Part 38 (1/2)
The other's smile was peculiarly irritating.
”Oh, indeed yes! We expect to make the trip quite an elaborate excursion.
Sorry I can't ask you to join us on the homeward voyage, but--” he shrugged his fat shoulders. ”Run in and see me before you leave. I may be able to give you some pointers.”
”Thank you. I hope you'll enjoy the summer up there in the wilderness. It will be a relief to get away from all conventions and restraints.”
The men extended their hands and the Trust's manager said, in final invitation, ”Drop in on me any day at the office. I'm at the National Building.”
”Oh, you've moved, eh?” said Boyd, with a semblance of careless interest.
”Moved? No!”
”Indeed! I thought you were still at 610, Hotel Buller.” With a short laugh and a casual gesture of adieu he turned, leaving the manager of the Trust staring after him, an astonished pucker upon his womanish mouth, a vindictive glare in his eyes. Not until his rival had turned the corner did Willis Marsh remove his gaze. Then he found that he was trembling as if from weakness.
”The ruffian!” He reached into his pocket and produced a gold cigarette- case, repeatedly snapping the heavy sides together with vicious force.
When he attempted to light a match it broke in his fingers, then in a temper he threw the cigarette from him and hurried away, his plump face working, his lips drawn into a spiteful fold.
For the first time in a fortnight Boyd allowed himself the luxury of a long sleep, and a late breakfast on the following morning. But the meal came to an abrupt conclusion when Balt, who always arose with the sun, rushed in upon him and exclaimed:
”Hey! come on down to the dock, quick. There's h.e.l.l to pay!”
”What's up now?”
”Strike! The longsh.o.r.emen have walked out on us. I was on hand early to oversee the loading, but the whole mob refused to commence. There's some union trouble because _The Bedford Castle_ discharged her cargo with scab labor.”
”In Tacoma?”
”No. In Frisco; next to her last trip.”
”Why, that's ridiculous! What does Captain Peasley say?”
”He says--I'll have to wait till we're outside before I can repeat what he says.”
Together the two hurried to the water-front to find a crowd of surly stevedores loafing about the dock, and an English sea-captain at breakfast in his cabin, his attention divided equally between toast, tea, marmalade and profanity.
”The beggars are mad, absolutely mad,” declared the Captain. ”I can't understand it. I'm still in my bed when I'm aroused by an insolent loafer who calls himself a walking delegate and tells me his union won't load me until I pay some absurd sum.”
”What did you tell him?” inquired Emerson.
”What did I tell him?” Captain Peasley laid down his knife gently and wiped the tea from his drooping mustache, then squared about in his seat.
”Here's what I told him as near as my memory serves.” Whereupon he broke into a tornado of nautical profanity so picturesquely British in its figures, and so whole-souled in its vigor, that his auditors could not but smile. ”Then I bashed him with my boot, and b.l.o.o.d.y well pursued him over the rail. Two thousand dollars! Sweet mother of Queen Anne! Wouldn't I look well, now, handing four hundred pounds over to those highbinders? My owners would hang me.”
”So they demand two thousand dollars!”
”Yes! Just because of some bally rot about who may and who may not work for a living on the docks at Frisco.”