The End Of The Rainbow Part 10

CHAPTER VI

LAUNCHING HIS VESSEL

Roderick had been but two days in the office of Edward Brians, barrister, and already he had learned a great deal. Two important facts, not directly connected with the legal profession, had been impressing themselves upon him. The first was that if he were going to reach the goal of success that shone so alluringly ahead of him, he must give every effort and every minute of time to his work; and the second was that he was going to have a hard time concentrating upon it in the various interests of the little town that seemed to demand his attention.

And there was his chief setting him a bad example. The young man had spent part of his first morning wandering through the ma.s.s of doc.u.ments and sc.r.a.ps of paper which Lawyer Ed called his book-keeping. Between items of a professional nature were memoranda or reports of session meetings, Highland Club meetings, political meetings, country tea-meetings, everything and anything except law. What there was of the latter was connected only with such clients as were of ample means.

All the poor folk for miles around came to Lawyer Ed with their troubles and were advised, scolded, pulled or paid out of them, and never so much as a stroke of a pen to record the good deed. If they paid him, well and good; if they did not, so much the better. And the price of a ticket to the Holy Land and back--that trip which had not yet materialised--might have been many times written down, had Lawyer Ed known anything about book-keeping. But Lawyer Ed's policy in all his career, had been something the same as that of his friend Doctor Blair across the way--to keep his people of his practice well, rather than to cure them when they were ill. So if he could manage it none of his clients ever went into a law-court. It was good for the clients, but bad for such things as trips abroad. Roderick did not see that side of his chief's book-keeping. He did not know that the man could put through more work in an hour than most men could in a day, and saw only the meetings recorded which took so much of his time. And he said to himself that that was not the way to become great. Some day he intended to be one of the leading advocates of Canada. He was not conceited. His was only the boundless hopefulness of youth coupled with the a.s.surance which experience had already given him, that whenever he set his mind to anything, he accomplished it, no matter how many difficulties stood in the way. So he was determined to concentrate all his efforts on his work, and as for serving humanity, he could do it best, he a.s.sured himself, by being a success in his profession.

He was just entering upon his second day when his advice was sought from an unexpected source and in connection with an entirely new subject. Lawyer Ed had gone out and Roderick was seated at his desk when some one entered the hall and tapped hesitatingly on the inner door. Roderick called an invitation to come in, and Mr. Alfred Wilbur, in perfect white ducks and white canvas shoes, stepped inside.

"So you've come to be Mr. Brians' partner, haven't you, Mr. McRae?" he enquired. Mr. Wilbur was a well-mannered young man and had never adopted the easy familiar way of naming people which was current in the town.

"Say rather his office-boy, for a while," said Roderick.

Mr. Wilbur protested. "Oh, now, Mr. McRae, you're just quite too modest. Every one's saying how well you did at college and school; and that you're going to make your mark--you know you are."

Roderick wondered why the young man should take such pains to be polite to him.

"Did you want to see Lawyer Ed?" he asked.

"No, no, thank you," he cried in alarm. "He's not in, is he? No, I just wanted to see you, Mr. McRae--not professionally you understand but--that is--personally,--on a very sacred matter."

His voice dropped to a whisper, he crossed his feet in front of him, then drew them under his chair, twirled his hat, smoothed down the back of his head vigorously, and looked in dismay at the floor.

"I hope I can do something for you," said Rod encouragingly, feeling sorry for his evident distress.

"Thank you so much!" cried the young man gratefully. "It's about--that is--I think, an old acquaintance of yours--Miss Murray, the new teacher in the East Ward. She _is_ an old acquaintance, isn't she?"

It was Roderick's turn to feel hot and look embarra.s.sed. He answered his first client very shortly.

"No, she isn't."

"Oh! I thought--you went and spoke to her on the boat!"

"So I did."

"But you met her before surely?" asked the young man, aghast at the notion of Roderick's boldness.

"Yes."

"In Toronto?"

"Yes."

"Long ago?"

"Last autumn."

"Is her home there?"

"I believe so. It was then."

"Oh, you don't know her very well then?"

"No, I don't. And I don't know why on earth I've got to be put through a catechism about it."

"Oh, say! You really must think I'm awful!" cried the poor young man contritely. "I do beg your pardon, Mr. McRae. It really must have sounded shocking to you. But, well--I--did you ever meet a young--any one whom you knew--at first sight--was the one person in all the world for you?" His voice sank. The day was cool and breezy, but poor Afternoon Tea Willie's face was damp and hot and he wiped it carefully with his fine hem-st.i.tched handkerchief, murmuring apologies.

"No, I never did," said Roderick quite violently, for no reason at all.

"I beg your pardon, I'm sure," murmured his visitor, vaguely alarmed.

"You can't understand my feelings then. But that's really what I felt when I saw her. It was a revelation, one of those swift certain intuitions of the soul, and I--you don't mind my telling you this, do you, Mr. McRae?"

"Oh, no, not if you don't mind," said Roderick.

"It's so good of you," said poor Afternoon Tea Willie. "You were the only one I could come to, the only one who seemed to know her. She boards at Miss Armstrong's, but Miss Annabel--you know Miss Annabel?

No? Well, I wouldn't for worlds say anything against a lady, but Miss Annabel doesn't seem to like me. I don't blame her, you know, but I don't like to go there. It--I seem to bother her dreadfully, so I thought--I knew you wouldn't mind introducing me some time, would you?"

"I really don't know Miss Murray well enough to do that," said Roderick decidedly. "And I wish you wouldn't say anything about our having met before. I don't think she remembers me very well. Ask Mr. Brians to introduce you."

"I did, but he refused."

"Perhaps he was only in fun, try him again--or Mrs. Adam. She teaches with her."

"Oh my! the very person." Mr. Wilbur sprang up. "Oh, I can't think why I never thought of her before. I'll call on Madame this afternoon.

I can't thank you enough, Mr. McRae, for the kind suggestion." The young man hurried out, profusely expressing his grat.i.tude. Afternoon Tea Willie had absolutely nothing in the world to do, but he was always in a hurry. Perhaps the reason was that the ladies of the town ordered him about so. He was the most obliging young man, and being always available, he was used to the utmost, and was driven like a galley slave from dawn to dark. As he went down the steps he turned back and looked up at Roderick rapturously.

"Say!" he whispered. "Did you ever see such eyes? Don't they make you feel just as if you were going down in an elevator?"

But Roderick turned quickly away, with an unreasonable and very unbusinesslike desire to kick his first client down the steps. He had almost closed the door behind him when a loud clear voice from the street called his name. It was just four o'clock, the hour when all the young ladies of Algonquin, dressed in their best, walked down to the post-office for the afternoon mail which came in a half-hour earlier. This afternoon post-office parade was a social function, for only people of leisure and distinction were at liberty at that hour.

The young gentlemen from the bank generally emerged about that time too, and came striding down to the post-office looking worried and flurried as became gentlemen with the finances of the whole town and half the country weighing them down. After they had all met at the post-office, they went up to the ice-cream and candy palace on Main Street, or out on the lake, or strolled off into the park.

It was a member of the post-office parade who was hailing Roderick so gaily. A pretty group was rustling past the office, all muslin frills and silk sashes and flowers of every colour, and the prettiest and best dressed of them all came running up the steps to his side, with a swish of silken skirts and a whiff of violet perfume.

It was Miss Leslie Graham, the girl he had helped out of the lake, not forlorn and bedraggled now, but immaculate and dainty, from the rose wreath on her big hat to the tip of her white kid shoe.

"h.e.l.lo!" she cried gaily. "I thought you'd surely 'phone over to see whether I needed to make my will or not. You're not much of a lawyer."

Roderick laughed. She was so frank and boyish that she put him quite at his ease.

"Well,--not knowing I was the family advocate, I didn't like to," he said slyly.

She laughed delightedly. "You're going to be after this, I can tell you. Daddy's out of town and he doesn't know yet!"

"There's no need to worry him by telling."