“What are you thinking about, Mater?” he asked.
She hesitated before replying, “Are you sure—do you think Ruth will be content to live here, and—and get along on your earnings? It’s quite a drop from what she’s been used to.” Anxious concern was reflected in her eyes.
He squared his shoulders. “Don’t you worry about that, Mater dear,” he said confidently. “I’ll be skipper of a fishing vessel next Spring and I’ll make enough to keep us comfortable. I know my work. I’m ambitious. I’ll invest in vessels and build up a competence just as the others around here have done. Ruth knows our circumstances and position, and she’ll tuck in. She’s cultured and well-educated, but she can cook and sew and do housework as well as the best. That’s the sort of a girl I’m taking for a wife—a girl in a thousand!” And he spoke the last words proudly. The mother watched him swing out into the garden—strong, optimistic and full of the confidence of youth. Aye, she mused, he had done well. Master of a vessel at twenty-two and earning more than many a commander on a liner, and successful in love and ambitious.... He would be alright ... if the sea and the Almighty willed it so.
Two or three days later, and while Donald was chopping wood at the back of the house, he heard a familiar voice in the kitchen talking to his mother. It had a strong Scotch burr there was no mistaking, and Don hove down the axe and strode hastily into the house to find Joak McGlashan seated in the parlor. There was a stranger with him—a dapper looking gentleman, middle-aged, clean-shaven, and wearing good clothes of an unmistakable English cut. When McKenzie walked in, Joak sprung to his feet, his face beaming. “Hulloh, there, Donal’!” he shouted. “My! but I’m gled tae see ye! Ye got ma cable, eh?”
The important happenings of recent days had driven all thought of the cable out of Donald’s mind, and he stammered a wondering affirmative. He had regarded the matter as being of no particular importance. Joak wanted to secure a berth as cook with him, possibly, and he would certainly get it if McKenzie had the ordaining of it. The other turned and indicated the stranger who was standing gravely waiting. “This is Mistur Montgomery o’ Glesca’,” he observed, “and he come oot here tae Novy Scotia tae see you and yer mither here aboot verra important business.” And having made the introduction, Joak sat down and nervously lit a clay pipe.
Mr. Montgomery extended a hand to mother and son, and he lifted a despatch case on to the table and opened it. “I’m a solicitor,” he said briefly. And while the two McKenzies stared at him wonderingly, he pulled a sheaf of documents out on the table and adjusted a pair of pince nez on his nose. Clearing his throat, he began, “Er—I have a disagreeable task to perform, Captain”—he addressed Donald—“in telling you that your respected uncle has passed away. Died very suddenly—very tragic affair!” He looked over his glasses at mother and son, and sighed. Mrs. McKenzie clasped and unclasped her fingers nervously and her eyebrows went up in consternation at the announcement, but Donald’s tanned face was unmoved. “Too bad,” he remarked calmly. He took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one.
The legal gentleman nodded. “Yes ... too bad.” Then he enquired with a corrugation of his forehead and in a mildly suggestive tone, “You—er—haven’t kept in touch with your relatives in Scotland, have you?”
“No, sir,” answered Donald coolly, and he blew a smoke ring, “nor they with us.”
The other gave a respectful cough and drew his chair closer to the table. “Possibly, I’d better go into the matter and explain the object of my visit to British North America.” McKenzie smiled at the appellation. With the tips of his fingers together, Mr. Montgomery leaned with his elbows on the table and said, “Your husband, Mrs. McKenzie, was a nephew of the late Sir Alastair McKenzie, Baronet, of Dunsany Castle, Scotland. You, of course, were aware of that.” Janet nodded. “Now,” he continued, “Sir Alastair had but one son—his wife died many years ago—and when Sir Alastair passed away, the title and estate naturally went to the son Roderick. This young man, I regret to say, was in very poor health—in fact, he was a consumptive—and he never married. He knew, that having no direct issue, the title and estate would have to pass to another branch of the family; namely, his father’s nephew or his issue—”