GATHERING CLOUDS
The sensation which the District Attorney sprang in the sudden
indictment of the president of the Iroquois Company was profound and
far-reaching. The day before the indictment was presented to the Grand
Jury stocks began to tumble without any apparent cause. The "big
interests" who had hitherto counted on exhaustless funds to sustain
them in any market they might choose to make were paralyzed by the
suddenness of the attack on stocks and the daring of its hidden leader.
When the warrant for the arrest of the great man had been served and he
was admitted to bail to await his coming trial, there was a feeble
rally in the market, but the rats quickly began to desert a sinking
ship. The president under indictment had ceased to be a power. There
was a wild scramble of his associates who were equally guilty to save
their own skins. The press, which at first denounced Stuart, now boldly
demanded the merciless prosecution of all the guilty. And they hailed
the brilliant young District Attorney as the coming man.
In the meantime all kinds of securities continued to tumble. For six
consecutive days stocks had fallen with scarcely an hour's temporary
rally. Every effort of the bull operators, who had ruled the market for
the two years past, to stem the tide was futile. Below the surface, in
the silent depths of growing suspicion and fear, an army of sappers and
miners under the eye of one man were digging at the foundations of the
business world--the faith of man in his fellow-man.
Each day there was a crash and each day the little financier and his
unscrupulous allies marked a new victim. The next day the death notice
was posted on a new door, and when the bomb had exploded they picked up
the pieces and moved to a new attack.
In the midst of the campaign for the destruction of public credit which
Bivens and his associates, the Allied Bankers, were conducting with
such profound secrecy and such remarkable results, when their profits
had piled up into millions, a bomb was suddenly exploded under their
own headquarters.
The Van Dam Trust Company was put under the ban of the New York
Clearing House. The act was a breach of faith, utterly unwarranted by
any known law of the game. But it was done.
When the president of the company walked quietly into Bivens's office
and made the announcement, for a moment the little dark man completely
lost his nerve--cold beads of sweat started from his swarthy forehead.
"Are you joking?" he gasped.
"Do you think I'd joke about my own funeral?"
"No, of course not, but there must be some mistake."
"There's no mistake. It's a blow below the belt, but it's a knockout
for the moment. They know we are solvent, two dollars for one. But they
know we have $90,000,000 on deposit and we have some big enemies. They
know that the group we have supported have smashed this market, and
they've set out to fight the devil with fire. They're determined to
force a show-down and see how much real money is behind us. We can pull
through if we stand together."
The stolid face of the banker became a motionless mask as he asked:
"Are we going to stand together?"
Bivens sprang to his feet, exclaiming fiercely:
"Until hell freezes over!"
The banker smiled feebly for the first time in a week.
"Then it's all right, Mr. Bivens. We'll pull through. They'll start a
run on us to-morrow. Five millions in cash will meet it and we'll win,
hands down. We have powerful friends. Our only sin is our association
with your group. We must have that five millions in the safe before the
doors are opened to-morrow."
"You shall have it," was the firm answer.
With a cheerful pressure of the hand the president of the Van Dam Trust
Company left and Bivens called his secretary.
"We turn the market to-morrow--orders to all our men. Knock the bottom
out of it until the noon hour, then turn and send it skyward with a
bound. You understand?"
"Yes sir."
With an instinctive military salute the secretary hurried to execute
the order.
* * * * *
When Dr. Woodman returned home that night from one of his endless
tramps among the poor, Harriet opened the door.
Something about the expression of his face startled her. For the first
time in her life she saw in its gaunt lines the shadow of despair. He
had aged rapidly of late, but the sunlight had never before quite faded
from his eyes.
"What is it, Papa dear?" she asked tenderly, slipping an arm about his
neck as she drew him down into his favourite chair.
"What, child?" he responded vaguely.
"You look utterly worn out. Tell me what's the matter. I'm no longer a
child. I'm a woman now--strong and well and brave. Let me help you."
"You do help me, baby!" he laughed with an effort at his old-time
joyous spirit. "Every time I touch your little hand, you give me new
life. Every note from your sweet voice thrills me with new hope. And I
dream dreams and build castles and plan for to-morrow as if I were a
boy. What more can a woman do? What more did God mean for a beautiful
daughter to do for her old father?"
"Well, I want to do more, I want to share your troubles and help you
carry your burdens."
"And so you shall, my dear. Some day your voice will thrill thousands
as it now thrills my heart. You'll win fame and wealth for your father.
You shall care for him in old age. And his pride and joy shall be to
say to those he meets--'the great singer, yes, my daughter, sir--my
little baby!'"
Harriet nestled closer.
"But I want to help now. I'm afraid I've been thoughtless and selfish.
You look so miserable to-night. It cuts me to the heart."
"Nonsense, Baby dear," he broke in cheerfully. "I'm not miserable. I've
really had a good day. I've spent the whole afternoon superintending
the distributing of flowers among the hospitals. And I've discovered a
curious thing--you couldn't imagine what it is?"
The doctor paused and laughed in his old playful way.
"What?" she cried.
Harriet clapped her hands with a moment's childish happiness as she had
done so often when her father propounded one of his mysterious problems
for her solution.
The doctor whispered:
"I've discovered that pinks are feminine and roses masculine."
"How?"
"Because the men in the hospitals all beg for pinks and the women for
roses. It's curious. I never hit on the explanation before. Isn't it
reasonable?"
"Yes, quite," was the sober answer. "But it doesn't explain the lines
of suffering in your dear face to-night--I'm worried."
"But I'm not suffering!" he insisted with a frown. "On the other hand
I'm cheerful to-night. I saved a kid's life with a flower. His father
used to work for me in the old days. They asked me to come to see him.
There was no hope. He had been given up to die. I gave him a fragrant
white pink. His thin feverish fingers grasped it eagerly. In all his
life he had never held a flower in his hand before. He pressed it to
his lips, his soul thrilled at its sweet odour, and the little tired
spirit came staggering back from the mists of Eternity just to see what
it meant. He will live. It was the feather's weight that tipped the
beam of life the right way. How little it takes sometimes to give life
and happiness. And how tragic and pitiful the fact that so many of us
can't get that little at the right moment!"
The joy and laughter had slowly faded from his face and voice as he
spoke until the last words had unconsciously fallen into accents of
despair.
The girl's arms slipped around his neck in a tightening hold and she
pressed her cheek against his a moment in silence.
"Papa dear, it's no use trying to deceive me. I've the right to know
what is troubling you. I'm not a child. You must tell me."
"Why, it's nothing much, dearie," he answered gently. "I'm worried a
little about money. I've a note due at the bank and they've called on
me unexpectedly to meet it. But I'll manage somehow. Don't you worry
about it. Everything will come out all right. I feel like a millionaire
among the people I've seen to-day."
"I'll give up my music, go to work and help you right away."
"Sh!"
The father placed his hand gently over her lips and the tears sprang
into his eyes in spite of his effort to keep them back.
"Don't talk sacrilege, my child. Such words are blasphemy. God gave me
a man's body for the coarse work of bread-winning. He gave you the
supreme gift, a voice that throbs with eloquence, a power that can lift
and inspire the world. Only when you are cultivating that gift are you
working. Then you are doing the highest and finest thing of which you
are capable. I should be a criminal if I permitted you to do less.
Never say such a thing again unless you would make me utterly
miserable."
He paused and took her cheeks between his hands.
"Promise me, dear--it's the one wish of my heart, the one thing worth
working and struggling for--promise me that you will never stop until
the training of your voice is complete, that no matter what happens you
will obey me in this. It is my one command. You will obey me?"
There was dignity and compelling power now in the deep tones of his
voice.
The girl felt instinctively its authority.
"Yes, Papa, I promise, if it will make you happy."
"It's the only thing I live for. I've never said this to you before,
but I say it now and I don't want you ever to forget it. Now run along
to bed and never bother your pretty head again about such things. I'll
find food and a home for my baby and she shall live her own beautiful
life to the last reach of its power. All I ask is that you do your
level best with the gift of God."
"I'll try, Papa dear," was the quiet answer as she kissed him again and
softly left the room.
Harriet had scarcely reached her room when Adams, the cashier of one of
the Allied Banks, who owed the doctor for three months' rent, entered
the library with quick nervous tread.
"I've big news, sir," he said excitedly.
The doctor looked up with a half bantering smile.
"You don't mean that you've got the whole of your three months' rent?
If you have, break it to me gently, Adams, or I'll faint."
"Better than three months' rent," the cashier whispered nervously.
"I've a big tip on the stock market."
The older man grunted contemptuously.
"Yes, that's what ails you, I know. You've been getting them for some
time. That's why you owe me for your rooms. That's why there's
something the matter with your accounts."
"I swear to you, Doctor, my accounts are clean. My expenses have been
so big the past year, with the doctor's bills I've had to pay, I simply
couldn't live. The price of everything on earth has gone up fifty per
cent. except my wages. I've bought a few stocks. I've made a little and
lost a little. I've got the chance now I've been waiting for. I've a
real piece of information from the big insiders who are going to make
the market to-morrow."
The doctor shook his head and looked at the cashier with humourous
pity. The man was trembling from excitement he could not control.
"So you've really got it straight, this time?"
"Beyond the shadow of doubt!" he cried excitedly. "I want you to share
with me the fortune I'm going to make."
He paused and breathed heavily, his eyes widening into an unnatural
stare, as he continued:
"My God, if I only had ten thousand dollars to-morrow I could be worth
a hundred thousand before night!"
The doctor leaned forward with deepening interest.
"You really believe such rot?"
"Believe it, man, it's as certain as fate! There can't be any mistake
about it. At twelve o'clock the tide will turn and they'll begin to
leap upward in the wildest market that's been seen in a generation.
Doctor, you've been so good to me and I can trust you implicitly.
You're the only man on earth I've told. You need money. If you can
raise five hundred dollars in cash you can make five thousand in six
hours."
The older man's eyes flashed with sudden excitement, which he
suppressed with an effort.
"Adams, you're crazy," was the gruff reply.
"I've got it straight, I tell you!" he went on breathlessly. "I got it
from Bivens's private secretary. The little weasel has made millions on
this break and he has been selling the market short for two weeks.
To-morrow morning he is going to smash it for the last time and at noon
throw his millions on the bull side. The market will go down three
points on the break in the morning. It will jump five points in ten
minutes when it turns the other way. There are stocks on the list that
will recover ten points before the market closes."
"Bivens is going to do this?" the older man interrupted.
"Yes. I got it from the man who took his order."
"Then it's a trick. It's a lie. Take my advice and do just the opposite
from what you understand. Bivens will sell out his partners in the
deal."
"Man, he can't sell out!" the cashier insisted. "It's his own deal.
He's in it for all he's worth!"
The doctor rose with sudden excitement.
"Adams, this is the first time in my life I've ever been tempted to buy
stocks."
"You can't lose, sir."
"But I'm in desperate need of money. I've a note for three thousand
due. I've two thousand dollars set aside to finish my little girl's
musical studies. I've got to meet that note somehow and I've got to
have the money for her. It looks like a chance. I'll go in and watch
the market to-morrow."
"If it don't act exactly as I say--don't touch it. It if does, go in
for all you're worth. If stocks start down as I say they will, sell
short, cover at noon, and then buy for the rise. Don't listen to fools,
just buy, buy, buy! You can sell before the market closes and make
twenty thousand dollars."
"I'll drop into a broker's office and watch the market open any way,
Adams."
The doctor seized his hand cordially.
"And I want to thank you for your thoughtfulness in coming to me."
"I wish I could do more, sir," the cashier said, with deep feeling.
"I'll never forget your kindness to me the past three months. When the
sun shines again, you'll hear from me."
"Oh, that's all right, my boy. Some men invest in stocks, some in
bonds, some in real estate. My best investments have always been in the
good turns I've done my neighbours. Good night."