Books: THE PROSPECTOR

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"What else did he say?" said Brown, who could hardly contain himself
for sheer delight.

"Well, he went on then to yarn about Macgregor's work--how a church
and club house had been built in one place, and a hospital and all
that sort of thing, in another, and then he told us stories of the
different chaps who had been apparently snatched from the mouth of
hell by Macgregor, and were ready to lie down and let him walk over
them. It was great. There was an Irishman and a Frenchman, I
remember, both Roman Catholics, but both ready to swallow the
Confession of Faith if the Prospector ordered them. Yes, that was
another point. Macgregor, it seems, was a regular fiend for hunting
up fellows and rooting them out to church, and so they dubbed him
'the Prospector.' The old chief stuck that in, I tell you. Then
there was a doctor and, oh, a lot of chaps,--a cowboy fellow named
Ike, who was particularly good copy if one could reproduce him. And
then--" here Tommy hesitated--"well, it's worth while telling. There
was a girl who had gone wrong, and had been brought back. To hear
the chief tell that yarn was pretty fine. I don't turn the
waterworks on without considerable pressure, but I tell you my tanks
came pretty near overflowing when he talked about that poor girl.
And then, at the most dramatic moment--that old chap knows his
business--he brought on Macgregor, announcing him as 'the Prospector
of Frog Lake, no, Loon Lake.' Well, he was not much to look at. His
hair was not slick, and his beard looked a little like a paint
brush, his pants ran up on his boots, and bagged at the knees."

"He had just come off the train," hastily interposed Brown, "He
hadn't a moment to dress himself."

"Well, as I say, he wasn't pretty to look at, and they gave him a
kind of frosty reception, too."

"Well, what happened?" inquired Brown, anxious to get over this part
of the description.

"Well, they began firing questions at him hot and fast. He was a
little rattled for a while, but after a bit he got into his stride,
put down his map, laid out his country and began pouring in his
facts, till when they let him out they looked for all the world like
a lot of men who had been struck by a whirlwind and were trying to
get back their breath and other belongings."

"Well, what did they do then?"

"Oh, the thing passed, I guess. I left 'em and went after the man
from the West. I thought I had struck oil. I had visions too."

"Well, did you get him?"

"I did, but there was not any oil. It was rock, hard, cold Scotch
granite. I'm something of a borer, but I tell you what, he turned my
edge. It was no use. He wouldn't talk."

"Good by. Come around and see your man at my rooms," said Brown
heartily. "I'll pump him for you, and you can catch the oil."

"You will, eh? All right, set a mug for me."

"Great boy, that Tommy," said Brown, who was smitten with a sudden
enthusiastic admiration for the reporter. "Clever chap. He'll make
his mark yet."

Helen walked for some distance in silence. "Is--is he--is Mr.
Macgregor with you?" she inquired at length.

"Yes, Mr. Macgregor is with me," mimicked Brown. "Will you send him
a card?"

"Now, Brownie, stop," said Helen in distress. "He has not been home
yet, has he?"

"No. Why?"

"Could you keep him away till about eleven tomorrow?"

"Yes, I suppose I might. He has got to get some clothes and get some
of the wool off him. But why do you ask?"

"Well, I thought I would just run in and dust, and put some flowers
up, and, you know, make it a little more homelike."

"Helen, you're a brick. I had decided to drop you because I didn't
love you, but I am changing my mind."

"Well, do not let him go before eleven. Everything will be right by
that time."

"Good!" said Brown, with an ebullition of rapture, which he
immediately suppressed as Helen's eyes were turned inquiringly upon
him. "You see," he explained hurriedly, "he has been in the West and
will need to get a lot of things, and that will give you plenty of
time. There's my car. Good-by. We have had a happy afternoon, eh?"

"Oh, yes, very happy, thank you," said Helen, but she could not
quite suppress a little sigh.

"Well, good-by," said Brown, and he went off, jubilant to his car.

He sat down in a corner, and thought hard till he came to his
street. "If he'll only play up we'll win, sure thing. But will he,
confound him, will he? Well, the kick-off will be to-morrow."

He found Shock waiting in his rooms, with a face so grave and so sad
that Brown's heart grew sore for him.

"Come on, old chap, we'll go to grub. But first I am going to groom
you a bit. We'll take a foot or two off your hair since the football
season is over; and I think," examining him critically, "we can
spare that beard, unless you are very fond of it."

Shock protested that he had no particular love for his beard; it was
better for the cold weather, and it was not always convenient for
him to shave.

When the barber had finished with Shock, Brown regarded him with
admiration.

"You are all right, old chap. I say, you've got thin, haven't you?"

"No, I am pretty much in my playing form."

"Well, there is something different." And there was. The boyish
lines of his face had given place to those that come to men with the
cares and griefs and responsibilities of life. And as Brown looked
over Shock's hard, lean face, he said again, with emphasis, "You'll
do."

After dinner Shock wandered about the rooms uneasily for a time, and
finally said, "I say, Brown, I would like to go up home, if you
don't mind." They had not yet spoken of what each knew was uppermost
in the other's mind.

"All right, Shock. But wouldn't it be better in the morning?"

"I want to go to-night," said Shock.

"Well, if you are bound to, we will go up in an hour or two. There's
a lot of things I want to talk about, and some things to arrange,"
replied Brown hoping that in the meantime something might turn up to
postpone the visit till the morning.

For a second time that day Fortune smiled upon Brown, for hardly had
they settled down for a talk when the Superintendent appeared.

"I am glad to find you in," he said, giving Shock's hand a vigorous
shake. "I came to offer you my congratulations upon your appearance
this afternoon, and also to tell you that the Committee have
appointed you to address the Assembly on Home Mission night."

"Hooray!" cried Brown. "Your Committee, Doctor, is composed of men
who evidently know a good thing when they see it."

"Sometimes, Mr. Brown, sometimes," said the Superintendent,
shrewdly.

But Shock refused utterly and absolutely.

"I am no speaker," he said. "I am a failure as a speaker."

"Well, Mr. Macgregor, I will not take your refusal to-night. It is
the Committee's request, and you ought to hesitate before refusing
it."

"A man can do no more than his best," said Shock, "and I know I
cannot speak."

"Well, think it over," said the Superintendent, preparing to go.

"Oh, sit down, sit down," cried Brown. "You must want to have a talk
with Shock here, and I want to hear all about this afternoon."

"Well," said the Superintendent, seating himself, "it is not often I
have a chance to talk with a Prospector, so I will accept your
invitation." And by the time the talk was done it was too late for
Shock to think of visiting his home, and Brown went asleep with the
happy expectation of what he called the "kick-off" next day.

XXI

THE WAITING GAME

Brown was early astir. He knew that he could not keep Shock so fully
employed as to prevent his going home long before ten o'clock, and
it was part of his plan that Shock's first meeting with Helen should
take place in his own mother's house.

"The first thing we must do," he announced, "is to see a tailor. If
you are going to address the General Assembly you have got to get
proper togs. And anyway, you may as well get a suit before you go
West again. I know a splendid tailor--cheap, too."

"Well, he will need to be cheap," said Shock, "for I cannot aford
much for clothes."

"Well, I will see about that," said Brown. So he did, for after some
private conversation with the tailor, the prices quoted to Shock
were quite within even his small means.

It was half-past nine before they reached Shock's home. Brown took
the key out of his pocket, opened the door, and allowed Shock to
enter, waiting outside for a few moments.

When he followed Shock in he found him still standing in the centre
of the little room, looking about upon the familiar surroundings,
the articles of furniture, the pictures on the wall, his mother's
chair beside the table, with her Bible and glasses at hand.

As Brown came in Shock turned to him and said, "Is this some more of
your kindness, Brown? Have you taken this care of everything?"

"No," said Brown, "that is not my work. Every, week since the house
was closed Helen has come over and kept things right."

Without any reply Shock passed into his mother's room, leaving Brown
alone.

When half an hour had passed, Brown, glancing out of the window, saw
Helen approaching.

"Thank goodness!" he exclaimed, "here she is at last."

He opened the door for her.

"Oh, good morning," she exclaimed in surprise. "I am sure this is
very kind of you."

"Yes, I thought I would help," said Brown in a loud voice. "You see,
Shock was anxious to come, and I thought I would come up with him.
He is in the next room. He will be out in a minute. We were coming
up last night, but could not get away. The Superintendent dropped
in, and we talked till it was too late." Brown kept the stream of
his remarks flowing as if he feared a pause.

Helen laid the bunch of flowers she was carrying in her hand upon
the table.

"Oh, Brown," she exclaimed, "how could you! This is very unkind."
She turned to go.

"Hold on," said Brown in a loud voice. "Shock will be here in a
minute. He'll be sorry to miss you, I am sure."

For a moment Helen stood irresolute, when the door opened and Shock,
pale, but quiet and self-controlled, appeared. He had just been face
to face for the first time with his great grief. The thought that
filled his mind, overwhelming all others, was that his mother had
passed forever beyond the touch of his hand and the sound of his
voice. Never till that moment had he taken in the full meaning of
the change that had come to his life.

During the minutes he had spent in his mother's room he had allowed
his mind to go back over the long years so full of fond memory, and
then he had faced the future. Alone henceforth he must go down the
long trail. By his mother's bed he had knelt, and had consecrated
himself again to the life she had taught him to regard as worthy,
and with the resolve in his heart to seek to be the man she would
desire him to be and had expected him to be, he rose from his knees.

When he opened the door the dignity of his great grief and of a
lofty purpose was upon him, and he greeted Helen unembarrassed and
with a serene consciousness of self-mastery.

"I am glad to see you, Miss Fairbanks," he said, taking her hand. "I
am glad that we meet here, for it was here, in this house, that you
gave such loving and tender care to my dear mother. However long I
may live, whatever may come to me, I shall never forget what you did
for her through all the year, and at the last."

His quiet dignity restored to Helen her self-possession.

"I did all I could for her. I was glad to do it, because I loved
her. But she did more for me than ever I could have done for her.
Her last illness was very brief, and her death was full of peace."

"Tell me," said Shock, placing a chair for her. "I want to know
all."

With gentle, sweet sympathy the story was told in all its beautiful
details, till the very end. Instinctively Helen seemed to know the
points that Shock would desire to hear, and he listened to her with
his heart shining through his eyes.

"Thank you, thank you," he said. "Never can thank you enough for all
that you have done. And you, too, have had your great sorrow. Brown
told me about it all."

At this Brown rose hastily, and looking out of the window,
exclaimed, "I say, there's Boyle. Wait for me."

"Yes," said Helen, when Brown had gone, "it was a terrible grief,
and mother has never recovered from it, nor will she. Betty was the
life of our house. She was so bright."

"Oh, bright, indeed. How well I remember her brightness that night
in your home."

"I remember," said Helen. "And Mr. Balfour," she continued, "The
Don. He has been with you?"

"Yes, indeed, poor chap. And nobly he has done," and Shock told of
The Don and of his work in the Pass.

"How good you have been," exclaimed Helen, "and how much you have
done. I am so thankful, and so proud. We are all so proud of you."

"No," said Shock gravely, "that is not the word, Miss Fairbanks.
There is no room for pride."

"Well, we think so," replied Helen. "You will come to see us? Mother
will be so glad."

Helen was wondering at her own calmness. She could hardly make
herself believe that she was talking to Shock, and so quietly, in
this room where so short a time ago he had held her in his arms.

"I do not know," replied Shock. "It may be as well not to--not to
see much--to see you."

Shock became unexpectedly conscious of their previous relations. The
memory of that scene in which they had been the chief actors came
vividly, before him. For weeks he had dreaded this interview, and
now it was almost over. He felt like a man who, in the hour of
victory, is unexpectedly threatened with defeat. Well, sooner or
later he must speak his mind plainly; there would never be a better
chance than now, and though he wished he could get back that perfect
self-mastery of the past few minutes, he resolved to go through with
it now. He took hold of himself with a stern grip.

Helen saw it in his face. A great fear seized her; She started up.

"Oh, I must run!" she exclaimed. "You will be sure to come and see
us, Mr. Macgregor. Indeed, you must come."

Her manner was light, almost frivolous. Shock felt the change
instinctively, read her fear, and decided that the moment for speech
had passed.

"Good-by," he said, looking steadily into her eyes. "Good-by. God
bless you for your kindness to--to us both."

The little catch in his voice reached the girl's heart, and the
tears sprang to her eyes.

"Good-by," she said hurriedly. "Good-by," and was gone.

A little way down the street she met Brown.

"Well?"

"Well, it is all over. I am thankful, too. Yes, so thankful."

"Well, I'll be--" Brown left his sentence unfinished and turned away
from her impatiently.

He found Shock still sitting at the table, unspeakable misery
showing in his eyes.

"Well, old chap," Brown said kindly, putting his hand upon his
friend's shoulder.

"That is over, thank God!" said Shock. "I was afraid of it, but it
is over now."

"It is, eh?" said Brown crossly. "Well, let's go. You're two of a
kind. Come on. You'll have to get at your speech now."

"My speech?" said Shock, rising wearily. "No speech for me."

"I tell you what, Shock," said Brown, with a touch of impatience,
"you think too much of yourself."

"Do I, Brown? Well, perhaps so," said Shock, humbly.

"Oh, confound your old carcass!" cried Brown, throwing his arm round
Shock's neck. "You'll be my death yet. At the same time, you ought
to speak, and I believe you will. If I know your conscience it won't
let you rest."

It turned out that Brown was right, for when the Superintendent
wrote a note to Shock asking him formally on behalf of the Committee
to address the Assembly on Home Mission night, the last sentence in
his letter determined Shock to accept.

"I know what this will cost you," the Superintendent wrote, "but the
cause is not yours nor mine. It is His. And for His sake I believe
you will do this."

"I knew you would, old chap," said Brown exultantly. "If a fellow
could get the combination of your conscience he could do what he
liked with you."

"Well, I suppose if they wish me to make an exhibition of myself I
should not refuse, and after all, what matter how I speak? I will
fail, I know, but I will do my best."

"Never a fail," cried Brown. "Don't preach at them. Tell them yarns.
That's what your chief does. Now you hear me."

This proved to be good advice, for when the chairman introduced
Shock as the Prospector from Loon Lake, Shock simply began, as Brown
said, to "yarn."

"That is what Perault and Ike called me," were his first words, and
from that moment till the close of his speech he had his audience
leaning forward and listening with ears and eyes and heart. He made
no attempt at fine speaking, but simply told them of his friends in
the West, of the men he had come to love as brothers, and who had
come to love him.

As they came down the steps of the Park Church, where the meeting
was held, Brown could hardly keep pace with Helen as she danced
along beside him.

"Oh, wasn't he splendid!" she cried, "wasn't he splendid!"

"Splendid?" said Brown. "There's not a word big enough left."

"Oh, I am so happy," sang Helen.

"Why, what's the matter with you?" cried Brown.

"Oh, nothing, nothing," and she bubbled over with happy laughter
until Brown grew gloomy and cross. But Helen deigned him no further
explanation of her overflowing joy, and left him, still sullen and
somewhat indignant, at her door.

Her radiant face caught her mother's eye as she entered the room.

"Well, my child, you are looking very happy. I have not seen you
look so bright for months. You are very beautiful, my daughter,"
said her mother, putting her arm around her daughter as Helen
stooped to kiss her.

"Oh, mother," cried Helen, "I am very happy."

"Well, darling, it makes me happy to hear you say so. Has--has Mr.
Lloyd spoken to you?"

"Mr. Lloyd?" Helen laughed gleefully. "No, mother, he knows better
than that. Oh, mother, Shock loves me."

"What! Has he dared to speak-after promising--"

"No, mother, he has not spoken, not with his lips. But I know it, I
know it, and oh, I am so glad."

"What of his plain declaration to me that he had given you up? "

"Oh, I don't care, mother. He has not changed," cried the happy
girl. "He loves me just the same as ever."

"And what of the girl Mr. Ambherg told us of?"

"No, mother, there is no other girl," cried Helen. "I don't care who
told you."

"Helen, I am ashamed of you," exclaimed her mother, angrily. "Dear
mother," said Helen, falling on her knees and putting her arms about
her mother, "I cannot help loving him, and I cannot help being
happy. Oh, mother, he is splendid. You ought to have heard him to-
night, and you ought to have seen the people. Why, the ministers
almost hugged him. And oh, mother, mother, as he came down and
passed my seat, he turned and looked at me. He did not expect to see
me, and he was off his guard, and then I knew, oh, I knew. He is
just the same. Oh, mother, be happy with me."

Her mother burst into tears.

"Oh," she sobbed, "I thought I was to have one child left. I am
indeed bereaved."

"Hush, mother," cried Helen. "I will not leave you."

"But you love him?"

"Yes, yes. With all my heart."

"He will not give up his work in that awful country?"

"No," said the girl proudly, "he will not, not even for me. But he
will love me always and I will love him, and that is enough just
now."

"Helen, listen to me. You will never marry him with my consent,"
said Mrs. Fairbanks, determinedly.

"And he would never marry me without," replied Helen.

"What, then, is your future to be?"

"Oh, I will stay with you, mother darling."

"And he?" inquired Mrs. Fairbanks.

"He? Oh, I don't know, but he will always love me, mother."

In desperation Mrs. Fairbanks sent next day for Shock. Her one hope,
lay in his fine sense of honour, and in his generosity.

"Mr. Macgregor," she said, when Shock stood before her, "I want to
appeal to your generosity. You will not stand in the way of my
daughter's happiness?"

"Mrs. Fairbanks, I thought I had made myself clear. What more can I
say or do?"

"She fancies you still love her. Could not you disabuse her of her
foolish fancy?"

"Tell her I do not love her?" asked Shock. "That I cannot do. It
would be false."

"Oh, Mr. Macgregor," cried Mrs. Fairbanks, weeping, "if you force my
child from me I will die."

Shock was greatly disturbed at her tears.

"Mrs. Fairbanks, I could never force your daughter away from you,
but I shall always love her. Can I say more?"

"I have told her," said Mrs. Fairbanks between her sobs, "I will
never consent to her marriage with you."

Shock's heart gave a leap.

"And what did she say?" he inquired in an unsteady voice.

"She said you would not marry her without my consent."

"And that is true," said Shock.

"And what, then, will you do?" inquired Mrs. Fairbanks.

Shock threw up his head, with joy illumining his face.

"I--we--" changing the pronoun with a sudden ecstasy of rapture, "we
can wait."

"And how long, pray?" inquired Mrs. Fairbanks, scornfully.

"How long?" He paused as if pondering the question. "Forever!"

"Shock!"

He turned quickly. There at the door, in all her glorious beauty,
her eyes luminous with the light of love, stood Helen.

"Helen!" he cried aloud, in his surprise. "You heard! Can you? Can
we?"

With a movement of ineffable grace she was at his side. He put his
strong arms about her. She looked into his eyes.

"Yes, Shock, we can wait--now."

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