"Very well, I'll put you on. Look round to-morrow and get your orders.

I've a notion that you're up against it; here's a dollar on account."

d.i.c.k took the money. He rather liked the man, whose abruptness was disarmed by his twinkling smile. For the first time, with one exception, during his search for employment, he had been treated as a human being instead of an instrument for doing a certain amount of work.

It was raining hard when he reached the street, and supper would be over before he arrived at his cheap hotel, where one must eat at fixed times or wait for the next meal. There was, however, a small restaurant with an Italian name outside a few blocks further on, and going in he was served with well-cooked food and afterwards sat in a corner smoking and thinking hard. He now felt more cheerful; but the future was dark and he realized the difficulties in his path.

American industry was highly organized. The man who hoped for advancement must specialize and make himself master of some particular branch. d.i.c.k had specialized in England, and thought he knew his subject, but could not use his knowledge. The Americans to whom he tried to sell it would have none of him, and d.i.c.k owned that he could not blame them; since it was natural to suppose that the man who was unfaithful to his country would not be loyal to his employer. When he looked for other openings, he found capital and labor arrayed in hostile camps. There was mechanical work he was able to do, but this was not allowed, because the organized workers, who had fought stubbornly for a certain standard of comfort, refused to let untrained outsiders share the benefits they had won.

Business was left; but it needed money, and if he tried to enter it as a clerk, he must first obtain smart clothes and find somebody to certify his ability and character, which was impossible. It looked as if he must be content with manual labor. The wages it commanded were not low and he was physically strong, but he shrank from the lives the lower ranks of toilers led when their work was done. The crowded bunk-house and squalid tenement revolted him. Still, he was young and optimistic; his luck might change when he went South and chance give him an opportunity of breaking through the barriers that shut him in. He sat in the corner, pondering, until it got late and the tired Italian politely turned him out.

Next morning he joined a group of waiting men at the railroad station.

They had a dejected look as they sat upon their bundles outside the agent's office, except for three or four who were cheerfully drunk. Their clothes were shabby and of different kinds, for some wore cheap store-suits and some work-stained overalls. It was obvious that adversity had brought them together, and d.i.c.k did not think they would make amiable companions. About half appeared to be Americans, but he could not determine the nationality of the rest, who grumbled in uncouth English with different accents.

By and by the clerk whom d.i.c.k had met came out of the office with a bundle of tickets, which he distributed, and soon afterwards the train rolled into the depot. d.i.c.k was not pleased to find that a car had been reserved for the party, since he would sooner have traveled with the ordinary pa.s.sengers. Indeed, when a dispute began as the train moved slowly through the wet street, he left the car. In pa.s.sing through the next, he met the conductor, who asked for his ticket, and after tearing off a section of the long paper, gave him a card, which he gruffly ordered him to stick in his hat. Then he put his hand on d.i.c.k's shoulder, and pushed him back through the vestibule.

"That's your car behind and you'll stop right there," he said. "Next time you come out we'll put you off the train."

d.i.c.k resigned himself, but stopped on the front platform and looked back as the train jolted across a rattling bridge. A wide, yellow river ran beneath it, and the tall factories and rows of dingy houses were fading in the rain and smoke on the other side. d.i.c.k watched them until they grew indistinct, and then his heart felt lighter. He had endured much in the grimy town; but all that was over. After confronting, with instinctive shrinking, industry's grimmest aspect, he was traveling toward the light and glamour of the South.

Entering the smoking compartment, he found the disturbance had subsided, and presently fell into talk with a man on the opposite seat who asked for some tobacco. He told d.i.c.k he was a locomotive fireman, but had got into trouble, the nature of which he did not disclose. d.i.c.k never learned much more about his past than this, but their acquaintance ripened and Kemp proved a useful friend.

It was getting dark when they reached an Atlantic port and were lined up on the terminal platform by a man who read out a list of their names. He expressed his opinion of them with sarcastic vigor when it was discovered that three of the party had left the train on the way; and then packed the rest into waiting automobiles, which conveyed them to the wharf as fast as the machines would go.

"Guess you won't quit this journey. The man who jumps off will sure get hurt," he remarked as they started.

In spite of his precautions, another of the gang was missing when they alighted, and Kemp, the fireman, grinned at d.i.c.k.

"That fellow's not so smart as he allows," he said. "He'd have gone in the last car, where he could see in front, if he'd known his job."

They were hustled up a steamer's gangway and taken to the after end of the deck, where their conductor turned his back on them for a few minutes while he spoke to a mate.

"Now's your time," said Kemp, "if you feel you want to quit."

d.i.c.k looked about. The spar-deck, on which the boats were stowed, covered the spot where he stood, and the pa.s.sage beneath the stanchions was dark.

There was n.o.body at the top of the gangway under the big cargo-lamp, and its illumination did not carry far across the wharf. If he could reach the latter, he would soon be lost in the gloom, and he was sensible of a curious impulse that urged him to flight. It almost amounted to panic, and he imagined that the other men's desertion must have daunted him. For a few moments he struggled with the feeling and then conquered it.

"No," he said firmly; "I'll see the thing through."

Kemp nodded. "Well, I guess it's too late now."

Two seamen, sent by the mate, went to the top of the gangway, and the fellow who had brought the party from the station stood on guard near.

d.i.c.k afterward realized that much depended on the choice he swiftly made and wondered whether it was quite by chance he did so.

"You were pretty near going," his companion resumed.

"Yes," said d.i.c.k, thoughtfully; "I believe I was. As a matter of fact, I don't know why I stopped."

The other smiled. "I've felt like that about risky jobs I took. Sometimes I lit out, and sometimes I didn't, but found out afterward I was right either way. If you feel you have to go, the best thing you can do is to get a move on."

d.i.c.k agreed with this. He did not understand it, but knew that while he had still had time to escape down the gangway and felt strongly tempted to do so, it was impressed upon him that he must remain.

A few minutes later their conductor left them with a sarcastic farewell, the ropes were cast off, and the steamer swung out from the wharf. When, with engines throbbing steadily, she headed down the bay, d.i.c.k went to his berth, and on getting up next morning found the American coast had sunk to a low, gray streak to starboard. A fresh southwest breeze was blowing under a cloudy sky and the vessel, rolling viciously, lurched across the white-topped combers of the warm Gulf Stream.

After breakfast, some of his companions gathered into listless, grumbling groups, and some brought out packs of greasy cards, but d.i.c.k sat by himself, wondering with more buoyant feelings what lay before him. He had known trouble and somehow weathered it, and now he was bound to a country where the sun was shining. It was pleasant to feel the soft air on his face and the swing of the spray-veiled bows. After all, good fortune might await him down South.

CHAPTER V

THE CONCRETE TRUCK

It was very hot in the deep hollow that pierced the mountain range behind Santa Brigida on the Caribbean Sea. The black peaks cut against a glaring sky and the steep slopes of red soil and volcanic cinders on one side of the ravine were dazzlingly bright. The other was steeped in blue shadow that scarcely seemed to temper the heat, and the dark-skinned men who languidly packed the ballast among the ties of a narrow-gage railroad that wound up the hill panted as they swung their shovels. At its lower end, the ravine opened on to a valley that got greener as it ran down to the glittering sea, on the edge of which feathery palms cl.u.s.tered round Santa Brigida.

The old city, dominated by its twin, cathedral towers, shone ethereally white in the distance, with a narrow fringe of flashing surf between it and the vivid blue of the Caribbean. It was a thriving place, as the black dots of steamers in the roadstead showed, for of late years American enterprise had broken in upon its lethargic calm. The population was, for the most part, of Spanish stock that had been weakened by infusions of Indian and negro blood, but there were a number of Chinamen, and French Creoles. Besides these, Americans, Britons, and European adventurers had established themselves, and the town was a hotbed of commercial and political intrigue. The newcomers were frankly there for what they could get and fought cunningly for trading and agricultural concessions. The leading citizens of comparatively pure Spanish strain despised the grasping foreigners in their hearts, but as a rule took their money and helped them in their plots. Moreover, they opened a handsome casino and less reputable gambling houses with the object of collecting further toll.

Such wealth as the country enjoyed was largely derived from the fertile soil, but the district about Santa Brigida was less productive than the rest and had been long neglected. There was rain enough all round, but much of the moisture condensed on the opposite side of the range and left the slopes behind the town comparatively arid. To remedy this an irrigation scheme was being carried out by American capitalists, and the narrow-gage railroad formed part of the undertaking.

A man dressed in rather baggy, gray clothes and a big, soft hat sat in the shadow of the rock. His thin face had been recently browned by the sun, for the paler color where his hat shaded it showed that he was used to a northern climate. Though his pose was relaxed and he had a cigar in his mouth, there was a hint of energy about him and he was following the curves of the railroad with keenly observant eyes. A girl in white dress of fashionable cut sat near him, holding a green-lined sunshade, for although they were in the shadow the light was strong. The likeness between them indicated they were father and daughter.

"I expect you're feeling it pretty hot," Fuller remarked.

"It is not oppressive and I rather like the brightness," the girl replied. "Besides, it's cool enough about the tent after the sun goes behind the range. Of course, you are used to the climate."

"I was, but that was twenty-four years ago and before you were born. Got my first lift with the ten thousand dollars I made in the next state down this coast, besides the ague and shivers that have never quite left me.

However, it's pretty healthy up here, and I guess it ought to suit Jake all right."

Ida Fuller looked thoughtful, and her pensive expression added to the charm of her attractive face. She had her father's keen eyes, but they were, like her hair, a soft dark-brown; and the molding of brows and nose and mouth was rather firm than delicate. While her features hinted at decision of character, there was nothing aggressive in her look, which, indeed, was marked by a gracious calm. Though she was tall, her figure was slender.

"Yes," she agreed, "if he would stay up here!"

Fuller nodded. "I'd have to fix him up with work enough to keep him busy, and ask for a full-length report once a week. That would show me what he was doing and he'd have to stick right to his job to find out what was going on."

"Unless he got somebody to tell him, or perhaps write the report. Jake, you know, is smart."

"You're fond of your brother, but I sometimes think you're a bit hard on him. I admit I was badly riled when they turned him down from Yale, but it was a harmless fool-trick he played, and when he owned up squarely I had to let it go."

"That's Jake's way. You can't be angry with him. Still, perhaps, it's a dangerous gift. It might be better for him if he got hurt now and then."

Fuller, who did not answer, watched her, as she pondered. Her mother had died long ago, and Fuller, who was largely occupied by his business, knew that Jake might have got into worse trouble but for the care Ida had exercised. He admitted that his daughter, rather than himself, had brought up the lad, and her influence had been wholly for good. By and by she glanced at Santa Brigida.

"It's the casino and other attractions down there I'm afraid of. If you had some older man you could trust to look after Jake, one would feel more satisfied."

"Well," said Fuller with a twinkle, "there's n.o.body I know who could fill the bill, and I'm not sure the older men are much steadier than the rest."

He stopped as a puff of smoke rose at the lower end of the ravine and moved up the hill. Then a flash of twinkling metal broke out among the rocks, and Ida saw that a small locomotive was climbing the steep track.