El Diablo Part 6

"No, but you thought it just the same. And what right have you to think things like that? What do you know about things here? You never saw the place until just a few weeks ago. And you've been gone ever since. I'll bet you were never in a fish cannery before in your life. I'll bet right now you don't know what you're going to do next. You're waiting for Blair to get well and tell you. Suppose he doesn't. He's a mighty sick man and it's a cinch if he does come back it won't be for a long time.

What are you going to do in the meantime besides tell me I don't----"

Gregory held up his hand to check a further outburst.

"Listen," he said. "There is no use going on like this. Our fathers were the best of friends. Why can't we be the same? I'm willing to admit there is a lot of truth in what you say about my not knowing just what I'm going to do right now. I didn't select the position I'm in, but I'm going to make the best of things as they are and finish up the work which was begun by my father. And I want to say right now that I'm going to finish it.

"In a way," he went on slowly, "our positions are somewhat similar. We each have a job to finish. I didn't think yours meant as much to you as mine does to me, though of course I might have, if I hadn't been thinking so much of myself. Our fathers worked together and got along fine. It may be that we can do the same thing."

The fire died slowly from the girl's eyes. In its place there came an expression, more wistful perhaps than anything else. When she spoke again the irritation was gone from her voice.

"No," she answered. "There isn't any reason why we can't be friends. And there are a lot of reasons why we should be. I'm willing to do my part and I'll show you, Mr. Gregory, that I do know my business. It always makes me mad when any one thinks I don't know the sea. When dad wanted to tease me he always called me a 'land-lubber.' And even when a kid I would always fight at that."

She paused a moment. Then went on:

"I'd like to do what I can for you for two reasons. Your father did a lot for mine. He was one of my few friends. I'd like to give his son a hand if it would help. In the second place, it is to my interest in a business way to see your cannery succeed. It is a market for my fish. I won't sell to the Golden Rule and the dealers won't pay the express on canning fish. The sooner you start up the better it will be for me. I can tell you right now you have a lot to do."

Again she paused and looked down at her feet. When she spoke again it was with some hesitation.

"If I were you I'd get hold of Jack McCoy. He can do more for you than any one else. I wouldn't count too much on Blair. I heard from him this morning and they didn't hold out much hope. He's completely run down and that's the kind pneumonia hits hard."

Gregory nodded.

"I know," he said. Then he asked: "McCoy was the foreman, wasn't he?"

"Yes. He's still in town. Blair gave him a letter of recommendation but Jack won't look for another job until he knows what Blair is going to do. He says Blair taught him all he knows and he's going to stick to him because he always treated him white."

Gregory wrote McCoy's address which the girl supplied and she continued:

"One of the first things to be done, of course, will be to go all over the machinery. That won't take long. Then the supplies and material will have to be checked over and the new stuff ordered. That will take a week for two men."

Gregory looked at the girl with more respect. Apparently she knew something of his business as well as her own. Doubtless her a.s.sociation with her father had brought her into close touch with the cannery. As she went on, d.i.c.kie Lang divulged the source of her information.

"Jack and I have talked you over a lot," she said soberly. "We are both anxious to see you get going."

While she talked on concerning the re-opening of the cannery, Gregory wondered to what extent her opinion of McCoy's ability was based by personal prejudice. Of course it was nothing to him what d.i.c.kie Lang thought of McCoy or of himself either, for that matter. He decided to look McCoy up at once.

"Then you have to get your labor," she went on. "And that isn't as easy, I have found, as it seems. You see Mascola has the bulge on the labor situation around here. He has the riff-raff of the world on his pay-roll. They speak in a dozen different languages. Everything almost--but English. They are practically all aliens and there is nothing they won't do to keep a decent man out. Blair had hard work to get a crew, I know, and harder work to keep it. He was always hiring and firing. Things would go all right for a while. Then there would come a row with Mascola's outfit and a lot of the boys would get disgusted and leave."

Gregory interrupted:

"I understand from my father's attorney, that one of the biggest things he had to contend with was the matter of getting fish."

"I'm coming to that in a minute. Let's finish up the labor question while we're on it. You've got to get a certain number of skilled men who can handle the machines. With a few others who have worked in a fish cannery you can go ahead, for the biggest percentage of your labor is unskilled anyway and has to be broken in. Men like that are the hardest to get," she concluded, "they are mostly tramps. Here to-day and gone to-morrow. You can't depend on them. If you can get a bunch to stick, you're mighty lucky."

She paused and moved her chair nearer. Then she broached the important subject.

"About the fish, you can do one of three things. Or rather two things,"

she corrected, "for I hardly think you'll tie up with Mascola. You can fix up your own boats, try to man them and get your own fish. You have twenty-five boats. That's not enough even if they were all in good shape, which they're not."

"What do you mean by trying to man my boats?"

The girl smiled.

"Just what I say," she answered. "Fishermen are scarce. My father was in business here for twenty years and most of the time he was running short-handed. You can get plenty of men to ride on your boats but they are not fishermen."

Noting the direction in which the conversation was drifting, Gregory resolved to hasten the climax.

"Do you think you could furnish me with enough fish?" he asked bluntly.

"I don't think anything about it. I know I could."

"How do you know it?"

She hesitated as she cast about in her active brain for a tangible argument to convince the obstinate, square-jawed man before her. Of course she could get him the fish. But how could she make him believe it?

"My fishermen know the coast for one thing," she began. "That's a whole lot around here. It's a treacherous sh.o.r.e-line and a man who doesn't know it can lose a boat mighty easy. Then, I have ten new boats, just the kind you have to have for albacore and tuna. As a general rule you've got to go way out to sea to get them. Sometimes as far as Diablo.

And that means trouble. If you've ever been out to that G.o.d-forsaken island you'll understand that it takes real men and boats. I have both."

Gregory said nothing, but waited for the girl to finish:

"I know my game," she concluded, with no spirit of bravado, but merely as if it was only a plain statement of fact. "My men are used to holding their own against Mascola. And I can tell you that is worth a lot."

Gregory nodded. Then he said quietly:

"Your father was never able to supply mine with enough fish to keep this cannery going. Isn't that right?"

d.i.c.kie Lang was forced to admit the truth of the statement. Then she qualified: "He hadn't had the big boats but a few months and they had a run of bad luck from the start."

Gregory considered her words carefully.

"Would you be willing to enter into a contract with me to keep the cannery supplied with fish?" he asked, watching her closely. For the first time he saw her show signs of receding from her original position.

d.i.c.kie Lang hesitated. Her fear of legal entanglements was hereditary.

Bill Lang had settled his differences out of court and had warned his daughter on more than one occasion of the dangers which lurked in a contract. She shook her head. What did she know of this man, save the fact that he bore his father's name?

"No," she answered, feeling, however, that she had weakened her previous statement by refusing to make it legally binding.

"Why not?"

The girl realized that their positions were becoming reversed. It was she now who was on the defensive.

"Because," she answered slowly, "I wouldn't." Ashamed that she had given the proverbial reason for feminine change of mind, she added quickly: "You see you may be all right. And then again you may not. I'd like a chance to size you up first."

Gregory smiled. "That was what I thought about you at the beginning of our talk," he said. His face became instantly serious. "We'll just have to size each other up before we can actually get down to cases. Isn't that the truth?"

She nodded. "Yes. You think I can't make good."

"And you just don't know about me," Gregory finished for her. Then he added: "How are we going to find out about each other?"