Burned Bridges - Bertrand W. Sinclair (best ereader for academics txt) 📗

Chapter 18 ( The Fuse) Pg 124

It Was In This Period That Certain Phases Of The War Began To Shake The

Foundation Of Things. I Do Not Recall Who Said That An Army Marches On

Its Stomach,  But It Is True,  And It Is No Less A Verity That Nations

Function Primarily On Food. The Submarine Was Waxing To Its Zenith Now,

And Europe Saw The Gaunt Wolf At Its Door. Men Cried For More Ships.

Chapter 18 ( The Fuse) Pg 125

Cost Became Secondary. A Vessel Paid For Herself If She Landed But Two

Cargoes In An Allied Port.

 

Every Demand In The Economic Field Produces A Supply. On This Side Of

The Atlantic Great Shipbuilding Plants Arose By Some Superior Magic Of

Construction In Ports Where The Building Of Ships Had Been A Minor

Industry. In This Vancouver Did Not Lag. Wooden Ships Could Be Built

Quickly. Virgin Forests Of Fir And Cedar Stood At Vancouver's Very Door.

Wherefore Yards,  Capable Of Turning Out A Three-Thousand-Ton Wooden

Steamer In Ninety Days,  Rose On Tidewater,  And An Army Of Labor Sawed

And Hammered And Shaped To The Ultimate Confusion Of The Hun.

 

Thompson Had Seen These Yards In The Distance. He Read Newspapers And He

Knew That Local Shipbuilding Was Playing The Dual Purpose Of

Confounding The Enemy And Adding A Huge Pay-Roll To Vancouver's Other

Material Advantages. Both Of Which Were Highly Desirable.

 

But Few Details Of This Came Personally To His Attention Until An

Evening When He Happened To Foregather With Tommy Ashe And Two Or Three

Others At Carr's Home--Upon One Of Those Rare Evenings When Sophie Was

Free Of Her Self-Imposed Duties And In A Mood To Play The Hostess.

 

They Had Dined,  And Were Gathered Upon A Wide Verandah Watching The Sun

Sink Behind The Rampart Of Vancouver Island In A Futurist Riot Of Yellow

And Red That Died At Last To An Afterglow Which Lingered On The Mountain

Tops Like A Benediction. A Bit Of The Gulf Opened To Them,  Steel-Gray,

Mirror-Smooth,  More Like A Placid,  Hill-Ringed Lake Than The Troubled

Sea.

 

But There Was More In The Eye's Cast Than Beauty Of Sea And Sky And

Setting Sun. From Their Seats They Could Look Down On The Curious Jumble

Of Long Sheds And Giant Scaffolding That Was The Great Coughlan Steel

Shipyard In False Creek. Farther Distant,  On The North Shore,  There Was

The Yellowish Smudge Of What A Keen Vision Discerned To Be Six Wooden

Schooners In A Row,  Sister Ships In Varying Stages Of Construction.

 

Some One Said Something About Wooden Shipbuilding.

 

"There's Another Big Yard Starting On The North Shore," Sophie Said.

"One Of Our Committee Was Telling Me To-Day. Her Husband Has Something

To Do With It."

 

"Yes. I Can Verify That," Tommy Ashe Smiled. "That's My

Contribution--The Vancouver Construction Company. I Organized It. We

Have Contracted To Supply The Imperial Munitions Board With Ten

Auxiliary Schooners,  Three Thousand Tons Burden Each."

 

The Fourth Man Of The Party,  The Lean,  Suave,  Enterprising Head Of A

Local Trust Company,  Nodded Approval,  Eyeing Tommy With New Interest.

 

"Good Business," He Commented. "We've Got To Beat Those U-Boats."

 

"Yes," Tommy Agreed,  "And Until The Admiralty Devises Some Effectual

Method Of Coping With Them,  The Only Way We Can Beat The Subs Is To

Build Ships Faster Than They Can Sink Them. It's Quite Some Undertaking,

But It Has To Be Done. If We Fail To Keep Supplies Pouring Into England

And France. Well--"

 

Chapter 18 ( The Fuse) Pg 126

He Spread His Hands In An Expressive Gesture. Tommy Was That Type Of

Englishman In Which Rugged Health And Some Generations Of Breeding And

Education Have Combined To Produce What Europe Calls A "Gentleman." He

Was Above Middle Height,  Very Stoutly And Squarely Built,  Ruddy

Faced--The Sort Of Man One May Safely Prophesy Will Acquire A Paunch And

Double Chin With Middle Age. But Tommy Was Young And Vigorous Yet. He

Looked Very Capable,  Almost Aggressive,  As He Sat There Speaking With

The Surety Of Patriotic Conviction.

 

"We're All In It Now," He Said Simply. "It's No Longer Our Army And Navy

Against Their Army And Navy And The Rest Of Us Looking On From The Side

Lines. It's Our Complete Material Resources And Man Power Against Their

Complete Resources And Man Power. If _They_ Win,  The World Won't Be

Worth Living In,  For The Anglo-Saxon. So We've Got To Beat Them. Every

Man's Job From Now On Is Going To Be Either Fighting Or Working. We've

Got To Have Ships. I'm Organizing That Yard To Work Top-Speed. I'm

Trying To Set A Pace. Watch Us On The North Shore. The Man In The

Trenches Won't Say We Didn't Back Him Up."

 

It Sounded Well. To Thompson It Gave A Feeling Of Dissatisfaction Which

Was Nowise Lessened By The Momentary Gleam In Sophie's Eyes As They

Rested Briefly On Tommy And Passed Casually To Him--And Beyond.

 

He Was Growing Slowly To Understand That The War Had Somehow--In A

Fashion Beyond His Comprehension--Bitten Deep Into Sophie Carr's Soul.

She Thought About It,  If She Seldom Talked. What Was Perhaps More Vital,

She _Felt_ About It With An Intensity Thompson Could Not Fathom,  Because

He Had Not Experienced Such Feeling Himself. He Only Divined This.

Sophie Never Paraded Either Her Thoughts Or Her Feelings. And Divining

This Uneasily He Foresaw A Shortening Of His Stature In Her Eyes By

Comparison With Tommy Ashe--Who Had Become A Doer,  A Creator In The

Common Need,  While _He_ Remained A Gleaner In The Field Of

Self-Interest. Thompson Rather Resented That Imputation. Privately He

Considered Tommy's Speech A Trifle Grandiloquent. He Began To Think He

Had Underestimated Tommy,  In More Ways Than One.

 

Nor Did He Fail To Wonder At The Dry Smile That Hovered About Sam Carr's

Lips Until That Worthy Old Gentleman Put His Hand Over His Mouth To Hide

It,  While His Shrewd Old Eyes Twinkled With Inner Amusement. There Was

Something More Than Amusement,  Too. If Wes Thompson Had Not Known That

Sam Carr Liked Tommy,  Rather Admired His Push And Ability To Hold His

Own In The General Scramble,  He Would Have Said Carr's Smile And Eyes

Tinged The Amusement With Something Like Contempt.

 

That Puzzled Thompson. The Dominion,  As Well As The Empire,  Was Slowly

Formulating The War-Doctrine That Men Must Either Fight Or Work. Tommy,

With His Executive Ability,  His Enthusiasm,  Was Plunging Into A Needed

Work. Tommy Had A Right To Feel That He Was Doing A Big Thing. Thompson

Granted Him That. Why,  Then,  Should Carr Look At Him Like That?

 

He Was Still Recurring To That When He Drove Down Town With Tommy Later

In The Evening. He Was Not Surprised That Tommy Sauntered Into His Rooms

After Putting Up His Machine. He Had Been In The Habit Of Doing That

Until Lately,  And Thompson Knew Now That Tommy Must Have Been Very Busy

On That Shipyard Organization. It Had Been Easy For Them To Drop Into

The Old Intimacy Which Had Grown Up Between Them On That Hard,  Long

Trail Between Lone Moose And The Stikine. They Had A Lot Of Common

Ground To Meet On Besides That.

Chapter 18 ( The Fuse) Pg 127

 

This Night Tommy Had Something On His Mind Besides Casual Conversation.

He Wasted Little Time In Preliminaries.

 

"Would You Be Interested In Taking Over My Car Agencies On A Percentage

Basis,  Wes?" He Asked Point-Blank,  When He Had Settled Himself In A

Chair With A Cigar In His Mouth. "I Have Worked Up A Good Business With

The Standard And The Petit Six. I Don't Like To Let It Go Altogether. I

Shall Have To Devote All My Time To The Ship Plant. That Looms Biggest

On The Horizon. But I Want To Hold These Agencies As An Anchor To

Windward. You Could Run Both Places Without Either Suffering,  I'm

Confident. Ill Make You A Good Proposition."

 

Thompson Reflected A Minute.

 

"What Is Your Proposition?" He Asked At Length. "I Daresay I Could

Handle It. But I Can't Commit Myself Offhand."

 

"Of Course Not," Tommy Agreed. "You Can Go Over My Books From The

Beginning,  And See For Yourself What The Business Amounts To. I'd Be

Willing To Allow You Seventy-Five Per Cent. Of The Net. Based On Last

Year's Business You Should Clear Twelve Thousand Per Annum. Sales Are On

The Up. You Might Double That. I Would Hold An Option Of Taking Over The

Business On Ninety Days' Notice."

 

"It Sounds All Right," Thompson Admitted. "I'll Look Into It."

 

"I Want Quick Action," Tommy Declared. "Say,  To-Morrow You Arrange For

Some Certified Accountant To Go Over My Books And Make Out A Balance

Sheet. I'll Pay His Fee. I'm Anxious To Be Free To Work On The Ship

End."

 

"All Right. I'll Do That. We Can Arrange The Details Later If I Decide

To Take You Up," Thompson Said.

 

Tommy Stretched His Arms And Yawned.

 

"By Jove," Said He,  "I'm Going To Be The Busiest Thing On Wheels For

Awhile. It's No Joke Running A Big Show."

 

"I Didn't Know You Were A Shipbuilder," Thompson Commented.

 

"I'm Not," Tommy Admitted,  Stifling Another Yawn. "But I Can Hire

'Em--Both Brains And Labor. The Main Thing Is I've Got The Contracts.

That's The Chief Item In This War Business. The Rest Is Chiefly A Matter

Of Business Judgment. It's Something Of A Jump,  I'll Admit,  But I Can

Negotiate It,  All Right."

 

"As A Matter Of Fact," He Continued Presently,  And With A Highly

Self-Satisfied Note In His Voice,  "Apart From The Executive Work It's

What The Americans Call A Lead-Pipe Cinch. We Can't Lose. I've Been

Fishing For This Quite A While,  And I Put It Over By Getting In Touch

With The Right People. It's Wonderful What You Can Do In The Proper

Quarter. The Vancouver Construction Company Consists Of Joe Hedley And

Myself. Joe Is A Very Clever Chap. Has Influential People,  Too. We Have

Contracts With The I.M.B. Calling For Ten Schooners Estimated To Cost

Three Hundred Thousand Dollars Per. We Finance The Construction,  But We

Don't Really Risk A