The Hallowell Partnership

Then down the running-track fled a small, shiny black object, squealing in glad escape. Instantly a shot crashed; then came a thundering shout:

"Ready – go!"

With whoops and yells the group of runners raced away down the track. The commodore kept well in the lead. He ran as lightly and as easily as did the boys that forged alongside him. Mr. Jennings puffed and pounded farther in the rear at every turn. They made the first lap of the race. At the second turn the commodore, only third from the lead, waved his hand to Mrs. McCloskey and the girls with a flourish of mischievous triumph. Marian and Sally Lou, tearful and choking with delight, clasped hands and swayed together in helpless rapture. Thus completely absorbed in the spectacle, they let go of Mr. Finnegan's leash.

That was all that Finnegan wanted. With one glad yelp he hurled himself through the fence and bounced like a ball, straight into the midst of the fray. Far in advance fled a shiny black object. Finnegan knew his duty. The commodore was hurrying to catch that object. It was Finnegan's part to aid in that capture at all costs. Yelping madly, he tore away down the track.

"Oh, it's Finnegan! Oh, the little villain! If I had only left him at home!" Poor Marian strove to call him back. But against the uproar of the crowd her voice could not make a sound. "Oh, the naughty little sinner, he will catch that pig himself and spoil the race for everybody. Look, Sally Lou! He has almost caught up with the pig this minute!"

Even as she spoke, Finnegan, running at top speed, shot ahead of the fleeing pig. Then, with a frenzied bark, he whirled and charged straight at the prize.

This front attack was too much for any pig's self-control. Not content with galloping murderously at his heels, his pursuers had set this ferocious brute to destroy him! With a squeal of mortal panic the little fellow turned right-about and bolted. Shrieking, he dashed back, straight into the crowd of runners.

"Oh – oh! He's right under the commodore's hand! Oh, if he wasn't so slippery – Look, quick, Marian!"

"Well, will you look at that now!" Mrs. McCloskey's mild voice rose in a laugh of triumph. "Sure, I never yet knew the commodore to fail if once he'd set his head to do a thing!"

"If only he can keep fast hold of the pig till he reaches the judges' stand," whispered Sally Lou. All three gazed in pale suspense at the commodore, now striding gayly up the race-track, the pig squirming and squealing wildly in his arms.

"I'm mistrustin' that myself," said Mrs. McCloskey, nervously, "for the little animal is not so convenient to hold, bein' he's so glassy smooth. But trust the commodore. He'll not fail, now."

The commodore did not fail. Calm and majestic, as if he strode a quarter-deck, he paced down the track and halted before the judges' stand, his shrieking prize held high. As the umpire bent forward to give him the champion's blue ribbon, the crowd broke loose. No Olympic victor ever received his laurel in the face of a more enthusiastic tumult.

"I give up," puffed Mr. Jennings, fanning himself with his hat. "You caught that pig fair an' square, commodore. The honors are yours."

"Tut, tut, 'twas no great matter," declared the commodore modestly, as the girls heaped him with praises. "'Twas just a moment's divarsion. And it took no skill whatever, though I will own that to carry the little felly back to the judges' stand demanded some effort on me part. You will observe that a pig furnishes but few handholds, particularly when he's that slippery and excited-like. Yes, Mary, perhaps we'd best be startin' home, as it's so near sundown."

"Well, but these girls must not go home empty-handed," urged Mrs. McCloskey. "Think of your poor boys, who could not take a day off for the burgoo! We must carry home a taste for them. Go to yonder booth and buy a market-basket, commodore. Then we'll pack in a few samples."

Marian and Sally Lou looked on in silent amaze while Mrs. McCloskey packed the few samples, including a tall jar of the delicious burgoo, a dazzling array of cookies and preserves, and a fat black-currant pie. Meanwhile the commodore was fitting his treasured pig neatly into a small crate, much to the dismay of the pig and the keen joy of a large group of on-lookers.

At last basket and crate were made ready. Tired out by their long, absurd, delightful day, the party settled themselves aboard the commodore's launch and started home. The trip downstream to camp was made in rapid time. It was just dusk when they reached their own landing. Roderick and Ned Burford had heard the commodore's whistle and were waiting to help them ashore.

"What sort of a day was it, Sis?"

"Yes, tell us, quick, if you had any fun. We have put in a gruelling day of it here," added Burford. "Three break-downs on the little dredge and a threatened cave-in on the first lateral! Go on and tell us something cheerful."

Marian and Sally Lou stole a glance backward. The commodore was just putting his boat into mid-stream. He was safely out of earshot. With almost tearful laughter the two girls poured out the story of the day.

"You brought home the best of the day to us," said Ned, as they spread the "samples" on a tiny deck table, picnic-fashion. "We fellows only laid off our levee shifts a few minutes ago. We're rushing that construction before the creeks rise any higher. So neither of us has eaten a mouthful since noon. This luncheon will taste like manna in the desert. S'pose Mammy Easter would make us a pot of coffee, Sally Lou? Then we could ask no more."

"I'll go to the cabin and coax her to do it. I want a peep at the babies, anyway."

Sally Lou sprang up and started toward the gangway. At the cabin door she stopped short. Her voice rang out, a frightened cry.

"Ned Burford! Come quick! What is that blazing light away up the ditch? Is it – Oh, it is one of the boats – it is the big dredge! And it is on fire!"

Ned Burford leaped up. His startled voice echoed Sally Lou's cry.

"Hallowell! It's the big dredge, the giant Garrison! Wake up and pitch in. Hurry!"

Days afterward Marian would try to recall just what happened during those wild moments; but the whole scene would flicker before her memory, a dizzy blur. She remembered Roderick's shout of alarm; the rush of the day-shift men from their tents; the clatter of the racing engine as Rod pushed them into the launch, then sent the little boat flying away up the canal. Then, directly ahead, she could see that dense black pillar of smoke rising straight up from the dredge deck, shot through with spurts of flame.

Burford's half-strangled voice came back to them as he groped his way across the deck.

"It's a pile of burning waste, right here by the capstan. Bring the chemical-extinguishers … no time to wait for the hose… Wet your coats, boys, and let's pound her out… Whe-ew! I'm 'most strangled… Sally Lou Burford! You clear out! You and Marian, too. Go away, I tell you. This is no place for you!"

Sally Lou and Marian stood doggedly in line passing the buckets of water which one of the laborers was dipping up from over the side. Roderick, stolid as a rock, stood close by that choking column of smoke and flame and dashed on the water. Burford rushed about, everywhere at once, half mad with excitement, yet giving orders with unswerving judgment.

"Can't you start the pumping engine, boys? Swing out that emergency hose, quick. There you are! Now turn that stream on those oil barrels yonder – and keep it there. Start the big force-pump and train a stream on the deck near the engines. The fire mustn't spread to the hoisting-gear. Mind that. Mulcahy, give me that chemical-tank. Wet my handkerchief and tie it over my mouth, Sally Lou. No, give me your scarf. That's better. I'm going to wade right in. Aha! See that?"

The smoke column wavered, thinned. A shower of water, soot, and chemicals drenched everybody on deck. Nobody noticed the downpour, for the smoke column was sinking with every moment.

Burford staggered back, half smothered. The extinguisher fell from his hand. But the force-pumps were working now at full blast. Stream after stream of water poured on the fire, then flooded across the deck. Two minutes more of frantic, gasping work and not a spark remained – nothing save the heap of quenched, still smoking waste.

Dazed, Marian found herself once more on the house-boat deck. Ashore the laborers were flocking back to their tents, laughing and shouting. For them it had been a frolic rather than a danger. But the four on the house-boat deck looked at each other without a word. They were too shaky with relief to move or to speak. Sally Lou, the steady-willed, dependable Sally Lou, clung trembling to Marian, who in her turn leaned rather weakly against the rail. Roderick, ashen white, confronted Burford, who stood absently mopping his wet, smarting eyes with Sally Lou's singed and dripping crêpe scarf. Suddenly Burford broke the tension with a strangled whoop.

"Our – our daily reports to the company!" he gurgled. "President Sturdevant wants every day's detail. Let's put it all in. 'I have the honor to report that while your engineers were stoking with burgoo and black-currant pie, Garrison Dredge Number Three was observed to be on fire. Your engineers, assisted by their partners, said engineers' wife and sister, all of whom displayed conspicuous bravery, attacked the fire. Thanks to their heroic efforts, the conflagration was extinguished. I beg further to report that damages are confined to one pile of waste, one smooched pink silk scarf, and'" – he passed his hand over his smutty forehead – "'and one pair of eyebrows.'"

"I'm going straight home to bed," vowed Marian, as the laughter died away in exhausted chuckles. "This day has brought so many thrilling events that it will take me at least a week to calm myself down. Do let us hope that nothing whatever will happen for a while. I'm longing for monotony – days, months, ages of monotony, at that!"

And, even as she spoke, there was a shout from the pier. Mulcahy came running toward them at top speed.

"Will you look at Mulcahy, sprinting up from the ditch! I'll wager he has some more bad news for us. Come, Hallowell. Hurry!"

CHAPTER IX

THE MAGIC LEAD-PENCIL

"Bad news, is it?" puffed Mulcahy. "Indeed, sir, I'm sorry to be the one to bring it to you. Lateral Four has caved in again."

"Lateral Four! The cut where we've spent more time and work, filling in, than we've spent anywhere else on the whole ditch!"

"Yes, Lateral Four. The ungrateful piece of fill she is! And when you have shored up the margins with brush, twice over!"

"How far up is the cave-in, Mulcahy?"

"Half a mile from the mouth. Right where Mr. Ellingworth Locke's land begins, sir."

"Right on President Locke's land! Will you hear that, Hallowell? And he's the biggest grumbler in the whole district! And the most powerful grumbler, too. Of all the hard luck!"

"I do hear. And I'm going to get busy." Rod pulled himself together with a grim little chuckle. "It's an all-night job, Burford. Or else we can add one more calamity to our head-quarters report. 'One bad cave-in, on lateral draining land owned by H. R. H., the acting president of the Central Mississippi Association.' Do you see us putting in that cheery news?"

"No, I don't. Not just yet." Burford wiped the last soot-streak from his chin and jumped into the launch. "Here we go!"

"Wait a jiffy, Burford. You'd better stay by the dredge an hour or so. Keep the men at work flooding her deck. We can't be certain-sure that the fire is completely out. There's always a risk."

"That's a fact. You go up to the cave-in and set the levee crews to work. I'll follow in an hour."