VI
Mirapolis
During the strenuous weeks when Camp Niquoia's straggling street wasacquiring plank sidewalks and getting itself transformed into ChigringoAvenue, with a double row of false-fronted "emporiums" to supplant theshack shelters, Monsieur Poudrecaulx Bongras, late of the San Franciscotenderloin, opened the camp's first counter-grill.
Finding monsieur's name impossible in both halves of it, the campgrinned and rechristened him "Poodles." Later, discovering his dual giftof past mastership in potato frying and coffee making, the camp gave himvogue. Out of the vogue sprang in swift succession a cafe withside-tables, a restaurant with private dining-rooms, and presently acommodious hotel, where the food was excellent, the appointmentsluxurious, and where Jack--clothed and in his right mind and with moneyin his hand--was as good as his master.
It was in one of Bongras's private dining-rooms that Mr. J. WesleyCortwright was entertaining Brouillard, with Miss Genevieve to make aharmonizing third at the circular table up to the removal of the clothand the serving of the cigars and a second cold bottle.
The little dinner had been a gustatory triumph; Miss Genevieve had addedthe charm of lightness at moments when her father threatened to let themoney clink become painfully audible; and the cigars were gold-banded.Nevertheless, when Miss Cortwright had gone up-stairs, and the waiterwould have refilled his glass, Brouillard shook his head.
If the millionaire saw the refusal he was too wise to remark it.Altogether, Brouillard was finding his first impressions of Mr.Cortwright readjusting themselves with somewhat confusing rapidity. Itwas not that there was any change in the man. Charactering the genialhost like a bachelor of hospitality, he was still the frank, outspokenmoney-maker, hot upon the trail of the nimble dollar. Yet there was achange of some kind. Brouillard had marked it on the day, a fortnightearlier, when (after assuring himself morosely that he would not) he hadgone down to the lower canyon portal to see the Cortwright touring-carfinish its second race across the desert from El Gato.
"Of course, I was quite prepared to have you stand off and throw stonesat our little cob house of a venture, Brouillard," the host allowed atthe lighting of the gold-banded cigars. "You're the government engineerand the builder of the big dam; it's only natural that your horizonsshould be filled with government-report pictures and half-tones ofwhat's going to be when you get your dam done. But you can't build yourdam in one day, or in two, and the interval is ours. I tell you, we'regoing to make Mirapolis a buzz-hummer while the daylight lasts. Don'tyou forget that."
"'Mirapolis'?" queried Brouillard. "Is that the new name?"
Cortwright laughed and nodded. "It's Gene's name--'Miracle City.' Fitslike the glove on a pretty girl's arm, doesn't it?"
"It does. But the miracle is that there should be any money daringenough to invest itself in the Niquoia."
"There you go again, with your ingrained engineering ideas that to beprofitable a scheme must necessarily have rock-bottom foundations and atime-defying superstructure," chuckled the host. "Why, bless yourworkaday heart, Brouillard, nothing is permanent in this shuffling,growing, progressive world of ours--absolutely nothing. Some of thebiggest and costliest buildings in New York and Chicago are built onground leases. Our ground lease will merely be a little shorter in thefactor of time."
"So much shorter that the parallel won't hold," argued Brouillard.
"The parallel does hold; that is precisely the point. Every ground-leaseinvestment is a gamble. The investor simply bets that he can make theturn within the time limit."
"Yes; but a long term of years----"
"There you are," cut in the financier. "Now you've got it down to thehard-pan basis: long time, small profits and a slow return; short time,big profits and a quick return. You've eaten here before; what do youpay Bongras for a reasonably good dinner?"
Brouillard laughed. "Oh, Poodles. He cinches us, all right; four or fivetimes as much as it's worth--or would cost anywhere else."
"That's it. He knows he has to make good on all these little luxuries hegives you--cash in every day, as you might say, and come out wholebefore you stop the creek and drown him. Let me tell you something,Brouillard; San Francisco brags about being the cheapest city in thecountry; they'll tell you over there that you can buy more for yourmoney than you can anywhere else on earth. Well, Mirapolis is going totake the trophy at the other end of the speedway. When we get in motionwe're going to have Alaska faded to a frazzle on prices--and you'll seeeverybody paying them joyfully."
"And in the end somebody, or the final series of somebodies, will beleft to hold the bag," finished Brouillard.
"That's a future. What is it the Good Book says? 'Let us eat, drink andbe merry, for to-morrow we die.' That's philosophy, and it's goodbusiness, too. Not that I'm admitting your pessimistic conclusions for asingle minute; don't mistake me on that point. There needn't be any bagholders, Brouillard. Let me put it in a nutshell: we're building acement plant, and we shall sell you the output--at a good, round price,I promise you, but still at a lower figure than you're paying for theimported article now, or than you will pay even after the railroad getsin. When our government orders are filled we can afford to wreck theplant for what it will bring as junk. We'll be out of it whole, with anice little profit."
"That is only one instance," objected the guest.
"Well, Bongras, here, is one more," laughed the host. "He gets a pieceof his investment back every time anybody looks over his _menu_ card.And our power plant is another. You made your little kick on that toWashington--you thought the government ought to control its own power.That was all right, from your point of view, but we beat you to it. Nowthe Reclamation Service gets all the power it needs at a nominal price,and we're going to sell enough more to make us all feel happy."
"Sell it? To whom?"
Mr. Cortwright leaned back in his chair and the sandy-gray eyes seemedto be searching the inner recesses of the querying soul.
"That's inside information, but I don't mind taking you in on it," hesaid between leisurely puffs at his cigar. "We've just concluded a fewcontracts: one with Massingale--he's going to put in power drills,electric ore-cars, and a modern equipment generally and shove thedevelopment of the 'Little Susan'; one with a new mining syndicate whichwill begin operations at once on half a dozen prospects on Jack'sMountain; and one with a lumber combination that has just taken over thesawmills, and will install others, with a planing-mill and sashfactory."
Brouillard nodded. The gray eyes were slowly hypnotizing him.
"But that isn't all," continued the promoter. "We are about toreincorporate the power plant as the Niquoia Electric Power, Lighting,and Traction Company. Within a fortnight we'll be lighting Mirapolis,and within a month after the railroad gets in we'll be operatingtrolley-cars."
The enthusiast paused to let the information sink in, also to note theeffect upon the subject. The noting was apparently satisfactory, sincehe went on with the steady assurance of one who sees his way clearly.
"That brings us down to business, Brouillard. I don't mind admittingthat I had an object in asking you to dine with me this evening. It'sthis: we feel that in the reorganization of the power company thegovernment, which will always be the largest consumer, should berepresented in some effective way; that its interests should becarefully safeguarded. It is not so easy as it might seem. We can'texactly make the government a stockholder."
"No," said Brouillard mechanically. The under-depths were stirringagain, heaving as if from a mighty ground-swell that threatened a tidalwave of overturnings.
"We discussed that phase of it in the directors' meeting this morning,"continued the hypnotist smoothly, "and I made a suggestion which, aspresident of the company, I was immediately authorized to carry out.What we need, and what the government needs, is a man right here on theground who will be absolutely loyal to the government's interests andwho can be, at the same time, broad enough and honorable enough to befair to us."
Brouillard roused himself
by a palpable effort.
"You have found your man, Mr. Cortwright?"
A genial smile twinkled in the little gray eyes.
"I didn't have very far to go. You see, I knew your father and I'm notafraid to trust his son. We are going to make you the governmentdirector, with full power to investigate and to act. And we're not goingto be mean about it, either. The capital stock of the company is tenmillions, with shares of a par value of one hundred dollars each, fullpaid and non-assessable. Don't gasp; we'll cut a nice little melon onthat capitalization every thirty days, or my name isn't Cortwright."
"But I have no money to invest," was the only form the younger man'sprotest took.
"We don't need your money," cut in the financier with curt good nature."What we do need is a consulting engineer, a man who, while he is one ofus and identified with us, will see to it that we're not tempted togouge our good Uncle Samuel. It will be no sinecure, I warn you. We'reall pretty keen after the dollar, and you'll have to hold us down goodand hard. Of course, a director and a consulting officer must be astockholder, but we'll take care of that."
Brouillard smoked in silence for a full minute before he said: "You knowas well as I do, Mr. Cortwright, that it is an unwritten law of theService that a civilian employee of the government shall not engage inany other business."
"No, I don't," was the blunt reply. "That rule may be good enough toapply to senators and representatives--and it ought to; outside jobs forthem might influence legislation. But in your case it would not only beunjust to apply it; it would be absurd and contradictory. Supposing yourfather had left you a hundred thousand dollars to invest instead of adebt of that amount--you see, I know what a load your keen sense ofhonor is making you carry--suppose you had this money to invest, wouldyour position in the Reclamation Service compel you to lock it up in asafety vault?"
"Certainly not. But----"
"Very good. Your objection to taking part in our project would be that aman can't be strictly impartial when he has a stake in the game; somemen couldn't, Mr. Brouillard, but you can; you know you can, and I knowit. Otherwise you wouldn't be putting half of your salary and more intolife-insurance premiums to secure a debt that isn't even constructivelyyours."
"Yes; but if the department should learn that I am a stockholder in acompany from which it buys its power----"
"There wouldn't be a word said--not one single word. They know you inWashington, Brouillard, better, perhaps, than you think they do. Theyknow you would exact a square deal for the department even if it costyou personal money. But this is all academic. The practical facts arethat you'll come in as consulting engineer and that you'll hold usstrictly up to the mark on the government power contract. It's your dutyand part of your job as chief of construction. And we'll leave the moneyconsideration entirely out of it if you like. You'll get astock-certificate, which you may keep or tear up and throw into thewaste-basket, just as you please. If you keep it and want to realize onit at any time before you begin to put the finishing forms on the dam,I'll do this: I'll agree to market it for you at par. Now let's quit andgo and find Gene. She'll think we've tippled ourselves under the table."
"One moment," said Brouillard. "You have a way of taking a man off hisfeet, Mr. Cortwright; a rather pleasant way I'm bound to admit. But inthis thing which you are proposing there are issues involved which----"
"You want time to think it over? Take it, man; take all the time youneed. There's no special hurry."
Brouillard felt that in accepting the condition he was potentiallycommitting himself. It was a measure of the distance he had alreadytravelled that he interposed a purely personal obstacle.
"I couldn't serve as your engineer, Mr. Cortwright, not even in aconsulting capacity. Call it prejudice or anything you please, but Isimply couldn't do business in an associate relation with your manHosford."
Cortwright had risen, and he took his guest confidentially by thebuttonhole.
"Do you know, Brouillard, Hosford gets on my nerves, too? Don't let thatinfluence you. We'll let Hosford go. We needed him at first to sort ofknock things into shape; it takes a man of his calibre in the earlystages of a project like ours, you know. But he has outlived hisusefulness and we'll drop him. Let's go up-stairs."
It was quite late in the evening when Brouillard, a little light-headedfrom an after-dinner hour of purely social wit-matching with MissGenevieve, passed out through the cafe of the Metropole on his way tohis quarters.
There were a few late diners at the tables, and Bongras, smug andcomplacent in evening regalia, was waddling about among them like aglorified head waiter, his stiffly roached hair and Napoleonic mustachesstriving for a dignity and fierceness which was cruelly negatived by around, full-fed face and an obese little body.
"Ze dinnare--she was h-all right, M'sieu' Brouillard?" he inquired,holding the engineer for a moment at the street door.
"As right as the price you're going to charge Mr. Cortwright for it,"joked Brouillard.
"_Sacre!_" swore the amiable one, spreading his hands, "if you couldh-only know 'ow eet is cost to bring dose dinnare on dis place! Twodollare de 'undred pounds dat mule-freightare is charge me for bringingdose chip-pest wine from Quesado! Sommtime ve get de railroad, _n'est-cepas_, M'sieu' Brouillard? Den ve make dose dinnare moz risson-able."
"Yes, you will!" Brouillard scoffed jocosely. "You'll be addingsomething then for the uniqueness--for the benefit of the tourists.It'll be a great ad, 'The Hotel Metropole, the Delmonico's of the LakeBottom. Sit in and dine with us before the heavens open and the floodscome.'"
"I'll been wanting to h-ask you," whispered the Frenchman with aquick-flung glance for the diners at the nearest of the tables, "dozeflood--when she is coming, M'sieu' Brouillard?"
"When we get the dam completed."
"You'll bet money h-on dat?--h-all de money you got?"
"It's a sure thing, if that's what you're driving at. You can bet on itif you want to."
"I make my bet on de price of de dinnare," smiled Bongras. "_Mais_, Ilike to know for sure."
"Why should you doubt it?"
"_Moi_, I don't doubt nottings; I make de grass to be cut w'ile de sunis shine. But I'll been hearing somebody say dat maybe-so dis town shegrow so fas' and so beeg dat de gover'ment is not going drown her."
"Who said that?"
"I don't know; it is _bruit_--what you call rumaire. You hear it h-onde Avenue, in de cafe, h-anyw'eres you go."
Brouillard laughed again, this time with his hand on the door-latch.
"Don't lower your prices on the strength of any such rumor as that,Poodles. The dam will be built, and the Niquoia will be turned into alake, with the Hotel Metropole comfortably anchored in the deepest partof it--that is, if it doesn't get gay enough to float."
"Dat's juz what I'll been thinking," smiled the little man, and he spedthe parting guest with a bow that would have graced the antechamber of a_Louis le Grand_.
Out in the crisp night air, with the stars shining clear in the velvetsky and the vast bulks of the ramparting mountains to give solidity anddefiniteness to the scheme of things, Brouillard was a little betterable to get his feet upon the stable earth.
But the major impulse was still levitant, almost exultant. When all wassaid, it was Mr. Cortwright's rose-colored view of the immediate futurethat persisted. "Mirapolis!" It was certainly a name to conjure with; aninspiration on the part of the young woman who had chosen it.
Brouillard saw the projected streets pointing away into the fourquarters of the night. It asked for little effort of the imagination topicture them as the streets of a city--lighted, paved, and busy withtraffic. Would the miracle be wrought? And if it should be, was thereany possibility that in time the building of the great dam and thereclamation of the Buckskin Desert would become secondary in importanceto the preservation of Mirapolis?
It seemed highly incredible; before the little dinner and the socialevening Brouillard would have said it was blankly impossible. But it isonly fools and dea
d men who cannot admit a changing angle in the pointof view. At first Brouillard laid it to the champagne, forgetting thathe had permitted but a single refilling of his glass. Not then, nor formany days, did he suspect that it was his first deep draught of a farheadier wine that sent the blood laughing through his veins as he strodedown Chigringo Avenue to his darkened office quarters--the wine of thevintner whose name is Graft.
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