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"Did you know he had been out at sea on an oil tender to-day?" blurted out Whistler. "She was chased by a submarine chaser, but the tender escaped in the fog. Afterward she came into Rivermouth Harbor without her cargo." "What's this? What's this?" demanded Mr. Santley. "Why, that has nothing to do with the factory." They were in his private office.
I met Santley after thirty years, sitting on a bench in front of the "Travellers' Rest" at Alberton, in Gippsland. He had a wrinkled old face, and did not recognise my beautiful countenance until he heard my name. He had half-a-dozen little boys and girls around him his grandchildren, I believe and was as happy as a king teaching them to sing hymns.
The place had been a mill before the war. The long, many-windowed buildings behind the offices covered a good deal of ground. There was a high stockade fence about the whole plant. An armed guard stood at the main door when Whistler ran up the steps. The other boys chose to wait in the car for him. "I want to see Mr. Santley," Whistler said to the guard in khaki. "The manager?
The manager of the munition works, for instance?" "That's so! Mr. Santley. Say! let's 'phone him and see if he is at home." "But you can't say anything over the telephone about Blake, or about us fellows thinking he is up to something wrong." "We'll make an appointment with the manager," said Whistler, running into the Torrance house.
She was accompanied by her brother, then a boy, who has since risen to the highest position in the musical world the eminent baritone, Sir Charles Santley. St. Nicholas' was, as it is yet, the pro-Cathedral of the diocese, and whenever a new church had to be opened, or there was any important ceremonial anywhere in Lancashire, our choir was generally invited.
The bell swung in the cupola on the roof of the office building. The guard dropped his rifle and sprang to seize this rope. He slipped his foot in the loop and began to toll the bell as hard as he could. "I'll get Central and tell them what's up!" gasped Mr. Santley, and turned to run back into his office to spread the news of the catastrophe by telephone.
There were deep washouts, too; and in some places the wreck of light buildings barred the way. The Navy boys had done good service in warning the endangered people along one side of the river. Mr. Santley had done much more in sending the news of the broken dam broadcast by telephone.
"All right, sir," said the man, nodding grimly. Mr. Santley started down the steps after the excited Whistler, who was already getting into the automobile, the engine of which was still running. At that instant the night was as peaceful as could be. The valley below the high dam lay quietly under the light of the stars, and a pale moon was just rising above the treetops.
She got into a curious state of exaltation; she seemed breathless; sometimes, Mrs. Grey thought, she shivered a little with the strain of emotion. And all the time that Mr. Santley was singing "Why do the nations," she held her hand tightly over her heart; and when he had finished when the thrilled multitude broke forth into an extraordinary thunder of enthusiasm Nina murmured to herself,
Liddell, rallying gallantly; "and you may depend on my trying the fortune of my poor novel once more, with Santley & Son. Now tell me how your domestic management prospers." A long confidential discussion ensued, and at last Mrs. Liddell was obliged to leave. Katherine went to tell her uncle she was going to set her mother on her way, and to see his cup of beef tea served to him.
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