A weekor two had passed, when one day Oliver called his brother on the 'phone. “Have you or Alice any engagement this evening?” he asked. “I want to bring a friend around to dinner.”
“Who is it?” inquired Montague.
“Nobody you have heard of,” said Oliver. “But I want you to meet him. You will think he's rather queer, but I will explain to you afterwards. Tell Alice to take my word for him.”
Montague delivered the message, and at seven o'clock they went downstairs. In the reception room they met Oliver and his friend, and it was all that Montague could do to repress a look of consternation.
The name of the personage was Mr. Gamble. He was a little man, a trifle over five feet high, and so fat that one wondered how he could get about alone; his chin and neck were a series of rolls of fat. His face was round like a full moon, and out of it looked two little eyes like those of a pig. It was only after studying them for a while that one discovered that they twinkled shrewdly.
Mr. Gamble was altogether the vulgarest-looking personage that Alice Montague had ever met. He put out a fat little hand to her, and she touched it gingerly, and then gazed at Oliver and his brother in helpless dismay.
“Good evening. Good evening,” he began volubly. “I am charmed to meet you. Mr. Montague, I have heard so much about you from your brother that I feel as if we were old friends.”
There was a moment's pause. “Shall we go into the dining-room?” asked Montague.
He did not much relish the stares which would follow them, but he could see no way out of the difficulty. They went into the room and seated themselves, Montague wondering in a flash whether Mr. Gamble's arms would be long enough to reach to the table in front of him.
“A warm evening,” he said, puffing slightly. “I have been on the train all day.”
“Mr. Gamble comes from Pittsburg,” interposed Oliver.
“Indeed?” said Montague, striving to make conversation. “Are you in business there?”
“No, I am out of business,” said Mr. Gamble, with a smile. “Made my pile, so to speak, and got out. I want to see the world a bit before I get too old.”
The waiter came to take their orders; in the meantime Montague darted an indignant glance at his brother, who sat and smiled serenely. Then Montague caught Alice's eye, and he could almost hear her saying to him, “What in the world am I going to talk about?”
But it proved not very difficult to talk with the gentleman from Pittsburg. He appeared to know all the gossip of the Metropolis, and he cheerfully supplied the topics of conversation. He had been to Palm Beach and Hot Springs during the winter, and told about what he had seen there; he was going to Newport in the summer, and he talked about the prospects there. If he had the slightest suspicion of the fact that all his conversation was not supremely interesting to Montague and his cousin, he gave no hint of it.
After he had disposed of the elaborate dinner which Oliver ordered, Mr. Gamble proposed that they visit one of the theatres. He had a box all ready, it seemed, and Oliver accepted for Alice before Montague could say a word for her. He spoke for himself, however,—he had important work to do, and must be excused.
He went upstairs and shook off his annoyance and plunged into his work. Sometime after midnight, when he had finished, he went out for a breath of fresh air, and as he returned he found Oliver and his friend standing in the lobby of the hotel.
“How do you do, Mr. Montague?” said Gamble. “Glad to see you again.”
“Alice has just gone upstairs,” said Oliver. “We were going to sit in the cafe awhile. Will you join us?”
“Yes, do,” said Mr. Gamble, cordially.
Montague went because he wanted to have a talk with Oliver before he went to bed that night.
“Do you know Dick Ingham?” asked Mr. Gamble, as they seated themselves at a table.
“The Steel man, you mean?” asked Montague. “No, I never met him.”
“We were talking about him,” said the other. “Poor chap—it really was hard luck, you know. It wasn't his fault. Did you ever hear the true story?”
“No,” said Montague, but he knew to what the other referred. Ingham was one of the “Steel crowd,” as they were called, and he had been president of the Trust until a scandal had forced his resignation.
“He is an old friend of mine,” said Gamble; “he told me all about it. It began in Paris—some newspaper woman tried to blackmail him, and he had her put in jail for three months. And when she got out again, then the papers at home began to get stories about poor Ingham's cutting up. And the public went wild, and they made him resign—just imagine it!”
Gamble chuckled so violently that he was seized by a coughing spell, and had to signal for a glass of water.
“They've got a new scandal on their hands now,” said Oliver.
“They're a lively crowd, the Steel fellows,” laughed the other. “They want to make Davidson resign, too, but he'll fight them. He knows too much! You should hear his story!”
“I imagine it's not a very savoury one,” said Montague, for lack of something to say.
“It's too bad,” said the other, earnestly. “I have talked to them sometimes, but it don't do any good. I remember Davidson one night: 'Jim,' says he, 'a fellow gets a whole lot of money, and he buys him everything he wants, until at last he buys a woman, and then his trouble begins. If you're buying pictures, there's an end to it—you get your walls covered sooner or later. But you never can satisfy a woman.'” And Mr. Gamble shook his head. “Too bad, too bad,” he repeated.
“Were you in the steel business yourself?” asked Montague, politely.
“No, no, oil was my line. I've been fighting the Trust, and last year they bought me out, and now I'm seeing the world.”
Mr. Gamble relapsed into thought again. “I never went in for that sort of thing myself,” he said meditatively; “I am a married man, I am, and one woman is enough for me.”
“Is your family in New York?” asked Montague, in an effort to change the subject.
“No, no, they live in Pittsburg,” was the answer. “I've got four daughters—all in college. They're stunning girls, I tell you—I'd like you to meet them, Mr. Montague.”
“I should be pleased,” said Montague, writhing inwardly. But a few minutes later, to his immense relief, Mr. Gamble arose, and bade him good night.
Montague saw him clamber laboriously into his automobile, and then he turned to his brother.
“Oliver,” he asked, “what in the devil does this mean?”
“What mean?” asked Oliver, innocently.
“That man,” exclaimed the other.
“Why, I thought you would like to meet him,” said Oliver; “he is an interesting chap.”
“I am in no mood for fooling,” said his brother, angrily. “Why in the world should you insult Alice by introducing such a man to her?”
“Why, you are talking nonsense!” exclaimed Oliver; “he knows the best people—”
“Where did you meet him?” asked Montague.
“Mrs. Landis introduced him to me first. She met him through a cousin of hers, a naval officer. He has been living in Brooklyn this winter. He knows all the navy people.”
“What is it, anyway?” demanded Montague, impatiently. “Is it some business affair that you are interested in?”
“No, no,” said Oliver, smiling cheerfully—“purely social. He wants to be introduced about, you know.”
“Are you going to put him into Society, by any chance?” asked the other, sarcastically.
“You are warm, as the children say,” laughed his brother.
Montague stared at him. “Oliver, you don't mean it,” he said. “That fellow in Society!”
“Sure,” said Oliver, “if he wants to. Why not?”
“But his wife and his daughters!” exclaimed the other.
“Oh, that's not it—the family stays in Pittsburg. It's only himself this time. All the same,” Oliver added, after a pause, “I'd like to wager you that if you were to meet Jim Gamble's four prize daughters, you'd find it hard to tell them from the real thing. They've been to a swell boarding-school, and they've had everything that money can buy them. My God, but I'm tired of hearing about their accomplishments!”
“But do you mean to tell me,” the other protested, “that your friends will stand for a man like that?”
“Some of them will. He's got barrels of money, you know. And he understands the situation perfectly—he won't make many mistakes.”
“But what in the world does he want?”
“Leave that to him.”
“And you,” demanded Montague; “you are getting money for this?”
Oliver smiled a long and inscrutable smile. “You don't imagine that I'm in love with him, I trust. I thought you'd be interested to see the game, that's why I introduced him.”
“That's all very well,” said the other. “But you have no right to inflict such a man upon Alice.”
“Oh, stuff!” said Oliver. “She'll meet him at Newport this summer, anyway. How could I introduce him anywhere else, if I wasn't willing to introduce him here? He won't hurt Alice. He gave her a good time this evening, and I wager she'll like him before he gets through. He's really a good-natured chap; the chief trouble with him is that he gets confidential.”
Montague relapsed into silence, and Oliver changed the subject. “It seems too bad about Lucy,” he said. “Is there nothing we can do about it?”
“Nothing,” said the other.
“She is simply ruining herself,” said Oliver. “I've been trying to get Reggie Mann to have her introduced to Mrs. Devon, but he says he wouldn't dare to take the risk.”
“No, I presume not,” said Montague.
“It's a shame,” said Oliver. “I thought Mrs. Billy Alden would ask her to Newport this summer, but now I don't believe she'll have a thing to do with her. Lucy will find she knows nobody except Stanley Ryder and his crowd. She has simply thrown herself away.”
Montague shrugged his shoulders. “That's Lucy's way,” he said.
“I suppose she'll have a good time,” added the other. “Ryder is generous, at any rate.”
“I hope so,” said Montague.
“They say he's making barrels of money,” said Oliver; then he added, longingly, “My God, I wish I had a trust company to play with!”
“Why a trust company particularly?” asked the other.
“It's the easiest graft that's going,” said Oliver. “It's some dodge or other by which they evade the banking laws, and the money comes rolling in in floods. You've noticed their advertisements, I suppose?”
“I have noticed them,” said Montague.
“He is adding something over a million a month, I hear.”
“It sounds very attractive,” said the other; and added, drily, “I suppose Ryder feels as if he owned it all.”
“He might just as well own it,” was the reply. “If I were going into Wall Street to make money, I'd rather have the control of fifty millions than the absolute ownership of ten.”
“By the way,” Oliver remarked after a moment, “the Prentices have asked Alice up to Newport. Alice seems to be quite taken with that young chap, Curtiss.”
“He comes around a good deal,” said Montague. “He seems a very decent fellow.”
“No doubt,” said the other. “But he hasn't enough money to take care of a girl like Alice.”
“Well,” he replied, “that's a question for Alice to consider.”
ONE day, a month or so later, Montague, to his great surprise, received a letter from Stanley Ryder.
“Could you make it convenient to call at my office sometime this afternoon?” it read. “I wish to talk over with you a business proposition which I believe you will find of great advantage to yourself.”
“I suppose he wants to buy my Northern Mississippi stock,” he said to himself, as he called up Ryder on the 'phone, and made an appointment.
It was the first time that he had ever been inside the building of the Gotham Trust Company, and he gazed about him at the overwhelming magnificence—huge gates of bronze and walls of exquisite marble. Ryder's own office was elaborate and splendid, and he himself a picture of aristocratic elegance.
He greeted Montague cordially, and talked for a few minutes about the state of the market, and the business situation, in the meantime twirling a pencil in his hand and watching his visitor narrowly. At last he began, “Mr. Montague, I have for some time been working over a plan which I think will interest you.”
“I shall be very pleased to hear of it,” said Montague.
“Of course, you know,” said Ryder, “that I bought from Mrs. Taylor her holdings in the Northern Mississippi Railroad. I bought them because I was of the opinion that the road ought to be developed, and I believed that I could induce someone to take the matter up. I have found the right parties, I think, and the plans are now being worked out.”
“Indeed,” said the other, with interest.
“The idea, Mr. Montague, is to extend the railroad according to the old plan, with which you are familiar. Before we took the matter up, we approached the holders of the remainder of the stock, most of whom, I suppose, are known to you. We made them, through our agents, a proposition to buy their stock at what we considered a fair price; and we have purchased about five thousand shares additional. The prices quoted on the balance were more than we cared to pay, in consideration of the very great cost of the improvements we proposed to undertake. Our idea is now to make a new proposition to these other shareholders. The annual stockholders' meeting takes place next month. At this meeting will be brought up the project for the issue of twenty thousand additional shares, with the understanding that as much of this new stock as is not taken by the present shareholders is to go to us. As I assume that few of them will take their allotments, that will give us control of the road; you can understand, of course, that our syndicate would not undertake the venture unless it could obtain control.”
Montague nodded his assent to this.
“At this meeting,” said Ryder, “we shall propose a ticket of our own for the new board of directors. We are in hopes that as our proposition will be in the interest of every stockholder, this ticket will be elected. We believe that the road needs a new policy, and a new management entirely; if a majority of the stockholders can be brought to our point of view, we shall take control, and put in a new president.”
Ryder paused for a moment, to let this information sink into his auditor's mind; then, fixing his gaze upon him narrowly, he continued: “What I wished to see you about, Mr. Montague, was to make you a proposal to assist us in putting through this project. We should like you, in the first place, to act as our representative, in consultation with our regular attorneys. We should like you to interview privately the stockholders of the road, and explain to them our projects, and vouch for our good intentions. If you can see your way to undertake this work for us, we should be glad to place you upon the proposed board of directors; and as soon as we have matters in our hands, we should ask you to become president of the road.”
Montague gave an inward start; but practice had taught him to keep from letting his surprise manifest itself very much. He sat for a minute in thought.
“Mr. Ryder,” he said, “I am a little surprised at such a proposition from you, seeing that you know so little about me—”
“I know more than you suppose, Mr. Montague,” said the other, with a smile. “You may rest assured that I have not broached such a matter to you without making inquiries, and satisfying myself that you were the proper person.”
“It is very pleasant to be told that,” said Montague. “But I must remind you, also, that I am not a railroad man, and have had no experience whatever in such matters—”
“It is not necessary that you should be a railroad man,” was the answer. “One can hire talent of that kind at market prices. What we wish is a man of careful and conservative temper, and, above all, a man of thorough-going honesty; someone who will be capable of winning the confidence of the stockholders, and of keeping it. It seemed to us that you possessed these qualifications. Also, of course, you have the advantage of being familiar with the neighbourhood, and of knowing thoroughly the local conditions.”
Montague thought for a while longer. “The offer is a very flattering one,” he said, “and I need hardly tell you that it interests me. But before I could properly consider the matter, there is one thing I should have to know—that is, who are the members of this syndicate.”
“Why would it be necessary to know that?” asked the other.
“Because I am to lend my reputation to their project, and I should have to know the character of the men that I was dealing with.” Montague was gazing straight into the other's eyes.
“You will understand, of course,” replied Ryder, “that in a matter of this sort it is necessary to proceed with caution. We cannot afford to talk about what we are going to do. We have enemies who will do what they can to check us at every step.”
“Whatever you tell me will, of course, be confidential,” said Montague.
“I understand that perfectly well,” was the reply. “But I wished first to get some idea of your attitude toward the project—whether or not you would be at liberty to take up this work and to devote yourself to it.”
“I can see no reason why I should not,” Montague answered.
“It seems to me,” said Ryder, “that the proposition can be judged largely upon its own merits. It is a proposition to put through an important public improvement; a road which is in a broken-down and practically bankrupt condition is to be taken up, and thoroughly reorganised, and put upon its feet. It is to have a vigorous and honest administration, a new and adequate equipment, and a new source of traffic. The business of the Mississippi Steel Company, as you doubtless know, is growing with extraordinary rapidity. All this, it seems to me, is a work about the advisability of which there can be no question.”
“That is very true,” said Montague, “and I will meet the persons who are interested and talk out matters with them; and if their plans are such as I can approve, I should be very glad to join with them, and to do everything in my power to make a success of the enterprise. As you doubtless know, I have five hundred shares of the stock myself, and I should be glad to become a member of the syndicate.”
“That is what I had in mind to propose to you,” said the other. “I anticipate no difficulty in satisfying you—the project is largely of my own originating, and my own reputation will be behind it. The Gotham Trust Company will lend its credit to the enterprise so far as possible.”
Ryder said this with just a trifle of hauteur, and Montague felt that perhaps he had spoken too strenuously. No one could sit in Ryder's office and not be impressed by its atmosphere of magnificence; after all, it was here, and its seventy or eighty million dollars of deposits were real, and this serene and aristocratic gentleman was the master of them. And what reason had Montague for his hesitation, except the gossip of idle and cynical Society people?
Whatever doubts he himself might have, he needed to reflect but a moment to realise that his friends in Mississippi would not share them. If he went back home with the name of Stanley Ryder and the Gotham Trust Company to back him, he would come as a conqueror with tidings of triumph, and all the old friends of the family would rush to follow his suggestions.
Ryder waited awhile, perhaps to let these reflections sink in. Finally he continued: “I presume, Mr. Montague, that you know something about the Mississippi Steel Company. The steel situation is a peculiar one. Prices are kept at an altogether artificial level, and there is room for large profits to competitors of the Trust. But those who go into the business commonly find themselves unexpectedly handicapped. They cannot get the credit they want; orders overwhelm them in floods, but Wall Street will not put up money to help them. They find all kinds of powerful interests arrayed against them; there are raids upon their securities in the market, and mysterious rumours begin to circulate. They find suits brought against them which tend to injure their credit. And sometimes they will find important papers missing, important witnesses sailing for Europe, and so on. Then their most efficient employees will be bought up; their very bookkeepers and office-boys will be bribed, and all the secrets of their business passed on to their enemies. They will find that the railroads do not treat them squarely; cars will be slow in coming, and all kinds of petty annoyances will be practised. You know what the rebate is, and you can imagine the part which that plays. In these and a hundred other ways, the path of the independent steel manufacturer is made difficult. And now, Mr. Montague, this is a project to extend a railroad which will be of vast service to the chief competitor of the Steel Trust. I believe that you are man of the world enough to realise that this improvement would have been made long ago, if the Steel Trust had not been able to prevent it. And now, the time has come when that project is to be put through in spite of every opposition that the Trust can bring; and I have come to you because I believe that you are a man to be counted on in such a fight.”
“I understand you,” said Montague, quietly; “and you are right in your supposition.”
“Very well,” said Ryder. “Then I will tell you that the syndicate of which I speak is composed of myself and John S. Price, who has recently acquired control of the Mississippi Steel Company. You will find out without difficulty what Price's reputation is; he is the one man in the country who has made any real headway against the Trust. The business of the Mississippi Company has almost doubled in the past year, and there is no limit to what it can do, except the size of the plant and the ability of the railroads to handle its product. This new plan would have been taken up through the Company, but for the fact that the Company's capital and credit is involved in elaborate extensions. Price has furnished some of the capital personally, and I have raised the balance; and what we want now is an honest man to whom we can entrust this most important project, a man who will take the road in hand and put it on its feet, and make it of some service in the community. You are the man we have selected, and if the proposition appeals to you, why, we are ready to do business with you without delay.”
For a minute or two Montague was silent; then he said: “I appreciate your confidence, Mr. Ryder, and what you say appeals to me. But the matter is a very important one to me, as you can readily understand, and so I will ask you to give me until to-morrow to make up my mind.”
“Very well,” said Ryder.
Montague's first thought was of General Prentice. “Come to me any time you need advice,” the General had said; so Montague went down to his office. “Do you know anything about John S. Price?” he asked.
“I don't know him very well personally,” was the reply. “I know him by reputation. He is a daring Wall Street operator, and he's been very successful, I am told.”
“Price began life as a cowboy, I understand,” continued the General, after a pause. “Then he went in for mines. Ten or fifteen years ago we used to know him as a silver man. Several years ago there was a report that he had been raiding Mississippi Steel, and had got control. That was rather startling news, for everybody knew that the Trust was after it. He seems to have fought them to a standstill.”
“That sounds interesting,” said Montague.
“Price was brought up in a rough school,” said the General, with a smile. “He has a tongue like a whip-lash. I remember once I attended a creditors' meeting of the American Stove Company, which had got into trouble, and Price started off from the word go. 'Mr. Chairman,' he said, 'when I come into the office of an industrial corporation, and see a stock ticker behind the president's chair with the carpet worn threadbare in front of it, I know what's the matter with that corporation without asking another word.'”
“What do you want to know about him for?” asked the General, after he had got through laughing over this recollection.
“It's a case I'm concerned in,” the other answered.
“I tell you who knows about him,” said the General. “Harry Curtiss. William E. Davenant has done law business for Price.”
“Is that so?” said Montague. “Then probably I shall meet Harry.”
“I can tell you a better person yet,” said the other, after a moment's thought. “Ask your friend Mrs. Alden; she knows Price intimately, I believe.”
So Montague sent up a note to Mrs. Billy, and the reply came, “Come up to dinner. I am not going out.” And so, late in the afternoon, he was ensconced in a big leather armchair in Mrs. Billy's private drawing-room, and listening to an account of the owner of the Mississippi Steel Company.
“Johnny Price?” said the great lady. “Yes, I know him. It all depends whether you are going to have him for a friend or an enemy. His mother was Irish, and he is built after her. If he happens to take a fancy to you, he'll die for you; and if you make him hate you, you will hear a greater variety of epithets than you ever supposed the language contained.—I first met him in Washington,” Mrs. Billy went on, reminiscently; “that was fifteen years ago, when my brother was in Congress. I think I told you once how Davy paid forty thousand dollars for the nomination, and went to Congress. It was the year of a Democratic landslide, and they could have elected Reggie Mann if they had felt like it. I went to Washington to live the next winter, and Price was there with a whole army of lobbyists, fighting for free silver. That was before the craze, you know, when silver was respectable; and Price was the Silver King. I saw the inside of American government that winter, I can assure you.”
“Tell me about it,” said Montague.
“The Democratic party had been elected on a low tariff platform,” said Mrs. Billy; “and it sold out bag and baggage to the corporations. Money was as free as water—my brother could have got his forty thousand back three times over. It was the Steel crowd that bossed the job, you know—William Roberts used to come down from Pittsburg every two or three days, and he had a private telephone wire the rest of the time. I have always said it was the Steel Trust that clamped the tariff swindle on the American people, and that's held it there ever since.”
“What did Price do with his silver mines?” asked Montague.
“He sold them,” said she, “and just in the nick of time. He was on the inside in the campaign of '96, and I remember one night he came to dinner at our house and told us that the Republican party had raised ten or fifteen million dollars to buy the election. 'That's the end of silver,' he said, and he sold out that very month, and he's been freelancing it in Wall Street ever since.”
“Have you met him yet?” asked Mrs. Billy, after a pause.
“Not yet,” he answered.
“He's a character,” said she. “I've heard Davy tell about the first time he struck New York—as a miner, with huge wads of greenbacks in his pockets. He spent his money like a 'coal-oil Johnny,' as the phrase is—a hundred-dollar bill for a shine, and that sort of thing. And he'd go on the wildest debauches; you can have no idea of it.”
“Is he that kind of a man?” said Montague.
“He used to be,” said the other. “But one day he had something the matter with him, and he went to a doctor, and the doctor told him something, I don't know what, and he shut down like a steel trap. Now he never drinks a drop, and he lives on one meal a day and a cup of coffee. But he still goes with the old crowd—I don't believe there is a politician or a sporting-man in town that Johnny Price does not know. He sits in their haunts and talks with them until all sorts of hours in the morning, but I can never get him to come to my dinner-parties. 'My people are human,' he will say; 'yours are sawdust.' Sometime, if you want to see New York, just get Johnny Price to take you about and introduce you to his bookmakers and burglars!”
Montague meditated for a while over his friend's picture. “Somehow or other,” he said, “it doesn't sound much like the president of a hundred-million-dollar corporation.”
“That's all right,” said Mrs. Billy, “but Price will be at his desk bright and early the next morning, and every man in the office will be there, too. And if you think he won't have his wits about him, just you try to fool him on some deal, and see. Let me tell you a little that I know about the fight he has made with the Mississippi Steel Company.” And she went on to tell. The upshot of her telling was that Montague borrowed the use of her desk and wrote a note to Stanley Ryder. “From my inquiries about John S. Price, I gather that he makes steel. With the understanding that I am to make a railroad and carry his steel, I have concluded to accept your proposition, subject, of course, to a satisfactory arrangement as to terms.”
THE next morning Montague had an interview with John S. Price in his Wall Street office, and was retained as counsel in connection with the new reorganisation. He accepted the offer, and in the afternoon he called by appointment at the law-offices of William E. Davenant.
The first person Montague met there was Harry Curtiss, who greeted him with eagerness. “I was pleased to death when I heard that you were in on this deal,” said he; “we shall have some work to do together.”
About the table in the consultation room of Davenant's offices were seated Ryder and Price, and Montague and Curtiss, and, finally, William E. Davenant. Davenant was one of the half-dozen highest-paid corporation lawyers in the Metropolis. He was a tall, lean man, whose clothing hung upon him like rags upon a scare-crow. One of his shoulders was a trifle higher than the other, and his long neck invariably hung forward, so that his thin, nervous face seemed always to be peering about. One had a sense of a pair of keen eyes, behind which a restless brain was constantly plotting. Some people rated Davenant as earning a quarter of a million a year, and it was his boast that no one who made money according to plans which he approved had ever been made to give any of it up.
In curious contrast was the figure of Price, who looked like a well-dressed pugilist. He was verging on stoutness, and his face was round, but underneath the superfluous flesh one could see the jaw of a man of iron will. It was easy to believe that Price had fought his way through life. He spoke sharply and to the point, and he laid bare the subject with a few quick strokes, as of a surgeon's knife.
The first question was as to Montague's errand in the South. There was no need of buying more stock of the road, for if they got the new stock they would have control, and that was all they needed. Montague was to see those holders of the stock whom he knew personally, and to represent to them that he had succeeded in interesting some Northern capitalists in the road, and that they would undertake the improvements on condition that their board of directors should be elected. Price produced a list of the new directors. They consisted of Montague and Curtiss and Ryder and himself; a cousin of the latter's, and two other men, who, as he phrased it, were “accustomed to help me in that way.” That left two places to be filled by Montague from among the influential holders of the stock. “That always pleases,” said Price, succinctly, “and at the same time we shall have an absolute majority.”
There was to be voted an issue of a million dollars' worth of bonds, which the Gotham Trust Company would take; also a new issue of twenty thousand shares of stock, which was to be offered pro rata to the present stock-holders at fifty cents on the dollar. Montague was to state that his clients would take any which these stockholders did not want. He was to use every effort to keep the plan secret, and would make no attempt to obtain the stock-holders' list of the road. The reason for this came out a little later, when the subject of the old-time survey was broached.
“I must take steps to get hold of those plans,” said Price. “In this, as well as everything else, we proceed upon the assumption that the present administration of the road is crooked.”
The next matter to be considered was the charter. “When I get a charter for a railroad,” said Price, “I get one that lets me do anything from building a toothpick factory to running flying-machines. But the fools who drew the charter of the Northern Mississippi got permission to build a railroad from Atkin to Opala. So we have to proceed to get an extension. While you are down there, Mr. Montague, you will see the job through with the Legislature.”
Montague thought for a moment. “I don't believe that I have much influence with the Legislature,” he began.
“That's all right,” said Price, grimly. “We'll furnish the influence.”
Here spoke Davenant. “It seems to me,” he said, “that we can just as well arrange this matter without mentioning the Northern Mississippi Railroad at all. If the Steel people get wind of this, we are liable to have all sorts of trouble; the Governor is their man, as you know. The thing to do is to pass a blanket bill, providing that any public-service corporation whose charter antedates a certain period may extend its line within certain limits and under certain conditions, and so on. I think that I can draw a bill that will go through before anybody has an idea what it's about.”
“Very good,” said Price. “Do it that way.”
And so they went, from point to point. Price laid down Montague's own course of procedure in a few brief sentences. They had just two weeks before the stockholders' meeting, and it was arranged that he should start for Mississippi upon the following day.
When the conference was over, Montague rode up town with Harry Curtiss.
“What was that Davenant said about the Governor?” he asked, when they were seated in the train.
“Governor Hannis, you mean?” said the other. “I don't know so very much about it, but there's been some agitation down there against the railroads, and Waterman and the Steel crowd put in Governor Hannis to do nothing.”
“It was rather staggering to me,” said Montague, after a little thought. “I didn't say anything about it, but you know Governor Hannis is an old friend of my father's, and one of the finest men I ever knew.”
“Oh, yes, I don't doubt that,” said Curtiss, easily. “They put up these fine, respectable old gentlemen. Of course, he's simply a figure-head—he probably has no idea of what he's really doing. You understand, of course, that Senator Harmon is the real boss of your State.”
“I have heard it said,” said Montague. “But I never took much stock in such statements—”
“Humph!” said Curtiss. “You'd take it if you'd been in my boots. I used to do business for old Waterman's Southern railroads, and I've had occasion to take messages to Harmon once or twice. New York is the place where you find out about this game!”
“It's not a very pleasant game,” said Montague, soberly.
“I didn't make the rules,” said Curtiss. “You find you either have to play that way or else get out altogether.”
The younger man relapsed into silence for a moment, then laughed to himself. “I know how you feel,” he said. “I remember when I first came out of college, the twinges I used to have. I had my head full of all the beautiful maxims of the old Professor of Ethics. And they took me on in the legal department of the New York and Hudson Railroad, and we had a case—-some kind of a damage suit; and old Henry Corbin—their chief counsel, you know—gave me the papers, and then took out of his desk a typewritten list of the judges of the Supreme Court of the State. 'Some of them are marked with red,' he said; 'you can bring the case before any of them. They are our judges.' Just fancy, you know! And I as innocent as a spring chicken!”
“I should think things like that would get out in the end,” said Montague.
Curtiss shrugged his shoulders. “How could you prove it?” he asked.
“But if a certain judge always decided in favour of the railroad—” began Montague.
“Oh, pshaw!” said Curtiss. “Leave that to the judge! Sometimes he'll decide against the railroad, but he'll make some ruling that the higher courts will be sure to upset, and by that time the other fellow will be tired out, and ready to quit. Or else—here's another way. I remember one case that I had that old Corbin told me I'd be sure to win, and I took eleven different exceptions, and the judge decided against me on every single one. I thought I was gone sure—but, by thunder, he instructed the jury in my favour! It took me a long time to see the shrewdness of that; you see, it goes to the higher courts, and they see that the judge has given the losing side every advantage, and has decided purely on the evidence. And of course they haven't the witnesses before them, and don't feel half so well able to judge of the evidence, and so they let the decision stand. There are more ways than one to skin a cat, you see!”
“It doesn't seem to leave much room for justice,” said Montague.
To which the other responded, “Oh, hell! If you'd been in this business as long as I have, and seen all the different kinds of shysters that are trying to plunder the railroads, you'd not fret about justice. The way the public has got itself worked up just at present, you can win almost any case you can get before a jury, and there are men who spend all their time hunting up cases and manufacturing evidence.”
Montague sat for a while in thought. He muttered, half to himself, “Governor Hannis! It takes my breath away!”
“Get Davenant to tell you about it,” said Curtiss, with a laugh. “Maybe it's not so bad as I imagine. Davenant is cynical on the subject of governors, you know. He had an experience a few years ago, when he went up to Albany to try to get the Governor to sign a certain bill. The Governor went out of his office and left him, and Davenant noticed that a drawer of his desk was open, and he looked in, and there was an envelope with fifty brand-new one-thousand-dollar bills in it! He didn't know what they were there for, but this was a mighty important bill, and he concluded he'd take a chance. He put the envelope in his pocket; and then the Governor came back, and after some talk about the interests of the public, he told him he'd concluded to veto that bill. 'Very well,' Mr. Governor,' said the old man, 'I have only this to say,' and he took out the envelope. 'I have here fifty new one-thousand-dollar bills, which are yours if you sign that measure. On the other hand, if you refuse to sign it, I will take the bills to the newspaper men, and tell them what I know about how you got them.' And the Governor turned as white as a sheet, and, by God, he signed the bill and sent it off to the Legislature while Davenant waited! So you can see why he is sceptical about governors.”
“I suppose,” said Montague, “that was what Price meant when he said he'd furnish the influence.”
“That was what he meant,” said the other, promptly.
“I don't like the prospect,” Montague responded.
The younger man shrugged his shoulders. “What are you going to do about it?” he asked. “Your political machines and your offices are in the hands of peanut-politicians and grafters who are looking for what's coming to them. If you want anything, you have to pay them for it, just the same as in any other business. You face the same situation every hour—'Pay or quit.'”
“Look,” Curtiss went on, after a pause, “take our own case. Here we are, and we want to build a little railroad. It's an important work; it's got to be done. But we might haunt the lobbies of your State legislature for fifty years, and if we didn't put up, we wouldn't get the charter. And, in the meantime, what do you suppose the Steel Trust would be doing?”
“Have you ever thought what such things will lead to?” asked Montague.
“I don't know,” said Curtiss. “I've had a fancy that some day the business men of the country will have to go into politics and run it on business lines.”
The other pondered the reply. “That sounds simple,” he said. “But doesn't it mean the overthrow of Republican institutions?”
“I am afraid it would,” said Curtiss. “But what's to be done?”
There was no answer.
“Do you know any remedy?” he persisted.
“No, I don't know any remedy,” said Montague, “but I am looking for one. And I can tell you of this, for a start; I value this Republic more than I do any business I ever got into yet; and if I come to that dilemma, it will be the business that will give way.”
Curtiss was watching him narrowly. He put his hand on his shoulder. “That's all right, old man,” he said. “But take my advice, and don't let Davenant hear you say that.”
“Why not?” asked the other.
The younger man rose from his seat. “Here's my station,” he said. “The reason is—it might unsettle his ideas. He's a conservative Democrat, you know, and he likes to make speeches at banquets!”