CHAPTER XXXI

MERRIL CAPITULATES

Merril was not in his house when Jimmy reached it, but it appeared that he was expected shortly, and the latter, who resolved to wait for him, was shown into a big artistically furnished room. He sat there at least ten minutes, alone and grim in face, with a growing disquietude, for his surroundings had their effect on him. The house was built of wood, but expense had not been spared, and those who have visited the Western cities know how beautiful a wooden dwelling can be made. Jimmy looked out through the open windows on to a wide veranda framed with a slender colonnade of wooden pillars supporting fretted arches of lace-like delicacy. The floor of the room, which was choicely parquetted in cunningly contrasted wood, also caught his eye, and there were Indian-sewn rugs of furs on it of a kind that he knew was rarely purchased in the north, except on behalf of Russian princes and American railroad kings. The furniture, he fancied by the timber, was Canadian-made, but it had evidently been copied from artistic European models; and though he was far from being a connoisseur in such things, they had all a painful significance to him just then.

They suggested wealth and taste and luxury; and it seemed only fitting that the woman he loved should have such a dwelling, while he realized that it was his hand which must deprive her of all the artistic daintiness to which she had grown accustomed and no doubt valued. He, a steamboat skipper of low degree, had, like blind Samson, laid a brutal grasp upon the pillars of the house, and he could feel the trembling of the beautiful edifice. This would have afforded him a certain grim satisfaction, had it not been for the fact that it was impossible to tell whether the woman he would have spared every pain might not be overwhelmed amid the ruin when he exerted his strength. It must be exerted. In that he could not help himself.

While he sat there with a hard, set face, she came in, dressed, as he realized, in harmony with her surroundings. Her gracious patrician quietness and her rich attire troubled him, and he felt, in spite of all Eleanor had said, that it would be a vast relief if he could abandon altogether the purpose that had brought him there, though to do so would, it was evident, set the girl further apart from him than ever, since her father's station naturally stood as a barrier between them. Still, he remembered what he owed the men who had sent him on board the _Shasta_--Jordan, Forster, old Leeson, and two or three more; he could not turn against them now.

Anthea stood still just inside the door, looking at him half-expectant, but with something that was suggestive of apprehension in her manner, and Jimmy felt the hot blood creep into his face when he moved quietly forward and kissed her. In view of what he had to do, it would, he felt, have been more natural if she had shrunk from him in place of submitting to his caress. She appeared to recognize the constraint that was upon him, for she turned away and sat down a little distance from him.

"Jimmy," she said, "I'm glad to see you back. I have been lonely without you--and a little uneasy. Indeed, though I don't know exactly why, I am anxious now."

Then she looked at him steadily. "It is the first time you have been here. Something unusual must have brought you. Jimmy, is it war?"

The man made a deprecatory gesture. "I'm afraid it is," he said. "I don't think there can be any compromise."

"Ah!" said the girl, with a start, "you don't look like a man who has come to offer terms."

Jimmy was still standing, and he leaned somewhat heavily on the back of a chair. "I have to do something that I shrink from, but it must be done. If there were no other reason, I daren't go back on the men who have confidence in me; that is--not altogether, though in a way--I am now betraying them. Anthea, you will not let this thing stand between us?"

"No;" and the girl's voice was steady, though a trifle strained. "At least, not always. Still, I have felt that some day I should have to choose whom I should hold to--my father or you. It is very hard to face that question, Jimmy."

"Yes," said Jimmy gravely; "I am afraid you must choose to-night. You know how much I want you, but I have sense enough to recognize that I may bring trouble on both of us if I urge you to do what you might afterward regret."

Anthea said nothing for almost a minute, and because of the restraint he had laid upon himself Jimmy understood the cost of her quietness. It seemed necessary that both should hold themselves in hand. Then she turned to him again.

"You are quite sure there can be no compromise?"

"It is for many reasons out of the question. In fact, I think the decisive battle will be fought to-night. I have strained every point to make it easier for you, or I should not have come at all, and it is very likely that my comrades will discard me when they hear what I have done. I am willing to face their anger, but, to some extent, at least, I must keep my bargain with them."

He moved a pace or two, and stood close by her chair looking down at her. "If you understood everything, you would not blame me."

Anthea glanced at him a moment, and he fancied that a shiver ran through her. "I do not blame you now, though it is all a little horrible. I cannot plead with you, and if I did I see that you would not listen. You must do what you feel you have to."

Neither of them spoke for a while, though Jimmy felt the tension was almost unendurable. It was evident that the girl felt it too, for he could see the signs of strain in her face. So intent were they that neither heard the door open, and Jimmy turned with a little start when the sound of a footstep reached them. Merril was standing not far away, little, portly, and immaculately dressed, regarding them with an inscrutable face.

"I understand you wish to see me, Mr. Wheelock," he said. "Anthea, you will no doubt allow us a few minutes."

The girl rose and moved toward the door, but before she went out she turned for a moment and glanced at Jimmy. Then it closed softly, and he saw that Merril was regarding him with a sardonic smile.

"I heard that you had made my daughter's acquaintance, but I was not aware that it had gone as far as I have some grounds for supposing now," he said.

"That," said Jimmy quietly, "is a subject I may mention by and by. In the meanwhile I have something to say that concerns you at least as closely. As it has a bearing on the other question, we might discuss it first."

"I am at your service for ten minutes;" and Merril pointed to a chair.

Jimmy sat down, but said nothing for a few moments. Apart from the trouble that he must bring upon Anthea, he felt that it was a big and difficult thing he had undertaken. He was a steamboat skipper, and the man in front of him one skilled in every art of commercial trickery whose ability was recognized in that city. Still, he felt curiously steady and sure of himself, for Jimmy, like other simple-minded men, as a rule appeared to advantage when forced suddenly to face a crisis. He felt, in fact, much as he had done when he stood grimly resolute on the _Shasta_'s bridge while the _Adelaide_, sheering wildly, dragged her toward the spouting surf. Then he turned to Merril.

"I called on you once before to make a request," he said.

"And your errand is much the same now, though one could fancy that you feel you have something to back it?" his companion suggested dryly.

"No," said Jimmy, "I have nothing to ask you for this time. Instead, I am simply going to mention certain facts, and leave you to act on the information in the only way open to you; that is, to get out of Vancouver as soon as possible. I am giving you the opportunity in order to save Miss Merril the pain of seeing you prosecuted. You are in our hands now."

Merril scarcely moved a muscle. "You are prepared to make that assurance good?"

"I am;" and Jimmy's voice had a little ring in it. "If you will give me your attention I'll try to do it. You have no news of the _Adelaide_ yet, and, to commence with, you will have to face the fact that she is not on the rocks. She was just ready to steam south with a derangement of her high-pressure engine when I last saw her."

Though his companion's face was almost expressionless, Jimmy fancied that this shot had reached its mark, and he proceeded to relate what had happened since he fell in with the _Adelaide_. He did it with some skill, for this was a subject with which he was at home, and he made the feelings of her skipper and second engineer perfectly clear. Then, though he had not mentioned Robertson's confession, he sat still, wondering at Merril's composure.

"It sounds probable," said the latter, with a little smile. "You expect the skipper and the second engineer to bear you out? No doubt they promised, but when they get here the thing will wear another aspect. In fact, in all probability it will look too big for them. You see, they have merely put a certain construction upon one or two occurrences. It's quite likely they will be willing to admit that it is, after all, the wrong one."

"Since we intend to claim half the value of the _Adelaide_, they would have to answer on their oath in court."

Merril shook his head. "Half her value! I commence to understand," he said. "An appeal to the court is, as a rule, expensive, as I guess you know. It is generally wiser to be reasonable and make a compromise."

The suggestion was so characteristic of the man that Jimmy lost a little of his self-restraint.

"There will be no compromise in this case," he said. "If it were necessary we would drag you through every court in the land; but, as a matter of fact, there will be no need for that. You made a mistake in your opinion of the courage of your skipper and your second engineer. You also made a more serious one in putting the screw too hard on Robertson.".

"Ah!" said Merril sharply, at last, "there is something more?"

Jimmy took a paper from his pocket, and gravely handed it to him. "I am quite safe in allowing you to look at it. It wouldn't be advisable for you to make any attempt to destroy it. You will excuse my mentioning that."

Merril unfolded the document, and Jimmy noticed that the half-contemptuous toleration died out of his face as he read it. Then he quietly handed it back, and sat very still for at least a minute before he turned to his companion again.

"That rather alters the case. You have something to go upon. Do you mind telling me what course you purpose to take?"

"As I mentioned, I don't purpose to take any. Still, the _Shasta_ Company will send in a claim for salvage to-morrow, and afterward sue you--or whoever you entrust with your affairs--unless it is met. The _Adelaide_ should also be here in the course of the next day or two, and you will have your skipper and second engineer, as well as the miner who witnessed the statement, to face. They appear determined on raising as much unpleasantness as possible, though they were willing to hold back until I had taken the first steps."

He stopped a moment, and then leaned forward in his chair with a little forceful gesture. "Though it would please me to see you prosecuted and disgraced, I will at least take no steps to prevent your getting out of this city quietly."

"Ah!" said Merril, "you no doubt expect something for that concession?"

"No," and Jimmy stood up, "I expect nothing. It would hurt me to make a bargain of any kind with you, and it would, I think, be illegal. Still, I have the honor of informing you that I purpose to marry Miss Merril as soon as it appears convenient to her, in spite of any opposition that you may think fit to offer."

Merril showed neither astonishment nor anger. Instead he smiled quietly, and his companion surmised that he had already with characteristic promptness decided on his course of action.

"You have no objections to my sending for her?"

Jimmy said he had none, and five minutes later Anthea appeared. She stood near the door looking at the men, and saw that Jimmy's face was darkly flushed. Her father, however, appeared almost as composed as usual. Jimmy felt that he dare not look at her, and the tense silence, which lasted a few moments, tried his courage hard. It cost him an effort to hold himself in hand when Merril turned to the girl.

"I understand from Mr. Wheelock that you are willing to marry him. Is that the case?" he said.

"Yes," replied Anthea simply, while the blood crept into her cheeks. "That is, I shall be willing when circumstances permit."

"Then, in the meanwhile, at least, you would consider my wishes?"

Anthea glanced at Jimmy. "I think he understands that."

Merril said nothing for almost half a minute, and sat still regarding them with a sardonic smile, though his eyes were gentler than usual.

"Well," he said at last, "that is no more than one would have expected from you. Mr. Wheelock is, however, quite prepared to disregard my opposition. In fact, one could almost fancy that he will be a little grieved when I say that I do not mean to offer any."

Jimmy was certainly astonished, for he had at least expected that the man would make an attempt to play upon the girl's feelings. However, he said nothing, and Merril turned to her again.

"Well, I fancy that he has shown himself capable of looking after you, and there is a certain forceful simplicity in his character that, when I consider him as my daughter's husband, somewhat pleases me. With moderate good fortune it may carry him a long way."

It seemed an almost incomprehensible thing to Jimmy that the man should show no trace of vindictiveness, and perhaps the latter guessed it, for he laughed softly.

"Mr. Wheelock," he said, "as you have no doubt guessed, I never had much faith in the conventional code of morality, but since you seem determined to marry Anthea, I am in one respect glad that you evidently have, though that is perhaps not a very logical admission. I was out after money, and allowed no other consideration to influence me. It is probable that I should have accumulated a good deal of it had not everything gone against me lately. Well, if I showed no pity, I at least seldom allowed any rancor to betray me into injudicious action when other people treated me as I should have treated them; but, after all, that is not the question, and we will be practical. You will not see or write to Anthea for six months from to-day, and then if neither of you has changed your mind you can understand that you have my good-will. She will advise you of her address--in Toronto--in the meanwhile. It is not a great deal to promise."

Jimmy glanced at the girl, and turned again to Merril when she nodded.

"I pledge myself to that," he said.

"Then," said Merril, "you will leave us now. I have a good deal to say to Anthea."

Jimmy moved away without a word, and went down the corridor with every nerve in him tingling.