"You're doing your duty, you can't do anything more. But perhaps you
feel chagrined at being associated with me in the present difficulty.
You needn't expostulate,--I can quite understand it."
The lawyer turned a brick red. It was quite true. He had begun to look
on this calamity as one for which he and Clark were both partly
responsible.
"If you worry--and it's quite absurd that you should--your value
automatically decreases. Has it occurred to you that, from now on, the
importance of your position is vastly increased? We shall look to you
more than ever. I dare not worry--there's too much to be done. You were
our advisor, now you are our protector against unfair attack--and
there'll be lots of it. What's more, Bowers, you are the only one who is
sure of his money."
Bowers nodded. He began to feel more comfortable.
"What's going on in St. Marys?"
"Nothing much yet--they don't know what to get ready for. Filmer and the
rest are sending out accounts they hope to collect, a good deal of
property is on offer without any takers, but, at the bottom, I don't
think the town is rattled. There's a sort of feeling that the works are
too big to be wiped out."
Clark smiled gravely. He was aware that to the townsfolk the works had
become part of the landscape, and, imaginatively, not much more. But
just as they could not contemplate the obliteration of part of the
landscape, so it was difficult to conceive permanent idleness at the
works. It was a case of the immobility of the non-speculative mind,
which is lethargic in hours of exaltation but comfortably steadfast in
times of stress.
"Listen," he said earnestly. "There's an element in Ironville which may
soon have to be controlled by force; but as to St. Marys what you've got
to do is to spread the feeling that there's nothing like confidence to
maintain business. Can't you see that if your office were knee deep in
writs it doesn't affect you? You've got to remain the efficient,
smoothly working, impersonal machine. So have I--and so has every one
who takes the responsibility for the actions of those of lesser
intelligence. Leaving out first and second causes--we're all doing just
what we're meant to do, and it doesn't matter who or what meant it.
Wimperley and the others will be up here soon, and regard me as a crazy
idealist who inveigled them into building a house of cards. The heads of
departments--at least some of them--will look at me and wonder how it was
that I gave them any confidence in the future. Hundreds of creditors
will consider me personally responsible because they have to wait for
their money, and about two thousand Poles and Hungarians will want to
kill me to gratify their sense of personal injury. On top of that,
ninety-nine men out of a hundred will forget all about my seven years'
work, and that I started with nothing, and will point to the Consolidated
as an excellent example of misdirected energy. For a little while little
men will smile with commiseration and say 'He did the best he could,'
but," and here Clark's voice deepened, "only for a little while. Now,
friend Bowers, where do I stand with you?"
Bowers got up and paced the terrace irresolutely, glancing now and then
at the motionless, gray clad figure in the wicker chair. He was suddenly
and profoundly moved. In the past he had seen but one side of Clark, and
this sudden depth of feeling was startling. He knew that if he still
took his chief as the crowd took him, Clark would not apparently be
affected in any degree, but would only classify and finally put him away
with his own kind.
"Don't think for a moment I'm making any appeal," went on the steady
voice. "It really doesn't matter whether you believe in me or not.
There's just one thing supremely important at the present time, which is
my belief in myself. That's my anchorage--it always has been and will
be. I don't consider that we owe each other anything, but just the same
I would like to know where you place me."
Bowers had a swift vision of what he was seven years ago, and set it
against what he was now. Then, with full consciousness of the complete
confidence that was placed in him by Clark, he turned and held out his
hand.
"I place you," he said a little jerkily, "just where you want to be
placed."
Clark merely touched the extended fingers, but his face brightened and a
smile crept into his eyes.
"I thought you did, but--" he added quizzically, "I had to work to find
it out, didn't I?"
Bowers nodded. He felt like a field that had been plowed so deep that it
would yield better than ever before. He reflected, too, that the
experience gained in years of success should serve well in times of
adversity.
"What's on the program?" he asked.
"The men will begin to drift in from the mines and lumber camps. Then
it's a matter of sitting tight till they're paid off."
Bowers thrust out his lips. He had seen men come in from the woods with
their pockets full of money, and that was bad enough, but without money--!
"I've had a talk with Manson who seems good for it, and the works will be
under heavy guard. That's all we can do in the meantime. I'm going to
Philadelphia as soon as possible."
"But not at once?"