Ted and the Telephone Part 17

"Y--e--s," owned Cronin reluctantly. "I guess he's gone."

"Of course he's gone! Come, brace up, can't you?" urged his companion.

"Where's your backbone?"

"I'm not afraid."

"Tell that to the marines! You're timid and jumpy as a girl. How are we ever to put this thing over if you don't pull yourself together? I might as well have a baby to help me," sneered the gruff voice.

"Don't be so hard on me, Alf," whined his comrade. "I ain't done nothin'. Ain't I right here and ready?"

"You're here, all right," snarled the first speaker, "but whether you're ready or not is another matter. Now I'm going to give you a last chance to pull out. Do you want to go ahead or don't you? It's no good for us to be laying plans if you are going to be weak-kneed at the end and balk at carrying them out. Do you mean to stand by me and see this thing to a finish or don't you?"

"I--sure I do!"

"Cross your heart?"

"Cross my heart!" This time the words echoed with more positiveness.

"You're not going to back out or squeal?" his pal persisted.

"Why, Alf, how can you----"

"Because I've got to be sure before I stir another inch."

"But ain't I told you over and over again that I----"

"I don't trust you."

"What makes you so hard on a feller, Alf?" whimpered Cronin. "I haven't been mixed up in as many of these jobs as you have and is it surprising that I'm a mite nervous? It's no sign that I'm crawling."

"You're ready to stick it out, then?"

"Sure!"

There was another pause.

"Well, let me just tell you this, Jim Cronin. If you swear to stand by me and don't do it, your miserable life won't be worth a farthing--understand? I'll wring your neck, wring it good and thorough.

I'm not afraid to do it and I will. You know that, don't you?"

"Yes."

The terror-stricken monosyllable made it perfectly apparent that Cronin did know.

"Then suppose we get down to hard tacks," a.s.serted his companion, the note of fierceness suddenly dying out of his tone. "Come and sit down and we'll plan the thing from start to finish. We may as well be comfortable while we talk. There's no extra charge for sitting."

As Ted bent to put his ear to the crack of the door, the thud of a heavy body jarred the shack.

"Jove!" he heard Cronin cry. "The ground is some way down, ain't it?"

"And it's none to soft at that," came grimly from his comrade, as a second person slumped upon the planks outside.

Somebody drew a long breath and while the men were making themselves more comfortable on the float Ted waited expectantly in the darkness.

CHAPTER XIII

WHAT TED HEARD

"Now the question is which way are we going to get the biggest results,"

Alf began, when they were both comfortably settled with their backs to the door. "That must be the thing that governs us--that, and the sacrifice of as few lives as possible. Not _their_ lives, of course. I don't care a curse for the Fernalds; the more of them that go sky-high the better, in my estimation. It's the men I mean, our own people. Some of them will have to die, I know that. It's unavoidable, since the factories are never empty. Even when no night shifts are working, there are always watchmen and engineers on the job. But fortunately just now, owing to the dull season, there are no night gangs on duty. If we decide on the mills it can be done at night; if on the Fernalds themselves, why we can set the bombs when we are sure that they are in their houses."

Ted bit his lips to suppress the sudden exclamation of horror that rose to them. He must not cry out, he told himself. Terrible as were the words he heard, unbelievable as they seemed, if he were to be of any help at all he must know the entire plot. Therefore he listened dumbly, struggling to still the beating of his heart.

For a moment there was no response from Cronin.

"Come, Jim, don't sit there like a graven image!" the leader of the proposed expedition exclaimed impatiently. "Haven't you a tongue in your head? What's your idea? Out with it. I'm not going to shoulder all the job."

The man called Cronin cleared his throat.

"As I see it, we gain nothing by blowing up the Fernald houses,"

answered he deliberately. "So long as the mills remain, their income is sure. After they're gone, the young one will just rebuild and go on wringing money out of the people as his father and grandfather are doing."

"But we mean to get him, too."

A murmured protest came from Cronin.

"I'm not for injuring that poor, unlucky lad," a.s.serted he. "He's nothing but a cripple who can't help himself. It would be like killing a baby."

"Nonsense! What a sentimental milksop you are, Jim!" Alf cut in. "You can't go letting your feelings run away with you like that, old man.

I'm sorry for the young chap, too. He's the most decent one of the lot.

But that isn't the point. He's a Fernald and because he is----"

"But he isn't to blame for that, is he?"

"You make me tired, Cronin, with all this cry-baby stuff!" Alf e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "You've simply got to cut it out--shut your ears to it--if we are ever to accomplish anything. You can't let your sympathies run away with you like this."

"I ain't letting my sympathies run away with me," objected Cronin, in a surly tone. "And I'm no milksop, either. But I won't be a party to harming that unfortunate Mr. Laurie and you may as well understand that at the outset. I'm willing to do my share in blowing the Fernald mills higher than a kite, and the two Fernalds with 'em; or I'll blow the two Fernalds to glory in their beds. I could do it without turning a hair.

But to injure that helpless boy of theirs I can't and won't. That would be too low-down a deed for me, bad as I am. He hasn't the show the others have. They can fend for themselves."

"You make me sick!" replied Alf scornfully. "Why, you might as well throw up the whole job as to only half do it. What use will it be to take the old men of the family if the young one still lives on?"

"I ain't going to argue with you, Alf," responded Cronin stubbornly.

"If I were to talk all night you likely would never see my point. But there I stand and you can take it or leave it. If you want to go on on these terms, well and good; if not, I wash my hands of the whole affair and you can find somebody else to help you."

"Of course I can't find somebody else," was the exasperated retort.

"You know that well enough. Do you suppose I would go on with a scheme like this and leave you wandering round to blab broadcast whatever you thought fit?"