his schemes. He did not know that both the barrel factory and the gas
enterprise had recently become veritable white elephants on Tandy's
hands. He did not know that Tandy--in his eagerness to overreach
Hallam--had "stretched himself out like a string," as Hallam
picturesquely put it--by investing more money in these two companies,
and several others, than he could just then spare. Especially, he did
not know that Hallam had himself completely organized and capitalized
both a gas company and a barrel company, and that Tandy's two companies
represented an unsuccessful attempt to rival enterprises into which
Hallam had "breathed the breath of life."
He was surprised, therefore, when a bell boy brought him Tandy's card,
as he sat there in his lonely hotel room, planning the morrow's
campaign.
"I thought you might be lonely," said the banker, as he was ushered into
the room, "seeing that you're a stranger in town. So I have dropped in
for a chat."
The "chat" very quickly fell into financial channels, and it did not
proceed far before shrewd Richard Temple discovered some things of
advantage to himself. Among the things discovered was the fact that
Tandy was somewhat over anxious to hasten the business in hand.
Apparently he feared that Temple might fall in with other advisers. He
seemed anxious to arrive at conclusions in a hurry, Temple thought, and
the thought served at once to put him on his guard and to give him his
opportunity. He listened with every indication of interest to all that
Tandy had to say concerning the two still unlaunched enterprises--the
barrel factory and the gas company. He asked interested questions
concerning them, and ventured the suggestion that the proposed
capitalization of the gas company was too small to admit of the best
results.
"As an engineer," he said, "I know something of the cost of digging
trenches and laying mains, and it seems to me that in order to equip
itself for business this company will need a good deal more money than
you plan to put into it as capital stock."
"I see your point," Tandy answered quickly, "and in any ordinary case it
would be sound enough, though of course a company of that kind doesn't
depend upon its subscribed capital alone, or even chiefly for its
working capital. It is the practice in establishing such companies to
issue and sell bonds enough to cover the cost of the plant, or very
nearly that. The profits are so certain and so great that the
bonds--even at so low a figure as five per cent. interest--go off like
hot cakes. But that isn't all. Here in Cairo we shall hardly have to
bond the company at all. You see we shall have almost no engineering
work to do. In other cities a gas company must dig deep trenches--often
through solid rock--in which to lay its mains. Here in Cairo we shall
have no digging at all to do. You observed, as we drove to-day, that the
city is built upon a tongue of very low-lying ground. A levee,
forty-five feet high, has been built around it, and contractors are now
busily filling in the streets so as to raise them nearly, though not
quite, to the grade of the levee. Every street is a long embankment.
Now, when we come to lay our mains, we shall put them along the sides of
these embankments, with no cost at all for digging."
So Tandy went on for an hour. At the end of that time Temple felt
himself sufficiently sure of his ground to venture a little further:
"I am inclined to think," he said, "that I shall want to take at least a
little of the barrel-factory stock to-morrow, and possibly I may
subscribe for some of the gas stock also; of that I am not yet sure. But
before I take either, I must invest four or five thousand dollars in
something absolutely secure. I have been going over the latest reports
of your bank, and the other one--Hallam's--and they have impressed me
with the conviction that the very best and safest investment a man of
small means, like myself, can make in this town, is in bank stock. This
city is a point at which so many lines of travel and traffic converge,
that the exchange business itself must be sufficient to pay a bank's
expenses. In fact it pays more, as the reports show. And then there is
the larger business--lending money on sound enterprises, financing
industrial companies, and especially advancing money on bills of lading
for goods in transit. In view of all this it surprises me to learn that
the stock in the two banks here stands only a trifle above par."
"Oh, that's because of two things. People here have got it into their
heads that anything less than ten or twelve per cent., as a return for
money invested, is ridiculously small. So they don't want bank stocks.
On the other hand, the eastern capitalists have got it into their heads
that anything which pays more than four or five per cent. must be
risky, and so they don't set up banks here, as they surely would do but
for their foolish timidity. The prospect of a big return for their money
simply scares them out of their seven senses. So Hallam's bank and mine
have a monopoly of as pretty a business as you'll find in a day's walk.
Why, when the rush was on last winter, and twenty steamboats a day were
leaving Cairo with full cargoes--to say nothing of great fleets of grain
barges--- Hallam and I both went to New York with our pockets full of
government bonds, and borrowed money on them for sixty or ninety days.
We paid six per cent. per annum for the money, and got from one-half to
one per cent. a day on most of it by advancing on grain drafts, with
bills of lading attached. It was as easy as falling off a log, and as
safe as insuring pig-iron under water."
"I have some notion of all that," answered Temple, "and that's the sort
of investment I'm looking for. I might take in some more speculative
things, but I greatly want to invest a few thousand dollars in the stock
of one or other of these two national banks. Could you find somebody
willing to sell?"
Tandy had expected this, and had prepared himself for it. But he
pretended to think for a moment before replying. Then he said:
"As to Hallam's bank, it's useless to try. Hallam and Stafford own the
whole thing, except that they have put a share or two into the hands of
members of their own families, just by way of qualifying them to serve
as directors, as the law requires. Neither one of them would sell a
share for twice its market price. The same thing is true, in a general
way at least, of our bank. The stock is so good a thing that nobody who
has got any of it ever wants to part with it. But it has always been our
policy to interest the people in the bank by letting them hold some of
its stock. So a good deal of it is held in small lots around town, and
now and then one of these is put into my hands for sale. I have four
shares now to sell. It belongs to a tug captain who is down on his luck
just now, and must sell. He wants more than the market price, but the
bank has lent him money on it nearly up to its face value, and so I can
do pretty much as I please with it. Ordinarily I should buy it myself,
but I'm in so many things just now, and besides, I'd like to have you
with us."
Tandy did not say that since he had seen Temple in the afternoon, he had
taken in these four shares of stock for debt, at three per cent. below
par, with the fixed purpose of selling them to Temple at three per cent,
above par.
"How many shares did you say there are of it?" asked Temple.
"Four, if I remember right. I really oughtn't to let it slip through my
fingers, but--well, I'll tell you what I'll do--if you care to subscribe
for a few shares of the barrel company--say one or two thousand
dollars' worth--I'll let you have the bank stock at a hundred and three."
Temple was eager to close the bargain, but he resolutely repressed his
eagerness. He asked a score of questions, as if in doubt, and at last he
hesitatingly agreed to make the purchase. The details were to be
arranged on the next day, and so Tandy took his leave, and Temple lay
awake all night, as he had done on the night before.
At four o'clock the next afternoon Temple strolled into the Hallam
office to report results. He threw the papers upon a desk and sank into
a chair like one exhausted. He was in fact almost in a state of
collapse. He had not been conscious of strain at any time during his
negotiations. He had, indeed, rather enjoyed the playing of such a game
of wits with so wily an adversary as Tandy was. But all the while his
anxiety to succeed in what he had undertaken had kept his nerves so
tense that his mind had known no rest. All the time he had been
painfully conscious that the smallest slip on his part, the smallest
indiscretion, the slightest mistake in look, or tone, or act, would
bring failure as a consequence. And he had all the time been agonizingly
conscious of the fact that no less a thing than Guilford Duncan's
reputation was the stake he played for--that Guilford Duncan's entire
future was in his hands. There were reasons more vital to him than his
friendship for Duncan, for regarding success in this matter as an end
that must be achieved at all hazards, and at all costs. For years ago
these two had quarreled as rivals in love, after being friends of the
closest sort from infancy, and only Duncan's great generosity of mind
had made forgiveness and reconciliation possible. Dick Temple knew that
in the matter out of which the quarrel grew, he had grievously wronged
his friend, and that knowledge had been to him a veritable thorn in the
flesh, robbing even such happiness as had come to him of half its
quality of joy. He had longed above all other things for an opportunity
to make atonement, and that longing had been intensified since the
meeting at the mine, by the generous treatment he had received at
Duncan's hands. His Mary shared it in full measure, too, as she shared
every worthy impulse of his soul. It had been a grief to the gently
generous wife that the man she loved must live always under so
distressing an obligation to the friend who had so magnanimously
forgiven.
When this opportunity of repayment came to him, therefore, his first
thought was of Mary. He wrote to her immediately after his first
conference with Hallam, telling her of the matter in a way that filled
her soul with gladness and fear--gladness that the opportunity was his
at last, and sleepless fear lest he should be baffled and beaten. So
when at last success was his, when he received from Tandy's hands the
papers that secured his purpose, his first act was to telegraph to Mary
the message:
Glory to God in the highest! I have paid my debt to Guilford
Duncan.
It was fire minutes later when he entered the Hallam offices and laid
the papers before the head of the house, saying only:
"I've secured the stock." When he sank into the chair, Hallam was quick
to see his condition.
"Go up to Duncan's rooms and go to bed," he urged. "You've not been
sleeping."
Recovering himself quickly, Temple answered:
"No, I think I'd rather not. If you've no further use for me, I think
I'll go home by the train that starts an hour hence. There'll be time
enough between now and then for me to render you an account of money
spent, and give you my check for the balance in Tandy's bank. I don't
want to see Duncan just now."
Hallam understood. "Very well," he answered, as Temple turned to a desk.
"You've saved Duncan, and there's nothing more for you to do here. But
you must come back for the final grand tableau just a week hence. I'll
leave this stock in your name till then, and you shall walk with me into
the stockholders' meeting and help me salivate old Napper Tandy. We'll
teach him not to play tricks."
Captain Hallam spoke no word of commendation for the way in which Temple
had done his work. Words were unnecessary.
"I hope I made no mistake in subscribing for that barrel company
stock," said Temple as he passed the completed papers over to Hallam.
"At any rate, I'd like to keep that myself, if I may, whether it ever
proves to be worth anything or not. I've accumulated enough money to pay
for it."
"Oh, as to that," answered Hallam lightly, "the stock will be good
enough. I'll make it so by taking a majority interest in the company and
consolidating it with my own. You see, we simply must do something for
Old Napper Tandy."
XXVI
A PACT WITH BARBARA
That evening Guilford Duncan was summoned to Hallam's house for supper.
With only Mrs. Hallam for auditor, Hallam wished to tell the young man
all that had occurred, for Duncan had not been permitted to know aught
of it, since Hallam had turned him out of his room, in order that the
conference with Dick Temple might be a strictly private one.
Nor had Duncan seemed very greatly concerned to inquire. He had not
expected Hallam and Temple to succeed in accomplishing anything, and at
this time his fate was at crisis in another and, to him, a dearer way.
His interview with Barbara had been held, as we know, at the precise
time when Hallam and Temple were in consultation with regard to the
matter of Tandy's accusation. In some degree, at least, the painful
character of that interview with Barbara, and its unsatisfactory result,
had dulled his mind to the other trouble. In view of Barbara's seemingly
final rejection of his wooing, he was not sure that he greatly cared
what might become of his reputation, or his career. He was too strong a
man in his moral character, however, to remain long in a state of such
indifference, but for the time being he found it impossible to regard
his future as a matter of much consequence, now that Barbara refused to
share that future with him.
"There is still one more chance," he reflected, "one more interview with
Barbara, one more hope that I may win her. If that fails, the other
thing won't matter much. I'll horsewhip Tandy and then go away. No, I
won't go away. I won't desert in the presence of the enemy. I won't--oh,
I don't know what I will or won't do. All that must wait till I know my
fate with Barbara."
This was on the morning after his evening with Barbara--the morning on
which Temple first made acquaintance with Tandy. Duncan was sitting idly
in his office, mechanically toying with a paper cutter. Presently he
overturned the inkstand, spilling its contents over some legal papers
that he had drawn upon the day before.
"That's fortunate!" he ejaculated, as with blotting pads he sought to
save what he could of the documents. "It gives me something better to do
than sit here idly mooning. Those papers must go off by the afternoon
mail, and I must rewrite them first."
He set to work at once, and close application to the task for several
hours brought him into a healthier condition of mind. When he had
finished the task and had taken the papers to the postoffice he
realized that his state of mind had been a morbid one. He realized, too,
that he must end the suspense as quickly as possible, in order that he
might take up work and grow sound of soul again.
Returning to his office he sent a note to Barbara:
I shall go to see you to-night, unless you forbid. I must hear what
more you have to tell me, and I must in my turn tell you something
of myself. When that is done, I shall renew my efforts to win you
to myself. Please send me word that I may come.
For answer, he got the single word "Come," written in the middle of a
page, without address or signature. Thus it came about that while Temple
was sitting in his hotel room, in negotiation with Tandy over a matter
that involved Duncan's future more vitally than any other event had ever
done, Duncan himself sat with Barbara, trying to adjust another matter
which seemed to him of even greater consequence.
Barbara had her emotions in leash, now. Without hesitation, and with a
bravely controlled utterance, she went at once to the marrow of the
matter.
"I told you," she began, "that I am the daughter of a Thief. My father
was trusted absolutely by my grandfather. He betrayed the trust. He made
use of his authority as a member of the banking house, not only to wreck
it in speculation, but also to rob all the people who had entrusted
their money to it. I don't understand such matters very well, but, at
any rate, my father ruined the firm and robbed its customers. At a
single stroke he reduced his father to poverty and forever disgraced his
honorable name. When he found that the facts must become known at once,
my father went home and blew his brains out. I was born that day, and my
mother died of shock and grief within the hour. My poor grandfather
lived for a month, without speaking a word to anybody. Then he quit
living."
"It is a terribly sad story," said Duncan. "I should not have let you
tell it, poor child."
"Oh, but I was obliged to tell you," she interrupted. "It was my duty.
You see--well, you have been so good to me, and I am obliged to say 'no'
to what you asked me before you knew this horrible thing. It wouldn't
have been fair just to say 'no,' and not tell you of a thing that
explains, a thing that must make you wish you hadn't asked me that."
"But it does not make me wish anything of the kind, Barbara. It makes me
more eager than ever to win you, in order that I may devote my life to
the loving task of making you forget the horror of this thing. Oh,
Barbara! I never loved you half so madly as I love you now. And you love
me. I know it, but you must say it. You love me, Barbara! Say it! Say
it--now!"
The girl hesitated for no more than a moment, while her whole body
quivered.
"God help me!" she said then, "I do love you! I love you too well to let
you link your life with mine, to let you take upon yourself the shadow
of my disgrace."
"But you have no disgrace. You are innocent. The fault is not yours that
your father betrayed his trust a score of years ago--before you were
born."
"Listen!" she interrupted with passionate determination. "If you were to
marry me I should become the mother of your children. That would make
them the grandchildren of a Thief."
The two were standing now.
"I want you to sit down while I answer you, Barbara," said Duncan, with
almost unimaginable tenderness in his tone. "No, not in that
straight-backed chair, for I want you to listen to all I have to say,
and to be at ease while you listen. Sit here," pushing an easy chair
forward, "sit here where you can see my face as I speak. I want you to
see in my eyes the sincerity of my soul."
Barbara obeyed and listened.
"I was born and brought up," he said, "in a region where all the old
traditions had full sway over the minds of men and women, enslaving
them. During four years of war I learned much, but I unlearned far more.
I learned to look facts in the face, and to accept them at their just
value. I learned to judge of others and of their worth by what they are,
not by what their fathers or grandfathers may have been. I unlearned
the false teaching of tradition that aught else than personal character
and personal conduct goes to the making up of any human being's account
with his fellow man. I had a true democracy forced upon me when I saw
men of the humblest extraction winning high place for themselves, and
being set to command men of the loftiest lineage--all because of
personal character and fitness, and in spite of their lack of caste. No
sane man can contemplate the character and career of Mr. Lincoln, for
example, without finding in it an object lesson in democracy which
should make a very laughing-stock of all the fables of aristocratic
tradition. I tell you truly that I have put all those things behind me,
as all Americans must who truly believe in the fundamental principles of
our Republic. Every man must be accepted for what he is, not for what
his father or his grandfather may have been. We read that lesson in the
lives of such men as Ben Franklin, and Abraham Lincoln, and Grant, and a
score of other notables. We read it even more clearly in everyday life.
No banker extends credit to a worthless man on the ground that he was
born to high social repute. No banker withholds credit from a man of
integrity because his father was not to be trusted. All day, every day,
men everywhere are acting upon a clear perception of the truth that each
human being must be judged by what he is, and not by what some other
person has been.
"Now I know you, Barbara, for what you _are_, and I love you for that
alone. What your father may have done or been, twenty years ago, is to
me a matter of entire indifference, except that the knowledge of it
gives you pain and sorrow. It makes no difference to me; it in no way
alters or lessens my love for you, and it never will. Knowing it all, I
am more earnest than ever in my purpose to make you my wife if I can
persuade you to that after I have told you something about myself that
may very justly seem to you a real bar to my hopes."
"Go on, please," said the girl. "Tell me what you will, but I shall
never believe anything ill of you. I _know_ better."
"Thank you for saying that, dear," he responded with a tremor in his
tone. "But unhappily others may believe it. If they do, then the career
you have expected for me must be at an end at once. My reputation for
integrity will be gone for good, and I must be content to surrender all
my ambitions. That is why I must tell you of this ugly thing before
again asking you to be my wife."
"Go on," she said again. "But I shall believe nothing bad of you, even
though an angel should tell me."
"I told you the other night," he said, "that I had quarreled with Napper
Tandy; that he had tried to tempt me with a money bribe to do an
infamous thing. He now gives it out that it was I who proposed the
bribe; that I went to him with an offer to do that infamous thing for
hire, and that he indignantly rejected the offer."
"He lies!" broke in the girl.
"Yes, he lies, of course," answered Duncan, "but I have no way of
proving it. He and I were alone and in his house. There were no
witnesses. How, then, am I ever to clear my name of so foul an
accusation?"
"There is no need," answered the girl. "Nobody who knows you will ever
believe the story. Captain Hallam would not think it worth asking a
question about."
"No, Captain Hallam would not for a moment think of such a thing as even
possible. But that is because he knows me as few other men do or ever
will. But the accusation troubles him, because he knows that other
people will believe it. He and Richard Temple are at this moment busy
trying to find some way of clearing my name of the foul slander. They
will do all that two loyal and sagacious friends can do to accomplish
that purpose. But I cannot imagine any way in which they can succeed."
"What is it they are doing?"
"I do not know; they have refused to tell me. I only know that they can
never succeed."
"Oh, you must not think that. You don't know what wonders Captain Hallam
can work when he is in earnest. You must have hope and confidence.
Besides, nobody who knows you will ever believe such a story as that.
Your enemies will pretend to believe it, and for a time the people who
love to gossip will repeat it to each other. But you will live it down.
Every act of your life will contradict the lie, and Tandy's reputation
is not of a kind to lead sensible people to believe his falsehood when
you have set the truth against it. You are depressed and despondent now.
The mood is unworthy of you."
"Tell me what I should do."
"First of all you should act like the brave, strong man that you are.
You should either take this slander by the throat and strangle it by
publishing a simple, direct statement of the facts, or you should ignore
it altogether, as a thing too absurd to need even a denial. Wait till
you see what Captain Hallam and Mr. Temple succeed in doing, and then
act as seems best. But in any case, you must be strong and courageous.
No other mood belongs to such a man as you."
Duncan looked her full in the face for a space before speaking. Then he
said:
"And yet you say you have no gift to help me--that if you were my wife
you would be a drag upon me! Oh, Barbara, you cannot know how greatly I
need the strength that the sympathy and counsel of such a woman as you
are must give to the man who loves and wins her. You have in this hour
rescued me from despondency; you have made me strong again; you have
shown me my duty, and inspired me with resolution to do it manfully."
"I am very glad," she answered.
"Then promise me that you will stand by my side always. Let me give you
the right to help. Say that you will be my wife!"
His voice was full of tender pleading and for a moment the girl
hesitated. Finally she said:
"I think I know how to answer now, but you mustn't interrupt. I feel as
though I couldn't stand much this evening."
"I will not interrupt. I am too eager to hear."