Foster folded the document slowly. His glance moved to Tisdale, and his eyes played every swift change from contrition to gratitude. Hollis turned. "I want you to take the management of the whole mine," he said mellowly. "At a salary of five thousand a year to start with. And as soon as you wish, you may deliver this deed."
Foster's lips trembled a little. "You've made a mistake," he said unsteadily. Then: "Why don't you take it to her yourself, Hollis?" he asked.
Tisdale was silent. He turned back to the window, and after an interval, Foster went over and stood beside him, looking down on the harbor lights. His arm went up around Tisdale's shoulder as he said: "If Weatherbee could know everything now; if he had loved her, put her first always, as you believe, do you think he would be any happier to see her punished like this?"
Still Tisdale was silent. Then Foster's arm fell, and he said desperately: "Can't you see, Hollis? Weatherbee was greater than either of us, I grant that. But the one thing in the world you are so sure he most desired—the lack of which wrecked his life—the one thing I have tried for the hardest and missed—has fallen to you. Go and ask her to sail to Alaska with you. You'll need her up there to carry the honors for you. You prize her, you love her,—you know you do."
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE CALF-BOUND NOTEBOOK
The statue was great. So Tisdale told Lucky Banks, that day the prospector met him at the station and they motored around through the park. The sculptor himself had said he must send people to Weatherbee when they wanted to see his best work. It was plain his subject had dominated him. He had achieved with the freedom of pose the suggestion of decision and power that had been characteristic of David Weatherbee. Quick intelligence spoke in the face, yet the eyes held their expression of seeing a far horizon. To Hollis, coming suddenly, as he did, upon the bronze figure in the Wenatchee sunshine, it seemed to warm with a latent consciousness. He felt poignantly a sense of David's personality, as he had known him at the crowning period of his life.
"It suits me," responded Banks. "My, yes, it's about as good a likeness as we can get of Dave." He put on his hat, which involuntarily he had removed, and started the car on around the curve. "But it's a mighty lot like you. It crops out most in the eyes, seeing things off somewheres, clear out of sight, and the way you carry your size. You was a team."
"I am sorry I missed those services," said Tisdale. "I meant to be here."
Banks nodded. "But it all went off fine. She agreed with me it was the best place. If I was to go back to Alaska, and she was off somewheres on a trip, it would be sure to get taken care of here in the park; and, afterwards, when neither of us can come around to keep things in shape any more. And I told her how the ranchers up and down the valley would get to feeling acquainted and friendly with Dave, seeing his statue when they was in town; and how the fruit-buyers and the pickers, and maybe the tourists, coming and going, would remember about him and tell everybody they knew; and how the school children would ask questions about the statue, thinking he was in the same class with Lincoln and Washington, and be always telling how he was the first man that looked ahead and saw what water in this valley could do."