Lucky for Ruth and for Mr. Hammond’s hopes that hers was a fighting spirit and that opposition such as Bloomberg’s only made her more determined to succeed in spite of him.
It had been necessary for them to stay only one night in New York, since Mr. Hammond, in eager anticipation of Ruth’s acceptance of his proposition, anxious as he was to start the serious work of production without further delay, accepted Tom’s terms without question and immediately. He had already planned out all the details of the trip, to which it remained only for Ruth to acquiesce.
On reaching Cheslow, reservations were made at once by Tom on the train that would start the following morning for New York. The girls, while in New York, had done all the necessary shopping—though Helen had taken the heavy end of this undertaking, since Ruth was far too absorbed in her plans and in the scenario of “The Girl of Gold” to care much what she wore on the trip.
So on this particular evening Ruth was at work in her little study at the Red Mill, methodically gathering up all the loose ends of her affairs.
She was leaning over her desk, scanning again the pictures she had selected of the points they were to visit along the Yukon River when there was a slight rustling, and she looked around to see Aunt Alvirah coming into the room.
“I had to come in and sit with you, my pretty, just for a little while,” said the old woman, half apologetically. “I won’t see you for so long and I never know when you go away on one of these trips whether you’ll come back to your old Aunt Alvirah again, or whether she’ll be here to see you, when you do.”
“Why, Auntie, what a dreadful thing to say!” Ruth was on her feet in an instant and tenderly led the old woman to a chair. “You mustn’t talk like that, you know,” taking the wrinkled old hand in both her young ones and rubbing it gently, “or I won’t have the heart to go at all!”
“Oh, yes, you will, my pretty. And I wouldn’t hold you back if I could—I’m that proud of you! But it’s lonesome here at times, and your uncle, my dear——”
“Oh, I know,” Ruth broke in quickly. “I know just how trying he can be. But you mustn’t let him worry you, dear. It’s only his age that makes him so disagreeable, and he really doesn’t mean half he says——”
“There’s the doorbell!” cried the old lady, as a shrill clamor woke the echoes of the old house. “Oh, my back! and oh, bones! Let me go, my pretty. I must answer it.”