THE IRON WORKS AFFAIR
When Jack arrived at home he took the berries around to the kitchen and
then hurried upstairs to the bathroom, to wash and fix up for supper.
He was in the midst of his ablutions when he heard his father come in
and go to the library. An animated talk between his two parents
followed.
"Something unusual is up," thought Jack, and went below as soon as he
was fixed up.
He found his father sitting near the library table, his head resting on
his hand. His face looked careworn. Mrs. Bartlett sat by an open window
clasping her hands tightly. Their earnest talk came to a sudden end as
Jack entered.
"Good-evening, father and mother," said the boy and then halted. "Maybe
I was interrupting you," he added.
"Jack may as well know," said Mrs. Bartlett, looking meaningly at her
husband.
"I suppose so," answered Mr. Bartlett, and gave a long sigh.
"Know what?" asked Jack.
"Your father has had trouble at the iron works," answered his mother.
"What kind of trouble?"
"It is the Bangs affair," answered Mr. Bartlett. "You know a little
about that already. Well, Amos Bangs has forced me into a corner."
"What do you mean by that, father?"
"He has gained control of the company and is going to consolidate with
the Springfield concern."
"Will that harm you much?"
"A great deal, I am afraid, Jack. In the past I have known all that was
going on. Now I will have to rely on Amos Bangs--and I do not care to
do that."
"Don't you think he is honest?"
"Privately, I do not, although I should not care to say so in public.
He and his friends at Springfield are sharpers. They will squeeze what
they can out of the new concern, and I am afraid I shall be left out in
the cold."
"Well, I shouldn't trust Mr. Bangs myself. He and his son are of a
stripe, and I know only too well now what Bob is."
"Have you had trouble with Bob?" questioned Mrs. Bartlett, quickly.
"Yes," answered Jack, and gave the particulars. "How Bob will crow over
me now!" he went on, ruefully.
"This will make Bangs harder on me than ever," remarked Mr. Bartlett.
"Oh, I trust not, father!" cried Jack. "I am sure you have trouble
enough already!"
"The Bangses are a hard family to get along with," said Mrs. Bartlett.
"I have heard that from several who work for them."
"The men at the office are sorry to see Amos Bangs in control," said
Mr. Bartlett. "They know he will drive them more than I have ever
driven them, and he will never raise their wages."
"Are you going to leave the company's office, father?"
"Yes. I am no longer an officer, only a stockholder."
"The company ought to give you a position."
"Bangs said I could be a timekeeper, at fifteen dollars per week."
"How mean! And what will his salary be?"
"I don't know yet--probably a hundred and fifty per week--seven or
eight thousand per year."
"And you've been getting sixty dollars per week, haven't you?"
"Yes."
"Then I'd go elsewhere."
"That is what I shall do--if I can find any opening. What I am worried
about mostly is the capital I have in the iron works, fifteen thousand
dollars. I am afraid Bangs will, sooner or later, wipe me out, and do
it in such a way that I cannot sue him to advantage."
"It's an outrage!"
"The trouble is, I trusted him too much from the start. He has proved
to be a snake in the grass."
"And Bob is exactly like him," said Jack.
The family talked the matter over all during the supper hour and for
some time later. The prospect ahead was a dark one and Mrs. Bartlett
sighed deeply.
"If you cannot get an opening elsewhere I do not know what we are to
do," said she to her husband.
"I'll get something," he replied, bravely. "And remember, I have a
thousand dollars in cash in the bank."
"A thousand dollars won't last long, Philip, after once you begin to
use it up."
"That is true."
"Have you anything definite in view?"
"Not exactly. I am going to write to my friend Mason, in Albany. He may
be able to get me something to do at the iron works there. He is in
charge."
"Well, I hope it is better than the place Amos Bangs offered you."
"There is only one trouble," went on Mr. Bartlett. "If I get work at
Albany we will have to move to that city."
"Well, we can do that."
"Yes, but I hate to go away from Riverport. I wanted to watch Bangs."
"You might go to Albany every Monday and come home Saturday night, at
least for a time."
"Yes, I might do that," answered Philip Bartlett.
On the following morning he went down to the iron works as usual. As
early as it was he found Amos Bangs ahead of him, and sorting out some
papers at one of the desks.
"Morning," said Amos Bangs, curtly.
"Good-morning," answered Mr. Bartlett. "Mr. Bangs, what are you doing
at this desk?"
"Sorting out things."
"Do you not know that this is my private desk?"
"Is it? I thought it belonged to the iron company," answered Amos Bangs
with a sneer.
"The desk does belong to the company, but at present it contains my
private papers as well as some papers of the company."
"Well, it is going to be my desk after this, I'll thank you to take
your personal things away."
"You seem to be in a hurry to get me out."
"I want to get to work here. Things have dragged long enough. I am
going to make them hum."
"I am glad to hear it," answered Philip Bartlett, pointedly. "I presume
we can look for big dividends on our stock next year."
"Well--er--I don't know about that. We have got to make improvements
and they will cost money."
"You didn't want any improvements when I was in charge."
"That was a different thing. The old concern was a small-fry affair. We
are going to make the new concern something worth while," answered Amos
Bangs, loftily.
"I hope you do--for my sake as well as for the sake of the other
stockholders. But what salaries are the new officers to have?"
"That is to be decided later."
"I trust all the profits are not eaten up by the salaries."
"You cannot expect talented men--like myself, for instance--to work for
low salaries."
"You used to be willing to work for fifty dollars a week."
"Those days are past. But I cannot waste time talking now. Clean out
the desk and turn it over to me," concluded Amos Bangs, and walked
away.
With a heavy heart Philip Bartlett set about the task before him. He
was much attached to the iron works and hated to leave it. Presently
his brow grew troubled.
"Mr. Bangs!" he called.
"What do you want now?"
"Did you see anything of some papers with a broad rubber band around
them?"
"Didn't see anything but what is there."
"I had some private papers. They seem to be gone."
"I didn't take them," answered Amos Bangs, coldly.
"It is queer where they can be," went on Philip Bartlett.
"Well, I haven't got them."
Philip Bartlett hunted high and low for the missing documents, but
without success. Then he cleaned out the desk, put his personal things
in a package, said good-by to his former employees, and quit the
office.
"I am well rid of him," said Amos Bangs, to himself. "And I am glad I
got hold of those private contracts. Now I can make a deal with Shaster
and turn the work over to the Springfield concern--and make some
money!"