XVI
THE PRIVATE CAR
After he went away Berrie turned to her mother with a look in which humorand awe were blent. "Am I dreaming, mother, or am I actually sitting herein the city? My head is dizzy with it all." Then, without waiting for ananswer, she fervently added: "Isn't he fine! I'm the tenderfoot now. Ihope his father won't despise me."
With justifiable pride in her child, the mother replied: "He can't helpliking you, honey. You look exactly like your grandmother at this moment.Meet Mr. Norcross in her spirit."
"I'll try; but I feel like a woodchuck out of his hole."
Mrs. McFarlane continued: "I'm glad we were forced out of the valley. Youmight have been shut in there all your life as I have been with yourfather."
"You don't blame father, do you?"
"Not entirely. And yet he always was rather easy-going, and you know howuntidy the ranch is. He's always been kindness and sympathy itself; buthis lack of order is a cross. Perhaps now he will resign, rent the ranch,and move over here. I should like to live in the city for a while, andI'd like to travel a little."
"Wouldn't it be fine if you could! You could live at this hotel if youwanted to. Yes, you're right. You need a rest from the ranch anddish-washing."
Wayland returned with an increase of tension in his face.
"He's here! I've sent word saying, 'I am lunching in the cafe withladies.' I think he'll come round. But don't be afraid of him. He's agood deal rougher on the outside than he is at heart. Of course, he's abluff old business man, and not at all pretty, and he'll transfix youwith a kind of estimating glare as if you were a tree; but he's actuallyvery easy to manage if you know how to handle him. Now, I'm not going totry to explain everything to him at the beginning. I'm going to introducehim to you in a casual kind of way and give him time to take to you both.He forms his likes and dislikes very quickly."
"What if he don't like us?" inquired Berrie, with troubled brow.
"He can't help it." His tone was so positive that her eyes misted withhappiness. "But here comes our food. I hope you aren't too nervous toeat. Here is where I shine as provider. This is the kind of camp fare Ican recommend."
Berrie's healthy appetite rose above her apprehension, and she ate withthe keen enjoyment of a child, and her mother said, "It surely is a treatto get a chance at somebody else's cooking."
"Don't you slander your home fare," warned Wayland. "It's as good asthis, only different."
He sat where he could watch the door, and despite his jocund pose hiseyes expressed growing impatience and some anxiety. They were all wellinto their dessert before he called out: "Here he is!"
Mrs. McFarlane could not see the new-comer from where she sat, but Berrierose in great excitement as a heavy-set, full-faced man with short, graymustache and high, smooth brow entered the room. He did not smile as hegreeted his son, and his penetrating glance questioned even before hespoke. He seemed to silently ask: "Well, what's all this? How do youhappen to be here? Who are these women?"
Wayland said: "Mrs. McFarlane, this is my father. Father, this is MissBerea McFarlane, of Bear Tooth Springs."
The elder Norcross shook hands with Mrs. McFarlane politely, coldly; buthe betrayed surprise as Berea took his fingers in her grip. At his son'ssolicitation he accepted a seat opposite Berea, but refused dessert.
Wayland explained: "Mrs. McFarlane and her daughter quite saved my lifeover in the valley. Their ranch is the best health resort in Colorado."
"Your complexion indicates that," his father responded, dryly. "You looksomething the way a man of your age ought to look. I needn't ask howyou're feeling."
"You needn't, but you may. I'm feeling like a new fiddle--barring abruise at the back of my head, which makes a 'hard hat' a burden. I mayas well tell you first off that Mrs. McFarlane is the wife of the ForestSupervisor at Bear Tooth, and Miss Berea is the able assistant of herfather. We are all rank conservationists."
Norcross, Senior, examined Berrie precisely as if his eyes were a coupleof X-ray tubes, and as she flushed under his slow scrutiny he said: "Iwas not expecting to find the Forest Service in such hands."
Wayland laughed.
"I hope you didn't mash his fingers, Berrie."
She smiled guiltily. "I'm afraid I did. I hope I didn't hurtyou--sometimes I forget."
Norcross, Senior, was waking up. "You have a most extraordinary grip.What did it? Piano practice?"
Wayland grinned. "Piano! No--the cinch."
"The what?"
Wayland explained. "Miss McFarlane was brought up on a ranch. She canrope and tie a steer, saddle her own horse, pack an outfit, and all therest of it."
"Oh! Kind of cowgirl, eh?"
Mrs. McFarlane, eager to put Berrie's better part forward, explained:"She's our only child, Mr. Norcross, and as such has been a constantcompanion to her father. She's not all cow-hand. She's been to school,and she can cook and sew as well."
He looked from one to the other. "Neither of you correspond exactly to mynotions of a forester's wife and daughter."
"Mrs. McFarlane comes from an old Kentucky family, father. Hergrandfather helped to found a college down there."
Wayland's anxious desire to create a favorable impression of the womendid not escape the lumberman, but his face remained quite expressionlessas he replied:
"If the life of a cow-hand would give you the vigor this young ladyappears to possess, I'm not sure but you'd better stick to it."
Wayland and the two women exchanged glances of relief.
"Why not tell him now?" they seemed to ask. But he said: "There's a longstory to tell before we decide on my career. Let's finish our lunch. Howis mother, and how are the girls?"
Once, in the midst of a lame pursuit of other topics, the elder Norcrossagain fixed his eyes on Berea, saying: "I wish my girls had your weightand color." He paused a moment, then resumed with weary infliction: "Mrs.Norcross has always been delicate, and all her children--even herson--take after her. I've maintained a private and very expensivehospital for nearly thirty years."
This regretful note in his father's voice gave Wayland confidence. Hisspirits rose.
"Come, let's adjourn to the parlor and talk things over at our ease."
They all followed him, and after showing the mother and daughter to theirseats near a window he drew his father into a corner, and in rapidundertone related the story of his first meeting with Berrie, of histrouble with young Belden, of his camping trip, minutely describing theencounter on the mountainside, and ended by saying, with manlydirectness: "I would be up there in the mountains in a box if Berrie hadnot intervened. She's a noble girl, father, and is foolish enough to likeme, and I'm going to marry her and try to make her happy."
The old lumberman, who had listened intently all through this impassionedstory, displayed no sign of surprise at its closing declaration; but hiseyes explored his son's soul with calm abstraction. "Send her over tome," he said, at last. "Marriage is a serious matter. I want to talk withher--alone."
Wayland went back to the women with an air of victory. "He wants to seeyou, Berrie. He's mellowing. Don't be afraid of him."
She might have resented the father's lack of gallantry; but she did not.On the contrary, she rose and walked resolutely over to where he sat,quite ready to defend herself. He did not rise to meet her, but she didnot count that against him, for there was nothing essentially rude in hismanner. He was merely her elder, and inert.
"Sit down," he said, not unkindly. "I want to have _you_ tell me about myson. He has been telling me all about you. Now let's have your side ofthe story."
She took a seat and faced him with eyes as steady as his own. "Whereshall I begin?" she bluntly challenged.
"He wants to marry you. Now, it seems to me that seven weeks is veryshort acquaintance for a decision like that. Are you sure you want him?"
"Yes, sir; I am." Her answer was most decided.
His voice was slightly cynical as he went on. "But you were tolerablysure about that
other fellow--that rancher with the fancy name--weren'tyou?" She flushed at this, but waited for him to go on. "Don't you thinkit possible that your fancy for Wayland is also temporary?"
"No, sir!" she bravely declared. "I never felt toward any one the way Ido toward Wayland. He's different. I shall _never_ change toward him."
Her tone, her expression of eyes stopped this line of inquiry. He took upanother. "Now, my dear young lady, I am a business man as well as afather, and the marriage of my son is a weighty matter. He is my maindependence. I am hoping to have him take up and carry on my business. Tobe quite candid, I didn't expect him to select his wife from a Coloradoranch. I considered him out of the danger-zone. I have always understoodthat women were scarce in the mountains. Now don't misunderstand me. I'mnot one of those fools who are always trying to marry their sons anddaughters into the ranks of the idle rich. I don't care a hang aboutsocial position, and I've got money enough for my son and my son's wife.But he's all the boy I have, and I don't want him to make a mistake."
"Neither do I," she answered, simply, her eyes suffused with tears. "If Ithought he would be sorry--"
He interrupted again. "Oh, you can't tell that now. Any marriage is arisk. I don't say he's making a mistake in selecting you. You may be justthe woman he needs. Only I want to be consulted. I want to know moreabout you. He tells me you have taken an active part in the management ofthe ranch and the forest. Is that true?"
"I've always worked with my father--yes, sir."
"You like that kind of life?"
"I don't know much about any other kind. Yes, I like it. But I've hadenough of it. I'm willing to change."
"Well, how about city life--housekeeping and all that?"
"So long as I am with Wayland I sha'n't mind what I do or where I live."
"At the same time you figure he's going to have a large income, Isuppose? He's told you of his rich father, hasn't he?"
Berrie's tone was a shade resentful of his insinuation. "He has neversaid much about his family one way or another. He only said you wantedhim to go into business in Chicago, and that he wanted to do somethingelse. Of course, I could see by his ways and the clothes he wore thathe'd been brought up in what we'd call luxury, but we never inquired intohis affairs."
"And you didn't care?"
"Well, not that, exactly. But money don't count for as much with us inthe valley as it does in the East. Wayland seemed so kind of sick andlonesome, and I felt sorry for him the first time I saw him. I felt likemothering him. And then his way of talking, of looking at things was sonew and beautiful to me I couldn't help caring for him. I had never metany one like him. I thought he was a 'lunger'--"
"A what?"
"A consumptive; that is, I did at first. And it bothered me. It seemedterrible that any one so fine should be condemned like that--and so--Idid all I could to help him, to make him happy. I thought he hadn't longto live. Everything he said and did was wonderful to me, like poetry andmusic. And then when he began to grow stronger and I saw that he wasgoing to get well, and Cliff went on the rampage and showed the yellowstreak, and I gave him back his ring--I didn't know even then how muchWayland meant to me. But on our trip over the Range I understood. Hemeant everything to me. He made Cliff seem like a savage, and I wantedhim to know it. I'm not ashamed of loving him. I want to make him happy,and if he wishes me to be his wife I'll go anywhere he says--only I thinkhe should stay out here till he gets entirely well."
The old man's eyes softened during her plea, and at its close a slightsmile moved the corners of his mouth. "You've thought it all out, I see.Your mind is clear and your conscience easy. Well, I like your spirit. Iguess he's right. The decision is up to you. But if he takes you andstays in Colorado he can't expect me to share the profits of my businesswith him, can he? He'll have to make his own way." He rose and held outhis hand. "However, I'm persuaded he's in good hands."
She took his hand, not knowing just what to reply. He examined herfingers with intent gaze.
"I didn't know any woman could have such a grip." He thoughtfully tookher biceps in his left hand. "You are magnificent." Then, in ironicalprotest, he added: "Good God, no! I can't have you come into my family.You'd make caricatures of my wife and daughters. Are all the girls out inthe valley like you?"
She laughed. "No. Most of them pride themselves on _not_ beinghorsewomen. Mighty few of 'em ever ride a horse. I'm a kind of a tomboyto them."
"I'm sorry to hear that. It's the same old story. I suppose they'd alllike to live in the city and wear low-necked gowns and high-heeled shoes.No, I can't consent to your marriage with my son. I must save you fromcorruption. Go back to the ranch. I can see already signs of yourdeterioration. Except for your color and that grip you already look likeupper Broadway. The next thing will be a slit skirt and a diamondgarter."
She flushed redly, conscious of her new corset, her silk stockings, andher pinching shoes. "It's all on the outside," she declared. "Under thistoggery I'm the same old trailer. It don't take long to get rid of thesethings. I'm just playing a part to-day--for you."
He smiled and dropped her hand. "No, no. You've said good-by to thecinch, I can see that. You're on the road to opera boxes and limousines.What is your plan? What would you advise Wayland to do if you knew I washard against his marrying you? Come, now, I can see you're aclear-sighted individual. What can he do to earn a living? How will youlive without my aid? Have you figured on these things?"
"Yes; I'm going to ask my father to buy a ranch near here, where mothercan have more of the comforts of life, and where we can all live togethertill Wayland is able to stand city life again. Then, if you want him togo East, I will go with him."
They had moved slowly back toward the others, and as Wayland came to meetthem Norcross said, with dry humor: "I admire your lady of the cinchhand. She seems to be a person of singular good nature and most uncommonshrewd--"
Wayland, interrupting, caught at his father's hand and wrung itfrenziedly. "I'm glad--"
"Here! Here!" A look of pain covered the father's face. "That's the fistshe put in the press."
They all laughed at his joke, and then he gravely resumed. "I say Iadmire her, but it's a shame to ask such a girl to marry an invalid likeyou. Furthermore, I won't have her taken East. She'd bleach out and losethat grip in a year. I won't have her contaminated by the city." He museddeeply while looking at his son. "Would life on a wheat-ranch accessibleto this hotel by motor-car be endurable to you?"
"You mean with Berea?"
"If she'll go. Mind you, I don't advise her to do it!" he added,interrupting his son's outcry. "I think she's taking all the chances." Heturned to Mrs. McFarlane. "I'm old-fashioned in my notions of marriage,Mrs. McFarlane. I grew up when women were helpmates, such as, I judge,you've been. Of course, it's all guesswork to me at the moment; but Ihave an impression that my son has fallen into an unusual run of luck. AsI understand it, you're all out for a pleasure trip. Now, my private caris over in the yards, and I suggest you all come along with me toCalifornia--"
"Governor, you're a wonder!" exclaimed Wayland.
"That'll give us time to get better acquainted, and if we all like oneanother just as well when we get back--well, we'll buy the best farm inthe North Platte and--"
"It's a cinch we get that ranch," interrupted Wayland, with a triumphantglance at Berea.
"Don't be so sure of it!" replied the lumberman. "A private car, like ayacht, is a terrible test of friendship." But his warning held no terrorsfor the young lovers. They had entered upon certainties.
THE END
The Forester's Daughter: A Romance of the Bear-Tooth Range Page 17