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GET-RICH-QUICK WALLINGFORD
A cheerful account of the rise and fall of an American Business
Buccaneer
By GEORGE RANDOLPH CHESTER
Author of "The Making of Bobby Burnit," "The Cash Intrigue," Etc.
WITH FOUR ILLUSTRATIONS
A. L. BURT COMPANY
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK
Copyright, 1907, by the Curtis Publishing Company
Copyright, 1908, by the Curtis Publishing Company
Copyright, 1908, by Howard E. Altemus
Published April, 1908
TO THE LIVE BUSINESS MEN OF AMERICA--THOSE
WHO HAVE BEEN "STUNG" AND THOSE WHO
HAVE YET TO UNDERGO THAT PAINFUL
EXPERIENCE--THIS LITTLE TALE IS
SYMPATHETICALLY DEDICATED
[Illustration: "AND THE BATHROOM MUST HAVE A LARGE TUB"]
Contents
CHAPTER I. In Which J. Rufus Wallingford Conceives a
Brilliant Invention 9
CHAPTER II. Wherein Edward Lamb Beholds the Amazing
Profits of the Carpet-tack Industry 21
CHAPTER III. Mr. Wallingford's Lamb Is Carefully Inspired
with a Flash of Creative Genius 33
CHAPTER IV. J. Rufus Accepts a Temporary Accommodation
and Buys an Automobile 45
CHAPTER V. The Universal Covered Carpet Tack Company
Forms Amid Great Enthusiasm 58
CHAPTER VI. In Which an Astounding Revelation Is Made
Concerning J. Rufus 71
CHAPTER VII. Wherein the Great Tack Inventor Suddenly
Decides to Change His Location 93
CHAPTER VIII. Mr. Wallingford Takes a Dose of His Own
Bitter Medicine 111
CHAPTER IX. Mr. Wallingford Shows Mr. Clover How to Do
the Widows and Orphans Good 129
CHAPTER X. An Amazing Combination of Philanthropy and
Profit is Inaugurated 140
CHAPTER XI. Neil Takes a Sudden Interest in the
Business, and Wallingford Lets Go 155
CHAPTER XII. Fate Arranges for J. Rufus an Opportunity
to Manufacture Sales Recorders 171
CHAPTER XIII. Mr. Wallingford Offers Unlimited Financial
Backing to a New Enterprise 187
CHAPTER XIV. Showing How Five Hundred Dollars May Do
the Work of Five Thousand 202
CHAPTER XV. Wallingford Generously Loans The Pneumatic
Company Some of Its Own Money 215
CHAPTER XVI. The Financier Takes a Flying Trip to Europe
on an Affair of the Heart 232
CHAPTER XVII. Wherein a Good Stomach for Strong Drink
is Worth Thousands of Dollars 246
CHAPTER XVIII. The Town of Battlesburg Finds a Private
Railroad Car in Its Midst! 256
CHAPTER XIX. Mr. Wallingford Wins the Town of Battlesburg
by the Toss of a Coin 273
CHAPTER XX. Battlesburg Smells Money and Plunges into
a Mad Orgie of Speculation 293
CHAPTER XXI. In Which the Sheep Are Sheared and Skinned
and Their Hides Tanned 310
CHAPTER XXII. J. Rufus Prefers Farming in America to
Promoting in Europe 330
CHAPTER XXIII. A Corner on Farmers is Formed and It
Beholds a Most Wonderful Vision 347
CHAPTER XXIV. The Farmers' Commercial Association Does
Terrific Things to the Board of Trade 365
CHAPTER XXV. Mr. Fox Solves His Great Problem and Mr.
Wallingford Falls With a Thud 383
CHAPTER XXVI. J. Rufus Scents a Fortune in Smoke and
Lets Mr. Nickel See the Flames 399
CHAPTER XXVII. Mr. Wallingford Gambles a Bit and Picks
Up an Unsolicited Partner 414
CHAPTER XXVIII. Wherein Mr. Wallingford Joins the Largest
Club in the World 431
GET-RICH-QUICK WALLINGFORD
CHAPTER I
IN WHICH J. RUFUS WALLINGFORD CONCEIVES A BRILLIANT INVENTION
The mud was black and oily where it spread thinly at the edges of the
asphalt, and wherever it touched it left a stain; it was upon the
leather of every pedestrian, even the most fastidious, and it bordered
with almost laughable conspicuousness the higher marking of yellow clay
upon the heavy shoes of David Jasper, where he stood at the curb in
front of the big hotel with his young friend, Edward Lamb. Absorbed in
"lodge," talk, neither of the oddly assorted cronies cared much for
drizzle overhead or mire underfoot; but a splash of black mud in the
face must necessarily command some attention. This surprise came
suddenly to both from the circumstance of a cab having dashed up just
beside them. Their resentment, bubbling hot for a moment, was quickly
chilled, however, as the cab door opened and out of it stepped one of
those impressive beings for whom the best things of this world have been
especially made and provided. He was a large gentleman, a suave
gentleman, a gentleman whose clothes not merely fit him but
distinguished him, a gentleman of rare good living, even though one of
the sort whose faces turn red when they eat; and the dignity of his
worldly prosperousness surrounded him like a blessed aura. Without a
glance at the two plain citizens who stood mopping the mud from their
faces, he strode majestically into the hotel, leaving Mr. David Jasper
and Mr. Edward Lamb out in the rain.
The clerk kowtowed to the signature, though he had never seen nor heard
of it before--"J. Rufus Wallingford, Boston." His eyes, however, had
noted a few things: traveling suit, scarf pin, watch guard, ring,
hatbox, suit case, bag, all expensive and of the finest grade.
"Sitting room and bedroom; outside!" directed Mr. Wallingford. "And the
bathroom must have a large tub."
The clerk ventured a comprehending smile as he noted the bulk before
him.
"Certainly, Mr. Wallingford. Boy, key for 44-A. Anything else, Mr.
Wallingford?"
"Send up a waiter and a valet."
Once more the clerk permitted himself a slight smile, but this time it
was as his large guest turned away. He had not the slightest doubt that
Mr. Wallingford's bill would be princely, he was positive that it would
be paid; but a vague wonder had crossed his mind as to who would
regrettingly pay it. His penetration was excellent, for at this very
moment the new arrival's entire capitalized worth was represented by the
less than one hundred dollars he carried in his pocket, nor had Mr.
Wallingford the slightest idea of where he was to get more. This latter
circumstance did not distress him, however; he knew that there was still
plenty of money in the world and that none of it was soldered on, and a
reflection of this comfortable philosophy was in his whole bearing. As
he strode in pomp across the lobby, a score of bellboys, with a
carefully trained scent for tips, envied the cheerfully grinning
servitor who followed him to the elevator with his luggage.
Just as the bellboy was inserting the key in the lock of 44-A, a tall,
slightly built man in a glove-fitting black frock suit, a quite
ministerial-looking man, indeed, had it not been for the startling
effect of his extravagantly curled black mustache and his piercing black
eyes, came down the hallway, so abstracted that he had almost passed Mr.
Wallingford. The latter, however, had eyes for everything.
"What's the hurry, Blackie?" he inquired affably.
The other wheeled instantly, with the snappy alertness of a man who has
grown of habit to hold himself in readiness against sudden surprises
from any quarter.
"Hello, J. Rufus!" he exclaimed, and shook hands. "Boston squeezed dry?"
Mr. Wallingford chuckled with a cumbrous heaving of his shoulders.
"Just threw the rind away," he confessed. "Come in."
Mr. Daw, known as "Blackie" to a small but select circle of gentlemen
who make it their business to rescue and put carefully hoarded money
back into rapid circulation, dropped moodily into a chair and sat
considering his well-manicured finger-nails in glum silence, while his
masterful host disposed of the bellboy and the valet.
"Had your dinner?" inquired Mr. Wallingford as he donned the last few
garments of a fresh suit.
"Not yet," growled the other. "I've got such a grouch against myself I
won't even feed right, for fear I'd enjoy it. On the cheaps for the last
day, too."
Mr. Wallingford laughed and shook his head.
"I'm clean myself," he hastened to inform his friend. "If I have a
hundred I'm a millionaire, but I'm coming and you're going, and we don't
look at that settle-up ceremony the same way. What's the matter?"
"I'm the goat!" responded Blackie moodily. "The original goat! Came
clear out here to trim a sucker that looked good by mail, and have
swallowed so much of that citric fruit that if I scrape myself my skin
spurts lemon juice. Say, do I look like a come-on?"
"If you only had the shaving-brush goatee, Blackie, I'd try to make you
bet on the location of the little pea," gravely responded his friend.
"That's right; rub it in!" exclaimed the disgruntled one. "Massage me
with it! Jimmy, if I could take off my legs, I'd kick myself with them
from here to Boston and never lose a stroke. And me wise!"
"But where's the fire?" asked J. Rufus, bringing the end of his collar
to place with a dexterous jerk.
"This lamb I came out to shear--rot him and burn him and scatter his
ashes! Before I went dippy over two letter-heads and a nice round
signature, I ordered an extra safety-deposit vault back home and came on
to take his bank roll and house and lot, and make him a present of his
clothes if he behaved. But not so! _Not_--so! Jimmy, this whole town
blew right over from out of the middle of Missouri in the last cyclone.
You've got to show everybody, and then turn it over and let 'em see the
other side, and I haven't met the man yet that you could separate from a
dollar without chloroform and an ax. Let me tell you what to do with
that hundred, J. Rufe. Just get on the train and give it to the
conductor, and tell him to take you as far ay-way from here as the money
will reach!"
Mr. Wallingford settled his cravat tastefully and smiled at himself in
the glass.
"I like the place," he observed. "They have tall buildings here, and I
smell soft money. This town will listen to a legitimate business
proposition. What?"
"Like the milk-stopper industry?" inquired Mr. Daw, grinning
appreciatively. "How is your Boston corporation coming on, anyhow?"
"It has even quit holding the bag," responded the other, "because there
isn't anything left of the bag. The last I saw of them, the thin and
feeble stockholders were chasing themselves around in circles, so I
faded away."
"You're a wonder," complimented the black-haired man with genuine
admiration. "You never take a chance, yet get away with everything in
sight, and you never leave 'em an opening to put the funny clothes on
you."
"I deal in nothing but straight commercial propositions that are
strictly within the pale of the law," said J. Rufus without a wink; "and
even at that they can't say I took anything away from Boston."
"Don't blame Boston. You never cleaned up a cent less than five thousand
a month while you were there, and if you spent it, that was your
lookout."
"I had to live."
"So do the suckers," sagely observed Mr. Daw, "but they manage it on
four cents' worth of prunes a day, and save up their money for good
people. How is Mrs. Wallingford?"
"All others are base imitations," boasted the large man, pausing to
critically consider the flavor of his champagne. "Just now, Fanny's in
New York, eating up her diamonds. She was swallowing the last of the
brooch when I left her, and this morning she was to begin on the
necklace. That ought to last her quite some days, and by that time J.
Rufus expects to be on earth again."
A waiter came to the door with a menu card, and Mr. Wallingford ordered,
to be ready to serve in three quarters of an hour, at a choice table
near the music, a dinner for two that would gladden the heart of any
tip-hunter.
"How soon are you going back to Boston, Blackie?"
"To-night!" snapped the other. "I was going to take a train that makes
it in nineteen hours, but I found there is one that makes it in eighteen
and a half, so I'm going to take that; and when I get back where the
police are satisfied with half, I'm not going out after the emerald
paper any more. I'm going to make them bring it to me. It's always the
best way. I never went after money yet that they didn't ask me why I
wanted it."
The large man laughed with his eyes closed.
"Honestly, Blackie, you ought to go into legitimate business
enterprises. That's the only game. You can get anybody to buy stock
when you make them print it themselves, if you'll only bait up with
some little staple article that people use and throw away every day,
like ice-cream pails, or corks, or cigar bands, or--or--or carpet
tacks." Having sought about the room for this last illustration, Mr.
Wallingford became suddenly inspired, and, arising, went over to the
edge of the carpet, where he gazed down meditatively for a moment. "Now,
look at this, for instance!" he said with final enthusiasm. "See this
swell red carpet fastened down with rusty tacks? There's the chance.
Suppose those tacks were covered with red cloth to match the carpet.
Blackie, that's my next invention."
"Maybe there are covered carpet tacks," observed his friend, with but
languid interest.
"What do I care?" rejoined Mr. Wallingford. "A man can always get a
patent, and that's all I need, even if it's one you can throw a cat
through. The company can fight the patent after I'm out of it. You
wouldn't expect me to fasten myself down to the grease-covered details
of an actual manufacturing business, would you?"
"Not any!" rejoined the dark one emphatically. "You're all right, J.
Rufus. I'd go into your business myself if I wasn't honest. But, on the
level, what do you expect to do here?"
"Organize the Universal Covered Carpet Tack Company. I'll begin
to-morrow morning. Give me the list you couldn't use."
"Don't get in bad from the start," warned Mr. Daw. "Tackle fresh ones.
The particular piece of Roquefort, though, that fooled me into a Pullman
compartment and kept me grinning like a drunken hyena all the way here,
was a pinhead by the name of Edward Lamb. When Eddy fell for an inquiry
about Billion Strike gold stock, he wrote on the firm's stationery, all
printed in seventeen colors and embossed so it made holes in the
envelopes when the cancellation stamp came down. From the tone of Eddy's
letter I thought he was about ready to mortgage father's business to buy
Billion Strike, and I came on to help him do it. Honest, J. Rufus,
wouldn't it strike you that Lamb was a good name? Couldn't you hear it
bleat?"
Mr. Wallingford shook silently, the more so that there was no answering
gleam of mirth in Mr. Daw's savage visage.
"Say, do you know what I found when I got here?" went on Blackie still
more ferociously. "I found he was a piker bookkeeper, but with five
thousand dollars that he'd wrenched out of his own pay envelope, a
pinch at a clip; and every time he takes a dollar out of his pocket his
fingers creak. His whole push is like him, too, but I never got any
further than Eddy. He's not merely Johnny Wise--he's the whole Wise
family, and it's only due to my Christian bringing up that I didn't swat
him with a brick during our last little chatter when I saw it all fade
away. Do you know what he wanted me to do? He wanted me to prove to him
that there actually was a Billion Strike mine, and that gold had been
found in it!"
Mr. Wallingford had ceased to laugh. He was soberly contemplating.
"Your Lamb is my mutton," he finally concluded, pressing his finger tips
together. "He'll listen to a legitimate business proposition."
"Don't make me fuss with you, J. Rufus," admonished Mr. Daw. "Remember,
I'm going away to-night," and he arose.
Mr. Wallingford arose with him. "By the way, of course I'll want to
refer to you; how many addresses have you besides the Billion Strike? A
mention of that would probably get me arrested."
"Four: the Mexican and Rio Grande Rubber Company, Tremont Building; the
St. John's Blood Orange Plantation Company, 643 Third Street; the Los
Pocos Lead Development Company, 868 Schuttle Avenue, and the Sierra
Cinnabar Grant, Schuttle Square, all of which addresses will reach me at
my little old desk-room corner in 1126 Tremont Building, Third and
Schuttle Avenues; and I'll answer letters of inquiry on four different
letter-heads. If you need more I'll post Billy Riggs over in the Cloud
Block and fix it for another four or five."
"I'll write Billy a letter myself," observed J. Rufus. "I'll need all
the references I can get when I come to organize the Universal Covered
Carpet Tack Company."
"Quit kidding," retorted Mr. Daw.
"It's on the level," insisted J. Rufus seriously. "Let's go down to
dinner."