While she was writing she became conscious that the front door, which had been closed because the day was cool, must have come open; a strong draft blew her papers on the desk.
She looked up to see an old woman with a large bundle tied up in newspaper. She was bent and wore a shawl over her head.
“The boss’s laundry,” she mumbled. “He told me to leave it!” She hobbled away down the hall. Carol finished her sentence and then looked up. That was strange! She had never known Duskin to have laundry brought to the job. She got up and went to the door, but the old woman was coming away empty-handed, hobbling cheerfully along.
“I find him,” she said, “the old boss, the janitor.”
“Oh,” said Carol, “you found him, did you?” and she turned doubtfully back and went and watched the old woman from the window. It seemed but a small incident of the day.
While she stood there looking out at the lights that had begun to twinkle in the dusk, she was thinking that it would be only two more nights that she would have to stand so and watch from the window. She wondered what would come next and how it would seem to go back into her world again. Suddenly she became aware of a sound of padded footfalls along the tiled hall.
She turned sharply around and listened. She was getting nervous. She wished that Duskin would come back. Something might happen yet. The building was finished, but something might happen to Duskin, in revenge.
She listened, but all seemed to be still, and then she heard the steps again. Had one of the men come down? She stepped to the door and saw a little rubber-soled newsboy idling along from the back of the hall with a stack of papers on his arm.
“What are you doing in here?” she asked severely. He was an uncomely boy, with dirty face and hands and an evil look.
“D’liverin’ the janitor’s paper!” said the urchin, leering at her. “Buy a paper, lady?”
“No,” said Carol sharply. “You’d better get out of here. No one is allowed to come in here now that the building is finished. The janitor will have to come out and get his own paper after this.”
She followed him to the door and shut it decidedly after him, watching him from the window as he sped off down the street calling, “Paaaaper! Evnin’ paa-per!”
She went back to the desk again but she could not sit still. She went to the window to watch. She wished Roddy and the rest would come downstairs. She was worried and wanted them to tell her everything was all right.
Then suddenly there came to her ears a small snapping, crackling sound. She listened. It couldn’t be a mouse in a great steel and marble structure like that. Of course there was wooden trim and plaster, but a mouse in a new building! That was ridiculous. She turned around and came to the hall door for the third time, and as she reached it, she thought she smelled smoke. What could Bill be doing that would make smoke? Could something have caught fire in the cellar over his old gas plate? Perhaps he had fallen asleep over his pipe and his dish towel had fallen into the flame. She stepped out into the hall, and the far end near the elevators seemed to be filled with smoke, a fine gray mist. It was curling around from behind the elevators where a stack of leftover trim had been put for the men to take out when the truck came in the morning, and even as she looked she saw a lick of flame leap out into the whiteness of the corridor that was only dimly lighted by one electric bulb at the far end. As if a taunting hand were flung at her, she stood helpless.
For an instant it seemed as if her life had leaped to her throat and was choking her. The building they had cherished so and brought to completion! Duskin! It would kill him if anything happened now!
Then she leaped into action.
“Bill!” she screamed. “Bill! Come quick! Fire! Fire! FIRE!”
She flew down the hall to investigate. The smoke was thicker now, and the flames were leaping up with a roar as they caught the draft from the stairs and elevator shaft, and still no one came! What could she do?
The fire sprinkler that she had watched the men unpack was at the very back of the hall, so near to the flames that she could scarcely get near it without going into the very fire itself. If anyone had indeed started the fire he must have been very cunning. The workmen had been so careful to get every paint rag and cleaning cloth out of the place several days ago. Duskin had spoken of it with relief in his voice. He said that fires started so often from combustion of paint rags. They had not even left a can of gasoline or turpentine around. How could this have happened?
But there was no time to consider. She must do what she could. It would seem that there was no one left in the building.
She screamed again as she went by the elevator, “Fire! Fire! FIRE!“but the flames were roaring so she could not tell if she was heard. There seemed but one hope of stopping the devastation before it ruined the whole first floor—by smoke if not by burning—and that was the sprinkler. Could she reach it, and if she did, could she make it work? She tried to remember as she dashed into the flame how Duskin had said it must be turned on. Was it to the right or left?
The flames leaped at her and lashed her face as she went by. She was wearing the little blue jersey dress because the day was cool. She remembered that it was wool and would not catch fire easily. How clearly her brain worked now! She remembered that she ought to have gone to the telephone and given the fire alarm first. But how could she when she wasn’t sure there was a fire, and once she was here she must stop it first if she could. There was no time for anything, but she could scream.
She opened her mouth to scream, and the flame leaped out and caught the very words from her lips and stuffed them down her throat with smoke. She gasped as she plunged through, her eyes stinging and blinded by smoke, only her hands to feel her way and find the valve. Was that it? Would it screw around? Was it the right thing?
She was gasping and gripping it with all her might. Something was resulting but she did not know what. She could not get her breath, and the thought came to her in a wild spasm that she must get back and call the fire department. She must tell them there were five men up in the tenth story—and Bill down in the cellar. Why didn’t someone come? Oh, was she going to faint? She had never fainted in her life. She had always been so proud of that! But the sickening smoke and the heat of the flame that seemed to be almost licking her face! Was it an eternity she stood there, with that rasping, tearing burden on her lungs and that tang of flame that reminded her of Schlessinger’s fox face?
And then she felt the flame subsiding, as if a power greater than itself wrestled with it. She saw it fall back and lurch forward again, as more and more the sprinkler got control. She could go now, if she could only breathe. If the smoke would clear and the smarting in throat and nostrils would give her breath a chance. Would no one ever come?
Why, someone was calling; she must answer!
“Fire!” but it was only a whisper as it came from her smoke-parched lips.
Was that the sound of the boys rushing down from stories above, or was she hearing the waves on the shore at the coast of Maine as they boomed against rocks she had never seen? Where was Bill? And where, oh where, was Duskin?
It was her last thought as she drowned away in the smoke. Soul and body and spirit drenched in deadening smoke! They had gotten her and Duskin and the building! The old fox had won!
Until strong arms gathered her and bore her out of it all.
She came back again through clear air blowing in her face and clean water dripping upon her lips and wrists. The electric fan that Duskin had bought one hot day and set up near her desk was going at full speed; the windows were open and the blessed coolness was fanning her cheeks.
Somewhere back in her mind a soft voice was singing a verse she had read in her Bible that very morning. “Every word of God is pure: he is a shield unto them that put their trust in him.” And here her God had saved her again! A shield!
She opened her eyes and found that she was lying in Duskin’s arms. Duskin’s face was watching her eagerly.
“My
darling!” he whispered. “Are you all right?”
Charlie was coming in at the door, but she didn’t seem to mind. She lay so restfully there in those strong arms. Oh yes, once before he had held her in his arms, where was that? The fox had been there then. What had she been dreaming? A fire?
Charlie was bringing a glass of ice water. The ice clinked against the glass. He held it to her lips and murmured, “There, little lady, you drink that, an’ you’ll feel better!”
His tone was so gentle it was funny. He held the glass as if she was a baby, and she wanted to laugh. Duskin’s eyes got teary and twinkly, as if he would laugh, too, only it would hurt Charlie’s feelings, but they both understood.
Roddy came in all streaked with soot and water, a great charred stick in his hand.
“Want I should get a doctor-rr, Dusky?” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s all out now, every bit.”
But Carol lifted her head.
“Is someone hurt?” she asked sharply. “Did the boys get down? Can you stop the fire?”
Then they all laughed, and it was like clear water coming in great streams upon a dry and parched land.
“You put out the fire, little lady,” said Charlie when he could speak. “You was just extractin’ the last spark when we arrived. Nothing’s hurt save old Bill’s pride. They trussed him up with some ‘lectric wire and stuffed a old, dirty dishtowel in his mouth. He doesn’t reckon he’ll ever get over not bein’ able to help you out, little lady boss!”
“But who did it, and how did it start?” asked Carol, still lying in Duskin’s arms and not attempting to rise. It seemed the natural and right thing that she should stay there awhile. They all seemed to expect it.
“Don’t ask me,” said Charlie. “The ole fox himself’ll be at the bottom of it, but who his tool was I can’t tell. The same one that telephoned Dusky to go get that receipt, I reckon. He mighta ben sitting there yet ef I hadn’t come to take his place. Pat’s down there now waiting. We better send someone to relieve that kid. But how they figured it out to get that fire started! We musta had a workman that was yellow—belonged to the other gang, and he knew them trims were piled behind that elevator shaft. It was almost the only stuff in the hall that would burn.”
“There was a lot of old rags, all paint, and papers, too,” added Roddy. “I been examining the ashes.”
Then Carol, her eyes very bright, told about the old woman who came with Bill’s laundry and about the insolent newsboy.
Duskin, with his arm still supporting her, looked up gravely.
“Here’s where we ask for a little service, boys, and stop this long strain. It was a parting shot, and they’ll be disappointed that it didn’t work, but I think we can prevent another attempt. Charlie, you get on the phone and the police headquarters. No, don’t tell them what happened. We’re not going to let this get into the papers. We’re coming out of this clean if we possibly can.”
“Is the building spoiled beyond repair?” asked Carol.
“No,” said Roddy crossly, as if he was almost sorry that they didn’t have more odds to work against. “Most of it’s smoke and will wash off. Some blisters, a little charr-rr-ed wood, a cracked slab or two and some tiles. If we all get to work we can set a lot of it right before morning, and the rest can be fixed tomorrow. Wait till the boss sees it.”
“Oh joy!” said Carol, her strength returning to her. “Let me get up and help. Why, I’m perfectly all right, why do I let you baby me?”
But they would not let her up. They brought a cot and laid their coats upon it, and put her there.
“You can be the boss, little lady,” said Charlie, smiling, “but you’ve done enough work for tonight.”
Duskin, hardly daring to leave her, had finally gone to the telephone himself and was marshalling his forces.
“It’s double pay to you and your men if you can come down here tonight and fix this up. Yes, double pay, I’ve said it.” His eyes were shining.
He went down the list of men he could trust and sifted out the best, and they came to his call, every man of them. Before midnight the place was like a hive of quiet bees, working steadily, each man helping his brother, each intent upon getting the damage hidden from sight and a new, sturdy wall in place again before morning.
The ones who could not work until the others were done hung cheerfully around and watched, even taking a hand sometimes when it wasn’t in their line of work.
Poor Bill, with his pride trailing in the dust like a wet hen’s tail, lighted the way around the cellar, hunting out slabs of marble that had not been used, pieces of trim, timbers and steel, a bag of cement, plaster and sand, and tiles. There seemed to be enough of almost everything, and as the hours went by outside in the dark street, a cordon of policemen patrolled the place. And would patrol it until that building was handed over the day after tomorrow to the city, complete and whole.
All night they worked, and when morning dawned there was little left of the devastation that the old laundry woman with her bundle of soaked rags and the little snipe of a newsboy with his fatal cigarette had wrought. The old fox would have to sling a bomb over the heads of the whole police force if he wanted to destroy his building now. It stood in the morning sunlight, whole and unscathed.
Inside, a few men could be found painting innocently—if anyone forced a way in past the bulldog glare of Bill—but otherwise all things seemed to be about as they had been. There were a few little touches that would be made during the day, but no casual observer would know that anything like tragedy had happened in that hall the night before.
Carol came back the next morning under the watchful eye of Charlie. She wore her rosy dress with her big white coat and white hat, and they treated her as if she were a queen.
“And what do you think?” she announced to Duskin, who looked at her and smiled with the look in his eyes she had seen when she first met him. “Mr. Fawcett himself is coming down tomorrow to be at the presentation. The doctor says the good news about the building has put him on his feet. There’s the telegram.”
She handed it over cheerfully.
“That may be all right,” grumbled Charlie, who was hovering around listening, a privileged character. “I’m glad the old boss got well, but it’s the lady boss and Dusky that’s the real thing, and they oughtta have all the honors.”
It was a busy day after all, for they had to get ready to move out and each one of the crew had to personally look after every other one of the crew all day. And when night came, it was with difficulty they persuaded Carol to go back to the hotel and get a good night’s rest. It was only because Duskin looked at her gently and told her she must for his sake that she consented to go.
She was down at the office very early in the morning, all in white—a soft, white wool dress and white hat and coat.
Duskin had had roses sent in, a great sheaf of them, to her.
She wore some of them fastened into the folds of her dress and arranged the rest around the room in some of Bill’s dishes she had found in the cellar.
Duskin wanted to go and meet Fawcett. He felt that it was his place. Carol begged him to stay. She felt that even yet something might happen.
“Nonsense,” he said. “They don’t want anything more of me now. The building is finished and the day is come. You are here to hold it, and you’ve plenty of men to stand by you. I’m going to meet Fawcett. It is my place. The job would not be complete without that.”
“All right, boss,” said Charlie. “I’ll go along.”
So Duskin and Charlie rode off in the old car to meet the president of the company, and Carol stayed behind and waited, with her cheeks growing more like her roses every minute.
So Caleb Fawcett rode up to his finished building on the morning of October first in Duskin’s old car that he had bought for fifty dollars, and Carol Berkley, his meek little secretary, stood at the doorway to meet him.
“Why, why, my dear little lady!” he exclaimed as he took her hand and looked int
o her eyes. “Why, you look like a bride! Why, what have you done to yourself?”
He had aged himself, she thought. His hair was silver around his temples and his face had been chastened by suffering. But his eyes were as keen as ever; and when he had gone over the beautiful finished building he turned to the two who had followed him anxiously, silently, and said with a voice that was broken with emotion, “It’s beautiful! It’s marvelous! I don’t know when we’ve put up a better structure, one that I admired more. And you, my two faithful stewards, I don’t know which is to be thanked the most for your faithful devotion and untiring zeal and self-sacrifice. You both deserve all and more that the company can do for you. Duskin, I’ve been hearing about your amazing selflessness and almost uncanny powers of accomplishing impossibilities. Every letter this young woman wrote was full of it, even the telegrams—”
He broke off and looked up again at the beautiful, powerful structure.
“Young man, as I look at that building it seems that it has a spirit, the same spirit as your own—indomitable and impregnable.”
Suddenly embarrassed at his unwonted flight of imagination, he turned to Carol who was listening in amazement. She had never expected anything like this from her crabby employer.
“And you, my dear little lady! How can I find words to express myself? Your untiring devotion, your heroism! Oh, I’ve been hearing all about it on the way up from the station!”
Carol was so utterly overcome to hear words like this from her stern old boss that she could think of no reply. She could only stand there in wondering embarrassment while his voice went on.
“But, little lady,” he was saying, and it sounded as if there were tears in his voice, “you don’t know what you did when you had the foresight to take down that evidence! They were planning to make us a lot more trouble and to refuse to make the final payments on some trumped-up technicality—they’ve been holding us up on money all along, you know—and they meant to lose us the forfeit. It was desperate straits for us because we have a lot of money out elsewhere just now, you remember. I got a letter from Schlessinger two days ago threatening the worst. That is what brought me here today. I was wild! But Duskin here met me at the train and told me what you had done, and we called up those crooks before we drove up here and told them a thing or two. There won’t be any trouble now. Schlessinger’s a lamb. He’s frightened cold! He knows it will be in every paper in the country before night if he doesn’t make a clean slate. And it’s all on account of you, little lady! We never can thank you enough!”