The Captain shook his head.
“Well, there is only one thing to do next, Captain. We've got to get her down to Michigan City before to-morrow night whether the Trust likes it or not. Do you suppose they've gobbled up the tug men, too?”
It was not a hard fact to discover, for there were only two tugs in the harbour; and sure enough, when, twenty minutes later, the manager for Higginson & Company and the Captain of the No. 1 met again on the wharf, they were both beginning to understand how clean a sweep the Trust people had made of it. The Captain was growing angrier every minute, and so was Halloran. The rascality of it was what aroused the Captain. Waters and winds he could understand, but the ways of men were beyond him. Two days before, in Chicago, Mr. G. Hyde Bigelow had announced that Higginson & Company must not make the delivery at Michigan City; and this resulting moment, with Halloran sitting on the iron cap of a snubbing-post and the Captain standing silent before him, was a very dark moment for the Wauchung interests.
“The damned old rascal,” said Halloran, reflectively.
Craig's dull eye suddenly flashed.
“I ought to have foreseen it,” he burst out. “It's the kind of thing to expect from that Bigelow.”
“Yes,” replied Halloran; “that's what I've been saying to myself. This is a pretty fair sample of Bigelow's methods.” He was chagrined to think that it could be done so easily. He had thought of anything, everything, but this.
“I'd like to set Bigelow's head on that pile of two-by-fours,” Halloran went on, “and have about three shots at him. I don't believe he'd know himself the next time he looked in the glass.”
The Captain glanced at him mistrustfully. He liked this manager, but this was not the time for jokes.
“Did you ever see him?” asked Halloran, swinging a leg on each side of the snubbing-post and letting a twinkle come into his eyes as his thoughts seemed to run on Bigelow.