Kindred of the Dust | Page 4

gave his
wife and daughters everything they desired, he was not apt to be
nagged.
Only on one occasion had Hector McKaye declared himself master in
his own house, and, at the risk of appearing paradoxical, this was
before the house had been built. One day, while they still occupied their
first home (in Port Agnew), a house with a mansard roof, two towers,
jig-saw and scroll-work galore, and the usual cast-iron mastiffs and
deer on the front lawn, The Laird had come gleefully home from a trip
to Seattle and proudly exhibited the plans for a new house.
Ensued examination and discussion by his wife and the young ladies.
Alas! The Laird's dream of a home did not correspond with that of his
wife, although, as a matter of fact, the lady had no ideas on the subject
beyond an insistence that the house should be "worthy of their station,"

and erected in a fashionable suburb of Seattle. Elizabeth and Jane aided
and abetted her in clamoring for a Seattle home, although both were
quick to note the advantages of a picturesque country home on the
cliffs above the bight. They urged their father to build his house, but
condemned his plans. They desired a house some three times larger
than the blue-prints called for.
Hector McKaye said nothing. The women chattered and argued among
themselves until, Elizabeth and Jane having vanquished their mother,
all three moved briskly to the attack upon The Laird. When they had
talked themselves out and awaited a reply, he gave it with the simple
directness of his nature. It was evident that he had given his answer
thought.
"I can never live in Seattle until I retire, and I cannot retire until Donald
takes my place in the business. That means that Donald must live here.
Consequently, I shall spend half of my time with you and the girls in
Seattle, mother, and the other half with Donald here. When we built our
first home, you had your way--and I've lived in this architectural horror
ever since. This time, I'm going to have my own way--and you've lived
with me long enough to know that when I declare for a will of my own,
I'll not be denied. Well I realize you and the girls have outgrown Port
Agnew. There's naught here to interest you, and I would not have
woman o' mine unhappy. So plan your house in Seattle, and I'll build it
and spare no expense. As for this house on the headland, you have no
interest in it. Donald's approved the plans, and him only will I defer to.
'Twill be his house some day--his and his wife's, when he gets one. And
there will be no more talk of it, my dears. I'll not take it kindly of ye to
interfere."

II
At a period in his upward climb to fortune, when as yet Hector McKaye
had not fulfilled his dream of a factory for the manufacture of his waste
and short-length stock into sash, door, blinds, moldings, and so forth,
he had been wont to use about fifty per cent. of this material for fuel to
maintain steam in the mill boilers, while the remainder passed out over
the waste-conveyor to the slab pile, where it was burned.
The sawdust, however, remained to be disposed of, and since it was not
possible to burn this in the slab fire for the reason that the wet sawdust

blanketed the flames and resulted in a profusion of smoke that blew
back upon the mill to the annoyance of the employees, for many years
The Laird had caused this accumulated sawdust to be hauled to the
edge of the bight on the north side of the town, and there dumped in a
low, marshy spot which formerly had bred millions of mosquitoes.
Subsequently, in the process of grading the streets of Port Agnew and
excavating cellars, waste dirt had been dumped with the sawdust, and,
occasionally, when high winter tides swept over the spot, sand, small
stones, sea-shells, and kelp were added to the mixture. And as if this
were not sufficient, the citizens of Port Agnew contributed from time to
time old barrels and bottles, yard-sweepings, tin cans, and
superannuated stoves and kitchen utensils.
Slowly this dump crept out on the beach, and in order to prevent the
continuous attrition of the surf upon the outer edge of it from befouling
the white-sand bathing-beach farther up the Bight of Tyee, The Laird
had driven a double row of fir piling parallel with and beyond the line
of breakers. This piling, driven as close together as possible and
reenforced with two-inch planking between, formed a bulkhead with
the flanks curving in to the beach, thus insuring practically a
water-tight pen some two