“That mill will never grind again with the water that is past, nor the water that is to come. Fulmer has gone smash, and I could not accept a loan that I do not see my way to repay. Nevertheless, I appreciate fully the kindness of your offer, and if you don’t mind, I will tell you how I got myself entangled, for there is no use in concealing from you what you must already have seen – that I am desperately poor, so much so that I sometimes lose courage, and consider myself a failure, which is not a pleasant state of mind to get into.”

“Oh, I’ve often felt that way myself,” said Stranleigh, “but nobody’s a failure unless he thinks he is. You strike me as a capable man. You have youth and energy, and added to that, great good luck. I’m a believer in luck myself.”

This commendation did not chase the gloom from the face of Challis.

“You have knocked from under me,” he said, “the one frail prop on which I leaned. I have been excusing myself by blaming the run of horrid bad luck I have encountered.”

Stranleigh shook his head.

“You can’t truthfully say that,” he rejoined quietly, “while you have had the supreme good fortune to enlist the affection of so clever and charming a wife.”

The gloom disappeared from Challis’s countenance as the shadow of a cloud at that moment flitted from the surface of the lake. He thrust forth his hand, and there being no onlookers, Stranleigh grasped it.

“Shake!” cried Challis. “I’ll never say ‘ill-luck’ again! I wish she had come with us.”

“So do I,” agreed Stranleigh.

“I’d like her to have heard you talk.”

“Oh, not for that reason. I’d like her to enjoy this scenery.”

“Yes, and the deuce of it is, she practically owns the scene. Look at that house across the lake.”

“A mansion, I should call it.”

“A mansion it is. That’s where my wife came from. Think of my selfishness in taking her from such a home to wretched rooms in a cottage, and abject poverty.”

“I prefer not to think of your selfishness, but rather of her nobility in going. It revives in a cynical man like myself his former belief in the genuine goodness of the world.”

“It all came about in this way,” continued Challis. “I graduated at a technical college – engineering. I began work at the bottom of the ladder, and started in to do my best, being ambitious. This was appreciated, and I got on.”

“In what line?” asked Stranleigh.

“In a line which at that time was somewhat experimental. The firm for which I worked might be called a mechanical-medical association, or perhaps ‘surgical’ would be a better term. We had no plant, no factory; nothing but offices. We were advisers. I was sent here and there all over the country, to mills that were not in a good state of health; dividends falling off, business declining, competition too severe, and what-not. I looked over the works, talked with managers and men, formed conclusions, then sent a report to my firm containing details, and such suggestions as I had to offer. My firm communicated with the proprietor of the works accordingly, and collected its bill.”

“That should be an interesting occupation,” said Stranleigh, whose attention was enlisted.

“It was. One day, I was sent up here to inspect the factory of Stanmore Anson, a large stone structure which you could see from here were it not concealed by that hill to the right. It has been in the Anson family for three generations, and had earned a lot of money in its time, but is now as old-fashioned as Noah’s Ark. It was cruelly wasteful of human energy and mechanical power. It should have had a set of turbines, instead of the ancient, moss-grown, overshot waterwheels. The machinery was out of date, and ill-placed. The material in course of manufacture had to go upstairs and downstairs, all over the building, handled and re-handled, backward and forward, instead of passing straight through the factory, entering as raw material, and coming out the finished product. I reported to my firm that the establishment needed a complete overhauling; that it ought to have new machinery, but that if it was compulsory to keep the old machines at work, they should be entirely rearranged in accordance with the sketch I submitted, so that unnecessary handling of the product might be avoided. I set down the minimum expense that must be incurred, and also submitted an estimate covering the cost of turbines and new machinery, which I admit was large in the bulk, but really the most economical thing to do.”

“I see. And the old man objected to the expense, or perhaps had not the necessary capital to carry out your suggestion? What sort of a person is he? Unreasonable, I suppose you consider him?”

“Strangely enough, I never met him in my life.”

“And you married his daughter?”

“Had to. I was determined to take the girl away, whether I reformed the factory or not, and here you see where good luck and the reverse mingled. When I arrived at Mr. Anson’s factory, the old man was in New York, for the purpose, as I learned, of raising a loan, or of selling the property, neither of which projects was he able to carry out.”

“That was his misfortune, rather than his fault, wasn’t it?”

“In a way, yes; still, the Trust had offered him a reasonable figure for his factory. He not only refused, but he fought the Trust tooth and nail, thinking that with low taxation, and country wages, he could meet the competition, which, of course, with the factory in its present state, he could not do. The fact that he was up against the Trust became well known, so that he could neither borrow nor sell. While in New York, he called several times on Langdon, Bliss, and Co., the firm that employed me. When my report came in and was read to him, I understand he fell into a tremendous rage, and characterised our company as a body of swindlers. Mr. Langdon ordered him out of the office.

“That was the first spoke in my wheel. Mr. Langdon was a capable man, always courteous and very calm when dealing with his fellows, so I am sure that my father-in-law must have been exceedingly violent when he provoked Langdon to vocal wrath. I judge that Langdon, when he recovered from his outbreak, regretted it extremely, and was inclined to blame me for rather muddling the affair of Anson’s mill. I may say that I had been placed in rather a difficult position. The proprietor was absent, and had not taken his foreman into his confidence, therefore this foreman put difficulties in the way of investigation. The employees were suspicious, not knowing what this research by a stranger meant, so I went to Anson’s house, hoping to find there someone with sufficient authority to enable me to get the information I must have.

“I met Mrs. Anson, a kindly woman, but realised in a moment that no authority had been delegated to her. She appeared afraid to suggest anything, but called in her only daughter to assist at our conference. The girl at once said she would accompany me to the mill, and did so. I shall never forget with what infinite tact and persuasiveness she won over the foreman, and it was quite evident that the workmen all knew and liked her, for her very presence appeared to dissipate distrust. I saw Miss Anson home, and it seemed, as my investigations progressed, many conferences became more and more necessary. You’re a young man, and doubtless you know how it is yourself.”

“As a matter of fact, I don’t,” interjected Stranleigh, “but I can guess.”

“Well – your guess is right. We had no difficulty with Mrs. Anson, but both mother and daughter were uneasy about how the father would take it. I wrote him what I hoped was a straightforward letter, putting the case to him as man to man. He answered with a very brief and terse letter that left me no doubt regarding his opinion, but my own communication had arrived at an unfortunate time; the day after he had been ordered out of our office. He at once enclosed my letter to Mr. Langdon, saying in effect: —

“‘This is the sort of man you sent like a wolf in sheep’s clothing to my home.’”

“Langdon telegraphed, asking if this was true. I, of course, had to admit it was, with the result of instant dismissal. I never would have let either mother or daughter know about this, but my reticence was vain, for Mr. Anson wrote a stinging letter to his daughter saying she could do what she pleased about marrying me, but that he had secured my dismissal. It is strange,” Challis murmured reflectively, speaking more to himself than to his companion, “it is strange that a father rarely recognises that when he comes to a difference with one of his children, he is meeting, in part at least, some of his own characteristics. I wonder if I shall ever be so unreasonable as – ”

Stranleigh’s eye twinkled as he remembered how firm the girl had been in refusing the automobile invitation, yet giving no explanation of that refusal.

“What Gertrude said to me was, holding her head very proudly: ‘I have received my father’s permission to marry you, and if you are ready for an immediate ceremony, I am willing.’

“We were married before the old man returned from New York.”

“Has there been no further communication between Mr. Anson and yourself?”

“On my part, yes; ignored by him. It was Gertrude who wished to stay in Altonville. She knew a financial crisis was threatening her father, and she hoped that in some way I should be able to advise him. That was not to be. She requested permission to take away her belongings. This was refused. Everything she possessed, Mr. Anson said, had been purchased with his money. They remained at his home, and she was welcome to use them at his house, any time she chose to return, but having exchanged his care for that of another man, it was the other man’s duty to provide what she needed. This ended our communication, and brings us to the present moment.”

“Can you drive a car?” asked Stranleigh.

“Yes.”

“The immediate question strikes me as being that of wearing apparel. I propose to return with at least a box full. I don’t like to be baffled, and I wish Mrs. Challis to come out with us for a run. Will you exchange seats, and drive me down to the mill?”

“You’re up against a tough proposition,” demurred Challis.

“A proposition usually gives way if you approach it tactfully, as Miss Anson approached the manager. If you have never seen her father, he will not recognise you, so let us call at the mill.”

“He would not recognise me, but the foreman would, also many of the men.”

“We must chance that.”

The two young men exchanged seats, and Challis at the wheel, with more caution than ever Stranleigh used, sent the car spinning down the slightly descending road by the margin of the lake, until they came to the water level. No word was spoken between them, but his lordship studied with keen scrutiny from the corner of his eye, the profile of the intent driver. He was immensely taken with the young man, and meditated on the story to which he had listened. The effect left on his mind by that recital surprised him. It was a feeling of sympathy with the old man who had acted so obstreperously, and gradually he placed this feeling to the credit of Challis, who had shown no rancour against his father-in-law, either in word or tone. Yes; he liked Challis, and was sorry for the elderly Anson, one evidently advanced in years, battling against forces that were too much for him, stubbornly using antiquated methods in a world that had out-grown them; the muzzle-loader against the repeating rifle. These two men should be pulling together.

“There’s the factory,” said Challis, at last, and Stranleigh, looking up, beheld further down the valley a three-storied structure, unexpectedly huge, built apparently for all the ages. There was no sign of activity about it; but the roar of waters came to their ears; idle waters, nevertheless, that were turning no wheels, the muffled sound of an unimpeded minor cataract.

“By Jove!” cried Stranleigh, jumping out as the car stopped.

Challis said nothing, but an expression of deep anxiety darkened his countenance. There were plastered here and there on the stone walls great white posters, bearing printing like the headings of a sensational newspaper, magnified several hundred times.

AUCTION SALE

BY ORDER OF THE BANKRUPTCY COURT,

that desirable property known as Anson’s Mill, fully equipped with machinery, in condition for immediate use, with never-failing water power, which at slight expense may be enormously increased; together with ten acres of freehold land; without reserve to the highest bidder; on the Seventeenth of November!

“A desirable property,” said Challis, sadly, “which nobody desires except the Trust, and probably it cares nothing about it now.”

“You forget that it is desired by Stanmore Anson.”

“I am afraid that even he is tired of it by this time. I am sorry, but I feared it was inevitable.”

Stranleigh looked up at him.

“Could you make this factory pay, if it were given into your charge?”

“Not in its present condition.”

“I mean, of course, with your recommendations carried out. If the mill, free from all encumbrances, filled with modern machinery, rightly placed, were put under your management, could you make it pay?”

Challis did not answer for some moments. His brow was wrinkled in thought, and he seemed making some mental calculations.

“There would need to be a suitable amount of working capital – ”

“Yes, yes; all that is understood. Could you make it pay?”

“I am almost sure I could, but there is that incalculable factor, the opposition of the Trust.”

“Damn the Trust!” cried Stranleigh. “I beg your pardon; I should have said, blow the Trust! I thought I had lost the power of becoming excited, not to say profane. It must be the exhilarating air of America. The sale is a good way off yet, and I think it will be further off before I get through with it. If you will accept the management, and your father-in-law proves at all reasonable, I guarantee to find the necessary money.”

“You mean that, Mr. Ponderby – ”

“Exactly. I am his chief business adviser, as well as his only chauffeur. But we are forgetting the matter in hand. We must rescue the wardrobe of Mrs. Challis. Drive on to the mansion. You know the way, and I don’t.”

“I’m a warned-off trespasser, but here goes.”

“You won’t be called on to trespass very much. You’re my chauffeur, pro tem. Perhaps you won’t need to enter the house at all. I shall see Mrs. Anson before I meet her husband, if possible, and will try to persuade her to give me the wardrobe.”

“She would not have the courage to do that without her husband’s permission, and he will never give it.”

“We’ll see about that. Ah, the mill is not the only piece of property to be sold!”

They had turned into a well-shaded avenue, to the massive stone gate-pillars of which were attached posters similar to those at the mill, only in this case it was “This valuable, desirable and palatial residence,” with the hundreds of acres of land attached, that were to be knocked down by the auctioneer’s hammer.

“I might have known,” commented Stranleigh, “that if Mr. Anson was bankrupt at his mill, he was also bankrupt at his house.”

They drew up at the entrance. Stranleigh stepped down, and rang the bell, Challis remaining in the car. Shown into the drawing-room, the visitor was greeted by a sad-looking, elderly woman.

“Mrs. Anson,” said the young man, very deferentially, “I expect your forgiveness for this intrusion on my part when I say that I am here in some sense as an ambassador from your daughter.”

“From my daughter!” gasped the old lady in astonishment. “Is she well, and where is she?”

“She is very well, I am glad to say, and is living with her husband over in the village.”

“In her last letter she said her husband was taking her to New York. There had been a – misunderstanding.” The old lady hesitated for a moment before using that mild term. “On the day her letter was received, I went to the hotel at which they were stopping, and was told by the landlord they had gone, he did not know where. Do you tell me they have been living in Altonville all the time?”

“I think so, but cannot be sure. I met Mr. and Mrs. Challis for the first time only a week ago.”

“I hope she is happy.”

“She is,” said Stranleigh confidently, “and before the day is done her mother will be happy also.”

Mrs. Anson shook her head. She was on the verge of tears, which Stranleigh saw and dreaded. So he said hurriedly:

“You will select me what you think she should have at once, and I will take the box or parcel to Altonville in my car.”

“When at last her father saw that everything we possessed must be sold,” rejoined Mrs. Anson, “he packed up in trunks what belonged to Gertrude, and as we could not learn where to send them, Mr. Asa Perkins, a friend of ours, who lives in Boston, lent us a room in which to store the things, and they are there now.”

“How odd!” exclaimed Stranleigh. “I met Mr. Perkins just before he left his summer residence, and took the place furnished, acting for the present tenant. It is much too large for him, and some of the rooms are locked. Do you happen to have the key?”

“No; it is in the possession of the housekeeper. She is there still, is she not?”

“Yes; I took the house as it stood, servants and all.”

“I’ll write a note to the housekeeper, then. What name shall I say?”

“Please write it in the name of Mr. Challis. He’s outside now, in my car.”

“May I bring him in?” she asked, eagerly.

“Certainly,” said Stranleigh, with a smile. “It’s your house, you know.”

“Not for long,” she sighed.

“Ah, – ” drawled Stranleigh, “Mr. Challis and I propose that this sale shall not take place. If I may have a short conversation with your husband, I think we shall come to terms.”

An expression of anxiety overspread her face.

“Perhaps I had better not ask Jim to come in,” she hesitated.

“Your husband does not know him, and I would rather you did not tell him who is with me. Just say that Henry Johnson and a friend wish to negotiate about the factory.”

Stanmore Anson proved to be a person of the hale old English yeoman type, as portrayed by illustrators, although his ancestors originally came from Sweden. His face was determined, his lips firm, and despite his defeats, the lurking sparkle of combat still animated his eyes.

“Before we begin any conversation regarding a sale,” he said, “you must answer this question, Mr. Johnson. Are you connected in any way, directly or indirectly, with the G.K.R. Trust?”

“I am not connected with it, directly or indirectly.”

“You state that on your honour as a man?”

“No; I simply state it.”

“You wouldn’t swear it?”

“Not unless compelled by force of law.”

“Then I have nothing further to say to you, sir.”

The old man seemed about to withdraw, then hesitated, remembering he was in his own house. Stranleigh sat there unperturbed.

“You have nothing further to say, Mr. Anson, because two thoughts are sure to occur to you. First, a man whose word you would not accept cannot be believed, either on his honour or his oath. Second, the Trust doesn’t need to send an emissary to you; it has only to wait until November, and acquire your factory at its own figure. No one except myself would bid against the Trust.”

“That’s quite true,” agreed Anson. “I beg your pardon. What have you to propose?”

“I wish to know the sum that will see you clear and enable you to tear down those white posters at the gates, and those on the mill.”

Stanmore Anson drew a sheet of paper from his pocket, glanced over it, then named the amount.

“Very good,” said Stranleigh, decisively. “I’ll pay that for the mill and the ten acres.”

“They are not worth it,” said Anson. “Wait till November, and even though you outbid the Trust, you’ll get it at a lower figure.”

“We’ll make the mill worth it. You may retain the residence and the rest of the property.”

“There is but one proviso,” said the old man. “I wish to name the manager.”

“I regret I cannot agree to that, Mr. Anson, I have already chosen the manager, and guarantee that he will prove efficient.”

“I’ll forego your generous offer of the house and property if you will allow me to appoint the manager.”

“I am sorry, Mr. Anson, but you touch the only point on which I cannot give way.”

“Very well,” cried Anson, angrily, his eyes ablaze. “The arrangement is off.”

Both young men saw that Stanmore Anson was indeed difficult to deal with, as his ancestors had been in many a hard-fought battle.

“Wait a moment! Wait a moment!” exclaimed Challis. “This will never do. It is absurd to wreck everything on a point so trivial. I am the man whom Mr. Johnson wishes to make manager. I now refuse to accept the position, but if the bargain is completed, I’ll give Mr. Anson and his manager all the assistance and advice they care to receive from me, and that without salary.”

“Be quiet, Challis!” cried Stranleigh.

“Challis! Challis!” interrupted the old man, gazing fiercely at his junior. “Is your name Challis?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You’re not my son-in-law?”

“I am, sir.”

“I did you a great injustice,” admitted Anson. “No man has a right to deprive another of his livelihood. I have bitterly regretted it. It is you I wish appointed manager.”

“Challis,” said Stranleigh, “take the car, and bring your wife. Say her father wishes to see her.”

Challis disappeared, and in an incredibly short space of time, during which Anson and Stranleigh chatted together, the door opened, and Gertrude Challis came in.

“Father,” she cried, “Jim says he’s going to scrap all the machinery in the factory. Shall we throw our differences on that scrap-heap?”

The old man gathered her to his breast, and kissed her again and again. He could not trust his voice.