DUSKIN (25 page)

“But who did it, and how did it start?” asked Carol, still lying in Duskin’s arms and not attempting to rise. It seemed the natural and right thing that she should stay there awhile. They all seemed to expect it.

“Don’t ask me,” said Charlie. “The ole fox himself’ll be at the bottom of it, but who his tool was I can’t tell. The same one that telephoned Dusky to go get that receipt, I reckon. He mighta ben sitting there yet ef I hadn’t come to take his place. Pat’s down there now waiting. We better send someone to relieve that kid. But how they figured it out to get that fire started! We musta had a workman that was yellow—belonged to the other gang, and he knew them trims were piled behind that elevator shaft. It was almost the only stuff in the hall that would burn.”

“There was a lot of old rags, all paint, and papers, too,” added Roddy. “I been examining the ashes.”

Then Carol, her eyes very bright, told about the old woman who came with Bill’s laundry and about the insolent newsboy.

Duskin, with his arm still supporting her, looked up gravely.

“Here’s where we ask for a little service, boys, and stop this long strain. It was a parting shot, and they’ll be disappointed that it didn’t work, but I think we can prevent another attempt. Charlie, you get on the phone and the police headquarters. No, don’t tell them what happened. We’re not going to let this get into the papers. We’re coming out of this clean if we possibly can.”

“Is the building spoiled beyond repair?” asked Carol.

“No,” said Roddy crossly, as if he was almost sorry that they didn’t have more odds to work against. “Most of it’s smoke and will wash off. Some blisters, a little charr-rr-ed wood, a cracked slab or two and some tiles. If we all get to work we can set a lot of it right before morning, and the rest can be fixed tomorrow. Wait till the boss sees it.”

“Oh joy!” said Carol, her strength returning to her. “Let me get up and help. Why, I’m perfectly all right, why do I let you baby me?”

But they would not let her up. They brought a cot and laid their coats upon it, and put her there.

“You can be the boss, little lady,” said Charlie, smiling, “but you’ve done enough work for tonight.”

Duskin, hardly daring to leave her, had finally gone to the telephone himself and was marshalling his forces.

“It’s double pay to you and your men if you can come down here tonight and fix this up. Yes, double pay, I’ve said it.” His eyes were shining.

He went down the list of men he could trust and sifted out the best, and they came to his call, every man of them. Before midnight the place was like a hive of quiet bees, working steadily, each man helping his brother, each intent upon getting the damage hidden from sight and a new, sturdy wall in place again before morning.

The ones who could not work until the others were done hung cheerfully around and watched, even taking a hand sometimes when it wasn’t in their line of work.

Poor Bill, with his pride trailing in the dust like a wet hen’s tail, lighted the way around the cellar, hunting out slabs of marble that had not been used, pieces of trim, timbers and steel, a bag of cement, plaster and sand, and tiles. There seemed to be enough of almost everything, and as the hours went by outside in the dark street, a cordon of policemen patrolled the place. And would patrol it until that building was handed over the day after tomorrow to the city, complete and whole.

All night they worked, and when morning dawned there was little left of the devastation that the old laundry woman with her bundle of soaked rags and the little snipe of a newsboy with his fatal cigarette had wrought. The old fox would have to sling a bomb over the heads of the whole police force if he wanted to destroy his building now. It stood in the morning sunlight, whole and unscathed.

Inside, a few men could be found painting innocently—if anyone forced a way in past the bulldog glare of Bill—but otherwise all things seemed to be about as they had been. There were a few little touches that would be made during the day, but no casual observer would know that anything like tragedy had happened in that hall the night before.

Carol came back the next morning under the watchful eye of Charlie. She wore her rosy dress with her big white coat and white hat, and they treated her as if she were a queen.

“And what do you think?” she announced to Duskin, who looked at her and smiled with the look in his eyes she had seen when she first met him. “Mr. Fawcett himself is coming down tomorrow to be at the presentation. The doctor says the good news about the building has put him on his feet. There’s the telegram.”

She handed it over cheerfully.

“That may be all right,” grumbled Charlie, who was hovering around listening, a privileged character. “I’m glad the old boss got well, but it’s the lady boss and Dusky that’s the real thing, and they oughtta have all the honors.”

It was a busy day after all, for they had to get ready to move out and each one of the crew had to personally look after every other one of the crew all day. And when night came, it was with difficulty they persuaded Carol to go back to the hotel and get a good night’s rest. It was only because Duskin looked at her gently and told her she must for his sake that she consented to go.

She was down at the office very early in the morning, all in white—a soft, white wool dress and white hat and coat.

Duskin had had roses sent in, a great sheaf of them, to her.

She wore some of them fastened into the folds of her dress and arranged the rest around the room in some of Bill’s dishes she had found in the cellar.

Duskin wanted to go and meet Fawcett. He felt that it was his place. Carol begged him to stay. She felt that even yet something might happen.

“Nonsense,” he said. “They don’t want anything more of me now. The building is finished and the day is come. You are here to hold it, and you’ve plenty of men to stand by you. I’m going to meet Fawcett. It is my place. The job would not be complete without that.”

“All right, boss,” said Charlie. “I’ll go along.”

So Duskin and Charlie rode off in the old car to meet the president of the company, and Carol stayed behind and waited, with her cheeks growing more like her roses every minute.

So Caleb Fawcett rode up to his finished building on the morning of October first in Duskin’s old car that he had bought for fifty dollars, and Carol Berkley, his meek little secretary, stood at the doorway to meet him.

“Why, why, my dear little lady!” he exclaimed as he took her hand and looked into her eyes. “Why, you look like a bride! Why, what have you done to yourself?”

He had aged himself, she thought. His hair was silver around his temples and his face had been chastened by suffering. But his eyes were as keen as ever; and when he had gone over the beautiful finished building he turned to the two who had followed him anxiously, silently, and said with a voice that was broken with emotion, “It’s beautiful! It’s marvelous! I don’t know when we’ve put up a better structure, one that I admired more. And you, my two faithful stewards, I don’t know which is to be thanked the most for your faithful devotion and untiring zeal and self-sacrifice. You both deserve all and more that the company can do for you. Duskin, I’ve been hearing about your amazing selflessness and almost uncanny powers of accomplishing impossibilities. Every letter this young woman wrote was full of it, even the telegrams—”

He broke off and looked up again at the beautiful, powerful structure.

“Young man, as I look at that building it seems that it has a spirit, the same spirit as your own—indomitable and impregnable.”

Suddenly embarrassed at his unwonted flight of imagination, he turned to Carol who was listening in amazement. She had never expected anything like this from her crabby employer.

“And you, my dear little lady! How can I find words to express myself? Your untiring devotion, your heroism! Oh, I’ve been hearing all about it on the way up from the station!”

Carol was so utterly overcome to hear words like this from her stern old boss that she could think of no reply. She could only stand there in wondering embarrassment while his voice went on.

“But, little lady,” he was saying, and it sounded as if there were tears in his voice, “you don’t know what you did when you had the foresight to take down that evidence! They were planning to make us a lot more trouble and to refuse to make the final payments on some trumped-up technicality—they’ve been holding us up on money all along, you know—and they meant to lose us the forfeit. It was desperate straits for us because we have a lot of money out elsewhere just now, you remember. I got a letter from Schlessinger two days ago threatening the worst. That is what brought me here today. I was wild! But Duskin here met me at the train and told me what you had done, and we called up those crooks before we drove up here and told them a thing or two. There won’t be any trouble now. Schlessinger’s a lamb. He’s frightened cold! He knows it will be in every paper in the country before night if he doesn’t make a clean slate. And it’s all on account of you, little lady! We never can thank you enough!”

The peroration was cut short by Schlessinger, suddenly appearing, hurried and apologetic, a scared look in his eyes.

He went through the formalities hastily. He did not even glance at Carol or Duskin. He excused himself as soon as possible and hurried away, professing to have an important meeting to which he was already late.

The rest left the building like a procession with banners, bearing the signed papers, the checks, and their joy.

Duskin, Carol, and Fawcett went in the old car, and the workers followed on the sidewalk, walking solemnly like a bodyguard, as the car pursued its leisurely way through the traffic.

Fawcett was due to meet his wife at the three o’clock train and go with her to visit her sister in Kansas.

Carol and Duskin saw him off at the train.

He had given them all the praise they could absorb and two generous checks for a bonus, and they were so happy they did not realize any of it.

They stood arm in arm as if they had always belonged to each other and waved to Fawcett’s window as the train moved slowly out of the station.

“And now,” said Duskin when it was out of sight, “we’re free. Shall we go telephone your mother, or will you take me home and surprise her? I’ve wanted some folks of my own ever since my mother died, and I’m going to love them a lot. Carol, what would you say to a honeymoon in Maine? They say it is lovely in October. I’ve never been there, and I’ve always wanted to go. There are rocks and sand, and we can watch the waves.”

Carol replied with shining eyes, “Let’s go back to the hot dog place and invite the crew to the wedding! They’ve been so faithful, and they looked so lonesome when we went away!”

Days afterward, up in Maine, sitting on the sand watching the waves, Carol was telling Duskin all about the wonderful verses she had found in the book of Proverbs, and how they had been a lamp to her feet and a light to show her herself.

Duskin gravely took the book from her hand and turned the pages.

“Ah, but you have forgotten one of the most important and the most beautiful,” he said. “Look! It is in the last chapter. It just describes what by the grace of God has happened to me. ‘Who can find a virtuous woman? for her price is far above rubies. The heart of her husband doth safely trust in her.’”

G
RACE
L
IVINGSTON
H
ILL
(1865-1947) is known as the pioneer of Christian romance. Grace wrote over one hundred faith-inspired books during her lifetime. When her first husband died leaving her with two daughters to raise, writing became a way to make a living, but she always recognized storytelling as a way to share her faith in God. She has touched countless lives through the years and continues to touch lives today. Her books feature moving stories, delightful characters, and love in its purest form.

Next from the Love Endures series
of Grace Livingston Hill classics—

MATCHED PEARLS

Enjoy this excerpt!

C
onstance Courtland came smiling into the living room humming a cheerful little tune. She had just been lingering at the front door with Rudyard Van Arden, a neighbor’s son whom she had gone for a drive with, and her brother, Frank, looked up with a whimsical sneer.

“Well, has that egg gone home at last?” he drawled. “It beats me what you find to say to him. You’ve been gassing out there for a full half hour. Why, I c’n remember when you wouldn’t speak ta that guy. You said he was the limit. And now, just because you’ve both been ta college, and he’s got a sweater with a big red letter on the front and a little apricot-colored eyebrow on his upper lip, you stand there and chew the rag fer half an hour. And Mother here ben having seven pink fits for fear the Reverend Gustawvus Grant’ll return before she has a chance ta give ya the high sign.”

The mother rose hurriedly, embarrassedly, her face flushing guiltily, and began to protest.

“Really, Frank, you have no right to talk to your sister that way about her friends! When she’s only home for this weekend you ought to make it as pleasant for her as you can. You don’t see much of your sister and you oughtn’t to tease her like that. She won’t carry a very pleasant memory of her home back to college if you annoy her so whenever one of the old neighbors comes in to see her a little while. You know perfectly well that Rudyard Van Arden is a fine, respectable young man.”