Renny said — “Well, that was neatly done.”
“I was mighty glad to see you!”
“Did you get the books?”
“The books?”
“Your friend was going to lend you.”
“Oh, those! Unfortunately no. The ones he has aren’t of any use to me.”
His brother threw him the glance of suspicion that seemed always ready beneath his mobile brows, and asked: “Who is this fellow?”
Eden thought: “Once you’ve been into trouble everyone’s so ready to suspect you — especially old Redhead.” His brain was so excited by the interview with Mrs. Kronk, by the though of the power of attorney in his pocket, that he was less agile in self-defence than usual. He stammered — “Oh, he’s a fellow by the name of —” before he could stop himself he said — “Kronk.”
“Kronk,” repeated Renny and put the most sinister implications into that syllable. “Who is he?”
“Oh, you wouldn’t know. He comes from Saskatchewan.”
“Studying law?”
“Yes.”
“What’s he doing here in the holidays?”
“He’s got a job.”
“How can he afford to live in such an expensive apartment house?”
“Well — you see — his father’s a very rich man.”
“Rancher?”
“Yes — that’s it.”
“Then why doesn’t this fellow go home to the ranch when he might be of some use instead of taking a job in the city?”
“Well, you see, he’s had words with his father and doesn’t want to ho home.”
“H’m.” Renny apparently thought none the better of young Kronk for that. His expression was grim as he took out an old cloth and wiped the steam from the streaming windshield.
Eden asked pleasantly — “When do you think of buying a new car?”
Instantly he realized that this was about the last question he should have asked. There was a taciturn silence before his brother returned — “I never think of it.”
“Never! Good Lord.”
“There are other things I need much more.”
The traffic was dense at this point, or so it seemed to them who could not realize what later it would become.
“In 1903,” said Renny, “there were one hundred and seventy-eight motor vehicles on the road in Ontario. Now, twenty years later, there are two hundred and seventy-eight thousand, seven hundred and fifty-two.”
Eden stared in wonder. “How on earth do you remember those figures?”
“Because I’m interested. I dislike ’em so.” He gave a savage grin at the driver of a large new car who had tried to cut in on them.
Eden said, letting out his breath — “Whew, that was a close call.”
“He needed a lesson.”
There was silence till they had left the city and the road was almost deserted. On one hand lay wet summer fields, the heavy heads of the grain drooping under the rain, woodlands where coming night was already welcomed, and on the other the grey expanse of the lake. Renny stopped the car, lighted a cigarette and offered one to Eden who asked: “Did you buy the filly you’ve been speaking of?”
“No. Worse luck. A man from Pittsburg got in ahead of me. Bought her yesterday.”
Eden made a sound of sympathy.
Renny continued — “I should have made a lot of money out of that filly. She’s a beauty. But that is what comes of being short of cash.” He sighed, wiped the windshield and started the car.
“That was quite a bump,” Eden said, recovering himself.
“She always starts like that,” returned his elder laconically.
“Like me to drive?”
“No, thanks.”
Eden had a sudden feeling of pity for him. Here he was in need of money, and there was money to be made, and so easily made, in the Indigo Lake enterprise. He had a mind to tell Renny then and there. Indeed it would be unfair, even heartless not to tell him. He need not let him know that any others of the family had invested in the stock. He said:
“A chap I was talking to this afternoon has been making quite a lot of money out of stocks.”
“Oh, what stocks?”
“Mining. A gold mine.”
“He can have them. Eventually he’ll lose. I’d not put a dollar into mining stocks. There are enough suckers without me. Now I’ll tell you what does interest me. There’s a sale of livestock near Stead next week. Like to come with me?”
Well, thought Eden, there is no use in trying to do anything for Renny. He simply won’t be helped. But how he’ll regret it when he finds what he’s missed. A thrill ran through his nerves when he thought of the power of attorney in his pocket. The rain continued steady and the wind from the lake was cool. When they passed through the tiny village into the road which led to Jalna only the lights from windows twinkled through the darkness and they passed or met no one. The massive pines, two hundred years old, that still lined this road were embracing their final decade and beneath their arch it was black night. In their own driveway they splashed through puddles between hemlock and spruce and passed the house brightly lighted. Eden would have liked to get out here but they were chatting amiably and he would not interrupt their good-fellowship.
A dim light came from the stable. Wright, the cheerful head stableman, opened the door to them.
“Heard you coming, sir. What a night it’s turning out to be!”
“How’s everything, Wright?”
“Fine, sir. May I ask if you got the filly?”
“No. She was sold yesterday.”
“Too bad. She was a promising one.”
“Yes.”
There were fifteen horses in the stable — show horses, polo ponies which were bred and schooled here, and the farm horses. They had been fed, watered, and bedded down for the night. Some had lain down to rest but others stood watching out of lustrous eyes the approach of the three men. Renny moved past stalls and loose boxes speaking to each, putting out a hand to caress a pet. The mare Cora, his favourite saddle horse, got up with a clatter of hooves when she heard the loved voice and uttered a deep-throated whinny. Renny went into the loose box to put an arm about her and she swung her carven head to nuzzle him.
Eden, with the smell of clean straw, the smell of well-cared-for beasts in his nostrils, studied the picture made by man and horse in the loose box. He found in them a curious resemblance. It was in the bold naked lines of the head, in the look of wariness, of sensitivity to the physical world. As Renny talked with Wright Eden saw how the two recovered from their disappointment. Renny was cheerful when he said good-night to Wright and went out into the rain with Eden.
The air was fully of heady scents from the earth. The house, all lighted, looked larger than it really was. As they passed into the porch the wet leaves of the Virginia creeper, shaken by a gust, sent down a small deluge on their heads.
“Oh, boys, I’m so glad you’re back,” their sister exclaimed, as they appeared at the door of the drawing-room. “What a night it’s turning out to be!”
“And cool for the time of year,” added Ernest.
“Quite a relief after the heat,”