Delia couldn’t guess the monetary value of such a grant, but Mr. Pollard didn’t seem happy about it. No matter how big or small, it was vital his offer of cargo space remain in force even after his uncharacteristic generosity stirred by Finn’s visit faded.
“Would you be willing to put that in writing?” she asked.
“What?” Mr. Pollard looked offended. “My word isn’t good enough for you?”
It wasn’t. If Bertie was to depend on this bequest, it needed tobe spelled out, signed, and filed with the harbor master. “Bertie will want proof in case he encounters difficulty in the months to come,” she explained. “You may not always be here in New York to assure the port authority of your permission to use theAthena. I’d be happy to draft a simple agreement.”
Mr. Pollard didn’t agree, but he didn’t disagree either. None of the documents she’d brought with her was suitable to secure donated cargo space. It didn’t matter. Delia had enough experience to write something up on the spot. Without delay, she opened her briefcase and took out some blank paper and a pen and began writing, paying scant attention as Finn started chatting Mr. Pollard up about the trains funneling into the port.
It was hard to concentrate when Finn wouldn’t shut up. Why did he need to know the origin of each boxcar? Gondola cars carrying timber from Wisconsin and open-top hopper cars with coal from Pennsylvania. Boxcars from Kansas carrying wheat and so on. Nevertheless, she focused on drafting each word of the legal agreement to secure three storage compartments per sailing of theAthena. The language wasn’t complicated, but she couldn’t afford to make a mistake because Finn wouldn’t stop talking.
“How much does it cost to attach an extra boxcar from Kansas and haul it out here?” Finn asked.
“Not much,” Mr. Pollard said. “I own the boxcars outright, so the only real expense is a little extra fuel.”
“So if you allowed Bertie to use a bunch of your boxcars to ship wheat from Kansas, it wouldn’t cost you that much?”
Delia held her breath, suddenly realizing where Finn was headed.
“It would cost a fortune,” Mr. Pollard corrected. “Wheat is a valuable commodity. It would cost thousands of dollars to fill a boxcar with wheat.”
“Don’t worry about the wheat,” Finn said. “We’ll figure out a way to pay for that. All I want is your promise to let us use a couple of your boxcars on every train coming in from the Midwest.”
Mr. Pollard thrummed his fingers on the desktop, annoyance stamped across his face. Still, a hint of respect shone in his flinty gaze.
“Four boxcars,” he snapped. “Bertie is responsible for buying the wheat and getting it to the station. I want that written into the agreement.”
Delia nodded, although where they’d find the money to buy wheat was a mystery. She wouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, but this was a major disappointment. Millions of dollars from Mr. Pollard would be flowing into Liberty Bonds to buy bombs and ammunition. Meanwhile, they had to settle for donated cargo space and the use of a few boxcars.
She started a fresh page to draft the railway commitment. They hadn’t discussed how long the contract would last, and it would be pushing her luck to ask. She scrambled for the sort of language Wesley would have used for an open-ended commitment and wrote the wordsAgreement shall remain in force until an armistice between warring nations is signed oruntil both parties arrive at a mutually agreeable date for termination.
She handed the page to Mr. Pollard, watching as he scanned the document. There was no change in his expression as he read the short agreement.
“This is suitable,” he finally said. “I shall ask my secretary to type two copies, and you shall have my signature before leaving.” He tossed the document onto his desk, then turned his attention to Finn. “Now, about that airplane ride you promised me...”
14
Delia frowned out the carriage window as Finn hauled himself aboard. The carriage rocked as he plopped onto the bench opposite her.
“It could have been worse,” Finn said, tugging at his tie to loosen it. “But it wasn’t a complete bust, was it?”
She sighed. “It was mostly a bust. We’ve been given some free shipping, yes, but what Bertie really needs is cash.”
“Well, that’s the nature of tackling a hard challenge,” Finn said. “We’re going to suffer five losses for every victory. Don’t lose hope so quickly. We’ll just have to get back up, dust ourselves off, and live to fight another day.”
Against her will, a smile tugged. Finn’s buoyant optimism could always inspire her. Alfred Pollard was only their first of many appointments, and perhaps they’d have better luck with the next donor.
And yet Bertie was waiting for them at his town house. Disappointing him was not going to be easy. It took an hour to get across town and arrive at his brownstone, where Delia held Finn’s crutches while he grasped the railing, hopping up each step on his good leg.
Bertie soon answered their knock, and the hopeful expression on his face turned to surprise when he saw Finn’s new haircut and formal uniform. A rustle of silk came from down the hall as Mrs. Hoover joined them.
“You look different,” Bertie said to Finn.
“Better?” Delia asked, a note of pride in her voice.
A diplomatic pause lengthened as Bertie scanned Finn’s appearance from head to toe. “It’s just ... well, different. But enough of that! Come in and tell us about your meeting with Pollard.”
“I’m afraid our meeting was a disappointment,” she confessed as they stepped into the foyer. “Mr. Pollard told us he’s fresh out of cash. He promised us some help, but no actual money.”
