Ashton had sought to raise and aim the pistol. This time Blake did not step back. Instead, he flung himself forward, and his hand closed in an iron grip on the wrist of the hand that held the pistol. The weapon fell from the paralyzed fingers.
Ashton made a frantic clutch with his left hand to regain the pistol, but he was jerked violently forward, up and over the desk. As he floundered across in a flurry of rustling, tearing maps and papers, he swore in shrill anger. Blake's left hand gripped his throat, His anger gave place to terror. He sought to scream, but the fingers tightened and throttled him. He was dragged across and down upon the floor, choking and gurgling. Blake bent lower.
"Lie still!" he ordered. "I'm going to let go your throat. If you squawk, I'll break your neck!"
He removed his grip alike of wrist and throat, and Ashton, gasping and panting, felt gingerly of his throat with his soft fingers. He could not see the dark marks left by Blake's terrible clutch, but he could feel the bruises. He glared up, terror-stricken, into the pale hard eyes that blazed down into his own with a light like that of molten steel.
"You—you'll not—not murder me!" he panted.
"I'll break your neck if you don't keep quiet and mind," menaced Blake.He sprang erect. "Get up to your desk—quick!"
Ashton needed no urging. As lie scrambled around to the chair, Blake picked up the automatic pistol and tested its mechanism with expert swiftness.
"Don't! Don't!" implored Ashton, dodging down.
"Bah!Take that pen—write!" commanded Blake. Ashton clutched at his pen and an order pad. "Steady, you fool! Now write,'Bridge in danger. Strip bare. Blake in charge.'" Ashton scribbled with frantic swiftness. "Got that? Sign your name in full as Resident Engineer."
The moment Ashton obeyed, Blake reached over and snatched up the order pad and an indelible pencil. In his other hand he thrust out the pistol to press its muzzle against Ashton's temple.
"Oh!—oh!—don't!" whimpered the coward.
"You skunk!" growled Blake. "Keep your mouth shut, or I'll smash you like a rattlesnake. I'm going to save my bridge. Don't get in my way!" He pointed with the pistol toward the rear door of the room. "What's in there?"
"My—my quarters."
"Get in there! Stay in! No yawping!" The terse orders ended in a flash of grim humor. "You're sick. Mind you don't get worse."
Ashton was already slinking into his apartment.
There was a rumble of freight cars outside. Blake spun about on his heel and rushed out through the vestibule.
A train loaded with steel was backing out to the bridge. Blake ran down the track to the engine and swung up into the cab.
"Stop her!" he shouted.
The engine-driver was among the men who had been introduced to Blake on his visit with Griffith. He recognized the engineer at the first glance.
"Hello, Mr. Blake!" he sang out. "You here?"
"Brakes!" cut in Blake so incisively that the driver closed histhrottle and applied the airbrakes with emergency swiftness.Anticipating his questions, Blake tersely explained: "Bridge in danger.I'm in charge. Have you a lot of empties handy?"
"How?—bridge?" queried the fireman, peering around at the stranger.
"Dozen empties—" began the driver.
"Good!" said Blake. "Clear these cars and—"
"What's this?" demanded the yardmaster, who had run up at the sudden stoppage of the train. "Back on out, Jones. There's the coal to switch."
"Damn your coal!" swore Blake. "Get a big string of empties out the bridge, quick as you can!"
"Who the hell are you?" blustered the yardmaster.
"Engineer in charge," answered Blake, holding out Ashton's order. "Bridge in danger—error in plans—overloaded—and weather report says wind! Jones, toot up your whistle—fire-call—anything! I want every man of every shift out here in two shakes."
Without waiting for orders from the yardmaster, Jones signed to his fireman, reversed, and threw open his throttle. The fireman clutched the whistle-cord and began jerking out a succession of wild shrieks and toots. As the train started away from the bridge, Blake swung to the ground to meet the excited men who came running from all directions.
He held Ashton's order close under the nose of the yardmaster, and shouted above the din of the engine whistle: "See that? She'll go when the wind rises. Hustle out those empties, with every man you have."
Impelled by the engineer's look, the yardmaster sprang about and sprinted alongside the train, waving signals to his switch crew. Blake no less swiftly sprang into the midst of the mob of off-shift men streaming from the bunkhouse.
"I'm Blake—engineer in charge—from Griffith!" he shouted. "Bridge overloaded—will go down when wind rises. We've got to clear her. She may go down when the empties back out. Any yellow cur that wants to quit can call for his pay-check. I'm going out. Come on, boys!"
He started along the service-track at a quick jog-trot. The men, without a single exception, followed him in a mass, jostling each other for the lead. Near the outer end of the approach span they met the morning shift of carpenters and laborers, who were hurrying shoreward in response to the wild alarm of the engine whistle. Blake waved them about.
"Bridge in danger!" he shouted. "Volunteers to clear material."
Few of the carpenters and none of the chattering Slovaks and Italians caught anything except the word "danger." But zeal and fearlessness are sometimes as contagious as fear. A half-dozen or so drew aside to slink on shoreward. All the others joined the silent eager crowd behind Blake. Before they had gone a hundred feet every man in the crowd knew that at any moment the huge cantilever might crash down with them to certain destruction in the chasm, yet not one turned back.
A short distance beyond the cantilever towers they came to the foremost of the on-shift steel workers, who had halted in their shoreward run when they saw that the outcoming party showed no sign of halting. But those in their rear and McGraw, who had been left behind farthest of all in the race, were still moving forward.
Blake waved his pad to McGraw and called out to him over the heads of the others: "Here's my order! I'm in charge. Take every man you can handle, and work the main traveller to the towers. Hustle!"
"Your order!" wheezed McGraw stubbornly.
Blake was already close upon him. He had dealt before with men of McGraw's character. He tore off Ashton's order, thrust it into the other's pudgy hand, and paused to scribble an order to hold the train on the shore span.
On occasion McGraw could be nimble both in mind and body. The moment he had read Ashton's order, he wheeled about to rush back the way he had come, and let out a bull-like bellow: "Hi, youse! clear f'r trav'ller! Out-shift, follow me!"
The steel workers who had been on shift raced after and past him to the main traveller. He followed at a surprisingly rapid pace, bellowing his instructions. Blake, holding back in the lead of his far larger party from the shore, began to issue terse orders to the gangs of carpenters and laborers. They strung along the extension arm, outward from the point where the floor-system was completed. Before Blake could pass on ahead, tons of beams and stringers, iron fittings and kegs of bolts and nails began to rain down into the abyss.
Having detailed half of the two shore shifts of steel workers to clear the way for the inrolling of the huge traveller, Blake took the other half out with him to the extreme end of the overhang. As soon as the main traveller began its slow movement shoreward, he ordered the smaller traveller run back several yards, in readiness to load the heavier pieces of structural steel.
All his own men being now engaged in the most effectual manner, he turned about to quiet McGraw, who, for once shaken out of his phlegmatic calm, had been reduced to a state of apoplectic rage by the inability of his men to perform miracles. Blake's cool manner and terse directions almost redoubled the efficiency of the workers. The main traveller began to creep toward the towers with relative rapidity.
Blake walked ahead of it, to steady and encourage the gangs that toiled and sweat in the frosty sweep of the rising wind. He came back again to the overhang and stood for a few moments gazing across at the outstretched tip of the north cantilever.
Suddenly his face lightened. He glanced over his shoulder at the lofty towers behind him, nodded decisively, and hastened back to where McGraw, once more his usual stolid taciturn self, was extracting every ounce of working energy out of the men who swarmed about the main traveller.
"Goin' some!" he grunted, as Blake tapped his arm.
"Stop her fifty feet this side towers," ordered Blake. "How many central-span sections have you stacked up out here?"
"All 'cept four north-side 'uns. Last come this mornin'. In yards yet."
"How long'll it take us to rig a cable tram from the traveller across to the north 'lever?"
"Huh?" demanded McGraw blankly.
"We'll run the north-side steel across by tram, and push the work from both ends. Once the central span's connected, this bridge'll stand up under any load that can be piled on her."
"Wind risin'—an' you figurin' on construction work!" commented McGraw.
"If she doesn't go to smash in the next half-hour, we'll be O.K.," answered Blake coolly. "That train has waited long enough. You look to the steel. Load the first sections for this end on the outermost car. We can cut it off the train at the towers."
At McGraw's nod, he scratched off an order and sent a man running with it to the waiting train. Very shortly the three outermost cars came rolling toward him, pushed by the switch crew and a gang of laborers. Their weight was several times offset by the weight of flooring material that had already been hurled from the bridge.
Blake tested the force of the wind, noted the distance that the main traveller had moved shoreward, and promptly ordered the work of destruction to cease. Some forty or fifty thousand dollars' worth of material had already gone over into the strait, and he was too much of an engineer to permit unnecessary waste.
The electro-magnetic crane of the smaller traveller was already swinging up a number of pieces of structural steel to load on the cars as they rolled out to the extreme end of the service-track. McGraw came hurrying to take charge of the eager loading gang. Blake went out past them to the end of the overhang, and perching himself on a pile of steel, began to jot down figures and small diagrams on the back of his pad.
He was still figuring when a cheer from the carloaders caused him to look up. The cars, which had been stacked with steel to their utmost capacity, were being connected with the rear of the train by means of a wire rope. In response to the signals of McGraw, the engine started slowly shoreward.
Before the train had moved many yards the slack of the steel rope was taken up. It tautened and drew up almost to a straight line, so tense that it sang like a violin string in the sharp wind gusts. Then the steel-laden cars creaked, started, and rolled shoreward after the train, groaning under their burden. The men all along the bridge raised a wild cheer.
Blake stepped back beside McGraw.
"Well, Mac, guess we've turned the trick," he said.
"Close,—huh?" replied the general foreman, holding up his hand to the wind.
"Close enough," agreed Blake. "She might have gone any minute since we came out.Whee!—if I hadn't headed off that train of steel! Well, a miss is as good as a mile. She'll stand now. Next thing is to connect the span."
"Huh?" ejaculated McGraw. "Ain't goin' t' tackle that, Mr. Blake, 'fore reinforcin' bottom-chords?"
"What! Wait for auxiliary bracing to come on from the mills? Not on your life! Once connected, she'll be unbreakable—all strains and stresses will be so altered as to give a wide margin of safety, spite of that damned skunk!"
"Huh?" queried McGraw.
Blake's lips tightened grimly, but he ignored the question.
"We'll drive the work on twelve-hour shifts,—double pay and best food that can be bought. Divide up the force now, and turn in with your shift—those who most need sleep."
In the midst of the wild flurry of work on the bridge, an engine from the junction had puffed into the switching yards with a single coach, the private car of H. V. Leslie.
Despite the shrill whistle that signalled its approach, no one ran out to meet the special,—no workman appeared in the midst of the sheds and material piles to stare at the unexpected arrival. Irritated at this inattention, Mr. Leslie swung down from his car, closely followed by Lord James.
"What can this mean?" he demanded. "Not a man in sight. Entire place seems deserted."
"Quite true," agreed Lord James. "Ah, but out on the bridge—great crowd of men working out there. Seems to be fairly swarming with men."
"So there are—so there are. Yet why so many out there, and none in the yards?"
"Can't say, I'm sure. I daresay we'll learn at the office."
"Learn what, Mr. Scarbridge?" asked Dolores, who had popped out into the car vestibule. Without waiting for an answer or for his assistance, she sprang down the steps, waving her muff. "Come on, Vievie. Don't wait for mamma."
"What are you going to do?" demanded Mr. Leslie.
"Hunt for our heroic hero, of course," answered the girl.
"You shall do no such thing," said her mother, appearing majestically in the vestibule.
Genevieve, pale and calm and resolute, came out past her aunt.
"We shall go to Mr. Ashton's office, papa," she said, as Lord James handed her down the steps. "If Mr. Blake is not there, Mr. Ashton will know where to send for him."
"Tom's out on the bridge," stated Lord James.
"He is? How do you know?" queried Mr. Leslie.
"It's a hundred to one odds. That wire to Griffith—'On the job,' y' know. He'll be where the most work is going on. I'll go fetch him."
"If you will, James," said Genevieve. "Tell him that papa—not I—You understand."
"Trust me!" He smiled, glanced appealingly at Dolores, met a frown, and started briskly away out the service-track.
"Wait," ordered Dolores. "I'll go, too. I've never been out on an unfinished bridge."
"You'll not. You'll stay ashore," interposed her mother.
"Oh fudge! Trot along, then, Mr. Scarbridge."
At her call, Lord James had halted and turned about, eagerly expectant. As, disappointed, he started on again, she addressed Mr. Leslie: "I'm not going back into that stuffy car, Uncle Herbert. Where's the place you call the office?"
He pointed to Ashton's quarters, and she skipped forward, past the engine, before her mother could interfere. The others followed her, wrapping their furs close about them to shut out the bitterly cold wind.
Dolores was still in the lead when the party reached the office, but she paused in the vestibule for her uncle to open the door. When he entered, she stepped in after him, followed by Genevieve and Mrs. Gantry. Darting his glances about the office in keen search, Mr. Leslie crossed the room to stare concernedly at the litter of torn maps and papers on the floor in front of the desk. He hurried to the inner door and rapped vigorously. There was no immediate response. He rapped again.
The door opened a few inches, and Ashton's English valet peered in at the visitors with a timid, startled look.
"Well?" demanded Mr. Leslie. "What d' you mean, sir, gawking that way? What's the matter here?—all these papers scattered about—everybody out on the bridge. Who are you, anyway?"
"M-Mr. Ashton's m-man, sir!" stuttered the valet.
"His man? Where is he?—out on the bridge?"
"N-no, sir; in his rooms, sir."
"Tell him to come here at once!"
"Y-yes, sir, very good, sir. But I fear he'll be afraid to come out, sir. Mr. Blake—he ordered 'im to stay in, sir."
"Blake ordered him! Why? Speak out, man! Why?"
"He—he said the bridge—that it was about to fall, sir."
"Bridge—about to fall?"
"Yes, sir. So he pulled Mr. Ashton across the desk by 'is neck—manhandled 'im awful, and 'e told 'im—"
"What! What! Tell Ashton I'm here—Mr. Leslie! Tell him to come at once—at once! D' you hear?"
As the valet vanished, Genevieve darted to her father, her eyes wide with swift-mounting alarm. "Papa! Didn't you hear him? He said the bridge—it's about to fall!"
"He did! He did!" cried Dolores, catching the alarm. "Oh, and Jimmy's gone out, too!"
"'Jimmy'!" echoed Mrs. Gantry, staring.
The girl ran to the windows in the end of the room, which afforded a full view of the gigantic bridge.
"Hurry! Hurry, papa! Do something!" cried Genevieve. "If the bridge falls—!"
"Nonsense!" argued her father. "There can't be any danger. It's still standing—and all those men remaining out on it. If there was any danger—Must be some mistake of that fool valet."
"Then why are there no men ashore? Why are they all out there?" questioned Genevieve with intuitive logic. "Oh! it's true—I know it's true! He's in danger! And James—both! They're out there—it will fall! He'll be killed! Send some one—tell them to come ashore! I'll go myself!"
She started toward the door.
"No, no, let me!" cried Dolores, darting ahead of her.
"Stop!—both of you!" exclaimed Mrs. Gantry. "Are you mad?"
"Stop!" commanded Mr. Leslie.
Genevieve paused and stood hesitating before the vestibule door.Dolores darted back to the windows.
A voice across the room called out: "That's—that's right! There's no need to go. It's all a fake—a pretence!"
Staring about, Mr. Leslie and the ladies saw Ashton beside the inner door. He was striving to assume an air of easy assurance, but the doorknob, which he still grasped, rattled audibly.
"You!" rasped Mr. Leslie. "What you doing in here—skulking in here?"
Ashton cringed back, all the assurance stricken from his face.
"You—you believe him!" he stammered. "But it's not fair! You've heard only his side—his lies about me!"
"Whose lies? Speak out!"
"His—Blake's! The big brute took me by surprise—half murdered me. He came here, drunk or crazy, I don't know which. Pretended the bridge was in danger."
"Pretended? Isn't it?"
"All rot! Not a bit of it!"
"What!"
"I tell you, it's all a put-up job—a frame-up. The brute thought he'd get in with you again—you and Genevieve. He schemed to discredit me, to get my place."
"Blake?—he did that?" eagerly queried Mrs. Gantry.
"Yes!" cried Ashton, and he turned again to Mr. Leslie. "Don't you see? He guessed that you were coming up. So he sneaked here ahead of you—took away my pistol and threatened to murder me if I left my rooms."
Genevieve looked the glib relator up and down, white with scorn.
"You lie!" she said.
"But—but—I—" he stammered, disconcerted. He stepped toward her, half desperate. "It's the truth, I tell you, the solemn truth! I'll swear to it! It was there, right at my desk. You see the maps, torn when he dragged me across—by the throat! Look here at my neck—at the marks of his fingers!"
"You're in luck. He had good cause to break your neck," commented Mr.Leslie.
"Herbert!" reproved Mrs. Gantry, greatly shocked.
"Papa! Papa!" urged Genevieve, running to grasp her father's arm. "You can't believe him! If Tom said the bridge was in danger—We stand here doing nothing! Send some one! If the bridge should fall—"
"Fall?" sneered Ashton. "I tell you it's safe, safe as a rock. Look for yourselves. It's still standing."
"Then he has saved it," snapped Mr. Leslie. "He's saved my bridge—his bridge! While you, you skulking thief—"
Ashton cringed back as if struck. But Genevieve dragged her father about from him. "Don't mind him, papa! What does that matter now? Send some one at once!"
"They're all out on the bridge already," he replied. "There's no one to send. Wait! I'll go myself!"
"Oh! Oh! The train has started on shore again—it's coming clear offthe bridge!" cried Dolores. "It stopped part way, near this end.They'll be on it, they'll surely be on it. Yes, yes! There he is!There's Jimmy!"
She flung up a window-sash and leaned far out, waving her handkerchief.Her mother turned to Genevieve, who stood as if dazed.
"My dear," she said, "do you not understand? Lord James is safe—quite safe!"
"Yes?" replied Genevieve vaguely.
"And Blake!" exclaimed Mr. Leslie. "He'll of course be coming, too. I'm going to meet him—learn the truth."
He cast a threatening glance at Ashton, and went out like a shot.
"Uncle Herbert, take me with you!" called Dolores, flying out after him.
"Blake!—coming here!" gasped Ashton. He ran to place himself beforeGenevieve, who was about to go out. "Wait, wait, Miss Genevieve,please! Save me! He—he said he'd smash me if I talked—he did! He did!Don't let him hurt me! He threatened to kill me—it's true—true!"
"Threatened to kill you?" repeated Mrs. Gantry. "Genevieve, call back your father. If the man really is violent, as Lafayette says—"
"Aunt Amice!" remonstrated Genevieve. "Can you believe this miserable creature for an instant?"
"But it's true—itistrue!" gasped Ashton.
"Mrs. Gantry, dear, dear Mrs. Gantry, you'll believe me! He will kill me! Take me aboard the car! Please, please take me aboard the car and hide me!"
"My dear Genevieve," said Mrs. Gantry, "the poor boy is really terrified."
"Take him to the car, if you wish," replied Genevieve. "He can leave it at the junction."
"Oh, thank you, thank you, Miss Genevieve!" stammered Ashton.
But Genevieve went out without looking at him. He followed with Mrs.Gantry, keeping close beside her.
As the fugitive and his protectress passed out through the verandah and turned away from the bridge toward the car, they were relieved to see that Blake was not yet in sight. Genevieve was hastening out the track to where her father and Dolores and Lord James stood beside the heavily loaded bridge-service train.
Before Genevieve could reach the others, Lord James and Dolores came toward her, and Dolores cried out the joyful news: "It's safe, Vievie!—the bridge is safe now! Mr. Blake will be ashore in a few minutes."
"You're sure, James?" asked Genevieve. "Quite safe?—and he—?"
"Yes, yes, give you my word! Perfectly safe now, he said, and he'll be coming soon. Er—Miss Dolores, there's your mother going back to the car."
"And Laffi with her!"
"Quite true—quite true. I say now—you've left your muff in the office. You'll be chilled—nipping keen wind, this. We'd best go inside while we're waiting."
"Yes," agreed the girl. "Come back in, Vievie."
"No, no, dear. I'll come later. I'll wait here with papa."
"Ah, if you prefer," murmured Lord James. "But you, MissDolores—really you should not stand out in this wind."
"Oh, well, if you insist," she acquiesced, with seeming reluctance.
"I do, indeed!" he replied, and he hurried her to the office.
When they entered, he led her to the big drum heating stove in the corner of the room, and went across to the inner door. He opened it, and called a terse order to Ashton's valet. He then closed the door and locked it.
Dolores started to edge toward the outer door. But he was too quick for her. He hastened across and cut off her retreat.
"No, no!" he declared. "You sha'n't run away."
"Run away?" she rejoined, drawing herself up with a strong show of indignation.
"It's—it's the very first opportunity I've had—the first time alone with you all these days," he answered. "I must insist! I—I beg your pardon, but I must find out, really I must! It seemed to me that—that just now you waved to me, from the window."
"To you? But how could I tell, so far off, that Mr. Blake was not on the train?"
"So that was it?" he replied, suddenly dashed. "Very stupid of me—very! Yet—yet—I must say it! Miss Gantry—Dolores, you've insisted on showing me your deepened dislike even since that evening. But you're so sincere, so candid—if only you'll tell me my faults, I'll do anything I possibly can to please you, to win your regard!"
"Ho! so that's it?" she jeered. "Because Vievie threw you over, you think I'll do as second choice—you think I'm waiting to catch you on the rebound."
"You?" he exclaimed. "How could that be? You've always been so frank in showing your dislike for me—how could I think that? But if only I might convince you how desirous I am to—to overcome your antipathy!"
"Lord Avondale," she said, "it is probable that you are laboring under a misconception. I am not an heiress; I am not wealthy. We are barely well-to-do. So, you see—"
"Ah, yes! And you—" he exclaimed, stepping nearer to her—"you, then, shall see that it is yourself alone! If I can but win you! Tell me, now—why is it you dislike me? I'll do anything in my power. Forget I'm my father's son—that I'm English. I must win you! Tell me how I can overcome your dislike!"
Dolores drew back, blushing first scarlet then crimson with blissful confusion. All her ready wit fled from her and left her quivering with the sweet agitation of her love.
"But it's—it's not true, Jimmy!" she whispered. "I don't—I'm not what you think me! I'm not sincere or honest—I'm just a liar! I've been pretending all along. It's not true that I ever disliked you!"
"Not true?" he asked incredulously.
She gave him a glance that answered him far more clearly than words. He started toward her impulsively.
"Dolores!—it can't be!"
She avoided him, in an attempt to delay the inevitable surrender.
"Ware danger, your earlship!" she mocked. "I warn you I'm a designing female. How do you know it's not the coronet I'm after?"
"Dearest!" he exclaimed, and this time he succeeded in capturing the hand that she flung out to fend him off.
"Wait—wait!" she protested. "This is most—ah—indecorous. Think how shocked mamma would be. You haven't even declared your intentions."
"My intentions," he stated, "are to do—this!" He boldly placed his arm about her shoulders, and bent down over her back-tilted head. "Mydear Miss Gantry, I have the honor of saluting—the future Countess of Avondale!"
Instead of shrinking—from him, as he half feared, she slipped an arm up about his neck.
With a blissful sigh, she drew back from the kiss, to answer him in a tone of tender mockery: "The Right Honorable the Earl of Avondale is informed that his—ah—salute is received with pleasure."
"Darling!"
"Wait," she teased. "You have it all turned 'round. You've yet to tell me the exact moment when. Vievie took second place."
"My word! How am I to answer that? Really, it's quite impossible to tell. You piqued my interest from the very first."
"But did you still lo—like Vievie when you proposed to her?"
"Er—yes—quite true. That was the day after our arrival from New York, y'know."
"Of course. But I wished to make doubly sure that you were sincere with her. Oh, Jimmy, to think I've got you, after all! I'm so happy!"
He promptly offered another salute, which was not refused.
The sound of quick steps in the vestibule startled them. Dolores sprang away as Genevieve came hurrying in, too agitated to heed her cousin's blushes.
"Oh! I'm so glad you're still here!" she panted. "He's coming ashore. I—I told papa to tell him that—but not that I'm here! I must—I want to—"
"To play puss-in-the-corner with your Tom," rallied Dolores. "Oh, Vievie! who'd have thought it? You've lost your head! Hide over here behind the stove."
Greatly to her surprise, Genevieve instantly ran over and hid herself in the corner behind the big stove. Dolores and Lord James stared at one another. It was the first time that they had ever seen Genevieve flurried.
"Why, Vievie!" exclaimed the girl, "I actually believe you're frightened."
"No, I'm not. It's only that I must have time to—to think."
"Ah," said Lord James, with sympathetic readiness.
"I shall go out and meet him—detain him a bit."
"No, no. It's very kind of you, James. But there's no need. If only you and Dolores will wait and speak with him. I—I wish to hear how his voice sounds—first."
"Well, of all things!" rallied Dolores. "Can't you imagine how it will sound? He'll be hoarse as a crow, after shouting all his heroic orders to save the bridge. Ten to one, he'll have a fine cold, too—out there in this wind. Jimmy says it's really nawsty, y'know, with the beastly zephyrs wafting through the bloomin' steel-work, and the water so deuced far down below—quite a bit awful, don't y'know!"
"Don't tease, dear," begged Genevieve. "But you said 'Jimmy'! Oh, have you really—?"
Her face appeared around the bulge of the stove, flushed with delight. But the sound of a heavy tread in the verandah caused it to disappear on the instant.
Blake came in slowly and with anything but an elated look. It was evident that Mr. Leslie had refrained from rousing his expectations. He stared at Dolores in surprise.
"You, Miss Dolores?"
"What?" she teased. "You surely did not think it would be Vievie, did you?"
"Didn't think—"
"Yes—with Jimmy." She held out her hand to Lord James, who clasped it fondly.
Blake caught the glance that passed between them. His face darkened.
"Her?" he muttered. "Didn't think you were the kind to play fast and loose, Jimmy!"
"Tom! You can't believe that of me!" protested the Englishman."Couldn't explain matters out there among all your men, y' know, butGenevieve insisted upon terminating our engagement the very morningafter. I had said nothing. She had already seen her mistake."
"Mistake?" queried Blake.
"You men are so silly," criticised Dolores, with a mischievous glance toward the stove. "You ought to 've known she loved you, all the time. Of course you won't believe it till she herself tells you."
Blake looked about the room. Genevieve was close behind the stove. He shook his head and muttered despondently: "Till she tells me!"
"Did you ever play puss-in-the-corner?" asked Dolores.
"You witch!" exclaimed Lord James. To divert her attention, he drew her to him and slipped a ring on her slender finger. "Ha! Caught you napping! It's on—fast!" She gave him an adorable look. "If it's ever taken off, you'll have to do it."
"That shall be—never!" he replied. Drawing her arm through his, he led her toward the door. "We're on our way, Tom. See you later at the car, I daresay. Must go now to break the news to 'Mamma.'"
"Won't she be surprised!" exulted Dolores. "It's such a joke that youand Genevieve didn't tell her! She's so sure of her methods—so sure.She'll find there are others who have methods, won't she, LordAvondale?"
"Most charming methods!" agreed Lord James.
"S'long, Jimmy!" said Blake, gripping the other's carelessly offered hand. "Here's congratulations and good luck to you! Tell her—tell the others good-bye for me. I'll not come to the car. Tell 'em I'm too—too busy."
"Right-o! But we'll look to see you in town before a great while," replied Lord James, and he hurried Dolores out through the vestibule.
From the verandah the girl's clear voice sounded through the closed doors, free and merry, almost mocking.
Blake stood where the lovers had left him. Their sudden and seemingly indifferent leave-taking had added its quota of depression to his already sinking spirit. When he had come ashore and had been intercepted by Mr. Leslie he already had begun to feel the reaction from the strain and excitement of those interminable minutes and hours on the bridge—the frightful responsibility of keeping all those hundreds of men out on the gigantic structure, which at any second might have crashed down with them to certain destruction.
Now even the remembrance that he had saved the bridge could not stimulate him. Mr. Leslie's friendly praise, even his more than cordial hand-grip, seemed meaningless. The world had suddenly turned drab and gray. Her father had stated vaguely that some one was waiting to speak with him in the office. He had hastened in, half hoping to findher—and had found only them.
He had saved the bridge; he had found strength to do the square thing by Mr. Leslie and even Ashton. And now they were all gone, even Jimmy, and he was alone—alone!Shehad come with the party. He was certain that some one had told him that. Yet she had not spoken to him. She had not even let him see her!
He went heavily across the room to the desk, and dropping into a chair, began methodically to gather up and fold the torn and rumpled blueprints upon the floor. But even an almost automatic habit has its limitations. A drawing slipped, half-folded, from his listless fingers. He groaned and leaned forward upon the desk, with his face buried in his arms.
Genevieve came out from her hiding place very quietly, and stood gazing at Blake. It was the first time that she had ever seen him give way to grief or suffering. Always he had stood before her firm and unyielding, even when most certain of defeat. It had never occurred to her that he could be other than hard and defiant over his own struggles and sorrows.
All the mother-love of her woman's nature welled up from her heart in a wave of tenderness and compassion. She went to him and laid her hand softly on his dishevelled head.
"Tom!" she soothed. "Tom! You poor boy!"
The touch of her hand had stricken his body rigid with suspense. But at the sound of her voice he slowly raised his head and fixed his eyes upon her in an incredulous stare.
"It is I, Tom. Don't you know me?" she half whispered, shrinking back a little way before the wildness of his look.
"You!" he gasped. He rose heavily. "Excuse me. I thought you were with them—on the car."
"Did not papa tell you?"
"He said something. I thought I had mistaken him. But youarehere."
"Yes. I—I waited to speak with you—to tell you—"
"You told me that night all that's necessary," he said, averting his head to hide the look of pain that he could not repress.
"I was beside myself!" she replied. "You should have known that, Tom.How else could I have told you—told you—"
"The truth!" he broke in. "Don't think I blame you, Miss Jenny. Don't blame yourself."
"No, no, you do not understand!" she insisted. "Wait—what did you and papa do?"
"Made it up. So that's one thing less to worry you. He did it handsomely. Cracked me up for saving his bridge."
"Your bridge, too!"
"What! You know that?"
"Yes, and that you're to be partner with Mr. Griffith—finish your bridge, and build that great dam you invented, and—and if you wish, be partner in some of papa's business."
"That's too much. I told him I'd be satisfied with the credit for my bridge truss."
"Only that? Surely you'll not give up the bridge?"
"Well, 't isn't fair to kick a man when he's down. Ashton will have a tough enough time of it, I guess, from what your father said. He's to be allowed to resign, on condition that he acknowledges that he borrowed my bridge truss."
"Borrowed?"
"Yes. It seems that his father is one of your father's particular friends. So that's all settled."
She looked at him with radiant eyes. "Tom! You're even bigger—more generous—than I had thought!"
"Don't!" he muttered, drawing back. "It makes it so much harder. You don't realize!"
"Don't I?" she whispered, the color mounting swiftly in her down-bent face. "That night—that fearful night, I—Tell me—has James explained how we searched for you?—everywhere, all those days! We telegraphed all over the country. James searched the city, and papa had all his private agents—Where did you go?"
"South."
"South? Oh, and all this time—But that's past now—all the dreadful waiting and anxiety! Could you but know our delight when Mr. Griffith telegraphed that you were here!"
"What! Then you came because—"
"Yes, yes, to find you. Don't you see? We should have been here sooner, only the telegram was not delivered until after midnight, and I had to persuade Aunt Amice. She refused, until after I said I'd come anyway. But of course she doesn't know, even now. Oh, Tom! Tom!—to think you're over that dreadful attack and—"
"Attack?" he inquired.
"The one that started that night—through my fault—mine!"
"Your fault?" he repeated. "How on earth do you make that out?"
"I should have seen—understood! James had tried to explain; but I was overwrought. Not until you were going—But that is all past, dear! I've come to tell you that now you must let me help you. It is not right for you to fight alone—to refuse my aid, when I—when I—love you!"
"Jenny! You can't mean it? After that night—after what I did that night!"
"Yes," she whispered. "If you—if you'll forgive me."
"But—the drinking?"
"You can win! You proved it that night, when you crushed the glass. I no longer fear, Tom. All my doubt has gone. Even without my help I know that you—But I want to do my share, dear. If you're—you're willing, we'll be married, and—"
"Jenny!" He stood for a moment, overcome. Then the words burst from his deep chest: "Girl! Girl!—God! to think that I have that to tell you! Yes, it's true—I proved it that night—I won out that night! Do you hear, Jenny? I broke the curse! I proved it when I left you—went out into the night—after drinking all that whiskey—went down into the stockyards, past the worst saloons, all the joints. I went in and stood about, in all the odor—whiskey, beer—one after the other, I went in, and came out again, without having touched a drop. All the time I kept remembering that I had lost you; but—I knew I had found myself."
"Tom!"
"When I had made sure, I went to the freight yards, got into a fruit-car, and went to sleep. When I woke up, I was on the way to New Orleans. Been hoboing ever since."
"Oh!"
"Best thing for me. Put kinks into my body, but took 'em all out of my brain. About the drinking—it wasn't that night alone. I've kept testing myself every chance—even took a taste to make sure. Now I know. It's the simple truth, Jenny. I've won."
"Myman!" she cried, and she came to him as he opened his arms.
End of Project Gutenberg's Out of the Primitive, by Robert Ames Bennet