If it is wicked to gamble Cynthia was wicked. If it is wicked to lie
Cynthia was wicked. If the money that comes out of Wall Street belonged
originally to widows and orphans, why, that is the kind of money which
she amassed for her own selfish purposes. Worst of all, on learning from
Jarrocks that the Rainbow's Foot--where the pot of gold is--was almost
in sight, this bad, wicked girl's sensations were those of unmixed
triumph and delight!
The panic of nineteen-seven is history now. Plenty of people who lost
their money during those exciting months can explain to you how any
fool, with the least luck, could have made buckets of it instead.
As a snowball rolling down a hill of damp snow swells to gigantic
proportions, so Cynthia's five hundred dollars descended the long slopes
of nineteen-seven, doubling itself at almost every turn. And when, at
last, values had so shrunk that it looked to Jarrocks as if they could
not shrink any more, he told her that her account--which stood in the
name of G. G.'s mother--was worth nearly four hundred thousand dollars.
"And I think," he said, "that, if you now buy stocks outright and hold
them as investments, your money will double again."
So they put their heads together and Cynthia bought some Union Pacific
at par and some Steel Common in the careless twenties, and other
standard securities that were begging, almost with tears in their eyes,
to be bought and cared for by somebody. She had the certificates of what
she bought made out in the name of G. G.'s mother. And she went up-town
and found G. G.'s mother alone, and said:
"Oh, my dear! If anybody ever finds out _you_ will catch it!"
G. G.'s mother knew there was a joke of some kind preparing at her
expense, but she couldn't help looking a little puzzled and anxious.
"It's bad enough to do what you have done," continued Cynthia; "but on
top of it to be going to lie up and down--that does seem a little too
awful!"
"What are you going to tell me?" cried G. G.'s mother. "I know you've
got some good news up your sleeve!"
"Gambler!" cried Cynthia--"cold-blooded, reckless Wall Street
speculator!" And the laughter that was pent up in her face burst its
bonds, accompanied by hugs and kisses.
"Now listen!" said Cynthia, as soon as she could. "On such and such a
day, you took five hundred dollars to a Wall Street broker named
Jarrocks Bell--you thought that conditions were right for turning into a
Bear. You went short of the market. You kept it up for weeks and months.
Do you know what you did? You pyramided on the way down!"
"Mercy!" exclaimed G. G.'s mother, her eyes shining with wonder and
excitement.
"First thing you knew," continued Cynthia, "you were worth four hundred
thousand dollars!"
G. G.'s mother gave a little scream, as if she had seen a mouse.
"And you invested it," went on Cynthia, relenting, "so that now you
stand to double your capital; and your annual income is between thirty
and forty thousand dollars!"
After this Cynthia really did some explaining, until G. G.'s mother
really understood what had really happened. It must be recorded that, at
first, she was completely flabbergasted.
"And you've gone and put it in my name!" she said. "But why?"
"Don't you see," said Cynthia, "that if I came offering money to G. G.
and G. G.'s father they wouldn't even sniff at it? But if you've got
it--why, they've just got to share with you. Isn't that so?"
"Y-e-e-s," admitted G. G.'s mother; "but, my dear, I can't take it.
Even if I could, they would want to know where I'd gotten it and I'd
have nothing to say."
"Not if you're the one woman in a million that I think you are," said
Cynthia. "Tell me, isn't your husband at his wit's end to think how to
meet the bills for his illness and all and all? And wouldn't you raise
your finger to bring all his miserable worries to an end? Just look at
the matter from a business point of view! You must tell your husband and
G. G. that what has really happened to me happened to you; that you were
desperate; that you took the five hundred dollars to speculate with, and
that this is the result."
"But that wouldn't be true," said G. G.'s mother.
"For mercy's sake," said Cynthia, "what has the truth got to do with it!
This isn't a matter of religion or martyrdom; it's a matter of business!
How to put an end to my husband's troubles and to enable my son to marry
the girl he loves?--that's your problem; and the solution is--lie! Whom
can the money come from if not from you? Not from me certainly. You must
lie! You'd better begin in the dark, where your husband can't see your
face--because I'm afraid you don't know how very well. But after a time
it will get easy; and when you've told him the story two or three
times--with details--you'll end by believing it yourself.... And, of
course," she added, "you must make over half of the securities to G. G.,
so that he will have enough money to support a wife."
For two hours Cynthia wrestled with G. G.'s mother's conscience; but,
when at last the struggling creature was thrown, the two women literally
took it by the hair and dragged it around the room and beat it until it
was deaf, dumb, and blind.
And when G. G.'s father came home G. G.'s mother met him in the hall
that was darkish, and hid her face against his--and lied to him! And as
she lied the years began to fall from the shoulders of G. G.'s
father--to the number of ten.