She straightened herself and gave him that confidential smile of hers. “I’m so glad,” she said. “I couldn’t have borne your not liking it.”
“But I do. I like it awfully well.” His colour rose. He did not quite know what she expected of him and he had but one desire and that was to talk business.
With sudden matter-of-factness she said — “I’m going to get you a drink.” She went into the dining room, which was separated by only an archway from the living room, and began to busy herself at the sideboard. He stood, rather shyly, watching her from this distance. But while they were drinking their Scotch, he began:
“I suppose Mr. Kronk was in New York on business.”
She gave a little chuckle. “He certainly was. Nothing but. My, how those New Yorkers gobbled up the Indigo Lake shares.” She finished her drink with an audible smack of the lips.
Compared to this his news seemed insignificant. He said — “My grandmother has money she’d like to invest but….”
Instantly Mrs. Kronk gave him the full attention of her clear light eyes. “Your grandmother? Aren’t you lucky to have so many affluent relations!”
He did not quite like this. He said, a little stiffly — “The difficulty is that she doesn’t know, nor do I, how to go about selling government bonds and reinvesting. You see, she can’t go to her bank. She’s rather old.”
“About eighty or more?”
“More. Considerably.”
“Couldn’t those uncles of yours arrange it for her?”
“She’d rather they didn’t know. They’d be all for caution where she’s concerned.”
“Well, then, all you need is a power of attorney. I have the forms right here. Just get her to sign them.”
It was all so simple. When Eden left the apartment house, with the forms in his pocket, his exhilaration was such that he had walked some distance before he noticed rain coming down. By the time had had boarded a street car big glittering drops were bouncing on the pavement and the bottoms of his trousers were soaked. On the way to the railway station the street lights came on and by their light he saw at the corner the ten-year-old family car and at the wheel his brother. There was no time in which to buy tickets. Eden thrust his fare to the conductor and pushed his way through the closing door just in time. Through the downpour he reached the running board of the car, rapped on the pane, and was inside just before the jolt with which the master of Jalna invariably started the car threw him on to the seat.
Renny said — “Well, that was neatly done.”
“I was mighty glad to see you!”
“Did you get the books?”
“The books?”
“Your friend was going to lend you.”
“Oh, those! Unfortunately no. The ones he has aren’t of any use to me.”
His brother threw him the glance of suspicion that seemed always ready beneath his mobile brows, and asked: “Who is this fellow?”
Eden thought: “Once you’ve been into trouble everyone’s so ready to suspect you — especially old Redhead.” His brain was so excited by the interview with Mrs. Kronk, by the though of the power of attorney in his pocket, that he was less agile in self-defence than usual. He stammered — “Oh, he’s a fellow by the name of —” before he could stop himself he said — “Kronk.”
“Kronk,” repeated Renny and put the most sinister implications into that syllable. “Who is he?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t know. He comes from Saskatchewan.”
“Studying law?”
“Yes.”
“What’s he doing here in the holidays?”
“He’s got a job.”
“How can he afford to live in such an expensive apartment house?”
“Well — you see — his father’s a very rich man.”
“Rancher?”
“Yes — that’s it.”
“Then why doesn’t this fellow go home to the ranch when he might be of some use instead of taking a job in the city?”
“Well, you see, he’s had words with his father and doesn’t want to ho home.”
“H’m.” Renny apparently thought none the better of young Kronk for that. His expression was grim as he took out an old cloth and wiped the steam from the streaming windshield.
Eden asked pleasantly — “When do you think of buying a new car?”
Instantly he realized that this was about the last question he should have asked. There was a taciturn silence before his brother returned — “I never think of it.”
“Never! Good Lord.”
“There are other things I need much more.”
The traffic was dense at this point, or so it seemed to them who could not realize what later it would become.
“In 1903,” said Renny, “there were one hundred and seventy-eight motor vehicles on the road in Ontario. Now, twenty years later, there are two hundred and seventy-eight thousand, seven hundred and fifty-two.”
Eden stared in wonder. “How on earth do you remember those figures?”
“Because I’m interested. I dislike ’em so.” He gave a savage grin at the driver of a large new car who had tried to cut in on them.
Eden said, letting out his breath — “Whew, that was a close call.”
“He needed a lesson.”
There was silence till they had left the city and the road was almost deserted. On one hand lay wet summer fields, the heavy heads of the grain drooping under the rain, woodlands where coming night was already welcomed, and on the other the grey expanse of the lake. Renny stopped the car, lighted a cigarette and offered one to Eden who asked: “Did you buy the filly you’ve been speaking of?”
“No. Worse luck. A man from Pittsburg got in ahead of me. Bought her yesterday.”
Eden made a sound of sympathy.
Renny continued — “I should have made a lot of money out of that filly. She’s a beauty. But that is what comes of being short of cash.” He sighed, wiped the windshield and started the car.
“That was quite a bump,” Eden said, recovering himself.
“She always starts like that,” returned his elder laconically.
“Like me to drive?”
“No, thanks.”
Eden had a sudden feeling of pity for him. Here he was in need of money, and there was money to be made, and so easily made, in the Indigo Lake enterprise. He had a mind to tell Renny then and there. Indeed it would be unfair, even heartless not to tell him. He need not let him know that any others of the family had invested in the stock. He said:
“A chap I was talking to this afternoon has been making quite a lot of money out of stocks.”
“Oh, what stocks?”
“Mining. A gold mine.”
“He can have them. Eventually he’ll lose. I’d not put a dollar into mining stocks. There are enough suckers without me. Now I’ll tell you what does interest me. There’s a sale of livestock near Stead next week. Like to come with me?”
Well, thought Eden, there is no use in trying to do anything for Renny. He simply won’t be helped. But how he’ll regret it when he finds what he’s missed. A thrill ran through his nerves when he thought of the power of attorney in his pocket. The rain continued steady and the wind from the lake was cool. When they passed through the tiny village into the road which led to Jalna only the lights from windows twinkled through the darkness and they passed or met no one. The massive pines, two hundred years old, that still lined this road were embracing their final decade and beneath their arch it was black night. In their own driveway they splashed through puddles between hemlock and spruce and passed the house brightly lighted. Eden would have liked to get out here but they were chatting amiably and he would not interrupt their good-fellowship.
A dim light came from the stable. Wright, the cheerful head stableman, opened the door to them.
“Heard you coming, sir. What a night it’s turning out to be!”
“How’s everything, Wright?”
“Fine, sir. May I ask if you got th
e filly?”
“No. She was sold yesterday.”
“Too bad. She was a promising one.”
“Yes.”
There were fifteen horses in the stable — show horses, polo ponies which were bred and schooled here, and the farm horses. They had been fed, watered, and bedded down for the night. Some had lain down to rest but others stood watching out of lustrous eyes the approach of the three men. Renny moved past stalls and loose boxes speaking to each, putting out a hand to caress a pet. The mare Cora, his favourite saddle horse, got up with a clatter of hooves when she heard the loved voice and uttered a deep-throated whinny. Renny went into the loose box to put an arm about her and she swung her carven head to nuzzle him.
Eden, with the smell of clean straw, the smell of well-cared-for beasts in his nostrils, studied the picture made by man and horse in the loose box. He found in them a curious resemblance. It was in the bold naked lines of the head, in the look of wariness, of sensitivity to the physical world. As Renny talked with Wright Eden saw how the two recovered from their disappointment. Renny was cheerful when he said good-night to Wright and went out into the rain with Eden.
The air was fully of heady scents from the earth. The house, all lighted, looked larger than it really was. As they passed into the porch the wet leaves of the Virginia creeper, shaken by a gust, sent down a small deluge on their heads.
“Oh, boys, I’m so glad you’re back,” their sister exclaimed, as they appeared at the door of the drawing-room. “What a night it’s turning out to be!”
“And cool for the time of year,” added Ernest.
“Quite a relief after the heat,” said Nicholas. He was seated at the piano and had been playing one of Mendelssohn’s Songs without Words.
Young finch sat on the window seat his head bent, listening. Piers came to meet Renny, asking — “Did you get the filly?”
“No. She was gone.”
“Oh, hell.”
His grandmother peered at him round the wing of her chair. “Hell?” she repeated, with relish as it were. “Hell. Is that what I heard you say?”
Piers grunted assent.
“Well, I won’t have it. I won’t have you bring your swearing and cursing into the house. Too much of it here. I heard someone else use bad language not five minutes ago. Who was it?”
“Boney,” grinned Piers.
“He swears in Hindustani. That’s different.”
Renny bent and kissed her. “Have you had a good day?” he asked, playing with the ribbon rosette on her cap.
“Yes. Very good, thank you. But I’m hungry. Why doesn’t Wragge sound the gong?”
“Because it’s not quite time for it.”
She stretched out a hand to Eden who brought the beaded ottoman and sat himself by her knee. She stroked his hair, exclaiming that it was moist.
“I was out in the rain, Gran.”
“What wouldn’t many a girl give for your hair that keeps its wave in the wet!”
Renny asked — “Where is Wake?”
Meg came quickly to his side. She took his sleeve in her fingers and said in a low ominous tone:
“I must speak to you about him. I told him I should.”
“The little rascal bit her,” the grandmother exclaimed, suddenly full of energy. “He must be flogged.”
Ernest remarked that this sort of viciousness should be nipped in the bud, and Nicholas, either at the thought of the deed or the prospect of its punishment, gave a sardonic chuckle and put down the loud pedal.
Meg led Renny into the hall, where the two spaniels and the sheepdog had come up from the basement to seek him and now crowded each other for his attention. Patting them, he demanded — “Why did he bite you? Where did he bite you?”
She closed the door behind them and, with a nod toward the closed door of the library, said — “Speak low — he’s in there. He’s been terrible all day — just as naughty and disobedient as could be. I was trying to put him some place — I forget where — and he kept saying — ‘I won’t — I won’t — I won’t’ — and then he bit me.”
“Why didn’t you punish him on the spot?”
“It was too serious. I said I would tell you.” A frown of exasperation dented his brow.
“Show me the place.”
“Oh … I scarcely can.”
He grinned. “Nonsense.”
She drew up her skirt, her petticoat, her knickers, and scanned her plump white thigh.
“It’s faded a good deal,” she said. “It looked terrible at first.”
“Hmph.” He bent to look at the almost invisible marks. “Did he draw blood?”
“Well — not exactly. But that is not the point. The point is that he bit me.” She let down her skirt.
Renny opened the door of the library and looked in.
It was dark in there except for the line of brightness which showed where were the folding doors that led into the dining room. But now the light from the hall discovered a small figure sitting on his hands in an armchair beside the clean, swept fireplace in which flourished a large fern which it was Meg’s habit to keep in there in the summer.
“Wake,” ordered Renny sternly. “Come here.”
Wakefield at once slid from the chair and came into the hall. His long-lashed brown eyes blinked in the light.
“I hear that you’ve bitten your sister.”
Wakefield hung his head. “Yes.”
“Very well. Come with me.” He held out his hand and the small supple one was meekly put into it.
The two mounted the stairs while Meg looked after them, already half-regretting what she had done.
“This is a bad business,” observed Renny, when the two were inside his bedroom and the door shut against the dogs.
“Yes.”
How small and weak he looked!
“You know what we think of a horse that bites?”
“Yes.”
“And a dog?”
“Yes.”
“You know what happens to a dog that bites?”
“He’s allowed two bites before they kill him. I’ve only had one.”
“But you know you must be punished?”
“Yes.” His lower lip began to tremble and tears filled his eyes.
Renny had unbuttoned his own jacket and was taking off his belt.
“Ever hear of a whipping boy?” he asked cheerfully.
“No.” Apprehension of this strange new procedure transfixed the culprit.
Renny gave a flick of the leather belt toward the nearest bedpost. “Well, that’s one. That’s your whipping boy.”
“No! Renny, please!”
“Yes. It’s going to take your whipping for you. Like this.” He struck the bedpost a sharp blow. “It takes the licking for you and you do the yelling for it — see?” He grinned down at Wakefield. “You understand?”
“You mean you hit the bedpost and I scream?”
“Just that.”
“Really loud?”
“Certainly. So they’ll hear it downstairs.”
“What fun! Wait till I get my breath.”
“Six whacks. Six yells.”
“Go!” Wake jumped up and down in his relief.
Six times Renny struck the bedpost and six times Wakefield rent the air with a shrill scream. At the sixth they heard Meg thumping up the stairs. The dogs were barking loudly. Wakefield tottered towards his sister as she flung open the door. “Meggie!” he bleated.
With a glance of terrible reproach at Renny she gathered her small brother into her arms, clasped him to her breast, and lugged him along the passage to her own room, followed by the dogs.
Half an hour later she sought out Renny with a bewildered air.
“After all that, he hadn’t one little mark on him.”
“They’ve faded,” he said mildly. “Like the marks on your leg.”
V
THE POWER OF ATTTTORNEY
It seemed an unconscionable time to Eden before he was able to have
his grandmother to himself long enough for the signing of the power of attorney. He kept it convenient in his pocket along with his fountain pen, but as certainly as they two were alone, some other member of the family would come into the room or knock on the door. Adeline herself appeared to have forgotten about the scheme and Eden had moments when he wondered if it were not better that he also should forget it. He fancied that Boney, the parrot, had a jeering regard for him. Hanging head downward from his perch he would stare at Eden as though from that angle he had a better view of his machinations.
His perturbed thoughts kept him uneasy. A poem he had half-written lay unfinished in his desk. Instead of rejoicing in his lonely walks in the day or in the quiet of his room at night, with the necessity of study no longer dogging him, he was brooding on Indigo Lake, poring over Mr. Kronk’s latest report. “I’m turning into a beastly financier,” he said to himself. “It’s got to stop.” He took the power of attorney from his pocket and would have torn it up on the spot but his sister appeared, wearing a hat and carrying a basket. He returned the paper to his pocket.
Meg said — “Oh, Eden, will you, like a dear boy, sit with Granny while I take these raspberries to Miss Pink? She’s having such a time with carpenters working in her house that I thought some nice ripe raspberries would do her good.”
“Where are the uncles?” asked Eden, as though unwilling.
“Uncle Nicholas is having a tooth out and Uncle Ernest has gone with him. Of course, he said he didn’t need anyone but you know how it is with a tooth.”
“Where’s young Finch? Why couldn’t he sit with her?”
Meg was reproachful. “I do hope you’re not getting selfish, Eden. You used to be so fond of Gran.”
“I still am. I just wanted to know. Where is she?”
“Darling, she’s just where she always is at this time of morning. Sitting up in her room.”
“Good. I’ll go straight to her. Where did you say Renny and Finch are?”
“Oh, where they usually are, you know. They’ll not be about. Don’t give her anything to eat. She’d a hearty breakfast.”
He found his grandmother making a show of tidying her top drawer. She was seated in front of the marble-topped dressing table, with its crocheted wool mats, fumbling among the mass of ribbons, yellowed lace, gloves, fans, smelling-salts bottles, and odds and ends which filled the drawer. Boney, perched on her shoulder, was admiring himself in the glass, occasionally turning to peck at the ribbons on her cap or to rub his beak against the fine arch of her nose.
06 The Whiteoak Brothers Page 6