Ben Jolter lit his old pipe, folded his bare arms and patted them alternately in speculative enjoyment.
“I have something like two pages of information about them, if we could use it,” he announced. “I have been getting reports from the entire scouting brigade ever since the contract was let yesterday, and you may now prepare for a shock. The largest stock-holders of the concern are Silas Trimmer and Frank Sharpe, and the minor stock-holders, almost to a man, consist of those who had their little crack at the public crib under your old, time-tried and true friend, Sam Stone.”
“I admit that I am properly shocked,” responded Bobby.
“It hinges together beautifully,” Jolter went on. “The whole waterworks project was a Stone scheme, and Stone people—even though Stone himself is wiped out—secure the contract. The last expiring act of the Stone administration was to employ Ed Scales as chief engineer until the completion of the waterworks, which may occupy eight or ten years, and the contract with Scales is binding on the city unless he can be impeached for cause. Scales was city engineer under the previous reform spasm, but Stone probably found him good material and kept him on. The waterworks plans were prepared under his supervision and he got them ready for bidding. Now what’s the answer?”
“Easy,” returned Bobby. “The city loses.”
“Right,” agreed Jolter; “but how? I don’t see that we can do anything. Scales, having prepared the plans, is the logical man to see that they are carried out, and he is perfectly competent. His record is clean, so that he owns no property, nor does any of his family—although that may be because he never had a chance. The Middle West Construction Company, though just incorporated, is financially sound, thoroughly bonded, and, moreover, has put into the hands of the city ample guarantee for its twenty per cent. forfeit as required by the terms of the contract. There isn’t a thing that the Bulletin can do except to boost local enterprise with a bit of reservation, then lay low and wait for developments.”
“I dislike to do it,” objected Bobby. “It hurts me to think of mentioning Stone or Trimmer in any complimentary way whatsoever.”
Jolter laughed. “You’re a fine and consistent enemy,” he said.
“I guess I came by it honestly,” smiled Bobby, and from a drawer in his desk took one of the gray John Burnit letters.
“‘Always forgive your enemies,’” read Jolter aloud; “‘that is, after you are good and even with them.’”