FullReads

“My God, Paddy’s down there now,” cried Orton, suddenly seizing his telephone. “Operator, give me the south tube – quick – what – they don’t answer?”

Out in the river above the end of the heading, where a short time before there had been only a few bubbles on the surface of the water, I could see what looked like a huge geyser of water spouting up. I pulled Craig over to me and pointed.

A blow-out,” cried Kennedy, as he rushed to the door, only to be met by a group of blanched-faced workers who had come breathless to the office to deliver the news.

Craig acted quickly. “Hold these men,” he ordered, pointing to Capps and Shelton, “until we come back. Orton, while we are gone, go over the entire day’s record on the telegraphone. I suspect you and Miss Taylor will find something there that will interest you.”

He sprang down the ladder to the tunnel air-lock, not waiting for the elevator. In front of the closed door of the lock, an excited group of men was gathered. One of them was peering through the dim, thick, glass porthole in the door.

“There he is, standin’ by the door with a club, an’ the men’s crowdin’ so fast that they’re all wedged so’s none can get in at all. He’s beatin’ ’em back with the stick. Now, he’s got the door clear and has dragged one poor fellow in. It’s Jimmy Rourke, him with the eight childer. Now he’s dragged in a Polack. Now he’s fightin’ back a big Jamaica nigger who’s tryin’ to shove ahead of a little Italian.”

“It’s Paddy,” cried Craig. “If he can bring them all out safely without the loss of a life he’ll save the day yet for Orton. And he’ll do it, too, Walter.”

Instantly I reconstructed in my mind the scene in the tunnel – the explosion of the oil-vapour, the mad race up the tube, perhaps the failure of the emergency curtain to work, the frantic efforts of the men, in panic, all to crowd through the narrow little door at once; the rapidly rising water – and above all the heroic Paddy, cool to the last, standing at the door and single-handed beating the men back with a club, so that they could go through one at a time.

Only when the water had reached the level of the door of the lock, did Paddy bang it shut as he dragged the last man in. Then followed an interminable wait for the air in the lock to be exhausted. When, at last, the door at our end of the lock swung open, the men with a cheer seized Paddy and, in spite of his struggles, hoisted him on to their shoulders, and carried him off, still struggling, in triumph up the construction elevator to the open air above.

The scene in Orton’s office was dramatic as the men entered with Paddy. Vivian Taylor was standing defiantly, with burning eyes, facing Capps, who stared sullenly at the floor before him. Shelton was plainly abashed.

“Kennedy,” cried Orton, vainly trying to rise, “listen. Have you still that place on the telegraphone record, Vivian?”

Miss Taylor started the telegraphone, while we all crowded around leaning forward eagerly.

“Hello. Inter-River? Is this the president’s office? Oh, hello. This is Capps talking. How are you? Oh, you’ve heard about Orton, have you? Not so bad, eh? Well, I’m arranging with my man Shelton here for the final act this afternoon. After that you can compromise with the Five-Borough on your own terms. I think I have argued Taylor and Morris into the right frame of mind for it, if we have one more big accident. What’s that? How is my love affair? Well, Orton’s in the way yet, but you know why I went into this deal. When you put me into his place after the compromise, I think I will pull strong with her. Saw her last night. She feels pretty bad about Orton, but she’ll get over it. Besides, the pater will never let her marry a man who’s down and out. By the way, you’ve got to do something handsome for Shelton. All right. I’ll see you to-night and tell you some more. Watch the papers in the meantime for the grand finale. Good-bye.”

An angry growl rose from one or two of the more quick-witted men. Kennedy reached over and pulled me with him quickly through the crowd.

“Hurry, Walter,” he whispered hoarsely, “hustle Shelton and Capps out quick before the rest of the men wake up to what it’s all about, or we shall have a lynching instead of an arrest.”

As we shoved and pushed them out, I saw the rough and grimy sand-hogs in the rear move quickly aside, and off came their muddy, frayed hats. A dainty figure flitted among them toward Orton. It was Vivian Taylor.

“Papa,” she cried, grasping Jack by both hands and turning to Taylor, who followed her closely, “Papa, I told you not to be too hasty with Jack.”