Turning to Mrs. McKenzie, the solicitor enquired, “You have your marriage certificate and your son’s birth certificate, I presume? Yes? Very good!” The mother produced them and when Mr. Montgomery had finished examining them, he rose to his feet and walked towards Donald. “There are, of course, some legal details to be gone into, but the case is pretty clear.” He held out his hand and in his most cordial professional manner exclaimed, “Allow me to congratulate you, Sir Donald!”
The mother gasped audibly, but her son was calmer and in control of his feelings. With a queer smile on his face, he asked: “The Dunsany estate? It is mortgaged, is it not?”
“To the hilt, sir,” answered the other. “There is no revenue from it—”
Blowing a series of smoke rings, McKenzie laughed a little and said very calmly, “I’m very much obliged to you, Mr. Montgomery. But I don’t know as I can thank you for coming out to Canada and handing me a title. As a sailor, I don’t know what to do with it. The estate, I understand, brings no income. What’s the use of a title to me? I’m a skipper of a fishing vessel and I’m certainly not going to accept a title and have my crew calling me ‘Sir’ or have people observing that ‘Sir Donald struck a big jag of hake on Western this time,’ or have my gang joking about being skippered by a baronet. It would be the biggest joke on the Banks. All the trawlers would be swinging off to have a look at me to see if I wore a coronet!” He became serious again. “No, sir, I think I’ll let it drop. Pass it on to someone with the money to keep up the style which should go with the thing. At the present time, to me, it would be as useful as the Dutchman’s anchor—” He stopped at his mother’s reproachful “Oh, Donald!” Poor woman! Her pride was being sorely tried by her son’s perversity. “Sir Donald!” It had a rare impressive sound and she was just beginning to feel that life was sweet, joyous and tremendously portentous. Her son a baronet! And so he should be.
Montgomery smiled and raised his hand. “You should permit me to finish,” he said. “Your uncle, David McKenzie, has no heirs, and you are the next of kin. He was a wealthy man—one of Glasgow’s merchant princes—and the value of his estate, including cash, bonds, stocks and shares, his ships, and so on, which will come to you, is in the neighborhood, I should judge, of eight hundred thousand pounds!”
Joak’s clay pipe broke between his teeth, and as it clattered to the floor, he ejaculated, “Ma guid gracious! Eight hunner thoosan’ pounds!” Mrs. McKenzie looked dazed, and Donald sat quietly plucking at the fringes of the tablecloth.
The solicitor departed for the hotel after examining certain papers which Mrs. McKenzie produced for his inspection, and before he left he said, “It will be necessary for you both to come to Scotland in order that we might settle up the estate. I will leave you a draft to cover the necessary expenses, and it would be well for you to leave as soon as possible.” He bowed gravely, “I am at your service, Sir Donald, and I trust we may have the pleasure of handling your business in future. I bid you a very good evening!” And he and McGlashan went out together, but not before Donald had warned Joak. “See here, you old Turk, not a word to anyone about this affair ... yet. And furthermore, I don’t want any of that damned sir-ing from you. Cut it out in future!” And he gave his old chum a slap on the back and had him chuckling in unfeigned delight.
For an hour, mother and son discussed the matter—Janet excited and exuberant; Donald, calm and thoughtful. “You know, Mater,” he said at last, “I’ve been putting two and two together and I’ve figured out Uncle Davey’s little plans. He knew that Roderick McKenzie was a lunger and not likely to live long, and he knew that I stood in the way of his succession to the Dunsany baronetcy. Knowing those things, he worked those schemes to get rid of me aboard the Kelvinhaugh. The idea just struck him when we went to his office that time. And, do you know, I don’t believe he was thinking of himself. It was all for his son and his family pride that he toiled and scrimped and did shady tricks so that when the time came he could restore the family fortunes and uphold the dignity of the house. But, you see, after all, he lost out in the end. Aye, the mills of the gods grind slowly, but they grind exceedingly small!” He sighed and rose to his feet. “Mater dear, if you’ll rustle the grub on the table the baronet and his mamma will have supper. I want to go over and see Ruth. I have a very interesting evening ahead of me.”
He dressed himself with particular care that night—particular in the selection of his clothes. With a blue flannel shirt, a cheap tie, faded coat and pants, and a pair of heavy boots on his feet, he surveyed himself in the glass and chuckled boisterously, “Now, Sir Donald,” he said to himself, “you look the part as right as rain. A poor trawl-hauler dolled up to see his girl. If Ruth’ll love me in this rig, she’ll love me in anything. I’ll test her affections to-night for sure!”