XX.--THE CAR OF PROGRESS HALTS
The paralyzing news had lain in the faithful keeping of a confidentialoperator and the white faced secretary who had guarded it jealously.The latter followed to the private office. When the door was closed inhis face, he went to his own desk and sat blindly at his letters.Clark stood at a big window that commanded the rapids. Deep lines werefurrowed suddenly on his face, and his eyes were like sunken bits ofcold, gray steel. He felt the gentle vibration of the mills, andthrough it pierced the words of the telegram like a thin sharp voicethat would not be denied. It was fully an hour later that his callsounded for the secretary.
"The rail mill will be closed shortly for temporary alteration. If youare asked anything about it--and you will be--that is all you know.This means that the furnaces must be blown down. I don't anticipateany serious delay. You will repeat this telegram to Philadelphia, andadd that I will report more fully in the next twenty-four hours.There's just one thing more. A good deal of importance will attach toyour manner and attitude for the next few days. That's all."
The young man nodded, finding it difficult to speak. There was nothingunusual about his leader, except that the eyes were a little more deepset, the voice a shade harder.
A few moments later, Clark stood in the rail mill watching the titanicrolls spew out ribbons of glowing steel. It came over him in asickening flood that the whole giant undertaking was useless, andinstead of the supreme delight he experienced a few months before therewas now but a huge mechanical travesty that flouted the unremittingstrain and effort of years. He was defacing the everlasting hills withdynamite to make something the commercial world did not want. A surgeof protest overcame his spirit, followed by a cynical contempt for thefutility of the best efforts of man. Impatiently he walked up to thesuperintendent of the mill.
The latter touched a grimy hat. "We're on the last ten thousand tonsfor the United," he said with a note of pride--"the mill's runningfine."
"It may be," snapped Clark acidly, "but shut it down. Your rails areno good."
The other man blinked at him. "Eh?"
"Do what you're told," repeated Clark with the least shake in hisdominant voice. "The United doesn't want these rails, though some oneelse will."
Over the superintendent's sooty face crept a look of blank amazement."Shut down! why?" he floundered helplessly. "I can't, till this heatis through, and there's nothing the matter with the rails."
"Other people say there is, so get the heat through and obey orders."Then, with sudden anger, "Is the job too big for you?"
He turned away abruptly, passing the whirling flywheel, the ponderouscylinders, the glowing ovens, while above him the traveling crane movedlike a whining monster across the blackened roof. He hastened,desirous of getting out of the presence of these giants whom he hadassembled only in order that they might deride him with their massiveproportions.
So on to the towering masses of the furnaces. Here he saw poured amolten charge, and stood fascinated, as always, by the smooth anddeadly gleam of molten metal, till, curtly, the same orders wereissued. No further charges should be fed in before orders to thateffect. Then back to his office, where he cancelled shipments of coke,and sent to the iron mine a curt word that stilled the boom of dynamiteand silenced the sharp chatter of the drills.
Gradually through the works spread the chilling news. A slowlythickening stream of Swedes, Poles and Hungarians filed out of the biggates, and Ironville was, in mid-afternoon, populated with a puzzledmultitude that repaired automatically to the saloons. Through pulpmills and machine shops, through power and pumping stations, the storywent, growing as rapidly as it spread. Time keepers heard it andoffice clerks, and the crews of tugs and steamships that lay at the bigdock below the works. And while rumors were widening every minute,there was a knock at Clark's door and, looking up, he saw thecomptroller who stood quietly, with a check for the week's payroll inhis hand.
"How much?" The voice was admirably impersonal.
"One hundred and ten thousand." The comptroller was a short fat man,and at the moment quivering with suppressed excitement.
The general manager scribbled his initials on the blue slip, handed itback without a word, and did not even look up as the official went out.A few minutes later he walked slowly through the pulp mill, stoppinghere and there to speak to superintendents and workmen. The swishingrasp of the great stones and the steady rumble of turbines brought hima sense of comfort. He progressed deliberately, and with his usualkeen interest, so that, although hundreds of eyes followed him, not aman could assume that anything had gone seriously wrong. It was anhour in which he found and radiated confidence. Here, at least, wasthe universal conclusion that all was as it should be. He was on thebank of the power canal when his secretary approached again.
"What is it this time?"
"Hobbs is at the bank with the payroll check, and has just telephonedup. I think you'd better speak to him, sir."
Clark's lips pressed tight and his eyes opened a little. Retracing hissteps, he listened to an agitated voice.
"Mr. Brewster states he has no authority to cash this check unless wecover our overdraft. He would like to talk to you."
"Let him."
Again the receiver spoke, while Clark's face grew suddenly very grim."I think you'd better come up and see me," he said shortly.
Then he listened. "Very well," he snapped. His features were like amask. "I'm going down to the bank," he went on dryly to the secretary,"for the first time in his life Mr. Brewster is unable to leave hisoffice and come up to mine when invited."
He drove into St. Marys followed by the glances of every man and womanwho caught sight of the erect figure. The town was full of confusedand conflicting rumors, but nothing had as yet crystallized. Theappearance of Clark in mid afternoon at the door of the bank, thickenedthe air. It was known that people with whom he did business invariablywent to him. Not in years had he been to Brewster. But for all ofthat he seemed as cheerful as usual, and took off his gray hat to Mrs.Worden with accustomed and somewhat formal urbanity. Inside he foundHobbs, his round, soft face looking unhealthily pallid, and Brewsterwith his jaw stuck out, a determined expression on his young features.
"Well, what's the trouble?"
"Nothing very serious." Brewster spoke with a pleasant accent, but hewas confronting the most difficult hour of his life. "Just this check."
"What about it?"
"I can't make any further advances till your present acceptances aremet in Philadelphia. We have half a million of them."
"That payroll has got to be disbursed."
"I'm sorry, but I can't cash that check."
The lines on the older man's face tightened and deepened. "Mr.Brewster, we have spent some fifteen millions of capital through yourbank. This amount is too small to discuss. Do you realize that, ifyou persist, the men will go unpaid for the first time in seven years?"
"I'm sorry, but I can't help that." The young manager began to feelmore fortified.
"Is this because there's a temporary interruption at the rail mill?"said Clark bitterly. "You're assuming a big responsibility."
"I regret that I can give no reasons, and am only doing what seems bestin the interest of the bank. If the acceptances are met,--and thefirst falls due two weeks from to-day--our head office will probablyauthorize a further advance, provided we are secured. Under thecircumstances your Philadelphia office should take care of this matter."
"And this is your last word?" snapped Clark with emphasis.
But Brewster had by this time completely pulled himself together. Themost trying moment was passed, and for once the mesmeric influence hadfailed. He felt behind him the authority of Thorpe and his owndirectors, and revolted at the thought of imperiling his own record.
"You understand," came in Clark's voice, "what happens when men are notpaid--especially the type of many of our employees. The Swede andHungarian are apt to be ugly. Further--an u
npaid payroll has a badeffect on a company's securities, to say nothing of the effect onbusiness confidence in St. Marys. You have, of course, weighed allthis."
Brewster's eyes were very grave and his face flushed. "I'm sorry, butI'm doing what I take to be my duty," he said with a desperate effort.
The older man's mood changed as though in a flash. "In that case I'venothing more to say." He got up. "Come on, Hobbs, Mr. Brewster seemsimmovable. We'll have to wire Philadelphia for the money." With thathe went briskly out.
The banker looked after him in wonderment. The poignant instant wasover, and he pondered whether, after all, he had done right. Hiscipher message sent to Toronto as soon as the news from the worksreached him, was still unanswered, but, he reflected, he had tried toact on what he believed to be Thorpe's judgment as well as his own.Should the telegram for which he waited not confirm his decision, therewas time enough to apprise Clark of the fact that night. And just thenthe mayor entered the office and sat down, mopping his face.
"What about it?" he demanded presently.
"I don't know any more than you do--possibly not as much."
"Well," said Filmer absently, "there's a lot going round. Some have itthe works are seized for debt, others that there's a mistake in therails, others that the Philadelphia directors have resigned. Anywayhalf the thing seems to have stopped."
"Not half of it, just the iron and steel section."
"Yes, but that's the big end of the whole show. It was expected tocarry the burden."
"It's still there, isn't it?" said Brewster fretfully.
The mayor glanced at him quickly. Something in the voice suggestedthat the bank was involved and that the thing was getting on Brewster'snerves. "I hope you're all right," he answered evenly, "but I'mcarrying more stuff than I like to think of just now."
He departed feeling quite obviously rather balked of his desire forinside information. Just outside he met Dibbott.
"I saw Mr. Clark just now," said the latter. "He doesn't seem at allworried. Of course you've heard the news?"
Filmer nodded. "Yes, and I've a feeling we're going to hear morebefore long. Haven't got any Consolidated stock have you?"
"Stock! Never owned a share in my life, but I've a good mind to sellmy place now while the price is up. Look at that, will you!"
The street cars coming down from the works were bulging with thepopulation of Ironville, who had inconsequently decided to take theholiday in St. Marys. Hundreds of them were dressed in Sunday best andbent on an outing; big Slovaks and Poles whose horny fists gripped theplatform rail while they smoked cheap cigars with gaudy labels andchattered volubly to each other. It was good to be out of Ironville.
On the way down they passed Clark, and with boyish abandon waved theirhats in greeting, Clark smiled back and whirled on. The sight of themprovoked the question in his mind and brought it closer. What if thesemen were not paid next week, as they were promised? Returning to hisoffice, he devoted himself to innumerable details affecting the ironworks. To shut them down was not so simple a thing as he anticipated.They had acquired a momentum it was difficult to arrest. Then, wiringin code to Philadelphia for his requirements in cash, he went up to thebig house on the hill and shut himself from all intruders.
On the terrace, overlooking river and works, he walked ceaselessly upand down, irritated but not alarmed. Some foreign substance had gotinto the delicate wheels of progress, and the machine was for themoment out of adjustment. From where he stood the works were visible,and while he missed the long illumination of the rail mill and thepyramidal flame of the converters, there still sparkled the pulp millwith its long, lighted windows and the gleam of water in the tail race.Twenty-four hours ago he was sitting on the deck of the Evangeline withthe genial bishop. Now he was very much alone. What would Wimperleyand the rest do in such an emergency? He had never seen them in acorner. His reverie was interrupted by a message that Manson desiredto see him.
"Riots?" said Clark to himself, then aloud, "Bring him here."
The big man came up, extending a friendly hand. Clark had a curiousdislike for physical, personal contact, even of the slightest, but nowovercame it with difficulty and motioned his visitor to a chair. Thelatter sat speechless.
"Well, Mr. Manson?" Clark asked when the silence became too perceptible.
"I came to ask you if there were any prospects of trouble at theworks," said the latter presently. He spoke jerkily, and in a note farremoved from the deep boom of his usual voice.
"Why should you expect any trouble because pay day is postponed for aweek?"
Manson lifted his heavy lids. "Is it only for a week?"
Clark got up and paced the terrace, his head thrust forward, his handsbehind his back. There was that in the visitor's manner which puzzledhim. The evident agitation and discomfort, the anxious moving of thethick arms, the constant shifting of the feet, all pointed to somethingthat struck deeper than the possibility of a riot. And Manson, he hadreason to know, was no coward.
"I anticipate that it will be less than a week. How many men have you?"
"Thirty, and myself."
"We have twenty guards at the works, also, if need be, there's thelocal militia."
"Have you ever seen them?" said the chief constable contemptuously.
"No, but the law is behind them and a certain amount of discipline,"then, his voice changing abruptly, "Mr. Manson, are you afraid?"
The big man stared at him as though fascinated. His dark face began towork convulsively in an obvious attempt to voice that which disturbedhim. Clark watched it all.
"Well," he said with ill concealed impatience, "if it's not animaginary riot that's troubling you, I'll say good evening. I'm ratherbusy at the moment."
At that Manson half lifted himself out of his chair and leaned forward."It's the works," he whispered huskily, "are they all going to hell?"
Clark stared at him in open astonishment. It was an absurd thing thatat this moment he should be subjected to a visit from a man who hadnever believed in him, but who was now evidently torn by anxiety at thethought of his failure. There came a swift and silent suggestion, butthe thing was too remote.
"Mr. Manson," he said slowly, "you never took any stock in me or myefforts, so why worry?"
"But that's just what I did do," croaked the constable, reddening tohis temples. "I invested all I could and," he added dully, "I've gotit now."
"Ah! so that's it?"
"And I'd be grateful if you could tell me--"
"So you said one thing and did another!" The tones were like a knife."Well, that's your privilege, and none of my affair, and," he concludedcurtly, "I don't care to discuss it. Good evening."
But Manson was on his feet, too desperate to be denied. "It's not youraffair what I may have said or done? I'm a shareholder--a large one.I've a right to come here and ask you a question. It's nothingunreasonable--and you'll answer it." He stood over the smaller man,dark and threatening.
Clark laughed in his face, till, with that extraordinary perceptionwhich so frequently cleft to the essential essence of things, heperceived that there was that which was more important than the factthat Manson had been speculating and would certainly be bitten. Hisattitude in public was worth something--at any rate in St. Marys.Known universally as a critic and pessimist, it would be notable ifnow, in the time of crisis, he became a supporter. Manson as ashareholder did not matter, but officially he did matter. Very swiftlyClark ran over this in his mind, while the big man waited, no longer amenace but only a straw borne by the flood which was the creation ofClark's imagination. There was no doubt in the latter's mind as to theultimate solution of present difficulties. He still believed, as healways believed, in himself, in the country and in his enterprise. So,very deliberately, he began to talk.
"You have asked me a very extraordinary question--that is from you--butit appears," here the voice was a little sardonic, "that you had moreconfidence in me than you ad
mitted. Now you ask about the future. Itell you that I never had more faith in the final outcome of affairsthan I have at this moment. There have been difficulties of which thepublic knew nothing--and this is the only one which has become commonknowledge. Do you expect any one to build up a concern like thiswithout anxious moments? You know what St. Marys was seven years ago,and I remember very distinctly your attitude toward myself. It hastaken seven years," here once more the voice was full ofcontempt--"seven years and a crisis, to convert you. Speculators willdoubtless take advantage of this interruption, but I am confident thatlong after you and I have passed on, steel rails will still be rolledat the works. Good evening."
Manson muttered something unintelligible, and moved off down the longhill that led to St. Marys. For the first time in his life he believedin Clark, believed in him in that hour when the faith of thousands wasbeing shaken. He had no conception what a pigmy unit he himself was inthe multitude who followed their remarkable leader. He had no grasp ofthe fundamentals of which Clark confidently took hold in the time ofstress. He did not wonder who else was in like case with himself. Heonly knew that this man had thrown him the end of a rope, and hegrasped at it with all the strength of his soul, and had no intentionsof loosening his hold.
Later that evening he went in to see Filmer, whose office lights wereon, and here found Dibbott and Worden. The three were talkingearnestly, and as the broad figure loomed in the doorway Dibbott gave adry laugh.
"Our pessimist's reputation is looking up. Have you come to crow?"
Manson shook his head and told them very briefly of his visit. Therewas no mention of his own speculation. "So after all, the thing isprobably all right," he concluded. "At any rate, Clark doesn't seemworried, so why should we?"
Filmer gave vent to a low whistle. "Hypnotized at last!"
"No," said Manson, flushing, and went on to promulgate the reasons forhis hopes. The others said nothing, but he could see they wereimpressed. Presently he went out on a midnight round of inspection,and, as the door closed behind him, Worden nodded thoughtfully.
"For the first time in seven years he seems reasonable in thisconnection. After all, if we get off the handle it will be a mightybad example. How about it, Mr. Mayor?"
"Well," said Filmer, caressing his glossy whiskers, "I always believedin Clark and I guess I do now. If he were trying to make money forhimself out of this thing we'd know it, but he isn't. Gentlemen, thejudge is right--we've got to hold the town together."
On the corner they met Bowers, the Company's solicitor, who was walkingslowly home smoking a peaceful cigar.
"What's this?" he said, grinning. "Looks like old times to see youthree together."
Filmer had a sudden thought. "Do any of you chaps remember whatanniversary this is?"
The others searched their brains and gave it up.
"Seven years ago to-night there was a certain notable meeting in thetown hall."
"And now there's one in the corner. We've come down in the world," putin Dibbott.
"Possibly, but possibly not. I was just thinking of all that hashappened in seven years. It should prevent us from getting rattled."The mayor turned to Bowers, "Seen Clark to-day?"
"Haven't seen or heard of him for three days," answered the lawyershortly--then, because he wanted to avoid being pumped, "goodnight--I'm for my blameless couch."
They looked after him and at each other. "Seen Belding?" asked Dibbottof the judge.
"No, he's down in Chicago. I think he's buying machinery. Now it'slate and if I don't go home too, I'll get into trouble." He turnedtowards the old house by the river, and halted a few steps off. "Goodnight, you fellows, I feel better."
Thus it came that while a brooding, gray eyed man paced his terracewith his eyes fixed on the far white line of the rapids, whose call wasindistinguishable at this distance, there was spreading almost underthe shadow of the works a novel spirit of confidence in himself and hisvast enterprise. It was not till a sudden question arose, that St.Marys realized the prodigious meaning of their new city and howlavishly all Clark's promises had been redeemed. In the hour ofanxiety they leaned on him more than ever before. This new birth--thisupholding trust--was conceived at the very moment when Wimperley andthe others were gathered in harassed counsel, and through Philadelphiaand the surrounding state was broadening a dark cloud of rumor thatcarried swift fear to thousands of hearts. But it was not fear thatcame to the keen brain of Henry Marsham.
By eleven that night Clark had heard nothing from his head office. Thestrain became too great, and he went into a little room off the librarywhere an extension of the private wire had been carried up from theworks. There was once a time when he could send and receive in theMorse code, so now he sat down and laid a somewhat uncertain finger onthe tilting key.
"Phil -- Phil -- Phil."
Instantly and to his surprise, came the reply.
"Sma -- Sma -- Sma."
"Is -- Wimp -- there?" The thing began to come a little easier.
"Yes."
"Tell -- Wimp -- I -- want -- answer -- funds -- for -- payroll."
Clark got this off laboriously, conscious that however clear might bethe message, the wire was a poor transmitter as compared to eye andvoice.
"Wimp -- says -- meeting -- going -- on -- now -- cannot -- act --before -- to-morrow -- Get that."
"Yes," flashed the plunging reply.
"Wimp -- waiting -- your -- report -- defect -- in -- rails."
Clark's brows wrinkled and he bent over the key.
"Cannot -- send -- report -- till -- several -- chemical -- anal --anal -- "
"Yes -- analyses -- I -- get -- you -- are -- complete -- is -- that --it."
"Yes." Clark breathed a sigh of relief. His brow was wet.
"When -- will -- that -- be -- Wimp -- asks."
"Three -- days."
"Wimp -- says -- hurry -- up -- things -- shaky -- here -- expect --attack -- by -- bears -- have tried -- to -- place -- rails --elsewhere -- but -- not -- successful. Wimp -- says -- good night."
Clark's eyes sparkled with anger and he hammered the key. There wereother things he wanted to say--and must say. But for all his repeatedcalls there was only silence, till in an interval, while he rubbed histhrobbing fingers, the receiver began to tilt.
"Wimp -- says -- good night --" it announced with metallic finality.
He got up and stood staring at the thing for a moment, his face heavywith anger, the group in Wimperley's office vividly before him. Hecould see the cold features of Birch, sharpened by the tenseness of thehour into a visage bloodless and inflexible, with thin tight lips andnarrow expressionless eyes. He could see Stoughton, red withdiscomfort and resentment; Riggs' excited and anxious little face, andWimperley himself, cast with a new severity; all supremely conscious ofthat which probably must be faced on the morrow. And what aboutMarsham? Tottering was now their faith in the essential future of theworks and the great cycle of their operations. The wire hadtransmitted their decisions, but over its yellow filament had alsotrickled their apprehension. With a touch of cynicism he recalled thecongratulatory messages--the very first it had carried.
He went out on the terrace again, seeking the black bulk of the railmill in the medley of structures down at the works. Presently he foundand scrutinized it. Somewhere in its gloom lurked an error, or else inthe great furnaces that shouldered nakedly into the moonlit air. Witha sudden sense of fatigue, he turned to his bedroom.
"At any rate the chief constable is with me," he soliloquizedsardonically, "and that's something."
In five minutes he was sleeping profoundly.