The Valley of the Giants Part 29

"Why, I believe he will," Pennington replied soberly.

"I'd love to see you beat him."

"Shirley! Why, my dear, you're growing ferocious." Her uncle's tones were laden with banter, but his countenance could not conceal the pleasure her last remark had given him.

"Why not? I have something at stake, have I not?"

"Then you really want me to smash him?" The Colonel's voice proclaimed his incredulity.

"You got me into this fight by buying Cardigan bonds for me," she replied meaningly, "and I look to you to save the investment or as much of it as possible; for certainly, if it should develop that the Cardigans are the real promoters of the N.C.O., to permit them to go another half-million dollars into debt in a forlorn hope of saving a company already top-heavy with indebtedness wouldn't savor of common business sense. Would it?"

The Colonel rose hastily, came around the table, and kissed her paternally. "My dear," he murmured, "you're such a comfort to me.

Upon my word, you are."

"I'm so glad you have explained the situation to me, Uncle Seth."

"I would have explained it long ago had I not cherished a sneaking suspicion that--er--well, that despite everything, young Cardigan might--er--influence you against your better judgment and--er--mine."

"You silly man!"

He shrugged. "One must figure every angle of a possible situation, my dear, and I should hesitate to start something with the Cardigans, and have you, because of foolish sentiment, call off my dogs."

Shirley thrust out her adorable chin aggressively. "Sick 'em. Tige!"

she answered. "Shake 'em up, boy!"

"You bet I'll shake 'em up," the Colonel declared joyously. He paused with a morsel of food on his fork and waved the fork at her aggressively. "You stimulate me into activity, Shirley. My mind has been singularly dull of late; I have worried unnecessarily, but now that I know you are with me, I am inspired. I'll tell you how we'll fix this new railroad, if it exhibits signs of being dangerous."

Again he smote the table. "We'll sew 'em up tighter than a new b.u.t.tonhole."

"Do tell me how," she pleaded eagerly.

"I'll block them on their franchise to run over the city streets of Sequoia."

"How?"

"By making the mayor and the city council see things my way," he answered dryly. "Furthermore, in order to enter Sequoia, the N. C. O.

will have to cross the tracks of the Laguna Grande Lumber Company's line on Water Street--make a jump-crossing--and I'll enjoin them and hold them up in the courts till the cows come home."

"Uncle Seth, you're a wizard."

"Well, at least I'm no slouch at looking after my own interests--and yours, Shirley. In the midst of peace we should be prepared for war.

You've met Mayor Poundstone and his lady, haven't you?"

"I had tea at her house last week."

"Good news. Suppose you invite her and Poundstone here for dinner some night this week. Just a quiet little family dinner, Shirley, and after dinner you can take Mrs. Poundstone upstairs, on some pretext or other, while I sound Poundstone out on his att.i.tude toward the N.

C. O. They haven't asked for a franchise yet; at least, the Sentinel hasn't printed a word about it;--but when they do, of course the franchise will be advertised for sale to the highest bidder.

Naturally, I don't want to bid against them; they might run the price up on me and leave me with a franchise on my hands--something I do not want, because I have no use for the blamed thing myself. I feel certain, however, I can find some less expensive means of keeping them out of it--say by convincing Poundstone and a majority of the city council that the N. C. O. is not such a public a.s.set as its promoters claim for it. Hence I think it wise to sound the situation out in advance, don't you, my dear?"

She nodded. "I shall attend to the matter, Uncle Seth."

Five minutes after dinner was over, Shirley joined her uncle in the library and announced that His Honor, the Mayor, and Mrs. Poundstone, would be delighted to dine with them on the following Thursday night.

CHAPTER XXIV

To return to Bryce Cardigan: Having completed his preliminary plans to build the N. C. O., Bryce had returned to Sequoia, prepared to sit quietly on the side-lines and watch his peppery henchman Buck Ogilvy go into action. The more Bryce considered that young man's fitness for the position he occupied, the more satisfied did he become with his decision. While he had not been in touch with Ogilvy for several years, he had known him intimately at Princeton.

In his last year at college Ogilvy's father, a well-known railroad magnate, had come a disastrous cropper in the stock market, thus throwing Buck upon his own resources and cutting short his college career--which was probably the very best thing that could happen to his father's son. For a brief period--perhaps five minutes--Buck had staggered under the blow; then his tremendous optimism had a.s.serted itself, and while he packed his trunk, he had planned for the future.

As to how that future had developed, the reader will have gleaned some slight idea from the information imparted in his letter to Bryce Cardigan, already quoted. In a word, Mr. Ogilvy had had his ups and downs.

Ogilvy's return to Sequoia following his three-weeks tour in search of rights of way for the N. C. O. was heralded by a visit from him to Bryce Cardigan at the latter's office. As he breasted the counter in the general office, Moira McTavish left her desk and came over to see what the visitor desired.

"I should like to see Mr. Bryce Cardigan," Buck began in crisp businesslike accents. He was fumbling in his card-case and did not look up until about to hand his card to Moira--when his mouth flew half open, the while he stared at her with consummate frankness. The girl's glance met his momentarily, then was lowered modestly; she took the card and carried it to Bryce.

"Hum-m-m!" Bryce grunted. "That noisy fellow Ogilvy, eh?"

"His clothes are simply wonderful--and so is his voice. He's very refined. But he's carroty red and has freckled hands, Mr. Bryce."

Bryce rose and sauntered into the general office.

"Mr. Bryce Cardigan?" Buck queried politely, with an interrogative lift of his blond eyebrows.

"At your service, Mr. Ogilvy. Please come in."

"Thank you so much, sir." He followed Bryce to the latter's private office, closed the door carefully behind him, and stood with his broad back against it.

"Buck, are you losing your mind?" Bryce demanded.

"Losing it? I should say not. I've just lost it."

"I believe you. If you were quite sane, you wouldn't run the risk of being seen entering my office."

"Tut-tut, old dear! None of that! Am I not the main-spring of the Northern California Oregon Railroad and privileged to run the destinies of that soulless corporation as I see fit?" He sat down, crossed his long legs, and jerked a speckled thumb toward the outer office. "I was sane when I came in here, but the eyes of the girl outside--oh, yow, them eyes! I must be introduced to her. And you're scolding me for coming around here in broad daylight. Why, you duffer, if I come at night, d'ye suppose I'd have met her? Be sensible."

"You like Moira's eyes, eh?"

"I've never seen anything like them. Zounds, I'm afire. I have little p.r.i.c.kly sensations, like ants running over me. How can you be insensate enough to descend to labour with an houri like that around?

Oh, man! To think of an angel like that WORKING--to think of a brute like you making her work!"

"Love at first sight, eh, Buck?"

"I don't know what it is, but it's nice. Who is she?"

"She's Moira McTavish, and you're not to make love to her.

Understand? I can't have you snooping around this office after to- day."