Jimmy Triumphs Over Rand
When Jimmy and his lawless friend from the border reached New York late
the next morning with the first photographs of the wreck to arrive in
that city and with some additional facts about the wreck, the rum runner
wanted to say good-bye at once, but Jimmy would not consent to this. He
insisted that they go see the managing editor. Finally the bootlegger,
whose name was LaRoche, agreed, and early that afternoon the two met
again at the _Morning Press_ building. They were at once admitted to the
managing editor’s office.
“Well, Jimmy, you seem to have had another interesting adventure,” said
Mr. Johnson, as he welcomed his subordinate. “I’m mighty glad you got
out of it safe and sound.”
Jimmy introduced LaRoche to Mr. Johnson, then said: “You speak of my
having another adventure, Mr. Johnson. What do you refer to?”
“Why, to your trip out to the island through the storm last night. I
judge that was an experience you won’t soon forget.”
“For me it was an adventure,” said Jimmy, “though to Mr. LaRoche it was
a very ordinary experience, I judge. I shall not soon forget it. Nor
shall I forget the other adventure I had.”
“The other adventure! You speak in riddles, Jimmy.”
Jimmy told his chief about the beacon in the bog, about his landing in a
swamp and being hopelessly disabled, and about the two telegrams
received by the postmaster of Smithville.
While Jimmy was talking he could not fail to notice the countenance of
his chief. The most extraordinary expressions followed one another on
the managing editor’s face. Interest, amazement, concern, and finally an
expression of angry determination were all momentarily portrayed on Mr.
Johnson’s expressive countenance.
“Now I understand everything,” said he.
Jimmy waited for enlightenment.
“While you have been gathering a story of heroism and death in the
north,” said the managing editor, “I have been picking up one of
cowardice and treachery here in New York. I didn’t fully understand what
it all meant until I heard what you have just told me. Now I comprehend
it all. Your story and mine make a beautiful mosaic. They dovetail
together into a completed tale. Would you like to hear _my_ end of that
tale?”
Jimmy was all eagerness. “I can’t imagine what you have in mind,” said
Jimmy, “but of course I want to hear about it.”
“Very well, here it is. Your friend, Mr. LaRoche, will be interested,
too. He has had some small part in the story, too.”
Both the managing editor’s hearers looked their astonishment.
“When you set out for Smithville last night, Jimmy,” began the managing
editor, “we did everything we could possibly do at this end to make your
flight both safe and successful. I sent you reluctantly. I knew flying
conditions could not be any too good in a region where a great steamer
had just been blown ashore. The fact is, I was a little
conscience-smitten, I guess. Your narrow escape at Mingoville has been
constantly in my mind. But I allowed you to go—yes, I even urged you to
go—and after you had taken off I began to worry about you and so I
quite naturally left nothing undone to insure the safety of your trip.”
Both Jimmy and his companion were completely mystified. They sat in
silent expectation, waiting for what was to follow.
“First of all,” continued Mr. Johnson, “I sent Johnnie Lee over to your
hangar. There was nothing in particular for him to do except to be there
in case you should send back any radio messages as you flew. You see, I
have learned about your Wireless Patrol and how skilful all you boys are
with the wireless. So it occurred to me that Johnnie might be able to
handle a radio conversation better than almost anybody else on the
staff. Johnnie went over to the flying field immediately.”
The managing editor paused as though to arrange his thoughts. After a
moment he continued. “Johnnie seems to be very wide awake. He evidently
nosed around the field and soon learned that the _Despatch_ man was
having trouble to get his plane into the air. The _Despatch_ no doubt
received the flash about the wreck of the lake steamer at the same time
we got it. Its plane should have taken the air as quickly as you got
aloft with our ship, Jimmy. But something went wrong with it. An hour
after you had departed, the pilot and his mechanics were still working
desperately to get the ship into shape to fly. Johnnie didn’t know what
was wrong, and of course he didn’t make inquiries in a rival’s hangar.
But he did discover that the reporter who was to be flown in the plane
was the fellow he had seen at the coal mine disaster at Krebs. He knew
that the fellow had played you some dirty tricks, and he decided he
would keep an eye on him.”
“You bet Johnnie would,” interrupted Jimmy. “He’s a real friend.”
“Well,” continued the managing editor, “this chap Johnnie was watching.
Rand presently went to the office in his hangar. Johnnie strolled over
that way and peeped in. Rand was standing by a closet in the rear of the
office. The door was open only part way, but Johnnie could see that Rand
was talking into a telephone receiver that stood on a shelf in this
closet. This seemed queer to Johnnie, because there on the desk was the
regular instrument. Johnnie tiptoed close to a window, which was open a
crack for ventilation. He was in the dark and could not be seen. He
heard Rand say something about ‘skis on a plane’ and ‘flying farther
north from there.’ Johnnie of course couldn’t make anything out of that,
and quite naturally he never connected the message with your flight.”
Jimmy drew a long breath. “I understand the whole story now,” he said.
“Not quite, Jimmy. Let me go on. Rand got off eventually and the force
at Rand’s hangar went home. Johnnie came back to our hangar. But there
wasn’t a thing to do, aside from making frequent inquiries at the radio
office, and he got to wondering about that queer telephone he had seen
Rand use. So he picked up a flash-light, slipped into Rand’s office,
which was unlocked, and went to the closet. It was locked. Johnnie had
his keys and with one of them was able after a little effort to unlock
the closet. There was the telephone, on a separate wire, which came up
through the floor. You know how ramshackle those hangars are. Well,
Johnnie was able to trace that wire. And where do you think it ran?”
“I don’t know,” said Jimmy.
“It was spliced to our own telephone wire. In short, Rand had tapped the
wire in our hangar, so he could overhear our conversations.”
“Quite evident,” said Jimmy. “But what I don’t understand is why Rand
was _tallying_ on our wire. That would give him away, sure.”
“I couldn’t have understood it either, had it not been that I had
occasion to talk to a Western Union man. I had already arranged to have
the wire at Smithville opened for you, Jimmy, but about three hours
after you took off I had to call the telegraph people again. And it was
only by the merest chance that the matter was mentioned then. The fellow
I was talking with remarked that he had just come down from Canada and
that unless my reporter was going pretty far north, he would have
trouble landing on skis. I didn’t know what he meant. That brought out
the fact that a second telegram had been sent about the matter of a
landing ground at Smithville. I knew you had no skis on your plane now
and I said there must be a mistake about the message. The telegraph
official assured me that you had sent a second message from Long Island.
When I checked up on the time the message was sent, I saw right away
what had happened. Some one had sent a message in your name. We traced
the call and it came over our wire.”
The managing editor paused. “Please go on,” said Jimmy, who was sitting
tensely on the edge of his chair.
“Well, I got in touch with Johnnie over at the field. He had just
ferreted out the secret telephone wire. It was easy enough then to put
two and two together. But the thing that worried me was the plight you
were in, Jimmy. I knew that unless you had had a mishap on the way, you
were already at Smithville. Whatever was to happen had already happened.
I got a connection on the telephone with the postmaster up there—the
fellow you said you knew—and he said you had gone out on the lake with
Mr. LaRoche here, and that nobody in the town expected to see you come
back alive. So you can understand how anxious I was and how tremendously
pleased I was when your story began to come in. By the way, Jimmy, what
about your plane? What is to be done about it?”
“Oh, I have already arranged about that. The plane isn’t really hurt
any. The propeller is gone, and maybe the undercarriage is damaged some.
But the ship itself is all right. I left directions for the plane to be
pulled out on firm land and cleaned thoroughly. They are to wire me as
soon as this is done and tell me if anything is needed. Then I shall go
up there with my mechanic and put on a new prop and make any other
repairs necessary. I don’t think the job will amount to much.”
“You were mighty lucky, Jimmy, and we were all tremendously relieved
when we found you were safe. Of course we are pleased about the story.
We scooped the town, as I suppose you already know. But that was a small
matter alongside of your safety.”
“What I want to know,” said Jimmy, trying to change the subject, “is
what to do about Rand. He is a poor loser. Every time I beat him he
tries some underhand work. What am I to do about it? I could beat him
up, and I once threatened to do it; but that would not stop him from
attempting these dirty tricks.”
“Jimmy,” said Mr. Johnson, “you are not to do anything about Rand. I
will attend to that. In fact, I have already attended to it. Here is a
letter I have written to him. In it I have told him that we have
absolute proof of his dirty work that might well have cost you your life
at Smithville. What he did will without doubt constitute a crime in the
eyes of the law. I have told him as much. I have also told him that
unless he resigns from the _Despatch_, gets out of newspaper work
entirely, and promises never again to attempt in any way to interfere
with you, I shall hale him into court and stop at nothing until I see
him behind prison bars.”
“Do you think he will resign?”
“Jimmy, if this case ever went to court, and we spread on the records
all we know, not only about this case but about other dastardly things
he has done, Rand would be so discredited that no editor would ever
again hire him, and he might find it difficult to get a job of any sort
whatever. I’m mightily mistaken about Rand if he doesn’t quit cold when
he gets my letter. But if he doesn’t, I shall proceed against him at
once.”
Jimmy left the office both happy and sorry. He was glad he was to be
free from the competition of such a man as Rand. He was sorry that
through him misfortune came upon another—even Rand. He said as much to
LaRoche.
“Forget, Kid,” replied the rum runner. “You’re a square shooter clear
through. Otherwise I wouldn’t never have had nothin’ to do with you. But
this other fellow is only a rattlesnake. You hadn’t nothing to do with
his downfall. He brought that on himself. And if it hadn’t come now,
through you, it would have come later through some one else.”
Jimmy walked with LaRoche to the latter’s headquarters in a tough
riverfront hotel. “You’ve been a real friend to me,” he said. “I
appreciate it, I don’t know how to thank you.”
“I don’t want no thanks. You’ve been my friend. Don’t you suppose I like
the friendship of a kid as white as you are? When you get in trouble
again, let me know. You can always count on Henri LaRoche.”
The rum runner held out his hand. Jimmy shook it warmly. “Good-bye and
good luck to you,” he said.
At the end of the week Jimmy sauntered into the office to get his pay.
There was a notice conspicuously posted on the bulletin board. He
stopped to read it. Then a great smile came over his countenance, for
this is what he read:
Staff Promotions
Johnnie Lee and Jimmy Donnelly, for excellent work in connection
with the coverage of the steamship disaster in Lake Ontario,
will each receive a bonus of $50, together with an increase in
salary, same to be effective at once.
Tom Johnson
Managing Editor.