Featherstone came in.

VII

THE PACKET

When he had been a few days at the Garth, Foster thought he had better take Carmen's packet to Edinburgh. She had said nothing about its being urgent and he did not want to go, but he must keep his promise and would afterwards be at liberty. Mrs. Featherstone had given him to understand that he was to make the Garth his headquarters as long as he stayed in England, and he looked forward to doing so with much content.

The more he saw of his hosts, the better he liked them, and it was a privilege to enjoy Alice Featherstone's friendship. She had, of course, given it him for her brother's sake, but he must try to keep it on his merits.

Since he had seen Alice he began to understand Carmen better. Carmen had charm and knew how to use it to her advantage, while he could not imagine Alice's employing her beauty to gain an object. She was proud, with an essentially clean pride, and sincere, while Carmen had a talent for intrigue. The latter enjoyed using her cleverness to put down a rival or secure a prominent place; she was a hustler, as they said in the West. Alice, he thought, would not even claim what was hers; it must be willingly offered or she would let it go. Yet he knew she would be a staunch and generous friend to anybody who gained her confidence.

This kind of comparison, however, was profitless and perhaps in bad taste. After all, he was a friend of Carmen's and must do her errand.

He left the Garth next morning, and Featherstone, who made him promise to come back as soon as possible, drove him across the moors to a small station on the North British line, where he caught an Edinburgh train.

When they ran out of the hills at Hawick, rain was falling and the valley filled with smoky haze, through which loomed factories and chimney stacks. The station was crowded, and Foster gathered from the talk of the people who got in that a big wool sale was going on and the townsfolk who were not at the auction made it a holiday. His compartment was full, but looking through the window he saw a fashionably dressed girl hurrying along the platform with a porter.

They tried one or two carriages, in which there seemed to be no room, and the guard had blown his whistle when they came abreast of Foster's compartment. Opening the door as the train began to move, he held out his hand and pulled the girl in.

"My bag; it mustn't be left!" she cried, trying to get back to the door, but Foster caught the bag as the porter held it up and put it on the rack.

"There's a seat in the corner," he said and went into the corridor.

When they stopped at Galashiels a number of people got out, and he returned to the compartment. It was now unoccupied except by an old man and the girl he had helped, who gave him a grateful smile.

"I hadn't time to thank you, but I should have missed the train if you had not been prompt," she said.

Foster did not know if Scottish etiquette warranted anything more than a conventional reply, but he ventured to remark: "You certainly seemed to have cut things rather fine."

"I had to drive some distance and the hill roads were bad; then when we got to the town the streets were crowded."

"That would be sae," the old man agreed. "Hawick's gey thrang at the wool sales when the yarn trade is guid."

Foster liked to talk to strangers and as the girl had not rebuffed him, he took her cloak, which looked very wet, from the rack.

"Perhaps I'd better shake this in the corridor and then we can hang it up," he said.

She allowed him to do so and the old man remarked:

"Guid gear's worth the saving, and I was thinking it would be nane the waur o' a bit shake, but if ye had leeved to my age among the mosses, ye'd no' find yereself sae soople."

"Any kind of gear's worth taking care of."

"That's true," agreed the other. "A verra praise-worthy sentiment, if ye practice it. But I wouldna' say ye were a Scot."

"In a sense, I'm a Canadian, but from what I've seen of the Ontario Scots the difference isn't very marked. Anyhow, they don't buy new material until the old's worn out."

The man chuckled, but Foster thought the girl looked interested.

"Then you come from Canada," she said. "Do you know any of the Ontario cities?"

"I have been in Toronto, but I know the small towns near the Manitoba border best. In fact, I left an ambitious place called Gardner's Crossing about fourteen days ago."

From the quick glance she gave him he imagined that she had heard of the town, but she said, "I have some friends in Ontario and understand that they have had what they call a set-back there. Did this extend to the neighborhood you came from?"

Foster told her something about the development of the lumber trade and mining, but although he had hardly expected her to be interested he thought she was, and the old man's shrewd remarks helped the conversation along.

"Isn't the Crossing where the big factory is? I forget the name of it," she asked by and by.

"Hulton's," said Foster, and afterwards thought she tactfully encouraged him to talk about the manufacturing firm, although he did not mention Fred Hulton's death. Her manner, however, was quite correct; he had been of some small help, which warranted her conversing with him to pa.s.s the time. That was all, and when their companion got out and she opened a book he went to the smoking-compartment.

When he left the train at the Waverley station he saw her on the platform and she gave him a slight bow, but he understood that their acquaintance ended there and was content. After lunch he walked along, Princes Street and back to the castle. The sky was clear, the sun shone on the old tall houses, and a nipping north-easter blew across the Forth. In spite of its age and modern industry, the town looked strangely clean and cold. No smoke could hang about it in the nipping wind; its prevailing color was granite-gray. The Forth was a streak of raw indigo, and the hills all round were steely blue. Edinburgh was like no English town; it had an austere half-cla.s.sical beauty that was peculiar to itself; perhaps Quebec, though different, resembled it most of all the cities he had seen.

Then he remembered Carmen's packet, and after asking a pa.s.ser-by took a tram-car that carried him through the southern quarter of the town into a wide road, lined by well-built stone houses. Standing in small, neat gardens, they ran back to the open country, with a bold ridge of moors in the distance. Foster got down where he was directed and crossed the road to one of the houses. They were all much alike and he thought hinted at the character of their occupants. One would expect to find the people who lived there prosperous citizens with sober, conventional habits.

He went up a short, tiled path and rang the bell. A smart maid-servant showed him into a small, morning-room, where everything was very neat, and after a few moments a man came in. He was the kind of man Foster had expected to find in such a house, well-dressed, with polite but rather formal manners, and Foster briefly stated his business. He thought the man looked at him sharply, but it was about four o'clock in the afternoon and the light was not good.

"Mr. Graham does not live here now; he left a week or two ago," he said. "Do you know him personally?"

"No," said Foster. "Miss Austin asked me to give him the packet."

"Then you know Mr. Austin."

"In a way," said Foster, smiling. "We speak when we meet on the street, but don't get much further. In fact, Austin's a business rival of mine."

The man seemed to ponder for a moment or two. Then he said, "I gather that you want to deliver the packet, not to post it?"

"That's so. I don't know if it matters much, but I'd like to put it in Graham's hands."

"Very well. He's gone to Newcastle, but I have his address somewhere.

If you will wait a minute or two, I'll look."

He took the packet, as if he meant to write the address on it, and Foster sat down. The door of the room was half open and while he waited somebody entered the house. Steps came along the hall, and a girl pushed the door back, and then stopped, looking at him in surprise. He understood this as he saw she was the girl he had helped into the train.

"I didn't know you were coming here," she said.

"Nor did I, in a sense," Foster answered with a smile. "I mean I didn't know it was your house."

"My name was on the label of the bag and rather conspicuous."

"It would have meant nothing if I had seen it. In fact, I must own I don't know it now."

The girl looked puzzled, and Foster explained that he had come with a packet, but had merely been given Graham's name and the number of the house. He added that he had found he must look for the man in Newcastle.

"Then you are a friend of Mr. Austin's?" she said.

Foster thought it strange that she had not told him she knew Austin when she asked about the Crossing, but he replied: "I'm a friend of Miss Austin's."

"Ah!" she said thoughtfully; "do you mind explaining what you mean by that?"