Fanshaw versus Fanshaw was heard privately by a referee; and before
Mrs. Fanshaw's lawyers had a chance to ask that the referee's report be
sealed from publicity, the judge of his own motion ordered it. At the
political club to which he belonged, he had received an intimation from
the local "boss" that if Dumont's name were anywhere printed in
connection with the case he would be held responsible. Thus it came to
pass that on the morning of the filing of the decree the newspapers
were grumbling over their inability to give the eagerly-awaited details
of the great scandal. And Herron was Catonizing against "judicial
corruption."
But Dumont was overswift in congratulating himself on his escape and in
preening himself on his power.
For several days the popular newspapers were alone in denouncing the
judge for favoritism and in pointing out that the judiciary were
"becoming subservient to the rich and the powerful in their
rearrangements of their domestic relations--a long first step toward
complete subservience." Herron happened to have among his intimates
the editor of an eminently respectable newspaper that prides itself
upon never publishing private scandals. He impressed his friend with
his own strong views as to the gravity of this growing discrimination
between masses and classes; and the organ of independent conservatism
was presently lifting up its solemn voice in a stentorian jeremiad.
Without this reinforcement the "yellows" might have shrieked in vain.
It was assumed that baffled sensationalism was by far a stronger motive
with them than justice, and the public was amused rather than aroused
by their protests. But now soberer dailies and weeklies took up the
case and the discussion spread to other cities, to the whole country.
By his audacity, by his arrogant frankness he had latterly treated
public opinion with scantiest courtesy--by his purchase of campaign
committees, and legislatures, and courts, Dumont had made himself in
the public mind an embodiment of the "mighty and menacing plutocracy"
of which the campaign orators talked so much. And the various phases
of the scandal gave the press a multitude of texts for satirical, or
pessimistic, or fiery discourses upon the public and private rottenness
of "plutocrats."
But Dumont's name was never directly mentioned. Every one knew who was
meant; no newspaper dared to couple him in plain language with the
scandal. The nearest approach to it was where one New York newspaper
published, without comment, in the center of a long news article on the
case, two photographs of Dumont side by side--one taken when he first
came to New York, clear-cut, handsome, courageous, apparently a type of
progressive young manhood; the other, taken within the year, gross,
lowering, tyrannical, obviously a type of indulged, self-indulgent
despot.
Herron had forced Fanshaw to abandon the idea of suing Dumont for a
money consolation. He had been deeply impressed by his wife's warnings
against Fanshaw--"a lump of soot, and sure to smutch you if you go near
him." He was reluctant to have Fanshaw give up the part of the plan
which insured the public damnation of Dumont, but there was no other
prudent course. He assured himself that he knew Fanshaw to be an
upright man; but he did not go to so perilous a length in
self-deception as to fancy he could convince cynical and incredulous
New York. It was too eager to find excuses for successful and admired
men like Dumont, too ready to laugh at and despise underdogs like
Fanshaw. Herron never admitted it to himself, but in fact it was he
who put it into Fanshaw's resourceless mind to compass the revenge of
publicity in another way.
Fanshaw was denouncing the judge for sealing the divorce testimony, and
the newspapers for being so timid about libel laws and contempt of
court.
"If a newspaper should publish the testimony," said Herron, "Judge
Glassford would never dare bring the editor before him for contempt.
His record's too bad. I happen to know he was in the News-Record
office no longer ago than last month, begging for the suppression of an
article that might have caused his impeachment, if published. So
there's one paper that wouldn't be afraid of him."
"Then why does it shield the scoundrel?"
"Perhaps," replied Herron, his hand on the door of his office
law-library, "it hasn't been able to get hold of a copy of the
testimony." And having thus dropped the seed on good soil, he left.
Fanshaw waited several weeks, waited until certain other plans of his
and Herron's were perfected. Then he suddenly deluged the sinking
flames of the divorce discussion with a huge outpouring of oil.
Indirectly and with great secrecy he sent a complete copy of the
testimony to the newspaper Herron had mentioned, the most sensational,
and one of the most widely circulated in New York.
The next morning Dumont had to ring three times for his secretary.
When Culver finally appeared he had in his trembling right hand a copy
of the News-Record. His face suggested that he was its owner,
publisher and responsible editor, and that he expected then and there
to be tortured to death for the two illustrated pages of the "Great
Fanshaw-Dumont Divorce! All the Testimony! Shocking Revelations!"
"I thought it necessary for you to know this without delay, sir," he
said in a shaky voice, as he held out the newspaper to his master.
Dumont grew sickly yellow with the first glance at those head-lines.
He had long been used to seeing extensive and highly unflattering
accounts of himself and his doings in print; but theretofore every open
attack had been on some public matter where a newspaper "pounding"
might be attributed to politics or stock-jobbery. Here--it was a
verbatim official report, and of a private scandal, more dangerous to
his financial standing than the fiercest assault upon his honesty as a
financier; for it tore away the foundation of reputation--private
character. A faithful transcript throughout, it portrayed him as a bag
of slimy gold and gilded slime. He hated his own face staring out at
him from a three-column cut in the center of the first page--its heavy
jaw, its cynical mouth, its impudent eyes. "Do I look like THAT?" he
thought. He was like one who, walking along the streets, catches sight
of his own image in a show-window mirror and before he recognizes it,
sees himself as others see him. He flushed to his temples at the
contrast with the smaller cut beside it--the face of Pauline, high and
fine icily beautiful as always in her New York days when her features
were in repose.
Culver shifted from one weak leg to the other, and the movement
reminded Dumont of his existence. "That's all. Clear out!" he
exclaimed, and fell back into his big chair and closed his eyes. He
thought he at last understood publicity.
But he was mistaken.
He finished dressing and choked down a little breakfast. As he
advanced toward the front door the servant there coughed uneasily and
said: "Beg pardon, sir, but I fear you won't be able to get out."
"What's the matter?" he demanded, his brows contracting and his lips
beginning to slide back in a snarl--it promised to be a sad morning for
human curs of all kinds who did not scurry out of the lion's way.
"The crowd, sir," said the servant. And he drew aside the curtain
across the glass in one of the inside pair of great double doors of the
palace entrance. "It's quite safe to look, sir. They can't see
through the outside doors as far as this."
Dumont peered through the bronze fretwork. A closely packed mass of
people was choking the sidewalk and street--his brougham was like an
island in a troubled lake. He saw several policemen--they were trying
to move the crowd on, but not trying sincerely. He saw three huge
cameras, their operators under the black cloths, their lenses pointed
at the door--waiting for him to appear. For the first time in his life
he completely lost his nerve. Not only publicity, the paper--a
lifeless sheet of print; but also publicity, the public--with living
eyes to peer and living voices to jeer. He looked helplessly,
appealingly at the "cur" he had itched to kick the moment before.
"What the devil shall I do?" he asked in a voice without a trace of
courage.
"I don't know, sir," replied the servant. "The basement door wouldn't
help very much, would it?"
The basement door was in front also. "Idiot! Is there no way out at
the rear?" he asked.
"Only over the fences, sir," said the servant, perfectly
matter-of-fact. Having no imagination, his mind made no picture of the
great captain of industry scrambling over back fences like a stray cat
flying from a brick.
Dumont turned back and into his first-floor sitting-room. He unlocked
his stand of brandy bottles, poured out an enormous drink and gulped it
down. His stomach reeled, then his head. He went to the window and
looked out--there must have been five hundred people in the street, and
vehicles were making their way slowly and with difficulty, drivers
gaping at the house and joking with the crowd; newsboys, bent sidewise
to balance their huge bundles of papers, were darting in and out, and
even through the thick plate glass he could hear: "All about
Millionaire Dumont's disgrace!"
He went through to a rear window. No, there was a continuous wall, a
high brick wall. A servant came and told him he was wanted at the
telephone. It was Giddings, who said in a voice that was striving in
vain to be calm against the pressure of some intense excitement: "You
are coming down to-day, Mr. Dumont?"
"Why?" asked Dumont, snapping the word out as short and savage as the
crack of a lash.
"There are disquieting rumors of a raid on us."
"Who's to do the raiding?"
"They say it's Patterson and Fanning-Smith and Cassell and Herron.
It's a raid for control."
Dumont snorted scornfully. "Don't fret. We're all right. I'll be
down soon." And he hung up the receiver, muttering: "The ass! I must
kick him out! He's an old woman the instant I turn my back."
He had intended not to go down, but to shut himself in with the brandy
bottle until nightfall. This news made his presence in the Street
imperative. "They couldn't have sprung at me at a worse time," he
muttered. "But I can take care of 'em!"
He returned to the library, took another drink, larger than the first.
His blood began to pound through his veins and to rush along under the
surface of his skin like a sheet of fire. Waves of fury surged into
his brain, making him dizzy, confusing his sight--he could scarcely
refrain from grinding his teeth. He descended to the basement, his
step unsteady.
"A ladder," he ordered in a thick voice.
He led the way to the rear wall. A dozen men-servants swarming about,
tried to assist him. He ordered them aside and began to climb. As the
upper part of his body rose above the wall-line he heard a triumphant
shout, many voices crying: "There he is! There he is!"
The lot round the corner from his place was not built upon; and there,
in the side street, was a rapidly swelling crowd, the camera-bearers
hastily putting their instruments in position, the black cloths
fluttering like palls or pirate flags. With a roaring howl he released
his hold upon the ladder and shook both fists, his swollen face blazing
between them. He tottered, fell backward, crashed upon the stone
flooring of the area. His head struck with a crack that made the
women-servants scream. The men lifted him and carried him into the
house. He was not stunned; he tried to stand. But he staggered back
into the arms of his valet and his butler.
"Brandy!" he gasped.
He took a third drink--and became unconscious. When the doctor arrived
he was raving in a high fever. For years he had drunk to excess--but
theretofore only when HE chose, never when his appetite chose, never
when his affairs needed a clear brain. Now appetite, long lying in
wait for him, had found him helpless in the clutches of rage and fear,
and had stolen away his mind.
The news was telephoned to the office at half-past eleven o'clock. "It
doesn't matter," said Giddings. "He'd only make things worse if he
were to come now."
Giddings was apparently right. From a tower of strength, supporting
alone, yet with ease, National Woolens, and the vast structure based
upon it, Dumont had crumbled into an obstruction and a weakness. There
is an abysmal difference between everybody knowing a thing privately
and everybody knowing precisely the same thing publicly. In that
newspaper exposure there was no fact of importance that was not known
to the entire Street, to his chief supporters in his great syndicate of
ranches, railroads, factories, steamship lines and selling agencies.
But the tremendous blare of publicity acted like Joshua's horns at
Jericho. The solid walls of his public reputation tottered, toppled,
fell flat.
There had been a tight money-market for two weeks. Though there had
been uneasiness as to all the small and many of the large
"industrials," belief in National Woolens and in the stability of John
Dumont had remained strong. But of all the cowards that stand sentinel
for capital, the most craven is Confidence. At the deafening crash of
the fall of Dumont's private character, Confidence girded its loins and
tightened its vocal cords to be in readiness for a shrieking flight.
Dumont ruled, through a parent and central corporation, the National
Woolens Company, which held a majority of the stock in each of the
seventeen corporations constituting the trust. His control was in part
through ownership of Woolens stock but chiefly through proxies sent him
by thousands of small stock-holders because they had confidence in his
abilities. To wrest control from him it was necessary for the raiders
both to make him "unload" his own holdings of stock and to impair his
reputation so that his supporters would desert him or stand aloof.
On the previous day National Woolens closed at eighty-two for the
preferred and thirty-nine for the common. In the first hour of the day
of the raid Giddings and the other members of Dumont's supporting group
of financiers were able to keep it fairly steady at about five points
below the closing price of the previous day, by buying all that was
offered--the early offerings were large, but not overwhelming. The
supporters of other industrials saw that the assault on Woolens was a
menace to their stocks--if a strong industrial weakened, the weaker
ones would inevitably suffer disaster in the frightened market that
would surely result. They showed a disposition to rally to the support
of the Dumont stocks.
At eleven o'clock Giddings began to hope that the raid was a failure,
if indeed it had been a real raid. At eleven-twenty Herron played his
trump card.
The National Industrial Bank is the huge barometer to which both
speculative and investing Wall Street looks for guidance. Whom that
bank protects is as safe as was the medieval fugitive who laid hold of
the altar in the sanctuary; whom that bank frowns upon in the hour of
stress is lost indeed if he have so much as a pin's-point area of heel
that is vulnerable. Melville, president of the National Industrial,
was a fanatically religious man, with as keen a nose for heretics as
for rotten spots in collateral. He was peculiarly savage in his hatred
of all matrimonial deviations. He was a brother of Fanshaw's mother;
and she and Herron had been working upon him. But so long as Dumont's
share in the scandal was not publicly attributed he remained
obdurate--he never permitted his up-town creed or code to interfere
with his down-town doings unless it became necessary--that is, unless
it could be done without money loss. For up-town or down-town, to make
money was always and in all circumstances the highest morality, to lose
money the profoundest immorality.
At twenty minutes past eleven Melville and the president of the other
banks of his chain called loans to Dumont and the Dumont supporting
group to the amount of three millions and a quarter. Ten minutes later
other banks and trust companies whose loans to Dumont and his allies
either were on call or contained provisions permitting a demand for
increased collateral, followed Melville's example and aimed and sped
their knives for Dumont's vitals.
Giddings found himself face to face with unexpected and peremptory
demands for eleven millions in cash and thirteen millions in additional
collateral securities. If he did not meet these demands forthwith the
banks and trust companies, to protect themselves, would throw upon the
market at whatever price they could get the thirty-odd millions of
Woolens stocks which they held as collateral for the loans.
"What does this mean, Eaversole?" he exclaimed, with white, wrinkled
lips, heavy circles suddenly appearing under his eyes. "Is Melville
trying to ruin everything?"
"No," answered Eaversole, third vice-president of the company. "He's
supporting the market, all except us. He says Dumont must be driven
out of the Street. He says his presence here is a pollution and a
source of constant danger."
The National Woolens supporting group was alone; it could get no help
from any quarter, as every possible ally was frightened into his own
breastworks for the defense of his own interests. Dumont, the brain and
the will of the group, had made no false moves in business, had been
bold only where his matchless judgment showed him a clear way; but he
had not foreseen the instantaneous annihilation of his chief asset--his
reputation.
Giddings sustained the unequal battle superbly. He was cool, and
watchful, and effective. It is doubtful if Dumont himself could have
done so well, handicapped as he would have been on that day by the
Fanshaw scandal. Giddings cajoled and threatened, retreated slowly
here, advanced intrepidly there. On the one side, he held back
wavering banks and trust companies, persuading some that all was well,
warning others that if they pressed him they would lose all. On the
other side, he faced his powerful foes and made them quake as they saw
their battalions of millions roll upon his unbroken line of battle only
to break and disappear. At noon National Woolens preferred was at
fifty-eight, the common at twenty-nine. Giddings was beginning to hope.
At three minutes past noon the tickers clicked out: "It is reported
that John Dumont is dying."
As that last word jerked letter by letter from under the printing wheel
the floor of the Stock Exchange became the rapids of a human Niagara.
By messenger, by telegraph, by telephone, holders of National Woolens
and other industrials, in the financial district, in all parts of the
country, across the sea, poured in their selling orders upon the
frenzied brokers. And all these forces of hysteria and panic,
projected into that narrow, roofed-in space, made of it a chaos of
contending demons. All stocks were caught in the upheaval; Melville's
plans to limit the explosion were blown skyward, feeble as straws in a
cyclone. Amid shrieks and howls and frantic tossings of arms and mad
rushes and maniac contortions of faces, National Woolens and all the
Dumont stocks bent, broke, went smashing down, down, down, every one
struggling to unload.
Dumont's fortune was the stateliest of the many galleons that day
driven on the rocks and wrecked. Dumont's crew was for the most part
engulfed. Giddings and a few selected friends reached the shore
half-drowned and humbly applied at the wreckers' camp; they were
hospitably received and were made as comfortable as their exhausted
condition permitted.
John Dumont was at the mercy of Hubert Herron in his own company. If he
lived he would be president only until the next annual meeting--less
than two months away; and the Herron crowd had won over enough of his
board of directors to make him meanwhile powerless where he had been
autocrat.