“TWO MILLION DOLLARS A POINT”
SELDOM had a fiercer, more resolute fight been waged on the firing line
of the money field.
On the whole, P. & Y. seemed to have the better of it, though the
“shorts” fought with determination and discipline.
For an hour more Delavan, with his two motor boat boys and a few
operators who preferred to remain near the great figure in this battle,
remained in the gallery.
Then, with an easy, good-humored smile, the “Rocket’s” owner turned to
Halstead with:
“I’m afraid, lad, I didn’t enjoy my breakfast this morning as much as I
ought to have done. Let us three go out and find something good to eat.”
“Can you feel like eating now?” asked Halstead, in astonishment.
“Why, yes, Captain. Can’t _you_?”
“But I haven’t any money at stake down there,” replied Halstead,
nodding toward the floor.
“Yes, you have. If I’m wiped out to-day I don’t know how I’m even to
pay my motor boat crew. So, you see, you certainly have some money at
stake, just as I have.”
“But my few dollars don’t amount to anything,” protested the young
skipper, smiling.
“If I manage to come out on top of the heap, your ‘few dollars,’ as you
call them, may prove to be quite a good many. However, come along to
eat. It will serve to kill time, at least.”
So the trio left the Stock Exchange building. Mr. Coggswell couldn’t
go, as he must be on hand to manage the details of the fight.
Delavan and his young employes went to one of the famous restaurants
nearby. They were followed by several brokers who wanted more
information, but Francis Delavan engaged a private room at the
restaurant, and thus barred out all intrusion.
“Now,” proposed the host, “we can put in at least a couple of good
hours if we eat slowly.”
“Can you spare all that time, sir?” inquired Dawson.
“Why, bless you, boy, I could spare the day, if I had to,” laughed Mr.
Delavan. “The fight is up to Coggswell and his aides. There’s nothing I
can do now.”
“Are you going to ’phone any word to Mr. Moddridge?” asked Captain
Halstead.
“What’s the use? We’re a long way from out of the woods, yet, and poor
Moddridge, on any uncertain news, would only go worse to pieces. Now,
boys, please don’t even think of the word business until we’re out of
this place.”
It was after two o’clock when they left the restaurant. Mr. Delavan was
smoking a cigar as they stepped to the sidewalk. At the curb stood an
automobile that he had ordered by ’phone.
“We’ll just drop down to ’Change,” announced their employer. “You can
wait outside, if you wish, until I get an idea how the market is
going.”
When Mr. Delavan again joined them before the Stock Exchange Building
the confident smile had not left his face.
“P. & Y. is up to 74,” he announced, “but all the ‘shorts’ are making
savage assaults. Boys, this is a rather interesting game. It means
about two million dollars a point for Moddridge and myself. A point
up means the money in our pockets; a point down simply means that our
pockets are being picked. However, I’m going to stop fussing until
to-morrow. I’m off, now, in the auto, so you two will have to walk down
to the pier. Expect me aboard with a party at about six o’clock. We’ll
sail outside to-night. Tell Hank Butts I want a first-class dinner for
six this evening. And now, bye-bye.”
“Well, he’s a wonder,” ejaculated Joe Dawson, as the motor boat boys
turned to walk down the street “He may get wiped out yet, but if he
does he’ll buy a fresh cigar, laugh and sit down to plan what he’s
going to do to make a new fortune.”
“He can have Wall Street all to himself, though, as far as I’m
concerned,” declared Tom Halstead. “If I went there every day I’m
afraid I’d grow to be more like Mr. Moddridge.”
To the intense astonishment of both boys, when they boarded the
“Rocket,” Hank informed them that Eben Moddridge was in his berth below
and sound asleep.
“Why, I really believe Mr. Moddridge is acquiring some nerve,” laughed
Halstead.
As Hank went below to look over his larder and galley, Halstead and his
chum turned to busy themselves with the boat. After her long trip at
racing speed there was much to be done in cleaning and trimming up her
machinery, and the time was short. Yet, by team work, they accomplished
much, and were on deck, in their best uniforms, when two cabs arrived
at the pier.
Out of the first stepped Mr. Johnson, Banker Oliver and a stranger, the
latter one of Mr. Delavan’s Wall Street friends.
Out of the second cab came Mr. Delavan. He turned while a second
gentleman alighted. At sight of this last man Tom Halstead and Joe
Dawson looked in swift delight at each other, then straightened up more
than ever. For the man with the owner was George Prescott, the Boston
broker, who had organized the Motor Boat Club and was now its president.
“How do you do, boys? I’m heartily glad to see you,” was Mr. Prescott’s
greeting. Stepping across the gang-plank, he shook hands vigorously
with each youth in turn.
“I’ve been hearing some fine things of you both,” he added. “I’m proud
of my Motor Boat Club members. I shall have a long talk with each of
you on the trip to-night.”
“Down the Bay, through the Narrows, and then anywhere, Captain; say,
down along the Jersey coast. We’ll be out all night,” announced Mr.
Delavan, “though you’ll not need to put on much speed. Be back at eight
in the morning, as you were this morning.”
“Yes, sir,” replied Captain Tom, saluting lightly.
Hank cast off, bow and stern, then hurried below, getting into his
white jacket and busying himself with the dinner.
By the time they were a mile from the pier dinner was announced. They
were through the Narrows, and some miles down the New Jersey coast
when the gentlemen came out of the cabin again. It was a fine, starlit
night. While the others seated themselves in chairs on the after deck,
Mr. Prescott climbed up the steps, pulling up an arm chair so that
he could sit close to the young captain. As the “Rocket” was going
along at less than ten miles an hour and the sea was smooth, the young
skipper had not much in the way of duty to occupy his attention.
“Tom,” began the Boston broker, “I can’t tell you how pleased I am that
you have been able to be of such grand service to my friend, Delavan.
I recommended Dawson and yourself to him, and he says it has proved to
be the greatest service I ever did, or could do him.”
“Is it a proper question if I ask whether Mr. Delavan is now safely on
his feet again?” ventured Halstead.
“It’ll take to-morrow’s dealings on ’Change to show whether he’s sage,”
replied Mr. Prescott. “But, if he hadn’t been on hand to-day, just as
he was, nothing could have saved him. By three o’clock this afternoon
the Delavan-Moddridge combination would have been wiped off the slate
for good. Frank Delavan will be back and fighting again to-morrow.
Perhaps the greatest strain of all will be to-morrow, for the ‘shorts’
are powerful and they simply must fight. But Delavan isn’t by any means
cast down.”
As if to prove this, Mr. Delavan’s voice was heard, at that moment, as
he broke into a roar of laughter over a story that had just been told
by one of his guests.
“He doesn’t seem to know what fear or nerves mean,” smiled Captain Tom.
“I never knew a man who seemed to care so little about the things that
worry most men to death.”
“I think most likely,” replied Mr. Prescott, musingly, “he is no more
a stranger to worry than other men. But he has wonderful courage and
perfect control of himself. Frank Delavan will never allow himself to
be frightened until he has found out just what it was that scared him.”
Tom took a look up at the sky to see how the weather lay. Mr. Prescott
took a few puffs at his cigar before he continued:
“By the way, Tom, I saw Horace Dunstan the other day, and, for the
first time, got a complete account of all you and Dawson were able
to do to serve him and his interests—perhaps I should say, his son’s
interests—down at Nantucket. It was a thrilling yarn to hear, but made
four-fold more interesting by the knowledge that boys of mine—that’s
what I call you Motor Boat Club boys—were the ones who had acquitted
themselves so magnificently.”
Then the two fell to talking over the happenings at Nantucket. Readers
of the second volume in this series are already familiar with the
occurrences at Nantucket. Then, by degrees, the two went back to the
subject of those days in the Kennebec waters, which resulted in the
organization of the famous Club, as told in the first book of this
series.
When they had exhausted other topics Tom Halstead ventured to inquire:
“Can you tell me how Justin Bolton came out to-day?”
“Oh, Bolton is still putting up a big fight on ’Change, or was when
the gong sounded this afternoon. Yet he is a few millions of dollars
poorer than he was this morning. He will put up a plucky fight, for in
the battle of finance he is very nearly as game as Delavan himself.”
After an hour’s chat Mr. Prescott dropped down into the engine room
and enjoyed a long talk with Joe Dawson. When the Boston broker came
on deck again the “Rocket’s” young steward was standing beside the
youthful skipper at the wheel.
“Mr. Prescott,” spoke Captain Tom, respectfully, “Butts is very anxious
to be enrolled as a member of the Club. He can handle a boat like this
from the deck as well as anyone, and he promises to pitch in and study
the running of a motor hard.”
“You’re a member, then, Butts,” laughed Mr. Prescott. “Tom Halstead’s
nomination of a young man for membership is as good as election into
the Motor Boat Club.”
“Thank you, sir, and thank you, Tom,” said Hank, very earnestly. “I am
going to do everything I know how to become one of _the_ members of the
Club.”
“Then you like motor boating, do you?” inquired the Boston broker.
“Like it?” echoed Hank. “Why, sir, motor boating is the only sport for
a rich man, and the only job for a poor one. I came near saying I’d
sooner be cabin boy on a motor craft than a member of Congress. And I’m
not sure, sir, but what that’s right.”
Eleven o’clock found the cabin darkened, and all but the necessary
lights out. Owner and guests were in their berths. Halstead was soon
sound asleep and Joe dozed in a berth in the engine room, where he
could be ready for duty instantly if the engine needed his attention.
Hank, at the wheel, handled the craft carefully, though he was dreaming
a goodly bit under that fine August night sky.
“A member of the Club,” he repeated to himself over and over again.
“Whee! I hope I’m skipper of a craft like this myself one of these
days. Being steward and crew ain’t so bad, yet I surely do envy Tom
Halstead.”
In the morning, as on the day before, the “Rocket” was berthed
punctually. This time Tom and Joe were not invited to go up to the
Stock Exchange. They would have liked immensely to have seen the day’s
doings, but there was an abundance of work to be done aboard.
“I shall probably have the same party again to-night,” said Mr.
Delavan, before going ashore. “Coggswell will be with us, too, if it is
possible to get him to come.”
At one o’clock that afternoon Captain Tom was summoned to the
telephone office nearest the pier to talk with his employer.
“That you, Captain Halstead?” came the voice of Delavan over the wire.
“Good enough. What I have to say is that I’m going to give the ‘Rocket’
a rest for a little while.”
“Are you going to lay the boat up, sir?” asked Tom, feeling a start of
disappointment, for he had grown very fond of his present work.
“Oh, I am going to keep on the water,” replied the Wall Street man.
“But I’m going to make a change for a day or two anyway. Take your
crew and go over to Macklin’s shipyard, South Brooklyn. There’s a boat
over there, the ‘Soudan,’ that I want you to bring around to Pier
Eight, North River, by six o’clock to-night. I’ve arranged it all by
telephone. You’ll find gasoline, provisions and everything aboard,
ready for a start. As you’ll have some time to spare, you can try the
boat up the Hudson a little way, if you like, in order to get used to
running her. Macklin has your description from me, and will turn the
boat over to you, all right.”
“Am I too forward, Mr. Delavan, if I ask how things are going on
’Change?” Halstead ventured.
“Oh, things are coming our way, I believe,” was the cheery response.
“It’s too early to be wholly sure, but we’re a lot more ahead in
the two million dollars a point game. Oh, by the way, I came near
forgetting poor Moddridge. Give him my compliments, please, and ask him
to go over to South Brooklyn with you.”
After everything had been locked up aboard the “Rocket” the start for
South Brooklyn was made.
“I’m more than glad of this programme,” confessed the nervous one.
“I have an idea that a change of boat will make our change of luck a
complete one.”
Arrived at the ship-yard Mr. Macklin at once conducted the party down
to the slip in which the “Soudan” lay. She proved to be an extremely
handsome boat, five feet shorter than the “Rocket,” though broader of
beam in proportion. In other words, she was fifty-five feet over all,
and fifteen wide at the broadest part of her hull.
“You’ll find everything shipshape and ready, I think,” said Mr.
Macklin, fitting the keys to cabin door, the hatchways and other locked
places. “I hope you’ll like the boat, Captain.”
“From the little I’ve seen of her she looks as though she had been
built for a gentleman’s boat,” replied Halstead.
“You may well say that,” replied the shipyard man. “For example, just
step into the cabin.”
This part of the craft was found to be fitted up with much luxury.
Besides berths in the cabin proper, there were a stateroom and
bath-room.
“I’ll leave you in possession, Captain,” announced Mr. Macklin. “You
will find everything ready for starting at a moment’s notice.”
“We won’t start until I’ve had a little time to study the motor of this
new craft,” declared Joe. “I’m not going to be caught with a motor on a
boat under way until I understand something about that motor.”
In two or three minutes more he had the engine running.
“It’s a smooth mote, all right,” Dawson declared, after a few minutes
more of observation. “I guess you can cast off, Captain, whenever you
feel like moving us out of here.”
So the “Soudan” moved out into the stream. The craft behaved
beautifully as the young skipper turned her nose toward the Battery.
“How do you like this boat, Mr. Moddridge?” asked the young skipper, as
the nervous one sauntered by on the bridge deck.
“Oh, as well as any other craft,” replied Eben Moddridge. “She’s a
handsome and comfortable vessel, but I’ve had so many horrors on the
salt water lately that, if I get out of Wall Street with my fortune,
as I now have some hopes of doing, I think it will be the mountains or
the Middle West for me. Anything to be away from the salt water for a
good, long while.”
As Moddridge turned away Captain Tom could not help sending after him
a look of sympathy. Anyone who could not love the sea and the smell of
salt water was much to be pitied!
The short spin up the Hudson River, over the same route taken three
hundred years before by Hendrik Hudson—though our friends did not at
this time go as far up the river—proved the excellence of the “Soudan”
as a well-behaved craft. Then the young skipper turned back for Pier
eight.
A little before six o’clock Mr. Delavan and his friends came aboard,
Mr. Coggswell among them. The boat left the pier right afterward.
“How do you like this boat, boys?” asked Mr. Delavan, approaching the
chums as they stood together by the wheel after passing below the
Battery.
“She’s a fine craft, sir,” Tom Halstead answered.
“I’m glad you like her,” nodded Francis Delavan, smiling. “I’ve
bought the ‘Soudan,’ but I bought her in order to present her to you,
Halstead, and to you, Dawson.”