The End Of The Rainbow Part 23

All the cabs in town had been hired and all the buggies loaned, and they lined up along the park road waiting to take the guests up to the church. Lawyer Ed had suggested at first that the Mayor ride down in his automobile, but as all the horses in town had to be out at the same time, the experiment was voted too dangerous and the Mayor drove in a commonplace but safe cab.

Every one was at his proper station waiting when, with a blaze of colour and a burst of music, the _Inverness_ curved around Wanda Island and swept into view. She was a brave sight surely! From every side floated banners and pennons, her deck rail and her flag-staff were covered with green boughs, Old Boys fairly swarmed the decks from stem to stern. And up in the bow, their instruments flas.h.i.+ng in the sunlight, stood the band, playing loudly and gaily, "Home, Sweet Home."

No one ever quite knew who was to blame that things went amiss from that splendid moment. Captain Jimmie said it was the fault of Major Dobie, the leader of the band, and Major Dobie was equally certain it was the captain's fault. The Old Boys themselves were willing to take all the blame, and perhaps they were right, for they danced on the deck, and crowded about the wheel so that Captain Jimmie had no idea whither he was steering. However it was, instead of turning to starboard, as he had been instructed, and running in to the dock where the committee waited, Captain Jimmie swept to larboard around the buoy that marked his turning point, and made straight for his old hitching post at the wharf.

The Mayor and the Committee shouted and waved. Lawyer Ed stood up on the seat of a cab and roared out a command across the water that might have been heard at the Gates, but the band and the cheers of the Old Boys drowned his voice. Captain Jimmie pursued his mistaken course, never once stopping in the stream of Gaelic with which he was entertaining his Highland guests, and even the half of the Committee on board forgot where they were to land, in their joyous excitement.

Then Lawyer Ed fairly pitched Afternoon Tea Willie into a row-boat and sent him spinning across the water to head-off the _Inverness_ and make her turn to the park. But the poor boy had been working like a slave since early morning at the Presbyterian church, and could not row fast enough. He was only half-way across when the whistle sounded to shut off steam. But just as the _Inverness_ stopped with a b.u.mp, some one of the committee came to his senses, and rushed to the captain, pointing out the frantically waving hosts on the dock.

"Cos.h.!.+ Bless my soul!" cried Captain Jimmie in dismay. He gave a wrench to the wheel, shouting orders to the Ancient Mariner to gee her around and go back, but he was too late. Before the gang-plank had been thrown out, or rope hitched, the Old Boys had leaped ash.o.r.e.

Captain Jimmie yelled at them to come back, but they paid no more heed than they would have done twenty-five years earlier and went swarming joyfully up Main Street.

But meanwhile a dozen of the reception committee had come tearing down the railroad track from the park and were shouting upon them to stop.

Then the Mayor, Archie Blair, J. P. Thornton and Lawyer Ed having leaped into a cab, and driven furiously across the town, were now thundering down Main Street. They headed off the truant Old Boys, and drove them back to the wharf to be received decorously and listen to the welcoming address. As they had dashed past the Presbyterian church at a mad gallop, every one became alarmed and the news spread that a dreadful disaster had happened to the _Inverness_. But Afternoon Tea Willie came running up out of breath and wet with perspiration to tell them the real state of affairs. He was scolded soundly by Mrs. Captain Willoughby, and went about pouring out apologies all day after.

So the reception took place at the wharf after all, with every one in imminent danger of going through the rotten planks into the lake. It was a rather informal affair. J. P. Thornton and Archie Blair tried to preserve some dignity, but Lawyer Ed was in a towering rage and cared not for decorum. He shook his fist at the Old Boys and told them they were howling idiots and had lost what little manners they had learned in Algonquin. Then he stood up on the carriage seat, his face red, his eyes blazing, and called Captain Jimmie an old blind mole and an ostrich and everything else in the world foolish and unthinking.

Captain Jimmie shouted back with a right good Highland spirit, from his vantage point on the deck and all the Old Boys cheered joyously, declaring this was the one thing needful to make them feel absolutely at home.

Finally the proper welcome was stammered out by the Mayor, who was even less at home making a speech than running his automobile, and they all got away and the procession started up towards the church.

On every side were shouts of welcome: "h.e.l.lo, Bob!" "Hi, there, Jack, you home too?" "Well, well, if there isn't old Bill! No place like Algonquin, eh Bill?" etc., etc. Harry Armstrong was easily the favourite, and was the recipient of many welcoming shouts.

Roderick stood at the door watching the procession go past to the church. He was amazed to see Lawyer Ed and his brother seated in the same carriage as Alexander Graham. There was a ponderous man with a double chin seated beside him, and going into a spasm of laughter every time Lawyer Ed spoke. Roderick looked at him with keen interest. This was William Graham, the man whose word was law with the firm of Elliot and Kent. He had come all the way from New York for this celebration entirely, he declared in his speech at the banquet, because Ed had wired him to come and he could not resist Ed. They had been great friends in boyhood days, and the big brother cared not a whit that Sandy had a grudge at Ed. If that were so, he declared, then all the more shame to Sandy. So he was seated between the Brians brothers, fairly radiating joy from his big fat person, when the procession pa.s.sed Lawyer Ed's office. His chief waved his hat at Roderick and roared:

"Come awa ben the kirk, ma braw John Hielanman!" and then he turned to the portly gentleman at his side and said:

"That's Angus McRae's boy, Bill. He's my partner now."

"Angus McRae's son? You mean Roderick McRae?" The millionaire turned and stared at the young man keenly. He nodded to his brother.

"Looks like a likely lad all right," he said. "I want to see you about him, Ed, when all the fuss is over."

Roderick had such a pile of work on the desk before him, that he did not get up to the church until the luncheon was over and the last speaker but one on his feet. This was Jock McPherson, and when Roderick slipped into the crowds standing at the ends of the long glittering tables, the little man was explaining very slowly and solemnly that as the afternoon with its long programme was approaching he would not be keeping them. All his oratorical rivals had had their turn at the Old Boys and Mr. McPherson was just a bit nettled at being crowded into the last few minutes. J. P. Thornton and Archie Blair and Lawyer Ed had got themselves put on ahead of him and had taken all the time and said all the complimenting things to be said. Captain Willoughby was the chairman and, though it was agony for him to make a speech, he had tried in his halting way to make amends to Mr.

McPherson. It was a pity that such an able speaker had been left so late, he had explained, but there were so many on the programme that some one had to come last, etc., etc. Jock arose after this very doubtful introduction, and spoke so deliberately that Lawyer Ed and J.

P. exchanged significant glances, there was something coming. "It iss true Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen," he said slowly, "that there have been many fine speeches delivered this afternoon. And now what shall I say?

For I feel that ufferything has already been said." He paused and gave the peculiar sniffing sound that told he had scented a joke from afar and was going to hunt it to earth. "Yes, Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen, there is no doubt that there is vurry little left to be said on any subject whatuffer. I feel vurry much like the meenister who went into the pulpit with his sermon. He had not looked at it since he had put it away the night before, and the mice had got at it and had eaten all the firstly, the secondly and the thirdly, and there was vurry little left--vurry little left, Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen. But the meenister would jist be explaining his dilemma to the people. 'My dearly beloved brethren,' he said, said he, 'I am vurry sorry to inform you that the mice have got at my sermon, and have eaten firstly, secondly and thirdly, but as it cannot be helped, my dearly beloved brethren, we will jist be commencing _where the mice left off_!'"

Even the mice had to join in the laugh on themselves, and when Jock had given the few words of his fourthly which were left, every one, himself included, was in fine humour.

The last speaker was Alexander Graham's wealthy brother. William Graham had been the most successful, from one point of view, of all Algonquin's returning sons. He had got together enough wealth, folk said, to buy out Algonquin twice over. Beside, he had become quite famous in political life in his adopted country, and rumour had it that he might have been President of the United States had he not been born in Canada. William himself denied this, but he could not deny the honours his adopted country had showered upon him. His name was a power in Was.h.i.+ngton circles, and he had more than once, gone abroad on international matters of grave import.

Nevertheless, Algonquin received him with some embarra.s.sment mingled with her joy and pride. Bill Graham, the Algonquin boy, was a welcome sight to every one, for he had always been popular. But, W. H. Graham, the great American, was quite another matter, and many of his warmest friends had an uncomfortable feeling that they were committing an act of disloyalty to Britain in thus making him publicly welcome. It was all right to make money out of the Yankees, and Bill was commended for his millions, but to join the enemy and help it work out its problems was a dangerous precedent to set before the youth of the town.

He made a very wise speech, saying very little about the States, and a great deal about his joy at getting home again, but when he sat down, the applause was not quite as enthusiastic as had been given the other home-comers and Lawyer Ed's warm heart was grieved. As they stood up to sing the National Anthem before dispersing, like true sons of Algonquin, J. P. whispered:

"Too bad about old Bill, can't we do something better for him?"

Lawyer Ed was just swinging the crowd into the thunder of "G.o.d Save our gracious King," but he heard, and a sudden inspiration thrilled him.

He nodded rea.s.suringly to J. P. and waved his arms to beat time, for Major Dobie and the band were getting far behind.

Just as the last words of the national anthem were uttered, with a flourish of his hand to the band to continue, and another towards Bill to show that the graceful tribute was intended for him, Lawyer Ed burst forth into "My country 'tis of thee--." The band caught up the strain again, another wave of the leader's hand, and the Old Boys joined and every one burst generously into the second line "Sweet land of liberty," with smiling eyes turned towards the American millionaire.

Graham smiled radiantly back. Down in his heart he cared not a Canadian copper cent for the American national anthem, but he did care a great deal for the love of his old friends, and he was touched and pleased.

But alas for the generous tribute to the American. No one knew a word of the song beyond the second line. Lawyer Ed started off with a splendid shout, "Land where the--" but got no further. The band and the drum thundered gallantly over the lapse, but the singing dwindled away. The leader cast one agonised glance towards the American but Bill sent back a hopeless negative, and cleared his throat and twitched his New York tie. The Old Boys began to grin, and Lawyer Ed began to grow hot at the fear of making a fiasco of what he had intended for a grand finale. But he kept doggedly on, for Lawyer Ed never in his life gave up anything he started out to do, and even if he had had no tune as well as no words he would have sung that song through to the bitter end. So far above the band and the drum his voice rang out splendidly, defying fate:

"_Land where the lee la lay, Land where the doo da day--_"

Then, hearing the laughter rising like a tide about him, he flung the American tribute to the winds, and roared out strong and distinct, the whole congress of Old Boys following in a burst of relief,

"_Long to reign over us, G.o.d save our King._"

The banquet broke up in a storm of laughter, the American millionaire's loudest of all.

"Oh, Ed," he cried, wiping his eyes, "stick to the old version. You're more loyal than you knew!"

Roderick was leaving the room with the crowd, when Leslie Graham, in a bewitching white cap and tiny ap.r.o.n, caught his arm.

"Don't run away!" she cried, "I was told to fetch you to Uncle Will, he wants to meet you. If he's going to make a Yankee out of you, see that you resist him strenuously."

"One American in your family is enough, isn't it, Les?" said Anna Baldwin, her big black eyes staring very innocently at Roderick.

Roderick blushed like a girl, but Leslie Graham laughed delightedly.

"Isn't Anna shocking?" she asked, glancing coyly at Roderick, as they moved back through the crowd. But he did not hear her, and she was surprised at a sudden light that sprang to his eyes. She looked in their direction, and saw Helen Murray in a blue gown and a white cap and ap.r.o.n. She was standing in the doorway leading to the kitchen.

Madame was talking to her and the girl's usually grave face was animated and lighted with a lovely smile. Leslie Graham looked at her then back swiftly to Roderick. There was a look in his eyes she had never seen there before. The old suspicion roused the night she had seen him help Miss Murray out of his canoe returned. Her gay chatter suddenly ceased. She presented Roderick to her uncle and quickly turned away and was lost in the crowd.

Roderick scarcely noticed that she had gone, he was wondering if the summer holidays were to be spent in Algonquin after all, and then he noticed that the man he had been anxious to meet was shaking his hand.

"I'm glad to see Angus McRae's son!" the big man was saying. "Yes, yes, I'd know you by your father. And how is he? I must see him before I leave. Sandy's been telling me about your work here. And Ed too. Do you intend to settle in Algonquin?"

"I hope not, sir, not permanently at least."

"That's right. Algonquin's a fine place to have in the background of one's life, but it's rather small for any expansion. Did you know I've had an eye on you since you were up north last winter?"

"On me?" cried Roderick amazed.

"Yes, just on you." The portly figure shook with a good humoured amus.e.m.e.nt at the young man's modest amazement. "I heard about you from my brother and then from Kent. Let me see, I suppose there will be high doings all day to-day. What about to-morrow? Could I see you for a little talk to-morrow morning?"

Roderick set the hour for the appointment, silently wondering. His heart was throbbing with expectation, vague, wonderful. Some great event was surely pending. He went home that night, full of high expectations. When he made a great success of his life and came back to Algonquin, rich and with a name, he would go to her and show her he had been right, and she had been wrong.

CHAPTER XII

"THE MELODY DEADEN'D"