“It’s well named,” interrupted Donald grimly. “He should spell it D-O-N-E—for it has been by doing poor sailors and insurance companies and others that he has made progress. I wonder what his object was in trying to ‘do’ me? The fellow apparently meant to have me put out of the way.”
“I haven’t the faintest idea, sonny-boy. I thought possibly it might be something in connection with the Dunsany title and estate, but I can’t, for the life of me, see how you would have anything to do with it. Sir Alastair died last year and his son, Roderick, inherited the title and the property. I don’t know much about him, except what I’ve heard in various ways. He’s a professional man of some kind, unmarried and in poor health, and he spends most of his time in England. Your Uncle David would claim the title should anything happen to Roderick, and when David passed on, it would go to his son—young Alastair. About the only decent trait in that man is the affection he seems to have for that boy—so I’ve been told—and I only hope, some day, that he is punished through his son for what he has done to you—” The fierce spirit of the Highlander flamed in her eyes.
“Hush! hush! Mater dear, don’t talk like that,” Donald said, patting her hands. “What do we need to care for him now? Let him slip away as a bad memory. There’ll come a time when he’ll have to pay the price, but we needn’t be the ones to present the bill. Now, Mater, we’ll go up to Glasgow to-morrow and book passage for Halifax. I have reserved two second cabin berths in the Ontarian, sailing Saturday.” He paused and gave her a keen scrutiny. “Bye-the-bye, Mother,” he asked gravely, “what made you use the passage-money I sent you? I mean, what caused you to use it after leaving the Hydro?”
She tried to evade the question, but he insisted, and after much coaxing she told the story. Dismissed suddenly and without a reference from the Ross Bay Hydropathic, she had tried for place after place, until she was forced to accept a position as waitress in a workman’s coffee room. “Good God!” ejaculated Donald. “In a workman’s coffee room? A waitress...?” Frightful thoughts went through his mind and his mother seemed to divine them. “No, dearie, it wasn’t so bad as you think. The poor are good to the poor. I was never insulted or abused ... nor heard bad language, except when a man was drunk.” She paused, then continued her tale. “It was very hard work, early and late, and I took sick. I was ill for six or eight weeks and had to draw on the money you sent me. I was down to the last shilling when a kind lady, who had been a patient at the Ross Hydro, met me and got me the position of night matron in this home.”
Donald listened quietly, but his knuckles showed white on the tan of his clenched hands, and there was an ominous glint in his eyes. “I’d like to tear the heart out of him!” he growled fiercely, but the mother soothed him. “Let’s forget it all, sonny-dear, and talk of Canada. I have ten pounds saved up. Will I need to buy heavy clothes for the cold winters there? They tell me it’s all frozen up for half the year in Canada.”
The vindictive glint in the youth’s eyes faded away and he laughed heartily. “Why, Mater, where did you get that yarn? I’ll bet you won’t feel the cold as much there in winter as you do here. It was warm enough when I left, goodness knows! What’s good for winter here is good enough for Nova Scotia. Now, we’ll book second cabin passages out, and for once I’ll go as a passenger and find out what it feels like to loaf around at sea.”
After a stay of just three days in Glasgow, during which time McKenzie called on Mrs. McGlashan and gave her news of her son, the two sailed for Halifax. After an uneventful voyage, they arrived in the old Canadian city by the sea on a fine October day, and Donald telephoned the Nickersons at Eastville Harbor. Judson answered the call. “I’ll meet you at the boat, Donald,” he said over the long distance wire, “and I’ll have a load of wood up to your shack, the stove lit, the kittle on and grub in the locker. I’m tickled to death you’re back, and I’ve got a fine little brig for you to second mate in a couple of weeks. And, bye-the-bye, Donny-boy”—he chuckled into the instrument—“Ira Burton’s landed his fish an’ we’ve skinned him hands daown. He jest came short of aour trip by ten quintals. It’s the talk of the taown, boy, and he’s riproarin’ sore abaout it. He lost a lot of time at the Madaleens and he struck a bad breeze on the Banks and lost an anchor and hawser, some of his dories and a pile o’ gear. It’s a rare joke, but I ain’t agoin’ to take his money. He struck hard luck all through. An’ say, Donald, you’ll find Ruth daown home here, but she’s got that codfish aristocrat with her. I’ve a notion to shanghai him to the West Indies—Oh, gorry! they’re here. I must knock off. So long, Donny-me-lad! See you in the morning!”
So Moodey was down at Eastville! Donald was not very pleased at the news, but then, a girl might have men friends without anything serious being the intention. He was jealous, he said to himself, and Ruth was not tied to him. He had neither a proprietory interest nor a monopoly of her company, and he could not expect her to avoid the society of all men-folk but Donald McKenzie. Thus cogitating, he laughed the matter away, and called up Helena Stuart. “My! Donald, but I’m glad you’re back,” she said after the first greetings. “And your mother is with you? Bring her up to the house this afternoon and stay until your boat leaves for Eastville. Mother will be delighted. Do come now! Don’t forget! Au revoir!”
Before going to the Stuarts, Mrs. McKenzie looked her son over critically. He was wearing the much-detested suit, but his mother had overhauled it and shortened the hated sleeves. It did not look good on him, however, and the mother knew he disliked it. “Don,” she suggested, “I think you could afford to buy another suit. I want to see you looking nice. Don’t you think you could get one ready made to put on before going up to your friend’s house?”