The early approach of
winter checked the railroad construction
proper, but with the snow came good roads, and contractors were
quick to take advantage of the easier methods of transportation
furnished by winter roads to establish supply depots along the
line, and to open tie camps up in the hills. And so the old
Edmonton Trail was once more humming with life and activity far
exceeding that of its palmiest days.
As for Kalman, however,
it was the mine that absorbed his attention
and his energies. By day and by night he planned and dreamed and
toiled for the development of his mine. With equal enthusiasm
Brown and French joined in this enterprise. It was French that
undertook to deal with all matters pertaining to the organization
of a company by which the mine should be operated. Registration of
claim, the securing of capital, the obtaining of charter, all these
matters were left in his hands. A few weeks' correspondence,
however, revealed the fact that for Western enterprises money was
exceedingly difficult to secure. French was eager to raise money
by mortgaging his ranch and all his possessions, but this proposal
Kalman absolutely refused to consider. Brown, too, was opposed to
this scheme. Determined that something should be done, French then
entered into contracts with the Railroad Company for the supply of
ties. But though he and Mackenzie took a large force into the
woods, and spent their three months in arduous toil, when the
traders and the whiskey runners had taken their full toll little
was left for the development of the mine.
The actual working of
the mine fell to Kalman, aided by Brown.
There was an immediate market for coal among the Galicians of the
colony, who much preferred it to wood as a fuel for the clay ovens
with which they heated their houses. But they had little money to
spare, and hence, at the beginning of the work, Kalman hit upon the
device of bartering coal for labour, two days' work in the mine
entitling a labourer to a load of coal. Brown, too, needed coal
for his mill. At the Crossing there was large demand for coal,
while correspondence with the Railroad Company discovered to Kalman
a limitless market for the product of his mine. By outside sales
Kalman came to have control of a little ready money, and with this
he engaged a small force of Galicians, who, following lines
suggested by Brown, pushed in the tunnel, ran cross drifts, laid
down a small tramway, and accomplished exploration and development
work that appeared to Kalman's uninstructed eyes wonderful indeed.
The interest of the whole colony centred in the mine and in its
development, and the confidence of the people in Kalman's integrity
and efficiency became more and more firmly established.
But Brown was too fully
occupied with his own mission to give much
of his time to the mine. The work along the line of construction
and in the camps meant sickness and accident, and consequently his
hospital accommodation had once more to be increased, and this
entailed upon himself and his wife, who acted as matron, a heavy
burden of responsibility and of toil.
It was a happy
inspiration of Jack French's that led Brown to
invoke the aid of Mrs. French in securing the services of a nurse,
and Mrs. French's proposal that Irma, who for two years had been in
regular training, should relieve Mrs. Brown of her duties as
matron, was received by all concerned with enthusiastic approval.
And so, to the great relief of Mrs. Brown and to the unspeakable
joy of both Kalman and his sister, Irma and Paulina with her child
were installed in the Wakota institution, Irma taking charge of the
hospital and Paulina of the kitchen.
It was not by Brown's
request or even desire that Paulina decided
to make her home in the Wakota colony. She was there because
nothing could prevent her coming. Her life was bound up with the
children of her lord, and for their sakes she toiled in the kitchen
with a devotion that never flagged and never sought reward.
The school, too, came
back to Brown and in larger numbers than
before. Through the autumn and early winter, by his drunkenness
and greed, Klazowski had fallen deeper and deeper into the contempt
of his parishioners. It was Kalman, however, that gave the final
touch to the tottering edifice of his influence and laid it in
ruins. It was the custom of the priest to gather his congregation
for public worship on Sunday afternoon in the schoolhouse which
Brown placed at his disposal, and of which he assumed possession as
his right, by virtue of the fact that it was his people who had
erected the building. On a Sunday afternoon, as the winter was
nearing an end, Klazowski, under the influence of a too complete
devotion to the beer barrel that stood in his host's kitchen, spent
an hour in a furious denunciation of the opponents of his holy
religion, and especially of the heretic Brown and all his works,
threatening with excommunication those who in any degree would dare
after this date to countenance him. His character was impugned,
his motives declared to be of the basest. This was too much for
his congregation. Deep murmurs rose among the people, but
unwarned, the priest continued his execrations of the hated
heretic.
At length Kalman,
unable any longer to contain his indignation,
sprang to his feet, gave the priest the lie direct and appealed to
the people.
"You all know Mr.
Brown," he cried, "what sort of man is he? And
what sort of man is this priest who has spoken to you? You, Simon
Simbolik, when your child lay dead and you sought help of this
Klazowski, what answer did he give you?"
"He asked me for ten
dollars," said Simon promptly, "and when I
could not give it he cursed me from him. Yes," continued Simbolik,
"and Mr. Brown made the coffin and paid for it, and would take no
money. My daughter is in his school, and is learning English and
sewing, beautiful sewing, and she will stay there."
"You, Bogarz," cried
Kalman, "when your children were down with
scarlet fever and you went to the priest for help, what was his
reply?"
"He drove me from his
house. He was afraid to death."
"Yes," continued Kalman,
"and Mr. Brown came and took the children
to his hospital, and they are well to-day."
"Yes," cried Bogarz,
"and he would take nothing for it all, but I
paid him all I could, and I will gladly pay him more."
And so from one to
another went the word. The friends of Klazowski,
for he still had a following, were beaten into silence. Then rose
more ominous murmurs.
"I would not have
Klazowski in my house with my family," cried one,
"a single day. It would not be safe. I need say no more."
Others were found with
similar distrust of Klazowski's morals.
Klazowski was furious, and sought with loud denunciations and
curses to quell the storm of indignation that had been roused
against him. Then Kalman executed a flank movement.
"This man," he cried,
his loud, clear voice gaining him a hearing,
"This man is promising to build us a church. He has been
collecting money. How much money do you think he has by this time?
I, myself, gave him ten dollars; Mr. French gave him twenty-five."
At once cries came from
all parts of the building. "I gave him
twenty-five." "And I ten." "And I five." And so on, Kalman
keeping count.
"I make it nearly two
hundred dollars," he cried. "Has any one
seen the books? Does any one know where the money is?"
"No, no," cried the
crowd.
"Then," cried Kalinan,
"let us enquire. We are not sheep. This is
a free country, and we are free men. The days of the old tyranny
are gone." The house rocked with the wild cheers of the excited
crowd. "Let us examine into this. Let us appoint a committee to
find out how much money has been paid and where it is."
With enthusiasm
Kalman's suggestion was carried into effect. A
committee was appointed and instructed to secure the information
with all speed.
Next day Klazowski was
not to be found in the colony. He had
shaken the Wakota snow from off his feet, and had departed,
carrying with him the people's hard-earned money, their fervent
curses, and a deep, deep grudge against the young man upon whom he
laid the responsibility for the collapse of his influence among the
faithful and long-suffering people of Wakota.
A few days later, to an
interested and devout congregation in the
city of Winnipeg, he gave an eloquent account of his labours as a
missionary in the remote colony of Wakota, depicted in lurid
colours the persecutions he had endured at the hands of the heretic
Brown, reserving his most fervid periods for the denunciation of
the unscrupulous machinations of an apostate and arch traitor,
Kalman Kalmar, whose name would forever be remembered by his people
with infamy.
Among those who
remained to congratulate and sympathize with the
orator, none was more cordial than Mr. Rosenblatt, with whom the
preacher went home to dine, and to whom, under the mellowing
influence of a third bottle, he imparted full and valuable
information in regard to Wakota, its possibilities as a business
centre, its railroad prospects, its land values, its timber limits,
and especially in regard to the character and work of Kalman
Kalmar, and the wonderful mine which the young man had discovered.
The information thus
obtained Rosenblatt was careful to impart to
his friend and partner, Samuel Sprink. As a result of further
interviews with the priest and of much shrewd bargaining with
railroad contractors and officials, in early spring, before the
break up of the roads, Mr. Samuel Sprink had established himself
along the line of construction as a vendor of "gents' furnishings,"
working men's supplies, tobaccos and cigars, and other useful and
domestic articles. It was not announced, however, in the alluring
posters distributed among the people in language suited to their
comprehension, that among his stores might be found a brand of
whiskey of whose virtues none could speak with more confidence than
Mr. Sprink himself, for the sufficient reason that he was for the
most part the sole manufacturer thereof.
Chief among Mr.
Sprink's activities was that of "claim jumping,"--
to wit, the securing for himself of homesteads for which patents
had not been obtained, the homesteaders for one reason or another
having not been able to complete the duties required by Government.
In the prosecution of this business Mr. Sprink made a discovery,
which he conveyed in a letter to Mr. Rosenblatt, who was still in
charge of the Winnipeg end of the Company's business.
"You must come at
once," wrote Mr. Sprink. "I save a great business
on hand. I have discovered that no application has been made for
the coal mine claimed by young Kalmar, and this means that the mine
is still open. Had I the full description of the property, I should
have jumped the claim at once, you bet. So get a move on and come.
Get the description of the land on the quiet, and then do some work
among the Galician people to prepare for the change of ownership,
because there will be trouble, sure. So, come along. There is
other big business too, so you must come."
Rosenblatt needed no
further urging. In a week he was on the
ground.
Meanwhile, Kalman was
developing his mine, and dreaming great
dreams as to what he should do when he had become a great mine
owner. It was his custom, ever since Irma's coming, to spend the
Sunday evening with her at the hospital. His way to the mine lay
through scrub and sleugh, a heavy trail, and so he welcomed the
breaking up of the ice on the Eagle River. For, taking Brown's
canoe, he could paddle down to the Saskatchewan, and thence to the
mouth of the Night Hawk Creek, from which point it was only a short
walk to camp.
It was a most fortunate
thing for old Pere Garneau that Kalman had
adopted this method of transportation on the very night the old
priest had chosen for his trip down the Eagle. Pere Garneau, a
pioneer priest of the North Saskatchewan country, had ministered
for twenty years, by river and by trail, to the spiritual and
temporal needs of the half-breeds and the Indians under the care of
his church. A heroic soul was the old Father, not to be daunted by
dangers, simple as a child, and kindly. But the years had done
their work with him on eye and hand. The running ice in the spring
flood of the Eagle River got itself under the nose of the good
Father's canoe, and the current did the rest. His feeble cry would
have brought no aid, had not Kalman, at the very moment, been
shoving out his canoe into the current of the Eagle. A few strong
sweeps of the paddle, and Kalman had the old priest in tow, and in
a few minutes, with Brown's aid, into the hospital and snugly in
bed, with his canoe, and what of his stuff could be rescued, safe
under cover. Two days of Irma's nursing and of Brown's treatment,
and the ill effects of his chilly dip had disappeared sufficiently
to allow the Father to proceed on his way.
"Eet will be to me a
pleasant remembrance of your hospitalite," he
said to Brown on the morning of the third day.
"And to us of your
stay, Father Garneau," replied Brown. "But you
need not go to-day. You are not strong enough, and, besides, I
have some work for you. There is a poor Galician woman with us
here who cannot see the morning. She could not bear the priest
Klazowski. She had trouble with him, and I think you could comfort
her."
"Ah, dat Klazowski!"
exclaimed Pere Garneau. "Eet ees not a good
man. Many peep' tell me of dat man. He will be no more priest,
for certainly. I would see dis woman, poor soul!"
"To-night Kalman will
be here," said Brown, "and he will interpret
for you."
"Ah, he ees a fine
young man, Kalman. He mak' troub' for dat
priest, ees eet not?"
"Well, I am afraid he
did," said Brown, laughing. "But I fancy it
was the priest made trouble for himself."
"Yes, dat ees so, and
dat ees de worse troub' of all," said the
wise old man.
The poor woman made her
confession, received her Sacrament, and
thus comforted and at peace, made exit from this troubled life.
"My son," said the
priest to Kalman when the service was over, "I
would be glad to confess you."
"Thank you, Father,"
said Kalman. "I make my confession to God."
"Ah, my son, you have
been injured in your faith by dat bad priest
Klazowski."
"No, I think not," said
Kalman. "I have for some years been
reading my Bible, and I have lived beside a good man who has taught
me to know God and our Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ. I seek to
follow him as Peter and the others did. But I am no longer of the
Galician way of religion, neither Greek nor Roman."
"My son," exclaimed the
old priest in horror, "you are not an
apostate? You have not denied your faith?"
"No, I have not. I try
to please Christ."
Long and painfully, and
with tears, did the old priest labour with
Kalman, to whom his soul went out in gratitude and affection, but
without making any change in the young man's mind. The teaching,
but more the life, of his friend had not been lost, and Kalman had
come to see clearly his way.
Next morning the good
Father was ready for his journey.
"I leave to you," he
said to Brown, "my double blessing, of the
stranger whom you received, and of the sick to whom you served.
Ah! what a peety you are in the darkness of error," he continued
with a gentle smile; "but I will pray for you, for you both, my
children, many times."
"Thank you, thank you,"
said Brown warmly. "The prayers of a good
man bring blessing, and I love to remember the words of our Master,
'He that is not against us is on our part.'"
Ah! dat ees true, dat
ees true. Dat ees like Heem. Adieu."
For some days
Rosenblatt had been at work quietly in the colony,
obtaining information and making friends. Among the first who
offered their services was old Portnoff and a friend of his, an old
man with ragged beard, and deep-set, piercing eyes looking out from
under shaggy brows, to whom Portnoff gave the name of Malkarski.
As Portnoff seemed to be a man of influence among his people,
Rosenblatt made him foreman over one of the gangs of workmen in his
employ. It was through Portnoff he obtained an accurate description
of the mine property. But that same night Portnoff and Malkarski
were found at Brown's house.
"There is a man," said
Portnoff, "who wishes to know about the
mine. Perhaps he desires to purchase."
"His name?" enquired
Brown.
"Rosenblatt."
"Rosenblatt? That name
has a familiar sound. It would be wise,"
he continued, "to carry your information to Kalman at once."
"It shall be done
to-night," said Malkarski in a deep voice. "It
is important. Portnoff will go." Portnoff agreed.
The following morning
brought Kalman to Wakota. The arrival of
Rosenblatt in the country had changed for him the face of heaven
and earth. Before his eyes there rose and remained the vision of a
spot in a Russian forest where the snow was tramped and bloody.
With sobs and execrations he poured forth his tale to Brown.
"And my father has
sworn to kill him, and if he fails I shall take
it up."
"Kalman, my boy," said
Brown, "I cannot wonder that you feel like
this. Killing is too good for the brute. But this you cannot do.
Vengeance is not ours, but God's."
"If my father fails,"
said Kalman quietly, "I shall kill him."
"You must not think
like that, much less speak so," said Brown.
"This is Canada, not Russia. You are a Christian man and no
heathen."
"I can't help it," said
Kalman; "I can only see that bloody snow."
He put his hands over his eyes and shuddered violently. "I must
kill him!"
"And would you ruin
your own life? Would you shut yourself off
forever from your best and holiest thoughts? And what of your
sister, and Jack, and me? And what of--of--all your friends? For
this one fierce and sinful passion--for it is sinful, Kalman--you
would sacrifice yourself and all of us."
"I know all that. It
would sacrifice all; but in here," smiting
his breast, "there is a cry that will not cease till I see that
man's blood."
"God pity you, Kalman.
And you call yourself a follower of Him who
for His murderers prayed, 'Father, forgive them.'" Then Brown's
voice grew stern. "Kalman, you are not thinking clearly. You must
face this as a Christian man. The issue is quite straight. It is
no longer between you and your enemy; it is between you and your
Lord. Are you prepared to-night to reject your Lord and cut
yourself off from Him? Listen." Brown took his Bible, and turning
over the leaves, found the words, "'If ye forgive not men their
trespasses, neither will your Father forgive your trespasses'; and
remember, these are the words of Him who forgave those who had done
their worst on Him, blighting his dearest hopes, ruining His cause,
breaking His heart. Kalman, you dare not."
And Kalman went his way
to meet his Gethsemane in the Night Hawk
ravine, till morning found him on his face under the trees, with
his victory still in the balance. The hereditary instincts of
Slavic blood cried out for vengeance. The passionate loyalty of
his heart to the memory of his mother and to his father cried out
for vengeance. His own wrongs cried out for vengeance, and against
these cries there stood that single word, "Father, forgive them,
they know not what they do."
Before a week was gone
old Portnoff came hot foot to Brown to
report that early that morning Rosenblatt had ridden off in the
direction of the Fort, where was the Government Land Office.
"It is something about
the mine. He was in good spirits. He
offered me something good on his return. If this were only
Russia!" said the old Nihilist.
"Yes, yes," growled his
friend Malkarski, in his deep voice, "we
should soon do for him."
"Left this morning?"
said Brown. "How long ago?"
"Two hours."
Brown thought quickly.
What could it mean? Was it possible the
registration had been neglected? Knowing French's easy-going
methods of doing business, he knew it to be quite possible. French
was still away in his tie camp. Kalman was ten miles off at the
mine. It was too great a chance to take.
"Throw the saddle on my
horse, Portnoff," he cried. "I must ride
to the Fort."
"It would be good to
kill this man," said old Malkarski quietly.
"What are you saying?"
cried Brown in horror. "Be off with you."
He made a few hurried
preparations, sent word to Kalman, and
departed. He had forty miles before him, and his horse was none of
the best. Rosenblatt had two hours' lead and was, doubtless, well
mounted. There was a chance, however, that he would take the
journey by easy stages. But a tail chase is a long chase, especially
when cupidity and hate are spurring on the pursued. Five hours' hard
riding brought Brown to the wide plain upon which stood the Fort.
As he entered upon the plain, he discovered his man a few miles
before him. At almost the same instant of his discovery, Rosenblatt
became aware of his pursuer, and the last five miles were done at
racing speed. But Brown's horse was spent, and when he arrived at
the Land Office, it was to find that application had been made for
one hundred and sixty acres of mining land, including both sides of
the Night Hawk ravine. Brown stared hard at the entry.
"Is there no record of
this claim having been entered before?" said
Brown.
"None," said the agent.
"This man," Brown said
at length to the agent, "never saw the mine.
He is not the discoverer."
"Who is?"
"A young friend of
mine, Kalman Kalmar. To that I can swear." And
he told the story of the discovery, adding such details as he
thought necessary in regard to Rosenblatt's character.
The official was
sympathetic and interested.
"And how long is it
since the discovery was made?" he enquired.
"Six months or so."
"And why was there no
application sent in?"
Brown was silent.
"The Government cannot
be responsible for neglect," he said. "You
have yourselves to blame for it. Nothing can be done now."
The door opened, and
Brown turned to find Rosenblatt with a smile
of triumph upon his face. Before he was aware, his open hand had
swung hard upon the grinning face, and Rosenblatt fell in a huddled
heap into the corner. He rose up sputtering and spitting.
"I will have the law on
you!" he shouted. "I call you as witness,"
he continued to the agent.
"What's the matter with
you?" said the agent. "I didn't see
anything. If you trip yourself up and pitch into the corner, that
is your own business. Get out of this office, you disorderly
beast! Hurry up!" The agent put his hand upon the counter and
leaped over.
Rosenblatt fled,
terrified.
"Brute!" said the
agent, "I can't stand these claim jumpers. You
did that very neatly," he said to Brown, shaking him warmly by the
hand. "I am awfully sorry, but the thing can't be helped now."
Brown was too sick at
heart to reply. The mine was gone, and with
it all the splendid castles he and Kalman had been building for the
last six months. He feared to meet his friend. With what heart
now could he ask that this brute, who had added another to the list
of the wrongs he had done, should be forgiven? It was beyond all
human strength to wipe out from one's mind such an accumulation of
injuries. Well for Brown and well for his friend that forty miles
lay before him. For forty miles of open country and of God's sun
and air, to a man whose heart is open to God, work mighty results.
When at last they came together, both men had won their victory.
Quietly Brown told his
story. He was amazed to find that instead
of rousing Kalman to an irrepressible fury, it seemed to make but
little impression upon him that he had lost his mine. Kalman had
faced his issue, and fought out his fight. At all costs he could
not deny his Lord, and under this compulsion it was that he had
surrendered his blood feud. The fierce lust for vengeance which
had for centuries run mad in his Slavic blood, had died beneath the
stroke of the Cross, and under the shock of that mighty stroke the
loss of the mine had little effect upon him. Brown wondered at
him.
The whole colony was
thrown into a ferment of indignation by the
news that Kalman had been robbed of his mine. But the agents of
Rosenblatt and Sprink were busy among the people. Feast days were
made hilarious through their lavish gifts of beer. Large promises
in connection with the development of the mine awakened hopes of
wealth in many hearts. After all, what could they hope from a
young man without capital, without backing, without experience?
True, it was a pity he should lose his mine, but men soon forget
the losses and injuries of others under the exhilaration of their
own ambitions and dreams of success. Kalman's claims and Kalman's
wrongs were soon obliterated. He had been found guilty of the
unpardonable crime of failure. The new firm went vigorously to
work. Cabins were erected at the mine, a wagon road cut to the
Saskatchewan. In three weeks the whole face of the ravine was
changed.
It was in the end of
April before French returned from his tie
camp, with nothing for his three months' toil but battered teams
and empty pockets, a worn and ill-favoured body, and with a heart
sick with the sense of failure and of self-scorn. Kalman, reading
at a glance the whole sordid and heartbreaking story, met him with
warm and cheery welcome. It was for French, more than for himself,
that he grieved over the loss of the mine. Kalman was busy with
his preparations for the spring seeding. He was planning a large
crop of everything the ranch would grow, for the coming market.
"And the mine, Kalman?"
enquired French.
"I've quit mining. The
ranch for me," exclaimed Kalman, with
cheerful enthusiasm.
"But what's up?" said
French, with a touch of impatience.
"Jack, we have lost the
mine," said Kalman quietly. And he told
the story.
As he concluded the
tale, French's listlessness vanished. He was
his own man again.
"We will ride down and
see Brown," he said with decision.
"No use," said Kalman,
wishing to save him further pain. "Brown
saw the entry at the Land Office, and the agent plainly told him
nothing could be done."
"Well, we won't just
lie down yet, boy," said Jack. "Come along--
or--well, perhaps I'd better go alone. You saddle my horse."
In half an hour French
appeared clean shaven, dressed in his
"civilization clothes," and looking his old self again.
"You're fine, Jack,"
said Kalman in admiration. "We have got each
other yet."
"Yes, boy," said Jack,
gripping his hand, "and that is the best.
But we'll get the mine, too, or I'm a Dutchman." All the old,
easy, lazy air was gone. In every line of his handsome face, in
every movement of his body, there showed vigour and determination.
The old English fighting spirit was roused, whose tradition it was
to snatch victory from the jaws of defeat and despair.
Four weeks passed
before Kalman saw him again. Those four weeks he
spent in toil from early dawn till late at night at the oats and
the potatoes, working to the limit of their endurance Mackenzie and
the small force of Galicians he could secure, for the mine and the
railroad offered greater attractions. At length the level black
fields lay waiting the wooing of the sun and rain and genial air.
Then Kalman rode down for a day at Wakota, for heart and body were
exhausted of their vital forces. He wanted rest, but he wanted
more the touch of a friend's hand.
At Wakota, the first
sight that caught his eye was French's horse
tethered on the grassy sward before Brown's house, and as he rode
up, from within there came to his ear the sound of unusual and
hilarious revelry.
"Hello there!" yelled
Kalman, still sitting his horse. "What's
happened to you all?"
The cry brought them
all out,--Brown and his wife, French and Irma,
with Paulina in the background. They crowded around him with
vociferous welcome, Brown leading in a series of wild cheers.
After the cheering was done, Brown rushed for him.
"Congratulations, old
boy!" he cried, shaking him by the hand.
"It's all right; we've won, after all! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!"
Brown had clearly gone mad.
Then Irma came running
toward him.
"Yes, it's all true,
Kalman dear," she cried, pulling down his head
to kiss him, her voice breaking in a sob and her eyes radiant with
smiles and tears.
"Don't be alarmed, old
man," said French, taking him by the hand
when Irma had surrendered her place. "They are all quite sane.
We've got it, right enough. We've won out."
Kalman sat still on his
horse, looking from one to the other in
utter bewilderment. Brown was still yelling at intervals, and
wildly waving his hat. At length Kalman turned to Mrs. Brown.
"You seem to be sane,
anyway," he said; "perhaps you will tell me
what they all mean?"
"It means, Kalman,"
said the little woman, offering him both hands,
"we are so glad that we don't know what to do. We have got back
our mine."
"The mine!" gasped
Kalman faintly. "Impossible! Why, Brown there--"
"Yes! Brown here,"
yelled that individual; "I know Brown. He's a
corker! But he's sometimes wrong, and this is one of the times. A
mine, and a company! And there's the man that did it! Jack
French, to whom I take off my hat! He has just got home, and we
have just heard his tale, and--school's out and the band's going to
play and the game begin. And get down from your broncho, you
graven image!" Here Brown pulled Kalman headlong from his horse.
"And Jack will perform. I have not been mad like this for a
thousand years. I have been in Hades for the last month, and now
I'm out! I know I am quite mad, but it's fine while it lasts.
Now, Jack, the curtain's up. Let the play proceed."
The story was simple
enough. Immediately after the discovery of
the mine French had arranged with Mr. Robert Menzies that he should
make application with the Department of the Interior at Ottawa for
the necessary mining rights. The application had been made, but
the Department had failed to notify the local agent.
"So," said Jack, "the
mine is yours again, Kalman."
"No," said Kalman, "not
mine, ours; yours as much as mine, Jack, or
not mine at all."
"And the Company!"
yelled Brown. "Tell him about the Company. Let
the play proceed."
"Oh," said French, with
an air of indifference, "Mr. Menzies has a
company all organized and in his pocket, waiting only approval of
the owner of the mine."
"And the party will
arrive in about three weeks, I think you said,
French," remarked Brown, with a tone of elaborate carelessness.
Kalman's face flushed
hot. The eyes of both men were upon him.
"Yes, in about three
weeks," replied French.
"If it were not that I
am constitutionally disinclined to an active
life, I should like to join myself," said Brown; "for it will be a
most remarkable mining company, if I know anything of the signs."
But Kalman could not
speak. He put his arm around Jack's shoulder,
saying, "You are a great man, Jack. I might have known better."
"All right, boy," said
Jack. "From this time we shall play the
man. Life is too good to lose for nothing. A mine is good, but
there are better things than mines."
"Meaning?" said Brown.
"Men!" said Jack with
emphasis.
"AND," shouted Brown,
slipping his arm round his wife, "women."
"Brown," said Jack
solemnly, "as my friend Pierre Lamont would say,
'you have reason.'" |