CHAPTER X.MYLES MAKES A STARTLING DISCOVERY.THE cruel dispatch to thePhonograph, written for the express purpose of ruining Myles Manning, was the last one to go eastward that night. When the operator—much against his will, for he had taken a fancy to Myles, but compelled by the rules of his office to do so—had sent it flashing over the wires and received an “O. K.” in answer, his hand lay listlessly on the key for a full minute. He was thinking what a mean, contemptible thing had just been done, and was wondering if in any way he could undo it or avert its consequences. Yes, he believed something could be done! At any rate, he would try. The frank, pleasant face of the young reporter rose up before him. A fellow with such a face as that must be all right. He would at least take the responsibility of telling thePhonographpeople that he was, and that that last dispatch wasfalse. The key began to click beneath his nimble fingers, but its sound was faint and lifeless. The New York wire would not work. Quickly changing the connections on his switch-board the operator tried again, but with the same result. None of the eastern wires would work. Within that minute of hesitation they had all been cut.Then a rush of business came in that had to be sent west to Chicago. The Associated Press agent got off a few hundred hurriedly written words announcing the beginning of the great strike. Two or three important private messages were put through, and then the western wires also ceased to work. Mountain Junction was cut off from telegraphic communication with the world.Outside the office crowds of railroad men filled the streets. Some of them were noisy, others quiet and determined. Some of them uttered loud boasts and threats, others worked with the silent energy of those who have decided upon their plans and mean to carry them through. All trains arriving after midnight were side-tracked. Their locomotives were run into the round-house, where their fires were drawn. Heavy barricades were placed acrossthe main line, the signal-lights were extinguished, and all traffic was effectually stopped.When, late the next morning, Myles Manning awoke, it was with an aching head and a confused idea of where he was and what had happened to him. The town seemed strangely silent as compared with its noise and bustle of the day before. Could it be Sunday? No, Myles was certain that the preceding day had been Tuesday. What time was it? He pulled out his watch, and as he did so made the discovery that the roll of bills with which he was to have paid his expenses had disappeared. For a moment he thought he had been robbed. Then a dim memory of playing cards and losing money the evening before struggled into his mind, and the cruel nature of his situation began to dawn upon him. What had he done? What had he left undone? In his despair the poor boy sat down on the edge of his bed, and, burying his face in his hands, groaned aloud.He was aroused by a knock, but before he could reply to it the door opened and Ben Watkins walked in.“Hello, Manning!” he exclaimed. “What’s thematter? Why aren’t you out gathering in the items of interest that you reporters are always hunting for? There are dead loads of them floating round this place at present, I can tell you.”“Oh, Ben,” groaned Myles, hoping for a bit of sympathy in his distress, “my money is all gone except a dollar or two in change. I must have lost it at cards in your room last night; but I can’t exactly remember. What shall I do?”“Do? Why, brace up! You’ll get it all back again next time. I got pretty well cleaned out myself last night, but we’ll get even with that fellow yet. He’s got to stay here until the strike is over, and we’ll have no end of chances at him.”“The strike!” echoed Myles, to whose thoughts the words gave a new direction. “Has the strike begun?”“Well, I should say it had, and is well under way by this time. Why, it began at twelve o’clock last night. We had a big riot, but things are quieting down now, and both sides are awaiting developments.”“And I haven’t sent a word of it to the paper!” exclaimed Myles, aghast at the thought of his neglected duty.“Of course not. How could you, when all the telegraph wires were cut the first thing?”“Were they, really?” asked Myles, in a slightly relieved tone. “So that I couldn’t have sent any thing, any way?”“To be sure they were. Nobody was able to send off even a whisper. So you may rest easy on that score.”This news lightened poor Myles’ burden of anxiety somewhat, though it did not lessen the force of his self-reproach. Perhaps this, his first serious neglect of duty, would never be known in the office, after all. At the same time Myles vowed that such a thing should never happen again.After bathing his face in cold water he started out with Ben to study the situation. As they passed the hotel bar-room the latter suggested that they step in and take a “bracer.”“No, I thank you,” said Myles, resolutely. “No more ‘bracers’ for me. After last night I am willing to pledge myself never to touch another drop so long as I live.”“Oh, pshaw!” replied Ben. “Last night was nothing.”“Perhaps not, as you look at it, but if my last night’s condition and its results were known in thePhonographoffice it would prove a very important something to me. They have no use there for a fellow who lets liquor get the best of him.”“Nonsense!” exclaimed Ben. “Don’t try to make out that your own office is any better than any other. All newspaper men get drunk every now and then; everybody knows that.”“Look here, Ben Watkins!” cried Myles, stopping short and turning upon his companion, while an angry flush mounted to his face, “you may be speaking from ignorance, and I hope you are. At any rate, I want you to understand that what you have just said is not true. I know a good deal more about newspaper men than you do. As a rule, they are gentlemen, from editors-in-chief down to reporters, and no drunkard can ever lay rightful claim to that title.”“Oh, they can’t, can’t they?” remarked Ben, sneeringly. “Yet I suppose you consider yourself a gentleman.”“I try to be one,” answered Myles, hot with indignation at the other’s significant tone and words.“And hereafter I mean to associate only with those who are.”So saying he turned and walked rapidly away, leaving Ben to stare after him with such an expression of intense hatred on his face as startled the passers-by who chanced to notice it.Ben Watkins was a bad fellow. There was no doubt of that. Some people, and Myles Manning among them, suspected it, but nobody knew how bad he really was nor what evil he was capable of. As has already been shown, he could cherish a spirit of petty revenge, and would descend to any means to gratify it. In addition to this he was dishonest and recklessly extravagant. Although he had occupied his present position but a few months, he had managed to run into debt for one thing or another to a good many people. Some of these debts he had been obliged to pay, and, as his salary was not sufficient to meet them, he had appropriated to his own use several small sums of railroad money with which he had been intrusted, and altered the figures of his accounts to conceal the thefts. He hoped to win enough at cards to make good these sums before their loss should be discovered; but oflate luck had been against him, and he had only succeeded in plunging more deeply than ever into debt. At the outbreak of the great strike his situation was so desperate that he had almost made up his mind to disappear from that part of the country and make a new start where he was unknown.He dared not confide in or ask aid of his uncle, for the division superintendent was a stern man, with no sympathy or pity for evil-doers, especially those whose sin was that of dishonesty. He was absent from Mountain Junction when the strike broke out, attending a meeting of officers of the road, held in a distant city, and, as his assistant, Ben Watkins was left in charge of the office.On the day of his uncle’s departure, Ben had received, and receipted for, an express package containing a thousand dollars of railroad money, which he placed in the office safe to await the superintendent’s return. As he put this package away he looked longingly at it and wished it were for him. How nicely it would help him out of his troubles! Still he dared not even open it, and with a reluctant sigh he laid it down and closed the heavy safe door upon it.He had thought of this package more than once since, then, and even opened the safe several times to see if it were really there. Now, as, after parting from Myles, he sat at his uncle’s desk in the inner office, wondering if there was any way by which he could turn this strike to his own advantage, something happened that suited him exactly.As his uncle’s representative he was visited by a committee of four from the strikers—a conductor, an engineer, a stoker, and a brakeman. Of this committee conductor Jacob Allen was spokesman. He stated the cause of the strike very clearly, and promised that the men should use no violence so long as none was used against them. They were willing to await quietly the action of the company, but there was one matter that ought to be seen to at once lest it lead to trouble. Many of the strikers in Mountain Junction occupied houses near the shops and works belonging to the railroad. They were obliged to pass close by these buildings in going to and from their houses. Several of them had been ordered to keep at a greater distance by the soldiers guarding the works. It would put them to great inconvenience to be obliged to take other roads, andthis committee hoped Mr. Watkins would issue orders that they should pass unmolested, even close to the buildings, so long as they did so quietly and peaceably.The assistant division superintendent listened impatiently to all the committee had to say, and then with an air intended to impress them with the importance of his position, he answered,“I have already issued orders that no striker is to be allowed within a hundred feet of any works or shop belonging to this company and under my charge. If you do not want to be inconvenienced come in and report for duty. Until you do so the order will be enforced.”“I am afraid it will make trouble, Mr. Watkins,” said Allen.“That is your affair and not mine,” was the reply. “You must take the consequences of your own acts.”Disgusted with the manner and words of the self-important young man the committee withdrew, and the bitterness of feeling on both sides was from that moment greatly increased. As a result of Ben’s refusal to grant this modest and reasonable request several slight encounters took place between the soldiers and strikers during the day, and by nightfall a sense of uneasiness and fears of more serious trouble overspread the whole town.AS HE WAS STOOPING TO SET FIRE TO THE READY FUEL, THE SOUND OF HIS OWN NAME CAUSED HIM TO DROP THE MATCH. (Page151.)Ben Watkins watched all this with great satisfaction. It was exactly what he had hoped for, and he neglected no opportunity of making matters worse by word or action.It was after ten o’clock that night when he stood before the safe in his uncle’s private office, prepared to commit an act at once bold and wicked. He had entered the building as stealthily as a burglar, taking many precautions to avoid being seen. Now, with trembling hands, he unlocked the great safe, and, securing the coveted express package, thrust it into a breast-pocket of his coat. He next pulled the books and papers from the safe and scattered them about the floor. Then, pouring the contents of a can of kerosene over a pile of newspapers and other inflammable matter in one corner of the room, he struck a match. As he was stooping to set fire to the ready fuel the sound of his own name, uttered in a loud voice from the door-way, caused him to drop the match and spring to his feet, trembling with the terror of detected guilt. He had been workingby the dim light of a single lamp, and was so intent upon what he was about that he had not heard a step on the stair-way nor the door of the outer office open. Now, as he turned a face bloodless with fear in the direction of the voice and saw Myles Manning standing in the door-way, he uttered an inarticulate cry of rage and sprang toward him.Myles had been busily collecting news of the strike all that day and writing a report of it, in the hope that he might find some chance to get it through. He visited the telegraph office several times to inquire if the wires were not yet repaired, but each time his friend, the operator, who remained faithfully at his post, shook his head in the negative. The operator was anxious to befriend one to whom he had taken a liking, and who, as he knew, had suffered a great wrong, regarding which his duty obliged him to remain silent; but during the day he could discover no way of helping him. At last, late in the evening, when Myles had given up all hopes of getting a dispatch through and was about to retire, the operator called for him at the hotel.He said he had just learned, as a secret, froma friend among the strikers, that the wires were cut between the town and the first station on the railroad to the east. The strikers were in possession of that office, and from it were sending dispatches to other points along the line. He had told this friend, who possessed great influence over his fellows, that there was a reporter in town who was most anxious to communicate with his paper, and asked permission for him to do so from this little station. At first it was refused. Then the striker asked the reporter’s name. On being told that it was Manning, and that he was from thePhonograph, he said that made all the difference in the world. They would willingly allow aPhonographreporter the use of the wire whenever he wanted it; for that paper had always given the strikers a fair showing in its columns. He only made the conditions that no other reporter should be allowed the use of the wire, and that nothing should be forwarded over it except the message to thePhonograph.This the operator had promised, also agreeing to go with the reporter and send the message through himself.Myles was of course most eager to avail himself ofthis privilege, and, heartily thanking the operator, was about to order a carriage in which they might drive to the little station. His friend, however, said that the wagon-roads of that mountainous region were so rough and roundabout that to drive there would take several hours, while if they only had a hand-car they might reach the place in less than an hour, as the railroad was down grade nearly all the way. But all the hand-cars were locked up in one of the shops, and nobody but the division superintendent or the person acting in his place could authorize one to be taken out.Myles would rather have asked a favor from almost anybody else just then; but, as one “under orders,” it was clearly his duty to use every effort to carry them out, and he at once began his search for Ben Watkins. They went to his room and looked through the hotel in vain. Then the operator suggested that Mr. Watkins might be in his office, and said that if Myles would go there and see he would look in one or two other likely places, and they would meet at the railway station. So they separated, and Myles hurried in the direction of the superintendent’s office.Just before reaching it he met a man whom the light from an open window showed him to be his acquaintance of the evening before, conductor Jacob Allen. He apologized, with the plea of having been very busy, for not calling to see how little Bob was doing, and asked Allen if he had seen any thing of the assistant superintendent that evening.“Yes, I saw him go into that building and up stairs to his office a while ago, though he had no idea I was watching him,” was the answer. “You know these are curious times, Mr. Manning, and some have to watch while others have to be watched. By the way, would you mind stepping in here where there is a light? I’d like to give you a bit of writing that may come handy to you some time.”Myles said he was in a great hurry just at that moment, but if Allen could wait until he had spoken with Mr. Watkins he would be right back.The conductor expressed his willingness to wait, and Myles, hurrying to the railway building, sprang lightly up the stair-way leading to the superintendent’s office. He opened the outer door, and, seeing a light in the inner room, stepped toward it. Ben was in the act of emptying the can of keroseneupon the pile of inflammable material, and Myles hesitated a moment in amazement at the sight.Then a match was struck, and the full meaning of what was about to be done flashed, with its sputtering glare, across the mind of the young reporter. He gave a cry of “Ben Watkins! what are you doing?” and rushed towards him determined to prevent the crime which seemed about to be committed. At the sound of his voice Watkins turned upon Myles in a frenzy of fear and hate.
CHAPTER X.MYLES MAKES A STARTLING DISCOVERY.THE cruel dispatch to thePhonograph, written for the express purpose of ruining Myles Manning, was the last one to go eastward that night. When the operator—much against his will, for he had taken a fancy to Myles, but compelled by the rules of his office to do so—had sent it flashing over the wires and received an “O. K.” in answer, his hand lay listlessly on the key for a full minute. He was thinking what a mean, contemptible thing had just been done, and was wondering if in any way he could undo it or avert its consequences. Yes, he believed something could be done! At any rate, he would try. The frank, pleasant face of the young reporter rose up before him. A fellow with such a face as that must be all right. He would at least take the responsibility of telling thePhonographpeople that he was, and that that last dispatch wasfalse. The key began to click beneath his nimble fingers, but its sound was faint and lifeless. The New York wire would not work. Quickly changing the connections on his switch-board the operator tried again, but with the same result. None of the eastern wires would work. Within that minute of hesitation they had all been cut.Then a rush of business came in that had to be sent west to Chicago. The Associated Press agent got off a few hundred hurriedly written words announcing the beginning of the great strike. Two or three important private messages were put through, and then the western wires also ceased to work. Mountain Junction was cut off from telegraphic communication with the world.Outside the office crowds of railroad men filled the streets. Some of them were noisy, others quiet and determined. Some of them uttered loud boasts and threats, others worked with the silent energy of those who have decided upon their plans and mean to carry them through. All trains arriving after midnight were side-tracked. Their locomotives were run into the round-house, where their fires were drawn. Heavy barricades were placed acrossthe main line, the signal-lights were extinguished, and all traffic was effectually stopped.When, late the next morning, Myles Manning awoke, it was with an aching head and a confused idea of where he was and what had happened to him. The town seemed strangely silent as compared with its noise and bustle of the day before. Could it be Sunday? No, Myles was certain that the preceding day had been Tuesday. What time was it? He pulled out his watch, and as he did so made the discovery that the roll of bills with which he was to have paid his expenses had disappeared. For a moment he thought he had been robbed. Then a dim memory of playing cards and losing money the evening before struggled into his mind, and the cruel nature of his situation began to dawn upon him. What had he done? What had he left undone? In his despair the poor boy sat down on the edge of his bed, and, burying his face in his hands, groaned aloud.He was aroused by a knock, but before he could reply to it the door opened and Ben Watkins walked in.“Hello, Manning!” he exclaimed. “What’s thematter? Why aren’t you out gathering in the items of interest that you reporters are always hunting for? There are dead loads of them floating round this place at present, I can tell you.”“Oh, Ben,” groaned Myles, hoping for a bit of sympathy in his distress, “my money is all gone except a dollar or two in change. I must have lost it at cards in your room last night; but I can’t exactly remember. What shall I do?”“Do? Why, brace up! You’ll get it all back again next time. I got pretty well cleaned out myself last night, but we’ll get even with that fellow yet. He’s got to stay here until the strike is over, and we’ll have no end of chances at him.”“The strike!” echoed Myles, to whose thoughts the words gave a new direction. “Has the strike begun?”“Well, I should say it had, and is well under way by this time. Why, it began at twelve o’clock last night. We had a big riot, but things are quieting down now, and both sides are awaiting developments.”“And I haven’t sent a word of it to the paper!” exclaimed Myles, aghast at the thought of his neglected duty.“Of course not. How could you, when all the telegraph wires were cut the first thing?”“Were they, really?” asked Myles, in a slightly relieved tone. “So that I couldn’t have sent any thing, any way?”“To be sure they were. Nobody was able to send off even a whisper. So you may rest easy on that score.”This news lightened poor Myles’ burden of anxiety somewhat, though it did not lessen the force of his self-reproach. Perhaps this, his first serious neglect of duty, would never be known in the office, after all. At the same time Myles vowed that such a thing should never happen again.After bathing his face in cold water he started out with Ben to study the situation. As they passed the hotel bar-room the latter suggested that they step in and take a “bracer.”“No, I thank you,” said Myles, resolutely. “No more ‘bracers’ for me. After last night I am willing to pledge myself never to touch another drop so long as I live.”“Oh, pshaw!” replied Ben. “Last night was nothing.”“Perhaps not, as you look at it, but if my last night’s condition and its results were known in thePhonographoffice it would prove a very important something to me. They have no use there for a fellow who lets liquor get the best of him.”“Nonsense!” exclaimed Ben. “Don’t try to make out that your own office is any better than any other. All newspaper men get drunk every now and then; everybody knows that.”“Look here, Ben Watkins!” cried Myles, stopping short and turning upon his companion, while an angry flush mounted to his face, “you may be speaking from ignorance, and I hope you are. At any rate, I want you to understand that what you have just said is not true. I know a good deal more about newspaper men than you do. As a rule, they are gentlemen, from editors-in-chief down to reporters, and no drunkard can ever lay rightful claim to that title.”“Oh, they can’t, can’t they?” remarked Ben, sneeringly. “Yet I suppose you consider yourself a gentleman.”“I try to be one,” answered Myles, hot with indignation at the other’s significant tone and words.“And hereafter I mean to associate only with those who are.”So saying he turned and walked rapidly away, leaving Ben to stare after him with such an expression of intense hatred on his face as startled the passers-by who chanced to notice it.Ben Watkins was a bad fellow. There was no doubt of that. Some people, and Myles Manning among them, suspected it, but nobody knew how bad he really was nor what evil he was capable of. As has already been shown, he could cherish a spirit of petty revenge, and would descend to any means to gratify it. In addition to this he was dishonest and recklessly extravagant. Although he had occupied his present position but a few months, he had managed to run into debt for one thing or another to a good many people. Some of these debts he had been obliged to pay, and, as his salary was not sufficient to meet them, he had appropriated to his own use several small sums of railroad money with which he had been intrusted, and altered the figures of his accounts to conceal the thefts. He hoped to win enough at cards to make good these sums before their loss should be discovered; but oflate luck had been against him, and he had only succeeded in plunging more deeply than ever into debt. At the outbreak of the great strike his situation was so desperate that he had almost made up his mind to disappear from that part of the country and make a new start where he was unknown.He dared not confide in or ask aid of his uncle, for the division superintendent was a stern man, with no sympathy or pity for evil-doers, especially those whose sin was that of dishonesty. He was absent from Mountain Junction when the strike broke out, attending a meeting of officers of the road, held in a distant city, and, as his assistant, Ben Watkins was left in charge of the office.On the day of his uncle’s departure, Ben had received, and receipted for, an express package containing a thousand dollars of railroad money, which he placed in the office safe to await the superintendent’s return. As he put this package away he looked longingly at it and wished it were for him. How nicely it would help him out of his troubles! Still he dared not even open it, and with a reluctant sigh he laid it down and closed the heavy safe door upon it.He had thought of this package more than once since, then, and even opened the safe several times to see if it were really there. Now, as, after parting from Myles, he sat at his uncle’s desk in the inner office, wondering if there was any way by which he could turn this strike to his own advantage, something happened that suited him exactly.As his uncle’s representative he was visited by a committee of four from the strikers—a conductor, an engineer, a stoker, and a brakeman. Of this committee conductor Jacob Allen was spokesman. He stated the cause of the strike very clearly, and promised that the men should use no violence so long as none was used against them. They were willing to await quietly the action of the company, but there was one matter that ought to be seen to at once lest it lead to trouble. Many of the strikers in Mountain Junction occupied houses near the shops and works belonging to the railroad. They were obliged to pass close by these buildings in going to and from their houses. Several of them had been ordered to keep at a greater distance by the soldiers guarding the works. It would put them to great inconvenience to be obliged to take other roads, andthis committee hoped Mr. Watkins would issue orders that they should pass unmolested, even close to the buildings, so long as they did so quietly and peaceably.The assistant division superintendent listened impatiently to all the committee had to say, and then with an air intended to impress them with the importance of his position, he answered,“I have already issued orders that no striker is to be allowed within a hundred feet of any works or shop belonging to this company and under my charge. If you do not want to be inconvenienced come in and report for duty. Until you do so the order will be enforced.”“I am afraid it will make trouble, Mr. Watkins,” said Allen.“That is your affair and not mine,” was the reply. “You must take the consequences of your own acts.”Disgusted with the manner and words of the self-important young man the committee withdrew, and the bitterness of feeling on both sides was from that moment greatly increased. As a result of Ben’s refusal to grant this modest and reasonable request several slight encounters took place between the soldiers and strikers during the day, and by nightfall a sense of uneasiness and fears of more serious trouble overspread the whole town.AS HE WAS STOOPING TO SET FIRE TO THE READY FUEL, THE SOUND OF HIS OWN NAME CAUSED HIM TO DROP THE MATCH. (Page151.)Ben Watkins watched all this with great satisfaction. It was exactly what he had hoped for, and he neglected no opportunity of making matters worse by word or action.It was after ten o’clock that night when he stood before the safe in his uncle’s private office, prepared to commit an act at once bold and wicked. He had entered the building as stealthily as a burglar, taking many precautions to avoid being seen. Now, with trembling hands, he unlocked the great safe, and, securing the coveted express package, thrust it into a breast-pocket of his coat. He next pulled the books and papers from the safe and scattered them about the floor. Then, pouring the contents of a can of kerosene over a pile of newspapers and other inflammable matter in one corner of the room, he struck a match. As he was stooping to set fire to the ready fuel the sound of his own name, uttered in a loud voice from the door-way, caused him to drop the match and spring to his feet, trembling with the terror of detected guilt. He had been workingby the dim light of a single lamp, and was so intent upon what he was about that he had not heard a step on the stair-way nor the door of the outer office open. Now, as he turned a face bloodless with fear in the direction of the voice and saw Myles Manning standing in the door-way, he uttered an inarticulate cry of rage and sprang toward him.Myles had been busily collecting news of the strike all that day and writing a report of it, in the hope that he might find some chance to get it through. He visited the telegraph office several times to inquire if the wires were not yet repaired, but each time his friend, the operator, who remained faithfully at his post, shook his head in the negative. The operator was anxious to befriend one to whom he had taken a liking, and who, as he knew, had suffered a great wrong, regarding which his duty obliged him to remain silent; but during the day he could discover no way of helping him. At last, late in the evening, when Myles had given up all hopes of getting a dispatch through and was about to retire, the operator called for him at the hotel.He said he had just learned, as a secret, froma friend among the strikers, that the wires were cut between the town and the first station on the railroad to the east. The strikers were in possession of that office, and from it were sending dispatches to other points along the line. He had told this friend, who possessed great influence over his fellows, that there was a reporter in town who was most anxious to communicate with his paper, and asked permission for him to do so from this little station. At first it was refused. Then the striker asked the reporter’s name. On being told that it was Manning, and that he was from thePhonograph, he said that made all the difference in the world. They would willingly allow aPhonographreporter the use of the wire whenever he wanted it; for that paper had always given the strikers a fair showing in its columns. He only made the conditions that no other reporter should be allowed the use of the wire, and that nothing should be forwarded over it except the message to thePhonograph.This the operator had promised, also agreeing to go with the reporter and send the message through himself.Myles was of course most eager to avail himself ofthis privilege, and, heartily thanking the operator, was about to order a carriage in which they might drive to the little station. His friend, however, said that the wagon-roads of that mountainous region were so rough and roundabout that to drive there would take several hours, while if they only had a hand-car they might reach the place in less than an hour, as the railroad was down grade nearly all the way. But all the hand-cars were locked up in one of the shops, and nobody but the division superintendent or the person acting in his place could authorize one to be taken out.Myles would rather have asked a favor from almost anybody else just then; but, as one “under orders,” it was clearly his duty to use every effort to carry them out, and he at once began his search for Ben Watkins. They went to his room and looked through the hotel in vain. Then the operator suggested that Mr. Watkins might be in his office, and said that if Myles would go there and see he would look in one or two other likely places, and they would meet at the railway station. So they separated, and Myles hurried in the direction of the superintendent’s office.Just before reaching it he met a man whom the light from an open window showed him to be his acquaintance of the evening before, conductor Jacob Allen. He apologized, with the plea of having been very busy, for not calling to see how little Bob was doing, and asked Allen if he had seen any thing of the assistant superintendent that evening.“Yes, I saw him go into that building and up stairs to his office a while ago, though he had no idea I was watching him,” was the answer. “You know these are curious times, Mr. Manning, and some have to watch while others have to be watched. By the way, would you mind stepping in here where there is a light? I’d like to give you a bit of writing that may come handy to you some time.”Myles said he was in a great hurry just at that moment, but if Allen could wait until he had spoken with Mr. Watkins he would be right back.The conductor expressed his willingness to wait, and Myles, hurrying to the railway building, sprang lightly up the stair-way leading to the superintendent’s office. He opened the outer door, and, seeing a light in the inner room, stepped toward it. Ben was in the act of emptying the can of keroseneupon the pile of inflammable material, and Myles hesitated a moment in amazement at the sight.Then a match was struck, and the full meaning of what was about to be done flashed, with its sputtering glare, across the mind of the young reporter. He gave a cry of “Ben Watkins! what are you doing?” and rushed towards him determined to prevent the crime which seemed about to be committed. At the sound of his voice Watkins turned upon Myles in a frenzy of fear and hate.
MYLES MAKES A STARTLING DISCOVERY.
THE cruel dispatch to thePhonograph, written for the express purpose of ruining Myles Manning, was the last one to go eastward that night. When the operator—much against his will, for he had taken a fancy to Myles, but compelled by the rules of his office to do so—had sent it flashing over the wires and received an “O. K.” in answer, his hand lay listlessly on the key for a full minute. He was thinking what a mean, contemptible thing had just been done, and was wondering if in any way he could undo it or avert its consequences. Yes, he believed something could be done! At any rate, he would try. The frank, pleasant face of the young reporter rose up before him. A fellow with such a face as that must be all right. He would at least take the responsibility of telling thePhonographpeople that he was, and that that last dispatch wasfalse. The key began to click beneath his nimble fingers, but its sound was faint and lifeless. The New York wire would not work. Quickly changing the connections on his switch-board the operator tried again, but with the same result. None of the eastern wires would work. Within that minute of hesitation they had all been cut.
Then a rush of business came in that had to be sent west to Chicago. The Associated Press agent got off a few hundred hurriedly written words announcing the beginning of the great strike. Two or three important private messages were put through, and then the western wires also ceased to work. Mountain Junction was cut off from telegraphic communication with the world.
Outside the office crowds of railroad men filled the streets. Some of them were noisy, others quiet and determined. Some of them uttered loud boasts and threats, others worked with the silent energy of those who have decided upon their plans and mean to carry them through. All trains arriving after midnight were side-tracked. Their locomotives were run into the round-house, where their fires were drawn. Heavy barricades were placed acrossthe main line, the signal-lights were extinguished, and all traffic was effectually stopped.
When, late the next morning, Myles Manning awoke, it was with an aching head and a confused idea of where he was and what had happened to him. The town seemed strangely silent as compared with its noise and bustle of the day before. Could it be Sunday? No, Myles was certain that the preceding day had been Tuesday. What time was it? He pulled out his watch, and as he did so made the discovery that the roll of bills with which he was to have paid his expenses had disappeared. For a moment he thought he had been robbed. Then a dim memory of playing cards and losing money the evening before struggled into his mind, and the cruel nature of his situation began to dawn upon him. What had he done? What had he left undone? In his despair the poor boy sat down on the edge of his bed, and, burying his face in his hands, groaned aloud.
He was aroused by a knock, but before he could reply to it the door opened and Ben Watkins walked in.
“Hello, Manning!” he exclaimed. “What’s thematter? Why aren’t you out gathering in the items of interest that you reporters are always hunting for? There are dead loads of them floating round this place at present, I can tell you.”
“Oh, Ben,” groaned Myles, hoping for a bit of sympathy in his distress, “my money is all gone except a dollar or two in change. I must have lost it at cards in your room last night; but I can’t exactly remember. What shall I do?”
“Do? Why, brace up! You’ll get it all back again next time. I got pretty well cleaned out myself last night, but we’ll get even with that fellow yet. He’s got to stay here until the strike is over, and we’ll have no end of chances at him.”
“The strike!” echoed Myles, to whose thoughts the words gave a new direction. “Has the strike begun?”
“Well, I should say it had, and is well under way by this time. Why, it began at twelve o’clock last night. We had a big riot, but things are quieting down now, and both sides are awaiting developments.”
“And I haven’t sent a word of it to the paper!” exclaimed Myles, aghast at the thought of his neglected duty.
“Of course not. How could you, when all the telegraph wires were cut the first thing?”
“Were they, really?” asked Myles, in a slightly relieved tone. “So that I couldn’t have sent any thing, any way?”
“To be sure they were. Nobody was able to send off even a whisper. So you may rest easy on that score.”
This news lightened poor Myles’ burden of anxiety somewhat, though it did not lessen the force of his self-reproach. Perhaps this, his first serious neglect of duty, would never be known in the office, after all. At the same time Myles vowed that such a thing should never happen again.
After bathing his face in cold water he started out with Ben to study the situation. As they passed the hotel bar-room the latter suggested that they step in and take a “bracer.”
“No, I thank you,” said Myles, resolutely. “No more ‘bracers’ for me. After last night I am willing to pledge myself never to touch another drop so long as I live.”
“Oh, pshaw!” replied Ben. “Last night was nothing.”
“Perhaps not, as you look at it, but if my last night’s condition and its results were known in thePhonographoffice it would prove a very important something to me. They have no use there for a fellow who lets liquor get the best of him.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Ben. “Don’t try to make out that your own office is any better than any other. All newspaper men get drunk every now and then; everybody knows that.”
“Look here, Ben Watkins!” cried Myles, stopping short and turning upon his companion, while an angry flush mounted to his face, “you may be speaking from ignorance, and I hope you are. At any rate, I want you to understand that what you have just said is not true. I know a good deal more about newspaper men than you do. As a rule, they are gentlemen, from editors-in-chief down to reporters, and no drunkard can ever lay rightful claim to that title.”
“Oh, they can’t, can’t they?” remarked Ben, sneeringly. “Yet I suppose you consider yourself a gentleman.”
“I try to be one,” answered Myles, hot with indignation at the other’s significant tone and words.
“And hereafter I mean to associate only with those who are.”
So saying he turned and walked rapidly away, leaving Ben to stare after him with such an expression of intense hatred on his face as startled the passers-by who chanced to notice it.
Ben Watkins was a bad fellow. There was no doubt of that. Some people, and Myles Manning among them, suspected it, but nobody knew how bad he really was nor what evil he was capable of. As has already been shown, he could cherish a spirit of petty revenge, and would descend to any means to gratify it. In addition to this he was dishonest and recklessly extravagant. Although he had occupied his present position but a few months, he had managed to run into debt for one thing or another to a good many people. Some of these debts he had been obliged to pay, and, as his salary was not sufficient to meet them, he had appropriated to his own use several small sums of railroad money with which he had been intrusted, and altered the figures of his accounts to conceal the thefts. He hoped to win enough at cards to make good these sums before their loss should be discovered; but oflate luck had been against him, and he had only succeeded in plunging more deeply than ever into debt. At the outbreak of the great strike his situation was so desperate that he had almost made up his mind to disappear from that part of the country and make a new start where he was unknown.
He dared not confide in or ask aid of his uncle, for the division superintendent was a stern man, with no sympathy or pity for evil-doers, especially those whose sin was that of dishonesty. He was absent from Mountain Junction when the strike broke out, attending a meeting of officers of the road, held in a distant city, and, as his assistant, Ben Watkins was left in charge of the office.
On the day of his uncle’s departure, Ben had received, and receipted for, an express package containing a thousand dollars of railroad money, which he placed in the office safe to await the superintendent’s return. As he put this package away he looked longingly at it and wished it were for him. How nicely it would help him out of his troubles! Still he dared not even open it, and with a reluctant sigh he laid it down and closed the heavy safe door upon it.
He had thought of this package more than once since, then, and even opened the safe several times to see if it were really there. Now, as, after parting from Myles, he sat at his uncle’s desk in the inner office, wondering if there was any way by which he could turn this strike to his own advantage, something happened that suited him exactly.
As his uncle’s representative he was visited by a committee of four from the strikers—a conductor, an engineer, a stoker, and a brakeman. Of this committee conductor Jacob Allen was spokesman. He stated the cause of the strike very clearly, and promised that the men should use no violence so long as none was used against them. They were willing to await quietly the action of the company, but there was one matter that ought to be seen to at once lest it lead to trouble. Many of the strikers in Mountain Junction occupied houses near the shops and works belonging to the railroad. They were obliged to pass close by these buildings in going to and from their houses. Several of them had been ordered to keep at a greater distance by the soldiers guarding the works. It would put them to great inconvenience to be obliged to take other roads, andthis committee hoped Mr. Watkins would issue orders that they should pass unmolested, even close to the buildings, so long as they did so quietly and peaceably.
The assistant division superintendent listened impatiently to all the committee had to say, and then with an air intended to impress them with the importance of his position, he answered,
“I have already issued orders that no striker is to be allowed within a hundred feet of any works or shop belonging to this company and under my charge. If you do not want to be inconvenienced come in and report for duty. Until you do so the order will be enforced.”
“I am afraid it will make trouble, Mr. Watkins,” said Allen.
“That is your affair and not mine,” was the reply. “You must take the consequences of your own acts.”
Disgusted with the manner and words of the self-important young man the committee withdrew, and the bitterness of feeling on both sides was from that moment greatly increased. As a result of Ben’s refusal to grant this modest and reasonable request several slight encounters took place between the soldiers and strikers during the day, and by nightfall a sense of uneasiness and fears of more serious trouble overspread the whole town.
AS HE WAS STOOPING TO SET FIRE TO THE READY FUEL, THE SOUND OF HIS OWN NAME CAUSED HIM TO DROP THE MATCH. (Page151.)
AS HE WAS STOOPING TO SET FIRE TO THE READY FUEL, THE SOUND OF HIS OWN NAME CAUSED HIM TO DROP THE MATCH. (Page151.)
AS HE WAS STOOPING TO SET FIRE TO THE READY FUEL, THE SOUND OF HIS OWN NAME CAUSED HIM TO DROP THE MATCH. (Page151.)
Ben Watkins watched all this with great satisfaction. It was exactly what he had hoped for, and he neglected no opportunity of making matters worse by word or action.
It was after ten o’clock that night when he stood before the safe in his uncle’s private office, prepared to commit an act at once bold and wicked. He had entered the building as stealthily as a burglar, taking many precautions to avoid being seen. Now, with trembling hands, he unlocked the great safe, and, securing the coveted express package, thrust it into a breast-pocket of his coat. He next pulled the books and papers from the safe and scattered them about the floor. Then, pouring the contents of a can of kerosene over a pile of newspapers and other inflammable matter in one corner of the room, he struck a match. As he was stooping to set fire to the ready fuel the sound of his own name, uttered in a loud voice from the door-way, caused him to drop the match and spring to his feet, trembling with the terror of detected guilt. He had been workingby the dim light of a single lamp, and was so intent upon what he was about that he had not heard a step on the stair-way nor the door of the outer office open. Now, as he turned a face bloodless with fear in the direction of the voice and saw Myles Manning standing in the door-way, he uttered an inarticulate cry of rage and sprang toward him.
Myles had been busily collecting news of the strike all that day and writing a report of it, in the hope that he might find some chance to get it through. He visited the telegraph office several times to inquire if the wires were not yet repaired, but each time his friend, the operator, who remained faithfully at his post, shook his head in the negative. The operator was anxious to befriend one to whom he had taken a liking, and who, as he knew, had suffered a great wrong, regarding which his duty obliged him to remain silent; but during the day he could discover no way of helping him. At last, late in the evening, when Myles had given up all hopes of getting a dispatch through and was about to retire, the operator called for him at the hotel.
He said he had just learned, as a secret, froma friend among the strikers, that the wires were cut between the town and the first station on the railroad to the east. The strikers were in possession of that office, and from it were sending dispatches to other points along the line. He had told this friend, who possessed great influence over his fellows, that there was a reporter in town who was most anxious to communicate with his paper, and asked permission for him to do so from this little station. At first it was refused. Then the striker asked the reporter’s name. On being told that it was Manning, and that he was from thePhonograph, he said that made all the difference in the world. They would willingly allow aPhonographreporter the use of the wire whenever he wanted it; for that paper had always given the strikers a fair showing in its columns. He only made the conditions that no other reporter should be allowed the use of the wire, and that nothing should be forwarded over it except the message to thePhonograph.
This the operator had promised, also agreeing to go with the reporter and send the message through himself.
Myles was of course most eager to avail himself ofthis privilege, and, heartily thanking the operator, was about to order a carriage in which they might drive to the little station. His friend, however, said that the wagon-roads of that mountainous region were so rough and roundabout that to drive there would take several hours, while if they only had a hand-car they might reach the place in less than an hour, as the railroad was down grade nearly all the way. But all the hand-cars were locked up in one of the shops, and nobody but the division superintendent or the person acting in his place could authorize one to be taken out.
Myles would rather have asked a favor from almost anybody else just then; but, as one “under orders,” it was clearly his duty to use every effort to carry them out, and he at once began his search for Ben Watkins. They went to his room and looked through the hotel in vain. Then the operator suggested that Mr. Watkins might be in his office, and said that if Myles would go there and see he would look in one or two other likely places, and they would meet at the railway station. So they separated, and Myles hurried in the direction of the superintendent’s office.
Just before reaching it he met a man whom the light from an open window showed him to be his acquaintance of the evening before, conductor Jacob Allen. He apologized, with the plea of having been very busy, for not calling to see how little Bob was doing, and asked Allen if he had seen any thing of the assistant superintendent that evening.
“Yes, I saw him go into that building and up stairs to his office a while ago, though he had no idea I was watching him,” was the answer. “You know these are curious times, Mr. Manning, and some have to watch while others have to be watched. By the way, would you mind stepping in here where there is a light? I’d like to give you a bit of writing that may come handy to you some time.”
Myles said he was in a great hurry just at that moment, but if Allen could wait until he had spoken with Mr. Watkins he would be right back.
The conductor expressed his willingness to wait, and Myles, hurrying to the railway building, sprang lightly up the stair-way leading to the superintendent’s office. He opened the outer door, and, seeing a light in the inner room, stepped toward it. Ben was in the act of emptying the can of keroseneupon the pile of inflammable material, and Myles hesitated a moment in amazement at the sight.
Then a match was struck, and the full meaning of what was about to be done flashed, with its sputtering glare, across the mind of the young reporter. He gave a cry of “Ben Watkins! what are you doing?” and rushed towards him determined to prevent the crime which seemed about to be committed. At the sound of his voice Watkins turned upon Myles in a frenzy of fear and hate.