The Promise Read online

  CHAPTER IX

  BILL GETS A JOB

  After luncheon, over cigars, the conversation again became personal.Appleton regarded the younger man thoughtfully.

  "You spoke of being temporarily out of funds. Allow me to loan you whatyou require."

  "Thank you, sir, but I could not think of it. I am already deeplyindebted to you. If it were only a temporary embarrassment I wouldn'tmind. But I have no definite plans. I must find work, and I freelyconfess I don't know exactly how to go about it. It might be a longtime before I could repay the loan. Then, too, if a man is broke hewill tackle the first job that comes along, whereas if he had money inhis pocket he would be tempted to wait for something better, no matterwhat was offered."

  "If you work it right you can easily get a couple of thousand out ofthe railroad company--damages, you know."

  The younger man looked up quickly. "Not me," he smiled. "I have notsustained any loss to speak of. That crack on the head when the coachtipped over didn't even knock me out. And as for the pummeling I gotafterward with the knucks--that was my own lookout--the railroadcompany is not to blame for that. No. Getting something for nothing isnot playing the game--it savors too strongly of the methods of ourfriend the pickpocket."

  As he talked the elder man subjected him to a careful scrutiny. Henoted the deep-set, unwavering eyes, the smiling lips, and the firm,square set of the jaw.

  "So you are really in earnest about going to work?"

  "In earnest! Mr. Appleton, you have just witnessed a fair demonstrationof the demands of my appetite," with a nod toward the array of emptydishes. "I am subject to those attacks on an average of three times aday. In my pocket are just four one-dollar bills. Can you guess theanswer?"

  The lumberman smiled.

  "What kind of position were you thinking of? What is your business?"

  "Haven't any. And I am not thinking of a position--what I want is a_job_."

  "Know anything about lumber?"

  "No."

  The two smoked in silence while the waiters removed the remains of theluncheon. When the door closed behind them the lumberman spoke. Hedropped the conversational tone and his words cut crisp and to thepoint:

  "Young man, I can use you. If you are foot-loose and are willing towork, I will give you your chance. I am going to put it up to youstraight and let you decide for yourself.

  "I can use you in my office at a very fair salary. In two or threeyears you will, in all probability, become a valuable clerk--later, alumber salesman at a good salary and better commissions.

  "Your duties will not be strenuous, and as you enlarge youracquaintance you will naturally assume the social position to which youare entitled.

  "Or I can use you in the woods. Send you into a logging camp to learnthe business where it starts. Up there the work is not easy. Instead ofa salary you will receive wages--and you will earn them--every cent ofthem. There are no snap jobs in a logging camp. Everybody, from theboss down, works--and works hard. Instead of roast lamb and green peasyou will eat salt pork and baked beans.

  "You will be called a lumberjack--a social pariah. Your associates willbe big men--some good and some bad--bad as they make them--and allrough. Good and bad, they would rather fight than eat, and they wouldrather watch others fight than fight.

  "In summer you can loaf and blow in your wages, or you can go into themills and learn how lumber is made--learn to tell at a glance whether alog will saw to the best profit into bridge timber or lath.

  "It is no sinecure--the life of the logging camp. A hundred times youwill be called upon to face battle, murder, and sudden death, and itwill be up to you to make good.

  "In the office I have clerks who will be found at the same desk twentyyears from now. And in the woods I have hundreds of swampers, skidders,and sawyers who will always be swampers, skidders and sawyers. I havecamp bosses who will always be camp bosses, and a few who will becomelumbermen.

  "But the man who comes up through that school is the man who learns thegame--the man who eventually will sit behind locked doors and talk inmillions, while the office-made salesman is out on the road dickeringin car-loads."

  He paused and relighted his cigar.

  "And you are offering me the choice of these jobs?"

  "Just so. Take your time. Think it over carefully and give me youranswer in the morning."

  "I have already made up my mind. If it is just the same to you I willgo to the woods. I need the exercise," he grinned.

  "By the way, you have not told me your name."

  "Bill," he answered, and watched the blue smoke curl upward from theend of his cigar.

  "Bill what?" Appleton regarded him through narrowing lids.

  "Bill," he repeated. "Just Bill, for the present--and no references.Sometime--if I make good, perhaps--but surely Bill ought to be nameenough for a lumberjack."

  "Well, Bill, you are hired! Most men would call me a fool! Maybe Iam--but it's got to be proven. I came up through the woods myself and Iknow men. It is my business to know men. A name is nothing to me--norreferences. Both are easy to get. I hire men--not names. And as forreferences--I don't pay for past performances. It is up to you to makegood!

  "I like your eyes. There is honesty in those eyes--and purpose. Yourmother's eyes, I should say." The young man turned his face away andthe blood surged upward, reddening the skin below the white bandages.

  Thoughts of his mother crowded his brain--the beautiful, gentlegirl-mother, who used to snatch him up and hold him close--way back inthe curly-locks days.

  He remembered her eyes--deep, soft blue eyes that shone bright andmysterious with love for the little boy--so often such a bad,self-willed little boy--and he thought of the hurt in those eyes. Itwas his very worst punishment in the long ago--to read the pain andsorrow in those eyes.

  "No, no, no!" he murmured. "Not her eyes--not mother's! Oh, I am gladthat she did not live to know--" He stopped abruptly and faced theother, speaking quietly:

  "Mr. Appleton, I am not a criminal--not a fugitive from justice--as youmay have guessed. But I have been an--an awful fool!" The older manarose and extended his hand:

  "Good-by, Bill. You better sleep now. I will see you in the morning."

  As the door closed behind Appleton, the pleasant-voiced nurse appearedat the bedside. She straightened the covers, patted the pillows intoshape, and fed the patient medicine out of a spoon. She hesitated whenshe finished and smiled down at him.

  "Would you like to send any messages," she asked--"telegrams, to letyour people know you are safe?"

  Young Carmody returned the smile. The nurse looked into his face andknew that behind the smile was sadness rather than mirth.

  "No," he said; "there is no one to tell." She leaned over and laid softfingers on his bandaged brow.

  "Isn't--isn't there a real Ethel--somewhere?" He did not resent thequestion of the sweet-faced nurse.

  "Yes," he answered, "there _is_ a real Ethel--but she would not care.Nobody cares."