Читать книгу The Girl from Glengarry - Ralph Connor - Страница 5

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"Sy-y-l-via!"

"Yes, Aunt Elizabeth."

"Can you wait to take a letter?"

"Ten minutes--only--you know I can't be late."

"Give me five."

"By the way, Auntie, did you write Jack about dinner to-morrow night. You were to let him know, you remember."

"Of course, don't disturb me. I am writing the closing sentences, and they are important."

"All right dear."

The letter which was being concluded was as follows:

Hilltop House,

Riverside,

May 17th, 1928.

My dear Arabella,

This letter you must answer at once. I am in a swither. I told you about Sylvia's accident--Paddy and the young man. Well this is about the young man. John Tempest is his name. He is hanging about Sylvia--nice enough--indeed fascinating and all that--has a wonderful car, abundance of time and money--and is now devoting himself to my little girl. She is a sharp, clever girl in some ways--in some ways a silly child. No sense about young men. She treats them like chums, as if she were one of themselves. She has no sense of sex. Don't be shocked. You know what I mean, if any one does. Nothing crude or vulgar, but just plain human. She plays about with young men, or old men, as I say, as if she were one of themselves. All very fine, and wholesome and innocent, but well--you know--Then she has no sense of social values. You know I am no snob, but all this stuff about the equality of men I consider nonsense. And so do you.

What I want you to do is to find out all about this John Tempest--his family--his character--his prospects. I have only one girl, not of my flesh, though she might have been, as you know, if I hadn't been a stubborn fool. And she is not going to throw herself away on any man who has a handsome face and a clever tongue, but nothing else--not if her Aunt Elizabeth can help it.

Sylvia has no sense as to breeding and social standing. You ought to hear her with the butcher boy--a red-faced creature. She smiles at him and chatters away to him till the boy doesn't know whether he is standing on his heels or his head. Then she comes in perfectly radiant and says: "Isn't he just sweet!" I lose patience with her. She treats my washerwoman as if she were the banker's wife, indeed very much better. She doesn't hesitate to throw her arms round Maggie's neck and kiss her. Of course Maggie is a very nice woman, quite respectable and very clean and all that, but after all one doesn't kiss one's washwoman. You know what I mean. Of course they all adore her. The butcher boy gets the best cuts for her, and Maggie must spend hours over her frocks. She would gladly give her fingers, one by one, if she thought Sylvia would be the better for them.

I can see she is attracted by this young man. I don't want any heart-break for my little girl. I think he is getting quite mad about her, if I am any judge of signs. I used to be anyway. And after all, the years don't change the hearts of humans.

She is very young for her years. Thank God they keep young longer than we did. She is just twenty-one. Fancy when her mother was her age she had a baby a year old, and you had two of them. I wonder at the cheek of you and the courage.

But young as she is she is very much on her feet, awfully efficient in her work. James MacDonald, our foreman, a Glengarry MacDonald, (the Bhan not the Dhu MacDonalds, we are Glengarry folk you remember), said the other day: "She has the best business head in the bunch of us. She ought to be manager." And sweet as she is she has her father's disposition. He was a stubborn man; and her mother's too--the Murrays--were not much better, if any--as indeed I know to my cost. Ah me! If I had only been a little less stubborn, and he too--well, it is not Sylvia's aunt I would be to-day. Twenty-two years ago! Well I have paid my price, and drop by drop! Though no one but you knows it.

But I want my little girl to make no mistake. So write as I tell you. I am trusting you. Indeed I have no one else to advise me, unless indeed the new minister, Mr. Matheson from Glasgow, a learned man, and a fine preacher too and obviously a gentleman. But I can hardly discuss my niece's love affairs with him. He is about my own age, and a bachelor. Now be quiet! I can hear you giggle. All the old maids and widows in the congregation are getting quite fidgetty about him--silly old things!

Now write me, my dear, by to-morrow's post. I am depending on you.

Your old friend,

LIZZIE MURRAY

P.S. Montreal, with its mountain and river must be grand these days, but you ought to see our River, with its hill sides just beginning to burst with the glory of spring.

P.S.S. What a long letter, you know me.

L.M.

Miss Arabella Foster did not fail her friend. Her answering letter caught the very next post. After various reminiscent excursions and sage advices, especially in reference to the new minister, the letter proceeded to deal with the main issue.

Now as to Jack Tempest, let me say right away that I am not to be trusted. The young devil is a friend of mine, and indeed of the whole family, especially the girls. In fact, he is my Tom's best friend--which may not be much to his credit, for Tom is a thorough scamp.

Jack graduated in engineering, and would have got his medal but for his pranks. Do you remember that terrible Convocation night when the whole business was broken up in confusion by the weird electric signs that would flash on and off during the speeches:

'Time's up.'

'Silly old ass.'

'Speak up, don't mutter.'

These were some of them. What a row! Well, it was Jack Tempest who was largely responsible. Do you remember his indignant protests against this disreputable conduct, standing up there in the audience looking like a grave senator. It was hugely funny. But yet I like Jack. He is no saint. But he is honest and straight--a wee thocht wild. He is an engineer, can take his car apart and put it together. Has an uncanny gift for machinery. The General Electric offered him a big job, but his father wanted him in his office. The old man is in bonds and stocks, making heaps of money, organizing companies and floating all sorts of concerns. An old pirate. They are all afraid of him in "The market." So Jack is a bond seller and loathes it. But as he says he operates chiefly on the golf course, and in the clubs. Now don't get panicky about him. If he wanted one of my girls to-morrow I would let him have her. But then I would see to it that he would quit fooling.

So there you are, my dear. Your Sylvia has her head screwed on the right way. Let the children play their own game. What's God for anyway?

How is the minister? It would be a shame if Miss Euphemia Straith would pick the plum right under your nose.

Yours affectionately,

ARABELLA F.

P.S. I'm coming out to see you and may take Sylvia back with me for a week-end.

It can hardly be said that Miss Foster's letter brought much comfort to Miss Elizabeth's heart. She glanced at the letter. "He's wild--'making heaps of money--bonds and stocks'--not much good ever came from that. Well, Mr. Jack Tempest, you can't have my little girl, if you're going to be wild. You'd break her dear, honest, sweet little heart. No. You'll have to kill me first, or make me kill you."

Her face looked old and grey.

"'Let the children play their own game'--But it's no game. It's life--and death--and hell may be. Oh God--'What's God for anyway?' Yes, she's right enough there." She fell on her knees, put her hands up high: "God, do you hear me? God, do anything you like to me, but my little girl! God! God! Don't let him hurt her." Again and again she moaned out her cry, till she heard Sylvia's voice downstairs calling her.

"Where are you, Auntie? We're here, and hungry as hawks."

"Oh hello! dearie! Just run into the kitchen and see if Annette is quite right. I shall be down in five minutes." She dashed to the bath-room, dabbed her eyes, rubbed her face gently.

"What a wreck I am!"

A little touch of color--of powder--a quick brush to her hair--and with a gallant lift to her head she came down to meet Jack.

"I must be nice to him," she said to herself resolutely.

It was a small dinner party, and very select for Miss Elizabeth was in no mood to preside at any party calling for any undue exercise of her wonted dignity and grace. She had in her mind a very definite purpose. She would find out for herself just what sort of a young man this was. Hence she had enlisted the aid of her minister, not for any advice he might give her, but because she knew his quite remarkable gift of meaningless, but quite entertaining conversation.

"Mr. Matheson, will you take my niece, please. Mr. Tempest, you will perhaps, put up with me," said Miss Elizabeth.

"I am greatly honored," said Jack, with his very best bow.

The dinner was very simple, but such as might delight the heart and satisfy the desires of hungry men, and withal was served in perfect style by Annette, looking very smart in her uniform of black and white.

Mr. Matheson more than justified the hopes of his hostess. He was evidently a man of wide reading, he was thoroughly en rapport with the topics of the day, and he had besides the rare gift of instinctively discerning the special theme most congenial to each of the guests in turn, and of leading the conversation to that topic. Beginning with her music, he soon discovered that Sylvia had no desire to discuss her newest songs. She had so little time for practice that she was thoroughly disgusted with her singing. She had forgotten all her teacher's instruction in voice production and playing, she had really quite given up her exercises.

"Yes, indeed she is very naughty," said her Aunt, "she really has quite a good voice, but she will not give the time she should to her practice. The radio is killing our real love of music."

"It really does take time and energy as well," said Mr. Matheson. "One does not keep up the voice to form without work, hard work. And Miss Sylvia's days are quite filled with all her varied activities."

"Such as they are," murmured Sylvia, with an apologetic grin, at Jack.

"Oh indeed she is no idler," said Miss Murray. "She is one of the busiest young ladies in this town."

"Ah! Indeed!" ejaculated Jack.

"Yes, indeed, what with her office, from which she practically administers the Riverside Mills Company," said the minister.

"Oh, Mr. Matheson!" Sylvia's blushes made violent protest.

"The Riverside Mills Company," repeated the minister with emphasis, "and her reading club, and her dramatics among the employees, not to speak of her Church activities."

"Ha ha! Church activities!" laughed Jack as if the minister had uttered a pleasantry.

"Church activities, my dear sir," repeated Mr. Matheson very gravely. "Why, my dear sir--"

"Oh Mr. Matheson, you make me ashamed. I often think I ought to give up my classes and clubs."

"Miss Sylvia--not another word," implored Mr. Matheson, "when you give up I shall at once resign. She has a quite remarkable Boys' Club you know Mr. Tempest--"

"Please Mr. Matheson! They are really a lot of the darlingest kids--and they do all the work--I only just show--"

"Yes, that's all you do--just show them how to stop being young devils, and be young gentlemen. You ought to see that club Mr. Tempest!"

"I must indeed! Will you?" Jack began eagerly.

"No," said Sylvia, with abrupt decision.

"You really should, Mr. Tempest. You are interested in boys' work?" asked Miss Elizabeth.

"Oh--ah--sure! Tremendously!"

"Fine," said Miss Elizabeth. "Do you have a club or anything--"

"Ah--well--a club? Yes--That is, not exactly a Boys' Club--you know."

"Oh, I see," said Mr. Matheson, genially coming to his aid. "You probably run to athletics and that sort of thing."

"Exactly--athletics--of course--" said Jack gratefully accepting the minister's aid.

"The Montreal Athletic Association and, you know, the sort of thing," he continued. "Awfully interesting. Clean sport you know--manly exercises--and--and--" Jack faltered a bit as to details.

"Exactly! Most important. Indeed I do think that it is one of the most hopeful indications of the general ethical trend of to-day."

"Tremendous thing you know, sir. Really the interest in clean sport in the city is--a--quite keen--and all that."

"Quite indeed," agreed Mr. Matheson. "And in these days when business life is carried on at such high tension, you know, young men require--"

"Exactly!" said Jack warmly. "You see, the competition is something fierce--really--the market is well--you have no idea--I assure you!"

"I hear only rumors, of course," smiled Mr. Matheson. "But I can imagine."

"You are an engineer, Mr. Tempest, I understand," said Miss Elizabeth.

"Engineer! Not on your--" exclaimed Jack, "I mean--not at all--nothing so relaxing, I assure you."

"Oh, I understood you had taken a degree in engineering," Miss Elizabeth's blush indicated a sudden confusion.

"A degree--oh--who? I mean--Yes I did--at McGill."

"Did I mention that to you Miss Elizabeth?" said Mr. Matheson gallantly hastening to her relief.

"Mr. Tempest is in bonds and stocks, Auntie," said Sylvia quietly. "Tempest, Boyle, Price & Company, you know."

"Ah--of course--so many young fellows now-a-days switch courses, especially in this new and amazing trend toward the economic activities of life," said Mr. Matheson, obviously seeking to be helpful. "Your father's firm?"

"Yes. Matter of fact, my Dad was quite keen on my going into the business. I can't say I liked the idea."

"You prefer engines, eh?" said Mr. Matheson. "I don't wonder. Not that bonds and stocks haven't their place in the modern economic world, indeed in these days apparently a very large place."

"Why Mr. Matheson do you understand stocks and that sort of thing?" asked Jack. "I confess I know nothing whatever about the Stock Market! Well you know--I mean a great many people seem to think that--what I mean is--don't you know?"

"Exactly so," said Mr. Matheson brightly, "stock gambling and that sort of thing. Wall Street--eh--old Vanderbilt, Fisk, Field, Gould that lot! Ha ha! Great old pirates those old boys--good deal like Captain Kidd and Morgan of the Spanish Main days. Fascinating stories--remember reading about them. But those days are gone, I suppose."

"Gone? My dear sir, don't you believe it. The present Wall Street operators would make old Commodore Vanderbilt, Drew, Field, Fisk and that lot look like kids playing marbles on Sunday for keeps." And for some minutes Jack enlarged, with a varied wealth of detail upon the lurid characteristics and eccentricities of the modern stock broker, with illustrations from real life, till Miss Elizabeth's eyes grew wide with horror.

"But the Montreal market Mr. Tempest is quite different, I suppose," said Mr. Matheson.

"Don't you believe it, sir. If our boys had the command of the little iron men--"

"Iron men?" gasped Miss Elizabeth, a dazed look in her eyes.

"Jack--Mr. Tempest is just being funny, Auntie," said Sylvia. "St. James Street is not at all like Wall Street."

"St. James Street? Well now! Let me tell you there are just as many--"

"But Mr. Tempest," said Mr. Matheson, pleasantly cheerful, but speaking with impressive deliberation, "there is a legitimate and perfectly honest and honorable business carried on in St. James Street. I mean--you know--by quite honest and honorable people."

"Honest and honorable? Oh--yes--oh most certainly!" replied Jack, hurriedly, casting a swift glance at Sylvia's face. "Stock broking is a straight enough business and--"

"And an absolutely necessary business, I mean necessary to our modern methods of industrial development," suggested Mr. Matheson.

"Why, of course! Most certainly!" said Jack.

"I am very ignorant Miss Elizabeth of the modern methods in stock broking--that is no practical knowledge, and to me it appears something like this." And for the next fifteen minutes Mr. Matheson proceeded to give in lucid simple and convincing terminology, a most complete, if somewhat rosy picture of the operations of the Stock Market, which made bond and stock selling take on the aspect of a truly noble and patriotic enterprise and one entirely necessary to the industrial development of the country.

As the minister proceeded with his lucid smiling discourse the faces of his audience gradually cleared. Miss Elizabeth's face lost its disturbed appearance, Sylvia's look of distressed anxiety gave place to one of pleased, but puzzled amazement, and Jack gradually recovered his air of debonair complacency. Mr. Matheson had rendered the company a fine bit of service. They were all correspondingly grateful.

"Mr. Matheson, may I ask where did you operate chiefly?" enquired Jack.

"Operate?"

"Yes, where did you play the market? In the old country? London, I guess. They tell me that's where they get the really high polish. Those old country birds are the real eagles."

"Have you the very slightest idea what the young man is referring to?" enquired Mr. Matheson of his partner.

"He wants to know where you learned about stock broking, and that sort of thing," said Sylvia, giving him a dazzling smile.

"Stock broking? I? My dear boy, I would not recognize a stock if I saw it on the street. Not I--But the rather painful experience of some of my friends in 1924-25 set me studying the whole economic basis of stock operations in England, on the continent and to a less degree of stock operations in America. I came to the conclusion then that the whole business of Stock manipulation is one of the very important businesses in the world, and in the hands of honorable and capable men can be of the very highest service to humanity."

Jack gasped at him.

"You really mean it?"

"Most certainly. Of course I am using the term 'stock manipulation' in a very wide and somewhat academic sense to include the general financing of the industrial and commercial operations of the world. For instance, had it not been for the magnificent services of the great American and British financiers and their courageous and wise handling of the various markets in Europe, as witness for instance the Dawes plan in 1924, the whole world would have been in complete and chaotic financial collapse. Of course, the whole matter was largely political, but the salvation of Europe was secured when the financiers took the whole business over from the politicians.

"Mr. Matheson," said Jack in solemn amazement. "I am a babe in arms playing with my bottle. I haven't a ghost of an idea of what you are talking about."

"But surely you remember that when under the burden of Reparations, that hideous legacy of hate handed to Germany by Versailles, the whole scheme of payment had broken down, the United States Secretary of State, Hughes, made the proposal to lift the whole business out of politics and make it a business proposition, you remember that?"

"Not a thing!" confessed Jack.

"Oh yes Jack, you remember the Dawes Committee."

"Well, I've heard of the Dawes Committee of course, and that they did something to get Germany out of the hole--but what they did--I haven't an earthly."

"And you a bonds and stocks broker!" exclaimed Mr. Matheson.

The minister's bland smile took the steel out of his thrust.

"Not that kind I'm afraid. I just push the stuff at the boys and indicate the dotted line, you know."

"You are young yet, my dear boy--but yours is a noble calling and--"

"Really? A calling Mr. Matheson? Like the ministry?" Miss Elizabeth was plainly startled, if not shocked.

"'Calling'--Miss Murray, a noble calling indeed. What is nobler than the organizing of a whole people for cooperative service in the building up of a nation's industry? That is what they did for Germany. Organized all the German railways into one great stock company--twenty-six billion gold marks. I remember the figures well, eleven billions mortgage bonds, two billions preferred stock, thirteen billions common stock. The figures stuck in my mind because of the thirteens--unlucky number, eh? Oh, it was a wonderful achievement. It was the Americans mainly who did that for the world."

"And the British," said Sylvia, her blue eyes shining.

"And the British," replied the minister. "Yes, the British did their part for the rehabilitation of Germany. But the job is not yet finished."

"Things seem to be humming just now all right," said Jack cheerfully.

"Seem to be? Yes seem to be!" Mr. Matheson shook his head dubiously.

"But business is booming--at least in the United States and Canada too," Jack insisted.

"Booming? Yes but--Well, I know nothing about this country or America either."

"I wouldn't say that, sir," said Jack with obvious respect. "I believe you know a whole lot more than most of the hot air artists on the radio these days. You are like my Dad. He has no use for this boom. But the boys at the tape side are all for it. And believe me, they are making money."

"Everybody is making money," said Sylvia, with a little laugh. "Even the Riverside Mills girls. But James MacDonald is shaking his head, like Mr. Matheson."

"And a great many others are shaking their heads, Miss Sylvia. A great many wise folks in the old country. But of course they are rather old-fashioned."

"But everyone says Germany too is booming," said Jack, "I heard Mr. Black say so no later than yesterday."

"Yes," said Mr. Matheson, "but my weekly TIMES is calling attention to the fact that Germany is living on borrowed gold. About £750,000,000 imported during the last four years, largely from America."

"Say, you'd better come in and talk to my Dad. He would agree with you. But the younger chaps are all against him." Jack appeared to be lost in admiration for the minister.

"I assure you I know nothing about the finances of this country or America. We old country folk may be old-fashioned--'but I hae my doots.'"

"They are all certainly out for big business. I can't get the papers out fast enough for the new companies, new mergers, new combines," said Jack.

"Yes, I know. They even want to merge poor little us," said Sylvia, smiling at Jack.

"What Riverside Mills? What merger is that? Don't let 'em. You just let me merge you, if you are going to merge. I'll see that you get the best possible terms. Don't look at 'em."

"I'm not," said Sylvia cheerfully.

"Hurray!" cried Jack.

"Sound lassie," said Mr. Matheson. "But Miss Elizabeth, I must awa' tae ma kirk session. Please don't rise."

"But we are all finished, Mr. Matheson. So sorry you must go. Can't you come in later? These young folk need some sound advice."

"I'll say so," said Jack heartily. "Some of us, anyway." But the minister could not promise.

"Oh do!" Sylvia's blue eyes made him hesitate.

"Now lassie, nane o' that wi' yon glintin e'en. Ye're takin' a mean advantage of an auld haverin' buddie. But perhaps--for a cup o' coffee and a pipe, if the session prove unco' dreich--guid nicht!"