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Updated: June 23, 2025
Found here several English men-of-war the Jason, the Challenger, the Greyhound, &c., the Commanders of all of which called on us. Made arrangements for coaling and provisioning the ship, and for repairing damages; and in the afternoon ran up to Kingston, and thence proceeded to the mountains with Mr. Fyfe. Thursday, January 22nd.
Often when Charlie was holding forth in his accustomed vein, she wondered what Jack Fyfe thought about it, what he masked behind his brief sentences or slow smile. Latterly her feeling about him, that involuntary bracing and stiffening of herself against his personality, left her. Fyfe seemed to be more or less self-conscious of her presence as a guest in his house.
"I was quite sure I saw Walter Monohan board a train while we were waiting for the hotel car in Hopyard. I heard that he was in timber out here. Is he this Monohan?" Fyfe nodded. "How odd," she remarked, "that you should be in the same region. Do you still maintain the ancient feud?" Fyfe shot her a queer look. "We've grown up, Dolly," he said drily.
He had sixty men in each camp, and he was getting the name of a driver. Three miles above his Tyee camp, she knew, lay the camp her husband had put in during the early summer to cut a heavy limit of cedar. Fyfe had only a small crew there. She wondered a little why he spent so much time there, when he had seventy-odd men working near home. But of course he had an able lieutenant in Lefty Howe.
It'll help us to make a fresh start together." She had the envelope and the check tucked inside her waist. She took it out now and pressed the green slip into his hand. Fyfe looked at it and at her, a little chuckle deep in his throat. "Nineteen thousand, five hundred," he laughed. "Well, that's quite a stake for you. But if you go partners with me, what about your singing?"
He stayed overnight and went his way with a brotherly threat of making the Fyfe bungalow his headquarters whenever he felt like it. "It's a touch of civilization that looks good to me," he declared. "You can put my private mark on one of those big leather chairs, Jack. I'm going to use it often. All you need to make this a social center is a good-looking girl or two unmarried ones. You watch.
Fyfe," he advised, "and have your dinner. I'll want to watch the boy a while." But Stella did not want to walk. She did not want to eat. She was scarcely aware that her limbs were cramped and aching from her long vigil in the chair. She was not conscious of herself and her problems, any more.
Even if another man hadn't come along and stirred up a temporary tumult in me, I couldn't have gone on forever." "A temporary tumult," Fyfe mused. "Have you thoroughly chucked that illusion? I knew you would, of course, but I had no idea how long it would take you." "Long ago," she answered. "Even before I left you, I was shaky about that. There were things I couldn't reconcile.
And I'm not a natural gossip. Aside from that, he's quite too busy on Roaring Lake for it to mean any good. He never gets active like that unless he has some personal axe to grind. In this case, I can grasp his motive easily enough. Jack Fyfe may not have said a word to you, but he certainly knows Monohan. They've clashed before, so I've been told.
"Tell Pollock to have something for us in about half an hour. We'll go up and take a look." Howe went in to convey this message, and the two set off up the path. A sudden spirit of impishness made Jack Fyfe sprint. Stella gathered up her skirt and raced after him, but a sudden shortness of breath overtook her, and she came panting to where Fyfe had stopped to wait.
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