Kitabı oku: «The Making of Bobby Burnit», sayfa 17
CHAPTER XXVIII
BIFF RENEWS A PLEASANT ACQUAINTANCE AND BOBBY INAUGURATES A TRAGEDY
“Is Mr. Platt in?”
Biff stood hesitantly in the door when he found the place occupied only by a brown-haired girl, who was engaged in the quiet, unprofessional occupation of embroidering a shirtwaist pattern.
The girl looked up with a smile at the young man’s awkwardness, and felt impelled to put him at his ease.
“He’s not in just now, but I expect him within ten or fifteen minutes at the outside. Won’t you sit down, Mr. Bates?”
He looked at her much mystified at this calling of his name, but he mumbled his thanks for the chair which she put forward for him, and, sitting with his hat upon his knees, contemplated her furtively.
“I guess you don’t remember me,” she said in frank enjoyment of his mystification, “but I remember you perfectly. I used to see you quite often out at Westmarsh when Mr. Burnit was trying to redeem that persistent swamp. I am Mr. Platt’s sister.”
“No!” exclaimed Biff in amazement. “You can’t be the kid that used to ride on the excavating cars, and go home with yellow clay on your dresses every day.”
“I’m the kid,” said she with a musical laugh; “and I’m afraid I haven’t quite outgrown my hoydenish tendencies even yet.”
Biff had no comment to make. He was lost in wonder over that eternal mystery – the transformation which occurs when a girl passes from fourteen to eighteen.
“Don’t you remember?” she gaily went on. “You gave me a boxing lesson out there one afternoon and promised to give me more of them, but you never did.”
Biff cleared a sudden huskiness from his throat.
“I’d be tickled black in the face to make good any day,” he urged earnestly, and then hastily corrected the offer to: “That is, I mean I’ll be very glad to – to finish the job.”
Immediately he turned violently red.
“I don’t seem to care as much for the accomplishment as I did then,” observed the girl with a smile, “but I do wish I could learn to swing my nice Indian clubs without cracking the back of my head.”
“I got a medal for club swinging,” said Biff diffidently. “I’ll teach you any time you like. It’s easy. Come right over to the gym on Tuesday and Friday forenoons. Those are ladies’ mornings, and I’ve got nothing but real classy people at that.”
The entrance of Mr. Platt interrupted Biff just as he was beginning to feel at ease, and threw that young gentleman, who always appropriated and absorbed other people’s troubles, into much concern; for Mr. Platt was hollow-eyed and sunken-cheeked from worry. His coat was very shiny, and his hat was shabby. The dusty and neglected drawing on his crude drawing-table told the story all too well. The engineering business, so far as Mr. Platt was concerned, seemed to be a total failure. Nevertheless, he greeted Mr. Bates warmly, and inquired after Mr. Burnit.
“He’s always fine,” said Biff. “He had me come up here to meet him.”
“I should scarcely think he would care to come here after the unfortunate outcome of the work I did for him,” said Mr. Platt.
“You mean on old Applerod’s Subtraction?”
“You couldn’t hardly call it the Applerod Addition, could you?” responded Jimmy with a smile. “That was a most unlucky transaction for me as well as for Mr. Burnit.”
Biff looked about the room comprehendingly.
“I guess it put you on the hummer, all right,” said he. “It don’t look as if you done anything since.”
“But very little,” confessed Mr. Platt. “My failure on that job hurt my reputation almost fatally.”
Biff gravely sought within himself for words of consolation, one of his fleeting ideas being to engage Mr. Platt on the spot to survey the site of Bates’ Athletic Hall, although there was not the slightest possible need for such a survey. In the midst of his sympathetic gloom came in Mr. Ferris and Bobby.
“Jimmy, how would you like to be chief construction engineer of the new waterworks?” asked Bobby, with scant waste of time, after he had introduced Ferris.
Mr. Platt gasped and paled.
“I think I could be urged, from a sense of public duty, to give up my highly lucrative private practice,” he said with a pitiful attempt at levity, though his voice was husky, and his tightly clenched hand, where the white knuckles rested upon his drawing-table, trembled.
“Don’t build up too much hope on it, Jimmy; but if what we surmise is correct you will have a chance at it,” and he briefly explained. “We’re going right out there,” concluded Bobby, “and I want you to go along to help investigate. We have to find some incriminating evidence, and you’d be more likely to know how and where to look for it than any of us.”
It is needless to say that Jimmy Platt took his hat with alacrity. Before he went out, with new hope in his heart, he turned and shook hands ecstatically with his sister. Still holding Jimmy’s hand she turned to Bobby impulsively:
“I do hope, Mr. Burnit, that this turns out right for Jimmy.”
Bobby turned to her abruptly and with a trace of a frown. It was a rather poorly trained office employee, he thought, who would intrude herself into conversation that it was her duty to forget, but Biff Bates caught that look and stepped into the breach.
“This is Nellie, Bobby – that is, it used to be Nellie,” he stated with a quick correction, and blushed violently.
“It is Nellie still,” laughed that young lady to Bobby, and the puzzled look upon his face was swiftly driven away by a smile, as he suddenly recognized in her traces of the long-legged girl who had been always present at the Applerod Addition, who had ridden in his automobile, and had confided to him most volubly, upon innumerable occasions, that her brother Jimmy was about the smartest man who ever sighted through a transit.
In the hastily constructed frame office out at the waterworks site, Ed Scales, pale and emaciated and with black rings under his eyes, looked up nervously as Bobby’s little army, reënforced from four to six by the addition of a “plain clothes man” and Dillingham, the Bulletin’s star reporter, invaded the place. Before a word was spoken, Feeney, the plain clothes man, presented Scales with a writ, which the latter attempted to read with unseeing eyes, his fingers trembling.
“What does this mean?”
“That I have come to take possession,” said Bobby, “with power to make an examination of every scrap of paper in the place. Frankly, Scales, we expect to find something crooked about the waterworks contract. If we do you know the result. If we do not, the interruption will be only temporary, and you will have very pretty grounds for action; for I am taking a long shot, and if I don’t find what I am after I have put myself and the mayor into a bad scrape.”
Scales thrice opened his mouth to speak, and thrice there came no sound from his lips. Then he laid a bunch of keys upon his desk, shoving them toward Feeney, and rose. He half-staggered into the large coat room behind him. He had scarcely more than disappeared when there was the startling roar of a shot, and the body of Scales, with a round hole in the temple, toppled, face downward, out of the door. It was Scales’ tragic confession of guilt. They sprang instantly to him, but nothing could be done for him. He was dead when they reached him.
“Poor devil,” said Ferris brokenly. “It is probably the first crooked thing he ever did in his life, and he hadn’t nerve enough to go through with it. I feel like a murderer for my share in the matter.”
Bobby, too, had turned sick; his senses swam and he felt numb and cold. He was aroused by a calm, dispassionate voice at the telephone. It was Dillingham, sending to the Bulletin a carefully lurid account of the tragedy, and of the probable causes leading up to it.
“We’ll have an extra on the street in five minutes,” he told Bobby with satisfaction as he rose. “That means that the Chronicle men will come out in a swarm, but it will take them a half-hour to get here. We have that much time, then, to dig up the evidence we are after, and if we hustle we can have a second extra out before the Chronicle can get a line. It’s the biggest beat in years. Come on, boys, let’s get busy,” and he took up the keys that Scales had left on the desk.
Dillingham had no sooner left the telephone than Feeney took up the receiver and called for a number. The reporter turned upon him like a flash, recognizing that call as the number of the coroner’s office. Dillingham suddenly caught himself before he had spoken, and looked hastily about the room. In the corner near the floor was a little box with the familiar bells upon it, and binding screws that held the wires. Quickly Dillingham slipped over to that corner just as Feeney was saying:
“Hello! Coroner’s office, this is Feeney. Is that you, Jack?.. Well – ”
At that instant Dillingham loosened a binding screw and slipped off the loop of the wire.
“Hello, coroner!” repeated Feeney. “I say, Jack! Hello! Hello! Hello, there! Hello! Hello!” Then Feeney pounded the mouthpiece, jerked the receiver hook up and down, yelled at exchange, and worked himself into a vast fever.
“What’s the matter with this thing, anyhow, Dill?” he finally demanded.
“Exchange probably went to sleep on you,” said Dillingham.
Easily he was now opening one by one the immense flat drawers of a drawing-case, and with much interest delving into the huge drawings that it contained.
“Come here, Mr. Platt,” Dillingham went on. “You cast your eagle eye over these drawings while I do a little job of interviewing,” and he walked over to the employees of the office, who, since they had been roughly warned by Feeney not to go near “that body,” had huddled, scared and limp, in the far corner of the room.
Perspiring and angry, Feeney tried for five solid minutes to obtain some response from the dead telephone, then he gave it up.
“I’ve got to go out and hunt up another ’phone,” he declared. “Biff, I’ll appoint you my deputy. Don’t let anybody touch the corpse till the coroner comes.”
“I’ll go with you,” said Bobby hastily, very glad to leave the room, and both he and Mr. Ferris accompanied Feeney. No sooner was Feeney out of the place than Dillingham reconnected the telephone and went back to his investigations. He was thoroughly satisfied, after a few questions, that the present employees knew nothing whatever, and Platt reported to him that every general drawing he could find was marked three-tenths inch to the foot, none being marked one-fourth.
“That doesn’t matter so much,” mused Dillingham. “It will be easy enough to prove that these are the same drawings that were provided the contestants, and six firms will swear that they were marked one-fourth of an inch to the foot. What we have to do is to prove that the drawings the Middle West Company used as the basis of their bid were marked one-fourth inch to the foot.”
The telephone bell rang violently while Dillingham was puzzling over this matter, and one of the employees started to answer it.
“No, you don’t!” shouted Dillingham. “You fellows are dispossessed.”
He took down the receiver.
“Waterworks engineer’s office?” came a brisk voice through the telephone.
“Yes,” said Dillingham.
“This is the Chronicle. The Bulletin has an extra – ”
Dillingham waited to hear no more. He hung up the receiver with a grin, and it was music in his ears to hear those bells impatiently jangling for the next ten minutes. It seemed to quicken his intelligence, for presently he slapped his hand upon his leg and jumped toward the group of employees in the corner.
“Say!” he demanded. “Who figured on this job for the Middle West Company?”
“Dan Rubble, I suppose,” answered a lanky draftsman, who, still wearing his apron, had slipped his coat on over his oversleeves and retained his eye-shade under his straw hat. “At least, he seemed to know all about the plans. He’s the boss contractor. There he is now.”
Looking out of the window Dillingham saw a brawny, red-haired giant running from the tool-house, carrying a cylindrical tin case about five feet long. He pulled off the cap of this as he came and began to drag from the inside of the case a thick roll of blue-prints. He was hurrying toward a big asphalt caldron underneath which blazed a hot wood fire.
“Come on, Biff,” yelled Dillingham, and hurried out of the door, closely followed by Bates.
They both ran with all their might toward the caldron, but before they could reach the spot Rubble had shoved the entire roll into the fire. Biff wasted no precious moments, but, glaring Mr. Rubble in the eye as he ran, doubled his fist with the evident intention of damaging that large gentleman’s countenance with it. He suddenly ducked his round head as he approached, however, and plunged it into the middle of Mr. Rubble’s appetite; whereupon Mr. Rubble grunted heavily, and sat down quite uncomfortably near to the caldron. Biff, though it scorched his hands, dragged the blazing roll of blue-prints from the flames and, seizing a near-by pail of water, started for the drawings, just as big Dan regained his feet and made a rush for him.
Dillingham, slight and no fighter but full of sand, jumped crosswise into that mêlée, and with a flying leap literally hung himself about Rubble’s neck. Big Dan, roaring like a bull at this unexpected and most unprofessional mode of warfare, placed his two hands upon Dillingham’s hips and tried to force him away; failing in this, he ran straight forward with all this living clog hanging to him, and planted a terrific kick upon Biff’s ribs, just as Biff had dashed the pail of water from end to end of the blazing roll of drawings. He poised for another kick, but Biff had dropped the pail by this time, and as the foot swung forward he grabbed it. Rubble, losing his balance, pitched forward, landing squarely upon the top of the unhappy Dillingham, who signified his retirement from the game with an astonishingly large “Woof!” to come from so small a body; moreover, he released his arms; but Rubble, freed from the weight on his chest, found another one on his back. Biff felt quite competent to manage him, but by this time half a dozen men came running from different directions, and as there were a hundred or more of them on the job, all beholden for their daily bread and butter to Mr. Rubble, things looked bad for Biff and Dillingham.
“Back up there, you mutts, or I’ll make peek-a-boo patterns out of the lot of you!” howled a penetrating voice, and Mr. Feeney, heading the relief party, which consisted only of Bobby and Mr. Ferris, whipped from each hip pocket a huge blue-steel revolver, at the same time brushing back his coat to display his badge.
Those men might have fought Mr. Feeney’s guns, but they had no mind to fight that badge, and they held back while Bobby and Mr. Ferris helped to calm Mr. Rubble by the simple expedient of sitting on him.
Three days later Bobby induced Messrs. Sharpe, Trimmer and all of their associates, without any difficulty whatever, to meet with him in the office of the mayor.
“Gentlemen of the Middle West Construction Company,” said Bobby; “I am sorry to say that you are not telling the truth when you claim that you figured in good faith on this absurd and almost unknown three-tenths-inch scale, when all the others figured on the same drawings at one-fourth inch. The rescue of these prints, covered with Rubble’s marginal figures, does not leave you a leg to stand on,” and Bobby tapped his knuckles upon the charred-edged blueprints that lay unrolled on the desk before him. Fortunately the three inside prints were left fairly intact, and these were plainly marked one-fourth inch to the foot. “Moreover, rolled up inside the blueprints was even better evidence,” went on Bobby; “evidence that Mr. Trimmer has perhaps forgotten. Nothing has been said about it until now, and nothing has been published since we saved them from the fire.”
From the drawer of his desk he drew several sheets of white paper. They were letter-heads of Trimmer and Company and were covered with Rubble’s figures.
“Here’s a note from Mr. Trimmer to Mr. Rubble, requesting him to prepare a statement showing the difference in cost ‘between three-tenths and one-fourth.’ He does not say three-tenths or one-fourth what, but that is quite enough, taken in conjunction with these summaries on another sheet of paper. They are set down in two columns, one headed three-tenths and the other one-fourth. I have had Mr. Platt go over these figures, and he finds that the first number in one column exactly corresponds to the number of yards of excavating in this job when figured on the scale of three-tenths inch to the foot. The first number in the next column exactly corresponds to the excavating when figured at the one-fourth-inch scale. Every item will compare in the same manner: concrete, masonry, face-brick, and all. Now, if you chaps want to take this clumsy and almost laughable attempt at a steal into the courts I’m perfectly willing; but I should advise you not to do so.”
Mr. Sharpe cleared his throat. He, the first one to declare that the Middle West would “go into court and stand upon its rights,” was now the first one to recant.
“I don’t suppose it’s worth while to contest the matter,” he admitted. “We have no show with your administration, I see. We lose the contract and will step down and out quite peaceably; although there ought to be some arrangement by which we might get credit for the amount of work already done.”
“No,” declared Chalmers, with quite a reproving smile, “you may just keep on using the available part of it; for the point is that you don’t lose the contract! You keep the contract, and you will build the power-house upon the original scale of one-fourth inch to the foot. Also you will carry out the rest of the work on the same basis as figured by other contractors. I want to remind you that you are well bonded, well financed, and that the city holds a guarantee of twenty per cent. of the contract price as a forfeit for the due and proper completion of this job.”
“Why, it means bankruptcy!” shrieked Silas Trimmer, the deeply-graven circle about his mouth now being but the pallid and piteous caricature of his old-time sinister smile.
“That is precisely what I intend,” retorted Bobby with a snap of his jaws. “I have long, long scores to settle with both of you gentlemen.”
“But you haven’t against the other members of this company,” protested Sharpe. “Our other stockholders are entirely innocent parties.”
“They have my sincere sympathy for being caught in such dubious company,” replied Bobby with a contemptuous smile. “I happen to have a roster of your stock-holders, and every man of them has been mixed up in crooked deals in combination with Stone or Stone enterprises; so whatever they lose on this contract will be merely by way of restitution to the city.”
“Look here, Mr. Burnit,” said Sharpe, dropping his tone of remonstrance for one intended to be wheedling; “I know there are a number of financial matters between us that might have a tendency to make you vindictive. Now why can’t we just get together nicely on all of these things and compromise?”
Chalmers rapped his knuckles sharply upon his desk.
“Kindly remember where you are,” he warned.
“When I get around to settling day there will be no such thing as a compromise,” declared Bobby with repressed anger. “I’ll settle all those other matters in my own way and at my own time.”
“One thing more, gentlemen,” said Chalmers, as the chopfallen committee of the Middle West Construction Company rose to depart; “I wish to remind you that there is a forfeit clause in your contract for delay, so I should advise you to resume operations at once. Mr. Platt succeeds the unfortunate Mr. Scales as constructing engineer, and he will see that the plans and specifications of the entire contract are carried out to the letter.”
Platt, who had said nothing, walked away with Bobby.
“You were speaking about following the plans exactly, Mr. Burnit,” he said when they were alone upon the street. “I find on an examination of the subsoil that there will be a few minor changes required. The runway, for instance, which goes down to the river northward from the power-house for the purpose of unloading coal barges, would be much better placed on the south side, away from the intake. There is practically no difference in expense, except that in running to the southward the riprap work will need to be carried about three feet deeper and with concreted walls, in place of being thrown loosely in the trenches as originally planned.”
“All those things are up to you, Jimmy,” said Bobby indifferently. “You must use your own judgment. Any changes of the sort that you deem necessary just bring before the city council, and I am quite sure that you can secure permission to make them.”
“Very well,” said Platt, and he left Bobby at the corner with a curious smile.
He was a different looking Jimmy Platt from the one Bobby had found in his office a week before. He was clean-shaven now, and his clothing was quite prosperous looking. Bobby, surmising the condition of affairs, had delicately insisted on making Platt a loan, to be repaid from his salary at a conveniently distant period, and the world looked very bright indeed to him.
The next day work on the new waterworks was resumed. In bitter consultation the Middle West Construction Company had discovered that they would lose less by fulfilling their contract than by forfeiting their twenty per cent., and they dispiritedly turned in again, kept constantly whipped up to the mark by Platt and by the knowledge that every day’s non-completion of the work meant a heavy additional forfeit, which they had counted on being able to evade so long as the complaisant Mr. Scales was in charge.
