“Donald is a great trial to us now, John,” said the mother, “but we must not forget the happiness he has brought us in the past.” She gazed long and lovingly at a photograph of her son as a child; then, with head bowed, her lips moved in silent prayer.
Upon his arrival at the wharf Donald found his baggage, destroyed the pass he had been in the habit of using, as his father was owner of the steamboat line, and bought a ticket to Bangor.
Reaching Bangor, he chose less expensive quarters than was his custom, locating at the Penobscot, on Exchange Street. In no mood for sleep, he decided to take a stroll. Outside an all-night restaurant was a long string of cars, and from within came the sound of happy laughter.
A feeling of loneliness, coupled with a slight hunger induced him to enter. A big man sitting at the counter, attacking vigorously a T-bone steak, was the centre of interest, as evidenced by the cluster of taxi-drivers and other night-lunchers about him. He wore a wide-brimmed hat, high leather boots, corduroy trousers, a blue flannel shirt, and a red-mackinaw coat hung on the wall behind him. Blond, sun-washed hair stood up from his head aggressively, and his steely blue eyes were set in a face tanned a brick red.
“Yes, sir,” spoke the blond giant between mouthfuls, “she’s a he-man’s country, she is. None of your bum chow that I used to git here in these Eastern loggin’ camps, sow-belly and beans three times a day, and workin’ for forty dollars a month from daylight until dark. No, siree! Me for the Coast with its four bucks a day. And talk about grub! Say, there ain’t any hotel that puts up better scoffins than we git in the loggin’ camps in good old B.C.”
He looked around at his audience and, convinced that they were interested, he continued: “Yes, sir! British Columbia for mine. Say! What’d you think of three fir logs that makes a carload? Of cedars ten feet through? Of alders that you can’t git your arms round? Some different than them toothpicks you got out there,” jerking his thumb contemptuously toward the Penobscot River. “And minerals,” he went on, “the mountains are filled with ’em—miles and miles that ain’t never bin prospected. Prospectors comin’ in every day with new strikes. And talk about fish! I seen the fish so thick they choked the rivers; you could darn near walk on their backs. That’s the country, fellers. That’s the place for men with git-up-and-git.” He finished his repast with a gulp of coffee, fished a sack of tobacco and brown paper from his pocket, and rolled a cigarette. “A brand new country,” he ran on, his eyes shining with enthusiasm, “that ain’t half explored yet, and richer’n a pail of cream. How much do I owe you, boy?” he asked as he drew out a wad of bank-notes, peeled a bill from the outside of the fat roll and threw it carelessly on the counter.
“Keep the change,” he said with a lordly air, then swaggered through the door. Several of the taxi-drivers followed, loudly importuning him to ride.
Donald finished his lunch and sat for a time smoking.
“That guy was a nut to flash his poke in front of that gang,” observed the waiter. “Guess he’s big enough to take care of himself,” he added.
As Donald stepped out of the restaurant he saw the big man across the street with four of his former audience. From the shadow of a doorway he saw the party enter a ramshackle building, after hearing one of them promise to get the Westerner a drink in spite of prohibition. Donald decided to walk by the place, and was startled by the sound of crashing glass and indications of a struggle.