“There’s no mistaking Aynsley’s trail,” Osborne laughed. “He blazes it on the bodies of straying chickens and hogs2; but I imagine you noticed that he wasn’t alone.”
“I did; and I would have been quite as pleased if he had left his father at home.”
“So I surmised3.” Osborne smiled. “It seems to be what the older generation is intended for; but Clay’s not the man to take kindly4 to the shelf and, everything considered, you couldn’t blame him. Aynsley’s the more ornamental—a fine figure of a man as he sits at the wheel; but his father’s the driving force that makes the machine go. So far, his son hasn’t made much of anything unless the material was put ready to his hand.”
“At least, he has done no harm.”
“That’s a very negative virtue5. It isn’t thought highly of in this country.”
“I told him not long ago that he ought to work,” Ruth replied in unguarded confidence.
“It will be interesting to see if he follows your advice. His friends have been urging the course for several years without much effect.”
“He means to take charge of the Canadian mill; but, of course, he may have a number of reasons for doing so,” Ruth added hastily.
Osborne made no comment. Of late, he had begun to wonder where her friendship for Aynsley would lead, and although it would not have displeased6 him had she shown any tenderness for the man, he could discover no sign of this.
He went forward to meet his guests, and when they came out of the house a few minutes later Aynsley went straight across the lawn to greet Ruth and Miss Dexter, who had joined her niece, while Clay and Osborne followed a path which led through the pines. Clay was strongly made and burly, with very dark hair and eyes and a somewhat fleshy face. He looked as if he enjoyed good living; but the alertness of his expression redeemed7 it from sensuality. He had an air of rakish boldness which rather became him, and his careless dress added to this effect. In white Panama hat, well-cut clothes negligently8 put on, with a heavy gold watch-chain, diamond studs, and a black silk band round his waist, Clay looked more of a swashbuckler than a sober business man. His appearance was not altogether deceptive9, for, although he used modern methods with great shrewdness, he had habits and characteristics more in keeping with the romantic ’49.
“Have you held on to those Elk10 Park building lots?” he asked.
Osborne nodded. “Yes.”
“Still got an option on the adjoining frontage?”
“I believe so; the offer wasn’t quite formal.”
“Then wire and clinch11 the deal. Do it right now.”
“Ah! The municipal improvement scheme is going through?”
“Sure. I got the tip by ‘phone as I was leaving. Whatcom serves me pretty well, but there are other fellows to take a hand in the game, and the news will leak out some time this evening. We’re an hour or two ahead—that’s all. Here, write your message.”
Taking a telegram blank from his pocket, he handed it to Osborne; and then swung off his hat with ceremonious gallantry as he came suddenly upon the others through an opening in the pines. Ruth gave him a rather cold bow, for his voice carried well, and she had heard enough to disturb her. She did not expect much from Clay; but it looked as if her father were abetting12 him in a conspiracy13 to take an unfair advantage of some civic14 improvements. She had no justification15 for questioning either of them; but her aunt, who was seldom diffident, proceeded to deal with the matter boldly when Osborne joined them after dispatching the telegram.
“What’s this I hear, Henry?” Miss Dexter asked.
“I can’t say. You were not intended to hear anything,” Osborne replied with a patient air.
“Then your friend should talk lower. Have you been buying up property the city needs?”
“It’s a fairly common practice. I suppose you don’t approve of it?”
“Need you ask?” Miss Dexter bristled16 with Puritanical17 indignation. “Have you any moral right to tax the people because they want a healthier and cleaner town? Is this the example you would set your daughter?”
Osborne smiled tolerantly.
“It’s hardly likely that Ruth will feel tempted18 to speculate in real estate. Besides, the tax is optional. The people needn’t pay it unless they like.”
“That’s a quibble,” Miss Dexter replied shrewdly. “They wouldn’t buy your lots at an extravagant19 price if there was another site available.”
“It’s unwise to jump at conclusions. As a matter of fact, there are two better sites in the market.”
Miss Dexter looked puzzled.
“If that’s true,” she declared, “the matter’s more suspicious than before. There’s something not straight.”
“I’m afraid there often is,” Osborne responded good-humoredly. “Still, while I can’t hope for your approval of all my doings, I don’t think you have much reason to question my veracity20.”
“I have none. I beg your pardon, Henry,” Miss Dexter said with some dignity. “I’m glad to say that I’ve always found your word reliable.”
“That’s something to my credit, anyway.” Osborne turned to Clay. “My sister-in-law has no admiration21 for our modern business ethics22.”
“There she shows sense,” Clay answered with a smile. “I’m old-fashioned enough to believe, ma’am, that the less women have to do with business the better.”
“Why?” Miss Dexter demanded sternly.
“You have a better part in life; we look to you to raise the national tone, to protect the family morals, and keep the home clean.”
Osborne looked amused, and Aynsley undutifully grinned, but Miss Dexter’s expression hinted at rather grim astonishment23.
“How is it to be done?” she asked. “What’s the use in our cleaning when you men are allowed to muss up things?”
“That sounds logical,” Aynsley put in. “I’m afraid we really need reforming.”
“You do,” Miss Dexter replied with an air of dry amusement which somewhat surprised her niece. “Idle men in particular are bound to make trouble.”
“It was the busy ones I was thinking of. My idea is that a man’s most dangerous when he’s making money.”
“What’s that?” Clay turned upon his son sternly.
“I believe I heard you agree with Miss Dexter, sir, when she condemned24 our commercial morality?”
“There’s a difference; she’s a lady,” Clay replied in a decided25 tone.
Aynsley laughed and turned away with Ruth, who was in a thoughtful mood, for what she had heard deepened her distrust of Clay and made her anxious about his influence on her father. She admitted that, in her inexperience she could not presume to judge what was right for him, but she felt troubled.
“Have you told your father you will take over the mill?” she asked Aynsley.
“Yes; and I believe he was immensely gratified, though he only said he was glad to see I was coming to my senses. However, on thinking it over, I half regret my decision. The old man has money enough for both of us, and, to my mind, driving a car or sailing a yacht is much less risky26 work than trying to get ahead of the people you deal with.”
“But is that necessary? Can’t you carry on a business without taking advantage of your rivals and customers?”
“I’m hardly in a position to judge, but from what I’ve heard it seems difficult. When I take up the mill I’ve got to make it pay. It would be a bad shake-up for the old man if I only lost the money he put in. He’d feel himself disgraced, and it would be a heavy strain on his affection. Though he tells me I’m a fool pretty often, he’s really fond of me.”
“Yes,” said Ruth; “I’ve noticed that, and I like him for it. After all, you need some sympathy. The situation’s complicated.”
“That’s so. I’m half afraid I’m not smart enough to grapple with it. Of course, there is such a thing as compromise: you can do your best all round, but make a small concession27 here and there.”
“I’m not sure that would work. Isn’t there a risk of the
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