Keturah Smiley was no fool. When the leases of the oyster beds were
made out they were made out in her name, and the Blue Port Bivalve
Company had exactly nothing to do with the transaction. Judge Hollaby,
purely in his capacity as Miss Smiley’s lawyer, attended to the matter.
Purely as Miss Smiley’s lawyer he attended to the details of a loan
of $5,000 by Miss Smiley to Richard Hand. Solely as a man, an oldish
fellow who had seen a good deal of human nature and knew both parties
in the case, he wondered what would happen next.
He had not long to wait. The oyster beds were not extensive, but they
were the richest in that part of the Great South Bay. Keturah Smiley,
deserting Judge Hollaby for the first time in her life, went to a
Patchogue lawyer and formed with him the Luscious Oyster Corporation.
The Luscious Oyster Corporation took over the leases of the oyster
beds held by Keturah Smiley and took an option on a large part of the
Smiley land. The Patchogue lawyer held that indiscretion was sometimes
the better part of valour. He was very, very indiscreet; he was
deliberately and extensively indiscreet. And the world that cared about
Blue Port oysters soon knew all the plans and purposes of the Luscious
Oyster Corporation.
It would build a large factory on Hawkins Creek. Arrangements for
special railway trackage were being made. There was plenty of capital
back of the new corporation. It had the rights to a new and hitherto
unannounced process for making several first-class products from oyster
shells. Its oysters, the best, the fattest, the most succulent in all
the Great South Bay, would be shipped, opened, in sanitary containers
with a distinctive label and carried in refrigerator cars. The shells
would be turned over to the factory where, aside from certain novelties
and trinkets and toys, vast numbers of them would be used in the
composition of a new kind of cement for floors in office buildings and
for roofing.
This cement was superior to anything yet discovered for these two
purposes, and possibly for others--experimentation with it was still
going on. As a roofing it was clean, smooth, of an attractive dull
white finish which could be tinted to any desired shade. It was
absolutely tight and waterproof and noiseless! The hardest shower,
striking upon it, was inaudible. As a flooring the cement had all
these advantages and several others besides. It could be flushed with
water, and if wiped only partly dry would dry quickly by atmospheric
absorption. Footsteps could hardly be heard upon it. If left white it
reflected artificial light and enhanced the illumination of the room;
moreover, it was, because of its whiteness, next to impossible to lose
anything upon it. Tinted, it matched any rug or floor covering. And it
was tremendously durable. Prolonged tests with hard substances scuffing
continuously over a sample of the cement had not worn away the surface
perceptibly, but should it wear away, the texture of the cement was
uniform throughout. The worn spot would look exactly like the rest of
the floor.
No stock was for sale.
This last announcement filled with incredulity the dismayed Richard
Hand, reading the newspapers and gnashing his teeth which were not so
well preserved as Keturah Smiley’s. There must be stock for sale! There
always was, in a thing like this. What was the use of all this puffing
if it was not to unload stock on unsuspecting purchasers? Still,
this piece of canniness did not help Mr. Hand along mentally. _He_
didn’t want the worthless stock. He wanted those oyster beds; and most
particularly he wanted this talk about the Luscious Oyster Corporation,
its plans, its purposes, its enterprise, and its prospective glory
stopped--absolutely stopped. It was hurting the business of the Blue
Port Bivalve Company, and if unchecked would hurt it still more.
He went to see Keturah.
“Unfair?” snapped Miss Smiley, answering Mr. Hand’s principal
accusation. “When did you ever take up the little problems of fairness,
Dick Hand? Besides, I have nothing to do with it. I am not the Luscious
Oyster Corporation, and sha’n’t be. I’ve merely sub-leased some oyster
beds to them and given them an option on a piece of land. Go see Mr.
Brown. He’s doing the talking.”
She went to the door with him. “Mind you’re ready with that money when
it’s due,” she admonished him.
Mr. Hand was ready neither with money not a retort. He repaired to the
office of Mr. Brown, the Patchogue lawyer.
“Absolutely true, every word of it, Mr. Hand,” said Lucius Brown,
bringing his right fist against the palm of his left hand.
“Ab-so-lute-ly true! No stock for sale. Patents all right. Samples over
there on the desk. Tests whenever you’d like to see them.”
“I don’t care for your samples and tests,” snarled old Mr. Hand,
showing how bad his teeth were. “What do you want to quit this
nonsense?”
“What do you mean?” inquired the younger man, suddenly grave.
“How much money?” shouted Richard Hand, his fingers closing and
unclosing. He trembled with rage. The face of the other man suddenly
assumed a dark and menacing expression.
“Is this a bribe, Mr. Hand?”
“Call it what you like. I want you should shet up,” answered the
caller, doggedly. “Only question is, how much will you take to shet up
this fool’s talk?”
Mr. Brown’s face mirrored mixed emotions.
“You’re making a serious mistake, Mr. Hand, when you address me that
way,” he informed the miser. “You are badly advised when you talk
about paying me money to ‘shet up.’ If you want to make a business
proposition to buy the leases of oyster beds held by the Luscious
Oyster Corporation and our option on Miss Smiley’s land, I am here to
receive it.”
Richard Hand reflected. His crafty glance travelled out of the window
and across the street. As if she were there precisely to focus his
thoughts at this moment, Keturah Smiley, with Mermaid beside her,
walked along the opposite side of the thoroughfare bent on some
enterprise of shopping. She was very straight, as usual; her shoulders,
thrown squarely back, were inexpressibly odious in the sight of the
drooping Mr. Hand. Even more odious was the relaxation of her severe
face as she turned to answer some question the girl beside her had been
asking. Mr. Hand made up his mind quickly.
“I don’t want none o’ your patents nor samples nor stock,” he declared
in a surly and savage tone. “I’ll buy those leases of you for just
what they cost me--$5,000.” A thought stunned him. Then he raised his
voice almost to a scream.
“Here,” he cried, “what am I buying back my own property for? Them
leases is mine. It’s a swindle!”
Mr. Brown seemed interested. A thin foam appeared on Richard Hand’s
lips.
“I borrowed $5,000 from Keturah Smiley to lease those beds,” he
shouted. “That fool Hollaby makes out the leases in her name. Makes out
a note for ninety days for $5,000, my note, and gives it t’ her. Hands
me the money and I pay for the leases. I--why, I _own_ those leases.
Give ’em back, you robber, give ’em back!”
“Moderate your language or I’ll throw you out of here and down the
stairs,” Lucius Brown advised the old man. “Don’t talk robbery or
swindling in this office. Now see here, let’s see just what this is.
You borrowed $5,000 of Miss Smiley to lease these beds. But the leases
were made out in her name. Well, then, man, everything depends upon
your understanding with Keturah Smiley. Can’t you see that there are
two separate transactions? Can’t you see that it was no concern of
hers what you did with $5,000 she lent you? The owners of those beds
got their money. And you got $5,000 on your personal note. Did Judge
Hollaby conceal from you the fact that the leases were being made out
to Miss Smiley?”
“No,” groaned Richard Hand.
“Then there’s nothing more to say,” finished the lawyer. “You put
yourself in her hands. Has she broken faith? Did she ever promise you
in word or writing any money or other valuable consideration for those
leases? No? Was there any verbal understanding with you respecting
them?”
“I told her I’d pledge ’em with Judge Hollaby, but when they were drawn
she insisted they be made out to her,” Mr. Hand explained. He was
dazed. “She threatened to back out at the last moment. She--she didn’t
exactly promise anything. She said they must be leased to her. She said
she’d lend me $5,000 on my note of hand.”
“As nearly as I can make out,” observed Lucius Brown, “Miss Smiley
talked little and made no engagements. You can’t prove anything by what
she said, and you can’t prove anything by what she thought. You might
succeed in proving your own lack of brains; in fact, you have satisfied
me that you haven’t any.”
Mr. Hand said no more. With a look of actual agony on his face he
turned and drooped away in the direction of the door. But with the
tenacity of a drowning man--drowning in grief, rage, mortification, and
dismay--he clutched at a straw. Pausing at the doorway of the lawyer’s
office he took a half step back.
“But--now--there’s that option on the Smiley tract,” he stammered. “I
might buy that. I’ve been thinking for a long time of buying a likely
piece of land. How long’s that option for, and how much would you want
for it?”
Mr. Brown considered. “Twenty thousand dollars,” he said, finally. Mr.
Hand, recoiling, sneered.
“Twenty thousand! Nonsense! Why, the land itself ain’t worth more’n
ten. I’d be buying it twice over.”
“Well, it seems to be a passion with you to buy things twice over,”
said the lawyer, reflectively. “It’s an option to buy only, and must be
exercised in six months, otherwise it is forfeit. But you must consider
that in buying this option you practically do away with the Luscious
Oyster Corporation. All our plans are predicated upon dredging Blue
Port oysters from a few beds and preparing and shipping them from this
nearest available site, working up the shells for commercial purposes.
If you buy our option we cannot go on. There is no other site, and
there are no other beds except the free beds, unsuitably located for
our purpose and yielding inferior oysters. You might as well buy our
capital stock, patent rights, and everything, lock, stock, and barrel,
as buy that option. Naturally we have to ask a high price for it, even
if we only paid $1,000 to get it.”
“You figure your assets, outside the option, at $19,000,” deduced
Richard Hand. “Option, $1,000; leases of beds, $5,000; patents and
prospects and lawyer’s fees”--here he sneered--“$14,000. I’m to pay
you $20,000 and then pay Keturah Smiley $5,000 more for part of that
$20,000 worth.”
“See here, Mr. Hand,” said the lawyer, earnestly. He changed his tone
to one of warning persuasion. “I have no doubt that when the time comes
Miss Smiley will refuse to take any money on that note for $5,000,
preferring to keep the lease of the oyster beds. Mr. Hand,” and Lucius
Brown’s voice had a ring in it, “this is a dead serious proposition.
The Luscious Oyster Corporation, which honours me by misspelling my
first name, is no joke. Everything that I have said about it can
be substantiated and will be. Every prediction I have made will be
verified. What that will mean to the Blue Port Bivalve Company and to
you personally I can’t say, because I don’t know and I don’t care. But
this much I do know: if you buy anything from us you will not pay too
high a price for it, and you will pay for it only once. What you don’t
buy you will go without. We purpose to go ahead with our plans and do
not expect to be molested; but if you are looking for a fight you can
get it right here.”
Richard Hand was facing a man younger than himself, of greater
intelligence and better education, a man trained in the law who
presumably knew exactly what he could do, and when and how--and how
much. There was no knowing what was behind him. It might be one of
the banks, Richard Hand reflected. It might be (a shudder) rich New
Yorkers; capitalists that you read about. The young man named no names,
but this only enhanced the dread stirring in Richard Hand’s mind. The
unknown is fearful.
If the Luscious Oyster Corporation once got started it very likely
spelled the ruin of the Blue Port Bivalve Company. It would break the
monopoly he had so carefully and laboriously built up, take away from
him the little czardom he had created, and leave him a poor man.
But $20,000! He was worth, now, more than that. Not so _much_ more,
though. It would take away from him exactly the sum with which he
had started operations in Blue Port; it would put him back where
he had been then. He would have enough left to keep him out of the
poorhouse.... Either that or a life--and--death grapple, with the loss
of every cent he had!
There was a sort of mist before his eyes as he stood in Lucius Brown’s
office. He had never been so terrified in his life. A pain that had
arisen in the back of his head troubled him. He seemed to be on fire,
all aching; and the next moment he was cold, his head swam, and he
felt near to nausea. Gradually every other feeling but the one of fear
left him--fear and physical pain. His mind, as distinguished from the
head that contained it, was numb. He could not think. He heard himself
saying:
“I’ll buy. I’ll buy. I’ll buy--everything. Only I must have my note
back. Keturah Smiley must give me my note back.” He began to whimper
like a little child. “My note, give me back my note! It’s $5,000.
Five--thousand--dollars.”
Lucius Brown turned away in a sort of pity, which was for the man’s
physical distress only.
“Come in to-morrow and I will have things ready for you,” he said,
sitting down at his desk and leaving his caller to get out as well as
he might.
And so it came about that Richard Hand, as president of the Blue Port
Bivalve Company, signed a contract whereby the Blue Port Bivalve
Company bought the capital stock of the Luscious Oyster Corporation,
with all rights, leases, options, patents, etc., etc., held by the said
corporation; in consideration whereof the company aforesaid agreed to
pay and deliver to the said corporation the sum of $20,000--of which
$1,000 was payable in cash on the signing of the contract, and the
remaining $19,000 was payable in instalments as thereinafter set forth.
With a copy of this agreement, Lucius Brown handed to Richard Hand the
note for $5,000. In the street Richard Hand suddenly stopped, pulled
this note from his pocket, and with frenzied fingers tore it to shreds.
“Damn you!” he sobbed.