She crept up to him the closer and nestled her fingers inside his collar--an old caress of hers when she was a child, then looking up into his eyes she asked with almost a throb of suffering in her voice, “Is it as bad as the coffer-dam, daddy?”
Jack looked on in silence. He dared not add a word of comfort of his own while his Chief held first place in soothing her fears.
MacFarlane passed his hand over her forehead--“Don't ask me, child! Why do you want to bother your dear head over such things, Puss?” he asked, as he stroked her hair.
“Because I must and will know. Tell me the truth,” she demanded, lifting her head, a note of resolve in her voice. “I can help you the better if I know it all.” Some of the blood of one of her great-great-grandmothers, who had helped defend a log-house in Indian times, was asserting itself. She could weep, but she could fight, too, if necessary.
“Well, then, I'm afraid it is worse than the coffer-dam,” he answered in all seriousness. “It may be a matter of twelve or fifteen thousand dollars--maybe more, if we have to rebuild the 'fill.' I can't tell yet.”
Ruth released her grasp, moved to the sofa and sank down, her chin resting on her hand. Twelve or fifteen thousand dollars! This meant ruin to everybody--to her father, to--a new terror now flashed into her mind--to Jack--yes, Jack! Jack would have to go away and find other work--and just at the time, too, when he was getting to be the old Jack once more. With this came another thought, followed by an instantaneous decision--what could she do to help? Already she had determined on her course. She would work--support herself--relieve her father just that much.
An uncomfortable silence followed. For some moments no one spoke. Her father, stifling a sigh, turned slowly, pushed a chair to the fire and settled into it, his rubber-encased knees wide apart, so that the warmth of the blaze could reach most of his body. Jack found a seat beside him, his mind on Ruth and her evident suffering, his ears alert for any fresh word from his Chief.
“I forgot to tell you, Breen,” MacFarlane said at last, “that I came up the track just now as far as the round-house with the General Manager of the Road. He has sent one of his engineers to look after that Irishman's job before he can pull it to pieces to hide his rotten work--that is, what is left of it. Of course it means a lawsuit or a fight in the Village Council. That takes time and money, and generally costs more than you get. I've been there before, Breen, and know.”