Part 36 (2/2)
Beatrice was silent for a few moments. The man loved her, and although she would not admit that she loved him, it was satisfactory to feel that he really belonged to her own rank. This explained several traits of his that had puzzled her. It was, however, unfortunate that he held such decided views, and she felt impelled to combat them.
”But you need ask nothing from the people except that they should acknowledge you,” she urged. ”Think of the difference this would make to you and Hester. It would give you standing and position.”
”Hester is going to marry a man who loves her for herself, and the only position I value I have made. What would I gain by raking up a painful story? The only relatives I'm proud to claim are my mother's in Michigan, and they're plain, rugged folks.”
There was something in his att.i.tude that appealed to Beatrice. He had no false ambitions; he was content to be judged on his own merits--a severe test. For all that, she set some value upon good birth, and it was distasteful to see that he denied the advantages of his descent. Then she grew embarra.s.sed as she recognized that what really troubled her was his indifference to the opinion of her relatives. He must know that he had a means of disarming her father's keenest prejudice, but he would not use it.
”I understand that Hester knows nothing about these portraits,” she said.
”No; I've never mentioned them. It could do no good.”
”Then why have you told me?”
”Well,” he answered gravely, ”I thought you ought to know.”
”I have no claim upon the secrets you keep from your sister.”
Harding was silent, and Beatrice felt annoyed. After all, she understood why he had told her and she recognized that he had acted honestly in doing so. Still, if he really loved her, she felt, he should not let pride stand in the way of removing every obstacle to get her.
Hester came in and announced that the horses were ready; and soon afterward she and Beatrice were riding together across the prairie while Harding went doggedly back to his work.
CHAPTER XXI
THE DAY OF RECKONING
As the spring advanced, business men in Winnipeg and the new western towns began to feel an increasing financial pressure. Money was tight, and the price of wheat, upon which the prosperity of the country depended, steadily fell. It was the beginning of a sharp set-back, a characteristic feature of the sanguine West, during which all overdrafts on the natural resources of the prairie must be met. The resources are large, but their development is slow, depending, as it does, upon the patient labor of the men who drive the plow, while those who live upon the farmer are eager to get rich.
The tide of industrial progress is often irregular. There are pauses of varying length, and sometimes recoils, when reckless traders find their ventures stranded and in danger of being wrecked before the next impulse of the flood can float them on. They borrow and buy too freely; trafficking produce not yet grown; building stores and offices in excess of the country's needs. A time comes when this is apparent, speculation ceases, credit fails, and the new cities must wait until expanding agriculture overtakes them. In the meanwhile, the fulfilment of obligations is demanded and, as often happens, cannot be made.
Davies suffered among the rest. He had foreseen a set-back, but it proved more severe than he expected. He had bought land he could not sell, had cooperated in erecting buildings which stood empty, and had made loans to men unable to repay them.
One morning he sat in his office, gloomily reading a newspaper which made a bold attempt to deal optimistically with the depressing situation. Among other news there was a report of a meeting of the shareholders in a mining company; and this Davies studied with interest.
It was what is termed an extraordinary meeting, called to consider the course to be adopted in consequence of the engineer's failing to reach the ore after sinking a costly shaft; and Davies, glancing at another column, noted that the shares had sharply fallen. Gerald Mowbray had speculated in this stock, and Davies was then expecting a call from him.
Instead of Mowbray, Carlyon came in. The boy looked anxious, but he was calm.
”I suppose you know what I've come about,” he began.
”Yes; you're behind with your interest.”
Carlyon's ease of manner was perhaps overdone, but he hid his feelings pluckily.
”Then, as I can't pay, what are you going to do? I must know now; when you're farming, you have to look ahead.”
”I'm going to sell you up when the mortgage falls in. You have some time yet.”
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