THE BANKER AT THE HELM
Foot by foot down the storm-lashed, wind-swept channel the victorious
cannery fleet doggedly fought its way from the Diablo coast and headed
to sea.
"We've got to lay in at San Anselmo," Dickie Lang shouted to Gregory as
she guided the _Richard_ skilfully through the buffeting waves. "Some of
the boats are pretty badly stove up. They're riding too low to try to
make the mainland. We'd have to buck the storm all the way over. Best
run before it as long as we can. Then we can gain the lea of the other
island and head in at Cavalan and leave some of the boats there. May
have to run a few of them on the beach. We ought to make the little
harbor on the south shore of San Anselmo in a couple of hours."
Gregory agreed with some reluctance. When it came to seamanship he was
perfectly willing to leave the management of his craft to Dickie Lang.
The girl was familiar with the coast of the two islands and had fully
demonstrated her ability to handle the _Richard_ in a storm. Still the
idea of running from Diablo rankled in his heart. It looked like
quitting.
The girl's next words, however, made him feel a little better.
"There would be no use lying in at Northwest Harbor at Diablo," she was
saying. "The anchorage is too small and Mascola's boats will overcrowd
it. If you tried to beach anything there, you'd wreck it. At Cavalan we
can check things up, transfer the fish if we have to and get them right
out. We've beaten Mascola, hands down, so why should we care?"
It was well toward morning before the last of the cannery fleet
staggered into the little harbor of Cavalan. Then came the first
opportunity to reckon the cost of Mascola's defeat at Diablo.
Gregory's first thought was for the personnel of his fleet. In the fight
with the alien fishermen several of his men had been injured, but as
near as could be ascertained, none fatally. A number of men had been
slashed by knives, but the injuries for the most part were only flesh
wounds. There were many aching heads and bruised bodies. Two sailors and
a fisherman had been grazed by bullets. One man's arm had been broken.
To a man the various crews made light of their injuries and proudly
maintained that they had left their mark on many a dark-skinned member
of Mascola's aliens.
Bronson had partly recovered and was anxiously inquiring concerning the
behavior of the speed-craft in the storm.
While Gregory directed the transferring of the injured men to the
better equipped launches, Dickie checked up the material damage
inflicted upon the tonnage.
On the _Curlew_ Gregory encountered Hawkins. The newspaper man was
jubilant. The victory over the aliens was just what he needed. He had
anticipated the outcome and had already sent out a full account of the
struggle with the aliens over the radio. The people of Port Angeles
would be reading it in a couple of hours.
As Hawkins assisted Gregory in caring for the needs of the men, the
reporter hinted that he was on the trail of a bigger story which would
make all his former journalistic efforts pale into insignificance. But
when questioned concerning the specific nature of his scoop, Hawkins
became extremely reticent.
Dickie Lang's report upon the condition of the fishing-boats added
materially to the cost of the victory. Four of the craft had been jammed
in the mêlée and were leaking badly. How they ever made port at all was
a thing she could not understand. Three of the other vessels had
sustained bent shafts and broken propeller blades. All the fleet were
more or less battle-scarred but their defects could be remedied in the
water. She had set the men to work already. There was a machine shop at
Anacapa on the opposite side of the island and a marine railway large
enough to take on the disabled craft. When the blow subsided, they could
put in there for temporary repairs.
The girl's eyes glowed with happiness as she totaled the catch of the
fishermen. Every boat was laden almost to its full capacity. With a
storm coming on and in the face of a probable shortage of fish, the
success of the night's work would reach a substantial figure.
"It's worth more than you know," put in Hawkins. "Wait until my yarn
gets into print and I'll show you." He smiled broadly and put out his
hand. "Then I want my rake-off, Cap. Gregory," he concluded.
"I won't forget you, Bill," Gregory was quick to answer. "Nor any one
else. I knew the boys would stand by to a finish. They sure came across
to-night."
He turned quickly to Dickie Lang. "When can we start out with the fish?"
he asked.
"Figuring to go at daybreak," the girl answered. "Better send Jack a
message right away so he can be ready for them. They'll have to buck the
blow so it will be afternoon by the time they get over."
She looked out across the faintly graying waters where brightening
lights began to appear from the shadowy hulls of the fishing-boats. Then
she inhaled the air hungrily.
"Look," she exclaimed. "The boys are getting breakfast. Let's go over to
the _Snipe_ and tie in with them. They've got a man there from the
regular navy who can surely cook."
Gregory and Hawkins welcomed the suggestion and a moment later they were
speeding away to answer to the first call for breakfast.
In the lea of San Anselmo, sheltered from the storm in the land-locked
little harbor of Cavalan, the American fleet rested from its labors. The
sailors gathered on the decks and greeted the new day over plates piled
high with crisp slices of bacon and fried eggs. The night had been long,
fraught with danger and fatiguing toil; but work and worry had endured
only for the night and joy came with the morning.
* * * * *
Silvanus Rock was nervous and ill-tempered. Consuming his third cup of
strong black coffee, he rose from the breakfast table and walked to the
French windows and glared out at the curling waves as they flung
themselves upon the beach.
His devoted spouse gazed after him with a sigh. "Something is preying on
father's mind," she whispered to De Lancy, the only son and heir to the
Rock fortune. "He didn't sleep a wink last night."
De Lancy scowled. "That doesn't give him any license to take it out on
me," he growled, as he pushed back his chair and lit a cigarette. "When
I tried to interest him in that new racing car, he landed on me all in a
heap and----"
His words were interrupted by the entrance of the maid.
"Some one to see Mr. Rock," she announced.
Rock whirled and hurried toward her. Then he caught a glimpse of the
roughly garbed man who was standing by the desk in his den. Peters had
arrived at last. The anxious lines deepened on Silvanus Rock's forehead
and he made haste to join his visitor.
Mrs. Rock pursed her lips as she noticed the stranger. "I can not
understand why your father persists in having such disreputable-looking
men visit him in his home," she confided to her son.
De Lancy sluffed the cigarette ashes into his coffee cup, before
replying. "Well, whoever the 'low-brow' is, here's hoping he'll put the
old man in a better humor."
In his wish De Lancy was not disappointed. For a short time the visitor
remained closeted with Rock in the capitalist's den. Then Rock escorted
his guest to the door and De Lancy noticed that the old man had opened
up some of his best cigars. It was a good sign.
Silvanus Rock entered the sun-room, all smiles.
"I believe I'll try some of those waffles, mother, if they are still
handy," he exclaimed. "My headache's passed off and I'm feeling quite
myself again." He beamed on his son. "And now, De Lancy, you were
telling me about that new car. It seems to me like a pretty stiff price
but I guess you might as well go ahead and order it."
When the bank president reached his office some time later after a visit
to the Golden Rule Fish Cannery, he greeted his employees with effusive
good-humor. Leaving orders that he was not to be disturbed by any one
except Mr. Peters, he passed into his private office, dropped heavily
into a chair and began to figure. His pudgy fingers trembled about the
pen as he scratched on the pad before him. Then he tore the paper
containing his calculations into little bits, tossed them into the
waste-basket and smiled benignly. His latest business venture had
succeeded far beyond his fondest expectations.
A tap came on his door and Mr. Peters again made his appearance.
Rock surveyed him anxiously. "No mistake I hope, Peters, in the good
news," he quavered. "Everything's all right I trust."
Peters nodded and drew up a chair close to Rock's side. "This one's
about the fishing-boats," he said in a low voice. "They got into a scrap
with the American boats off Northwest Harbor. Bandrist says that
Gregory's fleet won out. Mascola's lay in at the harbor. The _Florence_
burned up and a lot of his other boats are pretty well shot. He couldn't
stop the other fellows at all and they loaded up."
Rock frowned at the news.
"Well, well," he ejaculated. "That is bad. Though not of course as bad
as it might be. No answer to that one, Peters."
A few moments later when the financier was again alone in his office,
the cashier entered. "The credit man from the Canners' Supply Company is
here," he announced. "He's asking for information about the Legonia Fish
Cannery. Thought I'd better refer him to you."
Rock's thick lips closed grimly. "Show him in," he ordered, and bit
savagely at his cigar.
Mr. Booker made his appearance at once. "We have a little account with
the Legonia Fish Cannery," he began. "As it is some time past due we
were beginning to get a little anxious. A word from you will put us
straight."
"What's the amount of your claim?"
"Twelve hundred and thirty-five dollars."
The hopeful expression which had leaped to Rock's face gave place to one
of gloom. Then he asked:
"What is the nature of your claim?"
"Machinery and the labor of installing," supplied Booker.
A gleam of hope entered Rock's beady eyes. "Between you and me, Mr.
Booker," he said. "The Legonia Fish Cannery is pretty much involved at
the present time. Their organization is one which might cause you some
difficulty in securing the amount of your claim. If you care to assign
it to me for collection I think I can handle the matter satisfactorily."
Booker did not notice the suppressed eagerness of the bank president's
tone. He was new at the job, replacing the regular credit man who was
away on his vacation. Perhaps it would be well to accept Mr. Rock's
offer.
"What fee would you charge for your services?" he inquired warily.
Rock spread out his fat hands with a depreciatory gesture.
"Just between friends, Mr. Booker," he said warmly. "Your firm is too
well-known by me to make even a nominal charge for so trifling a favor.
Whatever I am able to do for you in this regard, is yours for the
asking." Seeing that the credit man was wavering, Rock continued: "I am
so sure that I can adjust the claim satisfactorily that if you desire I
will give you my own personal check for the amount right away. Then you
can forget the entire matter. Mr. Gregory is a personal friend of mine
and though, as I say, his affairs are somewhat involved, I know that he
will attend to the matter at once if approached in the right way."
Booker hesitated.
"I'd better call on Mr. Gregory first," he said.
"That will be a hard matter," Rock interrupted. "Unless you care to go
to the expense of making a trip to Diablo Island. Mr. Gregory left
yesterday for a protracted stay in the deep-sea fishing grounds."
Booker considered. His firm was very desirous of having him return with
the cash which was sore needed at the present time. Collecting the claim
would be quite a feather in his cap. Rock's statements concerning the
Fish Cannery, he noticed, were somewhat contradictory. But that was up
to Rock. An account like this, the chances were, would not be worth much
anyway. He could explain the whole matter to Dunham when he got back.
"All right, Mr. Rock," he said at length. "If you want to buy the claim
outright, you can have it. I won't assign."
Rock reached for his check-book. A few moments later saw the deal
closed. When Booker had left, Rock turned to the telephone. When he was
in communication with the local judge, he said:
"I'd like to see you as soon as possible, Tom.--Yes, it's
important.--All right. I'll be right down."
* * * * *
Somewhat in advance of Silvanus Rock's breakfast hour, Mr. Dupont
entered the White Front Restaurant at Port Angeles and made his way
toward his accustomed table in the sunlit alcove. His favorite waitress
pulled out his chair and handed him his morning paper with a smile.
"I have a special for you this morning," she announced, "which will make
your mouth water."
Mr. Dupont smacked his lips with boyish enthusiasm. "What is it?" he
inquired.
"Corn-fed mackerel from the new Service Market which opened yesterday."
Mr. Dupont raised his eyebrows inquiringly, and the girl explained:
"A lot of service men have started a fish stall in a corner of the old
California Market around the block from here. They just put in a few
yesterday but from the way they sold out, I'd say they'd need the whole
building before long. Our manager got around just in time to pick up the
last of yesterday's catch. I saved one of them for you."
While the girl attended to his order, the resident manager of Winfield &
Camby turned his attention to his paper. When the waitress returned with
the crisply browned fish, she was obliged to speak twice before she was
able to gain Mr. Dupont's attention.
Hovering about his chair, she watched her patron nibble at the
carefully-prepared delicacy with his eyes fixed intently upon his
newspaper. The dimples disappeared quickly from the girl's face as she
noted that the mackerel were growing cold. Then she turned from the
table with a sigh. Men did not care what they ate as long as they had
their paper.
Mr. Dupont finished his perusal of the news and shoved back his chair,
leaving the special scarcely tasted.
"That was fine," he ejaculated. "Wish I had time to finish it. But I
have a number of things to 'tend to before going to the office. By the
way, where did you say that new market was located?"
He rose as he spoke and as the waitress again gave him the location of
the building he sought, he pressed a substantial tip into her hand and
hurried to the street. At the entrance to the California Market, he
mingled with the throng and elbowed his way through the crowd which
packed a corner of the big building. Then he adjusted his nose-glasses
and peered over their heads.
Behind a rudely constructed counter of rough boards three smiling young
men were endeavoring to satisfy the demands made upon them for the
rapidly disappearing contents of a number of fish-boxes behind the
counter. All about them were hastily scrawled signs which the public
read with interest.
WE HAVE DECLARED WAR ON THE HIGH COST OF LIVING.--FRESH
FISH AT FIFTY PER CENT. OFF.--WE ARE DEALING DIRECT WITH
THE PEOPLE.--SHOOT SQUARE WITH US AND WE WILL SHOOT
SQUARE WITH YOU.
While Mr. Dupont read, another sign made its appearance.
"SOLD OUT. COME AGAIN."
Winfield & Camby's office force were surprised to find the manager on
the job when they reached the salesrooms.
"Send me Mr. Black."
Mr. Dupont's orders were crisp and the publicity man hurried to obey his
bidding.
"Bring me those clippings on that Legonia Fish Cannery stuff, Black.
Also the ads in to-day's papers. Have you read that story of the mix-up
between the Americans and the alien fishermen at Diablo Island?"
Black admitted he had not.
"Get _The Times_ and read it," snapped the manager. "Come alive, Black,
and as soon as Dalton comes in, tell him I want to see him right away."
* * * * *
It was high noon at Cavalan when the _Pelican_ reentered the harbor
after cruising in the open sea to pick up any words that might come from
McCoy over the radio. Gregory watched the progress of the _Pelican_
from the deck of the Albatross.
"Looks as if they'd picked up something at last," he observed. "Hope
it's from the fleet, saying they arrived at the cannery all right."
"They've hardly had time to make it yet," objected Dickie Lang. "I
wouldn't expect to hear from them at Legonia for at least two hours."
The wireless operator appeared on deck as the _Pelican_ drew abreast of
the _Albatross_. "Message for Mr. Gregory," he shouted.
Gregory took the paper and glanced eagerly at the message. It was from
McCoy and it read:
Rock here with attachment papers to tie us up pending
payment of claim bought by him from Canners' Supply
Company. We have until four o'clock to answer. Wire what
to do.
Gregory glanced at his watch as he handed the message to Dickie Lang.
Jumping to the deck of the _Pelican_ he found Tom Howard.
"Tom," he said, "I want you to put to sea at once. Travel a straight
course for Legonia and keep the radio going all the time. We'll be
alongside in the _Richard_. Give us the answer you get over the radio by
megaphone. Perhaps then it won't be necessary for us to go all the way
over. But if it should be, we've got to get there before four o'clock."
Turning to the radio man, he dictated a message to Farnsworth setting
forth the situation and instructing the attorney to take whatever steps
were advisable to stay the attachment. The message was to be forwarded
to Farnsworth from the cannery. It would give the lawyer time to act if
he got busy at once.
Returning to the _Albatross_, Gregory went over his plans with Dickie
Lang.
"I'm going, too," the girl announced. "You are all in. It will be no fun
driving the _Richard_ to-day. If you do have to go across, you haven't
much chance of making it on time in weather like this. Especially if we
have to lag along with the _Pelican_."
"I know it," Gregory answered. "But I'm not figuring we'll have to go
very far. But if we do have to go all the way we've got to be at Legonia
before four o'clock. We've beaten Mascola but we'll lose all we've
gained if we don't beat Rock."
Hawkins sensed that something important was taking place and straightway
determined to accompany the party. A few minutes later the _Richard_ and
the _Pelican_ rounded the tip of San Anselmo and headed into the storm.
Then Hawkins' professional curiosity got the better of him.
"What's the big idea?" he asked.
Gregory explained, concluding optimistically: "I'm not worrying much.
Farnsworth can fix things up all right. Then we'll go back to Cavalan."
"If he doesn't you can put up a bond for double the amount of the
claim," Hawkins advised. "That will stay the attachment until you can
raise the cash. You'd have to get it in person though--and before four
o'clock."
He looked at his watch.
"You'll have to go some to do that," he said. "If you could cut loose
from the _Pelican_ it would be a cinch, but of course you've got to wait
until you get an answer to your message."
For some time the two boats fought their way through the rising waves.
Then the fishing-boat signaled the _Richard_ to draw closer. Gregory
listened intently for the words of the man with the megaphone as he
appeared on the _Pelican's_ deck. The operator's message came faintly to
them above the roar of the wind.
Mr. Farnsworth left his office at noon to-day on motor
trip to country. Not expected to return until Monday.
Little hope of reaching him to-night but will keep
trying.
McCoy.
Hawkins swore softly at the intelligence. It was one-thirty already. Not
much chance of reaching Legonia in time to accomplish much to-day.
"Tell McCoy I'll be at the cannery before four o'clock."
Dickie flashed a glance at the clock on the _Richard's_ dash at
Gregory's words. Every minute was going to count. It was up to the
speed-boat to show what she could do. Opening the cut-out, the girl
began to get the speed-craft under way. With a roar which drowned out
the wind, the _Richard_ mounted to the white-capped swells and raced for
the mainland. There was only one chance in a hundred of making it on
time. She set her lips grimly and gripped the wheel. If it was only one
in a thousand, she'd take it--for Kenneth Gregory.