“I’m losin’ my bearin’s altogether,” declared Dan, looking much puzzled.
Ahmik was to accompany them. A nineteen-foot broad-beamed Peterboro canoe, with good carrying capacity, was selected for the journey. It was of ample size to accommodate the four voyageurs, together with their traveling equipment, provisions for the journey, and the furs which they were taking to market to barter.
The canoe was loaded at daybreak, and, Ahmik in the bow, Amesbury in the stern, with Paul and Dan between, they turned down the lake. A light mist lay over the waters, quickly to be dissolved by the rising sun. The weather was perfect, the air heavy with the pungent odor of damp fir trees, the lake placid, beautiful, glorious.
Through picturesque lakes, rushing rapids and gently flowing streams the expert canoe-men dexterously guided the frail craft. Now and again portages were made, but the outfit was light and these occasioned small delay.
At length Lake Winnipeg was entered. Here they were forced to lose a day or two because of wind and rough water, but for the most part they were favored with pleasant weather. Twice they stopped at trading posts to renew their supplies, but with no other delays at length turned into Red River, and on a beautiful June morning beheld the spires of the city of Winnipeg rising before them.
CHAPTER XX
WINNIPEG AT LAST
“HURRAH! Hurrah!” shouted Paul.
“We’re most home now. A hot bath in a real bath tub, and a real bed tonight, Dan! Think of it! A few days and we’ll be home!”
“’Tis grand!” exclaimed Dan, “and oh! ’t will be grand t’ get home!”
“I’ll wager,” broke in Amesbury, laughing, “that both you fellows will be pulling blankets off your beds and rolling upon the floor before morning, and I’ll wager, too, that you’ll be wishing you could get out to the back yard of the hotel to sleep on the ground.”
Ahmik waved his hand toward the town.
“Good sell fur; no good to stay. No good place to live. Bush good place to live. We like have you come back to trap.”
“You’ve been mighty good to us, Ahmik, and we thank you,” said Paul.
They stored their things in a shop whose proprietor Amesbury knew, each carrying a back-load up from the river.
“Now,” suggested Amesbury, “we’ll go to the hotel and wash up. What do you say?”
“I’d like to telegraph home first,” answered Paul.
“All right. Glad you spoke of that. We’ll wire from the hotel.”
Ahmik had no interest in the proposed bath or in hotel accommodations, and with promises to see him later, the three turned toward the center of town.
“You chaps got any cash?” asked Amesbury.
“Dead broke, both of us,” confessed Paul. “Haven’t seen a cent of money since we left the ship.”
“I suspected it,” laughed Amesbury.
“Well, I happen to have a little. You’ll be rich tonight when you get your share of the fur money.”
At the telegraph office in the hotel the three put their heads together, and formulated the following telegram to Paul’s father:
“Dan Rudd and I reached Winnipeg safely today. Leave tomorrow for home. Wire Captain Zachariah Bluntt, St. Johns. Love to you and Mother. Crazy to see you. Hope both are well.
Paul Densmore.”
“Your father’ll say that’s the best piece of literature he’s read this year,” remarked Amesbury. “Here, operator, rush this off. Make it a ‘rush’ now.”
“What time’ll he get it?” asked Paul, as they turned from the telegraph desk.
“Let’s see. It’s eleven-thirty now. Oh, he ought to get it before he leaves his office this afternoon.”
“I’m so excited I can hardly keep from yelling!” Paul exclaimed.
“Well, you’d better hold in. They think you’re an Indian now, from your looks, and they’ll be sure of it if you yell, and fire us all. See how every one is eyeing us?”
“When’ll Skipper Bluntt be hearin’, now?” asked Dan.
“Tonight. Paul’s father will wire him right away, I’m sure.”
[Pg 287]
[Pg 288]
“’Tis wonderful fine t’ be lettin’ un know so quick. Now I’m thinkin’ th’ skipper’ll get word t’ mother soon’s he can. Dad’s off t’ th’ Labrador by this, though, fishin’, an’ he won’t be hearin’ for a month.”
The clerk at the desk greeted Amesbury as an old acquaintance, shook his hand, and handed him a pen to register.
Following a luxurious wash came a thick, rare, juicy steak smothered in onions, an array of vegetables, a delicious salad, double portions of pudding and coffee, to which the party brought trapper appetites.
“Now for business,” said Amesbury, lighting a fragrant cigar. “We’ll get a carriage and bring up our furs and see what they’ll bring us. Then you chaps had better get some civilized toggery.”
The afternoon was a busy one. Furs were commanding a good figure, and when the sales were made Paul found himself in possession of $470, and Dan received $560, as their share of the fur money.
Amesbury then guided them to a clothing store where complete outfits, from hats to shoes, were purchased for both. Paul insisted upon paying Dan’s bill for everything as well as his own.
“We’ll fix that later,” he said. “I’ll pay the bills now, and when we get to New York, and find out how much the trip costs, we can have our settlement.”
“An’ you keeps th’ account,” assented Dan. Then they purchased their railway and sleeping car tickets for the following day, and returned to the hotel to bathe and don their new clothing.
“A telegram for one of the young gentlemen,” announced the clerk, as they entered the hotel and stopped at the desk for their keys. It was for Paul. He refrained from opening it until they reached their rooms. Then with trembling hand he broke the seal and read:
“Thank God, my boy, you’re safe. Mother and I leave at once to meet you in Toronto when your train arrives. Have wired Captain Bluntt. Bring Dan Rudd with you.
“Father.”
Paul burst into tears, weeping from sheer joy. Dan, too, wiped his eyes.
“Good old Dad!” Paul exclaimed at last. “I can hardly wait to see them!”
Dan felt exceedingly uncomfortable in his new clothes. Even though he and Paul had selected suits at very moderate cost, and they were far from perfect in fit, he had never been so well dressed in his life. As he surveyed himself in the mirror, he confided to Paul:
“I feels wonderful fine dressed, an’ when I gets home an’ wears these clothes the folks at Ragged Cove’ll sure be sayin’ I’m puttin’ on airs.”
“Oh, you’ll soon get used to them,” laughed Paul. “I feel kind of stuck up myself, getting into civilized clothes again.”
“And, Paul,” continued Dan, “I feels wonderful rich with all th’ money I’m gettin’. Dad and me hunted all of last winter, an’ all Dad gets for his catch is a hundred an’ twenty dollars in trade, an’ he thinks he does rare well. Now I been gettin’ five hundred an’ sixty in cash!”
“We did do pretty well, didn’t we, Dan? And do you know, it’s the first money I ever earned in my life. I’ve always just loafed and let my father give me everything. It makes me ashamed now to think of the way I’ve wasted money I never earned. I’ll never do so again.”
Paul and Dan occupied a large room, with two beds, Amesbury a single room, and between the two rooms was a bath room which they used in common, doors from the sleeping rooms opening into the bath room from opposite sides. These doors were left open when they retired at night. All seemed unreal after the long camp life.
The boys, weary with the day’s excitement, fell asleep the moment their heads touched the pillows. When they awoke the sun was streaming through the windows. Amesbury, taking his morning ablutions, was splashing in the bath-tub, and singing:
“‘There was a fat man of Bombay,
Who was smoking one sunshiny day;
When a bird called a snipe,
Flew away with his pipe,
Which vex’d the fat man of Bombay.’”
The lads sprang out of bed. “My, but it’s late,” exclaimed Paul. “The sun’s up.”
“’Tis that,” said Dan. “I weren’t knowin’ just where I were when I wakes.”
“Good morning, fellows,” called Amesbury from the bath room. “Come along one of you; I’m through.”
“Good morning!” they both called back.
“Hurrah!” shouted Paul. “Today we start for home!”
“And you’re going to leave a mighty lonely fellow behind,” said Amesbury. “I’ll have to break myself in all over again. I’ve a notion I’ll kidnap you both and take you back to the bush with me.”
“Can’t you come with us?” plead Paul. “Change your mind about it, and come. Your sister would give the world to see you again, I’m sure. We do want you. It will be a jolly trip if you come.”
A shadow passed over Amesbury’s face, and left it again—as on the evening when he told them his life story—haggard, old, and as one suffering inexpressible pain. He was dressing now. He made no answer for several minutes, and seemed to be struggling with himself. Finally he spoke:
“Thank you ever and ever so much, fellows. It’s better that I do not go. The world forgets good deeds quickly. It never forgets bad ones. Mine were bad. I was a jailbird once. No one who ever knew it will ever forget it. My appearance in New York would bring shame to my sister and her children, if she has any. God alone knows how I long to see them! The news of who and what I was would spread among their friends—even their new friends—and they would be shunned and made miserable because of me. No, it’s my punishment. I must not go.”
Amesbury had again assumed his good-natured, whimsical attitude when they went below to breakfast, and chaffed and joked the boys as usual.
Presently Ahmik appeared, to accompany them to the railway station.
“Come back hunt some more,” Ahmik invited, as the train rolled into the station. “Miss you very much.”
“We owe you so much,” said Paul, as he shook Amesbury’s hand. “I don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t picked us up.”
“I’ll never be forgettin’ you, an’ how rare kind you were,” declared Dan.
“You chaps owe me nothing,” insisted Amesbury. “The debt’s all the other way. You earned your keep, made some money for me, and made a few weeks of my life very pleasant.”
Paul and Dan ran to the platform of the rear car as the train drew out of the station, and had a last fleeting glimpse of Amesbury standing there gazing after them, a look of wistful longing in his eyes.
CHAPTER XXI
BAD NEWS AND GOOD
WHEN John Densmore returned home after meeting Remington, he broke the news of Paul’s supposed death to the boy’s mother as gently as he could. She sat dry-eyed and mute, staring at him during the recital as though not fully comprehending the purport of his words. Densmore drew her to him and kissed her forehead.
“Mother! Mother!” he soothed, “bear up! It’s a dreadful calamity, but we shall have to bear it!”
She fainted in his arms, and for several weeks was very ill. Even when she was again able to be about she was constantly under the care of a physician, and trained nurses remained with her night and day. The shock had left her in a state of nervous melancholia.
She had always deprecated Remington’s proclivities for hunting and out-of-door sports. Now she felt very bitterly toward him, repeatedly asserting that he was directly responsible for Paul’s loss, at the same time upbraiding herself unceasingly for having permitted Paul to take part in the expedition.
Hour after hour she would sit, her hands folded in her lap, indulging her sorrow in silent brooding. She would picture Paul as he looked when he said his last farewell; her imagination would carry her to the desolate shores of Hudson Bay; she would see him struggling in icy waters; she would hear his last agonizing cry to her as he sank finally beneath the waves; and always his face cold in death, and his body unburied and uncared for, perhaps the prey of savage animals, rose up before her to reprove her for permitting him to leave her. These were the things she dreamed of, asleep and awake, and they were the only subjects of her conversation.
Densmore was most devoted to his wife. He gave much of his time to her, and as the months passed more and more of the conduct of his vast business affairs was left in the hands of trained subordinates.
During these months he had grown visibly older. Life had lost its charm. Much as he loved his son, he could have borne Paul’s loss with some degree of fortitude had his wife taken it less to heart, but the double sorrow of Paul’s loss and her condition of melancholia took from him at length the old vim and vigor that had won for him his high place in the business world, and he was forced to admit that he had “lost his grip.”
He was sitting in his sumptuously furnished office one June afternoon, his chin on his breast, deep in thought. A pile of important papers lay before him quite forgotten, though his secretary had placed them there an hour before, stating that they required his immediate personal attention.
“What is the use?” he asked himself. “Paul is gone. I’ve got a good deal more than we need. Mother [he always called Mrs. Densmore ‘Mother’] must have a change, or she’ll never recover from the shock. Why not give it all up? Why not retire? Mother and I will take our yacht and float around the world and try to forget.”
He looked at his watch at length. It was half past three. He pressed a button, and a boy appeared.
“Tell Mr. Hadden I wish to see him,” he directed.
At that moment Mr. Hadden, the secretary, evidently in a state of high excitement, entered briskly.
“Here’s a telegram–” he began.
“Attend to it, Hadden, I’m going–”
“Read it! Read it!” exclaimed the secretary, holding the open telegram before Densmore’s eyes.
Densmore, who had risen to his feet, read it, and leaned back heavily against the desk. Then he caught the telegram eagerly from Hadden’s hand and read it again.
“Is it possible, Hadden? Is it possible?” he asked excitedly.
“Yes,” answered the secretary with assurance. “I’ve studied the maps of that country ever since the boy’s disappearance. He’s worked his way down with natives to Winnipeg. I’m sure it’s straight!”
Densmore was quite alive now. His face was beaming, and his old-time energy had returned as by magic.
“Call Dr. Philpot on the telephone at once,” he commanded. “Take this wire and rush it off,” and he dictated the telegram which made Paul so happy. “And this:
“‘Captain Zachariah Bluntt, St. Johns, Newfoundland.
“‘My son and Dan Rudd are safe in Winnipeg. They are coming direct to New York. Advise Rudd’s parents.
“‘John Densmore.’
“Call a taxi. ’Phone Remington!”
The telephone bell on his desk tinkled and he grabbed the instrument.
“Hello! Dr. Philpot? This is Densmore. I’ve just received a wire from Paul. He’s safe in Winnipeg. Is it safe to tell Mrs. Densmore?”
A pause.
“Safe, you say? Just the sort of shock she needs to restore her? Good! Good! I’m going right home. Be there when I arrive. All right. Good-by.
“Attend to these things on my desk, Hadden! I’m off to Toronto tonight! King Edward Hotel. Good-by.”
And he rushed to the elevator, and from the elevator to the waiting taxicab, thrust a bill in the chauffeur’s hand and ordered:
“The fastest you ever ran.”
All speed laws were broken in the flight that followed to the Densmore mansion on Riverside Drive. Policemen waved their arms and shouted warnings, pedestrians dodged, many narrow escapes from collisions were made by a hair’s breadth, but the chauffeur knew his business, and Densmore could not ride fast enough.
Dr. Philpot was waiting.
“Go right up, Densmore, and tell her. I’ll follow presently,” he suggested.
When Densmore entered his wife’s apartment a moment later, his face reflecting joy and excitement, she sprang to him, crying:
“Oh, John! John! What is it?”
“Paul’s safe,” said he, wrapping her in his arms. “He’s safe in Winnipeg, and on his way to us, Mother!”
“Oh, is it true? Is it true?” she almost screamed, and began to weep and laugh hysterically as he repeated the telegram to her.
Then with her head on his shoulder she wept quietly, deliciously, joyously, and the tears washed away the grief of months.
“Oh, Father,” she said at length, lifting a tear-stained but happy face to his, as she dried her eyes, “it’s a miracle. But I can’t wait to see him—I just can’t!”
“Well, get ready, dear, to leave on the eight o’clock train this evening. We’re to go to Toronto to meet him—if Dr. Philpot says you may.”
Dr. Philpot, who had joined them to observe his patient, said she might if one of the trained nurses went too.
“And,” added the doctor, “I think I’ll go with you.”
An hour later Remington was announced. A load of anxiety and self-condemnation lifted from his shoulders, he, too, was in a state of happy excitement.
“Come along, Remington,” invited Densmore. “We’re off to Toronto to meet Paul. You’re one of the party,” and Remington accepted.
The North Star was in dry dock in St. Johns, undergoing repairs, and Captain Zachariah Bluntt was enjoying a month ashore. He spent his days superintending repairs, and regularly at six o’clock each evening went home, ate supper, donned a pair of big carpet slippers, lighted his pipe, and settled himself for a comfortable hour reading the shipping news in The Chronicle. Mrs. Bluntt as regularly joined him, with a lapful of things to mend, while the two Misses Bluntt cleared away the supper things and retired to the kitchen to wash the dishes before joining the sitting-room circle.
The household was thus engaged one evening when the doorbell rang. One of the Misses Bluntt answered the ring, and a moment later burst into the living room to disturb Captain Bluntt’s reading with the announcement:
“A telegram, Father.”
“Now I wonders what’s happened!” exclaimed Mrs. Bluntt, for the receipt of a telegram was no ordinary occurrence in the routine life of the household.
“We’ll see! We’ll see!” said Captain Bluntt, and placing a finger under the flap of the envelope he tore it open, withdrew the telegram, carefully unfolded it and held it up at arm’s length to read.
“By the imps of the sea! By the imps of the sea!” he exclaimed, springing to his feet.
“The two youngsters, Dan Rudd and the Densmore youngster! They’re safe! Here it is! It says they’re safe! Safe, I say!”
The family were in a state of high excitement at once. Mrs. Bluntt and the two Misses Bluntt surrounded the Captain, asking all together, “Where are they? Let me see it. How did they get there?” and a flood of other questions and exclamations. At length, the full meaning of the telegram digested, Captain Bluntt announced:
“I’m goin’ t’ New York! The rascals! I’ goin’ t’ New York on the first train! On the first train!” and grabbing his hat he started for the door.
“But, Father, the train don’t go till tomorrow evenin’,” informed one of his daughters.
“I know! I know! But I wants t’ get Tom Hand. I’ll send Tom Hand t’ Ragged Cove on th’ mail boat. Sails in th’ morning! Want Tom t’ take word t’ Dan’s folks!”
“Well for goodness’ sake, Skipper, take off those slippers first and put on your shoes,” suggested Mrs. Bluntt.
“Yes, yes, to be sure! To be sure! And I’ll write a letter for Tom to take. Yes, yes, he better have a letter!” and Captain Bluntt impatiently donned his shoes, wrote the letter and hurried away on his mission.
Half an hour later the Captain returned.
“Now that’s fixed. That’s all right. Tom goes on the mail boat. Wanted to let ’em know. Make ’em feel good! Yes, make ’em feel good! Those rascals! Saved all this if they’d come back t’ the ship according t’ orders. Have t’ wring their necks! Yes, have t’ wring their necks when I gets hold of ’em. Pair of young rascals!”
The following evening Captain Bluntt, dressed in his Sunday clothes, his bushy red beard bristling importantly, boarded the train, bade good-by to Mrs. Bluntt and his two daughters, who had gone to see him off, and at six o’clock began an impatient flight to New York, and, in spite of his always-expressed disapproval of railway travel, was undoubtedly the happiest passenger on the train.
CHAPTER XXII
HOW PAUL AND DAN MADE GOOD
WHAT a journey of joyous anticipation, of wondrous realization, that was for the two lads! There was the home-coming in view, with all its plans; there was the present, a wholly novel experience for Dan, who had never before ridden upon a railway train, and it was little less enjoyed by Paul, who assumed the position of a traveler of experience, and directed their affairs between sleeper and dining car—they never failed to respond to the first call to meals, and they invariably astonished the waiters with the quantities of good things they consumed.
Between meals they reclined luxuriously in their seats in the sleeping car, while they talked and planned, and enjoyed the fleeting vista of landscape.
“A train’s sure a strange craft,” remarked Dan one morning. “She can beat a vessel for goin’, but for steady cruisin’, now, I’m thinkin’ I likes a vessel most. I’d like wonderful well t’ have a bit of a walk, but they ain’t no deck.”
“You’ll have a chance to walk when we reach Toronto, and we’ll be there pretty soon,” promised Paul. “Father’ll meet us there, and I do hope Mother will too. I’m crazy to see them. Don’t it give you a dandy feeling to know how near home we are and getting nearer every minute!”
“I’m wantin’ wonderful bad t’ get home too,” admitted Dan. “How long’ll it be takin’ me, now, from New York?”
“I don’t know exactly, but three or four days, I guess. Why, Dan, this must be Toronto now,” said Paul. “The porter’s coming with his brush to clean us up.”
It was Toronto, and the lads, in a state of suppressed excitement, were the first to leave the train. Densmore and Remington were in the front line of those awaiting arriving friends. They had left Mrs. Densmore in the motor car that had brought them from the hotel, but her impatience got the better of her, and she came rushing down to join them and was the first to see Paul.
“Oh, my boy!” she cried, as he ran to her open arms, and, laughing and crying, she hugged him to her quite unconscious of the gaping crowd. Then Densmore and Remington greeted him and he introduced Dan to his father and mother.
The motor car carried them to the King Edward Hotel, and in the privacy of their apartment Mrs. Densmore had to cry some more over Paul.
“How brown you are,” she said finally, holding him at arm’s length and looking at him admiringly, “and how big and strong and healthy you look! I actually believe it’s done you good.”
“It has,” admitted Paul. “I’m a lot stronger than I used to be, and I’ve learned to do things, too. But I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for Dan,” and he proceeded to tell briefly the story of their adventures, heaping upon Dan so much credit that the latter’s modesty forced him to interject stammering objections now and again. Mrs. Densmore was highly incensed at Factor MacTavish’s treatment of them, and the fact that Paul had actually been forced to work at manual labor for his living shocked her terribly, but brought a twinkle of downright satisfaction to Densmore’s eyes.
It was a happy party that boarded the train that evening for New York. Dan was exceedingly shy at first, but he was soon made to feel that he was one of them and presently felt quite at ease. Remington, entirely forgiven by Mrs. Densmore, was jolly as he could be, and declared that Paul had far outstripped him as a sportsman, and when Paul and he went together again on an expedition, as they surely must, Paul would be the teacher and he the pupil.
Densmore’s big touring car was waiting for them when the train drew into the Grand Central Station at eight o’clock in the morning. Here Dr. Philpot bade them adieu as they sped away toward Riverside Drive.
“It’s great to be back in New York!” declared Paul. “Lots of times I wondered if I’d ever get home again.”
His mother pressed his hand but did not trust herself to speak.
“Here we are! That’s our house, Dan!” said Paul gaily, as the car drew in behind a cab standing at the curb. A man, his back turned toward them, stood on the sidewalk engaged in a heated controversy with the cabman. When the car stopped they heard him saying, in loud, gruff tones:
“You’re a pirate, sir! Yes, sir, a pirate! You deserve to have your neck wrung! By the imps of the sea! You deserve to have your neck wrung! But here’s your money! Take it! Take it! Take it! Four times what the cruise were worth! Yes, four times! Get away with your old craft! Get away!”
“’Tis the skipper! ’Tis the skipper, sure!” exclaimed Dan, highly excited.
The two boys sprang from the car without ceremony and ran to Captain Bluntt, who, indeed, it was, as he turned to survey his surroundings, his bushy red beard bristling in indignation.
“By the imps of the sea!” he exclaimed. “’Tis the youngsters!” He grasped a hand of each, the look of indignation in his face giving place to one of high pleasure. “You rascals! You rascals! Is this two o’clock? Weren’t I telling you scamps t’ be aboard at two o’clock? Yes, two o’clock sharp! Two o’clock!”
“How’s Mother an’ Dad?” asked Dan anxiously.
“Well. Very well, last I heard from un. Gone in mournin’ for you. Yes, you rascal! Gone in mournin’ for you! Hard blow, your death was to un! Hard blow! Yes, you rascal! How do, Mr. Remington? How do? Glad to see you! Happier times than when we sees each other last!”
“Captain Bluntt, this is my mother and this is my father,” broke in Paul, introducing them.
“Glad to know you, Madam,” and the Captain bowed low. “Glad to know you, sir. Had to come on when I got your telegram! Had to see the young rascals! Had to see ’em, and take Dan to his folks myself!”
“It’s a very great pleasure to meet you, Captain Bluntt,” said Mrs. Densmore, extending her hand to him. “Paul has been telling me a great deal of you since yesterday.”
Densmore shook the Captain’s hand cordially.
“You’ll have to remain with us a few days, Captain. Paul won’t part from Dan, you know, until he shows him something of the city!”
And as Captain Bluntt would not think of enduring a return journey by train, and he was compelled to wait three days for the St. Johns steamer, he accepted their hospitality. Every day during their stay was filled with sightseeing, with evenings at the theater, and a new world was opened for Dan.
Paul declined to permit Dan to bear any part of the expense incurred after their arrival in Winnipeg, and Densmore supplied both Dan and Captain Bluntt with their transportation home, and upon Paul’s suggestion presented Dan with a new rifle and shotgun just like Paul’s.
Finally, when sailing day arrived, Densmore, Paul and Remington saw them off, and the lads parted regretfully.
“You’re the best fellow I ever knew,” declared Paul, as they shook hands, “and we’ll always be chums.”
“An’ I hopes,” said Dan, “we may be takin’ a cruise together again sometime.”
The lines were thrown off, the active little tugs began puffing and sputtering, and slowly the steamer drew away from her wharf, Paul and Dan waving their caps as long as they could see each other.
Paul and his father were together a good deal in the days that followed. Densmore would frequently take an afternoon off, and together they would go to the Polo grounds, and father and son would yell and cheer together. Densmore had suddenly developed into a full-fledged baseball fan, and taught Paul his first appreciation of the game. They had long walks in the park these summer evenings, and discussed many things dear to a boy’s heart. They became, in fact, inseparable chums.
“Father,” said Paul one evening, as they strolled up Riverside Drive toward Grant’s Tomb. “I wish I had something to do. I’ve spent about all the money I got for my furs, and I hate to have to call on you for money that I don’t earn. It makes me feel—well, just useless—a sissy.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Oh, I don’t know—but something. It made me feel so independent to earn my own living while I was away, and to know I earned the money I had when I came back, and I’d like to feel that way all the time. I’m ashamed when I remember how I used to waste money I never earned. Dan always earned his own way.”
“You’d better keep at school for awhile, my son. You can’t invest your time to better advantage than in obtaining an education.”
“Do you think so? It seems to me I’m just wasting time. I might be working the way Dan is and making my own way. I’m sure I could do something.”
“What do you think you could do?”
“Oh, I don’t know. If it wasn’t so far from you and Mother I’d like to spend the winters trapping with Mr. Amesbury. Of course, though, I can’t do that. Couldn’t I have a job in your office, or get a berth on one of the ships?”
“You might. You could start in at five or six dollars a week. That’s the usual thing. In a few years you’d probably be advanced to twenty or twenty-five dollars, and if you were very attentive to business, even more, say fifteen hundred or two thousand a year—and that’s a pretty high estimate, for the supply of untrained men is larger than the demand. You’d better keep at school, my son. The college-bred man has a much better chance of success in life than the man who has never been to college. What your future is to be, however, depends upon your own efforts and yourself.”
They walked in silence for a while before Paul spoke.
“Of course you’re right, Father. If you wish I’ll keep at school and go through college. But I’ve been ashamed of myself a good many times. I’ve been so selfish. I never thought of anybody but myself and my own pleasure before I went away. Being with Dan and Mr. Amesbury, and working, myself, has made me want to be more like them and do something worth while. Life would be pretty tiresome without anything to do but just loaf around.”
Densmore placed his hand on Paul’s shoulder.
“I’m glad to hear you say that, Paul. That’s the spirit that makes a real man. I’m afraid we coddled and indulged you until you were becoming spoiled.”
“I failed in my examinations at school, too,” continued Paul, “but I won’t fail again. I’ll study now.”
“That’s the way to talk, my son. Stick to it, and when you’re graduated from college you’ll be prepared, with a little training and experience, to take my place. That’s what I’m looking forward to.”
“All right, Father. You’ve got my promise to do my best, and here’s my hand on it. It’s my chance and I’m going to make the most of it. But I wish—I wish Dan had a chance too.”