Ted and the Telephone Part 18

"I shouldn't blab, Alf," declared Cronin. "You could trust me to hold my tongue and not peach on a pal. I should just pull out, that's all. I warn you, though, that if our ways parted and you went yours, I should do what I could to keep Mr. Laurie out of your path."

"You'd try the patience of Job, Cronin."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," snarled Alf. "You're just doing this whole thing to be cussed. You know you've got me where I can't stir hand or foot. I was a fool ever to have got mixed up with such a white-livered, puling baby. I might have known you hadn't an ounce of sand."

"Take care, Sullivan," cautioned Cronin in a low, tense voice.

"But hang it all--why do you want to balk and torment me so?"

"I ain't balking and tormenting you."

"Yes, you are. You're just pulling the other way from sheer contrariness. Why can't you be decent and come across?"

"Haven't I been decent?" Cronin answered. "Haven't I fallen in with every idea you've suggested? You've had your way fully and freely. I haven't stood out for a single thing but this, have I?"

"N--o. But----"

"Well, why not give in and let me have this one thing as I want it? It don't amount to much, one way or the other. The boy is sickly and isn't likely to live long at best."

"But I can't for the life of me see why you should be so keen on sparing him. What is he to you?"

Cronin hesitated; then in a very low voice he said:

"Once, two years ago, my little kid got out of the yard and unbeknown to his mother wandered down by the river. We hunted high and low for him and were well-nigh crazy, for he's all the child we have, you know.

It seems Mr. Laurie was riding along the sh.o.r.e in his automobile and he spied the baby creeping out on the thin ice. He stopped his car and called to the little one and coaxed him back until the chauffeur could get to him and lift him aboard the car. Then they fetched the child to the village, hunted up where he lived, and brought him home to his mother. I--I've never forgotten it and I shan't."

"That was mighty decent of Mr. Laurie--mighty decent," Sullivan admitted slowly. "I've got a kid at home myself."

For a few moments neither man spoke; then Sullivan continued in quick, brisk fas.h.i.+on, as if he were trying to banish some reverie that plagued him:

"Well, have your way. We'll leave Mr. Laurie out of this altogether."

"Thank you, Alf."

Sullivan paid no heed to the interruption.

"Now let's can all this twaddle and get down to work," he said sharply.

"We've wasted too much time squabbling over that miserable cripple.

Let's brace up and make our plans. You are for destroying the mills, eh?"

"It's the only thing that will be any use, it seems to me," Cronin replied. "If the mills are blown up, it will not only serve as a warning to the Fernalds but it will mean the loss of a big lot of money. They will rebuild, of course, but it will take time, and in the interval everything will be at a standstill."

"It will throw several hundred men out of work," Sullivan objected.

"That can't be helped," retorted Cronin. "They will get out at least with their lives and will be almighty thankful for that. They can get other jobs, I guess. But even if they are out of work, I figure some of them won't be so sorry to see the Fernalds get what's coming to them,"

chuckled Cronin.

"You're right there, Jim!"

"I'll bet I am!" cried Cronin.

"Then your notion would be to plant time bombs at the factories so they will go off in the night?"

"Yes," confessed Cronin, a shadow of regret in his tone. "That will carry off only a few watchmen and engineers. Mighty tough luck for them."

"It can't be helped," Sullivan said ruthlessly. "You can't expect to carry through a thing of this sort without some sacrifice. All we can do is to believe that the end justifies the means. It's a case of the greatest good to the greatest number."

"I--suppose--so."

"Well, then, why hesitate?"

"I ain't hesitating," announced Cronin quickly. "I just happened to remember Maguire. He's one of the night watchmen at the upper mill and a friend of mine."

"But we can't remember him, Cronin," Sullivan burst out. "It is unlucky that he chances to be on duty, of course; but that is his misfortune.

We'd spare him if we could."

"I know, I know," Cronin said. "It's a pitiless business." Then, as if his last feeble compunction vanished with the words, he added, "It's to be the mills, then."

"Yes. We seem to be agreed on that," Sullivan replied eagerly. "I have everything ready and I don't see why we can't go right ahead to-night and plant the machines with their fuses timed for early morning. I guess we can sneak into the factories all right--you to the upper mill and I to the lower. If you get caught you can say you are hunting for Maguire; and if I do--well, I must trust to my wits to invent a story.

But they won't catch me. I've never been caught yet, and I have handled a number of bigger jobs than this one," concluded he with pride.

"Anything more you want to say to me?" asked Cronin.

"No, I guess not. I don't believe I need to hand you any advice. Just stiffen up, that's all. Anything you want to say to me?"

"No. I shan't worry my head about you, you old fox. You're too much of a master hand," Cronin returned, with an inflection that sounded like a grin. "I imagine you can hold up your end."

"I rather imagine I can," drawled Sullivan.

"Then if there's nothing more to be said, I move we start back to town.

It must be late," Cronin a.s.serted.

"It's black enough to be midnight," grumbled Sullivan. "We'd best go directly to our houses--I to mine and you to yours. The explosives and bombs I'll pack into two grips. Yours I'll hide in your back yard underneath that boat. How'll that be?"

"O. K."

"You've got it straight in your head what you are to do?"

"Yes."

"And I can count on you?"

"Sure!"

"Then let's be off."