Elizabeth Hobart at Exeter Hall

Raffelo Bruno, the little hunchback shoemaker, opened his eyes to the truth. He was by nature suspicious. He had faith in no man. When the summons came to O’Day, Raffelo quit his bench and made his way to the saloon. His dark, swarthy face, with stubby beard, was twisted and contorted. He gesticulated continuously, sawing the air with his hands. “Ye-s – Joe Ratowsky, he run and tell ze – ze. He ees – one – fool. He ze monkee on ze stick. Mees-ter Ho-bart, he meek hims – jump.”

The suggestion was enough. Joe was the tool of someone, and that someone was Superintendent Hobart; such was the idea the Italian meant to convey. O’Day in forcible terms cursed himself that he had not seen this before. It was evident enough now. Mr. Hobart, as superintendent, dare not antagonize the drink-indulging miners with open warfare against the saloon. Joe was his tool, carrying out his plans. Joe Ratowsky with his smattering of English did not know enough to make himself a formidable enemy. Some keen mind with a knowledge of the liquor law was the power back of the Pole. The coffee-house and reading-room which Joe had opened were mere subterfuges to draw the men away from the saloon. The man could not and did not make enough to keep himself and family in the poor way they lived.

It was clear enough to O’Day now, though he ridiculed Bruno for suggesting that Mr. Hobart interested himself in such matters.

The summons was served in October. O’Day appeared before the November court. They might have brought half a dozen different counts against him, but they did not. The prosecuting attorney, with great confidence in his own judgment, had drawn up the papers specifically charging Dennis O’Day with selling to minors. He had evidence sufficient on that one count to have his license revoked.

The trial passed off quickly. Four boys, not over sixteen, testified that Dennis O’Day himself had sold liquor to them, not once but many times. It was proof positive without Joe Ratowsky giving his testimony.

O’Day himself sat hunched up in the prisoners’ dock, glinting his keen eyes about from witness to juror. When the witnesses had testified against him, his attorney brought forth, in turn, the father of each boy, who declared that he had personally given the saloonist permission to sell liquor to his son. By this the Minor Liquor Law was, in effect, circumvented. That each father was the richer by some of O’Day’s money was generally supposed. But that was not the issue at hand. The case was dismissed. O’Day went back to Bitumen wiser in that he knew whom to fear, and with the privilege of freely selling to the young boys who had testified against him.

Though to all appearances the matter ended here, the fight had just begun.

It would have been impossible for anyone, except O’Day, to tell just how the trouble began. But before a month had passed, there arose a feeling of dissatisfaction among the miners. It could be felt rather than expressed. Where once every Slav and Pole smiled at the mention of the boss’s name, now there was only silence, a silence ominous to those who knew the signs. Joe Ratowsky understood and went at midnight to ask Mr. Hobart to go away somewhere for a time, until the discontent passed. But Mr. Hobart was not one to leave his work because a man of Dennis O’Day’s stamp saw fit to disapprove of him. If there was trouble brewing, there was all the more reason for him to stand at his post. He laughed at Ratowsky’s fears, and encouraged him to think that half the discontent among the men was of his own imagination.

A series of accidents, or what passed as such, began immediately after Dennis O’Day was acquitted.

The cable, which drew the coal cars up the incline, broke, letting them fall back at break-neck speed against the engine-house. Fortunately it occurred at a time when the men were not riding up the incline, so no lives were lost. This accident was the subject of discussion that night at “The Miner’s Rest.” O’Day was over-solicitous about the welfare of the men. He criticised corporations which risked the lives of the workmen for the sake of saving. “Anyone could see the cable was weak in spots,” he said. “It wasn’t a week ago that I walked up the incline – wouldn’t trust myself to such a rotten chain. A new cable costs, of course, and the company used the old one till it fell to pieces. They hain’t risking their lives. What does it matter to them if a few Slavs and Polacks hand in their checks? Huns and Dagos are thick as blackberries in June, and about as valuable.”

At his words the men about the tables scowled. It mattered to them if a few lives were lost, providing their own were among them.

“I wish I had the corporations by the throat,” added O’Day vehemently, all the while watching the effect of his words upon his hearers. He could read these people like an open book, and he was keen enough to know when it was wise to stop talking and when continue. “I’d choke them into taking care of the men’s lives. You’re all just so many cattle to them. A Hun isn’t so much to them as a cow, and they would see you all in perdition rather than lose a good mule.”

The faces about him were scowling and malignant. Each man was ready to believe all evil against that great and incomprehensible body known as a corporation. They had heard the war-cry between capital and labor dinned into their ears since the day they set foot upon American soil. It meant nothing to them that their teachers were always men like O’Day, who, while lining their own pockets with the laborers’ earnings, cry out against the men who are getting more, though lawfully. It never came to their untrained minds that O’Day proved nothing. He said so, that was enough. O’Day listened to the muttered growls of dissatisfaction.

“But, I suppose,” he continued hypocritically, “that we shouldn’t blame the men who have put their money in the mines. They are only wanting a fair interest on their investment. That’s only right. No doubt they send money enough right into Bitumen to have things kept up first-class, better houses for the miners, and cables that don’t break. I’m thinking there hain’t one of those big ones in the city who knows how poor you men live, how little you get, and how you risk your lives every day you work. How should they know? They spend money enough to have things fine.” Then he added, “They hain’t to blame if the men they’ve put in charge hain’t honest.”

That was enough for one night. O’Day, still discreet and tactful, dropped the subject. Not so with the men. They rolled the idea about until it grew into immense proportions. A week passed, and yet they talked. If there had been one among them fitted to lead, there would have been open trouble. There was no one. Bruno had daring and sagacity enough, but he was an Italian – a Dago, in common parlance, and the Slavs and Poles hated the Dagos worse than they hated the smallpox.

Sometime later a small stationary engine blew up; and Colowski was hit on the head by a piece of flying iron. Ellis, the engineer, insisted that he was not careless. He had kept his steam-register down to one hundred and fifty pounds when the limit was three hundred. Superintendent Hobart was about to discharge him when Joe Ratowsky appeared.

“It’s the tivil’s own work, b’gosh, Meester Hobart. Gerani, he comes and he fools with the little boiler-clock. Me come like the tivil, b’gosh, or me could have stopped it quick.” He had picked up the steam-register and was holding it in his hand. It was what he called the boiler-clock. It had been hurled a great distance but yet remained whole.

Mr. Hobart took it from Joe’s hand to examine it. He had given little credence to Ratowsky’s words. He whistled softly to himself as he examined the register. He began to believe the Pole right. Affairs at Bitumen were assuming a serious aspect.

O’Day’s acquittal had taught him one lesson – to be prepared for any emergency. For that reason, he handed the register to Ellis. “Look closely at that,” he said. “There’s evidence enough there to free you from blame. But I wish you and Joe to see this for yourselves and not take my word for it.”

Ellis, too, whistled when he examined the register. Little wonder that he had not been able to put on a full head of steam. A strong but almost invisible steel rod had been driven in the face of the register at such a point that the hand moving under the pressure of steam would stop at the one-hundred-and-fifty-pound mark.

“It couldn’t have been driven there by the explosion?” asked Ellis.

“Impossible. We haven’t a steel brad like that about the place, and never have had. Joe saw Gerani prowling about before you came.”

“And I saw him leave, Mr. Hobart. I went up to Bruno’s shack to have my shoes fixed, and I came down over the hill instead of the usual way by the road. Gerani was just going up as I came down.”

Mr. Hobart made no further comment. But from that time Gerani was watched closely. Joe Ratowsky, while seemingly doing nothing but attend his little lunch-counter, shadowed the man. He knew when Gerani came and went. There was proof enough that he had been interfering with the engine. But it was not he alone whom Mr. Hobart wished to reach. It was the man back of the act who had sent the Pole to do the work.

The superintendent thought at first of dismissing Gerani. But this might bring on more serious complications. His fellow-workmen might object – the Huns and Poles, at least. The Italians were not in the mines but were employed about the dumps, and on the road which wound about the mountain. It was Joe again who thought of a means of subduing Gerani. He had heard enough of O’Day’s covert suggestion that he could tell much that Gerani dreaded. Joe undertook the same stratagem. One stormy night he met Gerani on his way home. Catching him by his sleeve, he detained him long enough to say in his native tongue, “I’ve a word to say to you in secret, brother. O’Day is not the only one that knows about the Dago. The superintendent, he knows, too; but he keeps quiet because you are a good miner when you are not drunk, brother. So a word of warning. Keep friends with Mr. Hobart, and whatever happens, don’t let it come to his ears that Gerani went up at daylight to work at the engine. Just a word of warning, brother, all given in good faith, and for the sake of the land from which we came.”

That was all. Joe Ratowsky strode on through the darkness without giving the other time to respond. In his own tongue, his speech was impressive. He saw now, from the frightened expression of Gerani’s face, that his words had struck home.

The next morning, the big Pole was not at the mines, nor did he come to draw the pay due him. Joe Ratowsky chuckled to himself when several days passed. “Gerani – oh – he all right. We no fear him. Me scare him like the tivil, b’gosh.”

Mr. Hobart rested easy again with Gerani at a distance and afraid of him. But men of O’Day’s stamp can readily find tools to their need.

There was a week or more of quiet, then the engine and one car, which went down the mountain each morning to bring back the mail, was derailed at the second switchback and crashed into a forest of big oaks. The car was empty, and the train, being on the second switch, was moving backward. The rear end of the coach was crushed but the engine and engineer escaped unhurt.

“Gerani,” said Mr. Hobart when he heard the news, but Ratowsky shook his head in negation. “You no see him no more. He be bad man at Bitumen no more, b’gosh.” Then Joe laughed heartily and slapped his broad limbs with his hand. He never lost his first appreciation of the manner in which he had settled Gerani’s interference. There had been a gang of a dozen Italians somewhere along the road, but they had neither seen nor heard anyone.

For several weeks communication between Bitumen and the rest of the world was cut off. It was then that Joe Ratowsky walked to the foot of the hill to telegraph Elizabeth to remain at Exeter. And the day following he called upon her, with a letter, putting the best construction he could upon the road being disabled.

There was a little mule-driver in the mines who bore the euphonious name of Ketchomunoski. He ate much wienerwurst and drank beer freely, and on holidays devoured, at one sitting, a half-dozen loaves of bread, the centers of which had been previously dug out and filled with melted lard. He visited “The Miners’ Rest” and reeled home to his shack at a late hour. All these are mere preliminary details to the statement that his nerves were growing irritable, and his temper uncertain. He beat one mule until it was forced to return disabled to the barn, and a few days later mistreated a second until it was worthless and the boss in a humane spirit had the animal shot.

For such cases a precedent had long been established. The boy deserved to be discharged at once, and discharged he was. Had conditions been normal, discharging a mule-driver would have been of so little moment it would have passed without comment. But O’Day’s quiet work had not been without its effect.

The same evening, a delegation of miners waited upon Mr. Hobart. Ketchomunoski was to be put back or the rest of them would go out. Mr. Hobart listened to their terms. He considered the question before replying. Again he felt certain that another brain had put the plan in operation. After deliberation, he spoke to them plainly. Such a movement on their part was ill-advised. First, the largest orders for the year had already been filled, and enough coal was at the dumps and in cars at the foot of the mountain to fill the orders which came in month by month. So far as The Kettle Creek Mining Company and its patrons were concerned, the mines could shut down until spring; as to the miners, they knew that they had neither money nor food to supply them for a month.

He tried to reason with them; but the Hungarians and Polack miners know no reason. Mr. Hobart’s present method of talking with them, to their way of thinking, betokened not sound common sense and judgment, but fear.

They blustered and threatened and defied. At this, Mr. Hobart arose, declaring that they might take what course they would, he could not return Ketchomunoski to work. The delegation, expressing their anger in strong words, departed. Mr. Hobart immediately sent word to Ratowsky, Ellis and half a dozen other men whom he knew would stand by him. Together they talked over the situation, cleaned their firearms, and then sent Ratowsky, by moonlight, down the mountain to purchase and bring back a supply of ammunition.

By the following evening the strike at Bitumen was on.

CHAPTER XI.

THE PROUD, HUMBLED

After the midwinter holidays, the question of conducting examinations came up. Dr. Kitchell had decided that, in view of Miss Hobart’s refusing to take the examination, she could not enter his classes again until she had explained matters to Dr. Morgan and secured permission from her. Elizabeth dreaded talking matters over with Dr. Morgan no more than with her father. Upon her return to Exeter, she immediately visited the president’s office, and explained why she had refused to take the examination. Dr. Morgan was in a lenient frame of mind. She not only forgave Elizabeth her hasty act, but took time to explain to her that this was a custom old as examinations themselves, and a necessity. The explanation satisfied Elizabeth’s wounded feelings but did not alter her view of the method. She told Dr. Morgan of the conference the girls had held in her room the night before the holidays and of the plan they had formed which, with the permission of the principal, they meant to carry out.

Dr. Morgan listened to the plan as Elizabeth gave it in detail, then replied: “This much can be said of the plan, Miss Hobart. If it proves a success, it will be a benefit to the students and the school. If it fails, we are just where we were before – nothing gained or lost. You may try it. But just a word of advice. Select as your leaders girls in whom the others have confidence; those who may be trusted to do right; however unpleasant it may be. Young girls may laugh at and seemingly admire a smart bravado of manner and sly deceit, but when it comes to being led, they want none of these. A dozen trustworthy agents will be worth more than a hundred who are not.”

Such advice Miss Cresswell had given Elizabeth the evening of the meeting. She had already acted upon it according to her best lights, though it was no easy matter to decide whom to choose. She and her friends worked slowly. They wished the reformation to be the outcome of deliberate thought, rather than of impetuous emotion.

Nora O’Day was one of its staunch supporters. At every opportunity she advocated the acceptance of the new school creed which Elizabeth and Miss Cresswell had drawn up. Considering the part which she had played in the examinations the previous spring, her present position was a difficult one. She knew that her strenuous efforts were looked upon by some with suspicion. But she continued. She might have become discouraged had she not known that Miss Cresswell and Elizabeth both understood.

Since that night before the holidays when she had told Elizabeth the cause of her social ostracism, no mention had been made of the subject. There had been no change in Elizabeth’s manner toward her. Nora began to believe that Elizabeth cared enough for her to forgive. Her greatest proof of love for Elizabeth was giving her the essays and theses which had been her mother’s. The memory of this mother was the only bit of real sentiment that had ever come into the girl’s life. She was fond of her father for he had always been kind to her. As a child, she had idolized him. But as she grew old enough to learn what character meant, the childish faith died. She could not put the feeling into words. She was scarcely conscious that her attitude toward him had changed. But at Exeter she had learned to blush at the way in which his wealth had been gained. She spoke of him, but never of his business. She looked upon the simple gifts and loving letters which Elizabeth received from home with a feeling very much like envy.

Before the Easter holidays, Mrs. Hobart sent Elizabeth a simple school suit of her own making. Joe Ratowsky carried it down to Exeter. So many accidents had occurred on the dinky-road that it had been abandoned until spring. The mines were closed; and the operators were making no effort to open them.

Nora was in the room when Elizabeth spread out her new frock on the bed.

“Look at the button-holes!” Elizabeth exclaimed. “Mother always did make beautiful button-holes. And here,” seizing a smaller bundle and unwrapping it, “if she hasn’t embroidered me two lay-over collars to go with it! Mother always seems to know what I want.”

She was already before the mirror laying the bits of embroidered linen in place to see if they fitted.

Her companion stood by, looking on. She had made no comment. Her expression was not cheerful. Turning suddenly about, Elizabeth saw the dubious look.

“You don’t like it?” she cried. Then, “I suppose it does look very cheap beside yours, but – ” There was no complaint in her tone.

“Cheap? I wasn’t thinking of that. I was only wishing I had one made as that was made, by someone who took the trouble because they cared for me.” Her voice was tearful. In a moment she might have been crying, but she hurried to her own room. Her new spring dress had come the day before. She had spread it out on the couch to show Elizabeth, and it still lay there. She took it up in her hands, inspecting with care every hook and bit of trimming. It was beautifully made and of handsome material. But Nora O’Day was not satisfied. She missed more and more the mother she had never known. She coveted the plain, simple gown which loving hands had made for her friend.

Elizabeth wasted no time in putting her frock into use. Dressing immediately, she went over to Landis’ room to talk over the plan of examinations. Landis had been one of the last interviewed. She was not what might be called a “charter member.” Therefore, it was not surprising that she had not shown a great amount of enthusiasm when the matter was broached to her. Playing second fiddle did not suit her ambitious temperament. She had promised to consider the matter.

That promise had been given a week previously. Elizabeth, who decided most questions upon the spur of the moment, thought a week was sufficient. Upon entering Miss Stoner’s room, she put the question at once.

“Well, Landis, what are you going to do about joining us?”

Landis looked serious. She sat silent for a few minutes, her gaze fixed upon a design in the rug, as though she wished to consider well before replying. At last she spoke and her voice expressed self-confidence and authority.

“You know me well enough, Elizabeth, to know that I’m always on the side of what is right. I have thought the matter over and have decided that it is worthy of success. I do hope it will succeed. That, of course, depends upon those who are backing it. Yet I can not put my name to it. Now,” with a serious and most impressive air such as Landis only could assume, “do not misunderstand me. It is not that I do not approve of your plan, think it needed and all that, but there is a personal reason why I feel that I cannot join the movement.”

“Why, – because you feel that you can not live up to the requirements?” was the brusque question.

“Hardly. I fancy I do whatever I make up my mind to do. I’m sure living up to the requirements would be doing just as I have always done.”

“Then what is it?”

Again Landis looked serious. Her expression was that of one who could tell much if they would. Her habit of seeming to weigh her words gave them undue value. Her hearers expected her to express lofty sentiments.

“I hesitated about speaking of the matter to anyone. It is so easy to be misunderstood. I would not have anyone think me a cad; but there are some among your signers whom I object to. I wouldn’t care to have my name appear there with that of another girl whom I have in mind.”

To Elizabeth who blurted out everything, and who was frank and out-spoken, there was nothing more distasteful than insinuations.

“Whom do you mean, Landis?”

“It is not necessary to say,” was the response. “I mentioned the fact only to let you understand that it was not the policy to which I objected. As I said before, I am on the side of right. I wish my influence always to be for good.”

“But it is necessary to tell. The girls who signed that first petition to Dr. Morgan are friends of mine. They are girls who stand well in school, and they’re popular, every one of them. You cannot make such a statement and think that I’m going to let it pass. I’m not. You’ve insinuated something against either me or my friends, and you must come straight out and say what it is.”

Min, who had been sitting by the window mending a pair of old gloves for Landis, gave a nervous giggle. Any little unpleasantness was painful to her. She stopped sewing to listen to the conversation between the girls. Landis was not nonplussed, whatever the circumstances. She was not offended now by Elizabeth’s words, but was surprised. She appeared shocked that Elizabeth should be crude enough to show vehemence.

“What a little spitfire you are, Elizabeth! When you’re a few years older you’ll learn not to express yourself so strongly. As to your knowing who the girl is to whom I object, there is no reason for my keeping silent. I have not mentioned her name because I was considering her feelings and reputation. But since you insist, I’ll tell you. I must emphatically object to having my name published over Exeter Hall with Nora O’Day’s.”

“Why?” Elizabeth asked calmly enough now, yet she was exceedingly annoyed.

“Why? What a question to ask! Surely you know how dishonorably she acted last spring! Someone must have told you. You and Mary Wilson are such friends.”

“Yes; someone told me, but it wasn’t Mary Wilson. She doesn’t do that sort of thing. Nora O’Day told me. Are you afraid to join the same set with her?”

“Not afraid in one sense of the word. To be sure, she would not influence me an iota. I might mingle with her and her kind and be none the worse for it. Do not think I am considering myself in the matter. I have in mind the younger set of girls who are so easily influenced. They know the story of Miss O’Day’s methods in examination. What would they think of seeing my name in connection with hers? – that I would countenance anything that was dishonorable! If not that, at least, like me, they might be suspicious of a reform that had among its leaders a girl who had been publicly reprimanded for cheating.”