That settles it,” exclaimed Halloran, tossing a letter on the desk.
Crosman looked up.
“We've placed our last order for lumber this season,” said Halloran.
“Have the Trust people waked up?”
“Yes. Our Oconomowoc man writes that they refuse to sell him another
foot unless they're assured that it won't come to us. They're pretty
late about it. We've got nearly all we want. Well, that ends it, anyhow.
The next thing is to get it all in. There's no use paying storage to all
those fellows now that we're found out. I wish you'd see about
getting both steamers off as soon as you can--send them to Chicago and
Milwaukee, where we have the biggest lots. We'll write for steamers and
schooners for the other towns.”
“Can we get it all in the yards? There's a lot here now.”
“Got to. It will crowd up close to the mills, but we can't help it.”
“That will raise the insurance premium--clear up to the mill rate.
“I know it.”
“Do you want me to go ahead with the insurance?”
“No; not yet. Speak to me again about it in a day or so. This lumber
isn't going to help us out very far if we let all our profits go out
in storage and commissions and carriage and insurance. I don't know but
what we'll have to carry it ourselves. It isn't just the weather I'd
have picked out--but this business isn't of our choosing, anyway. I'd
like to find out how much old G. Hyde knows about us. I don't believe
he's got on the track of the whole stock.”
And so the order went out to concentrate all the lumber at Wauchung; and
at the flying word, passing from house to house, that at last there was
to be work at the yards, Wauchung stirred and aroused. Again men
came flocking to the office, shouldering peavies and cant-hooks and
clamouring for employment. Sailors appeared to man the steamers and were
set to scrubbing and polishing. Coal-wagons rumbled through the yards to
the wharves, bringing food for the furnaces. Men went about grinning
and joking and slapping backs heartily, and swapping yams about the
Old Gentleman in his palmy days, ten and twenty years before. Robbie
MacGregor appeared, fatter than ever after his enforced idleness,
growling at all the known works of the Creator, and refusing to speak
civilly to any one until he had let himself into his greasy blue
overalls and was free to finger his levers, and dress down the oilers,
and swear gloriously at the new hands in the stoke-room.
“Good-afternoon, Mr. Halloran,” said Captain Craig, when he reached the
office. “When are we to start?”
“To-night, if you have your men. MacGregor's on hand now, getting up
steam.”
“Good for Robbie.”
“By the way, Captain, I'll try to have some work for George as soon as
the first lot of lumber gets in.”
“That's good. You'll find him ready for you. I'll be glad to get started
again myself--it's been a mean pull; and there just wasn't any getting
along with Robbie. I never saw him so down. Dry weather, isn't it.”
“Yes, better for you than for us. Are you going to let Bigelow steal
your men off you this trip?”
“I hardly think so.”
“You may have a chance yet--you're to go to Chicago.”
The Captain smiled dryly. He was in fine mettle now; his clear eyes and
sound colour belied his wrinkles and the white streaks in his hair.
“I wish he'd try it,” he replied. “We'll be glad to hear from him any
time.”
Late that afternoon the two steamers swung away from the wharves, one
after the other, steamed out through the channel, passed the life-saving
station and the lighthouse, and headed, the _Higginson Number 1_,
sou'west-by-south toward Chicago, the Number 2 sou'west toward Milwaukee,
to bring in the first loads of lumber. And a thrill went through the
yards, where there were a few men at work, and passed on to the long
lines of waiting labourers outside, as the shouts of the officers and
the rumble of the engines and the wash of the propellers sounded through
the dry autumn air. The mills were still silent the little world that
depended almost for its existence on the movements of that machinery
was still suffering from poverty and idleness, was still facing the
possibility of a winter without employment; but somehow the sight of the
two steamers once more plowing up the water of the harbour, of the blue
smoke once more spreading low over the sand-dunes and over the sparkling
lake that stretched beyond, spoke to them of new life at the Higginson
yards. If the steamers were started out after the long wait, why might
not the mills be soon humming and singing again, why might not the ax
again flash and strike in the forest, and the songs of the river gang
again ring down the long reaches of pine-edged water? The possibility
was in the thoughts of them all as their eyes followed the steamers far
out into the lake, and lingered on the fading smoke long after the boats
themselves had dropped over the southwestern horizon. It was something
to be moving again; and every one was a little more cheerful that
evening for what they had seen and felt.
Now that the steamers were on the way, Halloran found that he had a
problem on his hands. More than six million feet of lumber demands a
large area, and the question of getting it into the yards was a serious
one.
The Higginson yards occupied a peninsula, formed on the inland side by
the Wauchung River, on the other side by the harbour. This harbour was
in reality a small lake, such as one will find duplicated every little
way for a hundred and fifty miles on the eastern coast of Lake Michigan.
The prevailing west winds have thrown up a line of high dunes along
this shore, forming a natural dam at the mouth of each of the many
small rivers. The Government had at Wauchung, as at many similar places,
dredged out a channel that enabled steamers to get in to the wharves and
to turn in the harbour.
The two mills were on the upper or river side of the peninsula, where
they could receive the logs that were floated down from the timberlands.
From the mills the cut timber was run out on elevated tramways and piled
along the wharves. Ordinarily there was a wide space between the mills
and the nearest pile of lumber. There was a provision, indeed, in the
insurance policies, that it could not be piled nearer than two hundred
feet without the payment of a higher premium; and if the piles should
extend within fifty feet of the mills the rate mounted to an almost
prohibitive point.
The yards were surrounded by water on three sides--on the fourth were
the cottages of the labourers and of the other poorer residents of
the town. Halloran had a choice, then, between piling the lumber close
around the mills (there being already a considerable quantity in the
yards) and either paying the higher rate of insurance or going without,
or carting it off and renting outside land for storage, thus adding a
new item to his expenses. Every spare moment between this day and the
arrival of the first steamer was spent in looking over the yards and
planning the arrangement so as to get the best advantage of the space.
It was on the second day after the departure of the steamers that
Crosman burst into the office and cried:
“She's coming in--the _Number Two!_ I saw her funnels over the
sand-hills.”
His excitement was catching, and Halloran got up from his desk and
looked out the window. Sure enough, there was the smoke, far out along
the sky-line. A moment later, looking between the channel piers, he
caught a glimpse of the steamer heading in toward the lighthouse.
Watchful eyes had already seen her from the cottages near the beach; and
as man after man hurried over to the yards to get an early place in the
lines, the news spread through Wauchung. These men did not know what
it meant--Bigelow was a myth to them, known, if at all, merely as an
employer of labour twenty miles up the lake--but there was the steamer,
bringing in a cargo of lumber that must be discharged and piled, and
this meant work. Soon she was entering the channel; and they could see
her Captain standing on the wheel-house roof with a hand resting on the
bell-pull. And while Halloran went over to the wharf to direct the work,
Crosman was kept busy giving out time-checks and cant-hooks and sending
man after man across the yards.
Then she was in the harbour, was slipping up to the wharf; the
engine-room bell jingled, and the propeller churned the water; the lines
were thrown out and caught by eager hands, and the _Higginson No. 2_
lay motionless at the wharf, her deck piled high with yellow hemlock and
pine. The labourers swarmed over the rail and went at the work with the
spirit of men who know what hunger means. The donkey-engines at each end
of the deck rattled and clanked as the hoisting-spars were lowered over
the cargo. And not a man on the ground, from Halloran down, but felt the
impetus that the arrival of this first load of lumber had given to
all Wauchung. Some of the men showed it by laughing easily, others by
swearing easily, and now and then they would all break out into a song
that would almost have shocked Jimmie McGinnis himself if he had been
there to hear it--to the immortal air of
“My father and mother were Irish,
And I was Irish, too.”
They did not know that this song had been shouted by valiant fighters
and workers in many tongues--sometimes to reputable words, oftener
not--for centuries, nor did they care. It would not have interested them
to hear that, thanks to its wonderful vitality, this same melody had
served generations of students as “We won't go home till morning”;
had swung thousands of wearied French soldiers along wild roads before
Napoleon was born as “_Malbrouck s'en va-t-en guerre_”; had perhaps
led white-clad swordsmen, with a lilt and rhythm that fairly lifted the
feet, off to the taking of Jerusalem nearly a thousand years ago. And
now here it was again, sung to disreputable words, but as truly as ever
a shout of good-will and dauntless effort. Somebody had bucked the Old
Gentleman--no matter who or how--and the Old Gentleman, through Mr.
Halloran, was bucking back, was nearer than ever to winning. And when
he should win, as win he must, there would be steady work and meat every
day for the labourers of Wauchung. This was all they knew or cared.
But was the spirit less honest and earnest than the spirit of those
jack-booted Frenchmen or those white-clad crusaders? Allowing for the
glamour of the past, for the shining mist that enlarges the old figures
as their real outlines grow steadily fainter, were these hard-handed
fellows, heaving the new lumber from the deck of the _Number Two_ to the
wharf, laughing and joking and swearing like pirates all the while, so
different? Was there no romance here?
Before the work had begun, Halloran saw Du Bois, an old lumber
inspector, on the wharf and called to him. The old man, a soft felt
hat pulled down on the side of his head, his gray beard streaked with
tobacco, turned and waited for him to come up.
“I have a boy here, Du Bois” [pronounced DoO Boyce], “who thinks he'd
like to learn lumber-checking. Suppose you take hold of him and see if
we can make anything out of him.”
“All right, Mr. Halloran. Where is he?”
“Up at the office. You'd better send a man after him. His name's George
Bigelow.”
“All right, sir; I'll keep an eye on him.”
The Inspector spat voluminously and hailed one of the labourers.
“Hi, you there! Run up to the office and tell George to get a scale and
a tally-board and come down here. Grease your knees!”
The labourer ambled off and soon returned with George.
“Well, young man,” said Du Bois, “they tell me you're a lumber-checker.”
“I--I thought maybe I could learn.”
“What's that in your hand?”
“A tally-board.”
“Other hand?”
“A scale.”
“What's the size of that stick over there? No, don't scale it--stand
here. What are your eyes for?”
George had not passed the last few days idly. The lumbermen were a
picturesque, vigorous lot of men, and simply by associating with them
he had begun absorbing some knowledge of their work. Now he made a snap
guess. “Two-by-twelve-sixteen.”
“Other one yonder?”
“Two-by-eight-twelve.”
“Call that a twelve? You'll have to do better than that. See that
steamer? We're going to unload her in another minute, and I want you to
mark down every stick on your tally-sheet as the boys take it off. Tend
your business, now. We'll put some hair on your chest before we get
through with you.”
So George took his place on the wharf as the _Number Two_ came
alongside, and promptly found himself the centre of a dozen gangs of men
all hustling past with the sticks, while the two steamer-hoists lowered
them over in bundles, and the men on the steamer slid them off from half
a dozen points at once. Each plank and timber, Du Bois had said, was to
be checked on the tally-sheet and its dimensions recorded.
*****
Halloran, Crosman and Du Bois met for a moment near the office where
they could overlook the yards. The Inspector was shaking his head at the
still, blue sky.
“I'd like to see a few clouds up there, Mr. Halloran. We ain't had any
rain since the devil knows when.”
Halloran, for reply, stirred up the sawdust with his foot. It was dry
and loose.
“I don't like it, myself.”
“Are we going to pile it in all through here? You ain't figuring on
taking any outside, are you?”
“No; we can't do that. Fill in the strip yonder”--indicating the narrow
end of the peninsula--“before you take up the ground around the mills.”
“How about the insurance?” suggested Cros-man. “I haven't done anything
about it yet. Shall I see to it?”
“No; we'll carry it ourselves.”
Crosman and the Inspector were silent for a time after this, and
all three looked down at the activity on the wharf. Neither of the
assistants knew what a relief it was to the Manager to see that one load
of lumber and to know that there was a score of other loads already on
the way. It was his first glimpse of the tangible cause of the fighting,
and the sight of it gave him the feeling of actually getting his hands
on something. There was still to be considered the guarding it from
fire, and, at the right moment, the putting it on the market. He did not
know what new move Bigelow might be considering, but he could not see
how any living man could block him now. Every order had been delivered
to a lake port, so that he had no need to call on the railroads. And
an attempt to restrain him from using the lake carriers, in view of the
fact that the Higginson steamers alone could do the work with an extra
allowance of time, seemed out of the question. Bigelow would resort to
rascality, of course, whenever he could see or make an opening; but it
was a question whether he could find any more openings.
“You wasn't here when we had the big fire, in '79?” The Inspector was
falling into a reminiscent frame of mind.
“Hardly.”
“That was before we had a steam fire-engine. There was only a
hand-machine downtown--damn little syringe on wheels--wouldn't put out
a box of matches if the wind was blowin'--and so the Old Gentleman kep'
about a hundred buckets hung in the mills. Joe Brady was fire chief--he
worked in the freight house. But the fire come on a Sunday and Joe 'd
been loadin' up ever since six o'clock Saturday night, and when him
and the boys come up with their squirt-gun they'd forgot the key to
the fire-plug, and they hadn't brung hose enough to use the river. Buck
Patterson--he was superintendent--was passin' out buckets, and he come
out to see what was the matter, and you'd ought to a-heard him talk to
Joe. Buck was pretty profane, sometimes, and he just busted out that
night. I guess he'd never had much use for Joe, only he hadn't had a
chance to tell him about it before. 'Why, you dam gutter-sponge of a
patty de foy graw,' says he--I'm only tellin' you what he said;
I was standin' right by and heard the whole thing--he called him a patty
de foy graw!--'You wart,' he says, 'you liver-eyed, kettle-bellied soak,
you ain't fit to polish toastin'-forks in hell!' He never talked just
like nobody else, Buck didn't. All this while Joe was hollerin' to
little Murphy to run for the key and Murphy was hollerin' back, 'You go
to the devil, your father, and get it yourself,' and sayin' it over and
over, he was so excited; when Buck just took Joe by the collar and give
him a jolt with his knee, and told him to shut up and get that key, and
Joe tun off meek as an infant in arms.”
“What was the loss that night?” asked Crosman.
“About twenty thousand--eighty per cent, insured. The Old Gentleman
didn't have a very comf'terble time himself. He'd been ridin' around
on his buckboard tellin' the boys what to do. He started downtown after
more buckets, and just as he got out to the bridge I looked up and see
him all a-blazin' out behind. He didn't even know it yet. Must ha' been
a spark lit on his coat-tails. I hollered at him, but he was whippin'
up the mare, and I had to chase him across the bridge. He begun to feel
funny then, and when he pulled up I grabbed his arm and jerked the reins
out of his hand, and hauled him off the seat and rolled down the bank
with him into the river. I guess there ain't much doubt I saved his
life------ Hello, they're stopping work down there!”
This last exclamation was caused by the Manager starting abruptly for
the wharf. Crosman and the Inspector followed.
The work was not wholly stopped, but a little group of labourers was
gathered about a stick of timber watching George, who was measuring
it with his scale. Some of the other workmen were standing and sitting
nearby, laughing and bantering, while a few made a small pretense of
work. When Halloran came on the scene George looked up with a dogged
expression.
“What's this?” Halloran asked the gang-boss.
“We was going a little too fast for the kid.”
Evidently George had interpreted his orders strictly, and when his eye
failed him in the bewilderment of seeing a dozen sticks passing at a
time, had stopped each one to scale it. Halloran turned to Du Bois.
“Give the boy a lift, will you?”
[Illustration: 0205]
The old Inspector nodded, with a twinkle in his eye.
“Here, young man,” he said, “take 'em down for me. Go ahead, boys!”
He hitched himself up on the cap of a snubbing-post, and when the
donkey-engines clanked again and the timbers came dropping and sliding
to the wharf, and the files of labourers shuffled past, he went on
with his story. His eyes roved absently up and down the wharf, and a
half-circle of tobacco juice rapidly formed around the post. Not a
stick escaped his eye, within a hundred feet of rapidly moving timbers;
George's pencil was kept flying over the tally-sheet.
“Yes, sir,” he went on, “we went down that bank--two-b'-four-fourteen,
two-b'-eight-ten--like two cats--two-b'-ten-sixteen--a-fightin'.
Two-b'-twelve-twelve. The Old Gentleman didn't--two-b'-twelve-eighteen--
know yet just what was up--two-b'-six-twelve, two-b'-six-fourteen--and
he got his hand twisted up in my hair--two-b'-ten-ten, two-b'-ten-
fourteen, two-b'-ten-twelve--and when we struck the water--two-b'-
twelve-ten, two-b'-eight-eighteen--”
A few minutes later, when Halloran passed again that way, Du Bois was
still in the story, though he had now no auditor but the preoccupied
George.
That same night another steamer came in, and within a few days it was
necessary to put on a night shift to keep up with the influx of lumber.
The yards filled rapidly with high piles until the tramways and mills
were nearly hidden from sight. New lumber it was, not yet so dry but
that some of the water from the rivers still moistened it; and the air
was sweet with the scent of pine. It brought to mind the deep forests
far back from the lake, the rustle of the wind through the new boughs
far overhead, and the long, still aisles, carpeted in fragrant brown,
where the deer run. There were bears out there, skulking away from the
axman, grubbing up wild turnips and hunting ants and slugs in rotten
stumps; there were otter and muskrats and perhaps a lingering colony of
beaver. Soon the time would come when the deer and bear could reclaim
their lands, for the axmen were nearly through. Another score of years,
perhaps, and where had been great forests would be a waste of blackened
stumps--all “cut out” for the market. Rivers would be lower and dams
useless. Thriving lumber cities on the lake would be facing ruin--their
reason for being gone with the last timber--or casting about to attract
manufacturers or to cultivate beets--anything to stop the drain on their
vitality as the restless lumbermen should turn west or south for new
lands where they could found new cities and begin the problem anew.
In ten days it was all in, the six million and odd feet of boards and
timber. And as Halloran walked down to the bridge one night and leaned
on the railing and looked over the broad piles he was nervous and
depressed. A part of the strain was over and he was feeling the
reaction. The key to the situation was in his hands now--it rested with
him to carry the lumber safely over to the day for selling, and then to
make it pay. He could not yet see Mr. Higginson. He had been to Doctor
Brown's this evening and the Doctor was decisive. The moon came out
as he stood there and shed its light on the river and the lumber. He
straightened up to go; then waited until he caught a glimpse of the
watchman on his round of the yards.
BOOK III -- THROUGH FIRE
CHAPTER I--A Little Talk with Captain Craig
Full as the newspapers were of the great corn deal on the Board of
Trade, there was no getting at the facts that lay behind it. The brokers
seemed to look on Le Duc as their principal; Le Duc had nothing to say.
Halloran read the papers eagerly every day, watching for a word that
would justify his conjectures, but the secret was too well kept.
One morning a day or two after the lumber had come in, he asked Craig to
step into the office.
“Captain,” he said, “I want to talk to you about this corn business.
I'm inclined to think that if we could find out who is backing Apples it
might be just what we want to know most.”
“You think it's Bigelow?”
“Well, if it is Bigelow, and if his reasons for keeping dark are what I
think, the sooner we know it the better for Higginson & Company. Do you
think, from anything Mrs. Craig has said, that Bigelow knows who Apples
and his wife are?”
“Why, no. Jennie doesn't talk much about those times.”
“I don't like to bother you with this, Captain, but business and family
matters are so mixed that I don't know any other way to get at it. Would
you be willing to find out if there were any letters--anything that Le
Duc might have got hold of that would give him a grip on Bigelow?”
The Captain looked grave. “I kind o' don't like to stir her up, now
she's having such a good rest. But--well, I don't know why not. Yes,
I'll ask her. I'm afraid,” he added, as he arose, “I'm afraid I'm
getting kind o' chicken-hearted these days. You see, I haven't had her
back very long. Yes, the first good chance that comes along I'll talk it
over with her and let you know what she says.”
During most of the day Halloran was shut up in the office, figuring and
working out some new schedules. At noon he spent an hour or more uptown,
and a half-hour climbing around under the bridge; and later Crosman was
hailed, out in the yards.
“Could you drop around this evening for awhile?” said Halloran.
“Why, yes,” was the rather reluctant reply, followed by a blush and a
grin. “Any particular time?”
“Right after supper, for half an hour or so.”
“All right; I'll be there.”
In the evening, when Crosman entered the Manager's room, the first thing
he observed was a purple sweater on the back of a chair by the bed.
Below it was an old pair of trousers, a cap, and, on the floor, a pair
of rubber boots. He glanced curiously at these things as he greeted his
superior; and Halloran's eyes followed his.
“That's my fireman's rig,” he said. “Didn't know I was on the
department, did you?”
“No. What's all this?”
“It's what I want to see you about, as much as anything. I haven't gone
to sleep a night since the lumber began coming in without expecting to
hear the bell before morning. If the stuff was mine maybe I wouldn't
care so much.” Crosman's face sobered. “But you said we'd carry the
insurance ourselves.”
“You didn't suppose I wanted to do it that way, did you? We can't pay
the price, that's all. And we can't lose the lumber, either. It's up to
us to see that nothing happens. I've worked out a little plan here and I
want you to help me carry it through.”
Crosman drew up his chair to the table. His mind had been fully occupied
of late, and it had not before come home to him what a heavy--what a
very heavy--load his Manager was carrying. Now these six million feet
of pine and hemlock loomed in his thoughts and brought a very serious
expression to his face.
“Cheer up, old man; we haven't lost it yet, that I know of, and we're
going to do our best not to lose it. But you see, in buying this lumber
and getting it all in here, we've done only half of it; the other half
is to take care of it and sell it at a profit. Now look at this. I've
borrowed some spare hose from the department. That's coming over in the
morning, and we'll have it coupled onto the plug by Mill No. 1 and kept
ready under the tramway. Our own hose will be coupled to the west plug.
The two steamers are to be at the wharf, with steam up, all the time,
ready to throw a stream on anything near the wharves: they'll lie one at
each end, you see. The engineers are to stand watches aboard and keep
a couple of hands sleeping by to man the hose. Then, if we have two
watchmen always on duty, and the rest of the boys sleeping in their
shirts and stockings, we could do fairly quick work, with the town
engine to help.”
“There are the buckets in the mills, and by the office.”
“Yes; we'll use those, too.”
“And this”--he was examining the paper--“is the way you want the boys
divided?”
“Yes. If the fire should be at the north end, where the yards are
widest, you will take charge of the hose at the mill plug and see that
the buckets are started; I'll take the west plug, where I can have an
eye on the wharves. Those are the men to work with you, these with me.
You'd better see yours the first thing in the morning--here's the
schedule of watches--and engage them. You see, they're all men that live
near the fence. Tell them we don't want a man that can't get to his
station two minutes after the _Number One_ blows her whistle, no matter
if it's 2:30 A. M.”
“The whistle will be the signal, then?”
“Yes. I've told MacGregor to blow until he hears the bark of every dog
in town. I want to get this all fixed in the morning, and so fixed that
there can't be any misunderstandings. Any time after to-morrow noon,
if that whistle blows, it means get to the yards in two minutes or lose
your job. You'd better tell them that.”
“All right; I'll see to it. But gee whiz!” Crosman leaned back and
looked at Halloran. “Here we're talking about this just as if it was
going to happen.”
“Well, maybe it is. Anyhow, that's how we've got to look at it. I'd talk
to the boys that way, too.” He rose and sat on the corner of the table,
looking down earnestly at the other. “They've got to understand that
we mean business. And say, look here, Crosman; what are we sitting here
talking about this for? Why aren't we doing it to-night?”
Crosman's expression dropped from serious to dismal. “Why--why--all
right.”
“Sorry if I'm butting into any plans of yours, but good Lord, old man,
have you stopped to think what this means? Here I'd got my mind settled
on to-morrow when I ought to have known all the while that to-day was
the time. We'll do it now. You look up the boys on that paper and I'll
root mine out and have them bring the hose over. We'll get everything in
shape before we go to bed.”
The assistant was caught up and whirled along by Halloran's energy. “All
right,” he repeated. “But I ought to call Mamie up. She's--she's--I was
thinking of going around there.”
“Use my telephone. Excuse me if I start right out, won't you?”
Before Crosman could stammer a “Certainly,” he had snatched up his hat
and disappeared.
Disagreeable as rush orders might be to a man with his family about him
of an evening, there was nothing to be said; and within an hour some
were starting out for duty on watch, or for a night on one of the
steamers, while others dragged the hose-reel out of the town and across
the bridge to the yards and put it in order for instant use. When the
preparations were completed, toward eleven o'clock, Halloran called the
men together and gave them their final instructions.
Crosman and he were left alone for a moment when the last man had gone
to his post.
“Well--that's a good job done,” observed the assistant. “I guess there's
nothing more, is there?”
“No----- Oh, yes; one thing. I've thought a good deal about the south
end. The yard's narrow there for quite a way and there's no fireplug
at that end.” They were walking through the gate and toward the bridge.
“It's the least likely place to catch first, because there's water on
three sides, but if it should there's only one thing we could do.
Look here! Under the town end of the bridge--I'll show you when we get
there--I've hung a tin pail with matches and fuses in it, where it won't
be disturbed and it's likely to keep dry. And about fifty yards down the
bank there's some dynamite in another pail under the water. I've put
a sign on a post to scare the boys away. There, see that white thing?
That's it! I couldn't keep the stuff home or in the yards, and there,
I think, is about the safest place. You see, if either of us should be
running out here we could just turn off the road a little way and pick
up the two pails. It's on Higginson land and I don't believe any one can
object.”
They went down together to see that the pails had not been molested.
“I've given orders,” said Halloran, “to several of the boys to come down
here every time they pass and report if anything's wrong.”
Crosman was aroused by the work of the evening. “Well,” he burst out,
as they were climbing the fence and taking the road again, “I must say
you've just about covered the ground. I don't know of anything more we
could do.”
“I don't know--I feel a little better, anyway. I'll walk along to the
house with you, if you're going that way.”
“Well--I'll tell you--I--I'm not, exactly. I kind of said----”
“Going to stop around at the Higginsons', eh?”
“I thought I might, if------”
“All right; good-night. Look out that they don't shoot you for a
burglar. But, say; hold on a minute. Has the crisis come yet with--with
Mr. Higginson?”
“No; they expect it to-morrow. Doctor McArthur came up from Chicago this
afternoon, and the other one, the Detroit doctor, gets in late to-night.
Mamie's waiting up for him.”
“Thanks. Good-night.”
The following afternoon, as Halloran was closing his desk, Captain Craig
came in.
“I've had a little talk with Jennie this noon, Mr. Halloran. I had to
explain to her about things, and how you felt a little delicate about
it, and she told me the whole thing. You see, it's considerable of a
story.”
Halloran closed the door and drew up a chair. “Sit down, Captain.”
“Well, now, it all goes back to a few months after Lizzie was married.
Le Duc wasn't doing very well and he made it pretty uncomfortable for
Jennie, talking about supporting her and that sort of thing; and finally
one day he asked her if she didn't have letters or anything that could
make it worth while to see Bigelow. Jennie'd never have done anything
in the world, no matter though the alimony _had_ been allowed her by the
courts; she always had a horror of going to law about it. But Le Duc
was hard pushed, and I guess she was glad to do anything that would
make things easier for all of them, so she let him have Bigelow's
letters--most of them promising to send money. They were all, she says,
plain evidence that he hadn't paid her.”
Halloran was sitting far back in his chair, his hands clasped around
one knee, his eyes fixed on the desk. And while the Captain talked, his
thoughts were running swiftly backward and forward and all around this
interesting subject. He was hearing what he had most wished to hear.
“And so Le Duc went out to Evanston one night to see him, and they were
all excited about it, Jennie says. But after that things took a change.
Le Duc wouldn't say much about it---he acted a little queer--but he sort
of made her think nothing was coming of it. And then, a little later, he
got a job, nobody seemed to know just what--and moved over to where they
are now. And he let Jennie and the McGinnis boy understand that they
could come with them if they would pay a rather high board. Oh, he's
a-----” Craig thought it better to pause, and turned his thoughts away
from the meanness of his son-in-law. He went on with better control. “Of
course Jennie couldn't do that, so they went without her. And Jennie was
so timid about it all she didn't even like to ask for her letters back.”
“And Apples has them still?”
“Yes; he's got them.”
“And is that all she knows?” Halloran could not keep a little
disappointment out of his voice.
“Yes, that's the whole thing. He's been keeping his mouth shut up tight
about the whole business. It pretty nearly tells the story, don't you
think?”
“Why, yes, in a way. It's not quite enough to move on, I'm afraid. But
I'll have to think it over; and maybe I can see a way through. We don't
know yet that G. Hyde is behind that corner--but I'm much obliged,
Captain.”
“You're welcome.”
The Captain hurried home to have a few hours with his family, for now
that Halloran's “fire department” was organized he was sleeping, by
choice, on his steamer.
*****
It was two o'clock the next morning. Crosman was far, far away, coasting
down the joyous hills of dreamland. A laughing girl was at his side. She
could not play long with him, for dimly he understood that the doctors
were coming, and she must be at her post to welcome them. It would
never do for the doctors to come and find no greeting from Mamie.
But dreamland was bright to-night--the Little Folk were out in force,
dancing like thistle-down over the Queen Anne's lace, or coasting with
him down the starry slopes, a half-dozen on his back, more at his ears
whistling gaily that Mamie was true--Blue for true!--Blue for true!--and
hundreds of the maddest fellows capering on ahead, bounding and blowing
from blossom to blossom. One danced far before, clad in a purple sweater
and hearing a whistle. Now and again he blew a blast, daintily at
first, like the signal of mint to the bees, then louder and shriller and
shriller. It screeched hoarsely in his ears; a cold wind nipped at his
legs and feet; the Little Folk were swarming around him, all in purple
now, shouting wildly, urging him on--on--hurry--hurry! The whistle was
deeper and hoarser--where was he--where---------?
He was on his feet in the centre of the floor. Through the open window
came the deep whistle of the _Number One_.
In ten seconds he had tumbled into his trousers. Five more, and his
boots were on. Another ten, and he was banging down the stairs and out
the door, leaving it open behind him--and struggling into his coat as
he ran. He could not guess how long the whistle had been sounding; but
there was as yet no light in the sky above the yards. He must be on
time: it lay with him to set an example to the men. His side was aching
already, but he ran it down. As he drew near to the bridge he came
out in full view of the yards, but could see no light. Perhaps he was
early--perhaps the fire was starting on the river side. He thought of
the dynamite, and with a bound was over the fence and running down to
the water. A moment more and he was making for the bridge, pail in
hand. As he paused here he heard some one running across, above him; and
farther off were shouts and the sounds of running. The _Number One_ was
still whistling.
Over the bridge he went, a tin pail in each hand; around the corner of
the fence and on to the open gate. He was dashing through when he was
hailed by a familiar voice.
There, sitting on a projecting plank of the nearest lumber-pile, was
Halloran, a lantern in one hand, his watch in the other. Grouped around
him were half a dozen panting men.
“All right, Crosman. False alarm. But you've made bully time------ Look
out, there!”
This last was addressed to Du Bois, who came whirling around the
gate-post and crashed full-tilt into Crosman. The assistant staggered,
but recovered his balance; and the two sat down with the others. The men
came bounding in until fully thirty were there--more by five or six than
had been engaged. Halloran threw the light of his lantern on them.
“Time's up,” he said. “Where's Potin?” [pronounced Pot'n.]
No one answered, but after a moment the missing Canadian appeared.
“You're late,” said Halloran. “What's the matter?”
The man had to pause to breathe. “It took me a m-min-ute, Mister
Halloran. I--I guess I didn't hear the first whistle.”
“We need better ears than yours, then. We can't use you after this.
Runyon”--turning to one of the promptest of the outsiders--“I'll take
you on in Potin's place. We don't pay men to sleep. That's all now,
boys. You can go home.”
But now that they were aroused there was a tendency to wait and talk it
over.
“What you got in them pails, Mr. Crosman?” called Du Bois. “Did you
forget and bring your lunch?”
“No; it's dynamite.” In a conversational tone.
“It's what? Say, you're fooling!” He drew back as he spoke. The other
men looked at one another.
For reply Crosman produced a brown cylinder.
“Good Lord! And I run into that!”
In another moment Halloran and Crosman were alone. Down the alleys,
between the piles, around the mill, out the gate--for every hole a man
could squeeze through was abruptly pressed into service--the men had
disappeared. And when the noise of the scampering feet had died away,
Halloran said, with a chuckle: “Here's Du Bois's hat. I'll take it
along.” The next morning he found him on the wharf. “You didn't stop for
your hat last night, Du Bois. I guess you were called away suddenly.”
The Inspector accepted the hat and pulled it on, drew out his
tobacco-pouch, bit a half-moon from his plug, tucked it away in his
cheek, and swept his eyes quizzically around the harbour. “That's all
right, Mr. Halloran; that's all right,” he observed, discharging a
preliminary brown streak. “I s'pose I've got to go up against old Salt
Peter some day or other, but if I'm goin' to have anything to say about
it myself I'd a heap rather go up whole. If I was to come an arm or a
leg at a time he might think it was old G. Hyde Bigelow tryin' to fool
him in sections, and the first thing I knew he'd be sayin', 'Bigelow,
you darned old pile o' culls, there's a line o' little red divils down
there a-sittin' up nights for you. Git along!'”
CHAPTER II--Going to Headquarters
Halloran had not yet exhausted his resources in getting at the facts
behind the corn deal. There was one person who probably could, if he
would, carry the story further, and that was Jimmie McGinnis. And so
Halloran decided to run down to Chicago.
The Captain, when he heard of it, came to see him. “Harry Crosman says
you're going down to the city, Mr. Halloran.”
“Yes; I shall take the night train.”
“When I told Jennie about it she wondered if you'd be going anywhere
near Lizzie's place.”
“I can, easily enough.”
“Jennie, you see, has been sort of looking for some word from her this
week, and there ain't none come yet, and would you mind taking along a
little bundle for Lizzie, and maybe a note?”
“Not a bit. You'll have them here before supper time, won't you?”
“Yes; surely.”
And so it fell out that Halloran boarded the train that night with the
bundle under his arm.
His trip was to be as short as he could make it, for he did not like to
be away at this time. Full instructions were left with his assistant;
and his post as amateur fire marshal was assigned to the Captain during
his absence.
Jimmie, it seemed, had been with the Le Ducs until the change. Where to
find him now was a question, or it would have been if his eye had not
alighted on the name “Elmer Le Duc” in the evening paper, among the
attractions advertised by a Clark Street vaudeville theatre. He reached
Chicago in the morning, and in the afternoon dropped around to the
theatre. From the display of the name in five-inch letters on the
bill-boards of a downtown continuous performance it was to be inferred
that Jimmie was getting on in the world. His position on the programme,
too--toward three o'clock--and the little burst of applause that
followed the appearance of his name on the announcement card at the
side of the stage, aided the impression. And finally, when the familiar
wizen-faced, thin-legged boy, as undersized as ever, appeared, shouted
out the preliminary song of his specialty, and fell into a long and
wonderfully intricate dance, there was no doubting he had popped into
favour. When he had disappeared, after the third recall, and the next
turn was announced, Halloran slipped out and strolled a few steps up the
alley that led to the stage-door.
A quarter of an hour later a large, coarse-featured young woman, wearing
a rakish French costume, came out into the alley; and behind her, barely
reaching to her shoulder, in the unfamiliar get-up of a light suit, a
wide-brimmed pearl-gray hat, tan shoes, and a bamboo stick, appeared
Jimmie. They started to walk off together, but at Halloran's hail the
young man turned.
“How are you,” he said with a nod, somewhat as if their last meeting had
been but a few hours earlier. “Want to speak to me?”
At Halloran's affirmative, he left the woman, who stared at Halloran as
she waited.
“Been to the show?” asked Jimmie. “Got 'em cold, ain't I? I always told
Le Duc I could do it the minute I got a chance at a big house.”
“I've been looking for you, Jimmie. Won't you have dinner with me
to-night at the Auditorium?”
“Dinner, eh? What time?”
“Half-past six.”
“I suppose so. You see I was goin' with Jane--that's Jane Scott, you
know; greatest character singer and dancer on the stage. We're goin' to
be married next week, and I'm sorter supposed to hang around her most of
the time. But I guess I can make it. Anythin' doin'?”
“Nothing very much. I'll look for you, then, at half-past six, in the
main office.”
The dinner hour had come before Halloran could stop wondering over the
idea of Jimmie McGinnis marrying. When they were seated together at a
quiet table he spoke of it.
“So you're going to be married, Jimmie?”
“Yes; sure. But say, they ain't callin' me that no more. I'm Elmer Le
Duc now, you know.”
“Aren't you starting in rather young?”
“Oh, no, not for a man in the profession. You see, Jane's husband------”
“Her husband!”
“Yes. He's a skate, you see--lushes. He's a fool, too, 'cause Jane's
kind-hearted, and she'd a-gone right on supportin' him if he'd a-treated
her half decent. She can haul in her hundred and twenty-five every week
in the year--regular gold-mine. And a man that ain't got head enough to
hold on to a thing like that 'ad better drop off. We've been talkin'
it over, Jane an' me, ever since I made my hit. You see, she's got a
two-part skit that calls for a small man, smaller'n her, a part I can
walk right into; an' I thought it over an' told her I'd marry her an'
manage the business. She's told me since, she knew the minute she struck
me that I was her man. It's a good thing for both of us, you see. We
can clear up two hundred a week easy, and our expenses won't be near so
much. I told her I'd put up the cash for her divorce. It's such a sure
case that it ain't costin' a great lot. Of course, I don't need to marry
her, but the savin' in doublin' up on hotel an' sleeper bills 'll more'n
pay for the divorce the first year.”
Halloran looked at Jimmie, shook his head, and then smiled in spite of
himself. And Jimmie had to grin a little, too.
It had been a question how to open the next subject. Halloran knew that,
wherever there was a choice of ways to an end, one open and direct, the
other tortuous and subterranean, Jimmie's mind would instinctively seek
the latter. He thought he had better slip easily from the one subject
to the other; for if the boy were to suspect him of any strong desire
to inform himself concerning Le Duc he would most likely draw back, from
sheer perversity, into his shell.
“You say you're known as Le Duc now? Didn't you travel with them for
awhile?”
“Yes; but it wouldn't go. Too much madam there. Let me tell you this,
Mr. Halloran. Don't you ever go into partnership with a man and his
wife. It's hell on wheels.”
“They didn't get on well, then?”
“No; the only payin' thing in the combination was the name. Le Duc's one
of the best names in the profession, an' he's been more'n square about
lettin' me go on an' use it.”
“I saw them a little while ago at their hotel. He seems to have struck a
good thing now.”
“Yes, they say he's a big man on the Board.”
“How did he ever get into it? There must be somebody behind him.”
Jimmie fingered his fork and looked up with an expressionless face. “Is
they?” he asked.
Halloran tried again. “I don't know, but I'm inclined to think there's
more in it than the papers say.”
Jimmie, for some reason, chose to give no information whatever on this
question. And Halloran had the questionable pleasure of bidding him
good-evening in the consciousness that he was no nearer what he wanted
to know than he had been in Wauchung. The next step was a matter of
careful thinking; he was not even sure that there could be a next step.
Meantime, he had an errand at the Le Ducs', and as it was not yet eight
o'clock he decided to run up there.
The great event had taken place in the Le Duc household. And when
Halloran was shown into the apartment, he found a happy father in his
shirt-sleeves dancing about a small white bundle on the sofa, a beaming
mother also in dishabille, and a simpering nurse-maid. Apples was
cordial, merry, expansive; he was delighted to see his old friend
Halloran--fairly dragged him in. Good stories and playful allusions
were continually rising in his mind and finding expression. He was
boisterously demonstrative, and given to squeezing his wife's hand or
slipping his arm around her as his tongue rattled along.
Halloran delivered his message and his bundle, and finally, when he had
been made to say all that there is to be said about some other man's
infant, the mother and nurse took it away and left the two men to smoke
and chat.
After a time there came a pause. And then an idea that had been floating
in Halloran's mind since his disappointment with Jimmie took sudden
form.
“How do you like working with Bigelow?” he asked, without the slightest
change of expression, knocking the ash off his cigar as he spoke. And
Apples took the bait.
“First rate. He's a driver, but he's got a great head on him.”
“Yes, I know. I used to work for him myself, out in Evanston. I don't
believe he has ever done much on the Board before this deal.”
“No, I don't think he has.” A peculiar expression was coming into Le
Due's face. “Who told you about it?” he asked.
“Oh, I've always known more or less of his movements. He was hit rather
hard in Kentucky Coal a little while back, but I suppose this corner
will more than square that, if it goes through.”
Le Duc smiled. “Don't you worry about that. I guess that coal business
is nothing he can't stand. A momentary change of opinion doesn't alter
the fact that there's just as much coal there as there ever was.”
“I suppose there is--just as much.”
Le Duc was looking not quite comfortable. “Of course,” he began, “there
are times with every man whose interests are spread out widely----” But
this wouldn't do. He was blundering deeper and deeper into some sort of
a trap, and not wholly grasping the situation, he decided to keep still.
Halloran had learned enough. His trip to Chicago was not to be a
failure, after all. He had learned so much, in fact, that when he was
back in his room at the hotel and could sit down and think it all over,
there seemed to be no reason for delay in turning his information to
account. Over and over again that night he considered his case: he
tested it from every point of view to assure himself of its soundness;
and in the morning, instead of heading for Wauchung, he wired Crosman
that he would return by way of the lumbering town of Corrigan, the seat
of the Corrigan mills, in the upper peninsula. The Corrigans were among
the largest owners in the “combine”; and if they were as tired of losing
money as he believed, they would doubtless be glad to hear what he had
to say.
It was an eight-hour ride from Chicago to Corrigan, and evening was so
near when he arrived that he went directly to his hotel for some dinner,
and made arrangements by telephone to see the younger Mr. Corrigan at
his home in the evening.
“I don't know that we have ever met, Mr. Corrigan,” Halloran said, when
the two men were closeted. “I am with Higginson & Company, of Wauchung.
Your company and ours have not agreed, so far, in our attitude toward G.
Hyde Bigelow. Mr. Higginson refused his offers at the start because we
had reason to distrust him. We know now that we were right.”
Corrigan looked at him with some surprise. “If you have any charges to
make against Mr. Bigelow you should see him, not me.”
“I have no charges, Mr. Corrigan, but I rather think you have. I've come
here to lay them before you and leave you free to push them or not, as
you choose. As I understand it, when this combination was organized, Mr.
Bigelow was generally thought to be a responsible man. We didn't believe
it, so we stood out rather than have him direct our business. Since that
time he has got into such difficulties with his Kentucky investments
that in order to raise money he has taken to speculating heavily on the
Board of Trade. He is operating the big corn deal through the man named
Le Duc.”
“You'll excuse me, sir, but I don't see------”
He paused, and Halloran went on: “You understand, Mr. Corrigan, that our
position is what it was at the start--we are against this combination.
And if I didn't believe that you are going to be against it, too, I
shouldn't be here. I think you'll agree with me that if what I say is
tme, Mr. Bigelow is not a man to trust.”
“If it is tme------”
“And there is a way to prove it. I suggest that at the meeting, which
comes, I believe, next month, you lay these charges before Mr. Bigelow,
without warning, and give him a chance to explain. You are at liberty to
say that I gave you the information.”
This was all he had come to say, and he was so sure of its effect that
he was willing to leave it and give the seed time to grow. But Corrigan
was aroused.
“This--this amounts to saying that Bigelow is secretly plunging on the
Board.”
“It certainly does.”
“And this Le Duc, who is he?”
“He's a cheap actor who married Bigelow's daughter.”
“His daughter! His oldest child is not a dozen years old.”
“By his present wife, yes. But he's been married before.”
“I'll think this over, Mr. Halloran; I'll think it over.”
Halloran rose. “I came up here from Chicago to tell you that Bigelow
is unsound. The sooner everybody connected with the Michigan lumber
business finds it out the better for the business. Good-night.”
“Good-night, sir.”
CHAPTER III--Mr. Babcock's Last Card
As the feat of riding thirty horses around a circus hippodrome
calls for the highest strength and skill, so the task of guiding the
complicated affairs of Bigelow & Company through the difficulties that
threatened them demanded sound character and experience. For a time the
Bigelow ventures had shown a persistent upward tendency, and the head
of the firm had then made an imposing figure, but a fair-weather man
was hardly adequate now. Kentucky Coal had slumped alarmingly; New
Freighters had perhaps been overrated; and booming suburban real estate
was discovering unexpected inertia where abnormal growth had been
gambled on. But the most disturbing element was the lumber fight. That
Higginson & Company could not only hold out until the meeting, but could
actually get the better of the Trust, had not been foreseen. Questions
would be asked at this meeting: there might even be some tension. And so
it was that Mr. Bigelow was not joking much nowadays. And so it was that
Mr. Babcock took his grip from behind the door and went to Wauchung.
The air blew keen from the West as Mr. Babcock walked swiftly out toward
the Wauchung bridge. It was a crisp, invigorating breeze, with the
strength of the lake in it, and a faint odour of pine. Men grow rugged
and hardy in this region, whether they follow blaze-marks or mariner's
compass. No malaria oozes from the dry white sand; the children rather
draw from it the sap that makes the pine tree tall and sound. If you had
strayed into the forest in the earlier time of reckless cutting; if you
had stood under the tight green roof on a scented rug of needles, finer
than ever came from India, and listened to the song of the shanty-boy as
he struck his peavey into a bleeding trunk, could you have wondered at
the lilt in his melody, at the vigour, even the harshness in his voice?
Stand near a mill-race and watch the “boys” racing down, each balanced
on a single careening log, and you will have a glimpse of the sort of
men G. Hyde Bigelow & Company were fighting.
Mr. Babcock passed the last straggling buildings of Wauchung's main
street and found himself in full view of the bridge, the river and the
lumber-yards. The sight did not please him, apparently, for he paused
with knit brows to take it in. Beyond, showing here and there, lay the
harbour, glistening in the cool light--and beyond the harbour the bald
dunes and the lake.
The sky was blue, frayed here and there into ends of white clouds--the
glorious northern sky, matched only in the air of Naples or Touraine.
But Mr. Babcock was not looking at the sky. His soul was tuned to lower
things--to lumber, for instance, heaps of it, piles of it, rows of
it, stretched for hundreds of yards along the river, and across the
peninsula, and along the edge of the harbour. The mills were silent;
the watchmen were not to be seen; the only sign of life was the smoke
curling from the funnels of the _Number One_, where Robbie MacGregor was
dozing on the engine-room bench and hourly growing fatter. Six
million feet of lumber greeted the eye of the man from Chicago, as he
looked--and looked. It was new lumber, bought by experts, every stick of
it such as would command a good price when the owners should throw it on
the market, as they certainly would sooner or later. He shook his head
and hurried on.
He found Halloran at the office and shook hands cordially. Crosman heard
the name, looked blank, recollected himself, and slipped out.
“Well, you've got a great lot of lumber here, Mr. Halloran,” Babcock
began softly, glancing out the window.
“Yes--a good deal.”
“How much can you keep in the yards here?”
“We have about twenty-five million feet in now.”
“You don't say so! Your own cutting?”
“Only part of it.”
“You've been--er--buying in the market, eh?”
“Yes, all we could get.” He could not resist adding, “It's been a good
time to buy.”
“Yes, so it has, so it has. I suppose you're holding this lot for a
better price?”
Halloran nodded. His eyes were searching the face of his caller. Babcock
paused to gather his forces, then settled back in his chair.
“I feel like telling you, Mr. Halloran, that you've done a mighty neat
piece of work. To tell the truth, it's been a surprise to us to see how
well you've carried this business. Your fame now”--he leaned forward
and dropped his voice to a confidential pitch--“your fame now, however,
rests even more on the way you've stuck to your employer's interests
than on the cleverness of what you've done. There are clever men enough,
but down in Chicago we don't see any too many honest ones.”
“No, I suppose you don't.”
“This fight has been expensive, but it's taught us one lesson, I think.
When we organized the lumber producers we tried to get all the good
firms into it. We succeeded with every one but Higginson & Company. By
the facts of the case we were forced to antagonize you, and I'll tell
you right here we expected to beat you. But we haven't beaten you.
You've shown a vitality that was surprising. And since your owner, we
understand, has been dangerously ill for some months, we are forced
to believe that you, yourself, Mr. Halloran, are the real head of this
business. Isn't that so? Well, you needn't answer. I understand your
modesty. But there are the facts. Well, now, sir, here we are, after a
hard fight, just where we were when we started. I don't know but what
you may be better off. Anyhow, you're the one man that has kept us from
doing what we want to do. What we've learned in this experience is, that
we can't afford to go on fighting Mr. John Halloran. We need just such a
man as you on our side. Mr. Bigelow and I have talked this all over, and
I think we have insight enough to know that when a rising man, a really
big man, comes along, it's a heap sight better to get on his side. You
can't stop a man like that--he's bound to rise--and if you don't keep
his good-will and confidence, you lose. Now, we want your good-will and
confidence, Mr. Halloran. I've got some propositions to lay before--”
“One moment, Mr. Babcock. If you have come to propose that anybody but
M. L. Higginson & Company conduct this business, you'll be wasting your
time.”
Babcock looked thoughtful, then nimbly changed front. “We have no
concern in this or any business except our own. But we are interested
in men. There's no doubt about it, Mr. Halloran--I know how men feel all
over Michigan--there's no doubt about it, you're the coming man in
the lumber business, to-day. Now, good men, Mr. Halloran, command good
positions. Take this place you're in--it's a salaried position, isn't
it?”
“Yes.”
“Well, now”--Mr. Babcock's voice had dropped almost to a whisper, but
his intensity, his determination to win, trembled in every note of it.
He was smiling. “Well, now, what's the use of this, Mr. Halloran; what
future have you here? Even if you succeed Mr. Higginson? You can never
be more than he is, if you stay here. But once put a man of your caliber
in a place that's big enough for him and he'll expand--he'll fill
it--he'll reach out and up. In ten years, perhaps, you'd be at the head
of the business. But you ought to be at the head _now_--then, in ten
years, you'd be in Chicago or New York, with your finger on the pulse of
the financial world. I'm here for a reason. We've started in to organize
the lumber business and nothing can stop us. It may take time; we know
it will take men. But we aren't bothering about the time; we're looking
for the men. That's our way. And you're the man we need to make it go;
you're the man that can do it--you have a genius for it. Now--one
moment--I told you I had some propositions to make to you, and I'm ready
to make them.”
He was playing the last card in the hand of Bigelow & Company, and
playing it beautifully. A few short weeks and the meeting would be
upon them--the meeting when explanations of the delay in completing the
organization would fall upon unsympathetic ears. He was thinking now,
for one moment, with his eyes half closed.
“You know, Mr. Halloran, that Mr. Bigelow is the owner of the Pewaukoe
Mills. It is a first-class plant in every way--and slightly larger than
this, isn't it?”
“A little, perhaps.”
“Now, I could make you other propositions, but you know the lumber
business, and I suppose you'd rather stay in it until you've got your
hand worked in with something a little bigger. I offer you this: We'll
put you at the head of our Pewaukoe business, with entire authority,
subject only to consultation with the firm on matters of policy and
development. We want you to go in with the idea that your hands are
free--that you can stamp your own individuality on the business. Don't
you see, Mr. Halloran, it's that individuality, that business character,
that we want above all? We want the qualities that have given you your
peculiar success here. As to payment, that will be arranged easiest
of all. You know best what you ought to have. But I'll name a figure,
merely by way of opening the discussion-----” He smiled again. “Suppose
I say we'll pay you a thousand dollars a year more than you're getting
here, whatever that may be. If that doesn't seem fair, just say so.
We want to enter these new relations with the feeling of perfect
satisfaction all around--we can't afford to do it any other way.
“One moment--------- Don't commit yourself hurriedly. This is a matter
for consideration. First of all, let me put that offer down in writing
over our signature--then we'll have something to work from. Will you
call your stenographer?”
“We have no stenographer here now. But let me say------”
“Well, I'll write it out--here, this letter-paper will do the business.”
“Now, see here, we can't talk along this line. I haven't the slightest
intention of leaving Higginson & Company.”
“I know--I know------ Take plenty of time to think it over. I'll go
ahead and put this down in black and white------”
“No, Mr. Babcock. I won't consider it at all. I stay right here at this
desk.”
Babcock brought up his reserves. “You are inclined to think,” he said,
settling back again, “that your place is here with Mr. Higginson?”
“Decidedly.”
“I see. Perhaps we've been working a little at cross-purposes. I haven't
been talking with the idea of taking away Mr. Higginson's main support
at the time he needs it most. I'm afraid I haven't been looking at that
side of it quite enough. You see, Mr. Halloran, we're business men, we
of G. H. Bigelow & Company. When we see a big man in our line we want
him; and when we try to get him, I suppose we don't always consider
the other people who want him, too. We haven't time. But I'm glad you
brought the point up. Suppose we go at it from a new point of view. Now,
I recognize (and Mr. Bigelow would agree with me if he were here) that
this very attitude of yours--this standing by your employer when he's
a sick man--is the quality in you we like best. We've seen it before;
we've talked about it. If you should go back on Mr. Higginson now--even
though, of course, there's not the slightest legal hindrance to your
looking out for yourself--how could we know you wouldn't go back on us
some day? But you won't go back on him, you see, and that's how we know
more than ever that you're the man we're after. Now there's not the
slightest need of any immediate change. We could even date your salary
from this moment, or back to the beginning of this month, without
expecting you to walk right out here------”
“It's no use--I'm not going to leave.”
“No; I'm not suggesting such a thing. I was going to say that--that
we're looking ahead. Let me see--you're about thirty, perhaps. Why, man,
you haven't begun yet. But if you stay here, and if Mr. Higginson should
die within these next few years without taking you into the firm, you'd
have nothing whatever to show for your work. Now, one place is as good
as another for such a man as you. All you need is to get a footing--but
that takes capital. My suggestion would be that you stay right here
and buy into the business--get it into your own hands. Mr. Higginson,
knowing you as he does, would be only too glad to have it go to you. We
can help you with that. Your credit is A-1 with us. We're so sure you're
going to see some day the advantages of combination and cooperation
in this business that we'll write you a check any day and no questions
asked. It------”
“Don't you think,” said Halloran, speaking slowly, with an edge on his
voice, “don't you think you've said about enough?”
Babcock flushed. “What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, if your time's worth anything to you you're losing money here.”
“Then you are not interested------”
“Not a bit.”
The junior partner of Bigelow & Company, still flushing, rose. “I've
made you a square offer------”
“And I've refused it.”
Babcock stood looking down at Halloran. His eyes were growing smaller;
his fingers were restless. For a moment he seemed not to grasp the fact
that he had failed. Halloran picked up a letter, then lowered it, and
looked up inquiringly.
“Now suppose we leave it this way for the present, Mr. Halloran.” He was
rallying. “You'd better just think over what I've said. The main thing
is to pave the way toward an agreement, and I think we've done that. I'm
glad to have had this talk with you. Don't hurry about deciding. Weigh
it carefully. Good-by--glad to have seen you.”
Halloran gave him a nod and he was gone.
It was to be a day rather more than usually eventful. Before he left the
office, in the afternoon, Crosman drew him aside.
“Would you------?” he began.
“Well?”
“Will you be home to-night--about eight?”
“I think so. Why, anything special?”
“N--no. You'll be there sure?”
“Sure.”
Promptly at eight the doorbell rang and Halloran was called down to the
parlour. Entering, he found Crosman, grinning feverishly; and over in
the corner, with her back turned, looking at a picture, was Mamie. He
looked from one to the other until Mamie turned around and disclosed a
very red face. Still no one spoke. The two now gazed appealingly at each
other, and finally it was Mamie who broke the silence with a preliminary
giggle.
“I guess--I guess you can congratulate us, Mr. Halloran.”
Coming so suddenly, even this bold statement did not sink at once
into Halloran's consciousness. But at last, after a painful pause, he
recollected himself and shook hands cordially. And then the story had to
be told in detail. It was all a secret, for Mrs. Higginson had not yet
learned to understand Harry as she would when she came to know him as
one of the family. During the worst of her father's illness Mamie would
not consent, but now that the crisis was turned she had--“Well, she had
supposed she might as well.”
“We wanted you to know it,” she said. “And it's going to be a secret
between just you and us. We thought maybe--you--maybe you'd be glad,
too.”
But for some reason it did not have that effect; for an hour later, when
Halloran was striding up the beach to the north, heedless of the waves
that ran up about his feet, of the west wind that slapped his face and
tugged at his coat, he wore a far from glad expression. And not until he
had fallen into step with the night patrol from the life-saving station,
and had swapped yams of the old Inspector and the Beebe-McClellan
boat and the capsize-drill records, and had learned precisely why the
Wauchung Station was the most abused and discriminated against in the
whole U. S. L. S. S., did he seem a little more composed.
CHAPTER IV--Twelve, Midnight
The deep-toned bell in the town hall was striking twelve. It was a
still, overcast night, with a mild breeze blowing up from the head of
Lake Michigan. Three men stood at the gate of the yards talking in
low tones, somewhat oppressed, perhaps, by the silence. Before them, a
little way, was the white circle thrown by the electric light over the
bridge; behind were the great dim piles of lumber with the narrow alleys
between, now black as the sky, and carpeted as they were with chips and
shavings, as silent beneath the foot as velvet. The only noise came, in
the intervals between words, from the two steamers that lay breathing
softly alongside the wharf.
“What you doin' on watch, Du Bois? Changed your job?”
“No; Mr. Halloran asked me to go on to-night. He says it's time we had
some good men down here.”
“Aw, go on!”
“Say, Runyon, who's that on the bridge?”
All three watched a moment.
“Dunno 'im. Throw your lantern on 'im when he goes by.”
But the fellow turned in at the gate.
“Who's this?”
“I'm George Bigelow. Mr. Halloran said I could go on watch at twelve.”
“Bigelow ain't a very safe name around here, sonny. How about it, Du
Bois?”
“It's all right, I guess. He's the new lumber-checker.” They all
laughed. “You understand, don't you, boy, that if a man's caught
sleeping or off his post he gets shot?”
“Why--why------”
“Don't let 'im scare you, sonny. He's the lazy beggar 'imself. Say, Du
Bois, I thought I saw a tramp hanging around about an hour ago. If you
want to look through the yards once more with me I'll stay for it.”
“Take the boy. It'll learn him the ropes. Run along, boy.”
“Good-night, there.”
“Good-night, Runyon. I won't wait.”
They separated, one man hurrying off for home and a bed, Du Bois
lingering at the gate for a look up and down the line of the fence;
Runyon and George, their lanterns darkened, slipping stealthily away
into the shadow.