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The old Russian village of Kodiak lies on the opposite side of the island from the canneries, a bleak, wind-swept relic of the country's first occupation, and although peopled largely by natives and breeds, there is also a considerable white population, to whom Christmas is a season of thanksgiving and celebration.
Her hand clutched at his arm. "How could John Graham do that?" she whispered. He laughed unpleasantly. "When you have been a year in Alaska you won't ask that question, Miss Standish. How? Why, simply by glutting his canneries and taking from the streams the food supply which the natives have depended upon for generations.
Oh, dear!" she cried, plaintively, "I have seen and heard nothing but canneries ever since we left Vancouver. The men talk nothing but fish and packs and markets and dividends. It's all deadly stupid, and I'm wretchedly tired of it. Father is the worst of the lot, of course." Emerson's eyes shifted to his own cannery. "You haven't seen mine ours," said he. "Oh yes, I have. Mr.
England, under her free trade policy, had permitted German beet sugar interests, fattened upon a government bounty, to destroy the refinery interests in the south of England. The Island gained by the trade because her refineries were turned into sugar canneries. Jams and marmalades therefrom expanded her foreign trade.
You could get those fish for thirty cents and you are paying forty. The fishermen will want the earth when the canneries open. They hint around that something will drop with a loud bang one of these days. I think it's just hot air. They can't hurt either of us. I'll get a fair pack at Crow Harbor, and I'll have this plant loaded. I've got enough money to carry on.
"That is Miss Wayland. That is the richest girl in the world, Constantine." "Humph!" "And the pity of it is, she doesn't understand how very rich she is. Her father owns all these canneries and many more besides, and lots of railroads but you don't know what a railroad is, do you?" "Mebbe him rich as Mr. Marsh, eh?" "A thousand time richer. Mr. Marsh works for him the way you work for me."
There's never anybody to be had but those stupid, half-grown little French boys; and as soon as you do get one broke into your ways and taught something he's up and off to the lobster canneries or the States. At first Matthew suggested getting a Home boy. But I said 'no' flat to that. 'They may be all right I'm not saying they're not but no London street Arabs for me, I said.
As Emerson roped up the sleeping-bags, Fraser suddenly suspended operations on his attire, and asked, querulously: "What's the matter? We ain't goin' to move, are we?" "Yes. We'll make for one of the other canneries," answered Emerson, without looking up. "But I've got sore feet," complained the adventurer. "What! again?" Emerson laughed skeptically. "Better walk on your hands for a while."
And then added, as though to explain himself more fully: "Your grandfather and Mrs. Owen were old friends. He wasn't a business man. I promoted the canneries scheme and I was responsible for it, no matter what Harwood says about it." She had experienced sharp alternations of pity and apprehension in this brief walk. He was a prominent man; almost, it might be said, a notorious character.
Fowler, small, thin, gray, with a retreating chin, had once lived next to Mrs. Carter and had a difference about some hens that strayed away to lay. Harricutt likely had him all primed. Jones, Gibson, Harricutt three against three. Joyce's vote would decide it. Joyce was a new man, owner of the canneries.
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