Moira seized Shirley's hand and kissed it impulsively. “Very well, then,” Shirley continued. “That matter is adjusted, and now we'll all be happy. Here comes Thelma with luncheon. Cheer up, dear, and remember that sometime this afternoon you're going to see Mr. Bryce smile again, and perhaps there won't be so much of a cloud over his smile this time.”
When Moira returned to the office of the Cardigan Redwood Lumber Company, Shirley rang for her maid. “Bring me my motor-coat and hat, Thelma,” she ordered, “and telephone for the limousine.” She seated herself before the mirror at her dressing-table and dusted her adorable nose with a powder-puff. “Mr. Smarty Cardigan,” she murmured happily, “you walked rough-shod over my pride, didn't you! Placed me under an obligation I could never hope to meet—and then ignored me—didn't you? Very well, old boy. We all have our innings sooner or later, you know, and I'm going to make a substantial payment on that huge obligation as sure as my name is Shirley Sumner. Then, some day when the sun is shining for you again, you'll come to me and be very, very humble. You're entirely too independent, Mr. Cardigan, but, oh, my dear, I do hope you will not need so much money. I'll be put to my wit's end to get it to you without letting you know, because if your affairs go to smash, you'll be perfectly intolerable. And yet you deserve it. You're such an idiot for not loving Moira. She's an angel, and I gravely fear I'm just an interfering, mischievous, resentful little devil seeking vengeance on—”
She paused suddenly. “No, I'll not do that, either,” she soliloquized. “I'll keep it myself—for an investment. I'll show Uncle Seth I'm a business woman, after all. He has had his fair chance at the Valley of the Giants, after waiting years for it, and now he has deliberately sacrificed that chance to be mean and vindictive. I'm afraid Uncle Seth isn't very sporty—after what Bryce Cardigan did for us that day the log-train ran away. I'll have to teach him not to hit an old man when he's down and begging for mercy. I'LL buy the Valley but keep my identity secret from everybody; then, when Uncle Seth finds a stranger in possession, he'll have a fit, and perhaps, before he recovers, he'll sell me all his Squaw Creek timber—only he'll never know I'm the buyer. And when I control the outlet—well, I think that Squaw Creek timber will make an excellent investment if it's held for a few years. Shirley, my dear, I'm pleased with you. Really, I never knew until now why men could be so devoted to business. Won't it be jolly to step in between Uncle Seth and Bryce Cardigan, hold up my hand like a policeman, and say: 'Stop it, boys. No fighting, IF you please. And if anybody wants to know who's boss around here, start something.'”
And Shirley laid her head upon the dressing-table and laughed heartily. She had suddenly bethought herself of Aesop's fable of the lion and the mouse!
When her uncle came home that night, Shirley observed that he was preoccupied and disinclined to conversation.
“I noticed in this evening's paper,” she remarked presently, “that Mr. Cardigan has sold his Valley of the Giants. So you bought it, after all?”
“No such luck!” he almost barked. “I'm an idiot. I should be placed in charge of a keeper. Now, for heaven's sake, Shirley, don't discuss that timber with me, for if you do, I'll go plain, lunatic crazy. I've had a very trying day.”
“Poor Uncle Seth!” she purred sweetly. Her apparent sympathy soothed his rasped soul. He continued:
“Oh, I'll get the infernal property, and it will be worth what I have to pay for it, only it certainly does gravel me to realize that I am about to be held up, with no help in sight. I'll see Judge Moore to-morrow and offer him a quick profit for his client. That's the game, you know.”
“I do hope the new owner exhibits some common sense, Uncle dear,” she replied, and turned back to the piano. “But I greatly fear,” she added to herself, “that the new owner is going to prove a most obstinate creature and frightfully hard to discover.”