TWO GENTLEMEN BECOME ACQUAINTED
In a town like Mariona the tradition of riches is almost as good as
the proved fact. It had been said for years that Ezra Dameron was the
possessor of great wealth. How, indeed, could he be otherwise, when
he was a miser and never spent any money? Old Roger Merriam had died
one of the richest men in the state, and in dividing his property he
had favored his daughters, so that Mrs. Forrest and Mrs. Dameron had
received larger shares than their brothers. Copeland, the lawyer who
never practised, possessed a great fund of useful information, and
he estimated the value of Margaret Dameron’s estate at four hundred
and fifty thousand dollars, and Copeland was a conservative man. Ezra
Dameron’s personal estate was popularly supposed to be equally large,
but this was something that no one knew anything about.
Ezra Dameron had been called a hard man. There was an uncharitable
smile that went usually with the mention of his name. The friends of
the Merriams said that he was an ugly blackguard; but there were people
who did not admire the Merriams, and these were inclined to the belief
that his wife’s family had misjudged and mistreated him. His way of
living was not attractive to sane, reasonable people, but if he chose
to shut himself off from the usual currents of human enjoyment he was
the loser and it was his affair.
Ezra Dameron had long been content to lend money on mortgages, to
buy and sell real estate and to invest in tax titles; but he had in
recent years widened his field, through curious circumstances. He had
held in his strong-box for a decade several hundred shares of stock
in a western railway company that had never paid any dividends. The
property had been absorbed by a great system with the result that the
market value of the stock doubled instantly. As a result Dameron’s
attitude toward the world of finance centered in Wall Street altered
considerably. He became a close student of the stock list as printed
in the daily newspapers. He procured copies of the annual financial
statements of a number of railways and pored over them in his office.
The tendency of prices was upward; political conditions, which he had
always studied carefully, seemed favorable to a long-continued period
of good times. He kept the stock he had, but bought more, chiefly among
low-priced securities, buying outright through his bank. The stock in
every case was bought in his own name as trustee; and he deposited it
in his strong-box and watched the value of his holdings rise steadily.
He began to feel himself in touch with large matters. His ownership
of this stock added fresh zest to life, and he experienced a thrill
of pleasure as he contemplated his investments. He entered his
transactions with scrupulous care in his account books; and his time,
which had previously been given wholly to the care of real estate
and mortgages, he began to divide, giving a large share of it to the
study of the markets. He found that he could learn the daily stock
quotations in advance of their publication in the afternoon newspapers
by visiting the offices of a broker, who provided a large room with
comfortable seats for his patrons and chalked the quotations on a
bulletin board. He was free to visit the place when he liked; no one
appeared to know him and no questions were asked. He continued this
course for a year with growing interest. His life had been singularly
free from excitement; but here was a game that he could watch as a calm
spectator and with no danger to himself. Then the newspapers began to
be filled with stories of the great fortunes that were made daily in
Wall Street. The railroads had never before been so prosperous; there
was a wail all over the land because there were not cars enough to
handle the country’s business.
It was a great game, and Ezra Dameron watched the blackboard with
increasing fascination, enjoying the gossip of the broker’s office,
where the other habitués learned to know him, and confided to him their
successes. They were poor men who had not money with which to purchase
stock outright, yet they, too, found it possible to take advantage of
the general prosperity. The idea pleased Dameron; he construed it as
an evidence of the Providence of God, who was dispensing riches to all
the faithful. He gradually reasoned himself into the belief that it was
foolish to purchase and pay for stocks in full when a mere memorandum
of ownership, based on the identical property and the same market,
would greatly multiply his increase. He knew from his own observations
in the broker’s office that it was an easy matter to make purchases
on margins; he had witnessed thousands of such transactions at the
cashier’s window. Nothing could be simpler; in no way could a dollar
be invested to so good advantage.
He came slowly to the conclusion that it was absurd to buy shares
outright when it was possible to gain all the advantage of a rising
market by carrying a multiplied number of shares on margin. He
argued himself into this belief gradually. He experienced the common
misfortune of the beginner at games of chance; he was extremely
successful. This he believed to be the result of his sagacity and
shrewdness in studying the internal character of his investments,
refusing to believe that he was profiting merely by a general upward
tendency perceptible in every branch of trade.
At first he put aside only a small amount of money for use in
speculation, but he increased this gradually,--almost unconsciously.
He grew afraid to be seen so much in the broker’s offices; he could
no longer throw an air of inadvertence about his visits there, for he
found himself spending whole days before the bulletin board. A number
of his houses were placarded for rent, but the gambler’s passion had
entered into his blood. He had traveled little, but now the magnitude
of the country’s transportation interests struck him in a new light; he
studied the maps of railways and pictured in his dreams the thousands
of manufactories and the plains of corn and wheat in the West that were
back of every share of stock in the great systems.
But it was best that no one should know at home that he was investing
his money in these ways, and he next opened an account with a large
brokerage firm in Chicago, and subscribed to a Chicago daily newspaper
that he might the better keep in touch with the market. His cunning
in hiding his steps on the perilous sands of speculation kept pace
with the growth of his passion for the game. He made deposits with
the brokers in cash drawn from the Mariona National Bank and sent by
express to Chicago. He even alternated his use of the express companies.
When Jack Balcomb went to see Dameron about the plot of ground known
as the creek strip, the old man was poring over a crop bulletin. His
callers either came to collect or to confess their inability to pay,
and as Dameron had never seen Balcomb before, he concluded at once that
the young man was a collector. People who came to pay him were not
usually so well appareled.
Balcomb stood for a moment in the door of the anteroom, drawing the
glove from his right hand.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Dameron. My name is Balcomb.” He advanced and
placed a visiting card on the dingy green cover of Dameron’s desk.
Dameron picked up the card and inspected it without looking at his
caller. Book agents often carried plain visiting cards and left their
sample cases in the hall. Ezra Dameron classified Balcomb as belonging
to their species.
“I have the honor to know your daughter slightly, Mr. Dameron.”
“That is possible,” said the old man, dryly, still not looking up.
“Yes, sir; I was fortunate enough to be associated with her in one of
the Dramatic Club plays.”
“Humph!” and Ezra Dameron’s eyes wandered back to his papers. He was
computing the possibility of a crop shortage, and Balcomb’s visit was
ill-timed.
“I have no time to-day, sir; I’m very busy. I don’t care to buy
anything,” he said.
His eyes returned to the tables he had been studying. Heavy rains had
injured the corn in Nebraska, and he was speculating as to the effect
of this on the railways that traversed that region.
“Pardon me,” said Balcomb, whose eyes had swept the contents of the
bare room comprehensively, “but I didn’t come to sell anything. I see
that you are busy and I should like to make an appointment with you for
some other time.”
Dameron raised his eyes and looked Balcomb over carefully. Jack Balcomb
was undeniably a presentable young man, as he stood with his head bent
deferentially, holding his hat and glove in one hand. If he was not a
collector or a book agent, he probably wished to borrow money. Just now
Ezra Dameron had no money to lend.
“My time is much taken, but I have never found it profitable to defer
interviews. What is it you want?”
A chair stood near Dameron’s desk, but it was covered with papers, and
he made no effort to clear it for his caller. It was, in fact, one of
Dameron’s rules never to ask callers to sit down. Most of his visitors
came with tales of woe, and he had found that people in trouble are
voluble.
“My business is serious,” said Balcomb, imperturbably, “and I should
not like to take it up when you are busy.”
“We will take it up now or not at all.”
The old man was still bent over the table with his pencil poised in his
hand. His glasses were pinched low down on his long thin nose, and he
looked over them at Balcomb very coldly.
“I don’t want you to be in haste in considering--”
“You needn’t trouble yourself. There will be no delay whatever. It
is my practice, sir, to pass on questions as they rise.” And Dameron
tapped the table impatiently with his pencil.
“Very well,” said Balcomb, smiling amiably. “I wish to know whether you
will put a price on that piece of ground you own on High Street near
the creek. I have a description in my pocket, if you care to refresh
your memory.”
“I know the piece perfectly. It is not for sale.”
“I understand that, Mr. Dameron. It is pretty well understood in
Mariona that Mr. Dameron rarely sells real estate. That’s quite in
keeping with my own ideas.”
Balcomb rested one of his highly polished shoes on a round of the chair
and smiled agreeably at Ezra Dameron.
“You flatter me,” said the old man, dryly. “May I ask who sent you
here?”
“Certainly, sir. I represent no one but myself. I never employ agents.
I prefer to do business at first hand.”
“Then I’m sure your business is well cared for,” said Dameron.
Balcomb grinned respectfully at the old man’s irony.
“I am fairly prosperous,” he said, and Dameron looked him over again.
The market had been uncertain for several days. The bears had been
making a raid, and he had lost some money,--not very much, to be
sure,--but still the steady gains of several prosperous weeks had been
wiped out. But he was confident of a reaction. He had of late paid
little attention to the property which Balcomb had mentioned, and his
thoughts turned upon it.
“Have you ever been here before?”
“No, sir.”
“What do you want with that property?”
“I’m not at liberty to state at present.”
“Then you’re not really your own master after all, but negotiating for
other parties.”
“Not at all. As I told you, I represent no one but myself. But I don’t
propose telling you what I expect to do with that ground; my ideas are
worth something to me.”
“You rather imply that you don’t trust me;” and the old man smiled and
drew his hand across his face.
“Not further,” said Balcomb, pleasantly, “than I could throw an
elephant by the tail.”
The old man scrutinized Balcomb with new interest, drawing lines on a
blotter with his pencil.
“You’re insulting,” he said, but without irritation.
“No,” said Balcomb, “I’m just frank. I’m merely saying to you what
everybody else thinks. I make a point of being frank. I’ve found that
it pays.”
“You’re evidently a very observing young man. You don’t consider that
my reputation in the community is of the first order,--is that what you
mean?” And the old man continued to make marks on the blotter.
“You’ve caught it exactly. I don’t recall just now that I ever heard
any one say a good word for you. You asked the question and I have
answered you.”
“You certainly are a frank young man;” and Dameron brought the tips of
his fingers together, and examined Jack Balcomb more critically. The
promoter’s bold air pleased him.
“What piece of property was it you mentioned?” he asked with a feigned
air of forgetfulness.
“You have made a fair sketch of it on that blotter,” said Balcomb,
grinning. “That triangle is unmistakable,--that’s the creek there on
the uneven side.”
Dameron looked down at the blotter over which his pencil had been
traveling unconsciously. He had indeed sketched an outline of the plot
of ground, and he looked up at Balcomb with a shrewd smile.
“You are a clever young man,--a very clever young man. I am glad to
enjoy your acquaintance. You may go now.”
He resettled his glasses on his nose and picked up his pencil. The
interview had ceased to interest him, and he would sustain his dignity
by dismissing Balcomb as though the young man were a school-boy.
Balcomb laughed and slapped his leg.
“Do you know, I like you! I think we’re going to do some business
together some day. They told me you were a terrible frost, and I guess
you are too many for the most of them. Not many men know how to carry
on a trade, but you have the right idea. Always turn a man down on a
first interview; that’s one of my own principles.”
[Illustration: _Ezra Dameron_]
Balcomb drew on his glove, not in the least disturbed by Dameron’s
renewed absorption in his figures. He bent forward far enough to see
that the old man was studying a statistical table. He knew the table
well enough, because it was of a type that was circulated freely
by a local broker, whose name was printed at the top of the sheet in
red ink, and the sight of it and Dameron’s deep interest in it pleased
Balcomb immensely. He felt that he had made a capital beginning. He was
not ready to buy the site for the Patoka Plats just yet, but there was
no question in his mind but that he should have an opportunity to buy a
little later on. He knew that when a man of Dameron’s age and character
begins to fail the failure is often very rapid. He smoothed his gloves
carefully as he looked down on Dameron’s figure drooping over the
table, contemplating him with something of the satisfaction with which
a young buzzard watches an old horse stumbling about a pasture and
making ready to die.
“My address is printed on the card, if you should care to see me before
I come back. Please don’t do anything until you hear from me. I have
that sentence printed on all my stationery!”
Dameron shook his head impatiently and continued to study his figures
without looking up. But when he heard the outer door close and knew
that Balcomb had gone he leaned back in his chair and brought his hands
together in their familiar attitude of prayer; and he sat thus until
dark, dreaming many dreams.