Part 12 (2/2)

”I--I--have something I must--must do to-day.” He was thinking he would go out to the Ballards' in spite of the rain.

The dinner hour pa.s.sed without constraint. In these days Peter Junior would not allow the long silences to occur that used often to cast a gloom over the meals in his boyhood. He knew that in this way his mother would sadly miss him. It was the Elder's way to keep his thoughts for the most part to himself, and especially when there was an issue of importance before him. It was supposed that his wife could not take an interest in matters of business, or in things of interest to men, so silence was the rule when they were alone.

This time Peter Junior mentioned the topic of the wonderful new railroad that was being pushed across the plains and through the unexplored desert to the Pacific.

”The mere thought of it is inspiring,” said Hester.

”How so?” queried the Elder, with a lift of his brows. He deprecated any thought connecting sentiment with achievement. Sentiment was of the heart and only hindered achievement, which was purely of the brain.

”It's just the wonder of it. Think of the two great oceans being brought so near together! Only two weeks apart! Don't they estimate that the time to cross will be only two weeks?”

”Yes, mother, and we have those splendid old pioneers who made the first trail across the desert to thank for its being possible. It isn't the capitalists who have done this. It's the ones who had faith in themselves and dared the dangers and the hards.h.i.+ps. They are the ones I honor.”

”They never went for love of humanity. It was mere love of wandering and migratory instinct,” said his father, grimly.

Peter Junior laughed merrily. ”What did old grandfather Craigmile pull up and come over to this country for? They had to cross in sailing vessels then and take weeks for the journey.”

”Progress, my son, progress. Your grandfather had the idea of establis.h.i.+ng his family in honorable business over here, and he did it.”

”Well, I say these people who have been crossing the plains and crawling over the desert behind ox teams in 'prairie schooners' for the last twenty or thirty years, braving all the dangers of the unknown, have really paved the way for progress and civilization. The railroad is being laid along the trail they made. Do you know Richard's out there at the end of the line--nearly?”

”He would be likely to be. Roving boy! What's he doing there?”

”Poor boy! He almost died in that terrible southern prison. He was the mere shadow of himself when he came home,” said Hester.

”The young men of the present day have little use for beaten paths and safe ways. I offered him a position in the bank, but no--he must go to Scotland first to make the acquaintance of our aunts. If he had been satisfied with that! But no, again, he must go to Ireland on a fool's errand to learn something of his father.” The Elder paused and bit his lip, and a vein stood out on his forehead. ”He's never seen fit to write me of late.”

”Of course such a big scheme as this road across the plains would appeal to a man like Richard. He's doing very well, father. I wouldn't be disturbed about him.”

”Humph! I might as well be disturbed about the course of the Wisconsin River. I might as well worry over the rush of a cataract. The lad has no stability.”

”He never fails to write to me, and I must say that he was considered the most dependable man in the regiment.”

”What is he doing? I should like to see the boy again.” Hester looked across at her son with a warm, loving light in her eyes.

”I don't know exactly, but it's something worth while, and calls for lots of energy. He says they are striking out into the dust and alkali now--right into the desert.”

”And doesn't he say a word about when he is coming back?”

”Not a word, mother. He really has no home, you know. He says Scotland has no opening for him, and he has no one to depend on but himself.”

”He has relatives who are fairly well to do in Ireland.”

The Elder frowned. ”So I've heard, and my aunts in Scotland talked of making him their heir, when I was last there.”

”He knows that, father, but he says he's not one to stand round waiting for two old women to die. He says they're fine, decorous old ladies, too, who made a lot of him. I warrant they'd hold up their hands in horror if they knew what a rough life he's leading now.”

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