HIRAM and I were soon ready for the next thing in order--something to
eat.
"I suppose now you will want a porterhouse as big as Rhode Island----"
"And as thick as a London fog, with enough mushrooms to choke an
alligator," he broke in joyously. "Ben--I want you to know right now
that I think you are an infernal scoundrel. You know why my brand-new
typewriter blew up this morning and started the whole of Quarrytown over
into the river, incidentally putting the main line on the bum--and won't
tell me!" he added, squaring himself in front of me.
"You'd better wait until to-morrow and see what your sentence is before
you begin to accuse me," I replied, with a solemn wink which he couldn't
quite fathom.
"Oh, I suppose the 'Sauerkraut' and I will get bounced incontinently.
But what do I care? Had it not been for what happened this morning I
wouldn't know that a perfectly sweet and innocent girl really loves me.
I don't care if this part of the world comes to an end, you can't get me
into the doldrums. Besides, I know my hands are clean, and I have done
nothing for which they should blame me, but they may be looking for a
horrible example--a railroad is a railroad--eh, Ben?"
Then, assuming a more serious attitude, he continued:
"I've got a trade now--a way of making a living. I can walk up the
street and look any man or woman in the eye, as one who can account for
himself, who can do something useful, and at the same time possess the
love of a good girl--it's great, Ben! Do you know anything about such
things? I shall be no man's dog in the future. Already I've kicked the
can off of my tail, to use a figure of speech."
"I don't quite understand you, Hiram," said I, recalling the fact that
this was the second time he had referred to some such handicap.
"I've been up there on the river where it's so quiet that one's own
thoughts are as loud as grand opera, and I have figured it out," he
began, inserting his thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest and moving
over to look out of the window. "Of course, you understand, I used the
word dog as a figure of speech, but what I mean is that the Gold-Beater,
instead of making me work and learn something at the right time, gave me
money to spend, and then, along with old women and maidens, old men, and
gentry in general, he winked knowingly, indulgently, as I was
toboganning to Hades; then of a sudden, inside of a day, I am kicked
out, and told to go to work or--Blazes--he didn't care which--me with my
head as empty as a base drum and muscles as soft as a jelly fish. Oh,
I'm not exactly sore on the Gold-Beater--he did no worse than a million
others, but it's all wrong, Ben," he emphasized, turning his eyes upon
me.
I preferred not to take him seriously.
"Hiram, there's a store on the corner where we can get a soap box, and
I'll try to arrange with the police for a place in the square----"
"Oh, I see you are like the rest of them; your head is like a
cocoanut--a shell that you have to open with a hatchet; then some soft,
indigestible stuff, and real brains no more than the milk space inside.
Come on, let's get some food," he sneered, grabbing me by the arm, and
fairly rushing me out on the street.
He spent most of the evening talking about Anna Bell Morgan and his
plans. Like every man in love, he gave me a poor idea of her--but I
inferred she was about twenty-two, and from my distant view of her I
knew she did not run to flesh. I was ready to give her a high mark on
that score.
"Suppose you'll marry her at once?" said I, arching my brows knowingly.
"Oh, no; not yet; she says I must make good before she will marry me,"
he replied in answer to my query, "and besides, she has plans. She wants
to learn something, too. She is coming down to New Orleans to go to
school--her father has promised her that for a long time. Perhaps that
mule team going through the front of the store may delay things, but not
long. Anna Bell has been helping with his books and knows a lot for one
who has always been shut in."
The next evening when I heard him coming up the stairs four steps at a
time I backed into a corner. When he felt that way I knew I would get a
thump on my back equal to being kicked by an ox.
"Ben, you scoundrel, come out of there; I want to hit you. I've got
it--I've got it this time right!" he began, reaching for me excitedly,
and playful as a young lion. "I believe it's all your work--I'm
promoted--I didn't get bounced; the big chief did the handsome
thing--right here in New Orleans!" This was as coherent as he was able
to make himself.
"Sit down, Hiram;--what is he going to give you?"
"Going to give me? I've already got it; been at work all day. Four
tracks on the wharf. Got charge of all the perishable freight--meat
incoming and fruit outgoing--office to myself on the dock. First thing I
did was to wire Anna Bell--then went to it. Great job, Ben, and I'm
going to like it. Got a new typewriter to replace the one I lost. Beats
Quarrytown, and twice the money. Why don't you warm up and congratulate
me?" he almost shouted, rising quickly from the chair and reaching for
my shoulders again, but I dodged him.
"Already received a wire from Anna Bell," he continued. "She's a great
girl; the best ever. You sly old dog, you knew it was the box we were
using for a stool; I can see it now, but do you know, I somehow feel
sorry for Gus; he was just love-sick--he didn't know half the time what
he was doing. He was not so much to blame, but Anna Bell wasn't to
blame, either, for she never led him on."
"What did they do for him?" I interrupted, fearful that he would lose
his breath entirely.
"I did all I could to save him, and they didn't fire him. They gave him
another night station somewhere in the swamps. But say, I've got to step
pretty lively to keep up with this job--however, it won't be so bad when
I get things straightened out," he bubbled. At first I was afraid he had
been drinking, but it was just Hiram Strong, Jr., finding himself.
I had something special on for that night, or I think he would have
talked me to sleep. He made me promise to come around the next day and
see his layout. As I left him, he began writing to Anna Bell, telling
her all about everything.
When I saw him the next afternoon, he had on a hickory jumper and cap,
and was bossing the final cleaning of a long, roofed-over wharf, strewn
with broken cases, trash and dirt--the accumulation of years.
As soon as he saw me he began to smile. He was full of energy, urging
the negro laborers to take away the last load, so that he could leave on
time. He pointed out how he had charge of the tracks on the wharf. The
worst feature of the situation was that he had to be there at 4.30 a. m.
with Government meat inspectors, to let the packing-house people have
their meat early, but he was through about the middle of the afternoon,
as soon as the north-bound fruit was loaded.
"That means you must get out about four in the morning?"
"Yes, but I don't mind that."
"Hiram, it is not so long ago that you did not think seriously of going
to bed until that time."
"Yes, that's a fact--but," said he, sobering, "it seems an age and
appears to me now like a nightmare. Say, do you want to make an
investment?" he asked, changing the subject abruptly, and assuming the
air of good-natured bargaining that seemed so natural with him.
"Yes, what is it?"
"There is a barrel of filings the agent told me to sell for junk. He
says a foundry can use it to melt up. It's been kicking around here for
years. It weighs seven hundred pounds net; give me a cent a pound and
you can have it," said he, walking over to one side of the dock, a sort
of warehouse, and giving an old dingy barrel, lying on its bilge, a
shove with his foot.
Mechanically I did the same, and wondered why filings were packed in
that kind of a barrel. I leaned over to examine it more closely, and
noted the word "Filings" marked on each head. Then I suddenly recalled
that very day I had been asked to look inside of a storage place nearby,
the same being suspected of contraband operations, and this would offer
a genuine excuse. I examined the barrel more closely. It was very
strong, and old, scarred, mysterious. I planned to send it to a certain
suspected warehouse, and later would go there to draw a sample, thereby
gaining admittance without revealing my real mission.
"Will you deliver it, Hiram?"
"Yes, deliver anywhere you want; will put it on the back of that cart
right now," he replied, with a bantering smile.
"All right; here is your money; give me a receipted bill as the
railroad's agent," I said, walking around the barrel.
Hiram grabbed the money from my hand, and after a parting injunction to
the laborers went to his little office in the corner. I gave the heavy
barrel a shove with my foot and rolled it over. I wet my finger, pressed
it close to the chimes on a slight sifting that might be sand, but when
I brought my finger away it had turned black at the point of contact and
violet at the edges where the contact was less firm.
I was examining it critically when Hiram returned with the change and a
receipted bill. After giving the dray directions where to take the
barrel, and saying that he would be there soon to get the warehouse
receipt, Hiram intimated that he was through for the day.
"Wait until I change my clothes and I will go with you," he said,
hurrying to the little office.
"You see, this is a great system," he began to explain enthusiastically,
when he returned in his street attire. "These tracks hold a train of
refrigerator cars containing meat that comes in every morning on
passenger trains. The packing-house agents get it out first thing in the
morning while it is cool, for the early market. Then, you see, fruit
steamers from Gulf and South American ports come alongside the wharf,
load bananas, oranges, and so on, into the same cars. The refrigerator
system keeps them cool in the summer and prevents freezing in the
winter. Then they return north as special, fast, perishable. The
packing-house centers at Memphis, Chicago, Kansas City, and Missouri and
Mississippi River points get fresh fruit each twenty-four to thirty
hours. The train has got to be out of here before three p. m., after
which I'm through. Looks pretty nice when it's all cleaned up," he
enthused, waving his arm about the wide dock about eight hundred feet
long, paralleling the river, now swept and clean.
A refreshing breeze came from Algiers across the wonderful Mississippi,
now literally jammed with ocean-going and river vessels.
"I imagine it is very interesting work, but will require great care and
diligence," I suggested, as we walked out to Canal street and started
uptown.
"Yes, but not so hard. The fruit is easy, but the meat comes in with
three seals--a Government seal, the shippers' seal, and the railroad
seal. Three of us open the cars. A Government inspector breaks the
Government seal, I break our seal and the packing-house agent breaks
their seal. Then the car is checked on the spot. You see, there is not
much chance for error that way; besides, meat is all billed 'Shipper's
weight and count,' but the freight agent--you know I am under the New
Orleans freight agent--has cautioned me to be very careful. From the way
he acts and talks I think my predecessor got into some kind of trouble,
but no more trouble for your Uncle Dudley. What could be worse than
sitting on a case of dynamite every day and scratching matches on it?"
We had now turned off Canal Street, and arrived at the warehouse where
the barrel was sent. I was given a regular receipt, and we resumed our
way uptown.
"Hiram, there's something else in that barrel--it's not iron filings;
it's something that may be worth much more, and now I'm going to take
you in as a partner on it. Give me three-fifty, half what I paid, and we
will go fifty-fifty," I said, with little apparent concern.
Hiram stopped still and looked at me keenly, then gave me the money.
"Ben, if you were to tell me to jump in the river I would, knowing I
would get out and get something for it--after that deal at Quarrytown. I
started to say what Anna Bell said about you in connection----" He was
abruptly interrupted by our meeting a man from the Department who wanted
me at once, so I told Hiram I would see him later.