Still they heeded not; and a third paper under the door, some days later, read:
“For the last time you are warned to leave. Heed this and beware of neglect to do so.”
But, like Christian soldiers, they were only the more zealous in their work.
In two days more they were found dead in their rooms—poisoned.
Our friends, the engineers, were not soothed by a relation of these facts, but kept on with their work. In three days they, too, got a second warning:
“Leave your work and go away by the first steamer.”
Things began to look serious, and the more timid mechanic of the two could hardly be restrained from buying a ticket to Hong Kong.
When, however, in two more days, a third piece of yellow paper was slipped into their rooms, bearing the pencilled words, “For the last time you are told to take the next steamer,” the matter assumed such proportions that we arranged to have them see the Archbishop, whose knowledge is far-reaching and whose power complete. The letters were suddenly stopped and the work on the machine carried to a successful completion.
Then came the day of trial, and invitations were extended to interested persons to view the operation. The machine was started, and the cigarettes began to sizzle out at the rate of nearly two hundred to the minute. But scarcely had the run begun before there was a sudden jar, several of the important parts gave way, and the machine was a wreck. It had been tampered with, and it was evident that the instigators of the anonymous letters had taken this more effective means of stopping competition.
The parts could not be made in Manila; America was far away, and our two machinists have just gone home in disgust.