BOBBY BEGINS TO GIVE TESTIMONY THAT HE IS OLD JOHN BURNIT'S SON
Closeted with Jolter and Brown, and mapping out with them the
dangerous campaign into which they had plunged, Bobby did not leave
the office of the _Bulletin_ until six o'clock. At the curb, just as
he was about to step into his waiting machine, Biff Bates hailed him
with vast enthusiasm.
"Go to it, Bobby!" said he. "I'm backing you across the board, win,
place and show; but let me give you a hot tip right from the stables.
You want to be afraid to go home in the dark, or Stone's lobbygows
will lean on you with a section of plumbing."
"I've thought of that, Biff," laughed Bobby; "and I think I'll
organize a band of murderers of my own."
Johnson, whom Bobby had quite forgotten in the stress of the day,
joined them at this moment. Thirty years as head bookkeeper and
confidential adviser in old John Burnit's merchandise establishment
had not fitted lean Johnson for the less dignified and more flurried
work of a newspaper office, even in the business department, and he
was looking very much fagged.
"Well, Johnson, what do you think of my first issue of the
_Bulletin_?" asked Bobby pleasantly.
Johnson looked genuinely distressed.
"To tell you the truth, Mr. Burnit," said he, "I have not seen it. I
never in all my life saw a place where there were so many
interruptions to work. If we could only be back in your father's
store, sir."
"We'll be back there before we quit," said Bobby confidently; "or I'll
be in the incurable ward."
"I hope so, sir," said Johnson dismally, and strode across the street
to catch his car; but he came back hastily to add: "I meant about the
store; not about the asylum."
Biff Bates laughed as he clambered into the tonneau with Bobby.
"If you'd make a billion dollars, Bobby, but didn't get back your
father's business that Silas Trimmer snaked away from you, Johnson
would think you'd overlooked the one best bet."
"So would I," said Bobby soberly, and he had but very little more to
say until the chauffeur stopped at Bobby's own door, where puffy old
Applerod, who had been next to Johnson in his usefulness to old John
Burnit, stood nervously awaiting him on the steps.
"Terrible, sir! Terrible!" spluttered Applerod the moment he caught
sight of Bobby. "This open defiance of Mr. Stone will put entirely out
of existence what little there is left of the Brightlight Electric
Company."
"Cheer up, Applerod, for death must come to us all," encouraged Bobby.
"Such shreds and fragments of the Brightlight as there are left would
have been wiped out anyhow; and frankly, if you must have it, I put
you in there as general manager, when I shifted Johnson to the
_Bulletin_ this morning, because there was nothing to manage."
Applerod threw up his hands in dismay.
"And there will be less. Oh, Mr. Burnit, if your father were only
here!"
Bobby, whose suavity Applerod had never before seen ruffled, turned
upon him angrily.
"I'm tired hearing about my father, Applerod," he declared. "I revere
the governor's memory too much to want to be made angry by the mention
of his name. Hereafter, kindly catch the idea, if you can, that I am
my own man and must work out my own salvation; and I propose to do it!
Biff, you don't mind if I put off seeing you until to-morrow? I have a
dinner engagement this evening and very little time to dress."
"His own man," said Applerod sorrowfully when Bobby had left them.
"John Burnit would be half crazy if he could know what a botch his son
is making of things. I don't see how a man could let himself be
cheated four times in business."
"I can tell you," retorted Biff. "All his old man ever did for him was
to stuff his pockets with kale, and let him grow up into the sort of
clubs where one sport says: 'I'm going to walk down to the corner.'
Says the other sport: 'I'll bet you see more red-headed girls on the
way down than you do on the way back.' Says the first sport: 'You're
on for a hundred.' He goes down to the corner and he comes back. 'How
about the red-headed girls?' asks the second sport. 'I lose,' says the
first sport; 'here's your hundred.' Now, when Bobby is left real
money, he starts in to play the same open-face game, and when one of
these business wolves tells him anything Bobby don't stop to figure
whether the mut means what he says, or means something else that
sounds like the same thing. Now, if Bobby was a simp they'd sting him
in so many places that he'd be swelled all over, like an exhibition
cream puff; but he ain't a simp. It took him four times to learn that
he can't take a man's word in business. That's all he needed. Bobby's
awake now, and more than that he's mad, and if I hear you make another
crack that he ain't about all the candy I'll sick old Johnson on you,"
and with this dire threat Biff wheeled, leaving Mr. Applerod
speechless with red-faced indignation.
It was just a quiet family dinner that Bobby attended that night at
the Ellistons', with Uncle Dan and Aunt Constance Elliston at the head
and foot of the table, and across from him the smiling face of Agnes.
He was so good to look at that Agnes was content just to watch him,
but Aunt Constance noted his abstraction and chided him upon it.
"Really, Bobby," said she, "since you have gone into business you're
ruined socially."
"Frankly, I don't mind," he replied, smiling. "I'd rather be ruined
socially than financially. In spite of certain disagreeable features
of it, I have a feeling upon me to-night that I'm going to like the
struggle."
"You're starting a stiff one now," observed Uncle Dan dryly.
"Beginning an open fight against Sam Stone is a good deal like being
suspended over Hades by a single hair--amidst a shower of Roman
candles."
"That's putting it about right, I guess," admitted Bobby; "but I'm
relying on the fact that the public at heart is decent."
"Do you remember, Bobby, what Commodore Vanderbilt said about the
public?" retorted Uncle Dan. "They're decent, all right, but they
won't stick together in any aggressive movement short of gunpowder. In
the meantime, Stone has more entrenchments than even you can dream.
For instance, I should not wonder but that within a very short time I
shall be forced to try my influence with you in his behalf."
"How?" asked Bobby incredulously.
"Well, I am trying to get a spur track from the X. Y. Z. Railroad to
my factory on Spindle Street. The X. Y. Z. is perfectly willing to put
in the track, and I'm trying to have the city council grant us a
permit. Now, who is the city council?"
"Stone," Bobby was compelled to admit.
"Of course. I have already arranged to pay quite a sum of money to the
capable and honest city councilman of that ward. The capable and
honest councilman will go to Stone and give up about three-fourths of
what I pay him. Then Stone will pass the word out to the other
councilmen that he's for Alderman Holdup's spur track permit, and I
get it. Very simple arrangement, and satisfactory, but, if they do not
shove that measure through at their meeting to-morrow night, before
Stone finds out any possible connection between you and me, the price
of it will not be money. I'll be sent to you."
"I see," said Bobby in dismay. "In other words, it will be put flatly
up to me; I'll either have to quit my attacks on Stone, or be directly
responsible for your losing your valuable spur track."
"Exactly," said Uncle Dan.
Bobby drew a long breath.
"I'm very much afraid, Mr. Elliston, that you will have to do without
your spur."
Uncle Dan's eyes twinkled.
"I'm willing," said he. "I have a good offer to sell that branch of my
plant anyhow, and I think I'll dispose of it. I have been very frank
with you about this, so that you will know exactly what to expect when
other people come at you. You will be beset as you never were before."
"I have been looking for an injunction, myself."
"You will have no injunction, for Stone scarcely dares go publicly
into his own courts," said Uncle Dan, with a pretty thorough
knowledge, gained through experience, of the methods of the "Stone
gang"; "though he might even use that as a last resort. That will be
after intimidation fails, for it is quite seriously probable that they
will hire somebody to beat you into insensibility. If that don't teach
you the proper lesson, they will probably kill you."
Agnes looked up apprehensively, but catching Bobby's smile took this
latter phase of the matter as a joke. Bobby himself was not deeply
impressed with it, but before he went away that night Uncle Dan took
him aside and urged upon him the seriousness of the matter.
"I'll fight them with their own weapons, then," declared Bobby. "I'll
organize a counter band of thugs, and I'll block every move they make
with one of the same sort. Somehow or other I think I am going to
win."
"Of course you will win," said Agnes confidently, overhearing this
last phrase; and with that most prized of all encouragement, the faith
in his prowess of _the_ one woman, Bobby, for that night at least,
felt quite contemptuous of the grilling fight to come.
His second issue of the _Bulletin_ contained on the front page a
three-column picture of Sam Stone, with the same caption, together
with a full-page article, written by Dillingham from data secured by
himself and the others who were put upon the "story." This set forth
the main iniquities of Sam Stone and his crew of municipal grafters.
In the third day's issue the picture was reduced to two columns,
occupying the left-hand upper corner of the front page, where Bobby
ordered it to remain permanently as the slogan of the _Bulletin_; and
now Dillingham began his long series of articles, taking up point by
point the ramifications of Stone's machine, and coming closer and
closer daily to people who would much rather have been left entirely
out of the picture.
It was upon this third day that Bobby, becoming apprehensive merely
because nothing had happened, received a visit from Frank Sharpe. Mr.
Sharpe was as nattily dressed as ever, and presented himself as
pleasantly as a summer breeze across fields of clover.
"I came in to see you about merging the Brightlight Electric Company
with the Consolidated, Mr. Burnit," said Mr. Sharpe in a chatty tone,
laying his hat, cane and gloves upon Bobby's desk and seating himself
comfortably.
From his face there was no doubt in Mr. Sharpe's mind that this was a
mere matter of an interview with a satisfactory termination, for Mr.
Sharpe had done business with Bobby before; but something had happened
to Bobby in the meantime.
"When I get ready for a merger of the Brightlight with the
Consolidated I'll tell you about it; and also I'll tell you the
terms," Bobby advised him with a snap, and for the first time Mr.
Sharpe noted what a good jaw Bobby had.
"I should think," hesitated Sharpe, "that in the present condition of
the Brightlight almost any terms would be attractive to you. You have
no private consumers now, and your contract for city lighting, which
you can not evade except by bankruptcy, is losing you money."
"If that were news to me it would be quite startling," responded
Bobby, "but you see, Mr. Sharpe, I am quite well acquainted with the
facts myself. Also, I have a strong suspicion that you tampered with
my plant; that your hired agents cut my wires, ruined my dynamos and
destroyed the efficiency of my service generally."
"You will find it very difficult to prove that, Mr. Burnit," said
Sharpe, with a sternness which could not quite conceal a lurking
smile.
"I'm beginning to like difficulty," retorted Bobby. "I do not mind
telling you that I was never angry before in my life, and I'm
surprised to find myself enjoying the sensation."
Bobby was still more astonished to find himself laying his fist
tensely upon his desk. The lurking smile was now gone entirely from
Mr. Sharpe's face.
"I must admit, Mr. Burnit, that your affairs have turned out rather
unfortunately," he said, "but I think that they might be remedied for
you a bit, perhaps. Suppose you go and see Stone."
"I do not care to see Mr. Stone," said Bobby.
"But he wants to see you," persisted Sharpe. "In fact, he told me so
this morning. I'm quite sure you would find it to your advantage to
drop over there."
"I shall never enter Mr. Stone's office until he has vacated it for
good," said Bobby; "then I might be induced to come over and break up
the furniture. If Stone wants to see me I'm keeping fairly regular
office hours here."
"It is not Mr. Stone's habit to go to other people," bluffed Sharpe,
growing somewhat nervous; for it was one of Stone's traits not to
forgive the failure of a mission. He had no use for extenuating
circumstances, He never looked at anything in this world but results.
Bobby took down the receiver of his house telephone.
"I'd like to speak to Mr. Jolter, please," said he.
Sharpe rose to go.
"Just wait a moment, Mr. Sharpe," said Bobby peremptorily, and Sharpe
stopped. "Jolter," he directed crisply, turning again to the 'phone,
"kindly step into my office, will you?"
A moment later, while Sharpe stood wondering, Jolter came in, and
grinned as he noted Bobby's visitor.
"Mr. Jolter," asked Bobby, "have we a good portrait of Mr. Sharpe?"
Jolter, still grinning, stated that they had.
"Have a three-column half-tone made of it for this evening's
_Bulletin_."
Sharpe fairly spluttered.
"Mr. Burnit, if you print my picture in the _Bulletin_ connected with
anything derogatory, I'll--I'll--"
Bobby waited politely for a moment.
"Go ahead, Mr. Sharpe," said he. "I'm interested to know just what you
will do, because we're going to print the picture, connected with
something quite derogatory. Now finish your threat."
Sharpe gazed at him a moment, speechless with rage, and then stamped
from the office.
Jolter, quietly chuckling, turned to Bobby.
"I guess you'll do," he commented. "If you last long enough you'll
win."
"Thanks," said Bobby dryly, and then he smiled. "Say, Jolter," he
added, "it's bully fun being angry. I'm just beginning to realize what
I have been missing all these years. Go ahead with Sharpe's picture
and print anything you please about him. I guess you can secure enough
material without going out of the office, and if you can't I'll supply
you with some."
Jolter looked at his watch and hurried for the door. Minutes were
precious if he wanted to get that Sharpe cut made in time for the
afternoon edition. At the door, however, he turned a bit anxiously.
"I suppose you carry a gun, don't you?"
"By no means," said Bobby. "Never owned one."
"I'd advise you to get a good one at once," and Jolter hurried away.
That evening's edition of the _Bulletin_ contained a beautiful
half-tone of Mr. Sharpe. Above it was printed: "The _Bulletin's_
Rogues' Gallery," and beneath was the caption: "Hadn't this man better
go, too?"