The End Of The Rainbow Part 21

Both ladies promised to see what could be done, but the Misses Armstrong, members in good standing of the Presbyterian church, kind hearted and fairly well off, had not a minute of time nor a cent of money to spend on people like Mrs. Perkins. The poor ladies were gradually discovering that the younger set, led by their own niece, and the moneyed people now becoming prominent in Algonquin, were slowly a.s.suming the leadership in society. They were in danger of losing their proud position, and every nerve had to be strained to maintain it. What we have we'll hold, had become the despairing motto of the Misses Armstrong, and its realisation required eternal vigilance.

It was Alfred Tennyson who once more came to the family's aid, and Helen was forced reluctantly to accept his help. He ran up hill and down dale and called upon every lady in the town, till at last he succeeded in getting work for Mrs. Perkins. Mrs. Hepburn, Lawyer Ed's sister, said she might come to her and bring the baby, one day in the week. Mrs. T. P. Thornton and Mrs. Blair made like promises, and Dr.

Leslie persuaded Mammy Viney to let her come to the manse to wash, while Viney Junior, in high glee, promised to take care of little William Henry.

Every day, when the little mother went off to her work, with her baby in her arms, Angus McRae drove up to Willow Lane and took Eddie down to the farm. And with endless patience and tenderness he managed to teach the lad a few simple tasks about the house and barn. Angus McRae's home was the refuge of the unfit, for young Peter did the ch.o.r.es in the winter when the _Inverness_ was in the dock, and Old Peter came and stayed indefinitely when he was recovering from a drunken spree, and Aunt Kirsty declared that there was no place where a body could put her foot without stepping on one of Angus's wastrels.

Roderick came back the week after Billy's arrest. As he was the lawyer acting for Graham & Co. he could not be without some responsibility in Billy's sad affair, and Old Angus awaited his explanation anxiously.

He knew there would be an explanation, for the old man was possessed of the perfect a.s.surance that his son was quite as interested in the unfortunate folk that travelled the Jericho Roads of life as he was himself. But Roderick had some difficulty in showing that he was quite innocent.

He could not explain that this trip had been his probation time, and that if he had done his work with a slack hand there would be no hope of greater opportunities opening up before him. The big lumber firm of Graham & Co., operating in the north, was really under Alexander Graham's millionaire brother. And this man's lawyer from Montreal had been there. He was a great man in Roderick's eyes, the head of a firm of continental reputation. He had kept the young man at his side, and had made known to him the significant fact that, one day, if he transacted business with the keenness and faithfulness that seemed to characterise all his actions now, there might be a bigger place awaiting him. The man said very little that was definite, but the Lad's sleep had been disturbed by waking dreams of a great future.

That his friend, Alexander Graham, was the mover in this he could not but believe, but he determined to let the people in authority see that he could depend on his own merits. So he had done his work with a rigid adherence to law and rule that commanded the older man's admiration. Roderick felt it was unfortunate that poor Billy should have come under his disciplining hand at this time, but such cases as his were of daily occurrence in the camp. There was no use trying to carry on a successful business and at the same time coddle a lot of drunks and unfits like Billy. He had been compelled to weed out a dozen such during his stay in the north. Billy was only one of many, but when he remembered that he must give a report of him to the two people whose opinion he valued far more than the approval of even the great firm of Elliot & Kent, or of William Graham of New York, he felt that here surely was the irony of fate.

"I did my best, Dad," he said, his warm heart smitten by the eager look in the old man's eyes. "But I had to protect my clients. There has been so much of that sort of stealing up there lately that stern measures had to be taken, and I was acting for the company." Old Angus was puzzled. Evidently law was a machine which, if you once started operating, you were no longer able to act as a responsible individual.

He could not understand any circ.u.mstances that would make it impossible to help a man who had fallen by the way as Billy had, but then Roderick knew about law, and Roderick would certainly have done the best possible. His faith in the Lad was all unshaken.

But the young man was not so hopeful about Miss Murray's verdict. She had put Billy in his care, and it was but a sorry report he had to make of her trust. He was wondering if he dared call at Rosemount and explain his part in the case, when he met her in Willow Lane. It was a clear wintry evening, and the pines cast long blue shadows across the snowy road ahead. Roderick was hurrying home to take supper at the farm, and Helen was coming out of the rough little path that led from the Perkins' home. She was feeling tired and very sad. She had been reading a letter from the husband in prison, a sorrowful pencilled scrawl, pathetically misspelled, but breathing out true sympathy for his wife and children, and the deepest repentance and self-blame. And at the end of every misconstructed sentence like a wailing refrain were the words, "I done wrong and I deserve all I got, but it's hard on you old girl, and I thought that Old Angus's son might have got me off."

Whether right or wrong, Helen felt a sting of resentment, as she looked up and saw Roderick swinging down the road towards her. He seemed so big and comfortable in his long winter overcoat, so strong and capable, and yet he had used his strength and skill against Billy. Her woman's heart refused to see any justice in the case. She did not return the radiant smile with which he greeted her. In spite of his fears, he could not but be glad at the sight of her, with the rosy glow of the sunset lighting up her sweet face and reflected in the gold of her hair.

"I was so sorry to have such news of Billy I was afraid to call," he said as humbly as though it was he who had stolen and been committed to prison.

"Oh, it's so sad I just can't bear it," she burst forth, the tears filling her eyes. "Oh, couldn't you have done something, Mr. McRae?"

Roderick was overcome with dismay. "I--I--did all I could," he stammered. "It was impossible to save him. He stole and he had to bear the penalty."

"But you were on the other side," she cried vaguely but indignantly.

"I don't see how you could do it."

"But, Miss Murray!" cried Roderick, amazed at her unexpected vehemence.

"I was acting for the company I represent. It's unreasonable, if you will pardon me for speaking so strongly, to expect I could sacrifice their interests and allow the law to be broken." He was really pleading his own case. There was a dread of her condemnation in his eyes which she could not mistake. But her heart was too sore for the Perkins family to feel any compunction for him.

"I don't understand law I know," she said sadly. "But I can't understand how your father's son could see that poor irresponsible creature sent to jail for the sake of a big rich company. His wife's heart is broken, that's all." She was losing her self-control once more, and she hastily bade him good-evening, and before Roderick could speak again she was gone.

The young man walked swiftly homeward; the blackness of the darkening pine forest was nothing to the gloom of his soul. He spent long hours of the night and many of the next day striving to state the case in a way that would justify himself in the girl's eyes. In his extremity he went to Lawyer Ed for comfort.

"What could I do?" he asked. "What would you have done in that case?"

Lawyer Ed scratched his head. "I really don't know what a fellow's to do now, Rod, that's the truth, when he's doing business for a skinflint like Sandy Graham. You just have to do as he wants or jump the job, that's a fact."

But Roderick did not need to be told that his chief would have jumped any job no matter how big, rather than hurt a poor weakling like Billy Perkins.

So those were dark days for Roderick in spite of all the brilliant prospects opening ahead of him. He could not tell which was harder to bear, his father's perfect faith in him, despite all evidence to the contrary, or the girl's look of reproach, despite all his attempts to set himself right in her eyes. He was learning, too, that not till he had lost her good opinion did he realise that he wanted it more than anything else in the world.

But there were compensations. When he finished his business he received a letter of congratulation from Mr. Kent, and a commission to do some important work for him. He found some solace, too, in the bright approving eyes of Leslie Graham. Her perfect confidence in him furnished a little balm to his wounded feelings. Certainly she was not so exacting, for she cared not at all about the Perkinses and all the other troublesome folk on the Jericho Road.

CHAPTER XI

"THE LANDSKIP DARKEN'D"

Roderick's work allowed him little chance for brooding over his worries, for Lawyer Ed left more and more to him as the days went on.

Not that he did any less, but the temperance campaign was on again, all racial and religious prejudices forgotten, in the glory of the fight.

Lawyer Ed was quite content that his young partner should let him do all the public speaking, and so neither side was offended at the young man's careful steering in a middle course. Roderick himself hated it, but there seemed no other way, on the road he was determined to follow.

He was not too busy to watch Helen Murray, and serve her in every way possible. He tried to atone for his past neglect of the Perkins family by getting Billy a good position on his return, and was rewarded by being allowed to walk up to Rosemount with Helen the night Billy came home. He was so quietly persistent in his devotion to the girl, making no demands, but always standing ready to serve her, that she could not but see how matters were with him. But the revelation brought her no joy. Her heart was still full of bitter memories, and with all gentleness and kindness, she set about the task of showing Roderick that his attentions were unwelcome. It was not an easy task, for she was often very lonely and sometimes she forgot that she must not allow him to waylay her in Willow Lane and walk up to Rosemount with her.

Again she punished herself for her laxity by being very severe with him and at such times Roderick allowed himself to seek comfort for his wounded feelings in Leslie Graham's company, for Leslie was always kind and charming.

One evening, Roderick and Fred Hamilton had been dining at the Grahams and had walked home with the Misses Baldwin. They were returning down the hill together, and Fred, who had been very sulky all evening, grew absolutely silent. Roderick tried several topics in vain and finally gave up the attempt at conversation and swung along whistling, his hands in his pockets.

At last the young man spoke.

"I'm going West this spring."

"Oh, are you?" said Roderick, glad to hear him say something. "You're lucky. That's where I'd like to be going."

"Yes, likely," sneered the other. "I guess any fellow can see what direction you're going all right."

"What do you mean?" asked Roderick, nettled at the tone.

"Oh, yes, as if you didn't know," growled his aggrieved rival. "You don't need to think I'm blind and deaf too, and a fool into the bargain."

Roderick stopped short in the middle of the snowy side-walk. "Look here," he said quietly, "if you don't speak up like a man, and tell me what you're hinting at I--well, I'll have to make you, that's all."

Fred had run foul of Roderick McRae at school and knew from painful experience that it was not safe to make him very angry.

"Well, you needn't get so hot about it," he said half apologetically.

"I merely hinted that you--well, you can't help seeing it yourself--"

"Seeing what, you blockhead?"

"Seeing that she--that Leslie doesn't care two pins about anybody but you. She'd be glad if I went West to-morrow." The hot blood rushed into Roderick's face. He turned upon the young man, but they were pa.s.sing under an electric light and the look of misery in Fred's face disarmed him. He burst into derisive laughter.

"Well, of all the idiots!" he exclaimed. "You ought to be horsewhipped for insulting a young lady so. Can't you see, you young madman, that she's just trying to show a little bit of polite grat.i.tude? I know I don't deserve it, but she seems to be as grateful to me for helping you that night on the lake, and you must be a fool if you think anything else."

The young man walked on for a little in silence. Then he said, in quite a changed tone, "Are you sure, Rod?"

"Yes, of course," shouted Roderick, "you ought to be shut up in a mad house for thinking anything else."

"Well, she told everybody in the town last fall that I upset her, just to give you the glory," he said resentfully.

"Pshaw," cried Roderick disgustedly. "She did it for pure fun, and you ought to have taken it that way. You don't deserve her for a friend."

Fred seemed to be pondering this for a while, and finally he said, "Well, maybe you're right. Only I--well, you know how I feel about Leslie. She--we've been chums ever since we were kids, and you may be sure I don't like the idea of any other fellow cutting in ahead of me now."

"Well, wait till some fellow does before you jump on him again," said Roderick, so hotly that the other grew apologetic.