CHAPTER XI

WAR IS DECLARED

“For pity’s sake, Mr. Barton, _do_ come away,” Helen Fuller cried at last. “We’ll _never_ have time for luncheon.”

“Beg pardon. Business must be attended to before we can take our pleasure, always,” and Frank Barton laughed.

But Ethel’s countenance was quite composed again. She did not even glance in Miss Fuller’s direction as she closed the notebook and put it and the pencil into her bag.

“Good-day, Miss Clayton,” Barton said, taking her hand. “I will not thank you for coming to me on this business, for I know your deep interest in the company’s affairs. That was merely your duty. But to see you again has been a pleasure. Even should I be assigned to foreign duty suddenly, I shall hope to see all my Mailsburg friends at least once before I sail. I send my regards to everybody in the office.”

It was like that. He did not consider her call a personal one. Yet that was not altogether Frank Barton’s fault, for Ethel had made it plain that she had come only on business. The young manager of the Hapwood-Diller Company was no more dense than any other man.

Helen’s voice, with a tartness in it that could not be mistaken, reached them again:

“_Do_ hurry, Mr. Barton! I presume if you were fighting in the trenches it would all have to stop while you gave your attention to some factory matter.”

He laughed and ran down the steps to the car. The engine of the latter began to roar again.

“Coming, Morry?” Helen asked, as the wheels began to revolve.

“Two’s company, three’s a gang,” he drawled, waving his hand. “Farewell. I am going to show Miss Clayton around the camp.”

This he insisted on doing. After the brusk departure of Barton in the car Ethel was too proud to show any chagrin. Besides, Morry Copley was evidently desirous of pleasing her. She noted that he had assumed quite a military carriage and concluded that his few weeks in camp had done him a world of good.

“Won’t you let me call on you when I come back to Mailsburg on furlough, Miss Clayton?” he asked, when he had showed her everything of general interest in the camp.

“Most certainly not!” Ethel exclaimed bluntly. “You know very well Mrs. Copley would be horrified if you visited a working girl, Mr. Copley.”

“Aw, fiddle!” returned Morry in disgust, “I’m not half as much tied to her apron strings as you think.”

“Perhaps you should be,” Ethel laughed. “What will she say if you really are ordered to France?”

“Mothaw really thinks this is all play. She has no idea we’ll really go. At least, not such fellows as Bradley and me.”

“And--will you?” Ethel wickedly observed.

“If I get my commission I’ll be off before she knows it--poor dear lady,” he declared. “Don’t you people in Mailsburg fret. There are some men in this camp besides Frank Barton.”

Ethel sent the telegram holding up the stock order as instructed by Barton, and when she arrived home late in the afternoon she transcribed her notes of the letter to Mr. Macon Hammerly and sent it to that gentleman by special messenger. The latter appeared in the offices of the Hapwood-Diller Company early on Monday morning. For once he seemed to wish to catch Jim Mayberry at his desk.

“Let’s see,” scowled Macon Hammerly, eyeing the superintendent blackly, “have you managed to find a hat in town big enough for you, Jim?”

“I have ’em made to order--and stretchable,” grinned the younger man, never at a loss for an answer when he met Hammerly, whom he just as cordially disliked as Hammerly disliked him. “What’s biting you now?”

“A suspicion that you have a swelled head is eating on me,” frankly announced the old grain dealer, his bushy eyebrows meeting again. “I’ve come to give you a mite of advice.”

“Thanks!” returned Mayberry, encouragingly. “I’ve been expecting this visit ever since Frank went away. It must have pained you to keep away so long.”

“Not exactly,” returned Hammerly. “It’s only surprised me that I haven’t had to come around before. I told Barton I’d keep an eye on you.”

“Thanks again,” growled Mayberry, and this time he did not look so pleasant. Hammerly was quite unmoved.

“Here’s the trouble,” he said, quietly watching the superintendent. “Barton wrote me to look up the Bogata people again.”

The hit was palpable. Mayberry jumped in his chair. He lifted his face to stare at the old man in open surprise.

“Seems there’s an order kicking around the office here from them. Barton had his doubts about accepting it. Now there _is_ no doubt. You’re not to do a stroke of work on those goods.”

“Who says so?” snapped Mayberry. “Who’s in charge here, I want to know, Mr. Hammerly?”

“_You_ won’t be,” said the other softly, “if you don’t take well meant advice.”

“Why! that order’s been accepted long ago. I’ve ordered some of the stock. I’ve planned to begin the work this week.”

“Change your plans, Jim Mayberry. Change your plans,” said Hammerly in a more threatening voice. “You’re not in power here. Barton may come back any day and polish you off. And this Bogata business is settled--for all time. Don’t make a mistake.”

“Why, we can’t----”

“You’re right. You can’t fill the order. Pull in your horns. The Bogata Company are going to have a New Year’s present of a receivership. And I’m hanged if I’ll stand by and see them try to bolster up their rotten credit with the credit of the Hapwood-Diller Company. They don’t happen to owe this firm anything, Jim; but they owe everybody else in the world who would give ’em a cent’s worth of credit. You kill their order.”

“I tell you it can’t be done,” muttered Mayberry.

“If you don’t Barton will come here and do it himself. He’s already wired your supply people to hold that order you sent for correction. You’re not going to run this factory into debt one penny’s worth to aid the Bogata people.”

Mayberry sprang up, his heavy face aflame. “If you were a younger man, Mr. Hammerly----”

“Forget my age, Jim. I’ve never seen the day yet that I couldn’t handle a chap of your size and shape,” and he let his keen eye run over Mayberry’s obese figure. “You’re as stubborn as a mule. Perhaps that’s all the matter with you. But you’ve got your instructions. All you need to do is to follow them. Write to the Bogata people and tell them this factory can’t fill their order.”

“I don’t see by what right----”

“None at all. I’m butting in,” said Hammerly turning to the door. “But you’d better think it over.” He went out chuckling, and after a while Mayberry cooled down. He knew well enough Hammerly’s power on the board. He soon grew calm enough to study the thing out.

Barton had called on Hammerly for advice again. How had Barton heard of the Bogata matter? Just one answer to that question. Ethel Clayton!

Mayberry’s expression when he came to this conclusion boded ill for Ethel. He knew just how he stood personally with her. Not that he cared more for Ethel Clayton in the first place than he did for half a dozen other girls. Only it had piqued him that she should have been so disdainful of his advances.

Now he had a real reason, he told himself, for considering Ethel in the light of an enemy. She had thwarted his intention of jamming the Bogata order through the factory before Barton became aware of what he was doing. The success of the scheme meant much in a financial way to the superintendent.

Now he could not do it. It was true that he had got his orders from the old grain merchant. Hammerly would surely keep his eye on him hereafter--if he had not already been doing so.

Mayberry knew he had a friend in Grandon Fuller. But he did not know yet just how much of a friend Mr. Fuller was. Nor why he was friendly with him! Mr. Fuller had not yet shown his hand.

Fuller was the heaviest stockholder in the Hapwood-Diller Company and was, of course, on the board of directors. But it was doubtful if he could swing more votes than Macon Hammerly.

Angry as he was, Mayberry felt that it would be the part of wisdom to keep from an open break with the grain dealer. Besides, Barton had not gone to France yet--if he ever did.

A telegram came from the supply house:

“We hold your order as requested subject to correction.”

Mayberry sent for Ethel.

“What do you know about this, Ethel?” he demanded, glowering at her as she read the telegram.

“Just as much as you do, Mr. Mayberry,” she declared, composedly enough.

He thought that over a bit. Then he dictated a a letter to the Bogata Company bluntly refusing to fill their order and without even explaining or apologizing for the seeming delay in answering their letter. He had managed to do exactly what Barton had tried to avoid--giving the Bogata people offence. If the miracle happened, and the Bogata people “came back,” they would never feel friendly again toward the Hapwood-Diller Company.

As for Mayberry and Ethel, war was declared between them. There could be no further doubt of it.