The Land of Strong Men Part 60

"'Much money' is rather a relative term. But I have enough to live on, and it is mine."

"Then what on earth made you work as a ranch hand?"

"Jean did. She had a strong prejudice against remittance men, and she cla.s.sed me as one of them. I was an idler, and she rather despised me.

Of course she didn't tell me so, but I could see how the land lay. So I made up my mind to remove that objection, anyway. The best place to do it seemed to be where she could see me working, and I really wanted to know something about ranching. Struck me as a good joke, being paid for what I was perfectly willing to pay for myself. Then I thought I might as well live up to the part and really throw myself on my own resources, which I did. I've been living on my wages. But of course I had to have some adequate explanation. I couldn't tell Angus I wanted to live on the ranch to make love to his sister. Now, could I? So I merely let it be understood that my remittances had stopped. May not have been exactly cricket, but I can't see that I'm very much to blame. If I could see Jean--"

"Not now. She refused to marry you till you were in a position to support a wife. That's the bitter part of it."

"But I _am_ able to support one."

"Yes, but don't you see having refused to marry you until you had made a little money she won't put herself in the position of doing so now for fear you or somebody might think the money had something to do with it."

Chetwood took his bewildered head in his hands.

"O, my sainted Aunt Jemima!" he murmured. "In the picturesque language of the country this sure beats--er--I mean it's a bit too thick for me.

She didn't approve of me because I was an idler and presumably a remittance man. Very well. I cut off my income and became a hired man.

Then she wouldn't marry me because I was. Now she won't see me or speak to me because I'm not. Kind lady, having been a girl yourself, will you please tell me what I am to do about it?"

Faith laughed at his woebegone countenance. "The whole trouble is that you weren't frank with her. What was play to you--a good joke--was the most serious thing in life to her. While she was considering and planning in earnest for the future you were laughing at her. Perhaps a man can't appreciate it; but a woman finds such things hard to forgive."

"I'll apologize," Chetwood said. "I'll eat crow. Mrs. Angus, like an angel, do help me with the future Lady Chet--er--I mean--"

"What!" Faith cried.

"Oh, Lord!" Chetwood e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed, "there go the beans. Nothing, nothing!

I don't know what I'm saying, really!"

"Don't you dare to deceive me!" Faith admonished sternly. "Lady Chetwood! What do you mean?"

"But it's not my fault," the luckless young man protested. "I can't help it. It's hereditary. When the old boy died--"

"What old boy?"

"My uncle, Sir Eustace. I was named after him. And I couldn't help _that_."

"Do you mean to tell me," Faith accused him severely, "that on top of all your deceptions you have a t.i.tle? Oh, Jean will never forgive this!"

"But it's not much of a t.i.tle," its owner palliated. "It's just a little old one. Nothing gaudy about it, like these new brewers'. It's considered quite respectable, really, at home, and n.o.body objects.

It--it runs in the family, like red hair or--er--insanity."

"Insanity!" Faith gasped. "Good heavens, is there _that_? Oh, poor Jean!

That explains--"

"No, no!" Chetwood protested desperately. "I didn't mean that. Quite the contrary. Not a trace. Why, dash it all, there isn't even genius!"

Whereat, with a wild shriek, Faith collapsed weakly in her chair and laughed until she wept. "Oh, oh, oh!" she gasped feebly, wiping her eyes, "this is lovely--I mean it's awful. Mr. Chetwood--I mean Sir Eustace--"

"'Bill!'" the object of her mirth amended. "Poor Bill. Poor old Bill!

Dear, kind, pretty lady, have a heart!"

"A heart! If it gets any more shocks like this--But what am I to tell Jean? Here's a poor country girl and a n.o.ble knight--"

"Don't rub it in. You see Sir Eustace was alive when I came over here.

When I heard of his death I said nothing to anybody, because there are a lot of silly a.s.ses who seem to think a t.i.tle makes some difference in a man. And then I was afraid some beastly newspaper would print some rot about my working as a ranch hand."

"Well, I don't know what's to be done about it," Faith admitted; "but I do know that now isn't the time for you to see Jean. Really, I think the best thing you can do is to go away for a week or two."

CHAPTER x.x.xIII

ANOTHER SURPRISE

Outwardly, life on the Mackay ranch settled back to its old groove. Work went on as usual. Angus entered into an agreement with McGinity which relieved him from present money worries. But the actual railway construction would take time, and meanwhile, next season, he could take off another crop.

Already the summer was done, the days shortening, the evenings growing cool. Birds were full-grown and strong of wing. Fogs hung in the mornings, to be dispelled by the sun slanting a little to southward. The days were clear, warm, windless. In the lake, trees and mountain ranges were reflected with the accuracy of a mirror. On these shadows, as perfect upside down as right side up, Faith expanded photographic film prodigally.

Chetwood had returned to the ranch, but Jean had refused to restore the status quo. She treated him with formal politeness, avoiding him skilfully, taking care that he should not see her alone. Mrs. Foley, now in complete charge of the ranch kitchen, commented thereon.

"What's th' racket bechune yez?" she asked bluntly. "Ye act like ye was feared to be wid th' lad alone. An' a while ago I felt it me duty as a fellow-woman to cough, or dhrop a broom--"

"Nonsense!" Jean interrupted tartly.

"Well, a dacint lad he is--f'r a sa.s.senach--fair-spoken, wid a smile, an' a pleasant word f'r th' likes iv me, an' always a josh on th' tip iv his tongue."

Jean sniffed.

"Havin' buried four min, I know their ways," Mrs. Foley continued. "Whin a man's eyes rest on a woman wishful, like a hungry dog's on a green bone, that's thrue love."

"I'm not a bone!" Jean snapped.

"I am not makin' no cracks at th' build iv yez," Mrs. Foley a.s.sured her.

"A foine, well-growed shlip iv a gyurl ye are; an' a swate arrumful--"

"Mrs. Foley!" Jean cried, cheeks afire.

"Well, glory be, an' what else is a gyurl's waist an' a man's arrum for?" Mrs. Foley demanded practically. "Sure, I am no quince-mouthed owld maid, talkin' wide iv phwat ivery woman--maid, wife, an'

widdy--knows. I mis...o...b.., f'r all yer high head, ye're in love wid th'

lad. Then why don't ye let love take its coorse?"

"I'm not in love with him," Jean declared. "I don't want to see him. I wish he'd go away."

"An' if he did ye'd be afther cryin' thim purty brown eyes out."

"I would _not_!" Jean a.s.severated. "He's nothing to me--less than nothing."