XXV
“WELL,” the chief said to Keighley, when they were alone again in the bows, “I guess your company’s all right, Dan. If those four men go into court against Doherty, it lets me out. I’ve got no kick coming.” He smiled a satisfied slow smile. “Their association isn’t as strong as it was, eh?”
Keighley passed a worried hand over his forehead. “Chief,” he said, “I’ve had a good deal o’ trouble in the las’ two months, an’ I’ve been doin’ a lot o’ thinkin’. An I want to tell yuh this: Here’s this fire department as clean as anyone’d want it, an’ here’s ev’ry other department in this town, between youan’ me, gettin’ rotten with graft. Why don’t politics get a hold on us.” He leaned forward poking out his forefinger. “’Cause politics can’t put out a fire, an’ a fire, when it starts, hasgotto be put out, er the whole damn town goes up. Yuh can’t fool with a fire.”
“Well?” the chief said.
“Well,” Keighley went on, “that’s where the ‘Jiggers’ fell down. An’ ifyou’vecome back to the department to pound ‘Jiggers’ an’ knife the men ’at knifed you, that’s whereyou’llfall down. Don’t get on yer ear, now. If this ain’t true, yuh needn’t mind it. An’ if itistrue, yuh can’t change it by gettin’ sore on me.”
“Go ahead,” the chief said. “Get it out of your system.”
Keighley nodded. “These ‘Jiggers’ here tried to stick me, instead of attendin’to their bus’ness—an’ they pretty near curled up their toes in the bottom o’ theSachsen. Moran tried to stick me at that lumber yard blaze, an’ if it hadn’t been fer the way m’ own men stood by me he’d’ve been burned out of his job. I attended to my work an’ treated ‘Jigger’ an’ anti-‘Jigger’ the same. An’ with Moran an the Commissioner an’ the whole bunch tryin’ to trip me up, here I am still. There’s somethin’ in it, I tell yuh. There’s somethin’ in it.”
The chief tugged at his mustache.
“There’s the police,” Keighley went on. “They’re rotten—’cause they’re playin’ politics. Here’s the firemen—the same breed as the policemen—an’ yuh never hear a word against ’em. Why? ’Cause our work’s too hot fer a grafter—an’ too hot fer a politician—an’too hot fer a ‘Jigger,’ unless he’s a fireman first an’ a ‘Jigger’ after. You put back the men that Moran shifted, an’ let it go at that. If yuh do more, yuh’ll do worse. An’ yuh’ll end up in a hole. That’smyopinion.”
The chief said, “Moran’s going to get out. There’ll be a promotion from the battalion-chiefs. Do you want to quit here an’ go on up?”
“D’ yuh mean do I want a battalion?”
“Yes.”
Keighley shook his head. “Not on yer life.”
“Why not?”
He looked out at the pierhouse, which they were approaching. “I like what I got. I been three months gettin’ things into shape here. It’s a good crew. It’s a hell of a good boat.”
“You’ll have a softer thing in the other.”
Keighley smiled crookedly. “Too much desk work. I ain’t happy unless I got a fire in front o’ me. When I want somethin’ softer, I’ll take my half pay an’ quit.”
“All right.” Borden stretched out his hand. “I hope that won’t be for a good many years yet, Dan. Good-bye.”
Keighley fumbled over the proffered hand. He was not used to the amenities. “Good-bye. I hope this’ll end the ‘Jigger’ bus’ness.”
The chief nodded. They shook hands solemnly. “I think it will.”
And it did. Deputy-Chief Moran remained in his position; and through him it was announced to the “Jiggers” thata general amnesty had been declared, and that no “Jigger-jumper” would be punished for belonging to his “benevolent association” unless he tried to use his membership to intrigue for promotion, or allowed himself to be so used. That policy was in the end so successful that the “Jiggers” lost even their distinctive name; and the term “Jigger-jumper” is applied now, in department slang, to all “blue-shirts” who run at the call of that peremptory little bell to risk their lives and do their duty.
Ask them! Ask any of Keighley’s men. Ask “Shine.” “We’re all Jigger-jumpers,” he will tell you. “An’ it keeps us on the jump.On the jump!You bet.... There it goes again.... That’s in our—Seeyullater!” Then—ashehurries from the sitting room to the pier—you will see “OldClinkers” issue from the office, with his coat on his arm, glance at the clock, flick you one keen look from a cold grey eye as he goes by, and clear his throat to call from the doorway, with all the confidence of unquestioned command, “All right, boys. Let her go!”
THE END
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.Archaic spelling that may have been in use at the time of publication has been retained.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.
Archaic spelling that may have been in use at the time of publication has been retained.