Laughing Bill Hyde and Other Stories Part 17

In line with this decision, he took one of the best state-rooms on the _Lucania_, and denied himself nothing that the s.h.i.+p afforded. Every morning he took his exercise, every evening a rub-down. He trained like a fighter, and when he landed he was fit; his muscles were hard, his stomach strong, his brain clear. He went first-cla.s.s from Liverpool to London; he put up at the Metropole in luxurious quarters.

When he stopped to think about that nine hundred and twenty, already amazingly shrunken, he argued bravely that what he had spent had gone to buy condition powders.

On the way across he had posted himself so far as possible about the proposed Robinson-Ray plant. He learned that there were to be fifteen batteries of cyanide tanks, two high--eighty-four in all--supported by steel sub- and super-structures; the work to be completed at Krugersdorpf, twenty miles out of Johannesburg, South Africa.

The address of the company was No. 42-1/2 Threadneedle Street.

Threadneedle Street was somewhere in London, and London was the capital of a place called England.

He knew other African contracts were under consideration, but he dismissed them from his thoughts and centered his forces upon this particular job. Once he had taken a definite scent his early trepidations vanished. He became obsessed by a joyous, purposeful, unceasing energy that would not let him rest.

The first evening in London he fattened himself for the fray with a hearty dinner, then he strove to get acquainted with his neighbors and his environment. The nervous force within him needed outlet, but he was frowned upon at every quarter. Even the waiter at his table made it patent that his social standing would not permit him to indulge in the slightest intimacy with chance guests of the hotel, while the young Earl who had permitted Mitch.e.l.l to register at the desk declined utterly to go further with their acquaintance. Louis spent the evening at the Empire, and the next morning, which was Sunday, he put in on the top of a 'bus, laying himself open to the advances of anybody who cared to pay him the slightest attention. But he was ignored; even the driver, who spoke a foreign language, evidently considered him a suspicious character. Like a wise general, Louis reconnoitered No.

42-1/2 Threadneedle Street during the afternoon, noting the lay of the land and deciding upon modes of transportation to and from. Under the pressure of circ.u.mstance he chose a Cannon Street 'bus, fare "tuppence."

Now garrulity is a disease that must either break out or strike inward with fatal results. When Sunday night came, Mitch.e.l.l was about ready to fare forth with gun and mask and take conversation away from anybody who had it to spare. He had begun to fear that his vocal cords would atrophy.

He was up early, had breakfasted, and was at 42-1/2 Threadneedle Street promptly at nine, beating the janitor by some twenty minutes.

During the next hour and a half he gleaned considerable information regarding British business methods, the while he monotonously pounded the sidewalk.

At nine-thirty a scouting party of dignified office-boys made a cautious approach. At nine-thirty-five there came the main army of clerks, only they were not clerks, but "clarks"--very impressive gentlemen with gloves, spats, sticks, silk hats and sack coats. At this same time, evidently by appointment, came the charwomen--"char"

being spelled s-c-r-u-b, and affording an example of how pure English has been corrupted out in the Americas.

After the arrival of the head "clarks" and stenographers at nine-forty-five, there ensued fifteen minutes of guarded conversation in front of the offices. During this time the public issues of the day were settled and the nation's policies outlined. At ten o'clock the offices were formally opened, and at ten-thirty a reception was tendered to the managers who arrived dressed as for any well-conducted afternoon function.

To Mitch.e.l.l, who was accustomed to the feverish, football methods of American business life, all this was vastly edifying and instructive; it was even soothing, although he was vaguely offended to note that pa.s.sers-by avoided him as if fearful of contamination.

Upon entering 42-1/2 Threadneedle Street, he was halted by an imperious office-boy. To him Louis gave his card with a request that it be handed to Mr. Peebleby, then he seated himself and for an hour witnessed a parade of unsmiling, silk-hatted gentlemen pa.s.s in and out of Mr. Peebleby's office. Growing impatient, at length, he inquired of the boy;

"Is somebody dead around here or is this where the City Council meets?"

"I beg pardon?" The lad was polite in a cool, superior way.

"I say, what's the idea of the pall-bearers?"

The youth's expression froze to one of disapproval and suspicion.

"I mean the parade. Are these fellows Congress- or minstrel-men?"

His hearer shrugged and smiled vacuously, then turned away, whereupon Mitch.e.l.l took him firmly by the arm.

"Look here, my boy," he began. "There seems to be a lot of information coming to both of us. Who are these over-dressed gentlemen I see promenading back and forth?"

"Why--they're callers, customers, representatives of the firms we do business with, sir."

"Is this Guy Fawkes Day?"

"No, sir."

"Are these men here on business? Are any of them salesmen, for instance?"

"Yes, sir; some of them. Certainly, sir."

"To see Mr. Peebleby about the new construction work?"

"No doubt."

"So, you're letting them get the edge on me."

"I beg pardon?"

"Never mind, I merely wanted to a.s.sure you that I have some olive spats, a high hat, and a walking-stick, but I left them at my hotel.

I'm a salesman, too. Now then let's get down to business. I've come all the way from America to hire an office-boy. I've heard so much about English office-boys that I thought I'd run over and get one.

Would you entertain a proposition to go back to America and become my partner?"

The boy rolled his eyes; it was plain that he was seriously alarmed.

"You are ragging me, sir," he stammered, uncertainly.

"Perish the thought!"

"I--I--Really, sir--"

"I pay twenty-five dollars a week to office-boys. That's five 'pun' in your money, I believe. But, meanwhile, now that I'm in London, I have some business with Mr. Peebleby." Mitch.e.l.l produced an American silver dollar and forced it into the boy's hand, whereupon the latter blinked in a dazed manner, then hazarded the opinion that Mr. Peebleby might be at leisure if Mr. Mitch.e.l.l had another card.

"Never mind the card; I can't trust you with another one. Just show me the trail and I'll take it myself. That's a way we have in America."

A moment later he was knocking at a door emblazoned, "Director General." Without awaiting an invitation, he turned the k.n.o.b and walked in. Before the astonished Mr. Peebleby could expostulate he had introduced himself and was making known his mission.

Fortunately for Mitch.e.l.l, Englishmen are not without a sense of humor. The announcement that this young man had come all the way from Chicago, Illinois, U.S.A., to bid on the Krugersdorpf work struck Mr.

Peebleby as amusing. Not only was the idea in itself laughable, but also the fact that a mere beardless youth should venture to figure on a contract of such gigantic proportions quite convulsed the Director General, and in consequence he smiled. Then fearing that his dignity had been jeopardized, he announced politely but firmly that the proposition was absurd, and that he had no time to discuss it.

"I've come for that job, and I'm going to take it back with me,"

Mitch.e.l.l averred, with equal firmness. "I know more about this cla.s.s of work than any salesman you have over here, and I'm going to build you the finest cl.u.s.ter of cyanide tanks you ever saw."

"May I ask where you obtained this comprehensive knowledge of tank construction?" Mr. Peebleby inquired, with some curiosity.

"Sure!" Mitch.e.l.l ran through a list of jobs with which the Director General could not have been unfamiliar. He mentioned work that caused that gentleman to regard him more respectfully. For a time questions and answers shot back and forth between them.

"I tell you, that is my line," Mitch.e.l.l declared, at length. "I'll read any blueprints you can offer. I'll answer any queries you can formulate. I'm the accredited representative of a big concern, and I'm ent.i.tled to a chance to figure, at least. That courtesy is due me."

"I dare say it is," the other reluctantly agreed. "I'm very busy, but if that is the quickest way to end the discussion I'll give you the prints. I a.s.sure you, nevertheless, it is an utter waste of your time and mine." He pushed a b.u.t.ton and five minutes later a clerk staggered back into the room with an armful of blueprints that caused Mitch.e.l.l to gasp.

"The bid must be in Thursday at ten-thirty," Peebleby announced.

"Thursday? Why, good Lord! That's only three days, and there's a dray-load of drawings!"

"I told you it was a waste of time. You should have come sooner."

Mitch.e.l.l ran through the pile and his heart grew sick with dismay.

There were drawings of tanks, drawings of substructures and superstructures in every phase of construction--enough of them to daunt a skilled engineer. He realized that he had by no means appreciated the full magnitude of this work, in fact had never figured on a job anything like this one. He could see at least a week's hard, constant labor ahead of him--a week's work to be done in three days.

There was no use trying; the time was too short; it was a physical impossibility to formulate an intelligent proposition in such a short length of time. Then to Mitch.e.l.l's mind came the picture of a wretched, golden-haired girl clinging to the iron fence of the Pennsylvania depot. He gathered the rolls into his arms.

"At ten-thirty, Thursday," said he.