Part 18 (1/2)
”How has the _Voice of Labor_ made out?”
”It's made out--that's about all, Mr. Judson. Print paper's gone so high, that only the adver_tise_ments has made it go. We expect this special will net a neat sum.”
He jingled the Woodmen's emblem at the end of a thick gold chain, thoroughly satisfied with the world. There was an Odd Fellows' b.u.t.ton on his coat--fraternal orders strengthened his appeals for the paper.
”Pooley, how do you stand on this mining law down at Jackson?”
The lanky president of the State Federation twisted his lame leg more comfortably under him, and leaned forward, gesticulating diplomatically.
”It's both good and bad, Mr. Judson. Some of the boys is very strong for it. But I seen an editorial against it in the _Times-Dispatch_ last week. I figured you might not be for it.”
Paul cut through the verbal knot. ”How will the Federation go?”
The other shook his head. ”No telling. There's a few of them Socialists is delegates--they're for anything to stir up trouble; but n.o.body pays much attention to them. Then there is others. It'll be pretty even.”
”How would you feel if I took the front and back pages, Bivens?”
”That would be fine for both of us, sir.”
”Coming out editorially against that law?”
He wheezed deferentially. ”It has some bad flaws, sir. I figured on a write-up against it.”
”Make it strong, and I'll take the two pages.”
Bivens consulted with the other representative of labor. His eager eyes shone greedily. ”How would you like us to put you down, Mr. Judson, for the main speech of the convention? 'Proper Legal Safeguards in Mining,'
or something like that?... You know, the front and back pages is more expensive. Say five hundred for the two.”
Paul watched their well-fed, ever-hungry faces with mental nausea. ”All right.”
”You'll make the speech?”
He nodded. ”Don't forget the editorial.”
As they rose, he lifted his check book with studied obviousness. ”If those Socialists make trouble, find out what they want. If another advertis.e.m.e.nt will handle them----” He did not end the sentence.
He stared after their retreating figures. The spokesmen of labor! A herd of dumb, worthless brutes, led by pig-eyed greed! Promising material to have any say as to the destinies of a country!... Well, Pelham would learn.
Paul had a busy month of it. The mining was beginning to pay at last.
Two hundred more convicts, more than a hundred negro workers, had been added to the force in the third ramp; its output had begun to exceed the other two.
After he had purchased the ore lands lying on both sides of the former holding, he called Sam Ross, Dudley Randolph, and the Birrell-Florence representatives into conference. Randolph was the only one who held out, when a pool was proposed to cover prices and wages.
”I don't have trouble with my men, Judson; I don't want any. I'm with you in theory, but I can't see any advantage to me in that proposition.”
Paul then opened his alternate plan. The working out of the details took two weeks, but the result was the incorporation of the Birrell-Florence-Mountain Mining Company. Paul Judson's salary as managing vice-president was fifty thousand, in addition to what the dividends would bring.
He figured up the value of his stock. Unless it depreciated, he could get out--now--with five million dollars! And this was only the mining rights. He could afford to let Pelham play with a few fool notions, when things broke this way!
On his next conference with the son over progress at the works, well-planned hints gave Pelham the opening to learn of the invitation from John Pooley, and the father's acceptance. ”Of course, my opinions don't go as far as yours----”