SAMSON CEREAL AND SON.
Unseen by any of them the door has opened a trifle. Colonel Bob’s
curiosity has been aroused by such singular happenings, and he is
determined to see for himself what it means. He has some idea that
John is connected with the business--that perhaps his father’s telegram
was from the authorities or some friend in Denver, telling the sad
facts of John’s downfall, and it behooves the sheriff, under these
conditions, to keep a keen lookout lest the young man should give him
the slip. After going to such trouble it is hardly his policy to let
John escape, not if a dozen receptions have to be broken up.
So Colonel Bob posts himself by the door to hear what is said, and his
quick intuition tells him the true state of affairs.
John has held back while Dorothy attempts to arouse her father, but at
the mention of the word “ruin” he can restrain himself no longer.
“What does this mean, father? I think that I have a right to know,” he
says, bending over his despondent parent.
Samson Cereal raises his eyes wearily.
“Ah! it’s you, John. Yes, you are my son, and you have a right to
know. The markets have been so infernally dull, with no business in
the country, that in order to keep myself going I looked up some new
sources of speculation, and had such wonderful faith in them that I
went in deeper than I knew, it being my object to get the control of
the company. Majority rules, and the minority can be frozen out.
“Lately it has taken everything I can raise to meet my liabilities.
I knew a crisis was at hand. One man remained to be bought. His name
is Dickerson. He owns the controlling share. Nominally it is worth
five hundred dollars. My agent has him cornered in St. Louis, and was
instructed to offer him five thousand for his share. I have hoped he
would not know that he held the balance of power. But the other parties
are after him, and the keystone, without which my arch is useless, is
placed far beyond my reach. Read that telegram--read it aloud, John.”
The young man takes the message:
“Dickerson offered forty thousand cash by the syndicate. Has under
oath promised to deliver me his share, provided fifty thousand is
telegraphed him by noon to-morrow, the fourteenth. Otherwise it is
lost. Answer.
“MAX.”
“And at this time I could raise fifty million as easily as that many
thousand. I’m tied hand and foot. If it could be done the control of a
very rich property would be in my hands, but without it the syndicate
will dictate terms, and I am ruined beyond all hope.”
“But cheer up, father. Surely you do not need despair. You have
weathered storms before,” says John cheerily.
“Oh, yes! many of them; but I always had an anchor to windward, and
knew the nature of the holding ground. Now I am at sea, with the storm
dashing over my doomed bark. All is lost but my honor--that, thank
God, no man can rob me of!” And the crushed speculator raises his head
a little after his proud manner of yore, but it is only a momentary
movement, for he quickly falls back into the same despondent attitude
as before.
“Do you mean to tell me you have no friends who would loan you that
amount?” asks John.
“That only shows how little you Denver people appreciate the stringency
of the money market. In all my years of business I never saw anything
to compare with it. My friends couldn’t assist me if they would--they
are all about as badly off as I am, and staggering under a heavy load.
There is no help under heaven for me--I must go down.”
To a proud man of great business tact, who has carried the standard of
his house successfully for nearly twenty years, this is indeed the most
bitter hour of life. No wonder some men have been so crushed that they
never arose again.
“See here, father, you forget me,” says John, laying a hand with some
tenderness on the shoulder of his parent.
“In what way, my boy?” asks the speculator, almost dreamily.
“I may be able to assist you, sir.”
Aleck starts at the words--he wonders what they mean. Does John intend
to give up his ill-gotten gains in order to save his father? That would
be a singular thing indeed. Besides, Craig is enough of a business
man to know it would not hold--that if the young man from Denver is
arrested the funds he has embezzled must be seized, no matter in whose
hands they happen to be at the time.
Nevertheless he is greatly interested by the intensely dramatic nature
of the situation, and watches the three actors, who, engrossed in
their own affairs, have entirely forgotten his presence. Dorothy, with
her hands clasped before her, is surveying the other two, her eyes,
filled with unshed tears, fixed upon John, as though his words have
filled her with a sudden hope.
As for the speculator he raises his hand and places it on John’s,
but there is no change in his despondent attitude. Only a convulsive
movement running through his frame tells of the rush of emotion. This
boy whom he so cruelly wronged loves him after all. It may be remorse
that eats Samson Cereal’s soul. God knows!
“John, my boy, you are kind, but I know it is only done to cheer me up.
I shall get over this, perhaps, but the shock has well-nigh unsettled
my reason. Give me time to brush these cobwebs from my mind,” says
Cereal soberly.
“That might be too late. Whatever is done must be done at once,”
remarks John firmly.
He speaks with such an air of authority in his voice that the great
operator raises his head, and draws a hand across his eyes. Used to
depending wholly upon himself, this experience of having a staff to
lean upon is something new.
“I like to hear you talk like that--it reminds me of what I have been
in business. No difficulty was too great for me to attack and conquer.
But this terrible summer, was its like ever known? Firms in which I had
the most implicit confidence have gone under, and each one dragged me
lower, until this last demand finishes all. Your intentions are good,
John, but unless you are a wizard and can make fifty thousand dollars
grow on a tree, I see no escape”--sadly, still patting the hand that
rests on his.
John smiles, and Aleck groans--groans because he has been able to peep
behind the scenes and see what dénouements are in store. It is just as
though he has read the concluding chapter of the novel first, and knows
all the while, no matter how ardent the love scenes, that Edmond never
marries Juliet, who dies before the happy consummation of their vows;
and having this previous knowledge, he cannot take the interest in the
thrilling scenes that would naturally be expected.
“Father, you forget I am no longer a boy--that I have spent years in
the West, where fortunes are made and lost even more rapidly than in
Chicago. If fifty thousand dollars will be of use to you----”
“John--reflect, boy!”
“I can put it at your service, sir.”
“Good God! don’t arouse any false hopes, my dear boy--a second shock
would kill me,” says the old speculator, struggling out of his chair
and standing there with one clenched hand upon the library table, a
picture of intense, strained eagerness. Every eye is glued upon the
face of the man from Denver, who smiles in a way that is reassuring.
“I am making sure of what I say, sir, and I repeat it. Circumstances
enable me to offer you the amount you need. Will you accept?”
“Now--do you mean at once?” asks his father.
“At any time. I can get you the money as soon as business opens in the
morning. It can be wired on to this man in plenty of time to secure you
the deciding share.”
“Dorothy, are you there, child?”
“Yes, yes, father. What can I do for you,” flying to his side so
eagerly.
“Pinch me, my dear.”
“Oh, father! what can you mean--are you losing your mind?” she cries,
aghast.
“No, no; but it seems too good to be true; I must be dreaming. So pinch
me and I can tell by the pain if I am asleep or awake. If this be a
dream, I hope I may never arouse.”
She playfully complies with his request, and the manipulator of wheat
utters an exclamation.
“There, there, child, that is quite sufficient. I know now it is a
reality,” rubbing his arm vigorously, and then adding; “but, John, my
boy, you understand me--this money I will only accept as a loan at ten
per cent., unless you would rather go into this business with me. The
street is so terribly dull that I have decided to branch out as manager
in a great concern. That can be settled later on, however. It would
please me to have my son associated with me. This shock to-night has
taught me that my nerves are not so much like steel as they once were.”
“Father, you are better now?” asks Dorothy.
“Better? why, of course I am. Dr. John has given me a dose that
is bound to cure. I shall soon be myself; but it was a horrible
experience, and I feel like a man who has just aroused from a
nightmare, trembling and cold. I can see now where Providence worked in
this matter; and to you, more than anyone else, my dear daughter, is
due the praise.”
“It makes me happy to know that things have come out so well. I
believed John could be depended on to show his real affection for you
if the time ever came,” returns Dorothy.
“Tell me, do they--our guests--know that something of a shock has come
to me?” he asks, smoothing his heavy gray hair with his fingers, an old
habit of his.
“I do not think so,” remarks Aleck.
“Ah! you there, Craig? Pretty tough, such an experience to a man of
fifty, but there’s a gleam of sunshine through it all, for I have
learned one glorious fact, that my children love me.”
He looks proudly upon them, as they stand there one on either side.
It is indeed a revelation to this singular man who has led such an
isolated life, wrapped up in business.
“Depend upon it, sir, 'there’s a divinity that shapes our ends,
rough-hew them how we will.’ Behind this there is some purpose which
sooner or later will be made manifest. I saw you here, in abject
misery, and guessing the cause, managed to get your son and daughter in
without attracting attention. It might be well for all of us to go out
among the guests again. Some whisper may go around, and in these times
men are quick to seize upon the slightest suspicion and magnify it.”
“You are right, Mr. Craig. I am ready to go. If anyone mentions that
I look pale, tell them I have had a little attack of--well, heart
trouble.”
“Before we go, father, let us decide this business.”
“The morning will do, John.”
“Pardon me, the morning might be too late. My habits have become set in
this way--I would get out of bed to carry an idea to completion.”
“Just as you say, John--I am guided entirely by your wishes in this
matter,” says the speculator, but his eyes twinkle in something like
their old-time way--this resolute manner which John assumes tickles
him immensely, for he awakens to the fact that his son is no longer a
boy, but capable of managing any business.
“The message says fifty thousand. I have been careful not to get tied
up during this period of financial panic, and happen to have that
amount in one of your Chicago banks at this moment. The easiest thing
to be done under such circumstances is for me to sit right down at this
desk, where everything seems so very handy, and make you out a check
for the amount. Luckily I have a blank one with me. To save time I
would, if I were you, send a message to-night--_now_, to your agent,
telling him to close the deal.”
“Just as you say, John. I confess my head is slightly rattled
to-night--it shall be as you suggest,” and he proceeds to write at the
table on the back of the message he had received.
Finally John jumps up.
“There you are, father,” handing him a check. “We will arrange the
minor details to-morrow.”
“It is all right, John--you have saved the old house of Samson
Cereal--God bless you, my boy!”
But it is far from being all right as yet, and Aleck realizes this when
he hears the library door suddenly pushed back.