To Him That Hath

R >> Ralph Connor >> To Him That Hath


"Maister Chair-r-man, A need not remind you that there is no discussion
on a motion to adjourn."

"That is quite right," said the chairman, in whose memory by some
obscure mental process this fact seemed to have found a lodging.

"It is moved that this committee do now adjourn."

"Mr. Chairman! I protest," shrieked Brother Simmons frantically.

"Ay, he's a grand protester!" said Brother McNish.

The motion was carried by a majority of one, Brothers Wigglesworth,
McNish and Maitland voting in the affirmative.

"Traitors!" shrieked Brother Simmons. "Capitalistic traitors!"

"Hoot mon! Ye're no in Hyde Park. Save yere breath for yere porritch the
morn--" said McNish, relaxing into a grim smile as he left the rooms.

"We'll get 'im," said Simmons to his ally and friend. "'E's in with that
there young pup. 'E knows 'ow to work 'im and 'e'd sell us all up, 'e
would." Brother Simmons' brand of profanity strongly savoured of the
London pavements in its picturesque fluency.

"Get in here, McNish," said Maitland, who was waiting at the door. With
some hesitation McNish accepted the invitation.

"Now, what does this mean?" said Maitland savagely, then checking his
rage, "but I ought to thank you for getting me out of the grip of that
frantic idiot. What is this fool thing?"

"It's nae that," said McNish shortly. "It is anything but that. But I
grant ye this was no time to bring it on. That was beyond me. A doot yon
puir cratur had a purpose in it, however. He disna--does not think
much of these games of yours. But that's anither--another"--McNish was
careful of his speech--"matter."

"But what in--"

"I am just telling you. There is a strong, a very strong movement under
way among the unions at present."

"A movement? Strike, do you mean?"

"It may be, or worse." McNish's tone was very grave. "And as a good
union man they expect your assistance."

"Wages again?"

"Ay, and condeetions and the like."

"But it is not six months since the last agreement was signed and that
agreement is running still."

"Ay, it is, but condeetions, conditions have changed since that date,"
said McNish, "and there must be readjustment--at least, there is a
feeling that way."

"Readjustment? But I have had no hint of this in our meetings. This has
not come up for discussion."

A gentle pity smiled from the rugged face of the man beside him.

"Hardly," he said. "It's no done that way."

They came to McNish's door.

"Will you come in?" he said courteously. A refusal was at Maitland's
lips when the door was opened by an old lady in a white frilled cap and
without being able to explain how it came about he found himself in the
quaintly furnished but delightfully cosy living-room, soaking in the
comfort of a great blazing fire.

"This is really solid comfort," he said, spreading his hands to the
glowing pine slabs.

"Ay, ye need it the day. The fire cheers the heart," said the old lady.

"But you don't need it for that, Mrs. McNish," said her visitor, smiling
at the strong, serene face under the white frilled cap.

"Do I not then? An' what aboot yersel'?" The keen grey eye searched his
face. Maitland was immediately conscious of a vast dreariness in his
life. He sat silent looking into the blazing fire.

"Ay," continued the old lady, "but there are the bright spots tae, an'
it's ill tae glower at a cauld hearth stone." Maitland glanced quickly
at the shrewd and kindly face. What did she know about him and his life
and his "cauld hearth stone"? So he said nothing but waited. Suddenly
she swerved to another theme.

"Malcolm," she said, "have ye secured the tickets for the match?"

"Aw, mither, now it is the terrible auld sport ye are. She drags me out
to all these things." His eyes twinkled at Maitland. "I can't find time
for any study."

"Hoots ye and ye're study. A doot a rale heartening scramble on the ice
wad dae ye mair guid than an oor wi' yon godless Jew buddie."

"She means Marx, of course," said McNish, in answer to Maitland's look
of perplexity. "She has no use for him."

"But the tickets, Malcolm," insisted his mother.

"Well, mither, A'll confess I clean forgot them. Ye see," he hurried to
say, "A was that fashed over yon Committee maitter--"

"Committee maitter!" exclaimed the old lady indignantly. "Did I not
tell ye no to heed yon screamin' English cratur wi' his revolutionary
nonsense?"

"She means Simmons," interjected Malcolm with a little smile. "He means
well, mither, but A'm vexed aboot the tickets."

"Mrs. McNish," said Maitland, "I happen to have two tickets that I can
let you have." For an instant she hesitated.

"We can find a way in, I think, Mr. Maitland," said Malcolm,
forestalling his mother's answer. But with simple dignity his mother put
him aside.

"A shall be verra pleased indeed to have the tickets, provided you can
spare them, Mr. Maitland. Never mind, noo, Malcolm. A ken well
what ye're thinkin'. He's gey independent and his mind is on thae
revolutionary buddies o' his. A'm aye tellin' him this is nae land for
yon nonsense. Gin we were in Rooshie, or Germany whaur the people have
lived in black slavery or even in the auld land whaur the fowk are
haudden doon wi' generations o' class bondage, there might be a chance
for a revolutionary. But what can ye dae in a land whaur the fowk are
aye climbin' through ither, noo up, noo down, noo maister, noo man?
Ye canna make Canadians revolutionaries. They are a' on the road to be
maisters. Malcolm is a clever loon but he has a wee bee in his bonnet."
The old lady smiled quizzically at her big, serious-faced son.

"Noo, mither, ye're just talkin' havers," he said. "My mother is as
great a Socialist as I am."

"Ay, but A keep ma heid."

"That ye do, mither. Ye're gey cannie," replied her son, shaking his
head, and so they passed the word to and fro, and Maitland sat listening
to the chat. The delightful spirit of camaraderie between mother and son
reminded him of a similar relationship between mother and sons in his
own home in pre-war days. He could not tear himself away. It was well on
to his dinner hour before he rose to go.

"You have given me a delightful hour, Mrs. McNish," he said as he shook
hands. "You made me think of my own home in the old days,--I mean before
the war came and smashed everything." The old lady's eyes were kindly
scanning his face.

"Ay, the war smashed yere hame?" Maitland nodded in silence.

"His brither," said Malcolm, quietly.

"Puir laddie," she said, patting his hand.

"And my mother," added Maitland, speaking with difficulty, "and that, of
course, meant our home--and everything. So I thank you for a very happy
hour," he added with a smile.

"Wad ye care to come again?" said the old lady with a quiet dignity.
"We're plain fowk but ye'll be always welcome."

"I just will, Mrs. McNish. And I will send you the tickets."

"Man! I wish ye grand luck the night. A grand victory."

"Thank you. We are going to make a try for it," said Maitland. "You must
shout for us."

"Ay, wull I," she answered grimly. And she kept her word for of all the
company that made up the Maitland party, none was more conspicuously
enthusiastic in applause than was a white-haired old lady in a
respectable black bonnet whose wild and weird Doric expletives and
exclamations were the joy of the whole party about her.



CHAPTER X

THE NIGHT OF VICTORY


It was an hour after the match. They were gathered in the old rendezvous
of the hockey teams in pre-war days. And they were all wildly excited
over the Great Victory.

"Just think of it, Mamma, dear," Patricia shouted, pirouetting now on
one foot and then on the other, "Eight to six! Oh, it is too glorious to
believe! And against that wonderful team, the Cornwalls! Now listen to
me, while I give you a calm and connected account of the game. I shall
always regret that you were not present, Mamma. Victory! And at half
time we were down, five to two! I confess disaster and despair stared me
in the face. And we started off so gloriously! Captain Jack and Snoopy
in the first five minutes actually put in two goals, with that back goal
play of theirs. You know, I explained it to you, Mamma."

"Yes, dear, I know," said her mother, "but if you will speak a little
more quietly and slowly--"

"I will, Mamma," said her daughter, sitting down with great
deliberation, in front of her. "I will explain to you again that 'round
the goal' play."

"I am afraid, my dear, that I could hardly grasp just what you mean."

"Well, never mind, Mamma. It is a particular and special play that
Captain Jack worked out. They rush down to the goal and instead of
trying to shoot, the one with the puck circles round the back and
delivers the puck immediately in front of the goal, where another takes
and slips it in. Two goals in about five minutes, wasn't it, Hugh?"

"About eight minutes, I should say," replied Hugh Maynard, the big
Captain of the Eagles.

"Well, eight minutes," continued Patricia, taking up the tale, "and then
they began the roughhouse business. Jumbo Larson--a terribly big Swede,
Mamma--put it all over little Snoopy. Chucked him about, wiped the ice
with him!"

"My dear!" exclaimed her mother.

"Well, you know what I mean. A great big, two-hundred-pound monster, who
simply threw Snoopy and Georgie Ross all about the rink. It took Captain
Jack all his time to stand up against him. And then they ran in goals
at a perfectly terrific rate. Two--three--four--five! And only Fatty
Findlay's marvelous play kept down the score. I adore Fatty! You know,
Mamma, that dear old Scotchwoman--"

"Scotchwoman?" exclaimed Mrs. Templeton.

"Yes. Oh! you don't know about her. Captain Jack brought her along. Mrs.
Mc-something."

"McNish," supplied Adrien.

"Yes, McNish," continued Patricia, "a perfect dear! She did everything
but swear. Indeed, she may have been swearing for I could not understand
half of what she said."

Adrien interrupted: "She is perfectly priceless, Mother. I wish you
could meet her--so dignified and sweet."

"Sweet!" exclaimed Patricia, with a laugh. "Well, I didn't see the
sweetness, exactly. But at half time, Mamma, fancy! they stood five to
two against us. It was a truly awful moment for all of us. And then,
after half time, didn't those Cornwalls within five minutes run in
another goal, and, worse than all, Jumbo Larson laid out Snoopy flat on
the ice! Now the game stood six to two! Think of it, Mamma!"

Then Adrien put in: "It was at this point that the old lady made a
remark which, I believe, saved the day. What was it exactly, Hugh?"

"I didn't quite get it."

"I know," said little Vic Forsythe, himself a star of the Eagle forward
line. "You poor Sassenach! You couldn't be expected to catch the full,
fine flavour of it. Maitland was trying to cheer the old lady up when
she said to him: 'Yon half backs, A'm thinkin''--she was a soccer fan
in the old land, I believe--'yon half backs, A'm thinkin', are gey
confident. It is a peety they cudna be shaken a bit in their nerves.' By
Jove! Maitland jumped at it. 'Mrs. McNish, you're right! you're right. I
wonder I did not think of it before.'"

Then Adrien broke in: "Yes, from that moment there was a change in our
men's tactics."

Then Patricia broke in: "Well, then, let me go on. Captain Jack knew
quite well there was no use of allowing those little chaps, Snoopy and
Geordie Ross, to keep feeding themselves to those horrid monsters, Jumbo
Larson and Macnab, so what did they do but move up 'Jack' Johnson and
Macnamara. That is, you see, Mamma, the forwards would take down the
puck and then up behind them would come the backs, Macnamara and 'Jack'
Johnson, like a perfect storm, and taking the puck from the forwards,
who would then fall back to defence, would smash right on the Cornwall
defence. The very first time when 'Jack' Johnson came against Jumbo,
Jumbo found himself sitting on the ice. Oh! it was lovely! Perfectly
lovely! And the next time they did it, Jumbo came at him like a bull.
But that adorable 'Jack' Johnson just lifted him clear off his feet and
flung him against the side. It seemed to me that the whole rink shook!"

Here Vic broke in: "You didn't hear what the old lady said at this
point, I suppose. I was sitting next to her. She was really a whole play
by herself. When Jumbo went smashing against the side, the old lady gave
a grunt. 'Hum, that wull sort ye a doot.' Oh! she is a peach!"

"And the next time they came down," cried Patricia, taking up the tale
again, "Jumbo avoided him. For Macnamara, 'Jack' Johnson and Captain
Jack came roaring down the ice at a terrific pace, and with never a
stop, smashed head on into Jumbo and Macnab and fairly hurled them in
on Hepburn--that is their goal keeper, you know--and scored. Oh! Oh! Oh!
Such a yell! Six to three, and ten minutes to play."

"But Patricia," said Mrs. Templeton, "do moderate your tone. We are not
in the rink. And this terrible excitement can't be good for you."

"Good for me?" cried Patricia. "What difference does that make? Ten
minutes to play, Mamma! But that was the end of the roughhouse game by
the Cornwall defence."

Then Hugh stepped in: "It really did break up that defence. It was a
wonderful piece of generalship, I must say. They never seemed to get
together after that."

"Let me talk, Hugh," exclaimed Patricia, "I want to tell Mamma what
happened next, for this was really the most terribly exciting part of
the game. And I think it was awfully clever of Captain Jack. You know,
next time, Mamma, when they came down--I mean our men--they pretended to
be playing the same game, but they weren't. For Captain Jack and Snoopy
went back to their old specialty, and before the Cornwalls knew where
they were at, they ran in three goals--one-two-three, just like that!
Oh! you ought to have seen that rink, Mamma, and you ought to have heard
the yelling! I wish you had been there! And then, just at that last goal
didn't that horrid Jumbo make a terrible and cruel swing at Snoopy's
ankle, just as he passed. Knocked him clean off his feet so that poor
Snoopy lay on the ice quite still! He was really nearly killed. They had
to carry him off!"

"Well, I wouldn't say that exactly," said Hugh. "The fact of the matter
is, Snoopy is a clever little beggar and I happened to catch his wink as
Maitland was bending over him. I was helping him off the ice, you know,
and I heard him whisper, 'Don't worry, Captain, I'm all right. Get me
another pair of skates. It will take a little time.'"

"Do you mean he wasn't hurt?" exclaimed Patricia indignantly. "Indeed he
was; he was almost killed, I am sure he was."

"Oh, he was hurt right enough," said Hugh, "but he wasn't killed by any
means!"

"And then," continued Patricia, "there was the most terrible riot and
uproar. Everybody seemed to be on the ice and fighting. Hugh ran in,
and Vic--I should loved to have gone myself--Hugh was perfectly
splendid--and all the Eagles were there and--"

Then Mrs. Templeton said: "What do you mean--a fight, a riot?"

"A real riot, Mother," said Adrien, "the whole crowd demanding Jumbo's
removal from the ice."

"Yes," continued Patricia impatiently, pushing her sister aside, "Hugh
went straight to the umpire and it looked almost as though he was going
to fight, the way he tore in. But he didn't. He just spoke quietly to
the umpire. What did you say, Hugh?"

"Oh," cried Vic, "Hugh was perfectly calm and superior. He knows the
umpire well. Indeed, I think the umpire owes his life to Hugh and his
protecting band of Eagles."

"What did he say," cried Patricia. "I wish I could have heard that."

"Oh," said Vic, "there was an interesting conversation. 'Keep out of
this, Maynard. You ought to know better,' the umpire said, 'keep out.'
'Baker, that man Larson must go off.' 'Rubbish,' said the umpire, 'they
were both roughing it.' 'Look here, Baker, that's rot and you know it.
It was a deliberate and beastly trick. Put him off!' 'He stays on!' said
the umpire, and he stuck to it, I'll give him credit for that. It was
old Maitland that saved the day. He came up smiling. 'I hope you are
taking off the time, umpire,' he said, with that little laugh of his. 'I
am not going to put Larson off,' shouted the umpire to him. 'Who asked
you to?' said Maitland. 'Go on with the game.' That saved the day. They
all started cheering. The ice was cleared and the game went on."

"Oh, that was it. I couldn't understand. They were so savage first, and
then suddenly they all seemed to quiet down. It was Captain Jack. Well,
Mamma, on they came again! But when poor Snoopy came out, all bandaged
round the head and the blood showing through--"

"Quite a clever little beggar," murmured Vic.

"Clever? What do you mean?" cried Patricia.

"Oh, well, good psychology, I mean--that's all. Bloody
bandages--demanding vengeance, Jack's team, you know--Macnamara, for
instance, entreating his captain for the love of heaven to put him
opposite Jumbo--shaking the morale of the enemy and so forth--mighty
good psychology."

"I don't know exactly what you mean," said Patricia, "but the Cornwall
defence was certainly rattled. They pulled their men back and played
defence like perfect demons, with the Mill men on to them like tigers."

"But Patricia, my dear," said her mother, "those are terrible words."

"But, Mamma, not half so terrible as the real thing. Oh, it was
perfectly splendid! And then how did it finish, Hugh? I didn't quite see
how that play came about."

"I didn't see, either," said Hugh.

"Didn't you?" cried Adrien, "I did. Jack and Geordie Ross were going
down the centre at a perfectly terrific speed, big Macnamara backing
them up. Out came Macnab and Jumbo Larson following him. Macnab checked
Geordie, who passed to Jack, who slipped it back to Macnamara. Down
came Jumbo like a perfect thunderbolt and fairly hurled himself upon
Macnamara. I don't know what happened then, but--"

"Oh, I do!" cried Vic. "When old Jumbo came hurtling down upon
Macnamara, this was evidently what Macnamara was waiting for. Indeed,
what he had been praying for all through the game. I saw him gather
himself, crouch low, lurch forward with shoulder well down, a wrestler's
trick--you know Macnamara was the champion wrestler of his division in
France--he caught Jumbo low. Result, a terrific catapult, and the big
Swede lay on his back some twenty feet away. Everybody thought he was
dead."

"Oh, it was perfectly lovely!" exclaimed Patricia, rapturously.

"But, my dear," said her mother, "lovely, and they thought the man was
dead!"

"Oh, but he wasn't dead. He came to. I will say he was very plucky. Then
just as they faced off, time was called. Six to six! Think of it, Mamma,
six to six! And we had been five to two at half time!"

"Six to six?" said Mrs. Templeton. "But I thought you said we won?"

"Oh, listen, Mamma, this is the most wonderful thing of the whole
match," said Adrien, trying to break in on the tornado of words from her
younger sister.

"No, let me, Adrien! I know exactly how it was done. Captain Jack
explained it to me before. It was Captain Jack's specialty. It was what
they call the double-circle. Here is the way it was worked." Patricia
sprang to her feet, arranged two chairs for goal and proceeded to
demonstrate. "You see, Mamma, in the single circle play, Captain Jack
and Snoopy come down--say Snoopy has the puck. Just as they get near the
goal Snoopy fools the back, rushes round the goal and passes to
Jack, who is standing in front ready to slip it in. But of course
the Cornwalls were prepared for the play. But that is where the
double-circle comes in. This time Geordie had the puck, with Captain
Jack immediately at his left and Snoopy further out. Well, Geordie had
the puck, you see. He rushes down and pretends to make the circle of the
goal. But this time he doesn't. He tears like mad around the goal with
the puck, Snoopy tears like mad around the goal from the other side, the
defence all rush over to the left to check them, leaving the right wide
open. Snoopy takes the ball from Geordie, rushes around the goal the
other way, Mamma, do you see?--passes back to Reddy, his partner, who
slips it in! And poor Jumbo was unable to do anything. I believe he was
still dazed from his terrible fall!"

Then Hugh breaks in: "It really was beautifully done."

"It certainly was," said Vic.

"Seven to six, Mamma, think of it! Seven to six, and two minutes of the
first overtime to play. Two minutes! It just seemed that our men could
do as they liked. The last time the whole forward lines came down, with
Macnamara and 'Jack' Johnson roaring and yelling like--like--I don't
know what. And they did the double-circle again! Think of it! And then
time was called. Oh, I am perfectly exhausted with this excitement!"
said Patricia, sinking back into her chair. "I don't believe I could go
down to that rink, not even for another game. It is terribly trying!"

At this moment Rupert Stillwell came in, full of enthusiasm for the
Cornwalls' scientific hockey, and with grudging praise for the local
team, deploring their roughhouse tactics. But he met a sharp and
unexpected check, for Adrien took him in hand, in her quiet, cool,
efficient manner.

"Roughhouse!" she said. "What do you mean exactly by that?"

"Well," said Rupert, somewhat taken aback, "for instance that charge of
Macnamara on Jumbo Larson at the last."

"I saw that quite clearly," said Adrien, "and it appeared to me
quite all right. It was Larson who made the most furious charge upon
Macnamara."

"Of course it was," cried Patricia, indignantly. "Jumbo deserved all he
got. Why, the way he mauled little Snoopy and Geordie Ross in the first
part of the game was perfectly horrid. Don't you think so, Hugh?"

"Oh, well, hockey is not tiddly-winks, you know, Patricia, and--"

"As if I didn't know that!" broke in the girl indignantly.

"And Jumbo and Macnab," continued Hugh, "really had to break up the
dangerous combination there. Of course that was a rotten assault on
Snoopy. It wasn't Jumbo's fault that he didn't break an ankle. As it
was, he gave him a very bad fall."

At this Rupert laughed scornfully. "Rot," he said, "the whole town is
laughing at all that bloody bandage business. It was a bit of stage
play. Very clever, I confess, but no hockey. I happen to know that
Maitland was quite hot about it."

But Hugh and Vic only laughed at him.

"He is a clever little beggar, is Snoopy," said Vic.

"But, meantime," said Mrs. Templeton, "where is Jack! He was going to be
here, was he not?"

"Feasting and dancing, I expect," said Rupert. "There is a big supper
on, given by the Mill management, and a dance afterwards--'hot time in
the old town,' eh?"

"A dance?" gasped Patricia. "A dance! Where?"

"Odd Fellows' Hall," said Rupert. "Want to go? I have tickets. Don't
care for that sort of thing myself. Rather a mixed affair, I guess. Mill
hands and their girls."

"Oh," breathed Patricia, "I should love to go. Couldn't we?"

"But my dear Patricia," said her mother, "a dance, with all those
people? What nonsense. But I wish Jack would drop in. I should so like
to congratulate him on his great victory."

"Oh, do let us go, just for a few minutes, Mamma" entreated Patricia.
"Hugh, have you tickets?"

The men looked at each other.

"Well," confessed Vic, "I was thinking of dropping in myself. After all,
it is our home team and they are good sports. And Maitland handled them
with wonderful skill."

"Yes, I am going," said Hugh. "I am bound to go as Captain of the
Eagles, and that sort of thing, but I would, anyway. Would you care
to come, Adrien, if Mrs. Templeton will allow you? Of course there are
chaperons. Maitland would see to that."

"I should like awfully to go," said Adrien eagerly. "We might, for a few
minutes, Mother? Of course, Patricia should be in bed, really."

Poor Patricia's face fell.

"It is no place for any of you," said the mother, decidedly. "Just think
of that mixed multitude! And you, Patricia, you should be in bed."

"But oh, Mamma, dear," wailed Patricia, "I can rest all day to-morrow."

At this point a new voice broke in to the discussion and Doctor
Templeton appeared. "Well, what's the excitement," he enquired. "Oh, the
match, of course! Well, what was the result?"

"Oh, Daddy, we won, we won!" cried Patricia, springing at him. "The
most glorious match! Big Jumbo Larson, a perfect monster on the Cornwall
defence, was knocked out! Oh, it was a glorious match! And can't I go
down to see the dance? Adrien and Hugh and Vic are going. Only for a few
minutes," she begged, with her arms around her father's neck. "Say yes,
Daddy!"

"Give me time; let me get my breath, Patricia. Now, do begin
somewhere--say, with the score."

They all gave him the score.

"Hurrah!" cried the old doctor. "No one hurt--seriously, I mean?"

"No," said Patricia, "except perhaps Jumbo Larson," she added hopefully.

"The Lord was merciful to this family when he made you a girl,
Patricia," said her father.

"But, Daddy, it was a wonderful game." Quite breathlessly, she went once
more over the outstanding features of the play.