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In a short time their prospects for the future grew brighter, his wife began to smile again; and his children, instead of fleeing from his approach, as they had formerly done, now met him upon his return home with loving caresses and lively prattle. Some six months after this happy change, Mrs. Harland one evening noticed that her husband seemed very much downcast and dejected.
Harland was there, drinking and talking somewhat excitedly with Dr. Brayle, while his secretary listened and looked on. I explained why I had ventured to interrupt their conversation, and they accompanied me up on deck.
Fred Crawford, the man who followed a family tradition when he signed the Covenant with his own blood, began life as a premium apprentice in Harland and Wolf's great ship-building yard, after which he served for a year as an engineer in the White Star Line, before settling down to his father's manufacturing business in Belfast. Like so many ardent Loyalists in Ulster, he came of Liberal stock.
Harland seemed desirous of continuing the argument, but I would say no more. The topic was too serious and sacred with me to allow it to be lightly discussed by persons whose attitude of mind was distinctly opposed and antipathetic to all things beyond the merely mundane.
'What do you mean, Mr. Ham? 'That we do not, for example, use bullets. Let it be blank charges. 'Of course you are at liberty to do what you please in this respect, Harland answered, with irony. 'But we shall use bullets. 'My God, Mr. Harland, you seem to delight in taking the part of a monster. 'Good morning, Mr. Ham. 'But when, where-about what time, I mean, is this to take place?
Harland addressed them, together with the gentle and lady-like appearance of his wife, had the effect to shame them into silence. His voice was very tender as he again addressed his wife, saying, "Come Mary I wills accompany you home this is no place for you." When they gained the street the unnatural courage which had sustained Mrs.
"I would rather lose no time," I said then I added impulsively: "Dear Mr. Harland, Catherine will be much better when I am gone I know she will! You will be able to prolong the yachting trip which will benefit your health, and I should be really most unhappy if you curtailed it on my account " He interrupted me.
You must be his son!" The stranger laughed. "My good Harland! Always the sceptic! Miracles are many, but there is one which is beyond all performance. A man cannot be his own offspring! I am that very Santoris who saw you last in Oxford. Come, come! you ought to know me!"
It was the best of all possible places in which to continue my particular line of work without interruption and I have stayed there most of the time, only coming away, as now, when necessary for a change and a look at the world as the world lives in these days." "And" here Mr. Harland hesitated, then went on "Are you married?"
Many a time, instead of sitting solemnly at home reading or working as we had meant to, we would be going down the river in a penny steamboat, or drinking coffee at the Café Royal or tea in Kensington Gardens but Harland as an inspired guide was at his best in Paris I always thought, perhaps because in Paris he had so much larger scope than in London.
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