JUST IN TIME
“Thank you,” said Ben.
“Don’t mention it,” responded Jasper Saxton.
The manufacturer turned from Ben with a decided expression of relief
on his face. He acted like a man who had got off cheaply.
It was in Ben’s mind to ask Mr. Saxton if he “was to keep all of
the twenty-five cents,” but sarcasm was not Ben’s forte. He was too
ingenious to cherish resentment against either friend or enemy. Ben
simply pocketed the coin. He concealed a smile of comicality. The
situation, displaying Jasper Saxton’s usual meanness, rather tickled
him.
He was about to turn and leave the office when an extraordinary
movement on the part of Saxton enchained his attention. The latter
with something between a growl and a yell had described an active
jump. He landed up against a parcel bench on which lay a variety of
small machine parts, bagged and ready for shipment.
“What! hasn’t that gone yet?” he shouted, his hand closing over a
small steel section of some machine weighing about ten pounds.
“Oh, dear me!” exclaimed the bookkeeper, “I was just going to wrap
that up and send it when the shop began to shake. I’ll attend to it
immediately, sir.”
“Immediately!” howled Saxton, as the bookkeeper fumbled over twine
and wrapping paper—“why, it’s special. Do you understand that? The
man it is for is expecting it at the depot. He is to leave on the
five o’clock train, and it’s—seven minutes of five now!” yelled the
manufacturer, glancing at his watch. “Here, wrap it quick, and send
the office boy kiting with it fast as you can.”
“Dan has gone for the mail, sir,” said the office man.
“Then hustle with it yourself,” ordered Saxton.
“You forget that I am lame,” submitted the bookkeeper reproachfully.
“It’s got to go,” stormed the manufacturer. “Hold on, there.”
He shouted these last words at Ben just as the latter was about to
leave the office.
“Yes, sir!” said Ben inquiringly.
“I’ve paid you that money, you know—you’ll do a little extra job,
hey?”
“With pleasure,” answered Ben, with his usual bright accommodating
smile.
“That’s a good boy,” said Mr. Saxton. “Hustle, now,” to his
bookkeeper.
Ben stood awaiting the package from the nervous fingers of the office
employee. He was more amused than disappointed in the narrow view
Mr. Saxton took of things in general. The quarter of a dollar and
the “extra job,” as he designated it, were characteristic of the
tight-fisted manufacturer. His treatment of Ben had been of a piece
awarded Mr. Hardy, and Ben was not much surprised.
The Saxton Automobile Works was doing a large and growing business,
but it was not his own business ability, as the self-centered
manufacturer imagined, that had brought about all this progress and
prosperity. Mr. Hardy had designed the Estrelle auto. The Saxton
Company never gave him credit for this. Ben’s father was more of an
inventor than a business man, and he had never protected himself as a
shrewder man might have done.
He was a valuable workman in the Saxton service and received very
good pay. Ben, however, had always thought that his father should
have been given more credit and money that he really got.
Ben’s mother had often talked to her husband about this. Finally
Mr. Hardy had gone to Mr. Saxton and had put the case before him.
Nearly all the new and popular points about the Estrelle machine
were inventions of Mr. Hardy. Jasper Saxton did not deny this,
but he proposed that the patents be taken out in his own name.
In an indefinite way he agreed to make some kind of an equitable
settlement with his employer as soon as the rush season was over.
Mr. Hardy asked for a memorandum of the agreement.
To this Mr. Saxton reluctantly consented after a great deal of delay.
Mr. Hardy placed the precious document in his coat pocket. When he
went back to work he hung up his coat in its usual place. When he got
home that night the written agreement was missing.
An unavailing search was made for the document. Then in a day or two
Mr. Hardy went back to his employer and related the circumstances,
asking for a new copy of the agreement.
Mr. Saxton put him off on the pretext of being very busy. Then, when
urged by Mrs. Hardy and Ben, the head machinist again approached
Jasper Saxton, the latter told him that if he would wait till the
active selling season was over and he could get at his books, they
would go together to a lawyer and have a contract drawn up in due
legal form.
Mr. Hardy was easily satisfied and rested content with this promise.
His heart was in his work. When Ben intimated that he was dealing
with a man with a general reputation for business slipperiness, his
father told him that it would come out all right. He was sanguine
that Mr. Saxton would do the liberal thing by him as soon as the
selling season was over.
“Here you are,” said the bookkeeper, at last completing the packing
of the steel fittings.
“Where am I to deliver it?” inquired Ben, accepting the parcel.
“Name’s on the bag,” explained Jasper Saxton hurriedly.
Ben glanced at the bag and read the name: “John R. Davis.”
“All right,” he said. “Will he be at the depot?”
“He is leaving for Blairville on the five o’clock train,” said Jasper
Saxton. “You’ll know him when you see him—large, tall man with a full
beard, and wears gold eye glasses.”
“I will find him if he’s there,” said Ben confidently.
“Don’t delay, boy,” broke in the manufacturer, “you’ve got barely
five minutes.”
Ben placed the parcel under his arm and passed from the office. He
made a bee-line for the front door, to be interrupted by a shout.
“Hey there, Hardy!”
“I’m in a desperate hurry, Mr. Dunn,” said Ben, recognizing his
challenger.
“Never mind—only a moment.” The big foreman got to Ben’s side and
gripped his arm. “What did he give you?” he demanded.
“It isn’t fair to tell,” declared Ben, with an evasive smile.
“You’ll tell me,” firmly insisted the foreman.
“Well then—twenty-five.”
“H’m! He gave the night watchman only ten dollars when he saved the
shop from burning down. Twenty-five dollars? That’s pretty fair—for
Saxton.”
“Don’t delay me, Mr. Dunn,” again pleaded Ben, tugging to get loose.
“Just one more question,” said the foreman.
“Be quick, then.”
“Which do you like best—open face or hunting case watch?”
“Eh?” exclaimed Ben, with a start.
“They’ve started a little appreciation list back there. Come, which
is it?”
“Oh, Mr. Dunn!”
“Decide, or we’ll buy you both,” declared Ben’s determined captor.
“Any boy would like an open faced watch,” said Ben.
“All right, you can go now,” said Dunn, with a chuckle.
Ben darted off on a sprint to make up for lost time. It was four
blocks to the depot, and he had about three minutes to make it in. As
he darted through the front doorway of the works Ben heard the first
starting bell ringing out at the depot.
“I’ve got to hustle to make it!” he declared. “No, it can’t be done.
I know what I’ll do—I’ll cut across the triangle.”
Ben figured that this short cut across a dumping yard would land him
up to the train before it got going at full speed. His calculations,
however, were somewhat at fault. As he neared the tracks the train
came down the rails at a pretty good rate of speed.
Ben waited till the baggage car and one passenger coach had passed
him. Then, hampered by his bundle, he gave it a fling and landed it
on the platform of the second coach.
Poising for a spring and a catch, Ben made a grab for the railing of
the last car.
Then he gripped firmly at its outer edge. With a wrench he was pulled
from the ground, but clung sturdily, his feet flying out in the air
like streamers.