Nan was not at all surprised when, upon responding to a peremptory knock at her front door she discovered Andrew Daney standing without. The general manager, after his stormy interview with The Laird had spent two hours in the sunny lee of a lumber pile, waiting for the alcoholic fogs to lift from his brain, for he had had sense enough left to realize that all was not well with him; he desired to have his tongue in order when he should meet the bride and groom.
"Good morning, Mr. Daney," Nan greeted him. "Do come in."
"Good morning, Mrs. McKaye. Thank you. I shall with pleasure."
He followed her down the little hallway to the living room where Donald sat with his great thin legs stretched out toward the fire.
"Don't rise, boy, don't rise," Mr. Daney protested. "I merely called to kiss the bride and shake your hand, my boy. The visit is entirely friendly and unofficial."
"Mr. Daney, you're a dear," Nan cried, and presented her fair cheek for the tribute he claimed.
"Shake hands with a rebel, boy," Mr. Daney cried heartily to Donald. "God bless you and may you always be happier than you are this minute."
Donald wrung the Daney digits with a heartiness he would not have thought possible a month before.
"I've quarreled with your father, Donald," he announced, seating himself. "Over you--and you," he added, nodding brightly at both young people. "He thinks he's fired me." He paused, glanced around, coughed a couple of times and came out with it. "Well, what are you going to do now to put tobacco in your old tobacco box, Donald?"
Donald smiled sadly. "Oh, Nan still has a few dollars left from that motor-boat swindle you perpetrated, Mr. Daney. She'll take care of me for a couple of weeks until I'm myself again; then, if my father still proves recalcitrant and declines to have me connected with the Tyee Lumber Company, I'll manage to make a living for Nan and the boy somewhere else."
Briefly Mr. Daney outlined The Laird's expressed course of action with regard to his son.
"He means it," Donald assured the general manager. "He never bluffs. He gave me plenty of warning and his decision has not been arrived at in a hurry. He's through with me."
"I fear he is, my boy. Er-ah-ahem! Harumph-h-h! Do you remember those bonds you sent me from New York once--the proceeds of your deal in that Wiskah river cedar?"
"Yes."
"Your father desires that you accept the entire two hundred thousand dollars worth and accrued interest."
"Why?"
"Well, I suppose he thinks they'll come in handy when you leave Port Agnew."
"Well, I'm not going to leave Port Agnew, Andrew."
"Your father instructed me to say to you that he would take it kindly of you to do so--for obvious reasons."
"I appreciate his point of view, but since he has kicked me out he has no claim on my sympathies--at least not to the extent of forcing his point of view and causing me to abandon my own. Please say to my father that since I cannot have his forgiveness I do not want his bonds or his money. Tell him also, please, that I'm not going to leave Port Agnew, because that would predicate a sense of guilt on my part and lend some support to the popular assumption that my wife is not a virtuous woman. I could not possibly oblige my father on this point because to do so would be a violent discourtesy to my wife. I am not ashamed of her, you know."
Mr. Daney gnawed his thumb nail furiously. "'The wicked flee when no man pursueth'," he quoted. "However, Mr. Donald, you know as well as I do that if your father should forbid it, a dicky bird couldn't make a living in this town."
"There are no such restrictions in Darrow, Mr. Daney. The superintendent up there will give me a job on the river."
Mr. Daney could not forbear an expression of horror. "Hector McKaye's son a river hog!" he cried incredulously.
"Well, Donald McKaye's father was a river hog, wasn't he?"
"Oh, but times have changed since Hector was a pup, my boy. Why, this is dreadful."
"No, Mr. Daney. Merely unusual."
"Well, Donald, I think your father will raise the ante considerably in order to avoid that added disgrace and force you to listen to reason."
"If he does, sir, please spare yourself the trouble of bearing his message. Neither Nan nor I is for sale, sir."
"I told him you'd decline the bonds. However, Mr. Donald, there is no reason in life why you shouldn't get money from me whenever you want it. Thanks to your father I'm worth more than a hundred thousand myself, although you'd never guess it. Your credit is A-1 with me."
"I shall be your debtor for life because of that speech, Mr. Daney. Any news from my mother and the girls?"
"None."
"Well, I'll stand by for results," Donald assured him gravely.
"Do not expect any."
"I don't."
Mr. Daney fidgeted and finally said he guessed he'd better be trotting along, and Donald and Nan, realizing it would be no kindness to him to be polite and assure him there was no need of hurry, permitted him to depart forthwith.
"I think, sweetheart," Donald announced with a pained little smile, as he returned from seeing Mr. Daney to the front gate, "that it wouldn't be a half bad idea for you to sit in at that old piano and play and sing for me. I think I'd like something light and lilting. What's that Kipling thing that's been set to music?"
So we went strolling, Down by the rolling, down by the rolling sea. You may keep your croak for other folk But you can't frighten me!
He lighted a cigarette and stretched himself out on the old divan. She watched him blowing smoke rings at the ceiling--and there was no music in her soul.
In the afternoon the McKaye limousine drew up at the front gate and Nan's heart fluttered violently in contemplation of a visit from her husband's mother and sisters. She need not have worried, however. The interior of the car was unoccupied save for Donald's clothing and personal effects which some thoughtful person at The Dreamerie had sent down to him. He hazarded a guess that the cool and practical Elizabeth had realized his needs.