J. RUFUS SCENTS A FORTUNE IN SMOKE AND LETS MR. NICKEL SEE THE FLAMES
Wallingford had good cause to survey his friend with amused wonder.
"How you have aged, Blackie," he chuckled. "What has turned you gray in
a single month?"
"Beating it," replied Blackie, hoarsely. "Did you see that guy just now
look around and give me the X-ray stare?"
"He was only admiring your handsome make-up," retorted J. Rufus. "What's
got your nerve all of a sudden?"
"Nerve!" scorned the other. "Say, J. Rufus, when I cut my finger I bleed
yellow, and the mere sight of a brass button gives me hydrophobia.
They're after me, dear friend of my childhood days, for going into the
oil-well industry without any oil wells, and you're the first human
being I've seen in three weeks that didn't look like he had the iron
bracelets in his pocket. Even you're a living frost. For a minute you
gave me that glad feeling, but when you said to come around to the bank
and I could have a thousand, I knew it was all off. If you'd had it,
nothing but paralysis would have stopped you from putting your hand in
your pocket and making a flash with the two hundred I wanted. I have to
make a quick get-away from this town or have the door of a nice steel
bedroom locked from the outside!"
Solemnly J. Rufus drew from his pocket his total supply of earthly
wealth, a ten-dollar bill and the change he had received at the cigar
store.
"I'll give you the ten," he offered, "although I'm glued to the floor
myself."
"I can see it, for your sparks are gone," said Mr. Daw, glumly looking
his friend over from head to foot as he pocketed the ten. "How did the
beans get spilled? I thought there was a fresh crop of your particular
breed of come-ons every morning."
"I'm overtrained," explained J. Rufus with cheerful resignation. "I used
to be able to jump into a town with ten dollars in my pocket, and have
to lock myself in my room to keep 'em from forcing money on me faster
than I could take it; but I've lost my winning ways, I guess. The fact
of the matter is, Blackie, I need an oculist. I can't see small enough
since the big blow-up. I had climbed too high, and when I tumbled off
the perch I fell so hard I couldn't see anything but stars. A dollar is
small as a pea now, and perfectly silent, and it takes at least a
thousand to emit even a faint click. I can't learn to pike again."
"I wish I could learn anything else," complained Mr. Daw in disgust.
"Why, blind-men's tincups look like fat picking to me, and my yellow
streak shows through so strong that I cross the street every time I see
a push cart; I'm afraid the banana men will make a mistake and pull my
fingers off. Say! See that mug over there on the corner with his back to
us? Well, that's a plain-clothes man. I know him all right and he knows
me. It's Jimmy Rogers and I can't hand him a sou to plug his memory!"
Blackie was visibly distressed and edged around the corner.
"I should say you had developed a saffron streak," observed J. Rufus,
eying him with a trace of contempt. "I wouldn't have known you till you
spoke. Come on and we'll go right straight past Jimmy Rogers."
He put his hand behind Blackie's elbow to take him in that direction,
but to his surprise Daw shrank back.
"Not for mine!" he declared. "I know I'm due, but I won't go till they
come after me. Why, J. Rufus, do you know we're all that's left of the
old bunch? Billy Riggs, Tommy Rance, Dick Logan, Pit Hardesty--all put
away, for stretches of from five to twenty years! And Jim, mind what I
say; our turn's next! There, he's turning this way! I'm on the lope. Me
for the first train out of town. Good-by, old man."
He shook hands hastily and, drawn-chested, plunged down the side street
at a swift pace. Wallingford looked after him and involuntarily expanded
his own broad chest as he turned in the direction of his hotel. He
looked back at Ed Nickel's cigar store after a few steps, and hesitated
as if he might return, but he did not. On the way he counted five such
establishments, and he peered keenly into each one of them. They were
all of a little better grade than the one he had visited, but none of
them was stocked in such manner as to tell of wholesale purchases and
cash discounts. Suddenly he chuckled. At last he had the detail for his
heretofore vague idea, and it was a draught of strong wine to him. He
had been the high jester of finance, always, and once more the bells
upon his cap jingled merrily. Inspired, he walked into his hotel with a
swaggering assurance entirely out of keeping with the lonely two dollars
in his pocket. The clerk had been instructed to look after Wallingford,
for though he had been an extravagant guest for within a day of two
weeks, no one but the bellboys and waiters had seen a penny of his
money--and his bill was nearly two hundred dollars. The clerk firmly
intended to call to him if he strode past on the far side of the lobby,
as had been his custom in the past two or three days; but he did not
need to call, for J. Rufus approached the desk without invitation,
beaming as he turned toward it, but growing stern as he neared it.
"The wine I had served in my rooms last night was vile," he charged. "If
I cannot get the brand of champagne I want, have it perfectly frappe
when it gets to my apartments, and secure better service all around, I
shall pay my bill and leave!"
The clerk touched a bell instantly.
"Very sorry, Mr. Wallingford," said he. "I shall speak to the wine
steward about the matter at once."
J. Rufus grunted in acknowledgment of this apology, and with a feeling
of relief the clerk surveyed that broad back as it retreated in
immeasurable dignity. There was no need to worry about the money of a
man who took that attitude. On the way to his suite, however, J. Rufus,
as he handed the elevator boy a quarter with one hand, drew down his
cuff furtively with the other, under the impulse of a sudden idea, and,
grinning, looked at his cuff button. It was diamond studded, and he
ought to be able to raise at least twenty-five apiece on the pair.
Mrs. Wallingford was sewing when her capable husband came in. Something
in the very movement of the door caused her to look up with an instant
knowledge that he brought good news, and a sight of his face confirmed
the impression. She smiled at him brightly, and yet with a trace of
apprehension. There had come over her a curious change of late. Her
color was as clear as ever, even clearer, for it seemed to have attained
a certain pure transparency, but there seemed, too, a slight pallor
beneath it, and her eyes were strangely luminous.
"I got the fog out of my conk to-day, Fanny," he said exultantly. "It
seemed as if I never would be able to frame up a good business stunt
again, but it hit me at last. How do you like this place?"
"I can't tell," she slowly returned. "I haven't seen much of it, you
know."
"You will," he laughed. "You may pick out any part of it you like,
because I think I'll settle down here for good."
She looked up with a little gasp.
"Then you're going into a--a _real_ business?" she faltered.
"A hundred of them," he boasted. "I've just decided to rake off half the
profits of all this town's cigar stores, except a few of the best ones,
and stay right here to collect. The hundred or more ought to yield me
one or two dollars a day apiece. Looks good, don't it?"
"I'm so glad," she said simply. It never occurred to either of them to
doubt that he could do what he had planned, and just now she was less
inclined than ever to inquire into details. She sat, her hands folded in
the fluffy white goods upon her lap, with a deepening color in her
cheeks.
"I'll tell you why I'm glad we are to settle down at last and have a
real home," she said suddenly, and, arising, advanced to him and shook
out the dainty article upon which she had been sewing, holding it
outstretched before him so that he could gather its full import.
"What?" he gasped.
She nodded her head, half crying and half laughing, and suddenly buried
her head upon his shoulder, sobbing. He clasped her in his arms, tiny
white garment and all, and looked on over her head, out of the window at
the gathering dusk in the sky where it stretched down between the tall
buildings. For just one fleeting second a trace of the Eternal Mystery
came to awe him, but it passed and left him grinning.
"I'd just been figuring on a new house," he observed, "but I guess I'll
have to plan it all over now."
He led her to a chair presently, and went back to the window, where he
stood until the darkness warned him that it was time to dress for
dinner. The meal finished, he sat down to write, tearing up sheet after
sheet of paper and crumpling it into the waste basket until far into the
night, and later he sent down for a city directory, making out a list of
cigar stores, dropping out those that were printed in black-face type;
but whatever he did he paused once in a while to turn toward that tiny
white garment upon the table and survey it with smiling wonder.
In the morning he called upon a job printer of reputation, and then he
went again to Ed Nickel's cigar store; but this time he dashed up to
the door in a showy carriage drawn by two good horses. The same flabby
man sat in the corner playing solitaire as if he had never left off, and
the same apathetic young man with the dent in his hat was watching him.
The split cigar mold had not yet grown together, though Ed Nickel still
held its two parts matched tightly in his left hand. Upon the entrance
of Wallingford the magnificent, however, the three graven figures,
glancing first upon him and then upon the carriage, inhaled the breath
of life. The solitaire player suddenly pushed his cards together and
began shuffling them over and over and over and over, though he had not
yet exhausted the possibilities of the previous game. The apathetic
young man stood up to yawn but changed his mind after he had his mouth
open. Ed Nickel bowed, smiled and hurried behind his counter.
"What will you take for your business, Mr. Nickel?" asked J. Rufus,
throwing a coin on the case and tapping his finger over the box from
which he had purchased the cigars the night before. Freshly shaven, he
wore a new collar, a new shirt with fine, crisp cuffs, and a new silk
lavender tie--also plain new cuff buttons.
Ed Nickel's ears heard the astounding question, but Ed Nickel's mind did
not grasp it, for Ed Nickel's hand went on mechanically into the case
after the designated cigars. It secured the box, it brought it partly
out--and then dropped it just inside the sliding door. The hand came out
and its fingers twined with those of the other hand.
"What did you say?" asked Mr. Nickel's mouth.
"How much will you take for your business?" repeated J. Rufus.
Mr. Nickel looked slowly around his walls, past the dust-hung wire
screen to the dingy back room, under the counter, into the case, over
the sparsely filled shelves.
"I don't know," he said, his eyes roving back to those of J. Rufus.
"Besides the stock and fixtures, there's the good will, the trade I've
worked up, and the call for my Nickelfine and the Double Nickel, my
leading ten-cent cigar. I'd have to take an invoice to set a price on
this business."
"I know," laughed J. Rufus with a wink, "but you can invoice it with
your eyes shut and we can lump the rest of it. Say five hundred for the
stock and fixtures and three hundred for the good will, which is
crowding it some."
Ed Nickel's cupidity gave a thump. Eight hundred was a good price for
his business, especially in this location. He had often thought of
moving. In a better location he would do a better business; he was sure
of that, like every other unsuccessful merchant; but of course he
objected.
"Make it a thousand and I'll listen," he proposed.
J. Rufus looked about the place coldly.
"No," he decided. "I'd be cheating the consolidation."
Mr. Nickel immediately woke up another notch.
"What consolidation?" he wanted to know.
"The one I spoke to you about yesterday," said the prospective buyer,
and picking up the coin he had tossed down he tapped with it on the
glass.
Thus reminded, the benumbed one brought out the delayed box and Mr.
Wallingford lit one of the cigars.
"I'm going to finance a consolidation of all the smaller cigar stores in
the city," he then explained. "I expect to buy several for spot cash and
put in charge of them managers who know their business. The rest I am
going to allow to purchase shares in the consolidation, with the value
of their stock and good will, so that altogether we shall have a
quarter-of-a-million-dollar corporation. With this enormous buying power
I intend to get the lowest spot-cash discount on all goods, manufacture
a few good brands, cut rates and control the cigar business of this
town. But I'm going to be fair to every man. I'll give you eight hundred
dollars for your business, in cold coin."
The day before, had any providentially sent stranger offered Ed Nickel
eight hundred dollars in real money for his store, he would have jumped
at the chance, and with the purchase price would have opened a better
one in some other part of the town. Now it suddenly occurred to him----
"And if I don't sell or come in I get froze out, I suppose," he gloomily
opined. "That's the regulation poor man's chance. But how are you going
to work this consolidation, anyhow?"
"The same plan upon which all successful organizations are put
together," patiently explained the eminent financier whose resplendent
carriage was waiting outside. "For instance, five of us organize a
holding company. Having incorporated for, say, two hundred and fifty
thousand dollars, I buy your business for eight hundred dollars in
stock of the new corporation, fit it up new till it glitters, and put
you in charge of it. A hundred other stores go in on the same
proposition, their valuations varying according to their location, their
stock, and the volume of business their books can show. You get a salary
of just as much as you can prove you're making now, and every three
months the business is footed up and a dividend is paid. The difference
is just this. The cigars for which you now pay thirty-five dollars a
thousand, you will get for twenty-eight and less, and so on down the
line. Your profits will be increased nearly a hundred per cent., and all
financial worry will be lifted off your shoulders."
Ed Nickel suddenly awoke to the fact that the flabby solitaire player
was pressed closely upon one side of the eminent financier, and the
apathetic young man upon the other, both drinking in every word, and
quivering.
"Come in the back room," invited Mr. Nickel, and on two reeking stools,
with tobacco scraps strewn all about them, they sat down to really "get
together." Patiently the energetic man of wealth went over the
proposition again, point by point, and the cigar maker enumerated these
upon his fingers until he got it quite clear in his mind that his
business was not to pass out of his hands at all. If it was put in at a
valuation of eight hundred dollars, he received a salary equal to his
present earnings for taking care of it, and also the net profits on
eight hundred dollars worth of stock. It was a great scheme! It would
put all the goods he wanted upon his shelves. It would brighten up his
place of business and he would no longer have the aggravation of knowing
that rich dealers, just because they were rich, could buy cigars a
shameful per cent. cheaper than he could. Moreover, there sat
Wallingford, a wonderful argument in himself! When he had fully grasped
the idea Mr. Nickel was enthusiastic.
"Of course I'll come in!" said he. "Surest thing, you know!"
"Suit yourself," said J. Rufus, with vast indifference. "I have a little
agreement that I'll bring around in a couple of days to let you see, and
then you may finally decide. By the way, Mr. Nickel, I may need you for
one of the original five incorporators, and as a director for the first
year."
Mr. Nickel hesitated.
"That'll cost me something, won't it?" he wanted to know.
Mr. Wallingford laughed.
"A little bit," he admitted. "But there are ways to get it back. For
instance, as one of the directors I do not suppose there would be any
particular harm in selling your business to the consolidation for a
thousand in place of eight hundred."
The first stock subscriber to the Retail Cigar Dealers' Consolidation
became as knowingly jovial as the genial promoter.
"It listens good to me," he declared, and shook hands.
The big man got up to go, but turned and came back.
"By the way," said he, "I don't know the cigar men in this town, and if
you have a couple of friends in the business who would like to help form
this incorporation with the same advantages you have, let's go see
them."
Mr. Nickel was already throwing off his apron and eye shade, and now he
took his coat and hat from their hook.
"I've got two of them, and they ain't too darned smart, either," he
stated, showing wise forethought in that last remark; then, putting the
flabby man in charge of the store, he went out and _rode in that
carriage_!