During the next ten or eleven months poor Mrs. Trevennack had but one abiding terror—that a sudden access of irrepressible insanity might attack her husband before Cleer and Eustace could manage to get married. Trevennack, however, with unvarying tenderness, did his best in every way to calm her fears. Though no word on the subject passed between them directly, he let her feel with singular tact that he meant to keep himself under proper control. Whenever a dangerous topic cropped up in conversation, he would look across at her affectionately, with a reassuring smile. “For Cleer’s sake,” he murmured often, if she was close by his side; “for Cleer’s sake, dearest!” and his wife, mutely grateful, knew at once what he meant, and smiled approval sadly.
Her heart was very full; her part was a hard one to play with fitting cheerfulness; but in his very madness itself she couldn’t help loving, admiring, and respecting that strong, grave husband who fought so hard against his own profound convictions.
Ten months passed away, however, and Eustace Le Neve didn’t seem to get much nearer any permanent appointment than ever. He began to tire at last of applying unsuccessfully for every passing vacancy. Now and then he got odd jobs, to be sure; but odd jobs won’t do for a man to marry upon; and serious work seemed always to elude him. Walter Tyrrel did his best, no doubt, to hunt up all the directors of all the companies he knew; but no posts fell vacant on any line they were connected with. It grieved Walter to the heart, for he had always had the sincerest friendship for Eustace Le Neve; and now that Eustace was going to marry Cleer Trevennack, Walter felt himself doubly bound in honor to assist him. It was HE who had ruined the Trevennacks’ hopes in life by his unintentional injury to their only son; the least he could do in return, he thought, and felt, was to make things as easy as possible for their daughter and her intended husband.
By July, however, things were looking so black for the engineer’s prospects that Tyrrel made up his mind to run up to town and talk things over seriously with Eustace Le Neve himself in person. He hated going up there, for he hardly knew how he could see much of Eustace without running some risk of knocking up accidentally against Michael Trevennack; and there was nothing on earth that sensitive young squire dreaded so much as an unexpected meeting with the man he had so deeply, though no doubt so unintentionally and unwittingly, injured. But he went, all the same. He felt it was his duty. And duty to Walter Tyrrel spoke in an imperative mood which he dared not disobey, however much he might be minded to turn a deaf ear to it.
Le Neve had little to suggest of any practical value. It wasn’t his fault, Tyrrel knew; engineering was slack, and many good men were looking out for appointments. In these crowded days, it’s a foolish mistake to suppose that energy, industry, ability, and integrity are necessarily successful. To insure success you must have influence, opportunity, and good luck as well, to back them. Without these, not even the invaluable quality of unscrupulousness itself is secure from failure.
If only Walter Tyrrel could have got his friend to accept such terms, indeed, he would gladly, for Cleer’s sake, have asked Le Neve to marry on an allowance of half the Penmorgan rent-roll. But in this commercial age, such quixotic arrangements are simply impossible. So Tyrrel set to work with fiery zeal to find out what openings were just then to be had; and first of all for that purpose he went to call on a parliamentary friend of his, Sir Edward Jones, the fat and good-natured chairman of the Great North Midland Railway. Tyrrel was a shareholder whose vote was worth considering, and he supported the Board with unwavering loyalty.
Sir Edward was therefore all attention, and listened with sympathy to Tyrrel’s glowing account of his friend’s engineering energy and talent. When he’d finished his eulogy, however, the practical railway magnate crossed his fat hands and put in, with very common-sense dryness, “If he’s so clever as all that, why doesn’t he have a shot at this Wharfedale Viaduct?”
Walter Tyrrel drew back a little surprised. The Wharfedale Viaduct was a question just then in everybody’s mouth. But what a question! Why, it was one of the great engineering works of the age; and it was informally understood that the company were prepared to receive plans and designs from any competent person. There came the rub, though. Would Eustace have a chance in such a competition as that? Much as he believed in his old school-fellow, Tyrrel hesitated and reflected. “My friend’s young, of course,” he said, after a pause. “He’s had very little experience—comparatively, I mean—to the greatness of the undertaking.”
Sir Edward pursed his fat lips. It’s a trick with your railway kings. “Well, young men are often more inventive than old ones,” he answered, slowly. “Youth has ideas; middle age has experience. In a matter like this, my own belief is, the ideas count for most. Yes, if I were you, Tyrrel, I’d ask your friend to consider it.”
“You would?” Walter cried, brightening up.
“Aye, that I would,” the great railway-man answered, still more confidently than before, rubbing his fat hands reflectively. “It’s a capital opening. Erasmus Walker’ll be in for it, of course; and Erasmus Walker’ll get it. But don’t you tell your fellow that. It’ll only discourage him. You just send him down to Yorkshire to reconnoiter the ground; and if he’s good for anything, when he’s seen the spot he’ll make a plan of his own, a great deal better than Walker’s. Not that that’ll matter, don&rs............