explaining, as well as he could, how he came to be in Panama, and
giving a detailed account of the events that had befallen him since his
arrival. He would have preferred to cable this message collect, but
Mrs. Cortlandt convinced him that he owed a fuller explanation than
could well be sent over the wires. Although he took this means of
relieving his father's anxiety, he was far from resigning himself to a
further delay of his return. On the contrary, he at once began an
inquiry as to sailing dates, discovering, to his intense disgust, that
no ship was scheduled to leave for New York within several days. He
planned to borrow the passage money from his friends, when the time
came, and accompany his letter northward. Meanwhile he devoted his time
to sight-seeing with his hostess.
The city was old, there were many places of historic interest, and,
although Kirk cared little for such things, he found it easy to assume
the virtue he did not possess. Moreover, there was something contagious
in his companion's enthusiasm. Almost against his will he felt his
appreciation growing, as he listened to her casual comments on the
scenes they visited. Her husband, who seemed busily engaged in work
that barely allowed him time for his meals, seldom accompanied them on
their excursions, and the two were thrown much into each other's
society.
Edith Cortlandt was a woman very sure of herself in most things. A
situation that might have proved embarrassing to one less tactful she
accepted quite as a matter of course, rather enjoying the exercise of
her influence, and never doubting her power to keep the friendship on
any footing she chose. Kirk's frank, boyish gratitude for the favors he
had received made it easy for her to encourage the growth of an
intimacy that she acknowledged charming, while she sincerely believed
that he would be helped by it. Finding him responsive, she deliberately
set herself to please him. She studied him covertly and set her moods
to match his--not a difficult task, since he was merely a normal,
healthy young man. Always faultless in her attire, she took even more
than ordinary pains with her appearance, and it was not long before
Kirk was naively surprised to find that she no longer seemed older than
he--that she was, in fact, an exceedingly handsome woman. This gradual
metamorphosis depended more than anything else, perhaps, upon the
girlish humor that now possessed her. She was no longer brilliant and
chilly, but gay, smiling, and unaffected.
Daytimes, they rambled about the crooked streets, bargain-hunting in
the Chinese shops, or drove beneath the stately royal palms of Ancon;
evenings, they loitered about the cool verandas of the Tivoli or
strolled down into the town to watch the crowds in the plazas. Once in
a while Cortlandt went with them, but he was usually uncommunicative,
and they scarcely felt his presence. On the few occasions when he gave
himself rein, Kirk was compelled to feel for him a surprised and
half-grudging respect. Unlike most silent men, when he did talk he
talked easily and well.
Several days passed thus, during which Anthony fully recovered from his
experience at Colon. Then a ship arrived from New York, but before he
had summoned courage to ask his friends for a loan he received, a
letter forwarded from Colon by the American consul, a perusal of which
not only dumfounded him, but entirely altered his plans.
It was typewritten, on plain stationery; there was neither heading nor
signature, yet he knew quite well from whom it came. It read as follows:
Don't cable again, or the stupidity of the police may fail to
protect you. The others got away safely and you would be mad
to return alone. I can't and won't help you now. This time
you went too far. You have made your bed, now lie in it. I
don't believe in miracles, but if you can straighten up and
make a man of yourself, I'll help you face this trouble;
otherwise don't call on me for anything. I'm through.
Kirk reread this amazing epistle several times before its full
significance struck him; then, when he realized what it meant, he felt
himself break into a sweat of apprehension. That plain-clothes man had
died! The police were looking for him. There could be no other
explanation, else why had Higgins and the rest fled the country? Why
had his father been so cautious in communicating with him? If it came
to a trial, undoubtedly a jury would find him equally guilty with
Higgins, for he had held the poor fellow's hands; it was he who had
engineered the whole episode. Perhaps he was already indicted. Kirk saw
himself accused of manslaughter, arrested, and tried. What could he do
if his father refused to help? With money, almost anything could be
achieved; without it, and particularly without his father's influence,
what would happen? Evidently the Governor believed him guilty. In that
case the young man knew that explanations would be futile. Even the
letter he had sent would do no good. When Darwin K. Anthony said he was
through, he was through.
Finding a secluded corner of the veranda, he sat down to think this
matter out; but the more he reflected on it the more serious it
appeared. Of one thing he became quickly convinced: New York at present
was no place for him. A moment ago it seemed far away and extremely
desirable, now it was altogether too close at hand and most
undesirable. His father's reference to the stupidity of the police
persuaded him finally that his whereabouts were unknown, but how long
they would remain so was of course a question. It was useless to
attempt further concealment. In the first place, he lacked means of
moving, nor could he conceal his identity under an assumed name while
he remained in Panama, for he had already advertised himself too well
for that. Besides, the idea of hiding did not appeal to him. He decided
to face it out, therefore, hoping sometime to get to the bottom of the
affair. If he were arrested meanwhile, he would have to locate Ringold
or Higgins, or some of the others, and prove that he had not run away
from punishment. It would be difficult to verify the extravagant story
of his kidnapping, of course, but--there was nothing else to do. He
rose quickly and entered the hotel, where he bought all the latest New
York papers. It was not long before he found the thing he was seeking.
There it was, a story headed:
SALOON-KEEPER TO LOSE LICENSE
OWNER OF NOTORIOUS AUSTRIAN VILLAGE IN TROUBLE
There followed an account of Mr. Padden's efforts to disprove his
connection with an assault upon the person of a detective named
Williams, who had come from St. Louis; but nowhere was there a word
about the present condition of the plain-clothes man, nor the slightest
hint toward explaining the conduct of the mysterious Jefferson Locke
for whom he had been searching. Who the devil was Locke, anyhow? The
article did not even state the charge upon which he was to be arrested.
In another paper Kirk found something that relieved his mind a bit:
evidently Williams had not died prior to the time of going to press,
although he was reported in a critical condition. Kirk was interested
to read that the police had a clew to the identity of the criminals and
were confident of soon rounding them up. What mystified him most was
the lack of detail. Evidently much had been printed previously, but he
had no means of ascertaining what it was.
He spent an hour in serious thought, perhaps the first full hour he had
ever passed so profitably. At the end of that time he had arrived at
little save a vague feeling of offence toward the father who had been
so ready to condemn him. In one way he did not blame the old gentleman
for refusing aid. This episode was the culmination of a long series of
reckless exploits. Mr. Anthony had argued, threatened, even implored
with tears in his eyes, all to no purpose. Just the same, it hurt to
have one's father so willing to believe the worst. The two had never
understood each other; they did not understand each other now. And they
might have been such good pals! Darwin K. did not believe in
miracles--Well, perhaps Kirk was hopelessly bad. The young man did not
care much, one way or the other; but he shut his teeth grimly and
wagered he could make good if he really chose to try. He half decided
to make the experiment just to show what he could do, but he was at a
loss where to begin. Anybody could be successful who really wanted
to--every book said that; the hard part was to get started.
One thing was clear, at least: he could stay here no longer as the
Cortlandts' guest--he had already incurred an obligation which he would
have difficulty in discharging. Yet how could he explain his change of
front? Mrs. Cortlandt, he felt sure, would understand and come to his
assistance with good advice, but he shrank instinctively from laying
the facts before her husband. It was a deuced unpleasant necessity, and
he detested unpleasant necessities--necessities of any sort, in fact.
Still, there was nothing else for it, so, conquering his sense of
humiliation as best he could, he called up the Cortlandts' suite.
Edith answered, saying that her husband was out; then, in response to
his request, she came down herself.
"What has gone wrong? Why this face of tragedy?" she inquired, as she
seated herself beside him.
"I've received my Declaration of Independence. I've heard from my dad."
A look of quick understanding drove away the smile she had brought him,
and her manner was one of grave sympathy as she took the letter he
handed her.
She was clad in a crisp morning gown he had never seen, and he thought
it became her extremely well. She looked very cool, very fresh, very
much the fine lady. All in all, she seemed a person whose friendly
interest might compensate for many woes.
"Well!" she remarked. "You do seem to be in trouble. What does it mean?"
Kirk told her everything without reserve, then showed her the
newspapers in his hand. She scrutinized them with a quiet seriousness
that seemed to make his trouble her own. "After all," she said at last,
"if worse comes to worst, you can prove your innocence."
"I'm not so sure."
"Nonsense! Those boys can be found. What puzzles me is that Locke
person. Who is he? Why was he followed? What has become of him?"
"I wish I knew."
"I can have inquiries made, but it will take time. Meanwhile, it seems
you are safe, so the one important fact for the moment is that you are
cast off." Turning her bright eyes upon him, she inquired, "How does it
feel to be disinherited?"
"Blamed uncomfortable! I must tell Mr. Cortlandt at once."
"Let me," she offered, quickly. "I would not show any one that letter,
if I were you, nor advertise the fact that you are in danger of arrest.
It will be quite enough if I tell him that you have quarrelled with
your father--he is a peculiar man."
Kirk signified his agreement.
"Now what do you intend doing?" she asked him.
"I'm going to work."
"Good! Good!" She clapped her hands gleefully.
"Oh, I don't WANT to," he protested, "but the old gentleman thinks I'm
no good, and I'd like to show him he's wrong. After I've done that, I
intend to loaf again--yes, and I'll know how to loaf by that time. Of
course, I'll have to pay my debts, too."
"Poor Mr. Weeks!"
"Why poor?"
"He is terribly agitated to learn that we came to your rescue. He knows
now that he really entertained an angel unaware, and his grief of soul
is comical."
"Weeks isn't such a bad sort."
But her eyes showed a sudden flash of anger as she returned: "He
deserves to be forced out of the service."
"That wouldn't do any good. His successor might be worse."
"Haven't you any resentment? I dislike placid people!"
"Plenty! If I get a crack at Alfarez---"
"Now don't allow your mind to dwell on that," she cautioned. "I think
he is riding to a fall, as it is. What do you want to do?"
"Anything. I'm going to hunt a job this afternoon."
"What sort?"
"Something with big pay and no responsibility."
"Those positions are taken--by the army," she laughed. "What can you
do?"
"I can take an automobile apart."
"And put it together again?"
"Oh no! I can sail a boat; I shoot pretty well; I waltz nicely; I row,
swim, and box indifferently; and I play an atrocious hand at poker."
Mrs. Cortlandt nodded gravely. "You are also good company, you dress
well, and you are an ornament to any hotel porch."
"Naturally, I refrained from mentioning those things, but, in addition,
I smoke, drink, and swear. I am unsteady in my habits, and require a
great deal of sleep. I think that completes the inventory."
"Of course, you will live beyond your salary?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Seriously, now, don't you really---?"
"Go ahead. Say it! Don't I know anything? No. I am too highly educated.
You see, I took the full college course."
She drew her sharply pencilled brows together and pursed her lips in
meditation, regarding him meanwhile with a look that was not all
disapproval.
"Am I hopeless?" he inquired at length.
"Dear, no! Experience is a good thing, of course, and ability is even
better, but neither is absolutely necessary in government work."
"Oh!"
"Provided---"
"What?"
"--You have influence. I was merely trying to think of the niche into
which you would best fit."
"When a fellow hasn't any of those qualifications, then what? Take me,
for instance."
"You have at least one."
"Which one?"
"Influence."
He shook his head. "My father wouldn't help."
"We'll have no difficulty in finding you a position."
"Jove! That's good news." He beamed at her with gratified surprise. "I
had an idea I'd be going from door to door."
"How ridiculous! This is a government job; therefore it is saturated
with politics. There are a great many good men on it, but there are
also a large number of 'somebody's relatives.' Do you understand?
Anything is possible here for a man with influence. If he has ability
with it, he can go to the top. If he lacks ability--well, even then he
can go to the top--it depends entirely upon the influence."
"But I haven't any--" Kirk began. Then, catching her look, he
exclaimed: "Oh, say! WILL you help me? Really? That's too good to be
true."
He shook her hand warmly, that being the natural outlet for his
gratitude, and she smiled at him. "I wonder where I'd better start in,"
he said.
"There's not the slightest choice. All paths lead up the mountain, and
if you go far enough you will reach the top. It would be quite easy if
you knew something about the railroad business, for instance."
"Oh, I do. I've had that drilled into me ever since I was a child. I
grew up with it--was soaked in it. My father made me learn telegraphy
before he gave me a motor-boat."
"Why in the world didn't you say so?"
"Well, I have forgotten most of it," he confessed. "I had a railroad of
my own, too, when I was twelve years old. I was president."
"Indeed!"
"I suppose it was in my blood. We kids stole the lumber for a track,
and I got a hand-car from dad. We formed a close corporation, and, when
another boy wanted to join, we made him go forth and steal enough
boards to extend the line. We finally had nearly two miles, altogether,
with switches, sidings, yards, and everything; then the fences in that
neighborhood gave out. It was a gravity road--yes, there was extreme
gravity in every department--we'd push the car up and ride down. We had
a telephone system and semaphores, and ran on orders just like a real
train. Grown people heard about it, and paid us five cents a ride, so
we began to declare dividends every Saturday. Oh, it was a great
success. We had a complete organization, too; president, directors,
conductors, section-hands--the section-hands did all the work and rode
between times."
"What happened to it?"
"One day we ran into a cow and broke the vice-president's leg. The
board of directors also had his ear cut, and the indignant neighbors
began to reclaim their fences. We lost a mile of track in one
afternoon, and father decided it would be better for me to go to
boarding-school. It was safer."
"I'll warrant you learned the rudiments of railroading, just the same."
"I learned everything," Kirk announced, decisively.
"Unfortunately, the P.R.R. has a president, so we can't start you in
where you left off."
"He might need an assistant."
Mrs. Cortlandt laughed lightly. "While we are finding that out," she
said, "I think you had better go over the line in daylight and really
see what this work is like. That glimpse you had at Gatun is only a
small part. Now, will you trust me to manage this for you, Mr. Anthony?"
"I should say I would, and I can't begin to tell you--"
"Oh, it's nothing." She rose to put her plans promptly into operation,
this time extending her hands with the words: "Let me congratulate you.
I really believe you are waking up, and without the woman's aid."
"But the woman is aiding me," he replied, warmly. "She's doing it all.
You have started me moving, and I'll never be able to thank you." Then,
as her eyes flashed to his with a look he had never seen before, he
added: "Understand, though, I am going to work only because I must. I
detest it."
XI
THE TRUTH ABOUT MRS. CORTLANDT
Edith Cortlandt was not the sort to permit delay. At lunch she
introduced Kirk to the Master of Transportation of the Panama Railroad,
saying:
"Mr. Runnels has offered to take you out through the Cut this
afternoon, and explain the work to you."
Runnels, a straight, well-set-up, serious young man, bent a searching
look upon Kirk, as he said, "Mrs. Cortlandt tells me you're going to be
one of us."
"Yes."
The Master of Transportation took in the applicant fully, then nodded
his head as if pleased with his inspection.
"That's good."
Anthony was drawn to the speaker instantly, for there was no
affectation about him. He was straightforward and open, little given to
the kind of small talk that serves in so many cases to conceal
character. He produced the effect of a busy and forceful man; one could
feel energy radiating from him, and his voice had a ring of authority.
Like every one down here who was doing something, he talked of little
besides the Big Job, even when Mr. Cortlandt joined the trio. As the
two younger men rose to leave, Edith playfully admonished him to teach
his protege the entire detail of the railroad business and have him
back in time for dinner, to which he agreed.
"She's wonderful," he remarked a moment later, as he and Kirk descended
the hotel steps together. "She told Colonel Jolson he'd just have to
find you a position, and I have been delegated to show you about."
"You don't say. I supposed there were plenty of openings."
"Not good ones. However, she usually gets what she wants. If I'm not a
good guide, you must put it down to inexperience."
"The Cortlandts seem to have considerable influence for outsiders. I
thought I'd have to begin at the bottom."
Runnels glanced at his companion quickly.
"Outsiders! You don't call them outsiders?"
"I never quite figured out who they are. Funny, by-the-way, how
everybody says 'they' in referring to them."
"Oh, she's the whole team. Cortlandt's a nice fellow--but--Did you
really think that she'd let you start at the bottom?"
"Why, yes."
"I guess you don't know her."
"You're right; I do not."
"Well, she knows everybody and everything in this country. She's the
whole diplomatic service. Take the Colombian trouble, for instance--"
"What trouble?"
"When Panama seceded. She manipulated that, or at least Steve Cortlandt
did under her direction. She was the brains of the whole affair,
however, and those New York lawyers merely did what she told them. It
was one of the cleverest exploits on record. Colombia wouldn't let us
build the Canal, so Panama seceded. War was declared, but the United
States interfered in time to prevent bloodshed. One Chinaman was
killed, I believe, by dropping a flat-iron on his toe, or something,
and by the time the excitement had died out we had begun digging. She
knows Central America like the palm of her hand. When she says Kirk
Anthony wants a position, we hirelings jump about and see that he gets
it. Oh, you'll have any job you want."
"Well!" The recipient of this good news congratulated himself silently.
"I wish you'd tell me something more about her."
"There isn't time just now; our motor is waiting. But we have the whole
afternoon ahead of us."
The two passed through the railroad gates and took their places in the
little car. When they were under way, Runnels went on: "I'm supposed to
show you this end of the work and tell you what it all means."
"Then please start at the beginning. You see, I probably know less
about it than anybody living."
"Of course you know the general lay-out?"
"I tell you I don't know a thing. There's no use four-flushing."
Runnels smiled at this candor. "Well, the ditch will be about fifty
miles long, and, roughly speaking, the work is in three parts--the
dredging and harbor-building at sea-level on each end of the Canal, the
lock-work, and the excavations on the upper levels. That dam you saw
building at Gatun will form a lake about thirty miles long--quite a
fish-pond, eh? When a west-bound ship arrives, for instance, it will be
raised through the Gatun locks, three of them, and then sail along
eighty-five feet above the ocean, across the lake and into a channel
dug right through the hills, until it reaches the locks at Pedro
Miguel. Then it will be lowered to a smaller lake five miles long, then
down again to the level of the Pacific. An east-bound ship will reverse
the process. Get the idea?"
"Sure. It sounds easy."
"Oh, it's simple enough. That's what makes it so big. We've been
working at it five years, and it will take five years more to complete
it. Before we began, the French had spent about twenty years on the
job. Now a word, so you will have the general scheme of operation in
your head. The whole thing is run by the Isthmian Canal Commission--six
men, most of whom are at war with one another. There are really two
railroad systems--the I. C. C., built to haul dirt and rock and to
handle materials in and out of the workings, and the Panama Railroad,
which was built years ago during the California gold rush and bought by
our government at the time of that terrible revolution I told you
about. The latter is a regular system, hauls passengers and freight,
but the two work together. You will start in with the P. R. R., Mr.
Anthony, under my despotic sway."
"I know a little about railroading."
"So much the better. There's a big railroad man by your name in the
States. Are you related?"
"I believe so," Kirk answered, quietly. "Go ahead with the lesson."
"The Canal Zone is a strip of land ten miles wide running across the
Isthmus--really an American colony, you know, for we govern it, police
it, and all that. As for the work itself, well, the fellows at the two
ends of the Canal are dredging night and day to complete their part,
the lock-builders are laying concrete like mad to get their share done
first, the chaps in the big cut are boring through the hills like moles
and breaking steam-shovel records every week, while we railroad men
take care of the whole shooting-match. Of course, there are other
departments--sanitary, engineering, commissary, and so forth--all doing
their share; but that is the general scheme. Everybody is trying to
break records. We don't think of anything except our own business. Each
fellow believes the fate of the Canal depends upon him. We've lost
interest in everything except this ditch, and while we realize that
there is such a place as home, it has become merely a spot where we
spend our vacations. They have wars and politics and theatres and
divorces out there somewhere, but we don't care. We've lost step with
the world, we've dropped out. When the newspapers come, the first thing
we look for is the Panama news. We're obsessed by this job. Even the
women and the children feel it--you'll feel it as soon as you become a
cog in the machine. Polite conversation at dinner is limited to tons of
rock and yards of concrete. Oh, but I'm tired of this concrete talk."
"Try the abstract for a change."
"It's interesting at first, then it gets tiresome. Lord! It's fierce."
"The work, too?"