The five o'clock whistle had sounded, and Peterson sat on the bench inside
the office door, while Bannon washed his hands in the tin basin. The
twilight was already settling; within the shanty, whose dirty, small-paned
windows served only to indicate the lesser darkness without, a wall lamp,
set in a dull reflector, threw shadows into the corners.
"You're, coming up with me, ain't you?" said Peterson. "I don't believe
you'll get much to eat. Supper's just the pickings from dinner."
"Well, the dinner was all right. But I wish you had a bigger bed. I ain't
slept for two nights."
"What was the matter?"
"I was on the sleeper last night; and I didn't get in from the Duluth job
till seven o'clock Saturday night, and Brown was after me before I'd got
my supper. Those fellows at the office wouldn't let a man sleep at all if
they could help it. Here I'd been working like a nigger 'most five months
on the Duluth house--and the last three weeks running night shifts and
Sundays; didn't stop to eat, half the time--and what does Brown do but--
'Well,' he says, 'how're you feeling, Charlie?' 'Middling,' said I. 'Are
you up to a little job tomorrow?' 'What's that?' I said. 'Seems to me if
I've got to go down to the Calumet job Sunday night I might have an hour
or so at home.' 'Well, Charlie,' he says, 'I'm mighty sorry, but you see
we've been putting in a big rope drive on a water-power plant over at
Stillwater. We got the job on the high bid,' he says, 'and we agreed to
have it running on Monday morning. It'll play the devil with us if we
can't make good.' 'What's the matter?' said I. 'Well,' he says, 'Murphy's
had the job and has balled himself up.'"
By this time the two men had their coats on, and were outside the
building.
"Let's see," said Bannon, "we go this way, don't we?"
"Yes."
There was still the light, flying flakes of snow, and the biting wind that
came sweeping down from the northwest. The two men crossed the siding,
and, picking their way between the freight cars on the Belt Line tracks,
followed the path that wound across the stretch of dusty meadow.
"Go ahead," said Peterson; "you was telling about Murphy."
"Well, that was the situation. I could see that Brown was up on his hind
legs about it, but it made me tired, all the same. Of course the job had
to be done, but I wasn't letting him have any satisfaction. I told him he
ought to give it to somebody else, and he handed me a lot of stuff about
my experience. Finally I said: 'You come around in the morning, Mr. Brown.
I ain't had any sleep to speak of for three weeks. I lost thirty-two
pounds,' I said, 'and I ain't going to be bothered tonight.' Well, sir, he
kind of shook his head, but he went away, and I got to thinking about it.
Long about half-past seven I went down and got a time-table. There was a
train to Stillwater at eight-forty-two."
"That night?"
"Sure. I went over to the shops with an express wagon and got a thousand
feet of rope--had it in two coils so I could handle it--and just made the
train. It was a mean night. There was some rain when I started, but you
ought to have seen it when I got to Stillwater--it was coming down in
layers, and mud that sucked your feet down halfway to your knees. There
wasn't a wagon anywhere around the station, and the agent wouldn't lift a
finger. It was blind dark. I walked off the end of the platform, and went
plump into a mudhole. I waded up as far as the street crossing, where
there was an electric light, and ran across a big lumber yard, and hung
around until I found the night watchman. He was pretty near as mean as the
station agent, but he finally let me have a wheelbarrow for half a dollar,
and told me how to get to the job.
"He called it fifty rods, but it was a clean mile if it was a step, and
most of the way down the track, I wheeled her back to the station, got the
rope, and started out. Did you ever try to shove two five hundred foot
coils over a mile of crossties? Well, that's what I did. I scraped off as
much mud as I could, so I could lift my feet, and bumped over those ties
till I thought the teeth were going to be jarred clean out of me. After I
got off the track there was a stretch of mud that left the road by the
station up on dry land.
"There was a fool of a night watchman at the power plant--I reckon he
thought I was going to steal the turbines, but he finally let me in, and I
set him to starting up the power while I cleaned up Murphy's job and put
in the new rope."
"All by yourself?" asked Peterson.
"Sure thing. Then I got her going and she worked smooth as grease. When we
shut down and I came up to wash my hands, it was five minutes of three. I
said, 'Is there a train back to Minneapolis before very long?' 'Yes,' says
the watchman, 'the fast freight goes through a little after three.' 'How
much after?' I said. 'Oh,' he says, 'I couldn't say exactly. Five or eight
minutes, I guess.' I asked when the next train went, and he said there
wasn't a regular passenger till six-fifty-five. Well, sir, maybe you think
I was going to wait four hours in that hole! I went out of that building
to beat the limited--never thought of the wheelbarrow till I was halfway
to the station. And there was some of the liveliest stepping you ever saw.
Couldn't see a thing except the light on the rails from the arc lamp up by
the station. I got about halfway there--running along between the rails--
and banged into a switch--knocked me seven ways for Sunday. Lost my hat
picking myself up, and couldn't stop to find it."
Peterson turned in toward one of a long row of square frame houses.
"Here we are," he said. As they went up the stairs he asked: "Did you make
the train?"
"Caught the caboose just as she was swinging out. They dumped me out in
the freight yards, and I didn't get home till 'most five o'clock. I went
right to bed, and along about eight o'clock Brown came in and woke me up.
He was feeling pretty nervous. 'Say, Charlie,' he said, 'ain't it time for
you to be starting?' 'Where to?' said I. 'Over to Stillwater,' he said.
'There ain't any getting out of it. That drive's got to be running
tomorrow.' 'That's all right,' said I, 'but I'd like to know if I can't
have one day's rest between jobs--Sunday, too. And I lost thirty-two
pounds.' Well, sir, he didn't know whether to get hot or not. I guess he
thought himself they were kind of rubbing it in. 'Look here,' he said,
'are you going to Stillwater, or ain't you?' 'No,' said I, 'I ain't. Not
for a hundred rope drives.' Well, he just got up and took his hat and
started out. 'Mr. Brown,' I said, when he was opening the door, 'I lost my
hat down at Stillwater last night. I reckon the office ought to stand for
it.' He turned around and looked queer, and then he grinned. 'So you went
over?' he said. 'I reckon I did,' said I. 'What kind of a hat did you
lose?' he asked, and he grinned again. 'I guess it was a silk one, wasn't
it?' 'Yes,' said I, 'a silk hat--something about eight dollars.'"
"Did he mean he'd give you a silk hat?" asked Peterson.
"Couldn't say."
They were sitting in the ten-by-twelve room that Peterson rented for a
dollar a week. Bannon had the one chair, and was sitting tipped back
against the washstand. Peterson sat on the bed. Bannon had thrown his
overcoat over the foot of the bed, and had dropped his bag on the floor by
the window.
"Ain't it time to eat, Pete?" he said.
"Yes, there's the bell."
The significance of Bannon's arrival, and the fact that he was planning to
stay, was slow in coming to Peterson. After supper, when they had returned
to the room, his manner showed constraint. Finally he said:--
"Is there any fuss up at the office?"
"What about?"
"Why--do they want to rush the job or something?"
"Well, we haven't got such a lot of time. You see, it's November already."
"What's the hurry all of a sudden? They didn't say nothing to me."
"I guess you haven't been crowding it very hard, have you?"
Peterson flushed.
"I've been working harder than I ever did before," he said. "If it wasn't
for the cribbing being held up like this, I'd 'a' had the cupola half done
before now. I've been playing in hard luck."
Bannon was silent for a moment, then he said:--
"How long do you suppose it would take to get the cribbing down from
Ledyard?"
"Not very long if it was rushed, I should think--a couple of days, or
maybe three. And they'll rush it all right when they can get the cars. You
see, it's only ten or eleven hours up there, passenger schedule; and they
could run it right in on the job over the Belt Line."
"It's the Belt Line that crosses the bridge, is it?"
"Yes."
Bannon spread his legs apart and drummed on the front of his chair.
"What's the other line?" he asked--"the four track line?"
"That's the C. & S. C. We don't have nothing to do with them."
They were both silent for a time. The flush had not left Peterson's face.
His eyes were roving over the carpet, lifting now and then to Bannon's
face with a quick glance.
"Guess I'll shave," said Bannon. "Do you get hot water here?"
"Why, I don't know," replied Peterson. "I generally use cold water. The
folks here ain't very obliging. Kind o' poor, you know."
Bannon was rummaging in his grip for his shaving kit.
"You never saw a razor like that, Pete," he said. "Just heft it once."
"Light, ain't it," said Peterson, taking it in his hand.
"You bet it's light. And look here"--he reached for it and drew it back
and forth over the palm of his hand--"that's the only stropping I ever
give it."
"Don't you have to hone it?"
"No, sir; it's never been touched to a stone or leather. You just get up
and try it once. Those whiskers of yours won't look any the worse for a
chopping."
Peterson laughed, and lathered his face, while Bannon put an edge on the
razor, testing it with a hair.
"Say, that's about the best yet," said Peterson, after the first stroke.
"You're right it is."
Bannon looked on for a few minutes, then he took a railroad "Pathfinder"
from his grip and rapidly turned the pages. Peterson saw it in the mirror,
and asked, between strokes:--
"What are you going to do?"
"Looking up trains."
While Peterson was splashing in the washbowl, Bannon took his turn at the
mirror.
"How's the Duluth job getting on?" asked Peterson, when Bannon had
finished, and was wiping his razor.
"All right--'most done. Just a little millwright work left, and some
cleaning up."
"There ain't any marine leg on the house, is there?"
"No."
"How big a house is it?"
"Eight hundred thousand bushels."
"That so? Ain't half as big as this one, is it?"
"Guess not. Built for the same people, though, Page & Company."
"They must be going in pretty heavy."
"They are. There's a good deal of talk about it. Some of the boys up at
the office say there's going to be fun with December wheat before they get
through with it. It's been going up pretty steadily since the end of
September--it was seventy-four and three-eighths Saturday in Minneapolis.
It ain't got up quite so high down here yet, but the boys say there's
going to be a lot of money in it for somebody."
"Be a kind of a good thing to get in on, eh?" said Peterson, cautiously.
"Maybe, for those that like to put money in wheat. I've got no money for
that sort of thing myself."
"Yes, of course," was Peterson's quick reply. "A fellow doesn't want to
run them kind o' chances. I don't believe in it myself."
"The fact's this,--and this is just between you and me, mind you; I don't
know anything about it, it's only what I think,--somebody's buying a lot
of December wheat, or the price wouldn't keep going up. And I've got a
notion that, whoever he is, it's Page & Company that's selling it to him.
That's just putting two and two together, you see. It's the real grain
that the Pages handle, and if they sell to a man it means that they're
going to make a mighty good try at unloading it on him and making him pay
for it. That's all I know about it. I see the Pages selling--or what looks
mighty like it--and I see them beginning to look around and talk on the
quiet about crowding things a little on their new houses, and it just
strikes me that there's likely to be a devil of a lot of wheat coming into
Chicago before the year runs out; and if that's so, why, there's got to be
a place to put it when it gets here."
"Do they have to have an elevator to put it in?" asked Peterson. "Can't
they deliver it in the cars? I don't know much about that side of the
business."
"I should say not. The Board of Trade won't recognize grain as delivered
until it has been inspected and stored in a registered house."
"When would the house have to be ready?"
"Well, if I'm right, if they're going to put December wheat in this house,
they'll have to have it in before the last day of December."
"We couldn't do that," said Peterson, "if the cribbing was here."
Bannon, who had stretched out on the bed, swung his feet around and sat
up. The situation was not easy, but he had been sent to Calumet to get the
work done in time, and he meant to do it.
"Now, about this cribbing, Pete," he said; "we've got to have it before we
can touch the annex?"
"I guess that's about it," Peterson replied.
"I've been figuring a little on this bill. I take it there's something
over two million feet altogether. Is that right?"
"It's something like that. Couldn't say exactly. Max takes care of the
lumber."
Bannon's brows came together.
"You ought to know a little more about this yourself, Pete. You're the man
that's building the house."
"I guess I've been pushing it along as well as any one could," said
Peterson, sullenly.
"That's all right. I ain't hitting at you. I'm talking business, that's
all. Now, if Vogel's right, this cribbing ought to have been here fourteen
days ago--fourteen days tomorrow."
Peterson nodded.
"That's just two weeks of lost time. How've you been planning to make that
up?"
"Why--why--I reckon I can put things together soon's I get the cribbing."
"Look here, Pete. The office has contracted to get this house done by a
certain date. They've got to pay $750 for every day that we run over that
date. There's no getting out of that, cribbing or no cribbing. When
they're seeing ten or twenty thousand dollars slipping out of their hands,
do you think they're going to thank you for telling 'em that the G.&M.
railroad couldn't get cars? They don't care what's the matter--all they
want of you is to do the work on time."
"Now, look here, Charlie--"
"Hold on, Pete. Don't get mad. It's facts, that's all. Here's these two
weeks gone. You see that, all right enough. Now, the way this work's laid
out, a man's got to make every day count right from the start if he wants
to land on his feet when the house is done. Maybe you think somebody up in
the sky is going to hand you down a present of two extra weeks so the lost
time won't count. That would be all right, only it ain't very likely to
happen."
"Well," said Peterson, "what are you getting at? What do you want me to
do? Perhaps you think it's easy."
"No, I don't. But I'll tell you what to do. In the first place you want to
quit this getting out on the job and doing a laborer's work. The office is
paying out good money to the men that should do that. You know how to lay
a corbel, but just now you couldn't tell me how much cribbing was coming.
You're paid to direct this whole job and to know all about it, not to lay
corbels. If you put in half a day swinging a sledge out there on the
spouting house, how're you going to know that the lumber bills tally, and
the carpenters ain't making mistakes, and that the timber's piled right.
Here today you had a dozen men throwing away their time moving a lot of
timber that ought to have been put in the right place when it first came
in."
Peterson was silent.
"Now tomorrow, Pete, as soon as you've got the work moving along, you'd
better go over to the electric light company and see about having the
whole ground wired for arc lamps,--so we can be ready to put on a night
shift the minute the cribbing comes in. You want to crowd 'em, too. They
ought to have it ready in two days."
Bannon sat for a moment, then he arose and looked at his watch.
"I'm going to leave you, Pete," he said, as he put on his collar.
"Where're you going?"
"I've got to get up to the city to make the ten o'clock train. I'm going
up to Ledyard to get the cribbing. Be back in a couple of days."
He threw his shaving kit into his grip, put on his overcoat, said
good-night, and went out.