The Whiteoak Brothers. Mazo de la Roche

certainly was fun.”

      “And you do like the fountain pen I gave you? And all the presents from the others?”

      “It’s a beauty. Everything’s fine.”

      “Last birthday you were given a bicycle.”

      “Yes.”

      “I think you’re a lucky boy.”

      “I certainly am.”

      “You’ll remember this birthday.”

      “You bet I shall.”

II INDIGO LAKE

      Eden did not often make a confidant of Piers, so that when he beckoned Piers to follow him into his room, shut the door after them, and asked — “Can you keep a secret?” Piers felt a glow of pleasure.

      “Of course I can,” he answered.

      Eden perched himself on his desk and lighted a cigarette. “I’m an idiot for telling this, but I simply can’t help it. It’s so interesting.”

      “What is it?”

      “Well … I know a way of making quite a lot of money … if I can get others interested.”

      Piers liked money. All the young Whiteoaks liked it, but, though they lived well, there was seldom much cash available to them. Their grandmother had a fair-sized fortune, comfortably invested, but she hated to part with money. Indeed, she liked to pose as rather badly off and never dropped a hint as to whom her will would benefit. But it was usually taken for granted that Renny would be her heir. He had inherited the estate from his father, her youngest son Philip, and it was natural that she should make her home with him, as she had with his father. Indeed it had been stipulated in her husband’s will that Jalna should always provide a home for her. Nicholas and Ernest, so long as they had plenty of money to spend, had spent it in London, only returning to Jalna during the war. They were welcome doubly, for their family held them in great affection. Their brother Philip and his second wife had died within a few months of each other while Renny was with his regiment in France.

      Piers now said — “I’m interested in making money. How’s it to be done?”

      A smile flickered across Eden’s lips. He said — “I hadn’t thought of you. But, of course, if you’d like to invest in this thing — if you have any capital — you’re welcome to.”

      Piers was disappointed. “Oh, I thought you meant me.”

      “I do mean you — if you have the wherewithal.”

      Piers had, during the past two years, helped with the work of the farm in his holidays, ploughing the land, learning the methods of spraying the apple orchard, grading and packing apples for shipment, as well as helping to school polo ponies. At the end of the coming term he would matriculate, quit school, and settle down to the work he loved. He strained toward the day.

      He now said — “I have two hundred dollars saved.” He could not keep the pride out of his voice.

      Eden looked at him in wonder. “However do you do it?” He exclaimed.

      “I’ve worked pretty hard, haven’t I? All you do in your spare time is to write poetry.”

      “I’m no good at physical labour.”

      “Well, of course, you’re going to be a lawyer. What a life! Gosh, I’d hate it.”

      Again Eden smiled. “I believe I am going to hate it too,” he said. Then his voice became confidential. “Listen, Piers. The other day I met a man named Kronk in the city. He’s a mining man and he’s one of a company who are developing a new gold mine in the north. It’s called the Indigo Lake Mine. They’ve found rich deposits there. As they are just in the early stages of this project they are interested in quite — well, what you might call insignificant shareholders — like you and me.”

      Piers was astonished. “Have you got money too?”

      “No, not exactly. But I should get a commission on the shares I sell. Why, look here, Piers, this Kronk told me the stock is rising so fast that he knows a man who is making ten percent on his investment and if he chose to sell out today he could double his money. But naturally he wouldn’t dream of selling.”

      Piers’s prominent blue eyes were bright with the lust for gain. He asked — “How much are the shares?”

      “Fifty cents each.”

      “Fine! I’ll take four hundred.”

      Eden gave Piers an approving smile. “Good man! I thought you would.”

      Then Piers’s face fell. “What will Renny say? He’ll never let me.”

      “He mustn’t know; he has nothing of the speculator in him, except in horseflesh. We must keep it dark. Then — when you have made a good fat profit, you may like to tell him.” He gave Piers a cigarette, adding — “I’m going to tackle the uncles now and see if they’d like to join in the fun.”

      Piers laughed sceptically. He was feeling immensely exhilarated and mature. He said, blowing a smoke ring — “They’ll never speculate again. Uncle Ernest lost a lot of money once, didn’t he?”

      “This is different. It’s absolutely safe. You should hear Mr. Kronk talk of it. He’s put everything he owns into it. And his wife too. She’s put everything she owns into it.”

      Piers was now even more impressed. He asked — “How did you meet him?”

      “Met him on the train. I must introduce you. He’s quite an amazing fellow. Come up from scratch. Look at this prospectus he gave me.”

      The two pored over the bright-coloured prospectus, Piers’s muscular hands now and again touching Eden’s slender, loosely put together ones. When Piers had gone Eden sat down by the desk, as though weary. Why, he thought, resting his head on his hands, was he forced to go through all this in order to secure enough money for his heart’s desire? His uncles, when they were young, had taken the pleasures of travel as a matter of course. Renny had been about a good deal — to Ireland, to England, to France during the war, to New York to ride in horse shows. But he — he who wanted with all his soul to go to France and Italy — must be stuck in this backwater where the chief ambition of his family was to preserve the traditions of the past. There was more in life than mere good living, well-bred horses, healthy fruit-trees, going to morning service on Sunday in the little church his grandfather had built. It was all very well for Renny. It suited him down to the ground. And Piers — it would suit him down to the ground — the earth to which he would willingly be tied. It was all very well for a woman nearing one hundred, but she had had a colourful past in Ireland and in India — not that she lived in the past, as did most very old people. She lived greedily in the present and quite often spoke of the future — bless her heart. But before long she must die … she was worth at least a hundred thousand dollars … supposing she left fifty thousand to Renny and divided the remainder equally among her other grandchildren. Ten thousand to each. What could he not do with ten thousand dollars! He would slough off the study of law like the abominably stifling skin of a snake, and go forth and see the world. But he could do it on so much less than ten thousand. Just a little money! He was not greedy — yet all his short life, he was to lack it.

      He found Nicholas comfortably disposed after a nap — gouty leg resting on a large ottoman, massive head, with its untidy greying hair, lolling against the back of his padded leather chair. His large brown eyes were but half-open and in one handsome hand with its seal ring he held a meerschaum pipe, the mouthpiece of which disappeared beneath his shaggy moustache. He had responded to Eden’s knock with a lazy “Come in,” but when he saw who entered his eyes opened wide and he said — “Hello, Eden. Finished your work for the day? And what a day! What a hopeless-looking day! The time of year one should spend on the Riviera.”

      “And