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Updated: May 21, 2025
For the strain had been too great, and at nine o'clock on a working day morning, steady, reliable, dependable, automatic Andrew Daney having imbibed Dutch courage in lieu of Nature's own brand, was, for the first time in his life, jingled to an extent comparable to that of a boiled owl. Mr. Daney's assistant thrust his head in the door, to disturb The Laird's cogitations.
Daney listened respectfully to all she had to say touching his sanity, his intelligence, his sense of decency, and his loyalty to Hector and when, stung because he made no defense, she asked: "Have you no explanation to make us for your extraordinary behavior?" he replied: "I am an usher of our church, Mrs. McKaye.
Daney ran to her room and found surcease from her distress in tears, while her husband sat out on the veranda smoking one of The Laird's fine cigars, his embarrassment considerably alleviated by the knowledge that his imprudent wife had received a lesson that should last for the remainder of her life. About eight o'clock, his wife called him to the telephone. The Laird was on the wire.
I I notice you're running a light track from the drying-yard down to the Sawdust Pile. Stumbled over it in the dark a few minutes ago, and I " He essayed a ghastly smile, for he desired to remove the sting from the gentle rebuke he purposed giving the general manger "couldn't seem to remember having ordered that track or suggesting that it be laid." "Quite so, Donald; quite so," Daney answered.
I wish you would inform The Laird, Mr. Daney, that what I did was done because it pleased me to do it for his sake and Donald's. They have been at some pains, throughout the years, to be kind to the Brents, but, unfortunately for the Brents, opportunities for reciprocity have always been lacking until the night Mrs. McKaye telephoned me in New York.
Daney made audible reference to the bells of the nether regions and the presence of panther tracks! This was his most terrible oath and was never employed except under exceptional circumstances. At length Mr. Daney arrived at a decision. He would have nothing further to do with this horrible love affair.
They assimilated his hint, and when he was alone with the chief operator Mr. Daney ordered her to switch the New York call on to Mrs. McKaye at The Dreamerie. Followed ten minutes of "Ready, Chicago." "All right, New York. Put your party on the line!" a lot of persistent buzzing and sudden silence. Then: "Hello, Port Agnew." Mr.
Daney, standing aloof in the dark vacant lot close to the Sawdust Pile, had seen Donald McKaye, in the light cast through the open door of Caleb Brent's cottage, take Nan Brent in his arms and kiss her, since he had heard Nan Brent's voice apply to the young laird of Port Agnew a term so endearing as to constitute a verbal caress, his practical and unromantic soul had been in a turmoil of apprehension.
She hesitated for a beginning, and Nan, observing her slight embarrassment, was gracious enough to aid her by saying: "I dare say your visit has something to do with the unenviable social position in which I find myself in Port Agnew, Mrs. Daney, for I cannot imagine any other possible interest in me to account for it. So you may be quite frank.
"Well, Mr. Daney," he inquired affably, "what are your plans for the new hired man?" Old Daney looked up quizzically. "You do the planning here, Don," he replied. "You heard me say yesterday that there would be no changes, Mr. Daney.
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