THE VALUE OF PUBLICITY
"What time is it?"
Gregory huddled to the floor of the cockpit and drew out his watch.
"Two-thirty," he shouted above the frenzied snapping of the open
exhaust.
Dickie hurled the _Richard_ into a mounting wall of green water which
tottered above them. Then she cried through set lips: "Just about
half-way. We're over the worst of it though. The nearer we get to shore
the better time we'll make. We're sure going to need it too."
Gregory nodded absent-mindedly. His mind was filled with the problem of
what he was going to do if he did arrive at Legonia on time. Dickie had
made a wonderful run thus far, had handled the _Richard_ masterfully
against wind and wave, had more than done her part. Soon her work would
be done. Then his would begin. And what was he going to do?
The sum to be raised would have once seemed trifling. What would twelve
hundred dollars have amounted to three months ago? Now, it looked like a
million. There was no chance of raising it to-day. He must secure a
bond.
Rock had played his hand well. The bank president had hit in some way
upon a plan of injuring him while he was away. And Rock could injure
him. A tie-up at such a time would rob him of all he had gained by
beating Mascola at El Diablo. The fishing fleet were loaded to the
gunwales with albacore. The fish must be worked up at once. A loss of
even twenty-four hours would render them worthless.
Gregory reflected bitterly that he had other creditors. Had Rock
obtained other due and unpaid accounts? Even if such were not the case,
the shutting down of his plant might be the signal for other wholesalers
to launch a similar attack upon his credit. He realized sharply that he
was accomplishing nothing. Merely thinking in circles. Hawkins had
suggested putting up a bond. The newspaperman was doubtless familiar
with the procedure. Perhaps it could be effected if they arrived early
enough to arrange the matter. He turned to his friend for enlightenment.
"How long would it take for me to get a bond?" he asked.
Hawkins' usually cheery countenance clouded, as he replied:
"Not long, if you could find a surety company agent in his office. But
the trouble is this is Saturday. I didn't think of it until you got that
wire from your attorney. It's a legal holiday for the courts and it's
hard to find anybody around you want." Hawkins' frown grew blacker as he
continued: "Then there's another thing. You've got to have the judge
approve the bond, granting you're lucky enough to get it. And looking
for a judge on Saturday afternoon is like looking for the proverbial
needle."
Hawkins placed a hand wearily over his eyes and lapsed into silence.
* * * * *
Jack McCoy was at his wit's end. The fishing fleet from Diablo had just
arrived, loaded with albacore. The captains reported a rough trip all
the way over. They had seen or heard nothing from Gregory since leaving
Cavalan. McCoy paced up and down the dock while he superintended the
unloading of the fish. What a haul they had made! But what good would it
do them? The whole plant would be tied up in less than an hour.
He jerked out his watch and looked at it again. It was seven minutes
after three. Walking to the bay-side, he shaded his eyes with his hand
and gazed anxiously in the direction of the inlet. Granting that Gregory
arrived within the next half-hour, what could he possibly accomplish in
so short a time? All McCoy's efforts to confer with Rock had been
fruitless. The bank president could not be located and had left but one
word.
He would be at the cannery at four o'clock.
* * * * *
The low-lying clouds which hung about the entrance to Crescent Bay
rifted sullenly and exposed the ragged line of rocks which made up the
jetty.
"Right on the dot," Dickie Lang exclaimed. "I was afraid maybe I was
too far down. What time is it now?"
"Three-thirty," Gregory answered. "We ought to dock in ten minutes."
"We'll be there in five unless I run into something going down the
harbor."
"Stop at the municipal dock first," Gregory instructed her. "I'm going
to run ashore and try to get a bond. Then we'll go on to the cannery."
Hawkins roused himself from his lethargy as they sped down the bay.
"I can help you some," he announced. "I can go on your bond. I own at
least three times the amount of the claim in real estate in this county.
That will save us some time. We can get a blank form from a notary and
have him fill it out. Then all we've got to do is to find the judge."
"Doesn't Rock have to put up a bond, too?" Gregory asked. "He's trying
his best to damage me. Haven't I any come-back?"
"Don't bank on Rock's bond," Hawkins answered. "He has to put one up,
but it's pretty liable to be 'straw.' Fellows like him generally have a
strangle-hold on a little place like this and they are pretty sure of
their ground before they shoot. The chances are Rock's in the clear with
a 'dummy' or else his property is all under cover. I'm going to make it
my business to look the old fellow up and see how he's fixed. Men like
him don't do anything without a motive. I'm going to try to find out
what Rock is up to."
At the municipal docks Gregory and Hawkins debarked hastily and ran down
the main street of the town. Contrary to the newspaperman's fears they
were successful in finding a young notary in his office. Stimulated by
the promise of an extra fee, the man made out the papers in record time.
"Where can we find the local judge?" Gregory asked quickly.
The notary shook his head.
"Hard telling," he answered. "He went out a while ago with Mr. Rock and
one of the real estate men in this office to look at a piece of
property. Haven't seen Joe back since so I suppose they're still out."
When Gregory arrived at the cannery it lacked ten minutes of being four
o'clock. Hurrying to the office the party from the _Richard_ encountered
McCoy talking with a well-dressed stranger.
"Here's Mr. Gregory now," exclaimed the house-manager running over to
meet his employer. "What luck?" he whispered.
A glance at Gregory's face, however, was all McCoy needed to answer his
question. The boss had failed to stay the attachment. The plant would be
shut down and all the fish from Diablo would rot on the docks.
The visitor stepped forward with a smile and introduced himself. "I'm
Mr. Dalton, of Winfield & Camby," he said pleasantly. "I kind of stole a
march on you people to-day. Came down to inspect at the firm's request
and found you all so busy that I just sneaked into your warehouse and
went to work without saying anything to anybody." He smiled, as he
added: "We kind of like to do that. With a new firm especially. It
prevents them 'stacking' on us."
"Have you finished your inspection?"
Gregory put the question with suppressed eagerness.
Dalton nodded. "Yes," he answered. "I'm well enough satisfied. Your
stuff is fully up to par. Perhaps a little better than some standards.
If you are willing to hold to your schedule of prices which you gave Mr.
Dupont I'm ready to tie up with you right now."
A gleam of hope flashed to Gregory's eye.
"Isn't it customary to make a part payment when the contract is signed?"
he asked.
Dalton smiled and shook his head.
"Ten dollars is enough," he answered.
Gregory's eyes were fixed earnestly on the representative from Winfield
& Camby.
"Listen, Mr. Dalton," he said. "I've got to have twelve hundred and
thirty-five dollars by four o'clock or I'll lose thousands. I've got
fifteen boats outside loaded to the water-line with albacore besides all
the canned stuff on the floor. I own the building, machinery and
twenty-five fishing-boats. There's not a dollar against any part of it.
I guess you've looked me up already and you know I'm telling the truth.
If you give me an advance of twelve hundred and thirty-five dollars
I'll close right now and pay you any interest you want. But I've got to
have the money right now."
Dalton jerked out his watch.
"Hardly time," he answered. "Even if Dupont would O.K. it, which I
doubt."
Gregory was already at the telephone.
"I'll get him for you. Can you let me have the money if he says it's all
right?"
As Dalton nodded in affirmation, Gregory's eye fell upon the open watch
upon the desk. It lacked five minutes of four o'clock.
* * * * *
Mr. Dupont was seated in his private office puffing contentedly at a
long panatella when the door opened and the publicity man entered.
"What's new, Black? Anything?"
Black smiled and dropped into a chair.
"Nothing new," he said. "It's getting to be an old story. Every evening
paper in the city copied that fellow Hawkins' yarn in _The Times_ about
the sea fight at Diablo Island. Why, that man Gregory has enough free
publicity to elect him to Congress. And he's advertising on the strength
of it, like a department store. I was around to his service market a few
minutes ago and people were fighting to get within shouting distance of
the counter. I'd say he was a mighty good bet right now, Dupont. That
stuff has the town all lit up. If his output is anywhere near up to
standard I'd say it would be good business to tie him up and beat the
others to it."
As Mr. Dupont was about to speak, the telephone bell interrupted.
"Yes," he answered. "On the phone. Hello, Dalton.--What's that?--Yes, I
get you.--How's the stuff?--It is, eh? How's that?--I see.--What do you
think?--You would?--All right, Dalton. Sure, go ahead. Drop in at the
apartments when you get back. I want to have a look at that contract."
Mr. Dalton hung up the instrument and faced about. "You win," he
exclaimed. "Caught the old man just right. He'd have given me a month's
vacation on full pay if I'd have had the nerve to have asked for it." He
wrote the check hurriedly as he spoke and passed it over to Gregory with
the words: "And now, don't forget that you still have the contract to
sign."
Gregory took the check with shaking fingers, at a loss for words to
express fittingly his appreciation of the favor.
A moment later the door opened and Silvanus Rock entered with two
strangers. The financier was on time. In another few seconds the hands
of the watch would be pointing to four o'clock. Rock's beady eyes opened
wider as he took in the occupants of the room.
"I regret that circumstances have forced upon me a very unpleasant
duty," he began, but Gregory cut him short.
"They haven't," he said. "You guessed wrong this time, Mr. Rock. You've
come for your money. Here it is."
Endorsing the check, he passed it over.
Silvanus Rock's fat fingers closed about the check and his small eyes
glinted. For a moment his heavy jaw sagged and the flabby flesh gathered
in rolls and pressed tightly against his white collar. At length he
found his voice. "This check is not certified," he exclaimed hotly. "I
refuse to take it."
Dalton smiled.
"I guess that check isn't worrying you much, Mr. Rock," he said easily.
"We're both pretty well acquainted with Winfield & Camby's reputation
and between you and me, I hardly think they would relish any inference
like that coming from a man in your position here."
Rock gulped, as he recognized the representative of the big jobbers.
Still he hesitated, rolling the check nervously in his fingers.
Then Hawkins pressed forward.
"Don't urge him to take that check, Cap, if he doesn't want to," he
drawled. "In fact I think it would make a much better story if he turned
it down in the presence of all these witnesses."
Rock confronted Hawkins angrily. "Who are you?" he demanded.
Hawkins introduced himself with a happy smile. "I've been wanting to
meet you for some time, Mr. Rock," he said. "I'm with the Port Angeles
_Daily Times_. Since coming to Legonia I have become much interested in
the local fishing situation. As yet there are several things I'm not
quite clear on. I believe you could enlighten me. What about an
interview?"
Rock's face purpled, then grew white. His beady eyes shifted nervously
from one person to another, and focused at last on Kenneth Gregory.
"I'll take the check," he said thickly in a voice that shook with
emotion.
* * * * *
It was some time later when the business of the day came to a
satisfactory close. Winfield & Camby's representative had departed with
his signed contract which McCoy had designated as a "gilt-edge
proposition." The fish were all unloaded and the night-shift had already
started to work on them. The events of the past two days were beginning
to bear fruit.
Mascola had been beaten. Rock had been beaten. The sea itself had been
beaten by Dickie Lang and the _Richard_. All of these things had been
gone over again and again. Weak from the reaction of the continued
strain under which they had labored, the quartette of principals in the
cannery drama slouched deep in their chairs and conversation began to
lag.
Then Dickie Lang broke the silence.
"We've all forgotten to eat," she exclaimed. "If you'll all come up to
the house I know Aunt Mary will do her best for you."
Gregory, Hawkins and McCoy accepted the invitation in unison. As they
followed the girl out, Gregory observed to McCoy:
"I can't understand why Winfield & Camby faced about so suddenly. Why,
they saved our lives. Who would have thought it?"
"I would," Hawkins cut in. "Anybody would who stopped to think." He
slapped Gregory affectionately on the shoulder. "Didn't I tell you, Cap,
that I'd have old Dupont eating out of your hand in less than a week?"
he challenged. "Old leather-face has an ear to the ground. He's heard
the rumble of my thunder and he wants to get to cover."
His face lighted with enthusiasm as he went on: "Just wait until the
lightning begins to play around some of these birds. Then you'll see
them scamper. I'm going to the city to-morrow to have a talk with the
C.E. and I've just got a sneaking hunch that I'm going to start
something."