DUSKIN (24 page)

Carol investigated the safe and found no vouchers for salary covering the last four months. Could it be possible that the office had been holding him up all that time?

She hunted up Duskin’s bank book, but no deposits had been made during that time either, and on going over his checkbook she found very few checks of late date, and those of pitifully small amounts. He had been running on short rations, bearing his burden bravely, and she had been one of those who had misjudged him and thought him lazy and inefficient. Well, she would see that everybody in the New York office understood now, anyway!

After some thought she put in a long-distance call for New York and got the office just before the treasurer left for the day. He verified the fact that Duskin had not been paid for four months. When she demanded to know why, they told her that Fawcett wanted to investigate things before he let Duskin have any more money, and they had written him to go slow, as they would have to delay his salary. She explained that Duskin had been investigated and found to be all that Fawcett could possibly wish. She informed the office that she was giving Duskin his entire salary for the four months and wished to have them send on the vouchers and straighten out the account. She also was sending in two old accounts which Duskin had paid for over a year ago and for which he should have been refunded. She had gone over the specifications and everything was correct. She would verify her conversation by letter that night.

After that she felt better, and Duskin looked like a boy let out of school when he came down and found the check ready for his endorsement.

The next week was the last week of September.

As Carol looked back, time seemed to have flown. The number of odds and ends that came to the front at the last minute to be attended to were incredible. Duskin was here and there and everywhere, and never left the building anymore without some of his “bodyguard,” as Carol called Charlie’s crew, following not far off. Duskin wouldn’t have allowed it if he had known it, but they arranged it among themselves not to let him out of their sight, and Carol rejoiced that it was so.

Their espionage even extended to her, and she walked the street when she had to go out knowing that someone was likely keeping tab on her comings and goings and she could not be long away without being looked up.

So they came to the twenty-eighth day of September, late in the afternoon.

“Well,” said Duskin, dropping down in the other oak chair with a light of accomplishment on his face. “We’re all over but the shouting! Charlie and his group are sweeping out the chips on the third where they had to refit those doors, and the painter is going to touch up a little in the morning. You and I can almost afford to get a sound sleep tonight. Saturday we hand over the keys to the city and we’re done! Do you realize that?”

The telephone rang before she could answer. It was a call for Duskin. When he had finished talking he hurried out.

“I’ll be back in half an hour, or sooner,” he called. “I’ve got to get a receipt out of that bird. He thinks it isn’t necessary. I sent Pat down for it half an hour ago and he’s refused to give it to him.”

Carol began to gather up her papers and lock the safe. It was time to go home, but she lingered with the idea of being sure that Duskin came back all right. None of the boys knew that he was out.

Charlie and Ted came downstairs whistling. They were going out to dinner.

“Where’s the boss?” Charlie asked a trifle anxiously. “I thought he was here. He said he wasn’t going out.”

Carol explained where he had gone.

“Good night!” said Charlie with a frown. “He needs a lasso, that man! He’s bound to have something happen yet if he don’t watch out. You gonta stay here awhile, Miss Berkley?”

Carol said that she was.

“All righty, I’ll just hustle down. I know where Pat went. Likely he’s all right, but he may need some help. We gotta get all the receipts needed. It’s getting dark, and Dusky ought not to be out alone. I saw the long-nosed mayor around this afternoon; he’s got back!”

Carol looked up, startled.

“You’ll be all right, Miss Berkley. Roddy and his bunch are up at the top, and Bill is getting his last onions cooked; don’t you smell ‘em? We’ll be back in no time.”

Carol sat down at her desk and began to write out some telegrams she meant to send that night: a long one to Fawcett announcing the completion of the building and telling in glowing terms of some of Duskin’s last triumphs, a night letter to her mother because she hadn’t had time to write a letter for several days and she knew they would be worrying, a brief message to the office in answer to one they had sent that day about some technicality.

While she was writing she became conscious that the front door, which had been closed because the day was cool, must have come open; a strong draft blew her papers on the desk.

She looked up to see an old woman with a large bundle tied up in newspaper. She was bent and wore a shawl over her head.

“The boss’s laundry,” she mumbled. “He told me to leave it!” She hobbled away down the hall. Carol finished her sentence and then looked up. That was strange! She had never known Duskin to have laundry brought to the job. She got up and went to the door, but the old woman was coming away empty-handed, hobbling cheerfully along.

“I find him,” she said, “the old boss, the janitor.”

“Oh,” said Carol, “you found him, did you?” and she turned doubtfully back and went and watched the old woman from the window. It seemed but a small incident of the day.

While she stood there looking out at the lights that had begun to twinkle in the dusk, she was thinking that it would be only two more nights that she would have to stand so and watch from the window. She wondered what would come next and how it would seem to go back into her world again. Suddenly she became aware of a sound of padded footfalls along the tiled hall.

She turned sharply around and listened. She was getting nervous. She wished that Duskin would come back. Something might happen yet. The building was finished, but something might happen to Duskin, in revenge.

She listened, but all seemed to be still, and then she heard the steps again. Had one of the men come down? She stepped to the door and saw a little rubber-soled newsboy idling along from the back of the hall with a stack of papers on his arm.

“What are you doing in here?” she asked severely. He was an uncomely boy, with dirty face and hands and an evil look.

“D’liverin’ the janitor’s paper!” said the urchin, leering at her. “Buy a paper, lady?”

“No,” said Carol sharply. “You’d better get out of here. No one is allowed to come in here now that the building is finished. The janitor will have to come out and get his own paper after this.”

She followed him to the door and shut it decidedly after him, watching him from the window as he sped off down the street calling, “Paaaaper! Evnin’ paa-per!”

She went back to the desk again but she could not sit still. She went to the window to watch. She wished Roddy and the rest would come downstairs. She was worried and wanted them to tell her everything was all right.

Then suddenly there came to her ears a small snapping, crackling sound. She listened. It couldn’t be a mouse in a great steel and marble structure like that. Of course there was wooden trim and plaster, but a mouse in a new building! That was ridiculous. She turned around and came to the hall door for the third time, and as she reached it, she thought she smelled smoke. What could Bill be doing that would make smoke? Could something have caught fire in the cellar over his old gas plate? Perhaps he had fallen asleep over his pipe and his dish towel had fallen into the flame. She stepped out into the hall, and the far end near the elevators seemed to be filled with smoke, a fine gray mist. It was curling around from behind the elevators where a stack of leftover trim had been put for the men to take out when the truck came in the morning, and even as she looked she saw a lick of flame leap out into the whiteness of the corridor that was only dimly lighted by one electric bulb at the far end. As if a taunting hand were flung at her, she stood helpless.

For an instant it seemed as if her life had leaped to her throat and was choking her. The building they had cherished so and brought to completion! Duskin! It would kill him if anything happened now!

Then she leaped into action.

“Bill!” she screamed. “Bill! Come
quick
! Fire!
Fire!
FIRE!”

She flew down the hall to investigate. The smoke was thicker now, and the flames were leaping up with a roar as they caught the draft from the stairs and elevator shaft, and still no one came! What could she do?

The fire sprinkler that she had watched the men unpack was at the very back of the hall, so near to the flames that she could scarcely get near it without going into the very fire itself. If anyone had indeed started the fire he must have been very cunning. The workmen had been so careful to get every paint rag and cleaning cloth out of the place several days ago. Duskin had spoken of it with relief in his voice. He said that fires started so often from combustion of paint rags. They had not even left a can of gasoline or turpentine around. How could this have happened?

But there was no time to consider. She must do what she could. It would seem that there was no one left in the building.

She screamed again as she went by the elevator, “Fire!
Fire! FIRE!
“but the flames were roaring so she could not tell if she was heard. There seemed but one hope of stopping the devastation before it ruined the whole first floor—by smoke if not by burning—and that was the sprinkler. Could she reach it, and if she did, could she make it work? She tried to remember as she dashed into the flame how Duskin had said it must be turned on. Was it to the right or left?

The flames leaped at her and lashed her face as she went by. She was wearing the little blue jersey dress because the day was cool. She remembered that it was wool and would not catch fire easily. How clearly her brain worked now! She remembered that she ought to have gone to the telephone and given the fire alarm first. But how could she when she wasn’t sure there was a fire, and once she was here she must stop it first if she could. There was no time for anything, but she could scream.

She opened her mouth to scream, and the flame leaped out and caught the very words from her lips and stuffed them down her throat with smoke. She gasped as she plunged through, her eyes stinging and blinded by smoke, only her hands to feel her way and find the valve. Was that it? Would it screw around? Was it the right thing?

She was gasping and gripping it with all her might. Something was resulting but she did not know what. She could not get her breath, and the thought came to her in a wild spasm that she must get back and call the fire department. She must tell them there were five men up in the tenth story—and Bill down in the cellar. Why didn’t someone come? Oh, was she going to faint? She had never fainted in her life. She had always been so proud of that! But the sickening smoke and the heat of the flame that seemed to be almost licking her face! Was it an eternity she stood there, with that rasping, tearing burden on her lungs and that tang of flame that reminded her of Schlessinger’s fox face?

And then she felt the flame subsiding, as if a power greater than itself wrestled with it. She saw it fall back and lurch forward again, as more and more the sprinkler got control. She could go now, if she could only breathe. If the smoke would clear and the smarting in throat and nostrils would give her breath a chance. Would no one ever come?

Why, someone was calling; she must answer!

“Fire!” but it was only a whisper as it came from her smoke-parched lips.

Was that the sound of the boys rushing down from stories above, or was she hearing the waves on the shore at the coast of Maine as they boomed against rocks she had never seen? Where was Bill? And where, oh
where,
was
Duskin
?

It was her last thought as she drowned away in the smoke. Soul and body and spirit drenched in deadening smoke! They had
gotten
her and
Duskin
and the
building
!
The old fox had won!

Until strong arms gathered her and bore her out of it all.

She came back again through clear air blowing in her face and clean water dripping upon her lips and wrists. The electric fan that Duskin had bought one hot day and set up near her desk was going at full speed; the windows were open and the blessed coolness was fanning her cheeks.

Somewhere back in her mind a soft voice was singing a verse she had read in her Bible that very morning. “Every word of God is pure: he is a shield unto them that put their trust in him.” And here her God had saved her again! A shield!

She opened her eyes and found that she was lying in Duskin’s arms. Duskin’s face was watching her eagerly.

“My darling!” he whispered. “Are you all right?”

Charlie was coming in at the door, but she didn’t seem to mind. She lay so restfully there in those strong arms. Oh yes, once before he had held her in his arms, where was that? The fox had been there then. What had she been dreaming? A fire?

Charlie was bringing a glass of ice water. The ice clinked against the glass. He held it to her lips and murmured, “There, little lady, you drink that, an’ you’ll feel better!”

His tone was so gentle it was funny. He held the glass as if she was a baby, and she wanted to laugh. Duskin’s eyes got teary and twinkly, as if he would laugh, too, only it would hurt Charlie’s feelings, but they both understood.

Roddy came in all streaked with soot and water, a great charred stick in his hand.

“Want I should get a doctor-rr, Dusky?” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s all out now, every bit.”

But Carol lifted her head.

“Is someone hurt?” she asked sharply. “Did the boys get down? Can you stop the fire?”

Then they all laughed, and it was like clear water coming in great streams upon a dry and parched land.

“You put out the fire, little lady,” said Charlie when he could speak. “You was just extractin’ the last spark when we arrived. Nothing’s hurt save old Bill’s pride. They trussed him up with some ‘lectric wire and stuffed a old, dirty dishtowel in his mouth. He doesn’t reckon he’ll ever get over not bein’ able to help you out, little lady boss!”