THE next morning it occurred to me that, while our plans were made with
great care, the weak point was, that if Becker himself was at the plant
he might recognize either of us. I mentioned this to Hiram, and for once
since I had met him he laughed loud and long.
"I don't believe your mother would recognize you in that greasy,
dirt-soaked, bifurcated night dress you wear," he yelled at me, "and the
work you owe the barber, too; but look at me--I am worse yet, covered
with mud and slime. Besides, I don't believe Becker ever had a good look
at me, and if he did he couldn't pick me out as different from any other
deckhand now," he said, grinning. Then he looked himself over, at his
muddy shoes, browned hands, long hair and unshaved face, and it did seem
to him as though, without effort, during the past few days, he had
prepared a genuine disguise. Nevertheless we decided it would be safe to
allow Captain Marianna to be the spokesman, although the captain should
be kept in the dark concerning our real designs. Marianna should sell
Becker lumber, cheap for cash, if he bit at our bait.
We sawed one or two logs, then crossed the river and began working up
the stream toward the bayou back of Becker's plant, apparently with no
more interest in it than if it had been a cemetery. The bayou was, just
as Hiram said, full of logs--enough to keep us there for a day at least.
By the noon hour we had worked pretty well into the bayou and in back of
the big fertilizer factory, with no apparent attention from it other
than a terrible offense to our nostrils. If Becker was there he did not
show himself and it began to look as if we would have to make overtures.
But when we had suspended operations for noon-time, a negro with a boat
made out from the Becker place and came alongside. He clambered on our
deck, but no one paid any attention to him.
"I wants to see de boss," said he to one of our blacks resting well aft.
"You wants to see de Captain? He's up dere somewhares aroun' de
wheel-house." We overheard this inquiry and the answer with great
interest. This was likely to be the first nibble at our bait.
When the captain was pointed out he acted well the part of a trader who
had desirable goods with a liberal demand, but evidenced little interest
in the emissary who approached him hat in hand.
"Is you de cap'm?"
"Yes, me da capitan," Marianna replied, assuming strong Italian accent
without effort.
"Yas'sa--yas'sa," the darky echoed, looking about the boat, wet, dirty
and littered with bark, slabs, and sawdust. "My boss, Mista Becka, wants
to know--would like to know," he corrected, "if you kain't cum ashore to
see him."
"Whata yo' boss want?--we start upa quick, gotta not much time."
"Wal, he did'n zactly say, but I done reckon as how he wants to see you
'bout somp'n pa'tic'lar."
"Go back, tella da boss we starta to work soon--I talka with him here
after we getta da start," the captain said, pointing toward the deck.
"Yas, I'll tell him dat," replied the negro, fidgeting as though his
mission had been a failure, but immediately started for his boat.
"You tella heem we be here alla day; he come any time," Marianna called
to him as he rowed away.
In about an hour the negro made out again, but this time he had the
bulky figure of the man we wanted to see above all others. Of course,
while we were running I had to stand by the engine below constantly,
while Hiram, anticipating Becker's visit, had taken to a boat ostensibly
to look over the logs carefully before fastening the grapples that
brought them aboard.
Becker had not been aboard long before it was clear that Hiram had
planned better than he knew. There is something about a saw in full
career that the most blasé cannot resist. He stood watching it for some
time. A huge wet and mud-laden log was hauled aboard, laid on the
carriage, where steel teeth clenched it down. In a twinkling four side
slabs came off and it was transformed into a square timber, clean and
white, in strange contrast to the slimy thing it had been but a moment
before. Then the whirling teeth began to travel through it with an ease
that suggested a much softer material, laying out inch boards which
disappeared below.
Captain Marianna brought him below to see the stock on hand, and it
seemed to fill the bill, but as he was leaving our big motor attracted
his attention. Becker was not the debonaire Lothario he affected to be
when in New Orleans. Now sadly unkempt, it seemed to me that his great
midriff exuded grease, but it might have been sweat.
He was greatly interested in learning how the big motor, originally
intended for an air-plane, not only propelled a boat and ran a sawmill,
but yanked in the logs, and hauled in our rigging.
He finally came over to where I stood trying my best to look bored and
tired.
"Do you ever have any trouble with it?" he asked, jerkily pointing a
pudgy thumb toward the motor.
"No-o-o--but of course it's got to be watched."
"I've got one over there running an ice machine, but I don't know
whether its the nigger I've got running it, or whether it's overloaded,
or no good, but it makes lots of trouble." I could see he wished to get
some free technical instruction.
"It's likely your man doesn't know all about it," I led him on.
Our talk ended in my promise to go ashore that night and take a look at
it.
Yes, he wanted lumber and the captain's price seemed satisfactory. In
addition he wanted some lumber sawed half an inch thick for crating--and
more--he would like to have all the sawdust we could save for him. He
needed it in some insulating work on a cooler room--so he said.
That night we were to come alongside his wharf and he would have his
negroes unload during the night what lumber we had so we would lose no
time next morning.
"Oh, yes, I've got lots of niggers to do it," he explained when leaving.
When Hiram heard of the turn things had taken he could hardly contain
himself. He acted like a man who had been in a dungeon for months and
suddenly caught a glimmer of light. As for myself, I saw only that we
were nearing the end of a very unpleasant bit of investigation.
"Be careful, Hiram," I cautioned, "the least bad move will spoil it.
This man has a low cunning--hypnotize yourself into thinking it is not
of much importance and you have a year to do it. A show of haste will
be fatal."
Hiram was quick to see the point and began to grin. I knew he was about
ready to jump out of his skin with excitement.
"Do you know," said he, "it is now only a little after two and we have
sawed more logs and made more good lumber than we did all day
yesterday!" Evidently he was trying to control himself. "The sawyer
tells me he must have nice clear logs to make half-inch lumber on
Becker's order. I guess I'll spend the afternoon picking them out."
It took longer than we thought to work our way out of the bayou and up
to Becker's floating wharf. As soon as we were tied up he came down with
a lot of negroes, who began at once to unload the lumber, carrying it
piece by piece back near his building operations. Captain Marianna
checked it as it left.
Now on the windward side of the plant it was possible to eat. It was a
long rambling building, painted the color of a freight car, occasionally
rising to two stories; on one end were the posts driven in the ground
for a considerable addition.
After supper we sat smoking, well up on the bank. It soon became
evident that Becker did not intend to lose a chance to get expert advice
on his gas-engine troubles. He waddled over to us with some real Havanas
and with little tact reminded me of my promise.
Though the sun was low, Becker was still in his working togs, bareheaded
and stripped to an undershirt. In this array he was a sight to behold,
with his sagging jowls, from which great billows of fat formed rolls
about his neck.
"This boy here is my assistant, Mr. Becker--he has found engine trouble
even when I couldn't," I said, pointing toward Hiram, as we got up to go
with him.
How vitally interested Hiram was in this move would be hard to estimate.
Much more experienced, I could only contain myself and be natural by
refusing to think of the tremendous importance of our acting now, and,
without coaching, I think Hiram did the same thing. The slightest false
move would render worse than useless planning that had consumed much
time and large expenditure.
Hiram walked beside Becker as nonchalantly as though strolling along
Broadway, while I followed slightly in the rear. Hiram's now wonderfully
developed physique seemed ready for action, ready to break loose with
overpowering ferocity. I watched him furtively out of the corner of an
eye to make sure he did not precipitate an affair that would "spill the
beans."
Becker led us around the outside of the buildings--I was sure there was
a short cut through them--to a lean-to shed containing the troublesome
engine now laboring with its burden as a locomotive starting to move an
overload.
"Ben, the engine is overcrowded," said Hiram, as we stood by it,
addressing himself to me just loud enough for Becker to hear. Becker
stood slightly apart from me as though he had turned a patient over to
us for the time being. I was glad his big black engineer was not there.
My policy was never to kill, but my duty was to get what I went after.
We spent ten minutes examining the details of the engine, narrowly
watched by Becker. Hiram's conduct was wonderful. He acted as though
there was nothing under Heaven or on earth that interested him so much
as discovering how we could help cure the sick motor. We asked to see
the load on the driving belt that disappeared from the driving pulley
through a board partition.
Becker, fairly assured, took us inside into a dark space to a ten-ton
ice machine, developing about half its capacity because of slow speed.
Glancing about it for a moment, we returned to the engine room and went
outside as though about to return to the dock, considering it a hopeless
case. Becker followed us, greatly concerned.
"Mr. Becker, it is a plain case of overload; you must lighten the work
of your ice machine. You are attempting to make the motor do too much.
The engine might be helped a little by readjusting, but that would not
be enough," I said, with a sort of hesitating finality, as we both edged
away in the direction we had come.
Becker followed and came close up beside us.
"How can I do that?--you see I am so far away up here I can get no one
to do such things," he pleaded.
"The only way is to reduce the circulating distance of the ammonia
mixture, and then what you have left will cool more space than it does
now," I said, actually feeling sure that was the case.
"How can I do that?" he urged, noticing quickly our inclination to
leave.
"That might be very easy or it might be quite a job. We could not tell
without examining your piping system," I replied as one who had done a
big day's work and was thinking more of sleep than of his troubles,
particularly since he had not offered us anything to remedy. Becker had
enough sense to see this.
He screwed up his face in a way that brought prodigious wrinkles upon
his forehead. Then followed an attempt to be patronizingly generous.
"Boys, I'll tell you what I'll do. I know you've been working all day
and are tired, but if you will take time enough to look the whole system
over and help it some, I will give you five dollars apiece--I must do
something or I will have a lot of stuff spoiled--in fact, I have had
some spoil already," he ended half to himself.
Hiram glanced at me quickly, and Becker thought that this swift movement
to take down his pipe was caused by the lure of his cash offer.