WOOD PULP
The fresh northwest breeze that crisped the Inlet swept in through the
open ports and set the cigar smoke eddying about the table, when Jimmy
sat with Jordan and another man in the _Shasta_'s little stern cabin.
Looking forward through the hooked-back door, he could see the lower
yards and serried shrouds of a big iron ship that was lying half-loaded
on the _Shasta_'s starboard side. Beyond her there rode a little
schooner with reefed mainsail and boom foresail thrashing, while the
musical clinketty-clank of her windlass betokened that she was just
going to sea. Jimmy's face grew a trifle hard as he heard it, for she
was the _Tyee_.
Jordan sprawled on a settee not far away, and a burly, red-faced Briton
who commanded the iron ship sat opposite to Jimmy, cigar in hand. The
latter had the faculty some people possess of making friends, and,
though they had after all seen very little of him, the shipmaster's
manner was confidential.
"If the canners who are loading me had kept their promise I'd be driving
south with the royals on her before this breeze instead of lying here,"
he said. "My broker doesn't know when they mean to send the rest of the
cases down either, and it seems it's only now and then a mail goes up
that coast. In fact, I've almost made up my mind to run round to the
Columbia. I believe the packers would load me there."
"Port charges and tugs are expensive items," said Jordan thoughtfully.
"Vancouver freights are tolerably good, and it might pay you to wait a
week or so. You see that schooner on your quarter? She's going up to the
cannery now."
The skipper made a little impatient gesture. "How long's she going to be
getting there with a head-wind? Besides, all she could bring down would
be nothing to me. I wouldn't have stayed so long, only that confounded
broker told me a man called Merril was sending a steamer up."
"Then, since the schooner belongs to him, I guess he has changed his
mind. How long would you wait for a steamboat load?"
"A week," said the skipper--"not a day more. I believe I could fill up
on the Columbia, and, as there's not another vessel offering for the
United Kingdom here, it would please me to feel that the canners would
have to keep their salmon."
Jordan flashed a warning glance at Jimmy. "Well," he said, "it seems to
me that if you will wait the week, you are going to get your freight. I
can't tell you exactly why, but I wouldn't break out my anchor for
another eight days if I were you."
"I can take a hint as well as another man;" and the skipper rose. "In
the meanwhile, I'll go ashore and stir up that broker again. You'll have
a head-wind if you're going north, Mr. Wheelock. Expect you to come off
and feed with me when you're back again. Good luck!"
Jordan went with him to the gangway, and then came back and smiled at
Jimmy.
"It's just as well you made the New Cannery people a half-promise you'd
call this trip," he said. "Now I guess you've got to keep it. Things fit
in. Merril, as usual, hasn't played a straight game with those packers.
Took their transport contract, and when that headed off anybody else
from going there, he sends the _Tyee_ up instead of the steamboat.
You'll be at the cannery two days ahead of her, anyway, and there's no
reason why you shouldn't get every case they have on hand."
Jimmy made a sign of comprehension, and Jordan lighted another cigar
before he opened the paper he had brought with him. "Now and then the
little man gets a show, though it's usually when the big one isn't quite
awake," he said. "You sit still there, and listen to this. 'The
Provincial Legislature at length appears to recognize that its
responsibilities are not confined to fostering the progress of the bush
districts, and one contemplates with satisfaction a change in the policy
which has hitherto incurred a heavy expenditure upon roads and bridges
for the exclusive benefit of the ranchers. Now that retrenchment in this
direction appears to be contemplated, there should be money to spare for
equally desirable purposes.'"
He threw down the paper. "I guess that's going to cost Merril a pile,
especially as the member for the district in which he is starting his
wood-pulp mill shows signs of going back on him. From what the boys are
saying, Merril has a pull on the man, but it seems his party has a
stronger one."
"I don't quite understand," said Jimmy.
Jordan laughed softly. "It's interesting. Shows how things are run.
Merril bought up a mortgage on a half-built wood-pulp mill which the men
who began it couldn't finish, and fixed things so that by and by it
belonged to him and two or three of his friends. Well, that mill was put
where it is because they've a head of water that will give them power
for nothing, and spruce fit for making high-grade pulp, but it's not on
the railroad and not near the coast. The question is how to get their
product out. There are big mills between them and the lake they could
put a steamer on, and they'll have to lay down a wagon-road,
underpinning a good deal of it on the mountain-side, and cutting odd
half-miles of it out. That's going to cost them more than putting up
their mill."
"Then how did they expect to hold their own with the mills now running?"
Jordan chuckled. "By getting the Province to make their road for them.
Merril has influential friends, and one of them who went up not long ago
discovered that there was a high-class ranching district behind the
mill; it only wanted roads to bring the settlers in."
Then his face grew grave, and he sat silent a minute, or two before he
spoke again.
"Jimmy," he said, with a very unusual diffidence, "there's a thing that
is worrying me. It doesn't strike me as quite fitting that Eleanor
should see so much of that blame Ontario man in Merril's office. He has
been over twice in the last fortnight to Forster's ranch."
"Do you expect me to tell her so?"
"I do not. Guess she'd make you feel mean for a month after if you did.
I want you to remember, all the time, that I'm sure of your sister--but
I don't like the man. He had to get out of Toronto--and they're talking
about him already in the saloons. Seems to me she's playing a dangerous
game in fooling him."
"Fooling him?"
"That's so. He put some money into Merril's business, and it's quite
likely he knows a little of his hand. Eleanor has made up her mind to
know it, too."
Jimmy flushed. "The thing must be stopped."
"Well," said Jordan ruefully, "that's how I feel, but the trouble is I
don't quite know how it can be done. For one thing, I'm going to run up
against that Toronto man, though I don't expect Eleanor to be nice to me
after it."
"You can't think she has any liking for him?"
Jordan turned on him with a snap in his eyes. "I don't. If I did, I
should not have mentioned it to you. Guess I'd stake my life any time on
Eleanor's doing the straight thing by me. It's what those--hotel
slouches will say about her I don't like to think of; and you have to
remember she'd go through fire to bring down the man who ruined your
father. In one way, that's natural--but the thing has been worrying me."
Just then there was a splash of approaching oars, and Jordan rose.
"That's the mate with your papers, and I guess I'll go," he said. "Get
every case of that salmon--and remember what I've told you if you hear
of any trouble between Eleanor and me. It won't be due to jealousy, but
because I've spoiled her hand."
He left Jimmy, who remembered what he had seen in Eleanor's face the
night she had talked to him of Merril, thoughtful when he rowed away. It
appeared very probable that she would make things distinctly unpleasant
for her suitor if he rashly ventured to interfere with any project she
might have in view. Jimmy, in fact, felt tempted to sympathize with
Jordan.
In a few minutes, however, he proceeded to take the _Shasta_ out, and
drove her hard all that night into a short head-sea. She had left the
comparative shelter of Vancouver Island behind, and was rolling out with
whirling propeller flung clear every now and then, head on to the big,
white-topped combers, when as he stood dripping on his bridge a schooner
running hard materialized out of the rain and spray. Jimmy pulled the
whistle lanyard, and the man behind him hauled his wheel over a spoke or
two; but the schooner came on heading almost for him, and rolling until
her mastheads swung over the froth to weather. Her mainboom was down on
her quarter, and she had only her foresail set and a little streaming
jib.
She drove the latter into the back of a big gray-and-white sea as she
went by, and when she hove it high once more while the water sluiced
along her deck, Jimmy, who could look down at her from his bridge,
recognized her as a vessel that had once belonged to his father. She
drove past with a drenched object clinging desperately to her wheel, and
Jimmy smiled as she vanished into the rain again, for it seemed to him
that, as his comrade had said, fortune favored the little man now and
then. Merril had evidently sent two schooners up to the cannery, but the
_Tyee_ was some sixty miles astern of the _Shasta_, and it was clear
that the skipper of the other vessel could no longer thrash her to
windward in that weather. There was, he believed, a good deal of salmon
at the cannery, and all he had to do was to take the _Shasta_ there.
It was, however, not particularly easy. The breeze freshened steadily,
until she put her forecastle under and hove her stern out at every
plunge, while her propeller shook her in every plate as it whirred in
empty air. A man could scarcely venture forward along her brine-swept
deck, and at times when Jimmy had to cling to the bridge-rails for his
life she rolled until all her rail was in the sea. He was battered and
blinded by flying spray, and when the black night came he could not see
an arm's-length in front of him; but the telegraph still stood at
full-speed, and the _Shasta_ resolutely butted the big foaming seas. At
last she ran in among the islands, where there was smoother water, and
Jimmy was rowed ashore, red-eyed, half-asleep, and aching in every limb,
when he had brought her up off a certain icy, green-stained river. As it
happened, the man in charge of the cannery on its bank was unusually
pleased to see him, though he did not say so. He gave Jimmy a cigar in
his office, and when they sat down looked at him thoughtfully.
"It's rather a long way up here, and it will cost you a little in coal
if you mean to make your usual trip," he said. "I don't think I made you
any definite promise."
Jimmy smiled. "Still, I said I would call."
"Then I wish some of the other people with whom we trade were as
punctilious. I suppose you expect something now you're here?"
"I do," said Jimmy. "In fact, I almost fancy it's going to suit you to
fill me up."
"I think I mentioned we had a standing arrangement with Mr. Merril."
"You did," said Jimmy cheerfully. "He's sending you up two schooners. It
will be a week before they are here. I passed one of them yesterday
running back for shelter, and the other's--anyway--sixty miles astern of
her."
"The wind may change, and they wouldn't be long getting here with sheets
slacked away."
"It won't change," said Jimmy. "Look at your glass. That rise means
northerly weather."
The canner appeared to consider. "Well," he said, "I gave you a few
cases once or twice, and, though we have an arrangement with Merril, I
can fill you up one hatch now at the rate you fixed."
"I can't trade on those terms. The rate in question was a special cut.
We made it to get in ahead of Merril; but when the time came, you didn't
give us an opportunity for tendering for your carrying. In fact, I hear
he's getting more than I did. That, however, does not directly concern
me, and you no doubt understand your own business; but I should like to
mention that the _Agapomene_'s skipper will not wait a day longer than
next Thursday."
The canner looked hard at him. "You will excuse my asking if that is a
sure thing?"
"You mean am I talking quite straight?" and a suggestive dryness crept
into Jimmy's tone. "I can only say that the man, who did not know I was
coming here, assured me of it just before I went to sea. It would, of
course, be easy for you to wait and find out whether you could believe
me. Only the fact that you had done so would naturally place you in a
difficulty, since the _Agapomene_ would have gone to sea, and there
isn't another vessel offering."
"Well?" said the canner.
Jimmy smiled at him. "I want two things--every case you have ready, and
a rate equal to what you're giving Merril. It is not very much, after
all. As you know, since Merril's schooners can't get here until there is
a change of wind, I could strike you for double."
The canner sat silent a moment or two, and then laughed good-humoredly.
"To be quite straight, the last was what I expected. Now, I'm not the
only man in this concern, and the people who have the most say are, as
usual, in Victoria. I know why they made the deal with Merril, and
while, as you say, that does not concern you, it didn't quite please me.
Anyway, he hasn't kept his arrangement, and has put the screw on us in
several ways; so if you'll warp your boat in we'll heave the cases into
her. There's just another thing. Come back when you lighten her, and if
this run of fish lasts I'll do what I can to make it worth your while."
Jimmy thanked him, and went out to bring the _Shasta_ alongside the
little wharf, after which he went to sleep, though almost every other
man on board was kept busy stowing salmon-cases all that night.
It happened that during the earlier hours of it several irate gentlemen
who had the control of a good deal of money sat in conclave in Merril's
house, which stood just outside the city limits of Vancouver. It was a
tastefully furnished room in which they sat, and nobody could have found
fault with the wine and cigars on the table, but as it happened both
these facts irritated one of the gentlemen.
"I feel tempted to talk quite straight, and I expect you'll understand
me, Merril, when I say that you don't seem to have had your usual luck
over this wood-pulp deal," he said. "In a general way, it's the other
people who take a hand in your ventures who feel the pinch when things
don't quite work out right, but in this case you have got to bear it
with the rest of us."
Merril, who lay in a big lounge chair, little, portly, and immaculately
dressed, looked up at him quietly. "If it's any consolation to you, I'm
holding as much stock as the rest of you put together. The thing hits me
rather hard, but, as you say, we can only stand up under it--that is, if
the appropriation grants are thrown out by the House."
"They will be," said another man. "Anyway, the road-making in which we
are interested comes under a clause that will be struck off in
Committee. It's a sure thing. I can't quite blame the Legislature,
either, after the admissions made by the district member. He has gone
back on you, Merril. You told us you were sure of him."
Merril smiled curiously. "Well," he said, "it's a little difficult to be
sure of anything, and as the man will be here very shortly you can talk
to him yourself. That, however, will not straighten anything out. The
question is, what is to be done about the wagon-road?"
"Build it ourselves," said another man. "It's either that or let the
mill go, and, considering the money I've put in, I'm for holding on.
Still, it will practically mean doubling our capital."
Merril nodded quietly, and nobody could have told that to raise the sum
required would be singularly inconvenient to him. "At least!" he said.
"You can't get it from outsiders, either. All the money in this Province
is in mines and mills; and bank interest's ruinous."
"Well," said one of the others, "I guess you don't expect us to feel
obliged to you. There isn't any probability of those road-making
appropriations getting passed."
"You'll know when Shafleton comes," said Merril dryly. "Somebody was to
wire him as soon as the result was known in the House. He came across
from Victoria this afternoon, and should be on his way from Westminster
now."
They discussed the wagon-road, growing more and more impatient all the
time, while an hour dragged by, and then two of them rose to their feet
as a man, who appeared somewhat ill at ease, was shown in. The rest,
including Merril, sat still and looked at him. He waved one hand as
though disclaiming all responsibility and laid a telegram on the table.
"That's all I can tell you, gentlemen. I'm sorry, but it can't be
helped," he said.
One of them took up the message, and when he passed it to his comrades
the storm broke.
"You practically asked them to vote no more money, in your last speech,"
said Merril.
"Played us for--suckers!" said another man, while a third struck the
table with his clenched fist.
"Leslie's right. The straight fact is that we're fooled," he said.
It was significant that nobody had asked the member of the Provincial
Legislature to sit down, and he leaned on the arm of a big lounge as
though he required support, and blinked at them.
"Well," he said, "when I first saw you about it I was willing to do what
I could, but on going further into the thing I found it couldn't be
considered quite in line with the interests of the country."
One of them laughed aloud, sardonically, and Merril's face contorted
into an unpleasant smile.
"It's rather a pity you didn't make sure of that before you took what we
offered you," he said.
The baited man turned to them appealingly. "You know what I promised. I
would support the bridge-building and road-making policy as long as I
considered it in line with the interests of the country."
The man who had struck the table shook his fist at him. "---- the
interests of the country. You know what you meant, and you got your
price," he said.
"That remark," said Merril, "is quite warranted. Mr. Shafleton made a
perfectly understood bargain--and he got his price. It is also likely
that he would never have been elected if we had not set certain
influences to work. Owing to the Government's finding a change of policy
convenient, he has not kept his bargain. The question, however, is
how----"
One of the men who was standing up looked around just then.
"I guess it might be as well to have that door shut," he said.
"If you wish," said Merril. "Still, there is nobody in this part of the
house."
"Well," said the other man, who crossed the room, "I fancied I heard
somebody a moment or two ago."
He closed the door, and when he sat down Merril commenced again, and the
member of the Provincial Legislature had to listen to a good many things
that did not please him. The rest also spoke bitterly, in lower tones
now; but it was in one respect unfortunate they had not displayed that
caution earlier, for the man who had fancied he heard a footstep was, as
it happened, not mistaken.