TOM ISN'T AS EASY AS HE LOOKS
"I don't believe I'll do that, sir," murmured Tom, putting down the pen.
"You don't, eh?"
"No, sir."
"Oh, then you'd rather wait and be forced out?"
"How about the contract, sir, between your company and Reade & Hazelton?
Contracts can't be broken as lightly as your words imply."
"I'll break that contract, if I set out to," declared Mr. Bascomb, purpling
with half-suppressed rage. "I've every ground for breaking the contract.
You're running things with a high hand here, and disorganizing all our
efforts. No contract will stand on presentation of any such evidence as
that before a court."
"I am quite willing to leave that to a court, if I have to," Reade
rejoined. His tones were decidedly cold. "Mr. Bascomb, even if I were
inclined to forfeit the contract I would have no legal right to do so
without the approval of my partner, Hazelton."
"Humph! He's dead," snorted the president.
"That yet remains to be proved, sir," Tom answered huskily, his voice
breaking slightly at thought of Harry.
"How on earth do you think you could defend a contract against a wealthy
company like ours? Why, we could swamp you under our loose change alone.
How much money have you in the world? Two or three thousand dollars,
perhaps."
"I've a little more than that," Tom Reade smiled. "For one thing, I'm a
third owner in the Ambition mine, on Indian Smoke Range, Nevada, and the
Ambition has been a dividend payer almost from the start. Hazelton owns
another third of the mine."
"Eh?" gasped Mr. Bascomb, plainly taken aback.
"Oh, we're not millionaires," Tom laughed easily. "Yet I fancy Hazelton
and I could raise enough money to fight any breach-of-contract case in
court. With a steady-paying mine, you know, we could even discount to
some extent the earnings of future years."
"Oh, well, we don't want hard feelings," urged Mr. Bascomb, his manner
becoming more peaceable. "The plain truth is, Reade, that we're utterly
dissatisfied with your way of managing things here. When you know how the
Melliston Company feels toward you, you don't want to be impudent enough to
insist on hanging on, do you?"
"I am certain that I speak for my partner, sir, when I state that we won't
drop the contract until we have fulfilled it," Tom muttered, coolly, but
with great firmness.
"What's all this dispute about anyway, Bascomb?" a voice called cheerily
from the hallway.
"Oh, it's you, is it, Prenter?" asked Mr. Bascomb, turning and not looking
overjoyed at the interruption.
Simon F. Prenter was treasurer of the Melliston Company. Tom had met him
at the time of signing the engineers' contract with the company. Now Reade
sprang up to place a chair for the new arrival.
"What was all the row about?" Mr. Prenter asked affably. He was a man of
about forty-five, rather stout, with light blue eyes that looked at one
with engaging candor.
"I have been suggesting to Reade that he might resign," replied Mr.
Bascomb, stiffly.
"Why?" asked Prenter, opening his eyes wider.
"Because he has raised the mischief on this breakwater job. He has all
the men by their ears, and the camp in open mutiny."
"So?" asked Mr. Prenter, looking astonished.
"Exactly, and therefore I have called upon the young man to resign."
"And he refuses?" queried the treasurer. "Most astounding obstinacy on the
part of so young a man when dealing with his elder."
"I'll try to explain to you, Mr. Prenter," volunteered Reade, "just what
I've been trying to tell Mr. Bascomb."
"I don't know that I need trouble you," replied Mr. Prenter, moving so that
he stood more behind the irate president. "I overheard what you were
telling him."
Then the treasurer did a most unexpected thing. He winked broadly at the
young engineer.
"Yes, Prenter," Mr. Bascomb went on, "this camp is in a state of mutiny.
The men are all at odds with their chief."
"Strange," murmured the treasurer of the Melliston Company. "When I paused
on the porch, before entering, I thought I caught sight of unusual
activity down at the water front. Did you notice it, too, Bascomb?"
"I noticed nothing of the sort," replied the president stiffly. "Am I to
infer, Prenter, that you are going to follow your occasional tactics and
try to laugh me out of my decision as president of the company?"
"Oh, nothing of the sort, I assure you," hastily protested the treasurer.
But he found chance to drive another wink Tom Reade's way. The young chief
engineer could not but feel that an ally had suddenly come his way.
"Now, what is the nature and extent of the mutiny?" asked Mr. Prenter.
"First of all, eight thousand dollars' damage has been done to the
retaining wall of the breakwater," replied Mr. Bascomb. "That is,
according to Mr. Reade's figures, which very likely may prove to be too
low. Also, Mr. Hazelton has been murdered."
"Hazelton---killed?" gasped Mr. Prenter showing genuine concern. "Of
course I know that the telegram to the office said that Hazelton was
missing, but I didn't suppose it was anything as tragic as a killing."
"Well, Hazelton can't be found, so I haven't a doubt he was killed as part
of a general plan of mutiny and revenge on the part of the mixed crews of
men working here," declared Mr. Bascomb.
"Oh, I sincerely hope that Hazelton hasn't lost his life here!" cried Mr.
Prenter. "Reade, aren't you going to take us down to the water front and
show us the extent of the damage?"
"I shall be only too glad to do so, sir," Tom agreed.
Even Mr. Bascomb consented at last to go. As they gained the porch
Nicolas rushed up with the cigars for which the president had sent him.
While Mr. Bascomb paused to light one, Mr. Prenter thrust an arm through
Tom's and led that youth down the road.
"Now, Mr. Reade," murmured the treasurer, earnestly, "Mr. Bascomb, of
course, is our president, and I don't want you to treat him with the
slightest disrespect. But Bascomb isn't the majority stockholder nor the
whole board of directors, so I'll just drop this hint: When Bascomb talks
of resignations don't attach too serious importance to it until you receive
a resolution endorsing the same view and passed by the board of directors
of the company."
"Thank you. I have no intention of resigning," smiled Tom.
"Now, let's go on," continued Mr. Prenter.
Mr. Bascomb, having his cigar lighted, seemed to prefer strolling in the
rear by himself.
"Now, I don't want to give you any wrong impressions, Mr. Reade," went on
Mr. Prenter. "Mr. Bascomb is the head of our company, but other directors
represent more of the stock of the company than he does. I am one of them.
Sometimes Mr. Bascomb gets a bit hard-headed, and he is inclined to give
orders that others of us wouldn't approve. I judge that you and he were
having some dispute when I happened along."
"I didn't regard it as a dispute, sir," Reade rejoined. "In the first
place, I had discharged, for incompetency and faithlessness, a foreman
named Evarts.
"And Evarts is a pet of Mr. Bascomb's," smiled Mr. Prenter. "I imagine
that Evarts is even some sort of family connection who has to be looked
after and kept in a good job."
"Anyway," Tom continued, "I explained that Evarts was worse than useless
here and that I couldn't have him in the camp or on the job."
"Quite right, I fancy," nodded Mr. Prenter. "In the second place, Mr.
Bascomb ordered me to stop my crusade against the gamblers who had tried
to invade the camp and rob the men of their earnings. Hazelton and I had
that sort of row once out in Arizona---and we won out."
"You deserve to win out here, too," remarked Mr. Prenter. "I have no
patience with anything but straight, uncompromising right. We can't
control the men, if they see fit to leave the camp at night, but you have
every right---and it's your duty---to see to it that no disorder is allowed
within camp limits. I, too, have heard something about your trouble here,
Mr. Reade, and I can promise you that the directors generally will sustain
you. So Mr. Bascomb demanded your resignation?"
"He did, sir."
"Let it go at that," smiled Mr. Prenter. "You may even, sometime, if it
will please Mr. Bascomb, hand him your resignation. I will see to it that
it doesn't get past the board of directors. Mr. Bascomb is irritable, and
sometimes he is a downright crank, but he is valuable to us just the same.
We feel, too, Reade, that you and Hazelton are just the men we need to put
this breakwater through in the best fashion."
"Even though at least eight thousand dollars in damage was done last
night?" queried Tom.
"Yes, even in the face of that. I am certain that you will know how to
forestall any more such spite work."
"Now, I'm not altogether so sure of that, sir," Reade answered, quickly.
"Of course we'll be eternally vigilant after this, but the trick was done
last night so cleverly and mysteriously that we may be surprised again by
the plotters. Speaking of mystery, could anything be stranger, or harder
to explain, than what happened to poor Hazelton?"
"There _was_ mystery for you!" nodded Mr. Prenter. "Have you any ideas
whatever on the subject of Hazelton's disappearance?"
"Not the slightest," groaned Tom. "I know all the indications are that he
has been killed, and I ought to believe that such is the case. But I
simply won't believe it. Why, if he were killed, what became of the body?"
"It's a puzzle," sighed Mr. Prenter.
They were now nearing the land end of the breakwater wall. Mr. Bascomb
overtook them. Together the three strolled out along the wall, halting
frequently, to observe what the men were doing. It was their plan to keep
on until they came to the scene of the two explosions of the night before.
"Just what are you doing here?" asked Mr. Bascomb, stopping and pointing to
a gang of men at work on a scow moored against the wall.
"I can tell you, after a fashion, sir," Reade answered. "Yet this was a
part of Hazelton's performance. He had charge here, and knew ever so much
about it. Poor old Harry!"
Behind them, at the beginning of the wall, a long, loud whistle sounded.
In a moment fully a hundred of the workmen stood up, waved their caps and
cheered as though they had gone mad.
Coming forward, with long strides, was Harry Hazelton, in the flesh!