Chapter 12

BARBARA PLAYS A PART

Lister returned to the railroad camp and stayed until the company sent a man to fill his post. In the meantime, he wrote to some of his father's relations, whom he had not seen, and their reply was kind. They stated that while he was in England he must make their house his home. When his successor arrived he started for Montreal, and one afternoon sat under a tree in the square by the cathedral.

The afternoon was calm. A thunderstorm that wet the streets had gone, and an enervating damp heat brooded over the city. After the fresh winds that sweep the woods and plains, Lister felt the languid air made him slack and dull. His steamer did not sail until daybreak, and since he had gone up the mountain and seen the cathedral and Notre Dame, he did not know what to do. The bench he occupied was in the shade, and he smoked and looked about.

Cabs rolled up the street to the big hotel across the square, and behind the trees the huge block of the C.P.R. station cut the sky. One heard whistles, the rumble of heavy wheels, and the tolling of locomotive bells. Pigeons flew down from the cathedral dome and searched the damp gravel.

A group of foreign emigrants picnicked in the shade. Their clothes were old and greasy; they carried big shapeless bundles and looked tired and worn. Lister could not guess their nationality, but imagined they had known poverty and oppression in Eastern Europe. It was obvious they had recently disembarked from a crowded steerage and waited for an emigrant train. They were going West, to the land of promise, and Lister wished them luck. He and they were birds of passage and, with all old landmarks left behind, rested for a few hours on their journey.

He studied the group. The men looked dull and beaten; the women had no beauty and had grown coarse with toil. Their faces were pinched and their shoulders bent. Only the children, in spite of rags and dirt, struck a hopeful note. Yet the forlorn strangers had pluck; they had made a great adventure and might get their reward. Lister had seen others in the West, who had made good, breaking soil they owned and walking with the confident step of self-respecting men. On the plains, stubborn labor was rewarded, but one needed pluck to leave all one knew and break custom's familiar but heavy yoke.

By and by Lister remembered he wanted to take his relations a few typically Canadian presents. He had seen nothing that satisfied him at Winnipeg, and had better look about the shops at Montreal. Anyhow, it would amuse him for an hour or two. He got up, went along the path for a few yards, and then stopped.

Across the clanging of the locomotive bells and the roll of trolley cars at the bottom of the hill he heard sweet voices. The music was faint and somehow ethereal, as if it fell from a height. One lost it now and then. It came from the cathedral and Lister stopped and listened. He did not know what office was being sung, but the jaded emigrants knew, for a child got up and stood with bent head, holding a greasy cap, and a ragged woman's face got gentle as she signed herself with the cross. It looked as if the birds of passage had found a landmark in a foreign land. Lister was moved, and gave the child a coin before he went off.

He strolled east, past Notre Dame, towards the post office, about which the stately banks and imposing office blocks stand. This quarter of the city drew him, for one saw how constructive talent and imagination could be used, and he wondered whether England had new buildings like these. Sometimes one felt the Western towns were raw and vulgar, but one saw the bold Canadian genius at its best in Montreal.

After a time he stopped in front of a shop in a short side street. Indian embroidery work and enameled silver occupied the window, and although Lister was not an artist he had an eye for line and knew the things were good. The soft, stained deerskin was cleverly embroidered; he liked the warm colors of the enamel, and going in was shown a tray of spoons.

The shop, shut in by high buildings, was dark and smelt of aromatic wood and leather, but a beam from a window pierced the gloom and sparkled on the silver. This was emblazoned with the arms of the Provinces; the Ship, the Wheatsheaves, and the red Maple Leaf. Lister picked up the articles, and while he did so was vaguely conscious that a girl at the opposite counter studied him. He, however, did not look up until he had selected a few of the spoons, and then he started.

The light that touched the girl's face did not illuminate it all. Her profile was sharp as an old daguerreotype: he saw the flowing line from brow to chin, drawn with something of austere classic beauty, the arched lips and the faint indication of a gently-rounded cheek. The rest was in shadow, and the contrast of light and gloom was like a Rembrandt picture. Then the enameled spoons rattled as Lister put down the tray. He knew the picture. When he last saw the girl, her face was lighted like that by the blaze of a locomotive head-lamp.

"I'll take these things," he said, and crossed the floor.

The girl moved back, but he indicated a bundle of deerskin articles he thought her business was to sell. Her color was high; he noted the vivid white and pink against the dull background of stained leather.

"What does one do with those bags?" he asked.

"They're useful for keeping gloves and handkerchiefs," she replied. "The pattern is worked in sinews, but we have some with a neat colored embroidery." She paused and signed to a saleswoman farther on. "Will you bring this gentleman the Revillon goods?"

Lister's object for stopping her was not very plain, but he did not mean to let her go.

"Please don't bother. I expect to find something in this bundle," he said to the approaching saleswoman. Then he turned to the girl in front. "Let me look at the bag with the arrow-head pattern."

She gave him the bag, and although her glance was steady he knew she was embarrassed.

"If you will wrap it up, I'll keep this one," he resumed. "I expect you have not forgotten me. When I came into the shop I didn't imagine I should meet you, but if you'd sooner I went off, I'll go."

"I have not forgotten," she admitted, and her color faded and came back to her delicate skin.

"Very well! Since I sail to-night on the Allan boat, it's plain you needn't be afraid of my bothering you. All the same, we were partners in an adventure that ought to make us friends. Can't I meet you for a few minutes when you stop work?"

She hesitated, and then gave him a searching glance.

"Come to the fountain up the street in an hour. This is my early evening."

Lister went off with the bag and spoons, and when he returned to the fountain saw her crossing the square in front. She was dressed like the shop-girls he had seen hurrying on board the street cars in the morning; her clothes were pretty and fashionable, but Lister thought the material was cheap. He felt she ought not to wear things like that. While she advanced he studied her. She was attractive, in a way he had hardly remarked on board the train. One rather noted her quick, resolute movements, the sparkle in her eyes, and her keen vitality. Lister began to think he had unconsciously noted much.

"I'm going to take you to supper, and you can send me off when you like afterwards," he said and started across the square. A famous restaurant was not far off.

"No," she said, as if she knew where he was going. "If I go with you, it must be the tea-rooms I and my friends use." She gave him a rather hard smile and added: "There's no use in my going where I don't belong."

Lister said nothing, but while they walked across the town she talked with a brightness he thought forced, and when they stopped at a small tea-room in a side street he frowned. He was persuaded she did not belong there. She was playing a part, perhaps not very cleverly since he had found her out. She wanted him to think her a shop-girl enjoying an evening's adventure; her talk and careless laugh hinted at this, but Lister was not cheated.

They went in. The room was small and its ornamentation unusual. Imitation vines crawled about light wooden arches, cutting up the floor space into quiet corners. The room was rather dark, but pink lamps shone among the leaves and the soft light touched the tables and clusters of artificial grapes. Lister thought the plan was well carried out, for the grapes were the small red Muskokas that grow in Canada. When he picked up the menu card he understood why girls from the stores and offices used the place.

Lister ordered the best supper the French-Canadian landlady could serve, and then began to talk while he helped his companion. The corner they occupied was secluded and he owned that to sup with an attractive girl had a romantic charm. He noted that she frankly enjoyed the food and he liked her light, quick laugh and the sparkle in her eyes. Her thin summer clothes hinted at a slender, finely-lined form, and her careless pose was graceful.

He wondered whether she felt her meeting him was something of an adventure, but he was persuaded she was playing a part. Her frankness was not bold, the little, French-Canadian gestures were obviously borrowed, and some of the colloquialisms she used were out of date. Except for these, her talk was cultivated. For a time Lister tried to play up, and then resolved to see if he could break her reserve.

"It looks as if you made Malcolm all right on board the gravel train," he remarked.

She gave him a quick glance and colored. "Yes, I made it and got the East-bound express. The engineer was kind. I expect you told him he must help?"

"When I put you on board the locomotive I knew Roberts would see you out. He's a sober fellow and has two girls as old as you."

"You don't know how old I am," she said with an effort for carelessness.

"Anyhow, it's plain you are young enough to be rash," Lister rejoined.

She put down her cup and her glance was soft. He saw she was not acting.

"I don't think I really was rash--not _then_. It's something to know when you can trust people, and I did know."

Lister was embarrassed, but her gentleness had charm. He did not want her to resume her other manner. Then he was tempted to make an experiment.

"You know Shillito got away?"

Her lips trembled and the blood came to her skin, but she fronted him bravely and he felt ashamed.

"Yes," she said. "I think I would sooner he had been caught! But why did you begin to talk about Shillito?"

"Perhaps I oughtn't; I'm sorry."

She studied him and he thought she pondered, although it was possible she wanted to recover her calm.

"Unless you are very dull, you know something," she resumed with an effort. "Well, I was rash, but just before I saw you on the platform I found out all I'd risked. I think I was desperate; I meant to jump off the train, only it was going fast and water shone under the bridge. Then you pushed me from the step and I felt I must make another plunge and try to get your help. Now I'm glad I did so. But that's all."

Lister understood that the thing was done with. She would tell him nothing more, and he was sorry he had indulged his curiosity.

"Oh, well," he said, "there's not much risk of my bothering you about the fellow again. I start for England in a few hours."

Her glance got wistful. She moved her plate and her hand trembled.

"You are English?" he resumed.

"I met you first on board a Canadian train and now you find me helping at a Montreal store. Isn't this enough? Why do you try to find out where I come from?"

"I'm sorry. All the same, you're not a Canadian."

"I am a Canadian now," she rejoined, and then added, as if she were resolved to talk about something else, "There's a mark on your forehead, like a deep cut. You hadn't got it when I saw you on the platform."

"No," said Lister. "I fell down some steps not long afterwards."

She looked at him sharply and then exclaimed: "Oh! the newspapers said there was a struggle on the train! Somebody helped the police and got hurt. It was you. Shillito knew you had meddled. You got the cut for me!"

"We agreed we wouldn't talk about Shillito. I got the cut because I didn't want to see a young police trooper knocked out. People who meddle do get hurt now and then. Anyhow, it's some time since and I think we'll let it go. Suppose you tell me about Montreal and your job at the store?"

She roused herself and began to talk. Lister thought it cost her something, but she sketched her working companions with skill and humor. She used their accent and their French-Canadian gestures. Lister laughed and led her on, although he got a hint of strain. The girl was not happy and he had noted her wistful look when she talked about England. At length she got up, and stopping at the door for a moment gave him her hand.

"Thank you. I wish you _bon voyage_," she said.

"Can't we go somewhere else? Is there nothing doing at the theaters?" Lister asked.

"No," she said resolutely; "I'm going home. Anyhow, I'm going where I live."

Lister let her go, but waited, watching her while she went up the street. Somehow she looked forlorn and he felt pitiful. He remembered that he did not know her name, which he had wanted to ask but durst not.

When he returned to his hotel he stopped at the desk and gave the clerk a cigarette. As a rule, a Canadian hotel clerk knows something about everybody of importance in the town.

"I bought some _souvenirs_ at a curiosity depot," he said, and told the other where the shop was. "Although they charged me pretty high, the things looked good."

"You haven't got stung," the clerk remarked. "The folks are French-Canadians but they like a square deal. If you put up the money, they put up the goods."

"The shop hands looked smart and bright. If you study the sales people, you can sometimes tell how a store is run."

"That's so. Those girls don't want to grumble. They're treated all right."

"Oh, well," said Lister, "since I don't know much about enameled goods and deerskin truck, I'm glad I've not got stung."

When he went off the other smiled, for a hotel clerk is not often cheated, and he thought he saw where Lister's remarks led. Lister, however, was strangely satisfied. It was something to know the storekeepers were honest and kind to the people they employed.