The Secret of the Reef Part 14

"You have a better part in life; we look to you to raise the national tone, to protect the family morals, and keep the home clean."

Osborne looked amused, and Aynsley undutifully grinned, but Miss Dexter's expression hinted at rather grim astonishment.

"How is it to be done?" she asked. "What's the use in our cleaning when you men are allowed to muss up things?"

"That sounds logical," Aynsley put in. "I'm afraid we really need reforming."

"You do," Miss Dexter replied with an air of dry amus.e.m.e.nt which somewhat surprised her niece. "Idle men in particular are bound to make trouble."

"It was the busy ones I was thinking of. My idea is that a man's most dangerous when he's making money."

"What's that?" Clay turned upon his son sternly.

"I believe I heard you agree with Miss Dexter, sir, when she condemned our commercial morality?"

"There's a difference; she's a lady," Clay replied in a decided tone.

Aynsley laughed and turned away with Ruth, who was in a thoughtful mood, for what she had heard deepened her distrust of Clay and made her anxious about his influence on her father. She admitted that, in her inexperience she could not presume to judge what was right for him, but she felt troubled.

"Have you told your father you will take over the mill?" she asked Aynsley.

"Yes; and I believe he was immensely gratified, though he only said he was glad to see I was coming to my senses. However, on thinking it over, I half regret my decision. The old man has money enough for both of us, and, to my mind, driving a car or sailing a yacht is much less risky work than trying to get ahead of the people you deal with."

"But is that necessary? Can't you carry on a business without taking advantage of your rivals and customers?"

"I'm hardly in a position to judge, but from what I've heard it seems difficult. When I take up the mill I've got to make it pay. It would be a bad shake-up for the old man if I only lost the money he put in. He'd feel himself disgraced, and it would be a heavy strain on his affection.

Though he tells me I'm a fool pretty often, he's really fond of me."

"Yes," said Ruth; "I've noticed that, and I like him for it. After all, you need some sympathy. The situation's complicated."

"That's so. I'm half afraid I'm not smart enough to grapple with it. Of course, there is such a thing as compromise: you can do your best all round, but make a small concession here and there."

"I'm not sure that would work. Isn't there a risk of the concessions becoming too numerous? It would be safer not to give way at all."

"It sounds a drastic rule. The trouble is that my relatives and friends expect too much of me, and I suspect that some of them are pulling opposite ways."

Ruth felt sorry for him. Though he was careless, he was honest, and she thought he would shrink from anything that was mean and savored of trickery. Now, however, he had to stand a searching test: he would be expected to make the sawmill pay, and Clay would not be satisfied with a small profit. Ruth felt that she had a.s.sumed some responsibility in persuading him to undertake an uncongenial task; for if he proved unfitted for it, his troubles would be numerous. For all that, she could not believe that it was impossible to get rich uprightly.

"After all," she said, "you will have every advantage. The best a.s.sistants and the latest machinery."

"That's true. But they're liabilities. I mean they'll be scored against me, and I'll have to prove I've made the most efficient use of them. In a way, I'd rather make a start with poorer tools."

"That sounds weak; and you're not often so hesitating."

"It's something to know your limitations," Aynsley answered. "Besides, I feel that I have to do you and the old man credit after the rather reckless confidence you have both shown in me."

"I am sure mine was justified," Ruth said softly.

Aynsley turned to her quickly. She was wonderfully attractive with her slender figure in light summer drapery outlined against the darkness of the surrounding pines; and the dusky background emphasized her fine coloring. Her face, however, was quietly grave. He could see no trace of the tender shyness he longed for, not even a hint of coquetry, which might have warranted some advance. He sometimes thought that Ruth did not know her power and had not quite awakened yet; but it was obvious that she had spoken in mere friendly kindness, and he must be content with that.

"Thank you," he answered in a voice that was slightly strained. "I'll certainly have to pull myself together and see what I can do."

They heard his father calling and, turning back to the lawn, they found Clay ready to go. He had, he explained to Miss Dexter, only called for a word with Osborne, though he found it hard to tear himself away. She heard him with a twinkle in her eyes, and afterward watched him cross the lawn with his jaunty air. Somehow he made a more romantic figure than his handsome son.

"A man of many talents, I think," she said. "One wonders whether he makes the best use of them."

"That depends on one's point of view; and it's not our affair," Osborne remarked.

"It is certainly not mine. How far it may be yours, I can't tell, but a man of that kind doesn't walk alone. Where he goes he drags others after him."

Osborne laughed as the hum of the car rushing along the hillside came back to them.

"The pace he sets is generally hot," he admitted; "but I imagine his son is at present gratifying his love of speed."

As a matter of fact, Clay was then leaning back on the cushions, with his hat jammed tightly on, while he watched Aynsley, whose face was presented to him in clearly cut profile. The car was traveling very fast along one of the rough dirt-roads of the country, throwing up red dust and withered needles and bouncing among the ruts. High overhead there hung a roof of somber foliage, pierced by shafts of glittering light and supported by the columnar trunks of great Douglas firs. There were holes in the uneven surface of the road deep enough to wreck the machine, and though boggy stretches had been laid with small, split logs, these left bare, broad s.p.a.ces where the wheels sank in the soft soil. Aynsley never slackened speed. He avoided the dangers with judgment and nerve, while the car lurched as it twisted in and out, now clinging to the edge of the bank with tires that brushed the fern, now following a devious track made by wagon wheels. It was an exhibition of fine driving; and Clay, who was a shrewd judge of men, noticed the coolness, courage, and quick decision his son displayed. He took risks that could not be avoided, but he was bold without being rash, and this appealed to his father, who studied him with a puzzled feeling. Considering his strength of character, it was strange that Aynsley had done nothing yet; and Clay was, perhaps, not altogether mistaken in deeming no occupation of importance, unless it was connected with the earning of money. He held that a calling which enriched a man was generally of some benefit to his country.

"I had a letter from Vancouver this morning," he said, as they climbed a hill and the slower pace made conversation possible. "They're putting the new engine in and expect to start the mill in a fortnight."

"I'll be ready then," said Aynsley.

Clay noticed that, although his tone conveyed no hint of eagerness, his expression was resolute. If the boy's task was not quite congenial, he meant to undertake it, which was satisfactory.

"There's another matter I want to talk about. That's a nice girl of Osborne's, though I guess you might do better."

Aynsley turned his head so he could see his father.

"The remark is obviously absurd, sir."

Clay chuckled.

"It's a proper feeling. I find no fault with it. Anyway, I'm glad to see that this time you're looking nearer your own level. I felt a bit worried about you some years ago."

Taken by surprise, as he was, the blood crept into Aynsley's face. He had been infatuated with a girl in a cigar store, and it was disconcerting to learn that his father had known all about the affair.

Clay had said nothing, but Aynsley had no doubt that he would have acted had he thought it needful.

"Well," he said with some confusion, "I was at a sentimental age, but I wasn't so foolish as you seem to think. Miss Neston was quite good enough for me, and I'd like you to remember it, since you have mentioned the matter."

"We'll let it go," Clay answered dryly. "I guess you have a different idea of your value now. But you don't seem to be making much progress with Ruth Osborne. I suppose you really want her?"

They had pa.s.sed the steepest pitch of the hill, but Aynsley threw in the lowest gear and turned quietly to his father.

"You have a rather crude way of putting things; but you can take it that I want her more than anything in the world."

"Very well. I can get her for you."

Aynsley made an abrupt movement, and then said slowly, "I think not.

This is a matter in which you can't help me; I want you to understand it."

His resolute manner puzzled Clay, who had not often found him so determined.