Professor Anners is, or why I should be making him a present of a block
of stock. If I don't, it's because what you say goes as it lies.
Anything else?"
"Yes; don't fail to be perfectly frank with Mr. Blount, and don't let
him put you off. He may pretend to be very angry at first, but you won't
mind that."
"I won't mind anything if I can bring this business down to the
every-day commonplace earth once more. You and the senator and Gantry
and McVickar are playing some sort of a game, and you ain't showing me
anything more than the back of the cards. That's all right. I guess I'm
fly enough to play my hand blindfolded, if I've got to. I don't care,
just so I win the odd trick."
Gantry was coming down the avenue of banana-trees with the ice he had
taken so much time to procure, and the lumber magnate rose reluctantly.
There was time for only one more question, and he put it hastily.
"When and where can I find Evan Blount?" he asked.
"The day after to-morrow, at his office in Temple Court. He is out of
the city now, but--" Here Gantry's coming put an end to the private
conference, and the president of the Twin Buttes company went his way.
Not until they had served out their full sentence at Mrs. Weatherford's
crush, and were back in the private dining-room suite at the
Inter-Mountain, with Miss Anners safely behind the closed door of her
own apartment, did the small conspirator pass the word of good hope on
to her husband.
"It is working beautifully," she exulted. "He will go to see Evan day
after to-morrow--and after that, the deluge."
XI
THE GREAT GAME
If Evan Blount, as the representative of the unpopular railroad, had
been anticipating an unfriendly reception at the great gold-camp in the
Carnadine Hills, he was agreeably disappointed. A committee of citizens,
headed by Jasper Steuchfield, the "Paramounter" chairman for Carnadine
County, met him at the train, escorted him to the hotel, and, during the
afternoon which was at his disposal, gave him joyously and hilariously
the freedom of the camp.
The political meeting, called for an early hour in the evening, was held
in the Carnadine Mining Company's ore-shed, electric-lighted for the
occasion. When the hour came the big shed was packed with an
enthusiastic audience, and there were prolonged cheers and
hand-clappings when the railroad advocate took his seat on the
improvised platform as the guest of the local committee.
Later, when Judge Crowley, candidate prospective on the popular ticket
for the State Senate, opened the joint debate with a shrewd arraignment
of the methods of the railroad company, not only in its dealings with
the public as a common carrier, but also in the pertinacity with which
it invaded the political field, there was tumultuous applause; but it
was no heartier than that which greeted Blount when he rose to present
the railroad side of the argument.
During the journey from the capital, which had consumed the night and
the greater portion of the forenoon, he had prepared his speech. His
argument--the one unanswerable argument, as it appeared to him--was the
absurdity and injustice of a law which presumed to limit the earning
power of a corporation by fixing the maximum rates it might charge,
without at the same time making a corresponding regulation fixing the
price which the company should pay for its labor and material.
Upon this foundation he was able to build a fair structure of oratory.
The judge, his opponent, was a rather turgid man whose speech had
abounded in flights of denunciation and whose appeal had been made
frankly to prejudice and party rancor. Blount took his cue shrewdly.
Touching lightly upon the public grievances, some of which he
characterized as just and entirely defensible, he rang the changes
calmly and logically upon the square deal, no less for the corporations
than for the individual. "Take it to yourselves, you merchants," he
urged. "Imagine a law on the statute-books fixing the prices at which
you shall sell your goods, and that same law leaving you at the mercy of
those from whom you must buy! Take it to yourselves, you miners. Suppose
the legislature had enacted a law fixing the maximum price at which you
shall sell your skill and your labor, and at the same time leaving it
optional with every man from whom you buy, the butcher, the baker, the
grocer, to charge you what he pleases or what he can get! That, my good
friends, is the situation of the railroad company in this State
to-day"--and he went on to analyze the hard situation, filling his hour
very creditably and, if the frequent bursts of applause could be taken
to mean anything, to the complete satisfaction of his hearers. Indeed,
at the end of his argument he was given what the local paper of the
following day was pleased to call "a spontaneous and pandemonious
ovation."
After the cheering and hand-shaking, Steuchfield and his
fellow-committeemen went to the train with the visiting speaker, and no
one in the throng of congratulators was more enthusiastic than the
opposition chairman.
"That was a cracking good speech--a great speech, Mr. Blount!" he said,
as the branch train rattled in from the north. "If you can go all over
the State making as good talks as the one we've just heard, you'll tie
the whole shooting-match up in a hard knot for us fellows. But McVickar
won't let you do it--not by a long shot!"
The potential tier of hard knots laughed genially. "I don't blame you
for wanting to be shown, Mr. Steuchfield. But I can assure you that the
new policy has come to stay. I have the management behind me in this
thing, and any day you'll come down to the capital I'll put my time
against yours and try to show you that we are out for open publicity
and a square deal for every man--including the railroad man."
"All right," was the cordial reply. "I'll be down along some of these
days, and if you can convince me that McVickar isn't going into politics
any further than you've gone here to-night, I'll promise you to come
back to Carnadine and tell the boys the jig's up."
A few minutes later the branch train pulled out, and the chairman and
his fellow-committeemen gave the departing joint-debater three cheers
and another. After the red tail-lights of the train had disappeared
around the first curve, Steuchfield turned to the others with a broad
grin.
"Well, boys," he said, "there goes a mighty nice young fellow, and I
guess we did it up all right for him and accordin' to orders. I don't
know any more'n a sheep what sort of a game Dave Sage-brush is playin'
this time, but whatever he says goes as she lays, and I figure it that
we gave the young chip o' the old block a right jubilant little whirl.
Anyhow, he seemed to think so."
Blount did not reach his office in the capital until the afternoon of
the next day. There was an appalling accumulation of letters and
telegrams waiting to be worked over, but he let the desk litter go
untouched and called up the hotel, only to have a small disappointment
sent in over the wire. His father, Mrs. Blount, and their guest had left
for Wartrace Hall some time during the forenoon, and there had been
nothing said in the clerk's hearing about their return to the city.
Blount hung up the receiver, called it one more opportunity missed, and
sat down to attack the desk litter.
Almost the first thing his eye lighted upon was a stenographer's note
stating that Mr. Hathaway, president of the Twin Buttes Lumber Company,
had been in several times, and was very anxious to obtain an interview.
Blount pressed the desk button, and the stenographer came in promptly.
"This man Hathaway; what did he want?" was the brusque question shot at
the clerk.
"I don't know. He said he was stopping at the Inter-Mountain, and he
asked me to let him know when you got back."
"Phone him and tell him I'm here," said Blount; and in due time the
lumber magnate made his appearance.
It was not at all in keeping with Mr. Simon Peter Hathaway's gifts and
adroitness that he should begin by attempting a clumsy bit of acting.
"Well, I'll be shot!" he exclaimed. "So you're the senator's son, are
you? If I'd known that, that day on the train when you were trying to
make me believe you were one of Uncle Sam's men--"
Blount's smile was neither forgiving nor hostile.
"In a way, I had earned what was handed out to me afterward, Mr.
Hathaway, and I'm not bearing malice," he said briefly. "I had no
business to let you get away with the wrong impression, but you were so
exceedingly anxious to identify me with the Forest Service that it
seemed a pity to disappoint you. Since your scoundrels didn't kill me,
we'll set one incident against the other and forget both. What can I do
for you to-day?"
By this time the lumber lord was apparently recovering his breath and
some measure of composure, though he had lost neither.
"Great Jehu!" he lamented. "If you had given me half a hint that you
were Dave Blount's son--but you didn't, you know, and now I'm
handicapped just when I oughtn't to be. I've come to talk business with
you to-day, Mr. Blount, and here you've got me on the run the first
crack out of the box!"
This time Blount's smile was entirely conciliatory.
"Don't let that little misfire in the Lost Mountain foot-hills embarrass
you, Mr. Hathaway. I assure you I'm not at all vindictive."
"All right," said the visitor, only too willing to dismiss the Jack
Barto incident and the forced awkwardness of the pretended surprise.
"That being the case, I'll jump in on the other matter. But first I'd
like to ask a sort of personal question: I've been given to understand
that you are handling the political business for the railroad company in
this campaign. Is that right?"
"It is and it isn't," was the prompt reply. "The railroad company isn't
in politics in this campaign--as a political factor, I mean. What we are
trying to do--and all we are trying to do--is to lay the entire matter
plainly and fairly before the people of this State, with a frank appeal
for the relief to which we are entitled."
"Ha--h'm--I guess I get you, Mr. Blount. That's the way to talk it; in
public, anyway. But, just between us two--I guess we needn't beat the
bushes in a little personal talk like this--we both know there are
certain things that have to be done in every campaign; things you
wouldn't want to publish in the newspapers."
Blount sat back in his chair and the conciliatory smile disappeared.
"What kind of things?" he asked abruptly.
"Oh, of course, I don't know all of 'em. But there was one little
arrangement that was made two years ago with us, and it helped out both
ways. I thought I'd come around and see if it couldn't be worked again."
"State the facts," said Blount shortly.
"It was like this. As you know, we've got a number of plants scattered
around at different places in the State, and, one way and another, we
employ a good many men. These men are residents of the State, but you
couldn't call 'em citizens in the sense that they take any active
interest in what's going on. They're here this year, and they may be up
among the Oregon redwoods next year, and somewhere else the year after.
When they vote at all they naturally ask us how we'd like to have 'em
vote; and that's the way it was two years ago at election time."
"I see. But how does this concern the railroad company?"
"I'm coming to that, right now. Two years ago we found that our
employees' vote was big enough to turn the scale in four of the
legislative districts and to cut a pretty good-sized figure in a fifth.
This vote was worth something to your people, and the fact was properly
recognized. I don't know but what I'm telling you a lot of stale news,
but--"
"Go on, Mr. Hathaway; if I wasn't greatly interested in the beginning, I
am now. How was the fact recognized by the Transcontinental Railway
Company?"
"It was just as easy as twice two. The Twin Buttes Lumber Company is
practically the only heavy lumber-shipper in this inter-mountain
territory, and it was given a preferential rate on its products; you
might say that the amount of business we do entitles us to some special
consideration, anyway. There wasn't any bargain and sale about it, you
understand. It was just a sort of friendly recognition of our help in
the election."
"This rate is lower than the rate made to other lumber-shippers?"
"Well, yes; but, after all, it isn't any big thing. If you were up on
lumber rates, Mr. Blount--as I don't suppose you are--you'd know that
the special tariff we get is all that enables us to live and do
business."
Blount had opened his penknife and was absently sharpening a pencil.
"This special rate you refer to, Mr. Hathaway," he said, speaking
slowly and quite distinctly--"am I right in inferring that it is not
confined strictly to points within the State boundaries?"
At this the lumberman repeated a phrase which he had used in the anxious
conference in the Weatherford herbarium.
"If I thought you didn't know, I'd go a long time without telling you,
Mr. Blount. But of course you do know. If you wasn't on the inside of
all the insides you wouldn't be sitting here pulling the strings for
McVickar. The rate is a blanket; it covers all shipments."
Blount nodded and his apparent coolness was no just measure of the
inward fires the crooked lumber-king was kindling.
"You interest me greatly, Mr. Hathaway. I am a little new to these
things--as you intimated a few moments ago. How is this matter
handled--by rebates, I suppose?"
"N-not exactly," was the hesitating denial. "That would be too risky for
both of us. But the Transcontinental Company is a heavy buyer--lumber
and cross-ties and bridge timber, you know--and the biggest part of the
difference between our special and the regular rate is taken up in our
bills for material furnished to the railroad."
"Let me be quite clear upon that point," said Blount; and if Hathaway
had had eyes to see, he would have observed that the young lawyer's
attitude was becoming more judicial with every fresh questioning. "Let
me be quite sure that I understand. You mean that you are allowed to
charge the railroad company more than the market price on the material
it buys?"
Hathaway nodded. "Yes, that's the way of it."
"And this preferential rate is still in force?"
"It is."
"You're sure you have had no notice of its withdrawal--say within the
past few weeks?"
It was at this point that the lumber lord began to fear that some one
had slipped a cog in sending him to first one and then another, and
finally to young Blount.
"Of course, it hasn't been withdrawn!" he retorted. And then: "You seem
to think there is something off color in the deal, Mr. Blount, and I
don't know whether you're stringing me or whether you're too new in the
railroad game to have the dope. If you're going into this political
knock-down-and-drag-out, you ought to have the dope. There isn't a big
interest in this State--ore-shippers, power people, irrigation
companies, or any of 'em--that ain't getting a rake-off. I guess you
_are_ stringing me; I guess you know all this a good deal better than I
do. If you don't, I can tell you that it's a fact; not a 'has-been', but
an 'is'! Ask Gantry; he'll tell you, if he tells the truth. We ain't
asking or getting anything that other people ain't getting!"
"I see," said Blount soberly. "What do you expect me to do, Mr.
Hathaway?"
"I want you to set the wheels in motion so that we can have our rate
made good for another two years--on the same terms as before. You're
going to need every vote you can get this year, and you can't afford to
turn us down." Then the lumber-king shifted again to his own
necessities. "It's the only way we can live and do business nowadays.
Like every other large corporation, we've got an army of little
investors to look out for: widows, orphans, charitable institutions, and
trustees' accounts. I've got a list of our stockholders right here, and
I'd like to have you look it over."
Blount took the paper mechanically, and quite as mechanically ran his
eye down the list of names. At the bottom of it, written in with a pen,
was the name of Patricia's father, with his residence and occupation.
While he was staring at the pen-written name, Hathaway went on,
eloquently emphasizing the disastrous results which would fall upon the
people for whom he was, in the larger sense, a guardian and a
trustee--the disaster hinging upon the withdrawal of the preferential
rate.
Blount broke him abruptly in the midst of the special plea. "I see you
have recently added one new name to this list: the name of Professor
Anners. How--"
"Yes," interrupted the Twin Buttes diplomatist hastily, fearing that
this legal-minded young man would presently be asking questions too hard
to be answered; "now there's a case in point: Mr. Anners is a good
example of our smaller stockholders. Men like Anners, college
professors, preachers, and so on, buy stocks, when they buy 'em at all,
for an investment--for the income--and they pay for 'em out of their
hard-earned savings."
"I know," said Blount, and, since he was the last man in the world to be
diverted from his purpose by any conversational dust-throwing, he
pressed the question cut off by the hasty interruption. "What I was
going to ask was how you happen to have added Professor Anners's name to
your list--recently, it seems?"
The lumberman was reduced to the necessity of inventing a ready lie. He
had obeyed his instructions blindly, on the supposition that young
Blount would know and understand.
"Anners? Oh, he knows a good thing when he sees it; and I guess maybe
your father put him on. He's a friend of the family, ain't he? Maybe the
senator found a little chunk of 'Twin Buttes' that he didn't want
himself, and passed it along."
Blount's blood ran cold at the sight of the cracking walls and crumbling
foundations on every hand. The proof that the railroad company's lawless
attitude was still unchanged was too strong to be doubted; and now there
was an added blow from the hand of his father. He wheeled short upon the
lumber-king.
"Who sent you to me, Mr. Hathaway?" he demanded.
The hawk-faced man laughed. "I guess you know just as well or better
than I do. But just to show you that I can keep my mouth shut, I ain't
going to tell you. It's all right and straight--and you might say it's
all in the family, counting the professor in on the side, as it were."
"I see," Blount said, and this time he was only too sure that he did
see. Then: "What is it you want me to do for you, Mr. Hathaway? You have
told me once, but I'm afraid I didn't grasp it fully."
"Fix it with Gantry, or somebody, so that we can put the company vote
where it's most needed and get our rate continued. It's simple enough."
"The simplicity is beyond question." Blount returned the list of
stockholders and fell back upon the pencil-sharpening. "It is quite
elementary, as you say; but there is another phase of the transaction
which seems to have escaped you. Are you aware that the present
arrangement which you have so accurately described, and the continuance
of it which you are proposing, are crimes for which both parties
involved may be called into court and punished?"
Hathaway started as if the comfortable chair in which he was lounging
had been suddenly electrified.
"Say, Blount, are you working for the railroad, or not?" he demanded.
"If you are, what in the name of Heaven are you driving at? I know the
line of talk you've been handing out since McVickar gave you your job
and set you up in business here, but that's for the dear public. You
don't have to wear your halo when a man comes in to talk hard facts from
the inside. It comes to just this: you do something for me, and I do
something for you. You make it possible for us to live and sell lumber,
and we do what we can to make it easy for your railroad to get its
'square deal' from a pie-cutting legislature. That's the whole thing
in a nutshell."
"One more question," snapped Blount, striving to fix the roving gaze of
the hawk-like eyes. "With whom did you make this arrangement two years
ago?"
"With your boss, if you want to know; with Mr. McVickar himself!"
"And you think you can do it again?"
"I know damned well I can; only I don't care to go over your head unless
I have to. They tell me you're handling this end of it for the railroad
company, and I'm not going around hunting a chance to make enemies.
That's all I've got to say"--and he rose to go--"all but this: you've
got a lot to learn about this something-for-something business, and the
quicker you get at it, Mr. Blount, the sooner you'll arrive somewhere.
About this little matter of ours, there's no special hurry. Take your
own time to think it over; take it up with McVickar, if you want to.
Then, when you get things fixed, wire me one word to Twin Buttes. Just
say 'Yes,' and sign your name to it. That'll be enough."
For a long half-hour after the president of the Twin Buttes Lumber
Company and its allied corporations had closed the door of the private
office behind him, Blount sat rocking gently in his pivot-chair. In the
fulness of time the bitter thoughts wrought their way into words.
"So this is what I was hired for!" he mused, "a fence; a wretched mask
put up to hide the trickery and chicanery and criminality--the
crookedness which has never been put aside; which nobody ever meant to
put aside! My God! they've let me stultify myself in a thousand ways;
let me sit here day after day with a lie in my mouth, saying things that
nobody in this God-forsaken homeland of mine has believed for a single
minute! After it's all over, every man who has listened to me will say
that I _knew_--that all this talk about openness and fair dealing was
simply that much dust-throwing to hide the workings of a corrupt and
criminal machine grinding away in the background!"
He turned to his desk and sat with his head propped in his hands,
staring at the little photograph of Wartrace Hall which he had had
mounted in a plate-glass paper-weight. The sight gave an added twist to
the torture screw and he broke out again.
"I've been nothing more than a bit of potter's clay, and the master
potter--God help me!--is my own father! It's all plain enough now. He
saw that I wasn't going to fall in with the attorney-general scheme; or
perhaps he saw that I might be a stumbling-block if I should; so he
planned this thing with McVickar--planned it deliberately! There is no
fight, after all; it's merely one of the moves in the game that the
'boss' and the railroad should seem to be fighting each other. Good God!
I can't believe it, and yet I've got to believe it. That man Hathaway
is a self-confessed criminal, but he was telling the truth about the
law-breaking trickery that is going on; he wouldn't be idiotic enough to
lie and then give me a chance to prove the lie. And he didn't come to me
of his own volition; he was sent--sent to break me down, and sent by....
Oh, dad, dad! how could you do it!"
With his face hidden in the crook of his arm, he was groping in vain
outreachings for something to lay hold of, for some clear-minded,
clean-hearted adviser who could tell him what to do; how he should
clamber out of this pit of humiliation into which nothing more culpable
than an honest zeal for civic righteousness had precipitated him. In his
despair he told himself that there was no one, and then suddenly he
remembered--Patricia would know, and she would understand better than
any one else in a populous world how to point the way out of the
labyrinth. He must go to her and tell her. In the meantime....
He got up and shut his desk with a slam. In the meantime there should be
no more lies told--no more turns taken in the crooked path. Collins, the
stenographer, heard the noise of the desk closing and came to the door
of the private room, note-book and pencil in hand. "Anything to give me
before you go out?" he asked.
"Yes," said Blount almost savagely. "Take a message to Mr. McVickar. Are
you ready?"
The stenographer nodded.