--I think you realize,Miss Brent, all of the impossible aspects of this unfortunate affairwhich render it necessary to reduce matters strictly to a businessbasis."

  "Quite, dear Mrs. McKaye. I shall return to Port Agnew--onbusiness--starting to-morrow morning. If I arrive in time, I shall domy best to save your son, although to do so I shall probably have topromise not to leave him again. Of course, I realize that you do notexpect me to keep that promise."

  "Oh, I'm so sorry, my dear girl, that I cannot say 'No' to that. Butthen, since you realized, in the first place, how impossible"

  "Good-night. I must pack my trunk."

  "Just a minute, my girl," Andrew Daney interrupted. "Daney speaking.When you get to Chicago, call up the C.M. St. P. station. I'll have aspecial train waiting there for you."

  "Thank you, Mr. Daney. I'm sorry you cannot charter an airplane for mefrom New York to Chicago. Good-night, and tell Donald for me whateveryou please."

  "Send him a telegram," Daney pleaded. "Good-by." He turned to thechief operator and looked her squarely in the eyes. "The Laird likesdiscreet young women," he announced meaningly, "and rewardsdiscretion. If you're not the highest paid chief operator in the stateof Washington from this on, I'm a mighty poor guesser."

  The girl smiled at him, and suddenly, for the first time in all hishumdrum existence, Romance gripped Mr. Daney. He was riotouslyhappy--and cou
rageous! He thrust a finger under the girl's chin andtilted it in a most familiar manner, at the same time pinching it withhis thumb.

  "Young woman," he cautioned her, "don't you ever be prim and smug! Anddon't you ever marry any man until you're perfectly wild to do it;then, were he the devil himself, follow your own natural impulses." Helet go her chin and shook his forefinger between her eyes. "I'd ratherbe happy than virtuous," the amazing man continued. "The calmplacidity that comes of a love of virtue and the possession of itmakes me sick! Such people are dull and stupid. They playhide-and-seek with themselves, I tell you. Suspicious little soulspeering out of windows and shocked to death at everything they see orhear--condemn everything they do not understand. Damn it, girl, giveme the virtue that's had to fight like the devil to stay on itsfeet--the kind that's been scratched and has had the corners knockedoff in contact with the world and still believes that God made man tohis own image and likeness. I tell you, the Lord knew what he wasabout when he invented the devil. If he hadn't, we'd all be sonasty-nice nobody could trust the other fellow further'n you can throwa bear up-hill by the tail. I tell you, young woman, sin is a greatinstitution. Why, just think of all the fun we have in life--we goodpeople--forgiving our neighbor his trespasses as he does not forgiveus for trespassing against him."

  And with this remarkable statement, Mr. Daney betook himself to hishome. Mrs. Daney, a trifle red and watery about the eyes and nose, satup in bed and demanded to be informed what had kept him down-town solate.

  "Would you sleep any better if you knew?" he demanded.

  She said she would not.

  "Then, woman, resign yourself to the soft embrace of Bacchus, the godof sleep," he replied, mixed metaphorically. "As for me, my dear, I'mall talked out!"