Part 38 (1/2)
”What on earth could cause war?”
”I can't see, Jim. Of course Austria's att.i.tude toward Servia is very sullen. But outside of that I can see no trouble threatening.
”And yet, the Gayfield woollen mill has just received an enormous order for socks and underwear from the French Government. They're running all night now. And another thing struck me: there has been a man in this section buying horses for the British Government. Of course it's done now and then, but, taking this incident with the others which have come to my personal knowledge, it would seem as though something were brewing over in Europe.”
Jim's perplexed eyes rested on his father; he shook his youthful head slightly:
”I can't see why,” he said. ”But if it's to be France and Germany again, why my sympathy is entirely for France.”
”Naturally,” nodded his father.
Their Irish ancestors had fought for Bonaparte, and for the Bourbons before him. And, cursed with cousins, like all Irish, they were aware of plenty of Neelands in France who spoke no English.
Jim rose, glanced at his watch:
”Dad, I'll just be running over to Brookhollow to get that box. I haven't such a lot of time, if I'm to catch the midnight train at Orangeville.”
”I should say you hadn't,” said his father.
He was disappointed, but he smiled as he exchanged a handclasp with his only son.
”You're coming right back from Paris?”
”Next steamer. I've a lot of work on hand, thank goodness! But that only puts me under heavier obligations to the Princess Mistchenka.”
”Yes, I suppose so. Anything but ingrat.i.tude, Jim. It's the vilest vice of 'em all. They say it's in the Irish blood--ingrat.i.tude. They must never prove it by a Neeland. Well, my boy--I'm not lonesome, you understand; busy men have no time to be lonesome--but run up, will you, when you get back?”
”You bet I will.”
”I'll show you a brace of promising pups. They stand rabbits, still, but they won't when the season is over.”
”Blue Bird's pups?”
”Yes. They take after her.”
”Fine! I'll be back for the shooting, anyway. Many broods this season?”
”A fair number. It was not too wet.”
For a moment they lingered, smiling at each other, then Jim gave his father's hand a quick shake, picked up his suitcase, turned.
”I'll take the runabout, dad. Someone from the Orangeville garage will bring it over in the morning.”
He went out, pushed his way among the leaping dogs to the garage, threw open the doors, and turned on the electric light.
A slim and trim Snapper runabout stood glistening beside a larger car and two automobile trucks. He exchanged his straw hat for a cap; placed hat and suitcase in the boot; picked up a flash light from the work-table, and put it into his pocket, cranked the Snapper, jumped in, ran it to the service entrance, where his father stood ready to check the dogs and close the gates after him.
”Good-bye, dad!” he called out gaily.