HOME BANKING--A FAILURE
In the upper suburb of Montreal, Canada, stood an unassuming cottage, in
the midst of a spacious and well-kept lawn and garden. A young man was
seen carrying a rake on his shoulder and with the other hand drawing a
lawn mower toward a shed in one corner of the lot, where he was to
deposit them for the night.
"Hiram, I never saw the lawn look better." These words were spoken by a
venerable-looking old gentleman with cheery voice, as he came around
the corner of the garden, smoking a cigar. The speaker was a large and
well proportioned man of perhaps fifty-five years of age. He looked
through large brown eyes, kindly but resolute. His square jaw and firm
mouth denoted will power, his face was ruddy, and his head was crowned
with an abundance of curling hair as white as snow. This was Abram
McLain, the retired member of the firm of McLain, Shaw & Co., the
originators and organizers of the first steamboat line running between
Liverpool and Montreal. From this investment and an interest in
building the great Victoria bridge across the Saint Lawrence, Mr.
McLain had accumulated a large fortune, which, promptly invested in
real estate and safe stocks which were continually enhancing in value
in this rapidly growing municipality, soon placed him among the
accredited millionaires of Canada.
The cottage which he owned and in which he lived was built of gray stone,
one tall story in height, and crowned with a French roof. It was
beautified by a wide door in front with colonial pillars and porch. The
windows were tall, to which iron shutters were attached. The ground on
which this building stood had been bought immediately after the
conflagration of 1852, when Saint Mary's Ward was almost obliterated.
From that date each year had increased the value of all property in this
part of the city, so that this property alone, having five acres, would
have placed its owner among the well-to-do citizens of the community. But
this property was only a small portion of the holdings of Abram McLain. A
unique building was this cottage.
Two skilled mechanics had been brought from Quebec, and no one was
permitted to see their work nor to learn what they were doing. Their
work was to be in the basement, which had been excavated ten feet deep,
the massive walls reaching down until they rested upon solid rock. The
building was seventy-five feet square. A furnace occupied the center of
the basement. Next, in front, was a beautiful office, finished in
hardwood, exquisitely polished, and furnished with most modern
furniture. In the rear of this office was a smaller room, the walls of
which were incased with steel plates, supposed to be both burglar-proof
and fire-proof. This room contained a safe having no opening except the
door into the office. It would never have been taken for anything but a
closet convenient to the main office; but the door was solid iron, the
lock of which none but the owner could manipulate. A reception or
smoking room, which Mr. McLain called his den, was on the other side of
the hallway--a cozy and yet elaborately furnished room, containing
tables, sofas, and easy chairs, where the owner could meet his friends
for business or pleasure.
Mr. McLain's father, a sturdy and sagacious Scotchman, had landed in
Canada when Abram was about ten years of age, and began in earnest to
win at least a living, if not a fortune, in this sparsely settled city,
which at that time was hardly worthy the name of a city, although its
thoroughgoing citizens had procured a city charter. Mr. McLain by
earnest long-sightedness and industry succeeded in becoming a well-to-do
citizen. Unfortunately, Mr. McLain invested most of his savings in a
large banking institution, located on McGill Street--The Montreal
National Bank--which a few months later was consumed in the
conflagration. This unfortunate event with subsequent obligations, left
him both poor and in debt, from which he never recovered, but in two
years died, leaving his wife dependent upon their only son. Some years
later, when Abram was accumulating money rapidly, he bought stock in gas
and water works, and in both instances they collapsed, and the
stockholders were left by a dishonest set of officers to meet delinquent
obligations. This experience of both father and son not only met with
indignant protestations, but drove Abram to a conclusion wise, or
foolish, as the case may be; but he concluded that hereafter he would be
his own banker, or at least the custodian of his own money. This
accounted for the burglar-proof safe in the basement of the new cottage,
and where he could keep every valuable paper, securities, deeds,
mortgages, or money. This line of business was no secret in the
community. He was his own banker, and when he sold property or anything
else, the place of the money deposited was his own safe.
Much of Mr. McLain's spare time was spent at the Majestic, then the
largest hotel in the city, he being its owner. Ernest Case, the acting
landlord, took great pleasure in introducing him to customers, and
especially if they were prominent persons or had titles attached to
their names, who honored this hostelry with their presence.
One evening Mr. McLain sat in one of the cozy parlors enjoying a cigar
with Mayor Dalrymple, he, himself, being an alderman. They had much in
common to interest them, and were conversing interestedly, when Mr. Case,
accompanied by an imposing-looking stranger, approached and asked
permission to introduce Major Bancroft, of Quebec. The major took the
liberty of correcting a slight mistake.
"True, from Quebec last," he said, pleasantly, "but from Devonshire,
England, first. That is my home, and you know an Englishman
never denies his country. I am nephew to the Duke of Devon,
and"--hesitatingly--"possibly the next heir to the title. At present I am
a major in Her Majesty's Twenty-first Cavalry. I am just taking a run
through your grand country, while not much needed at home. Gentlemen, you
certainly have the making of a great city here in Montreal."
"We think so," said the mayor.
"Yes," added Mr. McLain, "we think that much of it is already made. We
have already the best schools, the best churches, the best hotels and
shipping wharves on the continent, and," he added, smiling, "the most
beautiful women in Canada."
"I have no inclination to doubt your word in any one of those
statements, Mr. McLain, and especially your last proposition, as it
accords with my own observation; but my opportunities of looking about as
yet have been limited, having arrived only yesterday." Then the major
continued: "Is real estate increasing in value very rapidly?"
The mayor replied: "We have been burned out three times, but each fire
has enhanced the value of all real estate."
"I am glad to hear that," the major replied, "as I am traveling with an
eye open for investments. It is quite different with us. Capital invested
in real estate in England usually results in regrets and loss."
This young stranger was a man of sturdy frame, broad shoulders, and
medium height, having a military bearing; save his mustache, his face was
clean shaven, and he had full lips and large, white teeth. He looked to
be possibly twenty-five years of age, and would have been called
good-looking anywhere. Both the resident citizens invited the major to
call at their places of business before he left the city. This he
promised to do.
A few days later, Case, in a joking sort of way, remarked to Mr. McLain:
"I think some of your landowners ought to sell Major Bancroft something
in the way of real estate. He has plenty of money. I have fifty thousand
of his money in my safe, and he seems to be aching to invest it."
"I am quite willing to sell him some city stock, if he will give me my
price," remarked McLain.
"But I imagine he wants something bigger," said Case.
"Why," muttered McLain, "I don't want anything better or bigger."
"Yes, I know," replied Case, "but I think he wants something that will
grow while he is fighting the Boers, as he is looking every day to be
ordered home."
"Well," replied McLain, "I give you authority to sell him the Majestic,
if you can. I'll authorize you to act as my agent."
"Thank you," replied Case, "but I'm not anxious to change employers."
"But," answered McLain, "I'm not joking. I will sell anything I have,
except my wife and cottage, if I can get my price."
"What's your selling price for the Majestic?" laughingly asked the other.
"O, well, let me see--I suppose forty thousand pounds would buy it."
"All right," said Case, as he turned away, "I guess I'll not change
employers this year."
The Montreal Daily Gazette lay upon Mr. McLain's breakfast table a few
days later. Mrs. McLain called his attention to it, stating that while
awaiting his coming to breakfast she had noticed that the Albermarle was
about to be sold to an English capitalist, who proposed to increase its
capacity, and make it the largest hotel in the colony.
"Indeed!" said Mr. McLain, sipping his coffee, and he took up the paper
to read for himself.
Glancing first at the money market, his eyes next sought for local items,
and he read the following article: "Changes in real estate. Rumor says
that the Albermarle is to change owners. An English nobleman who is
looking for profitable investments is said to be the prospective
purchaser. The capacity of this excellent hostelry, according to the
report, is to be greatly increased by the purchase of the two adjoining
properties."
About noon the same day Mr. McLain received a call from Major Bancroft.
"This is a delightful office," remarked the major, as he lighted a cigar
that had been handed him.
"Yes, Major, I had an eye to comfort as well as to business when I built
it," adding in a sort of casual way, "I see by this morning's paper that
you think of becoming a property owner in our city; allow me to
congratulate you."
"Well," replied the major, "your newspapers are a little too rapid. I
notice that they sometimes get ahead of the hounds. I'm glad you
mentioned the matter. Might I ask you how much the Albermarle is worth
in your opinion?"
"O!" replied Mr. McLain, "it would not be right for me to appraise it, as
I own the same kind of property."
"I see," replied the major. "Of course. What, then, would be a fair
selling price for the Majestic? It seems superior in both locality and
capacity."
"Well," observed Mr. McLain, "the Majestic has never been put on the
market, nor is it today for sale; consequently, I should ask its full
value, if I mentioned any price at all. I would not look at anything less
than forty thousand pounds for it."
"Would you not sell for thirty-five thousand pounds cash?"
Mr. McLain dropped his head slightly, and then suddenly replied: "No,
sir, but I would sell for forty thousand pounds cash, English money."
"Very well, Mr. McLain, make out the necessary papers, and on one
week from today I will pay you forty thousand pounds in Bank of
England notes."
"All right, Major, I will meet you at the Montreal National Bank one week
from today, at 12 o'clock. I will bring the papers."
"All right," said the Major, and departed.