"But Hal, I assure you I have no authority to give such an order."
"You must _take_ the authority. Your father's in the East, the officers of the company are in their beds at home; you are here!"
"But I don't understand such things, Hal! I don't know anything of the situation--except what you tell me. And while I don't doubt your word, any man may make a mistake in such a situation."
"Come and see for yourself, Percy! That's all I ask, and it's easy enough. Here is your train, your engine with steam up; have us switched onto the North Valley branch, and we can be at the mine in half an hour.
Then--let me take you to the men who know! Men who've been working all their lives in mines, who've seen accidents like this many times, and who will tell you the truth--that there's a chance of saving many lives, and that the chance is being thrown away to save some thousands of dollars' worth of coal and timbers and track."
"But even if that's true, Hal, I have no _power_!"
"If you come there, you can cut the red-tape in one minute. What those bosses are doing is a thing that can only be done in darkness!"
Under the pressure of Hal's vehemence, the Harrigan manner was failing; the Coal King's son was becoming a bewildered and quite ordinary youth.
But there was a power greater than Hal behind him. He shook his head.
"It's the old man's business, Hal. I've no right to butt in!"
The other, in his desperate need, turned to the rest of the party. His gaze, moving from one face to another, rested upon the magazine-cover countenance, with the brown eyes wide open, full of wonder.
"Jessie! What do you think about it?"
The girl started, and distress leaped into her face. "How do you mean, Hal?"
"Tell him he ought to save those lives!"
The moments seemed ages as Hal waited. It was a test, he realised. The brown eyes dropped. "I don't understand such things, Hal!"
"But, Jessie, I am explaining them! Here are men and boys being suffocated to death, in order to save a little money. Isn't that plain?"
"But how can I _know_, Hal?"
"I'm giving you my word, Jessie. Surely I wouldn't appeal to you unless I knew."
Still she hesitated. And there came a swift note of feeling into his voice: "Jessie, dear!"
As if under a spell, the girl's eyes were raised to his; he saw a scarlet flame of embarrassment spreading over her throat and cheeks.
"Jessie, I know--it seems an intolerable thing to ask! You've never been rude to a friend. But I remember once you forgot your good manners, when you saw a rough fellow on the street beating an old drudge-horse. Don't you remember how you rushed at him--like a wild thing! And now--think of it, dear, here are old drudge-creatures being tortured to death; but not horses--working-men!"
Still the girl gazed at him. He could read grief, dismay in her eyes; he saw tears steal from them, and stream down her cheeks. "Oh, I don't know, I don't _know!_" she cried; and hid her face in her hands, and began to sob aloud.
SECTION 14.
There was a painful pause. Hal's gaze travelled on, and came to a grey-haired lady in a black dinner-gown, with a rope of pearls about her neck. "Mrs. Curtis! Surely _you_ will advise him!"
The grey-haired lady started--was there no limit to his impudence? She had witnessed the torturing of Jessie. But Jessie was his fiancee; he had no such claim upon Mrs. Curtis. She answered, with iciness in her tone: "I could not undertake to dictate to my host in such a matter."
"Mrs. Curtis! You have founded a charity for the helping of stray cats and dogs!" These words rose to Hal's lips; but he did not say them. His eyes moved on. Who else might help to bully a Harrigan?
Next to Mrs. Curtis sat Reggie Porter, with a rose in the button-hole of his dinner-jacket. Hal knew the role in which Reggie was there--a kind of male chaperon, an assistant host, an admirer to the wealthy, a solace to the bored. Poor Reggie lived other people's lives, his soul perpetually a-quiver with other people's excitements, with gossip, preparations for tea-parties, praise of tea-parties past. And always the soul was pushing; calculating, measuring opportunities, making up in tact and elegance for distressing lack of money. Hal got one swift glimpse of the face; the sharp little black moustaches seemed standing up with excitement, and in a flash of horrible intuition Hal read the situation--Reggie was expecting to be questioned, and had got ready an answer that would increase his social capital in the Harrigan family bank!
Across the aisle sat Genevieve Halsey: tall, erect, built on the scale of a statue. You thought of the ox-eyed Juno, and imagined stately emotions; but when you came to know Genevieve, you discovered that her mind was slow, and entirely occupied with herself. Next to her was Bob Creston, smooth-shaven, rosy-cheeked, exuding well-being--what is called a "good fellow," with a wholesome ambition to win cups for his athletic club, and to keep up the score of his rifle-team of the state militia.
Jolly Bob might have spoken, out of his good heart; but he was in love with a cousin of Percy's, Betty Gunnison, who sat across the table from him--and Hal saw her black eyes shining, her little fists clenched tightly, her lips pressed white. Hal understood Betty--she was one of the Harrigans, working at the Harrigan family task of making the children of a pack-pedlar into leaders in the "younger set!"
Next sat "Vivie" Cass, whose talk was of horses and dogs and such ungirlish matters; Hal had discussed social questions in her presence, and heard her view expressed in one flashing sentence--"If a man eats with his knife, I consider him my personal enemy!" Over her shoulder peered the face of a man with pale eyes and yellow moustaches--Bert Atkins, cynical and world-weary, whom the papers referred to as a "club-man," and whom Hal's brother had called a "tame cat." There was "Dicky" Everson, like Hal, a favourite of the ladies, but nothing more; "Billy" Harris, son of another "coal man"; Daisy, his sister; and Blanche Vagleman, whose father was Old Peter's head lawyer, whose brother was the local counsel, and publisher of the Pedro _Star_.
So Hal's eyes moved from face to face, and his mind from personality to personality. It was like the unrolling of a scroll; a panorama of a world he had half forgotten. He had no time for reflection, but one impression came to him, swift and overwhelming. Once he had lived in this world and taken it as a matter of course. He had known these people, gone about with them; they had seemed friendly, obliging, a good sort of people on the whole. And now, what a change! They seemed no longer friendly! Was the change in them? Or was it Hal who had become cynical--so that he saw them in this terrifying new light, cold, and unconcerned as the stars about men who were dying a few miles away!
Hal's eyes came back to the Coal King's son, and he discovered that Percy was white with anger. "I assure you, Hal, there's no use going on with this. I have no intention of letting myself be bulldozed."
Percy's gaze shifted with sudden purpose to the camp-marshal. "Cotton, what do you say about this? Is Mr. Warner correct in his idea of the situation?"
"You know what such a man would say, Percy!" broke in Hal.
"I don't," was the reply. "I wish to know. What is it, Cotton?"
"He's mistaken, Mr. Harrigan." The marshal's voice was sharp and defiant.
"In what way?"
"The company's doing everything to get the mine open, and has been from the beginning."
"Oh!" And there was triumph in Percy's voice. "What is the cause of the delay?"
"The fan was broken, and we had to send for a new one. It's a job to set it up--such things can't be done in an hour."
Percy turned to Hal. "You see! There are two opinions, at least!"
"Of course!" cried Betty Gunnison, her black eyes snapping at Hal. She would have said more, but Hal interrupted, stepping closer to his host.
"Percy," he said, in a low voice, "come back here, please. I have a word to say to you alone."
There was just a hint of menace in Hal's voice; his gaze went to the far end of the car, a space occupied only by two negro waiters. These retired in haste as the young men moved towards them; and so, having the Coal King's son to himself, Hal went in to finish this fight.
SECTION 15.
Percy Harrigan was known to Hal, as a college-boy is known to his class-mates. He was not brutal, like his grim old father; he was merely self-indulgent, as one who had always had everything; he was weak, as one who had never had to take a bold resolve. He had been brought up by the women of the family, to be a part of what they called "society"; in which process he had been given high notions of his own importance. The life of the Harrigans was dominated by one painful memory--that of a pedlar's pack; and Hal knew that Percy's most urgent purpose was to be regarded as a real and true and freehanded aristocrat. It was this knowledge Hal was using in his attack.
He began with apologies, attempting to soothe the other's anger. He had not meant to make a scene like this; it was the gunmen who had forced it, putting his life in danger. It was the very devil, being chased about at night and shot at! He had lost his nerve, really; he had forgot what little manners he had been able to keep as a miner's buddy. He had made a spectacle of himself; good Lord yes, he realised how he must seem!
--And Hal looked at his dirty miner's jumpers, and then at Percy. He could see that Percy was in hearty agreement thus far--he had indeed made a spectacle of himself, and of Percy too! Hal was sorry about this latter, but here they were, in a pickle, and it was certainly too late now. This story was out--there could be no suppressing it! Hal might sit down on his reporter-friend, Percy might sit down on the waiters and the conductor and the camp-marshal and the gunmen--but he could not possibly sit down on all his friends! They would talk about nothing else for weeks! The story would be all over Western City in a day--this amazing, melodramatic, ten-twenty-thirty story of a miner's buddy in the private car of the Coal King's son!
"And you must see, Percy," Hal went on, "it's the sort of thing that sticks to a man. It's the thing by which everybody will form their idea of you as long as you live!"
"I'll take my chances with my friends' criticism," said the other, with some attempt at the Harrigan manner.
"You can make it whichever kind of story you choose," continued Hal, implacably. "The world will say, He decided for the dollars; or it will say, He decided for the lives. Surely, Percy, your family doesn't need those particular dollars so badly! Why, you've spent more on this one train-trip!"