Walter Goodwin was in danger of being spoiled by the marines who petted and pampered him, and were never tired of hearing him spin the yarn of his adventures which began with the episode of the parrot and the broomstick. Their surgeon attended to the injured arm, and found that it was little the worse for the rough usage of the voyage. His verdict was so encouraging that Walter could hope to play base-ball before the Isthmian League finished its winter season.
This aroused violent argument on board theDauntless. A war of words raged over Walter's services as a pitcher. Jack Devlin set up a claim in behalf of Culebra, because he had engineered the rescue.
"All obligations to Naughton and those other Cristobal robbers are wiped out," cried he. "If I hadn't set out to find you and stuck to it like a terrier at a rat-hole, where would you be now?"
"Camp Elliot has a pretty fast nine," chimed in the captain of marines, "and Goodwin fairlybelongs to us. Didn't we have a lot to do with getting him back?"
"I really belong to Cristobal—" Walter tried to explain, but Devlin cut the discussion short by declaring:
"We'll put it up to Colonel Gunther for a decision."
After one of these good-natured altercations, Walter called the steam-shovel man aside and anxiously told him:
"It is all very fine to be called a hero and to be in such demand as a pitcher, but it doesn't make me very happy. I came to the Isthmus to look for a job on the gold roll and I seem to be getting farther away from it all the time. I am broke and my folks at home don't know where I am, and I don't seem to be giving them a lift very fast."
Devlin was instantly attentive and serious. It seemed to strike him for the first time that being rescued was not a part of Walter's real programme.
"Of course, I thought you ought to be pretty well satisfied with yourself," said he. "You have kicked up a most amazing rumpus fora lad of your tender years. Now, about a job——"
"Don't think me ungrateful," broke in Walter. "I don't deserve all this wonderful friendship and kindness. I am just worried about things, that's all, and I want your advice."
"You are perfectly right, my boy. You are keeping your eye on the ball. In the first place, the colonel himself is interested in you. He ought to be. You made trouble enough for him. And Major Glendinning will forgive you for trying to stop that landslide in the cut. You have recovered a good many dollars' worth of commissary supplies for him, and that thief of a checker has been gotten rid of. You can take it from me that he hasn't been seen since. Your stock ought to be way above par by now."
"Do you really think there will be something for me to do?" asked Walter.
"If there isn't, I'll recommend you to the colonel for the job of suppressing Spanish-American revolutions with neatness and despatch. The Panama republic and San Salvador between them ought to reward you handsomely for putting the lid on General Quesada."
"Maybe my luck has turned," was Walter's hopeful comment.
"If it hasn't, my son, you can set me down as a mighty poor guesser."
For the present Walter Goodwin may safely be left on board the sea-going tugDauntlessin charge of the faithful Jack Devlin and the admiring marines. Some attention should be paid to the parents and the sister whom he had left behind in Wolverton. Their affairs may seem very prosaic after the crowded experiences of the only son by land and sea, but nevertheless they deserve to be accounted for.
As the waiting days wore on, the house seemed to echo with loneliness. Walter had filled it with lusty clatter and activity, and the very disorder he had always left in his wake was an intimate part of the family life. There was a jubilee when his first letter arrived from the Isthmus, telling them of a safe voyage and of finding employment on the very day he landed. Because the thoughtful youth made no mentionof the dynamite ship, the household became more cheerful and less anxious. Walter was the most wonderful boy in the world.
Several days after this they received two letters in the same mail, which caused alarm and bewilderment. One of them had been dictated to Naughton in the Ancon hospital, the other written and signed by the impulsive Jack Devlin. They told the news of Walter's accident and this was very disturbing in itself, but, alas, the well-meaning attempt of the steam-shovel man to send solid aid and comfort by means of a money-order inspired the most alarming conjectures.
Mr. Horatio Goodwin was a man of a practical turn of mind, and he sounded the first note of misgiving when he told his wife and daughter:
"I cannot understand it at all. Walter has been hurt, but he sends us no details whatever. In this letter, which he dictated from the hospital, he tells us a great deal of interesting news about the Panama Canal, but it sounds as if it had been written by a man thoroughly familiar with the work."
"Walter is very bright—" began Eleanor.
"He never shone at English composition," sighed her mother.
"And I am quite sure he is not a trained engineer," added Mr. Goodwin. "The letter is not like Walter at all, and as for this money-order for forty dollars enclosed in the brief note from Jack Devlin——"
Mrs. Goodwin no more than half heard this speech. She was wondering whether Walter was really having good care. How dreadfully forlorn it must be in a hospital two thousand miles from home! Supposing one of those horrid mosquitoes that carry yellow-fever should fly in and bite him?
"Bless his heart!" cried she. "And we have no idea of what has happened to him. And to think of his sending money to us when I am quite sure he must need it for himself! It is just like him."
"He was probably hurt while trying to save somebody's life," quoth dewy-eyed Eleanor. "This Mr. Devlin says that poor Walter was a bit mussed up. It sounds perfectly awful, doesn't it?"
Mr. Goodwin shook his head and appearedmore than ever perplexed as he reread the two letters and laid them side by side on the sitting-room table, with the mysterious money-order between them.
"You two hero-worshippers do not seem to realize what an extraordinary affair this is," said he. "In his own letter Walter makes no mention of sending money. And in the same mail comes this large remittance on account of Walter's salary, and it is enclosed by one Devlin, who seems to have no official position on the Isthmus."
"He is the steam-shovel man who filled Walter with the notion of going to the Isthmus," said Mrs. Goodwin. "Walter thought he was a splendid fellow."
"But Walter knew nothing about him. And it is out of the question that a boy like him should be given forty dollars in advance by a government department only a few days after his arrival on the Isthmus."
"Walter must have made a wonderfully fine impression," argued the doting mother. "He was worrying about us, and he asked Mr. Devlin to look after his affairs and mail some money to us."
This sounded plausible, provided one took an exceedingly rosy view of Walter's earning capacity, and as Mrs. Goodwin and Eleanor regarded it, nothing was too extraordinary to happen on the Isthmus of Panama. But after Eleanor had gone to bed Mr. Goodwin eyed the baffling money-order and lost himself in meditative silence. At length his wife reminded him:
"You have been staring at that table long enough, Horatio. And you are worrying more and more. Of course, all I can think of is that Walter is ill and needs his mother. I hope his next letter will explain everything."
"He is the only boy we have, and I wish he was at home," said Mr. Goodwin in a low voice. His shoulders sagged more than usual and his face was white and tired. The absent son was tugging at his heart-strings. Unconsciously he let his glance dwell on the shabby old easy-chair in which Walter had been wont to fling himself after supper and study his high-school text-books.
"Why, Horatio, you look as if you thought something serious might have happened to him," exclaimed his wife. "I confess that Iam very low in my mind, but mothers are silly creatures. Are you very anxious?"
"You and I have never hidden anything from each other, my dear," he slowly answered. "Neither of these letters is from Walter himself. They make me feel as if we had not really heard from him. If some one had a motive for wishing us to believe that we need have no anxiety about Walter, this money might have been sent for a purpose, to keep us quiet."
"A bad motive? These letters were meant to deceive us?" quavered Mrs. Goodwin, and then she rallied to say with the most emphatic decision, "I don't care if it costs a dollar a word, Horatio, I want you to send a cable message to the hospital as soon as the office opens to-morrow morning. I would gladly sell every stick of furniture in the house to be sure of getting a reply from Walter within the next twenty-four hours, and so would you."
"That is precisely what I had decided to do," he exclaimed with an approving smile. "I indorse your ultimatum, my dear. We shall hear from Walter to-morrow, and then we'll belaughing at each other for borrowing so much trouble."
It therefore happened that before noon of the following day there was delivered to the surgeon of the accident ward a message, which read thus:
Goodwin hospital Ancon.Cable me is all well.Father.
Goodwin hospital Ancon.Cable me is all well.Father.
Goodwin hospital Ancon.Cable me is all well.Father.
Goodwin hospital Ancon.
Cable me is all well.
Father.
The surgeon sighed as if here was a hard nut to crack. This was only the day after Walter Goodwin had vanished from the hospital, to the consternation of his friends, Devlin and Alfaro. They had hurried into Panama in search of him and no word had come back to the surgeon.
"I have no idea where Goodwin is," he said to a friend of the hospital staff. "He failed to turn up here last night, and I guess his friends couldn't find him. They were afraid he was in trouble."
"What will you do with the cablegram?"
"I think I had better hold it for two or three days before I try to answer it myself. Devlinor that impetuous young diplomat from Colombia may drift in and tell me some news. And Goodwin himself may reappear. I hate to cable the agitated parent that his son's whereabouts are unknown. It would be like looking for a needle in a hay-stack for me to try to find him in Panama."
The surgeon tucked the message in his pocket and went to join his white-clad fellows in the operating-room. He was a very busy young man, and there was no time in his crowded day to investigate the disappearance of Walter Goodwin. And inasmuch as theDauntlessand the marines had been sent to sea with very little publicity, several days passed before the story of the pursuit of theJuan Lopezreached the hospital.
Meanwhile that anxious parent, Mr. Horatio Goodwin, had found it difficult to give proper attention to his book-keeping duties in the office of the coal-dealer in Wolverton. He started nervously when any one entered the place and his eye was alert for the cap and buttons of a telegraph-messenger boy. At the end of the first day of waiting, he trudged homeward in astate of mind distraught and downcast. His wife was grievously disappointed that no word had come from Walter, but Eleanor maintained her blithe spirits. She had suddenly decided to become a sculptor and labored until bedtime over a sticky lump of modelling clay.
"This is a bust of Walter," she announced. "It looks as if his face had been stepped on, but the firmly moulded chin is quite well done, don't you think? It is comforting to look at that sculptured chin. It shows that Walter can overcome all obstacles. It helps to keep me from worrying about him."
Even this masterpiece failed to console the parents, who waited in vain through another long day. Every little while Mr. Goodwin darted from the coal-dealer's place to the telegraph office. At supper he told his wife:
"There has been no interruption in the cable service, and our message must have reached Ancon within two or three hours after I sent it."
"Walter may have left the hospital by this time," said she, "but they ought to know his address."
"Yes. The department in which he is employed should be able to locate him at once. The whereabouts of every American must be on record."
Walter's silence tortured them. Like other fathers and mothers since the beginning, they imagined all sorts of mischances which might have befallen him, just as when he had lingered after dark at the skating-pond his mother was sure he had broken through the ice. Such crosses as these the right kind of parents must bear. It is part of the price they pay. On the Isthmus of Panama Walter Goodwin might consider himself a man, but in his own home, in the hearts of his own people, he was still a boy to be watched over, to be feared for, to inspire a thousand tender anxieties of which he would never be aware.
"It will be very hard to wait for a letter from him," murmured Mrs. Goodwin. "I have tried to be brave, but——"
"You have been brave and fine," and her husband kissed her. "Perhaps I should not have let him go. I find it difficult to apply myself to my day's work. I can write to the canalauthorities asking them to make a search, but we could not expect a reply before three weeks."
At breakfast next morning Eleanor, whose faith in the ability of her masterful brother to conquer in any circumstances was still unshaken, declared with the air of one who had solved a problem:
"If I were the parent of an only son who was lost, strayed, or stolen, do you know what I'd do? I should take that money-order that has made all the trouble and use it to pay my way to the Isthmus of Panama as soon as I could."
"It would take a good deal more than forty dollars," replied Mrs. Goodwin, "and your father could not leave his business."
"Very well, but father can find another position, and he can never find another son like Walter." Eleanor's eyes sparkled with determination. "We may be poor just now, but you have said a hundred times that you are rich in your two children. It seems to me that you have lost half your fortune. At least, you don't know where he is."
Mr. Horatio Goodwin made no argument. His gaze was rather absent as he sat looking athis impulsive daughter. She had echoed what was in his own mind, but he could not make it seem practicable. Mrs. Goodwin revealed what was closest to her own heart by exclaiming unsteadily:
"I was awake most of the night trying to plan this very thing, Horatio. Oh, I want you to go to Panama and bring Walter straight home with you. Why, Eleanor and I would take in washing if necessary. Is it impossible?"
"Nothing is impossible if you try hard enough," gravely affirmed Eleanor. "There is Joan of Arc, for instance. She is my favorite character in history. Just think what she went through——"
"The comparison is a little far-fetched," said Mr. Goodwin, as he looked at the clock and went into the hall to put on his overcoat. He was usually at his desk on the stroke of the clock, but now he lingered. All his days he had walked in the beaten path of habit, a methodical man unaccustomed to veering off at sudden tangents. Now he had been violently lifted from the rut and his mind was in rebellion. He had been afraid of poverty, but this anxietywas overshadowed. Mrs. Goodwin followed him into the hall. Her troubled face was so eloquent that he said:
"It is not really impossible, my dear. I could raise the money for the trip, either on my note, or by placing a small mortgage on the house."
"You need not worry about leaving us," she replied. "There is a little left in the savings-bank, and we can get along nicely."
"Oh, you blessed daddy," cried Eleanor, her arms around his neck. "When can you start? I will help mother find your summer clothes in the attic, and pack the little black trunk. You are going to the tropics, you know."
"There is no hurry, my young fly-away. Matters are not in shape to go at a moment's notice."
He was not as deliberate as his words indicated. On the way to the coal office he bought a New York newspaper and turned to the shipping advertisements. A steamer was scheduled to sail direct to Colon that very afternoon at five o'clock, and there would be no more departures for several days. Mr. Goodwinwore a hopeless air. It seemed utterly out of the question for him to take this steamer, although a train connection from Wolverton would enable him to reach the wharf by four o'clock. Unreconciled to the delay, he entered the coal office and listlessly took the ledgers and journals from the safe.
His employer, an elderly Irishman with a rough tongue and a reputation more or less ungodly, halted while passing the desk and inquired:
"What's been on your mind for the last couple o' days, Mr. Goodwin? You've been hoppin' in and out of here like a distracted flea. Anything wrong with th' strappin' lad that went sailin' off to make his forthune? Has he been forgettin' to write to ye? 'Tis the way of 'em. I raised five meself."
This solicitude was unexpected, and Mr. Goodwin stammered in surprised tones:
"Why, thank you. Yes, I am greatly concerned about Walter."
"Tell me about it," demanded the other. "Has he got himself into a scrape, or can't ye get anny word from him at all?"
The father explained matters, and the shrewd, leathery countenance of his employer expressed lively interest as he commented:
"Thim Spaniards is a queer lot. I mistrust 'em on gineral principles. One of me own boys fought agin 'em in the war, tho' he was fightin' typhoid-fever germs at Tampa durin' the whole of his enlistment. Annyhow, ye ought to go down there right away an' look after your boy. 'Tis the proper thing to do. Ye have no lads to spare."
"I hope to be able to arrange to go, but—but I expected to consult with you—" began Mr. Goodwin.
"You need not worry about your job, if that's what you're drivin' at," exclaimed the old man. "'Tis not much of a job, but it will be here when you come back. As ye know, keepin' my books is no great undertakin' an' I pay what it's worth. It would go agin me principles to pay more. Have you enough ready money to finance th' journey? I hope ye will have two fares to pay comin' back."
"Well, I haven't the funds just at present, but I may be able, in a few days, to secure——"
"Quit beatin' about the bush, Mr. Goodwin, and talk to me like a man. Are you afraid I'll bite ye? There ain't a citizen of Wolverton that stands better than you. Why will ye go messin' around and wastin' time tryin' to raise money? Will three hundred be enough? Ye'll find a way to pay me when you get on Easy Street again, and I will not burst into tears if you don't."
Mr. Goodwin fumbled for his handkerchief. He had all the symptoms of a cold in the head. His employer regarded him with an enjoyable grin and resumed:
"You don't know what to make of me separatin' meself from a dollar unless it's took from me by violence. My dear man, I'm a philanthropist in disguise, tho' I didn't know it meself until now. When does a ship sail to the place ye want to go to?"
"This afternoon. I can catch it if I go to New York at eleven o'clock," answered the dazed book-keeper.
He was grasped by the back of the neck, his hat jammed on his head, his overcoat flung at him, and as the strong arm of the coalmerchant propelled him to the front door a husky voice roared in his ear:
"Trot home an' say good-by to the wife an' stop at the bank as ye dash for the train. The cash will be there. Now shoo, an' God bless ye! I have five of me own, and I would go to a hotter place than the Isthmus of Panama for anny one of them."
Mr. Horatio Goodwin ran home so fast that he lost his breath and could only paw the air and make funny noises while his dismayed wife hovered over him and was undecided whether to bathe his head in cold water or summon the family doctor. He had begun to make a feeble remark or two when that serene damsel Eleanor laboriously descended the stairs, the little black trunk bumping behind her. She showed both insight and presence of mind by exclaiming:
"He is not having a fit, mother, dear. He is in a great hurry to go to Panama, and he isn't used to running up the hill. I had an impunct that he would come home this morning, and I've been getting things ready for him."
"Is the child dreaming?" cried Mrs.Goodwin. "Horatio, whatisthe matter with you?"
"Eleven o'clock train—steamer this afternoon—everything arranged—straight from heaven—last man in the world to expect it from—can't understand it—" panted Mr. Goodwin, who had dropped into a chair and sat with his legs sticking out straight in front of him.
His audience waited to hear no more, but began to whisk things into the little black trunk.
"It is just like being in a drama," observed Eleanor, her cheeks as red as two roses. "I may try to write a play, for I begin to have doubts about my genius as a sculptor. Where are father's clean socks, mother? In the mending basket?"
"Do find his last summer's straw hat," commanded Mrs. Goodwin. "I am afraid Walter used it as a target and shot the crown out. Horatio, do you suppose a batch of my doughnuts would keep if I put them in a tin cake-box? Walter simply dotes on them."
"Put them in my straw hat? Nonsense!" returned Mr. Goodwin, to whom this dialoguehad sounded rather confused. "Please telephone for a cab, Eleanor. I wish to have plenty of time at the station, and we can sit down there and talk things over. I was never caught in a whirlwind before and my wits seem to be considerably scattered."
Granted peace of mind, the sea voyage to the Isthmus would have been a rare vacation for Mr. Horatio Goodwin. As it was, he felt ready to risk his neck in a flying-machine to reach the journey's end as soon as possible. He found the passengers most cordial and sympathetic and every one on board took an interest in his quest.
As soon as the steamer dropped anchor in Colon harbor the captain began to make inquiries. One of the doctors from the American quarantine station, who came on board to inspect the ship's company, happened to be a friend of Naughton, the dynamite man. He had met that bland gentleman a few days before and obtained from him an unfinished story which was not calculated to reassure Mr. Goodwin.
"Indeed I have heard of young Goodwin,"said the doctor. "You see, I am a base-ball crank, and I knew that he was expected to pitch for Cristobal. His first job was unloading dynamite for Naughton——"
"Unloading dynamite!" murmured the father of Walter. "Was he—was he blown up?"
"Not a bit of it. He made good. The next I heard of him he was dug out of a landslide in Culebra Cut."
"And did he survive that?" Mr. Goodwin's knees were trembling, and he sat down in a deck-chair.
"Oh, yes. It didn't damage him much, barring a badly wrenched arm which spoiled his pitching. He was in Ancon hospital——"
"Then the letters were all right. I am so relieved," and Mr. Goodwin's face beamed. "Now I can find him and——"
The quarantine doctor looked perplexed and hesitated before he replied:
"I hope so. The last time I saw Naughton he told me a most remarkable yarn. Young Goodwin had been carried to sea in a filibustering steamer by a notorious Panamanian named Quesada, who had it in for him. Agovernment tug and a company of marines were sent in chase."
"And what then?" Mr. Goodwin had completely wilted.
"I haven't heard the end of it. The tug ought to be back by this time unless she had to run all the way to San Salvador. I'm quite sure the boy is all right. He is hard to down. I shall be glad to put you in touch with the right people as soon as you get ashore."
"This all sounds like the worst kind of a nightmare," wearily muttered Mr. Goodwin. "If I can find him I shall take him home by the first steamer."
Almost a week after theJuan Lopezhad fled so hastily from the Bay of Panama, Walter Goodwin came back in the government tug with a body-guard of devoted marines. Although he had managed to make a good deal of noise in the world for a youth of his years, he had no false ideas of his own importance. As he looked at it, he had made a muddle of things and his friends had pulled him out. He must show them that he could stand on his own feet and they must be given no more trouble in his behalf. Before landing at Balboa, he said to Jack Devlin:
"Please forget about me. I can jump right in and look for a job."
"Not until I have taken you to the colonel. Those were his orders. We'll board the first train to Culebra on the chance of finding him in his office."
"Did he really want to see me?"
"Sure. You are the prize disturbance of the Isthmus."
Colonel Gunther was in consultation with two of his division engineers when the steam-shovel man led Walter in by the arm. Shoving aside a mass of blue-prints and typewritten data, the colonel stepped forward and heartily exclaimed:
"Why, here is the young man who was so handy with the broomstick! I am delighted to know that your latest voyage has turned out so well. I understand that you bagged General Quesada as an incident of the adventure."
Walter blushed and replied:
"I had a lucky chance to get square with him, sir."
"The lad used his head, colonel," put in Devlin, with a broad grin. "It's head-work that counts on the Isthmus, if you please. I have heard you say it yourself."
"I can't thank you enough. I wasn't worth all that trouble," said Walter.
"Oh, perhaps you were," smiled the colonel. "That remains to be seen. Devlin told methat you were looking for work when you got into this extraordinary scrape. You have done the Canal Commission a considerable service. Would you like to take a position on the wharf at Balboa?"
Walter was about to answer with great fervor when a tall, spare gentleman in khaki entered the office from another room and paused to survey the group. Then he raised his voice abruptly and protested:
"Pardon me, colonel, but Goodwin belongs to me. I saw him first. With your permission I will use him in the Cristobal commissary."
"Oh, how are you, Major Glendinning," and the colonel chuckled. "Has base-ball anything to do with your lively interest in this young man?"
"Officially? No. Between us, as man to man? Yes," frankly returned the major. "The force at Cristobal will be most unhappy if Goodwin is sent to Balboa. They will consider themselves wronged. Their morale will be impaired."
"Is it as bad as that?" The colonel tried to look serious. "If base-ball is really involved,I had better surrender. I would rather not add to my troubles."
The major bowed his thanks, and his stern features relaxed in a mischievous smile. Turning to Walter, he said in his curt way:
"Glad to see you again. How is the arm? I called at the hospital to see you, but you had flown off on that ridiculous voyage. Can you steer clear of landslides and revolutions for a while?"
"I'll try, sir. I should like to lead a very quiet life. I can pitch again before long."
The major glanced at the colonel and said impressively to Walter: "I shall give you a job in my department, not on account of your base-ball, mind you, but because you did a clever, plucky piece of work on Balboa wharf. Is that clearly understood?"
"Be careful, or you will protest too much," laughed Colonel Gunther, as he returned to his desk. "I think there is no question that Goodwin has earned the right to a job in the Zone."
Jack Devlin shook hands with Walter and whispered:
"I had it in mind to put in a wordmyself. I want to break you in at firing a steam-shovel when you are strong and husky again. But it would have started another row over the base-ball end of it. Major Glendinning is a stubborn man to lock horns with. So long, my boy. Your luck has turned. I'll look you up on my first day off."
"You are the best friend a fellow ever had," said Walter.
Two days later he was put on the gold roll as a commissary clerk and assigned to the great warehouse in Cristobal, which was filled with groceries, dry-goods, hardware, shoes, crockery, candy, and what-not. It was one depot of the unique system of store-keeping conducted on a vast scale by a paternal government. After his breathless adventures, Walter was glad to work with all his might at the humdrum task of tallying the merchandise as it came in from the railroad cars.
He was thus engaged when his father found him. Mr. Horatio Goodwin halted amid the boxes and barrels, and stood staring at his tall son as if to make sure that his vision had not tricked him. Walter dropped his tally-sheet, blinked in his turn and shouted:
"Goodness gracious, father! Is it you or somebody else?"
With this he made a violent assault on his parent, swung him clear of the floor in a bear-like hug, and set him down in a rumpled condition.
"Are you really all right, Walter?" gasped Mr. Goodwin.
"Of course I'm all right. Can't you see it for yourself? You can't lose me," Walter kept repeating as if he were firing minute-guns. "And what brought you way down here from Wolverton?"
Mr. Goodwin tried to explain, but both were too excited to weave a coherent narrative, and after waving his hands helplessly the father cried:
"We can tell all this later. I have come to take you home with me. A steamer sails for New York to-morrow."
"To take me home with you?" Walter's face was dismal beyond words. This was a worse catastrophe than the landslide. "Why, father, you don't understand. Everything is coming my way. I am on the gold roll at seventy-five per month, and I intend to send'most half of it home. I had a few little upsets, but that's all past. Do you honestly mean it?"
"It is why I made the long journey," firmly answered Mr. Goodwin. "Your mother and I cannot stand it, Walter. After she hears of the dynamite and the landslide and the pirates she will never forgive me if I leave you here."
"But you will give me a chance to talk it over with you?" implored Walter. "A fellow can't afford to have his career smashed all to flinders. Please look around first and see what a fine country this is to live in. It is as quiet and safe as Wolverton, and a good deal healthier."
"Your adventures sound like it," was Mr. Goodwin's dry comment. "Can you quit work at once and come over to the hotel with me?"
"Not until noon and then I will knock off for dinner, father. It wouldn't be square to leave my job, even to talk things over with you. Excuse me, but I must keep this car-load of stuff moving."
Mr. Horatio Goodwin was repulsed, but byno means vanquished. For all his mild demeanor, he had an obstinate streak, and his purpose of taking Walter home was unshaken. As a dutiful son, Walter was sorely distressed. He had never defied his father, nor did he wish to do so now. But he could not bear to think of leaving the Isthmus with success in his grasp. Resorting to strategy, he said to his father when next they met:
"Now that you are here, why don't you spend a week in seeing the canal? It is the greatest show on earth. You ought not to miss it. You needn't worry about me. I am as safe as if I were clerking in a corner grocery in Wolverton."
The suggestion delighted Mr. Goodwin, although he had a struggle with his conscience on the score of expense. He ought to hasten back to his desk in the coal-dealer's office. But never again would he have such a vacation as this, and it would be easier to persuade Walter by pressing the argument gradually. Next morning Mr. Goodwin, eager and alert, went out to view the Gatun locks and dam.
Walter toiled in the commissary andmeditated great thoughts. There must be some way to solve the problem. He bided his time until Major Glendinning, passing through the warehouse on a tour of inspection, halted to ask:
"How are you going to like the job?"
"Tremendously, sir, thank you. But I may have to resign this week. My father has come after me."
"What? Does he think you are incapable of taking care of yourself?" thundered the major. "What's the matter with him?"
"They want me with them at home. I am too far away from the family."
"Pshaw! Does your father need you in his own business?"
"No, sir. His business doesn't amount to much at present. He was with the Wolverton Mills for twenty years as accountant and book-keeper——"
"The mills closed down," interrupted the major. "I used to purchase from them."
"Yes, sir. My father is a first-class man in every way, but times are dull at home and—and—" Walter mopped his face and floundered on, "you see, I happened to think that insteadof my going home to the family, I might somehow manage to bring the family down here. It sounds foolish, but——"
Major Glendinning was both touched and amused. He had heard of Walter's ambition to "give his father a lift."
"You mean to insinuate that there might possibly be an opening for a first-class accountant and book-keeper in the canal organization?" he queried. "Can you recommend him?"
"Very highly," was Walter's grave reply. "I have known him for seventeen years, and he can furnish the very best of references."
"Bless me, but you are a sort of continuous performance," exclaimed Major Glendinning. "A really first-class accountant and book-keeper! Um-m! If you are a chip of the old block, your father deserves careful consideration. Such men are not any too easy to find for the office work of the various departments, even though the pay-rolls are full."
"He is at the Washington Hotel in Colon," hopefully suggested Walter. "Of course, I am very anxious to stay on the job, and I don't want to disobey him——"
"Perhaps you can persuade him to file a formal application," said Major Glendinning.
Six weeks later a holiday crowd assembled in the base-ball park at Cristobal to see an important game of the Isthmian League series. These hundreds of cheerful, hearty Americans stood for something more than a keen interest in the most popular sport of their nation. They showed that the pestilential tropics had been conquered, that the northern races could live and work and play in health and comfort where once the fever-laden Chagres River had slain its thousands.
When the bow-legged captain of the Cristobal nine, "Bucky" Harrison, led his men across the diamond for preliminary practice, the grandstand greeted the pitcher with particular applause. He was tall and rugged and of a pleasant countenance, and one might have heard the on-lookers remarking:
"That is young Goodwin. Cristobal expects to win the championship with him."
"He is in the commissary and doing very well, I understand."
"His father has a position in the samedepartment, and the family lives at Cristobal. The mother and sister are sitting over yonder. Do you see the pretty young girl with the fair hair and the pink cheeks? She is in the Zone high-school."
As Walter Goodwin swung his good right arm in "warming-up" practice with the catcher, he glanced at the grandstand with an air of pride and satisfaction wholly unselfish. His venturesome voyage to the Isthmus had been tremendously worth while. One more achievement, and his cup would be full to overflowing. He must prove that he could pitch winning base-ball. But a fellow who had earned a place for himself on the gold roll, and then found a fine position for his father, and moved the whole family from Wolverton, ought to face the heaviest hitters of the Culebra nine with a good deal of confidence in himself.
Shortly before the game began, Walter spied a black-haired young man, who came running across the field, wildly waving his Panama hat. With a joyous shout, Walter scampered to meet Señor Fernandez Garcia Alfaro, who explained in his dramatic fashion:
"I have just now arrived from Colombia in the nick of time to behold you play the grand sport of base-ball, my dear friend. My steamer lands me at Balboa this morning. I jump for the train. I rush. I am in the break-neck hurry, and here I am."
"This is a glad reunion. And General Quesada and his parrot will bother you no more for some time," cried Walter.
"So I have heard. He is locked up in Uncle Sam's hotel with the iron bars, which is a very good place for him. I am going back to Washington to be a diplomat some more. And how is that dear family of yours? What do you hear from them?"
"They are all here," exclaimed Walter, as he dragged the surprised Colombian toward the grandstand. You may be sure that Mrs. Goodwin and her daughter found this young man entertaining company, for he promptly delivered himself of a eulogy of Walter as a noble, splendid young man who had saved his life. In his own country girls of fourteen were young ladies and to be treated as such, wherefore he instantly lost his heart to Eleanor andwas so flatteringly attentive that she felt very grown-up indeed.
Their animated conversation ceased when the Cristobal players took their positions in the field, and the first of the Culebra batsmen marched to the plate. Mr. Horatio Goodwin actually shut his eyes when Walter was ready to deliver the ball. There was one other spectator quite as fidgety as he. It was that devoted patron of Isthmian base-ball, Major Glendinning.
The opponents from Culebra were brawny men, and they were not at all interested in the emotions of the Goodwin family. They proposed to hammer the young Cristobal pitcher out of the box, and during the first and second innings it looked as if they might be successful. That temperamental dynamite expert, Naughton, slumped in a disconsolate heap when he beheld Walter's pitching pounded for one hard, clean hit after another. The game was still young, however, and the Cristobal fielding was sharp and steady.
Walter gritted his teeth and took his punishment manfully. Jack Devlin was catchingfor Culebra, and as Walter came to the bat, the steam-shovel man muttered behind his mask:
"See here, my boy. I'll turn traitor for once. I want to see you make good. I am responsible for you. Don't try to win on your speed. Ease up. Save yourself. Use your head. You go at things too hard."
Here was friendship indeed. Devlin was as loyal to the Culebra nine as he was to the devouring monster of a steam-shovel, old Twenty-six, but he felt that as "Walter's godfather by brevet" he was in honor bound to stick to him through thick and thin. The advice was sound. Already Walter had felt warning twinges in his arm. He became more deliberate and wary, and Culebra's batting streak was checked. The Cristobal partisans cheered him lustily, and that elderly gentleman of large affairs, Major Glendinning, was guilty of pounding a perfect stranger on the back. Then "Bucky" Harrison and his comrades rallied and dismayed the Culebra pitcher by driving in three runs, which tied the score.
The game seesawed for some time, whileWalter Goodwin became more effective and cool-headed. The fateful seventh inning arrived, and the score still stood at 6-6. Then Cristobal gained a run on a timely hit. A little later, Culebra filled the bases with two men out. Walter hitched up his belt and stole a glance at the grandstand. Eleanor was leaning forward, lips parted, hands clasped, "wishing hard enough to win," as he had so often beheld her on the high-school field at Wolverton. He turned to face the Culebra batter, a bronzed six-footer of the steam-shovel brigade. Just then there came booming across the field the voice of Naughton:
"Oh, you Goodwin! Remember how you handled the stuff on the dynamite ship. This is easy."
This was the right word in due season. Walter realized that he had stood the test of a bigger game than this, that he had proved himself in the day's work. As methodically as if he were carrying cases of dynamite across the deck, he turned and sent the ball breaking across the corner of the plate. The Culebra giant swung at it as if he expected to drive ahome-run into the Caribbean Sea. "One strike," called the umpire. The next ball floated lazily and so deceived the batter that he made no attempt to hit it. A third ball was batted high in air to fall into the waiting paws of "Bucky" Harrison.
Walter had pitched himself out of the tightest corner of the game against the most formidable team of the Isthmian League. The game was won, for during the last two innings neither side was able to score.
Walter's friends gathered around him as he pressed through the crowd to join his family in the grandstand. Naughton marched at one elbow, Jack Devlin at the other. Mr. Horatio Goodwin was earnestly shaking hands with his wife, nor did he foresee that henceforth he was to be known on the Isthmus, not by his own very respectable name and station, but as "the father of the kid pitcher." Eleanor was confiding to Fernandez Garcia Alfaro:
"He is the most wonderful brother that ever was. I wish I could show you the bust that I made of modelling-clay. The firmly moulded chin was prophetic. I can't understand howthey managed to dig so much of the Panama Canal without him."
Alfaro was as delighted over all the good fortune which had come to the Goodwin family as if it had happened to himself.
"I shall go to Washington and be a diplomat with a heart full of the greatest gladness," he shouted to Walter. "Vivaeverybody!"
Jack Devlin approached rather sheepishly and eyed Mr. Goodwin uneasily as he confessed:
"About that money-order I sneaked to you with the best of intentions. It made you so much worry and false alarm about the boy that I ought to be kicked. Here is where I apologize."
"It was the most brilliant inspiration you ever had," cheerfully replied the father of Walter.
"Your generous impulse was one of the causes that brought us to the Isthmus to live," added Mrs. Goodwin. "You had something to do with reuniting the family. We feel under great obligations to you."
"Everything has ended so happily!" came from the radiant Eleanor. "Life isuninteresting unless there are a few complications to look back on as one grows older."
In the evening Jack Devlin called at the cottage under the palms at Cristobal, beside the white beach and the flashing sea. He wished to pay his formal respects to the Goodwin family, believing himself largely responsible for their migration.
"There have been times when that lad of yours wished he had never set eyes on me," he said to Mr. Goodwin, "but I reckon I'm forgiven. He had a good berth in the commissary, but I am hoping he will want to tackle a grown man's job after a while. If you want to finish his schooling I will say no more, but there is no all-round education in the world like holding down a job on the Panama Canal."
"Walter informs me that he wishes to become a mechanical engineer," replied Mr. Goodwin. "My parental authority has been rather shaky ever since my son recommended me to Major Glendinning. It will be some time before I dare to assert my rights as the head of the family."
"Father is joking," exclaimed Walter. "Myfamily responsibilities did give me some worry, but they are off my hands."
"Then with your father's permission, you will begin your real education with a fireman's shovel, feeding coal into old Twenty-six," said Devlin. "It is not an easy school, but I think you can stand up to it by next summer."
"It sounds like a great place for a husky young fellow," blithely quoted Walter, and Devlin indulged in a reminiscent grin.
"I think I told you something like that once upon a time," said he.
"You spoke words of wisdom," was Walter's emphatic verdict. "I am sure that father and mother will agree that your advice was gilt-edged. I am not looking for easy work. I want to help dig the Panama Canal. It will be something to feel proud of all my life. And before the Culebra Cut is finished and the big ships go sailing through, I intend to be a full-fledged steam-shovel man."
THE END