His demise has caused a profound sensation, as it occurred on the eve of a House Party, arranged in celebration of the engagement of his son, Viscount Harry Brammerton, Captain of the Coldstream Guards, to the beautiful Lady Rosemary Granton, daughter of the late General Frederick Granton, who was the companion and dearest friend of the late Earl of Brammerton in the early days of their campaigning in the Crimea and India."

A long obituary notice followed, concluding with the following paragraph:

"It is given out that the marriage of the present Earl with Lady Granton has been postponed and that, after the necessary business formalities have been attended to, Captain Harry will join his regiment in Egypt for a short term.

"Lady Rosemary Granton has gone to New York, at the cabled invitation of some old family friends."

"It is understood that the Hon. George Brammerton, second and only other son of the late Earl, is presently on a long walking tour in Europe. His whereabouts are unknown and he is still in ignorance of his father's death."

The pain of that sudden announcement, so soon after I had left home and right on the eve of my new endeavours, no one shall ever know.

My dear old father! Angry at my alleged eccentricities sometimes, but ever ready to forgive,--was gone: doubtless, pa.s.sing away with a message of forgiveness to me on his lips.

And,--after the pain of it, came the conflict.

Had what I had done caused or in any way hastened my father's death?

Admitting that Harry's fault was great and unforgiveable, would it not have been better had I allowed it to remain in obscurity, at least for a time? Was the keeping of the family name unsullied, was the untarnished honour of our ancient family motto, "Clean,--within and without," of greater importance than my father's life? Was it my duty to be an unintentional and silent partner to the keeping of vital intelligence from the fair Lady Rosemary?

Over all,--had I done right or wrong?

What did duty now demand of me? Should I hurry home and face the fresh problems there which were sure to arise now that Harry had succeeded to the t.i.tles and estates? Should I remain by the post I had accepted from the hands of Mr. K. B. Horsfal and test thoroughly this new and exhilarating life which, so far, I had merely tasted?

I had no doubts as to what my inclinations and desires were. But it was not a question of inclinations and desires:--it was simply one of duty.

All night long, I sat on the veranda steps with my elbows on my knees and my head in my upturned hands, fighting my battle; until, at last, when the grey was creeping up over the hills behind me and touching the dark surface of the sea in front here and there with mellow lights, I rose and went in to the house,--my conscience clear as the breaking day, my mind at rest like the rose-coloured tops of the mountains.

I had no regrets. I had done as a true Brammerton should. I had done the right.

I would not go back;--not yet. I would remain here for a while in my obscurity, testing out the new life and executing as faithfully as I knew how the new duties I had voluntarily a.s.sumed.

Further,--for my peace of mind,--so long as I remained in Golden Crescent, I decided I would not cast my eyes over the columns of any newspaper coming from the British Isles. If I were to be done with the old life, I must be done with it in every way.

CHAPTER XII

Joe Clark, Bully

With the advent of Monday morning, the Golden Crescent Trading Company, in charge of George Bremner, handyman, store-clerk, bookkeeper, buyer and general superintendent,--opened its doors for business.

I was not overburdened with customers, for which I was not sorry, as I had lots to do fixing the prices of my stock and setting it to rights.

But the arrival of the mail by the Tuesday steamer brought Neil Andrews, Doolan, Gourlay and the stern, but honest-faced old Scot, Andrew Clark, all at different times during the afternoon. Not one of them could resist the temptation and go away without making some substantial purchases.

I held religiously to the Rev. William Auld's list, but I found, in most cases, that my customers were prepared to pay for their first orders, at any rate, in cash; and, of course, I did not discourage them.

On Wednesday, a launch, with three men in her, put in from No. 1 camp at Susquahamma, bearing an order as long as my arm, duly endorsed in a business-like way and all according to requirements.

It took me most of the afternoon to put that order up. The men did not seem to mind, as they reckoned the going and returning to camp a well-nigh all-day job for them. They made Jake's shack their headquarters, spending all of the last two hours of their time in his cabin.

Thursday brought another launch, this time from Camp No. 3, and the same process was gone through as with No. 1, including the visit of the visitors to Jake's shack.

In an ordinary case, I would have been beginning to fear that that shack had become a common shebeen, but I knew Jake was not the man to accept money from any of his fellow creatures in exchange for any hospitality it might be in his power to offer. A few days later came a repeat order from No. 1 Camp, then a request from the Cannery, which I was able to fill only in part, as many things required by them had not been included in the original orders given to the Vancouver wholesalers.

I was beginning to wonder where Camp No. 2 was getting its supplies from, when, one day, about two weeks after my opening, they showed up.

Two men came over in a fast-moving launch of a much better type than those in use by the other camps. The men were big and burly fellows.

One of them was unmistakably Irish; the other looked of Swedish extraction.

"You the man that looks after this joint?" asked the Swede.

"I am," I answered.

He looked me up and down, for I was on the same side of the counter as they. Then he turned to his Irish companion with a grin.

"Say, mister,--where's your hoss?" he asked, addressing me.

Both laughed loudly.

At first I failed to see the point of hilarity.

"What is the joke?" I asked.

"Guess you are!" said the Swede. And the two men laughed louder than ever.

"Look here!" I cried, my blood getting up, "I want you two to understand, first go off, that I am not in the habit of standing up to be grinned at. What do you want? Speak out your business or get out of here and tumble back into your boat."

"Ach!--it's all right, matey," put in the Irishman. "Just a bit av fun out av yer breeches and leggings. We Canucks don't wear breeches and leggings in grocery stores. Do we, Jan?"

"Guess nit," said Jan. And they both laughed again.

I cooled down, thinking if that were all their joke they were welcome to it, for I had already found my breeches and leggings mighty handy for getting through the bush with and for tumbling in and out of leaky rowing boats.

I grinned. "All right, fellows," I cried, "laugh all you want and I'll leave you a legging each as a legacy when I die."

"Say, sonny,--you're all right!" he exclaimed.

Good humour returned all round.

"We're from No. 2 Camp at Cromer Bay and we want a bunch of stuff."

"Where is your list and I'll try to fill it?" I inquired.

The Swede handed over a long order, badly scrawled on the back of a paper bag. The order was unstamped and unsigned, and not on the company's order form.

"This is not any good," I said. "Where is the company's order?"