A SHANTY DOOR
Sanford had expected, when he led Betty from his door, that Mrs. Leroy
would give her kindly shelter, but he had not been prepared for all
that he heard the next day. Kate had not only received the girl into
her house, but had placed her for the night in a bedroom adjoining her
own; arranging the next morning a small table in her dressing-room
where Betty could breakfast alone, free from the pryings of
inquisitive servants. Mrs. Leroy told all these things to Sanford:
describing the heartbroken weariness of the girl when she arrived; the
little joyful cry she gave when big, burly Captain Joe, his eyes
blinded by the hot midday glare outside, came groping his way into the
darkened boudoir; and Betty’s glad spring into his arms, where she lay
while the captain held her with one hand, trying to talk to both Betty
and herself at once, the tears rolling down his cheeks, his other
great hand with the thole-pin fingers patting the girl’s tired face.
Mrs. Leroy told Sanford all these things and more, but she did not say
how she herself had sat beside Betty on the divan that same morning,
before Captain Joe arrived, winning little by little the girl’s
confidence, until the whole story came out. Neither did she tell him
with what tact and gentleness she, the woman of the world, whose hours
of loneliness had been more bitter and intense than any that Betty
ever knew, had shown this inexperienced girl how much more noble it
would have been to suffer and stand firm, doing and being the right,
than to succumb as she had done. Nor yet did she tell Sanford how
Betty’s mind had cleared, as she talked on, and of the way in which
the girl’s brown hand had crept toward her own till it nestled among
her jeweled fingers, while with tender words of worldly wisdom she had
prepared her foster sister for what she still must face in penance for
her sin; instructing her in the use of those weapons of self-control,
purity of purpose, and patience, with which she must arm herself if
she would win the struggle. Nor how, before the morning hours were
gone, she had received the girl’s promise to go back to her home, and,
if her husband would not receive her, to fight on until she again won
for herself the respect she had lost, and among those, too, who had
once loved her. Least of all did she tell Sanford that when the talk
was over and Betty was gone, she had thrown herself on her own bed in
an agony of tears, wondering after all which one of the two had done
the better for herself in the battle of life,—she or the girl.
Sanford knew nothing of this. As he sat in the train, on his way back
to Keyport, his heart had gone out to the girl, for he had been
greatly wrought up by the story Kate told him and by the pictures she
had given of the interview. Yet, strange to say, he found himself
bewildered by the fact that, even more than the story, he remembered
the tones of Kate’s voice and the very color of her eyes as she
talked. He was constantly seeing, too, as he lingered over its
details, a vision of Kate herself as she stood in the hall and bade
him good-by,—her full white throat above the ruffles of her
morning-gown. As he rode on, he found it difficult to turn his mind to
other things, or to quiet his inner enthusiasm for her gentleness and
charity.
And yet there were important affairs to which he owed immediate
attention. Carleton’s continued refusal to sign a certificate for the
concrete disk, without which no payment would be made by the
government, would, if persisted in, cause him serious embarrassment.
The difficulty with Carleton had already reached an acute stage.
Captain Joe had altogether failed in his efforts to make the
superintendent sign the certificate, and Carleton had threatened to
wire the Department and demand a board of survey if his orders were
not complied with at once. The captain generally retired from the
field and left the campaign to Sanford whenever, in the course of
their work, it became necessary to fight the United States
government—the sea was his enemy.
In this discussion, however, he had taken the pains to explain to
Carleton patiently, and he thought intelligently, the falsity of the
stand he took, showing him that his idea about the concrete base being
too low was the result of a mere optical illusion, due to the action
of the tide which backed the water up higher within the breakwater on
the southeast side; that when the first course of masonry was laid,
bringing the mass of concrete out of water, his—Carleton’s—mistake
would be instantly detected.
Captain Joe was as much out of patience as he ever permitted himself
to be with Carleton, when he shook Sanford’s hand on his arrival.
“Ain’t no man on earth smart ’nough to make eleven inches a foot, let
alone a critter like him!” he said, as he explained the latest
development.
Once over the sloop’s side, Sanford laid his bag on the deck and
turned to the men.
“Who saw the concrete at dead low water during that low tide we had
after the last northwest blow?” he inquired.
“I did, sir,” answered Captain Brandt. “I told Mr. Carleton he was
wrong. The water jes’ tetched the outer iron band all round when I see
it. It was dead calm an’ dead low water.”
“What do you say to that, Mr. Carleton?” asked Sanford, laughing.
“I’m not here to take no back talk from nobody,” replied Carleton in a
surly tone.
“Lonny,” said Sanford,—he saw that further discussion with the
superintendent was useless,—“go ashore and get my transit and target
rod; you’ll find them in my bedroom at the captain’s; and please put
them here in the skipper’s bunk, so they won’t get broken. I’ll run a
level on the concrete myself, Mr. Carleton, when we get to the Ledge.”
“There ain’t no use of your transit,” retorted Carleton, with a sneer.
“It’s six inches too low, I tell you. You’ll fix it as I want it, or
I’ll stop the work.”
Sanford looked at him, but held his peace. It had not been his first
experience with men of Carleton’s class. He proposed, all the same, to
know for himself who was right. He had seen Carleton use a transit,
and had had a dim suspicion at the time that the superintendent was
looking through the eyepiece while it was closed.
“Get ready for the Ledge, Captain Brandt, as soon as Lonny returns,”
said Sanford. “Where’s Caleb, Captain Joe? We may want him.”
The captain touched Sanford on the shoulder and moved down the deck
with him, where he stood behind one of the big stones, out of hearing
of the other men.
“He’s all broke up, sir. He ain’t been to work since the little gal
left. I want to thank ye, Mr. Sanford, for what ye did for ’er; and
that friend o’ yourn couldn’t ’a’ been no better to her if she’d been
her sister.”
“Oh, that’s all right, captain,” said Sanford, laying a hand on his
shoulder. “Betty is at your house, I hear. How does she bear it?”
“Gritty as she kin be, but she ain’t braced up much; Aunty Bell’s got
’er arms round ’er most of the time. I wish you’d send for Caleb;
nothin’ else’ll bring him out. He won’t come for me. I’ll go for him
myself, if ye say so.”
“Go get him. I may want him to hold a rod in four or five feet of
water. He won’t need his helmet, but he’ll need his dress. Do you hear
anything about Lacey?”
“He ain’t been round where any of us could see him—and git hold of
him,” answered Captain Joe, knitting his brows. “I jes’ wish he’d come
once. I heared he was over to Stonin’ton, workin’ on the railroad.”
The captain jumped into the yawl and sculled away toward the diver’s
cabin. He had not felt satisfied with himself since the night when
Caleb had refused to take Betty back. He had said then, in the heat of
the moment, some things which had hurt him as much as they had hurt
Caleb. He would have told him so before, but he had been constantly at
the Ledge receiving the big cut stones for the masonry, nine of which
were then piled up on the Screamer’s deck. After that there had arisen
the difficulty with Carleton. This now was his opportunity.
The men on the sloop, somehow, knew Caleb was coming, and there was
more or less curiosity to see him. Nickles, standing inside the galley
and within earshot, had probably overheard Sanford’s request.
All the men liked the old diver. His courage, skill, and many heroic
acts above and under water had earned their respect, while his
universal kindness and cheeriness had won their confidence. The
calamity that had overtaken him had been discussed and re-discussed;
and while many hopes were indulged in regarding the future condition
of Lacey’s soul and the present state of his eyes, profane hopes that
would have interfered seriously with the eternal happiness of the
first and the seeing qualities of the second, and while numerous
criticisms were as freely passed upon Betty, nothing but kindness and
sympathy was felt for Caleb.
When Caleb came up over the sloop’s rail, followed by Captain Joe, it
was easy to see that all was right between him and the captain. One
hearty handshake inside the cabin’s kitchen, and a frank outspoken
“I’m sorry, Caleb; don’t lay it up agin me,” had done that. When Caleb
spoke to the men, in his usual gentle manner, each one of them said or
did some little thing, as chance offered an unobtrusive opportunity,
that conveyed to the diver a heartfelt sorrow for his troubles,—every
one but Carleton, who purposely, perhaps, had gone down into the
cabin, his temper still ruffled over his encounter with Captain Joe
and Sanford.
And so Caleb once more took his place on the working force.
As the Screamer rounded to and made fast in the eddy, the Ledge gang
were engaged in using the system of derricks, which since the final
anchoring had never needed an hour’s additional work. They were moving
back from the landing-wharf the big cut stones required to lay the
first course of masonry, the work to begin as soon as the controversy
over the proper level of the concrete was settled.
With the making fast of the Screamer to the floating buoys in the
eddy, the life-boat from the Ledge pulled alongside, and landed
Sanford, Carleton, Captain Joe, Caleb, and the skipper,—Lonny Bowles
carrying the transit and rod as carefully as if they had been two long
icicles. When the party reached the Ledge the concrete was found to be
awash with three feet of water; nothing of the mass itself could be
seen by the naked eye. It was therefore apparent that if the dispute
was to be settled it could be done only by a series of exact
measurements. Carleton showed every evidence of satisfaction. He had
begun to suspect he might be wrong, but his obstinacy sustained him.
Now that the disk was covered with water there was still reason for
dispute.
Caleb squeezed himself into his diving-dress, and began operations,
Captain Joe fastening the water-tight cuffs over his wrists, leaving
his hands free. The diver then picked up the rod with its adjustable
target and plunged across the shallow basin, the water coming up to
his hips. Sanford meanwhile arranged the tripod on the platform,
leveled his instrument, directing Caleb where to hold the rod, and
began his survey. Captain Joe stood one side recording his findings
with a big blue lead pencil on a short strip of plank.
The first entries showed that the two segments of the circle—the
opposite segments, southeast and northwest—varied barely three tenths
of an inch in height. This, of course, was immaterial over so large a
surface. The result proved conclusively that Carleton’s claim that one
section of the concrete was six inches too low was absurd.
“I’m afraid I shall have to decide against you this time, Mr.
Carleton,” said Sanford pleasantly. “Run your eye through this
transit; you can see yourself what it shows.”
“Right or wrong,” broke out Carleton, now thoroughly angry, both over
his defeat and at the half-concealed, jeering remarks of the men,
“it’s got to go up six inches, or not a cut stone will be laid. That’s
what I’m here for, and what I say _goes_.”
“But please take the transit and see for yourself, Mr. Carleton,”
urged Sanford.
“I don’t know nothin’ about _your_ transit, nor who fixed it to
suit you,” snarled Carleton.
Sanford bit his lip, and made no answer. There were more important
things to be done in the building of a light than the resenting of
such insults or quarreling with a superintendent. The skipper,
however, to whom the superintendent was a first experience, and who
took his answer as in some way a reflection on his own veracity,
walked quickly toward him with his fist tightly clinched. His big
frame towered over Carleton’s.
“Thank you, Captain Brandt,” said Sanford, noticing the skipper’s
expression and intent. “But Mr. Carleton isn’t in earnest. _His_
transit is not here, and we cannot tell who fixed that.”
The men laughed, and the skipper stopped and stood aside, awaiting any
further developments that might require his aid.
“In view of these measurements,” asked Sanford, as he held before
Carleton’s eyes the piece of plank bearing Captain Joe’s record, “do
you still order the six inches of concrete put in?”
“Certainly I do,” said Carleton. His ugly temper was gradually being
hidden under an air of authority. Sanford’s tact had regained him a
debating position.
“And you take the responsibility of the change?”
“I do,” replied Carleton in a blustering voice.
“Then please put that order in writing,” said Sanford quietly, “and I
will see it done as soon as the tide lowers.”
Carleton’s manner changed; he saw the pit that lay before him. If he
were wrong, the written order would fix his responsibility; without
that telltale record he could deny afterward having given the order,
if good policy so demanded.
“Well, that ain’t necessary; you go ahead,” said Carleton, with less
vehemence.
“I think it is, Mr. Carleton. You ask me to alter a bench-mark level
which I know to be right, and which every man about us knows to be
right. You refuse a written certificate if I do not carry out your
orders, and yet you expect me to commit this engineering crime because
of your personal opinion,—an opinion which you now refuse to back up
by your signature.”
“I ain’t given you a single written order this season: why should I
now?” in an evasive tone.
“Because up to this time you have asked for nothing unreasonable. Then
you refuse?”
“I do, and I’m not to be bulldozed, neither.”
“Caleb,” said Sanford, with the air of a man who had made up his mind,
raising his voice to the diver, still standing in the water, “put that
rod on the edge of the iron band.”
Caleb felt around under the water with his foot, found the band, and
placed on it the end of the rod. Sanford carefully adjusted the
instrument.
“What does it measure?”
“Thirteen feet six inches, sir!” shouted Caleb.
“Lonny Bowles,” continued Sanford, “take three or four of the men and
go along the breakwater and see if Caleb is right.”
The men scrambled over the rocks, Lonny plunging into the water beside
Caleb, so as to get closer to the rod.
“Thirteen feet six inches!” came back the voices of Lonny and the
others, speaking successively.
“Now, Captain Joe, look through this eyepiece and see if you find the
red quartered target in the centre of the spider-web lines. You, too,
skipper.”
The men put their eyes to the glass, each announcing that he saw the
red of the disk.
“Now, Caleb, make your way across to the northwest derrick, and hold
the rod on the band there.”
The old diver waded across the concrete, and held the rod and target
over his head. The men followed him around the breakwater,—all except
Bowles, who, being as wet as he could be, plunged in waist-deep.
Sanford turned the transit without disturbing the tripod, and adjusted
it until the lens covered the target.
“Raise it a little, Caleb!” shouted Sanford,—“so! What is she now?”
“Thirteen feet six inches and—a—half!”
“Right! How is it, men?”
“Thirteen six and a half!” came back the replies, after each man had
assured himself.
“Now bring me a clean, dry plank, Captain Joe,” said Sanford. “That’s
too small,” as the captain held out the short piece containing the
record. Clean planks were scarce on the cement-stained work; dry ones
were never found.
Everybody went in search of a suitable plank. Carleton looked on at
this pantomime with a curl on his lips, and now and then a little
shiver of uncertain fear creeping over him. Sanford’s quiet,
determined manner puzzled him.
“What’s all this circus about?” he broke out impatiently.
“One minute, Mr. Carleton. I want to make a record which will be big
enough for the men to sign; one that won’t get astray, lost, or
stolen.”
“What’s the matter with this?” asked Captain Joe, opening the wooden
door of the new part of the shanty. “Ye can’t lose this ’less ye take
away the house.”
“That’s the very thing!” exclaimed Sanford. “Swing her wide open,
Captain Joe. Please give me that big blue pencil.”
When the door flew back it was as white and clean as a freshly
scrubbed pine table.
Sanford wrote as follows:—
_August 29_, Shark Ledge Light.
We, the undersigned, certify that the concrete
disk is perfectly level except opposite the
northwest derrick, where it is three tenths
of an inch too high. We further certify that
Superintendent Carleton orders the concrete
raised six inches on the southeast segment,
and refuses to permit any cut stone to be
set until this is done.
Henry Sanford, Contractor.
“Come, Captain Joe,” said Sanford, “put your signature under mine.”
The captain held the pencil in his bent fingers as if it had been a
chisel, and inscribed his full name, “Joseph Bell,” under that of
Sanford. Then Caleb and the others followed, the diver fumbling inside
his dress for his glasses, the search proving fruitless until Captain
Joe ran his arm down between the rubber collar of the diving-dress and
Caleb’s red shirt and drew them up from inside his undershirt.
“Now, Captain Joe,” said Sanford, “you can send a gang in the morning
at low water and raise that concrete. It will throw the upper masonry
out of level, but it won’t make much difference in a circle of this
size.”
The men gave a cheer, the humor of the situation taking possession of
everyone. Even Caleb forgot his sorrow for a moment. Carleton laughed
a little halting laugh himself, but there was nothing of spontaneity
in it. Nickles, the cook, who, now that the cut stone was about to be
laid, was permanently transferred from the Screamer to the shanty, and
under whose especial care this door was placed by reason of its
position,—it opened into the kitchen,—planted his fat, oily body
before the curious record, read it slowly word for word, and delivered
himself of this opinion: “That ’ere door’s th’ biggest receipt for
stores I ever see come into a kitchen.”
“Big or little,” said Captain Joe, who could not see the drift of most
of Nickles’s jokes, “you spatter it with yer grease or spile it any,
and ye go ashore.”