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Updated: August 12, 2024
The Selache was carrying everything and lurching over the steep swell at some four knots an hour. Dampier stopped near the wheel, and glanced at Wyllard's oilskins. "You'll have to take them off. It's stuffed boots and those Indian seal-gut things or furs from now on," he said. "That leather cuff's chewing up your hand." "We'll cut that out," said Wyllard; "it's not to the point.
"Oh," he said, "I don't know; but, after all, it wouldn't be worth while for us to raise wheat here unless there were folks back East to eat it, and, if some of them only eat in the shape of dainty cakes, that doesn't affect the question. Anyway, there will be but another dance or two, and I was wondering whether I could drive you home; I've got Wyllard's Ontario sleigh."
After all, the grain was Wyllard's, and there was the difficulty that Wyllard might still come back, while if he failed to do this an absence of another few months would entitle his executors to presume him dead. In either case, Hawtrey would be required to account for his property. "No," he said, "I can't take that way." There was a trace of contempt in the mortgage jobber's smile.
Though she did not answer directly he saw the shame in the girl's face, and remembered that he was one of Wyllard's trustees. "I must raise those dollars now and I don't know where to get more than five hundred from. I might manage that," she said. "Well," said Hastings, "you want me to lend you them, and I'm not sure that I can. Still, if you'll wait a few minutes I'll see what I can do."
"He won't be your employer a week after the implement people open their new depôt," said Sproatly resolutely. "Anyway, we're getting away from the subject. Have you any more reasons for concerning yourself about what Gregory does with Wyllard's property?" "I've one; I suppose you don't know who he has left at least a part of it to?" Sproatly started as an idea crept into his mind.
Unyielding and undismayed he had gone down to death she felt sure of that amid the blinding snow. Mrs. Hastings set food before Dampier. By and by Sproatly and Winifred arrived and they heard the story. After that Dampier, who had promised to stay with them a day or two, left Wyllard's friends for an hour.
"I suppose he was reasonably liberal over your salary." "I don't get one. I take a share of the margin after everything is paid." Edmonds carefully noted this. He was not sure that such an arrangement would warrant one in regarding Hawtrey as Wyllard's partner, but he meant to gather a little more information upon that point.
Somehow the sight reminded her of another evening, when she had looked out across the prairie from a seat at Wyllard's table. Almost a year had passed since then. The wagon drew nearer down the long slope of the hill, and the beat of hoofs that grew steadily louder in a sharp staccato made the memories clearer.
"You'll have to forgive me" Wyllard's gesture was deprecatory, though his eyes twinkled. "The notion that we're the only ones who really work, or, at least, do anything worth while, is rather a favorite one out West. No doubt it's a delusion. I should have known that all of us are born like that." Mrs.
Hastings to excuse him, and leading the stranger into a smaller room, pulled out two chairs and laid a cigar on the table. "Now you can get ahead," he said laconically. The seaman fumbled in his pocket, and taking out a slip of wood handed it to his companion. "That's what I came to bring you," he remarked. Wyllard's eyes grew grave as he gazed at the thing.
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