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Updated: June 19, 2025
Hector McKaye had an idea that the departed mother was probably just as well, if not better, off, free of the battle for existence which appeared to confront this futile old man and his elf of a daughter. He glanced at the embryo shack under construction and, comparing it with his own beautiful home on Tyee Head, he turned toward the bight.
I have also observed that I have a free hand with claims north of the river. That's fair and there's timber enough for two. Hereafter, I'll keep to my own side of the river." "I see we're going to come to an understanding, Mr. McKaye. What will you give me to stick to my side of the river?" "An outlet through the bight for your product when you commence manufacturing.
And even if we found her and induced her to come back to save him, she'd she'd have to go away again and if she wouldn't if he wouldn't permit her why, don't you see how impossible a situation has developed? Man, can Donald McKaye wed Nan Brent of the Sawdust Pile?" "My interest in the case is neither sentimental nor ethical. It is entirely professional.
I'll remember him handsomely at Christmas, and see that I do not forget this, Andrew. What is his name?" "Let me think." Mr. Daney bent his head, tipped back his hat and massaged his brow before replying. "I think that when he worked for the Tyee Lumber Company he was known as Donald McKaye." He looked up. The old Laird's face was ashen. "Thank you, Andrew," he managed to murmur presently.
But this decision was succeeded by the reflection that perhaps this action would merely serve to precipitate a situation that might not be evolved in the ordinary course of affairs. Furthermore, he could not afford to betray Mrs. McKaye on the mere suspicion that, sooner or later, she would betray herself, for this would savor of too much anxiety to save his own skin at her expense.
McKaye a promise to call at his office with the girls at ten o'clock the following morning. "What is this interesting news, Andrew?" Mrs. Daney asked, with well-simulated disinterestedness.
Nan had heretofore, out of the bitterness of her life, formed the opinion that brickbats were for the lowly, such as she, and bouquets solely for the great, such as Donald McKaye.
Unfortunately for Dirty Dan, his battle in defense of Donald McKaye had delayed his sortie to the fields of martyrdom. On the morning that Nan Brent left Port Agnew, however, fortune had again smiled upon The O'Leary.
"Pretty kettle o' fish you've left me to bring to a boil!" the old man cried after him. "O Lord! O Lord! Grant me the wisdom of Solomon, the patience of Job, and the cunning of Judas Iscariot! God help my mildewed soul!" The instant the front door closed behind her son, Mrs. McKaye recovered her composure. Also, she was smitten with remorse.
We have a very great respect for The Laird; indeed, we owe him a debt of gratitude, and there is nothing my father or I would not do to preserve his peace of mind." "The talk will die out, of course, unless something should occur to revive it, Miss Brent I mean, Nan. But it would be just like Donald McKaye to start a revival of this gossip.
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