To Him That Hath

R >> Ralph Connor >> To Him That Hath


"Sounds rather bloody, I must say," said her father, doubtfully.

But Hugh said: "It was not really--not quite so bad as Patricia makes
it, sir. Rough at times, of course, but, on the whole, clean."

"Clean," cried Patricia, "what about Jumbo's swing at Snoopy?"

"Oh, well, Snoopy had the puck, you know. It was a little off-colour, I
must confess."

"And now, Daddy," said Patricia, going at her father again, "we all want
to go down to the dance. There will be speeches, you know, and I do want
to hear Captain Jack," she added, not without guile. "Won't you let me
go with them? Hugh will take care of me."

"I think I should rather like to go myself," said her father. A shout
of approval rose from the whole company. "But," continued the doctor, "I
don't think I can. My dear, I think they might go for a few minutes--and
you can bring me in a full account of the speeches, Patricia," he added,
with a twinkle in his eye.

"But, my dear," exclaimed his wife, "this is one of those awful public
affairs. You can't imagine what they are like. The Mill hands will all
be there, and that sort of people."

"Well, my dear, Jack Maitland will be there, I fancy, and you were
thinking of going, Hugh?"

"Yes, sir, I am going. Of course there will be a number of the friends
of both teams, townspeople. Of course the Mill hands will be there, too,
in large numbers. It will be great fun."

"Well, my dear," said the doctor, "I think they might go down for a few
minutes. But be sure to be back before midnight. Remember, Patricia, you
are to do exactly as your sister says."

Then Vic said: "I shall keep a firm hand on her, sir."

"Oh, you darling," Patricia cried, hugging her father rapturously. "I
will be so good; and won't it be fun!"

Odd Fellows' Hall was elaborately decorated with bunting and evergreens.
The party from the Rectory, arriving in time to hear the closing
speeches of the two team captains, took their places in the gallery. The
speeches were brief and to the point.

The Captain of the visiting team declared that he had greatly enjoyed
the game. He was not quite convinced that the best team had won, but he
would say that the game had gone to the team that had put up the best
play. He complimented Captain Maitland upon his generalship. He had
known Captain Maitland in the old days and he ought to have been on the
lookout for the kind of thing he had put over. The Maitland Mill team
had made a perfectly wonderful recovery in the last quarter, though he
rather thought his friend Macnamara had helped it a little at a critical
point.

"He did that," exclaimed Jumbo Larson, with marked emphasis.

After the roar of laughter had quieted down, the Cornwall Captain closed
by expressing the hope that the Maitland Mill team would try for a place
next season in the senior hockey. In which case he expressed the hope
that he might have the pleasure of meeting them again.

Captain Maitland's speech was characteristic. He had nothing but praise
for the Cornwalls. They played a wonderful game and a clean game. He
shared in the doubt of their Captain as to which was the better team. He
frankly confessed that in the last quarter the luck came to his team.

"Not a bit of it," roared the Cornwalls with one voice.

As to his own team, he was particularly proud of the way they had taken
the training--their fine self-denial, and especially the never-dying
spirit which they showed. It was a great honour for his team to meet
the Cornwalls. A hard team to meet--sometimes--as Snoopy and himself had
found out that evening--but they were good sports and he hoped some day
to meet them again.

After the usual cheers for the teams, individually and collectively, for
their supporters, for the Mill management and for the ladies, the dinner
came to an end, the whole party joining with wide open throats and all
standing at attention, in the Canadian and the Empire national anthems.

While the supper table was being cleared away preparatory to the dance,
Captain Jack rushed upstairs to the party in the gallery. Patricia flung
herself at him in an ecstasy of rapture.

"Oh! Captain Jack, you did win! You did win! You did win! It was
glorious! And that double-circle play that you and Snoopy put up--didn't
it work beautifully!"

"We were mighty lucky," said Captain Jack.

The others, Hugh, Vic and Rupert, crowded round, offering
congratulations. Adrien waited behind, a wonderful light shining in her
eyes, a faint colour touching her pale cheek. Captain Jack came slowly
forward.

"Are you not going to congratulate us, too, Adrien?" he said.

She moved a pace forward.

"Oh, Jack," she whispered, leaning toward him and breathing quickly, "it
was so like the old, the dear old days."

Into Maitland's eyes there flashed a look of surprise, of wonder, then
of piercing scrutiny, while his face grew white.

"Adrien," he said, in a voice low, tense, almost stern, which she alone
heard. "What do you mean? Then do you--"

"Oh, Captain Jack," cried Patricia, catching his arm, "are you going to
dance? You are, aren't you? And will you give me--Oh, I daren't ask! You
are such a great hero to-night!"

"Why, Patsy, will you give me a dance?"

The girl stood gazing at him with eyes that grew misty, the quick
beating of her loyal heart almost suffocating her.

"Oh, Captain Jack," she gasped, "how many?"

Maitland laughed at her, and turned to her sister.

"And you, Adrien, may I have a dance?"

Again Adrien leaned toward him.

"One?" she asked.

"And as many more as you can spare."

"My program is quite empty, you see," she said, flinging out her hands
and laughing joyously into his face.

"What about me? And me? And me?" said the other three men.

"I suppose we are all nowhere to-night," added Rupert, with a touch of
bitterness in his voice.

"Well, there is only one conquering hero, you know," replied Adrien,
smiling at them all.

"Now I must run off," said Maitland. "You see, I am on duty, as it were.
Come down in a few minutes."

"Yes, go, Jack," said Adrien, throwing him a warm smile. "We will follow
you in a few minutes."

"Oh, I am so excited!" said Patricia, as Maitland disappeared down the
stairs. "I mean to dance with every one of the team. I know I am going
to have a perfectly lovely time! But I would give them all up if I could
have Captain Jack all the time."

"Pig," said her sister, smiling at her.

"Wretch," cried Vic, making a face.

But Patricia was quite unabashed. "I am going to have him just as often
as I can," she said, brazenly.

For a few minutes they stood watching the dancers on the floor below. It
was indeed, as Mrs. Templeton had said, a "mixed multitude." Mill
hands and their girls, townsfolk whose social standing was sufficiently
assured to endure the venture. A mixed multitude, but thoroughly jolly,
making up in vigour what was lacking in grace in their exposition of the
Terpsichorean art.

"Rather ghastly," said Rupert, who appeared to be quite disgusted with
the whole evening's proceedings.

"Lovely!" exclaimed Patricia.

"They are enjoying themselves, at any rate," said Adrien, "and, after
all, that is what people dance for."

"Stacks of fun. I am all for it, eh, Pat?" said Vic, making adoring eyes
at the young girl.

But Patricia severely ignored him.

"Oh, Adrien, look!" she cried suddenly. "There is Annette, and who is
the big man with her? Oh, what an awful dancer he is! But Annette, isn't
she wonderful! What a lovely dress! I think she is the most beautiful
thing." And Patricia was right, for Annette was radiant in colour and
unapproachable in the grace of her movement.

"By Jove! She is a wonder!" said Vic. "Some dancer, if she only had a
chance."

"Well, why don't you go down, Vic," said Patricia sharply. "You know you
are just aching to show off your fox trot. Run away, little boy, I won't
mind."

"I don't believe you would," replied Vic ruefully.

For some minutes longer they all stood watching the scene below.

"They are a jolly crowd," said Adrien. "I don't think we have half the
fun at our dances."

"They certainly get a lot for their money," said Vic. "But wait till
they come to 'turkey-in-the-straw!' That is where they really cut
loose."

"Oh, pshaw!" cried Patricia. "I can 'turkey' myself. Just wait and
you'll see."

"So can I," murmured Vic. "Will you let me in on it? Hello," he
continued, "there is the Captain and Annette. Now look out for high art.
I know the Captain's style. And a two-step! My eye! She is a little airy
fairy!"

"How beautifully she dances," said Adrien. "And how charmingly she is
dressed."

"They do hit it off, don't they," said Rupert. "They evidently know each
other's paces."

Suddenly Adrien turned to Hugh: "Don't you think we should go down?" she
asked. "You know we must not stay late."

"Yes, do come along!" cried Patricia, seizing Victor by the arm and
hurrying to the stairs, the others making their way more leisurely to
the dancing room.

The hall was a scene of confused hilarity. Maitland was nowhere to be
seen.

"Oh! let us dance, Vic!" cried Patricia. "There is really no use waiting
for Captain Jack. At any rate, Adrien will claim the first dance."

No second invitation was needed and together they swung off into the
medley of dancers.

"We may as well follow," said Hugh. "We shall doubtless run into
Maitland somewhere before long."

But not in that dance, nor in the three successive dances did Maitland
appear. The precious moments were slipping by. Patricia was becoming
more and more anxious and fretful at the non-appearance of her hero.
Also, Hugh began to notice and detect a lagging in his partner's step.

"Shall we go out into the corridor?" he said. "This air is beginning to
be rather trying."

From the crowded hall they passed into the corridor, from which opened
side rooms which were used as dressing and retiring rooms, and whose
entrances were cleverly screened by a row of thick spruce trees set up
for the occasion.

"This is better," said Hugh, drawing a deep breath. "Shall we sit a bit
and rest?"

"Oh, do let us," said Adrien. "This has been a strenuous and exciting
evening. I really feel quite done out. Here is a most inviting seat."

Wearily she sat down on a bench which faced the entrance to one of the
rooms.

"Shall I bring you a glass of water or an ice, Adrien?" inquired Hugh,
noting the pallor in her face.

"Thank you. A glass of water, if you will be so kind. How deliciously
fragrant that spruce is."

As her partner set off upon his errand, Adrien stepped to the spruce
tree which screened the open door of the room opposite, and taking
the bosky branches in her hands, she thrust her face into the aromatic
foliage.

"How deliciously fragrant," she murmured.

Suddenly, as if stabbed by a spine in the trees, she started back and
stood gazing through the thick branches into the room beyond There
stood Maitland and Annette, the girl, with her face tearfully pale and
pleading, uplifted to his and with her hands gripped tight and held fast
in his, clasped against his breast. More plainly than words her face,
her eyes, her attitude told her tale. She was pouring out her very soul
to him in entreaty, and he was giving eager, sympathetic heed to her
appeal.

Swiftly Adrien stepped back from the screening tree, her face white as
if from a stunning blow, her heartbeats checking her breath. Quickly,
blindly, she ran down the corridor. At the very end she met Hugh with a
glass of water in his hand.

"What is the matter, Adrien? Have you seen a ghost?" he cried in an
anxious voice.

She caught the glass from his hand and began to drink, at first
greedily, then more slowly.

"Ah!" she said, drawing a deep breath. "That is good. Do you know, I
was almost overcome. The air of that room is quite deadly. Now I am all
right. Let us get a breath from the outside, Hugh."

Taking him by the arm, she hastened him to the farther end of the
corridor and opened the door. "Oh, delicious!" She drew in deep breaths
of the cold, fresh air.

"How wonderful the night is, Hugh." She leaned far out, "and the snow
was like a cloth of silver and diamonds in this glorious moon." She
stooped, and from a gleaming bank beside the door she caught up a double
handful of the snow and, packing it into a little ball, flung it at her
partner, catching him fairly on the ear.

"Aha!" she cried. "Don't ever say a woman is a poor shot. Now then," she
added, stamping her feet free from the clinging flakes and waving her
hands in the air to dry them, "I feel fit for anything. Let us have one
more dance before we go home, for I feel we really must go."

"You are sure you are quite fit?" inquired Hugh, still anxious for her.

"Fit? Look at me!" Her cheeks were bright with colour, her eyes with
light.

"You surely do look fit," said Hugh, beaming at her with frank
admiration. "But you were all in a few moments ago."

"Come along. There is a way into the hall by this door," she cried,
catching his hand and hurrying him into the dancing room again.

At the conclusion of their dance they came upon Patricia near the main
entrance, in great distress. "I have not seen Captain Jack anywhere,"
she lamented. "Have you, Adrien? I have just sent Vic for a final
search. I simply cannot go home till I have had my dance." The girl was
almost in tears.

"Never mind, dear," said Adrien. "He has many duties to-night with
all these players to look after. I think we had better go whenever Vic
returns. I am awfully sorry for you, Patricia," she added. "No! Don't!
You simply must not cry here." She put her arm around her sister's
shoulder, her own lips trembling, and drew her close. "Where has Vic
gone, I wonder?"

That young man, however, was having his own trials. In his search for
Maitland he ran across McNish, whom he recognised as Annette's partner
in the first dance.

"Hello!" he cried. "Do you know where Captain Maitland is, by any
chance?"

"No, how should I know," replied McNish, in a voice fiercely guttural.

"Oh!" said Vic, somewhat abashed. "I saw you dance with Annette--with
Miss Perrotte--and I thought perhaps you might know where the Captain
was."

McNish stood glowering at him for a moment or two, then burst forth:

"They are awa'--he's ta'en her awa'."

"Away," said Vic. "Where?"

"To hell for all I ken or care."

Then with a single stride McNish was close at his side, gripping his arm
with fingers that seemed to reach the bone.

"Ye're a friend o' his. Let me say tae ye if ony ill cames tae her, by
the leevin' God above us he wull answer tae me." Hoarse, panting, his
face that of a maniac, he stood glaring wild-eyed at the young man
before him. To say that Vic was shaken by this sudden and violent
onslaught would be much within the truth. Nevertheless he boldly faced
the passion-distracted man.

"Look here! I don't know who you are or what you mean," he said, in as
steady tones as he could summon, "but if you suggest that any girl will
come to harm from Captain Maitland, then I say you are a liar and a
fool." So speaking, little Vic set himself for the rush which he was
firmly convinced would come. McNish, however, stood still, fighting for
control. Then, between his deep-drawn breaths, he slowly spoke:

"Ye may be richt. A hope tae God A am baith liar and fule." The agony in
his face moved Vic to pity.

"I say, old chap," he said, "you are terribly mistaken somehow, I can
swear to that. Where is Maitland, anyway, do you know?"

"They went away together." McNish had suddenly gotten himself in hand.
"They went away in his car, secretly."

"Secretly," said Vic, scornfully. "Now, that is perfect rot. Look here,
do you know Captain Maitland? I am his friend, and let me tell you that
all I ever hope to own, here and hereafter, and all my relatives and
friends, I would gladly trust with him."

"Maybe, maybe," muttered McNish. "Ye may be richt. A apologise, sir, but
if--" His eyes blazed again.

"Aw, cut out the tragedy stuff," said Vic, "and don't be an ass.
Good-night."

Vic turned on his heel and left McNish standing in a dull and dazed
condition, and made his way toward the ballroom.

"Who is the Johnny, anyway?" he said to himself. "He is
mad--looney--utterly bughouse. Needs a keeper in the worst way. But what
about the Captain--must think up something. Let's see. Taken
suddenly ill? Hardly--there is the girl to account for. Her
mother--grandmother--or something--stricken--let's see. Annette has
a brother--By Jove! the very thing--I've got it--brother met with an
accident--run over--fell down a well--anything. Hurry call--ambulance
stuff. Good line. Needs working up a bit, though. What has happened to
my grey matter? Let me think. Ah, yes--when that Johnny brought word
of an accident, a serious accident to her brother, Maitland, naturally
enough, the gallant soul, hurries her off in his car, sending word by
aforesaid mad Johnny."

Vic went to the outer door, feeling the necessity for a somewhat careful
conning of his tale to give it, as he said himself, a little artistic
verisimilitude. Then, with his lesson--as he thought--well learned, and
praying for aid of unknown gods, he went back to find his partner.

"If only Patricia will keep out of it," he said to himself as he neared
the hall door, "or if I could only catch old Hugh first. But he is not
much of a help in this sort of thing. Dash it all! I am quite nervous.
This will never do. Must find a way--good effect--cool and collected
stuff." So, ruminating and praying and moving ever more slowly, he
reached the door. Coming in sight of his party, he hurried to meet them.
"Awfully sorry!" he exclaimed excitedly. "The most rotten luck! Old
Maitland's just been called off."

"Called off!" cried Patricia, in dismay. "Where to!"

"Now, don't jump at me like that. Remember my heart. Met that
Johnny--the big chap dancing with Annette, you know--just met him--quite
worked up--a hurry call for the girl--for the girl, Annette, you know."

"The girl!" exclaimed Patricia. "You said Captain Jack."

"I know! I know!" replied Vic, somewhat impatiently. "I am a bit
excited, I confess. Rather nasty thing--Annette's brother, you
know--something wrong--accident, I think. Couldn't get the particulars."

"But Annette's brother is in Toronto," said Adrien, gravely.

"Exactly!" cried Vic. "That is what I have been telling you. A hurry
call--phone message for Annette--horrible accident. Maitland rushed her
right away in his car to catch the midnight to Toronto."

"By Jove! That is too bad," said Hugh, a genuine sympathy in his honest
voice. "That is hard luck on poor Annette. Tony is not exactly a safe
proposition, you know."

"Was he--is he killed?" cried Patricia, in a horror-stricken voice.

"Killed! Not a bit of it," said Vic cheerfully. "Slight injury--but
serious, I mean. You know, just enough to cause anxiety." Vic lit
another cigarette with ostentatious deliberation. "Nasty shock, you
know," he said.

"Who told you all this?" inquired Rupert.

"Who told me?" said Vic. "Why, that mad Johnny."

"Mad Johnny? What mad Johnny?"

Vic said: "Eh! What? You know, that--ahr--big chap who was falling over
her in the fox trot. Looked kind of crazy, you know--big chap--Scotch."

"Where is he now?" enquired Rupert.

"Oh, I fancy about there, somewhere," replied Vic, remembering that he
had seen McNish moving toward the door. "Better go and look him up and
get more particulars. Might help some, you know."

"Oh, Adrien, let us go to her," said Patricia. "I am sure Annette would
love to have you. Poor Annette!"

"Oh! I say!" interposed Vic hurriedly. "There is really no necessity. I
shouldn't like to intrude in family affairs and that sort of thing, you
know what I mean."

Adrien's grave, quiet eyes were upon Vic's face. "You think we had
better not go, then," she said slowly.

"Sure thing!" replied Vic, with cheerful optimism. "There is no
necessity--slight accident--no need to make a fuss about it."

"But you said it was a serious accident--a terrible thing," said
Patricia.

"Oh, now, Patricia, come out of it. You check a fellow up so hard. Can't
you understand the Johnny was so deucedly worked up over it he
couldn't give me the right of it. Dash it all! Let's have another turn,
Patricia!"

But Adrien said: "I think we will go home, Hugh."

"Very well, if you think so, Adrien. I don't fancy you need worry over
Annette. The accident probably is serious but not dangerous. Tony is a
tough fellow."

"Exactly!" exclaimed Vic. "Just as I have been telling you. Serious, but
not dangerous. At least, that was the impression I got."

"Oh, Vic, you are so terribly confusing!" exclaimed Patricia. "Why can't
you get things straight? I say, Adrien, we can ride round to Annette's
on our way home, and then we will get things quite clearly."

"Certainly," said Hugh. "It will only take us a minute. Eh, what!" he
added to Vic, who was making frantic grimaces at him. "Well, if you
ladies will get your things, we will go."

"But I am so disappointed," said Patricia to Adrien, as they went to
their dressing room together.

After they had gone, Hugh turned upon Vic: "Now then, what the deuce and
all are you driving at?"

"Driving at!" cried Vic, in an exasperated tone. "You are a sweet
support for a fellow in distress. I am a nervous wreck--a perfect mess.
Another word from that kid and I should have run screaming into the
night. And as for you, why the deuce didn't you buck up and help a
fellow out?"

"Help you out? How in the name of all that is reasonable could I help
you out? What is all the yarn about? Of course I know it isn't true.
Where's Maitland?"

"Search me," said Vic. "All I know is that I hit upon that Scotch Johnny
out in the hall--he nearly wrenched an arm off me and did everything
but bite--spitting out incoherent gaspings indicating that Maitland
had 'gone awa' wi' his gur-r-l, confound him!' and suggesting the usual
young Lochinvar stuff. You know--nothing in it, of course. But what was
I to do? Some tale was necessary! Fortunately or unfortunately, brother
Tony sprang to the thing I call my mind and--well, you know the mess
I made of it. But Hugh, remember, for heaven's sake, make talk about
something--about the match--and get that girl quietly home. I bag the
back seat and Adrien. It is hard on me, I know, but fifteen minutes
more of Patsy and I shall be counting my tootsies and prattling nursery
rhymes. Here they come," he breathed. "Now, 'a little forlorn hope,
deadly breach act, if you love me, Hardy.' Play up, old boy!"

And with commendable enthusiasm and success, Hugh played up,
supported--as far as his physical and mental condition allowed--by
the enfeebled Vic, till they had safely deposited their charges at the
Rectory door, whence, refusing an invitation to stop for cocoa, they
took their homeward way.

"'And from famine, pestilence and sudden death,' and from the once-over
by that penetrating young female, 'good Lord, deliver us,'" murmured
Vic, falling into the seat beside his friend. "Take me home to mother,"
he added, and refused further speech till at his own door. He waved a
weak adieu and staggered feebly into the house.



CHAPTER XI

THE NEW MANAGER


Grant Maitland sat in his office, plainly disturbed in his mind. His
resolute face, usually reflecting the mental repose which arises from
the consciousness of a strength adequate to any emergency, carried lines
which revealed a mind which had lost its poise. Reports from his foremen
indicated brooding trouble, and this his own observation within the last
few weeks confirmed. Production was noticeably falling low. The attitude
of the workers suggested suspicion and discontent. That fine glow of
comradeship which had been characteristic of all workers in the Maitland
Mills had given place to a sullen aloofness and a shiftiness of eye that
all too plainly suggested evil forces at work.

During the days immediately preceding and following the Great Match,
there had been a return of that frank and open bearing that had
characterised the employees of the Maitland Mills in the old days, but
that fleeting gleam of sunshine had faded out and the old grey shadow
of suspicion, of discontent, had fallen again. To Maitland this attitude
brought a disappointment and a resentment which sensibly added to his
burden, already heavy enough in these days of weakening markets and
falling prices. In his time he had come through periods of financial
depression. He was prepared for one such period now, but he had never
passed through the unhappy experience of a conflict with his own
employees. Not that he had ever feared a fight, but he shrank from a
fight with his own men. It humiliated him. He felt it to be a reflection
upon his system of management, upon his ability to lead and control,
indeed, upon his personality. But, more than all, it grieved him to feel
that he had lost that sense of comradeship which for forty years he
had been able to preserve with those who toiled with him in a common
enterprise.

A sense of loneliness fell upon him. Like many a man, self-made and
self-sufficing, he craved companionship which his characteristic
qualities of independence and strength seemed to render unnecessary and
undesired. The experience of all leaders of men was his, for the leader
is ever a lonely man.