PAGE 8
The Sand-Hog
by
Outside, as he hurried uptown, Craig was silent, but I could see his features working nervously, and as we parted he merely said: “Of course, you’ll be there, Walter. I’ll put the finishing touches on your story of high finance.”
Slowly enough the few hours passed before I found myself again in Orton’s office. He was there already, despite the orders of his physician, who was disgusted at this excursion from the hospital. Kennedy was there, too, grim and silent. We sat watching the two indicators beside Orton’s desk, which showed the air pressure in the two tubes. The needles were vibrating ever so little and tracing a red-ink line on the ruled paper that unwound from the drum. From the moment the tunnels were started, here was preserved a faithful record of every slightest variation of air pressure.
“Telephone down into the tube and have Capps come up,” said Craig at length, glancing at Orton’s desk clock. “Taylor will be here pretty soon, and I want Capps to be out of the tunnel by the time he comes. Then get Shelton, too.”
In response to Orton’s summons Capps and Shelton came into the office, just as a large town car pulled up outside the tunnel works. A tall, distinguished-looking man stepped out and turned again toward the door of the car.
“There’s Taylor,” I remarked, for I had seen him often at investigations before the Public Service Commission.
“And Vivian, too,” exclaimed Orton excitedly. “Say, fellows, clear off these desks. Quick, before she gets up here. In the closet with these blueprints, Walter. There, that’s a little better. If I had known she was coming I would at least have had the place swept out. Puff! look at the dust on this desk of mine. Well, there’s no help for it. There they are at the door now. Why, Vivian, what a surprise.
“Jack!” she exclaimed, almost ignoring the rest of us and quickly crossing to his chair to lay a restraining hand on his shoulder as he vainly tried to stand up to welcome her.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” he asked eagerly. “I would have had the place fixed up a bit.”
I prefer it this way,” she said, looking curiously around at the samples of tunnel paraphernalia and the charts and diagrams on the walls.
“Yes, Orton,” said President Taylor, “she would come – dropped in at the office and when I tried to excuse myself for a business appointment, demanded which way I was going. When I said I was coming here, she insisted on coming, too.”
Orton smiled. He knew that she had taken this simple and direct means of being there, but he said nothing, and merely introduced us to the president and Miss Taylor.
An awkward silence followed. Orton cleared his throat. “I think you all know why we are here,” he began. “We have been and are having altogether too many accidents in the tunnel, too many cases of the bends, too many deaths, too many delays to the work. Well – er – I – er – Mr. Kennedy has something to say about them, I believe.”
No sound was heard save the vibration of the air-compressors and an occasional shout of a workman at the shaft leading down to the air-locks.
“There is no need for me to say anything about caisson disease to you, gentlemen, or to you, Miss Taylor,” began Kennedy. “I think you all know how it is caused and a good deal about it already. But, to be perfectly clear, I will say that there are live things that must, above all others, be looked after in tunnel work: the air pressure, the amount of carbon dioxide in the air, the length of the shifts which the men work, the state of health of the men as near as physical examination can determine it, and the rapidity with which the men come out of the air, so as to prevent carelessness which may cause the bends.