Refractory Ore

Illustrated by Arthur Garratt

HE sun was near the hill-tops, but its last beams rested on the opening in the woods that roll up to Ewes crags from Lingdale tarn. Although the ragged oaks were bare, the larches were sprayed with vivid green, among which crimson specks that looked like rubies gleamed, and primroses pushed their pale flowers above the dead leaves. The light had faded from the tarn, where dim reflections lay, and in the distance lambs were bleating. All was very quiet but for the measured throb of the mining pump.

Lingdale mine was old and generally unprofitable. Different owners had worked it for a time, and then let it go when their capital was exhausted or prices went down. The ore carried a high percentage of a metal that is used for hardening steel, but it was refractory and cost much to smelt. The mine, however, had recently been reopened by a small syndicate of country gentlemen, who had spent much money on the venture and got little back. They persevered because the metal commanded a higher price than it had yet touched.

Marsland, the young engineer, leaned against a shining larch; Helen Creighton, the chairman's daughter, sat on a fallen trunk with a bunch of primroses in her hand. Their faces were thoughtful, because they knew this might be their last meeting. Marsland's clothes were wet and stained by soil, for he had come up from the mine. Helen looked fresh and dainty, and the primroses harmonised with the lilac dress that somehow emphasised her white and pink colouring and the soft blue of her eyes. Now her eyes were grave.

"Then you are resolved to go? I expect you know we shall miss you," she said.

"I don't want to go, but feel I must," Marsland replied. "If I stay, I'll have to go for good when the mine shuts down. If I make the plunge and am lucky, I shall come back before very long."

He stopped, for this was as far as he durst venture, but Helen understood and mused. Marsland had talent, although he was poor, and the syndicate had engaged him cheap. Creighton now and then asked him to lunch when they had business to talk about, and Helen had met him at other times, oftener, indeed, than Creighton thought. She liked Marsland—in fact, she liked no other man as well, and, although he was not her acknowledged lover, she knew where his hopes led.

"You want to find out the right chemical formula, or whatever it is?" she remarked by and by.

"Yes," said Marsland in a resolute voice. "I am going to find it. You see, the ore we are getting up is first-rate stuff, but there's a foreign substance that combines with the metal at high temperatures. Well, if I can break up the combination and get rid of the undesirable element, we could cut down working expenses and sell for top price."

"Father talks about all this," Helen answered, with a touch of languidness. "But the advantage won't be yours. And why must you go to France?"

Marsland smiled, "I rather think some of the advantage will be mine. The ore is found in other places among these hills, and mine-owners will have to reckon on the man who can smelt it cheap. Then the only friend who can help me is a chemist in France, and he has agreed to make a number of experiments."

"Yours have failed so far, have they not?" Helen asked sympathetically.

"They have," said Marsland. "The solution of the puzzle's strangely elusive. I know I'm on the right track, but I get so far and then the clue I've followed breaks off. It's harassing work, but I try to pick up the broken end and begin again."

Helen studied him quietly, although her heart beat. His face was rather worn and he looked tired. He lived frugally and, she suspected, spent the most part of his pay on his laborious experiments. Although he was ambitious, she knew he worked for her. Now and then she thought he knew she knew, but the time for an understanding was not yet. In the meanwhile he was her father's servant, and Creighton's pride must be reckoned on.

"Is Mr. Emslie going to superintend until you come back?" she asked.

Marsland tried to hide a frown. Emslie was the son of Creighton's neighbour, and knew something about mining and chemistry. Marsland thought he knew enough to mislead himself. He was rich and partly responsible for floating the syndicate. Marsland disliked the fellow, largely because Creighton approved him.

"I suppose he will take charge in a way, but Wannop, the foreman, will really look after things," he said. "It's a temporary arrangement. Your friends have made a kind of promise to keep my post open for two months, but haven't altogether bound themselves."

For a time Helen was silent. She would miss Marsland, and felt disturbed when she thought about Emslie. Her father trusted Emslie, although she did not. He had a share in a prosperous steel-making business, and since the mine had been reopened his influence on Creighton was strong.

"But if you don't find a way to deal with the ore?" she asked by and by.

"Then I shall not come back," said Marsland, whose face went rather grim. "Emslie wants to get rid of me, and it's possible I can get another job. In fact, I've heard about a post in South Africa." He paused and resumed in a quiet, resolute voice: "But I'm going to try to find a plan, and shall have two months with a clever chemist in a modern laboratory. It's unthinkable I shouldn't succeed!"

"I wish you luck," said Helen very quietly. "Then, if you imagine you are making progress, I should like to know." She rose and gave him her hand. "But it's later than I thought; I must go home."

For a few moments they were silent. The sunshine had faded and the shadows crept up the hill. The throb of the pump got louder, and a thrush began to sing. Both felt a poignant melancholy, but there was nothing to be said, although Marsland found it hard to preserve his control. Then Helen turned and went down the path through the shadowy wood. It would be two months before he came back, if he came back at all.

She found the two months trying. Emslie was often at the Hall, and although he talked about the mine to Creighton, she knew why he came. Moreover, she thought Creighton knew. Sometimes she imagined the latter was anxious. He owned some land, and the Hall was a fine old building, but he was not as rich as people thought, and had been extravagant. Indeed, Helen knew he had expected much from the reopening of the mine. This had cost more than he calculated, and she had heard him say he had got in rather deep; then she imagined he had given a mortgage on two farms. Emslie, however, had money, and she thought he urged her father on. Besides, Marsland had only written once to her, admitting he had not made much progress, and Helen understood his reserve. He was poor, and would say nothing unless he found out the secret for which he searched. In the meantime her distrust of Emslie deepened, and at length, when the two months had gone, she got alarmed and, venturing greatly, wrote to Marsland and told him to come back.

Marsland did not come when she expected, and one evening she stood by the lodge gate, watching the road that ran, like a dim white ribbon, along the bottom of the hill. The primroses had faded, and the oaks in the wood behind the lodge shone with a gleam of bronze and yellow among the dusky firs. The evening was warm, and now and then voices came from the open windows of the Hall, where lights were springing up. Dinner was over, and Helen knew she would soon be missed, for a few of Creighton's country-house neighbours had come across to talk about the mine.

Helen knew the meeting would have important consequences, since Emslie meant to persuade the others to accept a plan of his. Before she wrote to Marsland, Emslie had had a long interview with Creighton, and Helen imagined she knew what they had talked about. It was because of this she had written. But there was nothing on the shadowy road; Marsland had not come.

She crossed the lawn slowly. The old house, with the creepers on its weathered front and the dark woods behind, had a touch of stately beauty, but she shrank from it. In a sense she was a prisoner, bound by traditions the Hall embodied, Then she looked up the dale to the rugged fells that cut against the sky. All was very quiet except that in the distance sheep were bleating. Dim woods rolled up the long hill-slopes, and in one place threads of foam were drawn across the face of a crag. Helen had loved the valley, but its charm had gone. It looked as if she must live there in bondage, the wife of a man she did not love.

The spacious drawing-room was old-fashioned and rather shabby, but somehow dignified, and Creighton, talking to his guests, harmonised with his surroundings. Although he was a plain, red-faced country gentleman, he wore a stamp he had inherited from his land-owning ancestors. There were two or three ladies in the room, and Helen doubted if the men would go away to transact the business they had come about, since their wives knew all that was done at the mine. Emslie was talking to one lady, and Helen admitted that he was rather a handsome man. He was not young, but he had graceful manners and a fastidious taste about his clothes. She was glad he did not see her come in and sit down by an open window. The curtains waved gently, and now and then the tall lamps flickered.

"I hope Mr. Creighton won't take our husbands to the library, because I want to hear your plans," Mrs. Cartner remarked to Emslie. "However, I'll promise not to interrupt unless I feel I must."

Her voice was rather harsh, and she wore an outdoor dress and thick boots; but Helen liked her, and was glad she meant to stop. Her husband made a humorous gesture, and Emslie laughed.

"Your judgment is often good, and we are not a company. We're friends and private adventurers, and your interest in the mine is as large as ours."

"It's larger," Mrs. Cartner rejoined. "If you lose your money, we shall have to economise. You have not earned very much yet."

"We have not. I hope to persuade you that we can earn something more."

"Then I don't see why you should not begin. The others, of course, can go away if they like."

Emslie took out some papers, and Helen thought her father looked embarrassed. Mrs. Cartner was clever, unconventional, and generally determined.

"The mine," said Emslie, "has cost us much. We opened it for an experiment, but we must go on in order to get our money back. Anyhow, one feels that is very desirable."

"It's necessary," Mrs. Cartner remarked with dryness.

"Very well. If we are to work economically, we need capital, and my plan is to float a small limited company. To do this, however, we must have some results to show, and I have made a number of experiments that promise well. In fact, I imagine I have found the best way of treating the ore. The next thing is to appoint a really competent engineer."

Cartner looked up as if he did not agree, and Mrs. Cartner said: "You have one. Isn't Marsland coming back?"

"There was no definite agreement," Creighton interposed. "Marsland has not told us about his investigations, and has outstayed his leave."

"So you mean to get rid of him?"

Creighton hesitated. He felt he was going to do a shabby thing, but he needed money, and Emslie had used some pressure. Only he and Emslie knew the awkwardness of the situation.

"I imagine it would be better if he gave up his post, and he will, no doubt, do so when he hears our new arrangements."

Helen thrilled with indignation. She knew how Marsland had worked in France, and something of the self-denial his research had cost, and now he was to be cheated of his reward. Besides, she was anxious for herself. It was not for nothing Emslie meant to help her father; she knew Creighton needed help, and she must pay. Still, he had said nothing yet about Emslie's demands, and she could not speak. There was a ray of comfort—Mrs. Cartner was Marsland's friend.

"Let's get on," said one of the men. "We understand Emslie has found a cheap way of reducing the ore. Is he satisfied his process will turn out first-class metal?"

"I'm practically satisfied," Emslie answered. "There are one or two small difficulties, but I do not think they will give us much trouble. I have almost got rid of the alloy that has lowered the quality. I have brought a record of my tests, but, as you are not chemists, we had perhaps better talk about our business plans."

He went on, and Helen, studying the others' faces, thought, one or two were doubtful, but the rest approved. Emslie was plausible, and they were anxious about the money they had invested. In the meantime she listened for sounds outside. A faint breeze sighed in the pine-tops, and sheep bleated upon the hills. Now and then a murmur came down the dale from the crag where the beck brawled among the rocks, but this was all. If Marsland did not come soon, he would be too late.

Then she started, for there was a throb in the distance. It got louder, but the others did not hear. They were listening to Emslie, and their intent look indicated that he was leading them where he would. Nobody moved when the throb slackened as a car rolled up the drive, but Emslie glanced round impatiently when the noise stopped. An interruption would be awkward, because he thought he had almost secured the others' agreement. He frowned and clenched his hand as Marsland came in. Marsland was pale and looked tired, but his face was stern.

"I have been to the mine and heard about Mr. Emslie's experiments," he said. "His being here indicates that this is something of a business meeting."

Helen tried to preserve her calm, and Creighton turned his head. Weakness and extravagance were perhaps his worst faults; he had been forced to consent to a shabby deed, and felt ashamed. For all that, he could not draw back. Marsland's arrival, although awkward, did not change things much.

"It is doubtful if you are entitled to attend the meeting," Emslie replied, with a sneer. "You got leave to go to France on our behalf, and have told us nothing about your researches. It's obvious that they have not taken you far."

"I'll answer that later," Marsland said coolly. "You mean my not keeping you informed cancels my engagement?"

"Yes. When you arrived we were considering if we should give somebody else your post."

"This clears the ground," said Marsland, who looked about the room, and Helen's heart beat as she saw he knew she was there. Although Mrs. Cartner was smiling, Helen imagined the others took it for granted that Marsland had failed; but they did not count. All they wanted was to save their money. Emslie and her father were Marsland's real antagonists.

"You can give my post to whom you like, but I feel I can serve you better than anyone else," Marsland resumed, addressing the rest. "After all, Mr. Emslie's share is not the largest; one or two others have invested large sums."

"That is true," one agreed feelingly. "I'd be glad to know about the prospect of getting mine back."

"If I go, I imagine the prospect will not be very good," Marsland answered with some dryness.

Creighton hesitated. The touch of dignity he generally wore had gone and he looked disturbed. "Since Mr. Emslie was suggesting the appointment of a new manager, it would be better if you withdrew. That is the usual thing."

"I agree. But I must ask a question first. Can Mr. Emslie get rid of the alloy that has bothered us?"

"He tells us he can," said one. "I understand he has brought the chemical formula."

"So I imagined. I heard he had been making experiments. Well, I would like to examine the formula. It's rather in your interests than mine."

The others agreed, and Emslie reluctantly gave Marsland a paper on which were written chemical symbols. For a moment or two Marsland struggled for calm. When in France he had missed some records of his researches, and then remembered that he had left them at the mine. While he had worked all day and often late at night, living with stern frugality in order that he might have money for his tests, Emslie had stolen his papers and tried to follow up the discoveries he had made. Marsland felt savage, but controlled himself and smiled. After all, the thing had a touch of humour that Emslie did not see yet.

"The experiments are clever, although, the line taken is not original," he said. "It looks as if Mr. Emslie has paid me the compliment of using mine. I wonder whether he means to deny this?"

"I do not," Emslie rejoined. "You were our servant and used our materials for your tests. Since that was so, I was justified"

"I used some of your materials," Marsland interrupted. "All I could not find on the spot I bought for myself. However, we'll let this go. Your plan is bold, but it has a drawback. It will not work."

Emslie started and Creighton moved abruptly. The others were very quiet, but one or two leaned forward, with their eyes fixed on the antagonists. Marsland looked grimly amused; Emslie was obviously trying to pull himself together. For a few moments there was an awkward silence, and the curtains rustled softly in the draught. Then Emslie said—

"Since you have only studied my formula for about a minute, it is rather curious you are persuaded the process will not work."

"I am persuaded. You stole my papers and worked on my lines," Marsland replied, and, turning to the others, added with a dry smile: "It's Mr. Emslie's misfortune that the lines were wrong."

"Ah," said Mrs. Cartner, "I think I see! The thing reminds one of a futile trick one sometimes played at school. One borrowed another's exercise and copied the mistakes."

"Something like that has happened," Marsland agreed. "I found out my mistakes in France, not long since. Mr. Emslie does not know them yet. If you let him go on, his ignorance may cost you much."

"It's possible," said a gentleman in a corner. "Altering a smelting plant is expensive. But can you undertake to eliminate the alloy?"

"I can," said Marsland with quiet confidence, and for some moments nobody spoke.

Helen thrilled and felt the blood rush to her face. Marsland had conquered, and she rejoiced with him. She had a part in his victory; he had fought for her. Then she turned her head as she saw Mrs. Cartner's smile. The latter was Marsland's friend, and Helen thought she understood. All felt relieved when Cartner said—

"We had better ask if Mr. Marsland is willing to use his new process at Lingdale."

"I imagine he is bound to do so," somebody else remarked.

"This might be disputed," said Marsland coolly. "Not long since you were talking about filling my post, which implied that my engagement was ended. There are other mines where they would be glad to use my process and pay a royalty. If I stop, it's obvious that we must begin again"

The others waited, conscious of some tension, and he resumed: "For all that, I don't mean to use unfair pressure. You gave me a start and opportunities for experimenting. Now I want a share of the profit I can earn for you; but it is a share you can afford to pay, because my demands need not be satisfied unless the profit is earned."

He outlined a scheme, and Cartner said: "I think this is just."

All except Emslie signed their agreement, but one asked: "What about the cost?"

"With five hundred pounds I'll engage to prove I can do all I claim; the alterations in the plant will cost two thousand. If you spend more afterwards, it will pay good interest."

There was silence for a moment or two, and then Helen looked half defiantly at Creighton. "I am going to invest five hundred pounds of the money that is mine."

Marsland gave her a quick glance and his eyes sparkled, but nobody else seemed to remark the significance of her offer. Creighton looked disturbed, for he knew that part of Helen's small legacy had gone; moreover, he saw the others were thinking hard and waiting for a lead. Then Cartner said: "I imagine the sum could be subscribed; my wife and I will be responsible for our share."

The rest promised, except Emslie, who got up. "I shall not subscribe and think you are rash; but this is your affair. In fact, I'll try to sell my investment."

"On the whole, that is perhaps the best plan," Cartner remarked.

Emslie went out, and there was a feeling of relief when he had gone. Then somebody asked Marsland: "When will you be ready to test your process?"

"I'll engage to satisfy you in a month after I get five hundred pounds," Marsland replied.

He left them, and nobody but Mrs. Cartner noted that Helen had stolen out through the long window that opened on the lawn. She overtook Marsland near the lodge, and he held the hand she gave him.

"You have won and Emslie's gone!" she cried.

"Ah," he said, "I wonder which gives you more satisfaction? But you struck the first hard blow for me."

Helen blushed. "In a way, your winning and Emslie's going can't be separated."

"I think I see," said Marsland. "Your father was his friend. The fellow hoped to marry you. It was unthinkable!"

She turned her head for a moment and then looked up shyly. Something forced her to be frank.

"It was quite unthinkable. I—I wanted somebody else."

Marsland drew her to him, and next moment she was in his arms. She went with him down the dale in the soft summer dark, and presently, stopping, said: "I must go, dear. Father may be angry, but if you are firm"

"If he has any doubts, I'll engage to banish them when my new process is tested," Marsland replied.

Helen gave him a trustful smile, and her confidence was justified, for Creighton acquiesced when Marsland proved that he could produce fine metal from the refractory ore.