A CATASTROPHE
In an incredibly short space of time Strong Park began to be a reality.
Men commenced grading its uneven turf; laying out walks and flower-beds;
erecting benches and a band stand, and setting out trees and shrubs. An
ample area at one end of the grounds was reserved for a ball field; and
adjoining it parallel bars, traveling rings, and the apparatus necessary
to an out-of-door gymnasium was put in place.
All these arrangements Peter witnessed with delight. He longed to tell
his father so, but unfortunately was granted no opportunity. Once, and
once only, did Mr. Coddington refer to the project and that was to
inquire whimsically of Peter if his friend Strong was satisfied with the
preparations, and whether he had any suggestions to make. Young Strong
had no suggestions, Peter declared. He thought the park perfect. And
indeed it was! Neither thought nor money had been spared to make it so.
Peter was very proud of his father those days when, on every hand, he
heard the men extolling the president's generosity. More than once the
great secret of his relation to the Coddingtons trembled on his lips and
almost slipped from him, but he succeeded in holding it resolutely in
check. Despite his intimacy with Nat and his frequent visits to the
Jackson home not a hint of his real identity escaped him. His assumed
role was made easier, perhaps, by the fact that he had entered so
heartily into it. He was really living the career of Peter Strong, and
the Peter Coddington who had idled away so many months in purposeless,
irresponsible dallying was rapidly becoming but a hazy memory. There was
no denying that Peter Strong's life was the far more interesting
one--every day it became more absorbing.
"You see we're really doing something!" exclaimed Peter enthusiastically
to Nat Jackson one Saturday afternoon when they were taking one of their
long tramps together. "Washing and carting skins isn't much in itself,
and it would not be any fun at all if it wasn't part of the chain. But
when you think how necessary a step in the process it is, and consider
that there could be no leather unless somebody did just what I am doing,
it seems well worth while. I never did anything before that was actually
necessary. It is rather good sport."
And, in truth, Peter was doing something. Had he doubted it the ever
increasing fund toward his motorcycle would have been a tangible proof.
Already it was quite a little nest-egg and the boy, who had never before
earned a penny, felt justifiably proud of the crisp bills that he was
able to tuck at intervals into the bank. Once more, as a recognition of
his faithful work, his pay had been raised--this time to seven dollars.
It was toward the middle of August that Mr. Tyler, the superintendent,
who evidently was keeping closer watch of Peter's progress than he had
suspected, notified him that on the fifteenth he was to leave the
beamhouse and report in the finishing department. Peter was not only
astonished but a good deal distressed. He had worked not a whit harder
or more faithfully than had Nat Jackson, and deserved the promotion no
more--in fact not as much as his chum. It seemed grossly unfair. Peter
turned the matter over and over in his mind. He would have rejoiced in
the good fortune had he considered it came to him justly; but to take
what belonged to somebody else--that robbed it of all its charm. He
thought and thought what he should do and at last he gained courage to
go to Mr. Tyler with his dilemma. An appeal for his friend could do no
harm and it might do good.
When he had made his errand known the superintendent tilted back in his
chair and regarded him in silence.
"Jackson is far better informed as to the processes than I am, Mr.
Tyler," Peter pleaded. "Besides, he has a mother to support and needs to
get on. If there is only one vacancy in the finishing department can't
you give him the chance? He has been a year in the beamhouse already,
and if there is a promotion it belongs by right to him."
Mr. Tyler fingered his watch-chain. He had never had precisely this
experience before--to try to push a man and have him beg that you give
his good luck to somebody else. Surely this Peter Strong was an
extraordinary person! Mr. Tyler could now understand how even the
president of the company, under the spell of his simple eloquence, had
not only surrendered a valuable building lot for a park but had actually
named it after the youthful enthusiast. The superintendent couldn't but
admire the lad's earnestness. At the same time, however, he did not at
all fancy having his plans questioned or interfered with; therefore when
he spoke it was to dash Peter's demands to earth with a rebuff.
"Most men would hail with gratitude an opening that took them out of
the beamhouse, Strong," replied he stiffly. "It is generous of you, no
doubt, to make this plea for your friend, but you see you are the person
recommended for the promotion. In this world we must take our chances as
they come. Unfortunately the opportunities of life are not transferable,
my boy. I will, however, bear Jackson in mind and see if anything can be
done for him. Good-morning."
The nod of Mr. Tyler's head was final.
Peter turned away, heart-sick at his failure. He had done all he could
unless, indeed, he broke his bond and appealed to his father, and any
such breach of their contract he considered out of the question. Yet how
he dreaded to tell the Jacksons of his success. Nat would be so hurt!
Still, they must, of course, know it in time and how much better to hear
the news from Peter himself than in cowardly fashion to leave the spread
of the tidings to rumor. Accordingly he told his tale as bravely as he
could.
"It isn't as if I deserved it one bit more than you, Nat," he concluded.
"It has just happened to come to me--I've no idea why."
"Of course you deserve it, Peter," cried Nat. "Haven't you worked like a
tiger in the beamhouse ever since you came here? You know you have.
Everybody says so. There isn't a man in the works but likes you and will
be glad at your good luck--I most of all. Some day I'll be making a
start up the ladder myself; wait and see if I don't!"
Although he spoke with a generous heartiness and made every attempt to
conceal his chagrin, Peter knew that in reality Nat honestly felt that
he had failed to receive the prize that he had rightfully won. Had not
the friendship of the boys been of tough fibre it would have been
shattered then and there. As it was their affection for each other
bridged the chasm and it would have been hard to tell which of them
suffered the more--the lad who through no fault of his own had taken the
award that belonged to his chum, or the lad who had won the prize only
to see it handed to some one else. Peter, who was the victim of success,
seemed of the two the more overwhelmed with regrets and therefore it was
Nat who, despite his bitter disappointment, turned comforter.
"You mustn't be so cut up over it, Peter, old boy! Of course I know you
didn't have anything to do with it. The men in a factory are like so
many checkers--they are moved about just any way that those higher up
choose to play the game. It is all right and I want you to know I think
so. Don't start in at your new job feeling that I'm sorry you have it.
I'm glad; really I am, Peter!"
"It's mighty decent of you, Nat. I wish I had the chance to show you how
much I appreciate it."
"I don't want you to show me; I just want you to believe that I mean
what I say. And you mustn't mind our working in different departments.
We'll be together at noon time just the same. It won't make any
difference."
But still Peter was not happy. Day after day he waited hopefully to see
if Mr. Tyler would make good his promise and do something for young
Jackson; but nothing came of it, and no course remained but to accept
unwillingly the promotion and set his foot on this upward rung of the
ladder.
The finishing department occupied several floors of the building devoted
to calfskins, and the first task given Peter was to help stretch and
tack the skins which were still wet from dyeing on boards, after which
they were dried by steam in a large, hot room. In some factories, he
learned, the skins were put in great rooms with open shutters on all
sides, where they dried in the air. But the Coddington Company, he was
told, preferred drying by steam. Peter was very slow at tacking the wet
skins on the boards. The speed with which the boys worked who had been
long at the job astounded him. With lightning swiftness they took up the
big, flat-headed tacks, placed, and struck them. One could scarcely
follow the motions of their hands. Fortunately for Peter he was released
from this work after a few days and set to helping the men who measured
the finished skins in an automatic measuring machine; this machine
recorded the dimensions of the skins on a dial and was a wonderfully
intricate contrivance. Try as he would Peter was unable to fathom how it
could so quickly and exactly compute a problem that it would have taken
him a long time to solve.
Incidentally he learned many other things of the workmen. Some of the
very stiff calfskins, he discovered, were "dusted" or laid in bins of
damp sawdust and softened before they were taken to the finishers. There
were a multitude of processes, he found, for converting the leather into
the special kinds desired. What a numberless variety of finishes there
was! There was willow calf--a fine, soft, chrome-tanned leather which,
the foreman told him, was put into the best quality of men's and women's
shoes; box calf--a high grade, storm-proof leather, chrome tanned and
dull finished; chrome calf--finished in tan color, and with a fine,
smooth grain; boarded calf--tanned either in chrome or quebracho; wax
calf--finished by polishing the flesh side until it took a hard, waxy
surface; mat calf that was dull in finish; storm calf, oiled for winter
wear; and French calf, which, like wax calf, was finished on the flesh
side.
"How in the world could any one think of so many different things to do
to the skin of a calf?" ejaculated Peter.
His head fairly ached with the information poured into it by the
zealous foreman who, by the way, was an Englishman named Stuart.
"In time you'll sort out all I have told you," Stuart answered
encouragingly, observing Peter's despair. "It is simple enough when you
once understand the different finishing processes. First the leather is
rolled by machinery until it is pliable enough for the finishers to work
on. Then it goes through a 'putting out' process; by that I mean that it
is laid out on benches where it is stretched and flattened by being
smoothed with a piece of hard rubber; next the edges are trimmed off and
the odd bits sold; some of these go to hardware dealers who use them for
washers or for the thousand and one purposes that leather is needed for
in making tools."
"More economy!" put in Peter.
"Yes, I guess you have learned already that we do not waste much here,"
grinned Stuart.
Peter nodded.
"Afterward," Stuart continued, "follow the many methods for getting
certain varieties of finish on the leather. Here, for instance, you will
see men graining tan stock by working it by hand into tiny wrinkles;
they use heavy pieces of cork with which they knead the material until
the leather is checked in minute squares. It looks like an easy thing
to do, but it isn't. It requires skilled workmen in order to get
satisfactory results. Over here," and he beckoned to Peter, "men are
making 'boarded calf' by beating and pounding it as you see, that they
may get fine, soft stock. Here still others are glassing the leather and
giving it a smooth surface by rubbing it with a heavy piece of glass."
"And what are those fellows over by the wall doing?" inquired Peter,
pointing to a group of workmen who, with right leg naked, were standing
in a row and rapidly drawing tan leather first over a wooden upright set
in the floor, and then over their knee.
"Those," Stuart answered, "are knee-stakers. Strangely enough no machine
has yet been invented which will give to certain kinds of leather the
elasticity and softness which can be put into it by a man's stretching
it over his bare knee. It is a curious way to earn one's living, isn't
it? See how quickly they work and how strong they are. Just look how the
muscles of their legs stand out!"
"I should say so," Peter answered. "Why, it almost seems as if they must
have been track sprinters all their lives. They must be well paid."
"What they earn depends on how fast they work," Stuart said. "All this
finishing is piece work. The more a man can do in an hour the higher he
is paid. Almost all these fellows are skilled workmen who have been at
just this task for a long time. They do it rapidly and well, and receive
good wages."
Stuart walked on and Peter followed.
"Here is a machine that makes gun-metal finished leather for the uppers
of black shoes; the leather is, as you see, put through a series of
rollers where it is blacked, oiled, and ironed, and comes out with that
dull surface."
"Are all these different kinds of leather really made from calfskins?"
asked Peter at last.
"Practically so--yes," replied Stuart. "Upper or dressed leather is made
from large calfskins or else from kips. Kips, you know, are the skins
of under-sized cows, oxen, horses, buffalo, walrus, and other such
animals. These are tanned and sorted out in the beamhouse when wet. The
thick ones are usually split thin by machinery and the two parts are
finished separately. The part of the leather where the hair grew is the
more valuable and is called the grain; the other part which was next to
the animal is called the split. Remember those two terms--the grain and
the split."
"I'll try my best," said Peter with a doubtful shake of his head. "I am
dreadfully afraid, though, that I shall forget some of the things you
have told me to-day."
"I don't expect you to remember all I've told you, Strong," laughed
Stuart, good-naturedly. "Why, you would not be a human, breathing boy if
you did. It has taken me a long time to learn the facts that I have been
telling you. But do remember about the grain and the split; and while
you are remembering that, try also to remember that a rough split is the
cheapest leather made. Some heavy hides are split two, four, and even
six times and are then sold. You can see this sort of leather up-stairs
in the shipping-room of the other factory, and if I were you I would
take the trouble to go up there some time and look at it. You may be
interested, too, to know----"
But what the interesting item was Peter never found out.
A boy, breathless from running, came rushing into the room.
"If you please, sir," he panted, "Mr. Bryant sent me to find Peter
Strong! Young Jackson has been hurt. He slipped on the wet floor and the
wheel of a heavy truck went over his ankle. Jackson says it is only a
sprain, but Mr. Bryant thinks the bones are broken. They've telephoned
for a doctor. Jackson is lying on the floor awful white and still, and
he says he wants Peter Strong. Mr. Bryant told me to tell you to send
him right away."
Peter needed no second bidding. Down the stairs he flew.
Only yesterday he had longed for a chance to prove his friendship for
Nat. Now, all unsolicited, the opportunity had come.
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