Burning Daylight eBook

CHAPTER VII

Not being favored by chance in getting acquainted with Dede Mason, Daylight’s interest in her slowly waned.  This was but natural, for he was plunged deep in hazardous operations, and the fascinations of the game and the magnitude of it accounted for all the energy that even his magnificent organism could generate.

Such was his absorption that the pretty stenographer slowly and imperceptibly faded from the forefront of his consciousness.  Thus, the first faint spur, in the best sense, of his need for woman ceased to prod.  So far as Dede Mason was concerned, he possessed no more than a complacent feeling of satisfaction in that he had a very nice stenographer.  And, completely to put the quietus on any last lingering hopes he might have had of her, he was in the thick of his spectacular and intensely bitter fight with the Coastwise Steam Navigation Company, and the Hawaiian, Nicaraguan, and Pacific-Mexican Steamship-Company.  He stirred up a bigger muss than he had anticipated, and even he was astounded at the wide ramifications of the struggle and at the unexpected and incongruous interests that were drawn into it.  Every newspaper in San Francisco turned upon him.  It was true, one or two of them had first intimated that they were open to subsidization, but Daylight’s judgment was that the situation did not warrant such expenditure.  Up to this time the press had been amusingly tolerant and good-naturedly sensational about him, but now he was to learn what virulent scrupulousness an antagonized press was capable of.  Every episode of his life was resurrected to serve as foundations for malicious fabrications.  Daylight was frankly amazed at the new interpretation put upon all he had accomplished and the deeds he had done.  From an Alaskan hero he was metamorphosed into an Alaskan bully, liar, desperado, and all around “bad Man.”  Not content with this, lies upon lies, out of whole cloth, were manufactured about him.  He never replied, though once he went to the extent of disburdening his mind to half a dozen reporters.  “Do your damnedest,” he told them.  “Burning Daylight’s bucked bigger things than your dirty, lying sheets.  And I don’t blame you, boys... that is, not much.  You can’t help it.  You’ve got to live.  There’s a mighty lot of women in this world that make their living in similar fashion to yours, because they’re not able to do anything better.  Somebody’s got to do the dirty work, and it might as well be you.  You’re paid for it, and you ain’t got the backbone to rustle cleaner jobs.”