VII
The Speedway
It was in the days after he had found on his desk a long envelopeenclosing a certificate for a thousand shares of stock in the NiquoiaElectric Power, Lighting, and Traction Company that Brouillard began tolose his nickname of "Hell's-Fire" among his workmen, with the promiseof attaining, in due time, to the more affectionate title of "the LittleBig Boss."
At the envelope-opening moment, however, he was threatened with anattack of heart failure. That Mr. Cortwright and his fellow promotersshould make a present of one hundred thousand dollars of the capitalstock of the reorganized company to a mere government watch-dog whocould presumably neither help nor hinder in the money-making plans ofthe close corporation, was scarcely believable. But a hastily soughtinterview with the company's president cleared the air of all theincredibilities.
"Why, my dear Brouillard! what in Sam Hill do you take us for?" was thegenial retort when the young engineer had made his deprecatory protest."Did you think we were going to cut the melon and hand you out a pieceof the rind? Not so, my dear boy; we are not built on any suchnarrow-gauge lines. But seriously, we're getting you at abargain-counter price. One of the things we're up against is thebuilding of another dam higher in the canyon for an auxiliary plant. Intaking you in, we've retained the best dam builder in the country totell us where and how to build it."
"That won't go, Mr. Cortwright," laughed Brouillard, finding the greatman's humor pleasantly infectious. "You know you can hire engineers bythe dozen at the usual rates."
"All right, blot that out; say that I wanted to do the right thing bythe son of good old Judge Antoine; just imagine, for the sake ofargument, that I wanted to pose as the long-lost uncle of thefairy-stories to a fine young fellow who hasn't been able to draw a fullbreath since his father died. You can do it now, Victor, my boy. Any oldtime the trusteeship debt your father didn't really owe gets too heavy,you can unload on me and wipe it out. Isn't it worth something torealize that?"
"I guess it will be, if I am ever able to get down to the solid fact ofrealizing it. But I can't earn a hundred thousand dollars of thecompany's stock, Mr. Cortwright."
"Of course you can. That's what we are willing to pay for a good,reliable government brake. It's going to be your business to see to itthat the Reclamation Service gets exactly what its contract calls for,kilowatt for kilowatt."
"I'd do that, anyhow, as chief of construction on the dam."
"You mean you would try to do it. As an officer of the power company,you can do it; as an official kicker on the outside, you couldn't feazeus a particle. What? You'd put us out of business? Not much, youwouldn't; we'd play politics with you and get a man for your job whowouldn't kick."
"Well," said the inheritor of sudden wealth, still matching thepromoter's mood, "you won't get me fired now, that's one comfort. Whenwill you want my expert opinion on your auxiliary dam?"
"On _our_ dam, you mean. Oh, any time soon; say to-morrow or Friday--orSaturday if that hurries you too much. We sha'n't want to go to work onit before Monday."
Being himself an exponent of the modern theory that the way to dothings is to do them now, Brouillard accepted the hurry order withoutcomment. Celerity, swiftness of accomplishment that was almost magical,had become the Mirapolitan order of the day. Plans conceived over-nightleaped to their expositions in things done as if the determination to dothem had been all that was necessary to their realization.
"You shall have the report to-morrow," said the newly created consultingengineer, "but you can't go to work Monday. The labor market is empty,and I'm taking it for granted that you're not going to stampede myshovellers and concrete men."
"Oh, no," conceded the city builder, "we sha'n't do that. You'lladmit--in your capacity of government watch-dog--that we have playedfair in that game. We have imported every workman we've needed, and weshall import more. That's one thing none of us can afford to do--bullthe labor market. And it won't be necessary; we have a train load ofItalians and Bulgarians on the way to Quesado to-day, and they ought tobe here by Monday."
"You are a wonder, Mr. Cortwright," was Brouillard's tribute to theworker of modern miracles, and he went his way to ride to the upper endof the valley for the exploring purpose.
On the Monday, as President Cortwright had so confidently predicted, thetrain load of laborers had marched in over the War Arrow trail and thework on the auxiliary power dam was begun. On the Tuesday a small armyof linemen arrived to set the poles and to string the wires for thelighting of the town. On the Wednesday there were fresh accessions tothe army of builders, and the freighters on the Quesado trail reported asteady stream of artisans pouring in to rush the city making.
On the Thursday the grading and paving of Chigringo Avenue was begun,and, true to his promise, Mr. Cortwright was leaving a right of way inthe street for the future trolley tracks. And it was during thiseventful week that the distant thunder of the dynamite brought thewelcome tidings of the pushing of the railroad grade over the mountainbarrier. Also--but this was an item of minor importance--it was on theSaturday of this week that the second tier of forms was erected on thegreat dam and the stripped first section of the massive gray foot-wallof concrete raised itself in mute but eloquent protest against thefeverish activities of the miracle-workers. If the protest were athreat, it was far removed. Many things might happen before the graywall should rise high enough to cast its shadow, and the shadow of thecoming end, over the miraculous city of the plain.
It was Brouillard himself who put this thought into words on the Sundaywhen he and Grislow were looking over the work of form raising andfinding it good.
"Catching you, too, is it, Victor?" queried the hydrographer, droppingeasily into his attitude of affable cynicism. "I thought it would. Buttell me, what are some of the things that may happen?"
"It's easy to predict two of them: some people will make a pot of moneyand some will lose out."
Grislow nodded. "Of course you don't take any stock in the rumor thatthe government will call a halt?"
"You wouldn't suppose it could be possible."
"No. Yet the rumor persists. Hosford hinted to me the other day thatthere might be a Congressional investigation a little further along todetermine whether the true _pro bono publico_ lay in the reclamation ofa piece of yellow desert or in the preservation of an exceedinglypromising and rapidly growing young city."
"Hosford is almost as good a boomer as Mr. Cortwright. Everybody knowsthat."
"Yes. I guess Mirapolis will have to grow a good bit more beforeCongress can be made to take notice," was the hydrographer's dictum."Isn't that your notion?"
Brouillard was shaking his head slowly.
"I don't pretend to have opinions any more, Grizzy. I'm living from dayto day. If the tail should get big enough to wag the dog----"
They were in the middle of the high staging upon which the puddlersworked while filling the forms and Grislow stopped short.
"What's come over you, lately, Victor? I won't say you're half-hearted,but you're certainly not the same driver you were a few weeks ago,before the men quit calling you 'Hell's-Fire.'"
Brouillard smiled grimly. "It's going to be a long job, Grizzy. PerhapsI saw that I couldn't hope to keep keyed up to concert pitch all the waythrough. Call it that, anyway. I've promised to motor Miss Cortwright tothe upper dam this afternoon, and it's time to go and do it."
It was not until they were climbing down from the staging at the Jack'sMountain approach that Grislow acquired the ultimate courage of hisconvictions.
"Going motoring, you said--with Miss Genevieve. That's another change.I'm beginning to believe in your seven-year hypothesis. You are nolonger a woman-hater."
"I never was one. There isn't any such thing."
"You used to make believe there was and you posed that way last summer.Think I don't remember how you were always ranting about the dignity ofa man's work and quoting Kipling at me? Now you've taken to mixing andmingling like a social reformer."
"Well, what of it?" half-absently.
"Oh, nothing; only it's interesting from a purely academic point ofview. I've been wondering how far you are responsible; how much youreally do, yourself, and how much is done for you."
Brouillard's laugh was skeptical.
"That's another leaf out of your psychological book, I suppose. It'srot."
"Is it so? But the fact remains."
"What fact?"
"The fact that your subconscious self has got hold of the pilot-wheel;that your reasoning self is asleep, or taking a vacation, or somethingof that sort."
"Oh, bally! There are times when you make me feel as if I had eaten toomuch dinner, Grizzy! This is one of them. Put it in words; get it outof your system."
"It needs only three words: you are hypnotized."
"That is what you say; it is up to you to prove it," scoffed Brouillard.
"I could easily prove it to the part of you that is off on a vacation. Amonth ago this city-building fake looked as crazy to you as it stilldoes to those of us who haven't been invited to sit down and take a handin Mr. Cortwright's little game. You hooted at it, preached a littleabout the gross immorality of it, swore a good bit about the effect itwas going to have on our working force. It was a crazy object-lesson inmodern greed, and all that."
"Well?"
"Now you seem to have gone over to the other side. You hobnob withCortwright and do office work for him. You know his fake is a fake; andyet I overheard you boosting it the other night in Poodles's dining-roomto a tableful of money maniacs as if Cortwright were giving you arake-off."
Brouillard stiffened himself with a jerk as he paced beside his accuser,but he kept his temper.
"You're an old friend, Grizzy, and a mighty good one--as I have hadoccasion to prove. It is your privilege to ease your mind. Is that all?"
"No. You are letting Genevieve Cortwright make a fool of you. If youwere only half sane you'd see that she is a confirmed trophy hunter.Why, she even gets down to young Griffith--and uses him to dig outinformation about you. She----"
"Hold on, Murray; there's a limit, and you'll bear with me if I say thatyou are working up to it now." Brouillard's jaw was set and the linesbetween his eyes were deepening. "I don't know what you are driving at,but you'd better call it off. I can take care of myself."
"If I thought you could--if I only thought you could," said Grislowmusingly. "But the indications all lean the other way. It would be allright if you wanted to marry her and she wanted you to; but youdon't--and she doesn't. And, besides, there's Amy; you owe hersomething, don't you?--or don't you? You needn't grit your teeth thatway. You are only getting a part of what is coming to you. 'Faithful arethe wounds of a friend,' you know."
"Yes. And when the Psalmist had admitted that, he immediately asked theLord not to let their precious balms break his head. You're all right,Grizzy, but I'll pull through." Then, with a determined wrenching asideof the subject: "Are you going up on Chigringo this afternoon?"
"I thought I would--yes. What shall I tell Miss Massingale when she asksabout you?"
"You will probably tell her the first idiotic thing that comes into theback part of your head. And if you tell her anything pifflous about meI'll lay for you some dark night with a pick handle."
Grislow laughed reminiscently. "She won't ask," he said.
"Why not?"
"Because the last time she did it I told her your scalp was dangling atMiss Genevieve's belt."
They had reached the door of the log-built quarters and Brouillard spunthe jester around with a shoulder grip that was only half playful.
"If I believed you said any such thing as that I'd murder you!" heexploded. "Perhaps you'll go and tell her that--you red-headedblastoderm!"
"Sure," said the blastoderm, and they went apart, each to his dunnagekit.
The City of Numbered Days Page 7