IN spite of his doubts, Montague returned to his old home, and put through the programme as agreed. Just as he had anticipated, he found that he was received as a conquering hero by the holders of the Northern Mississippi stock. He talked with old Mr. Lee, his cousin, and two or three others of his old friends, and he had no difficulty in obtaining their pledges for the new ticket. They were all interested, and eager about the future of the road.
He did not have to concern himself with the new charter. Davenant drew up the bill, and he wrote that a nephew of Senator Harmon's would be able to put it through without attracting any attention. All that Montague knew was that the bill passed, and was signed by the Governor.
And then came the day of the stockholders' meeting. He attended it, presenting proxies for the stock of Ryder and Price, and nominated his ticket, greatly to the consternation of Mr. Carter, the president of the road, who had been a lifelong friend of his family's. The new board of directors was elected by the votes of nearly three-fourths of the stock, and the new stock issue was voted by the same majority. As none of the former stockholders cared to take the new stock, Montague subscribed for the whole issue in the name of Ryder and Price, and presented a certified check for the necessary deposit.
The news of these events, of course, created great excitement in the neighbourhood; also it did not pass unobserved in New York. Northern Mississippi was quoted for the first time on the “curb,” and there was quite a little trading; the stock went up nearly ten points in one day.
Montague received this information in a letter from Harry Curtiss. “You must be prepared to withstand the flatteries of the Steel crowd,” he wrote. “They will be after you before long.”
Montague judged that he would not mind facing the “Steel crowd”; but he was much troubled by an interview which he had to go through with on the day after the meeting. Old Mr. Carter came to see him, and gave him a feeble hand to shake, and sat and gazed at him with a pitiful look of unhappiness.
“Allan,” he said, “I have been president of the Northern Mississippi for fifteen years, and I have served the road faithfully and devotedly. And now—I want you to tell me—what does this mean? Am I—”
Montague could not remember a time when Mr. Carter had not been a visitor at his father's home, and it was painful to see him in his helplessness. But there was nothing that could be done about it; he set his lips together.
“I am very sorry, Mr. Garter,” he said; “but I am not at liberty to say a word to you about the plans of my clients.”
“Am I to understand, then, that I am to be turned out of my position? I am to have no consideration for all that I have done? Surely—”
“I am very sorry,” Montague said again, firmly,—“but the circumstances at the present time are such that I must ask you to excuse me from discussing the matter in any way.”
A day or two later Montague received a telegram from Price, instructing him to go to Riverton, where the works of the Mississippi Steel Company were located, and to meet Mr. Andrews, the president of the Company. Montague had been to Riverton several times in his youth, and he remembered the huge mills, which were one of the sights of the State. But he was not prepared for the enormous development which had since taken place. The Mississippi Steel Company had now two huge Bessemer converters, in which a volcano of molten flame roared all day and night. It had bought up the whole western side of the town, and cleared away half a hundred ramshackle dwellings; and here were long rows of coke-ovens, and two huge rail-mills, and a plate-mill from which arose sounds like the crashing of the day of doom. Everywhere loomed rows of towering chimneys, and pillars of rolling black smoke. Little miniature railroad tracks ran crisscross about the yards, and engines came puffing and clanking, carrying blazing white ingots which the eye could not bear to face.
Opposite to the entrance of the stockaded yards, the Company had put up a new office building, and upon the top floor of this were the president's rooms.
“Mr. Andrews will be in on the two o'clock train,” said his secretary, who was evidently expecting the visitor. “Will you wait in his office?”
“I think I should like to see the works, if you can arrange it for me,” said Montague. And so he was provided with a pass and an attendant, and made a tour of the yards.
It was interesting to Montague to see the actual property of the Mississippi Steel Company. Sitting in comfortable offices in Wall Street and exchanging pieces of paper, one had a tendency to lose sight of the fact that he was dealing in material things and disposing of the destinies of living people. But Montague was now to build and operate a railroad—to purchase real cars and handle real iron and steel; and the thought was in his mind that at every step of what he did he wished to keep this reality in mind.
It was a July day, with not a cloud in the sky, and an almost tropical sun blazed down upon the works. The sheds and railroad tracks shimmered in the heat, and it seemed as if the cinders upon which one trod had been newly poured from a fire. In the rooms where the furnaces blazed, Montague could not penetrate at all; he could only stand in the doorway, shading his eyes from the glare. In each of these infernos toiled hundreds of grimy, smoke-stained men, stripped to the waist and streaming with perspiration.
He gazed down the long rows of the blast furnaces, great caverns through the cracks of which the molten steel shone like lightning. Here the men who worked had to have buckets of water poured over them continually, and they drank several gallons of beer each day. He went through the rail-mills, where the flaming white ingots were caught by huge rollers, and tossed about like pancakes, and flattened and squeezed, emerging at the other end in the shape of tortured red snakes of amazing length. At the far end of the mill one could see them laid out in long rows to cool; and as Montague stood and watched them, the thought came to him that these were some of the rails which Wyman had ordered, and which had been the cause of such dismay in the camp of the Steel Trust!
Then he went on to the plate-mill, where giant hammers resounded, and steel plates of several inches' thickness were chopped and sliced like pieces of cheese. Here the spectator stared about him in bewilderment and clung to his guide for safety; huge travelling cranes groaned overhead, and infernal engines made deafening clatter upon every side. It was a source of never ending wonder that men should be able to work in such confusion, with no sense of danger and no consciousness of all the uproar.
Montague's eye roamed from place to place; then suddenly it was arrested by a sight even unusually startling. Across on the other side of the mill was a steel shaft, which turned one of the largest of the rollers. It was high up in the air, and revolving with unimaginable speed, and Montague saw a man with an oil-can in his hand rest the top of a ladder upon this shaft, and proceed to climb up.
He touched his guide upon the arm and pointed. “Isn't that dangerous?” he shouted.
“It's against orders,” said the man. “But they will do it.”
And even while the words of a reply were upon his lips, something happened which turned the sound into a scream of horror. Montague stood with his hand still pointing, his whole body turned to stone. Instantaneously, as if by the act of a magician, the man upon the ladder had disappeared; and instead there was a hazy mist about the shaft, and the ladder tumbling to the ground.
No one else in the mill appeared to have noticed it. Montague's guide leaped forward, dodging a white-hot plate upon its journey to the roller, and rushed down the room to where the engineer was standing by his machinery. For a period which could not have been less than a minute, Montague stood staring at the horrible sight; and then slowly he saw what had been a mist beginning to define itself as the body of a man whirling about the shaft.
Then, as the machinery moved more slowly yet, and the din in the mill subsided, he saw several men raise the ladder again to the shaft and climb up. When the revolving had stopped entirely, they proceeded to cut the body loose; but Montague did not wait to see that. He was white and sick, and he turned and went outside.
He went away to another part of the yards and sat down in the shade of one of the buildings, and told himself that that was the way of life. All the while the din of the mills continued without interruption. A while later he saw four men go past, carrying a stretcher covered with a sheet. It dropped blood at every step, but Montague noticed that the men who passed it gave it no more than a casual glance. When he passed the plate-mill again, he saw that it was busy as ever; and when he went out at the front gate, he saw a man who had been pointed out to him as the foreman of the mill, engaged in picking another labourer from the group which was standing about.
He returned to the president's office, and found that Mr. Andrews had just arrived. A breeze was blowing through the office, but Andrews, who was stout, was sitting in his chair with his coat and vest off, vigorously wielding a palmleaf fan.
“How do you do, Mr. Montague?” he said. “Did you ever know such heat? Sit down—you look done up.”
“I have just seen an accident in the mills,” said Montague.
“Oh!” said the other. “Too bad. But one finds that steel can't be made without accidents. We had a blast-furnace explosion the other day, and killed eight. They are mostly foreigners, though—'hunkies,' they call them.”
Then Andrews pressed a button, summoning his secretary.
“Will you please bring those plans?” he said; and to Montague's surprise he proceeded to spread before him a complete copy of the old reports of the Northern Mississippi survey, together with the surveyor's original drawings.
“Did Mr. Carter let you have them?” Montague asked; and the other smiled a dry smile.
“We have them,” he said. “And now the thing for you to do is to have your own surveyors go over the ground. I imagine that when you get their reports, the proposition will look very different.”
These were the instructions which came in a letter from Price the next day; and with the help of Andrews Montague made the necessary arrangements, and the next night he left for New York.
He arrived upon a Friday afternoon. He found that Alice had departed for her visit to the Prentices', and that Oliver was in Newport, also. There was an invitation from Mrs. Prentice to him to join them; as Price was away, he concluded that he would treat himself to a rest, and accordingly took an early train on Saturday morning.
Montague's initiation into Society had taken place in the winter-time, and he had yet to witness its vacation activities. When Society's belles and dames had completed a season's round of dinner-parties and dances, they were more or less near to nervous prostration, and Newport was the place which they had selected to retire to and recuperate. It was an old-fashioned New England town, not far from the entrance to Long Island Sound, and from a village with several grocery shops and a tavern, it had been converted by a magic touch of Society into the most famous and expensive resort in the world. Estates had been sold there for as much as a dollar a square foot, and it was nothing uncommon to pay ten thousand a month for a “cottage.”
The tradition of vacation and of the country was preserved in such terms as “cottage.” You would be invited to a “lawn-party,” and you would find a blaze of illumination, and potted plants enough to fill a score of green-houses, and costumes and jewelled splendour suggesting the Field of the Cloth of Gold. You would be invited to a “picnic” at Gooseberry Point, and when you went there, you would find gorgeous canopies spread overhead, and velvet carpets under foot, and scores of liveried lackeys in attendance, and every luxury one would have expected in a Fifth Avenue mansion. You would take a cab to drive to this “picnic,” and it would cost you five dollars; yet you must on no account go without a cab. Even if the destination was just around the corner, a stranger would commit a breach of the proprieties if he were to approach the house on foot.
Coming to Newport as Montague did, directly from the Mississippi Steel Mills, produced the strangest possible effect upon him. He had seen the social splurge in the Metropolis, and had heard the fabulous prices that people had paid for things. But these thousands and millions had seemed mere abstractions. Now suddenly they had become personified—he had seen where they came from, where all the luxury and splendour were produced! And with every glance that he cast at the magnificence about him, he thought of the men who were toiling in the blinding heat of the blast-furnaces.
Here was the palace of the Wymans, upon the laying out of the grounds of which a half million dollars had been spent; the stone wall which surrounded it was famous upon two continents, because it had cost a hundred thousand dollars. And it was to make steel rails for the Wymans that the slaves of the mills were toiling!
Here was the palace of the Eldridge Devons, with a greenhouse which had cost one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and which merely supplied the daily needs of its owners. Here was the famous tulip tree, which had been dug up and brought a distance of fifty miles, at a cost of a thousand dollars. And Montague had seen in the making the steel for one of the great hotels of the Eldridge Devons!
And here was the Walling establishment, the “three-million-dollar palace on a desert,” as Mrs. Billy Alden had described it. Montague had read of the famous mantel in its entrance hall, made from Pompeiian marble, and costing seventy-five thousand dollars. And the Wallings were the railroad kings who transported Mississippi Steel!
And from that his thoughts roamed on to the slaves of other mills, to the men and women and little children shut up to toil in shops and factories and mines for these people who flaunted their luxury about him. They had come here from every part of the country, with their millions drawn from every kind of labour. Here was the great white marble palace of the Johnsons—the ceilings, floors, and walls of its state apartments had all been made in France; its fences and gates, even its locks and hinges, had been made from special designs by famous artists. The Johnsons were lords of railroads and coal, and ruled the state of West Virginia with a terrible hand. The courts and the legislature were but branches of old Johnson's office, and Montague knew of mining villages which were owned outright by the Company, and were like stockaded forts; the wretched toilers could not buy so much as a pint of milk outside of the Company store, and even the country doctor could not enter the gates without a pass.
And beyond that was the home of the Warfields, whose fortune came from great department stores, in which young girls worked for two dollars and a half a week, and eked out their existence by prostitution. And this was the summer that Warfield's youngest daughter was launched, and for her debutante dance they built a ballroom which cost thirty thousand dollars—and was torn down the day afterwards!
And beyond this, upon the cliffs, was the castle of the Mayers, whose fortunes came from coal.—Montague thought of the young man who had invented the device for the automatic weighing of coal as it was loaded upon steam-ships. Major Venable had hinted to him that the reason the Coal Trust would not consider it, was because they were selling short weight; and since then he had investigated the story, and learned that this was true, and that it was old Mayer himself who had devised the system. And here was his palace, and here were his sons and daughters—among the most haughty and exclusive of Society's entertainers!
So you might drive down the streets and point out the mansions and call the roll of the owners—kings of oil and steel and railroads and mines! Here everything was beauty and splendour. Here were velvet lawns and gardens of rare flowers, and dancing and feasting and merriment. It seemed very far from the sordid strife of commerce, from poverty and toil and death. But Montague carried with him the sight that he had seen in the plate-mill, the misty blur about the whirling shaft, and the shrouded form upon the stretcher, dripping blood.
He was so fortunate as to meet Alice and her friends upon the street, and he drove with them to the bathing beach which Society had purchased and maintained for its own exclusive use. The first person he saw here was Reggie Mann, who came and took possession of Alice. Reggie would not swim himself, because he did not care to exhibit his spindle legs; he was watching with disapproving eye the antics of Harry Percy, his dearest rival. Percy was a man about forty years of age, a cotillion-leader by profession; and he caused keen delight to the spectators upon the beach by wearing a monocle in the water.
They had lunch at the Casino, and then went for a sail in the Prentices' new racing yacht. It was estimated just at this time that there was thirty millions' worth of steam and sailing pleasure-craft in Newport harbour, and the bay was a wonderful sight that afternoon.
They came back rather early, however, as Alice had an engagement for a drive at six o'clock, and it was necessary for her to change her costume before she went. It was necessary to change it again before dinner, which was at eight o'clock; and Montague learned upon inquiry that it was customary to make five or six such changes during the day. The great ladies of Society were adepts in this art, and prided themselves upon the perfect system which enabled them to accomplish it.
All of Montague's New York acquaintances were here in their splendour: Miss Yvette Simpkins, with her forty trunks of new Paris costumes; Mrs. Billy Alden, who had just launched an aristocratic and exclusive bridge-club for ladies; Mrs. Winnie Duval, who had created a sensation by the rumour of her intention to introduce the simple life at Newport; and Mrs. Vivie Patton, whose husband had committed suicide as the only means of separating her from her Count.
It chanced to be the evening of Mrs. Landis's long-expected dinner-dance. When you went to the Landis mansion, you drove directly into the building, which had a court so large that a coach and four could drive around it. The entire ground floor was occupied by what were said to be the most elaborately equipped stables in the world. Your horses vanished magically through sliding doors at one side, and your carriage at the other side, and in front of you was the entrance to the private apartments, with liveried flunkies standing in state.
There were five tables at this dinner, each seating ten persons. There was a huge floral umbrella for the centrepiece, and an elaborate colour effect in flowers. During the dance, screens were put up concealing this end of the ballroom, and when they were removed sometime after midnight, the tables were found set for the supper, with an entirely new scenic effect.
They danced until broad daylight; Montague was told of parties at which the guests had adjourned in the morning to play tennis. All these people would be up by nine or ten o'clock the next day, and he would see them in the shops and at the bathing beach before noon. And this was Society's idea of “resting” from the labours of the winter season!
After the supper Montague was taken in charge by Mrs. Caroline Smythe, the lady who had once introduced him to her cats and dogs. Mrs. Smythe had become greatly interested in Mrs. Winnie's anti-vivisection crusade, and told him all about it while they strolled out upon the loggia of the Landis palace, and stood and watched the sunrise over the bay.
“Do you see that road back of us?” said Mrs. Smythe. “That is the one the Landises have just succeeded in closing. I suppose you've heard the story.”
“No,” said Montague, “I haven't heard it.”
“It's the joke of Newport,” said the lady. “They had to buy up the town council to do it. There was a sight-seers' bus that used to drive up that road every day, and the driver would rein up his horses and stand up and point with his whip.
“'This, ladies and gentlemen,' he'd say, 'is the home of the Landises, and just beyond there is the home of the Joneses. Once upon a time Mr. Smith had a wife and got tired of her, and Mr. Jones had a wife and got tired of her; so they both got divorces and exchanged, and now Mrs. Smith is living in Mr. Jones's house, and Mrs. Jones is living in Mr. Smith's. Giddap!'”
Alice was up early the next morning to go to church with Harry Curtiss, but Montague, who had really come to rest, was later in arising. Afterwards he took a stroll through the streets, watching the people. He was met by Mrs. De Graffenried, who, after her usual fashion, invited him to come round to lunch. He went, and met about forty other persons who had been invited in the same casual way, including his brother Ollie—and to his great consternation, Ollie's friend, Mr. Gamble!
Gamble was clad in a spotless yachting costume, which produced a most comical effect upon his expansive person. He greeted Montague with his usual effusiveness. “How do you do, Mr. Montague—how do you do?” he said. “I've been hearing about you since I met you last.”
“In what way?” asked Montague.
“I understand that you have gone with the Mississippi Steel Company,” said Gamble.
“After a fashion,” the other assented.
“You want to be careful—you are dealing with a smooth crowd! Smoother even than the men in the Trust, I fancy.” And the little man added, with a twinkle in his eye: “I'm accustomed to say there are two kinds of rascals in the oil business; there are the rascals who found they could rely upon each other, and they are in the Trust; and there are the rascals the devil himself couldn't rely upon, and they're the independents. I ought to know what I'm talking about, because I was an independent myself.”
Mr. Gamble chuckled gleefully over this witticism, which was evidently one which he relied upon for the making of conversation. “How do you do, Captain?” he said, to a man who was passing. “Mr. Montague, let me introduce my friend Captain Gill.”
Montague turned and faced a tall and dignified-looking naval officer. “Captain Henry Gill, of the Allegheny.”
“How do you, Mr. Montague?” said the Captain.
“Oliver Montague's brother,” added Gamble, by way of further introduction. And then, espying someone else coming whom he knew, he waddled off down the room, leaving Montague in conversation with the officer.
Captain Gill was in command of one of the half-dozen vessels which the government obligingly sent to assist in maintaining the gaieties of the Newport season. He was an excellent dancer, and a favourite with the ladies, and an old crony of Mrs. De Graffenried's. “Have you known Mr. Gamble long?” he asked, by way of making conversation.
“I met him once before,” said Montague. “My brother knows him.”
“Ollie seems to be a great favourite of his,” said the Captain. “Queer chap.”
Montague assented readily.
“I met him in Brooklyn,” continued the other, seeming to feel that acquaintance with Gamble called for explanation. “He was quite chummy with the officers at the Navy Yard. Retired millionaires don't often fall in their way.”
“I should imagine not,” said Montague, smiling. “But I was surprised to meet him here.”
“You'd meet him in heaven,” said the other, with a laugh, “if he made up his mind that he wanted to go there. He is a good-natured personage; but I can tell you that anyone who thinks that Gamble doesn't know what he's about will make a sad mistake.”
Montague thought of this remark at lunch, where he sat at table on the opposite side to Gamble. Next to him sat Vivie Fatten, who made the little man the victim of her raillery. It was not particularly delicate wit, but Gamble was tough, and took it all with a cheerful grin.
He was a mystery which Montague could not solve. To be sure he was rich, and spent his money like water; but then there was no scarcity of money in this crowd. Montague found himself wondering whether he was there because Mrs. De Graffenried and her friends liked to have somebody they could snub and wipe their feet upon. His eye ran down the row of people sitting at the table, and the contrast between them and Gamble was an amusing one. Mrs. De Graffenried was fond of the society of young people, and most of her guests were of the second or even the third generation. The man from Pittsburg seemed to be the only one there who had made his own money, and who bore the impress of the money struggle upon him. Montague smiled at the thought. He seemed the very incarnation of the spirit of oil; he was gross and unpleasant, while in the others the oil had been refined to a delicate perfume. Yet somehow he seemed the most human person there. No doubt he was crudely egotistical; and yet, if he was interested in himself, he was also interested in other people, while among Mrs. De Graffenried's intimates it was a sign of vulgarity to be interested in anything.
He seemed to have taken quite a fancy to Montague, for reasons best known to himself. He came up to him again, after the luncheon. “This is the first time you've been here, Oliver tells me,” said he.
Montague assented, and the other added: “You'd better come and let me show you the town. I have my car here.”
Montague had no engagement, and no excuse handy. “It's very good of you—” he began.
“All right,” said Gamble. “Come on.”
And he took him out and seated him in his huge red touring-car, which had a seat expressly built for its owner, not too deep, and very low, so that his fat little legs would reach the floor.
Gamble settled back in the cushions with a sigh. “Rum sort of a place this, ain't it?” said he.
“It's interesting for a short visit,” said Montague.
“You can count me out of it,” said the other. “I like to spend my summers in a place where I can take my coat off. And I prefer beer to champagne in hot weather, anyhow.”
Montague did not reply.
“Such an ungodly lot of snobs a fellow does meet!” remarked his host, cheerily. “They have a fine time making fun of me—it amuses them, and I don't mind. Sometimes it does make you mad, though; you feel you'd like to make them swallow you, anyway. But then you think, What's the use of going after something you don't want, just because other people say you can't have it?”
It was on Montague's lips to ask, “Then why do you come here?” But he forbore.
The car sped on down the stately driveway, and his companion proceeded to point out the mansions and the people, and to discuss them in his own peculiar style.
“See that yellow brick house in there,” said he. “That belongs to Allis, the railroad man. He used to live in Pittsburg, and I remember him thirty years ago, when he had one carriage for his three babies, and pushed them himself, by thunder. He was glad to borrow money from me then, but now he looks the other way when I go by.
“Allis used to be in the steel business six or eight years ago,” Gamble continued, reminiscently. “Then he sold out—it was the real beginning of the forming of the Steel Trust. Did you ever hear that story?”
“Not that I know of,” said Montague.
“Well,” said the other, “if you are going to match yourself against the Steel crowd, it's a good idea to know about them. Did you ever meet Jim Stagg?”
“The Wall Street plunger?” asked Montague. “He's a mere name to me.”
“His last exploit was to pull off a prize fight in one of the swell hotels in New York, and one nigger punched the other through a plate-glass mirror. Stagg comes from the wild West, you know, and he's wild as they make 'em—my God, I could tell you some stories about him that'd make your hair stand up! Perhaps you remember some time ago he raided Tennessee Southern in the market and captured it; and old Waterman testified that he took it away from him because he didn't consider he was a fit man to own it. As a matter of fact, that was just pure bluff, for Waterman uses him in little jobs like that all the time.—Well, six or eight years ago, Stagg owned a big steel plant out West; and there was a mill in Indiana, belonging to Allis, that interfered with their business. One time Stagg and some of his crowd had been on a spree for several days, and late one night they got to talking about Allis. 'Let's buy the——out,' said Stagg, so they ordered a special and a load of champagne, and away they went to the city in Indiana. They got to Allis's house about four o'clock in the morning, and they rang the bell and banged on the door, and after a while the butler came, half awake.
“'Is Allis in?' asked Stagg, and before the fellow could answer, the whole crowd pushed into the hall, and Stagg stood at the foot of the stairs and roared—he's got a voice like a bull, you know—'Allis, Allis, come down here!'
“Allis came to the head of the stairs in his nightshirt, half frightened to death.
“'Allis, we want to buy your steel plant,' said Stagg.
“'Buy my steel plant!' gasped Allis.
“'Sure, buy it outright! Spot cash! We'll pay you five hundred thousand for it.'
“'But it cost me over twelve hundred thousand,' said Allis.
“'Well, then, we'll pay you twelve hundred thousand,' said Stagg—'God damn you, we'll pay you fifteen hundred thousand!'
“'My plant isn't for sale,' said Allis.
“'We'll pay you two million!' shouted Stagg.
“'It isn't for sale, I tell you.'
“'We'll pay you two million and a half! Come on down here!'
“'Do you mean that?' gasped Allis. He could hardly credit his ears.
“'Come downstairs and I'll write you a check!' said Stagg. And so they hauled him down, and they bought his mill. Then they opened some more champagne, and Allis began to get good-natured, too.
“'There's only one thing the matter with my mill,' said he, 'and that's Jones's mill over in Harristown. The railroads give him rebates, and he undersells me.'
“'Well, damn his soul,' said Stagg, 'we'll have his mill, too.'
“And so they bundled into their special again, and about six o'clock in the morning they got to Harristown, and they bought another mill. And that started them, you know. They'd never had such fun in their lives before. It seems that Stagg had just cleaned up ten or twelve millions on a big Wall Street plunge, and they blew in every dollar, buying steel mills—and paying two or three prices for every one, of course.”
Gamble paused and chuckled to himself. “What I'm telling you is the story that Stagg told me,” said he. “And of course you've got to make allowances. He said he had no idea of what Dan Waterman had been planning, but I fancy that was a lie. Harrison of Pittsburg had been threatening to build a railroad of his own, and take away his business from Waterman's roads, and so there was nothing for Waterman to do but buy him out at three times what his mills were worth. He took the mills that Stagg had bought at the same time. Stagg had paid two or three prices, and Waterman paid him a couple of prices more, and then he passed them on to the American people for a couple of prices more than that.”
Gamble paused. “That's where they get these fortunes,” he added, waving his fat little hand. “Sometimes it makes a fellow laugh to think of it. Every concern they bought was overcapitalised to begin with; I doubt if two hundred million dollars' worth of honest dollars was ever put into the Steel Trust properties, and they capitalised it at a billion, and now they've raised it to a billion and a half! The men who pulled it off made hundreds of millions, and the poor public that bought the common stock saw it go down to six! They gave old Harrison a four-hundred-million-dollar mortgage on the property, and he sits back and grins, and wonders why a man can't die poor!”
Gamble's car was opposite one of the clubs. Suddenly he signalled his chauffeur to stop.
“Hello, Billy!” he called; and a young naval officer who was walking down the steps turned and came toward him.
“What have you been doing with yourself?” said Gamble. “Mr. Montague, my friend Lieutenant Long, of the Engineers. Where are you going, Billy?”
“Nowhere in particular,” said the officer.
“Get in,” said Gamble, pointing to the vacant seat between them. “I am showing Mr. Montague the town.”
The other climbed in, and they went on. “The Lieutenant has just come up from Brooklyn,” he continued. “Lively times we had in Brooklyn, didn't we, Billy? Tell me what you have been doing lately.”
“I'm working hard,” said the Lieutenant—“studying.”
“Studying here in Newport?” laughed Gamble.
“That's easy enough when you belong to the Engineers,” said the other. “We are working-men, and they don't want us at their balls.”
“By the way, Gamble,” he added, after a moment, “I was looking for you. I want you to help me.”
“Me?” said Gamble.
“Yes,” said the other. “I have just had notice from the Department that I am one of a board of five that has been appointed to draw up specifications for machine oil for the Navy.”
“What can I do about it?” asked Gamble.
“I want you to help me draw them up.”
“But I don't know anything about machine oil.”
“You cannot possibly know less than I do,” said the Lieutenant. “Surely, if you have been in the oil business, you can give me some sort of an idea about machine oil.”
Gamble thought for a minute. “I might try,” he said. “But would it be the proper thing for me to do? Of course, I'm out of the business myself; but I have friends who might bid for the contract.”
“Well, your friends can take their chances with the rest,” said the Lieutenant. “I am a friend, too, hang it. And how in the world am I to find out anything about oil?”
Gamble was silent again. “Well, I'll do what I can for you,” he said, finally. “I'll write out what I know about the qualities of good oil, and you can use it as you think best.”
“All right,” said the Lieutenant, with relief.
“But you'll have to agree to say nothing about it,” said Gamble. “It's a delicate matter, you understand.”
“You may trust me for that,” said the other, laughing. So the subject was dropped, and they went on with their ride.
Half an hour later Gamble set Montague down, at General Prentice's door, and he bade them farewell and went in.
The General was coming down the stairs. “Hello, Allan,” he said. “Where have you been?”
“Seeing the place a little,” said Montague.
“Come into the drawing-room,” said the General. “There's a man in there you ought to know.
“One of the brainiest newspaper men in Wall Street,” he added, as he went across the hall,—“the financial man of the Express.”
Montague entered the room and was introduced to a powerfully built and rather handsome young fellow, who had not so long ago been centre-rush upon a famous football team. “Well, Bates,” said the General, “what are you after now?”
“I'm trying to get the inside story of the failure of Grant and Ward,” said Bates. “I supposed you'd know about it, if anyone did.”
“I know about it,” said the General, “but the circumstances are such that I'm not free to tell—at least, not for publication. I'll tell you privately, if you want to know.”
“No,” said Bates, “I'd rather you didn't do that; I can find it out somehow.”
“Did you come all the way to Newport to see me?” asked the General.
“Oh, no, not entirely,” said Bates. “I'm to get an interview with Wyman about the new bond issue of his road. What do you think of the market, General?”
“Things look bad to me,” said Prentice. “It's a good time to reef sail.”
Then Bates turned to Montague. “I think I passed you a while ago in the street,” he said pleasantly. “You were with James Gamble, weren't you?”
“Yes,” said Montague. “Do you know him?”
“Bates knows everybody,” put in the General; “that's his specialty.”
“I happen to know Gamble particularly well,” said Bates. “I have a brother in his office in Pittsburg. What in the world do you suppose he is doing in Newport?”
“Just seeing the world, so he told me,” said Montague. “He has nothing to do since his company sold out.”
“Sold out!” echoed Bates. “What do you mean?”
“Why, the Trust has bought him out,” said Montague.
The other stared at him. “What makes you think that?” he asked.
“He told me so himself,” was the answer.
“Oh!” laughed the other. “Then it's just some dodge that he's up to!”
“You think he hasn't sold?”
“I don't think it, I know it,” said Bates. “At any rate, he hadn't sold three days ago. I had a letter from my brother saying that they were expecting to land a big oil contract with the government that would put them on Easy Street for the next five years!”
Montague said no more. But he did some thinking. Experience had sharpened his wits, and by this time he knew a clew when he met it. A while later, when Bates had gone and his brother had come in with Alice, he got Oliver off in a corner and demanded, “How much are you to get out of that oil contract?”
The other stared at him in consternation. “Good heavens!” he exclaimed. “Did he tell you about it?”
“He told me some things,” said Montague, “and I guessed the rest.”
Oliver was watching him anxiously. “See here, Allan,” he said, “you'll keep quiet about it!”
“I imagine I will,” said the other. “It's none of my business, that I can see.”
Then suddenly Oliver broke into a smile of amusement. “Say, Allan!” he exclaimed. “He's a clever dog, isn't he!”
“Very clever,” admitted the other.
“He's been after that thing for six months, you know—and just as smooth and quiet! It's about the slickest game I ever heard of!”
“But how could he know what officers were to make out those specifications?”
“Oh, that's easy,” said the other. “That was the beginning of the whole thing. They got a tip that the contract was to be let, and they had no trouble in finding out the names of the officers. That kind of thing is common, you know; the bureaus in Washington are rotten.”
“I see,” said Montague.
“Gamble's company is in a bad way,” Oliver continued. “The Trust just about had it in a corner. But Gamble saw this chance, and he staked everything on it.”
“But what's his idea?” asked the other. “What good will it do him to write the specifications?”
“There are five officers,” said Oliver, “and he's been laying siege to every one of them. So now they are all his intimate friends, and every one of them has come to him for help! So there will go into Washington five sets of specifications, all different, but each containing one essential point. You see, Gamble's company has a peculiar kind of oil; it contains some ingredient or other—he told me the name, but I don't remember it now. It doesn't make it any better oil, and it doesn't make it any worse; but it's different from any other oil in the world. And now, don't you see—whatever other requirements are specified, this one quality will surely appear; and there will be only one company in the world that can bid. Of course they will name their own figure, and get a five-year contract.”
“I see,” said Montague, drily. “It's a beautiful scheme. And how much do you get out of it?”
“He paid me ten thousand at the start,” said Oliver; “and I am to get five per cent of the first year's contract, whatever that may be. Gamble says his bid won't be less than half a million, so you see it was worth while!”
And Oliver chuckled to himself. “He's going home to-morrow,” he added. “So my job is done. I'll probably never see him again—until his four prize daughters get ready for the market!”