Part 7 (1/2)

Hiram's days were full of things to do, therefore we never had ten minutes' connected conversation. I would have been glad to learn the situation inside the fellow's active mind. I don't think he knew. He was doing honest, useful work, and received its immediate reward in full satisfaction--his first real satisfaction--that intoxicating lure that fans a spark of ambition into a flame.

Later in the day, at a hint from Hiram, the conductor of a refrigerator train invited me to ride to New Orleans with him.

”He makes better time than the pa.s.senger,” said Hiram, who in less than a week knew all the road employees by their first names. Somehow he took it for granted that I had satisfactory employment and never asked me what it was. As a matter of fact I was employed in connection with the American Defense League, a patriotic organization, which was destined to throw me in contact with Hiram Strong very often and sometimes unexpectedly. Ours was not the kind of friends.h.i.+p to end through mere separation.

We exchanged letters frequently. He asked me to send him a typewriter, which, though not required in the service, was ”the only way to do things right,” he wrote me. I noted that his letters avoided any reference to the night man or Anna Bell Morgan. I wondered if it was an oversight or intentional evasion.

The Yazoo Railroad had reported, as required by law, that they had s.h.i.+pped ten cases of dynamite, but only nine were delivered. As soon as I had time I was asked to look it up, as fifty pounds of dynamite in bad hands would make a great deal of excitement in or about the s.h.i.+pping of New Orleans.

I was astonished to find, upon examination of the papers, that the explosive had been s.h.i.+pped to the quarries at Quarrytown, together with an affidavit by the train conductor that he had delivered ten cases on the platform there. This put it squarely up to the agent, Hiram Strong, Jr.

On arriving at Quarrytown I found Hiram as busy as ever, but overjoyed to see me. He was considerably surprised when I inquired about the lost dynamite, but he was not worried and evidently had not been. He was looking splendid; hard work and regular hours had accomplished wonders, and he seemed completely unmindful of discomforts. As to the explosive, he took me out on the platform to where it had been unloaded.

”It came here,” said he, ”in the evening, along with half a car of mixed merchandise about the time I was going off duty. I had to work overtime to put it all in the freight house. The next morning the quarry man came for it and signed for the nine cases which I had delivered to him.

That's all I could find and I believe that is all that was unloaded, although the way bill called for ten,” he admitted.

”The stuff was locked up, wasn't it?” I enquired.

”Oh, yes, I locked the warehouse myself, and carry the only keys,” he replied, as we returned to his office.

The place looked to me darker and more dingy than before, but the day was gloomy. The rickety kitchen chair had finally collapsed and was subst.i.tuted by a box covered with a burlap bag, with some padding on the end for a cus.h.i.+on.

”How about this door?” I asked, pointing to the one leading into the freight house.

”That has no lock, but I never leave here until the night man comes on.

It couldn't get away through here.”

”How about this night man; who is he?”

”He's been here for two years. The company must know he is all right.

His name is Gus--Gus Schlegel. I think he is too stupid to be crooked; he knows enough to report trains at night.”

At that moment a dark boy came to the ticket window and reported three cars of granite on the quarry siding, and Hiram sat down on the burlapped box in front of his instruments and notified the dispatcher that three cars were ready. He then took up a pad of blank bills of lading and began to fill them out rapidly, though in the att.i.tude of listening.

”One of your chairs went on strike?” I observed, eyeing the artistic arrangement of the burlap.

”Yes; Gus's avoirdupois finally carried it down. He found an old mola.s.ses box that was so sticky he had to cover it with burlap. I believe I like it better than the chair; it requires less room,” he added, looking up, while changing his carbon paper.

The thought occurred to me that it might be the missing case of dynamite, but I decided that was quite impossible. If Gus had really driven nails into a case filled with dynamite, he would be at that moment in Kingdom Come and an architect busy with plans for a new station.

”How is his love affair progressing with Anna Bell Morgan?” I asked, without great show of interest.

”Oh, I know she hates his name, and I think--I think she hates him, too; but these Southern girls are so polite and considerate of one's feelings, I can't tell for sure; besides, she is pretty deep,” said he, as one having given the matter much consideration.

Hiram scratched a match on the burlap covering and lit a cigarette.

”He both sleeps and eats there, doesn't he?” I was beginning to consider Gus Schlegel in connection with the disappearance of the case of explosive.

”Yes, he eats and rooms there, but lately he doesn't sleep much. Why, he came in here the other afternoon and sat where you are and cried like a baby. He said he didn't think she cared anything for him, and that he loved her so much he couldn't live without her--even hinted at suicide.”