With this assurance his father had to content himself. In a fortnight's time a letter came from Tony to his sister, rosy with the brilliance of the prospects opening up before him. There was the usual irresponsible indefiniteness in detail. What he was doing and how he was living Tony did not deign to indicate. Ten days later Annette had another letter. The former prospects had not been realised, but he had a much better thing in view, something more suitable to him, and offering larger possibilities of position and standing in the community. So much Annette confided to her mother who passed on the great news with elaborations and annotations to Captain Jack. To Captain Jack himself Annette gave little actual information. Indeed, shorn of its element of prophecy, there was little in Tony's letter that could be passed on. Nor did Annette drop any hint but that all was quite well with her brother, much less that he had suggested a temporary loan of fifty dollars but only of course if she could spare the amount with perfect convenience. After this letter there was silence as far as Tony was concerned and for Annette anxiety that deepened into agony as the silence remained unbroken with the passing weeks.
With the anxiety there mingled in Annette's heart anger at the Maitlands, for she blamed them for Tony's dismissal from his position. This, it is fair to say, was a reflection from her mother's wrath, whose mind had been filled up with rumours from the mills to the effect that her son had been “fired.” Annette was wise enough and knew her brother well enough to discredit much that rumour brought to her ears, but she could not rid herself of the thought that a way might have been found to hold Tony about the mills.
“He fired the boy, did the ould carmudgeon,” said Madame Perrotte in one of her rages, “and druv him off from the town.”
“Nonsense, Mother,” Annette had replied, “you know well enough Tony left of his own accord. Why should you shame him so? He went because he wanted to go.”
This was a new light upon the subject for her mother.
“Thrue for you, Annette, gurl,” she said, “an' ye said it that time. But why for did he not induce the bye to remain? It would be little enough if he had made him the Manager of the hull works. That same would never pay back what he did for his son.”
“Hush, Mother,” said Annette, in a shocked and angry voice, “let no one hear you speak like that. Pay back! You know, Mother, nothing could ever pay back a thing like that.” The anger in her daughter's voice startled the mother.
“Oui! by gar!” said Perrotte, who had overheard, with quick wrath. “Dat's foolish talk for sure! Dere's no man can spik lak dat to me, or I choke him on his fool t'roat, me.”
“Right you are, mon pere!” said Annette appeasing her father. “Mother did not think what she was saying.”
“Dat's no bon,” replied Perrotte, refusing to be appeased. “Sacre tonnerre! Dat's one—what you call?—damfool speech. Dat boy Tony he's carry (h)on hees back his friend, le Capitaine Jack, an' le Capitaine, he's go five mile for fin' Tony on' de shell hole an' fetch heem to le docteur and stay wit' him till he's fix (h)up. Nom de Dieu! You pay for dat! Mama! You mak' shame for me on my heart!” cried the old Frenchman, beating his breast, while sobs shook his voice.