Children of the rich -- Fiction; Industrialists -- Fiction; Michigan -- Fiction; Political fiction
“Well, then, somebody has been tampering with our machinery to make it
break down. Somebody has been driving nails into our logs to dull our
saws. Whoever it is has made us shut down five hours in the last three
days.”
“You figger somebody’s doin’ it deliberate?”
“Yes.”
“Got any proof?”
Jim laid before the old man such evidence as he had, but it was
sufficient. Zaanan wagged his head.
“Calc’late there hain’t no doubt of it. Suspect anybody special?”
“I haven’t any suspicion who is working the mischief, but I have an idea
he isn’t doing it for himself.”
“Somebody’s hirin’ him to do it, you mean?”
“Yes.”
“Who might it be?”
“There are only two interests who would have any motive in breaking me.
One is the organization of clothespin manufacturers. I’m in a fight with
them now because they wanted to run my business. The other is the
Diversity Hardwood Company.”
“Hum! I figgered from what Welliver said a spell back that he wasn’t
tickled to death with you and your doin’s. You hain’t a bit afraid who
you’re suspicious of, be you?”
“I’ve got to be suspicious of everybody—and I’m going to be till I know
who can be trusted.”
“Kind of suspected me a mite, eh? Figgered I was tarred with the
Welliver and Moran stick?”
“I got to thinking pretty hard when I saw you with them the morning
after my row with Welliver. You seemed to be pretty good friends.”
“Calc’late we be. Knowed ’em a long time.”
“Judge, you don’t need any more to show you I’ve a bad situation to deal
with. I came to you—I don’t just know why I came to you. On impulse, I
expect.”
“Sudden Jim,” said Zaanan, with a chuckle.
“You’ve heard that, eh?”
“Yes. You was sayin’ you come to me on impulse. Must ’a’ figgered I’d be
some use to you. Nobody’d climb a greased pole if ’twa’n’t for the
five-dollar bill tacked on top of it. Was you wantin’ advice or money or
the loan of my shot-gun?”
“I think,” said Jim, slowly, “that what brought me here was a vague sort
of hope of finding a friend. When a fellow’s up against a fight he feels
lonesome. He likes to know there’s somebody besides himself to depend
on. I had no reason to expect it—quite the contrary, perhaps. Anyhow, I
believe you could help me with this particular problem if you wanted
to.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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