"I often think," he braved the disgust he had evoked, and spoke hurriedly to get it said before the other man had withered him with his eyes; "I often think a young man can get along sometimes—girls will tell him more, feeling more companionable as it were—" He paused, feeling for a convincing climax.
But in spite of Mr. Banks' scorn of Peter Neelands' efforts at solving their new difficulty, he soon began to think of it more favorably, coming to this by a process known as elimination. No one else wanted to go; he could not think of anything else. Peter would not do any harm—he was as guileless as a blue-eyed Angora kitten, and above all, he was willing and anxious to get into the game. This would give him an opportunity. So Mr. Banks suddenly made up his mind that he would authorize a cheque to be drawn on the "Funds." It could easily be entered under "Inspection of Public Bridges," or any old thing—that was a mere detail.
The Cabinet Minister, who was later acquainted with the plan, and had by that time recovered his mental composure, almost spoiled everything by declaring it was a most unwise move, and absolutely unnecessary.
"Leave her alone," he declared, as he sipped his whiskey and soda—"people like that hang themselves if they get enough rope. What is she anyway—but an unlearned, ignorant country girl, who has been in the city and gathered a few silly notions, and when she goes home she shows off before her rustic friends. My dear boy," he addressed Peter now, from an immeasurable distance, "the secret of England's greatness consists of letting every damn fool say what he likes, they feel better, and it does no harm. We must expect criticism and censure—we are well able to bear it, and with our men in every district, there is little to fear. We'll offset any effect there may be from this girl's ravings by sending the Chief out for one speech."
The Minister of Public Works lapsed into meditation and drummed pleasantly with his plump, shining hand on the table beside him. The sweet mellowness which had been Mr. Walker's aim for years, lay on his soul. The world grew more misty and golden every moment, and in this sunkissed, nebulous haze, his fancy roamed free, released from sordid cares—by Mr. Walker's potent spell. It was a good world—a good world of true friends, no enemies, no contradiction of sinners or other disagreeable people, nothing but ease, praise, power, success, glorious old world, without any hereafter, or any day of accounting. Tears of enthusiasm made dewy his eyes—he loved everybody.
"The old Chief has a hold on the people that cannot be equalled. I thought it was wonderful last night at the banquet, the tribute be paid to his mother. It reveals such a tender side of him, even though he has received the highest honor the people can give him, yet the remembers so tenderly the old home and its associations. That's his great secret of success—he's so human—with faults like other men, but they only make him all the more beloved. He is so tolerant of all. When that poor simpleton stuffed the ballot-box—out somewhere in the Blue Mountains, a really clever piece of work too, wonderfully well done—with the false bottom—I don't see how they ever discovered it—but it is hard to deceive the enemy—there's no piece of crooked work they are not familiar with. He was nearly crazy when they caught him at it—thought he could be put in jail—he forgot, the poor boob … who he was working for…. I'll never forget how fine the old Chief allayed his fears—'All for a good cause, my boy,' he said, in that jovial way of his, 'I have no fear—the Lord will look after His own.' No wonder he can get people to work for him. It is that hearty good nature of his, and he never preaches to any one, or scolds. He was just as kindly to the poor fellow as if he had succeeded. It was wonderful."
"Great old boy, all right," Peter agreed heartily.
That afternoon Mr. Banks arranged with one of the partners of the law firm to which Peter was attached to release him for an indefinite period, and his salary could be charged to the Government under "Professional Services, Mr. P.J. Neelands," and being a fair-minded man, and persuaded that a laborer was worthy of his hire, he suggested a substantial increase in salary for Mr. Neelands, considering the delicate nature of the task he was undertaking, and who was paying for it.
The spring, notwithstanding its early March smiles, delayed its coming that year, and the grim facts of the scarcity of feed faced the thriftiest farmers. The hungry cattle grew hungrier than ever, and with threatening bellows and eyes of flame pushed and crowded around the diminishing stacks. The cattle market went so low that it did not pay to ship them to the city, though humane instincts prompted many a farmer to do this to save their stock from a lingering death, and their own eyes from the agony of seeing them suffer.
On April the first came the big storm, which settled forever the feed problem for so many hungry animals. It was a deliberate storm, a carefully planned storm, beginning the day before with a warm, soft air, languorous, spring-like, with a pale yellow sun, with a cap of silver haze around its head, which seemed to smile upon the earth with fairest promises of an early spring. The cattle wandered far from home, lured by the gentle air and the mellow sunshine.