AN AMAZING COMBINATION OF PHILANTHROPY AND PROFIT IS INAUGURATED
Minnie Bishop came to work for the Noble Order of Friendly Hands on the
day that they moved into offices more in keeping with the magnificence
of Mr. Wallingford, and she was by no means out of place amid the
mahogany desks and fine rugs and huge leather chairs.
"Her smile alone is worth fifty dollars a week to the business," Clover
admitted, but they only paid her five at the start.
She had more to recommend her, however, than white teeth and red lips.
Wallingford himself was surprised to find that, in spite of her
apparently frivolous bent, she had considerable ability and was quick to
learn. From the first he assumed a direct guardianship over her, and his
approaches toward a slightly more than paternal friendship she
considered great fun. At home she mimicked him, and when her older
sister tried to talk to her seriously about it she only laughed the
more. Clover she amused continually, but Neil fell desperately in love
with her from the start, and him she flouted most unmercifully. Really,
she liked him, although she would not admit it even to herself, charging
him with the fatal error of being "too serious."
In the meantime the affairs of the concern progressed delightfully. For
the regulation fee, the Secretary of State, after some perfunctory
inquiries, permitted the "Trust Company" to increase its capitalization
to two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Even before the certificates
were delivered from the printer's, however, that month's issue of "The
Friendly Hand" bore the news to the five hundred members of the Order
and to four thousand five hundred prospective members, of the truly
unprecedented combination of philanthropy and profit. Somewhere the
indefatigable Wallingford had secured a copy of a most unusual annual
statement of a large and highly successful insurance company, of the
flat-rate variety and of a similar sounding name. In the smallest type
to be found he had printed over this:
READ THIS REPORT OF THE PROVIDENT FRIENDS TO ITS STOCKHOLDERS
Then followed direct quotations, showing that the Provident Friends had
a membership of a quarter of a million; that it had paid out in death
claims an enormous amount; that it had a surplus fund expressed in a
staggering array of figures; that its enrollment had increased fifty
thousand within the past year. Striking sentences, such as:
WE HAVE JUST DECLARED A THIRTY PER CENT. DIVIDEND
were displayed in big, black type, the whole being spread out in such
form that readers ignorant of such matters would take this to be a sworn
statement of the present condition of the Order of Friendly Hands; and
they were invited to subscribe for its golden stock at the rate of
twenty-five dollars a share! The prudent members who were providing for
their families after death could now also participate in the profits of
this commendable investment during life, and at a rate which, while not
guaranteed, could be expected, in the light of past experience, to pay
back the capital in a trifle over three years, leaving it still intact
and drawing interest.
But this, dear friends and coworkers in a noble cause, was not just a
hard, money-grinding proposition. The revenue derived from the sale of
stock was to be expended in the further expansion of the Order, until
it should blanket the world and carry the blessings of protection to the
widows and orphans throughout the universe! Never before in the history
of finance had it been made possible for men of modest means to further
a charitable work, a noble work, a work appealing to all the highest
aspirations of humanity and creditable to every finest instinct of the
human heart, and at the same time to reap an enormous profit! And the
price was only twenty-five dollars a share--while they lasted!
Wallingford had secured the data and supplied the human frailty ideas
for this flaming announcement, but Clover had put it together, and, as
he examined the proof sheet, the latter gentleman leaned back in his
chair with profound self-esteem.
"That'll get 'em!" he exulted. "If that don't bring in the money to make
this the greatest organization in the business, I don't want a cent!"
"You spread it on too much," objected Neil. "Why can't we do just as
well or better by presenting the thing squarely? It seems to me that any
man who would be caught by the self-evident buncombe of that thing would
be too big a sucker to have any money."
Wallingford looked at him thoughtfully.
"You're right, in a way, Neil," he admitted. "The men who have real
money wouldn't touch it, but the people we're appealing to have stacked
theirs up a cent at a time, and they are afraid of all investments--even
of the banks. When you offer them thirty per cent., however, they are
willing to take a chance; and, after all, I don't see why, with the
money that comes in from this stock sale, we should not be able to
expand our organization to even larger proportions than the Provident
Friends. If we do that, what is to prevent a good dividend to our
stockholders?"
Clover glanced at his partner in surprise. From that overawing bulk
there positively radiated high moral purpose, and Neil shriveled under
it. When they were alone, Clover, making idle marks with his pencil,
looked up at Wallingford from time to time from under shaggy brows, and
finally he laughed aloud.
"You're the limit," he observed. "That's a fine line of talk you gave
Neil."
"Can't we buy him out?" asked Wallingford abruptly.
"What with? A note?" inquired Clover. "Hardly."
"Cash, then."
"Will you put it up?"
"I'll see about it, for if I have him gauged right he will be hunting
for trouble all along the line."
Wallingford went to the window and looked out; then he got his hat. As
he stepped into the hall Neil came from an adjoining room.
"Do you want to sell your stock, Neil?" asked Clover.
"To whom?" asked Neil slowly. Wallingford had shaken his slow
deductions, had suggested new possibilities to ponder, and he was still
bewildered.
"To Wallingford."
"Say, Clover, has he _got_ any money?" demanded Neil.
"If he hasn't he can get it," replied the other. "Come here a minute."
He drew Neil to the window and they looked down into the street.
Standing in front of the office building was a huge, maroon-colored
automobile with a leather-capped chauffeur in front. As they watched,
Mr. Wallingford came out to the curb and the chauffeur saluted with his
finger. Mr. Wallingford took from the rear seat a broad-checked ulster,
put it on, and exchanged his derby for a cap to match. Then he climbed
into the auto and went whirring away.
"That looks like money, don't it?" demanded Clover.
"I give up," said Neil.
"How much do you want for your stock?" inquired Clover, again with a
smile.
"Par!" exclaimed Neil, once more satisfied. "Nothing less!"
"Right you are," agreed Clover. "This man Wallingford is the greatest
ever, I tell you! He's a wonder, a positive genius, and it was a lucky
day for me that I met him. He will make us all rich."
His admiration for Wallingford knew no bounds. He had detected in the
man a genius for chicanery, and so long as he was "in with it"
Wallingford might be as "smooth" as he liked. Were they not partners?
Indeed, yes. Share and share alike!
That night Clover and Neil dined with Mr. and Mrs. Wallingford at their
hotel, and if Neil had any lingering doubts as to Mr. Wallingford's
command of money, those doubts were dispelled by the size of the check,
by the obsequiousness shown them, and by the manner in which Mrs.
Wallingford wore her expensive clothing. After dinner Wallingford took
them for a ride in his automobile, and at a quiet road house, a dozen
miles out of town, over sparkling drinks and heavy cigars, they quite
incidentally discussed a trifling matter of business.
"You fellows go ahead with the insurance part of the game," Wallingford
directed them. "I don't understand any part of that business, but I'll
look after the stock sales. That I know I can handle."
They were enthusiastic in their seconding of this idea, and after this
point had been reached, the host, his business done, took his guests
back to town in the automobile upon which he had not as yet paid a cent,
dropping them at their homes in a most blissful state of content.
Proceeding along the lines of the understanding thus established, within
a few days money began to flow into the coffers of the concern. Mr.
Wallingford's method of procedure was perfectly simple. When an
experimentally inclined member of any one of the out-of-town "Circles"
sent in his modest twenty-five dollars for a share of stock, or even
inquired about it, Wallingford promptly got on a train and went to see
that man. Upon his arrival he immediately found out how much money the
man had and issued him stock to the amount; then he got introductions to
the other members and brought home stock subscriptions to approximately
the exact total of their available cash. There was no resisting him. In
the meantime, with ample funds to urge it forward, the membership of the
organization increased at a rapid enough rate to please even the master
hand. New members meant new opportunities for stock sales, and that
only, to him, and to Clover, the world, at last, was as it should be.
Money was his for the asking, and by means which pleased his sense of
being "in" on a bit of superior cleverness. Quite early in the days of
plenty he saw a side investment which, being questionable, tempted him,
and he came to Wallingford--to borrow money!
"I'll sell some of your stock," offered Wallingford. "I want to sell a
little of my own, anyhow."
In all, he sold for Clover five thousand dollars' worth, and the stock
was promptly reported by the purchasers for transfer on the books of the
company. Some of Wallingford's also came in for transfer, although a
much less amount; sufficient, however, it seemed, for he took the most
expensive apartments in town, filled them with the best furnishings that
were made, and lived like a king. Mrs. Wallingford secured her diamonds
again and bought many more. Clover also "took on airs." Neil worried.
He had made a study of the actual cost of insurance, and the low rate
that they were now receiving filled him with apprehension.
"We're going on the rocks as fast as we can go," he declared to Clover.
"According to the tables we're due for a couple of deaths right now, and
the longer they delay the more they will bunch up on us. Mark what I
say: the avalanche will get you before you have time to get out, if
that's what you plan on doing. I wish the laws governed our rate here as
they do in some of the other States."
"What's the matter with the rate?" Clover wanted to know. "When it's
inadequate we'll raise it."
"That isn't what we're promising to do," insisted Neil. "We're
advertising a permanent flat rate."
"Show me where," demanded Clover.
Neil tried to do so, but everywhere, in their policies, in their
literature, or even in their correspondence, that he pointed out a
statement apparently to that effect, Clover showed him a "joker" clause
contradicting it.
"You see, Neil, you're too hasty in jumping at conclusions," he
expostulated. "You know that the law will not permit us to claim a flat
rate without a sufficient cash provision, under State control, to
guarantee it, and compels us to be purely an assessment company. When
the time comes that we must do so, we will do precisely what other
companies have done before us: raise the rate. If it becomes prohibitive
the company will drop out of business, as so many others have; but we
will be out of it long before then."
"Yes," retorted Neil, "and thousands of people who are too old to get
fresh insurance at any price, and who will have paid for years, will be
left holding the bag."
"The trouble with you, Neil, is that you have a streak of yellow,"
interrupted Clover impatiently. "Don't you like your fifty a week?"
"Yes."
"Don't you like your fifteen thousand dollars' worth of stock?"
"It looks good to me," confessed Neil.
"Then keep still or sell out and get out."
"I'm not going to do that," said Neil deliberately. He had his slow mind
made up at last. "I'm going to stick, and reorganize the company when it
goes broke!"
When Clover reported this to Wallingford that gentleman laughed.
"How is he on ritual work?" he asked.
"Fine! He has a streak of fool earnestness in him that makes him take to
that flubdubbery like a duck to water."
"Then send him out as a special degree master to inaugurate the new
lodges that are formed. He's a nuisance in the office."
In this the big man had a double purpose. Neil was paying entirely too
much attention to Minnie Bishop of late, and Wallingford resented the
interference. His pursuit of the girl was characteristic. He gave her
flowers and boxes of candy in an offhand way, not as presents, but as
rewards. As the business grew he appropriated her services more and more
to his own individual work, seating her at a desk in his private room,
and a neat balance-sheet would bring forth an approving word and an
offhand:
"Fine work. I owe you theater tickets for that."
The next time he came in he would bring the tickets and drop them upon
her desk, with a brusque heartiness that was intended to disarm
suspicion, and with a suggestion to take her mother and sister along.
Moreover, he raised her salary from time to time. The consideration that
he showed her would have won the gratitude of any girl unused to such
attentions and unfamiliar with the ways of the world, but under them she
nevertheless grew troubled and thoughtful. Noticing this, Wallingford
conceived the idea that he had made an impression, whereupon he ventured
to become a shade more personal.
About this time another disagreeable circumstance came to her attention
and plunged her into perplexity. Clover walked into Mr. Wallingford's
room just as the latter was preparing to go out.
"Tag, you're it, Wallingford," said Clover jovially, holding out a piece
of paper. "I've just found out that your note was due yesterday."
"Quit joking with me on Wednesdays," admonished Wallingford, and taking
the note he tore it into little bits and threw them into the waste
basket.
"Here! That's two thousand dollars, and it's mine," Clover protested.
Wallingford laughed.
"You didn't really think I'd pay it, did you? Why, I told you at the
time that it was only a matter of form; and, besides that, you know my
motto: 'I never give up money,'" and, still chuckling, he went out.
"Isn't he the greatest ever?" said Clover admiringly, to Minnie.
But Minnie could not see the joke. If Wallingford "never gave up money,"
and Clover subscribed to that clever idea with such enthusiasm that he
was willing to be laughed out of two thousand dollars, what would become
of her mother's little nest-egg? A thousand dollars was a tragic amount
to the Bishops. That very evening, as Wallingford went out, he ventured
to pinch and then to pat her cheek, and shame crimsoned her face that
she had brought upon herself the coarse familiarities which now she
suddenly understood. Neil, who had come in from a trip that afternoon,
walked into the office just after Wallingford had gone, and found her
crying. The sight of her in tears broke down the reserve that she had
forced upon him, so that he told her many things; told them eloquently,
too, and suddenly she found herself glad that he had come--glad to rely
upon him and confide in him. Naturally, when she let him draw from her
the cause of her distress, he was furious. He wanted to hunt Wallingford
at once and chastise him, but she stopped him with vehement earnestness.
"No," she insisted, "I positively forbid it! When Mr. Wallingford comes
here to-morrow, I want him to find me the same as ever, and I do not
want one word said that will make him think I am any different. But I
want you to walk home with me, if you can spare the time. I want to talk
with you."