CHAPTER I—A Little Talk with Captain Craig
Full as the newspapers were of the great corn deal on the Board of Trade, there was no getting at the facts that lay behind it. The brokers seemed to look on Le Duc as their principal; Le Duc had nothing to say. Halloran read the papers eagerly every day, watching for a word that would justify his conjectures, but the secret was too well kept.
One morning a day or two after the lumber had come in, he asked Craig to step into the office.
“Captain,” he said, “I want to talk to you about this corn business. I'm inclined to think that if we could find out who is backing Apples it might be just what we want to know most.”
“You think it's Bigelow?”
“Well, if it is Bigelow, and if his reasons for keeping dark are what I think, the sooner we know it the better for Higginson & Company. Do you think, from anything Mrs. Craig has said, that Bigelow knows who Apples and his wife are?”
“Why, no. Jennie doesn't talk much about those times.”
“I don't like to bother you with this, Captain, but business and family matters are so mixed that I don't know any other way to get at it. Would you be willing to find out if there were any letters—anything that Le Duc might have got hold of that would give him a grip on Bigelow?”
The Captain looked grave. “I kind o' don't like to stir her up, now she's having such a good rest. But—well, I don't know why not. Yes, I'll ask her. I'm afraid,” he added, as he arose, “I'm afraid I'm getting kind o' chicken-hearted these days. You see, I haven't had her back very long. Yes, the first good chance that comes along I'll talk it over with her and let you know what she says.”
During most of the day Halloran was shut up in the office, figuring and working out some new schedules. At noon he spent an hour or more uptown, and a half-hour climbing around under the bridge; and later Crosman was hailed, out in the yards.
“Could you drop around this evening for awhile?” said Halloran.
“Why, yes,” was the rather reluctant reply, followed by a blush and a grin. “Any particular time?”
“Right after supper, for half an hour or so.”
“All right; I'll be there.”
In the evening, when Crosman entered the Manager's room, the first thing he observed was a purple sweater on the back of a chair by the bed. Below it was an old pair of trousers, a cap, and, on the floor, a pair of rubber boots. He glanced curiously at these things as he greeted his superior; and Halloran's eyes followed his.
“That's my fireman's rig,” he said. “Didn't know I was on the department, did you?”
“No. What's all this?”
“It's what I want to see you about, as much as anything. I haven't gone to sleep a night since the lumber began coming in without expecting to hear the bell before morning. If the stuff was mine maybe I wouldn't care so much.” Crosman's face sobered. “But you said we'd carry the insurance ourselves.”
“You didn't suppose I wanted to do it that way, did you? We can't pay the price, that's all. And we can't lose the lumber, either. It's up to us to see that nothing happens. I've worked out a little plan here and I want you to help me carry it through.”
Crosman drew up his chair to the table. His mind had been fully occupied of late, and it had not before come home to him what a heavy—what a very heavy—load his Manager was carrying. Now these six million feet of pine and hemlock loomed in his thoughts and brought a very serious expression to his face.
“Cheer up, old man; we haven't lost it yet, that I know of, and we're going to do our best not to lose it. But you see, in buying this lumber and getting it all in here, we've done only half of it; the other half is to take care of it and sell it at a profit. Now look at this. I've borrowed some spare hose from the department. That's coming over in the morning, and we'll have it coupled onto the plug by Mill No. 1 and kept ready under the tramway. Our own hose will be coupled to the west plug. The two steamers are to be at the wharf, with steam up, all the time, ready to throw a stream on anything near the wharves: they'll lie one at each end, you see. The engineers are to stand watches aboard and keep a couple of hands sleeping by to man the hose. Then, if we have two watchmen always on duty, and the rest of the boys sleeping in their shirts and stockings, we could do fairly quick work, with the town engine to help.”
“There are the buckets in the mills, and by the office.”
“Yes; we'll use those, too.”
“And this”—he was examining the paper—“is the way you want the boys divided?”
“Yes. If the fire should be at the north end, where the yards are widest, you will take charge of the hose at the mill plug and see that the buckets are started; I'll take the west plug, where I can have an eye on the wharves. Those are the men to work with you, these with me. You'd better see yours the first thing in the morning—here's the schedule of watches—and engage them. You see, they're all men that live near the fence. Tell them we don't want a man that can't get to his station two minutes after the Number One blows her whistle, no matter if it's 2:30 A. M.”
“The whistle will be the signal, then?”
“Yes. I've told MacGregor to blow until he hears the bark of every dog in town. I want to get this all fixed in the morning, and so fixed that there can't be any misunderstandings. Any time after to-morrow noon, if that whistle blows, it means get to the yards in two minutes or lose your job. You'd better tell them that.”
“All right; I'll see to it. But gee whiz!” Crosman leaned back and looked at Halloran. “Here we're talking about this just as if it was going to happen.”
“Well, maybe it is. Anyhow, that's how we've got to look at it. I'd talk to the boys that way, too.” He rose and sat on the corner of the table, looking down earnestly at the other. “They've got to understand that we mean business. And say, look here, Crosman; what are we sitting here talking about this for? Why aren't we doing it to-night?”
Crosman's expression dropped from serious to dismal. “Why—why—all right.”
“Sorry if I'm butting into any plans of yours, but good Lord, old man, have you stopped to think what this means? Here I'd got my mind settled on to-morrow when I ought to have known all the while that to-day was the time. We'll do it now. You look up the boys on that paper and I'll root mine out and have them bring the hose over. We'll get everything in shape before we go to bed.”
The assistant was caught up and whirled along by Halloran's energy. “All right,” he repeated. “But I ought to call Mamie up. She's—she's—I was thinking of going around there.”
“Use my telephone. Excuse me if I start right out, won't you?”
Before Crosman could stammer a “Certainly,” he had snatched up his hat and disappeared.
Disagreeable as rush orders might be to a man with his family about him of an evening, there was nothing to be said; and within an hour some were starting out for duty on watch, or for a night on one of the steamers, while others dragged the hose-reel out of the town and across the bridge to the yards and put it in order for instant use. When the preparations were completed, toward eleven o'clock, Halloran called the men together and gave them their final instructions.
Crosman and he were left alone for a moment when the last man had gone to his post.
“Well—that's a good job done,” observed the assistant. “I guess there's nothing more, is there?”
“No——- Oh, yes; one thing. I've thought a good deal about the south end. The yard's narrow there for quite a way and there's no fireplug at that end.” They were walking through the gate and toward the bridge. “It's the least likely place to catch first, because there's water on three sides, but if it should there's only one thing we could do. Look here! Under the town end of the bridge—I'll show you when we get there—I've hung a tin pail with matches and fuses in it, where it won't be disturbed and it's likely to keep dry. And about fifty yards down the bank there's some dynamite in another pail under the water. I've put a sign on a post to scare the boys away. There, see that white thing? That's it! I couldn't keep the stuff home or in the yards, and there, I think, is about the safest place. You see, if either of us should be running out here we could just turn off the road a little way and pick up the two pails. It's on Higginson land and I don't believe any one can object.”
They went down together to see that the pails had not been molested. “I've given orders,” said Halloran, “to several of the boys to come down here every time they pass and report if anything's wrong.”
Crosman was aroused by the work of the evening. “Well,” he burst out, as they were climbing the fence and taking the road again, “I must say you've just about covered the ground. I don't know of anything more we could do.”
“I don't know—I feel a little better, anyway. I'll walk along to the house with you, if you're going that way.”
“Well—I'll tell you—I—I'm not, exactly. I kind of said——”
“Going to stop around at the Higginsons', eh?”
“I thought I might, if———”
“All right; good-night. Look out that they don't shoot you for a burglar. But, say; hold on a minute. Has the crisis come yet with—with Mr. Higginson?”
“No; they expect it to-morrow. Doctor McArthur came up from Chicago this afternoon, and the other one, the Detroit doctor, gets in late to-night. Mamie's waiting up for him.”
“Thanks. Good-night.”
The following afternoon, as Halloran was closing his desk, Captain Craig came in.
“I've had a little talk with Jennie this noon, Mr. Halloran. I had to explain to her about things, and how you felt a little delicate about it, and she told me the whole thing. You see, it's considerable of a story.”
Halloran closed the door and drew up a chair. “Sit down, Captain.”
“Well, now, it all goes back to a few months after Lizzie was married. Le Duc wasn't doing very well and he made it pretty uncomfortable for Jennie, talking about supporting her and that sort of thing; and finally one day he asked her if she didn't have letters or anything that could make it worth while to see Bigelow. Jennie'd never have done anything in the world, no matter though the alimony had been allowed her by the courts; she always had a horror of going to law about it. But Le Duc was hard pushed, and I guess she was glad to do anything that would make things easier for all of them, so she let him have Bigelow's letters—most of them promising to send money. They were all, she says, plain evidence that he hadn't paid her.”
Halloran was sitting far back in his chair, his hands clasped around one knee, his eyes fixed on the desk. And while the Captain talked, his thoughts were running swiftly backward and forward and all around this interesting subject. He was hearing what he had most wished to hear.
“And so Le Duc went out to Evanston one night to see him, and they were all excited about it, Jennie says. But after that things took a change. Le Duc wouldn't say much about it—-he acted a little queer—but he sort of made her think nothing was coming of it. And then, a little later, he got a job, nobody seemed to know just what—and moved over to where they are now. And he let Jennie and the McGinnis boy understand that they could come with them if they would pay a rather high board. Oh, he's a——-” Craig thought it better to pause, and turned his thoughts away from the meanness of his son-in-law. He went on with better control. “Of course Jennie couldn't do that, so they went without her. And Jennie was so timid about it all she didn't even like to ask for her letters back.”
“And Apples has them still?”
“Yes; he's got them.”
“And is that all she knows?” Halloran could not keep a little disappointment out of his voice.
“Yes, that's the whole thing. He's been keeping his mouth shut up tight about the whole business. It pretty nearly tells the story, don't you think?”
“Why, yes, in a way. It's not quite enough to move on, I'm afraid. But I'll have to think it over; and maybe I can see a way through. We don't know yet that G. Hyde is behind that corner—but I'm much obliged, Captain.”
“You're welcome.”
The Captain hurried home to have a few hours with his family, for now that Halloran's “fire department” was organized he was sleeping, by choice, on his steamer.
It was two o'clock the next morning. Crosman was far, far away, coasting down the joyous hills of dreamland. A laughing girl was at his side. She could not play long with him, for dimly he understood that the doctors were coming, and she must be at her post to welcome them. It would never do for the doctors to come and find no greeting from Mamie. But dreamland was bright to-night—the Little Folk were out in force, dancing like thistle-down over the Queen Anne's lace, or coasting with him down the starry slopes, a half-dozen on his back, more at his ears whistling gaily that Mamie was true—Blue for true!—Blue for true!—and hundreds of the maddest fellows capering on ahead, bounding and blowing from blossom to blossom. One danced far before, clad in a purple sweater and hearing a whistle. Now and again he blew a blast, daintily at first, like the signal of mint to the bees, then louder and shriller and shriller. It screeched hoarsely in his ears; a cold wind nipped at his legs and feet; the Little Folk were swarming around him, all in purple now, shouting wildly, urging him on—on—hurry—hurry! The whistle was deeper and hoarser—where was he—where————-?
He was on his feet in the centre of the floor. Through the open window came the deep whistle of the Number One.
In ten seconds he had tumbled into his trousers. Five more, and his boots were on. Another ten, and he was banging down the stairs and out the door, leaving it open behind him—and struggling into his coat as he ran. He could not guess how long the whistle had been sounding; but there was as yet no light in the sky above the yards. He must be on time: it lay with him to set an example to the men. His side was aching already, but he ran it down. As he drew near to the bridge he came out in full view of the yards, but could see no light. Perhaps he was early—perhaps the fire was starting on the river side. He thought of the dynamite, and with a bound was over the fence and running down to the water. A moment more and he was making for the bridge, pail in hand. As he paused here he heard some one running across, above him; and farther off were shouts and the sounds of running. The Number One was still whistling.
Over the bridge he went, a tin pail in each hand; around the corner of the fence and on to the open gate. He was dashing through when he was hailed by a familiar voice.
There, sitting on a projecting plank of the nearest lumber-pile, was Halloran, a lantern in one hand, his watch in the other. Grouped around him were half a dozen panting men.
“All right, Crosman. False alarm. But you've made bully time——— Look out, there!”
This last was addressed to Du Bois, who came whirling around the gate-post and crashed full-tilt into Crosman. The assistant staggered, but recovered his balance; and the two sat down with the others. The men came bounding in until fully thirty were there—more by five or six than had been engaged. Halloran threw the light of his lantern on them.
“Time's up,” he said. “Where's Potin?” [pronounced Pot'n.]
No one answered, but after a moment the missing Canadian appeared.
“You're late,” said Halloran. “What's the matter?”
The man had to pause to breathe. “It took me a m-min-ute, Mister Halloran. I—I guess I didn't hear the first whistle.”
“We need better ears than yours, then. We can't use you after this. Runyon”—turning to one of the promptest of the outsiders—“I'll take you on in Potin's place. We don't pay men to sleep. That's all now, boys. You can go home.”
But now that they were aroused there was a tendency to wait and talk it over.
“What you got in them pails, Mr. Crosman?” called Du Bois. “Did you forget and bring your lunch?”
“No; it's dynamite.” In a conversational tone.
“It's what? Say, you're fooling!” He drew back as he spoke. The other men looked at one another.
For reply Crosman produced a brown cylinder.
“Good Lord! And I run into that!”
In another moment Halloran and Crosman were alone. Down the alleys, between the piles, around the mill, out the gate—for every hole a man could squeeze through was abruptly pressed into service—the men had disappeared. And when the noise of the scampering feet had died away, Halloran said, with a chuckle: “Here's Du Bois's hat. I'll take it along.” The next morning he found him on the wharf. “You didn't stop for your hat last night, Du Bois. I guess you were called away suddenly.”
The Inspector accepted the hat and pulled it on, drew out his tobacco-pouch, bit a half-moon from his plug, tucked it away in his cheek, and swept his eyes quizzically around the harbour. “That's all right, Mr. Halloran; that's all right,” he observed, discharging a preliminary brown streak. “I s'pose I've got to go up against old Salt Peter some day or other, but if I'm goin' to have anything to say about it myself I'd a heap rather go up whole. If I was to come an arm or a leg at a time he might think it was old G. Hyde Bigelow tryin' to fool him in sections, and the first thing I knew he'd be sayin', 'Bigelow, you darned old pile o' culls, there's a line o' little red divils down there a-sittin' up nights for you. Git along!'”