Part 21 (1/2)
”Who is he?”
”He's some primitive Western fellow like yourself! I don't know his name-- never met him, in fact. But while we Chicago fellows were cantering along in a bunch, watching each other, he got the rail.”
”From the way her father spoke and acted I judged he had somebody in sight.” Boyd's eyes were keenly alight, and Clyde continued.
”We've just _got_ to keep her in Chicago, and you're the one to do it. I tell you, old man, she has missed you. Yes, sir, she has missed you a blamed sight more than the rest of us have. Oh, you don't know how lucky you are.”
”I lucky! H'm! You fellows are rich--”
”Bah! _I'm_ not. I've gone through most of what I had. All that is left are the rents; they keep me going, after a fas.h.i.+on. Now that it is too late, I'm beginning to wake up; I'm getting tired of loafing. I'd like to get out and do something, but I can't; I'm too well known in Chicago, and besides, as a business man I'm certainly a nickel-plated rotter.”
”I'll give you a chance to recoup,” said Boyd. ”I am here to raise some money on a good proposition.”
The younger man leaned forward eagerly. ”If you say it's good, that's all I want to know. I'll take a chance. I'm in for anything from pitch-and- toss to manslaughter.”
”I'll tell you what it is, and you can use your own judgment.”
”I haven't a particle,” Clyde confessed. ”If I had, I wouldn't need to invest. Go ahead, however; I'm all ears.” He pulled his chair closer and listened intently while the other outlined the plan, his weak gray eyes reflecting the old hero-wors.h.i.+p of his college days. To him, Boyd Emerson had ever represented the ultimate type of all that was most desirable, and time had not lessened his admiration.
”It looks as if there might be a jolly rumpus, doesn't it?” he questioned, when the speaker had finished.
”It does.”
”Then I've got to see it. I'll put in my share if you'll let me go along.”
”You go! Why, you wouldn't like that sort of thing,” said Emerson, considerably nonplussed.
”Oh, wouldn't I? I'd _eat_ it! It's just what I need. I'd revel in that out-door life.” He threw back his narrow shoulders. ”I'm a regular scout when it comes to roughing it. Why, I camped in the Thousand Islands all one summer, and I've been deer-hunting in the Adirondacks. We didn't get any--they were too far from the hotel; but I know all about mountain life.”
”This is totally different,” Boyd objected; but Clyde ran on, his enthusiasm growing as he tinted the mental picture to suit himself.
”I'm a splendid fisherman, too, and I've plenty of tackle.”
”We shall use nets.”
”Don't do it! It isn't sportsmanlike. I'll take a book of flies and whip that stream to a froth.” Emerson interrupted him to explain briefly the process of salmon-catching, but the young man was not to be discouraged.
”You give me something to do--something where I don't have to lift heavy weights or carry boxes--and watch me work! I tell you, it's what I've been looking for, and I didn't know it; I'll get as husky as you are and all sunburnt. Tell me the sort of furs and the kind of pistols to buy, and I'll put ten thousand dollars in the scheme. That's all I can spare.”
”You won't need either furs or firearms,” laughed Boyd. ”When we get back to Kalvik the days will be long and hot, and the whole country will be a blaze of wild flowers.”
”That's fine! I love flowers. If I can't catch fish for the cannery, I'll make up for it in some other way.”
”Can you keep books?”
”No; but I can play a mandolin,” Clyde offered, optimistically. ”I guess a little music would sound pretty good up there in the wilderness.”
”Can you play a mandolin?” inquired ”Fingerless” Fraser, observing the young fellow with grave curiosity.
”Sure; I'm out of practice, but--”