NEMESIS.
It was half an hour before Jimmy recovered sufficiently to talk the
thing over quietly with the office manager. The very imagination that
had troubled him for so many years—that had made his life as a coal
miner miserable, and finally had enabled him to conceive this idea—now
descended upon him with overpowering force.
He forgot Mr. Hope—forgot the opposition to success that he had
met—had still to meet. In his mind’s eye the plan had already been
adopted, put into execution. The factory was built; the coal, lying
there all these years idle underneath his mother’s farm, was burning,
and yielding up its precious heat for the great furnaces. And he—Jimmy
Rand, once only a mule-boy and miner in the Fallon Brothers mine—had
done it all!
After a time he calmed down. First he must telegraph his mother and
Anne; then he must arrange to go home for a day or two and see them.
Since the man from whom he had to obtain permission to absent himself
from work was Mr. Cooper, Jimmy had no difficulty in getting leave to
go.
He settled that point quickly, and then went into one of the other
offices to send his telegram.
At lunch that day, which the office manager, Jimmy and Mr. Merkle had
together, Cooper planned what they should do that afternoon to settle
Mr. Hope.
“Just let him alone,” said Jimmy. “You don’t have to do anything.
He’ll settle himself if you let him alone, can’t you see that?”
Mr. Merkle was obviously worried. “What should I say if R. G. sends
for me?” he wanted to know.
“Tell him the truth,” said Jimmy. “That’s the easiest thing you could
do, isn’t it? You’ve nothing to hide.”
“And you make that date clear,” added Mr. Cooper. “Just as you did to
us. That’s the big point—show him that Hope told you the idea the
evening of the same day Jimmy first came in here.”
Merkle nodded.
“And when Hope comes to you after lunch now, don’t you put him wise.
You keep mum. Act just as if nothing had happened. Tell him you’re
ready to tell the chief all you know.” Jimmy chuckled at the double
meaning of this. “Just let him go ahead with his plans in his own way.
He’ll get his, all right, or I don’t know a thing about the chief’s
methods.”
The chemist nodded again emphatically. “He tried to pull that crooked
business on me—that you couldn’t do to Merkle and get away with it.”
“And listen, Merkle”—the office manager laid his hand earnestly on the
little chemist’s arm—“there’s going to be a lot of money in this if it
goes through—plenty for everybody. I’ll see you get what you earn—and
that’ll be a good slice. You know me, and you know the chief. You
don’t want _that_ in writing, do you?” he finished with a grin as he
remembered Merkle’s account of his very last business transaction with
the secretary.
Mr. Merkle offered his hand. “What you say it’s like a government bond
with me, Mr. Cooper,” he declared emphatically.
* * * * *
Mr. Leffingwell Hope had his interview with the president, just as he
had planned. He went in alone, directing Merkle to wait outside until
he sent for him.
Mr. Wentworth listened with his customary attention to what his
secretary had to say. His eyes narrowed, and his lower jaw came out a
little when Mr. Hope stated specifically that the idea was his own;
but he did not interrupt.
Mr. Hope was very brief. He merely set the salient features of the
scheme before his principal; then he called in Mr. Merkle.
The chemist entered and seated himself silently; his face wore an
expression of grim determination.
“Explain my idea to Mr. Wentworth, Merkle,” said the secretary
grandly, leaning back in his chair.
The chemist swallowed hard. This was an outcome he had not expected at
all. He looked at Mr. Wentworth, wondering whether he should go all
over what he had already said just that morning, or whether he should
make a clean breast of the whole matter. Before he could reach a
conclusion the president took the decision entirely out of his hands.
“Mr. Merkle, how long have you been working on this?” Mr. Wentworth
had not changed his easy position at his desk; but his voice now was
very alert—low-toned, almost soft, but tense and vibrant. It was the
real Mr. Wentworth talking now: the man of action; the forceful,
dominant personality that had placed him where he was in the business
world.
Mr. Leffingwell Hope noticed the change at once, and opened his eyes
wide with surprise.
“Be exact, Mr. Merkle; I mean exactly what date, if you can tell, did
Mr. Hope first consult you about this?”
The chemist pulled out his little notebook. “I’m a methodical man, Mr.
Wentworth; the exact day it was April 17 last, in the evening.”
“Thank you.” The president jotted down the date, and reached for his
telephone. “Mr. Cooper, please. Oh, Mr. Cooper, Mr. Wentworth
speaking. What was the date upon which Mr. James Rand was first
employed by us? Yes; April 18? Thank you. Was that the day after his
first interview with me, according to your remembrance? Thank you.”
The president jotted that down also, hung up the receiver, and turned
briskly to his secretary.
“Mr. Hope, when you repeated to me that conversation you had on April
17 with Mr. Rand, did you repeat it correctly?”
“Why I—why, yes, sir, as near as I, could remember it,” stammered Mr.
Hope.
“Thank you.” The president rang his buzzer. “Ask Mr. Rand to step in
here immediately.”
The girl was back with Jimmy in less than a minute. The president did
not ask him to sit down, so he stood just inside the door, looking
from one to the other of the three men, and wondering what was about
to happen.
“Mr. Rand, Mr. Cooper informs me that you were first employed by this
company on April 18 last.”
“Yes, sir—I don’t remember.”
“His records show that. You do remember your first interview with me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Is it your remembrance that it occurred on the day before you started
with us?”
“Yes, sir; I’m sure of that.”
“When you left me that morning, you went directly into Mr. Hope’s
office?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you told him the business that you had wanted to tell me?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Was it what you told me this morning—in substance, I mean?”
“Why, yes, sir, of course.”
“Did you mention a gas-well in Alberta?”
“No, sir.”
“Has your mother any property in Alberta?”
“No, sir.”
“Thank you.” Mr. Wentworth turned again to his secretary. Mr. Hope had
paled visibly.
“Half an hour after you dismissed Mr. Rand you repeated his
conversation to me, Mr. Hope. It is my remembrance that it concerned a
natural gas strike in Alberta, near property held by this young man’s
mother. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir, I—yes, as near as I can remember it,” said Mr. Hope.
“You said nothing to me about burning coal without mining it. I assume
he said nothing to you along those lines.”
“No, sir, he did not.” Mr. Hope answered more firmly this time.
“Just a moment, Mr. Rand.” Jimmy’s anger was proving too much for him;
he had taken a step forward toward Mr. Hope, with his fists clenched.
The president went on swiftly:
“Thank you, Mr. Hope. I think I understand the circumstances now. You
may go, gentlemen.” The president indicated Mr. Merkle and Jimmy.
“Mr. Hope,” he went on, when they were alone, “for some years you have
been my secretary. I have had no cause to criticize your work unduly,
nor do I think I have treated you unfairly as an employer.
“What has just transpired needs no additional words between us. It is
entirely self-evident. Explanations are futile, recriminations idle.
As you know, Mr. Hope, integrity of character is one thing this
company demands above all else. For a person without it there can be
no place in this organization. I must ask you therefore to let me have
your resignation, to take effect immediately.”
Mr. Hope stood up. He hesitated an instant, then met the president’s
eyes squarely.
“Very well, sir. If that is what you wish, you shall have it at once.”
Then with a punctilious little bow, he turned and left the office.