BOBBY'S MONEY IS ELECTROCUTED AND JOHN BURNIT'S SON WAKES UP
Bobby, jubilant, went to see Chalmers next day. The lawyer listened
gravely, but shook his head.
"I'm bound to tell you, Mr. Burnit, that you have no case. You must
have more proof than this to bring a charge of conspiracy. Ripley had
a perfect right to talk with Sharpe or to telephone to some one, and
mere hot-headedness could explain his shutting off the lights. Your
over-enthusiastic friend Bates has ruined whatever prospect you might
have had. Your suspicions once aroused, you should have let your man
do as he liked, but should have watched him and caught him in a trap
of some sort. Now it is too late. Moreover, I have bad news for you.
Your contract for city lighting is ironclad, and can not be broken,
but I saw to-day a paper signed by an overwhelming majority of your
private consumers that the service is not even 'reasonably
satisfactory,' and that they wish the field open to competition. With
this paper to back them, Stone's council granted the right to the
Consolidated Company to erect poles, string wires and supply current.
We can bring suit if you say so, but you will lose it."
"Bring suit, then!" ordered Bobby vehemently. "Why, Chalmers, the
contract for the city lighting alone would cost the Brightlight money
every year. The profit has all been made from private consumers."
"That's why you're losing it," said Chalmers dryly. "The whole project
is very plain to me now. The Consumers and the United Companies never
cared to enter that field, because their controlling stock-holders
were also the Brightlight controlling stock-holders, and they could
get more money through the Brightlight than they could through the
other companies; and so they led the public to believe that there was
no breaking the monopoly the Brightlight held upon their service. Now,
however, they want to gain another stock-jobbing advertisement by
driving you out of the field. They planned from the first to wreck you
for just that purpose--to make Consolidated stock seem more desirable
when the stock sales began to dwindle--and they are perfectly willing
to furnish the consumers in your twelve blocks with current at their
present ridiculously low rate, because, with them, any possible
profits to be derived from the business are insignificant compared to
the profits to be derived from the sale of their watered stock. The
price of illumination and power, later, will _soar_! Watch it. They're
a very bright crowd," and Mr. Chalmers paused to admire them.
"In other words," said Bobby glumly. "I am what Biff Bates told me I
would be--the goat."
"Precisely," agreed Chalmers.
"Begin suit anyhow," directed Bobby, "and we'll see what comes of it."
"By the way," called Chalmers with a curious smile as Bobby opened the
door; "I've just learned that one of the foremost enthusiasts in this
whole manipulation has been quiet and conservative Silas Trimmer."
Bobby did not swear. He simply slammed the door.
Two days later Bobby was surprised to see Sharpe drop in upon him.
"I understand you are bringing suit against the Consolidated for
encroachment upon your territory, and against the city for abrogation
of contract," began Sharpe.
"Yes," said Bobby.
"Don't you think it rather a waste of money, Mr. Burnit? I can
guarantee you positively that you will not win either suit."
"I'm willing to wait to find that out."
"No use," said Sharpe impatiently. "I'll tell you what we will do, Mr.
Burnit. If you care to have us to do so, the Consolidated, a little
later on, will absorb the Brightlight."
"On what terms?" asked Bobby.
"It all depends. We might discuss that later. There's another matter
I'd like to speak with you about. Stone wants to see you, even yet. I
want to tell you, Mr. Burnit, he can get along a great deal better
without you than you can without him, as you are probably willing to
admit by now. But he still wants you. Go and see Stone."
"On--what--terms--will the Consolidated now absorb the Brightlight?"
demanded Bobby sternly.
"Well," drawled Sharpe, with a complete change of manner, "the
property has deteriorated considerably within a remarkably short space
of time, but I should say that we would buy the Brightlight for three
hundred thousand dollars in stock of the Consolidated, half preferred
and half common."
"And this is your very best offer?"
"The very best," replied Sharpe, making no attempt to conceal his
exultant grin.
"Not on your life," declared Bobby. "I'm going to hold the Brightlight
intact. I'm going to fulfill the city contract at a loss, if it takes
every cent I can scrape together, and then I'm going to enter politics
myself. I'm going to drive Stone and his crowd out of this city, and
we shall see if we can not make a readjustment of the illuminating
business on my basis instead of his. Good day, Mr. Sharpe."
"Good day, sir," said Sharpe, and this time he laughed aloud.
At the door he turned.
"I'd like to call your attention, young man, to the fact that a great
many very determined gentlemen have announced their intention of
driving Mr. Stone and his associates out of this city. You might
compare that with the fact that Mr. Stone and his friends are all here
yet, and on top," and with that he withdrew.
"If I may be so bold as to say so," said Mr. Applerod, worried to
paleness by this foolish defiance of so great and good a man, "you
have made a very grave error, Mr. Burnit, very grave, indeed. It is
suicidal to defy Mr. Sharpe, and through him _Mr. Stone_!"
"Will you shut up!" snarled Johnson to his ancient work-mate. "Mr.
Burnit, I have no right to take the liberty, but I am going to
congratulate you, sir. Whatever follies inexperience may have led you
to commit, you are, at any rate, sir, a _man_, like your father was
before you!" and by way of emphasis Johnson smacked his fist on his
desk as he glared in Mr. Applerod's direction.
"It's all very well to show fight, Johnson," said Bobby, a little
wanly, "but just the same I have to acknowledge defeat. I am afraid I
boasted too much. Chalmers, after considering the matter, positively
refuses to bring suit. The whole game is over. I have the Brightlight
Company on my hands at a net dead loss of every cent I have sunk into
it, and it can not pay me a penny so long as these men remain in
power. I am going to fight them with their own weapons, but that is a
matter of years. In the meantime, my third business attempt is a
hideous failure. Where's the gray envelope, Johnson?"
"It is here," admitted Johnson, and from his file took the missive in
question.
As Bobby took the letter from Johnson Agnes came into the office and
swept toward him with outstretched hand.
"It is perfectly shameful, Bobby! I just read about it!"
"So soon?" he wanted to know.
She carried a paper in her hand and spread it before him. In the very
head-line his fate was pronounced. "Brightlight Electric Tottering to
Its Fall," was the cheerful line which confronted him, and beneath
this was set forth the facts that every profitable contract heretofore
held by the Brightlight Electric had been taken away from that
unfortunate concern, in which the equipment was said to be so
inefficient as to render decent service out of the question, and that,
having remaining to it only a money-losing contract for city lighting,
business men were freely predicting its very sudden dissolution. The
item, wherein the head-line took up more space than the news, wound up
with the climax statement that Brightlight stock was being freely
offered at around forty, with no takers.
To her surprise, Bobby tossed the paper on Johnson's desk and laughed.
"I have been so long prepared for this bit of 'news' that it does not
shock me much," he said; "moreover, the lower this stock goes the
cheaper I can buy it!"
"Buy it!" she incredulously exclaimed.
"Exactly," he stated calmly. "I presume that, as heretofore, I'll be
given another check, and I do not see any better place to put the
money than right here. I am going to fight!"
"Beg your pardon, sir," said Johnson. "Your last remark was spoken
loud enough to be taken as general, and I am compelled to give you
this envelope."
Into his hands Johnson placed a mate to the missive which Bobby had
not yet opened, and this one was inscribed:
_To My Son Robert, Upon His Declaration that He Will Take Two
Starts at the Same Business_
Bobby looked at the two letters in frowning perplexity, and then
silently walked into his own office, where Agnes followed him; and it
was she who closed the door. He sat down at his desk and held that
last letter of his father's before him in dread. He had so airily
built up his program; and apprehension told him what this letter might
contain! Presently he was conscious that Agnes' arm was slipped across
his shoulder. She was sitting upon the arm of his chair, and had bent
her cheek upon his head. So they read the curt message:
"To throw good money after bad is like sprinkling salt on a
cut. It only intensifies the pain and doesn't work much of a
cure. In your case it is strictly forbidden. You must learn to
cut your garment according to your cloth, to bite off only
what you can chew, to lift no more than you can carry. Your
next start must not be encumbered."
"He's wrong!" declared Bobby savagely.
"But if he is," protested Agnes, "what can you do about it?"
"If his bequests are conditional I shall have to accept the
conditions; but, nevertheless, I am going to fight; and I am going to
keep the Brightlight Electric!"
Mechanically he opened the other letter now. The contents were to this
effect:
_To My Son Upon His Losing Money in a Public Service
Corporation_
"Every buzz-saw claims some fingers. Of course you had to be a
victim, but now you know how to handle a buzz-saw. The first
point about it is to treat it with respect. When you realize
thoroughly that a buzz-saw is dangerous, half the danger is
gone. So, when your wound is healed, you might go ahead and
saw, just as a matter of accomplishment. Bobby, how I wish I
could talk with you now, for just one little half hour."
Convulsively Bobby crumpled the letter in his hand and the tears
started to his eyes.
"Bully old dad!" he said brokenly, and opened his watch-case, where
the grim but humor-loving face of old John Burnit looked up at his
beloved children.
"And now what are you going to do?" Agnes asked him presently, when
they were calmer.
"Fight!" he vehemently declared. "For the governor's sake as well as
my own."
"I just found another letter for you, sir," said Johnson, handing in
the third of the missives to come in that day's mail from beyond the
Styx. It was inscribed:
_To My Son Robert Upon the Occasion of His Declaring Fight
Against the Politicians Who Robbed Him_
"Nothing but public laziness allows dishonest men to control
public affairs. Any time an honest man puts up a sincere fight
against a crook there's a new fat man in striped clothes. If
you have a crawful and want to fight against dirty politics in
earnest, jump in, and tell all my old friends to put a bet
down on you for me. I'd as soon have you spend in that way the
money I made as to buy yachts with it; and I can see where the
game might be made as interesting as polo. Go in and win,
boy."
"And now what are you going to do?" Agnes asked him, laughing this
time.
"Fight!" he declared exultantly. "I'm going to fight entirely outside
of my father's money. I'm going to fight with my own brawn and my own
brain and my own resources and my own personal following! Why, Agnes,
that is what the governor has been goading me to do. It is what all
this is planned for, and the governor, after all, is right!"