CHAPTER IX
HIRAM WAKES UP
Hiram walked with an elastic step from Lucy Dalles' rooming house. Itwas hard to believe that all that was happening to him was true. In asort of haze that floated before him as he walked along hung Lucy'sface. He wished to go on forever thus. He found no fault in her--herefused to. Some imp whispered to him that his fifteen dollars andfifty cents would last forever. He did not actually believe this, buthe refused to worry over the matter. Fate was kind. He was living adream--and who needs money in Dreamland?
It was like the slap of a cold towel when Tweet's face suddenlydisplaced Lucy's in the haze. Up there in the lounging room Tweet hadbeen waiting for him four hours! Tweet was doubtless hungry--he,Hiram, had been to a feast of love!
He felt like sneaking away to another lodging house till Tweet haddisappeared. But he did not. Instead he sneaked up the dusty stairsand through the door of the lounging room.
Tweet was there, half hidden behind his paper. Hiram sidled into aseat, swallowed twice, and said "Hello."
Tweet at once lowered the paper and looked at him at if he did notquite recall his face.
"Why, hello there!" he returned carelessly. "Back, eh? Here'ssomethin' may int'rest you."
He got up, folding the paper, and carried it over to Hiram, pointing toan article headed:
"New Ditch Digger Makes Good."
Hiram stared at the heading in dire confusion. He had been halfprepared for a rating; Tweet's complete disregard of his remissness wasdistressing.
"Mr. Tweet, I've got to apologize," he began.
"Bad practice," Tweet interrupted. "The better way is to never doanythin' that calls for an apology. Can't say that I live up to it,but I do my darnedest--and angels can do no more. After the first halfhour I knew you wouldn't show up, so I went down and had lunch. More'nyou've had, I'll bet. Just glance over that article and see what youthink of it."
"I thought you were broke."
"Oh, they can't keep a good man down. The friend I went to seeinsisted that I take a dollar he had that wasn't workin'. Don'tsuppose I'll be with you for dinner, either, as I've got an engagementat about that hour. But read that article."
Hiram obeyed.
It told of a ditch digger that had recently been enlarged from theinventor's model, and which, at the first trial, was proving a decidedsuccess in moving earth more rapidly than any previously invented.With only his model to prove his claims, the inventor had managed tosell all the stock; and from the very beginning the operations would becarried out by a closed corporation. The question before the directorswas whether to have machines manufactured and hire them out, or toconstruct a plant and manufacture them for the trade.
To Hiram it was dull and incomprehensible, and after finishing it helooked up at Tweet for an explanation.
"I got a sixth int'rest in her, Hooker," Tweet carelessly informed him."My pay for sellin' the stock for 'em."
"Really! Is it worth anything to you?"
"I'm holdin' it' at eight thousand five hundred. It'll be worth doublethat in a year or two."
"Eight thousand five hundred!" Hiram stared unbelievingly at Tweet."Why don't you sell it, then?"
"Didn't I say it would be worth double that amount in a year or two?"
"Yes, but you're broke and----"
"And I'll stay broke on a deal like that." Tweet's indignation causedhim to grab his off-center nose and impatiently correct its obstinatetrend, but to no avail. "But le's forget it and get back to thatbugbear of our young lives. _When_ are we _going_ to southernCalifornia?"
Hiram sat framing a reply, which was rather a difficult process.
"Le's wait till to-morrow, anyway," he said at last.
"Had quite a little chat with Lucy to-day, eh?"
"Yes, I did. When you told----" Hiram bit his tongue. "The truth is,she's from Mendocino County, too, and we--we--that is, we found it out."
Not the faintest sign of suspicion or surprise showed in Tweet's face."Well, suit yourself," he said nonchalantly. "It's a little late, orI'd go this afternoon. But to-morrow I go. My friend'll dig up theprice, but I hate to hit him up any more. Think it over a littlelonger, Hooker--I'm goin' down for a little stroll. Butremember--before noon to-morrow I've gotta have a definite answer.I've found that Morgan & Stroud send their bunches out every day at oneo'clock."
Tweet folded his precious paper, crammed it his pocket, and left theroom.
A few minutes afterward Hiram followed. He ate lunch and dinner inone, then strolled about the city, dreaming of Lucy and fretfullycounting the hours till he might expect to feast his material eyes onher again. At nine o'clock he returned to the lodging house, made surethat Tweet was not in the lounging room, and went to bed.
Next morning, close to nine o'clock, he was shifting from one foot tothe other before the cashier's counter in the restaurant. From thelittle window inclosure came the clicking of typewriter keys, a littlemore spirited than before. Hiram had strategically chosen the slackbusiness hour of the morning. He had eaten breakfast in a cheaperrestaurant, two blocks down the street. He had not seen Tweet. He hadbeen walking about the streets since six o'clock.
The keys kept clicking. Hiram cleared his throat several times, and atlast, as before, tapped on the show case with a coin. The clickingstopped, a skirt swished, and the gates of heaven opened, it seemed toHiram.
"Well, look who's here! Good morning."
"Ha-ha-ha! Good morning, ma'am."
"Then let's begin this good morning by dropping the 'ma'am.' They allsay it up in Mendocino, I know. It's considered the _ne plus ultra_ ofgood breeding up there. You see I'm trying to steer you straight, andI've got to be frank. I didn't have anybody kind enough to pick themoss off me."
"I'll stop sayin' it, if you say so."
"Sure, you want to. Now, I've had another visit from Mr. Tweet. Heroasted me for not carrying out his orders. He's just the least bittoo fresh, and I intimated as much. But he told me just about how muchmoney you had, and I decided you'd better take his advice and go withhim."
"But I've decided not to go at all now," said Hiram. "I'm goin' tobegin lookin' for a job here in the city to-day."
"Aw, you can't get a job here that'll make you any money. Tweet toldme something about where you're going down there in southernCalifornia. It's on the desert. A new railroad's building. Thingswill be lively. A friend of mine was in here at the time. He's got alot of automobile trucks, and makes piles of money. Maybe you noticedhim. Good-looking fellow in a brown suit. Drives a big drab car?"
"Ye-yes, I've seen him," admitted Hiram resentfully.
"Well, he was in here and talked with Tweet, and he said he thoughthe'd look into the freighting proposition down there. With his trucks,you know. There's a long haul over the desert and the mountains, itseems, and he says it ought to be good. Said maybe he'd take me downsome time, if anything turned up."
"You wouldn't go!"
"Wouldn't I? Huh! You bet your life I would! I only hope he'll stickto what he says. Maybe I'd get to see you down there. Tweet said he'dheard that the place they freight to is a live one. Ragtown, he saidthey called it. That's the kind of a place to make money in. I'd go,if I were you. Go down and make a stake, and then come back to Frisco.Money talks here."
"With you?" Said Hiram, slowly drinking in dread suspicion.
"You betcha my life!" Lucy said lightly.
She broke off suddenly and turned toward the door with a smile ofwelcome on her lips. In came Hiram Hooker's hated rival, Al Drummond.
"Hello, Lucy!" he called breezily. Then he leaned over the counter,glanced hurriedly about the empty restaurant, and kissed the girl onthe lips.
She slapped at him playfully. "You got a nerve, Al!" she exclaimed.
Hiram Hooker heard no more, for blindly he was stumbling out, crushed,heartbroken. Hiram Hooker suddenly had decided to go to southernCalifornia with Mr. Orr Tweet, and the soone
r they could get away thebetter he would like it. He realized now that Lucy Dalles was not theadventure girl who had beckoned in his dreams. She was a cheap,scheming adventuress, and he hated the very thought of her now--and wasplunged into the depths of despair and humiliation.
In the lounging room he found Tweet.
"Come on," he said huskily, "le's go to the employment office. I'mready."
Orr Tweet arose, casting a curious look at Hiram's haggard face, butsaid nothing as he followed him out.
Fifteen minutes later they entered a large employment bureau on ClayStreet, where were gathered perhaps a hundred workingmen reading thebulletins or lounging on benches.
Every now and then a brisk, leonine-headed man walked about among them,making announcements as a train caller does in a big union depot.
"Shippin' to Oregon--two o'clock to-morrow afternoon--I want twohundred muckers--forty cents an hour--board one dollar a day. I wanttwenty skinners, same job, forty a month and found. Sign up, boys!Hit the trail and make yer stake. Two dollars is the bill!
"I want one hundred men to work in onions and potatoes.Three-twenty-five a day and board. Think of it, boys!Three-twenty-five a day and _board_! Like gettin' money from home!Get your blankets and line up for the chance of a lifetime.
"Then listen, boys! I want six rough carpenters--the rougher thebetter--mine work. Eight dollars a day, eight hours--_dollar an hour_!Fee two dollars. Think of that, huskies! Can ye swing a hammer orpush a saw? You're on if you can--sign up! Ship ye out this evenin'.A snap! A cinch!
"I want a sub-grade foreman at seven dollars--eight hours!
"I want skinners, muckers, hard-rock men for Washington. I wantlumberjacks for Washington--long job--good pay! I want hard-rock menfor Alaska--the harder the better. And I want----"
Here Orr Tweet grasped the enthusiast's sleeve. "How about thosejerkline skinners for southern California?" he asked. "Saw it in thepaper."
"I'll see, old-timer--I'll look that up for you right away. Just stepinside, please--you and your pal. Let you know all about it in twominutes. Line up for a good job, boys! Get out and make a stake!Just a minute, boss man. Step right inside."
Inside a railing, where many clerks were at work, the applicants wereturned over to a sallow young man, who, being informed of what theywanted, consulted certain memoranda. Then he swiveled toward the twoand gave them the particulars.
"Gold Belt Cut-off," he said. "Buildin' across the desert in southernCalifornia. Good camps--good pay--good grub--good water----"
"Cut all that," dryly interrupted Orr Tweet.
"All right, sir," replied the clerk cheerfully. "Main contractors,Demarest, Spruce & Tillou. Want fifty muckers and fifty skinners--twojerkline skinners--must be A-1. Fifty-five a month and found. Fee twodollars. Ship you out one o'clock to-morrow. On?"
Tweet nudged Hiram and nodded, and Hiram tendered four silver dollars.
"Just a minute," said the clerk--though accepting the money. "Thisoffice can't afford to get in bad with big contractors like Demarest,Spruce & Tillou. They've specified A-1 jerkline skinners, to skineight, ten, and twelve over the desert and mountains. Are you there?"
"We are there," replied Orr Tweet.
The clerk looked doubtful. "Well, guess we'll have to take your wordfor it. Chances are you'll break away when you get to where you'remakin' it, anyway. This is kind of a special job, though. Demaresthimself wrote a personal letter about the two jerkline skinners.They're not for him, it seems--just to be shipped down with the otherskinners and muckers and hard-rock men we're sendin' him. The jerklineskinners are for 'Jerkline Jo.' Ever heard that name? If you'rejerkline skinners that have followed railroad work you ought to'veheard o' Jerkline Jo. Usta be monakered 'Gypo Jo.'"
"We're not railroaders," said Mr. Tweet glibly. "We're from MendocinoCounty--the big woods you know. But we can skin 'em for Jerkline Jo orany other man."
"I'll take a chance," said the clerk briskly. "If you'd just wanted toget your railroad trip out o' Frisco you'd not thought to pick out thejerkline job, when only two were wanted. Jerkline Jo is a woman,though."
"Yeah?" returned Mr. Tweet, then said to the heartbroken Hiram: "Youcan't escape 'em, it seems, Hooker--you big mountain of a lady killer!This is gonta be good. Send us to Jerkline Jo, old hoss! She'll blessyou with her last breath. Chances are you'll meet a regular woman,now, Hiram--not a doll with three years' wages on her back! A bigoutdoor picture like you fallin' for a bunch o' female French pastrylike that!"
The employment agency clerk shrugged and took their names.
The She Boss: A Western Story Page 9