WHAT TED HEARD
"Now the question is which way are we going to get the biggest results,"
Alf began, when they were both comfortably settled with their backs to
the door. "That must be the thing that governs us--that, and the
sacrifice of as few lives as possible. Not _their_ lives, of course. I
don't care a curse for the Fernalds; the more of them that go sky-high
the better, in my estimation. It's the men I mean, our own people. Some
of them will have to die, I know that. It's unavoidable, since the
factories are never empty. Even when no night shifts are working, there
are always watchmen and engineers on the job. But fortunately just now,
owing to the dull season, there are no night gangs on duty. If we
decide on the mills it can be done at night; if on the Fernalds
themselves, why we can set the bombs when we are sure that they are in
their houses."
Ted bit his lips to suppress the sudden exclamation of horror that rose
to them. He must not cry out, he told himself. Terrible as were the
words he heard, unbelievable as they seemed, if he were to be of any
help at all he must know the entire plot. Therefore he listened dumbly,
struggling to still the beating of his heart.
For a moment there was no response from Cronin.
"Come, Jim, don't sit there like a graven image!" the leader of the
proposed expedition exclaimed impatiently. "Haven't you a tongue in
your head? What's your idea? Out with it. I'm not going to shoulder all
the job."
The man called Cronin cleared his throat.
"As I see it, we gain nothing by blowing up the Fernald houses,"
answered he deliberately. "So long as the mills remain, their income is
sure. After they're gone, the young one will just rebuild and go on
wringing money out of the people as his father and grandfather are
doing."
"But we mean to get him, too."
A murmured protest came from Cronin.
"I'm not for injuring that poor, unlucky lad," asserted he. "He's
nothing but a cripple who can't help himself. It would be like killing
a baby."
"Nonsense! What a sentimental milksop you are, Jim!" Alf cut in. "You
can't go letting your feelings run away with you like that, old man.
I'm sorry for the young chap, too. He's the most decent one of the lot.
But that isn't the point. He's a Fernald and because he is----"
"But he isn't to blame for that, is he?"
"You make me tired, Cronin, with all this cry-baby stuff!" Alf
ejaculated. "You've simply got to cut it out--shut your ears to it--if
we are ever to accomplish anything. You can't let your sympathies run
away with you like this."
"I ain't letting my sympathies run away with me," objected Cronin, in a
surly tone. "And I'm no milksop, either. But I won't be a party to
harming that unfortunate Mr. Laurie and you may as well understand that
at the outset. I'm willing to do my share in blowing the Fernald mills
higher than a kite, and the two Fernalds with 'em; or I'll blow the two
Fernalds to glory in their beds. I could do it without turning a hair.
But to injure that helpless boy of theirs I can't and won't. That would
be too low-down a deed for me, bad as I am. He hasn't the show the
others have. They can fend for themselves."
"You make me sick!" replied Alf scornfully. "Why, you might as well
throw up the whole job as to only half do it. What use will it be to
take the old men of the family if the young one still lives on?"
"I ain't going to argue with you, Alf," responded Cronin stubbornly.
"If I were to talk all night you likely would never see my point. But
there I stand and you can take it or leave it. If you want to go on on
these terms, well and good; if not, I wash my hands of the whole affair
and you can find somebody else to help you."
"Of course I can't find somebody else," was the exasperated retort.
"You know that well enough. Do you suppose I would go on with a scheme
like this and leave you wandering round to blab broadcast whatever you
thought fit?"
"I shouldn't blab, Alf," declared Cronin. "You could trust me to hold
my tongue and not peach on a pal. I should just pull out, that's all. I
warn you, though, that if our ways parted and you went yours, I should
do what I could to keep Mr. Laurie out of your path."
"You'd try the patience of Job, Cronin."
"I'm sorry."
"No, you're not," snarled Alf. "You're just doing this whole thing to
be cussed. You know you've got me where I can't stir hand or foot. I
was a fool ever to have got mixed up with such a white-livered, puling
baby. I might have known you hadn't an ounce of sand."
"Take care, Sullivan," cautioned Cronin in a low, tense voice.
"But hang it all--why do you want to balk and torment me so?"
"I ain't balking and tormenting you."
"Yes, you are. You're just pulling the other way from sheer
contrariness. Why can't you be decent and come across?"
"Haven't I been decent?" Cronin answered. "Haven't I fallen in with
every idea you've suggested? You've had your way fully and freely. I
haven't stood out for a single thing but this, have I?"
"N--o. But----"
"Well, why not give in and let me have this one thing as I want it? It
don't amount to much, one way or the other. The boy is sickly and isn't
likely to live long at best."
"But I can't for the life of me see why you should be so keen on
sparing him. What is he to you?"
Cronin hesitated; then in a very low voice he said:
"Once, two years ago, my little kid got out of the yard and unbeknown
to his mother wandered down by the river. We hunted high and low for
him and were well-nigh crazy, for he's all the child we have, you know.
It seems Mr. Laurie was riding along the shore in his automobile and he
spied the baby creeping out on the thin ice. He stopped his car and
called to the little one and coaxed him back until the chauffeur could
get to him and lift him aboard the car. Then they fetched the child to
the village, hunted up where he lived, and brought him home to his
mother. I--I've never forgotten it and I shan't."
"That was mighty decent of Mr. Laurie--mighty decent," Sullivan
admitted slowly. "I've got a kid at home myself."
For a few moments neither man spoke; then Sullivan continued in quick,
brisk fashion, as if he were trying to banish some reverie that plagued
him:
"Well, have your way. We'll leave Mr. Laurie out of this altogether."
"Thank you, Alf."
Sullivan paid no heed to the interruption.
"Now let's can all this twaddle and get down to work," he said sharply.
"We've wasted too much time squabbling over that miserable cripple.
Let's brace up and make our plans. You are for destroying the mills,
eh?"
"It's the only thing that will be any use, it seems to me," Cronin
replied. "If the mills are blown up, it will not only serve as a
warning to the Fernalds but it will mean the loss of a big lot of
money. They will rebuild, of course, but it will take time, and in the
interval everything will be at a standstill."
"It will throw several hundred men out of work," Sullivan objected.
"That can't be helped," retorted Cronin. "They will get out at least
with their lives and will be almighty thankful for that. They can get
other jobs, I guess. But even if they are out of work, I figure some of
them won't be so sorry to see the Fernalds get what's coming to them,"
chuckled Cronin.
"You're right there, Jim!"
"I'll bet I am!" cried Cronin.
"Then your notion would be to plant time bombs at the factories so they
will go off in the night?"
"Yes," confessed Cronin, a shadow of regret in his tone. "That will
carry off only a few watchmen and engineers. Mighty tough luck for
them."
"It can't be helped," Sullivan said ruthlessly. "You can't expect to
carry through a thing of this sort without some sacrifice. All we can
do is to believe that the end justifies the means. It's a case of the
greatest good to the greatest number."
"I--suppose--so."
"Well, then, why hesitate?"
"I ain't hesitating," announced Cronin quickly. "I just happened to
remember Maguire. He's one of the night watchmen at the upper mill and
a friend of mine."
"But we can't remember him, Cronin," Sullivan burst out. "It is unlucky
that he chances to be on duty, of course; but that is his misfortune.
We'd spare him if we could."
"I know, I know," Cronin said. "It's a pitiless business." Then, as if
his last feeble compunction vanished with the words, he added, "It's to
be the mills, then."
"Yes. We seem to be agreed on that," Sullivan replied eagerly. "I have
everything ready and I don't see why we can't go right ahead to-night
and plant the machines with their fuses timed for early morning. I
guess we can sneak into the factories all right--you to the upper mill
and I to the lower. If you get caught you can say you are hunting for
Maguire; and if I do--well, I must trust to my wits to invent a story.
But they won't catch me. I've never been caught yet, and I have handled
a number of bigger jobs than this one," concluded he with pride.
"Anything more you want to say to me?" asked Cronin.
"No, I guess not. I don't believe I need to hand you any advice. Just
stiffen up, that's all. Anything you want to say to me?"
"No. I shan't worry my head about you, you old fox. You're too much of
a master hand," Cronin returned, with an inflection that sounded like a
grin. "I imagine you can hold up your end."
"I rather imagine I can," drawled Sullivan.
"Then if there's nothing more to be said, I move we start back to town.
It must be late," Cronin asserted.
"It's black enough to be midnight," grumbled Sullivan. "We'd best go
directly to our houses--I to mine and you to yours. The explosives and
bombs I'll pack into two grips. Yours I'll hide in your back yard
underneath that boat. How'll that be?"
"O. K."
"You've got it straight in your head what you are to do?"
"Yes."
"And I can count on you?"
"Sure!"
"Then let's be off."
There was a splash as the canoe slipped into the water and afterward
Ted heard the regular dip of the paddles as the craft moved away. He
listened until the sound became imperceptible and when he was certain
that the conspirators were well out of earshot he sped to the telephone
and called up the police station at Freeman's Falls. It did not take
long for him to hurriedly repeat to an officer what he had heard.
Afterward, in order to make caution doubly sure, he called up the mills
and got his old friend Maguire at the other end of the line. It was not
until all this had been done and he could do no more that he sank
limply down on the couch and stared into the darkness. Now that
everything was over he found that he was shaking like a leaf. His hands
were icy cold and he quivered in every muscle of his body. It was
useless for him to try to sleep; he was far too excited and worried for
that. Therefore he lay rigidly on his bunk, thinking and waiting
for--he knew not what.
It might have been an hour later that he was aroused from a doze by the
sharp reverberation of the telephone bell. Dizzily he sprang to his
feet and stood stupid and inert in the middle of the floor. Again the
signal rang and this time he was broad awake. He rushed forward to
grasp the receiver.
"Turner? Ted Turner?"
"Yes, sir."
"This is the police station at Freeman's Falls. We have your men--both
of them--and the goods on them. They are safe and sound under lock and
key. I just thought you might like to know it. We shall want to see you
in the morning. You've done a good night's work, young one. The State
Police have been after these fellows for two years. Sullivan has a
record for deeds of this sort. Mighty lucky we got a line on him this
time before he did any mischief."
"It was."
"That's all, thanks to you, kid. I advise you to go to bed now and to
sleep. I'll hunt you up to-morrow. I'll bet the Fernalds will, too.
They owe you something."