CHAPTER XII
KENNETH GALT came back from Atlanta at the end of the week. John Dilk drove down, and brought him up from the station at dusk. Galt had just alighted at his front steps, and the carriage had gone round the house toward the stables in the rear, when he saw Margaret Dearing among the flowers on the lawn adjoining. Through an open window, in the glow of gas-light, he could see the supper-table waiting for him, and knew that his housekeeper, Mrs. Wilson, had all in readiness for his evening meal. He knew, too, that she was most particular about having his favorite dishes served while they were hot, and yet he could not resist the temptation to exchange greetings with this fair young girl whose genial friendship and interest in his affairs had always appealed to him. The prospects were very bright for success in his plan of building a railway from Stafford to the sea, and he was still young enough to want to warm himself in the smile of the girl's approval.
“Oh, you are back!” she said, cordially, as he strode across the grass, and lightly vaulted over the row of boxwood which divided the two properties. “Uncle Tom will be delighted.”
“Yes, and I am very tired,” he answered. He paused and shook her hand, experiencing a decided shock as he noticed the unexpected pallor of her face and the dark splotches beneath her eyes. “I was on my feet all morning in Atlanta. I made a speech to-day at a luncheon, and then had to ride up on a slow train.”
“And the railroad is almost a certainty?” she asked, forcing a wan smile. “You are about to have your dream realized?”
“Almost,” he answered, modestly. “I think we may count on most of the subscribers for the stock throughout the South, and the farmers who have agreed to donate the right of way through their lands still seem enthusiastic. The only thing we lack is the support of a certain group of New York capitalists who are to put up the bulk of the funds and are now considering our final proposition. If they should go in the road would be a certainty.”
“My uncle is sure they can be counted on,” the girl went on, sympathetically. “He declares no one but you could have won the confidence of all those prim, old-fashioned ladies and pious elders, who have never been willing to invest their savings before.”
Galt shrugged his shoulders and drew back somewhat into his habitual mantle of reserve. “If we do put it through,” he said, “they won't regret it. Thorough confidence in an enterprise like this is necessary, of course, and I am glad they trust me.”
“All Stafford was reading the articles in the Atlanta papers yesterday about it,” Margaret said. “Uncle says when it is settled beyond a doubt the town will give a torch-light procession in your honor.”
“There were many inaccuracies in the papers,” he informed her, as he stood wondering over her evident dejection. “Did you read the articles?”