THE COMING OF FOGERTY
The homeless mill hands flocked to Chazy Junction next day, from whence
a freight train distributed them over other parts of the country. The
clearing at Royal Falls was now a heap of charred embers, for every one
of the cheap, rough-board buildings had been consumed by the fire.
Skeelty had watched the destruction of his plant with feelings of
mingled glee and disgust. He was insured against loss, and his rash
workmen, who had turned upon him so unexpectedly, had accidentally
settled the strike and their own future by starting the fire during
their drunken orgies. There being no longer a mill to employ them they
went elsewhere for work, rather glad of the change and regretting
nothing. As for the manager, he stood to lose temporary profits but was
not wholly displeased by the catastrophe. Transportation of his
manufactured products had been so irregular and undefendable that even
while he watched the blaze he determined to rebuild his plant nearer the
main line of a railway, for many such locations could be found where the
pine was as plentiful as here.
At dawn he entered the hotel at Millville with his arms full of books
and papers which he had succeeded in saving from the fire, and securing
a room went directly to bed. It was afternoon when he awoke and after
obtaining a meal he strolled out into the village and entered the
newspaper office.
"Here's an item for your paper," he said to Patsy, who was busy at her
desk. "The mills at Royal will never be rebuilt, and Millville has lost
the only chance it ever had of becoming a manufacturing center. The
whole settlement, which belonged to Boglin and myself, went up in smoke,
and I'm willing to let it go at that. I shall collect the insurance,
make myself good, and if anything's left over, that fool Boglin is
welcome to it. I admit I made a mistake in ever allowing him to induce
me to build at Royal. Boglin owned the land and I used his money, so I
gave up to him; but I'm through with the _honer'ble_ ass now. Put it all
in the paper; it'll make him feel good. You might add that I'm taking
the evening train for New York, shaking the dust of your miserable
village from my feet for good and all."
"Thank you, sir," said Patsy, brightly; "the Millville people will
appreciate their good luck, I'm sure."
Skeelty hung around the town for awhile, sneering at the new electric
light plant and insolently railing at any of the natives who would
converse with him. Then he hired Nick Thorne to drive him over to Chazy
Junction, and that was the last Millville ever saw of him.
During this day Joe Wegg's men succeeded in repairing all the wires
which had been tampered with and in making a proper and permanent
connection of the cable to the printing office. That evening the village
was again brilliantly lighted and thereafter the big dynamos whirled
peacefully and without interruption.
The girls had a busy day, as Uncle John had predicted, for all the
exciting incidents of the evening and night before had to be written up
and the next day's paper teemed with "news" of a character to interest
all its readers. Beth's editorial declared the neighborhood well rid of
the paper mill, which had been of little advantage but had caused no end
of annoyance because of the rough and mischievous character of the
workmen employed. In this statement nearly everyone agreed with her.
Several had been wounded in the riot of the eventful evening, but none
seriously injured. The workmen took away their damaged comrades and Lon
Taft drove over to Huntingdon and had his head sewed up by the doctor.
Other villagers suffered mere bruises, but all who engaged in the fight
posed as heroes and even Peggy McNutt, who figured as "not present,"
told marvelous tales of how he had worsted seven mill hands in a
stand-up fight, using only his invincible fists.
The following forenoon the liveryman at the Junction brought to
Millville a passenger who had arrived by the morning train--a quiet,
boyish-looking man with a shock of brick-red hair and a thin, freckled
face. He was driven directly to the Merrick farm, where Uncle John
received him cordially, but with surprise, and at once favored the new
arrival with a long interview in his private room.
The girls, who had not yet gone to the office, awaited somewhat
impatiently the result of this conference, for they already knew the
red-headed youth to be the great Fogerty--admitted by even his would-be
rivals, the king of New York detectives. Also they knew that Uncle John
had employed him some time ago to ferret out the mystery of the identity
of Thursday Smith, and the fact of Fogerty's presence indicated he had
something to report.
However, when Mr. Merrick came out of the private room his usually
cheery countenance wore a troubled expression. Fogerty was invariably
placid and inscrutable, so no explanation could be gleaned from his
demeanor.
"Ready for town, my dears?" asked Uncle John.
"Yes; the surrey is waiting," answered Louise.
"Then go along, and Fogerty and I will join you at the office presently.
I want to confer with the major and Arthur before--before taking any
steps to--"
"What's the news, Uncle?" demanded Patsy, impatiently.
"You shall know in good time."
"Who is Thursday Smith?"
"By and by, dear. Don't bother me now. But that reminds me; you are to
say nothing to--to--Thursday about Mr. Fogerty's arrival. Treat
him--Thursday, you know--just as you have always done, for the present,
at least. Whatever we determine on in regard to this man, during our
conference, we must not forget that he has acted most gallantly since he
came to Millville. We really owe him a debt of gratitude."
With this somewhat incomprehensible statement the girls were forced to
content themselves. Feeling quite helpless, they drove to the office
and left the men to settle the fate of Thursday Smith.
The "pressman" was now the man-of-all-work about the modest but trim
little publishing plant. He attended to whatever job printing came in,
made the etchings from Hetty's drawings, cast the stereotypes, made up
the forms and operated the press. But aside from this mechanical work
Smith took the telegraphic news received by Hetty, edited and condensed
it and wrote the black-letter headings over the various items. All this,
with a general supervision over the girl compositors, kept the man busy
from daybreak to midnight.
In spite of this, the Tribune was essentially a "girls' paper," since
Thursday Smith was the only man employed on it--not counting the "dummy"
editor, Arthur Weldon, who did nothing but keep the books, and found
this not an arduous task. Hetty, at Miss Briggs' desk, attended the
telegraph instrument and long-distance telephone, receiving news over
both wires, and still found time to draw her daily cartoons and
additional humorous sketches which she "worked in" whenever the mood
seized her. The typesetting was done by the Dwyer sisters--a colorless
pair but quite reliable--while the reportorial and editorial work was
divided between Louise, Beth and Patsy, none of whom shirked a single
duty. Indeed, they had come to love this work dearly and were
enthusiastic over the _Tribune_, which they fondly believed was being
watched with envious admiration by all the journalistic world.
This belief was not wholly due to egotism. Their "exchanges," both city
and country, had shown considerable interest in the "Millville
Experiment," as they called it, and only a few days before the leading
journal of a good-sized city had commented at length on the "girls'
newspaper" and, after indulging in some humorous remarks, concluded
quite seriously with the statement that "its evident sincerity, clean
contents and typographical neatness render the _Millville Daily Tribune_
worthy a better setting than the somnolent country village whose census
is too low to be officially recorded."
"But that's all right," said Patsy, smiling at the praise; "we'd never
have dared to start a newspaper anywhere else, because a journal that
will do for Millville might not make a hit if it bumped against
experienced competition."
"We were woefully ignorant when we began, a few weeks ago," commented
Beth, glancing with pride at her latest editorial, which she thought had
caught the oracular tone of the big city newspapers.
"And we're not expert journalists, even yet," added Louise, with a sigh.
"We've improved, to be sure; but I imagine there is still lots of room
for improvement."
"One trouble," said Patsy, "is that every inhabitant of Millville wants
to see his or her name in print every day, whether he or she has done
anything worthy of publication or not. If the name isn't printed, we've
made an enemy; and, if it is, the paper is sure to suffer more or less
ridicule."
"That is quite true, my dear," responded Louise, the reporter. "I've
said everything, about every one of them, that has ever happened, or
threatened to happen, since we started the paper, and it is driving me
crazy to discover anything more about these stupid natives that will do
to print."
Hetty had overheard this conversation and now looked up with a smile.
"Has your 'local happenings' column been prepared for to-morrow, Mrs.
Weldon?" she inquired.
"No; I'm about to start out to unearth some items," replied Louise,
wearily.
"Let me do it for you. I've an hour or so to spare and I won't need to
leave my desk," suggested the artist.
"It is my duty, you know, Hetty, and I've no right to evade it."
"Evade it for to-day. Go home and rest. I'll do your column for
to-morrow, and after the vacation you can tackle the thrilling
situations with better courage."
"Thank you, Hetty. But I won't go home. I'll wait here to see Fogerty."
"Fogerty!" exclaimed the artist, with a start of surprise. "Do you mean
the detective?"
"Yes," said Louise, regretting she had inadvertently mentioned the
name.
"But what is there now to detect?" asked Hetty suspiciously. "Our
troubles seem ended with the burning of the mill and the flitting of
Skeelty and his workmen."
Louise hardly knew how to reply; but Patsy, who trusted the queer girl
artist, said quite frankly:
"There remains the mystery of Thursday Smith to fathom, you know."
Hetty flushed and an indignant look swept over her face.
"What right has anyone to solve that mystery?" she asked defiantly.
"Isn't that Thursday Smith's own business?"
"Perhaps," returned Patsy, somewhat amused; "but Smith hasn't been able
to discover who he is--or was, rather--and seems really anxious to
know."
Hetty bent over her desk for a time. Then she looked up and her thin
features were white and drawn with anxiety.
"When you discover who Thursday Smith is," said she, "the Millville
Tribune will lose its right bower."
"Why?"
"Before his accident, or whatever it was that made him lose his memory,
he was an unusual man, a man of exceptional ability. You know that."
"We are all inclined to admit it," answered Patsy. "But what then?"
"Men of ability," declared Hetty slowly, "are of two classes: the very
successful, who attain high and honorable positions, or the clever
scoundrels who fasten themselves like leeches on humanity and bleed
their victims with heartless unconcern. What will you gain if you unmask
the past of Thursday Smith? You uncover a rogue or a man of affairs, and
in either case you will lose your pressman. Better leave the curtain
drawn, Miss Doyle, and accept Thursday Smith as he is."
There was so much good sense in this reasoning that all three girls were
impressed and began to regret that Uncle John had called Fogerty to
untangle the skein. But it was now too late for such repentance and,
after all, they were curious to discover who their remarkable employee
really was.
Even while the awkward silence that had fallen upon the group of girls
continued, the door opened to admit Uncle John, Fogerty, Major Doyle and
Arthur Weldon. Except for the detective they were stern-faced and
uncompromising.