Connie Morgan in the Lumber Camps

  CHAPTER XVIII

  CONNIE SELLS SOME LOGS

  Connie Morgan left the office of the Syndicate, and once more upon thesidewalk, filled his lungs with the keen air. "It's going to work!""It's going to work!" he repeated over and over to himself as he madehis way toward the store where he had left his discarded clothingstuffed into a brand new brown leather suitcase. The boy returnedunhesitatingly to the store, not by means of street signs, but by thesimple process of back-trailing. Trained in observation, his eyes hadunfailingly registered the landmarks in his brain--even when that brainhad been too busy wondering what was to be the outcome of his conferencewith Heinie Metzger, to know that it was receiving impressions. It wasthis trained habit of observation that had enabled him to select hiswearing apparel and the brown leather suitcase. He had simply studiedthe passengers on the train, and selecting a man who looked welldressed, had copied his apparel and even his suitcase.

  The clerk at the store directed him to his hotel, and a few minuteslater he stood in the window of a thickly carpeted room, and stared outover the roofs of buildings. "It's--it's like the mountains," he mused,"stretching away, peak after peak, as far as you can see, and thestreets are the canyons and the valleys--only this is more--lonesome."Tiring of looking out over the roofs, he put on his overcoat and spentthe afternoon upon the streets, admiring the goods in the store windowsand watching the people pass and repass upon the sidewalks. It was amild, sunshiny afternoon and the streets were thronged with ladies, thebrowns, and greys, and blacks, and whites of their furs making a prettykaleidoscope of colour.

  At the Union Station he procured a folder and after looking up thedeparture of trains, returned to his hotel. He walked back at the timewhen factories, stores, and office buildings were disgorging their humanflood onto the streets, and the boy gazed about him in wonder as heelbowed his way along the sidewalk. He smiled to himself. "I guess Idon't know much about cities. In the store I was wondering where in theworld they were going to find the people to buy all the stuff they hadpiled around, and when I was looking out the window, I wondered if therewere enough people in the world to live in all the houses--and now I'mwondering if there is enough stuff to go around, and enough houses tohold 'em all."

  In this room Connie glanced at his watch, performed a hasty toilet, andhurried into the elevator. "Gee, it's most six!" he muttered, "I bet I'mlate for supper." He was surprised to find men in the lobby, sittingabout in chairs or talking in groups, as they had been doing when heleft in the afternoon. "Maybe they don't have it 'til six," he thought,and seating himself in a leather chair, waited with his eyes on theclock. Six o'clock came, and when the hand reached five minutes after,he strolled to the desk. "Anything here for me?" he asked. The clerkhanded him an envelope. "Heinie's making good," thought the boy, andthen, trying not to look hungry, he turned to the clerk: "Cook holleredyet?" he asked casually.

  The man smiled: "Grill's down stairs," he announced, pointing to amarble stairway at the other end of the room.

  "I ain't too late, am I?" asked the boy.

  "Too late! Too late for what?"

  "For supper. It ain't over is it?"

  "The grill is open from eight in the morning until midnight," explainedthe man, and as Connie turned away, he called after him: "Oh, Mr.Morgan----"

  "Connie Morgan," corrected the boy gravely.

  "Well, Connie, then--you are not to pay your checks, just sign them andthe waiter will take care of them."

  "That suits me," smiled Connie, and as he crossed the tiled floor hemuttered: "If they hadn't wasted so much space making the office androoms so big, they wouldn't have to eat in the cellar. In Fairbanks orSkagway they'd have made four rooms out of that one of mine." At thedoor of the grill a man in black met him, conducted him through a mazeof small tables at which men and women were eating, and drew out a chairat a table placed against the wall. Another man in black appeared,filled a glass with water from a fat bottle, and flipped a large pieceof cardboard in front of him. Connie scanned the printed list withpuckered brow. Way down toward the bottom he found three words he knew,they were tea, coffee, milk. The man in black was waiting at his sidewith a pencil poised above a small pad of paper. "Go ahead, if you wantto write," said the boy, "I won't bother you any--I'm just trying tofigure out what some of these names mean."

  "Waiting for your order, sir."

  "Don't 'sir' me. You mean you're the waiter?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Well, I'm hungry, suppose you beat it out and bring me my supper."

  "What will it be, sir? I will take your order, sir."

  "Cut out that 'sir,' I told you. If these things they've got down herestand for grub, you'll just have to bring along the whole mess, and I'llpick out what I want."

  "Might I suggest, s----"

  "Look here," interrupted the boy, grasping the idea. "If any of thesenames stand for ham and eggs, or beefsteak, or potatoes, or bread andbutter, you bring 'em along."

  The man actually smiled, and Connie felt relieved. "Whose place isthat?" he indicated a chair across the table.

  "Not reserved, sir."

  Connie glanced around the room: "You ain't very busy, now. Might as wellbring your own grub along, and if you can ever remember to forget that'sir' business, we'll get along all right--I'm lonesome."

  When the waiter returned with a tray loaded with good things to eat,Connie again indicated the empty chair. "Against the rules," whisperedthe waiter, remembering to leave off the "sir."

  Connie did justice to the meal and when he had finished, the man clearedthe dishes away and set a plate before him upon which was a small bowlof water and a folded napkin. "What's that?" asked the boy, "I drink outof a glass."

  "Finger bowl," whispered the waiter. "Do you wish a dessert?"

  "Might take a chance on a piece of pie," answered the boy, "here takethis along. I washed up-stairs."

  When the waiter presented his check, Connie took the pencil from hishand, signed it, and passed it back.

  "Very good. One moment, 'til I verify this at the desk." He hurriedaway, and returned a moment later. "Very good," he repeated.

  Connie handed him a dollar: "I'm going to be here a week," he said, "Iwant three good square meals a day, and it's up to you to see that I get'em. No more lists of stuff I can't read. No more 'yes sir,' 'no sir,''very good sir.'"

  The waiter pocketed the dollar: "Thank you, s--. Very good. Always cometo this table. I will reserve this place for you. You will find yourchair tilted, so. I shall speak to the head waiter."

  Connie went directly to his room and putting on his cap and overcoat,returned to the lobby and again approached the man at the desk: "Whattime does the show start?" he asked.

  "Curtain rises at eight-fifteen."

  "Where is it?"

  "Which one?"

  The boy reached for his envelope and handed the ticket to the clerk.

  "Metropolitan," informed the man, with a glance at the cardboard."Marquette, between Third and Fourth." The boy glanced at the clock. Itwas a quarter past seven. Hurrying to Nicollet Avenue, he walkedrapidly to the depot and accosted a uniformed official: "Is theseven-fifty-five for Brainard in yet?"

  "Naw, third gate to yer right, where them folks is waitin'."

  Connie turned up his collar, pulled his cap well down over his eyes, andstrolled to the edge of the knot of people that crowded close about oneof the iron gates. His eyes ran rapidly over each face in the crowdwithout encountering the object of his search, so he appropriated aninconspicuous seat on a nearby bench between a man who was engrossed inhis newspaper, and an old woman who held a large bundle up on her lap,and whose feet were surrounded with other bundles and bags which sheinsisted upon counting every few minutes. Closely the boy scrutinizedeach new arrival as he joined the waiting group. Beyond the iron grillwere long strings of lighted coaches to which were coupled engines thatpanted eagerly as they awaited the signal that would send them plungingaway into the night with their burden of human freight.

/>   Other trains drew in, and Connie watched the greetings of relatives andfriends, as they rushed to meet the inpouring stream of passengers. Itseemed to the lonely boy that everybody in the world had someone waitingto welcome him but himself. He swallowed once or twice, smiled a triflebitterly, and resumed his scrutiny of the faces. A man bawled a stringof names, there was a sudden surging of the crowd which rapidly meltedas its members were spewed out into the train shed. A few stragglerswere still hurrying through the gate. The hands of a clock pointed toseven-fifty-four, and Connie stood up. As he did so, a man catapulteddown the stairs, and rushed for the gate. He was a young man, clothed inthe garb of a woodsman, and as he passed him, Connie recognized theheavy face of von Kuhlmann.

  "That's just what I've been waiting for," he spoke aloud to himself,after the manner of those whose lives are cast in the solitudes. The manglanced up from his newspaper, and the old woman regarded him with awithering scowl, and gathered her bundles more closely about her feet.

  The play that evening was a musical comedy, and during the entireperformance the boy sat enthralled by the music and the dazzlingcostumes. He was still in a daze when he reached his hotel, and oncemore stood in his room and gazed out over the city of twinkling lights.He turned from the window and surveyed his apartment, the thick carpet,the huge brass bed, the white bath tub in the tiny room adjoining, withits faucets for hot and cold water, the big mirror that reflected hisimage from head to foot--it seemed all of a piece with the play.

  Instantly the boy's imagination leaped the snow-locked miles and he sawthe tiny cabin on Ten Bow, the nights on the snow-trail when he hadcurled up in his blankets with the coldly gleaming stars for his roof;he saw the rough camp on Dogfish and in a flash he was back in the roomonce more. "This ain't real _living_," he muttered, once more glancingabout him, "It's--it's like the show--like living in a world ofmake-believe."

  Undressing, he drew the white tub nearly full of water. "I'm going tomake it just as hot as I can stand it. Any one can take a bath in coldwater." He wallowed in the tub for a long time, dried himself with acoarse towel, and rummaging in his new suitcase, produced a pair of pinkpyjamas which had been highly recommended by the clerk at the big store.Very gingerly he donned the garments and for some moments stood andviewed himself in the mirror. "Gee," he muttered, "I'm sure gladWaseche Bill ain't here!" and switching out the light, he dived intobed.

  VERY GINGERLY HE DONNED THE GARMENTS AND FOR SOME MOMENTSSTOOD AND VIEWED HIMSELF IN THE MIRROR.]

  Promptly at eleven o'clock, one week from the day he arrived inMinneapolis, Connie Morgan again presented himself at the office of theSyndicate. That he had been expected was evidenced by the fact that thegirl at the switchboard did not ask him any questions. She greeted himby name, and touching a button beneath the edge of her desk summoned aboy who conducted him to Metzger's private office. The lumber magnatereceived him with an oily smile: "Promptly on the minute," he approved."That's business. Sit here and we will see whether two business men areable to make their minds meet in a contract that will be profitable toboth." The man placed the points of his fingers together and sightedacross them at Connie. "In the first place," he began, "the quantity oflogs. You are sure you can deliver here at our mills at least eightmillion feet?"

  "Yes."

  "Because," continued the man, "owing to the conditions of a contract wehave on hand, any less than eight million feet would be practically ofno value to us whatever. That is, we have concluded to rely entirelyupon your logs to fulfill our big contract, and should you fail us, theother contract would fail, and we would be at the expense of marketingthe lumber elsewhere."

  "How much more than eight million feet could you use?" asked the boy.

  "As much more as you can deliver. Say, anything up to ten million."

  Connie nodded: "That's all right," he assented, "and the price?"

  "Ah, yes--the price." Metzger frowned thoughtfully. "What would you sayto twenty dollars a thousand?"

  Connie shook his head. "I can get twenty-five anywhere."

  "Well, twenty-five?"

  Again the boy shook his head. "You told me you could pay liberally forthe logs if you could be sure of getting them all in one lot," hereminded. "I can get twenty-five, anywhere, and by hunting out my marketI can boost it to thirty."

  Metzger's frown deepened. "What is your price?" he asked.

  "Fifty dollars."

  "Fifty dollars!" The man rolled his eyes as if imploring high heaven tolook down upon the extortion. "Ridiculous! Why the highest price everpaid was forty!"

  "We'll make a new record, then," answered the boy calmly.

  "Forty dollars--if you must have it," offered the man. "Forty dollars ornothing. And, even at forty, we must insist on inserting a protectiveclause in the contract."

  "A protective clause?"

  "Yes, it is this way. If we assume to pay such an outrageous price foryour logs, we must insist upon being protected in case you fail todeliver. Suppose, for instance, something prevented your delivering thelogs, or part of them at our mills. Say, you could deliver only four orfive million. We could not pay forty dollars for them, because our priceis fixed with the understanding that we are to receive eight million."

  "That's fair enough," answered the boy; "we'll fix that. If we don'tdeliver eight million, then you take what we do deliver at twentydollars."

  Metzger pondered. "And you will bind yourself to sell to us, and not toothers, if you deliver a short cut?"

  "Sure we will."

  "Well, there is fairness in your offer. We will say, then, that we areto pay you forty dollars a thousand for any amount between eight and tenmillion, and only twenty dollars if you fail to deliver at least eightmillion."

  "I said fifty dollars," reminded the boy.

  "And I say we cannot pay fifty! It is unheard of! It is not to bethought of! It is exorbitant!"

  Connie arose and reached for his cap: "All right," he answered. "Thedeal's off." At the door he paused, "I liked your hotel, and the shows,"he said, but Metzger cut him short:

  "The hotel and the shows!" he cried. "Bah! it is nothing! Come backhere. You are an extortionist! You know you have us at your mercy, andyou are gouging us! It is an outrage!"

  "See here, Metzger." The man flinched at the use of his name, shorn ofany respectful _Herr_, or Mister. But he listened. "It's my businessto get as much for those logs as I can get. There is nothing moreto talk about. If you want 'em at fifty dollars, take 'em, if youdon't--good-bye."

  Muttering and grumbling, the man motioned him back to his seat. "We'vegot to have the logs," he whined, "but it is a hard bargain you drive.One does not look for such harshness in the young. I am disappointed.How would forty-five do?"

  "Fifty."

  "Well, fifty, then!" snapped Metzger, with a great show of anger. "Butlook here, if we go up ten dollars on our part, you come down tendollars on your part! We will pay fifty dollars a thousand for all logsbetween eight and ten million--and ten dollars a thousand for all logsdelivered short of eight million--and you bind yourself to sell us yourentire drive on those terms."

  "That's a deal," answered the boy. "And our crew to work with yours atthe sorting gap. When will you have the papers?"

  "Come back at two," growled the man, shortly.

  When Connie had gone, Metzger touched one of a row of buttons upon hisdesk, and von Kuhlmann entered, and standing at military attention,waited for his superior to speak.

  For a full minute Metzger kept him standing without deigning to noticehim. Then, scribbling for a moment, he extended a paper toward hissubordinate. "Have a contract drawn in conformity with these figures,"he commanded.

  Von Kuhlmann glanced at the paper. "He agreed? As it iss so said here inAmerica--he bite?"

  Metzger's thin lip writhed in a saturnine grin: "Yes, he bit. I strunghim along, and he has an idea that he is a wonderful business man--tohold out against me for his price. Ha, little did he know that the topprice interested me not at all! It was the
lesser figure that I wasafter--and you see what it is, von Kuhlmann--_ten dollars a thousand_!"

  The other made a rapid mental calculation: "On the deal, at five millionfeet, we make, at the least, more than three hundred thousand!"

  Metzger nodded: "Yes! That is business!" he glared into von Kuhlmann'sface, "This deal is based on _your_ report. If you have failed us----!"

  Von Kuhlmann shuddered: "I haff not fail. I haff been on Dogfish, and Ihaff mit mine eyes seen the logs. I haff talk mit Hurley, the boss. Heiss mit us. Why should he not be mit us? We pay him well for the logsfrom which comes the paint off. He haff brand with the dissolving paintthree million feets. Mineself I apply vater _unt_ from the ends, I rubthe paint, in each rollway, here and there, a log."

  Metzger pencilled some figures on a pad. "If you have failed us," herepeated, "we pay _four hundred thousand_ dollars for eight millionfeet. _Four hundred thousand!_ And we lose forty dollars a thousand onthe whole eight million feet. Because we expect to pay this Hurley tendollars a thousand for the three million feet branded with thedissolving paint--and also to pay ten dollars a thousand for the fivemillion that will be delivered under the contract." The man paused andbrought his fist down on the desk: "Ha, these Americans!" the thin lipstwisted in sneering contempt, "they pride themselves upon theiracumen--upon their business ability. They boast of being a nation oftraders! They have pride of their great country lying helpless asa babe--a swine contentedly wallowing in its own fat, believingitself secure in its flimsy sty--little heeding the Butcher, whowatches even as he whets his knife under the swine's very eyes,waiting--waiting--waiting only for--THE DAY!" At the words both Metzgerand von Kuhlmann clicked their heels and came to a stiff militarysalute. Standing Metzger, continued: "Traders--business men--bah! It isthe Germans who are the traders--the business men of the world. Into thevery heart of their country we reach, and they do not know it. Lumberhere, iron there, cotton, wool, railroads, banks--in their own country,and under protection of their own laws we have reached out our hands andhave taken; until today Germany holds the death-grip upon Americancommerce, as some day she will hold the death-grip upon America's veryexistence. When the Butcher thrusts the knife the swine dies. And, we,the supermen--the foremost in trade, in arms, in science, in art, inthought--we, the Germans, will that day come into our place in the sun!"

  "_Der Tag!_" pronounced von Kuhlmann, reverently, and with anotherclicking salute, he retired.

  At two o'clock Connie found himself once more in Metzger's office. Thehead of the Syndicate handed him a copy of a typed paper which the boyread carefully. Then, very carefully he read it again.

  "This seems to cover all the points. It suits me. You made two copies,did you?"

  Metzger nodded. "And, now we will sign?" he asked, picking up a pen fromthe desk, and touching a button. Von Kuhlmann appeared in the doorway."Just witness these signatures," said Metzger.

  "If it's just the same to you, I saw Mike Gillum, one of your foremen,waiting out there; I would rather he witnessed the signing."

  "What's this? What do you mean?"

  "Nothing--only I know Mike Gillum. He's honest. I'd like him towitness."

  "Send Gillum in!" commanded Metzger, glaring at the boy, and when theIrishman appeared, he said brusquely. "Witness the signature to acontract for the sale of some logs." Arranging the papers he signed eachcopy with a flourish, and offered the pen to Connie.

  The boy smiled. "Why, I can't sign it," he said. "You see, I'm a minor.It wouldn't be legal. It wouldn't bind either one of us to anything. Ifthe deal didn't suit me after the logs were here, I could claim that Ihad no right to make the contract, and the courts would uphold me. Or,if it didn't suit you, you could say 'It is a mere scrap of paper.'"

  Metzger jerked the thick glasses from his nose and glared at the boy."What now? You mean you have no authority to make this contract? Youhave been jesting? Making a fool of me--taking up my time--living at myexpense--and all for nothing?"

  Connie laughed at the irate magnate: "Oh, no--not so bad as that. I havethe authority to arrange the terms because I am a partner. It is onlythe legal part that interferes. Hurley, our walking boss has the powerof attorney signed by my partner, who is not a minor. Hurley isauthorized to sell logs and incur indebtedness for us. I will have totake those contracts up to our camp and get his signature. Theneverything will be O.K."

  Metzger scowled: "Why did you not have this Hurley here?"

  "What, and leave a couple of hundred men idle in the woods? That wouldnot be good business, would it? I'll take the contracts and have themsigned and witnessed, and return yours by registered mail within twodays."

  The head of the Syndicate shot a keen sidewise glance at the boy who waschatting with Mike Gillum, as he selected a heavy envelope, slipped thetwo copies of the contract into it, and passed it over. Connie placedthe envelope in an inner pocket and, buttoning his coat tightly, badeMetzger good-bye, and passed out of the door.

  Alone in the office Metzger frowned at his desk, he drew quick, thinlined figures upon his blotting pad: "These Americans," he repeatedcontemptuously under his breath. "To send a boy to do business with_me_--a past master of business! The fools! The smug, self-satisfied,helpless fools--I know not whether to pity or to laugh! And, yet, thisboy has a certain sort of shrewdness. I had relied, in case anythingwent wrong with our plan, upon voiding the contract in court. However,von Kuhlmann is clever. He has been this week on the field. His judgmentis unerring. _He is German!_"

  Late that evening, clad once more in his woodsman's garb, Connie Morgansat upon the plush cushion of a railway coach, with his new leathersuitcase at his feet, and smiled at the friendly twinkling lights of thefarm-houses, as his train rushed northward into the night.