Part 70

"Two hundred and forty thousand horsepower, at a minimum."

"By George!"

Silence fell again, till Weatherby, shaking the spray from his rough tweed coat, got up a little stiffly.

"I begin to understand a little better now," he said slowly with an eloquent glance.

The car was waiting for them by the little lock--and here at the block house the visitors displayed marked animation, Clark told them the story very simply as they rolled off up the hill for lunch.

"There's one man, the chief engineer, Belding--you met him at the head gates--that I would like to be remembered should we do business," he concluded very thoughtfully. "Belding was my first employee. I picked him up in St. Marys and he has stuck to it nobly. I probably gave him far too much to do, but he never squealed; and there are other reasons."

Weatherby looked up. "That's the big, fair haired chap we saw go off in the canoe?"

"Yes."

"Well," put in Ardswell tersely, "it will probably all depend on yourself."

XXIV.--DESTINY

Up in the big bay that lies next the head of the rapids, Belding was drifting aimlessly. He was still obsessed with a sense of the hideous uselessness of effort, and wanted to be alone. At one time Elsie used to be here in the bow of the canoe, but now it seemed that Elsie had little thought for him. And yet he could have sworn that, two years ago, she loved him.

He began to paddle, with a sharp and growing resentment, and found a deep satisfaction in the thrust of his broad blade. Soon he was nearly half way across the river, and a mile down stream lifted the fabric of the great bridge. Slacking speed, he caught the pull of the current, and with it came a reckless impulse. No man had shot the middle of the rapids and escaped with his life. It was true that the Indians maneuvered their long canoes down close to the opposite shore with venturous tourists, but it was only a film of water that wound, bubbling, near the land. With the deep-throated rumble only half a mile away, Belding felt his pulse falter for a second, then pound viciously on. And in that second, with the bravado of early manhood, he threw discretion overboard, and set the slim bow of his Peterboro' for the middle span. Twenty seconds, later he knew that he was about to run the rapids--whether he would or not.

Settling himself amidship, he gripped the thwart tight between calf and thigh and, resting the paddle across the gunwale, peered anxiously forward. His lips were a little dry, but he felt no fear. Being close to the water, he could not see the rapids themselves but only the first great, green curve, and below it the white tops of a multitude of waves. Then the middle span swept back overhead, he heard the river, split by the sharp piers, hissing along their rough sides and the canoe sailed like a leaf into the first smooth dip. Came the vision of a distant shore sliding by, and the lower reach with a ferry steamer halfway across, and Belding felt the canoe lift and quiver, while a green wave flung its white crest in his face. He came through rather than over it, and just below caught a glimpse of one of those dreaded cellars that hid themselves in this tumult. Here, at all costs, he must keep straight.

The canoe, with no way on, swooped giddily into the great, emerald pit. There was a fleeting sensation of smooth, glittering, watery walls, till he was flung on and up into the backward foaming crest, and with a desperate effort wrenched the slim bow so that it took the rise head on. An instant followed in which the sky was blotted out, while on each side rose pyramids of bubbling foam that seemed to meet over his head, but between which he could see light and distance. The canoe, half full of water, was plucked onward, while Belding drew a long breath and searched the chaos in front of him.

Fifty yards down, opened a lane of green that curved beside and between two cellars, each deeper than the last. He knew instantly that he could not survive these, and, with every ounce of his strength, drove across the broken river to the head of the chute. Making it in the nick of time, he plunged in, with the water sucking at his thighs, and the sinews in his arms burning like fire. There followed a swift descent through cellars of dwindling depth, till he floated into the long, spume-flecked swells at the foot of the decline, where the canoe drifted sluggishly, full nearly to the gunwale. And here Belding leaned forward with his hands on her curved thwart, and pumped great gulps of air into his empty lungs. Presently he stared around. He was below the works of which he had seen nothing, and just opposite Clark's big house, whose roof lifted on the hill side a mile away. He had dared the rapids and come through safely, but Clark, he reflected, was engulfed.

Luncheon that day at the big house had been a silent affair, after which the three men went out on the terrace and examined the panorama that spread to the south. It was suggestive and inspiring. They had been voiceless for some time, when Clark moved restlessly.

"Shall we talk here, or go back to the office?"

"This is good enough for me," said Ardswell; "are you ready for business?"

"Certainly."

"And may I ask two questions first,--one is a trifle personal?"

"Please ask them, if you wish; I have no personal secrets."

"That's very decent of you. What I'd like to know is, first, what you found here when you arrived seven years ago, and, second, what your resources were at the time? You will not, of course, answer the last unless you wish."

Clark laughed almost boyishly. "Why I found only the rapids, and--I had no resources,--that is, except myself."

"I thought so, and"--here the speaker glanced at Weatherby--"we would like to congratulate you, I had an idea that this was the case. Now as to the present business, we have decided to make a proposal to your board."

"I am glad of that," said Clark briefly. He knew that the moment had come.

"We hope it will meet with your support," Ardswell hesitated perceptibly and went on, pitching his voice a little higher, "and you will not misunderstand my putting it rather baldly. The matter depends on two things: the reduction of the Consolidated capital from twenty-seven million to something about ten million and the wiping out of all common stock, and," here he paused again while the blood crept slowly to his temples--"the other is a change in the executive. These being satisfactorily arranged, we will go ahead. That's about it, eh?"

"Yes," put in the other, "but of course we could not go ahead, under any circumstances, without Mr. Clark's temporary assistance. I think in fairness to him we should make the case a little clearer."

"It's fairly clear as it is," said Clark without a trace of emotion.