 CHAPTER XIV Monaghi returned to New York and plunged into his work. The election at which he was scheduled to become president of the northern Mississippi was not to come off for a month. Meantime there was no lack of work for him to do. It would of course be necessary for him to return to Mississippi to live, and he had to close up his affairs in New York. Also he wished to fit himself for the work of superintending a railroad. Through the courtesy of General Prentice he was introduced to the president of one of the great transcontinental lines and made a study of that official's office system. He went south again to inspect the work of the surveyors and to consult with the engineers who had been selected for the work. Price went ahead with his arrangements to take over control of the road without paying any attention to the old management. He sent for Monaghi one day and introduced him to a Mr. Haskins, who was to be elected vice president of the road. Haskins, he said, had formerly been general manager of the Tennessee Southern and was a practical railroad man. Monaghi was to rely upon him for all the details of his work. Haskins was a wiry, nervous little man with a bad temper and a sarcastic tongue. He worshipped the gospel of efficiency and in the consultations with him Monaghi got many curious lights upon the management of railroads. He learned, for instance, that a conspicuous item in the construction account was the money to be used in paying local government boards for right of way through towns and villages. Apparently no one even considered the possibility of securing the privilege by any other methods. Monaghi did not like the prospect but he said nothing. Then again the road was to purchase its rails and other necessaries from the Mississippi Steel Company and apparently it was expected to pay a fancy price for these. It was not to ask for any of the discounts which were customary. Also Monaghi was troubled to learn that the secretary and treasurer of the road were to receive liberal salaries and that no questions were to be asked because they were relatives of price. All that he put up with but matters came to a head about ten days before the election when one day Haskins came to his office with the engineer's estimates and with his own figures of the probable cost of the extension. Most of the figures were much higher than those which Monaghi had worked out for himself. "'We ought to do better on those contracts,' he said, pointing to some of the items. "'I daresay we might,' said Haskins, but those contracts are to go to the Hill Manufacturing Company.' "'I don't understand,' you said, Monaghi. I thought that we were to advertise for bids.' "'Yes,' replied Haskins, but that company is to get the contracts all the same. "'You mean,' asked Monaghi, that we are not to give them to the lowest bidder. "'I'm afraid not,' said the other. "'Has Price said anything to you to that effect?' "'He has.' "'But I don't understand,' said Monaghi. What is this Hill Manufacturing Company?' And Haskins smiled. "'It's a concern that Price has organized himself,' he said. Monaghi stared in amazement. Price himself,' he gasped. "'His nephew is president of the company,' added the other. "'Is it a new company?' Monaghi asked. Organized especially for the purpose, smiled the other. And what does it manufacture? It doesn't manufacture anything, it simply sells.' "'In other words,' said Monaghi, it's a device whereby Mr. Price proposes to rob the stockholders of the northern Mississippi Railroad. "'You can phrase it that way if you choose,' said Haskins quietly. But I wouldn't advise you to let Price hear you.' "'I thank you,' responded Monaghi, and brought the interview to an end. He took a day to think the matter over. It was not in his habit to act upon impulse. He saw that the time had come for him to speak, but he wished to be sure of his course of action before he began. He had dinner at the club that evening, and, seeing his friend Major Venable and Skonsten a big leather chair in the reading-room, he went and sat down beside him. "'How do you do, Major?' he said. "'I've got another case that I want to ask you some questions about.' "'Always at your service,' said the Major. "'It has to do with the railroad,' said Monaghi. "'Did you ever hear of such a thing as a railroad president organizing a company to sell supplies to his own road?' The Major smiled grimly. "'Yes, I've heard of it,' he said. "'Is it common?' asked Monaghi. "'Not so common as you might suppose,' answered the other. "'A railroad president is commonly not an important enough man to be permitted to do it. If it happens to be a big road, and the president is a power in it, why then he may do it?' "'I see,' said Monaghi. "'That was Higgins' trick,' said the Major. Higgins used to go around making speeches to Sunday schools. He was the kind of man that the newspapers liked to refer to as a model citizen and a leader of enterprise. His brothers and his brothers-in-law and his cousins and all his family went into business in order to sell things to his railroads. I heard of one story. It has never come out, but it's very amusing. Every year the road would advertise its contract for stationery. It used about a million dollars' worth, and there'd be long and most elaborate specifications published, columns and columns, but sandwiched away somewhere in the middle of a paragraph was the provision that the paper must all bear a certain watermark, and that watermark was patented by one of Higgins' companies. It didn't even own so much as a mill. It sublet all the contracts. When Higgins died he left eighty million dollars, but they juggled the records and you read in all the newspapers that he left a few millions. That was in Philadelphia where you can do such things. Montague sat thinking for a few moments. "'But I can't see why they should do it in this case,' he said. The men who are doing it own nearly all of the stock of the road. What difference does that make?' asked the Major. "'Why, they are simply plundering their own property,' said Montague. "'Tut!' was the reply. What do they care about the value of the property? They'll unload it before the public finds out, and in the meantime they are probably manipulating the stock. That's the scheme they're working with the street railroads over in Brooklyn, for instance. The more irregular the dividends are, the more violently the stock fluctuates and the better they like it. "'But this is the case of a railroad that is being built,' said Montague, and they are putting up the money to build it.' "'Yes,' said the Major. Of course, and then they are paying it back to themselves by this dodge, and they'll still have the stock and whatever they can get for it will be profit. And if the State Legislature comes along and asks any impertinent questions, they can open their books and say, See, we have spent this much for improvements. This is the cost of the road, and if you reduce our freight rates you will cut off our dividends and confiscate our property.' And the Major gazed at Montague with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "'Besides,' he said, another thing. You say they are putting up the money. Are you sure it's their own money? Commonly the greater part of the cost of railroad building is paid by bonds, and they work those bonds off on banks and insurance companies and trust companies. Have you thought of that?' "'No, I hadn't,' said Montague. "'I know very few men in Wall Street who use their own money,' the Major added. Take the case of Wyman, for instance. Wyman's railroad keeps a cash-surplus of twenty or thirty millions, and Wyman uses that in Wall Street. And when he has made his profit he takes it and salts it away in village improvement bonds all over the country. Do you see?' "'I see,' said Montague. "'It's a bad game for the small stock-holder.' "'It's a bad game for the small man of any sort,' said the Major. When I was young I can remember a man would save a little money and put it into an enterprise of some sort, and whatever the profits were he would get his share of them. But now you see the big men have got control, and they are greedier than they used to be. There is nothing hurts them so much as to see the little fellow get any share of the profits, and they've all sorts of schemes for doing him out of it. I could take a week off and tell you about them. You are manufacturing soap, we will say. You find there are too many soap manufacturers and too much soap and so you propose to combine and put your rivals out of business and monopolize the soap market. Your properties are already capitalized at twice what they cost you because you are naturally hopeful and that is what you expected they would earn. But now for this new combination you issue stock to the amount of three times this imagined value. Then you fill the street with rumors of the wonders of your soap combination and all the privileges and monopolies that you've got and you unload your stock on the public, we'll say at eighty. You may have sold all your stock, but you still got control of the corporation. The public is helpless and unorganized and your men are in. Then the street begins to hear disturbing rumors about the soap trust and your board of directors meet and declare that it is impossible to pay any dividends. There is great indignation among the stockholders and an opposition is organized, but you set the clock an hour ahead and elect your ticket before the other fellow comes around. Or perhaps the troubles have already knocked the stock down sufficiently low to satisfy you and you buy a majority of it back. Then the public hears that a new interest has purchased the soap trust and that a new and honest administration is to be elected and once more there is hope for soap. You buy a few more plants and issue more stocks and bonds and soap begins to boom and you sell once more. You can work that regularly every two or three years, for there is always a new crop of investors and nobody but a few people in Wall Street can possibly keep track of what you are doing. The major paused for a while and sat with a happy smile on his countenance. You see, he said, there are floods and floods of wealth pouring into Wall Street from all over the country. It comes to me like a vision. The crops are growing, the mines and the mills and the factories are working and here is all the money. People don't like to take it and hide it up their chimneys. Few people have chimneys nowadays, they want to invest it and so you prepare investments for them. Take the street railroads here in New York, for instance. What could be a safer investment than the street railroads of the metropolis? An absolute monopoly and traffic growing so fast that construction can't keep up with it. Profits are sure, so people buy street railway stocks and bonds. In this case it's the politicians who organize the construction companies, that's their share, and return for the franchises. The insiders have a new scheme. The best yet, it's like a gatling gun against bows and arrows. They organize a syndicate and get the franchises for nothing and then sell them to the company for millions. They've even sold franchises they didn't own and railroad lines that hadn't been built. You'll find some improvements charged for four or five times over and the improvements haven't been made. First and last they have paid themselves about thirty million dollars, and in the meantime the poor stockholder wonders why he doesn't get his dividends. That's the investment market, the major continued after a pause. But of course the biggest reservoirs of wealth are the insurance companies and the banks. It's there the real fortunes are made. You'll find you lose the greater part of your profits unless you've got your own banks to take your bonds. I heard an amusing story the other day of a man who was manufacturing electrical supplies. He prides himself on being an honest businessman and having nothing to do with Wall Street. His company wanted to extend its business and it issued a couple of hundred thousand dollars worth of bonds and went to the Fidelity Insurance Company and offered them at ninety. We aren't buying any bonds just at present, said they, but suppose you try the National Trust Company. So the man went there and they offered him eighty for the bonds. That was the best he could do and in the end he had to take it. And then the Trust Company turns the bonds over to the Insurance Company at Parr. I could name you half a dozen Trust Companies in New York that are simply syndicates of insurance people for the working of that little game. The Major paused. You see it? He asked. Yes, I see, Montague replied. Is there a Trust Company by any chance back of this railroad you are talking of? There is, said Montague and the Major shrugged his shoulders. There you have it, he said. By and by they will find their first bond issue inadequate to meet the cost of the proposed improvements. The estimates of the engineers will be found too low and there will be another issue of bonds and your President's company will get another contract. And then the first thing you know your President will organize a manufacturing enterprise along the line of his road and the road will give him secret rebates and practically carry his goods free or else he'll organize a private car line and make the road pay for the privilege of hauling his cars. Or perhaps he's already got some industrial concern and is simply building the road as a side issue. The Major stopped. He saw that Montague was staring at him with an expression of perplexity. What's the matter, he asked? Would Heaven's Major exclaim the other? Do you know what road I've been talking about? And the Major sank back in his chair and went into a fit of laughter. He laughed until he was purple in the face and he could hardly find breath to speak. I really thought you did, Montague protested. It's exactly the situation. Oh, dear me, said the Major, fishing for his pocket-hanker-tiff to wipe the tears from his eyes. Dear me, it makes me think of our district attorney's lemon story. Did you ever hear it? No, said Montague, I never did. It was one of the bright spots in a dreary reform campaign that we had a few years ago. It seems that our young Crusader was giving his audience a few illustrations of how dishonest officials could make money in this city. Let us imagine a case, he said. You are an inspector of fruit and there is a scarcity of lemons in New York. There are two ships full of lemons on the way and one ship gets in twenty-four hours ahead. Now, the law requires that the fruit be carefully inspected. If you are too careful about it, it will take more than twenty-four hours and the owner of the cargo will lose a small fortune. So he comes to you and offers you a thousand or two and you don't stop to open every crate of his lemons. The district attorney told that story at a meeting and the next morning the newspapers published it. That afternoon he happened to meet a fruit inspector who was an old friend of his. Say, old man, said the inspector, who the devil told you about those lemons? The next morning Montague called at Price's office. Mr. Price, he said, a matter has come up in my discussions with Mr. Haskins about which I thought it necessary to consult you immediately. What is it, asked Price? Mr. Haskins informs me that it is understood that the Hill manufacturing company is to be favored in the matter of contracts. Montague was watching Price narrowly and he saw his jaw set grimly and a hostile look come upon his features. Price had been lounging back in his chair. Now, slowly, he straightened himself up as if to receive an attack. Well, he asked, is Mr. Haskins correct, asked the other. He is correct. He also stated that you are interested in the company. Is that true? That is true. He also stated that the company did not manufacture, but simply sold. Is that true? Yes, that is true. Very well, Mr. Price, said Montague. This is a matter about which we must have an understanding without delay. In my preliminary talks with you I was informed that it was your wish to find a man who should run the road honestly. The situation which you have just outlined to me does not seem to me consistent with that program. Montague was prepared for an angry response, but he saw the other make an effort and control himself. You must realize, Mr. Montague, he said, that you are not very familiar with methods in the railroad world. This company of which you speak possesses advantages. It can secure better terms. Price stopped. You mean that it can purchase goods more cheaply than the railroad itself can, demanded Montague. In some cases began the other. Very well, then, he answered, in any case where it can obtain better terms there can be no objection to its receiving the contract. But that does not agree with what Mr. Haskins told me. He gave me to understand that we were to prepare to pay a much higher price because it would be necessary to give the contracts to the Hill Manufacturing Company, and that was my reason for coming to see you. I wish to have a distinct understanding with you upon this point. While I am president of the Northern Mississippi Railroad, everything that is purchased by the road will be purchased in fair competition, and the concern which will give us the lowest price for the quality of goods we need will receive our order. That is a matter about which there must be left no possible room for misunderstanding. I trust I have made myself clear. You have made yourself clear, said Price. And so the interview terminated. CHAPTER XV. THE MONEY CHANGERS. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. THE MONEY CHANGERS by Upton Sinclair CHAPTER XV. Montague went back to his work but with a heart full of misgivings. He would have liked to persuade himself that that was the end of the episode, but he could not do it. He foresaw that his job as president of a railroad would not be a sinecure. With all his forebodings, however, he was unprepared for the development which came the next day. Young Curtis called him up early in the morning and asked him to wait at his office. A few minutes later he came in with evident agitation upon his countenance. MONague, he said, I have something important to tell you. I cannot leave you in ignorance about it. But before I begin, you must understand one thing, that I am taking my future in my hands by telling you, and you must promise me that you will never give the slightest hint that I have spoken to you. I will promise, said Monague, what is it? You must not even let on that you know, added the other. Price would know that I told you. Oh, it's Price, said Monague. I'll promise to protect you. What is it? He called up Davenant yesterday afternoon and told him that you were not to be elected president of the road. Monague gazed at him in dismay. He says you are to be dropped entirely, said the other. Haskins is to be the president. Davenant had to tell me because I am one of the directors. So that's it. Monague whispered to himself. Do you know what's the matter, asked Curtis? Yes, I do, said Monague. What is it? It's a long story, just some graft that I wouldn't stand for. Oh! cried Curtis with sudden light. Is it the Hill Manufacturing Company? It is, said Monague. It was Curtis' turn to stare in amazement. My God! he gasped. Do you mean that you have thrown up the sponge for that? I haven't thrown up the sponge by any means was the answer, but that's why Price wants to get rid of me. But man! cried the other. How perfectly absurd! Monague fixed his glance upon him. Would you advise me to stand for it, he asked. But my dear fellow, said Curtis, I've got some stock in that company myself. Monague sat in silence. He could think of nothing to say after that. What in the world do you suppose you have gone into, protested the other? A charity enterprise? Then he stopped, seeing the look of pain upon his friend's face. He put a hand upon his arm. See here, old man, he said, this is too bad, honestly. I understand how you feel and it's a great credit to you, but you are living in the world and you have got to be practical. You can't expect to take a railroad and run it as if it were an orphan asylum. You can't expect to do business if you're going to have notions like that. It's really a shame to give up a work like this for such a reason. Monague stiffened. I assure you I haven't given it up yet, he replied grimly. But what are you going to do, protested the other. I am going to fight, said he. Fight, echoed Curtis. But man, you are perfectly helpless. Price and writer own the road, and they will do as they please with it. You are one of the directors of the road, said Monague, and you know the situation. You know the pledges upon which the election of the new board was secured. Will you vote for Haskins as president? My God, Monague, protested the other. What a thing to ask of me. You know perfectly well that I have no power in the road. All the stock I own, Price gave me, and what can I do? Why, my whole career would be ruined if I were to oppose him. In other words, said Monague, you are a dummy. You are willing to sell your name and your character for a block of stock. You take a position of trust and you betray it. The other's face hardened. Oh, well, he said, if that's the way you put it. That's not the way I put it, said Monague. That is simply the fact. But, cried the other, don't you realize that they have a majority even without me? Perhaps they have, said Monague, but that is no reason why you should not do what is right. Curtis arose. There's nothing more to be said, he remarked. I am sorry you take it that way. I tried to do you a service. I appreciate that, said Monague promptly. For that I shall always be obliged to you. In this fight that you propose to make, said the other, you must not forget that it is I who have brought you this information. Do not trouble about that, said Monague. I will protect you. No one shall ever know that I had the information. Monague spent a half an hour pacing up and down his office in thought. Then he called his stenographer and dictated a letter to his cousin, Mr. Lee, and to each of the three other persons whom he had approached in relation to their votes at the stockholders' meeting. Certain matters have developed, he wrote, in connection with the affairs of the Northern Mississippi Railroad, which make me unwilling to accept the position of President. It is also my intention to resign from the Board of Directors of the Road, in which I find myself powerless to prevent the things of which I disapprove. And then he went on to outline the plan which he intended to carry out, explaining that he offered to those whom he had been the means of influencing the opportunity to go in with him upon equal terms. He requested them to communicate their decisions by telegraph, and two days later he had heard from them all, and was ready for business. He called up Stanley Ryder and made an appointment for an interview. Mr. Ryder, he said, a few weeks ago you talked with me in this office, and asked me to assist you in electing your ticket for the Northern Mississippi Railroad. You said that you wished me to become President of the Road, and that the reason for the request was that you wanted a man whom you could depend upon for efficient and honest management. I accepted your offer in good faith, and I have made all arrangements, and put in a great deal of hard work at the task of fitting myself for the position. Now I have learned from Mr. Price's own lips that he has organized a company for the purpose of exploiting the Road for his own private benefit. I told him that I was unwilling to stand for anything of the sort. Since then I have been thinking the matter over, and I have concluded that this situation will make it impossible for me to co-operate with Mr. Price. I have concluded, therefore, that it would be best for me to resign my position as Member of the Board of Directors, and also to withdraw my candidacy as President. Ryder had avoided Monoghue's gaze. He sat staring in front of him, and tapping nervously with a pencil upon his desk. It was some time before he answered. Mr. Monoghue, he said finally, I am very sorry indeed to hear your decision. But taking all the circumstances into consideration, it seems to me that perhaps it is a wise one. Again there was a pause. You must permit me to thank you for what you have done," Ryder added. And I trust that this unfortunate episode will not alter our personal relationship. Thank you, said Monoghue coldly. He had waited to see what Ryder would say. He waited again, having no mind to help him in his embarrassment. As I say, Ryder repeated, I am very much obliged to you. I have no doubt of it, said Monoghue. But I trust that you do not expect to end our relationship in any such simple way as that. He saw Ryder's expression change. What do you mean, he asked? There is a matter of grave importance which has to be settled before we can part. As you know, I am personally the holder of five hundred shares of northern Mississippi stock, and to that extent I am interested in the affairs of the road. Most certainly, said Ryder quietly, but I have nothing to do with that. As a stockholder of the road you look to the board of directors. Besides being a stockholder myself continued Monoghue without heeding this remark, I have also to consider the interests of the three persons whom I interviewed in your behalf. I was the means of inducing these people to vote for the board which you named. I was the means of inducing them to place themselves in the power of Mr. Price and yourself. This being the case, I consider that my honour is involved, and that I am responsible to them. What do you expect to do, asked Ryder? I have written to them informing them of my intention to withdraw. I have not told them the circumstances, but have simply indicated that I find myself powerless to prevent certain things to which I object. I have told them the course I intend to take and offered them the opportunity to get out upon the same terms as myself. They have accepted the offer, and to-morrow I should receive their stock certificates and their authorization to dispose of them. I have my own certificates here, and I have to say that I consider you are under obligation to purchase this stock at the same price which you paid for the new stock, namely fifty dollars a share. Ryder stared at him. Mr. Monogue, you amaze me, he said. I am sorry for that, said Monogue. His voice was hard, and there was a grim look upon his face. He fixed his eyes upon Ryder. Nevertheless he said, it will be necessary for you to take the stock. I am sorry to have to say it, said Ryder, but this seems to me impertinent. The total number of shares, said Monogue, is thirty-five hundred, and the price of them is one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars. The two gazed at each other. Ryder saw the look in Monogue's eyes, and he did not repeat his sneer. May I ask, he inquired in a low voice, what reason you have to believe that I will comply with this extraordinary request? I have a very good reason, as I believe you will perceive, said Monogue. You and Mr. Price have purchased this railroad, and you wish to plunder it. That is your privilege. Apparently it is the custom here in Wall Street to play tricks upon the investing public. But you cannot play them upon me, because I know too much. May I know what you propose to do, asked Ryder? You certainly may, said the other. I propose to fight. Until you have purchased my stock and the stock of my friends, I shall remain a director in the railroad, and also a candidate for the position of president. I shall make a contest at the next director's meeting, and if I fail in my purpose there, I shall carry the fight before the public. I flatter myself that my reputation will count for something in my old home. You will not be able to carry matters with quite the same high hand in Mississippi as you are accustomed to in New York. Also I shall fight you in the courts. I don't happen to know just what is the law in regard to the plundering of a public service corporation by its own directors. But I shall be very much surprised if I cannot find some ground upon which to put a stop to it. Also as you know, I am in possession of facts regarding the means whereby you got your new privileges from the State Legislature. Ryder was glaring at him in rage. Mr. Montague, he cried, this is blackmail. You may call it that, if you please, said the other. I shall not be afraid to face the charge if you should see fit to bring it in the courts. Ryder started to reply, then caught his breath and gasped. When he spoke again he had mastered himself. It seems to me a most extraordinary thing, he said. Surely Mr. Montague, you cannot feel at liberty to make public what you learned from Mr. Price and myself while you were acting as our confidential adviser. Surely you cannot have forgotten the pledge of secrecy which you gave me here in this office. I have not forgotten it, answered Montague, and I have considered the matter with the greatest care. I consider that it is you who have violated a pledge. I believe that your violation was a deliberate one, that you had intended it from the very beginning. You assured me that you wished an honest administration of the road. I don't believe that you ever did wish it. I believe that you had no thought whatever except to use me as your tool to secure the control of the railroad without buying out the remaining stockholders. Having accomplished that purpose you are perfectly willing to have me retire. In fact, I have made up my mind that you never intended that I should be president. I have all along been suspicious about it, but I can assure you that you have struck the wrong man. You cannot play with me in any such manner. I have no idea whatever of retiring from the railroad and permitting you and Mr. Price to exploit it and to deprive me of the value of my holdings. Montague was going on, but the other interrupted him quickly. I recognize the justice of what you say there, Mr. Montague said he. So far as your own shares are concerned you are entitled to be bought out. I am sure that that is a fair basis. On the contrary, said Montague, it's a basis the suggestion of which I take as an insult. I have been the means of placing other people at your mercy. My reputation and my promises were used for that purpose, and to whatever I am entitled they are entitled equally. There can be no possible settlement except the one which I have offered you. Rider could think of nothing more to say. He sat staring at the other. And Montague, who had no desire to prolong the interview, arose abruptly. I do not expect you to decide this matter immediately, he said. I presume that you will wish to consult with Mr. Price. I have made known my terms to you and I have nothing more to say. Either you will accept the terms or I shall drop everything else and prepare to fight you at every step. I expect to receive the stock by this evening's mail and I am obliged to ask you to favor me with a decision by tomorrow noon so that we can close the matter up without delay. And with that he bowed formally and took his departure. The next morning's mail brought him a letter from William E. Davenant. My dear Mr. Montague, it is reported to me that you have thirty-five hundred shares of the stock of the northern Mississippi Railroad which you desire to sell at fifty dollars a share. If you will bring the stock to my office today I shall be glad to purchase it. Having received the letters from the south, Montague went immediately. Montague was formal, but Montague could catch a humorous twinkle in his eye which seemed to say quite confidentially that he appreciated the joke. That ends the matter, he said, as he blotted the last of Montague's signatures. And I trust you will permit me to say, Mr. Montague, that I consider you an exceedingly capable businessman. I appreciate the compliment, replied Montague, dryly. CHAPTER XVI. Montague was now a gentleman of leisure comparatively speaking. He had two cases on his hands, but they did not occupy his time as had the prospect of running a railroad. They were contingency cases, and as they were against large corporations Montague saw a lean year ahead of him. He smiled bitterly to himself, as he realized that the only thing which had given him the courage to break with price and writer had been the money which he and his brother Oliver had won by means of a Wall Street tip. He received a letter from Alice. I'm going to remain a couple of weeks longer in Newport, she wrote. Who do you think has invited me? Nora Hegan. She has been perfectly lovely to me, and I go to her place next week. You will be interested to note that I had a long talk with her about you. I took occasion to tell her a few things that she ought to know. She was very nice about it. I'm hoping that she will come up for another weekend before I leave here. Harry Curtis is going to spend his vacation here. You might come with him. Montague smiled to himself as he read this letter. He did not go with Curtis, but the heat of the city was stifling, and the thought of the surf and the country was alluring, and he went up by way of the sound one Friday night. He was invited to dinner at the Higgins. Jim Hegan was there himself, for the first occasion in three years. Mrs. Hegan declared it was only because she had gone down to New York and fetched him. It was the first time that Montague had ever been with Hegan for any length of time. He watched him with interest, for the man was a fascinating problem to him. He was so calm and serene, always courteous and friendly. But what was there behind the mask, Montague wondered. For forty years this man had toiled and fought in the arena of Wall Street, and with only one purpose and one thought in life so far as Montague knew, the piling up of money. Jim Hegan indulged himself in none of the pleasures of rich men. He had no hobbies, and he seldom went into company. In his busy times it was said that he would use a dozen secretaries and wear them all out. He was a gigantic engine which drove all day and all night a machine for the making of money. Montague did not care much for money himself, and he wondered about it. What did the man want it for? What did he expect to accomplish by it? What was the moral code, the outlook upon life, of a man who gave all his time to heaping up money? What reason did he give to himself for his own career? Some reason he must have, or he could not be so calm and cheerful. Or could it be that he had no thoughts about it at all? Was it simply a blind instinct with him? Was he an animal whose nature it was to make money and who was untroubled by any scruples? This last idea seemed rather uncanny to Montague. He found himself watching Jim Hegan with a kind of awe, thinking of him as some terrible elemental force, blind and unconscious, like the lightning or the tornado. For Jim Hegan was one of the wreckers. His fortune had been made by the methods which Major Venable had outlined, by buying aldermen and legislatures and governors, by getting franchises for nothing and selling them for millions, by organizing huge swindles and unloading them upon the public. And here he sat upon the veranda of his home in the twilight of an August evening, smoking a cigar and telling about an orphan asylum he had founded. He was cheerful and kindly, he was even benevolent. And could it be that he had no idea of the trail of ruin and distress which he had left behind him? Montague found himself possessed by a sudden desire to penetrate beneath that reserve, to spring at the man and surprise him with some sudden question, to get at the reality of him, to know him as he was. This air of power and masterfulness, surely that must be the mask that he wore. And how was he to himself? When he was alone with his own conscience? Surely there must come doubt and wonder, unhappiness and loneliness? Surely then the lives that he had wrecked must come back to plague him. Surely the memories of treachery and cruelty must make him wince. And from Hegan Montague's thoughts went to his daughter. She too was serene and stately. Montague wondered what was in her mind. How much did she know about her father's career? Surely she could not have persuaded herself that all she had heard was Calumny. There might be question about this offense or that, but of the great broad facts there could be no question. And did she justify it an excuse it, or was she too secretly unhappy? And was this the reason for her pride and for her bitter speeches? It was a continual topic of chatter and society how Laura Hegan had withdrawn herself from all of her mother's affairs and was interesting herself in work in the slums. Could it be that Nemesis had overtaken Jim Hegan in the form of his daughter? That she was the conscience by which he was to be tormented? Jim Hegan never talked about his affairs, and all the time that Montague spent with him during his two days at Newport he gave just one hint for the other to go upon. Money, he remarked that evening. I don't care about money. Money is just chips to me. Life was a game and the chips were dollars. What he had played for was power, and suddenly Montague seemed to see the career of this man unrolled before him like a panorama. He had begun life as an office boy, and above him were all the heights of business and finance, and the latter by which to scale them was money. There were rivals with whom he fought, and the overcoming of these rivals had occupied all this time and his thought. If he had bought legislatures it was because his rivals were trying to buy them. And perhaps then he did not even know that he was a wrecker. Perhaps he would not have believed it if anyone had told him. He had travelled all the long journey of his life, trampling out opposition and crushing everything before him, nourishing in his heart the hope that some day when he had attained to mastery, when there were no more rivals to oppose and thwart him, then he would be free to do good. Then he would no longer have to be a wrecker. Perhaps that was the meaning of his pitiful little effort, an orphan asylum. It seemed to Montague that the gods must shake with Olympian laughter when they contemplated the spectacle of Jim Hegan and his orphan asylum, Jim Hegan who could have filled a score of orphan asylums with the children of the men whom he had driven to ruin and suicide. These thoughts were seething in Montague's mind and they would not let him rest. Perhaps it was just as well that he did not stay too long that evening. After all, what was the use? Jim Hegan was what circumstances had made him. Vane was the dream of peace and well-doing. There was always another rival. There was a new battle on just at present if one might believe the gossip of the street. Hegan and Wyman were at each other's throats. They would fight out their quarrel and there was no way to prevent them even though they pulled down the pillars of the nation about each other's heads. As to just what these men were doing in their struggles, Montague got new information every day. The next morning while he was sitting on the piazza of one of the hotels watching the people, he recognized a familiar face and greeted the young engineer, Lieutenant Long, who came and sat down beside him. Well, said Montague, have you heard anything from our friend Gamble? He's back in the bosom of his family again, said the young officer. He got tired of the splurge. Great fellow, Gamble, said Montague. I like him very much, said the Lieutenant. He's not beautiful to look at, but his heart's in the right place. Montague thought for a moment, then asked, did he ever send you your oil specifications? You bet he did, said the other, and say they were great. The department will think I'm an expert. Indeed, said Montague. It was a precious lucky thing for me, said the officer. I'd have been in quite a predicament, you know. He paused for a moment. You cannot imagine, he said, the position that we naval officers are in. Do you know I think some word must have got out about that contract? You don't say so, said Montague with interest. I do. By Gadd I thought of writing to headquarters about it. I was approached no less than three times. Indeed! Once he said the officer, a young chap got himself introduced to me by one of my friends here. He stuck by me the whole evening, and afterwards, as we were strolling home, he opened up on me in this fashion. He'd heard from a friend in Washington that I was one of those that had been asked to write specifications for the oil contracts of the navy, and he had some friends who were interested in oil and who might be able to advise me. He hinted that it might be a good thing for me. Just think of it. I can imagine it was unpleasant. I tell you it sets a man to thinking, said the lieutenant. You know the men in our service are exposed to that sort of thing all the time, and some of them are trying to live a good deal higher than their incomes warrant. It's a thing that we've all got to look out for. I can stand, graft in politics and in business, but when it comes to the army and navy, I tell you that's where I'm ready to fight. Montague said nothing. He could think of nothing to say. Campbell said something about your being interested in a fight against the Steel Trust, said the other. Is that so? It was so, replied Montague. I'm out of it now. What we were saying made me think of the Steel Trust, said the lieutenant. We get some glimpses of that concern in the navy, you know. I hadn't thought of that, said Montague. Ask any man in the service about it, said the lieutenant. It's an old scar that we carry around in our souls. It won't heal. I mean the armor plate-frods. Sure enough, said Montague, he carried a long list of indictments against the Steel Kings in his mind, but he had forgotten this one. I know about it particularly, the other continued, because my father was on the board of investigation fifteen years ago. I am disposed to be a little keen on the subject, because what he found out at that time practically caused his death. Montague darted a keen glance at the young officer who sat gazing ahead in somber thought. Fancy how a naval man feels, he said. We are told that our ships are going to the Pacific, and any hour the safety of the nation may depend on them. And they are covered with rotten armor plate that was made by old Harrison, and sold to the government for four or five times what it cost. Take one case that I know about, the Oregon. I've got a brother on board her today. During the Spanish War the whole country was watching her and praying for her. And I could go on board that battleship and put my finger on the spot in her conning-tower that has a series of blow-holes straight through the middle of it. Holes that old Harrison had drilled through and plugged up with an iron bar. If ever that plate was struck by a shell it would splinter like so much glass. Montague listened, half dazed. Can one see that, he cried. See it? No, said the officer. It's all on the inside of the plate, of course. When they got through with their dirty work they would treat the surface, and who would ever know the difference? But then how can you know it, asked Montague. I, said the other, because my father had laid before him the history of that plate from the hour it was made until it was put in, the original copies of the doctored shop records and the affidavits of the man who did the work. He had the same thing in a hundred other cases. I know the man who has the papers at this day. You see, continued the lieutenant after a pause, the government's specifications required that each plate should undergo an elaborate set of treatments, and the shop records of each plate were kept. But of course it cost enormous sums to get these treatments right, and even then hundreds of the plates would be bad. So when the shop records came up to the office, young Ingham and Davidson would go over them and edit them to bring them up to standard. That's the way those brilliant young fellows made all the money that they are spending on chorus girls and actresses today. They would have these shop records recopied, but they did not always tear up the old ones, and somebody in the office hid them, and that was how the government got hold of the story. It sounds almost incredible, exclaimed Montague. Take the story of plate H. 619 of the Oregon, said the lieutenant. That was one of a whole group of plates which was selected for the ballistic tests at Indian Head. After it had been selected it was taken back into the company's shops at night and secretly retreated three times. And then of course it passed the tests, and the whole group was passed with it. What was done about it, Montague asked. Nothing much was ever done about it, said the other. The government could not afford to let the real facts get out. But of course the insiders and the navy knew it, and the memory will last as long as the ships last. As I say, it killed my father. But weren't the men punished at all? There was a board appointed to try the case, and they awarded the government about six hundred thousand dollars damages. There's a man here in this hotel now who could tell you that story straight from the inside, and the lieutenant paused and looked about him. Suddenly he stood up and went to the railing and called to a man who was passing on the other side of the street. Hello, Bates, he said. Come here." Oh! Bates of the Express, said Montague. You know him, do you? Asked the lieutenant. Hello, Bates. Have they put you on the society notes?" I'm hunting interviews, replied the other. How do you do, Mr. Montague? Glad to see you again. Come up, said the lieutenant, and have a seat. I was talking to Mr. Montague about the armor plate frauds he added while the other had drawn up a chair. I told him you knew the story of the government's investigation. Bates comes from Pittsburgh, you know. Yes, I know it, Montague replied. That was the first newspaper story I ever worked on, said Bates. Of course, the Pittsburgh papers didn't print the facts, but I got them all the same. And afterwards I came to know intimately a lawyer in Pittsburgh who had charge of a secret investigation, and every time I read in the newspapers that old Harrison has given a new library it sets my blood to boiling all over again. I sometimes think, put in the other, that if somebody could be found to tell that story to the American people, they would rise up and drive the old scoundrel out of the country. You could never bring it home to him, said Bates. He's too cunning for that. He has always turned his dirty work over to other people. You remember during the big strike how he ran away and left the job to William Roberts, and after it was all over he came back smiling. And buying out the government to keep himself from being punished, said the Lieutenant savagely. Montague turned and looked at him. What is that? That is the story that Bates's lawyer friend can tell was the reply. The board of officers awarded $600,000 damage to the government, and the case was appealed to the President of the United States, and he sold out the Navy. Sold it out, gasped Montague. The officer shrugged his shoulders. That's what I call it, he said. One day Old Harrison startled the country by making a speech in support of the President's policy of terraform, and the next day the lawyer got word that the award was to be scaled down about 75 percent. And then added Bates, William Roberts came down from Pittsburgh and bought up the Democratic Party in Congress, and so the country got neither the damages nor the terraform. And then a few years later Old Harrison sold out to the Steel Trust and got off with a $400 million mortgage on the American people. Bates sank back in his chair. It's not a very pleasant topic for a holiday afternoon, he said, but I can't forget about it. It's this kind of thing that does it, you know, this. And he waved his hand about at the gay assemblage. The women spending their money on dresses and diamonds and the men tearing the country to pieces to get it. You'll hear people talk about it. They say these idle rich harm nobody but themselves, but I tell you they spread a trail of corruption wherever they go. Don't you believe that, Mr. Montague? I believe it, said he. Take these New England towns, said Bates, and look at the people in them. The ones who had any energy got up and went West years ago, and those who are left haven't any jaw bones. Did you ever notice it? And it's just the same wherever this pleasure crowd comes. It turns the men into boarding-house keepers and lackeys and the girls into waitresses and prostitutes. They learn to take tips, put in the lieutenant. Everything they've got is for sale to city-people, said Bates. Politically there isn't a rottener little corner in the whole United States of America than this same Rhode Island. And how much that's sane you can imagine. You can buy votes on Election Day as you'd buy herrings, and there's not the remotest effort at reform nor any hope of it. You speak bitterly, said Montague. I am bitter, said Bates, but it doesn't often break out. I hold my tongue and stew in my own juice. We newspaper men see the game, you know. We are behind the scenes, and we see the sawdust put into the dolls. We have to work in this rottenness all the time, and some of us don't like it, I can tell you. But what can we do? He shrugged his shoulders. I spend my time getting facts together, and nine times out of ten my newspaper won't print them. I should think you'd quit, said the other in a low voice. What better can I do, asked the reporter. I have the facts, and once in a while there comes an explosion, and I get my chance. So I stick at the job. I can't but believe that if you keep putting these things before the people, sometime sooner or later they will do something. Sometime there will come a man who has a conscience and voice, and who won't sell out. Don't you think so, Mr. Montague? Yes, said Montague. I think so. End of CHAPTER XVI. CHAPTER XVII. The summer wore on. At the end of August Alice returned from Newport for a couple of days, having some shopping to do before she joined the apprentices at their camp in the Adirondacks. Society had here a new way of enjoying itself. People built themselves elaborate palaces in the wilderness and lived in a fantastic kind of rusticity, with every luxury of civilization included. For this life one needed an entirely separate wardrobe, with dough-skin hunting boots and mountain-climbing skirts, all very picturesque and expensive. It reminded Montague of a jest that he had heard about Mrs. Vivie Patton, whose husband had complained of the expensiveness of her costumes, and requested her to wear simpler dresses. Very well, she said, I will get a lot of simple dresses immediately. Alice spent one evening at home, and she took her cousin into her confidence. I have an idea, Alan, that Harry Curtis is going to ask me to marry him. I thought it was right to tell you about it. I've had a suspicion of it, said Montague, smiling. Harry has a feeling you don't like him, said the girl. Is that true? No, replied Montague. Not precisely that, he hesitated. I don't understand about it, she continued. Do you think I ought not to marry him? Montague studied her face. Tell me, he said, have you made up your mind to marry him? No, she answered, I cannot say that I have. If you have, he added, of course there is no use in my talking about it. I wish you would tell me just what happened between you and him, exclaimed the girl. It was simply, said Montague, that I found that Curtis was doing, in a business way, something which I consider improper. Other people are doing it, of course, he has that excuse. Well, he has to earn a living, said Alice. I know, said the other, and if he marries he will have to earn still more of a living. He will only place himself still tighter in the grip of these forces of corruption. But what did he do, asked Alice anxiously? Montague told her the story. But Alan, she said, I don't see what there is so very bad about that. Don't Ryder and Price own the railroad? They own some of it, said Montague, other people own some. But the other people have to take their chances, protested the girl, if they choose to have anything to do with men like that. You are not familiar with business, said the other, and you don't appreciate the situation. Curtis was elected a director. He accepted a position of trust. He simply did it as a favour to Price, said she. If he hadn't done it Price would only have got somebody else. As you say, Alan, I don't understand much about it, but it seems to me it isn't fair to blame a young man who has to make his way in the world and who simply does what he finds everybody else doing. Of course you know best about your own affairs, but it always did seem to me that you go out of your way to look for scruples. Montague smiled sadly. That sounds very much like what he said, Alice. I guess you have made up your mind to marry him after all. Alice set out, accompanied by Oliver, who was bound for Bertie Stuyvesant's imitation baronial castle in another part of the mountains. Betty Wyman was also to be there, and Oliver was to spend a full month. But three days later Montague received a telegram, saying that his brother would arrive in New York shortly after eight that morning and to wait at his home for him. Montague suspected what this meant, and he had time enough to think it over and make up his mind. Well, he said, when Oliver came in. It's come again, has it? Yes, said Oliver, it has. Another sure thing? Dead sure. Are you coming in, Oliver asked, after a moment? Montague shook his head. No, he said, I think once was enough for me. You don't mean that, Alan, protested the other. I mean it was the reply. But my dear fellow, that is perfectly insane. I have information straight from the inside. It's as certain as the sunrise. I have no doubt of that, responded Montague, but I am through with gambling and Wall Street. I've seen enough of it, Oliver, and I'm sick of it. I don't like the emotions it causes in me. I don't like the things it makes me do. You found the money came in useful, didn't you? said Oliver sarcastically. Yes, I can use what I've got. And when that's gone? I don't know about that yet, but I'll find some way that I like better. All right, said Oliver, it's your own lookout. I will make my own little pile. They rode downtown in a cab together. Where does your information come from this time? asked Montague. The same source was the reply. And is it transcontinental again? No, said Oliver. It's another stock. What is it? It's Mississippi Steel was the answer. Montague turned and stared at him. Mississippi Steel, he gasped. Why, yes, said Oliver. What's that to you? he added in perplexity. Mississippi Steel, Montague ejaculated again. Why, didn't you know about my relations with the Northern Mississippi Railroad? Of course, said Oliver. But what's that got to do with Mississippi Steel? But it's Price who is managing the deal, the man who owns the Mississippi Steel Company. Oh, said the other, I had forgotten that. Oliver's duties in society did not give him much time to ask about his brother's affairs. Allen, he added quickly, you won't say anything about it. It's none of my business now, answered the other, I'm out of it, but naturally I am interested to know. What is it, a raid on the stock? It's going down, said Oliver. Montague sat staring ahead of him. It must be the steel trust he whispered half to himself. Nothing more likely was the reply. My tip comes from that direction. Do you suppose they are going to try to break Price? I don't know. I guess they could do it if they made up their mind to. But he owns a majority of the stocks, said Montague. They can't take it away from him outright. Not if he's got it locked up in his safe, was the reply. Not if he's got no debts or obligations. But suppose he's overextended, and suppose some bank has loaned him money on the stock, what then? Montague was now keenly interested. He went with his brother while the latter drew his money from the bank, and called at his brokers and ordered them to sell Mississippi steel. The other was called away then by an engagement in court, which occupied him for several hours. When he came out he made for the nearest ticker, and the first figures he saw were Mississippi steel, quoted at nearly twenty points below the price of the morning. The bear figures were eloquent to him of many tragedies. They brought before him half a dozen different personalities with their triumphs and despairs. He could read in them the story of a Titan's struggle. Oliver had made his killing, but what of Price and Ryder? Montague knew that most of Price's stock was hypothesized at the Gotham Trust. And now what would become of it? And what would become of the northern Mississippi? He bought the afternoon papers. Their columns were full of the sensational events of the day. The bottom had dropped out of Mississippi steel as they phrased it. The wildest rumors were afloat. The company was known to be making enormous extensions, and it was said to have overreached itself. There were whispers that its officers had been speculating that the company would be unable to meet the next quarterly payment upon its bonds, that a receivership would be necessary. There were hints that the concern was to be taken over by the trust, but this was vigorously denied by officers of the latter. All of which had come like a bolt out of the blue. To Montague it was an amazing and terrible thing. It counted little to him that he was out of the struggle himself, that he no longer had anything to lose personally. He was like a man who had been through an earthquake and who stood and stared at a gaping crack in the ground. Even though he was safe at the moment, he could not forget that this was the earth upon which he had to spend the rest of his life and that the next crack might open where he stood. Montague could not see that there was the least chance for price and rider. He pictured them bold clean out, and he would not have been surprised to read that they were ruined. But apparently they weathered the storm. The episode passed with no more than a crop of rumors. Mississippi Steel did not go back, however, and he noticed that northern Mississippi stock had also gone off eight or ten points on the curb. It was a period of great anxiety in the financial world. Men felt the unrest even though they could not give definite reasons. There had been several panics in the stock market throughout the summer, and leading financiers and railroad presidents seemed to have got the habit of prognosticating the ruin of the country every time they made a speech at a banquet. But apparently men could not agree about the causes of the trouble. Some insisted that it was owing to the speeches of the president, to his attacks upon the great business interests of the country. Others maintained that the world's supply of capital was inadequate, and pointed out the destruction of great wars and earthquakes and fires. Others argued that there was not enough currency to do the country's business. Now and again there rose above the din the shrill voice of some radical who declared that the stock collapses had been brought about deliberately. But such statements seemed so preposterous that they were received with ridicule whenever they were heated at all. In Montague, the idea that there were men in the country sufficiently powerful to wreck its business and sufficiently unscrupulous to use their power, the idea seemed to him sensational and absurd. But he had a talk about it one evening with Major Venable, who laughed at him. The Major named half a dozen men, Waterman and Duvall and Wyman among them, who controlled ninety percent of the banks in the metropolis. They controlled all three of the big insurance companies with their resources of four or five hundred million dollars. One of them controlled a great transcontinental railroad system which alone kept a twenty or thirty million dollar surplus for stock gambling purposes. If any two or three of those men were to make up their minds, declared the Major, they could wreck the business of this country in a day. If there were stocks they wanted to pick up, they could knock them to any price they chose. How would they do it, asked the other. There are many ways. You notice that the last big slump began with the worst scarcity of money the street has known for years. Now suppose those men should gradually accumulate a lot of cash in the banks and make an agreement to withdraw it at a certain hour. Suppose that the banks that they own and the banks where they own directors and the insurance companies which they control, suppose they all did the same. Suppose you imagine the scurrying around for money, the calling in of loans, the rush to realize on holdings. And when you have a public as nervous as ours is, when you have credit stretched to the breaking point and everybody involved, don't you see the possibilities? It seems like playing with dynamite, said Montague. It's not as bad as it might be, was the answer. We are saved by the fact that these big men don't get together. There are too many jealousies and quarrels. Four men wants easy money and gets the Treasury Department to lend ten millions. Wyman, on the other hand, wants high prices, and he goes into the street and borrows fifteen millions. And so it goes. There are a half dozen big banking groups in the city. They are still competing then, asked Montague. Oh, yes, said the Major. For instance, they fight for the patronage of the out-of-town banks. The banks all over the country send their reserves to New York. It's a matter of four or five hundred million dollars, and that's an enormous power. Some of the big banks are agents for one or two thousand institutions, and there's the keenest kind of struggle going on. It's not an easy thing to follow, of course, but they offer all kinds of secret advantages. There's more graft in it than you'd find in Russia. I see, said Montague. There's only one thing about which the banks are agreed, continued the other. That is their hatred of the independent trust companies. You see, the national banks have to keep twenty-five percent reserve, while the trust companies only keep five percent. Consequently, they do a faster business, and they offer four percent, and advertise widely, and they are simply driving the banks to the wall. There are over fifty of them in this city alone, and they've got over a billion of the people's money. And mark my word, that is where you'll see blood spilled before long. And Montague was destined to remember the prophecy. A couple of days later occurred an incident which gave him a new light upon the situation. His brother came round one afternoon with a letter in his hand. Alan, he said, what do you make of this? Montague glanced at it, and saw that it was from Lucy Dupri. My dear Ollie, it read, I find myself in an embarrassing position owing to the fact that some business arrangements upon which I had counted have fallen through. The money which I brought with me to New York is nearly all gone, and as you can understand, my position as a stranger is a difficult one. I have a note which Stanley Ryder gave me for my stock. It is for a hundred and forty thousand dollars, and is due in three months. It occurred to me that you might know someone who has some ready cash, and who would like to purchase the note. I should be very glad to sell it for a hundred and thirty thousand. Please do not mention it, except in confidence. Now, what in the world do you suppose that means, said Oliver? The other stared at him. I am sure I can't imagine, he replied. How much money did Lucy have when she came here? She had three or four thousand dollars, but then she got ten thousand from Stanley Ryder when he bought that stock. She can't have spent any such sum of money, exclaimed Oliver. She may have invested it, said the other thoughtfully. Invested nothing, exclaimed Oliver. But that's not what puzzles me, said Montague. Why doesn't Ryder discount the note himself? That's just it. What business has he letting Lucy hawk his notes about the town? Maybe he doesn't know it. Maybe she's trying to keep her affairs from him. Nonsense, Oliver replied. I don't believe anything of the sort. What I think is that Stanley Ryder is doing it himself. How do you mean, asked Montague in perplexity? I believe that he is trying to get his own note discounted. I don't believe that Lucy would ever come to us of herself. She'd starve first. She's too proud. But Stanley Ryder, protested Montague, the president of the Gotham Trust Company? That's all right, said Oliver. It's his own note and not the Trust Company's, and I'll wager you he's hard up for There was a big realty company that failed the other day, and I saw that Ryder was one of the big stockholders, and he's been hit by that Mississippi steel slump, and I'll wager you he's scurrying around to raise money. It's just like Lucy too. Before he gets through he'll take every dollar she owns. Montague said nothing for a minute or two. Suddenly he clenched his hands. I must go up and see her, he said. Lucy had moved from the expensive hotel to which Oliver had taken her, and rented an apartment on Riverside Drive. Montague went up early the next morning. She came and stood in the doorway of the drawing-room and looked at him. He saw that she was paler than she had been, and with lines of pain upon her face. Alan, she said, I thought you would come some day. How could you stay away so long? I didn't think you would care to see me, he said. She did not answer. She came and sat down, continuing to gaze at him with a kind of fear in her eyes. Suddenly he stretched out his hands to her. Lucy, he exclaimed, won't you come away from here? Won't you come before it's too late? Where can I go? she asked. Anywhere, he said, go back home. I have no home, she answered. Go away from Stanley Ryder, said Montague. He has no right to let you throw yourself away. He has not let me, Alan, said Lucy. You must not blame him. I cannot bear it. She stopped. Lucy, he said, after a pause. I saw that letter you wrote to Oliver. I thought so, said she. I asked him not to. It wasn't fair. Listen, he said, will you tell me what that means? Will you tell me honestly? Yes, I will tell you, she said, in a low voice. I will help you if you are in trouble, he continued, but I will not help Stanley Ryder. If you are permitting him to use you— Alan, she gasped, in sudden excitement. You don't think that he knew I wrote? Yes, I thought it, said he. Oh, how could you, she cried? I knew that he was in trouble. Yes, he is in trouble, and I wanted to help him if I could. It was a crazy idea, I know, but it was all I could think of. Oh, I understand, said Montague. And don't you see that I cannot leave him, exclaimed Lucy, now of all times when he needs help, when his enemies have surrounded him? I'm the only person in the world who cares anything about him, who really understands him. Montague could think of nothing to say. I know how it hurts you, said Lucy, and don't think that I have not cared. It is a thought that never leaves me, but some day I know that you will understand. And the rest of the world? I don't care what the world says. All right, Lucy, he answered sadly. I see that I can't be of any help to you. I won't trouble you any more. End of Chapter 17 CHAPTER 18 OF THE MONEY CHANGERS This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The money changers by Upton Sinclair, Chapter 18. Another month passed by. Montague was buried in his work, and he caught but faint echoes of the storm that rumbled in the financial world. It was a thing which he thought of with wonder in future times, that he should have had so little idea of what was coming. He seemed to himself like some peasant who digs with bent head in a field, while armies are marshaling for battle all around him, and who is startled suddenly by the crash of conflict and the bursting of shells about his head. There came another great convulsion of the stock market. Stuart, the young Lacanvar out of the West, made an attempt to corner copper. One heard wild rumors in relation to the crash which followed. Some said that a trader had sold out the pool, others that there had been a quarrel among the conspirators. However that might be copper broke, and once more there were howling mobs on the curb and a shutter throughout the financial district. Then suddenly, like a thunderbolt, came tidings that a conference of the big bankers had decreed that the young Lacanvar should be forced out of his New York banks. There were rumors that other banks were involved, and that there were to be more conferences. Then a couple of days later came the news that all the banks of Cummings, the Ice King, were in trouble, and that he too had been forced from the field. Monogue had never seen anything like the excitement in Wall Street. Everyone he met had a new set of rumors, wilder than the last. It was as if a great rift in the earth had suddenly opened before the eyes of the banking community. But Monogue was at an important crisis in a suit which he had taken up against the Tobacco Trust, and he had no idea that he was in any way concerned in what was taking place. The newspapers were all making desperate efforts to allay the anxiety. They said that all the trouble was over, that Dan Waterman had come to the rescue of the imperiled institutions, and Monogue believed what he read and went his way. Three or four days after the crisis had developed, he had an engagement to dine with his friend Harvey. Monogue was tired after a long day in court, and as no one else was coming and he did not intend to dress, he walked up town from his office to Harvey's Hotel, a place of entertainment much frequented by society people. Harvey rented an entire floor and had had it decorated especially to suit his taste. "'How do you do, Mr. Monogue?' said the clerk when he went to the desk. Mr. Harvey left a note for you. Monogue opened the envelope and read a hurried scrawl to the effect that Harvey had just got word that a bank of which he was a director was in trouble, and that he would have to attend a meeting that evening. He had telephoned both to Monogue's office and to his hotel without being able to find him. Monogue turned away. He had no place to go, for his family was out of town. Consequently he strolled into the dining-room and ate by himself. Afterwards he came out into the lobby and bought several evening papers and stood glancing over the headlines. Suddenly a man strode in at the door and looked up. It was Winton DeVall, the banker. Monogue had never seen him since the day when they had parted in Mrs. Wendy's drawing-room. He did not see Monogue, but strode past, his brows knit and thought, and entered one of the elevators. A moment later Monogue heard a voice at his side. "'How do you do, Mr. Monogue?' He turned. It was Mr. Lyon, the manager of the hotel, whom Siegfried Harvey had once introduced to him. "'Have you come to attend the conference?' Said he. "'Conference?' Said Monogue. "'No.' "'There's a big meeting of the bankers here to-night,' remarked the other. "'It's not supposed to be known, so don't mention it.' "'How do you do, Mr. Ward?' He added to a man who went past. That's David Ward.' "'Ah!' Said Monogue. Ward was known in the street by the nickname of Waterman's office-boy. He was a high-salaried office-boy. Waterman paid him a hundred thousand a year to manage one of the big insurance companies for him. "'So he's here, is he?' said Monogue. "'Waterman is here himself,' said Lyon. He came in by the side entrance. It's something especially secret, I gather. They've rented eight rooms upstairs, all connecting. Waterman will go in at one end and Duval at the other, and so the reporters won't know they're together.' "'So that's the way they work,' said Monogue with a smile. "'I've been looking for some of the newspaper men,' Lyon added, but they don't seem to have caught on. He strolled away, and Monogue stood watching the people in the lobby. He saw Jim Hegan come and enter the elevator in company with an elderly man whom he recognized as Baskham, the president of the Empire Bank, Waterman's own institution. He saw two other men whom he knew as leading bankers of the room, and then as he glanced toward the desk he saw a tall, broad shouldered man who had been talking to the clerk turn around and reveal himself as his friend Bates of the Express. "'Hmph,' thought Monogue. The newspaper men are on, after all.' He saw Bates as glanced sweep the lobby and rest upon him. Monogue made a movement of greeting with his hand, but Bates did not reply. Instead he strolled toward him, went by without looking at him, and as he passed, whispered in a low, quick voice, "'Please come into the writing room.' Monogue stood for a moment, wondering. Then he followed. Bates went to a corner of the room and seated himself. Monogue joined him. The reporter darted a quick glance about, then began hastily. "'Excuse me, Mr. Monogue. I didn't want anyone to see us talking. I want to ask you to do me a favour. What is it? I'm running down a story. It is something very important. I can't explain it to you now, but I want to get a certain room in this hotel. You have an opportunity to do me the service of a lifetime. I'll explain it to you as soon as we are alone.' "'What do you want me to do?' asked Monogue. "'I want to rent room four hundred and seven,' said Bates. "'If I can't get four hundred and seven, I want five hundred and seven, or six hundred and seven. I dare not ask for it myself because the clerk knows me, but he'll let you have it.' "'But how shall I ask for it?' said Monogue. "'Just ask,' said Bates. "'It will be all right.' Monogue looked at him. He could see that his friend was laboring under great excitement. "'Please, please,' he whispered, putting his hand on Monogue's arm. And Monogue said, all right. He got up and strolled into the lobby again and went to the desk. "'Good evening, Mr. Monogue,' said the clerk. Mr. Harvey hasn't returned. "'I know it,' said Monogue. "'I would like to get a room for the evening. I would like to be near a friend. Could I get a room on the fourth floor?' Forth said the clerk, and turned to look at his schedule on the wall. "'Whereabouts? Front or back?' "'Have you four hundred and five?' asked Monogue. "'Four hundred and five? No, that's rented. We have four hundred and one, four hundred and six on the other side of the hall. Four hundred and seven—' "'I'll take four hundred and seven,' said Monogue. "'Four dollars a day,' said the clerk, as he took down the key. Without having any baggage, Monogue paid in advance and followed the boy to the elevator. Bates followed him and another man, a little wiry chap carrying a dress suitcase, also entered with him, and got out at the fourth floor. The boy opened the door and the three men entered the room. The boy turned on the light and proceeded to lower the shades in the windows and to do enough fixing to earn his tip. Then he went out, closing the door behind him, and Bates sank upon the bed and put his hands to his forehead and gasped, "'Oh, my God!' The young man who accompanied him had set down his suitcase, and he now sat down on one of the chairs, and proceeded to lean back and laugh hilariously. Monogue stood staring from one to the other. "'My God! My God!' said Bates again. "'I hope I may never go through with a job like this. I believe my hair will be gray before morning. You forget that you haven't told me yet what's the matter,' said Monogue. "'Sure enough,' said Bates, and suddenly he sat up and stared at him. "'Mr. Monogue,' he exclaimed, "'don't go back on us. You've no idea how I've been working, and it will be the biggest scoop of a lifetime. Promise me that you won't give us away.' "'I cannot promise you,' said Monogue, laughing in spite of himself, "'until you tell me what it is.' "'I am afraid you're not going to like it,' said Bates. It was a mean trick to play on you, but I was desperate. I didn't dare take the risk myself, and Rodney wasn't dressed for the occasion.' "'You haven't introduced your friend,' said Monogue.' "'Oh, excuse me,' said Bates. "'Mr. Rodney, one of our office men.' "'And now tell me about it,' said Monogue, taking a seat. "'It's the conference,' said Bates. "'We got a tip about it an hour or so ago. They meet in the room underneath us. "'What of it?' asked Monogue. "'We want to find out what's going on,' said Bates. "'But how?' "'Through the window. We've got a rope here, and Bates pointed toward the suitcase. Monogue stared at him, dumbfounded. "'A rope,' he gasped, "'you're going to let him down from the window?' "'Sure thing,' said Bates. "'It's a rear window, and quite safe.' "'But for heaven's sake, man,' gasped the other. "'Suppose the rope breaks.' "'Oh, it won't break,' was the reply. "'We've got the right sort of rope.' "'But how will you ever get him up again?' Monogue exclaimed. "'That's all right,' said Bates. "'He can climb up, or else we can let him down to the ground. We've got rope enough.' "'But suppose he loses his grip. Suppose it's all right,' said Bates easily. "'You leave that to Rodney. He's nimble. He began life as a steeple-jack. That's why I picked him.' Rodney grinned. "'I'll take my chances,' he said. Monogue gazed from one to the other, unable to think of another word to say. Tell me, Mr. Bates,' he asked, finally. Do you often do this in your profession?' "'I've done it once before,' was the reply. I wanted some photographs in a murder case. I've often tried back windows and fire escapes and such things. I used to be a police reporter, you know, and I learned bad habits. But,' said Monogue, suppose you were caught.' "'Opsh!' said he. The office would soon fix that up. The police never bother a newspaper man.' There was a pause. "'Mr. Monogue,' said Bates earnestly, I know this is a tough proposition. But think what it means. We get word about this conference. Waterman is here and Duvall. Think of that. Down Waterman and the oil trust getting together. The managing editor sent for me himself and he said, Bates, get that story. And what am I to do? There's about as much chance of my finding out what goes on in that conference.' He stopped. Think of what it may mean, Mr. Monogue, he cried. They will decide on tomorrow's moves. It may turn the stock market upside down. Think of what you could do with the information.' "'No,' said Monogue, shaking his head. Don't go at me that way.' Bates was gazing at him. I beg your pardon,' he said. But then maybe you have interests of your own or your friends. Surely this situation. "'No, not that either,' said Monogue, smiling, and Bates broke into a laugh. Well, then he said, just for the sport of it, just to fool them.' "'That's more like it,' said Monogue. "'Of course, it's your room,' said Bates. You can stop us if you insist. But you needn't stay if you don't want to. We'll take all the risk, and you may be sure that if we're caught the hotel would suppress it. You can trust me to clear your name. I'll stay,' said Monogue. I'll see it through. Bates jumped up and stretched out his hand. Good, he cried. Put it there. In the meantime Rodney, pounced upon the dress-suit case, opened it, taking out a coil of wire rope, very light and flexible, and a short piece of board. He proceeded to make a loop with the rope, and in this he fixed the board for a seat. He then took the blankets from the bed and folded them. He took out a pair of heavy calf-skin gloves, which he tossed to Bates, and a ball of twine, one end of which he tied about his wrist. He tossed the ball on the floor, and then turned out the lights in the room, raised the shade of the window, and placed the bundle of blankets upon the sill. "'Already,' he said. Bates put on the gloves and seized the rope, and Rodney adjusted the seat under his thighs. "'You hold the blankets if you will be so good, Mr. Monogue, and keep them in place if you can.' And Bates uncoiled some of the rope and passed it over the top of the large bureau which stood beside the window. He brought the rope down to the middle of the body of the bureau, so that by this means he could diminish the pull of Rodney's weight. Steady now, said the latter, and he climbed over the sill, and holding on with his hands gradually put his weight against the rope. "'Now, already,' he whispered. Bates grasped the line, and, bracing his knees against the bureau, paid the rope out inch by inch. Monogue held the blankets in place in the corner, and Rodney's shoulders and head gradually disappeared below the sill. He was still holding on with his hands, however. "'All right,' he whispered, and let go, and slowly the rope slid past. Monogue's heart was beating fast with excitement, but Bates was calm and business-like. After he had let out several turns of the rope he stopped and whispered, "'Look out now.' Monogue leaned over the sill. He could see a stream of light from the window below him. Rodney was standing upon the cornice at the top of the window. "'Lower,' said Monogue, as he drew in his head, and once more Bates paid out. "'Now,' he whispered, and Monogue looked again. Rodney had cleverly pushed himself by the corner of the cornice and kept himself at one side of the window, so that he would not be visible from the inside of the room. He made a frantic signal with his hand, and Monogue drew back and whispered, "'Lower.' The next time he looked out Rodney was standing upon the sill of the window, leaning to one side. "'Now, make fast,' muttered Bates, and while he held the rope Monogue took it and wound it again around the bureau, and then carried it over and made it fast to the leg of the bathtub. "'I guess that will hold all right,' said Bates, and he went to the window and picked up the ball of cord, the other end of which was tied around Rodney's wrist. This is for signals,' he said, Morse Telegraph. "'Good heavens,' gasped Monogue. You didn't leave much to chance.' "'Couldn't afford to,' said Bates. Keep still.' Monogue saw that the hand which held the cord was being jerked. "'W-I-N-D-O-W-O-P-E-N,' said Bates, and added, "'By the Lord, we've got them.' End of CHAPTER XIII. CHAPTER XIX. Monogue brought a couple of chairs, and the two seated themselves at the window for a long wait. "'How did you learn about this conference?' asked Monogue. "'Be careful,' whispered the other in his ear. "'We mustn't make a noise, because Rodney will need quiet to hear them.' Monogue saw that the cord was jerking again. Bates spelled out the letters one by one. W-A-T-E-R-M-A-N-D-U-V-A-L. He's telling us who's there. David Ward. Hegan. Prentice. "'Prentice,' whispered Monogue. "'Why, he's up in the Adirondacks.' He came down on a special train today,' whispered the other. Ward telegraphed him. "'I think that's where we got our tip.' Henry Patterson. He's the real head of the oil-trust now. Baskham of the Empire Bank. He's Waterman's man. You can imagine from that list that there's something big going on,' Bates muttered, and he spelled the names of several other bankers, heads of the most important institutions in Wall Street. Talking about Stuart, spelled out Rodney. That's ancient history, muttered Bates. He's a dead one. E-R-I-C-E, spelled Rodney. "'Price!' exclaimed Monogue. "'Yes,' said the other. I saw him down in the lobby. I rather thought he'd come. But to a conference with Waterman!' exclaimed Monogue. "'That's all right,' said Bates. Why not?' "'But they're deadly enemies.' "'Oh,' said the other. "'You don't want to let yourself believe things like that. What do you mean,' protested Monogue. Do you suppose they're not enemies?' "'I certainly do suppose,' it said Bates. "'But, man, I can give you positive facts that prove they are. For every fact that you bring, laughed the other. I can bring a half a dozen to show you they are not. But that is perfectly absurd,' began Monogue. "'Hush,' said Bates, and he waited while the string jerked. "'I-C-E,' spelled Rodney. "'That's Cummings, another dead one,' said Bates. "'My Lord, but they did him up-brown. Who did it?' asked Monogue. Waterman answered the other. The steamship trust was competing with his New England railroads, and now it's in the hands of a receiver. Before long you'll hear that he's gathered it in.' "'Then you think this last smash-up was planned?' said he. "'Plan'd? My heaven's man, it was the greatest gobbling up of the little fish that I have ever known since I've been in Wall Street. And it was Waterman?' With the oil-trust, they were after young Stewart. You see, he beat them out in Montana, and they had to buy him off for ten million dollars. But he was fool enough to come to New York and go in for banking, and now they've got his banks in a good part of his ten millions as well. "'It takes a man's breath away,' said Monogue. "'Just save your breath. You'll need it tonight,' said Bates, dryly. The other sat and thought for a moment. "'We were talking about price,' he whispered. "'Do you mean John S. Price?' "'There's only one price that I know of,' was the reply. "'And you don't believe that he and Waterman are enemies. I mean that Price is simply one of Waterman's agents in every big thing he does. But man, doesn't he own the Mississippi Steel Company? He owns it, for Waterman,' said Bates. "'But that is impossible,' cried Monogue. "'Isn't Waterman interested in the Steel Trust? And isn't Mississippi Steel its chief competitor?' "'It's supposed to be,' said the other. But that is simply a bluff to fool the public. There's been no real competition between them ever since four years ago when Price raided the stock and captured it for Waterman.' Monogue was staring at his friend, almost speechless with amazement. "'Mr. Bates,' he said, "'it happens that I was very recently connected with Price and the Mississippi Steel Company in a very intimate way, and I know most positively that what you say is not true.' "'It's very hard to answer a statement like that,' Bates responded. "'I'd have to know just what your facts are. But they'd have to be very convincing indeed to make an impression upon me, for I ran that story down pretty thoroughly. I got it straight from the inside, and I got all the details of it. I nailed Price down right in his own office. The only trouble was that my people wouldn't print the facts.' It was some time before Monogue spoke again. He was groping around in his own mind, trying to grasp the significance of what Bates had said. "'But Price was fighting, Waterman,' he whispered. The whole crowd were fighting him. That was the whole purpose of what they were doing. It had no sense otherwise.' "'But are you sure?' asked the other. Think it over. Suppose they were only pretending to fight.' There was a silence again. "'Mind you,' Bates added. "'I'm only speaking about Price himself. I don't know about any people he may have been with. He may have been deceiving them. He may have been leading them into a trap.' Then suddenly Monogue clutched the arms of his chair. He sat staring ahead of him, struck dumb by the thought which the other's words had brought to him. "'My God!' he gasped. And again and yet again. My God!' It seemed to unroll before him, in vista after vista. Price deceiving Ryder, leading him into that northern Mississippi deal, getting him to lend money upon the stock of the Mississippi Steel Company, promising perhaps to support the stock in the market and helping to smash it instead. Twisting Ryder around his finger, crushing him. And why? And why?' Monogue's thoughts stopped still. It was as if he found himself suddenly confronted by a bottomless abyss. He shrank back from it. He could not face the thought in his own mind. Waterman! It was Dan Waterman. It was something which he had planned. It was the vengeance that he had threatened. He had been all this time plotting it, setting his nets about Ryder's feet. It was an idea so wild and so horrible that Monogue fought it off. He pushed it away from him again and again. No. No, it could not be. And yet why not? He had always felt certain in his own mind that that detective had come from Waterman. The old man had set to work to find out about Lucy and her affairs the first time that he ever laid eyes on her. And then suddenly Monogue saw the face of volcanic fury that had flashed past him on board the Brunhilda. You will hear from me again, the old man had said, and now all these months of silence. And at last he heard. Why not? Why not Monogue kept asking himself? After all, what did he know about the Mississippi Steel Company? What had he ever seen to prove that it was actually competing with the trust? What had he even heard except what Stanley Ryder had told him? And what more likely than that Ryder was simply repeating what Price had said? Monogue had forgotten all about his present situation in the rush of thoughts which had come to him. The cord had been jerking again, and had spelled out the names of several more of the masters of the city who had arrived, but he had not heard their names. What object would there be, he asked, in keeping the fact a secret? I mean that Price was Waterman's agent. Object exclaimed Bates. Good heavens and with the public half-crazy about monopolies and the president making such a fight, if it were known that the Steel Trust had gathered in its last big competitor you can't tell what the government might do. I see, said Monogue. And how long has this been? Four years was the reply. All they're waiting for is some occasion like this when they can put the company in a hole and pose as benefactors in taking it over. I see, said Monogue again. Listen, said Bates, and leaned out of the window. He could catch faintly the sounds of a deep voice in the consultation room. W-A-T-E-R-M-A-N spelled Rodney. I guess business has begun, whispered Bates. Situation intolerable spelled Rodney. And Wildcat banking. That means end of opposition, to me, was the other's comment. Duval, a sense, continued Rodney. The two in the window were on edge by this time. It was tantalizing to have to wait several minutes and then get only such snatches. But they'll get past the speech making pretty soon, whispered Bates, and indeed they did. The next two words which the chords spelled out made Monogue sit up and clutch the arms of his chair again. Gotham trust! Ah, whispered Bates. Monogue made not a sound. Rider misusing spelled the chord. Bates seized his companion by the arm and leaned close to him. By the Lord, he whispered breathlessly, I wonder if they're going to smash the Gotham trust. Refuse clearing, spelled Rodney. And Monogue felt Bates' hand trembling. They refused to clear for Rider, he panted. Monogue was beyond all speech. He sat as if turned to stone. Tomorrow morning, spelled the chord. Bates could hardly keep still for his excitement. Do you catch what that means, he whispered. The clearing-house is to throw out the Gotham trust. Why, they'll wreck it, panted the other. My God, my God, they're mad, cried Bates. Don't they realize what they'll do? There'll be a panic such as New York has never seen before. It will bring down every bank in the city. The Gotham trust, think of it, the Gotham trust. Prentice objects came Rodney's next message. Objects exclaimed Bates, striking his knee in repressed excitement. I should think he might object. If the Gotham trust goes down, the trust company of the Republic won't live for twenty-four hours. Afraid, spelled the chord. Patterson angry. Much he has to lose, muttered Bates. Montague started up and began to pace the room. Oh, this is horrible. Horrible, he exclaimed. Through all the images of the destruction and suffering which Bates's words brought up before him, his thoughts flew back to a pale and sad-faced little woman sitting alone in an apartment up on the riverside. It was to her that it all came back. It was for her that this terrible drama was being enacted. Montague could picture the grim, hawk-faced old man sitting at the head of the Council Board and laying down the law to the Masters of the Metropolis. And this man's thoughts, too, went back to Lucy, his and Montague's alone, of all those who took part in the struggle. One Protect Prentice, spelled Rodney, insists turn out writer, withdraw funds. There's no doubt of it, whispered Bates. They can finish him if they choose. But oh, my Lord, what will happen in New York to-morrow? Ward Protect Legitimate Banks was the next message. The little welp sneered Bates. By Legitimate Banks he means those that back his syndicates. A lot of protecting he will do. But then the newspaper man and Bates rose to the surface. Oh, what a story, he whispered, clenching his hands and pounding his knees. Oh, what a story! Montague carried away but a faint recollection of the rest of Rodney's communications. He was too much overwhelmed by his own thoughts. Bates, however, continued to spell out the words, and he caught the statement that General Prentice, who was director in the Gotham Trust, was to vote against any plan to close the doors of that institution. While they were after it they were going to finish it. He also caught the sentence, Panic Useful, Curb President. And he heard Bates' excited exclamations over that. Did you catch that, he cried? That's Waterman! Oh, the nerve of it! We are in at the making of history tonight, Mr. Montague. Perhaps half an hour later, Montague, standing beside Bates, saw his hand jerk violently several times. That means pull up, he cried, quick! And he seized the rope. Put your weight on it, he whispered, it will hold. They proceeded to haul. Rodney helped them by catching hold of the cornice of the window and lifting himself. Then there was a moment of great straining, during which Montague held his breath, after which the weight grew lighter again. Rodney had got his knees upon the cornice. A few moments later his fingers appeared, clutching the edge of the sill. He swung himself up and Montague and Bates grasped him under the arms and fairly jerked him into the room. He staggered to his feet and there was a moment's pause while all three caught their breath. Then Rodney leaped at Bates and grasped him by the shoulders. Old man, he cried, we landed them, we landed them. We landed them, laughed the other in exultation. Oh, what a scoop, shouted Rodney! There was never one like it. The two were like schoolboys in their glee. They hugged each other and laughed and danced about. But it was not long before they became serious again. Montague turned on the lights and pulled down the window and Rodney stood there with his clothing disheveled in his face ablaze with excitement and talked to them. Oh, you can't imagine that scene, he said. It makes my hair stand on end to think of it. Just fancy. I was not more than twenty feet from Dan Waterman and most of the time he seemed to be glaring right at me. I hardly dared wink for fear he'd notice and I thought every instant he would jump up and run to the window. But there he sat and pounded on the table and glared about at those fellows and laid down the law to them. I've heard him talk, said Bates. I know how it is. Why, he fairly knocked them over, said the other. You could have heard a pin drop when he got through. Oh, it was a mad thing to see. I've hardly been able to get my breath, said Bates. I can't believe it. They have no idea what it will mean, said Montague. They know, said Rodney, but they don't care. They've smelt blood. That's about the size of it. They were like a lot of hounds on the trail. You should have seen Waterman with that lean, hungry face of his. The time has come, said he. There's no one here but is known that sooner or later this work had to be done. We must crush them once and for all. And you should have seen him turn on Prentice when he ventured a word. Prentice doesn't like it, then, asked Montague. I should think he wouldn't, put in Bates. And said he'd protect him, said Rodney, but he must place himself absolutely in their hands. It seems that the trust company of the Republic has a million dollars with the Gotham Trust and that's to be withdrawn. Imagine it, gasp Bates. And wait, exclaimed the other. Then they got on to politics. I would have given one arm if I could have got a photograph of Dan Waterman at that moment just to spread it before the American people and ask them what they thought of it. The reward had made the remark that a little trouble mightn't have a bad effect just now and Waterman brought down his fist on the table. This country needs a lesson, he cried. There's been too much abuse of responsible men and there's been too much wild talk in high places. If the people get a little taste of hard times they'll have something else to think about besides abusing those who have made the prosperity of the country. And it seems to me, gentlemen, that we have it in our power to put an end to this campaign of radicalism. Think of it, gasp Bates, the old devil. Then Duvall chimed in with a laugh. To put it in a nutshell, gentlemen, we are going to smash Ryder and scare the President. Was the conference over, asked Bates after a moment's pause. All but the handshakes, said the other. I didn't dare to stay while they were moving about. And Bates started suddenly to his feet. Come, he said. We haven't any time to waste. Our work isn't done yet by a long sight. He proceeded to untie the rope and coil it up. Rodney took the blanket and put it on the bed, covering it with the spread so as to conceal the holes which had been worn by the rope. He wound up the ball of cord and dropped it into the bag with the rest of the stuff. Bates took his hat and coat and started for the door. You will excuse us, Mr. Monogue, he said. You can understand that this story will need a lot of work. I understand, said Monogue. We'll try to thank you by and by, added the other. Come around after the paper goes to press and we'll have a celebration. End of Chapter 19