IN WHICH, BEING THE LAST CHAPTER, EVERYTHING TURNS OUT RIGHT, AND
EVERYBODY GETS MARRIED
At the offices of the New Brightlight Electric Company there was
universal rejoicing. Johnson was removed from the _Bulletin_ to take
charge of the new organization until it should be completed, and Bobby
himself, for a few days, was compelled to spend most of his time
there. During the first week after the granting of the franchise Bobby
called Johnson to him.
"Mr. Johnson," said he quite severely, "you have been so careful and
so faithful in all other things that I dislike to remind you of an
overlooked duty."
"I am sorry, sir," said Johnson. "What is it?"
"You have neglected to make out a note for that five-thousand-dollar
loan. Kindly draw it up now, payable in ten years, with interest at
four per cent. _after_ the date of maturity."
"But, sir," stammered Johnson, "the stock is worth par now."
"Would you like to keep it?"
"I'd be a fool to say I wouldn't, sir. But the stock is not only worth
par,--it was worth that in the old Brightlight; and I received an
exchange of two for one in the New Brightlight, which is also worth
par this morning; so I hold twenty thousand dollars' worth of stock."
"It cost me five thousand," insisted Bobby, "and we'll settle at that
figure."
"I don't know how to thank you, sir," trembled Johnson, but he
stiffened immediately as Applerod intruded himself into the room with
a bundle of papers which he laid upon the desk.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Burnit," began Applerod, "but I have five
thousand dollars I'd like to invest in the New Brightlight Company if
you could manage it for me."
"I'm sorry, Applerod," said Bobby, "but there isn't a share for sale.
It was subscribed to the full capitalization before the incorporation
papers were issued."
Applerod was about to leave the room in deep dejection when Johnson,
with a sudden happy inspiration, called him back.
"I think I know where you can buy five thousand," said Johnson; "but
you will have to hurry to get it."
"Where?" asked Applerod eagerly, while Bobby went to the window to
conceal his broad smiles.
"Just put on your hat and go right over to Barrister," directed
Johnson; "and take a blank check with you. I'll telephone him, to save
time for you. The stock is worth par, and that lonesome fifty shares
will be snapped up before you know it."
"You will excuse me till I go up-town, Mr. Burnit?" inquired Applerod,
and bustled out eagerly.
He had no sooner left the building than Johnson grabbed Bobby's
telephone and called up Barrister.
"This is Johnson," he said to the old attorney. "I have just sent
Applerod over to you to buy fifty shares of New Brightlight at par.
Take his check and hold it for delivery of the stock. I'll have it
over to you within an hour, or as soon as I can have the transfer
made. It is my stock, but I don't want him to know it."
Hanging up the receiver old Johnson sat in the chair by Bobby's desk
and his thin shoulders heaved with laughter.
"Applerod will be plumb crazy when he finds that out," he said. "To
think that I have fifteen thousand dollars' worth of this good stock
that didn't cost me a cent, all paid for with Applerod's own five
thousand dollars!"
Johnson laughed so hard that finally he was compelled to lay his head
on the desk in front of him, with his lean old fingers over his eyes.
"Thanks to you, Robert; thanks to you," he added after a little
silence.
Bobby, turning from the window, saw the thin shoulders still heaving.
There was a glint of moisture on the lean hands that had toiled for so
many years in the Burnit service, and as Bobby passed he placed his
hand on old Johnson's bowed head for just an instant, then went out,
leaving Johnson alone.
It was Applerod who, returning triumphantly with Barrister's promise
of the precious block of New Brightlight for delivery in the
afternoon, brought Bobby a copy of his own paper containing so much
startling news that the front page consisted only of a hysteria of
head-lines. Sudden proceedings in bankruptcy had been filed against
the Consolidated Illuminating and Power Company. These proceedings had
revealed the fact that Frank L. Sharpe, supposed to have left the city
on business for the company, had in reality disappeared with the
entire cash balance of the Consolidated. This disappearance had
immediately thrust the Middle West Construction Company into
bankruptcy. By Stone's own acts the Stone enterprises had crumpled and
fallen, and all his adherents were ruined.
Out of the chaos that the startling facts he was able to glean created
in Bobby's mind there came a thought of Ferris, and he immediately
telephoned him, out at the site of the new G. E. and W. shops, where
ground was already being broken, that he would be out that way.
Half an hour later he took Ferris into his machine and they whirled
over to the waterworks site, where the work had stopped as abruptly as
if that scene of animation had suddenly been stricken of a plague and
died. On the way Bobby explained to Ferris what had happened.
"You were the lowest legitimate bidder on the job, I believe," he
concluded.
"Yes, outside of the local company."
"If I were you I'd get busy with Jimmy Platt on an estimate of the
work already done," suggested Bobby. "I think it very likely that the
city council will offer the Keystone Construction Company the contract
at its former figure, with the proper deductions for present progress.
We will make up the difference between their bid and yours, and
whatever loss there is in taking up the work will come out of the
forfeit put up by the Middle West Company."
Jimmy Platt ran out to meet them like a lost soul. The waterworks
project had become his pet. He lived with it and dreamed of it, and
that there was a prospect of resuming work, and under such skilful
supervision as that of Ferris, delighted him. While Jimmy and Mr.
Ferris went into the office to prepare a basis of estimating, Bobby
stayed behind to examine the carbureter of his machine, which had been
acting suspiciously on the way out, and while he was engaged in this
task a voice that he knew quite well saluted him with:
"Fine work, old pal! I guess you put all your lemons into the squeezer
and got the juice, eh?"
Biff had a copy of the _Bulletin_ in his hand, which was sufficient
explanation of his congratulations.
"Things do seem to be turning out pretty lucky for me, Biff," Bobby
confessed, and then, looking at Mr. Bates, he immediately apologized.
"I beg pardon for calling you Biff," said he. "I should have said Mr.
Bates."
"Cut it!" growled Biff, looking himself over with some complacency
nevertheless.
From his nice new derby, which replaced the slouch cap he had always
preferred, to his neat and uncomfortably-pointed gun-metal leathers
which had supplanted the broad-toed tans, Mr. Bates was an epitome of
neatly-pressed grooming. White cuffs edged the sleeves of his gray
business suit, and--wonder of wonders!--he wore a white shirt with a
white collar, in which there was tied a neat bow of--last wonder of
all--modest gray!
"I suppose that costume is due to distinctly feminine influence, eh,
Biff?"
"Guilty as Cassie Chadwick!" replied Biff with a sheepish grin. "She's
tryin' to civilize me."
"Who is?" demanded Bobby.
"Oh, _she_ is. You know who I mean. Why, she's even taught me to cut
out slang. Say, Bobby, I didn't know how much like a rough-neck I used
to talk. I never opened my yawp but what I spilled a line of
fricasseed gab so twisted and frazzled and shredded you could use it
to stuff sofa-cushions; but now I've handed that string of talk the
screw number. No more slang for your Uncle Biff."
"I'm glad you have quit it," approved Bobby soberly. "I suppose the
next thing I'll hear will be the wedding bells."
"No!" Biff denied in a tone so pained and shocked that Bobby looked up
in surprise to see his face gone pale. "Don't talk about that, Bobby.
Why, I wouldn't dare even think of it myself. I--I never think about
it. Me? with a mitt like a picnic ham? Did you ever see her hand,
Bobby? And her eyes and her hair and all? Why, Bobby, if I'd ever
catch myself daring to think about marrying that girl I'd take myself
by the Adam's apple and give myself the damnedest choking that ever
turned a mutt's map purple."
"I'm sorry, after all, that you are through with slang, Biff," said
Bobby, "because if you were still using it you might have expressed
that idea so much more picturesquely;" but Biff did not hear him, for
from the office came Nellie Platt with a sun-hat in her hand.
"Right on time," she said gaily to Biff, and, with a pleasant word for
Bobby, went down with Mr. Bates to the river bank, where lay the neat
little skiff that Jimmy had bought for her.
Bobby and Ferris and Platt, standing up near the filters, later on,
were startled by a scream from the river, and, turning, they saw the
skiff, in mid-stream, struck by a passing steamer and splintered as if
it were made of pasteboard. Nellie had been rowing. Biff had called
her attention to the approaching steamer, across the path of which
they were passing. There had been plenty of time to row out of the way
of it, but Nellie in grasping her oar for a quick turn had lost it.
Fortunately the engines had been stopped immediately when the pilot
had seen that they must strike, so that there was no appreciable
underdrag. Biff's head had been grazed slightly, enough to daze him
for an instant, but he held himself up mechanically. Nellie, clogged
by her skirts, could not swim, and as Biff got his bearings he saw her
close by him going down for the second time. Two men sprang from the
lower deck of the steamer, but Biff reached her first, and, his senses
instantly clearing as he caught her, he struck out for the shore.
The three men on shore immediately ran down the bank, and sprang into
the water to help Biff out with his burden. He was pale, but strangely
cool and collected.
"Don't go at it that way!" he called to them savagely, knowing neither
friend nor foe in this emergency. "Get her loosened up someway, can't
you?"
Without waiting on them, Biff ripped a knife from his pocket, opened
it and slit through waist and skirt-band and whatever else intervened,
to her corset, which he opened with big fingers, the sudden deftness
of which was marvelous. Directing them with crisp, sharp commands, he
guided them through the first steps toward resuscitation, and then
began the slow, careful pumping of the arms that should force breath
back into the closed lungs.
For twenty minutes, each of which seemed interminable, Jimmy and Biff
worked, one on either side of her, Biff's face set, cold,
expressionless, until at last there was a flutter of the eyelids, a
cry of distress as the lungs took up their interrupted function, then
the sharp, hissing sound of the intake and outgo of natural, though
labored, breath; then Nellie Platt opened her big, brown eyes and
gazed up into the gray ones of Biff Bates. She faintly smiled; then
Biff did a thing that he had never done before in his mature life. He
suddenly broke down and cried aloud, sobbing in great sobs that shook
him from head to foot and that hurt him, as they tore from his throat,
as the first breath of new life had hurt Nellie Platt; and, seeing and
understanding, she raised up one weak arm and slipped it about his
neck.
It was about a week after this occurrence when Silas Trimmer, coming
back from lunch to attend the annual stock-holders' meeting of Trimmer
and Company, stopped on the sidewalk to inspect, with some curiosity,
a strange, boxlike-looking structure which leaned face downward upon
the edge of the curbing. It was three feet wide and full sixty feet
long. He stooped and tried to tilt it up, but it was too heavy for his
enfeebled frame, and with another curious glance at it he went into
the store.
The meeting was set for half-past two. It was now scarcely two, and
yet, when he opened the door of his private office, which had been set
apart for that day's meeting, he was surprised at the number of people
he found in the room. A quick recognition of them mystified him the
more. They were Bobby Burnit and Agnes, Johnson, Applerod and
Chalmers.
"I came a little early, Mr. Trimmer," said Bobby, in a polite
conversational tone, "to have these three hundred shares transferred
upon the books of Trimmer and Company, before the stock-holders'
meeting convenes."
"What shares are they?" inquired Silas in a voice grown strangely
shrill and metallic.
"The stock that was previously controlled by your son-in-law, Mr.
Clarence Smythe. Miss Elliston bought them last week from your
daughter, with the full consent of your son-in-law."
"The dog!" Trimmer managed to gasp, and his fingers clutched
convulsively.
"Possibly," admitted Bobby dryly. "At any rate he has had to leave
town, and I do not think you will be bothered with him any more. In
the meantime, Mr. Trimmer, I'd like to call your attention to a few
very interesting figures. When you urged me, four years ago, to
consolidate the John Burnit and Trimmer and Company Stores, my
father's business was appraised at two hundred and sixty thousand
dollars and yours at two hundred and forty. On your suggestion we took
in sixty thousand dollars of additional capital. I did not know as
much at that time as I do now, and I let you sell this stock where you
could control it, virtually giving you three thousand shares to my two
thousand six hundred. You froze me out, elected your own board, made
yourself manager at an enormous salary, and voted your son-in-law
another one so ridiculous that it was put out of all possibility for
my stock ever to yield any dividends. All right, Mr. Trimmer. With the
purchase of this three hundred shares I now control two thousand nine
hundred shares and you two thousand seven hundred. I presume I don't
need to tell you what is going to happen in today's meeting."
To this Silas returned no answer.
"I am an old man," he muttered to himself as one suddenly stricken. "I
am an old, old man."
"I am going to oust you," continued Bobby, "and to oust all your
relatives from their fat positions; and I am going to elect myself to
everything worth while. I have brought Mr. Johnson with me to inspect
your books, and Mr. Chalmers to take charge of certain legal matters
connected with the concern immediately after the close of to-day's
meeting. I am going to restore Applerod to his position here from
which you so unceremoniously discharged him, and make Johnson general
manager of this and all my affairs. I understand that your stock in
this concern is mortgaged, and that you will be utterly unable to
redeem it. I intend to buy it and practically own the entire company
myself. Are there any questions you would like to ask, Mr. Trimmer?"
There was none. Silas, crushed and dazed and pitiable, only moaned
that he was an old man; that he was an old, old man.
Bobby felt the gentle pressure of Agnes' hand upon his arm. There was
a moment of silence.
Trimmer looked around at them piteously. Once more Bobby felt that
touch upon his sleeve. Understanding, he went over to Silas and took
him gently by the arm.
"Come over here to the window with me a minute," said he, "and we will
have a little business talk."
"Business! Oh, yes; business!" said Silas, brightening up at the
mention of the word.
He rose nervously and allowed Bobby to lead him, bent and almost
palsied, over to the window, where they could look out on the busy
street below, and the roofs of the tall buildings, and the blue sky
beyond where it smiled down upon the river. It was only a fleeting
glance that Silas Trimmer cast at the familiar scene outside, and
almost immediately he turned to Bobby, clutching his coat sleeve
eagerly. "You--you said something about business," he half-whispered,
and over his face there came a shadow of that old, shrewd look.
"Why, yes," replied Bobby uncomfortably. "I think we can find a place
for you, Mr. Trimmer. You have kept this concern up splendidly, no
matter how much beset you were outside, and--and I think Johnson will
engage you, if you care for it, to look after certain details of
buying and such matters as that."
"Oh, yes, the buying," agreed Silas, nodding his head. "I always was a
good buyer--and a good seller, too!" and he chuckled. "About what do
you say, now, that my services would be worth?" and with the prospect
of bartering more of his old self came back.
"We'll make that satisfactory, I can assure you," said Bobby. "Your
salary will be a very liberal one, I am certain, and it will begin
from to-day. First, however, you must have a good rest--a vacation
with pay, understand--and it will make you strong again. You are a
little run down."
"Yes," agreed Silas, nodding his head as the animation faded out of
his eyes. "I'm getting old. I think, Mr. Burnit, if you don't mind
I'll go into the little room there and lie on the couch for a few
minutes."
"That is a good idea," said Bobby. "You should be rested for the
meeting."
"Oh, yes," repeated Silas, nodding his head sagely; "the meeting."
They were uncomfortably silent when Bobby had returned from the little
room adjoining. The shadow of tragedy lay upon them all, and it was
out of this shadow that Bobby spoke his determination.
"I am going to get out of business," he declared. "It is a hard, hard
game. I can win at it, but--well, I'd rather go back, if I only could,
to my unsophistication of four years ago. I don't like business. Of
course, I'll keep this place for tradition's sake, and because it
would please my father--no, I mean it _will_ please him--but I'm going
to sell the _Bulletin_. I have an offer for it at an excellent profit.
I'm going to intrust the management of the electric plant to my good
friend Biff, here, with Chalmers and Johnson as starboard and larboard
bulwarks, until the stock is quoted at a high enough rating to be a
profitable sale; then I'm going to turn it into money, and add it to
the original fund. I think I shall be busy enough just looking after
and enjoying my new partnership," and he smiled down at Agnes, who
smiled back at him with a trusting admiration that needed no words to
express.
"Beg your pardon, sir," said old Johnson, "but I have a letter here
for you," and from his inside pocket he drew one of the familiar
steel-gray envelopes, which he handed to Bobby.
It was addressed:
_To My Son Bobby, Upon His Regaining His Father's Business_
The message inside was so brief that one who had not known well old
John Burnit would never have known the full, full heart out of which
he penned it:
"I knew you'd do it, dear boy. Whatever mystery I find in the
great hereafter I shall be satisfied--for I knew you'd do it."
That was all.
"Johnson," said Bobby, crumpling up the letter in his hand, and
speaking briskly to beat back his emotion, "we will move our offices
to the same old quarters, and we will move back, for my use, my
father's old desk with my father's portrait hanging above it, just as
they were when Silas Trimmer ordered them removed."
Two of the stock-holders came in at this moment, and Agnes went down
into the store to find Biff Bates and Nellie Platt, for there was much
shopping to do. Agnes had taken pretty Nellie under her chaperonage,
and every day now the girls were busy with preparations for certain
events in which each was highly interested.
Up in the office there was a meeting that was a shock to all the
stock-holders but one, and after it was over Bobby joined the
shoppers. When the four of them had clambered into Bobby's automobile
and were rolling away, Bobby stopped his machine.
"Look," he said in calm triumph, and pointed upward, his hand clasping
a smaller hand which was to rest contentedly in his through life.
Over the Grand Street front of the building from which they had
emerged, workmen were just raising a huge electric sign, and it bore
the legend:
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Last Trail, The. By Zane Grey.
Leavenworth Case, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
Lilac Sunbonnet, The. By S. R. Crockett.
Lin McLean. By Owen Wister.
Long Night, The. By Stanley J. Weyman.
Maid at Arms, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
Man from Red Keg, The. By Eugene Thwing.
Marthon Mystery, The. By Burton Egbert Stevenson.
Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle.
Millionaire Baby, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
Missourian, The. By Eugene P. Lyle, Jr.
Mr. Barnes, American. By A. C. Gunter.
Mr. Pratt. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
My Friend the Chauffeur. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
My Lady of the North. By Randall Parrish.
Mystery of June 13th. By Melvin L. Severy.
Mystery Tales. By Edgar Allan Poe.
Nancy Stair. By Elinor Macartney Lane.
Order No. 11. By Caroline Abbot Stanley.
Pam. By Bettina von Hutten.
Pam Decides. By Bettina von Hutten.
Partners of the Tide. By Joseph C. Lincoln.
Phra the Phoenician. By Edwin Lester Arnold.
President, The. By Alfred Henry Lewis.
Princess Passes, The. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
Princess Virginia, The. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
Prisoners. By Mary Cholmondeley.
Private War, The. By Louis Joseph Vance.
Prodigal Son, The. By Hall Caine.
Quickening, The. By Francis Lynde.
Richard the Brazen. By Cyrus T. Brady and Edw. Peple.
Rose of the World. By Agnes and Egerton Castle.
Running Water. By A. E. W. Mason.
Sarita the Carlist. By Arthur W. Marchmont.
Seats of the Mighty, The. By Gilbert Parker.
Sir Nigel. By A. Conan Doyle.
Sir Richard Calmady. By Lucas Malet.
Speckled Bird, A. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
Spirit of the Border, The. By Zane Grey.
Spoilers, The. By Rex Beach.
Squire Phin. By Holman F. Day.
Stooping Lady, The. By Maurice Hewlett.
Subjection of Isabel Carnaby. By Ellen Thorneycroft Fowler.
Sunset Trail, The. By Alfred Henry Lewis.
Sword of the Old Frontier, A. By Randall Parrish.
Tales of Sherlock Holmes. By A. Conan Doyle.
That Printer of Udell's. By Harold Bell Wright.
Throwback, The. By Alfred Henry Lewis.
Trail of the Sword, The. By Gilbert Parker.
Treasure of Heaven, The. By Marie Corelli.
Two Vanrevels, The. By Booth Tarkington.
Up From Slavery. By Booker T. Washington.
Vashti. By Augusta Evans Wilson.
Viper of Milan, The (original edition). By Marjorie Bowen.
Voice of the People, The. By Ellen Glasgow.
Wheel of Life, The. By Ellen Glasgow.
When Wilderness Was King. By Randall Parrish.
Where the Trail Divides. By Will Lillibridge.
Woman in Grey, A. By Mrs. C. N. Williamson.
Woman in the Alcove, The. By Anna Katharine Green.
Younger Set, The. By Robert W. Chambers.
The Weavers. By Gilbert Parker.
The Little Brown Jug at Kildare. By Meredith Nicholson.
The Prisoners of Chance. By Randall Parrish.
My Lady of Cleve. By Percy J. Hartley.
Loaded Dice. By Ellery H. Clark.
Get Rich Quick Wallingford. By George Randolph Chester.
The Orphan. By Clarence Mulford.
A Gentleman of France. By Stanley J. Weyman.
Purple Parasol, The. By George Barr McCutcheon.
Princess Dehra, The. By John Reed Scott.
Making of Bobby Burnit, The. By George Randolph Chester.
Last Voyage of the Donna Isabel, The. By Randall Parrish.
Bronze Bell, The. By Louis Joseph Vance.
Pole Baker. By Will N. Harben.
Four Million, The. By O. Henry.
Idols. By William J. Locke.
Wayfarers, The. By Mary Stewart Cutting.
Held for Orders. By Frank H. Spearman.
Story of the Outlaw, The. By Emerson Hough.
Mistress of Brae Farm, The. By Rosa N. Carey.
Explorer, The. By William Somerset Maugham.
Abbess of Vlaye, The. By Stanley Weyman.
Alton of Somasco. By Harold Bindloss.
Ancient Law, The. By Ellen Glasgow.
Barrier, The. By Rex Beach.
Bar 20. By Clarence E. Mulford.
Beloved Vagabond, The. By William J. Locke.
Beulah. (Illustrated Edition.) By Augusta J. Evans.
Chaperon, The. By C. N. and A. M. Williamson.
Colonel Greatheart. By H. C. Bailey.
Dissolving Circle, The. By Will Lillibridge.
Elusive Isabel. By Jacques Futrelle.
Fair Moon of Bath, The. By Elizabeth Ellis.
54-40 or Fight. By Emerson Hough.