CHAPTER XXI
THE COMING OF FOGERTY
The homeless mill hands flocked to Chazy Junction next day, from whencea freight train distributed them over other parts of the country. Theclearing at Royal Falls was now a heap of charred embers, for every oneof the cheap, rough-board buildings had been consumed by the fire.
Skeelty had watched the destruction of his plant with feelings ofmingled glee and disgust. He was insured against loss, and his rashworkmen, who had turned upon him so unexpectedly, had accidentallysettled the strike and their own future by starting the fire duringtheir drunken orgies. There being no longer a mill to employ them theywent elsewhere for work, rather glad of the change and regrettingnothing. As for the manager, he stood to lose temporary profits but wasnot wholly displeased by the catastrophe. Transportation of hismanufactured products had been so irregular and undefendable that evenwhile he watched the blaze he determined to rebuild his plant nearer themain line of a railway, for many such locations could be found where thepine was as plentiful as here.
At dawn he entered the hotel at Millville with his arms full of booksand papers which he had succeeded in saving from the fire, and securinga room went directly to bed. It was afternoon when he awoke and afterobtaining a meal he strolled out into the village and entered thenewspaper office.
"Here's an item for your paper," he said to Patsy, who was busy at herdesk. "The mills at Royal will never be rebuilt, and Millville has lostthe only chance it ever had of becoming a manufacturing center. Thewhole settlement, which belonged to Boglin and myself, went up in smoke,and I'm willing to let it go at that. I shall collect the insurance,make myself good, and if anything's left over, that fool Boglin iswelcome to it. I admit I made a mistake in ever allowing him to induceme to build at Royal. Boglin owned the land and I used his money, so Igave up to him; but I'm through with the _honer'ble_ ass now. Put it allin the paper; it'll make him feel good. You might add that I'm takingthe evening train for New York, shaking the dust of your miserablevillage from my feet for good and all."
"Thank you, sir," said Patsy, brightly; "the Millville people willappreciate their good luck, I'm sure."
Skeelty hung around the town for awhile, sneering at the new electriclight plant and insolently railing at any of the natives who wouldconverse with him. Then he hired Nick Thorne to drive him over to ChazyJunction, and that was the last Millville ever saw of him.
During this day Joe Wegg's men succeeded in repairing all the wireswhich had been tampered with and in making a proper and permanentconnection of the cable to the printing office. That evening the villagewas again brilliantly lighted and thereafter the big dynamos whirledpeacefully and without interruption.
The girls had a busy day, as Uncle John had predicted, for all theexciting incidents of the evening and night before had to be written upand the next day's paper teemed with "news" of a character to interestall its readers. Beth's editorial declared the neighborhood well rid ofthe paper mill, which had been of little advantage but had caused no endof annoyance because of the rough and mischievous character of theworkmen employed. In this statement nearly everyone agreed with her.
Several had been wounded in the riot of the eventful evening, but noneseriously injured. The workmen took away their damaged comrades and LonTaft drove over to Huntingdon and had his head sewed up by the doctor.Other villagers suffered mere bruises, but all who engaged in the fightposed as heroes and even Peggy McNutt, who figured as "not present,"told marvelous tales of how he had worsted seven mill hands in astand-up fight, using only his invincible fists.
The following forenoon the liveryman at the Junction brought toMillville a passenger who had arrived by the morning train--a quiet,boyish-looking man with a shock of brick-red hair and a thin, freckledface. He was driven directly to the Merrick farm, where Uncle Johnreceived him cordially, but with surprise, and at once favored the newarrival with a long interview in his private room.
The girls, who had not yet gone to the office, awaited somewhatimpatiently the result of this conference, for they already knew thered-headed youth to be the great Fogerty--admitted by even his would-berivals, the king of New York detectives. Also they knew that Uncle Johnhad employed him some time ago to ferret out the mystery of the identityof Thursday Smith, and the fact of Fogerty's presence indicated he hadsomething to report.
However, when Mr. Merrick came out of the private room his usuallycheery countenance wore a troubled expression. Fogerty was invariablyplacid and inscrutable, so no explanation could be gleaned from hisdemeanor.
"Ready for town, my dears?" asked Uncle John.
"Yes; the surrey is waiting," answered Louise.
"Then go along, and Fogerty and I will join you at the office presently.I want to confer with the major and Arthur before--before taking anysteps to--"
"What's the news, Uncle?" demanded Patsy, impatiently.
"You shall know in good time."
"Who is Thursday Smith?"
"By and by, dear. Don't bother me now. But that reminds me; you are tosay nothing to--to--Thursday about Mr. Fogerty's arrival. Treathim--Thursday, you know--just as you have always done, for the present,at least. Whatever we determine on in regard to this man, during ourconference, we must not forget that he has acted most gallantly since hecame to Millville. We really owe him a debt of gratitude."
With this somewhat incomprehensible statement the girls were forced tocontent themselves. Feeling quite helpless, they drove to the officeand left the men to settle the fate of Thursday Smith.
The "pressman" was now the man-of-all-work about the modest but trimlittle publishing plant. He attended to whatever job printing came in,made the etchings from Hetty's drawings, cast the stereotypes, made upthe forms and operated the press. But aside from this mechanical workSmith took the telegraphic news received by Hetty, edited and condensedit and wrote the black-letter headings over the various items. All this,with a general supervision over the girl compositors, kept the man busyfrom daybreak to midnight.
In spite of this, the Tribune was essentially a "girls' paper," sinceThursday Smith was the only man employed on it--not counting the "dummy"editor, Arthur Weldon, who did nothing but keep the books, and foundthis not an arduous task. Hetty, at Miss Briggs' desk, attended thetelegraph instrument and long-distance telephone, receiving news overboth wires, and still found time to draw her daily cartoons andadditional humorous sketches which she "worked in" whenever the moodseized her. The typesetting was done by the Dwyer sisters--a colorlesspair but quite reliable--while the reportorial and editorial work wasdivided between Louise, Beth and Patsy, none of whom shirked a singleduty. Indeed, they had come to love this work dearly and wereenthusiastic over the _Tribune_, which they fondly believed was beingwatched with envious admiration by all the journalistic world.
This belief was not wholly due to egotism. Their "exchanges," both cityand country, had shown considerable interest in the "MillvilleExperiment," as they called it, and only a few days before the leadingjournal of a good-sized city had commented at length on the "girls'newspaper" and, after indulging in some humorous remarks, concludedquite seriously with the statement that "its evident sincerity, cleancontents and typographical neatness render the _Millville Daily Tribune_worthy a better setting than the somnolent country village whose censusis too low to be officially recorded."
"But that's all right," said Patsy, smiling at the praise; "we'd neverhave dared to start a newspaper anywhere else, because a journal thatwill do for Millville might not make a hit if it bumped againstexperienced competition."
"We were woefully ignorant when we began, a few weeks ago," commentedBeth, glancing with pride at her latest editorial, which she thought hadcaught the oracular tone of the big city newspapers.
"And we're not expert journalists, even yet," added Louise, with a sigh."We've improved, to be sure; but I imagine there is still lots of roomfor improvement."
"One trouble," said Patsy, "is that every inhabitant of Millville wantsto see his or
her name in print every day, whether he or she has doneanything worthy of publication or not. If the name isn't printed, we'vemade an enemy; and, if it is, the paper is sure to suffer more or lessridicule."
"That is quite true, my dear," responded Louise, the reporter. "I'vesaid everything, about every one of them, that has ever happened, orthreatened to happen, since we started the paper, and it is driving mecrazy to discover anything more about these stupid natives that will doto print."
Hetty had overheard this conversation and now looked up with a smile.
"Has your 'local happenings' column been prepared for to-morrow, Mrs.Weldon?" she inquired.
"No; I'm about to start out to unearth some items," replied Louise,wearily.
"Let me do it for you. I've an hour or so to spare and I won't need toleave my desk," suggested the artist.
"It is my duty, you know, Hetty, and I've no right to evade it."
"Evade it for to-day. Go home and rest. I'll do your column forto-morrow, and after the vacation you can tackle the thrillingsituations with better courage."
"Thank you, Hetty. But I won't go home. I'll wait here to see Fogerty."
"Fogerty!" exclaimed the artist, with a start of surprise. "Do you meanthe detective?"
"Yes," said Louise, regretting she had inadvertently mentioned thename.
"But what is there now to detect?" asked Hetty suspiciously. "Ourtroubles seem ended with the burning of the mill and the flitting ofSkeelty and his workmen."
Louise hardly knew how to reply; but Patsy, who trusted the queer girlartist, said quite frankly:
"There remains the mystery of Thursday Smith to fathom, you know."
Hetty flushed and an indignant look swept over her face.
"What right has anyone to solve that mystery?" she asked defiantly."Isn't that Thursday Smith's own business?"
"Perhaps," returned Patsy, somewhat amused; "but Smith hasn't been ableto discover who he is--or was, rather--and seems really anxious toknow."
Hetty bent over her desk for a time. Then she looked up and her thinfeatures were white and drawn with anxiety.
"When you discover who Thursday Smith is," said she, "the MillvilleTribune will lose its right bower."
"Why?"
"Before his accident, or whatever it was that made him lose his memory,he was an unusual man, a man of exceptional ability. You know that."
"We are all inclined to admit it," answered Patsy. "But what then?"
"Men of ability," declared Hetty slowly, "are of two classes: the verysuccessful, who attain high and honorable positions, or the cleverscoundrels who fasten themselves like leeches on humanity and bleedtheir victims with heartless unconcern. What will you gain if you unmaskthe past of Thursday Smith? You uncover a rogue or a man of affairs, andin either case you will lose your pressman. Better leave the curtaindrawn, Miss Doyle, and accept Thursday Smith as he is."
There was so much good sense in this reasoning that all three girls wereimpressed and began to regret that Uncle John had called Fogerty tountangle the skein. But it was now too late for such repentance and,after all, they were curious to discover who their remarkable employeereally was.
Even while the awkward silence that had fallen upon the group of girlscontinued, the door opened to admit Uncle John, Fogerty, Major Doyle andArthur Weldon. Except for the detective they were stern-faced anduncompromising.