The Rapids

  XXIII.--CONCERNING THE RIOT

  Next morning came a rap at his office door and Baudette entered,treading very lightly. Clark looked up and shook his head.

  "I haven't got any money yet."

  "I don't want any money."

  The gray eyes softened a little. "You're the only man I've met whodoesn't. What is it?"

  Baudette pointed out of the window.

  Clark got up and glanced at the open space in front of theadministration building. There lounged some fifty men, the pick ofBaudette's crew, big and broad shouldered, in light colored woollenjackets, shoepacks and blazing shirts. Each toyed with an ax handlethat swung lightly between strong, brown fingers. They were aloose-jointed lot, active as cats, and moved with the superlative easeof the skilled woodsman. Clark's jaw thrust out and he glanced grimlyat his visitor.

  "If they think they can get it that way, they're mistaken."

  "You don't understand," came the even voice. "These are my friends,and yours. St. Marys is full of people who are after you. They arehungry for money, and they're coming for it. This crowd reckons theirmoney is all right and will help you talk back."

  Clark drew a long breath and caught the clear blue of Baudette's eyes.Then he nodded and began to smile.

  "Thank you, friend," he said with a catch in his breath. "I might haveknown it."

  Hours dragged by. That night there was looting in Ironville, and thelocal grocers suffered a sudden depletion of stock. Morning broke,gray and threatening, while through shack and cabin an ugly temperspread steadily. Clark perceived that the real thing was coming now.Once or twice he thought of Semple, who must already be closeted withthe Premier.

  Just before midday a howling mob gathered swiftly outside the biggates, when instantly Baudette and his fifty axemen ran up and joinedthe guards. The crowd increased, and there went out an imperativesummons to Manson who, with his thirty police, ranged himself half amile away on the road to St. Marys. But for this the town was utterlyunprotected. Came the pad pad of flying feet, and Fisette dashed up,swinging a prospecting pick. He grinned at the big constable.

  "By Gar!" he panted, "I guess we catch hell now."

  Followed a little pause, broken only by the deep threatening note ofthe crowd. Then Belding felt a touch on his shoulder.

  "Open the gates," said Clark evenly, "I want to speak to them."

  The engineer stared at the set face. His chief's eyes were likepolished steel, and his jaw thrust out. There was no fear here.

  "Stay inside, sir. They'll kill you."

  The front rank caught sight of the erect figure. Then silence fellover them and spread slowly through the dark-browed multitude, Clarkraised an imperative finger. The gates opened a fraction, and in frontof them stood the man in whom the rioters perceived the head of theirpresent world.

  "I want to tell you that your money is coming, and that I stay heretill you are paid," rang the clear voice.

  For an instant there came no answer, but presently from the rear ranksrose again a bull-like roar.

  "You tell us that last week."

  Followed a murmur that ran through the packed mass of broad shoulders.

  "I tell you again--and it's true!"

  For reply, a short iron bolt came hurtling through the air. It tookClark on the cheek. He seemed not to feel it, but stood undaunted,while a trickle of blood crept down his smooth face. The sight of itseemed to rouse some latent fury in the mob, and a deep growl soundedominously. He felt himself jerked suddenly back, and Belding andBaudette jumped in front of him. The woodsman balanced a great shiningaxe, and the engineer's automatic gleamed dully.

  "Get inside, sir, quick!"

  For the first time in his life, Clark felt himself passed from hand tohand, and landed, fuming, on the other side of the big gates. Thevoice of the mob lifted to an infuriated howl. Simultaneously the rearranks pressed forward.

  Fighting began the next instant. Belding's revolver barked viciously,while he shot low at legs and feet. Three men went down to be engulfedin the oncoming tide. Baudette was standing firm, his cold blue eyesalight with the fire of battle. His broad axe was cutting swiftcircles around him, while he dodged a shower of missiles. To right andleft of him fifty axe handles rose and fell like flails, and behindthem was all the skill and sinew of those who dwell amongst big timber.Then a jagged fragment of iron casting took Baudette on the knee, andhe went down.

  The battle grew, while the faithful ranks thinned visibly. Justthrough the big gates lay the battlemented works, and toward thempressed the mob, now drunk with the hunger to destroy. At the momentwhen it seemed that the living barrier must collapse, the rioterswheeled to meet a new attack. With the sound of fighting, Mansonpushed on and now struck hard. His thirty constables set their batonsgoing, and there came the heavy crack of loaded wood on thick skulls.Fisette, his eyes gleaming, was tapping like a deadly woodpecker withhis pick, and the impetus of this onslaught drove a formidable wedgeinto the surging mass. Manson's great voice bellowed unspeakablethings in the lust of combat, his dark visage distorted, his mightybody gathered into a great, human battering ram.

  Presently the constable too went down with a shattered arm, and theline of police shortened and curved. Fisette found himself throttledby a muscular arm which shot round his neck, and two minutes later theywere surrounded and fighting for their lives.

  The battle surged and palpitated. What remained of Baudette's axemenwere behind the big gates, where Belding had dragged the prostrateforeman. Clark stood in absolute calmness, though he knew thatpresently this barrier would be battered down.

  Belding drew a long breath and shot a fascinated glance at his chief.It flashed into his mind that Clark was getting punishment now, notonly in the eyes of the world, but also in the eyes of the man fromwhom he had taken that which was dearest and best. But his leader'sgaze was as clear as ever.

  "It can't last much longer, sir," he shouted through the uproar. Hisautomatic was empty, and he could only watch the front rank of rioterspick up a great baulk of timber and balance it opposite the gates.Then a sudden chill struck to his very soul. What would happen in St.Marys?

  Clark, staring at him, just as suddenly perceived what was in his mind.

  "Take my launch," he called into his ear. "You can land at the house.Hurry! Don't mind about me."

  Belding hung for a moment in frantic uncertainty, and shook his head.He was next in command here, but a short mile away was his heart'sdesire, defenseless, save for what resistance could be hastilyorganized in the town. It was questionable what that was worth, andhis whole soul commanded him to go to her. For an instant he feltsick, then over him flooded the cold conviction that, even though hesaved Clark for Elsie, he must stay and see this thing through.

  Suddenly from far down the road came a sharp rattle, that pierced theuproar and brought a grim, inflexible message. Clark heard it, andover his face stole an expression of relief. The mob heard it, andthrough their surging ranks ran that which sobered and cooled theirfury. Manson, prostrate and bloody, heard it, and Fisette, and all theothers who had fought, it seemed, their last fight. The rioters beganto dissipate like blown leaves in autumn, and a rippling line ofinfantry in open formation moved rhythmically up the road from St.Marys.

  Clark drew a long breath and looked curiously at his engineer.

  "You saved my life, Belding." He hesitated a moment, and addedthoughtfully, "Now, why should you want to do that?"

  Belding stared and a lump rose in his throat. He had lost and yet hehad won,--been defeated and yet had risen to something bigger than hehad ever achieved before. He could face the future now, even though itwere written that he should face it alone. He tried to speak, thenturned on his heel and walked towards the dock, where Clark's fastlaunch lay glinting in the sun.

  The gray eyes followed him in profound contemplation. Presently Clarksmiled, it seemed a little sadly, and advanced to the officercommanding the troops. Baudette
was sitting up. Manson, his face graywith pain, was nursing a dangling arm, and round them the derelicts ofbattle were strewn grotesquely. But it was Fisette who spoke first.

  "By Gar!" he said with flashing teeth, "she's one big fight, eh!"

  Silence spread again over the works. An armed picket was left at thebig gates, while the rest of the troops patrolled suddenly desertedstreets in Ironville. In the accounting office there began again theclicking of typewriters, and Clark, at his desk, dictated a dispatch toPhiladelphia. This done, he fell into a mood of strange abstraction.The car of destiny was traveling fast.

  Just then the telephone rang, and he took up the receiverautomatically. As in a dream Elsie's voice came in, tremulous but veryclear. He smiled wearily as he listened.

  "Thank you very much," he said in answer. "There is really no seriousdamage done, except to a few foolish heads; and," he added, "pleasethank Mr. Belding again for me,--yes, he'll understand."

  A hush fell in the office again, and he felt inexpressibly alone. Hewas not in any sense hopeless, being assured that in the vast machineof his own creation were inherent qualities of life that could never beextinguished. He was strong, since for himself he desired nothing. Inthis hour of uncertainty his imagination traveled far, but again andagain it was captured by the remembrance of his days with the bishop.This had nothing to do with works, and yet in a way they wereintimately connected. The bishop had demonstrated the operation ofhigh and subtle forces to which he himself had not given much thought.The bishop had saved his life, just as Belding had saved it, and hestill seemed to feel the working of big muscles under his twitchingpalms. There flashed back what the prelate had said about beingprepared for the worst, which after all was sometimes the best, and,with half closed eyes, he wondered whether this was the occasion.There sounded a knock at the door, and the bishop himself came in.

  Clark, getting up hastily, advanced to meet him. There were only threepeople in the world he would have cared to see at that moment, and herewas one of them.

  "Come in and sit down, sir. This is very good of you."

  "It took me two hours to get here," said the big man, breathing alittle hard. "It's rather difficult traveling to-day."

  Clark stared at him. He had always thought of the bishop as anexemplar of peace, but he had arrived almost on the tail of the riot.

  "I only reached town a short time ago," the visitor was smilingcheerfully, "and heard about the trouble. Now that I'm safely here,I'll only stay a minute."

  Clark shook his head. "You are very welcome, sir."

  The bishop nodded contentedly. "I just wanted to express my sympathywith your present anxiety, and my belief that everything will come allright."

  "You do believe that?"

  "Unquestionably. Such efforts as yours are not foredoomed. I see you,too, are of my opinion."

  "I have to be," said Clark reflectively.

  "I'm not at all surprised, since you can turn to the physical evidenceof your own efforts to support you. It gives you an advantage overmyself."

  "Does it?"

  The visitor pointed to the mass of buildings close at hand. "You haveall that, and there is no doubt that inanimate things possess apeculiar influence, either strengthening or otherwise. But still I canquite imagine what it means to you to sit here and listen to silencewith so many reminders about you. It is one of the things that theservants of humanity must occasionally face."

  "Servants?" said Clark curiously.

  "Is not a leader also a servant. Has he anything left for himself, andis it not just a different term for the same thing?"

  The other man experienced a strange sensation that he had discoveredthis a long time ago. The bishop had also discovered it, but had notforgotten.

  "I have it in my mind that there is another reason why you should notbe depressed," went on the prelate assuringly. "You have alwaysdemanded too much of yourself; and while you are many kinds of a manyou cannot be all kinds."

  This was also true. "Go on, sir."

  "I have developed no commercial ability, but admit a strong commercialinterest, and sometimes think I could have been a good business manmyself. I roughly divide them into two classes,--one very large andthe other very small."

  "Successful and unsuccessful, I assume?"

  The bishop's face was very thoughtful. "That depends on what you meanby 'success.' Wealth, for instance, does not necessarily stand forsuccess. You, if I may say so, are a practical idealist, for you havefaith in your dream. You have achieved a vision revealed to few men'seyes and--"

  A gentle knock at the door cut him short. The secretary came in with atelegram, and something in the face of the latter made Clark's heartleap within him. A few seconds later he placed the yellow slip in thebishop's hands, and gazed at him with twinkling eyes.

  Ontario government advances two million on offered security and hasnotified your bank.

  SEMPLE.

  The bishop read it over slowly. "How can I congratulate you? Whatsplendid news!"

  "You have congratulated me."

  "Eh! When?"

  "You said I had faith in my dream. Now I beg of you not to move, butjust see how things work."

  In the course of the next ten minutes, the prelate saw Clark in swiftaction. Automatically the clear brain marshaled all the pressingduties of the moment and discharged them in quick succession. Messagesto Filmer, to the military authorities, to various impatient creditors,were dispatched, for in this masterful hand was gathered every filamentthrough which a vitalizing energy would again permeate the works. Theflexible intellect of the man worked with a precision that wasimpressive. Presently the bishop rose to go. He stood, an imposingfigure, animated with benign understanding and good will.

  "Good-by, till we meet again. I rejoice with you in what has justtaken place, but you are a prophet and all prophets are on a precariouspedestal. Had you been in the pursuit of wealth I could not havetalked as I have to-day."

  Clark did not answer, and in the hush the voice of the rapids lifted amelodious chorus.

  "But after all does it matter how deep the water through which any manpasses if the community at large benefits?"

  "I don't know what they would say to that in Philadelphia."

  "Possibly, but in an economic sense what has happened is that some ofthe wealth of Philadelphia has been transferred here. This will be afew weeks' sensation--and then will follow a fresh one. That is of thenature of things. But long after you and I have moved on, the forestsand mines of this district will be adding to the strength of thecountry. Those men who have backed you have contributed with you andmade it possible. Mr. Clark, I have no fear for the future of theworks or of yourself."

  Clark's lips curved into a rare smile. "Neither have I, sir."

  His visitor departed, and he got on to the Philadelphia wire with thecurt information that two million dollars had been secured from theOntario government, and asked permission to continue work.Simultaneously the news spread like a forest fire. The militia foundthere was nothing to contend with. Merchants surveyed their lootedstores and swore vengeance, but in a modern Arcadia one cannot arresttwo thousand foreigners. There were blocks of buildings with frontssmashed in; dangling knots of wires; prostrate electric light poles;scattered stones and bolts and shivered fences, but the rioters, to aman, were back, dandling their babies and waiting for the morrow. Itwas as though a hurricane had blown fiercely through the town, and thendied over the encircling hills. And in the bank office Brewster wasthoughtfully reading two telegrams from Thorpe, one commending hisattitude for the past few weeks, the other authorizing him to creditthe Consolidated account with two million dollars.

  A few days later Wimperley and Birch arrived. It was their answer toClark's suggestion that work be continued without delay and, as usual,he quite correctly interpreted the manner of their reply. His energyhad saved the situation which it had created, but, in spite of this,there was a new spirit in the fina
ncial circles of Philadelphia. Hewas dubbed a dangerous man. He was, they considered, too swift as wellas too hypnotic. To continue to identify themselves with hisundertakings was deliberately boarding a runaway train. Added to this,the interlinking of companies which had been presumed to be a factor ofstrength was now shown as an element of weakness. When one lost money,all lost it.

  When Wimperley, unfolding his mind steadily and without interruption,told Clark that the old regime was at an end, the latter, at first, wasnot much impressed. But gradually the case became clearer.

  "I don't say we don't trust you," he said, "but candidly, we're afraidof you. Just two things are needed to secure the operation of theworks,--new money and new management; and it's possible the new crowdwon't want you. Philadelphia has been sucked dry so far as concernsus."

  "Any suggestions?" put in Clark quietly.

  "Not yet. We're in correspondence with London people, and they'llprobably come out. When they do," continued Wimperley, eying the otherman meaningly, "we'll turn them over to you."

  "Is that it?" The voice had a profundity of meaning.

  Wimperley nodded. "I thought you'd understand. You got us in, and nowyou've got to pull us out."

  "And pull myself out too," said Clark dryly. "Thanks."

  "Would you prefer that the works stay idle with you or get busy withoutyou?" interjected Birch pointedly.

  "When it comes to that--if it does--I'll let you know. In themeantime--?"

  "Don't turn a wheel except for town utilities, and now we'd like to seeBowers. You probably don't realize what we've been through inPhiladelphia. Consolidated isn't what you'd call gilt edged just now,and the corners are knocked off our reputation as business men. I justmention this in case you feel aggrieved."

  Clark grinned suddenly. "I'm not worrying either about my stock or mybusiness reputation. Your difficulty is that you don't see why any oneelse should pull through where we didn't."

  Wimperley nodded. "There's something in that. What we've got now isthe job of making Consolidated stock worth something--by earnings. Itmeans cutting out the dead wood--our own dead wood, and I don't fancythe contract. It hurts to chop down the tree you helped to plant--butit's the only way out of it. There will probably be months before thismachine will start up again, and move toward permanent success."

  A day or two afterwards the two directors went back to Philadelphia,where they reported to Stoughton and Riggs that the screws were ontight. Save only the pumps and generators, not a wheel turned in theConsolidated. Birch's conclusion was that millions more were needed.Consolidated stock settled down to a nominal value that fluctuated withconflicting reports of new capital having been found, but the wholeaffair was flat--indescribably flat. And meantime Birch--with theunprofitable burden on his shoulders--made pilgrimages to test thefinancial pulse, and for months returned empty handed.

  In St. Marys it seemed that Arcadia might be reborn,--not the old timeArcadia with its sleepy village atmosphere, but a modern one in whichfolk made up their minds to live on the profits of past years. The carservice was reduced, and half the street lamps removed. There wereempty houses in the new streets, and the property which once passedthrough Manson's hands could have been re-bought at the original price.Filmer and the rest reduced their stock, while the whole overbuilt,overgrown town settled down to wait till, after a weary interval, Clarkgot off the train with two strangers and drove up to the big house onthe hill. In half an hour Bowers, who was expecting them, completedthe quartet.

  It was an unusual group that gathered that night in the dining room.Ardswell and Weatherby had spent a week in Philadelphia beforeWimperley telegraphed Clark to come down. The story was plain enough.The two Englishmen had come from London to hear it,--and it was toldwell. But Wimperley and Birch shared the belief that Clark, in themeantime, should be kept in the background, lest his hypnosis shouldenvelop them as of old. They held him, as it were, a reserve store ofinfluence to be used at the proper time, and it was not till thefinancial aspect of the affair was thoroughly digested that he wascalled in to play his appointed part.

  Ardswell and Weatherby wanted to see whether the machine could be madeto run commercially. That it was not so running was obviously thefault of those in charge, and Clark at once determined not to attemptto make former mistakes less glaring. The more obvious they wereallowed to remain, the more easy their rectification. He was too muchin love with the works to dodge this sacrifice, and yet could notconceive their continuing without him.

  Assuming this onerous duty, he was perfectly aware that he dealt withminds of a new complexion. Instead of responsive Americans, heconfronted two cool-blooded Britishers, to whom any show of spontaneitywas out of place. They were on guard, and Clark knew it, and of allhis achievements none stands out more prominently than his attitude onthe three days that followed. He became a Britisher himself. Heassumed, quite correctly, that nothing would be accepted without proof.

  Tramping about the works, they were accompanied by the superintendentsof the various departments, to whom he referred the pointed questionsthat came so frequently in high-pitched, well modulated English voices.What Clark said himself was very curt and to the point. The works, hedecided, could talk for themselves. Coming last to the pulp mill,Ardswell ran an admiring eye down the long rank of machinery, rangedlike sleeping giants in a dwindling perspective.

  "I say," he remarked involuntarily, "I'd like to see the thing turnover. Could it be arranged?--at our expense of course," he added.

  Clark nodded to the superintendent, who was close behind, and presentlythe day watchmen were twisting at the turbine gate wheels. A softtremor ran through the building, growing steadily to a deep, hoarserumble as the massive grindstones revolved faster. The floor vibratedin a quick rhythm, and in a few seconds came the full drone ofwork--that profound and elemental note of nature when she toils at thebehest of man.

  The faintest flicker of light stirred in the blue English eyes.Ardswell had been walking from turbine to turbine. "Ripping!" he said."You might shut down now."

  The titans dropped one by one into slumber. When the last vibrationwas stilled, he looked up with a new respect. "We might go ahead ifyou don't mind."

  "Take a quarter of an hour first, and follow me."

  They struck southward, and the Englishmen heard the boom of the rapidsdeepen till they came to the edge of the river at Clark's observationpoint. There was a strong easterly wind, and it caught at the snowycrests of the bigger waves, spinning them out like silver manes ofleaping horses. These flashed in the sunlight, till, over the centralridge of water, the air was full of a fine, misty spray that hungpalpitating and luminous. Here was a torrential life--born of theendless and icy leagues of Lake Superior.

  The two strangers stared fascinated, and as Clark watched them heperceived that once more the ageless voice of the rapids was speakingto human ears, just as it had spoken to his own so many times--andyears before. He waited patiently, while the river lifted itselemental message, and saw the color rise in English cheeks and thecold, blue English eyes begin to sparkle again. What were the drabrecords of Birch's ledgers, or even the monumental pile of nearbybuildings, compared to this impetuous slogan? He stood silently,plunged in the psychology of the moment.

  "How much power--total I mean?" said Ardswell presently, pointing tothe ripping flood.

  "Two hundred and forty thousand horsepower, at a minimum."

  "By George!"

  Silence fell again, till Weatherby, shaking the spray from his roughtweed coat, got up a little stiffly.

  "I begin to understand a little better now," he said slowly with aneloquent glance.

  The car was waiting for them by the little lock--and here at the blockhouse the visitors displayed marked animation, Clark told them thestory very simply as they rolled off up the hill for lunch.

  "There's one man, the chief engineer, Belding--you met him at the headgates--that I would like to be remembered should we
do business," heconcluded very thoughtfully. "Belding was my first employee. I pickedhim up in St. Marys and he has stuck to it nobly. I probably gave himfar too much to do, but he never squealed; and there are other reasons."

  Weatherby looked up. "That's the big, fair haired chap we saw go offin the canoe?"

  "Yes."

  "Well," put in Ardswell tersely, "it will probably all depend onyourself."