Guilt of the Brass Thieves by Mildred Augustine Wirt (book series for 12 year olds txt) 📖

bank.

“About! Bring her about, Jack!” she cried before she considered how he might take the uninvited advice.

“The water is deep enough here,” Jack answered stubbornly. “It’s only a tiny shoal. We’ll sail through it easily.”

Penny said nothing more, though her lips drew into a tight line.

Jack held to his course. For a moment it appeared that the boat would glide over the shoal into deeper water. Then the next instant they were hard aground. The sail began to flap.

“We’re stuck like a turtle in a puddle,” commented Penny, not without satisfaction.

“We’ll get off!” Jack cried, seizing a paddle from the bottom of the boat.

He tried to shove away from the shoal, but the wind against the big sail resisted his strength.

“You’ll never get off that way,” Penny said calmly. “Why not take down the sail? We’re hard aground now.”

Jack glared, and looked as if he would like to heave the paddle at her.

“Okay,” he growled.

Winds which came from the head of Hat Island were tricky. Before Jack could lower the sail, the breeze, shifting slightly, struck the expanse of canvas from directly aft.

“Look out, Jack!” Penny screamed a warning. “We’re going to jibe!”

Jack ducked but not quickly enough. With great violence, the wind swung the sail over to the opposite side of the boat, the boom striking him a stunning blow on the back of the head.

Moaning with pain, he slumped into the bottom of the Spindrift.

CHAPTER
6
SWEEPER JOE INFORMS

Alarmed for Jack, Penny scrambled over a seat to his side. He had been struck a hard blow by the swinging boom and there was a tiny jagged cut just behind his ear. A glance satisfied the girl that he was not seriously injured and that she could do nothing for him at the moment.

Turning her attention to the sail which was showing an inclination to slam over again, she quickly pulled it in and lowered it to the deck.

By then Jack had opened his eyes. His bewildered gaze rested upon her, and he rubbed his head.

“You—” he mumbled, raising on an elbow.

Penny firmly pushed him back. “Lie still!” she commanded.

Seizing the paddle, she tried to shove the boat backwards off the mud bank. Her best efforts would not move it an inch.

Slowly Jack raised himself to a sitting position. He rubbed his head. Bewilderment changed to a look of comprehension.

“I’m okay now,” he said huskily. “We’re hard aground, aren’t we?”

“Solid as a rock,” agreed Penny, wiping perspiration from her forehead. “Any ideas?”

“I’ll get out and push.”

“You’re not strong enough. You took a nasty blow on the head.”

Had not Jack looked so thoroughly miserable, Penny might have been tempted to adopt an “I told you so” attitude. There had been no excuse for running aground. Sally Barker had warned them about the shoal, and Jack deliberately had disregarded her advice.

“I guess it was my fault,” Jack mumbled, the words coming with difficulty. “The water was deep enough here yesterday. I was so sure—”

His eyes, like those of an abused puppy, appealed to her for sympathy. Suddenly, Penny’s resentment vanished and she felt sorry for Jack.

“Never mind,” she said kindly. “We’ll get off somehow. If necessary, I can swim to Shadow Island for help.”

“It won’t be necessary.” Jack pulled off shoes and socks, and rolled up his slacks above his knees. “I got us into this, and I’ll get us out. Just sit tight.”

Despite Penny’s protests, he swung over the side, into the shallow water. Applying his shoulder to the Spindrift’s bow, he pushed with all his strength. Penny dug into the mud with the paddle.

The boat groaned and clung fast to the shoal. Then inch by inch it began to move backwards.

“We’re off!” Penny cried jubilantly.

Jack pushed until the Spindrift was safely away from the shoal. Wet and plastered with mud, he scrambled aboard.

“No use putting up the sail,” he said gloomily. “The centerboard is damaged. When we went aground I should have pulled it up, but things happened so fast I didn’t think of it.”

“Can’t it be repaired?”

“Oh, sure, but it means hauling the boat out of water for several days. And the race will be held in a week. I’ll have no chance to practice.”

“It’s a bad break,” Penny said sympathetically. “Perhaps the centerboard isn’t much damaged.”

They paddled to the Shadow Island dock. There with the help of the Gandiss chauffeur, Jack tied ropes under the bottom of the Spindrift and by means of a hoist and crane, lifted the boat a few feet out of water. A piece had been broken from the centerboard and the bottom was so badly scratched that it would have to be repainted before the race.

“I call this wretched luck!” Jack fumed. “It will take days to repair and repaint the Spindrift.”

The accident had a subduing effect upon the boy, and the remainder of the day he tried to make amends to Penny. They swam together and played three sets of tennis. In each contest Penny won with ease.

“You’re about the first girl who ever beat me at anything,” Jack said ruefully. “Guess that rap on the head did me no good.”

“How about the sailboat race?” Penny tripped him. “Didn’t Sally win the lantern trophy?”

Grudgingly, Jack admitted that she had. “But the race was a fluke,” he added. “The wind was tricky and favored Sally’s old tub. It won’t happen twice.”

Annoyed by the youth’s alibis, Penny turned and walked away.

At dinner that night, Mr. Gandiss suggested that Mr. Parker and his daughter might like to visit his steel plant and airplane factory on the mainland. Despite vigorous protests, Jack was taken along.

The buildings owned by Mr. Gandiss were situated across the river in the town of Osage. Occupying many city blocks, the property included an airplane testing ground, and was protected by a high guard fence electrically charged.

“Every employee must pass inspection at the gate,” Mr. Gandiss explained as the taxi cab approached the entrance to the main factory. “We operate on a twenty-four hour basis now, and even so can’t keep abreast of orders.”

Lights blazed in the low rows of windows, and from the chimneys of the steel plant, fire leaped high into the dark sky.

“Will we be able to see steel poured from the furnaces?” Penny asked eagerly. “I’ve always wanted to watch it done.”

“You may tour every building if your feet hold out,” Mr. Gandiss chuckled.

A squat, red-faced man with pouchy eyes, halted the taxi cab at the gate.

“No visitors allowed here at night,” he began in a surly voice, and then recognized the plant owner. His manner changed instantly. “Oh, it’s you, Mr. Gandiss! How are you this evening?”

“Very well, thank you, Clayton. I have some friends with me who wish to see the plant.”

“Drive right in,” the gateman invited, swinging open the barrier.

The taxi rolled through the gate, and drew up in front of one of the buildings. Inside, fluorescent lights gave the effect of daylight. Overhead carriers were lifting newly blanked and formed airplane parts from power presses, carrying them to sub-assembly lines.

“Raw materials, brought up-river by boats, enter one end of the building,” Mr. Gandiss explained proudly. “Miraculously they come out the other end as finished airplanes ready for testing.”

The plant had four main assembly lines along which the wings, fuselages, engines, tail surfaces, pilot and bombardier floors were assembled, he explained. In one room the party paused to watch row upon row of fuselages being put together ready for transfer to the main assembly line.

“You have a wonderful factory here, Mr. Gandiss,” Penny’s father praised, much impressed. “It must be a job to keep tab on the personnel.”

“Oh, everything has been reduced to a system. One department meshes into another. But if production falls down in any one department, results could be serious.” Mr. Gandiss frowned and added: “Now take those petty brass thefts. In a way it is a trivial matter, but the practice is spreading.”

“The disappearance of parts hasn’t curtailed production to any extent?”

“Not as yet, but it has caused our stockrooms serious annoyance. Then the loss on a yearly basis will become considerable. The guilty persons must be caught, and the organizers broken up before it gets more serious.”

Mr. Gandiss escorted the visitors into another large room where hundreds of girls in slacks, their hair bound by nets, worked over machines with concentrated attention.

“Our beginners start here,” he explained. “Strangely, we lose more brass and copper from this shift than anywhere else in the plant.”

“How do you explain it?” Penny asked.

“The girls are new and we are convinced they are being misled by someone. The entire situation has us baffled.”

Few of the workers paid the visitors heed as they wandered along the rows of machines. However, a slovenly, sharp-eyed man with a push broom, watched them with deep interest. Known as Joe the Sweeper, though his real name was Joseph Jakaboloski, he once had been a skilled mechanic. Two of his fingers were missing, and he no longer did any useful work.

“See that man?” Mr. Gandiss said in an undertone. “Shortly after he started working for us, two years ago, he had an accident that was entirely his own fault. We immediately put him in an easy job and still pay him his former salary. But he doesn’t even sweep a room properly.”

“Why not let him go?” Mr. Parker questioned.

Mr. Gandiss smiled and shook his head. “He was injured while working for us, so we are responsible for looking after him. We would like to pension him off. You see, he constantly stirs up trouble among the new employes.”

Joe the Sweeper had been watching Mr. Gandiss with concentrated attention, though too far away to hear what was said. With amusing haste, he swept his way closer to the group. Finally he smirked and sidled up to the factory owner.

“Can I see you alone fer a minute, Mr. Gandiss?” he asked, his voice a whine.

“I am very busy,” the factory owner discouraged him. “What is it you want?”

Joe edged even closer, dropping his voice so that it was barely audible above the clatter of the machinery.

“You been losin’ copper and brass from your factory, ain’t you?”

The direct approach startled Mr. Gandiss. He gazed at Joe keenly, then nodded.

“Well, maybe I kin help you. What’s it worth?”

Mr. Gandiss was careful not to show his dislike for the man. “If you are able to provide information which will lead to the apprehension of the thieves, I’ll see that you get a substantial salary increase.”

Joe blinked and grinned. “Last night I seen a girl in this room stick a piece of brass into her shirt front. She carried it off with her.”

“Who was the girl?”

“Dunno her name. A blond piece in blue slacks.”

“I’m afraid your information is of no value,” Mr. Gandiss said impatiently. “Unless you know who she is—”

“She’s a new gal that’s only been workin’ here a few nights,” Joe supplied hastily. “You’ll give me that salary raise if I turn her in?”

“If your information proves correct.”

Joe’s eyes brightened with a crafty light and he jerked his head toward the left.

“You can’t see her from here,” he muttered, “but you can get her name easy enough. She’s the gal that operates machine No. 567.”

CHAPTER
7
NIGHT SHIFT WORKER

“I detest a stool pigeon,” said Mr. Gandiss after Joe the Sweeper had slouched away. “However, his information may be valuable. I can’t afford not to investigate it.”

Not wishing to attract comment from the other employes, the factory owner made no attempt to see the girl under suspicion. Instead, he escorted the party to his private office. Ringing a buzzer, he asked one of the foremen to bring the operator of Machine 567 to him.

Presently she came in, a thin, wiry girl in ill-fitting blue slacks and sweater. Her hair was bound beneath a dark net and she