THE DEMI-GOD
The clouds of the panic slowly lifted and the sun began once more to
shine. A fearless officer of the law had struck a blow for justice that
marked the beginning of a new era of national life. And yet apparently
the only men to profit by it were the giants who rode the storm it had
created. The people were left in mental bewilderment. To their
short-ranged vision the young District Attorney who lay prostrate on a
bed of illness was a man who had been tried and found wanting. He had
either wilfully and corruptly played into the hands of a powerful group
of millionaires or had blunderingly done so. In either case the act was
a crime.
Slowly but surely the prices of stocks began to mount and the great men
who had bought them at the bottom grew greater.
Incidentally a corner in wheat was suddenly developed, and the price of
bread rose twenty per cent. Bivens was found to be the mysterious power
behind the deal, and before the old-timers in the wheat pit could
marshal their forces to crush him, he closed out his holdings at a
profit of five millions.
The little financier awoke next morning to find himself the most famous
man in America. His picture now appeared everywhere and all sorts of
writers began to weave marvellous stories of his achievements. The
suicide of his associates, the higher price of bread, and the long
trail of blood behind the panic were forgotten by the rabble which
began to regard him with the awe due a demi-god.
Nan was insisting again that he make Stuart an offer to become his
associate in business.
"But my dear," the financier protested, "I've told you over and over
again, in the best of humour and with infinite patience, that I'd jump
at the chance, but I can't get on my knees and beg him, can I?"
"I'm sure he will consider your offer now."
"He turned it down once emphatically."
"Times have changed."
"But he hasn't. He promised you the day he was hurt to call at the
house. He hasn't done it."
"He has been ill in bed ever since. He will come when he is up again."
"Perhaps," Bivens answered, musingly.
"Besides," she continued, "it's the right moment to approach him. The
politicians have turned him down. Both parties have named new men for
his office. He resents this action intensely. He don't want the office,
but he does want the recognition of his services."
Bivens shook his head.
"It's no use. Jim's a dreamer. He'll smile and wait for the next
generation to value his work."
"He won't have to wait that long. When this panic has passed he will be
the biggest thing to emerge from it. His personality will be worth
millions to you."
The woman's face was tense with pleading.
Bivens looked at her a moment curiously and she turned her eyes away.
"Why do you think he has changed his attitude toward me?"
"From something he said. That mob has written a question mark before
his life."
"By George!" he exclaimed, his black eyes sparkling. "It may be
possible."
"You'll try?" Nan asked eagerly.
"No."
"Why not?" she cried with anger.
The little man smiled cunningly.
"I'll not try--I'll _do_ it."
His wife laughed.
"Yes, I'll do it," Bivens continued with elation. "And I'll make my
offer so big and generous I'll take his breath, so big that no man in
human shape can resist it. I'll prepare every step so carefully that
there can be no possibility of failure."
"How?"
Nan spoke her question with the eagerness of a child, and the shrewd
man of the world never dreamed of the sinister motive coiled within the
silent depths of her heart.
"I've an enemy somewhere among the fallen," Bivens went on musingly,
"who is dying hard. With his last gasp he is trying still to reach my
heart. In spite of the fact that I have unlimited resources, this man
is constantly circulating reports about the soundness of my finances.
He uses the telephone principally and he has started two runs on my
bank within the past month. Another is pending. I'm going to ask Jim to
preside over an investigation of my resources in the presence of a
dozen newspaper reporters."
Nan stooped and kissed him.