Aladdin & Co.: A Romance of Yankee Magic
maimed us, no matter how well we hid our hurt; and we were all too
keenly conscious of the law of the hunt, by which it is the wounded
buffalo which is singled out and dragged down by the wolves.
On Wednesday Jim and I were to start for Chicago, where Mr. Pendleton
would be found awaiting us. On Sunday the weather, which had been cold
and snowy for weeks, changed; and it blew from the southeast, raw and
chill, but thawy. All day Monday the warmth increased; and the farmers
coming into town reported great ponds of water dammed up in the swales
and hollows against the enormous snow-drifts. Another warm day, and
these waters would break through, and the streams would go free in
freshets. Tuesday dawned without a trace of frost, and still the strong
warm wind blew; but now it was from the east, and as I left the carriage
to enter my office I was wet by a scattering fall of rain. In a few
moments, as I dictated my morning's letters, my stenographer called
attention to the beating on the window of a strong and persistent
downpour.
Elkins, too much engrossed in his thoughts to be able to confine himself
to the details of his business, came into my office, where, sometimes
sitting and sometimes walking uneasily about, he seemed to get some sort
of comfort from my presence. He watched the rain, as one seeing visions.
"By morning," said he, "there ought to be ducks in Alderson's pond.
Can't we do our chores early and get into the blind before daylight, and
lay for 'em?"
"I heard Canada geese honking overhead last night," said I.
"What time last night?"
"Two o'clock."
"Well, that lets us out on the Alderson's pond project," said he; "the
boys who hunted there weren't out walking at two. In those days they
slept. It can't be that we're the fellows.... Why, there's Antonia,
coming in through the rain!"
"I wonder," said I, "if la grippe isn't taking a bad turn with her
father."
She came in, shedding the rain from her mackintosh like a water-fowl,
radiant with health and the air of outdoors.
"Gentlemen," said she gaily, "who but myself would come out in anything
but a diving-suit to-day!"
"It's almost an even thing," said Jim, "between a calamity, which brings
you, and good fortune, which keeps you away. I hope it's only your
ordinary defiance of the elements."
"The fact is," said she, "that it's a very funny errand. But don't laugh
at me if it's absurd, please. It's about Mr. Cornish."
"Yes!" said Jim, "what of him?"
"You know papa has been kept in by la grippe for a day or so," she went
on, "and we haven't been allowing people to see him very much; but Mr.
Cornish has been in two or three times, and every time when he went away
papa was nervous and feverish. To-day, after he left, papa asked--" here
she looked at Mr. Elkins, as he stood gravely regarding her, and went on
with redder cheeks--"asked me some questions, which led to a long talk
between us, in which I found out that he has almost persuaded papa
to--to change his business connections completely."
"Yes!" said Jim. "Change, how?"
"Why, that I didn't quite understand," said Antonia, "except that there
was logwood and mahogany and Mexico in it, and--and that he had made
papa feel very differently toward you. After what has taken place
recently I knew that was wrong--you know papa is not as firm in his
ideas as he used to be; and I felt that he--and you, were in danger,
somehow. At first I was afraid of being laughed at--why, I'd rather
you'd laugh at me than to look like _that_!"
"You're a good girl, Antonia," said Jim, "and have done the right thing,
and a great favor to us. Thank you very much; and please excuse me a
moment while I send a telegram. Please wait until I come back."
"No, I'm going, Albert," said she, when he was gone to his own office.
"But first you ought to know that man told papa something--about me."
"How do you know about this?" said I.
"Papa asked me--if I had--any complaints to make--of Mr. Elkins's
treatment of me! What do you suppose he dared to tell him?"
"What did you tell your father?" I asked.
"What could I tell him but 'No'?" she exclaimed. "And I just had a
heart-to-heart talk with papa about Mr. Cornish and the way he has
acted; and if his fever hadn't begun to run up so, I'd have got the
rubber, or Peruvian-bark idea, or whatever it was, entirely out of his
mind. Poor papa! It breaks my heart to see him changing so! And so I
gave him a sleeping-capsule, and came down through this splendid rain;
and now I'm going! But, mind, this last is a secret."
And so she went away.
"Where's Antonia?" asked Jim, returning.
"Gone," said I.
"I wanted to talk further about this matter."
"I don't like it, Jim. It means that the cruel war is not over."
"Wait until we pass Wednesday," said Jim, "and we'll wring his neck.
What a poisonous devil, to try and wean from us, to his ruin, an old man
in his dotage!--I wish Antonia had stayed. I went out to set the boys
wiring for news of washouts between here and Chicago. We mustn't miss
that trip, if we have to start to-night. This rain will make trouble
with the track.--No, I don't like it, either. Wasn't it thoughtful of
Antonia to come down! We can line Hinckley up all right, now we know it;
but if it had gone on--we can't stand a third solar-plexus blow...."
The sky darkened, until we had to turn on the lights, and the rain fell
more and more heavily. Once or twice there were jarring rolls of distant
thunder. To me there was something boding and ominous in the weather.
The day wore on interminably in the quiet of a business office under
such a sky. Elkins sent in a telegram which he had received that no
trouble with water was looked for along our way to Chicago, which was by
the Halliday line. As the dark day was lowering down to its darker
close, I went into President Elkins's office to take him home with me.
As I entered through my private door, I saw Giddings coming in through
the outer entrance.
"Say," said he, "I wanted to see you two together. I know you have some
business with Pendleton, and you've promised the boys a story for
Thursday or Friday. Now, you've been a little sore on me because I
haven't absolutely cut Cornish."
"Not at all," said Jim. "You must have a poor opinion of our
intelligence."
"Well, you had no cause to feel that way," he went on, "because, as a
newspaperman, I'm supposed to have few friends and no enemies. Besides,
you can't tell what a man might sink to, deprived all at once of the
friendship of three such men as you fellows!"
"Quite right," said I; "but get to the point."
"I'm getting to it," said he. "I violate no confidence when I say that
Cornish has got it in for your crowd in great shape. The point is
involved in that. I don't know what your little game is with old
Pendleton, but whatever it is, Cornish thinks he can queer it, and at
the same time reap some advantages from the old man, if he can have a
few minutes' talk with Pen before you do. And he's going to do it, if he
can. Now, I figure, with my usual correctness of ratiocination, that
your scheme is going to be better for the town, and therefore for the
_Herald_, than his, and hence this disclosure, which I freely admit has
some of the ear-marks of bad form. Not that I blame Cornish, or am
saying anything against him, you know. His course is ideally Iagoan: he
stands in with Pendleton, benefits himself, and gets even with you all
at one fell--"
"Stop this chatter!" cried Jim, flying at him and seizing him by the
collar. "Tell me how you know this, and how much you know!"
"My God!" said Giddings, his lightness all departed, "is it as vital as
that? He told me himself. Said it was something he wouldn't put on paper
and must tell Pendleton by word of mouth, and he's on the train that
just pulled out for Chicago."
"He'll beat us there by twelve hours," said I, "and he can do all he
threatens! Jim, we're gone!"
Elkins leaped to the telephone and rang it furiously. There was the ring
of command sounding through the clamor of desperate and dubious conflict
in his voice.
"Give me the L. & G. W. dispatcher's office, quick!" said he. "I can't
remember the number ... it's 420, four, two, naught. Is this Agnew? This
is Elkins talking. Listen! Without a moment's delay, I want you to find
out when President Pendleton's special, east-bound on his Pacific
Division, passes Elkins Junction. I'm at my office, and will wait for
the information here.... Don't let me wait long, please, understand?
And, say! Call Solan to the 'phone.... Is this Solan? Mr. Solan, get out
the best engine you've got in the yards, couple to it a caboose, and put
on a crew to make a run to Elkins Junction, as quick as God'll let you!
Do you understand? Give me Schwartz and his fireman.... Yes, and
Corcoran, too. Andy, this is a case of life and death--of life and
death, do you understand? See that the line's clear, and no stops. I've
got to connect east at Elkins Junction with a special on that line....
_Got to_, d'ye see? Have the special wait at the State Street crossing
until we come aboard!"
CHAPTER XXV.
That Last Weird Battle in the West.
There was still some remnant of daylight left when we stepped from a
closed carriage at the State Street crossing and walked to the train
prepared for us. The rain had all but ceased, and what there was came
out of some northern quarter of the heavens mingled with stinging
pellets of sleet, driven by a fierce gale. The turn of the storm had
come, and I was wise enough in weather-lore to see that its rearguard
was sweeping down upon us in all the bitterness of a winter's tempest.
Beyond the tracks I could see the murky water of Brushy Creek racing
toward the river under the State Street bridge.
"I believe," said I, "that the surface-water from above is showing the
flow from the flume."
"Yes," said Jim absently, "it must be about ready to break up. I hope we
can get out of the valley before dark."
The engine stood ready, the superabundant power popping off in a
deafening hiss. The fireman threw open the furnace-door and stoked the
fire as we approached. Engineer Schwartz, the same who had pulled us
over the road that first trip, was standing by his engine, talking with
our old conductor, Corcoran.
"Here's a message for you, Mr. Elkins," said Corcoran, handing Jim a
yellow paper, "from Agnew."
We read it by Corcoran's lantern, for it was getting dusky for the
reading of telegraph operator's script.
"Water out over bottoms from Hinckley to the Hills," so went the
message. "Flood coming down valley. Snow and drifting wind reported from
Elkins Junction and Josephine. Look out for washouts, and culverts and
bridges damaged by running ice and water. Pendleton special fully up to
running schedule, at Willow Springs."
"Who've you got up there, Schwartz? Oh, is that you, Ole?" said Mr.
Elkins. "Good! Boys, to-night our work has got to be done in time, or we
might as well go to bed. It's a case of four aces or a four-flush, and
no intermediate stations. Mr. Pendleton's special will pass the Junction
right around nine--not ten minutes either way. Get us there before that.
If you can do it safely, all right; but get us there. And remember that
the regular rule in railroading is reversed to-night, and we are ready
to take any chance rather than miss--_any_ chances, mind!"
"We're ready and waiting, Mr. Elkins," said Schwartz, "but you'll have
to get on, you know. Looks like there was time enough if we keep the
wheels turning, but this snow and flood business may cut some figure.
_Any_ chances, I believe you said, sir. All right! Ready when you are,
Jack."
"All aboard!" sang out Corcoran, and with a commonplace ding-dong of
the bell, and an every-day hiss of steam, which seemed, somehow, out of