"Drive the nobility and the oilcrats out of Ironia and you'd have the makings of a great nation," said Crane, taking up the thread of narrative where the priest left it. He proceeded to give a more detailed account of his own experiences, telling of the vast extent of the oil-fields and the huge profits that the owners were making. An Ironian workman received a few pence a day, doing the work for which a man elsewhere would receive as many dollars. The discipline was severe, almost as rigid, in fact, as in a penal institution. The law stopped practically at the boundary of the oil country; within that limit the word of the owners was law.
The priest listened silently, bowing his head in sad assent to many of the statements that the young Englishman made. Fenton also was silent, hearing but little of the conversation. He sat back in his chair and gloomily conjured up pictures of Olga in the power of the arch-villain, Miridoff. And Wellington, on the crucial field of Waterloo, did not long for night with greater intensity than did Fenton for the descent of the sheltering darkness which would enable him to start out on his quest.
CHAPTER XIII
IN THE HILL COUNTRY
It was after ten when they quietly emerged from the house of the old priest. The sky was overcast so that not a star showed. A peasant silently emerged from the shadows at the side of the road and placed himself before them, hat in hand.
"Sashu will take you to Larescu," said the priest. "You can depend upon him. He is a peasant from the estate of his highness, the Prince Peter, and would give his life willingly for any member of the family."
"Father, you have indeed been a friend in need to us. I wish I could repay a small share of what we owe you," said Fenton, his hand straying toward his pocket.
Crane noticed the movement and nudged him under cover of the darkness. "Not that," he whispered. "They are very proud, these Ironians, and very glad at all times to offer hospitality. You would mortally insult him."
"Perhaps," said Fenton hastily, "there is something we could procure for the church—a new altar cloth, say. I would like to do something for your people in that way, Father. Suppose I leave the matter in your hands. If this is not sufficient we could fix it up on our return trip."
The old priest accepted the money that Fenton proffered with an eagerness that showed how deeply he had been touched. He thanked them earnestly, explaining that there were many things he could purchase with the donation. They struck off into the darkness with his parting benediction following them.