The Boy With the U. S. Fisheries Part 38

"I'm afraid, sir----"

"Well?"

"I don't believe, sir----"

"That it's worth anything at all?" the farmer interrupted.

A solemn dignity, the accompaniment of great trouble, came to the man's aid and gave him strength. "Thank you," he said; "I understand."

He looked around with a troubled glance and saw the far smaller but more valuable pearl that his neighbor had found, which was still lying on the table beside the instruments. A strong s.h.i.+ver shook him, but he made no other sign. He turned to Colin.

"I see that it's no good," he said, "but I shall keep it just the same.

If you have finished with it----"

Colin stood up and placed the pearl in his hand.

"Please take it to some one else right away," he said. "I couldn't sleep--suppose I were wrong!"

The old farmer looked at him gravely.

"No man would do as you have done and say what you have said, unless it was so clear that he couldn't help but know," he replied. He turned to the neighbors. "I'm afraid," he said, "I have in part spoiled your pleasure, and," he added, with a twitch of the muscles of his face, "made a fool of myself, besides. Come, Mary, we'll go home."

The others pressed forward with words of sympathy, but the stricken man paid no heed and pa.s.sed out of the door. Colin sat heavily back in his chair staring moodily at the instruments, his heart sore within him, but he knew he could have done nothing else. Yet the thought of the old farmer's sorrow was powerfully before him, and he had to keep a strong grip on himself to keep from showing an unmanly emotion.

Outside the little cottage could be heard a murmur of voices, as the old farmer tried to comfort his wife, while inside the house no one spoke lest he should seem careless of the grief and disappointment of those who were still within hearing. Suddenly a third voice was heard outside, speaking excitedly. Once again that tense clutch of suppressed emotion permeated the room and Colin, with his heart in his mouth, looked up. No one moved. Outside the voices ceased.

Then, through the open door, rushed a boy about twelve years old, muddy from head to foot, but with his two eyes s.h.i.+ning like lights from his grimy face. The mussel-gatherer recognized instantly the farmer's son.

"What is it, John?" he asked.

"I was goin' over some sh.e.l.ls father hadn' opened, after he'd found that other pearl, an' I got this! Father he says the other one's no good an'

that this isn' likely to be any better! But I don' know! It looks all right!"

He glanced down at the object in his hand.

"Father said it was no good," he repeated, a little less certainly; "but I don' know."

He held out his hand and pa.s.sed the pearl to the mussel-gatherer, who glanced at it hastily.

"Mr. Dare!" he said excitedly.

Colin looked up and caught his glance, then tried to take the stone. But his hand shook as though he were in a violent fever, and the mussel-gatherer placed it on the table beside his own, in front of the boy. Clear, flawless, and of fair size, it gleamed like a star of hope before them all. A moment's examination was enough. Leaping from his seat Colin seized the pearl and rushed out of the door.

"It's real, sir; it's real!" he cried. "And will do all you said!"

The old farmer never looked at him. He turned his face toward the stars and reverently removed his hat.

CHAPTER IX

A TUSSLE WITH THE MONARCH OF THE SEA

In spite of his interest in the pearl work, Colin began to feel the strain of the steady and persistent grind required from him by Dr.

Edelstein, who himself seemed absolutely untiring. At the beginning of July, moreover, the weather turned wet, and the rain poured down steadily, not heavily, but soaking the ground thoroughly. For a week or so no notice was taken of the rain, other than the discomfort it caused, but one day Colin overheard one of the head workers saying to the superintendent:

"It looks as though we might have trouble unless there's a let-up to the rain soon!"

"I'm afraid of it," was the reply, and the grave tone of the answer surprised Colin; "and I hear that it's raining in torrents in Montana."

"We're safe enough, I suppose," was the comment.

"Yes," the superintendent answered, "but hundreds of other people are not. Floods always catch some of them."

This was an idea that had not occurred to Colin. The word "flood" called up a host of graphic ideas, and a flood on the Mississippi, the largest river in the world flowing through a populated country, seemed a serious matter. He spoke of it to his friend of the paddlefish investigation.

"Yes," the other answered, "there have been many scores of lives lost and many millions of dollars swept away on the 'Father of Waters,' and I doubt if the time will ever come when the flood danger will be at an end. Remember that the Mississippi River Valley is the only water outlet for two-thirds of the entire United States."

"It's protected by levees, too, isn't it?" Colin queried. "At least, during the flood on the Mississippi, you always hear of the levees breaking or just going to break."

"They give way very seldom now," his chief replied, "and that means wonderful engineering, for there are sixteen hundred miles of levee, the river banks being built up clear from Illinois to the Gulf."

"Then where are the floods one hears of so often?"

"There are bad floods on the Ohio," was the reply, "and there is always danger when a flood tide comes down the Mississippi. You see, if part of a levee does give way, or as they say, if a 'creva.s.se' comes, thousands of square miles are inundated, hundreds of people made homeless, and the property loss is incalculable. All the land around the lower part of the Mississippi is just a flood plain which used to be covered with water every year. That land has been rescued from the river just as Holland has been rescued from the sea."

"Then there is danger every year?"

"There is always danger," was the reply, "and the levees are carefully patrolled. But during the high water of early summer there is more danger, and a week's rain means trouble. We're going to have a bad flood this year unless the rain stops soon."

"But the river isn't rising?"

"Not yet. Why should it? It isn't the water that flows directly into the Mississippi, but that which floods the tributaries that causes disaster.

From the Rocky Mountains on the one side to the Alleghanies on the other, and from the Gulf of Mexico to Canada--nearly every drop of rain that isn't evaporated or used by plants has to be carried to the sea by the Mississippi."

"It seems like a big job for one river bed," Colin agreed. "But how can it be made safer?"

"The way is easy," was the answer, "but costly. If big reservoirs are built on all the headwater streams so that--no matter what the rainfall may be--only a constant amount is allowed to flow out of these reservoirs, then floods will be avoided, there will be plenty of water for irrigation, and a steady depth of water in the channel will extend navigation that is now stopped during low-water periods. Besides which, it will make the Mississippi fish question a great deal easier."

"I don't quite see what it has to do with the fis.h.!.+" the boy said.

"Supposing five thousand square miles of land are flooded. When the water goes down, at least half that amount of land is still flooded, though no longer connected with the river, but forming shallow lakes and pools. These are all full of fish. As the pools dry up, everything that is in them dies, and millions of food fish are lost."

"But how can we stop that?"

"The Bureau of Fisheries does a great deal to stop it," was the answer, "and if this rain holds--though we are all praying that it won't--you'll probably have a chance to see. The Bureau seines as many as it can of those bayous and pools and lakes to save the fish and return them to the river. If a couple of men can save several thousand fish a day, isn't that worth while? Think of a farmer who could get a thousand bushels of wheat in a day! And that's about the proportion of food value."