Johnstone of the Border Part 40

"On notes that will mature when he's twenty-one. I found the man who cashed them, but he parted with the paper, and I canno' tell who holds it now."

"I've no doubt you tried to find out."

Mackellar's eyes twinkled.

"Ye may take that for granted. If there had been a weak spot in the man's affairs, I'd have made him tell."

There was silence for a minute. Andrew suspected that it was Staffer; but he did not think it was time to speak, and he knew that Mackellar would take him into his confidence when he saw fit.

"The fellow who really made the loan has some courage," he said presently.

"I'm thinking he kens the Johnstone character. d.i.c.k would no' disown his debts on the ground that he was under age; nor would ye, if your cousin died before he inherited."

"No," said Andrew. "d.i.c.k's debts must be met; but I would pay what he borrowed with reasonable interest, and nothing more."

"Ye're a true Johnstone," Mackellar remarked, with dry approval. "My opinion is that the lender's no' expecting ye to inherit."

"Well, it's most unlikely, and I'm glad it is so. I suppose you have nothing more to say, but you'll tell me when I can help."

"I will," Mackellar promised.

Andrew did not feel inclined to join the others. He strolled into the hall, and found Elsie sitting in a corner with her knitting.

"I stole away to finish this belt," she said. "It's the last of a dozen I promised to let the committee have to-morrow."

"You keep your promises," Andrew replied. "It must be a comfort to feel you're useful, because somebody in the snow and mud will be glad of that warm belt. I begin to wish I'd been taught to knit."

Elsie gave him a sympathetic glance, for there was a hint of bitterness in his tone.

"What is troubling you to-night, Andrew?" she asked gently.

"It is rather hard to explain; a general sense of futility, I think,"

he answered with a smile. "Did you ever feel that you had come up against a dead wall that you could neither break through nor get over?"

"Yes; I know the feeling well. There is so much that ought to be done and it seems impossible. But what did you want to do?"

Andrew stood beside the hearth, silently watching her for a minute.

Her face was quiet but faintly troubled, and although she was looking at the fire and not her knitting, the needles flashed steadily through the wool. Elsie had beautiful hands, but they were capable and strong, and it was not often that she allowed her feelings to interfere with her work.

"To tell what you meant to do and couldn't sounds pretty weak, but I had two objects when I came home," he said. "I wanted to help d.i.c.k and keep him out of trouble; but the proper kind of help needs tact, and I haven't much. Besides, there's something peculiarly elusive about d.i.c.k; you think you have him, so to speak, in a corner, and the next moment he slips away from you. Sometimes I suspect he's a good deal more clever than we imagine."

Elsie nodded.

"Yes; I know what you mean. But you're a very good friend of his and it wouldn't be like you to give him up."

"I don't mean to give him up; but just now it looks as if I could get no farther. That's the trouble."

"You mean part of it," said Elsie quietly. "What was your other object?"

Andrew hesitated.

"It was rather vague, but I thought I might somehow be useful--to the country. I'm lame and can't enlist; I can't give much money; but I might, perhaps, help to watch the coast. Then there was the Eskdale road. You know my hobby."

Elsie stopped her knitting and gave him a steady look.

"And after a time, you thought you saw a way to be of use. You found out something?"

"Yes," he said in a disturbed voice. "Still, it looked as if I couldn't go on with the thing. Some of the clues broke off and those I tried to follow led me into difficulties. You can't act on faint suspicion: it might lead to unnecessary complications."

"One must take a risk now and then," Elsie answered. "I mean, do one's duty and face the consequences."

Andrew did not reply and she picked up her knitting.

"Well, peace must come, sometime," she said. "Have you thought what you will do then?"

"Yes; if I could see d.i.c.k starting well as the owner of Appleyard, and, better still, safely married, I'd go away again."

"What do you mean by 'safely married'?"

"I think you know. He's such a good sort, and a girl who understood him and was patient with his failings would soon help him to get rid of them. She'd make the most of his good points, and d.i.c.k has talents--"

"Are there girls like that?"

"Yes," said Andrew, firmly; "I am quite sure that I know one."

Elsie gave him a curious glance.

"But you're only thinking of d.i.c.k. What about yourself?"

"Oh," he said with a brave effort to be cheerful, "I don't count for much. I've no money and no particular ability beyond being able to sail a boat. Still, I have the sea and I'm fond of wandering. It's a pretty good old world, after all, and if you keep an open mind, you make friends wherever you go."

"But it must hurt to leave the old ones."

"Yes," he agreed with a hint of strain; "it hurts very much. But you never leave them altogether. Things change, of course, but you can come back if you are wanted."

He left her rather abruptly, and Elsie dropped her work and sat looking into the fire, a curious, gentle smile on her face. Andrew was true to the core; he would never seek his own advantage when it conflicted with his loyalty to his friends. Now he was willing to sacrifice himself for d.i.c.k; though perhaps his poverty influenced him, too. Still, he should see--Elsie resolutely picked up her knitting.

She must not indulge in disturbing thoughts like these--and the belts must be finished. s.h.i.+vering men, worn with stern fighting in Flanders, needed them.

CHAPTER XXIV

THE BUOYED CHANNEL

A bitter east wind was blowing through light mist, though the moon was in the sky, when Andrew came out of a little shop in a lonely village near the Galloway coast. He carried a basket of provisions and wore a thick jersey and oilskins, but he s.h.i.+vered as he looked down the street. It was empty, and dark except for a faint yellow glow here and there in the windows of the small, white houses that rose abruptly from the rough pavement.

"d.i.c.k's a long time in getting the eggs," he said to Whitney.