Complete Story. The Secret.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XXIX, Issue I, 5 July 1902, Page 51

Complete Story. The Secret.

The Sampson Steel Works, a score of big buildings of brick or corrugated iron with metal roofs, were located on the outskirts of a large city. About them was a stockade fence of timber. The smoke from their high stacks, whether it blew east or west, crossed railroad embankments and smudged the fronts of many parallel rows of two-storey brick houses each one exactly like its neighbour. The ends of the streets which separated their houses straggled into empty lots, tussocked with coarse grass wherever piles of battered tin cans and ash heaps left.bare a few feet of clay. In one of the houses which overlooked this waste land lived the widow of Barney Scott, who, for many years before he met Jtis death, was driver of the giant electric travelling crane in the open-hearth shop at the Works. Mrs Scott was a little, clear-eyed, greyhaired Irish woman, with the bloom of apples in her cheeks and the warmest heart there ever was. But all of this did not pay the house rent, nor fill the frying pan; so, after Barney’s death, she put a card in the front window marked “Boarding.” A week later a man walked up the two steps to her house door. He was almost six feet in height and heavy shouldered, but he had the face and bearing of a boy. He could not have been over twenty years of age. A peaked cloth cap was pulled down over his shock of reddish-brown hair; his kersey coat opened over a jersey of home knitting. He held out a scrap of paper to Mrs Scott, and from this she learned that his name was Lars Nilson, that he was a new hand at the Works, and wanted a boarding place, but could speak only a few words of English.

Mrs Scott remembered that she knew a dozen words of Swedish; Carl Olson, who had written the note in her hand, had taught them to her. She repeated these words now, laying stress on every syllable, beaming on her visitor in consciousness of her attainment. Lars Nilson grinned, but made no reply. Mrs Scott was chagrined, but repeated the Swedish words more slowly and emphatically. When he still remained unresponsive, she remarked in an injured voice: “T’s a poor eddication y’ got not t’ know y’r own langweedge.” He nodded and continued to smile upon her. His mouth was large and good humoured; he had a broad face and clear, ruddy skin. Mrs Scott, looking into his blue eyes, knew that she could not turn him away.

“Y’ll promise t* pay me y’r board?” she said, compromising with her business instincts.

He shook his head promptly, and she laughed. “ T’s indepindince some people ’d put in y*. afther thet shake a y’r head,” she exclaimed. “But, t* my moind. ’t riprisints honisty; an’, since y’re not tryin’ t’ d’cave me. in y’ come.” She held the door open by way of invitation. and Lars Nilson walked in and — into her heart.

Nor from either of these places was he ousted in the months to come. At the end of the first week he held out his wages in the broad of his huge palm; and. from the eight dollars there, Mrs Seott took three, counting them on to the table, while she said: “Wan! Two! Thray!” Lars Nilson repeating the words after her. Mrs Scott had taken it upon herself to become his tutor on the first night he came home from the Works. There he

was one of the day foree in the shop where they melted the atcel in great brick furnaces and "tapped’’ it. sixty thousand pounds of liquid, glowing metal, like so much soup, into a huge ladle that was swung aloft from the chains of the giant travelling crane. In the shop his strong arms mate him a valuable man; but. in Mrs Scott’s kitchen. or on the front steps, he would sit. his hands idle in his lap. and struggle patiently to reproduce the words she spoke as she laid a finger on the object she named, or illustrated the action she phrased. And she—while she washed the dishes, perhaps — would go over the lesson again and again. Neither of them grew weary of the exercise, and. in a few months. Lars Nilson could make himself understood in a language that was English in intent, but remarkable for its Milesian twists and Scandinavian reversions.

Yet he was a queer fellow in his way. Several times in these early days he came home, gloomy and silent, and once he was very angry and scant of words. It was some time before Mrs Scott learned the cause. Then she made out that they had poked fun at him at the Works for some stumbling confidence of his about his home. I.ong Jones, the leather-faced, shrewd giant, whose place at the Works was beside the eighty-ton hammer, and who was liked and respected by all for his outspoken ways and many years of experience —Long Jones, coming upon Nilson one evening as he sat on Mrs Scott’s doorstep and she stood in the doorway, did not hesitate to voice the general opinion regarding Nilson. “He’s a strong, good-natured boy." he said, in his rumbling bass. “But he’s dumb — dumber ’n most any man I’ve come acrost.”

Nilson, his big hands resting on his knees, had nodded to Long Jones, then resumed bis placid watch of the paie flare of flame from one of the stacks at the Works. But Mrs Seott had seen his fingers curl and his neck grew hot as Long Jones spoke his mind, and she believed he had understood the words.

She told Long Jones to hold his toague

“What fur?” he returned. “I like th* boy. but I could call him any name I’d a mind t’ an’ ’t wouldn’t make "O difference t* him. Thet’s what I wua a sayin’—he’s dumb. Any one else in three months ’d a knowed how t’ talk English some sort a way. But he—he don’t know more ’n a do.-en words er so.” “What?** exclaimed Mrs Seott, ani was about to enlighten Long Jonea, when, her eyes failing on Xilson, she got a signal from him. and finished her reply with: “Now ye don’t say so! An* here I’ve bin thinkin’ ’t wuz shyness a m’silf thet kept him from talkin' more.” “No, jus’ dumbness," asserted Long Jones confidently. "‘T’s queer, too.” he added, "fur I never seen a new hand so anxious t’ learn.” Mrs Seott had in mind to ask Xilson. when T ong Jones should go, what this concealment meant; hut he forestalled * her. “I haf not tell them efryving." he said. ■“You will help me?" And she promised that she would, not understanding, but won by his frankness and trusting smile. Yet she could not resist the temptation to learu how far Nilson had been able to deceive the men at the Works; and when she artfully questioned Han Campbell and Olson and others, her wonderment grew. Ail of them assorted that Nilson could speak but a few words of English, though he was a smait workman already. It was Nilson's deftness and strength and apparent isolation in the matter of language that made the General Manager at the Works pick him out. with a score of other men—mostly unskilled foreigners—to labour in the department where steel for heavy guns was ha:dened by a new precess. The formul# for this process had been bought from a European manufacturer at a big cost, and was a jealously guarded secret. Its exclusive possession by the Sampson Steel Works enabled that plant to obtain high prices fYom the United States Government. Nilson, by virtue of his dexterity.

promptness and energy, proved himself the best man in the new gang. It was because of this very eagerness on Nilson's part that Mr Sager, the held of the new department, began to watch him closely. A little learning is sometimes a dangerous thing when a valuable secret is at stake, and rival manufacturers stand ready to pay handsomely tne man who will sell them the same. When, therefore, quite by accident, Mr Sager found out that Nilson could speak much more English than he pretended, he started a quiet investigation of Nileon's antecedents and behaviour. This being unsatisfying, he summoned Nilson to his ©dice one day. "Tell me why you didn't' say you could speak English.” ue demanded. Nilson's lips worker!, and he kicked the heel of one Loot with the toe of the other. His face grew a dull red. “Der was no one haf asked me,” he said in a half audible voice. The reply nettled Mr Sager. “Nonsense!” he answered. "lou have tried to fool every one.” Nilson was silent. He looked like a school culprit, and began to crack his linger joints, so that Mr Sager cried to him to stop. “Why did you pretend not. to be able to speak English’” he repeated. Nilson shifted his footing and began again to pull at his fingers; then, remembering that this was forbidden, looked around him wildly and suddenly whirled about as if to run. Mr Sagers voice halted him. "Here, there! Where are you going? I want an answer. Speak out!” •'Vat I say’” cried Nilson. "Why did you pretend—make believe —let on that you couldn’t speak English?” Nilson remained mute a moment. Then, all at once, he said, as if he had weighed every word of his reply: "Dey laugh at de men vat no can speak English right. I was learn it before I tell dem.” It was the reason of a child; Mr Sager refused to credit it. Yet, when he told Nilson this anil pressed him for another explanation, the lines on the Swede’s face deepened and his eyes grew’ cold, and he began to work his shoulders ominously. Mr Sager foresaw a struggle with the obstinacy of the North, and ordered him to speak up. Nilson set his lips and stood with ehiu thrust forward, sullen and silent. "I’ve a mind to discharge you!” said Mr Sager, after a minute’s fruitless wait: and, even as he said it. knew that to discharge this man was the thing he feared to do. At large, thrown upon his own resources, armed with what he knew of the secret process. Nilson could be as dangerous to the Sampson Steel Works as is the stray torpedo to the warship which has just lost it overboard. Yet how was he to be dealt with? Mr Sager looked up from his desk, and met Nilson’s eyes. They were fixed upon him with a look of alarm. Mr Sager’s suspicions almost melted. Perhaps he was wrong, after all. At least the best he could do was to tell Nilson to go. "But no more tricks!” he added. “Walk straight, or you’ll walk out ’” “Walk straight? Walk out?” repeated Nilson dubiously. He stood a minute uncertain; then his face cleared, and he gravely squared his shoulders, swung on his heel end, with a step that spoke of military training, marched in • bee-line to the doorway, hands to Imsaides, turned sharply to the right, and so out the door. Mr Sager laughed. But, because the thing was so seriously done his suspicions hardened again, and he sat staring at the doorway, his brow wrinkled. There was a great deal at stake for him personally as guardian of the secret process. So he watched Nilson more closely than ever. and had others watch him. Presently, with his suspicions to help him. he wove quite a web of circumst£.ntial evidence about the new man. li.lt the facts were few. Nilson was. intensely interested in his work, seemed to dislike company, went to the city often in his hours off duty, and wrote many letters. To whom these letters were addressed Mr Sager only got n clue after several months. One day as Nilson walked along the cinder pathway between two of the shops his coat slipped from the arm on which he was carrying it. and hitching it up half a dozen letters fell to the ground. Nilson did not •ee them drop; but the foreman of krs gang, who was close behind, did,

and picked them up. Idle curiosity made him glance at the envelopes. They were ali addressed to Nilson at his boarding-place, bore dates within two months, and, in the upper left-hand corner of each, was printed the name of the Roxdale Steel Company. a rival concern which had its plant in the eity itself. Now the foreman knew of Mr Sager's suspicions, and he was debating what he ought to do with these letters, which might be valuable evidence of Nilson’s duplicity, when Nilson, who had discovered his loss, ran up to him. The Swede's face was flushed, the fingers he extended for the letters trembled; but there was a sparkle in his eyes and his lips were pressed together. The foreman, looking at him, had a queer, cowardly feeling; and handed over the letters without a word. That evening the foreman told Mr Sager what he had come upon, and Mr Sager put in a very bad night indeed. He knew that no workmen had access to the stationery of a firm, and that, therefore, someone in the offices of the Roxdale Steel Company must be writing to Nilson. And what could such a person be writing to NUson about? What but ? Mr Sager did not like to fill in that question. But the next day he called Nilson into his office again, and bluntly asked him what he was writing to the Roxdale Steel Company about. Nilson's ruddy face took" on a deeper red. “I do not write to de Roxdale Companee," he said slowly and distinctly. Mr Sager gasped; he had looked for a plausible explanation, not a flat denial. "That's a lie!” he blurted out, but, the moment he had spoken, knew that he had made a mistake. Nilson's eyes expanded and were filled with a cold light that made Mr Sager shiver. His jaw eame up with a snap, and he lowered and thrust forward his head, while his fingers knotted. But soon his muscles loosened, and he said quietly: "A lie! 1 no tell you a lie.” But then he closed his mouth, and nothing that Mr Sager could say would make him open it again. He stood stock still, his head bent, looking at his boots which he had brought together at the heels. Mr Sager acknowledged himself beaten, and told NHson to go. A few weeks later, one afternoon as the siren whistle ran up and down the seale, calling the day force from their work, Nilson stepped up to the foreman of his gang, and palled off his cap. “I want not to work on Wednesday,” he said. “Y" do?” answered the foreman. "Well, y’ can go on wantin'.” "I want not to work on Wednesday,” returned Nilson, unmoved. "I heard y'; but y" got to work jus' th' same," replied the foreman. "But I want not to work on Wednesday,” repeated Nilson, a little shaken. The foreman was angry, but. suppressed a sharp reply. "What fur?” he asked. “I want to go somewhere.” “Where to?” ' Nilson's face lightened for a moment. and he impulsively opened his lips as if to say something that tugged at the strings of his tongue for voice. But the foreman's ill-timed “Hurry up now!" banished the smile and closed Nilson's mouth. He shook his head sullenly. “Y” can't go; y' got t’ stay here!” said the foreman shortly. If the foreman had looked around as he walked away he might have seen that in Nilson's face which would have decided him to report the occurrence to Mr Sager at once, instead of waiting until the next morning, and then forge; ting all about it. It was brought sharply to his mind when, on Wednesday morning. Nilson did not appear at the hour for beginning work. Then he told Mr Sager.what had happened. " -t Ten minutes later two men had been sent to watch the gates of the Roxdale Steel Company’s yard. At noon these men reported that Nilson had been seen to enter that enclosure. walk to the main office, and. an hour later, come out with a welldressed man. apparently also a Swede, to wuom he was talking rapidly. Nilson was showing the latter a letter, and seemed greatly

pleased. The two had disappeared among the buildings of the company along the water front. Now, Mr Sager felt almost sure that NHson had betrayed his employers. And he saw no way to save himself and his company but to bribe Nilson to keep his knowledge to himself. With that end in view he set a watch on Nilson’s boarding plaee; and, at- six o'clock that same evening. was rewarded by the information that Nilson with two other men had just gone into Mrs Scott's. Dropping official dignity, Mr Sager hurried there.

As the door was opened he heard Nilson's mellow voice coming from the room at the head of the stairs. Mrs Scott was delighted to see him, and. bobbing curtseys, ushered him into the "parlur." where she lighted the lamp. Then she went to tell Nilson of his visitor. In another minute Nilson came into the room. "Good evening. Mr Sager,” he said. Bis face was aglow, his eyes dancing. He exfended a hand, then, suddenlyremembering that this was one of his employers, he stopped, confused, awkwardly shifting his footing. Mr Sager plunged right into the subject- that had brought him here. “You weren’t at work to-day. Do you mean not to come back at all?” Nilson hung his head; all the gladness was gone from his face. He looked like a schoolboy eaught in some wrongdoing by his teacher. “I want to come back; but my frien'. he say you wyi deescharge me—now.” "Who is your friend?” “My frien’? Johannsen: he is in de office of de Roxdale Companee.” "Is he the one you write to?” "Yas. An’ he is upstairs—now." Mr Sager cast aside all disguise. "How much have you told him?” he asked. "To!' him? Tol’ h-m?" repeated Nilson. "Vhy, I haf tol’ Johannsen efryving.” Mr Sager actually groaned. He vxs too miserable to be angry with Nil-

son at this time. But, suddenly, aa idea suggested itself to him. “Hara you told anyone else?” he queried. “No; vhy I should?” answered Nilson? “Johannsen, he was differen*. He vas my frien’—always. He tell me not worry ven dey make fun of me at de works; he tell me not io tell dem about my people. De rest dey not understan’; dey laugh at me ven I first try to speak English. But Johannsen, he understan"; he send dj monee home for me. An’ ven :lo foreman would not- let me go to de citee—l go; for I must see him. Johannsen he send de tickets; I go to meet him—on de ship dat come today- ”

"See him? See who?” asked Mr Sager, bewildered. Nilson's face was one big laugh. He saw that he had been talking in riddles. “Come wid me! Please, do you come wid me!” he cried, and pulled Mr Sager toward the hall. Mr Sager, uncomprehending, followed his guide up the stairs. i At the head of the stairway was a room brilliantly lighted. Nilson had flung open the door and .stood to ona side. Mr Sager saw a table with many little plates of small fishes and broken pieces of a thin dark bread and cheese. At one side sat a strong, middle-aged man with bright complexion. plainly a Swede. At the end of the table was an old man with leonine head, swept by long gray hair, white over the temples, and whose eyes were blue like Nilson's.. He was dressed in clothing such as Mr Sager never remembered to have seen. Nilson's face was proud and joyous. He extended an arm toward the old man. "He come by de ship—today.” he said- “I go to meet him. He is my fardcr.” And suddenly Mr Sager understood, and he grasped Nilson's hand. “So the Works hadn't the only secret!” he cried. “Come! I want to shake hands with one of yours.” ,