While Donald was talking Robert Rennie sat forward in his chair with a look of almost strained attention. As Donald finished he swung quickly to his chief engineer. “King, to-morrow you go to Summit Lake. Furnish a full report. If your figures correspond with McLean’s we will install an electric plant. Bolton, get quotations at once on electrical equipment. That’s all,” he finished tersely.
He turned to the two young men as the door closed. “Beginning with the first of next month, McLean, if you so wish, you will act as assistant manager at the Summit Lake Mill. And you,” he turned to Douglas, “will occupy a similar position at the Cheakamus plant.” He rang for his stenographer, who entered at once.
Donald muttered an embarrassed thanks, and as he passed through the door he heard Robert Rennie’s voice in rapid dictation.
They spent the remainder of the afternoon buying supplies from the list which Andy had furnished them. There were numerous delicacies in the items of foodstuffs that brought exclamations of surprise from Douglas. “There is everything here to serve a banquet; even tablecloths and napkins. What is the little beggar up to now, I wonder?” he said laughingly.
“His birthday,” explained Donald. “He is going to invite the Wainwrights and John Hillier. And besides,” he added, “I think he wants to show the old trapper that he can do a little fancy cooking himself.”
Janet Rennie could not interpret the inner urge that prompted her to arise at an early hour the next morning to drive her brother to the wharf. It rather bewildered her—made her ashamed of herself that she could not put Donald from her mind entirely. “Why can’t you forget him?” she asked herself in protest for the thousandth time. As the boat pulled away from the dock she waved an adieu and, with a troubled look in her eyes, swung her car cityward.
For two days after their return to the mountains, their little cabin was a hive of industry. Andy banished his fellow-lodgers to the outdoors at every opportunity while he performed mysterious rites over the small stove. “I’ll show that juggling old pirate what a real meal is like,” he chuckled to himself.
Their guest arrived late in the afternoon and sat outside in the warm sun while Andy busied himself behind the closed door.
Old John’s face shone from the vigorous application of soap and towel. His sole change in attire for the occasion was a clean buckskin coat from the breast pocket of which protruded the corner of a red silk handkerchief.
Connie’s abundant golden hair had been carefully brushed, and hung over her shoulders in glistening, billowy waves that reached to her waist-line. She seated herself a short distance from the party and took no part in the conversation. This was her first social affair and she felt ill at ease. Donald’s repeated attempts to break her reserve were answered in monosyllables.