Part 57

"Well, Mr. Manson?" Clark asked when the silence became too perceptible.

"I came to ask you if there were any prospects of trouble at the works," said the latter presently. He spoke jerkily, and in a note far removed from the deep boom of his usual voice.

"Why should you expect any trouble because pay day is postponed for a week?"

Manson lifted his heavy lids. "Is it only for a week?"

Clark got up and paced the terrace, his head thrust forward, his hands behind his back. There was that in the visitor's manner which puzzled him. The evident agitation and discomfort, the anxious moving of the thick arms, the constant shifting of the feet, all pointed to something that struck deeper than the possibility of a riot. And Manson, he had reason to know, was no coward.

"I anticipate that it will be less than a week. How many men have you?"

"Thirty, and myself."

"We have twenty guards at the works, also, if need be, there's the local militia."

"Have you ever seen them?" said the chief constable contemptuously.

"No, but the law is behind them and a certain amount of discipline," then, his voice changing abruptly, "Mr. Manson, are you afraid?"

The big man stared at him as though fascinated. His dark face began to work convulsively in an obvious attempt to voice that which disturbed him. Clark watched it all.

"Well," he said with ill concealed impatience, "if it's not an imaginary riot that's troubling you, I'll say good evening. I'm rather busy at the moment."

At that Manson half lifted himself out of his chair and leaned forward. "It's the works," he whispered huskily, "are they all going to hell?"

Clark stared at him in open astonishment. It was an absurd thing that at this moment he should be subjected to a visit from a man who had never believed in him, but who was now evidently torn by anxiety at the thought of his failure. There came a swift and silent suggestion, but the thing was too remote.

"Mr. Manson," he said slowly, "you never took any stock in me or my efforts, so why worry?"

"But that's just what I did do," croaked the constable, reddening to his temples. "I invested all I could and," he added dully, "I've got it now."

"Ah! so that's it?"

"And I'd be grateful if you could tell me--"

"So you said one thing and did another!" The tones were like a knife. "Well, that's your privilege, and none of my affair, and," he concluded curtly, "I don't care to discuss it. Good evening."

But Manson was on his feet, too desperate to be denied. "It's not your affair what I may have said or done? I'm a shareholder--a large one. I've a right to come here and ask you a question. It's nothing unreasonable--and you'll answer it." He stood over the smaller man, dark and threatening.

Clark laughed in his face, till, with that extraordinary perception which so frequently cleft to the essential essence of things, he perceived that there was that which was more important than the fact that Manson had been speculating and would certainly be bitten. His attitude in public was worth something--at any rate in St. Marys. Known universally as a critic and pessimist, it would be notable if now, in the time of crisis, he became a supporter. Manson as a shareholder did not matter, but officially he did matter. Very swiftly Clark ran over this in his mind, while the big man waited, no longer a menace but only a straw borne by the flood which was the creation of Clark's imagination. There was no doubt in the latter's mind as to the ultimate solution of present difficulties. He still believed, as he always believed, in himself, in the country and in his enterprise. So, very deliberately, he began to talk.

"You have asked me a very extraordinary question--that is from you--but it appears," here the voice was a little sardonic, "that you had more confidence in me than you admitted. Now you ask about the future. I tell you that I never had more faith in the final outcome of affairs than I have at this moment. There have been difficulties of which the public knew nothing--and this is the only one which has become common knowledge. Do you expect any one to build up a concern like this without anxious moments? You know what St. Marys was seven years ago, and I remember very distinctly your attitude toward myself. It has taken seven years," here once more the voice was full of contempt--"seven years and a crisis, to convert you. Speculators will doubtless take advantage of this interruption, but I am confident that long after you and I have passed on, steel rails will still be rolled at the works. Good evening."

Manson muttered something unintelligible, and moved off down the long hill that led to St. Marys. For the first time in his life he believed in Clark, believed in him in that hour when the faith of thousands was being shaken. He had no conception what a pigmy unit he himself was in the multitude who followed their remarkable leader. He had no grasp of the fundamentals of which Clark confidently took hold in the time of stress. He did not wonder who else was in like case with himself. He only knew that this man had thrown him the end of a rope, and he grasped at it with all the strength of his soul, and had no intentions of loosening his hold.

Later that evening he went in to see Filmer, whose office lights were on, and here found Dibbott and Worden. The three were talking earnestly, and as the broad figure loomed in the doorway Dibbott gave a dry laugh.

"Our pessimist's reputation is looking up. Have you come to crow?"

Manson shook his head and told them very briefly of his visit. There was no mention of his own speculation. "So after all, the thing is probably all right," he concluded. "At any rate, Clark doesn't seem worried, so why should we?"

Filmer gave vent to a low whistle. "Hypnotized at last!"

"No," said Manson, flushing, and went on to promulgate the reasons for his hopes. The others said nothing, but he could see they were impressed. Presently he went out on a midnight round of inspection, and, as the door closed behind him, Worden nodded thoughtfully.