MR. BASCOMB IS PEEVISH
At the first blush of dawn Tom despatched the tireless Nicolas to Blixton
to notify the police of the explosions and of the disappearance of Harry
Hazelton.
Two men in blue, wearing stars on their coats, came over within an hour,
walked about and looked wise until noon. They discovered nothing whatever,
and their theories did not strike Reade as being worthy of attention.
As soon as possible the divers were sent down at the two wrecked parts of
the retaining wall. These men reported that the breaches extended ten
feet beneath the surface at some points; only eight feet at other points.
The foundations of the walls were reported as being secure. Then Tom,
under the directions of two divers, put on a diver's suit and went down
himself, for the first time in his life. After some two hours, with
frequent ascents to the surface, the young chief engineer had satisfied
himself that the foundations were secure. Then he did some rapid figuring.
"The loss will not exceed eight thousand dollars---the cost of rebuilding
the missing parts of the walls," Reade informed Superintendent Renshaw.
"Only eight thousand dollars!" whistled the superintendent.
"Well, that figure isn't anywhere nearly as high as I feared it might be,"
Tom pursued.
"But it will strike the directors of the Melliston Company as being pretty
big for an extra bill," muttered Renshaw. "Especially, since---"
The superintendent paused.
"You were going to say," smiled Tom, wanly, "since the loss wouldn't have
happened if I hadn't kicked the gamblers out of camp."
"That's about the size of it, Mr. Reade," nodded Renshaw. "Directors of
big companies are less interested in moral reforms than in dividends.
They're likely to make a big kick over what your crusade has cost them
already, even if it costs them no more."
"We'll see to it that it doesn't cost them any more," Tom retorted.
"Every night we'll watch that sea wall the way a mother does a sick baby.
There'll be no more explosions. As to the directors kicking over the
present expense, they'll have a prompt chance to do it. As soon as the
telegraph office in Blixton was open this morning I wired the president of
the company. Now, I'm going ashore. I can't do anything out here to help
you, can I?"
"Nothing," replied Renshaw. "If I didn't know how foolish the advice would
sound, Mr. Reade, I'd urge you to take a nap."
"I'll take a nap when I find it impossible to keep my eyes open any
longer," Tom compromised. "For the next few hours---work and lots of it."
As yet no effort had been made to repair the breaches in the wall. The
different gangs were working that day in nearer shore. The divers,
gathered on a scow, were now waiting for the "Morton" to convey them back
to shore. Reade decided to go with them.
"Twenty minutes to two," murmured Tom to himself, glancing at his watch as
the "Morton" went laboriously back over the dancing, glinting waves.
"There's a train due at Blixton at 1:30. By the time I get back to the
house I ought to find one or more officials of the company impatiently
waiting to jump on my devoted neck."
Nor was Tom disappointed in this expectation. Pacing up and down on the
porch of the house occupied by the engineers and superintendent was George
C. Bascomb, president of the Melliston Company. Behind him stood Nicolas,
respectfully eager to do anything he could for the comfort of the great
man.
"Ah, there you are, Reade," called President Bascomb in an irritated tone,
as he caught sight of the young engineer striding forward. "Now, what's
all this row that you wired us about?"
"Will you come down to the water, and go out with me to look at the
damage, sir?" asked Tom, as he took the president's reluctantly offered
hand.
"No," grunted Mr. Bascomb. "Let me hear the story first. Come inside
and tell me about it."
"Our friend is not quite so gracious as he has been on former meetings,"
thought Tom, as he led the way inside. "I wonder if he is going to get
cranky?"
Inside was a little office room, as in the foremen's barracks.
"Any decent cigars here?" questioned Mr. Bascomb, after exploring his own
pockets and finding them innocent of tobacco.
"No, sir," Tom answered. "No one here smokes."
"I've got to have a cigar," the president of the company insisted.
"Then, sir, if you'll give Nicolas your orders, he'll run over to Blixton
and get you what you want."
The Mexican departed in haste on the errand.
"Now, first of all, Reade," began the president, "I am disgusted at
learning of one fool mistake that you've made."
"What is that, sir?" Tom asked, coloring.
"I've just learned that you discharged Evarts---one of our best and most
useful men."
"I did discharge him, sir," Reade admitted.
"Take him back, at once."
"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't do it. He---"
"I don't think you quite understand," broke in Mr. Bascomb coldly. "I
directed you to take Mr. Evarts back on this work."
"I was about to tell you, sir, why I can't do anything of the sort.
I---"
"Stop right there, Reade," ordered President Bascomb, in his most
aggressive, bullying manner. "The first point that we have to settle is
that Evarts must come back on the pay-roll and have his old position. Be
good enough to let that proposition sink in before we take up the second."
"I am very sorry, sir," Tom murmured respectfully, "but I can't and won't
have Evarts back here. I won't have him around the work at all. Now what
is the second proposition, sir?"
As Tom spoke he looked straight into Mr. Bascomb's eyes. The other glared
at him unbelievingly but angrily.
"Young man, you don't appear to understand that I am president and head of
the Melliston Company."
"I quite understand it, sir," Reade answered. "At the same time I am chief
engineer here, and I am committed to building the breakwater and dredging
out the enclosed bay or harbor, all within a certain fixed appropriation.
In order to keep my part of the bargain I must have men with me on whom I
can depend to the fullest limit. Evarts isn't such a man and I won't have
him on the work again."
"He'll go on the pay-roll, anyway," snorted Mr. Bascomb.
"I can't help what you may see fit to pay him, Mr. Bascomb, provided you
pay him somewhere else. But the fellow can't go on the pay-roll here for
the simple reason that he wouldn't be allowed to visit this construction
camp for the purpose of getting his money. Mr. Bascomb, I am not trying to
ride a high horse. I recognize that you are president of the company, and
that I must take all reasonable orders from you and carry them out to the
letter. Yet I can't take any orders that would simply hinder my work and
damage my reputation as an engineer. Evarts can't come back into this camp
as long as I am in charge here."
"We'll take that up again presently," returned Mr. Bascomb, with an air of
ruffled dignity. "Now, there's another matter that we must discuss. I
know what has been done in the way of great damage to the retaining wall.
I also know that this damage came through enmity that you stirred up by
drumming certain parties out of this camp."
"You refer, sir, I take it, to my act in having Blixton police officers
come in here and chase out some gamblers who had come here for the purpose
of winning the money of the workmen?"
"That's it," nodded Bascomb. "In that matter you went too far---altogether
too far!"
"I'm afraid I don't understand you, sir."
"You mean, Reade, that you don't want to understand me," snapped the
president. "You admit having chased out the gamblers, don't you?"
"Of course, I admit it, sir."
"That was a bad move. In the future, Reade, you will not interfere with
any forms of amusement that the men may select for themselves in their
evening hours."
Tom stared at the speaker in undisguised amazement.
"But, Mr. Bascomb, the men are shamelessly robbed by the sharpers who come
here to gamble with them."
"That's the men's own affair," scoffed the president. "Anyway, they have
a right to pitch away their wages if they want to. Reade, when you're as
old as I am you will understand that workmen who throw away their money
make the best workmen. They never have any savings, hence they must make
every effort to keep their jobs. A workman with savings becomes too
independent."
"I am certain you have seen more of the world than I have, Mr. Bascomb,"
Reade replied, respectfully. "At the same time I can't agree with you on
the point you have just stated. A workman with a bank account has always
a greater amount of self-respect, and a man who has self-respect is bound
to make a good citizen and a good workman. But there are still other
reasons why I had the gamblers chased out. Gambling here in the camp would
always create a great deal of disorder. Disorder destroys discipline, and
a camp like this, in order to give the best results in the way of work,
must have discipline. Moreover, the men, when gambling, remain up until
all hours of the night. A man who has been up most of the night can't give
an honest day's work in return for his wages. Unless the men get their
sleep and are kept in good condition we can't get the work out of them that
we have a right to expect."
"The right man can _drive_ workmen," declared Mr. Bascomb, with emphasis.
"You'll have to drive your men. Get all the work out of them, but drop at
once this foolish policy of interfering with what they do after the whistle
blows. We can't have any more of this nonsense. It costs too much. By
the way, how much will it cost to repair the damage to the retaining
walls?"
"About eight thousand dollars, sir, if my first figuring was correct," was
Reade's answer.
"Eight thousand dollars!" scowled President Bascomb. "Now, Reade, doesn't
that amount of wanton, revengeful mischief teach you the folly of trying to
regulate camp life outside of working hours?"
"I'm afraid it doesn't, sir."
"Then you must be a fool, Reade!"
"Thank you, sir. I will add that you're not the first man who has
suspected it."
"You will, therefore, Reade," continued Mr. Bascomb, with his grandest air
of authority, "cause it to become known throughout the camp that you are
not going to interfere any further with any form of amusement that is
brought to the camp evenings by outsiders."
"Is that proposition number two, sir?" queried the young chief engineer.
"It is."
"Then please don't misunderstand me, sir," Reade begged, respectfully,
"but it is declined, as is proposition number one."
"Do you mean to say that you are going to go on with your fool way of
doing things?"
"Yes, sir---until I am convinced that it is a fool way."
"But I've just told you that it is," snapped Mr. Bascomb.
"Then I say it very respectfully, sir, but pardon me for replying that I
don't consider the evidence very convincing. I have shown you why I must
have good order in the camp, and I have told you that I do not propose to
allow gambling or any other disorderly conduct to go on within camp limits.
I can't agree to these things, and then hope to win out by keeping the cost
of the work within the appropriation."
"Do you feel that you'll keep within the appropriation by making enemies
who deliberately blow up our masonry?" glared Mr. Bascomb.
"I doubt if there will be any more expense in that line, sir. I intend
to have such a watch kept over the wall as to prevent any further mischief
of the kind."
"Watchmen are an item of expense, aren't they?" snorted the president.
"Yes, sir; but next to nothing at all as compared with the mischief they
can prevent."
"I have already told you how to prevent the mischief, Reade. Stop all of
your foolish nonsense and let the men have their old-time pastimes."
"I can't do it, sir."
"Have you paper, pen and ink here?" thundered Mr. Bascomb. "If so, bring
them."
Tom quietly obeyed.
"Reade," again thundered the president of the Melliston Company, "I have
had as much of your nonsense as I intend to stand. You are out of here,
from this minute. Take that pen and sign your resignation!"