Part 40 (1/2)

”Sir,” he said simply, ”although we have differed about trifles and may do so again, we don't want a better one--and if we did we couldn't find him.”

A chord from the piano rang through the approving murmurs, and the company rose to their feet before the lad had beaten out the first bar of the jingling rhythm. Then the voices took it up, and the great hall shook to the rafters with the last ”n.o.body can deny.”

Trite as it was, Barrington saw the darker flush in the bronzed faces, and there was a shade of warmer color in his own as he went on again.

”The things one feels the most are those one can least express, and I will not try to tell you how I value your confidence,” he said.

”Still, the fact remains that sooner or later I must let the reins fall into younger hands, and there is a man here who will, I fancy, lead you farther than you would ever go with me. Times change, and he can teach you how those who would do the most for the Dominion need live to-day.

He is also, and I am glad of it, one of us, for traditions do not wholly lose their force and we know that blood will tell. That this year has not ended in disaster irretrievable is due to our latest comrade, Lance Courthorne.”

This time there were no musical honors or need of them, for a shout went up that called forth an answering rattle from the cedar paneling.

It was flung back from table to table up and down the great room, and when the men sat down, flushed and breathless, their eyes still s.h.i.+ning, the one they admitted had saved Silverdale rose up quietly at the foot of the table. The hand he laid on the snowy cloth shook a little, and the bronze that generally suffused it was less noticeable in his face. All who saw it felt that something unusual was coming, and Maud Barrington leaned forward a trifle, with a curious throbbing of her heart.

”Comrades! It is, I think, the last time you will hear the term from me,” he said. ”I am glad that we have made and won a good fight at Silverdale, because it may soften your most warranted resentment when you think of me.”

Every eye was turned upon him, and an expression of bewilderment crept into the faces, while a lad who sat next to him touched his arm rea.s.suringly.

”You'll feel your feet in a moment, but that's a curious fas.h.i.+on of putting it,” he said.

Winston turned to Barrington, and stood silent a moment. He saw Maud Barrington's face showing strained and intent, but less bewildered than the others, and that of her aunt, which seemed curiously impa.s.sive, and a little thrill ran through him. It pa.s.sed, and once more he only saw the leader of Silverdale.

”Sir,” he said, ”I did you a wrong when I came here, and with your convictions you would never tolerate me as your successor.”

There was a rustle of fabric as some of the women moved, and a murmur of uncontrollable astonishment, while those who noticed it, remembered Barrington's gasp. It expressed absolute bewilderment, but in another moment he smiled.

”Sit down, Lance,” he said. ”You need make no speeches. We expect better things from you.”

Winston stood very still. ”It was the simple truth I told you, sir,”

he said. ”Don't make it too hard for me.”

Just then there was a disturbance at the rear of the room, and a man, who shook off the grasp of one that followed him, came in. He moved forward with uneven steps, and then, resting his hand on a chair back, faced about and looked at Winston. The dust was thick upon his clothes, but it was his face that seized and held attention. It was horribly pallid, save for the flush that showed in either cheek, and his half-closed eyes were dazed.

”I heard them cheering,” he said. ”Couldn't find you at your homestead. You should have sent the five hundred dollars. They would have saved you this.”

The defective utterance would alone have attracted attention, and, with the man's att.i.tude, was very significant, but it was equally evident to most of those who watched him that he was also struggling with some infirmity. Western hospitality has, however, no limit, and one of the younger men drew out a chair.

”Hadn't you better sit down, and if you want anything to eat we'll get it you,” he said. ”Then you can tell us what your errand is.”

The man made a gesture of negation, and pointed to Winston.

”I came to find a friend of mine. They told me at his homestead that he was here,” he said.

There was an impressive silence, until Colonel Barrington glanced at Winston, who still stood quietly impa.s.sive at the foot of the table.

”You know our visitor?” he said. ”The Grange is large enough to give a stranger shelter.”

The man laughed. ”Of course he does; it's my place he's living in.”

Barrington turned again to Winston, and his face seemed to have grown a trifle stern.