Renny's Daughter. Mazo de la Roche
talked of the weather and of how spring would soon be coming to relieve the harshness of winter. It was then that Renny remarked,
“There’s going to be a lot of building this year and certainly it’s needed. People — lots of them — can’t find a roof to cover their heads.”
“True, true,” said Eugene Clapperton, sententiously. “I think that the way people are crowded together is very bad indeed. Bad for health. Bad for morals.”
“Let’s hope these development schemes will keep away from here.” There was something almost threatening in Renny’s tone. Clapperton replied:
“I quite agree that building in our neighbourhood might be a misfortune.”
“Might be!” Renny repeated vehemently. “God knows it has been and is. Much of what was lovely country is ruined — what with putting up and cutting down. Do you remember the magnificent oaks and pines that were butchered — just to give some contractor a job to widen the road? But no, that was before you came here.”
“Sad, very sad,” said Eugene Clapperton sympathetically. “I’ve always liked a nice tree.”
His wife sat in silence, staring at him.
He went on, — “The model village I had in mind was a village of trees and flowers. Nice little houses, with nice people in them.”
“You built three little houses and you haven’t had particularly good luck with your tenants.”
“They pay their rent.”
“Yes. But one of them drinks and makes himself a nuisance. One has screaming children and a slovenly wife. One keeps his radio running all day and a part of the night.”
“You seem to know a great deal about my tenants.” Eugene Clapperton’s voice had a jealous note in it.
“I do. They’re within a stone’s throw of my stables. In fact, I’ve become very friendly with them. But there must not be any more. You agreed to that.”
A smile crept over Eugene Clapperton’s face. He clasped one bony knee in his hands, which were rather surprisingly coarse and strong. “Every man,” he said, “sets himself some sort of ideal and clings to it, more or less, through his life. My ideal was to be a benefactor, if you know what I mean. I wanted to make lots of money and I wanted to help others with my money. I’ve tried to live up to that, Colonel Whiteoak.”
“You old humbug,” Renny thought. But he grinned with apparent geniality at Clapperton who went on to say:
“I’m not going to relate the benefits I’ve conferred on others. One of them you know of,” and he smiled with tenderness at his young wife.
She entered the conversation for the first time.
“No one is likely to forget,” she said, her voice coming gaspingly, as though she had been running, “how it was through you I had the operation on my spine and so was able to walk. You paid for everything, didn’t you?”
“Please don’t mention expense in connection with that, Gemmel,” returned her husband hastily. “You have repaid me a thousand times in becoming my wife.”
“But money did enter into it,” she protested.
“It enters into all good works.”
Renny regarded them with a good deal of curiosity. How, he wondered, could the girl endure him?
Eugene Clapperton continued, — “I have my ideal and you have yours. Mine is to help others. Yours is —” he hesitated, running his hand over his smooth grey head.
“To look out for myself,” finished Renny.
“Well, if you like to put it that way. What I was going to say is that your ideal is to keep Jalna the same as it was when your grandfather built it a hundred years ago.”
“You’re right.
“A hundred years is a long time. You’ve got to take account of the changes that take place in our civilization,” and Eugene Clapperton beat with the soles of his shoes on the carpet, as though he were a leader in the march of civilization.
The Master of Jalna tied a knot in his weather bitten forehead. “I don’t think much of civilization,” he said. “We go away to the wars to fight for it and, when we come home, do we find things any better? No. There are shoddier and shoddier houses being built. Shoddier goods are being made, with more and more high-falutin’ names given them. You can’t ride on the roads with comfort because of trucks and motor cars. Thank God, I have enough paths on my own estate to give me a gallop when I want it. Inside my own gates I keep things as they were.”
Eugene Clapperton stopped tapping his soles on the floor, as though at the mention of Jalna the march of progress had ceased, but he said:
“And I admire you for it. But — my property is my own affair. It is my own business, Colonel Whiteoak, what I put on it. I wouldn’t allow even my dear wife to interfere with that.” His eyes rested commandingly on his wife. He felt a new power welling up within him.
“But, Eugene,” she broke out, “you promised — you promised”
“What did I say, Gem? I promised that it would be a long time before I’d ever turn my thoughts to building again. And it has been. Quite a long while.”
“Not four years.”
“Ah, but four years can seem a long while, girlie. You’ll be proud and pleased to see my building project in operation.”
Renny Whiteoak did not know how to talk to this man in his present mood. He had but one wish and that was to insult him. He restrained his rising temper and said, — “Well, if Mrs. Clapperton is not able to influence you, I cannot expect to.”
“No one can influence me. My mind is made up.” With a tremor of excitement Eugene Clapperton realized that his mind had been made up only since Renny had entered the room. Here was a man, he thought, who brought out the fighting qualities in him. Here was an opponent worthy of defeat.
“The house you live in,” said Renny, “was built before Jalna. Mr. Vaughan, who built it, would turn over in his grave if he knew that you were planning to build streets of ugly little houses on Vaughanlands. There are already far too many ugly little houses and ugly big factories about. Once it was one of the loveliest parts of the Province.”
“I’ve heard all that before,” returned Eugene Clapperton.
“The truth about you is,” said Renny, “that all this talk of ideals and dreams is bosh. It’s plain greed that moves you. You know there’s lots of money in these jerry-built bungalows and you want it.”
Mr. Clapperton began to tremble all over. His knees could be seen shaking inside his pin-striped trousers.
Renny looked apologetically at Gemmel Clapperton whose crooked smile was an odd mixture of forgiveness and applause. The door from the hall was thrown open by the Great Dane who pressed his shoulder against it as a man might and stalked to where Renny sat. Eugene Clapperton hoped he would spring on Renny, give him a fright, or, at any rate, utter one of his blood-freezing growls. The Great Dane rose, placed a paw on either of Renny’s shoulders and looked into his face.
“It’s all right,” said Gemmel, and sprang up to grasp the dog’s collar. He growled.
“Let him be.” Renny gently pushed away her hand. He raised his hard aquiline profile to the Great Dane’s muzzle and it bent and drew its warm wet tongue across his forehead.
“I’ve never known him make friends before,” she exclaimed.
Her husband gave her an angry look. He said —
“Please leave the room. I have something to say to Colonel Whiteoak that can’t be said in front of a lady.”
Renny rose, and the dog dropped his forefeet to the floor with a