CHAPTER X.
MYLES MAKES A STARTLING DISCOVERY.
THE cruel dispatch to the _Phonograph_, written for the express purposeof ruining Myles Manning, was the last one to go eastward that night.When the operator—much against his will, for he had taken a fancy toMyles, but compelled by the rules of his office to do so—had sent itflashing over the wires and received an “O. K.” in answer, his hand laylistlessly on the key for a full minute. He was thinking what a mean,contemptible thing had just been done, and was wondering if in any wayhe could undo it or avert its consequences. Yes, he believed somethingcould be done! At any rate, he would try. The frank, pleasant faceof the young reporter rose up before him. A fellow with such a faceas that must be all right. He would at least take the responsibilityof telling the _Phonograph_ people that he was, and that that lastdispatch was false. The key began to click beneath his nimble fingers,but its sound was faint and lifeless. The New York wire would not work.Quickly changing the connections on his switch-board the operator triedagain, but with the same result. None of the eastern wires would work.Within that minute of hesitation they had all been cut.
Then a rush of business came in that had to be sent west to Chicago.The Associated Press agent got off a few hundred hurriedly writtenwords announcing the beginning of the great strike. Two or threeimportant private messages were put through, and then the western wiresalso ceased to work. Mountain Junction was cut off from telegraphiccommunication with the world.
Outside the office crowds of railroad men filled the streets. Some ofthem were noisy, others quiet and determined. Some of them utteredloud boasts and threats, others worked with the silent energy of thosewho have decided upon their plans and mean to carry them through. Alltrains arriving after midnight were side-tracked. Their locomotiveswere run into the round-house, where their fires were drawn. Heavybarricades were placed across the main line, the signal-lights wereextinguished, and all traffic was effectually stopped.
When, late the next morning, Myles Manning awoke, it was with an achinghead and a confused idea of where he was and what had happened to him.The town seemed strangely silent as compared with its noise and bustleof the day before. Could it be Sunday? No, Myles was certain that thepreceding day had been Tuesday. What time was it? He pulled out hiswatch, and as he did so made the discovery that the roll of bills withwhich he was to have paid his expenses had disappeared. For a momenthe thought he had been robbed. Then a dim memory of playing cards andlosing money the evening before struggled into his mind, and the cruelnature of his situation began to dawn upon him. What had he done? Whathad he left undone? In his despair the poor boy sat down on the edge ofhis bed, and, burying his face in his hands, groaned aloud.
He was aroused by a knock, but before he could reply to it the dooropened and Ben Watkins walked in.
“Hello, Manning!” he exclaimed. “What’s the matter? Why aren’t youout gathering in the items of interest that you reporters are alwayshunting for? There are dead loads of them floating round this place atpresent, I can tell you.”
“Oh, Ben,” groaned Myles, hoping for a bit of sympathy in his distress,“my money is all gone except a dollar or two in change. I must havelost it at cards in your room last night; but I can’t exactly remember.What shall I do?”
“Do? Why, brace up! You’ll get it all back again next time. I gotpretty well cleaned out myself last night, but we’ll get even with thatfellow yet. He’s got to stay here until the strike is over, and we’llhave no end of chances at him.”
“The strike!” echoed Myles, to whose thoughts the words gave a newdirection. “Has the strike begun?”
“Well, I should say it had, and is well under way by this time. Why, itbegan at twelve o’clock last night. We had a big riot, but things arequieting down now, and both sides are awaiting developments.”
“And I haven’t sent a word of it to the paper!” exclaimed Myles, aghastat the thought of his neglected duty.
“Of course not. How could you, when all the telegraph wires were cutthe first thing?”
“Were they, really?” asked Myles, in a slightly relieved tone. “So thatI couldn’t have sent any thing, any way?”
“To be sure they were. Nobody was able to send off even a whisper. Soyou may rest easy on that score.”
This news lightened poor Myles’ burden of anxiety somewhat, though itdid not lessen the force of his self-reproach. Perhaps this, his firstserious neglect of duty, would never be known in the office, after all.At the same time Myles vowed that such a thing should never happenagain.
After bathing his face in cold water he started out with Ben to studythe situation. As they passed the hotel bar-room the latter suggestedthat they step in and take a “bracer.”
“No, I thank you,” said Myles, resolutely. “No more ‘bracers’ for me.After last night I am willing to pledge myself never to touch anotherdrop so long as I live.”
“Oh, pshaw!” replied Ben. “Last night was nothing.”
“Perhaps not, as you look at it, but if my last night’s condition andits results were known in the _Phonograph_ office it would prove a veryimportant something to me. They have no use there for a fellow who letsliquor get the best of him.”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Ben. “Don’t try to make out that your own officeis any better than any other. All newspaper men get drunk every now andthen; everybody knows that.”
“Look here, Ben Watkins!” cried Myles, stopping short and turning uponhis companion, while an angry flush mounted to his face, “you may bespeaking from ignorance, and I hope you are. At any rate, I want you tounderstand that what you have just said is not true. I know a good dealmore about newspaper men than you do. As a rule, they are gentlemen,from editors-in-chief down to reporters, and no drunkard can ever layrightful claim to that title.”
“Oh, they can’t, can’t they?” remarked Ben, sneeringly. “Yet I supposeyou consider yourself a gentleman.”
“I try to be one,” answered Myles, hot with indignation at the other’ssignificant tone and words.
“And hereafter I mean to associate only with those who are.”
So saying he turned and walked rapidly away, leaving Ben to stare afterhim with such an expression of intense hatred on his face as startledthe passers-by who chanced to notice it.
Ben Watkins was a bad fellow. There was no doubt of that. Some people,and Myles Manning among them, suspected it, but nobody knew how badhe really was nor what evil he was capable of. As has already beenshown, he could cherish a spirit of petty revenge, and would descendto any means to gratify it. In addition to this he was dishonest andrecklessly extravagant. Although he had occupied his present positionbut a few months, he had managed to run into debt for one thing oranother to a good many people. Some of these debts he had been obligedto pay, and, as his salary was not sufficient to meet them, he hadappropriated to his own use several small sums of railroad money withwhich he had been intrusted, and altered the figures of his accounts toconceal the thefts. He hoped to win enough at cards to make good thesesums before their loss should be discovered; but of late luck had beenagainst him, and he had only succeeded in plunging more deeply thanever into debt. At the outbreak of the great strike his situation wasso desperate that he had almost made up his mind to disappear from thatpart of the country and make a new start where he was unknown.
He dared not confide in or ask aid of his uncle, for the divisionsuperintendent was a stern man, with no sympathy or pity forevil-doers, especially those whose sin was that of dishonesty. He wasabsent from Mountain Junction when the strike broke out, attending ameeting of officers of the road, held in a distant city, and, as hisassistant, Ben Watkins was left in charge of the office.
On the day of his uncle’s departure, Ben had received, and receiptedfor, an express package containing a thousand dollars of railroadmoney, which he placed in the office safe to await the superintendent’sreturn. As he put this package away he looked longingly at it andwished it were for him. How nicely it woul
d help him out of histroubles! Still he dared not even open it, and with a reluctant sigh helaid it down and closed the heavy safe door upon it.
He had thought of this package more than once since, then, and evenopened the safe several times to see if it were really there. Now,as, after parting from Myles, he sat at his uncle’s desk in the inneroffice, wondering if there was any way by which he could turn thisstrike to his own advantage, something happened that suited him exactly.
As his uncle’s representative he was visited by a committee of fourfrom the strikers—a conductor, an engineer, a stoker, and a brakeman.Of this committee conductor Jacob Allen was spokesman. He stated thecause of the strike very clearly, and promised that the men should useno violence so long as none was used against them. They were willingto await quietly the action of the company, but there was one matterthat ought to be seen to at once lest it lead to trouble. Many of thestrikers in Mountain Junction occupied houses near the shops and worksbelonging to the railroad. They were obliged to pass close by thesebuildings in going to and from their houses. Several of them had beenordered to keep at a greater distance by the soldiers guarding theworks. It would put them to great inconvenience to be obliged to takeother roads, and this committee hoped Mr. Watkins would issue ordersthat they should pass unmolested, even close to the buildings, so longas they did so quietly and peaceably.
The assistant division superintendent listened impatiently to all thecommittee had to say, and then with an air intended to impress themwith the importance of his position, he answered,
“I have already issued orders that no striker is to be allowed within ahundred feet of any works or shop belonging to this company and undermy charge. If you do not want to be inconvenienced come in and reportfor duty. Until you do so the order will be enforced.”
“I am afraid it will make trouble, Mr. Watkins,” said Allen.
“That is your affair and not mine,” was the reply. “You must take theconsequences of your own acts.”
Disgusted with the manner and words of the self-important young manthe committee withdrew, and the bitterness of feeling on both sideswas from that moment greatly increased. As a result of Ben’s refusalto grant this modest and reasonable request several slight encounterstook place between the soldiers and strikers during the day, and bynightfall a sense of uneasiness and fears of more serious troubleoverspread the whole town.
AS HE WAS STOOPING TO SET FIRE TO THE READY FUEL, THESOUND OF HIS OWN NAME CAUSED HIM TO DROP THE MATCH. (_Page 151._)]
Ben Watkins watched all this with great satisfaction. It was exactlywhat he had hoped for, and he neglected no opportunity of makingmatters worse by word or action.
It was after ten o’clock that night when he stood before the safe inhis uncle’s private office, prepared to commit an act at once bold andwicked. He had entered the building as stealthily as a burglar, takingmany precautions to avoid being seen. Now, with trembling hands, heunlocked the great safe, and, securing the coveted express package,thrust it into a breast-pocket of his coat. He next pulled the booksand papers from the safe and scattered them about the floor. Then,pouring the contents of a can of kerosene over a pile of newspapers andother inflammable matter in one corner of the room, he struck a match.As he was stooping to set fire to the ready fuel the sound of his ownname, uttered in a loud voice from the door-way, caused him to drop thematch and spring to his feet, trembling with the terror of detectedguilt. He had been working by the dim light of a single lamp, and wasso intent upon what he was about that he had not heard a step on thestair-way nor the door of the outer office open. Now, as he turned aface bloodless with fear in the direction of the voice and saw MylesManning standing in the door-way, he uttered an inarticulate cry ofrage and sprang toward him.
Myles had been busily collecting news of the strike all that day andwriting a report of it, in the hope that he might find some chanceto get it through. He visited the telegraph office several times toinquire if the wires were not yet repaired, but each time his friend,the operator, who remained faithfully at his post, shook his head inthe negative. The operator was anxious to befriend one to whom hehad taken a liking, and who, as he knew, had suffered a great wrong,regarding which his duty obliged him to remain silent; but duringthe day he could discover no way of helping him. At last, late inthe evening, when Myles had given up all hopes of getting a dispatchthrough and was about to retire, the operator called for him at thehotel.
He said he had just learned, as a secret, from a friend among thestrikers, that the wires were cut between the town and the firststation on the railroad to the east. The strikers were in possession ofthat office, and from it were sending dispatches to other points alongthe line. He had told this friend, who possessed great influence overhis fellows, that there was a reporter in town who was most anxiousto communicate with his paper, and asked permission for him to do sofrom this little station. At first it was refused. Then the strikerasked the reporter’s name. On being told that it was Manning, and thathe was from the _Phonograph_, he said that made all the difference inthe world. They would willingly allow a _Phonograph_ reporter the useof the wire whenever he wanted it; for that paper had always given thestrikers a fair showing in its columns. He only made the conditionsthat no other reporter should be allowed the use of the wire, andthat nothing should be forwarded over it except the message to the_Phonograph_.
This the operator had promised, also agreeing to go with the reporterand send the message through himself.
Myles was of course most eager to avail himself of this privilege,and, heartily thanking the operator, was about to order a carriage inwhich they might drive to the little station. His friend, however,said that the wagon-roads of that mountainous region were so rough androundabout that to drive there would take several hours, while if theyonly had a hand-car they might reach the place in less than an hour, asthe railroad was down grade nearly all the way. But all the hand-carswere locked up in one of the shops, and nobody but the divisionsuperintendent or the person acting in his place could authorize one tobe taken out.
Myles would rather have asked a favor from almost anybody else justthen; but, as one “under orders,” it was clearly his duty to useevery effort to carry them out, and he at once began his search forBen Watkins. They went to his room and looked through the hotel invain. Then the operator suggested that Mr. Watkins might be in hisoffice, and said that if Myles would go there and see he would lookin one or two other likely places, and they would meet at the railwaystation. So they separated, and Myles hurried in the direction of thesuperintendent’s office.
Just before reaching it he met a man whom the light from an open windowshowed him to be his acquaintance of the evening before, conductorJacob Allen. He apologized, with the plea of having been very busy, fornot calling to see how little Bob was doing, and asked Allen if he hadseen any thing of the assistant superintendent that evening.
“Yes, I saw him go into that building and up stairs to his office awhile ago, though he had no idea I was watching him,” was the answer.“You know these are curious times, Mr. Manning, and some have to watchwhile others have to be watched. By the way, would you mind stepping inhere where there is a light? I’d like to give you a bit of writing thatmay come handy to you some time.”
Myles said he was in a great hurry just at that moment, but if Allencould wait until he had spoken with Mr. Watkins he would be right back.
The conductor expressed his willingness to wait, and Myles, hurrying tothe railway building, sprang lightly up the stair-way leading to thesuperintendent’s office. He opened the outer door, and, seeing a lightin the inner room, stepped toward it. Ben was in the act of emptyingthe can of kerosene upon the pile of inflammable material, and Myleshesitated a moment in amazement at the sight.
Then a match was struck, and the full meaning of what was about to bedone flashed, with its sputtering glare, across the mind of the youngreporter. He gave a cry of “Ben Watkins! what are you doing?” andrushed towards him determined to prevent
the crime which seemed aboutto be committed. At the sound of his voice Watkins turned upon Myles ina frenzy of fear and hate.