A NARROW ESCAPE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES
All this time, strangely enough, no hint of Peter Strong's identity had
become known. It was little short of a miracle that it should not have
been discovered. Many circumstances, however, fostered the secret. In
the first place none of the men from the tanneries ever came to the
fashionable west side of the town; there was nothing to call them there.
Had they come the chances were that they would probably at some time
have encountered Peter in company with his father and mother driving,
motoring, or going to church. Several school friends had, it is true,
unearthed the interesting information that Peter was "working," but the
discovery was greeted with but scant curiosity. One's place in life
closes up very quickly after one drops from sight. When the idol of the
Milburn ball team had vanished it had caused great agitation and for a
brief interval he had been sincerely mourned; then some one else had
been raised up to fill the gap, life was readjusted, and soon Peter and
his glorious record were forgotten.
Under other conditions this lack of loyalty on the part of his friends
would have wounded Peter sorely; now, however, the feeling was one of
mortified pride rather than pained regret. His own attitude toward his
former comrades had also in the meantime undergone a change. The boys he
had looked up to, even the wisest of the seniors, seemed to him very
young indeed, and their football worries pitiably unimportant. They were
but preparing for the real work of the world while Peter, and others
like him, were actually doing it. In consequence not a lad among all his
former classmates was half so companionable or congenial as was his new
friend, Nat Jackson.
And so, as the months sped past and Peter's second year in the tannery
neared its end, he found himself not only content with the present life
but more and more absorbed in each fresh experience of leather making.
The bond with the Jackson home strengthened, and the desire to make good
at his "job" drove him to throw all the interest and power of his strong
young life into his task.
Winter had added many facts to his growing knowledge about leather. Up
to February he and Nat had been together in the beamhouse and seen the
great care which was taken that the freshly tanned skins should not
freeze. Fortunately for the Coddington Company most of their buildings
were new and were equipped with steam-heated lofts where drying could be
accomplished with little trouble; but one or two of the old buildings
had shutters and in consequence were dependent upon drying the wet skins
in the outer air. If the leather was allowed to freeze its fibre was
greatly weakened and its value decreased. Accordingly during cold
weather the shutters in the old factories had to be closed and the
newly tanned hides piled on the floor and covered with heavy canvas. Of
course the leather rolled badly, but since it was possible to dampen and
stretch it into shape this difficulty could be overcome.
In the finishing department where the two lads were next sent many more
new features swelled their increasing fund of information. Wherever they
went they left a train of friends behind them. Peter seemed to be the
general property of the tanneries. The men quarreled good-naturedly over
which factory could really claim the Little Giant. To all this chaff
Peter returned modest replies and the odd little chuckle that had
so endeared him to his schoolmates. Nobody could imitate that
chuckle--nobody--although many of them tried. It was a part of Peter
himself, a part of the good will he felt toward the world and everybody
in it.
"You can't hear it without your heart warming toward the lad," remarked
Carmachel one day.
Armed with this simple weapon Peter went on his way. He met the men
about him with a frank expectation that they would like him, and they
did. Nat also made friends, but as he was a much quieter boy most of
those who sought him out did so because he shone with a glory reflected
from Peter. Was he not Strong's chum? He must somehow be worth knowing
if he had that honor.
This rough kindliness of the workmen robbed labor of much of its
hardship. The two lads pushed eagerly ahead and were delighted when,
toward spring, they were again promoted--this time to the department
which turned out the tooled and embossed leathers.
This was one of the most fascinating phases of leather making and for a
long time it had interested both Peter and Nat. It seemed too good to be
true that they should now win positions in that factory.
"It's like the stories of the Arabian Nights, the way we've gone on and
all the time kept together, Peter," Nat said one day. "Think of it! We
have been given more money and better jobs all the time. I do not just
see why, either. Lots of the men who started long ago in the beamhouse
of Factory 1 are still there and haven't had a cent added to their pay
envelope; and look at us! It's just luck--that's what it is."
"Not entirely luck, Nat," objected Peter, shaking his head. "Some of it,
to be sure, is sheer good fortune; but some of it is hard work. If we
had not made good every step of the way I doubt if we should have been
sent on up the ladder."
"I wonder!" was Nat's thoughtful answer. "Do you know, Pete, I've
sometimes thought that perhaps Mr. Coddington was keeping an eye on us
and giving orders that we be shoved along. He could do it, I suppose, if
he wanted to."
"I suppose he could," agreed Peter, uneasily, "but he is pretty busy,
and is it likely----"
"No, of course it isn't. He did a lot for me when I was sick and it
isn't reasonable to think he would do anything more. He wouldn't be
called upon to. It is just that we are under a lucky star."
"I wish the star was a lucky enough one to send you a motorcycle then,
Nat," laughed Peter. "You know this going off riding by myself is no
sort of a stunt. I don't have any fun at all. Why, I would rather tramp
the country on my two feet with you than to ride all over it without
you. Somehow you've got to get a motorcycle, Nat--you've simply got to."
"And just how do you expect me to carry out such a crazy scheme?" was
the derisive retort. "Maybe you've a plan to suggest whereby, entirely
without a cent, I am to purchase a toy like that. It can't be done
without Aladdin's lamp--at least I can't do it any other way. A
motorcycle indeed! Why, I have not a cent to spend for such a thing. I
couldn't even buy one of the pedals, let alone anything more. Forget it,
Peter, and let's talk sense."
"I shan't forget it," Peter answered earnestly. "You are going to have a
motorcycle if I have to--to--pawn my rubber boots to get you one."
They both laughed.
Peter was in great spirits.
This was their first day in the new factory and as the boys took up the
novel task of learning how to make embossed leathers he made the inward
resolve that every penny he earned there should be put into the bank
toward a motorcycle for Nat.
The embossing department was indeed a wonderful place. Such magic as was
wrought here! Pieces of dyed leather of every imaginable hue were put
into great machines where heavy squares of copper, set in powerful
presses, stamped upon them various patterns or impressions. The designs
engraved on the dies were imitations of the texture of every known sort
of fancy leather. There was alligator, lizard skin, pigskin, snakeskin
and sealskin; even grained leather was copied. So perfect was the
likeness that it seemed impossible to tell the embossed and artificially
made material from the real.
"How is any one to know whether his card-case is real seal or not?"
queried Peter, aghast at the perfection of the dies.
The foreman shrugged his shoulders.
"I guess you'd have some trouble," said he. "Comfort yourself, though,
that you are not the only one. Just this fall Mr. Coddington himself
came in here to compare our leather with some pieces of seal he had had
sent him. He put his samples down on the table and later on when he went
to get them he could not tell for the life of him which they were. We
had a great laugh about it, I can tell you. Yes, we do pretty good work
here, and we have about all the orders for pocketbook and bag leather
that we can fill. At present we are so busy that we are running all the
dies, and that is why we need extra men."
Peter and Nat found that the department was indeed busy. All day they
were upon their feet feeding pieces of leather into the presses, and it
was their fatigue--a fact unimportant in itself--which led to a
remarkable chain of events in the Coddington tanneries.
It happened that one morning Peter was sent up to the shipping room on
the sixth floor of the factory with a bale of finished leather, and when
he was ready to return he found that the elevator which he had used in
coming up was out of order, and that he must now walk down the many
flights of stairs. Accordingly he started, whistling as he went. When he
reached the fifth floor he was much surprised to discover that it was
vacant. A great expanse it was, flooded with sunshine. Peter paused to
look about. Some unused packing-cases littered one corner of the room
and instantly the thought flashed into his mind--what a warm, quiet,
secluded spot for him and Nat to eat their lunch! Why, they could even
bring a book and curl up in the shelter of the boxes and read. As it was
still too chilly to go out there was no way, during the winter months,
but to huddle somewhere under the machinery of the factory and eat one's
lunch. Peter detested the arrangement, unavoidable as it was, and always
rejoiced when the noon hour was over.
But here was an escape from such disagreeable conditions. Here was an
unused room! Why should it not become a refuge from the noise, the dirt,
and the turmoil of the factory? The plan seemed innocent enough, and
when Peter confided it to Nat neither of them could see the slightest
objection to it. In consequence, at noon time they crept up-stairs, and
arranged a cozy little corner for themselves behind the packing-cases.
It was almost as good as playing Robinson Crusoe, this building a
fortress and hiding inside it. Then, too, the constant chance of being
discovered provided just the necessary tremor of excitement to make it
interesting. What fun it was! They called their stronghold Sterling
Castle, and many a joke and jibe they made concerning it--jokes at which
they laughed heartily when they were by themselves.
The vast empty space, they learned by cautious questioning, had
originally been intended as a supply room; it was found, however, that
it was not needed for this purpose and therefore it had been left in its
present unoccupied condition.
There seemed not an iota of possibility that the place would ever be
used and Peter and Nat exulted in the fact that they might lunch there
undisturbed for the rest of their days if they so desired. For weeks
they spent every noon hour in the sunshine behind their barricade
talking softly together, eating their luncheon, and sometimes reading
aloud.
Then came calamity.
It was on a sharp April day when the shelter of their sunny corner was
especially welcome. Peter had just been rolling out one of the most
stirring chapters of "Ivanhoe" when suddenly he paused, listening
intently.
"It's the elevator!" he whispered. "It is stopping at this floor.
Somebody is getting out, Nat."
"Who can it be?"
"Hush!"
The two boys kept very still.
Steps and voices came nearer.
"Yes, every floor is protected by fire-escapes, as you see," declared a
voice.
"It is some insurance man," breathed Peter. "Don't move, Nat."
"Have you hand extinguishers here also?"
"Yes, at each corner of the room and on the walls."
"This floor is not in use, I take it."
"No," broke in another voice--the voice of Mr. Coddington himself. "We
never have had occasion to use this floor, although we probably shall do
so when we require more room for supplies. What are those packing-cases
doing here, Tyler? They look as though they were empty."
"I hardly think empty cases would be left on this floor, sir. They
shouldn't be."
Mr. Tyler was evidently annoyed.
"Empty or full, they've no business in this room," said Mr. Coddington,
sharply. "They might cause fire."
Simultaneously the three men stepped forward to investigate.
Mr. Tyler kicked the back of the nearest case with his foot, but Mr.
Coddington, who never stopped until he had got at the bottom of things,
grasped the edge of one of the great boxes and tried to turn it over.
Now it happened that the boys, struggling to remain unseen, had huddled
into this very box.
"The case is heavy, Tyler. I can't stir it. Just see what is in it."
Mr. Tyler, alert to obey, dragged forth the case with the assistance of
the insurance agent and when it was tipped up and Peter and Nat tumbled
out on the floor three more astonished men never were seen.
[Illustration: THE THREE MEN STEPPED FORWARD]
"How did you two boys get here?" questioned Mr. Tyler severely. "What
are you doing?"
Nat, thoroughly terrified, looked helplessly at Peter. He couldn't have
answered had he tried. Peter himself was a good deal taken aback. He
glanced at his father for some hint as to how to proceed, but Mr.
Coddington's face was a study in conflicting emotions and furnished no
clue. Therefore, after waiting a moment and receiving no aid in his
dilemma, Peter replied simply:
"We are eating our luncheon."
"Eating your lunch! And who told you you might come here for such a
purpose?"
"Nobody. It just was a big, empty place with lots of sunshine and it
seemed nicer than eating down-stairs," gasped Peter.
"Are you sure they were eating their lunch and not starting a fire?"
suggested the insurance inspector in an undertone.
"Of course we weren't setting a fire!" Peter cried indignantly, hearing
the whispered words of the inspector. "We just came up here to get where
it was clean and quiet. When it is too cold to go out there isn't any
place to eat except right in the factory."
"Well, that is no excuse for your coming here. It is against the
rule for any of the employees to come above the fourth floor without
permission. I thought you both understood that. If you didn't it is your
own fault. You may finish out your week here and on Saturday night you
may consider yourselves discharged from the tannery." Mr. Tyler put his
hand on Peter's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Strong," he added.
"Just one moment, Tyler."
It was Mr. Coddington who spoke.
"Tell me more fully about this matter, Peter Strong. You say you have no
suitable place to eat your lunch."
"Yes, sir."
"What do the other men do?"
"They sit around under the machinery anywhere they can. Often the place
is dirty and sometimes it is hot. If the windows are opened to air the
rooms the men get cold," answered Peter.
"Strong is a little fussy, I am afraid, Mr. Coddington," interrupted Mr.
Tyler. "The conditions are the same as they always have been--the same
as they are in most mills. The men can go home at noon if they like."
"But they can't get home, and eat anything, and get back here, all
within an hour," objected Peter. "Besides, they are often too tired. It
is much easier to stay right in the tannery. Of course in warm weather
we have the park and can go outside, so then we are all right; but
during the winter----"
"That will do, Strong," cut in Mr. Tyler. "Remember your time is up this
week. What's your name?" The superintendent turned severely on Nat.
"Jackson."
"Oh, yes--Jackson. You are the boy who was hurt."
Nat nodded.
"I am sorry to see that you are making such a poor return to the company
for its kindness to you. It is unfortunate all around. But we cannot
have the rules of the tannery broken. Mr. Coddington will, I am sure,
agree with me there."
"Undoubtedly, Tyler. Any person who is at fault should be punished. In
this particular case, however, just who _is_ at fault? If, as the lads
say, they have nowhere to go at noon, is the fault wholly theirs if they
seek a remedy from their discomfort? Suppose we suspend their sentence
until we investigate the conditions and simply caution them not to
repeat the offense. Had these empty cases not been left here by some
negligent persons seclusion would have been impossible. Somebody beside
the boys was to blame. Order the boxes removed and drop the matter."
Without another word Mr. Coddington stalked toward the elevator and the
men who accompanied him had no choice but to follow.
Peter and Nat breathed a sigh of relief.
There had been but a hair's breadth between them and a discharge from
the tannery! To Peter the danger was not a very real one, but Nat, who
was in ignorance of the true facts, was pale with fright.
"Whew, Peter! That was a close call," he stammered. "A narrow squeak!
But for Mr. Coddington we should both have been fired. I don't know what
I should have done if I had lost my place. It was mighty good of him to
give us another chance, wasn't it?"
"Mr. Coddington is all right, you can bet your life on that!" agreed
Peter heartily. "It was lucky, though, that he was here."
Still aglow with excitement, the boys flew down over the stairs and took
up their work, making no further allusion to the incident.
But that night when Peter got home his father called him into the
library and motioning to a chair before the open fire, observed dryly:
"Your friend Strong had a narrow escape to-day, Peter."
"Yes, sir. But for you he would have lost his job."
"I'm afraid so," the president nodded. "Since noon I have been thinking
the matter over. What Strong said brought things before me in an
entirely new light. I don't think I ever realized before some of the
conditions at the tanneries."
Peter waited.
"If it were possible--mind, I do not say it could be done--but if a
scheme could be worked out to make a big sort of rest room where the men
could go at noon do you think that would obviate the difficulties of my
employees? Would it prevent them from converting packing-cases into
lunch rooms?"
"You mean a big room with tables and chairs where the men could go and
eat their lunch, Father?"
"Something of the sort. Perhaps there could be magazines and books
there, too."
"Hurrah! It's a splendid plan. When will you do it, Father?" cried
Peter.
"I didn't say I was going to do it at all. I merely asked you to find
out your friend Strong's opinion. Do you know, some of Strong's ideas
are not so bad. Ask him if a room such as I describe would be as
satisfactory to him as the packing-box lunch room from which he and his
friend Jackson were to-day ejected."
"Of course Strong will like it!"
"I think I will give the orders, then. That vacant floor may as well be
used for this purpose as any other. We shall not want it at present, and
if we ever need more room we must devise some other way. I've a fancy,
somehow, to call the new venture the Strong Reading-Room."
Peter started to speak.
"Purely as a joke, you know," went on Mr. Coddington, waving his hand.
"Just as a reminder to Strong how very near he came to losing his
position."
Mr. Coddington glanced up humorously; then he chuckled and so did
Peter.
[Illustration]