The Rapids Part 38

"It's no use saying he isn't, but he doesn't talk about it. How's your husband?"

"Splendid."

"Well, you're the only untroubled pair I've heard of to-day. My husband's in a frightful temper because he didn't sell our land six months ago. He says we'll never sell it now, but I'm just as glad. Is the whole thing going to break up?" Mrs. Bowers swung her parasol toward the rapids.

"I--I don't really know anything about it," said the little woman with a touch of nervousness from which she recovered instantly, then, smiling, "perhaps I'll come over to-morrow."

"Do, there's a heap to talk about, and smile like that just as long as you can--the town needs it."

She walked on, her mind very busy. Without question something excellent had happened to the Mansons--and in a time like this! Manson was said to be in the way of making a fortune, and now, she concluded, he had made it. There was no other explanation for an expression like his wife's when such grim rumors were abroad. A little later she told Mrs. Worden, and both the judge and Bowers heard of it, and next day the story reached a dozen houses in St. Marys. The constable, it was said, for all his pessimism, had been sharper than Clark himself.

But Manson was only a leaf picked up by the edge of the storm in which Clark sat, its unapproachable center. The telegram compiled by Birch and signed by Wimperley, as president, was on his desk, just as the secretary had laid it before he went silently out, unable to meet the mystifying glance of those gray eyes. Clark had never moved nor looked up, nor did he till half an hour later, when he dictated a notice to be posted throughout the works. "_All operations will temporarily cease this night at six o'clock. Employees will be notified when to apply for their wages, which will shortly be paid in full. The accounting staff will remain at duty._" His voice was level and absolutely expressionless.

Then he went out, and, taking the broad trail to the rapids, seated himself a few minutes later in a well remembered place.

The moments lengthened into hours and still he did not move. The sun showed its red disc through the lattice girders of the great bridge, and touched the flas.h.i.+ng waters into gold. It was seven years since he had sat here first, and he looked expectantly about for the crested kingfisher. The voice of the river seemed unusually loud, and there was no drone from the works. He began to go over it all, but, desisting from sheer inability, pitched his attention on the rapids. Here, at least, was that which had no shadow of turning. Distinguis.h.i.+ng the mult.i.tude of notes that lifted their booming uproar, he yielded to the sensation that he was in the midst of them, being carried to the sea.

To-night they seemed relentless, but that again was the reflection of his mood. If he was going down, Wimperley and the rest were going with him.

Finally he was able, at some command from this tumult, to disa.s.sociate himself from the present and go back to the beginning. Retracing each step, he decided that, were a parallel occasion to arise, he would do the same again. He had listened to the voice of the hills and woods and water, rather than to the voice of Philadelphia, and this, he ultimately concluded, was right. There was no time to brood or forecast the future.

What his soul craved was to be persuaded that it was justified up to this hour. Only thus could he find strength for that which was yet to come.

Carrying his solitary reverie still further, he was a.s.sured that it would be for him and him alone to find the way out. Wimperley and the others were able men as far as they went, but just as they had always loitered behind his imagination, so now would they be slow in deciphering the riddle in store. He had brought them in, and it would be left for him to bring others in also. Very easily he visualized what had taken place in Philadelphia, and the group in Wimperley's office stood out quite clearly. He felt no particular sympathy for them, nor did it appear that the responsibility was primarily his own because it was his brain that conceived the whole gigantic machine. They had acted according to their final judgment, so had he. With small and genuine investors the case was different, but Clark was well aware that Consolidated stock had been a favorite Pennsylvania gamble for years. As to his own employees, he knew that the works must ultimately go on and could not go on without them.

This left only himself to be considered, and at the thought this extraordinary man smiled confidently. He was stranger to that fear which is based on uncertainty of one's own resources.

An hour after sundown he went home and, sending for Bowers, the two sat talking earnestly. For Bowers it had been a day of vicissitude which he was only partially competent to face. Rooted out of a small practice in a small village, and caught up in the sweep of irresistible progress, he had never had to fight for his point. The weight and momentum Clark put before him were too great for that. But now every angle of the Consolidated Company seemed to offer itself for frontal attack. He put this to his chief in justification of his own anxiety.

"It's been a matter of writs and injunctions all day. There are enough in my office now to paper the rail mill."

"Well, why should you worry?"

Bowers glanced up with surprise. "Eh?"

"You're doing your duty, you can't do anything more. But perhaps you feel chagrined at being a.s.sociated with me in the present difficulty.

You needn't expostulate,--I can quite understand it."

The lawyer turned a brick red. It was quite true. He had begun to look on this calamity as one for which he and Clark were both partly responsible.

"If you worry--and it's quite absurd that you should--your value automatically decreases. Has it occurred to you that, from now on, the importance of your position is vastly increased? We shall look to you more than ever. I dare not worry--there's too much to be done. You were our advisor, now you are our protector against unfair attack--and there'll be lots of it. What's more, Bowers, you are the only one who is sure of his money."

Bowers nodded. He began to feel more comfortable.

"What's going on in St. Marys?"

"Nothing much yet--they don't know what to get ready for. Filmer and the rest are sending out accounts they hope to collect, a good deal of property is on offer without any takers, but, at the bottom, I don't think the town is rattled. There's a sort of feeling that the works are too big to be wiped out."

Clark smiled gravely. He was aware that to the townsfolk the works had become part of the landscape, and, imaginatively, not much more. But just as they could not contemplate the obliteration of part of the landscape, so it was difficult to conceive permanent idleness at the works. It was a case of the immobility of the non-speculative mind, which is lethargic in hours of exaltation but comfortably steadfast in times of stress.

"Listen," he said earnestly. "There's an element in Ironville which may soon have to be controlled by force; but as to St. Marys what you've got to do is to spread the feeling that there's nothing like confidence to maintain business. Can't you see that if your office were knee deep in writs it doesn't affect you? You've got to remain the efficient, smoothly working, impersonal machine. So have I--and so has every one who takes the responsibility for the actions of those of lesser intelligence. Leaving out first and second causes--we're all doing just what we're meant to do, and it doesn't matter who or what meant it.

Wimperley and the others will be up here soon, and regard me as a crazy idealist who inveigled them into building a house of cards. The heads of departments--at least some of them--will look at me and wonder how it was that I gave them any confidence in the future. Hundreds of creditors will consider me personally responsible because they have to wait for their money, and about two thousand Poles and Hungarians will want to kill me to gratify their sense of personal injury. On top of that, ninety-nine men out of a hundred will forget all about my seven years'

work, and that I started with nothing, and will point to the Consolidated as an excellent example of misdirected energy. For a little while little men will smile with commiseration and say 'He did the best he could,'

but," and here Clark's voice deepened, "only for a little while. Now, friend Bowers, where do I stand with you?"

Bowers got up and paced the terrace irresolutely, glancing now and then at the motionless, gray clad figure in the wicker chair. He was suddenly and profoundly moved. In the past he had seen but one side of Clark, and this sudden depth of feeling was startling. He knew that if he still took his chief as the crowd took him, Clark would not apparently be affected in any degree, but would only cla.s.sify and finally put him away with his own kind.

"Don't think for a moment I'm making any appeal," went on the steady voice. "It really doesn't matter whether you believe in me or not.

There's just one thing supremely important at the present time, which is my belief in myself. That's my anchorage--it always has been and will be. I don't consider that we owe each other anything, but just the same I would like to know where you place me."

Bowers had a swift vision of what he was seven years ago, and set it against what he was now. Then, with full consciousness of the complete confidence that was placed in him by Clark, he turned and held out his hand.

"I place you," he said a little jerkily, "just where you want to be placed."

Clark merely touched the extended fingers, but his face brightened and a smile crept into his eyes.

"I thought you did, but--" he added quizzically, "I had to work to find it out, didn't I?"

Bowers nodded. He felt like a field that had been plowed so deep that it would yield better than ever before. He reflected, too, that the experience gained in years of success should serve well in times of adversity.

"What's on the program?" he asked.

"The men will begin to drift in from the mines and lumber camps. Then it's a matter of sitting tight till they're paid off."

Bowers thrust out his lips. He had seen men come in from the woods with their pockets full of money, and that was bad enough, but without money--!

"I've had a talk with Manson who seems good for it, and the works will be under heavy guard. That's all we can do in the meantime. I'm going to Philadelphia as soon as possible."

"But not at once?"

Clark smiled. "No, not at once."

XXII.--THE MASTER MIND AT WORK

Bowers went thoughtfully home and; next morning, flung himself into his work with renewed courage. He had need of it--they all had need of it.

There were now thousands who waited for their pay, and daily these ranks were swelled by others who drifted in from the woods. Hundreds of merchants began to refuse credit, though Filmer valiantly used all his resources. St. Marys was, in truth, stupefied, and when the first shock began to smooth itself out, the reality of the thing became grimly apparent, and then arose the first rumor of trouble in Ironville, that straggling settlement of shacks where dwelt the bone and muscle of the works.

To the Swede and Polander there was no suggestion of achievement in the vast buildings in which they labored. It was only the place where they earned their living. They worked amongst giant mechanisms beside which they were puny, but theirs was a life of force and strength which took from them the fear of anything that was merely human. Thus surprise changed to resentment, and resentment began to resolve itself into a slow and consuming anger. The works were dead, but in the main office the accounting staff was bending desperately over statements imperatively demanded by Philadelphia. The black browed Hungarians saw the lights at night, and felt that they were being played with by those more powerful than themselves. If a furnace man was discharged, why keep on these scribblers?

Outside St. Marys the news ran apace. Toronto papers dwelt on it, and the Board of Trade read it with regret mingled with thankfulness that Clark had embarked on no financial campaigns in their own city. Thorpe went carefully over the Philadelphia acceptances in his vault, and wondered what they were worth. To St. Marys set out a stream of representatives of various creditor companies, that filled the local hotels and journeyed out to the works and came back unsatisfied.

Philadelphia dispatches were devoured, and the word "reorganization"

was one to charm with. One by one, the Company's steamers slid up to the long docks, made fast and drew their fires, till it seemed that the works, like a great octopus, was withdrawing every arm and filament it ever had radiated, and was coiling them endlessly at its cold and clammy side. Yet, for all of this, it did not seem possible that the whole structure was tumbling, the structure on which so many years of labor--so much genius and enthusiasm--so many millions--had been lavished, until one afternoon a drunken Swede threw a stone into a butcher's window in Ironville and, putting forth a h.o.r.n.y hand, seized a side of bacon and set forth, reeling, down the street. Two hours later the startled chief accountant, from a window in his office, saw a swarm of a thousand men surge through the big gates of the works and, trampling the guard, flow irregularly forward.

The mob spilt on, a river of big strong men, unaware of its own strength. They were not bent on willful destruction, but the whole ma.s.s was animated by an inchoate desire to find out something for itself. At the door of the rail mill stood the superintendent and his firemen, with drawn revolvers. The rioters liked these men because they worked with and understood them. They were not a.s.sociated with the present trouble. So on to the administration building, where the office staff looked out, petrified with fear. Here, the mob decided, was another breed, so there commenced a hammering on the big oaken door and stones showered through the windows.

At this, Hobbs, stricken with mortal terror, and oblivious of the girls who gathered around him, lost his head. There was no escape downstairs, but opposite his desk was a grated iron window that led on to an adjoining roof. Noting it desperately, he heaved up his soft body and made a plunge for safety. But such was his bulk that, though head, arms and shoulders went through, he stuck there, anch.o.r.ed in an iron grip.

"Help!" he called chokingly, "Help!"

The mob looked up and stared, when from the rear ranks came a bull-like roar of laughter. Then another burst out and another, till from the ground spouted a fountain of jeers, hoots and ridicule that reached the fat man as he hung suspended, with purple face and gesticulating arms.