CHAPTER X
HONORED GUESTS
Marian's wish for quiet and monotonous days was promptly granted. Only too promptly and too thoroughly, she owned ruefully. The next morning dawned bleak and gray, with a chill east wind and a driving rain. Held prisoner in the house by the storm, Marian amused herself through the long dreary day as best she could. At supper-time, feeling very lonely indeed, she called Roderick up on the telephone; but their long-distance visit gave her little satisfaction.
Roderick had spent a hard day, hurrying from one lateral to another, crowding the levee work to the highest possible speed; for in this wide-spread rain the creeks to the north were rising an inch an hour, and every inch meant danger to his half-built embankments. Marian sympathized eagerly and declared that she would come down to the canal the next day and help him with his reports.
"Not if it rains you won't," croaked Roderick hoarsely. "Don't let me catch you outside the house. You'll catch cold just as I have done, wading through this swamp. Mind, now. Don't you dare leave the farm-house unless it clears."
Marian promised. When the morning came, dark and drizzly, she found it hard to keep her word. The hours went on leaden feet. The downpour never slackened. It was impossible for her to go out-doors even as far as the driveway. In that flat, low country a two-days' rain means an inundation. Meadows and fields were like flooded marshes. Sheets of water spread through the orchards; the yard paths were so many brooks, the barn-yard was an infant lake.
"It won't last very long," Mrs. Gates consoled her. "A year ago we'd have been heart-broken at the sight of such a rain. It would have meant ruin for all the crops. The surplus water would not have drained off in a fortnight. But since they began digging the ditches, we know that our crops will be safe, even if it rains for a week."
"I'm glad to learn that Rod's hard work counts for something," said Marian impatiently. She flattened her downcast face against the pane. "In the meantime, I feel like a marooned pirate. If I can't get out of doors for some fresh air before long, I'll develop a pirate's disposition, too."
At dusk she tried again to call Roderick on the telephone, to demand sympathy for her imprisonment. But to her astonishment she could get no reply from central.
"The wires are all down, I dare say," said Mrs. Gates cheerfully. "It'll be three or four days before the line-men can get around to repair damages. The roads are hub deep. No telling when they can haul their repair wagons through. You'll see."
Marian did see. The district roads had been all but impassable ever since her coming. Now, thanks to this downpour, they would be bottomless pits of mire.
"Well! It's worse this morning, if anything," Mrs. Gates announced cheerfully, as Marian appeared on the third gray morning. "'Pears to me that you won't get out-doors again before the Fourth of July."
"But I must have some air. I can't stay cooped up forever," cried Marian. "If you'd only lend me your rubber boots, Mrs. Gates; the ones you wear when you're gardening. Then I could put on my mackintosh and my rubber bathing-cap and splash about beautifully. Besides, I must go down to the canal. I must see how Rod is getting on. Think, it has been two days since I have heard one word from him. Yet he is barely two miles away!"
Mrs. Gates yielded at last to her coaxing. Soon Marian started out, wearing the borrowed boots and Mr. Gates's oil-skin coat. She stumbled and splashed away through the dripping woods, with Finnegan romping gayly behind. Rainy weather held no melancholy for Finnegan. Shut in the house, he had made those three days memorable for the household, especially for poor irate Empress, who had taken refuge at last on the top rafter of the corn-bin. On the way to camp he flushed three rabbits, chased a fat gray squirrel into chattering fury, and dragged Marian knee-deep into a bog, in his wild eagerness to dig out an imaginary woodchuck.
"I wish I had a little of your vim, Finnegan." Marian sat down, soaked and breathless, on the step of Sally Lou's martin-box. From that eminence she surveyed the canal and its swarms of laborers. Her eyes clouded.
In spite of her growing interest in Roderick's work, to look upon that work always puzzled her and disheartened her. The slow black water; the ugly mud-piled banks; the massive engines throbbing night and day through a haze of steam; the gigantic dredge machines, swinging their great steel arms back and forth, up and down, lifting tons of earth from the bottom of the ditch and placing it on the waiting barge with weird, unerring skill. Most of all, the heavy tide of hurry and anxiety that seemed to rise higher every day. All these things vexed her and harassed her. When Rod talked over his work with her with all his eager enthusiasm, she could share his triumph or lament his disappointment, as the case might be. But the work itself was so huge, so complicated, that she could never quite grasp it. She could never understand her brother's passionate interest.
"Although I don't despise the very sight of camp, as I did at first," she reflected. "It is rather queer that I don't, too. Perhaps one can get used to anything. And I do want to learn more about Rod's work, for he loves it so dearly, and I know he wants me to enjoy it too. Though how anybody can enjoy such a life! To spend day after day, month on month, toiling like a slave in a steaming marsh like this!"
A brisk finger tapped on the window-pane above her.
"Come in, Miss Northerner! Poor dear, you're all but drowned. Stand on the oil-cloth and drip till Mammy can help you to take off those boots and put on my slippers."
Marian entered the dry, warm little house with a sigh of pleasure. Presently she sat at the window with Thomas Tucker bouncing on her knee. Thomas Tucker had charms that could cheer the most pensive spirit. Yet Marian stared soberly past his bobbing yellow head at the swarming camp below.
"Don't look so droopy, Miss Northerner. Perk up, do!" Sally Lou gave her ear a gentle nip. "You and I will have to manufacture cheerfulness in car-load lots this week, to counterbalance our partners' gloom."
"Why? Have the boys met with more ill-luck on the contract?"
"More ill-luck!" Sally Lou checked off point by point on her slim fingers. "Day before yesterday – the morning after the fire – the district inspector was due here to pass judgment on the two upper laterals. As you know, the contract provides that the inspector must look over every yard of excavation and approve it before it can be considered as actually done. Lo and behold, no inspector appeared. The boys were wild with anxiety to start their levee-work before the rain should wash the soft new banks down into the canal; for the company is responsible for every cave-in, and every slide of land means double labor in digging all that soil out of the ditch again. By noon the inspector had not been heard from, but two small cave-ins had occurred, and the company was losing money at the rate of thirty dollars an hour, because of the enforced idleness of the laborers and the shutting down of the machinery. Finally Roderick took his launch and started out in search of the inspector. At Grafton he managed to get telephone connections with his office, and he was cheerfully assured that the inspector would appear on the scene 'as soon as the rain stops.'"
"'As soon as the rain stops?' Why, Sally Lou! Then he hasn't come at all!"
"Precisely. Back came poor Rod, very cross and doleful indeed. Then he and Ned gave up work on the laterals and set the men to hacking away at the regular excavation. The laborers are sulky accordingly. Yesterday they threatened a strike. I don't blame them. The bank-cutting is all very well in dry weather, but in this rain it is a miserable task."
"Well, Rod can keep the men pacified. He's a splendid manager."
"Yes; and the men like him. But the work is terribly wearing on both the boys. And the third calamity arrived last night. The dipper-handle broke."
"The dipper-handle? On the big dredge? Sally Lou, how dreadful!"
"Yes, it is dreadful. It means, of course, that twenty of the laborers will stop work and enjoy a vacation at the company's expense while the new handle is being made and put in. Luckily the boys have one set of duplicate chains and timbers, and the company blacksmith is wonderfully capable. But it will cost the company a lump loss of a thousand dollars. Imagine, Marian, how those poor boys will groan when they make out their week's reports for President Sturdevant. 'One fire. One delay and two cave-ins, due to non-appearance of district inspector. One strike. One smashed dipper-handle.' Think what a dismal task the writing of that report will be!"
"Don't let me hear any more croaking, Sally Lou," came a wrathful voice from the door. "For we're facing the worst smash yet. What do you suppose this telegram says?"
Sally Lou shook a small fist at the yellow slip in his hand.
"Don't you dare tell me that it's some new misfortune!"
"Two of 'em. That lordly, gloomy grouch, Mr. Ellingworth Locke, acting president of the Central Mississippi Association, is headed for this luckless camp. He's on his way up-river this identical minute. With him comes Crosby. Crosby, consulting engineer for the whole Valley Association. Coming on a tour of inspection, if you please. Just think of the lovely job that they have come a thousand miles to inspect!"
There was a stricken pause.
"President Locke! That – that potentate! Ned, you don't mean it! And Mr. Crosby, whose word is law on every question of engineering!"
"And they're coming to-day! To 'inspect' this soaking, miry, half-baked camp!"
"And just this minute I've had some more news, Burford." Roderick bolted up the steps and entered the room. He tried to wrench his face into a reassuring grin; but beneath the grin he was the picture of angry dismay. "A big white launch is just coming up the canal, with two passengers aboard. If I'm not mistaken, they are our honored guests. Come along, Burford, and help me welcome them."
Burford, pop-eyed with amazement, meekly obeyed. Wordless, the two girls watched the boys pelt away toward the landing.
"Well!"
Sally Lou and Marian looked at each other eloquently.
"Well! I could find it in my heart to wish that the boys were not obliged to unfold quite so many tales of misery! Then the broken machinery and the quarrelling laborers! But we mustn't let ourselves fidget over it, Marian. It will come out all right, somehow."
Roderick and Burford pounded down to the shore. The white launch was just putting into the landing. At the bow sat Mr. Ellingworth Locke, wrapped in a huge storm coat. Evidently he was scolding the launch pilot with some energy. Behind him stood Crosby, his gray, keen eyes searching every inch of the ditch construction.
"His Jove-like Majesty looks even grumpier than usual," whispered Burford the irreverent. "Come along, Hallowell. It is our professional duty to welcome them with heart and soul."
"Mr. Burford?" Mr. Locke stepped upon the landing and put out a plump gloved hand. "Ah, Mr. Hallowell? How goes it? We hope that you have no ill news of the contract to give us." He led the way up the shore, with ponderous dignity. "The three contracts in central Illinois, which we have just inspected, have shown deplorable results from the high water. I trust that you have no such misfortunes to report."
"We haven't anything but misfortunes to report," muttered Burford. Aloud he said, "We have not been able to bring the work to the desired point, sir. We have had several accidents and delays. If you can face the discomforts of a boat trip in this rain, perhaps you will make a tour of inspection and see how matters stand."
The honorable Mr. Locke hesitated. The canal looked very muddy and uninviting. The sky was black with rain clouds.
"Perhaps it would be as well for us to confer with you. Then we could go back to Saint Louis immediately."
"Beg pardon, Mr. Locke." Mr. Crosby spoke for the first time. His gray face had no particular expression; but his voice held an oddly pleasant note. "You go back right away, if you like. But I'll look over this excavation with my own eyes. I want to discuss it with the executive committee day after to-morrow."
"Oh, of course, if you insist!" Mr. Locke turned impatiently to Burford. "Where is your boat, sir? Let us start at once."
That tour of inspection! Silent, humiliated, miserable, Roderick and Burford plodded after the two Olympians, up and down the narrow laterals, back and forth through the maze of seeping, half-cut channels. Every question that they must answer told of some unlucky happening. Every report was apologetic, unsatisfactory.
"This ruinous high water isn't our fault. Neither is Carlisle's illness, nor the broken dipper-handle, nor the district inspector's delay. Just the same I feel like a penny-in-the-slot machine for grinding out explanations," whispered Roderick to Burford. Burford merely scowled in reply.
Thus far, Mr. Crosby had had nothing to say. He strode on ahead, his keen eyes judging, his shrewd mouth shut hard. President Locke made up for his silence. He hectored the boys with fretful questions and complaints. He criticised the laborers, the equipment, the weather.
"Your company's losses, indeed! The Breckenridge Company will be fortunate, Mr. Burford, if, under the present management, this contract does not bring forfeitures as well as loss. As for the land-owners in this district, their dissatisfaction can be only too readily imagined."
Just then the president caught Mr. Crosby's eye.
"Do you not agree with me, Mr. Crosby? Is not this a most disheartening outlook? On my word, sir, the company has no chance to complete those laterals before the great June freshets. That calamity will mean ruin for the farmers and for the contract alike. To finish this work would be difficult with a full quota of experienced men. And with only cub engineers – " He threw out both fat hands, with a gesture of despairing scorn.
Burford bit his lip and turned fiery red with mortification. Roderick's stolid face did not flinch. But his heart sank leaden to his miry boots. What an infuriating humiliation for the company! His company, the pride of his boy heart! And Breckenridge, Breck his hero, would have to hear it all!
"You think it's as bad as all that?" Mr. Crosby spoke with slow, bland unconcern. Then he looked at the two boys. For one moment his lean gray face lighted with a curious, kindly sparkle. "H'm! Strikes me that their company is mighty lucky to have cub engineers employed on this job."
"'Lucky?' Why, sir? Why?"
"Well, because they're the only kind that any company can depend upon to have nerve enough and grit enough to swing such a forlorn hope of a contract through."
He tramped on, up the landing. Burford threw back his shoulders. The blood flamed to his ears. Roderick's heart suddenly leaped up to its normal altitude and began to pound. His lagging feet swung into a jaunty stride. He met Burford's red, delighted face with a shamefaced grin. That vote of confidence had fairly set them afire.
"At what time had we best start back to Saint Louis?" asked Mr. Locke.
"By leaving camp at nine-thirty you will meet the north-bound limited at Grafton, sir."
"Then, Crosby, we will stay here until that hour. But where shall we dine?"
"It will be a pleasure to Mrs. Burford and myself if you and Mr. Crosby will dine with us at our cabin," interposed Burford eagerly.
The stout potentate graciously accepted, and Burford fled to break the news to Sally Lou.
"Mercy, Sally Lou, how can you manage it!" cried Marian, as Burford popped his head through the window, shouted his news, then hastily departed. "How on earth can you entertain such high mightinesses?"
"Well, I should hope that I could give them one meal at least."
"But you haven't enough dishes. That is, you haven't cups that match – "
"Cups that match, indeed! H'm. They can be thankful to get any cups at all in this wilderness. I've promised Mammy Easter my pink beads if she'll make us some beaten biscuit, and I have sent Mulcahy to Mrs. Gates's for three chickens, and I'll open two jars of my white peach preserve. I don't care if they're the Grand Mogul and the Czar of all the Russias, they can surely condescend to eat Mammy's fried chicken."
"Yes, they'll be sure to like chicken," conceded Marian.
"They'd better like it. It's all they're going to get. Chicken and potatoes and biscuit, preserves and coffee, that's all. Yes, and lashin's and lavin's of cream gravy. It'll be fit for a king. Even his Highness, the acting president, won't dare complain!"
If any complaints as to Sally Lou's hospitality were spoken, they were not audible to the human ear. As Roderick said afterward, it was fortunate that nobody kept the beaten biscuit score; while one grieves to relate that in spite of Sally Lou's generous preparation, poor Mammy Easter was obliged to piece out an exceedingly skimpy meal from the fragments of the supper, instead of the feast that she had anticipated. Even the pink beads proved a barely adequate consolation.
The hour that followed, spent before the Burfords' tiny hearth-fire, was the best of all. For a while, the men worked over the mass of blueprints that recorded the excavation made during the month past. Here President Locke, the magnificent figure-head, gave way, promptly and meekly, before Crosby's wider experience. Roderick and Burford listened, all ears, to the elder man's shrewd illuminating comment, his quiet suggestion, his amused friendly sympathy. Both groaned inwardly when the launch whistled from below, a warning that their guests must be off to meet the north-bound train.
President Locke bowed over Sally Lou's hand with majestic courtesy.
"A most delightful hour you have given us, Mrs. Burford. We shall remember it always and with deep pleasure. But one thing is lacking in your hospitality. You have not given us the special pleasure of meeting your young sons."
Then Sally Lou, the poised stately young hostess, colored pink to her curly fair hair.
"It is high time that my sons were sound asleep," said she. "But if you really wish to see them, and can overlook their informal attire, Mammy Easter shall bring them in."
In came two small podgy polar bears, wide-eyed at the marvel of company, and up-at-Nine-o'clock, dimpling, crimson-cheeked. Roderick and Burford stood gaping, to behold their august superiors now stooping from their heights to beguile small Edward and shy Thomas Tucker with clumsy blandishments.
"Where did you learn to handle a baby like that?" gasped Sally Lou, so astonished at Mr. Crosby's dexterous ease that she forgot all convention.
"Six of my own," returned the eminent engineer, capably shifting small, slippery Thomas Tucker on his gaunt shoulder. "All grown up, I regret to say. My baby girl is a junior at Smith this year. Try him. Isn't he a stunner for a year old?" He plumped the baby into the arms of the lordly president, who was already jouncing Edward Junior on his knee and showing him his watch.
"A whale," approved President Locke, with impressive emphasis. He stood up, gaining his footing with some difficulty; for both the babies were now clambering over him delightedly, while Finnegan yapped and nipped his ankles with cordial zest. "I wish we might spend another hour with these most interesting members of your household, Mr. Burford." His stern, arrogant face was beaming; he was no longer the exacting official, but the gracious, kindly gentleman. "Since we must go, we will leave behind us our good wishes, as well as our thanks for your most charming hospitality. And we will take with us" – his eye sought Mr. Crosby's; there passed between the two men a quick, satisfied glance – "we shall take with us our hearty certainty that these good wishes for your husband's work, as well as for his household, will be abundantly fulfilled."
In the flickering torchlight of the landing Roderick and Ned watched their launch start away. Then they looked at each other.
"Well! Do you feel like tackling your job again, Burford?"
"Feel like tackling it!" Ned chuckled, softly. "When I know they're going to give their executive committee a gilt-edged report of our company and its work! When Crosby himself said that we were the right men on the right job! Feel like tackling it? Give me a shovel and I'll tackle the Panama Canal."