Kindred of the Dust | Page 9

I took a flier in thirty-nine hundred acres of red cedar up the Wiskah River. I paid for it on the instalment plan --yearly payments secured by first mortgage at six per cent., and----"
"Who cruised it for you?" The Laird almost shouted. "I'll trust no cruiser but my own David McGregor."
"I realized that, so I engaged Dave for the job. You will recall that he and I took a two months' camping-trip after my first year in Princeton. It cruised eighty thousand feet to the acre, and I paid two dollars and a half per thousand for it. Of course, we didn't succeed in cruising half of it, but we rode through the remainder, and it all averaged up very nicely. And I saw a former cruise of it made by a disinterested cruiser----"
The Laird had been doing mental arithmetic.
"It cost you seven hundred and eighty thousand dollars--and you've paid ninety thousand, principal and interest, on account. Why, you didn't have the customary ten per cent, of the purchase-price as an initial payment!"
"The owner was anxious to sell. Besides, he knew I was your son, and I suppose he concluded that, after getting ninety thousand dollars out of me at the end of three years, you'd have to come to my rescue when the balance fell due--in a lump. If you didn't, of course he could foreclose."
"I'll save you, my son. It was a good deal--a splendid deal!"
"You do not have to, dad. I've sold it--at a profit of an even two hundred thousand dollars!"
"Lad, why did you do it? Why didn't you take me into your confidence? That cedar is worth three and a half. In a few years, 'twill be worth five."
"I realized that, father, but--a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush--and I'm a proud sort of devil. I didn't want to run to you for help on my first deal, even though I knew you'd come to my rescue and ask no questions. You've always told me to beware of asking favors, you know. Moreover, I had a very friendly feeling toward the man I sold my red cedar to; I hated to stick him too deeply."
"You were entitled to your profit, Donald. 'Twas business. You should have taken it. Ah, lad, if you only knew the terrible four years I've paid for yon red-cedar!"
"You mean the suspense of not knowing how I was spending my allowance?"
The Laird nodded.
"Curiosity killed a cat, my son, and I'm not as young as I used to be."
"I had thought you'd have read the accounting in my eye. Take another look, Hector McKaye." And Donald thrust his smiling countenance close to his father's.
"I see naught in your eye but deviltry and jokes."
"None are so blind as they that will not see. If you see a joke, dad, it's on you."
Old Hector blinked, then suddenly he sprang at his son, grasped him by the shoulders, and backed him against the wall.
"Did you sell me that red cedar?" he demanded incredulously.
"Aye, mon; through an agent," Donald burred Scottishly. "A' did nae ha' the heart tae stick my faither sae deep for a bit skulin'. A'm a prood man, Hector McKaye; a'll nae take a grrand eeducashun at sic a price. 'Tis nae Christian."
"Ah, my bonny bairn!" old Hector murmured happily, and drew his fine son to his heart. "What a grand joke to play on your puir old father! Och, mon, was there ever a lad like mine?"
"I knew you'd buy that timber for an investment if I offered it cheap enough," Donald explained. "Besides, I owed you a poke. You wanted to be certain you hadn't reared a jackass instead of a man, so you gave me a hundred thousand dollars and stood by to see what I'd do with it--didn't you, old Scotty?" Hector nodded a trifle guiltily. "Andrew Daney wrote me you swore by all your Highland clan that the man who sold you that red cedar was ripe for the fool-killer."
"Tush, tush!" The Laird protested. "You're getting personal now. I dislike to appear inquisitive, but might I ask what you've done with your two hundred thousand profit?"
"Well, you see, dad, I would have felt a trifle guilty had I kept it, so I blew it all in on good, conservative United States bonds, registered them in your name, and sent them to Daney to hide in your vault at Port Agnew."
"Ah, well, red cedar or bonds, 'twill all come back to you some day, sonny. The real profit's in the fun--"
"And the knowledge that I'm not a fool--eh, father?"
Father love supernal gleamed in The Laird's fine gray eyes.
"Were you a fool, my son, and all that I have in the world would cure you if thrown into the Bight of Tyee, I'd gladly throw it