Ted and the Telephone Part 22

"That is why I want to begin at the beginning and earn my own money, Grandfather," Laurie put in. "Think what you would have missed if some one had deprived you of all your fun when you were young. You wouldn't have liked it."

"You bet I wouldn't!" cried the old gentleman.

"I don't want to lose my fun either," persisted Laurie. "I want to win my way just as you and Dad have done--just as Ted Turner is going to do. I want to find out what is in me and what I can do with it."

Grandfather Fernald rubbed his hands.

"Bully for you, Laurie! Bully for you!" he e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "That's the true Fernald spirit. It was that stuff that took me away from my father's farm in Vermont and started me out in the world with only six dollars in my pocket. I was bound I would try my muscle and I did. I got some pretty hard knocks, too, while I was doing it. Still, they were all in the day's work and I never have regretted them. But I didn't mean to have your father go through all I did and so I saw that he got an education and started different. He knew what he was fighting and was armed with the proper weapons instead of going blind into the scrimmage. That is what we are trying to do for you and what we mean to do for Ted Turner. We do not intend to take either of you out of the fray but we are going to put into your hands the things you need to win the battle. Then the making good will depend solely on you."

"I mean to try to do my part."

"I know you do, laddie; and you'll do it, too."

"I just wish I was stronger--as well as Ted is," murmured the boy.

"I wish you were," his grandfather responded gently, touching his grandson's shoulder affectionately with his strong hand. "If money could give you health you should have every farthing I possess. But there are things that money cannot do, Laurie. I used to think it was all-powerful and that if I had it there was nothing I could not make mine. But I realize now that many of the best gifts of life are beyond its reach. We grow wiser as we grow older," he concluded, with a sad shake of his head. "Sometimes I think we should have been granted two lives, one to experiment with and the other to live."

He rose, a weary shadow clouding his eyes.

"Well, to live and learn is all we can do; and thank goodness it is never too late to profit by our errors. I have learned many things from Ted Turner; I have learned some more from his father; and I have added to all these certain things that those unlucky wretches, Sullivan and Cronin, have demonstrated to me. Who knows but I may make Freeman's Falls a better place in consequence? We shall see."

With these parting reflections the old gentleman slowly left the room.

CHAPTER XVI

ANOTHER CALAMITY

The winter was a long and tedious one with much cold weather and ice.

Great drifts leveled the fields about Aldercliffe and Pine Lea, shrouding the vast expanse of fields along the river in a glistening cloak of ermine spangled with gold. The stream itself was buried so deep beneath the snow that it was difficult not to believe it had disappeared altogether. Freeman's Falls had never known a more severe season and among the mill employees there was much illness and depression. Prices were high, business slack, and the work ran light.

Nevertheless, the Fernalds refused to shorten the hours. There were no night s.h.i.+fts on duty, to be sure, but the hum of the machinery that ceased at twilight resumed its buzzing every morning and by its music gladdened many a home where anxiety might otherwise have reigned.

That the factories were being operated at a loss rather than throw the men out of employment Ted Turner could not help knowing for since he had become a member of the Fernald household he had been included so intimately in the family circle that it was unavoidable he should be cognizant of much that went on there. As a result, an entirely new aspect of manufacture came before him. Up to this time he had seen but one side of the picture, that with which the working man was familiar.

But now the capitalist's side was turned toward him and on confronting its many intricate phases he gained a very different conception of the mill-owner's conundrums. He learned now for the first time who it was that tided over business in its seasons of stress and advanced the money that kept bread in the mouths of the workers. He sensed, too, as he might never have done otherwise, who shouldered the burden of care not alone during working hours but outside of them; he glimpsed something of the struggles of compet.i.tion; the problems of securing raw material; the work concerning credits.

A very novel viewpoint it was to the boy, and as he regarded the complicated web, he found himself wondering how much of all this tangle was known to the men, and whether they were always fair to their employer. He had frequently overheard conversations at his father's when they had proclaimed how easy and care-free a life the rich led, and while they had envied and criticized and slandered the Fernalds and a.s.serted that they did nothing but enjoy themselves, he had listened.

Ah, how far from the truth this estimate had been! He speculated, as he reviewed the facts and vaguely rehea.r.s.ed the capitalist's enigmas whether, if shown the actual conditions, the townsfolk would have been willing to exchange places with either of these men whose fortunes they so greedily coveted.

For in very truth the Fernalds seemed to Ted persons to be pitied far more than envied. Stripped of illusions, what was Mr. Lawrence Fernald but an old man who had devoted himself to money-making until he had rolled up a fortune so large that its management left him no leisure to enjoy it? Eager to acc.u.mulate more and ever more wealth, he toiled and worried quite as hard as he would have done had he had no money at all; he often pa.s.sed sleepless nights and could never be persuaded to take a day away from his office. He slaved harder than any of those he paid to work for him and he had none of their respite from care.

Mr. Clarence Fernald, being of a younger generation, had perhaps learned greater wisdom. At any rate, he went away twice a year for extended pleasure trips. Possibly the fact that his father had degenerated into a mere money-making machine was ever before him, serving as a warning against a similar fate. However that may have been, he did break resolutely away from business at intervals, or tried to. Nevertheless, he never could contrive to be wholly free. Telegrams pursued him wherever he went; his secretary often went in search of him; and many a time, like a defeated runaway whose escape is cut short, he was compelled to abandon his holiday and return to the mills, there to straighten out some unlooked-for complication. Day and night the responsibilities of his position, the welfare of the hundreds of persons dependent on him, weighed down his shoulders. And even when he was at home in the bosom of his family, there was Laurie, his son, his idol, who could probably never be well! What man in all Freeman's Falls could have envied him if acquainted with all the conditions of his life?

This and many another such reflection engrossed Ted, causing him to wonder whether there was not in the divine plan a certain element of equalization.

In the meantime, his lessons with Laurie and Mr. Hazen went steadily and delightfully on. How much more could be accomplished with a tutor who devoted all his time simply to two pupils! And how much greater pleasure one derived from studying under these intimate circ.u.mstances!

In every way the arrangement was ideal. Thus the winter pa.s.sed with its balancing factors of work and play. The friends.h.i.+p between the two boys strengthened daily and in a similar proportion Ted's affection for the entire Fernald family increased.

It was when the first thaw made its appearance late in March that trouble came. Laurie was stricken with measles, and because of the contagion, Ted's little shack near the river was hastily equipped for occupancy, and the lad was transferred there.

"I can't have two boys sick," declared Mr. Clarence Fernald, "and as you have not been exposed to the disease there is no sense in our thrusting you into its midst. Plenty of wood will keep your fireplace blazing and as the weather is comparatively mild I fancy you can contrive to be comfortable. We will connect the telephone so you won't be lonely and so you can talk with Laurie every day. The doctor says he will soon be well again and after the house has been fumigated you can come back to Pine Lea."

Accordingly, Ted was once more ensconced in the little hut and how good it seemed to be again in that familiar haunt only he realized. Before the first day was over, he felt as if he had never been away. Pine Lea might boast its conservatories, its sun parlors, its tiled baths, its luxuries of every sort; they all faded into nothingness beside the freedom and peace of the tiny shack at the river's margin.

Meanwhile, with the gradual approach of spring, the sun mounted higher and the great snow drifts settled and began to disappear. Already the ice in the stream was breaking up and the turbid yellow waters went rus.h.i.+ng along, carrying with them whirling blocks of snow. As the torrent swept past, it flooded the meadows and piled up against the dam opposite the factories great frozen, jagged ma.s.ses of ice which ground and crashed against one another, so that the sounds could be distinctly heard within the mills. At some points these miniature icebergs blocked the falls and held the waters in check until, instead of cascading over the dam, they spread inland, inundating the sh.o.r.es. The float before Ted's door was covered and at night, when all was still and his windows open, he could hear the roaring of the stream, and the impact of the b.u.mping ice as it sped along. Daily, as the snows on the far distant hillsides near the river's source melted, the flood increased and poured down in an ever rising tide its seething waters.

Yet notwithstanding the fact that each day saw the stream higher, no one experienced any actual anxiety from the conditions, although everybody granted they were abnormal. Of course, there was more ice in the river than there had been for many years. Even Grandfather Fernald, who had lived in the vicinity for close on to half a century, could not recall ever having witnessed such a spring freshet; nor did he deny that the weight of ice and water against the dam must be tremendous.

However, the structure was strong and there was no question of its ability to hold, even though this chaos of grinding ice-cakes boomed against it with defiant reverberation.

In spite of the conditions, Ted felt no nervousness about remaining by himself in the shack and perhaps every premonition of evil might have escaped him had he not been awakened one morning very early by a ripple of lapping water that seemed near at hand. Sleepily he opened his eyes and looked about him. The floor of the hut was wet and through the crack beneath the door a thread of muddy water was steadily seeping. In an instant he was on his feet and as he stood looking about him in bewilderment he heard the roar of the river and detected in the sound a threatening intonation that had not been there on the previous day. He hurried to the window and stared out into the grayness of the dawn. The scene that confronted him chilled his blood. The river had risen unbelievably during the night. Not only were the little bushes along the sh.o.r.e entirely submerged but many of the pines standing upon higher ground were also under water.

As he threw on his clothes, he tried to decide whether there was anything he ought to do. Would it be well to call up the Fernalds, or telephone to the mills, or to the village, and give warning of the conditions? It was barely four o'clock and the first streaks of light were but just appearing. Nevertheless, there must be persons who were awake and as alert as he to the transformation the darkness had wrought. Moreover, perhaps there was no actual danger, and should this prove to be the case, how absurd he would feel to arouse people at daybreak for a mere nothing. It was while he paused there indecisively that a sight met his eye which spurred hesitancy to immediate action.

Around the bend far up the stream came sweeping a tangle of wreckage--trees, and brush, and floating timber--and swirling along in its wake was a small lean-to which he recognized as one that had stood on the bank of the river at Melton, the village located five miles above Freeman's Falls. If the water were high enough to carry away this building, it must indeed have risen to a menacing height and there was not a moment to be lost.

He rushed to the telephone and called up Mr. Clarence Fernald who replied to his summons in irritable, half-dazed fas.h.i.+on.

"Is there any way of lifting the water gates at the mills?" asked Ted breathlessly. "The river has risen so high that it is sweeping away trees and even some of the smaller houses from the Melton sh.o.r.e. If the debris piles up against the dam, the pressure may be more than the thing can stand. Besides, the water will spread and flood both Aldercliffe and Pine Lea. I thought I'd better tell you."

Mr. Fernald was not dazed now; he was broad awake.

"Where are you?" inquired he sharply.

"At the shack, sir. The water is ankle deep."

"Don't stay there another moment. It is not safe. At any instant the whole hut may be carried away. Gather your traps together and call Wharton or Stevens--or both of them--to come and help you take them up to Aldercliffe. I'll attend to notifying the mills. You've done us a good turn, my boy."

During the next hour Ted himself was too busy to appreciate the hectic rush of events that he had set moving, or realize the feverish energy with which the Fernalds and their employees worked to avert a tragedy which, but for his warning, might have been a very terrible one. The mills were reached by wire and the sluices at the sides of the central dam immediately lifted to make way for the torrent of snow, ice, wreckage, and water. In what a fierce and maddened chaos it surged over the falls and dashed into the chasm beneath! All day the mighty current boiled and seethed, overflowing the outlying fields with its yellow flood. Nevertheless, the great brick factories that bordered the stream stood firm and so did the residences at Aldercliffe and Pine Lea, both of which were fortunately situated on high ground.

Ted had not made his escape from his little camp a moment too soon, for while he stood looking out on the freshet from one of the attic windows at Pine Lea, he s.h.i.+vered to behold his little hut bob past him amid the rus.h.i.+ng waters and drift into an eddy on the opposite sh.o.r.e along with a ma.s.s of uprooted pines.

A sob burst from him.

"It's gone, Mr. Hazen--our little house!" he murmured brokenly to the young tutor who was standing beside him. "We never shall see it again."

"You mustn't take it so to heart, Ted," the teacher answered, laying his hand sympathetically on the lad's shoulder. "Suppose you had been in it and borne away to almost certain death. That would have been a calamity indeed. What is an empty boathouse when we consider how many people are to suffer actual financial loss and perhaps forfeit everything they have, as a result of this tragedy. The villagers who live along the river will lose practically everything they own--boats, poultry, barns; and many of them both houses and furniture. We all loved the shack; but it is not as if its destruction left you with no other roof above your head. You can stay at Aldercliffe, Pine Lea, or join your family at Freeman's Falls. Three shelters are open to you.

But these poor souls in the town----"

"I had not thought about the villagers," blushed Ted.

"The Fernalds have been in the settlement since dawn and along with every man they could summon have been working to save life and property. If I had not had to stay here with Laurie, I should have gone to help, too."

Ted hung his head.

"I'm ashamed to have been so selfish," said he. "Instead of thinking only of myself, I ought to have been lending a hand to aid somebody else. It was rotten of me. Why can't I go down to the village now?

There must be things I can do. Certainly I'm no use here."

"No, there is nothing to be done here," the tutor agreed. "If you could stay with Laurie and calm him down there would be some sense in your remaining; but as it is, I don't see why you shouldn't go along to the town and fill in wherever you can. I fancy there will be plenty to do.