It was a very contented and slightly hilarious party that went back to the city, but Witham sat down before a shaded lamp with a wet rag round his head when they left him, and bent over a sheaf of drawings until his eyes grew dim. Then he once more took up a little strip of paper that Graham had given him, and leaned forward with his arms upon the table. The mill was very silent at last, for of all who toiled in it that day one weary man alone sat awake, staring, with aching eyes, in front of him. There was, however, a little smile in them, for roseate visions floated before them. If the promise that strip of paper held out was redeemed, they might be materialized, for those who had toiled and wasted their substance that the eastern peoples might be fed would that year, at least, not go without their reward. Then he stretched out his arms wearily above his head.
“It almost seems that what I have hoped for may be mine,” he said. “Still, there is a good deal to be done first, and not two hours left before I begin it to-morrow.”
[CHAPTER XXVI—REINSTATION]
A year of tireless effort and some anxiety had passed since Witham had seen the first load of flour sent to the east, when he and Graham sat talking in their Winnipeg office. The products of the St. Louis mills were already in growing demand, and Graham appeared quietly contented as he turned over the letters before him. When he laid down the last one, however, he glanced at his companion somewhat anxiously.
“We have got to fix up something soon,” he said. “I have booked all the St. Louis can turn out for six months ahead, and the syndicate is ready to take the business over, though I don’t know quite whether it would be wise to let them. It seems to me that milling is going to pay tolerably well for another year, and if I knew what you were wanting, it would suit me better.”
“I told you I wanted thirty thousand dollars,” said Witham quietly.
“You’ve got them,” said Graham. “When the next balance comes out you’ll have a good many more. The question is, what you’re going to do with them now they’re yours?”
Witham took out a letter from Dane and passed it across to Graham. “I’m sorry to tell you the Colonel is getting no better,” it ran. “The specialist we brought in seems to think he will never be quite himself again, and now he has let the reins go, things are falling to pieces at Silverdale. Somebody left Atterly a pile of money, and he is going back to the old country, Carshalton is going, too; and, as they can’t sell out to any one we don’t approve of, the rest insisted on my seeing you. I purpose starting to-morrow.”
“What happened to Colonel Barrington?” asked Graham.
“His sleigh turned over,” said Witham. “Horse trampled on him, and it was an hour or two before his hired man could get him under shelter.”