“I don’t know that it quite means what Oxford does to you, but it’s something of the kind; you might have seen the fine buildings at the foot of the mountain, if you had stayed in Montreal. Then we have Toronto; with deference to the Toronto men, I’ll compare that to Cambridge. Still, so far as I understand your English ideas, there’s a difference—our boys go to McGill or Toronto with the intention of learning something that will open up a career. They certainly play football and one or two other games pretty well, but that’s a very secondary object; so’s the acquiring of a polished style. In fact, it’s not altogether unusual on this side of the Atlantic to find university men spending a vacation as waiters in the summer hotels.”
“But why do they do that?” Gertrude asked with a shocked expression.
“For money,” Prescott answered dryly. “One gathers that the St. Andrew boys did something of the same kind in Scotland in your grandfather’s time; and no logical objection could be made to it, anyway. Isn’t it a pretty good test of a man’s determination? It’s hard to see why he should make a worse doctor, engineer, or preacher, because he has the grit to earn his training by carrying plates, or chopping trees, which some of our boys take to.”
This was difficult to answer, and Gertrude did not attempt it; her prejudices were stronger than her powers of reasoning. Looking southward, she saw the turreted tops of the Sebastian elevators rising from the sea of grass like cathedral towers. Their smallness emphasized the vastness of the plain, which was beginning to have a stimulating effect on her mind. She thought it might explain the broadness of her companion’s views, which, while erroneous, were becoming comprehensible. He lived in the open, beyond the bounds of walls and fences, breathing this wonderful invigorating air. Nevertheless, he was obviously a man of varied and extensive information, which struck her as somewhat curious in face of his severely practical abilities. He could mend harness, plow a straight furrow, break horses, and strip a complicated machine. As a new type, he deserved attention.
After a while they struck into a well-beaten track which had been graded where it crossed a muskeg. The rude work, however, had suffered from frost and rain: the ruts in the hard black soil were deep and there were dangerous holes. To make matters worse, a big gasoline tractor, intended to assist in some harvesting operations, had got into difficulties near the middle of the graded track. It was making an alarming noise and diffusing a pungent odor, while two men thrust bits of board beneath the wheels for it to climb out of the hole on. Prescott’s team slackened their pace, jerking their heads and pricking their ears. They were young range horses that had roamed over wide spaces, and were badly broken.
Getting a tight grip on the reins he turned to his companion.
“We can’t get around—the muskeg’s too soft. I’d put you down, only that I may not be able to hold the team after we get past that machine.” He raised his voice. “Can’t you stop her, boys?”
“No, sir!” cried a grimy man. “Soon as we cut out the engine she’d run back into the hole! We’ve been here two hours already!”
“Hold tight!” Prescott cautioned Gertrude, and urged the horses forward.
As they approached the tractor the noise suddenly increased, and its wheels spun faster, grinding on the skids. One of the horses reared, swinging up the pole, which nearly threw its fellow; then there was a frantic thud of hoofs against the frame of the vehicle, and the team, swinging half around, threatened to overturn it into the swamp. Prescott plied the whip; the beasts plunged. One pair of wheels left the road, and the rig slanted alarmingly. A violent crash and jolt followed; Gertrude came near to being flung out of her seat; and they passed the tractor and sped across the graded stretch at a furious pace. Prescott was braced backward, his feet pressed hard against a bar, his lips tightly set, while Gertrude, shrinking from the disaster that seemed imminent, wondered how he swung the panic-stricken beasts clear of the worst holes. She gasped with relief when they had passed the muskeg, but the trail was still in a dangerous state, and Prescott turned the team upon the grass, where they galloped on while the wheels smashed through short scrub, until at last the speed began to slacken. The horses’ coats were foul and flecked with spume when Gertrude looked backward and saw the tractor far away in the distance.