Ted and the Telephone

by Sara Ware Bassett

  CHAPTER XIII

  WHAT TED HEARD

  "Now the question is which way are we going to get the biggest results,"Alf began, when they were both comfortably settled with their backs tothe door. "That must be the thing that governs us--that, and thesacrifice of as few lives as possible. Not _their_ lives, of course. Idon't care a curse for the Fernalds; the more of them that go sky-highthe better, in my estimation. It's the men I mean, our own people. Someof them will have to die, I know that. It's unavoidable, since thefactories are never empty. Even when no night shifts are working, thereare always watchmen and engineers on the job. But fortunately just now,owing to the dull season, there are no night gangs on duty. If wedecide on the mills it can be done at night; if on the Fernaldsthemselves, why we can set the bombs when we are sure that they are intheir houses."

  Ted bit his lips to suppress the sudden exclamation of horror that roseto them. He must not cry out, he told himself. Terrible as were thewords he heard, unbelievable as they seemed, if he were to be of anyhelp at all he must know the entire plot. Therefore he listened dumbly,struggling to still the beating of his heart.

  For a moment there was no response from Cronin.

  "Come, Jim, don't sit there like a graven image!" the leader of theproposed expedition exclaimed impatiently. "Haven't you a tongue inyour head? What's your idea? Out with it. I'm not going to shoulder allthe job."

  The man called Cronin cleared his throat.

  "As I see it, we gain nothing by blowing up the Fernald houses,"answered he deliberately. "So long as the mills remain, their income issure. After they're gone, the young one will just rebuild and go onwringing money out of the people as his father and grandfather aredoing."

  "But we mean to get him, too."

  A murmured protest came from Cronin.

  "I'm not for injuring that poor, unlucky lad," asserted he. "He'snothing but a cripple who can't help himself. It would be like killinga baby."

  "Nonsense! What a sentimental milksop you are, Jim!" Alf cut in. "Youcan't go letting your feelings run away with you like that, old man.I'm sorry for the young chap, too. He's the most decent one of the lot.But that isn't the point. He's a Fernald and because he is----"

  "But he isn't to blame for that, is he?"

  "You make me tired, Cronin, with all this cry-baby stuff!" Alfejaculated. "You've simply got to cut it out--shut your ears to it--ifwe are ever to accomplish anything. You can't let your sympathies runaway with you like this."

  "I ain't letting my sympathies run away with me," objected Cronin, in asurly tone. "And I'm no milksop, either. But I won't be a party toharming that unfortunate Mr. Laurie and you may as well understand thatat the outset. I'm willing to do my share in blowing the Fernald millshigher than a kite, and the two Fernalds with 'em; or I'll blow the twoFernalds to glory in their beds. I could do it without turning a hair.But to injure that helpless boy of theirs I can't and won't. That wouldbe too low-down a deed for me, bad as I am. He hasn't the show theothers have. They can fend for themselves."

  "You make me sick!" replied Alf scornfully. "Why, you might as wellthrow up the whole job as to only half do it. What use will it be totake the old men of the family if the young one still lives on?"

  "I ain't going to argue with you, Alf," responded Cronin stubbornly."If I were to talk all night you likely would never see my point. Butthere I stand and you can take it or leave it. If you want to go on onthese terms, well and good; if not, I wash my hands of the whole affairand you can find somebody else to help you."

  "Of course I can't find somebody else," was the exasperated retort."You know that well enough. Do you suppose I would go on with a schemelike this and leave you wandering round to blab broadcast whatever youthought fit?"

  "I shouldn't blab, Alf," declared Cronin. "You could trust me to holdmy tongue and not peach on a pal. I should just pull out, that's all. Iwarn you, though, that if our ways parted and you went yours, I shoulddo what I could to keep Mr. Laurie out of your path."

  "You'd try the patience of Job, Cronin."

  "I'm sorry."

  "No, you're not," snarled Alf. "You're just doing this whole thing tobe cussed. You know you've got me where I can't stir hand or foot. Iwas a fool ever to have got mixed up with such a white-livered, pulingbaby. I might have known you hadn't an ounce of sand."

  "Take care, Sullivan," cautioned Cronin in a low, tense voice.

  "But hang it all--why do you want to balk and torment me so?"

  "I ain't balking and tormenting you."

  "Yes, you are. You're just pulling the other way from sheercontrariness. Why can't you be decent and come across?"

  "Haven't I been decent?" Cronin answered. "Haven't I fallen in withevery idea you've suggested? You've had your way fully and freely. Ihaven't stood out for a single thing but this, have I?"

  "N--o. But----"

  "Well, why not give in and let me have this one thing as I want it? Itdon't amount to much, one way or the other. The boy is sickly and isn'tlikely to live long at best."

  "But I can't for the life of me see why you should be so keen onsparing him. What is he to you?"

  Cronin hesitated; then in a very low voice he said:

  "Once, two years ago, my little kid got out of the yard and unbeknownto his mother wandered down by the river. We hunted high and low forhim and were well-nigh crazy, for he's all the child we have, you know.It seems Mr. Laurie was riding along the shore in his automobile and hespied the baby creeping out on the thin ice. He stopped his car andcalled to the little one and coaxed him back until the chauffeur couldget to him and lift him aboard the car. Then they fetched the child tothe village, hunted up where he lived, and brought him home to hismother. I--I've never forgotten it and I shan't."

  "That was mighty decent of Mr. Laurie--mighty decent," Sullivanadmitted slowly. "I've got a kid at home myself."

  For a few moments neither man spoke; then Sullivan continued in quick,brisk fashion, as if he were trying to banish some reverie that plaguedhim:

  "Well, have your way. We'll leave Mr. Laurie out of this altogether."

  "Thank you, Alf."

  Sullivan paid no heed to the interruption.

  "Now let's can all this twaddle and get down to work," he said sharply."We've wasted too much time squabbling over that miserable cripple.Let's brace up and make our plans. You are for destroying the mills,eh?"

  "It's the only thing that will be any use, it seems to me," Croninreplied. "If the mills are blown up, it will not only serve as awarning to the Fernalds but it will mean the loss of a big lot ofmoney. They will rebuild, of course, but it will take time, and in theinterval everything will be at a standstill."

  "It will throw several hundred men out of work," Sullivan objected.

  "That can't be helped," retorted Cronin. "They will get out at leastwith their lives and will be almighty thankful for that. They can getother jobs, I guess. But even if they are out of work, I figure some ofthem won't be so sorry to see the Fernalds get what's coming to them,"chuckled Cronin.

  "You're right there, Jim!"

  "I'll bet I am!" cried Cronin.

  "Then your notion would be to plant time bombs at the factories so theywill go off in the night?"

  "Yes," confessed Cronin, a shadow of regret in his tone. "That willcarry off only a few watchmen and engineers. Mighty tough luck forthem."

  "It can't be helped," Sullivan said ruthlessly. "You can't expect tocarry through a thing of this sort without some sacrifice. All we cando is to believe that the end justifies the means. It's a case of thegreatest good to the greatest number."

  "I--suppose--so."

  "Well, then, why hesitate?"

  "I ain't hesitating," announced Cronin quickly. "I just happened toremember Maguire. He's one of the night watchmen at the upper mill anda friend of mine."

  "But we can't remember him, Cronin," Sullivan burst out. "It is unluckythat he chances to be on duty, of course; but that is his misfortune.We'd spare him if we could."

/>   "I know, I know," Cronin said. "It's a pitiless business." Then, as ifhis last feeble compunction vanished with the words, he added, "It's tobe the mills, then."

  "Yes. We seem to be agreed on that," Sullivan replied eagerly. "I haveeverything ready and I don't see why we can't go right ahead to-nightand plant the machines with their fuses timed for early morning. Iguess we can sneak into the factories all right--you to the upper milland I to the lower. If you get caught you can say you are hunting forMaguire; and if I do--well, I must trust to my wits to invent a story.But they won't catch me. I've never been caught yet, and I have handleda number of bigger jobs than this one," concluded he with pride.

  "Anything more you want to say to me?" asked Cronin.

  "No, I guess not. I don't believe I need to hand you any advice. Juststiffen up, that's all. Anything you want to say to me?"

  "No. I shan't worry my head about you, you old fox. You're too much ofa master hand," Cronin returned, with an inflection that sounded like agrin. "I imagine you can hold up your end."

  "I rather imagine I can," drawled Sullivan.

  "Then if there's nothing more to be said, I move we start back to town.It must be late," Cronin asserted.

  "It's black enough to be midnight," grumbled Sullivan. "We'd best godirectly to our houses--I to mine and you to yours. The explosives andbombs I'll pack into two grips. Yours I'll hide in your back yardunderneath that boat. How'll that be?"

  "O. K."

  "You've got it straight in your head what you are to do?"

  "Yes."

  "And I can count on you?"

  "Sure!"

  "Then let's be off."

  There was a splash as the canoe slipped into the water and afterwardTed heard the regular dip of the paddles as the craft moved away. Helistened until the sound became imperceptible and when he was certainthat the conspirators were well out of earshot he sped to the telephoneand called up the police station at Freeman's Falls. It did not takelong for him to hurriedly repeat to an officer what he had heard.Afterward, in order to make caution doubly sure, he called up the millsand got his old friend Maguire at the other end of the line. It was notuntil all this had been done and he could do no more that he sanklimply down on the couch and stared into the darkness. Now thateverything was over he found that he was shaking like a leaf. His handswere icy cold and he quivered in every muscle of his body. It wasuseless for him to try to sleep; he was far too excited and worried forthat. Therefore he lay rigidly on his bunk, thinking and waitingfor--he knew not what.

  It might have been an hour later that he was aroused from a doze by thesharp reverberation of the telephone bell. Dizzily he sprang to hisfeet and stood stupid and inert in the middle of the floor. Again thesignal rang and this time he was broad awake. He rushed forward tograsp the receiver.

  "Turner? Ted Turner?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "This is the police station at Freeman's Falls. We have your men--bothof them--and the goods on them. They are safe and sound under lock andkey. I just thought you might like to know it. We shall want to see youin the morning. You've done a good night's work, young one. The StatePolice have been after these fellows for two years. Sullivan has arecord for deeds of this sort. Mighty lucky we got a line on him thistime before he did any mischief."

  "It was."

  "That's all, thanks to you, kid. I advise you to go to bed now and tosleep. I'll hunt you up to-morrow. I'll bet the Fernalds will, too.They owe you something."