El Diablo

  CHAPTER XVIII

  THE COST OF DEFEAT

  There are periods in every one's life when the standard measurements oftime are hopelessly inadequate fittingly to express its passing. Minutesmay creep, or they may fly. An hour stretches into a day or a daycontracts into an hour directly at the will of circumstance.

  Kenneth Gregory found this to be true during his period of convalescenceat the Lang cottage. As the days went by he found himself devising asimpler method for keeping track of time. There were hours when DickieLang was with him, and hours when she was not.

  His moments with the girl were always too short. And he was surprised tofind that they never appeared to lengthen. His interest in Dickie, hetold himself, was purely impersonal. She told him of just the things hedesired to hear most about. Kept him in touch with his world. Broughthim news each day from the cannery; the business for which he hungeredand fretted during each minute of his idle hours.

  It was Dickie Lang who had told him of the search which had been madefor Boris, a search which had ended in failure. The Russian had fled,leaving no trace of his whereabouts. Blagg also was missing, so nothingfurther could be learned from that source. Gossip had been rife in thefishing village over the sudden disappearance of the two men. Then thematter was apparently forgotten, giving place to the excitement causedby the installation of the first radio-set on one of the cannery fishingfleet.

  Gregory, who had given orders for a trial equipment before the accident,was elated to learn from the girl that the innovation was proving adistinct success. Other sets were installed and the practicability ofthe new idea was demonstrated beyond the shadow of a doubt. To quote thegirl, all she had to do was to "spot the fish, click out the signal andthe cannery boats would be round her like a flock of gulls."

  Mascola, she told Gregory, had regarded the new departure, at theoutset, as something of a joke. Rock too had ridiculed the idea openly.But when the cannery fleet got fish while the Italian's boats came inbut scantily-laden, Mascola's laugh changed to a scowl and Rock's flabbyforehead was creased with worried lines.

  With the aid of the radio the "patchy" schools along the coast had beenfished to good advantage while Mascola's fleet were forced to cruise asfar as Diablo and San Anselmo in order to obtain fish enough to supplythe rival cannery.

  From McCoy's occasional visits Gregory had learned that the plant wasrunning to its full capacity. Upon the subject, however, of sales andorders, the house-manager was extremely reticent.

  So it was that Gregory passed the long days of his confinement,rejoicing with Dickie Lang over the growing success of the outside endand worrying over McCoy's evasion when he was questioned concerning thedisposition of the finished product. And all the while longing for thetime to come when he would be permitted to get back into the harness.

  "There's no use letting you go with instructions to take it easy,"Doctor Kent had said. "I know your kind. When I turn you out I want youto be going strong."

  In that opinion, Aunt Mary concurred. But the time came at last whenGregory was permitted to leave the Lang cottage and return to thecannery. Fearing a reversal of the verdict rendered in his favor, he setout at once. At some distance from the cannery he stopped and inhaledthe fish-laden atmosphere with a singing heart. Once, he remembered, theodor had sickened him. Now it came like a breath from Heaven. It stirredhis soul, quickened his pulse. He sucked in the tinctured air greedily.It was life itself. A life that was full and free, teeming withopportunity, filled with work and fight.

  "Long on fish, but short on sales."

  Gregory expressed the state of his business with blunt accuracy as hestood with McCoy in the crowded warehouse.

  McCoy admitted the truth of the owner's statement.

  "We didn't want to worry you while you were sick," he explained, "butyou can see just where we stand. Something has sure gone wrong with theselling end. Dick's getting the fish. I'm canning them. But we can'tsell them."

  "What's the matter with the Western people?" Gregory asked quickly. "Ithought they were strong for us."

  McCoy shrugged. "So did I," he answered. "But a few days after you gothurt they quit us cold with no explanation. When we fell down on thatfirst big order of albacore, Winfield & Camby lost interest and Ihaven't been able to get a flutter out of them since. The other dealersseem to be afraid of us for some reason. They come down and look usover, but that is all."

  McCoy scowled at the huge stacks of shining tins and shook his head."It's got me," he admitted. "We're putting out a first-class article butwe can't unload it. I've got a hunch somebody's plugging against us."Noting the worried lines which were finding their way to Gregory's faceat his words, he went on hastily:

  "I'm sorry to have you come back into such a tangle as this. I did mybest but you see I didn't have a minute to get out and take care of thesales."

  "Don't say a word, Jack," Gregory interrupted. "You've done more thanyour part. Every man of you and every woman too," he added quickly."I'll never forget it. This part of the game is up to me. I'm feelingfit now. Keen to get going. I want to look things over for a few minutesin the office. Then I'll talk with you again and let you know what I'mgoing to do first."

  A careful examination of his finances convinced Gregory of theseriousness of the situation. There was only one thing to be done. Hemust visit the jobbers at once.

  He paused abruptly in his calculations at the staccato bark of ahigh-powered motor. Mascola, he thought, as he rose and walked to thewindow. What he saw through the glass caused him to stand staring.Speeding through the dancing waters of the sunlit bay came aspeed-launch, heading in the direction of the cannery wharf. But it wasnot the _Fuor d'Italia_. His eyes followed the course of the oncomingstranger and a worried frown leaped to his brow. It couldn't be that JoeBarrows had completed the _Richard_ already. He glanced at the calendarand his frown deepened. In all probability it was his boat. And if so,where was he going to get the money to pay for it?

  He walked to the wharf and with narrowing eyes watched the stranger'sapproach. Something wrong somewhere, he reasoned. He had ordered aspeed-boat. One that would beat Mascola's. A craft with real lines andbird-like grace like the _Fuor d'Italia_. The oncoming launch, heobserved bitterly, was the direct antithesis of his expectations. Surelythere could be no speed in that squatty packet with her sagging bow andqueer looking box-affair for a stern.

  The strange craft drew abreast of the wharf and whirled about in awave-washed circle. The motor hummed with contentment and the hull sanksullenly into the water as the man at the wheel guided the boat in thedirection of the float. Then Gregory caught sight of the letters paintedon the side:

  RICHARD

  "Can you tell me where I can find Mr. Gregory?"

  The man in the boat looked up questioningly.

  Gregory walked slowly to the float.

  "I'm Mr. Gregory," he answered lifelessly. "I was almost wishing Iwasn't if that's the launch I ordered."

  The driver of the craft rested his arms on the big steering wheel andlaughed outright.

  "Don't like her, eh?" he grinned.

  "Can't say that I do," Gregory answered. "It looks to me like Mr.Barrows misunderstood my orders."

  The stranger's face grew instantly serious.

  "You wanted a sea-going craft which could stand rough water and beat the_Fuor d'Italia_ we built for Mascola," he said slowly. "And you left thelines and everything else entirely up to us. Is that right?"

  Gregory nodded. Then a gleam of hope lighted his eye.

  "You think this one will fill the bill?" he questioned.

  "If she doesn't, it's up to us," the man answered. Noting the skepticallook in Gregory's face, he went on: "Don't make the mistake of trying tojudge a boat from the dock, Mr. Gregory. 'You can't tell by the looks ofa frog how far he can jump,' or how fast either. Barrows has been at thegame long enough to quit guessing. When he tackles a proposition likeyours, he wants your money, not your boat. I came down this
morning totake you out for a trial. Then if there's anything you want changed wecan fix it up before we turn her over to you to beat Mascola. If you canspare the time I'll take you back with me to Port Angeles. That willgive you a good chance to see her perform in rough water as it's blowingup nasty off the breakwater."

  Gregory's face cleared. The suggestion had two-fold value. By actingupon it at once he could combine business with pleasure. Visit thejobbers in the city and at the same time test out the launch.

  "I'll be ready in half an hour," he answered.

  The boatman nodded. "I'll run down-town," he said, "and get a bite toeat. Don't forget to bring a rain-coat with you. You're liable to getwet."

  Gregory promised and hurried away. In the cannery he found McCoy andoutlined his plans.

  McCoy objected. "Better take it easy for a day or two," he counseled."No use trying to hit the ball too hard at the start."

  Gregory smiled brightly. "I'm feeling like a king, Mac," he said. "I'llfind out what the trouble is with the jobbers and be back sometimeto-morrow."

  Seeing that his advice was futile, McCoy left to put up a few sampleswhile his employer hurried into the office. Gregory turned at once tohis desk. As he prepared the quotations for submission to the jobbers, acheery voice interrupted him in his work.

  "Welcome home."

  In the doorway stood Dickie Lang.

  He jumped hastily to his feet and put out his hands.

  "Oh, if you only knew how good it was to be back," he began. Then, as henoticed the girl's rapid change of expression at his words, he hastenedto amend: "I don't mean I was glad to leave your house. I wasn't. It'sthe only home I've known for a long time. I was only trying to say howglad I am to be able to get back to work."

  Dickie smiled at his enthusiasm.

  "I know," she said. "It's wonderful you were able to get back so soon."

  Soon the talk turned to business and Gregory explained his plans forvisiting Port Angeles. Like McCoy, Dickie voiced her objections, butwith more vehemence. Seeing at last, however, that the young man couldnot be talked out of it, she exclaimed:

  "Never let on to Aunt Mary that I knew you were going or she never wouldforgive me. She's kind of adopted you and she told me to look out foryou."

  Soon they were discussing the new speed-boat and its practicability atthe present time should it be proved a success.

  "Mascola ran across our trammels this morning with a dragnet," the girlexplained. "If you had had that boat, you might have stopped them. He'sgetting pretty ugly lately and last night his men tried to crowd oursoff the beach with their seine. If they try it again, there'll betrouble."

  Remembering Gregory's object in going to the city, Dickie suggested:

  "While you're in Port Angeles you might look in at the fresh fishmarkets and find out what's the matter with them, too. They are badenough at best, but they've been getting worse for a long time. Now theyare hardly yielding us enough to pay to ship."

  Gregory promised and looking at his watch, saw he would have to leave atonce.

  "I wish you could go up there with me," he exclaimed. "Why couldn't you?I'll wait."

  A smile flashed to the girl's lips, then disappeared on the instant. "Itwouldn't be proper," she said gravely. "Port Angeles is a city andpeople look at things differently in cities. Aunt Mary would havenervous prostration if I even suggested it."

  McCoy walked with Dickie Lang to the dock to bid Gregory _bon voyage_and wish him luck on his mission. Then they caught sight of the launchnearing the float and their disappointment registered in their faces.Gregory drew the girl aside.

  "You have the same idea about her that I had," he said. "But don'tworry. Barrows' man, I guess, knows what he's talking about and if shedoesn't make good I don't take her." Lowering his voice so that onlyDickie could hear, he met her eyes. "You'll notice," he said, "that Inamed her Richard. But as boats are always called 'she,' you willunderstand that means 'Dickie.'"

  Before the girl could recover from her surprise he hurried away anddropped into the seat beside the driver. As the boatman threw in theclutch and the launch shot out into the stream, Gregory looked back atthe wharf and noted that Dickie Lang's cheeks were red beneath her tan.And Jack McCoy, though he said nothing as he walked with the girl alongthe dock, wondered what the boss could have said to make Dick blush likethat.