body seemed
willing to lift a hand to rescue the Little Comrade. He appeared to be
keenly disappointed because nobody tried, albeit other axes were quite
plentiful thereabouts.

Presently The Laird got up and dusted the splinters and sawdust from
his clothing; the Red, battered terribly, lay weltering in his blood.
"I feel better now," said The Laird. "This is just what I needed this
morning to bring me out of myself. Help yourself, Dan," and he made a
dive at the nearest striker, who fled, followed by his fellow-strikers,
all hotly pursued by The Laird and the demon Daniel.

The Laird returned, puffing slightly, to his office and once more sat
in at his own desk. As he remarked to Dirty Dan, he felt better now.
All his resentment against Daney had fled but his resolution to pursue
his contemplated course with reference to his son and the latter's
wife had become firmer than ever. In some ways The Laird was a
terrible old man.

XLII

Nan was not at all surprised when, upon responding to a peremptory
knock at her front door she discovered Andrew Daney standing without.
The general manager, after his stormy interview with The Laird had
spent two hours in the sunny lee of a lumber pile, waiting for the
alcoholic fogs to lift from his brain, for he had had sense enough
left to realize that all was not well with him; he desired to have his
tongue in order when he should meet the bride and groom.

"Good morning, Mr. Daney," Nan greeted him. "Do come in."

"Good morning, Mrs. McKaye. Thank you. I shall with pleasure."

He followed her down the little hallway to the living room where
Donald sat with his great thin legs stretched out toward the fire.

"Don't rise, boy, don't rise," Mr. Daney protested. "I merely called
to kiss the bride and shake your hand, my boy. The visit is entirely
friendly and unofficial."

"Mr. Daney, you're a dear," Nan cried, and presented her fair cheek
for the tribute he claimed.

"Shake hands with a rebel, boy," Mr. Daney cried heartily to Donald.
"God bless you and may you always be happier than you are this
minute."

Donald wrung the Daney digits with a heartiness he would not have
thought possible a month before.

"I've quarreled with your father, Donald," he announced, seating
himself. "Over you--and you," he added, nodding brightly at both young
people. "He thinks he's fired me." He paused, glanced around, coughed
a couple of times and came out with it. "Well, what are yo