Joyces Investments | Page 2

to
contemplate. Here was one who could be clothed in purple and fine
linen and fare sumptuously every day, without so much as lifting her
little white finger, and she was planning an infinity of care and
worriment, possibly the loss of everything, rather than a calm
acceptance of her rosy fortune. It fairly disgusted him!
His vis-à-vis, watching him with her keen dark eyes, read these
thoughts as if his brain had been a printed page before her, and in spite
of herself laughed outright; in his very teeth--a merry little peal as
spontaneous as a sunburst.
"Pardon me!" she begged, trying vainly to control herself, "but you did

look so hopeless, Mr. Harrington. I know I'm a nuisance to you, and I
appreciate that this solicitude for my interests is more than I've any
right to expect when I disappoint you so. If you were not so old a friend
I wouldn't feel so guilty. Yet in spite of all--I am resolved."
She said the last three words quite gently, with a level gaze that met his
own frowning one and held it. She did not nod nor bridle, and her air
was almost deprecating in its modesty, but he felt the battle was over
and she was the victor. She would be her own mistress, girl that she
was, and he could not turn her. He leaned back in a relaxed attitude and
asked in a changed voice, "Will you then care to retain the services of
Barrington and Woodstock?"
There was not a hint of triumph in tone or manner as she answered
quickly,
"Most certainly, if I may. There will be a constant need of your advice,
I know. And now, Mr. Barrington, shall we settle the matter of salary,
or do you prefer to make a separate charge for each occasion?"
His smile was rather grim as he arose and took down a bundle of papers
and documents, slipped them rapidly from hand to hand, then laid them
in order before him.
"I think the salary might be best for you," he answered.
"So do I," blithely, "for I shall probably bore you to death!"
This matter having been satisfactorily adjusted, the lawyer, with a
rather ironical air, observed,
"If I am not trenching upon forbidden ground, might I ask a few more
questions concerning this scheme of yours?"
"As many as you like, sir."
"Thank you. I take it for granted you will retain Mr. Dalton as
manager?"

"Yes."
"And most of the employees as at present?"
"All, for aught I know."
"And you speak of building up a town--just what does that mean to
your own mind?"
"I'll try to tell you. You know at present there are only the buildings for
the Works, the branch track and engine sheds, and the few rows of
uncomfortable cottages for the families of the men. There is no school,
no church, no library, no meeting-place of any kind, except the grocery
store and saloon; and those bare, staring rows of mean houses, just
alike, are not homes in any sense of the word. I want to add all such
comforts--no, I call them necessities--and more."
"More? As what, for instance?"
"Well,"--she drew a long breath and settled back in her chair with a
nestling movement that made the hard man of business feel a certain
fatherly yearning towards her, and at last said slowly, "I can't quite
explain to you how I have been led to it, but this thought has become
very plain to me--that every real need of humanity must (if this world
be the work of a perfect Being) have its certain fulfilment. Most people
think the fulfilment should only be looked for in another and better
world. I think it might, and ought, to come often in this, and that we
alone are to blame that it does not."
"Wait! Let me more fully understand. You think every need--what kind
of needs?"
"All kinds. Needs of body, mind, and soul."
"You think they can be fully gratified here?"
"I think they might be. I believe there is no reason, except our own
ignorance, stupidity, prejudice, and greed, that keeps them from being

gratified here and now."
"But child--that would be Heaven!"
"Very like it--yes. And why shouldn't we have Heaven here, sir? God
made this world and pronounced it good. Would the Perfect One make
a broken circle, a chain with missing links, a desire without its
gratification? That would be incomplete workmanship. When either my
body or my soul calls out for anything whatsoever, somewhere there is
that thing awaiting the desire. Why relegate it to another world? There
must be complete circles here, or this world is not good."
"But, my dear girl, these are rather abstruse questions for your little