"Because I've done the work of more than two men." The next day he was
paid at the rate of two dollars a day.
Now he was allowed to have one of the corners all to himself for his
contrivance. The week after that they laid off two men: Challoner now
was doing the work of three men. In fact, from that time he and his
machine were made the pace-makers for the entire line of workmen.
The boss was jubilant.
"Gee! I guess we'll get this job done on time after all!" he was heard
to say. "I thought for a while the old man was in for a few fines sure."
Nobody else tried Challoner's device; nobody else knew how to use it. In
a way, that was a satisfaction to him. It was a toy, something that he
had created to lighten his labours. On the other hand, he found that in
his eagerness he laboured three times as hard as before; besides, he was
even better at the work than the Italians who knew it, had become
accustomed to it, and who were better fitted for it. And yet, there was
nothing wonderful in this contrivance of his. But Challoner was
convinced that if, sometime, he could induce the boss to put it into
constant operation, it would save that gentleman a great deal of money.
Nor did it ever enter Challoner's head to have it patented. Its
principle was that of the lever, and, of course, even if he had tried,
he could not have obtained a patent. In no way was there a dollar in it.
"But," he told himself, "if ever I go into this concrete business, I
shall insist upon its use. As a business," he went on, "what can be more
profitable than concrete? It produces a wall as solid as a rock and as
indestructible as brick. Bricklayers receive five and six dollars a
day,--and brick costs money. But this sand, cement, stone and
_unskilled_ labour...." Challoner could see millions in it!
Meanwhile, he was useful at two and a half dollars a day. As we have
seen, they had made him a pacemaker; now, they determined to put his
brain to work for them: it became his duty to direct the mixing-gang at
his end of the new store.
"Don't forget, now, watch out," said the superintendent, taking him
aside. "So many barrels of cement, so many barrels of sand, and so much
stone. Now say it as I told you."
And Challoner repeated for him: so many barrels of cement, so many
barrels of sand, and so much stone. But when he was again alone, he said
half aloud:--
"So, that's all there is to the concrete business!"
Challoner little knew.
The very first day that he watched the mixing process, he discovered
that the mixer had put in too much rock and too much sand--and too
little cement.
"Look here!" cried Challoner, "you've made a mistake! Two more barrels
of cement go in there--do you understand?"
But the mixer merely grinned.
"Two more barrels of cement, I told you," persisted Challoner. The
head-superintendent had given him his instructions, and Challoner meant
to see that they were properly carried out.
Another grin from the mixer was all the satisfaction that he received.
Instantly, Challoner leaped up on the platform and stood over the mixer.
At that, the man waved his arm; his signal brought not the
head-superintendent, but the general foreman of the work, who demanded
gruffly:--
"What's the trouble here?"
Challoner explained in a few words.
"You blamed idiot!" burst out the raging foreman. "You leave the man
alone! Do you think that he don't know how to mix concrete? Leave him
alone, I say!"
But Challoner, now, was not a man to be so easily turned from his
orders; and again he insisted:--
"Two more barrels of cement, I told you!"
And he kept on insisting so strenuously, that a little knot of labourers
gathered around them to await the result. Finally, the foreman saw that
the head-superintendent was coming toward them from far down the street.
"All right, then," he conceded reluctantly, "make it two more barrels of
cement."
But that same afternoon, the foreman singled Challoner out and paid him.
Then he lunged out, and striking Challoner on the shoulder lightly, he
exclaimed:--
"There, you infernal jackass! You're discharged!"
"Discharged!" The exclamation fell from his lips before Challoner could
check it; and notwithstanding his great disappointment, he made no
further comment, but turned on his heel and left. The next day, however,
he brought his case before the head-superintendent, who said:--
"If Perkins discharged you, I can't help it. I won't interfere."
"But what was I discharged for?"
"Oh, come now!" cried the superintendent; "you must know that you were
discharged for stealing cement!"
Stunned for a moment, Challoner said not a word. Then slowly he began to
understand. Graft! Yes, that was the solution of the matter. Cement was
worth money in any market; and in the concrete business, nobody could
tell,--until it was too late,--just how many barrels went into the
mixture. With _bricks_--there was no doubt about bricks. A brick was
good or bad; you could tell that by a trowel. But concrete was bound to
be a problem henceforth to the end of time.
So it turned out that Challoner was discharged for doing the thing the
foreman was guilty of doing. At the time he had little thought of
resentment. It is true that he might have "peached" on the foreman,
complained to the head-superintendent, and got them to test the walls
with a testing-hammer. But it was too late, besides, he knew now that
the head-superintendent was tarred with the same stick.
After this incident, Challoner cultivated a habit of strolling into the
offices of the various dealers in the city.
"What are the proper concrete proportions?" was his request in all of
them.
Charts were taken out and consulted. There was no difference of opinion:
all agreed that the head-superintendent's figures were out of the way,
and by one barrel of cement.
Graft! There was no doubt about it in his mind; and he proceeded to
figure out just where the trouble lay. On that department-store job
there were several mixers. On every mixing the head-superintendent made
one barrel of cement. There were several foremen. On every individual
mixing, the foremen, severally, made two barrels of cement. In every
mixing three barrels of cement were left out.
"But what about the _wall_?" Challoner asked himself when once more
alone.
And so it came about that he found that in this business, of all
businesses, there was a chance for an honest man. After a little while,
he found another job--still at two dollars a day. It was beginning once
more at the bottom, and working up, yet he did it. But the instant he
had worked up, he was again confronted with a similar situation. It was
a question of "shut up or get out!" Gradually, it is true, the burden of
the song of these men shifted slightly, and became, "Come in with us, or
keep silent."
A few more experiences of this sort, and it was given to Challoner to
perceive that he had knowledge of these things in advance of the general
public. People looked upon concrete as something marvellous. The
agitation among the construction men, the newspaper accounts about its
cheapness, together with the wonderful results obtained by its use in
other cities, all combined to dazzle owners about to build.
From day to day, Challoner could see the demand for concrete increasing.
He saw, too, that the price of brick was falling off, because concrete
had awakened a new interest in the minds of the people, had aroused
their enthusiasm. Plainly, Challoner was excited. He could see, could
talk of nothing else. While Miriam was in the hospital he had begun to
talk concrete with her; when she was convalescing and had returned to
their rooms,--they had three now,--figuratively speaking, they had
cement for breakfast and for supper. But it was his business now, and
his whole mind was concentrated upon it.
And in all this there was a singular and valuable fact: Challoner was
the only man in town,--literally the only man, because of the
circumstances of the case,--outside of the contractors, who knew the
business, and yet who had intelligence enough to understand the danger
in concrete. Naturally, the contractors did not tell owners about graft.
They did not warn their customers; they took chances; and needless to
say, the owners themselves did not know.
Challoner was quick to seize his opportunity; besides, he was conscious
that a duty rested upon him. Day and night he scanned the papers, and
when he found a concrete contract recorded, he looked up the owner, saw
him personally and told him facts. Of course, most of this was done at
night and on holidays.
"You don't say so," the owner would respond, opening wide his eyes.
But Challoner mentioned no names; he merely outlined conditions. Some
contractors, he acknowledged, were honest, perhaps most of them, but
many were careless. And then the foremen on these jobs unquestionably
were poorly paid. Surely the temptations were great.
"You don't say so," the owner would repeat.
And when the job started, this owner would put a competent man on to
oversee it. Frequently it happened that this man was J. L. Challoner.
The time came when he made five dollars a day. Moreover, the time came
when many of the good concrete walls in town owed their strength to him.
But even though his time was full, and money was plentiful, it did not
interfere with Challoner's interest in the evolution of concrete and
concrete graft; nor was he slow to recognise its value to politicians;
and so when the "ring"--for there was still a "ring" in spite of the
efforts of Murgatroyd--sprang its little surprise, Challoner knew what
was coming.
"A new concrete hospital," said the "ring," and saw in it the thin edge
of the wedge, for they foresaw a new concrete jail. Possibly they could
go still further: if they could educate the people up to it, they might
have more new concrete city buildings.
However, the new concrete hospital came first. It was one-third finished
when J. L. Challoner applied for, and secured a job as foreman of the
mixing-gang on the east wing. The men who employed him did not know him;
if they had, they would have dismissed him at once.
"Great Scott! The graft in cement is appalling!" Challoner exclaimed
before he had been on the work twenty minutes. He voiced his protest; he
would not stop voicing it: for he found that the hospital was being
built chiefly of sand and broken stone.