Part 71

"We've never seen anything quite like this in any part of the world," volunteered Weatherby, "and it is a remarkable thing for any one man to have imagined and accomplished. Whether or not we take the matter up, it will always seem a catastrophe that your work and the work of your directors should have been interrupted by a speculator. That's one thing that strikes us both about American business--you have your lions, and plenty of them, but you have too many wolves. Now, coming back to St. Marys, I beg that you won't misunderstand me when I say that the originator of great things is very seldom a suitable executive for permanent administration. It is too much to expect. In case we take this up it would be necessary for us to have the administration in our own hands. You understand, of course, that an originator of big things is a much rarer person than a good executive, and it is largely on account of non-imaginative qualities that the latter is the safer man. I would like to assure you," he concluded with evident respect, "that we have never experienced more difficulty in making a suggestion. The case is extraordinary--we realize that."

"What Weatherby has in his head," added Ardswell, "is that you have done what neither of us could ever have done, and he thinks it a waste of valuable material to try and make an executive out--"

"Out of me," interrupted Clark. "You may be quite right." He had expected to feel alone, but the direct simplicity of these men appealed to him. It was not always, he reflected, that he was given an unprejudiced opinion, and he felt the safer since now he got it.

"We believe that we are right," it was Weatherby who spoke, "and are prepared to assume that responsibility. Like you, we have shareholders to think of, and we feel that yours will not get any better offer. We know the financial world fairly well."

Clark listened tensely. He was aware that the interests represented by these two were of enormous influence and wealth. He realized, also, that instead of all this discussion, Wimperley might simply have notified him that he was discharged, and that the new interests would now take over. But Wimperley had done nothing of the kind.

"One week in Philadelphia taught us much, but we have learned a great deal more up here," continued Weatherby, "and it depended really on the past three days whether we would make a proposal or not. From what we have seen and what you have told us, we are satisfied. I might say that your directors have already agreed to the reduction of capital, provided the matter of management is settled. So the future lies entirely with you. Your holdings in common stock are so large that it is essential you give your formal assent."

Clark drew a long breath. He had come to the fork in the road. The labors of seven years rolled suddenly over his brain and engulfed it. Here were two men who drank his wine, then asked him to leave his very soul to others.

"Gentlemen," he said slowly, "thank you for what you have said--but I can't give you an answer at once."

"There's no hurry," replied Ardswell. "It's not a case for a snap decision."

Through Clark's mind ran a quizzical idea that these two understood each other admirably, and he wondered how things would have turned out had he himself been one of a pair that did such team work.

"Then later, to-night."

The two nodded and moved off, talking earnestly, while Clark experienced a strange breathlessness. His soul was in tumult, and he reacted from the strain of the past few days. He perceived that with men like himself and his visitors lay the great economic forces of the world. And yet he was expected to make way.

Passing slowly through the big gates, towards which he had walked automatically, he moved on beyond the pulp mills towards the rapids, as though drawn by their insistent call. It was the call he had heard for years, even in his very dreams. And there, on the great boulder where he had once found her before, sat Elsie.

She had been there for an hour, gazing at the tumbled mass of foam and trying desperately to disentangle her thoughts. But even as she gazed, Clark's face seemed to come in between; keen, strong, undefeated and suggestive. It was not till now that she admitted to her own soul that he had dominated her imagination for months past. His achievements, his peculiar independence, his swift versatility had captured her crescent ambition, the ambition which he himself had unwittingly stimulated. She did not question whether this was love, she only knew that in this season, when his work seemed to be tottering over his head, she was ready to come to him and help rebuild it into something stronger and even greater.

She did not start, but looked at him with a strange satisfaction, as though it were meant from the first that they should meet at this time and place. Her eyes were very grave, and in them was that which made Clark's pulse beat faster. Something whispered that each of them had been saved over for this moment.

"I haven't seen much of you for the past few months," he said presently.

"I know that, but I know why. Are things better now?"

He nodded. "They may be very shortly."

"I'm so glad. You can't imagine how anxious I've been,--the riots and your escape--and--"

"But I was anxious for you."

"You shouldn't have been," she said gently. "Mr. Belding told me that you wanted him to come to the house when things were at their worst, but he didn't like leaving you. Now tell me, are the works starting up again?"

Clark drew a long breath. "I'll know very soon."

"Then you'll settle down just like before, and it will be all a bad dream?"

"Perhaps I will." His voice lifted a little.

"You're not going away?"

That was what he had come here to decide, and there flashed into his mind a curious conception that was both fanciful and reassuring.

"Forget about the works for a moment; I want to ask you something."

"But do I know?" She smiled doubtfully.