Before he read his mail Mills dispatched the check for a thousand
dollars by special messenger. It was a pleasure to help Lindley in his
work. A man who had to deal with such unpleasant specimens of humanity
as collected at Lindley’s door shouldn’t be disregarded. He remembered
having seen Lindley driving about in a rattletrap machine that was
a disgrace to the parish and the town. It was a reflection upon St.
Barnabas that its rector was obliged to go about his errands in so
disreputable a car.
When Carroll came in with some reports Mills told him to see Henderson
and order a Plantagenet for Lindley to be delivered at the clergyman’s
house Christmas morning.
Carroll reported a court decision in Illinois sustaining the validity
of some municipal bonds in which Mills had invested.
“Christmas presents coming in early,” Mills remarked as he read the
telegram. “I thought I was stung there.”
He approved of the world and its ways. It was a pretty good world,
after all; a world in which he wielded power, as he liked to wield it,
quietly, without subjecting himself to the fever and fret of the market
place. Among other memoranda Carroll had placed on his desk was a list
of women--old friends of Mrs. Mills--to whom he had sent flowers every
Christmas since her death. The list was kept in the office files from
year to year to guard against omissions. Sentiment. Mills liked to
believe himself singularly blessed with sentiment. He admired himself
for this fidelity to his wife’s old friends. They probably spoke to one
another of these annual remembrances as an evidence of the praiseworthy
feeling he entertained for the old times.
“You told me to keep on picking up Rogers Trust whenever it was in the
market,” said Carroll. “Gurley called up yesterday and asked if you
wanted any more. I’ve got two hundred shares here--paid three eighteen.
They’re closing the transfer books tomorrow so I went ahead without
consulting you.”
“That part of it’s all right,” Mills remarked, scanning the
certificate. “Who’s selling this?”
“It was in Gurley’s name--he’d bought it himself.”
“A little queer,” Mills remarked. “There were only a few old
stockholders who had blocks of two hundred--Larsen, Skinner,
Saintsbury; and Shep and Leila had the same amount. None of them would
be selling now. Suppose you step over to the Trust Company and see
where Gurley got this. It makes no particular difference--I’m just a
little curious. There’s been no talk about the merger--no gossip?”
“Nothing that I’ve heard. I’m pretty sure Gurley had no inkling of it.
If he had, of course he wouldn’t have let go at the price he asked.”
When Carroll went out Mills took a turn across the floor. Before
resuming his chair he stood for a moment at the window looking
off toward the low hills vaguely limned on the horizon. His mood
had changed. He greatly disliked to be puzzled. And he was unable
to account for the fact that Gurley, a broker with whom he rarely
transacted any business, had become possessed of two hundred shares of
Roger Trust just at this time.
Larsen, Skinner and Saintsbury were all in the secret of the impending
merger with the Central States Company. There was Shepherd; he hadn’t
told Shepherd, but there had been no reason why he should tell Shepherd
any more than he would have made a confidante of Leila, who probably
had forgotten that she owned the stock. Having acquired two-thirds of
the Rogers shares, all that was necessary was to call a meeting of the
stockholders and put the thing through in accordance with the formula
already carefully prepared by his lawyers.
When Carroll came back he placed a memorandum on Mills’s desk and
started to leave the room.
“Just a moment, Carroll”--Mills eyed the paper carefully. “So it was
Shep who sold to Gurley--is that right?”
“Yes,” Carroll assented. “Gurley only held it a day before he offered
it to me.”
“Shepherd--um--did Shep tell you he wanted to sell?”
“No; he never mentioned it,” Carroll replied, not relishing Mills’s
inquiries.
“Call Shep and tell him to stop in this afternoon on his way home,
and--Carroll”--Mills detained his secretary to impress him with his
perfect equanimity--“call Mrs. Rawlings and ask how the Judge is. I
understand he’s had a second stroke. I hate to see these older men
going----”
“Yes, the Judge has been a great figure,” Carroll replied perfunctorily.
Carroll was troubled. He was fond of Shepherd Mills, recognized the
young man’s fine qualities and sympathized with his high aims. There
was something pitiful in the inability of father and son to understand
each other. And he was not deceived by Franklin Mills’s characteristic
attempt to conceal his displeasure at Shepherd’s sale of the stock.
It was evident from the manner in which the stock had passed through
Gurley’s hands that Shepherd wished to hide the fact that he was
selling. Poor Shep! There could have been no better illustration of
his failure to understand his father than this. Carroll had watched
much keener men than Shepherd Mills attempt to deceive Franklin
Mills. Just why Shepherd should have sold the stock Carroll couldn’t
imagine. Constance had, perhaps, been overreaching herself. No matter
what had prompted the sale, Mills would undoubtedly make Shepherd
uncomfortable about it--not explosively, for Mills never lost his
perfect self-control--but with his own suave but effective method.
Carroll wished there were something he could do to save Shep from the
consequences of his folly in attempting to hide from Franklin Mills a
transaction so obviously impossible of concealment.