Phil was busily engaged going over the day’s mail early one afternoon, on a sweltering day in the month of August of that same eventful year, when his attention was drawn to an envelope addressed to himself and bearing the Government imprint.

He opened it and read the contents of the letter slowly. He laughed softly in the gurgling, boyish way he used to laugh years before. That letter awakened something in him that seemed to have been asleep. And it gave him an irresponsibly happy sort of feeling.

He read the letter over again. It was perfectly plain:

Among the papers left by the late Graham Brenchfield, late Mayor of Vernock, was one addressed to The Attorney General, in which he confessed to being the sole culprit in the assault on the bank official and in the robbery of the branch bank at Carnaby several years ago. For this crime, you were tried by jury and sentenced to a term of five years imprisonment. You served the full term of this sentence at the penitentiary at Ukalla.

The whole matter has been carefully gone into by me and I find that Brenchfield’s statements are borne out by every point in the case and that you were convicted on purely circumstantial evidence, although this evidence was of a most damning nature.

The Government can accept no responsibility for the mistake of your incarceration on account of the fact that you could have cleared yourself at the time had you chosen to do so, instead of which you aided and abetted the escape of the real criminal.

I have much pleasure, however, in advising you that your conviction has been quashed; your name has been struck out entirely from the criminal records of the Province and from the books of Ukalla Penitentiary.

We have known for some time of your residence in Vernock and have watched with interest your splendid business achievements.

Phil was still in his chair with the letter in his hand, dreaming and wondering at the strange cycle about which every human being turns, when Jim,––wayward, devil-may-care Jim––came in, with a grin on his face and his hat set jauntily over one side of his head. He sat down at his own desk, turned over a few papers impatiently, then started to dream also. Suddenly he threw the papers aside and commenced to walk the office floor, going to the door every once in a while and looking up the street in the direction of the Railway Station.

From the door he shouted suddenly:––

“Say, Phil!––I’m going up the length of the Station Hotel to see a man about a dog. I’ll be back shortly.” And he hurried off.

In fifteen minutes he returned, and he tried hard to settle down to the dictation of a few letters, but he was a dismal failure in his attempt, for he sighed and remarked to the stenographer: “Oh, pshaw! I’m on the 384 blink for work to-day. Cancel that! I’ll give you the remainder to-morrow.”

He went over to the window and gazed out into the street.

Phil picked up the letter he had received and went over to Jim with it, intending to let him read it. He clapped Jim on the back, making the latter jump.

“Wake up, Jim! What’s got you this time?”

Jim turned to him. “Gee, Phil!––positively and absolutely, the most charming piece of femininity I have ever seen is in Vernock to-day.”

“Good heavens!” ejaculated Phil. “Why didn’t you tell me that Eileen was down town?”

“Look here, old man!––I said, the most charming lady that I had ever seen, not that you had ever seen.”

“Oh!” apologised Phil, “I––I see.”

“No,––but straight goods! I was up at the station when the train came in, and she came off, with her mother and dad, I guess they were.”

“Strangers?”

“Yes! They went right to the Station Hotel. But I tell you–––” He stopped. “Oh, well!––what’s the good? Guess she’s married, or engaged, or something like that! Just my rotten luck!”

“And what has that got to do with you, anyway? Who are they? Did you get introduced?”

“Me? Good land, no!”

“Well,––did she look at you, or smile?”

“No, siree! She’s not that kind. Maybe she gave me a look, but say!––she glided along as if––well, just as if she knew she had a right to.”

“And you are making all this fuss about a little thing like that,” laughed Phil.

“But it isn’t a little thing, man!”

“Do you know her name?”

“No! I went up to the hotel to get a glimpse of the register, but she was around the desk there, waiting, I guess, for her dad to come down. So I just had to beat it back.

“Oh,––I’ll find out before long, though. Believe me!”

Phil laughed, for this was a new phase in the make-up of Jim Langford, whom he had always considered impervious to the charms of any lady.

“Laugh, you crazy nut! Who would expect you to understand, anyway?”

Suddenly he sobered.

“You’ve got something there you want to show me.”

Phil handed over the letter he was holding.

Jim read it, and his big, honest face beamed in delight. He pounced on Phil and wrung his hand.

“Man,––isn’t that great now? He owned up,––the dirty sinner. But he waited till he was a dead one before he did it.

“Well!––better late than never. And here was I, thrusting my new notions on to you when you had good news like that to spring on me. Man, but I’m a selfish rotter!

“But, say, Phil!––honest!” he reverted dreamily, “she was a positive vision.”

There is no saying how long the conversation would have gone on, had not a telephone message come from the bank requesting Jim’s attendance there immediately.

He hurried off, and was away most of the afternoon.

Towards closing time, Phil was standing at the kerb-stone, beside his car, when a tall young lady, fashionably attired and using a sunshade to tantalising advantage, crossed the road in front of him and stopped before one of the office windows. She stepped back a little, looked up at the sign over the doorway, “The Langford-Ralston Financial Corporation,” and walked inside.

Phil followed, and was just in time to hear her inquiry.

“May I see Mr. Ralston or Mr. Langford, please?”

“Mr. Ralston is just behind you, miss.”

The lady turned round.

She was tall, fair-skinned and, as Jim had said,––charming; for Phil knew in a second that she must be the same young lady of whom his partner had spoken.

Phil raised his hat and went forward to her. She smiled, and was about to address him when she stopped up. Her eyes grew wide and her face blanched. For almost a minute she stood staring at him, then she almost tottered to him. She put her hand on his sleeve, and her fingers ran loosely along his arm, as she still held his eyes with hers.

Her voice came at last, broken and in the faintest of whispers:––

“Philly,––oh, Philly! It is you! Don’t you know me? Sister Margery!” Her voice rose. She threw her arms around his neck and cried:––“I’ve found you! Phil,––Phil,––my own, dear brother, Phil! Oh,––I’ve found you!”

And Phil, with a heart too full to speak, and a mind too astonished to grasp the situation thoroughly, held her to him as tears ran down his cheeks and on to her hair.

At last he led her into his own room, until both of them should regain their composure.

Years and years rolled back in these last few minutes.

She and Phil were happy little playmates together again.

“Oh, brother!” she said at last, “don’t tell me any more. I can’t hold it. Daddy is here. Let’s wait for him. Poor old daddy! he’s been starving for you, Philly, and heart-broken because he could not get news of you anywhere. He felt sure Graham Brenchfield 387 would know,––and we have just heard of the dreadful things that he did. Daddy was afraid–––”

She picked up the telephone, rang up the hotel and got into communication with her parents.

“Oh, daddy!––come down the Main Street to number one hundred and fifty-six. Come quick! Big, big news, daddy! Run all the way! Bring mother!”

She rang off again, lest she should be tempted to tell her father more.

Shortly afterwards, when the office staff had gone for the day, a tall, grey-haired, straight-backed gentleman came in, accompanied by a sweet-faced, motherly lady.

Phil stood waiting, with just a little reserve, but there was to be no waiting.

The big, kindly-faced man ran to his boy and hugged him in his arms. He then held him out from him, gazed on his face for a long time, then hugged him again.

“And I almost believed what they told me in the East. Oh, my boy! As if my own boy could be anything but straight, and clean, and honest!”

And there, in the little private room, Phil made his peace with the dear old lady he had wronged so long ago in his boyish idea of chivalry to his own departed mother.

One hour, two hours, three hours passed like so many seconds, as he told them of all his wanderings, his hardships, his disappointments, his ambitions and his ultimate success.

When he told them of how he had suffered five years in prison for Brenchfield because of the kindness Brenchfield’s father and mother had shown in caring for him, in giving him a home and paying for his education––his old father’s anger was almost at white heat.

“Paying, did you say, boy? By the Lord Harry!––not a cent did they ever pay for you. Why, boy!––it was you who kept them,––through me.”

“That’s what I’ve felt myself of late,” said Phil, “but at that time I thought differently.”

“For shame, Phil! Do you think I would let anyone provide for my boy, no matter where he might be, or what he might be? When you would not have the money I sent, I sent it to them regularly for your upkeep;––and much more besides, for they always had something to tell me of what you needed extra. I doubled the allowance when they sent you to college. Yes!––and it was three years after you had gone West before I knew of it, and then only through the death of Brenchfield’s father and an inquiry I made through a firm of lawyers.

“We planned, not once but a hundred times, to go ourselves to Campbeltown in search of you. But I couldn’t get away from my business affairs in Texas and your mother was too ill to travel alone. Last winter, however, I sold all my interests for cash, your mother made a great recovery, and we came away for a double purpose. First, to find you, if we could; next, to see if we should like to make a home out here, for we had heard much about this part of the country.

“For years Margery has pined her heart out for her old playmate, until she threatened to come herself if I would not come with her. But, Phil, boy!––there was little need for her threat, for your daddy could not have gone to his long rest without making peace with his boy.

“We heard that you had separated from Graham Brenchfield several years ago; that you had gone to the bad; and that nobody knew of your whereabouts.

“Of course, that rascal’s wonderful, would-be success was well-known in his native town. We came on here to get what information we could from him, in the hope of being able to follow you up. And we found––well––he is gone now, so we’ll say no more. But we found 389 you, well and in a position I would expect my boy to make for himself.”

Then Phil told them of his quaint, whimsical and brilliant partner, Jim Langford, but not a word, of course, of what Jim had said to him in regard to Margery.

At last he came to what was nearest to his heart, after all,––his love for Eileen Pederstone––following it hard with a recount of the tide of misfortune that had swept over her father.

“Jim and I have two hundred and fifty thousand dollars in solid cash, dad,––and, if you have anything to put in, it would be the finest investment in the world to clear that property of its mortgages and put it in a position to earn its own keep.

“But, say!––aren’t you folks hungry? It is eight-thirty, and I’m just beginning to feel I want dinner.”

“Come on then, Phil,––we’ll all go to the hotel and have a bite there, then you can ’phone for this wonderful Jim Langford and we can have a session.”

At the hotel, while the ladies and Phil’s father were upstairs, he was standing idly in the rotunda when Jim pushed out from the swing doors of the billiard room.

“Hullo, old boy!” he cried. “Sorry I couldn’t get back before closing time. Say!––I’ve found out who the lady is.”

“Allow you for that,” remarked Phil.

“Funny though!––they have the same name as yourself,––Ralston. They are from some distant clime down Texas way. Man!––I wish they were cousins or something of yours. Can’t you work up an acquaintance on the name, Phil? They’ve gone down town and haven’t come back yet.”

At that moment, the trio came down the carpeted stairway. Phil, who was facing them, quietly beckoned them forward, and before Jim knew how, he was surrounded.

“Meet my mother, Mr. Langford––Mrs. Ralston.”

Jim gasped.

“My sister! Mr. Langford––Margery.”

Jim’s face underwent a series of changes. He stood and bowed stiffly, and was quite inarticulate.

“My dear old dad,––Jim.”

And it was all over.

Phil enjoyed the joke immensely, but Jim was limp with the excitement of it and remained so for several courses of that interesting little dinner, although, towards the finish of it, he made ample amends with his dry humour and his brilliant sallies. He took possession of Margery finally, and Margery seemed greatly to enjoy being possessed, for to her Jim Langford was a type distinctly new, absolutely original and delightfully amusing.

Jim arranged a motor trip for the ladies for the next morning, and was reluctant indeed to wish them “Good night,” in order to take part in the long business talk which Phil and Mr. Ralston, Senior, had arranged.

Right on until the early morning the three men sat in the smoking room of the Station Hotel discussing the country, the conditions and future possibilities.

Phil and Jim furnished the local information, until father Ralston became almost as well posted as they were themselves. He was a keen business man, one who knew good opportunities when they were presented and who was never afraid to grasp them.

Next morning early, as soon as he got up, Phil telephoned Eileen the wonderful news, but that alert little lady already knew, for the news had travelled quickly over the little town.

Soon thereafter, two cars––one containing the two ladies and Jim, and the other Phil and his father––ran up to Royce Pederstone’s. Eileen and her father came out, were introduced, and the cheerful little party set out 391 for a tour of inspection over the neighbourhood. Every ranch of importance was visited, particular attention being given to the many possessed by Royce Pederstone, who, although greatly improved in health, was still far from well; and the visit to the beautiful places he possessed in name only, the great areas of wonderful property that would have to pass out of his keeping to satisfy his bank creditors, seemed to cast fresh gloom over the old man.

They lunched in the open, and they visited the lakes.

While the elderly folks sat and talked together, Phil wandered off with Eileen down among the trees by the lake side. There in the shade, sitting on a grassy knoll, he told her of the plans his father and Jim and he were formulating. He cajoled her, he coaxed her, then he bullied her; but it was only when he proved to her that everything was purely in the nature of an investment, that there was no question of bolstering a tottering edifice, that it was only because of its great possibilities that they were anxious to be in it; it was only then that he won her over to their way of thinking.

Meantime Jim and Margery were away out on the lake in a motor boat, and they were both so loth to return that much hallooing and horn-honking had to be done before they swung round shoreward.

After dinner at Royce Pederstone’s, the ladies gathered together for music and conversation, while the four men closeted themselves over their cigars, in order to thrash out the burning question.

“That, gentlemen, is my exact financial position, as far as I know it,” said John Royce Pederstone, after a lengthy explanation. “This is the bank’s statement of my indebtedness to them. I received it yesterday.”

They studied the figures closely for a time, then Phil’s father––shrewd business man, quick to grasp a situation; 392 clear-visioned, frank, lucid and brief––put the proposition in a nut-shell.

“Mr. Pederstone,––the boys have two hundred and fifty thousand dollars eating their paper heads off in idleness in the bank. I have,––well––as much as I require at any time. I have come out West to settle, and I mean to do so. If we don’t come to an arrangement with you, we intend buying from someone else.

“We have been all over your properties to-day and they comprise some of the most valuable land in the Valley. The ranches are well laid out, the fruit varieties are of the best. Unfortunately, these ranches have not been too well looked after. The reason for this is not far to seek. From what I can gather, there has been no proper supervision of your various ranch foremen, who, evidently, have been devoting most of their time to the places they themselves own, fattening and growing rich meanwhile in some mysterious way, while you grew poor.

“The boys and I are willing to enter into joint partnership with you for the purpose of paying off your entire indebtedness to the bank and any others, so that the properties may be absolutely unencumbered.

“Between us, we can see to the proper future supervision of the farms. We can get rid of all your useless help, hire competent foremen and ranch-hands at good wages, and so have the trees properly cared for and new ones planted to replace those that have been killed by the winter cold or have died from neglect.

“Are you agreeable to the proposition?”

“No!” put in Royce Pederstone, “because there isn’t a market for the fruit when you have it harvested.”

“Wait a moment! I am getting to that.

“There is a market; but there is no organisation to command it.

“When we jointly own and work these properties, we can immediately approach every rancher in the Valley, as one of themselves with mutual interests. We can organise––we shall organise––for I know how. We shall have a large, central warehouse for the segregation of the Valley’s produce, for grading, for packing and for distributing. This will at once eliminate unfair competition and the highway robber in the guise of jobber. Only first-class fruit will be allowed to go out. We will ship out under the Valley’s special brand, with the grower’s own name underneath. We will make our own way into the markets and demand fair prices for our harvests.

“Again, a single individual––or individuals crying separately––can do little or nothing with the Powers that be, as you well know; but once we are organised we can and shall insist on the Government introducing a proper system of irrigation throughout the entire Valley,––not a hit or a miss scheme such as presently obtains, for, if we would insure ourselves against periodical failure, if we would have annual uniformity of quality in our fruit, we must have proper irrigation. So far as the Government is concerned, our battle is more than half over, for we have in you a representative who knows the requirements of the Valley as no other member of parliament does.

“And in regard to the water,––look at the unlimited supply we have of it right at our very doors. If only some clear-minded inventor would devise a cheap, feasible scheme for getting the water up from these great, but low-lying lakes, on to the higher ranch levels! Failing that––we still have the lesser lakes up on the surrounding hills, as well as the numerous waterways in the neighbourhood.

“This glorious Valley is practically free from blight; 394 the coddling moth is under perfect control. There is nothing, Mr. Pederstone, and you know it too, nothing in the world to prevent the Valley’s production of fruit from increasing year by year as the younger orchards come to bearing age and fresh orchards are planted.

“There is no reason why we should not be able ultimately to take care of the entire Canadian requirements, with a surplus for export trade.

“As a vast fruit-growing organisation, we can demand and get all the transportation facilities we require.

“I tell you, the land is here, and the climate. All that is required now is cohesion and enterprise. Mr. Pederstone, we are going to see that this is supplied here and now.

“These are the facts. There is our partnership proposition to you in black and white. Read it over carefully and give us your decision to-morrow afternoon.”

John Royce Pederstone rose.

“Thank you, gentlemen! I shall do so. I would give you my answer now, but I would like to go over the whole matter with my daughter Eileen. Had I consulted her more often in the past, things would have been better for me to-day.”

And next day, John Royce Pederstone shook hands with his three new partners, and sealed the compact. He had a brighter look in his eye, a more erect head, and a laugh on his lips that Eileen heard from the next room and thanked God for. She was standing at the front window, as she had so often stood––as she and Phil had occasionally done––looking out over the sun-kissed little town, with the ranges, the ranches, the settlers’ cottages; the gardens, the trees, the lakes; the blue sky and the bright sunshine; all co-mingling in a merry-go-round of fairy delight and harmony and peace.

As Jim Langford hastened below, Phil stole to Eileen’s 395 side. He did not have to tell her, for she knew already.

They stood together, hand in hand, dreaming in happy contentment.

“My dear little, brave little lady,” said he, as he drew her close; “The big game is just ahead of us. And we are going to win.”

“You have won,” she answered. “The real victory is always in the decision, Phil.”

He stroked her breeze-blown curls, for the window was open and the summer wind, warm and fresh, was coming in over the hills.

The sound of a voice, sweet and mirthful; and another, low, melodious, and charming in its enunciation, came up from below, breaking in on their conversation.

Phil looked over the window-sill, then, smilingly he beckoned to Eileen.

They both leaned over.

Down there, on a summer-seat, in the arbour of trailing vines at the end of the veranda, close together and evidently day-dreaming, were Margery and Jim.

Phil was about to shout to them, but Eileen put her finger on his lips.

Then once more came the musical, alluring, deep-toned, yet crooning voice of Jim Langford;––great-hearted, apparently wayward and devil-may-care, but at all times really serious––as he recited to the lady by his side, in his own inimitable way:––

THE END

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