PLANS AND OTHER PLANS
A quarter after nine the next morning found Griffith at the door of Mr.
Leslie's sanctum. He stuffed his gauntlet gloves into a pocket of his
old fur coat, and entered the office, his worn, dark eyes vague with
habitual abstraction.
Mr. Leslie was in the midst of his phonographic dictation. He abruptly
stopped the machine and whirled about in his swivel-chair to face the
engineer.
"Sit down," he said. "How's the Zariba Dam?"
"No progress," answered Griffith with terse precision. He sat down with
an air of complete absorption in the act, drew out an old knife and his
pipe, and observed: "You didn't send for me for that."
"How's the bridge?"
"Same," croaked the engineer, beginning to scrape out the bowl of his
pipe with the one unbroken blade of his knife.
"That young fool still running around town?"
"Can't say. It'd be a good thing to have him do it all the time if work
was going on. Had a letter from McGraw, that man I put in as general
foreman. He says everything is frozen up tight; may keep so for two
weeks or more."
"You've laid off most the force?"
"No, not even the Slovaks."
Mr. Leslie frowned. "Two or three weeks at full pay, and no work?
That's an item."
"Hard enough to hold together a competent force on such winter work as
that," rejoined Griffith. "Almost impossible with your kid-glove
Resident Engineer. I've said nothing all this time; but he's made some
of my best men quit--bridge workers that've stayed by me for years.
Said they couldn't stand for his damned swell-headedness, not even to
oblige me."
"Well, well, I leave it to you. Do the best you can. It's a bad
bargain, but we've got to go through with it. Only time the young fool
ever showed a glimmer of sense was when he had his father's lawyers
drew his contract with me. My lawyers can't find a flaw in it."
"Not even diamond cut diamond, eh?" cackled Griffith. He ceased
scraping at his pipe to peer inquisitively into the bowl. "What I've
never been able to figure out is how he happened to solve the problem
of that central span. Don't think you've ever realized what a wonderful
piece of work that was. It's something new. Must have been a happy
accident--must have come to him in what I'd call a flash of intuition
or genius. He sure hadn't it in him to work such a thing out in cold
blood."
"Genius?--_pah!_" scoffed Mr. Leslie.
"Hey?" queried Griffith, glancing up sharply. "What else, then?"
"I've recently been given reason to suspect--" began Mr. Leslie. He
paused, hesitated, and refrained. "But we'll talk of that later. First,
my reason for sending for you. I understand that you know this man
Blake, who, unfortunately, was the person that saved my daughter."
Griffith replied with rather more than his usual dryness. "If I've got
a correct estimate of what Miss Leslie had to be pulled through, it's
lucky that Tom Blake was the man."
"You've a higher opinion of him than I have."
"We've worked together."
"He's in your office now," snapped Mr. Leslie.
"Yes, and he stays there long as he wants," rejoined Griffith in a
quiet matter-of-fact tone. "It's your privilege to hire another
consulting engineer."
Mr. Leslie brought his shaggy eyebrows together in a perplexed frown.
"Must say, I can't understand how the fellow makes such friends. Your
case is hardly less puzzling than that of the Earl of Avondale."
"Hey? Oh, you mean young Scarbridge. He seems to be one of the right
sort--even if he _is_ the son of a duke. But if Tommy hadn't introduced
him as a friend--"
"We're talking about Blake," interrupted Mr. Leslie. "I want your help."
"Well?" asked Griffith warily.
"He has put me under obligations, and refuses to accept any reward from
me. It's intolerable!"
"Won't accept anything, eh? Well, if he says he won't, he won't. No use
butting your head against a concrete wall."
"He's a fool!"
"I'd hardly agree as to that. He doesn't always do as people expect him
to. Same time, he usually has a reason."
"But for him to refuse to take either cash or a position!"
"I notice, though, he drew his pay-check for the Q. T. survey. No;
Tommy isn't altogether a fool--not altogether."
"Twenty-five-thousand-dollar position!" rasped Mr. Leslie.
"Hey?"
"Offered him that, and--"
"You offered him--?" echoed Griffith, his lean, creased face almost
grotesque with astonishment.
"Think I don't value my daughter's life?" snapped Mr. Leslie. "I was
ready to do that and far more for him. He refused--not only refused but
insulted me."
Griffith peered intently into the angry face of his employer. "Insulted
you, eh? Guess you prodded him up first."
"I admit I had rather misjudged him in some respects."
"So you gave him the gaff, eh?--and got it back harder!" cackled
Griffith.
"He shall be compelled to accept what I owe him, indirectly, if not
directly. You have given him work?"
"Yes."
"You've, of course, told him that I'm the Coville Construction Company."
"Not yet."
"What! You're certain of that?"
Griffith nodded. "He sailed into me, first thing, for taking work from
you. To ease him off, I said the Coville Company had taken over the
bridge from you. The matter hasn't happened to come up again since."
"You're certain he doesn't know I'm interested in the company?"
"Not unless somebody else has told him."
"Then--let's see-- We'll appoint him Assistant Resident Engineer on
the bridge."
"He'll not take it under young Ashton."
"Not if his salary is put at twenty-five thousand?"
"As Assistant Engineer?" said Griffith, incredulous.
"You'll be too busy with my other projects to keep up these visits to
Michamac. Besides, you said the bridge is coming to the crucial point
of construction."
"That central span," confirmed Griffith.
"If you consider Blake sufficiently reliable, you can give him detailed
instructions and send him up to take charge."
"How about Ashton's contract?"
"He'll be satisfied with the glory. Reports will continue to name him
as Resident Engineer. If he won't listen to reason, I'll ask his father
to drop him a line. The young fool has had his allowance cut twice
already. He'd consider his pay as engineer a bare pittance."
"Heir to the Ashton millions, eh?" croaked Griffith.
"If I know George Ashton, he has a good safe will drawn, providing that
his fortune is to be held in trust. That fool boy won't have any chance
to squander more than his allowance,--and he won't keep me now from
paying off this obligation to Blake."
"Perhaps not. I'm not so sure, though, that Tom will--One thing's
certain. He won't go up to Michamac right away."
"He won't? Why not? It's just the time for him to get the run of
things, now while there's no work going on."
"He'd catch on quick enough. It's not that. Fact is, he's got hold of
something a lot bigger, and I know he'll not quit till he has either
won out or it has downed him. Never knew of but one thing that ever
downed him."
Mr. Leslie glared at the engineer, his face reddening with rage.
"Something bigger!" he repeated. "So the fellow has bragged about it!"
Griffith stared back, perplexed by the other's sudden heat. "Guess
we've got our wires crossed," he said. "I told him, of course. He
didn't know anything about it."
"What you talking about?" demanded Mr. Leslie, puzzled in turn.
"The Zariba Dam."
"That!" exclaimed Mr. Leslie, and his face cleared. "H'm,--what about
the dam?"
"I had about thrown it up. I'm giving Tom a go at it."
Mr. Leslie's eyebrows bristled in high curves.
"What! wasting time with a man like that? If _you've_ given it up,
we'll try England or Europe."
"No use. Plenty of good men over there. They can give us pointers on
some things. But if they've ever done anything just like this Zariba
Dam, they've kept it out of print."
"But an unknown second-rate engineer!"
"That's what's said of every first-rater till he gets his chance."
"You're serious?"
"I don't guarantee he can do it. I do say, I won't be any too surprised
if he pulls it off. It's a thing that calls for invention. He'll swear
he hasn't an ounce of it in him--says he just happens to blunder on
things, or applies what he has picked up. All gas! He once showed me
some musty old drawings that made it look like one of his grandfathers
ought to be credited with the basic inventions of a dozen machines that
to-day are making the owners of the patent-rights rich. Guess some of
that grandfather's bump can be located on Tom's head."
"Inventor--h'm--inventor!" muttered Mr. Leslie half to himself. "That
puts rather a different face on that bridge matter."
"As how?" casually asked Griffith, beginning to scrape afresh at his
pipe-bowl.
Mr. Leslie considered, and replied with another question: "At the time
of the competition in plans for the bridge, did you know that Blake was
to be a contestant?"
"He writes letters about as often as a hen gets a tooth pulled. But I
got a letter the time you mention,--a dozen lines or so, with another
added, saying that he was in for a whirl at the Michamac cantilever."
"You've shown him Ashton's bridge plans?"
"Not yet. He's been too busy on the Zariba field books."
"You've seen his own plans for the bridge?"
"No. They were lost."
"The originals, I mean--his preliminary copy. He must have kept
something."
"Yes. But I guess they're pretty wet by now," replied Griffith, his
face crackling with dry humor. "They're aboard that steamer, down on
the African coast. If you want to see them, you might finance a
wrecking expedition. But Tom says she went down mast-under, and there
are plenty of sharks nosing along the coral reef."
Mr. Leslie winced at the word _sharks_, and reluctantly admitted: "I've
had a long talk with my daughter. He played the part of a man. I
acknowledge that I've held a strong prejudice against him. It seems,
however, that in part I've been mistaken."
"Now you're talking, Mr. Leslie!"
"Only in part, I say--about his lost bridge plans. I had thought he was
trying to blackmail me."
"More apt to be a black eye, if you let him know you thought that," was
Griffith's dry comment.
"He came near to resorting to violence. As I look at it now, I can't
say I blame him. Those bridge plans, though--Knowing this about his
inventiveness, has it not occurred to you that his plans may not have
been lost, after all?"
"Look here, Mr. Leslie," said Griffith, rising with the angularity of a
jumping-jack, "we've rubbed along pretty smooth since we got together
last year; but Tom Blake is my friend."
"Sit down! _sit_ down!" insisted Mr. Leslie. "You ought to see by this
time that I'm trying to prove myself anything but an enemy to him."
Griffith sat down and began mechanically to load his pipe with the
formidable Durham. Mr. Leslie put the tips of his fingers together,
coughed, and went on in a lowered tone. "Those plans disappeared. His
charge was preposterous, ridiculous--_as against me_. Yet if the plans
were not lost, what became of them? He told me yesterday that he
himself handed them to the person who was at that time acting as my
secretary. You catch the point?"
"Um-m," grunted Griffith, his face as emotionless as a piece of
crackled wood.
"Young Ashton was my secretary. He resigned the next day. Said he had
been secretly working on plans for the Michamac cantilever; thought he
had solved the problem of the central span; might go ahead and put in
his plans if none of the competitors were awarded the bridge. Within a
month he did put in plans."
"Well?" queried Griffith.
"Don't you make the connection?" demanded Mr. Leslie. "Blake handed his
plans to Ashton, and took no receipt. The plans disappeared. Ashton
leaves; comes back in a month with plans that he hasn't the skill to
apply in the construction of the bridge--plans include an entirely new
modification of bridge trusses--stroke of inventive genius, you called
it."
Griffith's lean jaw dropped. "You--you don't mean to say he--the son of
George Ashton--that he could--God A'mighty, he's heir to twenty
millions!"
"You don't believe it? Suppose you knew he was about to be cut off
without a cent? George had stood about all he could from the young
fool. Those bridge plans came in just in time to prevent the drawing of
a new will."
The hand in which Griffith held his pipe shook as if he had been seized
with a fever chill, but his voice was dry and emotionless. "That
accounts for those queer slips and errors in the plans. He couldn't
even make an accurate copy, and was too much afraid of being found out
to take time to check Tom's drawings. Jammed them into his fireplace
soon's he'd finished. The thief!--the infernal thief!--the--!" Griffith
spat out a curse that made even Mr. Leslie start.
"Good Lord, Griffith," he remonstrated. "That's the first time I ever
heard you swear."
"I keep it for _dirt_! ... Well, what you going to do about it?"
"I am going to have you show Ashton's plans to Blake. If he recognizes
them as a copy of his own--"
"Better get ready to ship Laffie out of the country. Once saw Tom
manhandle a brute who was beating his wife--one of those husky saloon
bouncers. The wife had a month's nursing to do. Tom will pound
that--that sneak to pulp."
"Show him the plans. If he recognizes them, I'll let the thief know he
has been found out. He'll run, and we'll be rid of him without any
scandal. We'll arrange for Blake to get the credit for the bridge,
after a time. George Ashton and I are rather close together. I don't
want him to be hit harder than's necessary."
"Say, Mr. Leslie, I don't mind admitting you _are_ square!" exclaimed
Griffith. "You don't like Tom, and you know he hasn't a line of proof.
It would be only his word against Laffie's. Unknown engineer trying to
blackmail the son of George Ashton. You know what would be said."
"I told you, I owe him a debt. I intend to pay it in full."
"One thing though," cautioned Griffith. "Even a cornered rat will
fight. There's the chance that Laffie may not run. He'd be a drivelling
idiot if he did, with his father's millions at stake. Don't forget
we've no proof. It won't look even possible to outsiders. Suppose I
hold off showing Tom those plans till we see if he can make it on the
Zariba Dam? If he pulls that off, no engineer in the U. S. will doubt
his claims to the bridge."
"That means a delay," said Mr. Leslie irritably. "My first plan was to
send Blake to Michamac at once."
"Lord! With one cantilever finished and the other out to the central
span--if it's Tom's bridge, he'd recognize it as quick as his plans.
And if he did--well, I'd not answer for what would happen to that damn
thief."
"H'm--perhaps you're right," considered Mr. Leslie. He thought a
moment, and added with quick decision, "Very well. Keep him on at the
dam. What are you paying him?"
"Two hundred."
"Double it."
"No go. He'd suspect something."
"Suspect, would he? H'm--several expert engineers have failed on that
dam. If it can be put through, the project will net me a half-million.
Ten per cent of my profits might stimulate you engineers. I offer fifty
thousand dollars as reward to the man who solves the problem of the
Zariba Dam."
"Say, that's going some!" commented Griffith.
"Plain business proposition. If I can't get it done for wages, it is
cheaper to pay a bonus than to have the project fail."
"Good way to put it," admitted Griffith. "Don't just know, though, what
I'll do with all that money."
"You? Thought you said that Blake--"
"D'you suppose he'd take a cent of it? He's working for me."
"But if he does the work?"
"He might accept the credit. The cash would come to me, if he had to
cram it down my throat. He won't touch your money."
"Crazy fool!" rasped Mr. Leslie. Again he paused to consider, and again
he spoke with quick decision. "The Coville Company takes over the
project. I don't believe the dam can be built; I'm tired of the whole
thing. So I unload on the Coville Company. You see? The company offers
the fifty thousand bonus as a last hope. It hires Blake direct on some
of its routine work. You insist that he try for the dam, between times."
"That's the ticket!" said Griffith. "We'll try it on him."
"Then call by the Coville office. I'll phone over for them to have the
transfer made and a letter waiting for you," said Mr. Leslie, and he
jerked out his watch.
Griffith rose at the signal. He fumbled for a moment with his hat and
gloves, and spoke with a queer catch in his voice. "I'd like to--let
you know how I--appreciate--"
"No call for it! no call for it!" broke in Mr. Leslie. "Good-day!"
He whirled about to his desk and caught up the receiver of one of his
private-line telephones.