Kindred of the Dust | Page 9

for all the
famed wit of the Irish, no humor on earth is so unctuous as that of the
Scotch--commenced to bubble up. He suspected a joke on himself and
was prepared to meet it.
"Will you demand an accounting, my son?"
Donald shook his head.
"Keeping books was ever a sorry trade, father, I'll read the accounting
in your eye when you get back to Port Agnew."
"You braw big scoundrel! You've been up to something. Tell it me,
man, or I'll die wi' the suspense of it."
"Well," Donald replied, "I lived on twenty-five hundred a year in
college and led a happy life. I had a heap of fun, and nothing went by
me so fast that I didn't at least get a tail-feather. My college education,
therefore, cost me ten thousand dollars, and I managed to squeeze a
roadster automobile into that, also. With the remaining ninety thousand,

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