"Our stake won't last long unless we get busy," I warned.
"Oh, I'm willing to work, and I don't expect to go up on an escalator or an express elevator—but I do want to know that the stairs lead somewhere worthwhile. Do you get me, Ben?" he laughed. "I'll tell Pop we're not anxious to play hide-and-seek with the subs."
I did not reply, but wondered what effect "a stake" would have on an idle man like him in New Orleans.
ToStrong's mind satisfactory quarters meant rooms of good size, and well lighted. We finally found connecting space in a private house. He seemed anxious to see New Orleans, and started out while I looked up some old acquaintances, but I found him awaiting me at our lodgings in the early evening.
"Ben, I have done it. I've paid out the money, and I'm going to see it through," was his greeting.
"Paid for what?" I asked, unable to avoid smiling at his cheerful optimism.
"Fifty dollars to learn telegraphy. They say I can do it in sixty days, and when I have completed my course I will get a job. New Orleans looks to me like a regular place. I like it."
For a moment I thought he might have been indulging in some of the mixtures for which the Southern Metropolis is noted, but it was only the wine of youthful credulity that did the talking.
"That's good," I assented quickly. "When do you commence?"
"Oh, I have already started in. I took my first lesson this afternoon. How did you make out? Can you get a job here?" There could be no doubt of his keen desire to have me stay near him.
"Yes—two or three things turned up to-day."
"And any one of them better than going to sea, I'll bet?"
"Yes, as far as the money goes," I replied, reservedly.
"Bully, old boy!" he shouted, seizing my hand in a vise-like grip. From then on the days were full of interest for both of us. Hiram's intention to master telegraphy became almost an obsession with him. From the moment he started in he seemed to forget everything else, and he worked as though his welfare in this world and the world to come depended upon his learning telegraphy in the shortest possible time. He ate, drank, inhaled, and absorbed the Morse system during every waking moment, and in less than three weeks he was substituting for a sick operator on the Yazoo & Mississippi Railroad.
Strong's was undoubtedly an intensive nature; the height and especially the width of his forehead clearly indicated power of concentration, which, apparently, he had done nothing to build up. It was the same way when he met the girl, Anna Bell Morgan, and when an intensive man meets a comprehensive girl there is apt to be trouble, or a wedding, or something equally interesting. If he had spent money with the same tenacity of purpose that he set about learning telegraphy I do not wonder that Hiram Strong, Sr., became tired to the bone of his folly and would have no more of it.
After working a week as a substitute he blew into quarters one evening like a cyclone and gave me a thump on the back that made me grunt.
"I've got it!—I've got it!—I've got it!" he shouted, his face aglow and his eyes snapping.
This time I was sure he had broken over into old habits, especially when I well knew the lure of that celebrated New Orleans gin fizz to which all newcomers seemed to succumb. But again I was wrong. Strong had simply boiled over with exuberant spirits and he certainly had a jag on board. His ardor not in the least dampened by my hesitation,he grabbed my hand and shook it vigorously, then capered about in front of me as a boy in his teens might do.
"Congratulate me, Old Man, I've got it!" he roared. "The Yazoo Railroad has offered me a station. Quarrytown, Ben—Quarrytown, Louisiana, is my address after to-morrow!"
Of course, that was pleasant news to me and naturally I became as excited as he, so much so that I became fearful we would jeopardize our joint reputations for sobriety.
"There's only one thing, and you've got to fix that—eh? I don't know just how: I must have a surety bond for a thousand dollars and also three first-class references—can we do it, Ben? Can you do it?" he repeated.
I hesitated a moment, wondering how I was going to get three first-class references for a man who had spent a big part of his twenty-four years in riotous living, even to the point of being disowned. But there was no such thing as resisting him now.
"Oh, I don't have to wait for it; that can be done any time. But we can fix it some way, can't we, Ben?—I've got to," he added with emphasis.
"Yes, if we have a little time I think it can be arranged," said I, soberly, wondering somewhat over the details of the job. But he hardly waited for my assurance before he seized me by the hand and began dragging me about the room.
"Come on, let's get out—out in the air—let's go out and have a good time," he commanded as he got my hat and jammed it down over my head. "It's up the river, only about a hundred miles. You can come up Sunday. It's big enough to have a day and night man, and I get the day job!" he added, loud enough for the whole house to hear him as we passed downstairs to the street.
The following Sunday I went to see him. His station was delightfully located. There was enough level space between the river and its very high bluffs for two long sidetracks convenient for the meeting of freight trains, which made a night and day operator necessary.
Hiram was expecting me and waved his arms wildly as I stepped off the train, but as he was busy rushing mail, express, and trunks into the baggage car, there was no chance for a handshake for the time being.
The depot looked like the cabin in which De Soto died from malaria and disappointment in 1539, although somewhat modernized and adapted to the needs of railroading.
Quarrytown was a rambling village around D. R. Morgan's General Store, and he was Anna Bell's father. Near the ancient depot was a considerable stone quarry, high clay bluffs, and the Mississippi River. Pickaninnies, starved dogs, mules, razorback hogs and malaria seemed to thrive along with the willow and pepper trees. The question of moment was how long would Hiram Strong, Jr., late of Broadway, Sherry's, and Delmonico's, be satisfied here? In the place of porterhouse steaks there would be sow-belly and corn bread, and a very dry section to live in.
As soon as the train was out of the way Hiram came rushing over to me.
"Ben, old man, you look good to me!" he exclaimed. "I'm getting away with it; haven't made a bull yet. Excuse me a little bit until I take this mail over, then I'm through." Thus he greeted me, enthusiastic and confident, then rushed awaywith the small mail bag to Morgan's store and the post office.
While awaiting his return I examined a two-wheeled baggage truck he had left standing after being loaded from the train. This contained an old trunk fastened with a clothes line, a bunch of bananas, some castings for a cotton gin, three boxes of chill-and-fever remedy, and five cases of dynamite.
As Strong hurried across the street his eyes shone with anticipation from under the visor of a cheap cap that had replaced the jaunty derby.
"Say, how do you like my new station? All the white people here are mighty nice," said he, pushing the truck toward the depot.
I nodded approval and helped him to push the load up a steep incline into the freight house adjoining the ticket office.
"Do you get much of that stuff?" I asked, pointing to the dynamite.
"Yes—the quarry uses quite a bit, but it usually comes by freight and I don't have to handle it," he said, locking the door and leading the way to the ticket and telegraph office, located in a small bay-windowedroom facing the track. We walked through a dingy waiting-room, in the center of which stood a wooden box, half filled with sand, which stood permanent duty as a cuspidor.
"You see, there is no hotel here, and Mr. Morgan has kindly taken me to board with him. The night man stays there also. Sunday is such a busy day, especially for freights, that I can't leave for my dinner, so they send it over to me. They'll send enough for two to-day. You won't mind, will you?"
Before I could reply the dispatcher called him and he began taking a train order while I sat down upon the one remaining sixty-nine-cent chair.
Opposite the bay-window was the regulation standing-counter, a ticket-cabinet, and little window opening out to the waiting-room, aged and dingy, especially the floor.
"That chair will go down with you some time," I suggested, when he turned about after copying the order,—and setting a red signal for the train.
"It looks as though it had served its full time," he replied, laughing, as he arose in answer to a tap on the waiting-room door. A darky boy with amarket basket and a white pitcher stood grinning outside with our dinner.
"Ben, this dinner is not like some we've had, but it's better than the soup and mutton stew we got on the boat. Do you know, I would rather be dead and in torment than fire again on that boat, but I would have stayed, though, if you had," said he, opening the basket and setting out a liberal portion of fried chicken and hot biscuit on the small instrument table.
"We can tell only by comparison when we are well off," I replied.
"That's beginning to dawn on me, also," said he, dryly.
We had hardly begun eating when a big panting Mogul stopped with her nose opposite the window and the conductor came trotting up and signed for the orders. He gave one copy to the engineer and scuttled away.
"I was telling you about the white people here," he began, as we resumed eating. "Old Mr. Morgan, who runs the store and post office, is about the biggest man here, and his daughter, Anna Bell! Say,boy, she is as pretty as any woman I ever saw." Then, for some reason, he checked himself on the "Anna Bell" subject and became absorbed in the well-cooked dainties spread before us.
Itwas not what Hiram Strong said about Anna Bell Morgan, but the tone in which he said it, that raised the big interrogation point in my mind. Matters as they stood suggested the possibility that the youngster had plans in mind to "face the Governor" and that Quarrytown was a place quite good enough to settle down in if Anna Bell said the right word.
A chicken leg in one hand and a hot biscuit piled with jam in the other, he stood facing me, with an excited glitter in his eyes. Continuing, he said in a tense undertone:
"The night man is half gone on her, but he is a German—at least has a German name—and this place is intensely patriotic. As I told you, he boards there and when he is not sleeping he hangs——"
At this moment a north-bound freight rushed by, and with the noise of the locomotive and banging of the trucks over a poor railroad joint opposite the wide-open window, together with the slapping ofbrake beams, made further conversation impossible. He turned, watching it as though expecting something, and as the way car passed something did happen. I heard a metallic thud on the floor, at which Hiram dropped his food and began to hunt for the thing that caused the noise. Finally, by getting down on all fours, he brought out from between the old iron safe and the letter press a rail spike to which was fastened by a rubber band a piece of white paper which he carefully unfolded. It was a train order reporting train No. 192 passing at that time with two cars picked up at a siding below where there was no telegraph office. Strong sprang to his instrument and dispatched the message forthwith. I wondered if he realized the danger to himself from messages thrown in upon him that way. A railroad spike weighs about a pound, and while he was telegraphing I speculated on what would happen if one struck him, or if by any chance it struck one of the fifty-pound cases of dynamite that had come by express.
"The conductor drops his reports that way to save time," he said, calmly resuming his seat.
Hiram's days were full of things to do, thereforewe never had ten minutes' connected conversation. I would have been glad to learn the situation inside the fellow's active mind. I don't think he knew. He was doing honest, useful work, and received its immediate reward in full satisfaction—his first real satisfaction—that intoxicating lure that fans a spark of ambition into a flame.
Later in the day, at a hint from Hiram, the conductor of a refrigerator train invited me to ride to New Orleans with him.
"He makes better time than the passenger," said Hiram, who in less than a week knew all the road employees by their first names. Somehow he took it for granted that I had satisfactory employment and never asked me what it was. As a matter of fact I was employed in connection with the American Defense League, a patriotic organization, which was destined to throw me in contact with Hiram Strong very often and sometimes unexpectedly. Ours was not the kind of friendship to end through mere separation.
We exchanged letters frequently. He asked me to send him a typewriter, which, though not requiredin the service, was "the only way to do things right," he wrote me. I noted that his letters avoided any reference to the night man or Anna Bell Morgan. I wondered if it was an oversight or intentional evasion.
The Yazoo Railroad had reported, as required by law, that they had shipped ten cases of dynamite, but only nine were delivered. As soon as I had time I was asked to look it up, as fifty pounds of dynamite in bad hands would make a great deal of excitement in or about the shipping of New Orleans.
I was astonished to find, upon examination of the papers, that the explosive had been shipped to the quarries at Quarrytown, together with an affidavit by the train conductor that he had delivered ten cases on the platform there. This put it squarely up to the agent, Hiram Strong, Jr.
On arriving at Quarrytown I found Hiram as busy as ever, but overjoyed to see me. He was considerably surprised when I inquired about the lost dynamite, but he was not worried and evidently had not been. He was looking splendid; hard work and regular hours had accomplished wonders, andhe seemed completely unmindful of discomforts. As to the explosive, he took me out on the platform to where it had been unloaded.
"It came here," said he, "in the evening, along with half a car of mixed merchandise about the time I was going off duty. I had to work overtime to put it all in the freight house. The next morning the quarry man came for it and signed for the nine cases which I had delivered to him. That's all I could find and I believe that is all that was unloaded, although the way bill called for ten," he admitted.
"The stuff was locked up, wasn't it?" I enquired.
"Oh, yes, I locked the warehouse myself, and carry the only keys," he replied, as we returned to his office.
The place looked to me darker and more dingy than before, but the day was gloomy. The rickety kitchen chair had finally collapsed and was substituted by a box covered with a burlap bag, with some padding on the end for a cushion.
"How about this door?" I asked, pointing to the one leading into the freight house.
"That has no lock, but I never leave here untilthe night man comes on. It couldn't get away through here."
"How about this night man; who is he?"
"He's been here for two years. The company must know he is all right. His name is Gus—Gus Schlegel. I think he is too stupid to be crooked; he knows enough to report trains at night."
At that moment a dark boy came to the ticket window and reported three cars of granite on the quarry siding, and Hiram sat down on the burlapped box in front of his instruments and notified the dispatcher that three cars were ready. He then took up a pad of blank bills of lading and began to fill them out rapidly, though in the attitude of listening.
"One of your chairs went on strike?" I observed, eyeing the artistic arrangement of the burlap.
"Yes; Gus's avoirdupois finally carried it down. He found an old molasses box that was so sticky he had to cover it with burlap. I believe I like it better than the chair; it requires less room," he added, looking up, while changing his carbon paper.
The thought occurred to me that it might be the missing case of dynamite, but I decided that wasquite impossible. If Gus had really driven nails into a case filled with dynamite, he would be at that moment in Kingdom Come and an architect busy with plans for a new station.
"How is his love affair progressing with Anna Bell Morgan?" I asked, without great show of interest.
"Oh, I know she hates his name, and I think—I think she hates him, too; but these Southern girls are so polite and considerate of one's feelings, I can't tell for sure; besides, she is pretty deep," said he, as one having given the matter much consideration.
Hiram scratched a match on the burlap covering and lit a cigarette.
"He both sleeps and eats there, doesn't he?" I was beginning to consider Gus Schlegel in connection with the disappearance of the case of explosive.
"Yes, he eats and rooms there, but lately he doesn't sleep much. Why, he came in here the other afternoon and sat where you are and cried like a baby. He said he didn't think she cared anythingfor him, and that he loved her so much he couldn't live without her—even hinted at suicide."
Here Hiram Strong, Jr., looked up and laughed—a cynical laugh—as he glanced at me. His eyes showed that he was in earnest, and evidenced a combination of amusement and anger. He brushed the ashes from his cigarette on the box and continued: "I told him the river water was nice and warm and muddy, and that the alligators would finish the job cheaper than an undertaker."
"And do you know," he continued with a smile creeping about his mouth, "it went completely over his head, didn't even penetrate the tallow. I don't believe a German has any sense of humor—they only laugh at something ribald or salacious—they make a terrible mess of simulating virtue. Then he asked me to advise him."
"Did you?"
"Yes—I told him he had been there nearly two years and that was long enough for her to learn to appreciate him—that the only way was for him to ask her and thus settle the question for good and all."
"Did he take your advice?" I asked.
"He wanted to know if he shouldn't speak to her father first, but I told him the preliminary skirmish should be with her. He decided on the spot to do that and if she refused him he was going to leave."
"I suppose he got his answer?"
"He went over immediately—what happened there I never learned, exactly, but I do know he came back in about an hour squealing like a razorback pig kicked in the ribs by a mule, and wired in his resignation. He was an awfully poor loser," Hiram added, as he sealed the big yellow envelope for the auditor. "Why, the poor dub was so sorry for himself, he snuffled and groaned, and his breath back-fired like a four-cylinder motor hitting only on two."
"Who are his associates here, and does he have any one come to see him?" I asked, detecting something like resentment in his tone.
"No one has been here to see him since I came. No; he is just a big boob, with this love-stuff working overtime."
"Has anything whatever—however insignificant—happened that would connect him with the disappearance of the dynamite?"
"No, not the least thing—the claim agent and I went over that several times. There is a certain low cunning in him, a disposition to be tricky in small things, but there's nothing to him—just grease. Of course, he has the wires here all night, and I may underestimate him. By the use of a code he might pull off something."
"Did the company accept his resignation?"
"Yes; they had to."
"And you don't attach any importance to his going now, further than this love affair?"
Before he could reply the train he flagged for orders pulled past the station. He obligingly took the tissue order pad out on the platform for the conductor to sign. While he was gone I raised the burlap skirt covering from the box. It stuck and I had to pull it loose to get it up. It was undoubtedly a molasses case, a can that had fermented or been punctured and had run out at the corners, but to be sure I took my pencil point, gouged some of the stuff off the side, sniffed and then tasted it. It was mixed with grit and dirt, but it tasted sweet and I was satisfied.
"Ben, take a walk over to the quarry switch withme. I've got to get the numbers of three cars standing there. I will introduce you to the head quarry man and he will tell you all he knows about it—and that's nothing at all. Still you might get a pointer there," he added.
To this I assented without comment, but wondered why he was so careful to put everything in the safe and lock it; also the office door, when the big center sash of the bay-window facing the main track was entirely raised.
"You have light-fingered gentry here?" I queried.
"Oh, if anything were left lying around loose it might disappear. I don't take any chances because I leave that window open so that the conductors can throw their reports inside. There's one coming now," he said, looking up the line as we picked our way over the main track and two switches, toward the quarry under the bluff, about two hundred yards distant.
"Hiram, have you any theory at all about the disappearance of this case of dynamite?" I insisted.
"I don't believe it ever came here—I know the waybill called for ten cases, and the conductorof the local checks up everything as it comes out of the car on the platform, and they're careful and good fellows, but that day he had a lot of freight; he must have checked in another case to make up his ten—you know there's a lot of goods packed in cases about that size. I'm not worried; that case of dynamite never came here, and will show up somewhere else," he said definitely, and with complete candor, as we approached the three flat cars loaded with granite on the short quarry switch.
While he was taking the numbers I stopped and looked back at the disreputable-looking station house and D. R. Morgan's store and residence beyond, the pepper trees along the highway, and the dwindling sized houses behind them. Two or three mule teams with cotton bales could be seen creeping toward the station.
"Do you want to come over to the office and see the boss here? I must go in and give him a copy of these bills," he explained, looking over at a board shanty they called an office some distance away.
"No—I think not. Where do they store their explosives,Hiram?" I asked, not noticing the usual isolated brick or stone receptacle.
"They tunneled into the granite bluff about four hundred feet down the track. This road leads to it," he replied, pointing to a cart-track which led in that direction.
"You go and deliver your bills—I will stay and make a little diagram or map of the place." He glanced up the track at a heavily loaded locomotive laboring down toward the station, but when the engineer gave no signs of stopping he went over to the quarry office, while I took out my pencil and pad to make my map and notes.
As I drew with my pencil the full length of the pad to represent the railroad running midway between the river and the bluff, a most extraordinary thing occurred. I could not believe my senses. The point of my pencil sputtered like a parlor match, but before it reached the end of the pad it exploded like a firecracker and blackened the paper. In an instant I recalled having used my pencil to gouge some of the sticky stuff off the box Hiram, Jr., was using as a seat. I then knew positively it was the lost case of dynamite.
Inan instant my senses were flogged into a stupendous state of excitement, and my eyes must have bulged when I looked again at the blackened pad and then at the pencil point that had been blown off as though it had itself exploded. Then I thought of that crazy, love-sick Gus who had been driving nails into the case, and I sickened. Surely there is a Divine Providence that protects fools at least. Hiram had scratched matches against that case!
My knees shook and my hand trembled, and I do not think I could have uttered a sound. I looked for Strong. He was just coming out of the quarry office. I took one long step to rush back to the station, but saw the locomotive approaching, laboring hard with its immense load and throwing clouds of black smoke from its stack that slowly expanded into an immense dirigible in the still, sluggish atmosphere.
Should the conductor fling his report in at thewindow fastened to a spike or a piece of granite and hit that case of dynamite—what would happen? This had been done many times, and nothing occurred, but the law of average must prevail in due time. A sickening sensation took possession of me, and I became as rigid as stone. I felt as though ten pounds of lead was in the pit of my stomach; my mind was filled with monstrous forebodings, for one hundred persons were within easy range of that case of explosive—including Anna Bell. I could not prevent Hiram's arrest and trial for criminal negligence if the facts became known. But Gus was the culprit, if any one.
As I looked back, Hiram was approaching. Somehow I did not want to tell him. It seemed unnecessary, and I could save him that much apprehension. I must have looked strange to him when he came up to where I stood as one ossified. He took hold of my arm, and said fraternally: "Come on, Ben; you look as white as if you had seen a ghost." But I could not move. I only stared at the passing train.
Hiram plucked my sleeve. "Ben, you look as though you were standing before a firing squad—justas I must have looked when the Gold-Beater told me to 'git up and git.'"
I could only raise my hand warningly and stare at the passing train. It seemed to me the longest train I ever knew one locomotive to haul, and though it was moving at least twenty miles per hour it appeared to creep.
I raised my hand to my forehead and found it dripping with perspiration; Hiram grabbed my shoulders with both hands and shook me.
"Ben, have you gone stark mad?"
I had forgotten he was there and scarcely heard or felt him. I saw the way-car emerge from the trees and approach the station. I could not help raising my arm and point that way and did not lower it until we were both thrown violently to the ground.
It is useless to try to describe the crashing of the intonation on my ears. I thought my hearing was destroyed. Before the concussion threw us prone there was a fleeting impression of a dense red flame that came from the station. The instant the way-car passed it was lifted from the track. I afterwardlearned it was detached from the cars ahead and rolled over twice.
The man who said there are words to describe everything groveled in ignorance. I saw Hiram running toward the station; he fairly flew, his legs moving rapidly as though motor-driven. I saw he did not even relax his speed when he ran around the deep hole where the station had stood a few moments before, but continued to D. R. Morgan's store and beyond that to the residence—or maybe he was going to the river to do as he had advised the love-sick Gus. I only know what he told me about it afterward. How the conductor and rear brakeman, after being rattled about in the way-car as dice in a box, escaped with only bruises and cuts was a wonder to me, and when I finally learned that the fatalities were confined to a team of mules forced through the front of Morgan's store, my relief was immense.
Gus escaped from the Morgan house in his night shirt, and ran down under the river bank, cowering and cringing, along with most of the black population. It was difficult to convince him he could go back to bed in safety. The darkies eventuallyrealized that it was not Gabriel's last call, and were coaxed away from the protecting bank to help remove the mules from the front of Morgan's wrecked store.
When Hiram returned from the Morgan residence he was fairly composed. He came to me at once.
"This is pretty bad business; was any one killed?" he asked, bracing himself.
"No, but it is a marvel."
"They will blame me?"
"Yes, likely, at first. Make no statement to any one. Was your safe locked? How about cash and station records?"
"Yes, it is always locked; kept everything there since Gus acted luny; but hasn't it been destroyed?"
"We'll go and see."
The hole where once stood the depot would easily contain a freight house and more. Rails of the main track were ripped up and twisted as though made of wheat straw. We found the safe apparently intact, sticking out of the débris.
Railroad tickets were scattered about like fallen leaves. When he found his ticket stamp he wasgreatly relieved and almost laughed. How had he suddenly acquired such fortitude and acumen? Was it the Gold-Beater's blood unleashed by work and decent living? When we found parts of the new typewriter he laughed grimly, tossing his head backward.
I thought it best for Hiram that he should not know how it happened until after he was grilled, as I knew he would soon be.
The Yazoo railroad did one thing quickly and well. In less than an hour they had a wrecker on the job, and by utilizing the outside track had established a detour which let Superintendent Kitchell's "special" through from the north.
The wrecker reached into the débris with its long steel arm, picked up the safe, and swung it into the superintendent's car. He told Hiram and Gus they were relieved, and to come with him to New Orleans.
Hiram obeyed the order without a murmur, but nevertheless took plenty of time to pack all of his belongings. He seemed to know he was through in Quarrytown. I suspected he was rather deliberate in bidding the Morgan family good-by, takingsome time to do it, and was apparently much excited and flushed when he boarded the superintendent's car and waved a cordial good-by to a girlish figure who stood in front of the Morgan store waving back at him.
Thereis something about the duties and ambitions of a railroad superintendent that make him wish to appear inscrutable. The reason, perhaps, is the man behind him who wants his job, or the man ahead whose job he wants—or both. Anyhow, an attempt at inscrutability is the typical refuge for the ignorant and the smaller the road the more futile the attempt. Though I established my identity and purpose beyond a doubt, he at first refused to allow me passage to New Orleans in his car. He seemed to be suspicious of me, perhaps that I intended to burglarize the safe, make off before his eyes with a locomotive or some of the numerous scrap iron along the right-of-way. However, he finally became rational and reversed himself.
His car was divided about the center, one end being private to himself and his clerk. The other part was sort of a reception room, the "anxious" seat for subordinates. In this apartment they had placed the safe.
After we left Quarrytown, his undersized clerk emerged from the private quarters and requested Hiram to open the safe, which he did promptly and with a firm hand. The clerk took the contents to the superintendent. Meanwhile Gus wore a very red face and sighed repeatedly, as though already on the way to the penitentiary instead of New Orleans.
After examination of Hiram's records Gus was called in before the Superintendent and given the third degree. When he came out he was muchly upset and perspiring. Hiram, disgusted, looked upon him with contempt, which feeling was intensified when the flabby Gus dropped into a chair and glared back at him ominously. It may have been because of the high speed of the light engine and the solitary car, but I surely saw Gus's knees knock together from sheer fright. He had likely overstated his alibi in an abandoned and frantic attempt to protect himself to Hiram's disadvantage.
When the superintendent's clerk finally came to the door and beckoned Hiram, the latter's attitude pleased me. Neither defiant nor disrespectful, he walked into the presence of his superior, and whenhe emerged from the interview he had not changed a hair.
Presently the little clerk stuck his head out of the dividing door and beckoned to me in the same curt manner he had signaled the two men who were under suspicion. I had no notion of being placed in the same category and made it clear to the clerk that such was the case. At once he became civil and led the way.
When I entered his sanctum the superintendent sat facing me at the flat top desk in the corner of the car. He was a short, stocky man, and evidenced much perturbation of mind by mopping his florid face. A Flounder had been clapped on his head and when it came away it brought all the hair under it, leaving only a slight fringe. His lips and cherubic mouth were pursed and screwed up to simulate an executive air. As he jerked his thumb indicating a wicker chair opposite him, I noticed the little clerk sat at a small desk at the side of the car, with notebook and pencil poised significantly.
"What have you to say about this matter?" he asked without delay, withdrawing his eyes and winking violently as soon as they met mine.
"Nothing," I answered good naturedly.
"I understand you were here investigating the loss of the dynamite when the explosion occurred. Have you no theory as to how it occurred?"
"No, I have no theory: Iknowhow it occurred."
"Would you"—he hesitated, looking down and bringing his chubby hands together before him—"would you mind telling me what you know about it?"
"My information will not be available to the railroad through me, but if you will dismiss your clerk, I will give you, as man to man, enough information to ease your mind." In saying this I was thinking only of Hiram.
After some hesitation, he nodded to the expectant clerk, who rose instantly and left the apartment.
"Mr. Taylor—I believe you said your name was Taylor—this matter has upset me, and I may have been rude," he apologized, and lapsed into the attitude of a very decent fellow with troubles of his own. I then gave him enough details to put Hiram right. He was immensely relieved and pleased to gain such valuable information.
"You seem to know something of this youngStrong?" he queried. My reply was that I thought I had a very good line on Hiram Strong, Jr.
"His cash and station records are as clean and straight as a pin—he seems to be rather under-classed and is capable of better things. What are his antecedents?" The superintendent's interest was aroused.
"My knowledge does not extend beyond his father, a Southerner, now a prominent financier in New York. It appears he decided that the only way to make something of this boy was to throw him out entirely on his own resources, and apparently the old gentleman's reasoning was good."
"I believe you are right; there is good blood in him. Our big trouble is in making good railroad men from material without any blood base. We frequently have to make 'a silk purse from a sow's ear,' which is generally considered impossible—but we do it. Now the case of this other fellow—can you conceive of a full grown man with no better sense than to take a fifty-pound case of dynamite, drive nails into it, and then use it as a chair? But I am greatly relieved to know just how it happened, and if I can ever be of any service to you, don't failto make it known—will you?" he asked, rising formally, to end the audience.
When I came out Hiram glanced at me searchingly, as though he would learn something from my attitude. He had been absorbing information from the train conductor. Hiram had developed a penchant for burrowing into the confidence of every one and getting inside knowledge of their difficulties.
At this time we succeeded in running around a freight train that had been holding us back, and entered New Orleans so fast that conversation was quite impossible.
Before we reached the station the clerk came out and told Hiram and Gus to report at the office at nine the next morning, at which Hiram became thoughtful, but not downcast.
He was able to get his old room next to mine, which pleased him, and after opening the connecting door and cleaning up a bit, he came in and gave me one of his strenuous whacks between my shoulders.
"Old man Ben, what do I draw to-morrow morning at nine?"
"Hiram, I don't know," I truthfully replied,working my shoulders where he had hit me, "but I think you will be drawn and quartered and made into good fertilizer; that's all you're fit for." At this he began to cavort and caper about like a colt.
"Well, I don't mind telling you how I feel—I don't give a Continental sou Marquis what I draw. I feel like fighting wild cats and buzz-saws. Now that Anna Bell Morgan has promised to marry me, nothing else matters."
Hiramand I were soon ready for the next thing in order—something to eat.
"I suppose now you will want a porterhouse as big as Rhode Island——"
"And as thick as a London fog, with enough mushrooms to choke an alligator," he broke in joyously. "Ben—I want you to know right now that I think you are an infernal scoundrel. You know why my brand-new typewriter blew up this morning and started the whole of Quarrytown over into the river, incidentally putting the main line on the bum—and won't tell me!" he added, squaring himself in front of me.
"You'd better wait until to-morrow and see what your sentence is before you begin to accuse me," I replied, with a solemn wink which he couldn't quite fathom.
"Oh, I suppose the 'Sauerkraut' and I will get bounced incontinently. But what do I care? Had it not been for what happened this morning Iwouldn't know that a perfectly sweet and innocent girl really loves me. I don't care if this part of the world comes to an end, you can't get me into the doldrums. Besides, I know my hands are clean, and I have done nothing for which they should blame me, but they may be looking for a horrible example—a railroad is a railroad—eh, Ben?"
Then, assuming a more serious attitude, he continued:
"I've got a trade now—a way of making a living. I can walk up the street and look any man or woman in the eye, as one who can account for himself, who can do something useful, and at the same time possess the love of a good girl—it's great, Ben! Do you know anything about such things? I shall be no man's dog in the future. Already I've kicked the can off of my tail, to use a figure of speech."
"I don't quite understand you, Hiram," said I, recalling the fact that this was the second time he had referred to some such handicap.
"I've been up there on the river where it's so quiet that one's own thoughts are as loud as grand opera, and I have figured it out," he began, insertinghis thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest and moving over to look out of the window. "Of course, you understand, I used the word dog as a figure of speech, but what I mean is that the Gold-Beater, instead of making me work and learn something at the right time, gave me money to spend, and then, along with old women and maidens, old men, and gentry in general, he winked knowingly, indulgently, as I was toboganning to Hades; then of a sudden, inside of a day, I am kicked out, and told to go to work or—Blazes—he didn't care which—me with my head as empty as a base drum and muscles as soft as a jelly fish. Oh, I'm not exactly sore on the Gold-Beater—he did no worse than a million others, but it's all wrong, Ben," he emphasized, turning his eyes upon me.
I preferred not to take him seriously.
"Hiram, there's a store on the corner where we can get a soap box, and I'll try to arrange with the police for a place in the square——"
"Oh, I see you are like the rest of them; your head is like a cocoanut—a shell that you have to open with a hatchet; then some soft, indigestible stuff, and real brains no more than the milk spaceinside. Come on, let's get some food," he sneered, grabbing me by the arm, and fairly rushing me out on the street.
He spent most of the evening talking about Anna Bell Morgan and his plans. Like every man in love, he gave me a poor idea of her—but I inferred she was about twenty-two, and from my distant view of her I knew she did not run to flesh. I was ready to give her a high mark on that score.
"Suppose you'll marry her at once?" said I, arching my brows knowingly.
"Oh, no; not yet; she says I must make good before she will marry me," he replied in answer to my query, "and besides, she has plans. She wants to learn something, too. She is coming down to New Orleans to go to school—her father has promised her that for a long time. Perhaps that mule team going through the front of the store may delay things, but not long. Anna Bell has been helping with his books and knows a lot for one who has always been shut in."
The next evening when I heard him coming up the stairs four steps at a time I backed into a corner. When he felt that way I knew I would geta thump on my back equal to being kicked by an ox.
"Ben, you scoundrel, come out of there; I want to hit you. I've got it—I've got it this time right!" he began, reaching for me excitedly, and playful as a young lion. "I believe it's all your work—I'm promoted—I didn't get bounced; the big chief did the handsome thing—right here in New Orleans!" This was as coherent as he was able to make himself.
"Sit down, Hiram;—what is he going to give you?"
"Going to give me? I've already got it; been at work all day. Four tracks on the wharf. Got charge of all the perishable freight—meat incoming and fruit outgoing—office to myself on the dock. First thing I did was to wire Anna Bell—then went to it. Great job, Ben, and I'm going to like it. Got a new typewriter to replace the one I lost. Beats Quarrytown, and twice the money. Why don't you warm up and congratulate me?" he almost shouted, rising quickly from the chair and reaching for my shoulders again, but I dodged him.
"Already received a wire from Anna Bell," hecontinued. "She's a great girl; the best ever. You sly old dog, you knew it was the box we were using for a stool; I can see it now, but do you know, I somehow feel sorry for Gus; he was just love-sick—he didn't know half the time what he was doing. He was not so much to blame, but Anna Bell wasn't to blame, either, for she never led him on."
"What did they do for him?" I interrupted, fearful that he would lose his breath entirely.
"I did all I could to save him, and they didn't fire him. They gave him another night station somewhere in the swamps. But say, I've got to step pretty lively to keep up with this job—however, it won't be so bad when I get things straightened out," he bubbled. At first I was afraid he had been drinking, but it was just Hiram Strong, Jr., finding himself.
I had something special on for that night, or I think he would have talked me to sleep. He made me promise to come around the next day and see his layout. As I left him, he began writing to Anna Bell, telling her all about everything.
When I saw him the next afternoon, he had on a hickory jumper and cap, and was bossing the finalcleaning of a long, roofed-over wharf, strewn with broken cases, trash and dirt—the accumulation of years.
As soon as he saw me he began to smile. He was full of energy, urging the negro laborers to take away the last load, so that he could leave on time. He pointed out how he had charge of the tracks on the wharf. The worst feature of the situation was that he had to be there at 4.30 a. m. with Government meat inspectors, to let the packing-house people have their meat early, but he was through about the middle of the afternoon, as soon as the north-bound fruit was loaded.
"That means you must get out about four in the morning?"
"Yes, but I don't mind that."
"Hiram, it is not so long ago that you did not think seriously of going to bed until that time."
"Yes, that's a fact—but," said he, sobering, "it seems an age and appears to me now like a nightmare. Say, do you want to make an investment?" he asked, changing the subject abruptly, and assuming the air of good-natured bargaining that seemed so natural with him.
"Yes, what is it?"
"There is a barrel of filings the agent told me to sell for junk. He says a foundry can use it to melt up. It's been kicking around here for years. It weighs seven hundred pounds net; give me a cent a pound and you can have it," said he, walking over to one side of the dock, a sort of warehouse, and giving an old dingy barrel, lying on its bilge, a shove with his foot.
Mechanically I did the same, and wondered why filings were packed in that kind of a barrel. I leaned over to examine it more closely, and noted the word "Filings" marked on each head. Then I suddenly recalled that very day I had been asked to look inside of a storage place nearby, the same being suspected of contraband operations, and this would offer a genuine excuse. I examined the barrel more closely. It was very strong, and old, scarred, mysterious. I planned to send it to a certain suspected warehouse, and later would go there to draw a sample, thereby gaining admittance without revealing my real mission.
"Will you deliver it, Hiram?"
"Yes, deliver anywhere you want; will put iton the back of that cart right now," he replied, with a bantering smile.
"All right; here is your money; give me a receipted bill as the railroad's agent," I said, walking around the barrel.
Hiram grabbed the money from my hand, and after a parting injunction to the laborers went to his little office in the corner. I gave the heavy barrel a shove with my foot and rolled it over. I wet my finger, pressed it close to the chimes on a slight sifting that might be sand, but when I brought my finger away it had turned black at the point of contact and violet at the edges where the contact was less firm.
I was examining it critically when Hiram returned with the change and a receipted bill. After giving the dray directions where to take the barrel, and saying that he would be there soon to get the warehouse receipt, Hiram intimated that he was through for the day.
"Wait until I change my clothes and I will go with you," he said, hurrying to the little office.
"You see, this is a great system," he began to explain enthusiastically, when he returned in his streetattire. "These tracks hold a train of refrigerator cars containing meat that comes in every morning on passenger trains. The packing-house agents get it out first thing in the morning while it is cool, for the early market. Then, you see, fruit steamers from Gulf and South American ports come alongside the wharf, load bananas, oranges, and so on, into the same cars. The refrigerator system keeps them cool in the summer and prevents freezing in the winter. Then they return north as special, fast, perishable. The packing-house centers at Memphis, Chicago, Kansas City, and Missouri and Mississippi River points get fresh fruit each twenty-four to thirty hours. The train has got to be out of here before three p. m., after which I'm through. Looks pretty nice when it's all cleaned up," he enthused, waving his arm about the wide dock about eight hundred feet long, paralleling the river, now swept and clean.
A refreshing breeze came from Algiers across the wonderful Mississippi, now literally jammed with ocean-going and river vessels.
"I imagine it is very interesting work, but willrequire great care and diligence," I suggested, as we walked out to Canal street and started uptown.
"Yes, but not so hard. The fruit is easy, but the meat comes in with three seals—a Government seal, the shippers' seal, and the railroad seal. Three of us open the cars. A Government inspector breaks the Government seal, I break our seal and the packing-house agent breaks their seal. Then the car is checked on the spot. You see, there is not much chance for error that way; besides, meat is all billed 'Shipper's weight and count,' but the freight agent—you know I am under the New Orleans freight agent—has cautioned me to be very careful. From the way he acts and talks I think my predecessor got into some kind of trouble, but no more trouble for your Uncle Dudley. What could be worse than sitting on a case of dynamite every day and scratching matches on it?"
We had now turned off Canal Street, and arrived at the warehouse where the barrel was sent. I was given a regular receipt, and we resumed our way uptown.
"Hiram, there's something else in that barrel—it's not iron filings; it's something that may be worthmuch more, and now I'm going to take you in as a partner on it. Give me three-fifty, half what I paid, and we will go fifty-fifty," I said, with little apparent concern.
Hiram stopped still and looked at me keenly, then gave me the money.
"Ben, if you were to tell me to jump in the river I would, knowing I would get out and get something for it—after that deal at Quarrytown. I started to say what Anna Bell said about you in connection——" He was abruptly interrupted by our meeting a man from the Department who wanted me at once, so I told Hiram I would see him later.
Thenext day I returned to the warehouse, and with great formality drew samples from both ends of the barrel into small manila envelopes and, as anticipated, this resulted in quite a talk with the owner of the place, whom I interrogated closely, for I wanted to learn just what kind of a business he was doing, although it seemed legitimate enough. The Department said it was worth seven dollars to get that information, and I intended to return Hiram's money.
The presumption was that some frugal machinist had saved his bench filings until he had a barrel full and sold it as junk. But how did it get there without an address marking?
The big interrogation point was up on everything at that time, owing to the acute stage of the war. Steel filings were not soluble and would not blacken my finger. The stuff looked more like rifle powder. I finally decided to mail a sample to a chemist in New York for analysis.
The whirligig of events took me out of New Orleans the next day to various Gulf ports and along the coast as far north as New York. In his first communication Hiram said he was doing fine, and the remainder of a six-page letter was a laudation of the charms of Anna Bell Morgan. There in New Orleans she was realizing her lifelong ambition, and taking a course, but he did not say what kind. Soon after I heard from him again and he hinted at trouble, but finished with a lengthy encomium of the Quarrytown young woman.
The third letter was unmistakably a storm signal, a cry for relief he was sure I could give were I there; not a wail, but a courageous man's request for suitable weapons with which to battle. "When did I expect to get back?" Directly or indirectly he asked this question several times in his communication, but did not mention Anna Bell Morgan, and by which token I concluded his trouble lay in that quarter. When we did meet again there was no mistaking his concern about his troubles, and his esteem of my ability to aid him.
Three months had worked a most remarkable change. There was no doubt that his buoyant optimismand sense of humor had received a shock. About his up-curving, laughing, clean-chiseled mouth had crept a curious drooping tendency. Fear, corroding, soul-destroying fear, had found a footing there. His eyes had retreated under a shelf and his black brows moved down, while his remarkably straight nose appeared more prominent; his upstanding, wavy raven hair evidenced neglect, and instead of a resounding whack on my back came the firm, sure, hearty grip of a man.
He would not let me look over my hat full of mail, much of which bore many redirections and additional post-office stamps. I had retained my room adjoining his while away, and it was there we were now seated.
"You know, Ben," he began, after leaning his chair back against the window sill—there was a sort of dogged intensity in the manner he raised both his feet to the corner of the table—"the general freight agent hinted at trouble down on the wharf when I went there. I didn't pay much attention because I knew I could do the work, and, being on the level, why should I care what had happened previously?
"Well, for a month or more everything went on splendidly. Then I became aware that my work was being scrutinized closely. I learned by accident that all my records were checked and double checked, which was altogether unusual. I seemed to be getting under a cloud, and the cloud kept getting darker all the time. The specials came nosing about, first from the consigning packing houses, then the railroad and finally the Government inspectors from the Bureau of Animal Industry, under whose supervision all meat is shipped interstate. I paid no attention except to be more careful. If I did my work right, why should I care if the packing-house agents and meat inspectors that break the seals on the cars with me in the morning began looking at me as though I had horns and a forked tail concealed about me?
"I lived quietly—in fact I had to. When you get out at three-thirty in the morning, you've got to be in bed before nine; besides, the old life doesn't appeal to me any more. In fact, I experience loathing and actual nausea when I happen to think of it. And then, while my salary is pretty good now, I had nomoney to spend when trying to save every cent. It is true that for a long time I had my dinners with Anna Bell—you know she is here—but lately I don't even do that.
"Now the losses run up into the thousands—and—and I am suspected—suspected of being a thief, Ben——"
"How do you know you are?" I asked abruptly.
"Well, after a lot of this mysterious stuff, the agent, Mr. Powell—who appears to be a pretty nice fellow—came over to my office and let it out. He said he believed in me and had decided to tell me, but I think it was just a smooth plan to trap me—to make me the goat. I was shy and chary of him, and am yet.
"He told me that since I came the meat cars were checking up short, and in one instance fresh hams were short ten or fifteen tons, and the packing-house people, the Government, and the road's inspectors, who have been working on it for months, were stumped.
"No, he didn't accuse me—he asked me to see if I couldn't help find some clew to the crimes. But,Ben, maybe you can't quite see how much alone I feel. You were away, I don't see Anna Bell any more, and I haven't a soul to talk with about it."
"Where is Anna—Miss Morgan—now?"
"Oh, she's right here, and that is the devil of it. I was getting along fine and so was she, and she promised, after she got a little further advanced and I had saved a little money on which to start, we were to be married. But, after this infernal thing came up, I not only stopped all plans, but quit going to see her. I made up my mind not to go near her as long as I was suspected of being a thief."
"Maybe you are going too far—are you sure she could not——"
"This is no youthful escapade, to make young women smile and older ones nudge each other and the Gold-Beater pull his check book with a half hearted protest. This is a felony, a penitentiary offense. I may be railroaded up against bars and perhaps stripes.
"Anna Bell Morgan is as pure as she is beautiful, and if I don't get out of this clean, I love her so much that I don't want it known that she everknew me. It would be the act of a dog, and a downright coward—and, I am not a coward." He ended by glaring at me with burning eyes, as though I might have been the author of his troubles.
"But, Hiram—it may be you are somewhat morbid, and magnify the gravity of the matter—there is always a way out for clean hands—pinch and kick yourself into a normal condition and answer a few questions as though it were another man's trouble."
"Well, I will admit at the sight of you I do feel better," he said, still keeping his feet almost as high as his head, on the corner of my table. "I am on the rack—go ahead with your third degree stuff," he said, with a trace of a smile as though daring me, and pulling out a plebeian pipe, began filling it.
"When did you see Miss Morgan last?"
"Five weeks ago to-morrow."
"Have you written or telephoned?"
"Neither, I tell you——"
"All right," I said, raising my hand in tolerant good humor; "you feel certain there were shortages before your time on the wharf?"
"Yes, I know it—that's why my predecessor lost his job."
"But you don't know just what has been done?" I asked, idly fingering my mail before me.
"No, I don't; but Mr. Powell, the agent, said the packing-house and railroad specials were at a standstill, and the government was so short of men they could not do anything just now. He also said that he had personally asked the local office of the Department of Justice to take it up, and while it was something outside of their line, they promised to coöperate as soon as they had men available. Hang it!" he exclaimed, passing his fingers through his hair, "it ought not to be so hard to smoke 'em out."
"Hiram, I will see what can be done to-morrow. In the meantime lose that 'going-to-hell-sure' long face, and cheer up. I've been living at Barns & Sheds for three months, taking Greek insolence and grease at Greek restaurants until I feel polluted inside, and want one of those——"
"Real porterhouse steaks," he interrupted, laughing as though they had become only a memory.
"Give me a few moments to glance over this mailbefore we go—here, this ought to interest you, Hiram," I said, discovering one from the chemist to whom I had sent a sample from our partnership barrel in storage.
"Why—how?" he asked, looking sharp as though expecting a joke.
I tore open the letter, first noticing it was nearly three months old. The chemist had replied promptly. I read aloud:
"Your sample suffered a little in the mail and is too small. Will you oblige me by forwarding a larger one by parcel post? If my guess is right, the market is particularly bare of this class of goods, and I can assure a prompt sale at fancy prices."
"Your sample suffered a little in the mail and is too small. Will you oblige me by forwarding a larger one by parcel post? If my guess is right, the market is particularly bare of this class of goods, and I can assure a prompt sale at fancy prices."
"You mean that old barrel of junk—those filings you made me pay three-fifty for a half interest in your foolishness?" he asked, with an incredulous smile.
"Hiram," I began jestingly, "that barrel will make us rich some day; but seriously, I do know it is not castings nor junk. However, this letter is now three months old, and perhaps our best chance has gone."
That night I wired a certain person a code messageto the effect that I was willing to handle the New Orleans case. It was either that or some day I'd miss being made best man at Anna Bell's wedding.