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Randy of the River: The Adventures of a Young Deckhand, a fiction by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 6. The Iron Works Affair |
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_ CHAPTER VI. THE IRON WORKS AFFAIR When Jack arrived at home he took the berries around to the kitchen and then hurried upstairs to the bathroom, to wash and fix up for supper. He was in the midst of his ablutions when he heard his father come in and go to the library. An animated talk between his two parents followed. "Something unusual is up," thought Jack, and went below as soon as he was fixed up. He found his father sitting near the library table, his head resting on his hand. His face looked careworn. Mrs. Bartlett sat by an open window clasping her hands tightly. Their earnest talk came to a sudden end as Jack entered. "Good-evening, father and mother," said the boy and then halted. "Maybe I was interrupting you," he added. "Jack may as well know," said Mrs. Bartlett, looking meaningly at her husband. "I suppose so," answered Mr. Bartlett, and gave a long sigh. "Know what?" asked Jack. "Your father has had trouble at the iron works," answered his mother. "What kind of trouble?" "It is the Bangs affair," answered Mr. Bartlett. "You know a little about that already. Well, Amos Bangs has forced me into a corner." "What do you mean by that, father?" "He has gained control of the company and is going to consolidate with the Springfield concern." "Will that harm you much?" "A great deal, I am afraid, Jack. In the past I have known all that was going on. Now I will have to rely on Amos Bangs--and I do not care to do that." "Don't you think he is honest?" "Privately, I do not, although I should not care to say so in public. He and his friends at Springfield are sharpers. They will squeeze what they can out of the new concern, and I am afraid I shall be left out in the cold." "Well, I shouldn't trust Mr. Bangs myself. He and his son are of a stripe, and I know only too well now what Bob is." "Have you had trouble with Bob?" questioned Mrs. Bartlett, quickly. "Yes," answered Jack, and gave the particulars. "How Bob will crow over me now!" he went on, ruefully. "This will make Bangs harder on me than ever," remarked Mr. Bartlett. "Oh, I trust not, father!" cried Jack. "I am sure you have trouble enough already!" "The Bangses are a hard family to get along with," said Mrs. Bartlett. "I have heard that from several who work for them." "The men at the office are sorry to see Amos Bangs in control," said Mr. Bartlett. "They know he will drive them more than I have ever driven them, and he will never raise their wages." "Are you going to leave the company's office, father?" "Yes. I am no longer an officer, only a stockholder." "The company ought to give you a position." "Bangs said I could be a timekeeper, at fifteen dollars per week." "How mean! And what will his salary be?" "I don't know yet--probably a hundred and fifty per week--seven or eight thousand per year." "And you've been getting sixty dollars per week, haven't you?" "Yes." "Then I'd go elsewhere." "That is what I shall do--if I can find any opening. What I am worried about mostly is the capital I have in the iron works, fifteen thousand dollars. I am afraid Bangs will, sooner or later, wipe me out, and do it in such a way that I cannot sue him to advantage." "It's an outrage!" "The trouble is, I trusted him too much from the start. He has proved to be a snake in the grass." "And Bob is exactly like him," said Jack. The family talked the matter over all during the supper hour and for some time later. The prospect ahead was a dark one and Mrs. Bartlett sighed deeply. "If you cannot get an opening elsewhere I do not know what we are to do," said she to her husband. "I'll get something," he replied, bravely. "And remember, I have a thousand dollars in cash in the bank." "A thousand dollars won't last long, Philip, after once you begin to use it up." "That is true." "Have you anything definite in view?" "Not exactly. I am going to write to my friend Mason, in Albany. He may be able to get me something to do at the iron works there. He is in charge." "Well, I hope it is better than the place Amos Bangs offered you." "There is only one trouble," went on Mr. Bartlett. "If I get work at Albany we will have to move to that city." "Well, we can do that." "Yes, but I hate to go away from Riverport. I wanted to watch Bangs." "You might go to Albany every Monday and come home Saturday night, at least for a time." "Yes, I might do that," answered Philip Bartlett. On the following morning he went down to the iron works as usual. As early as it was he found Amos Bangs ahead of him, and sorting out some papers at one of the desks. "Morning," said Amos Bangs, curtly. "Good-morning," answered Mr. Bartlett. "Mr. Bangs, what are you doing at this desk?" "Sorting out things." "Do you not know that this is my private desk?" "Is it? I thought it belonged to the iron company," answered Amos Bangs with a sneer. "The desk does belong to the company, but at present it contains my private papers as well as some papers of the company." "Well, it is going to be my desk after this, I'll thank you to take your personal things away." "You seem to be in a hurry to get me out." "I want to get to work here. Things have dragged long enough. I am going to make them hum." "I am glad to hear it," answered Philip Bartlett, pointedly. "I presume we can look for big dividends on our stock next year." "Well--er--I don't know about that. We have got to make improvements and they will cost money." "You didn't want any improvements when I was in charge." "That was a different thing. The old concern was a small-fry affair. We are going to make the new concern something worth while," answered Amos Bangs, loftily. "I hope you do--for my sake as well as for the sake of the other stockholders. But what salaries are the new officers to have?" "That is to be decided later." "I trust all the profits are not eaten up by the salaries." "You cannot expect talented men--like myself, for instance--to work for low salaries." "You used to be willing to work for fifty dollars a week." "Those days are past. But I cannot waste time talking now. Clean out the desk and turn it over to me," concluded Amos Bangs, and walked away. With a heavy heart Philip Bartlett set about the task before him. He was much attached to the iron works and hated to leave it. Presently his brow grew troubled. "Mr. Bangs!" he called. "What do you want now?" "Did you see anything of some papers with a broad rubber band around them?" "Didn't see anything but what is there." "I had some private papers. They seem to be gone." "I didn't take them," answered Amos Bangs, coldly. "It is queer where they can be," went on Philip Bartlett. "Well, I haven't got them." Philip Bartlett hunted high and low for the missing documents, but without success. Then he cleaned out the desk, put his personal things in a package, said good-by to his former employees, and quit the office. "I am well rid of him," said Amos Bangs, to himself. "And I am glad I got hold of those private contracts. Now I can make a deal with Shaster and turn the work over to the Springfield concern--and make some money!" _ |
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