CHAPTER XIX
ROCK FOLLOWS UP
His first ride in a speed-boat.
Kenneth Gregory leaned back on the cushions and watched the _Richard_drag her heavy hull through the quiet water of Crescent Bay. A feelingof disgust assailed him. The craft was utterly worthless for hispurposes. She had no pick-up at all and was barely able to maintain herlead as she lumbered along ahead of one of the fastest of Mascola'sfishing-boats.
The driver, who called himself Bronson, appeared to be perfectlysatisfied with the vessel's behavior and made no effort to crowd her bythe fishing fleet. At length they reached the outlet and the _Richard_settled comfortably into the trough of the swell. Then Bronson turned tohis passenger.
"Better put on your rain-coat," he suggested. "We'll be bucking the windand it picks up the spray and throws it right back at us."
As he spoke he slipped into his slicker and waited for Gregory to donhis mackintosh.
"I'm ready when you are," Gregory announced. "Let her go."
Bronson looked cautiously over his shoulder.
"Want to keep an eye out for Mascola," he said. "Don't want him to seethis one in action until we're good and ready. I won't open her upto-day. Motor's too stiff yet and we're liable to burn out something."
As he spoke he advanced the throttle and the _Richard_ protested at hisaction in a series of spasmodic coughs. Then the hood began to inclineslowly and Gregory felt the hull rising. Perhaps the craft was not deadafter all, but only sleeping. Watching Bronson's fingers on the sparkand throttle, he noticed that the man was advancing them cautiously.
"Watch out for your hat," Bronson admonished.
Gregory moved his hand carelessly to his head and caught his hat just intime. With an angry roar the _Richard_ shot forward, raising her greathood higher and higher in air while the hull seemed scarcely to be inthe water at all. The wind blew in their faces like a hurricane carryingwith it great clouds of spray which drenched their skins and blindedGregory's eyes. Gasping for breath, he noticed that the _Richard_ wasclimbing higher. Then Bronson opened the cut-out and the craft sped awaylike an angry sea-bird.
The roar of the exhaust was deafening and Gregory was obliged to shoutto the man beside him before he was able to make himself heard.
"Is she wide open?" he shrieked.
Bronson directed his gaze to the position of the throttle device andGregory saw with a gasp of astonishment that the throttle was only halfopen.
On they sped, the hull rising from the water and hurling itself alongthe crest of the waves, tossing them to the sides in great clouds ofwhirling, blinding spray. Could it be possible that the propeller wasstill in the water?
Suddenly he felt the _Richard_ collapse and drop sullenly into the sea.The "machine-guns" had ceased firing and Bronson was regarding him witha smile. The boatman's face was crusted with salt and his eyes weretwinkling.
"How about it?" he asked. "Do you think Barrows made any mistake?"
When Gregory recovered his breath, he observed: "Yes. I wanted amotor-boat. Not an aeroplane."
Bronson laughed.
"Easier to go through the air than the water," he said. "That's why wemade your boat plane. It takes a lot of power to put her on her 'highhorse.' But once she's there, she makes her speed on a minimum ofhorse-power. That's why we bank on the _Richard_ to beat the _Fuord'Italia_. Your boat is heavier than Mascola's, closer ribbed, but youhave more power. We're backing this one against his in any weather andthe rougher it is the better it will suit us."
Gregory glowed with satisfaction. The _Richard_ was all boat. He noticedthat she did not tremble like Mascola's boat, but did her work in abusinesslike way with no ostentation. He admired people like that, andas Dickie Lang had said and he was beginning to find out, boats werevery much like people.
For some time Bronson instructed him in the proper operation of thecraft. Then he slowed down and threw up the hood, disclosing twocomplete multi-cylindered motors.
"Everything's double," he explained. "You can cut it all in or halve itas you please. And if anything goes wrong with one motor you're neverhung up. You can always limp in at least."
As they settled down to a good running speed, the talk gradually driftedto Mascola.
"The way things are going now," Bronson observed, "it won't be longbefore we're building a new boat for Mascola."
"What do you mean by that? Has he seen this one?"
The boatman shook his head.
"You needn't be afraid of that," he answered. "What I meant was thatMascola is hammering the _Fuor d'Italia_ to pieces with his trips toDiablo in that rough water."
"Does Mascola go often to Diablo?" Gregory questioned quickly.
Bronson shrugged his shoulders non-committally.
"Can't say," he answered. "Don't know how often he goes out there. But Ido know that he brags that his boat can make it in two hours and a half.Diablo's a bad place for the _Fuor d'Italia_. She's built too light tostand the gaff."
The ride to Port Angeles proved all too short. Bronson was communicativein the extreme and regaled him of many evidences of Mascola'sprosperity, chief among which was the Italian's recent order to a firmof Norwegian boat-builders at Port Angeles of twenty large fishinglaunches of the most improved pattern. These boats, according toBronson, were of sufficient tonnage and fuel capacity to enable them tocruise far down into Mexican waters.
As they rounded the light-house point and made for the breakwater, thewind increased, driving a choppy sea before it. Then it was that the_Richard_ rose to the occasion and demonstrated her natural ability tocope with a head-on sea.
Arriving at the municipal docks, Gregory promised to call for the boaton the day following and hurried away to attend to his business. He hada real boat all right. Just what he wanted. Now all that remained to bedone was to see the jobbers and get a few orders which he could convertinto cash to pay for the _Richard_.
With elastic step he set out for the wholesale district imbued with aspirit of rosy optimism. The Western was first on his list. The chanceswere he would have to go no farther. A short talk with Mr. Eby, theresident manager, convinced him otherwise.
"Can't quite see your quotations, Gregory," that gentleman had crisplymaintained. "We have been offered a similar line of goods at fully tenper cent. less."
Gregory was greatly surprised. McCoy, he knew, had figured a bed-rock,cash price and the extreme lowness of the quotation offered the Westernwas influenced solely by the possibility of a quick sale in straightcar lots. And still the man claimed he could beat it.
"Do you mind telling me who is offering you stuff at a lower figure?" heasked.
Mr. Eby hesitated. It was to his interest to stimulate price cutting.The fact that the figure quoted was below cost was nothing to him. Acutthroat war between two rival canneries might result in still lowerquotations which would give him a greater profit.
"Certainly not," he answered. "The figure quoted me was from the GoldenRule Cannery."
Gregory felt his face growing hot under the influence of Mr. Eby'sexasperating smile.
"That figure is below cost and you know it," he said bluntly.
The manager continued to smile. "Possibly," he affirmed. "From yourview-point. Your cost and theirs may be two different things. Your wagescale is much higher than theirs for one thing, and your system, in mymind, does not make in any way for low costs."
Gregory's anger mounted at the man's tone.
"What do you know about my business?" he asked quickly.
Mr. Eby shrugged.
"It is our business to keep in close touch with our customers," heevaded. "I'm just giving you a friendly tip to do away with some of yourmore or less impractical ideas, and put your business on a plane withothers. You can take it for what it's worth."
Gregory curbed his anger and started for the door.
"My idea is working out all right, Mr. Eby," he said in parting. "Andyou are going to live to see you've overlooked a good bet."
Eb
y laughed. "Go to it, young man," he said. "You'll just have to liveand learn like the rest of us. When you get down to earth again, come inand see us."
Somewhat taken back by his interview, Gregory sought the other jobbers.But at every place of business he was met by evasions and superficialexcuses. Brown & Brown had heard he had gone out of business on accountof ill-health. Possibly they would send a man down when they gotstraightened out. The Eureka people were overstocked and, on account ofshortage of cars, were not buying any more for the present. DavisIncorporated were reorganizing and would do nothing until their planswere completed. Others intimated they would submit bids if he cared tosell at auction and some broached the question of taking his output onconsignment. But from no firm did he receive even a conditional order.
The various interviews had a depressing effect upon Gregory's spirits.Weakened by his illness, he decided to call it a day and tackle the fewremaining jobbers on the following morning.
As he sought the hotel he remembered his friend Hawkins, who was workingon the _Daily Times_. Bill had been his lieutenant overseas. He was afighting fool and had always been an optimistic chap. In his presentframe of mind, optimism was what he needed. Accordingly he calledHawkins up and invited him to dinner.
Some hours later the two men were conversing in Gregory's room. Thegreat war had been fought over again, mutual acquaintances checked upand the past thoroughly covered.
"And so now you are a full-fledged business man," Hawkins was saying, asthe talk turned to the present, surveying Gregory through the haze ofhis cigarette.
"Yes. And from the way it looks now I'm about due to be plucked by thesethieving jobbers."
Hawkins smiled brightly. "Nothing to it," he said. "You've overlookedtwo big things, that's all. When we get them straightened out,everything will be lovely."
Knowing that Hawkins expected no reply, Gregory waited for him to go on.
"Your idea is bully. I can't see any reason why it won't work out allright. But in order to make that possible you've got to stir up theanimals. When you get an idea like that, the thing to be done is tocapitalize it. Why withhold it from the public? They would beinterested. Let them in on it."
"You mean advertise?" Gregory prompted.
A slight frown passed over Hawkins' face.
"Nothing so crude as that," he answered. "I mean publicity."
The newspaperman's face glowed with the importance of his subject and hecontinued rapidly:
"This is an age of publicity. With proper handling you can do mostanything. Even adverse publicity, so-called, has its value. Lots ofshows around here for instance are crowded to the doors every night by amere suggestion that they are not all that they should be. The quickestway to kill a man or an idea in this country is by a 'campaign ofsilence.'"
Seeing that Gregory did not quite get his drift, he went on:
"Your idea is O.K. It will write up well if it is handled right.Moreover it is a little out of the ordinary, and all-American. That is apopular theme at present."
He paused and puffed the air full of smoke-wreaths. In the smoke hecould see a big story. Why couldn't hard-headed business men realize thevalue of the thing he was trying to get at? Why, Kenneth Gregory's ideawould be a winner at the present time. He, Bill Hawkins, could make itso.
"Listen," he said quietly. "I have to be getting back to the office so Ican't say much now. I put over a big story for the boss yesterday. Shotmyself to pieces over it. So he's giving me a week off on full pay totake it easy. I want a vacation. I'm a fan for fishing and if you'llgive me an invitation to go back with you and will let me muss around onyour boats, I'll see if I can't drop on to something that will look goodin print. I have an idea I can have a few of the jobbers around hereyelping at your heels for fish before I get back. In the morning I'll beoff. Then I'll go down to Winfield & Camby's with you. I know the bossthere and think maybe I can get him to talk 'turkey.'"
Gregory jumped eagerly at Hawkins' suggestion and immediately extendedthe desired invitation. The following morning saw the two men closetedat an early hour with Mr. Dupont, of Winfield & Camby. And under thewarmth of Hawkins' introduction, the manager's manner thawed perceptiblytoward the young cannery owner.
Noting the change, Gregory hastened to take advantage of it, andstraightway put up his proposition. When he had concluded, Mr. Duponttook the floor.
"In our dealings with our patrons, Mr. Gregory," he began, "we arenothing, if not frank. Our firm is one of unimpeachable standing whichfollows as a natural result from years of square-dealing. We are,however, extremely conservative. We play, as the saying goes, no'long-shots.' Once convinced of the dependability of our producers, wegive them every chance and stick by them to the limit."
The manager removed his nose-glasses and polished them carefully beforegoing on:
"I had the pleasure of meeting your father, Mr. Gregory. From myobservation of him, he was everything that one could expect in a man.But he was constantly hampered with labor troubles of one sort oranother. Consequently, he was unable to operate his plant in the way welike to see them operate. When we work up a trade for a particularbrand, we like to be able to supply the demand which we create. If wewere assured that you were able to make good in this respect, we wouldhave no hesitation in sending a buyer down at once to inspect yourpack."
"But you do not?"
Gregory met the man's eyes squarely and the manager looked him overcritically.
"Yes," he answered after a moment. "For some reason or other I believe Ido. I think you are working along the right lines. That is," he amendedwith a smile, "if you do not carry your ideas of cooperation far enoughto deal direct with the consumer and cut us out of it."
As Gregory shook his head, Mr. Dupont concluded:
"I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll send Mr. Dalton down at once to lookover your pack. How does that suit you?"
Gregory's face clearly expressed his satisfaction and a few momentslater he hurried out into the street, leaving Hawkins with the manager.
"I'll meet you here at any time," Hawkins called after him.
Promising to meet his friend at four o'clock, Gregory started again onhis rounds. Passing a butcher-shop he stopped and surveyed the array offish which were on display in the window. He noted the prices andhastily compared them with the figures he was getting from the marketsin Port Angeles for his fresh fish. There was surely money going towaste somewhere. Remembering that he had promised Dickie to visit thewholesalers, he directed his steps to the water-front.
The dealers he visited were scarcely civil and among them was none whospoke English without the accent of the foreigner. Their observations inresponse to his questions concerning the prices they were offering, wereshort and to the point. If he did not like it, he need not ship to them.They were dumping fish every day as it was. The market was glutted. Whatwas he going to do about it?
Gregory wondered himself. Then a plan began to form in his brain,suggested no doubt by Mr. Dupont's jest about him carrying thecooperative idea far enough to include the consumer. Why not? Fish werebeing retailed at almost prohibitive figures. And the markets claimedthey were dumping them. Somebody was profiteering. Who was it? Certainlynot himself. He was barely able to get enough from the dealers to payexpress.
The idea grew as he walked along the street. He decided to take up, withDickie Lang, the matter of establishing a cooperative service-market andselling direct to the consumer.
In mid-afternoon he found himself again among the jobbers. But the fewhe had not called upon the day previous, appeared even less interestedin his proposition. As he came out of the Pacific's establishment, hebrushed against a heavy-set man with gray hair, who was just going in.Excusing himself for his awkwardness, he glanced at the stranger's face.It was Silvanus Rock, of Legonia.
Gregory passed on. Rock apparently had not recognized him. Yet surely hewas not mistaken in the man's identity. The flabby face with its saggingfolds of pink skin, the snake-like eyes and the long Roman nose co
uldnot have been the inheritance of any other than the magnate of Legonia.And yet, what business could Rock have with the jobbers? Gregorywondered as he walked up-town to get a box of candy for Aunt Mary andDickie Lang. While he made his purchase, his mind was filled with hismeeting with Rock. In some vague way he began to associate Rock'spresence in the jobbing district with the failure of the dealers tobecome interested in his solicitation. When he reached the office ofWinfield & Camby at four o'clock, the matter still filled his mind.
"Mr. Hawkins just stepped out," Mr. Dupont informed him. Then themanager cleared his throat and beckoned Gregory to his private office."It sometimes happens," he began, when the door closed, "that we areforced to change our plans, owing to an unexpected event. Since you werehere this morning, I feel that what has happened in the interim,warrants us in our decision. In view of that, I wish to say that for thepresent at least, we will not send Mr. Dalton to visit your cannery."
"Why not?"
Mr. Dupont shoved an evening _Times_ across his desk and pointed to amarked item that appeared therein.
"That will explain for itself," he said.
Gregory read:
RIOT AMONG THE FISHERMEN AT LEGONIA
This afternoon when the foreign fishermen were peaceably engaged with their seine, they were brutally attacked by a number of ex-soldiers and sailors employed by the Legonia Fish Cannery, and driven from the beach.
Gregory read no further.
"It's a lie, Mr. Dupont," he said hotly. "My men do not pick fights. Afew nights ago the alien fishermen endeavored to crowd them off thebeach and they----"
Mr. Dupont interrupted with a peremptory wave of his hand.
"You may be right," he said. "But I'm not interested. Whatever themerits of the case are, the fact remains that you are mixed up in alabor brawl with foreigners. As I stated to you this morning, we areconservative and until you get matters adjusted amicably with yourcompetitors, we do not care to go into your proposition further."
He rose at once, showing the interview was at an end. Gregory followedhim to the door. In the outside office he found his friend waiting.Hawkins, clad in outing clothes, was smiling broadly. The smile,however, quickly disappeared as he caught sight of his friend's face.
"Anything the matter?" he asked.
Gregory walked with him to the street before replying. Then he bought acopy of _The Times_ and the two men read the account of the fight withthe aliens.
"What of that?" Hawkins queried. "Your men licked them, didn't they?"
"Yes. But it cost me my chance with Winfield & Camby. Mr. Dupont calledthe whole thing off."
"The devil he did!"
Hawkins' smile returned.
"Why, the old fool," he ejaculated. "Can't he see that this will only bepublicity for your brands. Why, darn his crinkled old hide, I'll showhim. And I'll bet I'll have him eating out of your hand in less than aweek."
He glanced curiously at the paper.
"Regular correspondence," he muttered, as he noticed the date-line ofthe news-item. "That means it comes from the little paper down there.What did you ever do to Tommy Black?"
Gregory shook his head blankly.
"I don't even know who he is," he answered.
Hawkins laughed.
"He seems to know you all right," he answered. Then he explained: "Blackis the editor of _The Legonia Star_. A man by the name of Rock ownsit."
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