Ruth moved her head and nestled the closer. How had she lived all the years of her life, she thought to herself, without this shoulder to lean on and this hand to guide her? She made no answer. She had never thought about these things in that way before, but she would now. It was so restful and so blissful just to have him lead her, he who was so strong and self-reliant, and whose vision was so clear, and who never dwelt upon the little issues. And it was such a relief to reach up her arms and kiss him and say, “Yes, blessed,” and to feel herself safe in his hands. She had never been able to do that with her father. He had always leaned on her when schemes of economies were to be thought out, or details of their daily lives planned. All this was changed now. She had found Jack's heart wide open and had slipped inside, his strong will henceforth to be hers.
Still cuddling close, her head on his shoulder, her heart going out to him as she thought of the next morning and the task before him, she talked of their coming move to the mountains, and of the log-cabin for which Jack had already given orders; of the approaching autumn and winter and what they would make of it, and of dear daddy's plans and profits, and of how long they must wait before a larger log-cabin—one big enough for two—would be theirs for life—any and every topic which she thought would divert his mind—but Garry's ghost would not down.
“And what are you going to do first, my darling?” she asked at last, finding that Jack answered only in monosyllables or remained silent altogether.
“I am going to see Uncle Arthur in the morning,” he answered quickly, uncovering his brooding thoughts. “It won't do any good, perhaps, but I will try it. I have never asked him for a cent for myself, and I won't now. He may help Corinne this time, now that Garry is dead. There must be some outside money due Garry that he has not been able to collect—commissions on unfinished work. This can be turned in when it is due. Then I am going to Uncle Peter, and after that to some of the people we trade with.”
Breen was standing by the ticker when Jack entered. It was a busy day in the Street and values were going up by leaps and bounds. The broker was not in a good humor; many of his customers were short of the market.
He followed Jack into his private office and faced him.
“Funeral's at one o'clock Sunday, I see,” he said in a sharp voice, as if he resented the incident. “Your aunt and I will be out on the noon train. She got back this morning, pretty well bunged up. Killed himself, didn't he?”
“That is not the doctor's opinion, sir, and he was with him when he died.”
“Well, it looks that way to me. He's busted—and all balled up in the Street. If you know anybody who will take the lease off Corinne's hands, let me know. She and the baby are coming to live with us.”
Jack replied that he would make it his business to do so, with pleasure, and after giving his uncle the details of Garry's death he finally arrived at the tangled condition of his affairs.