The Red Mouse Part 37

Another grin from the mixer was all the satisfaction that he received.

Instantly, Challoner leaped up on the platform and stood over the mixer.

At that, the man waved his arm; his signal brought not the head-superintendent, but the general foreman of the work, who demanded gruffly:--

"What's the trouble here?"

Challoner explained in a few words.

"You blamed idiot!" burst out the raging foreman. "You leave the man alone! Do you think that he don't know how to mix concrete? Leave him alone, I say!"

But Challoner, now, was not a man to be so easily turned from his orders; and again he insisted:--

"Two more barrels of cement, I told you!"

And he kept on insisting so strenuously, that a little knot of labourers gathered around them to await the result. Finally, the foreman saw that the head-superintendent was coming toward them from far down the street.

"All right, then," he conceded reluctantly, "make it two more barrels of cement."

But that same afternoon, the foreman singled Challoner out and paid him.

Then he lunged out, and striking Challoner on the shoulder lightly, he exclaimed:--

"There, you infernal jacka.s.s! You're discharged!"

"Discharged!" The exclamation fell from his lips before Challoner could check it; and notwithstanding his great disappointment, he made no further comment, but turned on his heel and left. The next day, however, he brought his case before the head-superintendent, who said:--

"If Perkins discharged you, I can't help it. I won't interfere."

"But what was I discharged for?"

"Oh, come now!" cried the superintendent; "you must know that you were discharged for stealing cement!"

Stunned for a moment, Challoner said not a word. Then slowly he began to understand. Graft! Yes, that was the solution of the matter. Cement was worth money in any market; and in the concrete business, n.o.body could tell,--until it was too late,--just how many barrels went into the mixture. With _bricks_--there was no doubt about bricks. A brick was good or bad; you could tell that by a trowel. But concrete was bound to be a problem henceforth to the end of time.

So it turned out that Challoner was discharged for doing the thing the foreman was guilty of doing. At the time he had little thought of resentment. It is true that he might have "peached" on the foreman, complained to the head-superintendent, and got them to test the walls with a testing-hammer. But it was too late, besides, he knew now that the head-superintendent was tarred with the same stick.

After this incident, Challoner cultivated a habit of strolling into the offices of the various dealers in the city.

"What are the proper concrete proportions?" was his request in all of them.

Charts were taken out and consulted. There was no difference of opinion: all agreed that the head-superintendent's figures were out of the way, and by one barrel of cement.

Graft! There was no doubt about it in his mind; and he proceeded to figure out just where the trouble lay. On that department-store job there were several mixers. On every mixing the head-superintendent made one barrel of cement. There were several foremen. On every individual mixing, the foremen, severally, made two barrels of cement. In every mixing three barrels of cement were left out.

"But what about the _wall_?" Challoner asked himself when once more alone.

And so it came about that he found that in this business, of all businesses, there was a chance for an honest man. After a little while, he found another job--still at two dollars a day. It was beginning once more at the bottom, and working up, yet he did it. But the instant he had worked up, he was again confronted with a similar situation. It was a question of "shut up or get out!" Gradually, it is true, the burden of the song of these men s.h.i.+fted slightly, and became, "Come in with us, or keep silent."

A few more experiences of this sort, and it was given to Challoner to perceive that he had knowledge of these things in advance of the general public. People looked upon concrete as something marvellous. The agitation among the construction men, the newspaper accounts about its cheapness, together with the wonderful results obtained by its use in other cities, all combined to dazzle owners about to build.

From day to day, Challoner could see the demand for concrete increasing.

He saw, too, that the price of brick was falling off, because concrete had awakened a new interest in the minds of the people, had aroused their enthusiasm. Plainly, Challoner was excited. He could see, could talk of nothing else. While Miriam was in the hospital he had begun to talk concrete with her; when she was convalescing and had returned to their rooms,--they had three now,--figuratively speaking, they had cement for breakfast and for supper. But it was his business now, and his whole mind was concentrated upon it.

And in all this there was a singular and valuable fact: Challoner was the only man in town,--literally the only man, because of the circ.u.mstances of the case,--outside of the contractors, who knew the business, and yet who had intelligence enough to understand the danger in concrete. Naturally, the contractors did not tell owners about graft.

They did not warn their customers; they took chances; and needless to say, the owners themselves did not know.

Challoner was quick to seize his opportunity; besides, he was conscious that a duty rested upon him. Day and night he scanned the papers, and when he found a concrete contract recorded, he looked up the owner, saw him personally and told him facts. Of course, most of this was done at night and on holidays.

"You don't say so," the owner would respond, opening wide his eyes.

But Challoner mentioned no names; he merely outlined conditions. Some contractors, he acknowledged, were honest, perhaps most of them, but many were careless. And then the foremen on these jobs unquestionably were poorly paid. Surely the temptations were great.

"You don't say so," the owner would repeat.

And when the job started, this owner would put a competent man on to oversee it. Frequently it happened that this man was J. L. Challoner.

The time came when he made five dollars a day. Moreover, the time came when many of the good concrete walls in town owed their strength to him.

But even though his time was full, and money was plentiful, it did not interfere with Challoner's interest in the evolution of concrete and concrete graft; nor was he slow to recognise its value to politicians; and so when the "ring"--for there was still a "ring" in spite of the efforts of Murgatroyd--sprang its little surprise, Challoner knew what was coming.

"A new concrete hospital," said the "ring," and saw in it the thin edge of the wedge, for they foresaw a new concrete jail. Possibly they could go still further: if they could educate the people up to it, they might have more new concrete city buildings.

However, the new concrete hospital came first. It was one-third finished when J. L. Challoner applied for, and secured a job as foreman of the mixing-gang on the east wing. The men who employed him did not know him; if they had, they would have dismissed him at once.

"Great Scott! The graft in cement is appalling!" Challoner exclaimed before he had been on the work twenty minutes. He voiced his protest; he would not stop voicing it: for he found that the hospital was being built chiefly of sand and broken stone.

And so it was that the superintendent said:--

"I'll have to _see_ him, boys. We must have him in with us on this."

But Challoner could not be "seen."

The superintendent shook his head, and later to the contractors he remarked:--

"Challoner is a dangerous man, I'm afraid."

The contractors laughed.

"Oh, he'll come around, all right!" they a.s.sured him. "They all do, after a bit."

But in this case, the superintendent happened to be right. And the "ring,"--the inner circle of the political organisation,--descended upon Challoner like a thousand of brick.

"Come, come," they said, "what's your game? What's your price? Name it and shut up. How many barrels of cement a day? Come, come now----"

Challoner still shook his head.

"Hang it!" they exclaimed; "he's too noisy."

Then they reasoned with him; but it did no good.

"It's a case of using force," they told each other. "To-morrow night----"