“Brown,” said Mr. John P. Greener, as he turned away from the ticker in
the corner, “I wish you would go over to the Board and see how the
market is for Iowa Midland. Find out how much stock there is for sale
and who has it. It ought to be pretty well distributed about the
Street.”
“What’s up in it?” asked his partner, curiously.
“Nothing—yet,” answered Greener, quietly.
He sat down at his desk and took up a letter, headed “President’s
Office, Keokuk & Northern Railway Company, Keokuk, Iowa.” When he had
finished the entire sixteen closely written pages, he arose and paced
slowly up and down his office.
He was a sallow-faced, black-bearded little man, slender—almost frail
looking—with a high but rather narrow forehead. His eyes were furtive,
shifty bits of brown light. He was thinking, and thinking to some
purpose. Any one, even a stranger, seeing him, would have known that he
was thinking of something big—the forehead was responsible for the
impression; and also of something tricky, unscrupulous, cold-blooded—his
eyes were to blame there. At length his brow cleared. He muttered: “I
must have that road. Then, a consolidation with my Keokuk & Northern;
and a new system that will endure as long as the country!”
Brown returned in a half hour and reported. There was very little stock
for sale below $42 a share—a few small lots held by unimportant
commission houses. The vendible supply increased at 44, and at 46
“inside stock would come out,” which, translated into plain English,
meant that whenever the price of Iowa Midland Railway Company stock rose
to $46 per share, directors of the company or close friends of theirs
would be found willing to part with their holdings. It was thus evident
that the greater part of such stock of the Iowa Midland as the Street
was “carrying” speculatively was not for sale at such a price as would
be regarded in the light of a great bargain by Mr. John F. Greener,
president _de facto_ of the rival Keokuk & Northern Railway, but better
known to countless “lambs” and widows and orphans and brother financiers
as the Napoleon of the Street.
“Any supporting orders?” piped Greener. Stocks are “supported,” or
bought on declines, so that the price shall not go down too much, and
above all not too quickly.
“Bagley has orders to buy 300 shares every quarter of a point down until
37 is reached, and then to take 5,000 shares at that figure. He got them
direct from Willetts himself.” Bagley was a broker who made a specialty
of dealing in Iowa Midland. Willetts was the president of the company.
“Willetts,” squeaked Greener, “was in Council Bluffs this morning. He is
to take part in the ceremonies of unveiling the Soldiers’ Monument,
which begin at one o’clock—that is, within twenty minutes, allowing for
difference in time. He will be out of the reach of the telegraph for the
afternoon.”
Brown laughed. “No wonder they are afraid of you.”
“Brown,” said Greener, “start the movement by selling 10,000 shares of
Iowa Midland. Divide it up among the boys on the floor. It would be well
if the room were frightened by the selling. It is more important for us
to get the price down than to put out shorts at high figures. I want
that stock down.” If he had merely desired to sell the stock “short” he
would have gone about it carefully, to disturb the price as little as
possible.
“If you want that I think you’ll get it,” said Brown. As he was going
out Mr. Greener squeaked after him: “Keep them guessing, Brown; keep
them guessing.”
“That,” mused Mr. John F. Greener, “ought to mean a three-or four-point
break in Iowa Midland at the very least, and perhaps we can work through
the peg at 37. We’ll see.” By the “peg” he meant the figure at which the
supporting orders to buy were heaviest.
A few minutes later the Iowa Midland “post” on the floor of the Stock
Exchange was surrounded by a dozen puzzled and apprehensive but
gentlemanly brokers. And still a few minutes later the same spot was a
seething whirlpool of maniacal humanity. It was appalling, the sight of
these gesticulating, yelling, fighting, coat-tearing, fisticuffing
brokers—appalling and vulgar, selfish, unpleasant, ungentlemanly but
eminently typical. And all that caused the transformation was the fact
that Mr. Brown had been seen whispering to Harry Wilson, and Harry
Wilson had left him, gone to the Iowa Midland crowd, and sold 1,000
shares at 42⅛ and 42. Then Mr. Brown had been seen speaking with W. G.
Carleton in what struck witnesses as being a more or less agitated
manner, and later Carleton had sauntered carelessly over to the Iowa
Midland precinct, and, after displaying very great indifference about
the world in general, but most particularly about the market for Iowa
Midland, had sold 1,500 shares to Bagley, the specialist, at 41¾, 41⅝,
and 41½. Mr. Brown was now watched by two or three scores of sharp eyes,
all having the same expression. And he was observed to look about him
apprehensively and then begin to converse with Frank J. Pratt; whereupon
Pratt, as fast as his fat legs would carry him, hastened to “Iowa
Midland” and sold 2,000 shares at an average price of 41. The observant
eyes had by this taken on a new expression—of indecision; but when they
beheld Mr. Brown anxiously beckon to his “particular” friend, Dan
Simpson, and saw shrill-voiced Dan rush like mad into the increasing
crowd and sell 5,000 shares of Iowa Midland, apparently regardless of
price, the observant eyes ceased to observe Brown. Activity was
transferred to their owners’ throats as they thought to emulate Simpson
and the rest of the Brown “whisperees.” Everybody scented danger,
especially as the same “whisperees” had not “given up” the name of Brown
& Greener as the real sellers, but had sold as though each Brown-talked
man was acting for himself—which every other man in the room knew was
out of the question, and which, in turn, increased the general
uneasiness. It was a confident and yet a mystifying movement. It became
more maddeningly perplexing when certain brokers, believed to be “close
to the inside,” also began to sell the stock. Everybody started to do
likewise. And everybody asked the same question—“What’s the matter?”—and
received an avalanche of answers, all different but all unfavorable. One
man said it was crop failures, another mentioned divers kinds of bugs, a
third asserted it was extensive wash-outs and ruinous landslides, and
bankrupting attacks by a socialistic legislature, and receivership
probabilities.
Each of these was a good and sufficient reason why Iowa Midland stock
should be sold. The comparison is odiously trite, but the growth of an
adverse rumor in Wall Street really resembles nothing so much as the
traditional snowball rolling down a hillside and becoming larger and
larger as it rolls, until it is huge, terrific, with appalling
possibilities for evil.
The Board Room became Iowa-Midland-mad. Speculators often stampede—just
like other animals. No stock can withstand their rush to sell, even
though it be “protected” or “supported” by its manipulators, much less a
stock like Iowa Midland, whose market sponsor was out of town, and out
of reach of the telegraph.
From all over the room men rushed to Brown, who was sitting calmly at
the Erie “post,” chatting pleasantly with a friend.
“Brown, what’s up in Iowa Midland?” one of them asked, feverishly. The
others listened eagerly.
Brown might have said, “I don’t know,” rudely, and turned his back on
them. But he did not. He responded jocularly: “It seems to me that
something is down in Iowa Midland, that something being about three
points, I should say. Ha! ha!”
By this time nearly all the listeners had concluded that, since Brown
refused to tell, there must be something serious—something very serious.
Brown obviously was still selling the stock through other brokers, and
would keep the bad news to himself until he had marketed his “line.”
After that, probably he would become interestingly garrulous. They
therefore advised their respective offices to get rid of their Iowa
Midland stock. It might be all right; but it might be all wrong. And it
was going down fast.
Mr. Greener in his office was looking at the “tape” as it came out of
the little electrical printing machine that records the transactions and
prices.
The sallow-faced little man permitted himself a slight—a very
slight—smile. The tape showed: “IA. MID., 1000. 39; 300. 38¾; 500. ⅝;
300. ½; 200. ⅜; ¼; 300. 38.”
He turned away to summon a clerk, to whom he said: “Mr. Rock, please
send for Mr. Coolidge. Make haste.”
“Very well, sir.”
A portly, white-waistcoated, white-haired man, with snow-white,
short-cropped side whiskers, burst unceremoniously into the room.
“How do you do, Mr. Ormiston?” squeaked Greener, cordially.
“Greener,” panted the portly man, “what’s the matter with Iowa Midland?”
“How should I know?” in a half-complaining, half-petulant squeak.
“Brown started the selling. I saw it myself. Greener, I did you a good
turn once in Central District Telegraph. I’m long 6,000 shares of this
Iowa Midland. For God’s sake, man, if you know anything——”
“Mr. Ormiston, all I know is what I learn from my confidential reports
of the Iowa crop. Along the line of the Keokuk & Northern the crop is
not what I hoped for.” And he shook his head dolefully.
“_Ticky-ticky-ticky tick!_” said the ticker, calmly.
The portly man approached the little machine.
“Thirty-seven-and-an-eighth. Thirty-seven!” he shouted. “Great Scott!
she’s going down like a——” He did not finish the comparison, but rushed
out of the office without pausing to say good-by. At one o’clock his
6,000 shares at $42½ represented $255,000. Now, at two o’clock, at $37,
the same stock would fetch about $222,000. A depreciation of $33,000 in
an hour is apt to make one neglectful of the little niceties. An
additional un-nicety was the obvious fact that an attempt to sell 6,000
shares on a declining market would inevitably cause a still further
drop. Mr. Ormiston was excusable.
Again Mr. Greener summoned a confidential clerk.
“Mr. Rock,” he squeaked, placidly, “telephone Mr. Brown that Ormiston,
Monkhouse & Co. are about to sell 6,000 shares of Iowa Midland, and that
Mr. Coolidge must not pay more than 35 for it.”
“Mr. Coolidge is in your private room, sir,” announced an office-boy.
The little financier, with an expressionless, sallow face, confronted
his chief confidential broker. Their relations were unsuspected by the
Street. Everybody thought Coolidge was a pleasant and honorable man.
“Coolidge, go to the Board at once. Ormiston is going to sell 6,000
shares of Iowa Midland. Get it as cheap as you can. Don’t be in a hurry,
though.”
“How much shall I buy?” asked the broker, jotting down a few figures in
his order book.
“As much as you can; all that is offered below 37,” squeaked the
Napoleon of the Street. It was a Napoleonic order. “And, Coolidge, I
don’t want this known by any one. Clear the stock yourself.” It meant
that Mr. Coolidge was to put the stock through the Clearing House in his
own name. As there is a charge for this service, in addition to the
usual buying or selling commission, such steps are not resorted to
unless it is desired to conceal the identity of the broker’s principal,
should the latter be a fellow-member of the Exchange.
“Very well, Mr. Greener. Good-morning.” And the broker went out on a
run. “Whew!” he whistled when he was in the Street on his way to the
Stock Exchange, a few doors below. “Brown & Greener must be short at
least 50,000 or 60,000 shares.” This was five times too much. But it
showed that Mr. Greener was impartial in his distribution of erroneous
impressions. He wanted to accumulate the stock rather than “cover” a
short line; but there was no reason why even his most trusted broker
should know it.
Ormiston’s 6,000 shares found their way to Mr. Coolidge’s office at from
34⅞ to 35¾. Mr. Brown in the meantime had succeeded in forcing down the
prices by the usual tricks. The man who once had done Greener a good
turn now did him another—the gift of $40,000!
In addition, Coolidge, employing several brokers, purchased 23,000
shares in all, which meant that Mr. Greener, after “covering” Brown’s
early “short sales,” was in possession of fully 14,000 shares of the
common stock of the Iowa Midland Railway Company, at a price averaging
nearly 6 points lower than they could have been bought on the preceding
day, which is to say $75,000 cheaper.
But Brown & Greener had made as much on their short sales, which was
actually equivalent to having the lambs pay a man for the privilege of
being shorn by him!
Such was the first of a series of skirmishes by means of which the
diminutive Napoleon of the Street captured the floating supply of Iowa
Midland stock, until he had no less than 65,000 shares safe in his
clutches.
All the old tricks that he knew and new devices he invented were used to
hide from the Street the fact that Mr. Greener was buying the stock on
every opportunity. But beyond a certain limit extensive purchases of a
particular stock cannot be concealed from the thousand shrewd men who
make their living—a very good living, indeed—by not being blind. First
one thing, then another, told these men that some powerful financier or
group of financiers had bought enormously of Iowa Midland, “absorbing”
unostentatiously all the stock shaken out by the violent fluctuations of
the past few months. This fact and the remarkable improvement of
business along the line of the road caused a “substantial rise” in the
price of the company’s securities. But no one suspected the little
Napoleon with the shifty eyes and the squeak and the genius, who had
bought in the open market, through unsuspected brokers, and in Iowa from
the local holders, by means of secret agents, until he had accumulated
78,600 shares.
Brown said to his partner one day, a little uneasily: “Supposing we
can’t get any more stock, what are we going to do with what we have?” To
try to sell it, however carefully, would be sure to break the market.
“Brown,” squeaked the little man, plaintively, “I have concluded that in
case I can’t get enough stock to bring Willetts and his crowd”—the
president of the Iowa Midland and his fellow-directors—“to my way of
thinking, we had better sell the block we now hold to the Keokuk &
Northern Railway Company at the market price of $68 a share. Perhaps we
could even run it up a little higher. Our stock cost us on an average
$51 a share. We could take our payment one half in cash and half in
first mortgage bonds at a fair discount. The deal would be highly
beneficial to the Keokuk & Northern Company, since, having such a large
block of her rival’s stock, there would be no more fighting and
rate-cutting. Our company would be a powerful factor in the Iowa
Midland’s affairs, for we ought to have two or possibly three directors
in their board.”
“Greener,” said Brown, “shake!”
“Oh, no; not yet,” squeaked the little man, deprecatingly.
Shortly afterward began a campaign of hostility against the management
of the Iowa Midland Railway Company and President Willetts in
particular. It was a bitter campaign of defamation, of ingenious
accusations, and of alarming prognostications. All the newspapers,
important or obscure, subsidized or honest, began to print articles of
the kind technically known as “roasts.” The road, it was declared, had
escaped a receivership by a sheer miracle. President Willetts’s
incompetence was stupendous and incurable. There was, in sooth, some
basis for the complaints, and many stockholders were undoubtedly
dissatisfied with the Willetts “dynasty.” But not even the newspapers
themselves knew that they were merely moving in response to wires
artistically pulled by a financial genius of the first water. The stock
once more declined. Not knowing who was fighting him, President Willetts
was unable to defend himself effectively. Many timid or disgusted
holders sold out. Mr. Greener gave no sign of life; but his brokers
bought the stock offered for sale.
At length a well-known and talkative broker confided to an intimate
friend, who told his intimate friend in confidence, who whispered to his
chum, who told, etc., etc., that Mr. John F. Greener had been
responsible for the fall and rise of Iowa Midland stock; that for months
he had been buying it on the Stock Exchange; that he had quietly picked
up some large blocks in Iowa. All of which was very sad, and, worse
still, true. Also, that Mr. Greener now held 182,300 shares of the
stock, which was even sadder, but untrue.
It really was very well done. The annual meeting of the company was only
six weeks away.
The reporters rushed to Mr. Greener’s office. The little financier would
not be seen. At length he reluctantly consented to be interviewed. He
admitted, after a skilful display of unwillingness, that he had bought
Iowa Midland stock. As to the amount, he said that was not of interest
to the general public. The reporters finally cornered him and succeeded
in making the little financier say, with a fleeting and very peculiar
smile: “Yes; it _is_ over 100,000 shares.” And not another word could
the newspaper men get out of him.
Being an intelligent man, he never lied for publication. Each reporter
who saw that smile and the furtive look that accompanied it went away
convinced to the life-wagering point that Mr. John F. Greener was in
control of the Iowa Midland. And they wrote accordingly.
President Willetts all but had an apoplectic stroke. The Street
disgustedly said: “Another successful, villainous plot of Greener’s!”
And such was his reputation as an “absorber” of roads and roads’ profits
that the stock declined ten points in two days. Investors and
speculators alike displayed a frantic desire not to be identified in any
way or manner with one of Mr. Greener’s properties.
The little financier had not been mistaken. His last card was his own
evil reputation! He had reserved it for the end. On the wide-spread fear
that followed his broker’s artistic “indiscretion” he was able to
“scoop” 32,000 shares more at low figures. Such is the value of fame!
He now held 110,600 shares, or one third of the Iowa Midland Railroad
Company’s entire capital stock—enough to coerce Willetts into making
very profitable arrangements with Mr. Greener’s Keokuk & Northern
Railway Company. Of course the absolute control of the Iowa Midland was
best of all, if it only could be secured. But of this the sallow-faced
little man with the high forehead and the shifty eyes was doubtful. He
confessed as much to Brown, ending with: “It’s a shame, too. I could
make so much out of that property!”
He estimated—it had cost him $11,000 to secure the necessary data—that
Willetts and his clique held 105,000 shares, so that there were still
122,000 shares unaccounted for—probably scattered among small investors
throughout the country, who did not care who managed the road so long as
they received pleasant promises of dividends, and also among banking
houses and anti-Greener men, who, though they did not approve of
Willetts, disapproved even more emphatically and vehemently of Greener
and his methods.
If he could not buy the stock itself he must try to secure proxies.
He knew that some of the trust companies held a fair amount of the
longed-for stock. He laid siege to them. He bombarded them with promises
and poured an enfilading fire of pledges so honorable, so eminently
sound and business-like, as to pierce the armor of their distrust. In
the end they actually grew to believe that they were acting wisely when
they pledged their support to Mr. Greener. The guarantee he gave them
seemed ironclad, and they agreed to give him their proxies whenever he
should send for them.
He called his clerk Rock and told him: “Go to the Rural Trust Company
and to the Commercial Loan & Trust Company. See Mr. Roberts and Mr.
Morgan. They will give you some Iowa Midland proxies made out to
Frederick Rock or John F. Greener.”
Rock was a good-looking, quiet chap, with a very well-shaped head and a
resolute chin. His manners were pleasing. He had a habit of looking one
straight in the eyes, but did not always succeed thereby in conveying an
impression of straightforwardness. But he certainly impressed one as
being bold and keen. His fellow-clerks used to say that Rock spent his
spare time in studying the financial operations of the Napoleon of the
Street with the same care and minuteness that military students go over
the campaigns of Napoleon Bonaparte—which was the truth.
“Mr. Greener,” said Rock, “you are carrying 110,000 shares of stock, are
you not?”
“Eh?” squeaked Greener, innocently.
“I figure that, unless you are doing something outside this office, you
will need proxies for 50,000 shares more to give you absolute control
and elect your own board of directors and carry out your plans in
connection with Keokuk & Northern.”
Not by so much as the twinkling of an eye did the little man betray that
he was interested in Rock’s words, or that the clerk’s meddling with the
firm’s affairs was at all out of the ordinary.
“Mr. Greener,” said the clerk, very earnestly, “I should like to try to
get them for you.”
“Yes?” he squeaked, absent-mindedly.
“Yes, sir,” answered Rock.
“Go ahead, then,” said Mr. Greener, carelessly. “Let me know next week
how you are getting on.”
An expression of disappointment came into Rock’s face, whereupon Greener
added: “Of course if you succeed I’ll do well by you.”
“What will you do, Mr. Greener?” asked the clerk, looking straight at
him.
“I’ll give you,” he squeaked, encouragingly, “ten thousand dollars.”
“Is that a good price for the work, Mr. Greener? I may have to pay out a
great deal,” added the young clerk with a faint touch of bitterness.
“It is all that it is worth to me, Mr. Rock, and I think it is worth
more to me than to anybody else. I’ll raise your salary from sixteen
hundred to two thousand a year. That’s a great deal more money than I
had at your age, Mr. Rock.”
“Very well,” said Rock, quietly. “I’ll do the best I can.” But once away
from Greener, his face flushed with anger and indignation. “Ten thousand
for what might be worth ten millions to the financier!” The clerk had
studied Greener’s Napoleonic methods for two years. He had learned
patience for one thing, and he had waited for his chance. It had come at
last, and he knew it.
Events make the man. Rock had thought carefully, intelligently, and,
best of all, coolly. He had planned logically. It was a good plan; it
was the only feasible plan, and it could not be upset by meddlesome
courts. How Mr. John F. Greener had failed to think of the same plan was
a bit strange. The unscrupulousness of it did not frighten the clerk. He
had the instincts of a financier of the Greener school.
The clerk all that week did nothing but collect the Iowa Midland proxies
promised by the complaisant trust companies. They amounted to 21,200
shares. From prominent brokerage houses, by means of alluring and
unauthorized promises, he secured 7,100 shares; in all he had 28,300
shares. This meant that at the approaching annual meeting Mr. Greener
could vote 138,900 shares out of a possible total of 320,000. Unless the
opposition could unite, the election was already sure to “go Mr.
Greener’s way.”
From time to time, when the little financier would ask Rock how he was
progressing, the clerk would tell him he was doing as well as could be
expected. He also told Mr. Greener that the trust companies had given
only 14,000 shares, and he said nothing whatever of the 7,100 shares he
had secured from the friendly brokers. It was a desperate risk, this
concealing from Mr. Greener how well he had done; but the clerk was
bold.
The moment Rock became convinced that there were no more pro-Greener
proxies to be had by hook or crook, he began his attack on the enemy.
His problem was to capture the anti-Greener votes—or stock. He proceeded
to put his plan into effect. And the plan of this healthy clerk with the
unflinching eyes and the resolute chin was worthy of the sallow-faced
little man with the furtive look and the great forehead.
“It is a case of _heads I win; tails you lose_,” Rock muttered to
himself, exultingly.
The young man presented himself forthwith at the office of Weddell,
Hopkins & Co., prominent bankers and bitter enemies of Mr. John F.
Greener and his methods. They knew Rock as one of the confidential
clerks of Brown & Greener, and he had no difficulty in securing an
audience from Mr. Weddell.
“Good-morning, Mr. Weddell.”
“Good-morning, sir,” said the banker, coldly. “I must say I’m somewhat
surprised at the presumption of your people in sending you to me.”
“Mr. Weddell,” said Rock, a trifle too eagerly to be artistic, “I’ve
left the firm of Brown & Greener. They were,” he added, youthfully, “too
rascally for me.”
Mr. Weddell’s face froze solid. He feared an application for a position.
“Ye-es?” he said. His voice matched his face in frigidity.
“Mr. Weddell,” said the young clerk, looking straight into the old
banker’s eyes, “you in common with other honest men have been wishing
you could prevent Mr. Greener from wrecking the Iowa Midland. Now, Mr.
Weddell,” he went on, eagerly, as the enthusiasm of the plan grew upon
him, “I know all about Mr. Greener’s plans and resources and I want you
to help me fight him. If you do we will win, sure.”
“How will you go about it?” asked the old banker, evasively. He was not
certain this was not some trick of the versatile Mr. John F. Greener.
“Mr. Greener,” answered young Rock, “has not control of the property. He
has only 110,600 shares. I had access to the books, and I know to a
share.”
“I don’t wish you to betray an employer’s secrets, even though he may be
my enemy. I do not care to hear any more.” He was an old-fashioned
banker, was Mr. Weddell.
“I am not betraying any secrets. He himself said he had over 100,000
shares, and all the reporters jumped at the conclusion that he had
actually a controlling interest. And that is what he will have, unless
you help me. I have proxies here for 28,300 shares from trust companies
and commission houses. My plan is to get all the proxies I can from the
anti-Greener and the anti-Willetts stockholders. Then we can make Mr.
Willetts give us pledges in black and white to inaugurate the
much-needed reforms and stop his policy of extravagance and his costly
traffic arrangements. Willetts will do it to save himself and the road
from falling into Greener’s hands. But there’s no time to lose, Mr.
Weddell.” The excitement of the game he was playing stimulated him like
wine.
“And you?” queried the old banker, meaningly. “Where do _you_ come in?”
The insinuation was his last weapon. The young man’s was really the only
feasible plan that he could see.
“I? It might be, Mr. Weddell, that after the election I could be
appointed assistant secretary of the company, as an evidence of good
faith on the part of the reform management. I can keep tabs on them and
represent the Weddell-Hopkins interest. The salary,” he added, with
truly artistic significance, “could be $5,000 a year. I have been
getting just one-half that.” His salary was exactly $1,600; but why
minimize one’s commercial value?
The old banker walked up and down....
“By gad, sir, you shall have our proxies,” said Mr. Weddell, at length.
“It would be well not to let Mr. Greener suspect this,” added Rock. And
the banker agreed with him.
Weddell, Hopkins & Co. held 14,000 shares of Iowa Midland stock, and on
the next day Rock received their proxies. Coming from so well-known, so
notoriously anti-Greener a house, they served as credentials to him, and
he was able to convince many doubting Thomases. He secured proxies from
practically all the anti-Greener stock held in the city, as well as in
Philadelphia and Boston.
His day-long absences from the office aroused no suspicions there, since
everybody thought he was working in the interest of Brown & Greener,
including Messrs. Brown & Greener. All told, the proxies he had secured
from Mr. Greener’s friends and from his foes amounted to 61,830 shares.
It was really a remarkable performance. He felt very proud of it. As to
consequences, he had carefully weighed them. He was working for
Frederick Rock. He was bound to succeed, on whichever side the coin came
down.
Mr. Greener called him into the private office.
“Mr. Rock, how about those Iowa Midland proxies?”
“I have them safe,” answered the clerk, a bit defiantly.
“How many?”
Rock pulled out a piece of paper, though he knew the figures by heart.
He said, in a tone he endeavored to make nonchalant: “I have exactly
61,830 shares.”
“What? What?” The Napoleon’s voice overflowed with astonishment.
Rock looked straight into Greener’s shifty brown eyes. “I said,” he
repeated, “that I had proxies for 61,830 shares.”
Mr. Greener remembered himself. “I congratulate you, Mr. Rock, on
keeping your word. You will find I keep mine equally well,” he said in
his normal squeak.
“We may as well have an understanding now as any other time, Mr.
Greener.” Rock’s eyes did not leave the sallow face of the great
railroad wrecker. He knew he had crossed the Rubicon. He was fighting
for his future, for the prosperity of his dreams. And he was fighting a
giant of giants. All this the clerk thought; and the thought braced him
wonderfully. He became self-possessed, discriminating—a Napoleonic bud
about to burst into full bloom.
“What do you mean?” squeaked Mr. Greener, naïvely.
Mr. Brown entered. He was just in time to hear the clerk say: “You have,
all told, 110,000 shares of Iowa Midland. President Willetts and his
crowd control about the same amount.”
“Yes,” said the sallow-faced little man. His forehead was moist—barely
moist—with perspiration, but his face was expressionless. His eyes were
less furtive; that was all. He was looking intently now at the young
clerk, for he understood.
“Well, some of the proxies stand in the name of Frederick Rock or John
F. Greener, but the greater part in my name alone. I can vote the entire
lot as I please. And whichever side I vote for will have an absolute
majority. Mr. Greener, I have the naming of the directors, and therefore
of the president of the Iowa Midland. And you can’t prevent me; and you
can’t touch me; and you can’t do a d—d thing to me!” he ended,
defiantly. It was nearly all superfluous, inartistic. But, youth—a
defect one overcomes with time!
“You infernal scoundrel!” shouted Mr. Brown. He had a short, thick neck,
and anger made his face dangerously purple.
“I secured most of the proxies,” continued Rock, in a tone that savored
slightly of self-defence, “by assuring Weddell, Hopkins & Co. and their
friends that I would vote against Mr. Greener.” He paused.
“Go ahead, Mr. Rock,” squeaked Mr. Greener; “don’t be afraid to talk.”
The pale little man with the black beard and the high forehead not only
had a great genius for finance, but possessed wonderful nerve. His
squeak was an inconsistency; but it served to make him human.
“You offered me $10,000 cash and $2,000 a year.”
“Yes,” admitted Mr. Greener, meekly. “How much do you want?” His look
became furtive again. A great weight had been removed from his mind.
Rock perceived it and became even more courageous.
“Weddell, Hopkins & Co. and their friends want me to vote the Willetts
ticket, Mr. Willetts having promised to make important reforms. My
reward is to be the position of assistant secretary, with headquarters
in New York, at a salary of $5,000 a year, to say nothing of the backing
of Weddell, Hopkins & Co.”
“I’ll do as much and give you $20,000 in cash,” said Mr. Greener,
quietly.
“No. I want to join the New York Stock Exchange. I want you to buy me a
seat and I want you to give me some of your business. And I want you to
lend me $50,000 on my note.”
“Yes?”
“Mr. Greener, you know what I can do; and I know what the absolute
control of the Iowa Midland means to you, and what the consolidation
with Keokuk & Northern or the lease of the one by the other would do for
both of them—and for you. And I want to be your broker. I’ll serve you
faithfully, Mr. Greener.”
“Rock,” squeaked Mr. Greener, “shake hands. I understand just how you
feel about this. I’ll buy you a seat and I’ll give you all the business
I can, and I’ll lend you $100,000 without any note. I think I know you
now. The seat you shall have just as soon as it can be bought. My
interests shall be your interests in the future.”
“I’ve made all the necessary arrangements. I can buy the seat at a
moment’s notice,” said Rock, calmly, though his heart was beating wildly
for sheer joy of victory. “It will cost $23,000.”
“Tell Mr. Simpson to make out my personal check for $25,000,” piped the
Napoleon of the Street, almost cordially.
“Th-thank you very much, Mr. Greener,” stammered the bold clerk. “The
proxies——”
“Oh, that’s all right,” interrupted Mr. John F. Greener. “You’ll go to
Des Moines with us. You’re one of us now. I’ve long wanted a man like
you. But, Rock, nowadays, young men are either gamblers or fools,” he
added, with a final plaintive squeak.
A week later Mr. Greener was elected president of the Iowa Midland
Railway Company and Mr. Rock was elected a member of the New York Stock
Exchange.