The Man in the Twilight by Ridgwell Cullum

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There was no laughter in Nancy's eyes now. They were quite serious. Her
words were alive with vehemence. Bull was watching her intently,
probing, in his searching way, the depths which her hazel eyes hinted
at. The things she said pleased him. Her tone thrilled him. He wanted
more.

"I wonder," he said, as he rolled the cigar across his lips in the way
Nancy had laughingly pointed. "You reckon it's handed you
happiness--this thing?"

The girl was stirred.

"Surely," she cried. "Later, when things get fixed up between the
Skandinavia and Sachigo, I'll get a focus of my little share in the
business of it--the achievement. Then I'll get warm all through with a
glow of happiness because I--helped it along."

Bull nodded as he watched the rising colour in the perfect cheeks. The
girl was very, very beautiful.

"Yes, I suppose you will," he said. Then he went on provocatively. "But
do you guess it's always so? I mean that always happens? Isn't it to do
with temperament? Now, take the forest-jacks. Do you guess they feel
happiness in a tree dropped right? Do you guess there's happiness for
the poor fool who don't know better than to spend his days in a forest
risking his life boosting logs on the river jamb? Do you guess there's
any sort of old joy for the feller turned adrift, when he's getting old
in the tooth, and there's no room for him on the pay roll of the camp,
in the thought that he _was_ the best axeman the forest ever bred? It
seems like a crazy sort of happiness that way. Happiness in
achievement's great while the achieving's going on. But at the finish
we get right back to Nature. And when that time comes Nature doesn't do
much to help us out."

Nancy sat up.

"What are you doing? That great Sachigo!" she demanded challengingly.
"You're building, building one magnificent enterprise. Is there
happiness in it for you?"

"Sure," Bull admitted frankly. "Oh, yes. But I've no illusions," he
said. "I don't go back on the things I said. Nature as she dopes out
life couldn't hand me a hundredth part of the happiness I get that way.
But when I'm through, like that lumber-jack who's struck off the pay
roll, how's it going to be with me? A trained mind without the bodily
ability to thrust on in the game of life. It'll be hell--just hell. The
one hope is to die in harness. Like the forest-jack who drowns under the
logs on the river, or who gets up against the other feller's knife in a
drunken scrap. That way lies happiness. The rest is a sort of passing
dream with the years of old age for regret."

The girl spread out her hands.

"I can't believe you feel that way," she cried, with something very like
distress. "Oh, if I had your power, your ability. Why, I'd say there's
no end to the things you could achieve, not only now, but right through,
right through that time when you're old in body, but still strong in
brain. A limited goal for achievement isn't the notion in my foolish
head. Why, if I'd only the strength to knit socks for the folks who need
them, there'd still be happiness and to spare. But let's keep to our own
ground. The forest-jack. I guess you're one big man who employs
thousands. What of those boys when they're struck off the--pay roll. Is
there nothing to be achieved that way--nothing to last you to your last
living moment? Think of their needs. Think of the happiness you could
hand yourself in handing them comfort and happiness when
they're--through. It's a thing I've promised myself, if luck ever hands
me the chance. You've got the pity of their lives. Your words tell that.
Well?"

The man had forgotten the storm. He had forgotten everything but the
charm of the girl's hot enthusiasm. And the picture of superlative
beauty she made in her animation.

He shook his head.

"It's a bully notion," he demurred, "but it's not for me. No. You see,
I'm just a tough sort of man who's big for a scrap. I haven't patience
or sympathy for the feller who don't feel the same. You've seen the
forest boys?"

"I've been through the Shagaunty."

"Ah!"

Bull Sternford's ejaculation was sharp. The problem of Father Adam's
letter was partially solved.

"Well, I guess you're a woman," he went on. "And I'd like to say right
here a woman's sympathy is just about the best thing on this old earth.
That's why I'd like to cry like a kid when I see it going out to the
things that haven't any sort of excuse for getting it. It's good to hear
you talk for those boys. It isn't they deserve it, but--as I said,
you're a woman. Talk it all you fancy, but leave it at talk. Don't let
it get a holt. Don't waste one moment of your hard earned happiness on
'em. I was a forest-jack. I know 'em. I know it--the life. And if you
knew the thing I know you wouldn't harden all up as you listen to the
things I'm saying:--"

"But--"

Bull flung his cigar away with vicious force.

"Let me say this thing out," he went on. "There's a man in the forest I
know, every jack knows. He's a feller who sort of lives in the twilight.
You see, he sort of comes and goes; and no one knows a thing about him,
except he haunts the forests like a shadow. Well, he's settin' the
notion you feel into practice--in a way. He's out for the boys. To help
'em, physically, spiritually, the whole time. They love him. We all love
him to death. Well, ask him how far he gets. Maybe he'd tell you, and I
guess his story 'ud break the heart of a stone image. He'll tell
you--and he speaks the truth--there isn't a thing to be done but heal
'em, and feed 'em, and just help 'em how you can. The rest's a dream.
You see, these jacks come from nowhere particular. They take to the
forests because it's far off; and it's dark, and covers most things up.
And they go nowhere particular, except it's to the hell waiting on most
of us if we don't live life the way that's intended for us. No. Quit
worrying for the forest-jack. Maybe life's going to hand you all sorts
of queer feelings as you go along. And the good heart that sees
suffering and injustice is going to ache mighty bad. The forest wasn't
built for daylight, and the folks living there don't fancy it. And there
isn't a broom big enough in the world to clean up the muck you'll find
there."

"You're talking of Father Adam?"

Nancy's interest had redoubled. It had instantly centred itself on the
man she had met in the Shagaunty forests. The lumber-jacks were
forgotten.

"Yes." Bull nodded. "Do you know him?" There was eagerness in his
question.

"I met him on the Shagaunty."

The man had produced a fresh cigar. But the renewed heavy rolling of the
vessel delayed its lighting. Nancy gazed out to sea in some concern.

"It's getting worse," she said.

Bull struck a match and covered it with both hands.

"It seems that way," he replied indifferently. Then after a moment he
looked up. His cigar was alight. "He's a great fellow--Father Adam," he
said reflectively.

"He's just--splendid."

The girl's enthusiasm told Bull something of the thing he wanted to
know.

"Yes," he said. "He's the best man I know. The world doesn't mean a
thing to him. Why he's there I don't know, and I guess it's not my
business anyway. But if God's mercy's to be handed to any human creature
it seems to me it won't come amiss--Say!"

He broke off, startled. He sat up with a jump. A great gust of wind
broke down upon the vessel. It came with a shriek that rose in a fierce
crescendo. His startled eyes were riveted upon a new development in the
sky. An inky cloud bank was sweeping down upon them out of the
north-east, and the wind seemed to roar its way out of its very heart.

The vessel heeled over. Again the wind tore at the creaking gear. It was
a moment of breathless suspense for those seated helplessly looking on.
Then something crashed. A vast sea beat on the quarter and deluged the
decks, and the chairs were torn from their moorings.

Bull Sternford was sprawling in the race of water. Nancy, too, was
hurled floundering in the scuppers. They were flung and beaten, crashing
about in the swirling sea that swept over the vessel's submerged rail.

Bull struggled furiously. Every muscle was straining with the effort of
it. A fierce anxiety was in his eyes as he fought his way foot by foot
towards the saloon companion. The handicap was terrible. There was
practically no foothold, for the vessel was riding at an angle of
something like forty-five degrees. Then, too, he had but one hand with
which to help himself along. The other was supporting the dead-weight of
the body of the unconscious girl.

At last, breathless and nearly beaten, he reached his goal and clutched
desperately at the door-casing of the companion. He staggered within.
And as he did so relief found expression in one fierce exclamation.

"Hell!" he cried. And clambered down, bearing his unconscious burden
into the safety of the vessel's interior.

CHAPTER X

IN QUEBEC

It was the final stage of her journey. Nancy was on her way up from the
docks, where she had left the staunch _Myra_ discharging her cargo.

It was that triumphant return to which she had always looked forward,
for which she had hoped and prayed. Her work was completed. It had been
crowned with greater success than she had dared to believe possible. Yet
her triumph somehow found her unelated, even a shade depressed.

A belated sense of humour battled with her mood. There were moments when
she wanted to laugh at herself. There were others when she had no such
desire. So she sat gazing out of the limousine window, as though all her
interest were in the drab houses lining the way, and the heavy-coated
pedestrians moving along the sidewalks of the narrow streets through
which they were passing.

It was winter all right, for all no snow had as yet fallen, and the girl
felt glad that it was so. It suited her mood.

Once or twice she took a sidelong glance at the man seated beside her;
but Bull Sternford's mood was no less reticent than her own. Once she
encountered the glance of his eyes, and it was just as the vehicle
bumped heavily over the badly paved road.

"We can do better in the way of roads up at Sachigo," he said with a
belated smile.

"You surely can," Nancy admitted readily. "The roads down here in the
old town are terrible. This old city of ours could fill pages of
history. It's got beauties, too, you couldn't find anywhere else in the
world. But it seems to need most of the things a city needs to make it
the place we folk reckon it is."

She went on at random.

"Do you always keep an automobile in Quebec?" she asked.

Bull shook his head.

"Hired," he said.

"I see."

Bull's eyes twinkled.

"Yes," he went on, "when I make this old city it's with the purpose of
driving twenty-four hours work into twelve. An automobile helps that
way."

"And you're wasting all this time driving me up to my apartments?" Nancy
smiled. "I'm more indebted than I guessed."

The man's denial was instant.

"No," he said. "Your apartments are about two blocks from the Chateau.
But tell me, when'll you be through making your report to Peterman?"

Nancy's depression passed. She was caught again in the interest of
everything.

"Why, to-day--surely," she said. "You see, I want to get word to you
right away."

Bull nodded.

"That's fine," he said. "It's not my way leaving things lying around
either. I'll be on the jump to get through before sailing time to that
little old country across the water. But tell me. That report. After
it's in you'll have made all the good you reckon to? And then you,
personally, cut right out of this thing?"

His manner gave no indication of the thing in his mind.

"Oh, yes," Nancy replied happily. "You see, I've bearded you--only
you've no beard--in your fierce den up in Sachigo. And I've--and you've
come right down here to Quebec with me to discuss with my people the
thing they want to discuss with you. They didn't think I--they didn't
hope that. Maybe I've done better than they expected. Why, when I hand
the news to Mr. Peterman he'll--he'll--oh, I'm just dying to see his
face when I tell him."

"You--haven't wired him already?"

"No. The news was too good to send by wire."

For a moment the man contemplated the simple radiant creature beside
him. She was so transparently happy. And the sight of her happiness
satisfied him.

"It'll--astonish him, eh?"

"Astonish him?" Nancy laughed. "That doesn't say a thing. I shouldn't
wonder if he refused to believe me."

"And you'll get--promotion? Promotion--in Skandinavia?"

The girl's eyes sobered on the instant.

"Surely. Why not?"

"Yes. Why not?"

Just for a moment Nancy hesitated. Then her challenge came incisively.

"What do you mean?"

But the man smilingly shook his head.

"You want promotion under Peterman--in the Skandinavia?"

Nancy's eyes widened.

"Why shouldn't I? The Skandinavia's everything to me. It ought to be
everything. Isn't that so? Now, I wonder what you mean?" she went on,
after the briefest pause. "Are you talking that way just because you are
a rival concern?" She shook her head. "That's no affair of mine. But
wait while I tell you. Try and think yourself a young girl without folks
that count, with a pretty tough world laid out in front of her, and with
a healthy desire to dress, and eat the same as any other girl of her
age. She's given a chance in life to make good, to gather round her all
those things she needs, by--the Skandinavia. Well, how would you feel?
Wouldn't you want that--promotion? Yes. I want it. I want it with all my
heart. The Skandinavia gave me my first start. They've been very, very
good to me. I've big room in my heart for them. Their work's my work all
the time. I've nothing but gratitude for Mr. Peterman."

"Yes." Bull's smile had passed. He was thinking of Nancy's feeling of
gratitude towards the Swede--Peterman.

He turned away, and the grey wintry daylight beyond the window seemed to
absorb him. He was possessed by a mad desire to fling prudence to the
winds and then and there point out the wrong he felt she was committing
against the country that had bred her in spending her life in the
service of these foreigners. But he knew he must refrain. It was not the
moment. And somehow he felt she was not the girl to listen patiently to
such ethics as he preached when their force was directed against those
who claimed her whole loyalty and gratitude.

To Nancy it seemed as though some shadow had arisen between them. She
was a little troubled at the thing she had said. But somehow she had no
desire to withdraw a single word of it.

The car had passed out of the old part of the city. And Nancy realised
it was ascending the great hill where the Chateau Hotel looked out over
the old citadel and the wide waters of the busy St. Lawrence river. In a
few minutes the happy companionship of the past few days would be only a
memory.

It was only a little way to her apartments now. Such a very little way.
Yes. The porter would be there. He would take her trunks and baggage,
and then her door would close behind her, and--She remembered that
moment at which she had awakened to consciousness in this man's strong
arms in the poor little saloon of the storm-beaten _Myra_. She
remembered the embracing strength of them, and the way she had thrilled
under their pressure. It had been all very wonderful.

"Say!"

Bull Sternford had turned back from the window. He was smiling again.

"Yes?" The girl was all eager attention.

"I was wondering," Bull went on. "Maybe you'll' fancy hearing how things
are fixed after I see Peterman?"

"I'll be ever so glad. There's the 'phone. You can get me most any time
after business hours. I don't go out much. I--"

Nancy broke off to glance out of the window. The automobile had slowed.

"Why, we're at my place," she cried. And the man fancied he detected
disappointment in her tone.

The car stopped before the apartment house, and Bull hurled himself at
the litter of the girl's belongings strewn about their feet. A few
moments later they were standing together on the sidewalk surrounded by
the baggage.

Bull gazed up at the building.

"You live here?" he asked at random.

Nancy nodded.

"Yes. It isn't much. But some day, maybe, I'll be able to afford a swell
apartment with--"

"Sure you will," Bull agreed, as they passed up the steps to the
entrance doors. "But meanwhile I mostly need your 'phone number of
this," he added with a laugh.

The baggage was left to the porter's care, and they stood together in
the hallway. Bull's youthful stature was overshadowing for all Nancy
was tall. Somehow the girl was glad of it. She liked his height, and the
breadth of his great shoulders, and the power of limbs his tweed suit
was powerless to disguise.

She moved across to the porter's office and wrote down her 'phone number
while the man looked on. But he only had eyes for the girl herself. At
that moment her telephone number was the last thing he desired to think
about.

She stood up and offered him the paper.

"You won't forget it that way," she said, with a smile.

"No."

Bull glanced down at it. Then he looked again into the smiling eyes.

"Thanks," he said. "I'll ring up." Then he held out a hand. "So long."

He was gone. The glass door had swung to behind him. Nancy watched him
pass into the waiting automobile, and responded to his final wave of the
hand. Then she turned to the porter, and her smile had completely
vanished.

* * * * *

Nathaniel Hellbeam stood up. He had been seated at Elas Peterman's desk
studying the papers which his managing director had set out for his
perusal. His gross body hung over the table for a moment as he reached
towards his hat. He took his gloves from inside it and commenced to put
them on.

"The _Myra_? You say she is in?" he asked in his guttural fashion. "This
girl? This girl who is to buy up this--this Sachigo man," he laughed.
"Is she arrived?"

The man's eyes were alight with unpleasant derision. Peterman gave no
heed. The man's arrogance was all too familiar to him.

"I've not heard--yet," he said. "She should be."

"You not have heard--yet?" The challenge was superlatively offensive.
"You a beautiful secretary have. You lose her for weeks--months. Yet you
do not know of her return--yet? Sho! You are not the man for this
beautiful secretary. She for me is--yes? Hah!"

Peterman smiled as was his duty.

"I shall be glad to get her back," he said quietly. "But I haven't heard
from her at all. And--well, she's not the sort of woman to bombard with
telegrams. She's out on a difficult job and I felt it best to leave her
to it. I shall hear when she's ready, I guess she'll be right along in
to tell me personally. Maybe--"

He broke off and picked up the telephone whose buzzer was rattling
impatiently on the desk.

"Hullo!" he said softly. "Oh, yes. Oh, how are you? So glad you've got
back. What sort of passage did--oh, bad, eh? Well, well; I'm sorry. Oh,
you're a good sailor. That's fine. Right away? You'll be over right
away? Wouldn't you like to rest awhile? All right, I see. Yes, surely
I'll be glad. I just thought--oh, not at all. You see, if you were a man
I wouldn't be concerned at all. Yes, come right along whenever you
choose. Eh? Successful? You have been? Why, that's just fine. Well, I'm
dying to hear your news. Splendid. I shall be here. G'bye."

Peterman set the 'phone down. His smiling eyes challenged those of the
man who a moment before had derided him.

"Well?"

Hellbeam's impatience was without scruple at any time.

"She's got back all right, and she's succeeded far better than you
hoped. Better than she hoped herself. But--no better than I expected."

The other's eyes snapped under the quiet satisfaction of the man's
reply.

"Ah, she has. Does she say--yes?"

Elas shook his dark head.

"No. She's coming right over to tell me the whole story."

"Now?"

"In a while."

Elas Peterman knew his position to the last fraction when dealing with
Nathaniel Hellbeam. He knew it was for him to obey, almost without
question. But somehow, for the moment, his Teutonic self-abnegation had
become obscured. He was yielding nothing in the matter of this woman to
anyone. Not even to Nathaniel Hellbeam whom he regarded almost as the
master of his destiny.

Perhaps the gross nature of the financier possessed a certain sympathy.
Perhaps even there was a lurking sense of honour in him, where a woman,
whom he regarded as another man's property, was concerned. Again it may
simply have been that he understood the other's reticence, and it suited
him for the moment to restrain his grosser inclinations. He laughed. And
it was not an hilarious effort.

"Oh, yes," he said. "You will see her first. That is as it should be.
Later, we both will talk with her. Well--good luck my friend."

Hellbeam thrust his hat on his great head and strutted his way across to
the door.

"These people must be bought. Or--" he said, pausing before passing
out--

"Smashed!"

Hellbeam nodded.

"It suits me better to--buy."

"Yes. You want to come into touch with--the owner."

"Yes."

The gross figure disappeared through the doorway.

Peterman did not return to his desk. He crossed to the window and stood
gazing out of it. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets. And his
fingers moved nervously, rattling the contents of them. He was a goodly
specimen of manhood. He was tall, and squarely erect, and carried
himself with that military bearing which seems to belong to all the
races of Teutonic origin. It was only in the study of the man's face
that exception could be taken. Just now there was none to observe and he
was free from all restraint.

His dark eyes were smiling, for his thoughts were streaming along the
channel that most appealed. He was thinking of the beauty of the girl
who was about to return to him, and it seemed to him a pity she was so
simply honest, so very young in the world as he understood it. Then her
ambition. It was--but he was rather glad of her ambition. Ambition might
prove his best friend in the end. In his philosophy an ambitious woman
could have no scruple. Anyway it seemed to him that ambition pitted
against scruple was an easy winner. He could play on that, and he felt
he knew how to play on it, and was in a position to do so. She had come
back to him successful. He wondered how successful.

He moved from the window and passed over to the desk, where he picked up
his 'phone and asked for a number.

"Hullo! Oh, that Bennetts? Oh, yes. This is Peterman--Elas Peterman
speaking. Did you send that fruit, and the flowers I ordered to the
address I gave you? Yes? Oh, you did? They were there before eleven
o'clock. Good. Thanks--"

He set the 'phone down and turned away. But in a moment he was recalled.
It was a message from downstairs. Nancy McDonald wished to see him.

* * * * *

Peterman was leaning back in his chair. Nancy was occupying the chair
beside the desk which had not known her for several months.

It was a moment of stirring emotions. For the girl it was that moment to
which she had so long looked forward. To her it seemed she was about to
vindicate this man's confidence in her, and offer him an adequate return
such as her gratitude desired to make. And deep down in her heart, where
the flame of ambition steadily burned, she felt she had earned the
promised reward, all of it.

The man was concerned with none of these things. He was not even
concerned for the girl's completed mission. It was Nancy herself. It was
the charming face with its halo of red hair, and the delightful figure
so rounded, so full of warmth and charm, which concerned him.

He had no scruple as he feasted his eyes upon her. He did nothing to
disguise his admiration, and Nancy, full of her news and the thrilling
joy of her success, saw nothing of that which a less absorbed woman, a
more experienced woman, must unfailingly have observed.

"You've a big story for me," Peterman said, with a light laugh. "Have
you completed an option on--Sachigo? You look well. You're looking fine.
Travelling in Labrador seems to have done you good."

Nancy's smiling eyes were alight with delight.

"Oh, yes," she said. "It's done me good. But then I've had a success I
didn't reckon on. Maybe it's made all the difference. It was a real
tough journey. I'm not sure you'd have seen me back at all if it hadn't
been for Mr. Sternford."

"How?"

The man's smiling eyes had changed. Their dark depths were full of sharp
enquiry. Nancy read only anxiety.

"Why, we were sitting on deck, and it was storming. It was just
terrible. We lurched heavily and shipped a great sea. Our chairs were
flung into the scuppers by the rush of water, and I--why, I guess I was
beaten unconscious and drowning when he got hold of me. He just fought
his way to safety. I didn't know about it till I was safe down in the
saloon. I woke up then, and he was carrying me--"

"Sternford?"

The change in the man's eyes had deepened. Then his smile came back to
them. But that, too, was different. It was curiously fixed and hard.

"You've gone a bit too fast for me," he said. "I don't get things right.
Sternford, the man running Sachigo was with you on the _Myra_? He's
here--in Quebec?"

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