Part 23 (1/2)
The prairie was bright with suns.h.i.+ne, and the boisterous west wind was cut off by a bluff where Harding sat amid a litter of dismantled machinery. Behind him the newly opened birch leaves showed specks of glowing green, and a jack-rabbit, which had put off its winter coat and was now dappled white and gray, fed quietly, with a watchful eye turned toward the unconscious man; in front, the vast sweep of gra.s.s that flashed with a silvery gleam as it bowed to the wind was broken by the warm chocolate hue of a broad strip of plowing. The rows of clods, with their polished faces, stretched across the foreground; and on their outer edge Devine, dressed in overalls the color of the soil, drove a team of big, red oxen.
Harding, however, was absorbed in the study of several bra.s.s rings and coils of packing that had formed the gland of a pump. Near by stood a giant plow with a row of shares, looking out of place among the earth and gra.s.s with its glaring paint, its ugly boiler, and its sooty stack, though the work that it had done was obvious. Something had gone wrong, and Harding was trying to locate the trouble. The delay was embarra.s.sing, for he had a wide stretch of land to break, and the loss of even an hour was serious. There was not a trained mechanic in the neighborhood; and if the plow were likely to give him trouble, the sooner he learned to master it the better. Every part of the machine seemed to be perfect; yet the steam had gone down on the previous evening, and he must find out the reason. It was exasperating work.
While Harding was struggling with the pump, Beatrice came along the trail through the bluff. Her companion, Banff, one of Lance's many dogs, had trailed off through the bushes, his nose to the ground, and she was, for the moment, alone. When she caught sight of Harding she stopped irresolutely. She felt that it might be wiser to pa.s.s on without disturbing him; yet something compelled her to wait.
She stood watching him. He attracted her--that much she admitted; but she persuaded herself that it was only because he was interesting to talk to and, unlike the other men she knew, he said things that made one think.
Harding was so deep in his machinery problem that he did not see her. He was once more fitting the different parts together, when Banff came bounding out of the bushes with a glad bark and the little gray rabbit scuttled off through the briars.
Harding turned quickly; and Beatrice saw his eyes light up.
”I'm glad you've come,” he said, emptying a box of tools and turning it upside down. ”That isn't a bad seat--and the sun's pleasant here.”
Beatrice noticed that he took it for granted that she would remain; but, after all, he had some reason for this, for they seldom pa.s.sed without stopping to speak when they met.
”Has the machine gone wrong?” she asked, sitting down where the sunlight fell upon her.
”Yes, pretty badly. I can't find out what's the matter. I suppose you think it's a just punishment for bringing such things to Allenwood?”
She laughed.
”Well, you gave our friends some offense when you brought your plow over and broke Kenwyne's land.”
”I expected that. There'll no doubt be more remarks when I break the piece of stiff gumbo on Lance's holding.”
Beatrice looked up sharply.
”You mean to do that? You must know it will cause trouble,” she said with a frown.
”I'm sorry to displease you; but this is something that must be done.”
”Why must it? Do you wish Lance to offend his father?”
”No; but Colonel Mowbray has no cause for complaint. He gave the land to Lance on the understanding that he worked it; there's no reason why he should object to his using the best implements. Then, Lance is your brother and I don't want to see him ruined.”
Beatrice blushed under his frank gaze; and because she was annoyed at doing so, she flung out a taunt:
”Do you think the only way of escaping ruin is to copy you?”
Harding laughed. He loved her in that mood. She looked so alluring with a little frown between her brows and just the suspicion of a pout on her lips.
”You see,” he explained, in a voice that he might have used to an offended child, ”your Allenwood friends will have to make a change soon, or they'll suffer. And their att.i.tude is not logical. Your father doesn't ask them to cultivate with the spade; they've dropped the ox-teams and bought Clydesdales; they've given up the single furrow and use the gang-plow. Why not go on to steam? After all, you're not standing still: you're moving forward a little behind the times. Why not keep abreast of them, or push on ahead?”
”It sounds plausible,” she admitted. ”In a way, perhaps, you're right; but----”
”I know. There's much that's fine and graceful in the customs of the past. But you can't preserve them without some adaptation. We're a new nation working in the melting pot. All the sc.u.m and dross comes to the top and makes an ugly mess, but the frothing up clarifies the rest. By and by the product will be run out, hard, true metal.”
”You're an optimist.”
Harding laughed.