"Listen!"
A whistle, deep-toned, fully two octaves below the shrill hoot of the monopoly's locomotives, thrilled in the distance. Drawing nearer, its vibrant bass gave the entire city pause—clerks waited, pens poised for a stroke; lawyers dropped their briefs; store-keepers, laborers, mechanics, the very Indians in the camps by the river, stood on gaze; motion ceased as at the voice of the falked siren; a hush fell in the streets, a silence complete as that of some enchanted city.
It carried consternation into the offices of the monopoly, that whistle. Sparks, the division superintendent, dropped his pen and stared at his chief, who was giving last orders for the demolition of Greer & Smythe before he went back East. The latter's iron nerve, however, vouchsafed only a breathing space to surprise, then he continued in the same dry tones: "Previous instructions are hereby cancelled. That's an American whistle, Sparks—Jem Ball for a thousand. They've won out; it's all over but the shouting." And as eager tumult broke loose in the street, he added, "And there it goes."
The shouting? They poured into the streets—doctors, lawyers, clerks, laborers; carpenters jumped from new buildings, plumbers left their braziers burning while they swelled the stream that poured out to see the first train, an engine with Pullman and palace-car, pull in over the new line.
Shout? They did—and more. Your canny Canadian is the deil at celebrating when his backslidings carry him that way, and next morning many a worthy citizen sweated in thinking back to the cause of his headache. Ay, good church-members lugged flasks of old Scotch from blameless-appearing pockets; the carpenter exchanged news and drams with the millionaire. The N.P. had bought the new road! No, only leased it! No! no! they were merely to finance the enterprise, market its bonds in return for reciprocal traffic arrangements! There were other theories, all spun round a germ of truth, but thence to the source.
As the siren sounded the second time, Carter looked at Bender, who sat opposite Helen, having dropped in for a chat, and his remark carries back to the strike. "Now you know why we went to Minneapolis. What does it all mean?" His face lit up as he turned to Helen. "It means cars, locomotives, rolling-stock; the use of N.P. equipment till we can instal our own. That we can rebuild the burned bridges this fall, and shove a temporary line through to Silver Creek and the camps in the Riding Mountains. It means that the Red River Valley will send its wheat south to Duluth this fall. It means—victory for us, competition for the province."
That was his hour, but Helen shared it—even when Greer and Smythe ushered in the American railway-king. Twin to the general manager in massive build and strength of feature, he had come from a softer mould. His eyes, mouth were gentler, more pleasant. In him the high, sloping forehead—mark of the dreamer—was qualified by the strong jaw, wide-spaced eyes of the man of practical affairs. A glance told that here imagination and constructive power went hand in hand. Fun rippled and ran over innumerable fine facial lines, and he laughed out loud when Helen made to withdraw, assuring her that their conversation would not tax her sex's supposed weakness in the matter of secrets as they were not to talk business.
"We think too much of this man to bother him with details," he said. "These gentlemen have attended to everything, and all we require is his signature to a few papers. Celebrations won't be in order till he's well enough to run down to St. Paul. Then—well, you'd better not let him come alone." So, talking and laughing for a pleasant half-hour, he gave off his superabundant energy until the ward was charged, then went away leaving the patient stimulated to the verge of open mutiny.
"I'm as well as you." He defied the Head to his face that evening. "Send up my clothes."
"In two weeks, if you are good!" the Head calmly answered.