CHAPTER XVI

THE DUTY AGAIN DEVOLVES

Ryder feed a waiter to bring him some breakfast into the café and did something he had never done before in his life--drank a "life saver" before the morning meal.

"If this goes on," muttered John Ryder, "I shall become a sot. I have drunk more between-meal drinks within the last twenty-four hours than I ever did before in my life. They say getting married sobers most men; it seems as though it may utterly wreck _me_--morally!"

When he wandered back into the office George had returned and beckoned him to the desk.

"I've had a couple of hours' sleep, Mr. Ryder, and that's all," the clerk said. "And it's all I guess I'll get. Mr. Manger hasn't come back and isn't likely to; and although Jim Howe is willing, he's only good for detail work. He's got to come to me to ask about every little thing. And now, by Jove! _I've_ got to come to you, sir."

"Come to me?" growled Ryder. "What for? I'm through. You can't expect me to shoulder the responsibilities of running this hotel."

"I just want your advice, Mr. Ryder," said George, the foxy. "Look around at these other men. They are all useless to me now. Aside from Al--who has his own work--you are the only man with a head on him."

"I'm not sure whether I have a head or not," grumbled Ryder. "But fire up! What's happened?"

"Why, I filed a telegram to Mr. Giddings last night, and here's what I get in reply," the clerk hastened to say, handing the crumpled sheet to Ryder. It read:

"Giddings out of town. Return Monday. Should advise keeping house open at any cost.--BLACKMAN."

"Now, I don't know who the dickens Blackman is, unless he's Mr. Giddings' chief clerk," the worried George said. "But this wire doesn't give me proper authority to go ahead and contract bills, promise to pay help, and all that. I don't know how to reach any of the Barnaby heirs. They may read something about our trouble in the papers this afternoon, for our local correspondent is on the job.

"But the heirs will expect Giddings to attend to it. The help are troublesome--those that have remained. Al has his hands full, believe me! And the guests are kicking like steers about the heating. We've got to have coal."

"Can't you buy a little in the town?"

"It would be mighty little. These dealers here--and there are only two of them--buy from hand to mouth, as you might say. And then, Mr. Ryder, I'm a poor man. My salary isn't big. This looks like a diamond in my tie," and George grinned; "but it is pure glass. I wear it because it seems a man can't be a sure-enough hotel clerk without wearing what looks like a 'chunk of ice.'

"You know," the clerk added more seriously, "Bangs bought his coal from the railroad company."

"Can't you get some from them?"

"Well, I tried to bluff them on it," said George. "I managed to get them on the telephone at the Junction--Divisional Supervisions office. There is still something wrong with the long distance service. They can get us a car by next Tuesday; not a minute before."

"These folks'll freeze to death here," said Ryder. "It's already colder this morning. And there's nothing being done to that bridge, I suppose?"

"You couldn't get the farmers to work on Saturday if you offered them double wages," declared the clerk. "The reputation of the Pinewood Inn will be ruined. And I'd hate to see the doors closed and all these people put out."

"And nowhere to go," Ryder said thoughtfully.

"You've said a mouthful," groaned George, but watching the other sharply.

"By thunder!" exclaimed Ryder, suddenly smiting the counter with a clenched fist. He scented the battle like a warhorse and forgot his personal troubles for the moment. This emergency appealed to him. "I can't see you beat this way, boy," he declared.

"But what'll I do?"

"Wait till I take a look around the village. Sit tight and say nothing."

"If the steam isn't knocking in those pipes pretty soon I am going to have a mob at this desk ready to tar and feather me, Mr. Ryder."

"If they do it, you tell me," chuckled the business man with an answering grin, and, having his hat and coat with him, he started for the door without further loss of time.

It looked to Ryder as though it was up to him to take hold of the wheel of affairs again and give it a whirl. Ruth had expressed a desire to remain at the hotel; and certainly she could not stay without heat and light.

Besides, Ryder had an additional reason for remaining. If Mrs. Judson circulated her rumors and lies among the guests, certainly John Ryder and the woman to whom he had given his name and to whom he had entrusted his honor, could not afford, even seemingly, to run away.

In his present mood he would have made an offer to buy the hotel and run it as he saw fit, providing he could get the owners of the Pinewood Inn to agree on a price. Under no consideration or circumstances could he allow the guests to believe there was anything queer about Ruth. They must remain.

And "that impudent and half-baked house detective," which was the way he thought of Miss Solomons, was likely to make as much trouble for them as Mrs. Judson. He did not mind what people said of him; but he grew furious when he thought of what might be said about Ruth.

Therefore, he took hold of this coal situation with zest. As he passed the local coal dealers on the way to the shack that served Pinewood as a station, he saw that George had been correct. The two dealers together did not have enough coal to furnish the hotel with a proper supply for more than a day or two. The hotel needed a carload at least. And there should be two or three carloads in the cellar to protect the guests if the house was to remain open any length of time.

When he reached the station he saw upon a spur track four gondolas heaped high with fuel. A man in cap and jumper, wheeling an empty truck, he rightly identified as the station master and general factotum of the company at this rather unimportant station.

He halted the man. "I want to buy some of that coal," he said.

"Huh?"

Ryder repeated his observation, and the man began to grin. "Think I'm dealing in coal? You've struck the wrong man, boss."

"I represent the hotel," said Ryder. "I understand the railroad furnishes Pinewood Inn with fuel."

"But not that coal," said the station master. "That was shunted off here yesterday because the old scrapheap they called an engine hitched to Number Three couldn't pull her load over the rise to Blandins. That coal is billed to a factory up there. I couldn't touch that coal if I wanted to."

"Then put me in communication with the supervisor of this division and I'll tell him the hotel must have coal. We're all out. The manager has lit out over night and left the bins empty and the guests will freeze if we don't get coal. I'll pay for it right here, and you'll find that my check is good."

"Oh, I ain't doubting that," said the agent. "I guess you're Mr. Ryder. I've heard tell of you. You near bought out Cal Crabtree's store last night, they say. But if you was the Angel Gabriel I couldn't sell you a hodful of that coal--nossir! Neither could the Super. It's not the road's coal, I tell you."

"The road, then, is merely acting as carrier?"

"That's right, Mister. The Lossing Soap Factory is going to get that coal."

"I want that coal," said John Ryder persuasively.

"Can't help it. If I should sell you a pound of it, I'd be li'ble to arrest for larceny, or burglary, or somethin'. Yes, sir!"

"If you can't sell it, I shall have to take it."

The station agent laughed. He laughed loudly. In fact he was still holding his sides and hee-hawing when Ryder walked away. The latter went directly to Crabtree's store.

"Old man," he said to the storekeeper, and accepting without a qualm one of Crabtree's "two-fors" and lighting it, "what do teamsters ask here for carting a load of coal?"

"They git fifty cents a ton."

"I want you to get me every man who owns a horse and wagon, and will work, to cart coal from the spur track yonder to the hotel. Let 'em weigh out and in on your scales. I'll give a dollar a ton providing they get to work quickly and stick to it."

"My soul and body! Where'll you git the coal?" gasped the storekeeper.

"I haven't _got_ it. But I am going to _take_ it. It's there on the spur, and the hotel needs it. Can't let the women and children suffer. Do you notice that the thermometer is going down?"

"But what'll the railroad folks do?"

"You find me enough men and they won't do anything. We'll have what coal we need before they can send a gang up here from the Junction--even if they wish to. This is a case of necessity and Necessity, as our school-books used to tell us, knows no law!"

"By jinks!" exclaimed Crabtree. "They'll call on the constable."

"Where is he? Who is he?"

"Why, he--he kinder thought to go fishin' today. The sun didn't jes' rise to suit him. But he can git out now if he steps right smart, before anybody can tell him he's likely to be called on."

"My soul, man! Are you the constable?" gasped John Ryder.

"Sh! I'm storekeeper to you. Don't speak loud enough for the constable in me to hear," chuckled the old fellow.

He went to the door and blew a horn. "That'll call my son, Sam. He'll 'tend to things--and weigh the coal. I sha'n't be back 'fore supper time. Sam'll gather the clans, Mr. Ryder, and see that they work right. You ought to put a tidy lot of coal into them hotel bins before the constable gits back," and the storekeeper promptly disappeared.