THE SLAVES OF THE LAMP.
“You had better not go back to-day,” said Mr. Tamms to Charlie when
he came down in the morning. “They can get along without you at the
office; besides, I should like you to drive with me to Ocean Grove.”
Charlie was always ready enough to get along without the office, even
if the converse of that proposition had not been unusual enough upon
the lips of Mr. Tamms to excite his curiosity. So the long-tailed fast
horses were brought out in the trotting-buggy, and, well provided with
cigars and morning papers, the two set forth upon their journey. It
was a piping hot day; the glaring surface of the sea lay still beside
them, and the straight, unshaded, red-clay road seemed to be rapidly
baking into brick. Mrs. Haberman came to see them off, robed still in
a sort of gorgeous bedchamber arrangement of pale silk and laces, the
inevitable large diamonds still in her ears. For some miles their way
was the same they had taken the day before, along the rows of shadeless
villas, each “cottage” more ornate and ramifying than the last; then
they came to a long rise of the sweltering fields, past a thin grove of
pines, a few cheaper boarding-houses, and a swamp with an artificial
pond. Beyond this the hotels began again; and they crossed a long
lagoon that looked like some breeding-place for fevers and lay between
two great wooden cities; these were Asbury Park and Ocean Grove; and in
front of them was still the sea.
Many of the cottages were here the merest little wooden boxes, some of
them put together still more informally, of canvas and of poles, so
that one looked through the whole domestic range, from the front part,
which was a parlor, through the open family bed-room to the kitchen
behind. These were the abodes of those who (not like the dwellers at
Long Branch) came here in search of religious experiences; but Charlie
saw, save a Bible text or two in chromo, no visible evidence of the
higher life. Paterfamilias was usually lolling, unbuttoned as to
waistcoat, in the front part of the establishment; materfamilias, in
an indescribable white gown that seemed but a shapeless covering for
divers toilet sins, was busied with housewifely duties; and the _filia
pulchrior_ was commonly set forth in a hammock upon the little piazza,
lost in some novel of “The Duchess” or of “Bertha Clay,” but not too
lost in those entrancing pages to cast some very collected glances at
Charlie and his patron’s handsome equipage.
There were fewer “saloons” than at Long Branch; but even more
confectioners’ shops and summer circulating libraries; and plenty of
hotels. Before the largest of these, Mr. Tamms drew up his steaming
horses, and asked of the sable yet proud young porter if Mr. Remington
were in. “Deacon Remington is down at the beach, sah,” was the reply;
and Mr. Tamms gave orders for his horses to be rubbed and cared for,
while they sought the Deacon (who seemed a person of much prominence at
Ocean Grove) on foot.
Plank-walks led in all directions through the streets, which otherwise
would have been heavy walking, in the heaped-up sand; for there was no
turf nor other vegetation, except where an artificial _platebande_ of
red leaves and greenhouse plants was fostered at the street corners.
They took the walk which led seaward, passing one or two huge wooden
tabernacles where sermons, meetings, or other Methodist functions
were performed every day, as frequent wooden placards informed them.
But they were empty now; and Charlie could see the theatre of rows
of rising seats, much like the band-pavilion at a beach less sacred
than was this. They crossed the end of the freshwater lagoon, passed
a flotilla of pleasure boats, and ascended to the sandy shore; here,
from the crest of the beach, the walk led upward still, supported on
piles, to the great ocean pier, a sort of sublimated piazza, double or
triple decked, roofed, and extending far along the beach before them,
with a pier projecting far out over the sea. Here was the population of
the place assembled, knitting, reading, or doing nothing to the music
of a brass band which, stationed at the outer end of the pavilion, was
performing revival hymns. It seemed to Charlie that there must be some
thousands of people on this pier alone; and he saw that there was
another deck below, and still below that the beach was strewn, like
drift-wood, with humanity. The task of finding Deacon Remington seemed
hopeless, and Charlie made bold to ask why they should look further.
“The Deacon is the leader of our church,” said Tamms, “and a very
shrewd man. He is one of the largest stockholders in Starbuck Oil.”
Charlie said nothing more; and in a moment a gaunt man rose up from
a little table they were passing by and addressed Tamms eagerly.
His upper lip was shaven, but otherwise his beard was unkempt; his
sallow face had a worn and weary look which even the perfunctory smile
that continually gleamed across it, like sheet-lightning, did not
permanently relieve. “How’s the madam?” said Tamms.
“My wife is here,” said the Deacon; and he jerked his head in the
direction of a fat and comely personage, clothed in continual gray, who
was placidly knitting at the table beside them. It seemed a pity to
rout her up to bow; but it had to be done, for Charlie was introduced,
and she rose portentously:
“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Townley,” said she, when
Tamms had mentioned him. “Father, where are the girls?”
“You’ll find my da’ters down on the beach, I guess,” said the Deacon,
thus prompted.
“I came to tell you a little about that Starbuck stock, you know,”
began Tamms; but the Deacon sprang up hastily again, as if this were
no place for tidings of moment. “Let’s walk along the beach and find
my da’ters,” said he, “and then you can both come up to the house
to dinner,” and he led the way back to the pier-head, and then down
the stairs to the lower story, where the bathing-houses were. Here
the floor was less occupied; possibly because the continual passing
and repassing of persons in bathing-dresses and bare feet made it
uncomfortably damp and sandy. Charlie looked over the rail, and saw
the beach beneath, where it was shaded by the pavilion, crowded with
men and women in every conceivable variety of attitude. Many couples
had scooped out hollows for themselves, where they wallowed with the
sands heaped about them; others lay back to back, a huge umbrella
stuck in the sand behind them, the girl usually reading aloud, the
young man smoking. Many still wore their bathing-dresses, though the
folds of cloth were now quite dry and it was evident that they had
worn them through the morning. One pretty girl was lying with her bare
feet and ankles drying in the sun and her long hair spread out upon
the sand; a young man sat beside her, in a striped sleeveless jersey
and tights, smoking a cigarette. Charlie could not but think of cows
upon a summer’s day, standing knee-deep in the pool, as he saw these
varied groups in age and dress and sex all grovelling in the delicious
coolness of the wet sea-sand.
“We have got to default upon the Terminal bonds, you know,” were the
first words Charlie heard spoken.
“No!” said Mr. Remington, open-mouthed. And he stood staring at Tamms,
his long arms hanging limply to his broadcloth coat-tails.
“Yes,” said Tamms; “I came down to tell you. The thing isn’t known yet,
you know.”
Charlie fancied that a shade of color returned to the Deacon’s cheek at
this announcement. “Dear me!” said he. “But I thought----”
“Come back to the hotel, Remington; we can’t talk here,” said Tamms,
who had some difficulty in picking his way among the outstretched arms
and limbs and heads of hair, many of whose owners had closed their
eyes, and the way being further complicated by the gambols of playing
children, and the wetness of others, in wading to their waists.
“Certainly,” said the Deacon, half turning about. “And of course you’ll
have dinner with us. Only I wanted this young man to meet my girls.
Why, here comes Sadie now.” And indeed a brown-haired damsel of some
twenty summers, just emerged from the sea, was running swiftly toward
him. “Sadie, this is Mr. Tamms, and Mr.--Mr. Townley,” and the trio
bowed at a respectable distance, for Miss Remington was still extremely
wet. “Sadie’ll show you the shortest way back,” said Mr. Remington,
“and I’ll go back and get the mother.” Sadie gave a toss to her mane of
hair, which scorned any oiled cap, as if to indicate her readiness; and
led the way up the soft banks of sand to the street and its plank-walks.
“It must be very pleasant to be able to bathe so easily,” said Charlie,
trying hard to walk on the plank-walk beside her and yet keep out of
his fair guide’s drip.
“Yes, it’s ever so much nicer than dressing in the bathing-houses,”
said Miss Remington. “Did you drive over from the Branch? I’m told it’s
awfully gay there, this season;” and Charlie admitted that it was. They
had now reached the main street of the town, and Charlie could not
but admire the genuineness of Miss Remington’s constitution, as the
hot sun streamed upon her wet face and her salted locks hung heavily
behind her. The hotel was now before them, and after indicating the
gentlemen’s parlor to her guests, she herself disappeared by a side
entrance. The great parlor contained nothing of human interest but a
leather-bound Bible on a marble centre-table; and Tamms and Charlie
Townley soon gravitated to the piazza, where, feet upon rail, and Tamms
(who smoked at all times and junctures) with a cigar in his mouth, they
awaited the coming of their host. Soon he appeared, with another young
lady, more slender and, if possible, wetter than Miss Sadie, walking
nervously, Mrs. Remington steaming hopelessly in their wake. “My wife
can’t stay,” said the Deacon, after the first moments of compliment had
passed; “she’s got to get ready for dinner. And now tell me all about
it, Tamms,” said he, as he drew a chair up beside them. It was curious
to watch the contrast between Remington’s evident nervousness and
Tamms’s entire self-possession; and Charlie watched it.
“Have a cigar?” said Tamms, politely drawing another black one from his
pocket.
“You know I never smoke, Tamms. But what’s this about the Starbuck Oil?”
“Well, you know about all there is about it,” said Tamms, lazily. “It
can’t pay interest on the Terminal bonds, that’s all. They never ought
to have paid any dividend, in my opinion.” This remark cleverly cut
from under his feet the rejoinder Remington had in mind; and he looked
at Tamms helplessly.
“This is a pretty state of things,” said he, at last. “I thought the
Company had consolidated with Allegheny Central.”
“The Allegheny Central voted to consolidate with Starbuck Oil, but I
don’t know that the Starbuck Oil ever consolidated with Allegheny. The
Terminal bonds were issued by the Starbuck Oil and properly authorized
by the directors; but for the other question, you remember, we never
got control.” This was a home-thrust; for, as Charlie now remembered,
the Deacon held the balance of power in the stock; and he had always
refused to commit himself upon this point. “It looks bad for Starbuck
Oil--it does, indeed,” added Mr. Tamms, thoughtfully, stroking his
smooth chin and eying Remington closely. “And I tell you what,
Remington: I felt that I had more or less got you into this thing,
and I came down to tell you about it while there was yet time. There
isn’t money enough in the treasury to pay the September coupon; that’s
certain. But nobody knows it yet.”
“Well,” said Remington, with an evident effort, “one other thing is
certain, and that is that it’s nearly dinner-time. Don’t you gentlemen
want to brush up a bit?”
Tamms answered that it was unnecessary, and Remington left upon that
pretext. But Charlie noticed that he took the door that led to the
hotel telegraph office. “Remington thought that he was doing a very
shrewd thing in keeping that stock,” said Tamms, dryly; and he went on
smoking, but kept his eyes intently fixed upon an imaginary point in
air, about eighteen inches in front of his own nose.
While Charlie was watching him, the young ladies, much transmogrified,
came down for dinner. But the dinner was a long and weary meal, made up
of many courses; no wine was served, but the hotel made up for this by
giving them, at intervals, three glasses of ice-cream.
“You must find it very pleasant here, Mrs. Remington,” was Tamms’s
contribution to the conversation; and “We’re not much acquainted yet--I
think it’s rather too gay,” was her reply. The two Miss Remingtons
showed an evident inclination to converse with Charlie, but seemed as
if restrained by the presence of their elders; and Charlie was not
sorry when the nuts and raisins appeared, and they took their leave.
The Deacon had seemed greatly preoccupied; but he walked with them to
their buggy and fast horses, and Sadie Remington with Charlie.
“Of course, you know, Tamms,” said the Deacon, by way of parting, “I’m
much obliged to you for the point.”
“Don’t mention it, Deacon, don’t mention it,” said Tamms, heartily, as
he climbed in and gathered up the reins.
“I hope, Mr. Townley, now you’ve found the way, you’ll be neighborly
and come and see us often,” said Sadie Remington. She was really a very
pretty girl, thought Charlie; he had done her some injustice in her
mermaid garb; and he was able to regret the impossibility of returning
to Ocean Grove with some sincerity.
Tamms said very little going home; and Charlie’s mind was also active.
“The Governor” had certainly made of him his most intimate and
confidential clerk; but such was his cleverness that Charlie felt he
knew rather less of Mr. Tamms’s projects than he did before. Upon one
thing, after some reflection, Charlie was decided; and that was to
very carefully tear up and throw away the telegram he had written the
night before for Mrs. Gower. For Tamms had given too much advice to the
Deacon, by half.
The next day Charlie got up betimes, and was driven to the pier by Mr.
Tamms. “I need not tell you,” said that gentleman, “not to say anything
about what I told you, or of our seeing the Deacon yesterday.”
“Of course not,” said Charlie.
“The Deacon is a very overbearing man in business affairs,” added
Tamms, absently. “And by the way, Townley, any chance bits of Allegheny
Central stock you can pick up--at the board, you may take for us.”
“Certainly,” said Charlie. “How much?”
“I don’t particularly care--ten thousand or so, perhaps--you’ll hardly
get more than that. But do it quietly.”
“The deuce!” thought Charlie to himself; but he held his peace; and
by ten o’clock he was back at the office and hard at work. Mr. Tamms
did not return; and Charlie had orders to tell everyone that he was
temporarily out of Wall Street, taking his well-earned vacation at the
seaside.
On that day there began to be a sudden activity in Starbuck Oil. At
first the price went up a point or two; and then some thousand shares
were thrown upon the market, and it fell more than twenty points.
Charlie fancied that the selling came from the good Deacon; but who the
buyers were, his sharpest investigations failed to show. On the day
after, there were rumors of a coming deficit, and the stock went down
with a rush, carrying with it the Terminal bonds. The same afternoon
there was an item on the “tape” to the effect that the September coupon
would probably have to be funded. The next day was a Sunday; but on
Monday poor Charlie was flooded with letters, angry and beseeching,
and with irate or troubled customers, who were holders of the bonds
in question. He had but one course open to him: to those who paid for
the bonds, he regretted that unforeseen expenses had made the Terminal
enterprise so unprofitable; and to those who had not paid for their
bonds as yet he added a polite request for further “margin.”
Mr. Tamms in person dropped in late that afternoon; and Charlie
told him the condition of affairs, though he could have sworn that
gentleman was paying no attention to any word he spoke.
“Keep at it,” he said, when Charlie had got through. “You can tell them
that we, too, have a large block of bonds, besides owning nearly all
the stock, and are heavy losers ourselves. No one could foresee it, of
course. Mr. Townley still at Lenox, I suppose?”
Charlie said that he was, and Tamms departed, saying that he would be
in again to-morrow. And Charlie went up to the Columbian Club, and read
the following item in _The Evening Post_:
“The late depression in Starbuck Oil securities is believed to have
been caused by the fact that the property has failed to earn its fixed
charges in the past six months. The selling has come largely from
Deacon Remington, through Rawson, Lawson & Co.; and it is regarded
as beyond question that the Company will default September 1st upon
its mortgage bonds. The banking-house of Messrs. Townley & Tamms are
said to have lost largely by the failure, as they hold the bulk of the
Company’s stock.”
“By Jove,” said Charlie to himself, “I ought to have telegraphed
Flossie Gower, after all.”
But then he re-read the article and began to reconsider it. Charlie was
a young man addicted to much reconsideration. It was a very strange
thing that a responsible newspaper should go out of its way to print
an item like that--an item which might seriously injure the credit of
a prominent banking-house. Why (for Charlie had studied law in his
youth), it was almost libellous. Tamms had read the paper before
leaving the office, and had not seemed particularly disturbed. “Does he
want it to be supposed we lost money?--and certainly,” said Charlie to
himself, “the Governor is a clever fellow.”
The next day was the first of August, and Charlie had arranged to begin
his summer vacation by going to Newport that afternoon. He was early
at the office, but found Tamms there already, dictating to a couple
of stenographers. He was tearing up little pieces of paper, crumpling
them up into balls, and throwing them into one corner of the room. Now,
this was a way he had when things were going to his liking; but Charlie
did not venture to speak to him about the item in _The Evening Post_.
Moreover, a copy of that journal lay open on his desk.
“Shall I buy any more Allegheny, sir?” said Charlie.
“How much more have we got?”
“About eight thousand shares, so far--from 91 to five-eighths.”
“Buy all you can up to 92 or so,” said Tamms, cheerfully. Suddenly, a
still full-bodied, though rather senile voice was heard in the main
office, asking for Mr. Tamms. Charlie started, and even Tamms sprang
to his feet. And Charlie fancied that that gentleman’s face turned, if
possible, a shade paler than its wont.
“What’s this, Tamms?” cried the old gentleman, already angry, as the
door flew open, without heeding Charlie’s presence: “What’s this about
the Starbuck Terminal bonds?” And Charlie could see, through the
open door, the clerks in the outer office huddling their shoulders
over their ledgers, in evident consciousness of a coming breeze. Mr.
Townley’s face was crimson with excitement, as he panted in his stiff
collar, his white hair making his face seem the redder, and his bald
head beady with perspiration. Tamms had always a sort of patient,
semi-patronizing tone in talking over business with his senior partner;
but this time he tried, and tried in vain, to resume his usual manner.
“I am sorry to say,” he began slowly, “that hitherto--the Terminal
property--has not proved--a profitable enterprise.”
“Stuff--and--nonsense!” interposed Mr. Townley, his sputtering
enunciation in strange contrast with Tamms’s clear-cut tones. “You
yourself told me it promised most excellently.”
“So I did, sir--last winter. I fear that I was mistaken,” said Tamms,
humbly.
“Mistaken, eh! Well, sir, and what do you propose to do about it?”
“I see nothing for it--but to fund the next coupon--and attempt a
reorganization----”
“I do not mean as a director, sir; with that business you are familiar.
But as a banker--as a New York merchant--as a member--damn it, sir, as
a member of the house of Charles Townley & Son?” In his anger, the old
gentleman had used the former name of the firm; and there was an ugly
glitter in Tamms’s eye, which he carefully kept from meeting old Mr.
Townley’s.
“As a member of the firm of Townley & Tamms,” said he, “I see nothing
to do but to look over our customers’ margins and bear our own losses.”
Charlie made a motion to go.
“Stay there, Mr. Townley,” ordered the old gentleman, “and learn once
for all the traditions of the house of Charles Townley & Son. So, Mr.
Tamms, a year after bringing out these bonds, with the ink hardly dry
upon them, before the second coupon is cut, you propose that we who
fathered them should stand by and see our clients and the public, who
relied upon our recommendation and our name, deceived in both?”
“I don’t see what else we can do, sir. We are not the Starbuck Oil
Company.” Tamms tried still to patronize; but Charlie marvelled that
a man who seemed so large the day before with Deacon Remington should
seem so small to-day before an angry old man with white hair who had
outlived his business usefulness and sputtered when he spoke.
“I will show you, then. Mr. Townley, will you please take down this
letter.” Charlie moved his chair to a table and wrote, while Mr.
Townley dictated:
“Messrs. Townley & Tamms--regret that unforeseen circumstances--have
caused an embarrassment in the affairs of the Starbuck Oil Company--but
have decided to guaranty the coupons on the Terminal Trust bonds--until
the property has been put upon a paying basis.--From those who
prefer--Messrs. Townley & Tamms will take back the bonds sold by
them--paying the price originally paid therefor, with accrued
interest.”
“There, sir,” said Mr. Townley to Charlie, “you will have five hundred
copies of that circular dated to-day and printed immediately. And Mr.
Tamms, you will kindly see that a copy is mailed to every one of our
correspondents and clients--or our partnership may end at once.”
“Certainly, sir,” said Tamms, calmly. “I presume you know what an
amount of ready money this action may require?”
“No, sir, I do not,” said Mr. Townley.
“It may force us into liquidation,” said Mr. Tamms.
“Fiddle-de-dee,” said Mr. Townley, as he rose and left the office.
* * * * *
Tamms looked after him long and curiously, as an artist might look
after a retreating cow which had just knocked over his easel and
trampled on his study of pastoral life. Charlie looked at Tamms. The
hour for him to be upon the Stock Exchange had long since passed; but
he still sat there, and nothing was said for some time. Finally Tamms
took a bit of paper, and began to roll it up into little balls.
“It is very unnecessary for Mr. Townley to take up such a quixotic
attitude,” said he. “That sort of thing is all very well in
Shakespeare.” And he threw his little balls of paper, with great
accuracy, one into each of the three other corners of the room.
“What shall I do, sir, about the circular?”
“You must have it printed at once, and mailed, as Mr. Townley
directed. But Mr. Lauer will attend to that.” (Lauer was the
bookkeeper.) “This insane action of Townley’s will require considerable
ready money. You must go to the board at once, and sell some Allegheny
Central.” Tamms had endeavored to assume his slightly contemptuous air
in speaking of his partner; but it seemed to Charlie that there was
still a pallor in his sharp face that belied his jauntiness.
“How much shall I sell, sir?”
“All we’ve got,” said Tamms, curtly. Charlie nodded, and jumped up to
leave the room. When he got to the street-door a clerk came running
after him. “Don’t sell yourself--get Lawson, Rawson & Co. to do it,”
said Tamms, as he turned back. Charlie nodded again, and was off. Now,
Lawson, Rawson & Co. were Deacon Remington’s brokers; _ergo_ Tamms did
not want people to know he was selling; _ergo_, he was selling in good
earnest. It looked bad. And he had thought Tamms such a clever fellow!
Charlie was very busy at the stock-board that afternoon. He bought a
few hundred shares himself, but this had little avail in staying the
price against the thousands with which Lawson, Rawson & Co. deluged
the market. Charlie did not trouble himself much then with thinking;
he had no positive capital in the firm of Townley & Tamms; but he had
a feeling that it was a critical moment for them. He could not help a
slight wonder that Tamms had yielded to his senior so easily; but then
he reflected that a violent rupture at such a juncture meant to Tamms
even more certain financial ruin than the firm incurred by making good
the Terminal bonds. Despite Charlie’s strategy, and the few hundreds
he bought with much vociferation, the price sagged from 93 to 90 and
a fraction; and there was a wild and struggling crowd of panting men
about the iron standard that bore the sign of Allegheny Central. Now
and then Charlie would elbow his way into the outskirts and make a
feeble bid or two; but a good-natured friend volunteered advice that
it was no use, and “the best thing he could do was to wait until the
Deacon had got his lines well out, and then catch him short,” advice
which Charlie received with a smile. At all events, the Governor could
not say he had not done things well; for even his friend had not
suspected that it was he who was selling.
Dick Rawson was standing in the middle, red-faced and breathless, his
voice already hoarse, like a stag at bay amid a pack of leaping hounds.
Charlie looked at him and for a fraction of a second caught his eye.
Then Charlie looked at the wall beneath the gallery. That wall is used
for members’ signals, and as he watched it, a wooden lid fell back,
revealing a white placard with the number 449. Now, this was Charlie’s
number, and it meant that there was someone for him in the lobby;
he went out at once, and the number sprang back out of sight with a
click, worked by some clockwork mechanism. In the lobby Charlie found
a messenger with a sealed note addressed to him. It was a hastily
pencilled scrawl from Rawson, the very man who was standing in the
focus of the excited throng, but of course had given no sign of any
understanding there.
“I have sold 11,000. Shall I go on?
R.”
Charlie thought a minute; much of their stock, he knew, had been
pledged at about 80, and to drive the stock below this point would
cause a call for further margin. And, unless Charlie was very much
mistaken, the firm of Townley & Tamms had just then no more securities
to pledge. He wrote on the back of Rawson’s note:
“Sell all you can down to 85.
C. T.”
The boy went back upon the floor of the Exchange. Charlie did not deem
it wise to follow him; but in a few minutes a renewed roar from the
Allegheny Central crowd told him that his order was being executed.
He went back to the office, where he found Mr. Tamms still sitting in
his private room, much as he had left him. A certain unusual idleness,
a subtile air of expectation pervaded the clerks in the office, which
Charlie did not fail to note. Tamms looked up at him, as he entered,
but made no remark.
“We have sold over ten thousand,” said Charlie.
“What’s the price now?” asked Tamms.
“It broke 90,” said Charlie, laconically.
“We shall know exactly in a few minutes,” added Tamms, calmly. “See,
I have already got a proof of Mr. Townley’s proclamation.” And Tamms
tossed the paper to Charlie, giving the word _Proclamation_ an accent
that was slightly contemptuous. “You will keep the correspondence clerk
to see that they are all duly mailed to-night.”
Charlie went out to get his lunch, as he had had no time to eat since
breakfast; and when he hurried back at a quarter after three, Rawson
was there with his account. They had sold 16,400 shares at from 93 to
85¼--an average of nearly 89. “I shall not be in all day to-morrow,”
said Tamms to Charlie. “You will see to getting in the stock that is
out as collateral, and its prompt delivery.”
“I had arranged to go on my vacation to-day,” said Charlie. “May I go
to-morrow night?”
“Certainly--after that is done.” And Tamms left the office, to all
appearance unshaken by the events of the day. Charlie went to his
lodgings and dressed, and then dined at his club alone.
Though he had no money stake in the firm, its success or downfall
would mean much to him. With its failure went all his future, all
his business prospects. And Charlie went over in his mind, for the
twentieth time, the extent to which they had been injured. First, there
was over four million dollars of the Terminal bonds which they had sold
and Mr. Townley ordered to be made good. At the best, the loss on these
could hardly be under a million. Then Charlie knew, though possibly old
Mr. Townley did not, that they had a very heavy holding in Starbuck
Oil stock. Although Tamms had let out to him at Ocean Grove that
they did not actually hold a majority, as people had supposed, they
certainly held a large amount, probably as much as Mrs. Gower herself,
if the Deacon had held the balance of power. But if the Terminal
mortgage was foreclosed, it would possibly wipe out all the stock, and
this was all dead loss. And the Allegheny Central stood them in at 85
or so, so they had not cleared a sum worth mentioning on that. And he
ought to have telegraphed Mrs. Gower, after all.
For once in his life, Charlie passed a sleepless night; a thing less
common to his kind than to John Haviland, for instance, he being also
a healthy animal, but with a conscience. In the morning he had his
trunk packed and sent to the station; and after finishing up for the
day at the office, he got to the Grand Central Depot at four o’clock.
But here he took the train, not for Newport, but for Lenox. Now, Mamie
Livingstone was still at Great Barrington.
He opened an evening penny paper, and the first Wall Street item that
attracted his attentive eye ran as follows:
“It is reported that a certain prominent banking-house, largely
identified with Allegheny Central, has been hard hit by the recent
developments in Starbuck Oil.”
And in another part of the same paper:
“It is now believed that yesterday’s selling in Allegheny was not from
Deacon Remington, but long stock sold by insiders for reasons of their
own.”
Charlie was not surprised that their tactics were discovered. He knew
that such devices as they had used might serve the purpose for the
moment, but could not deceive the hundred keen-eyed men that constitute
“the Street” for twenty-four hours together.
He alighted at Lenox in the cool of the evening, and went to the hotel.
The country air was grateful to him, and he slept soundly. The next day
he idled at the Lenox Club, waiting for his horse and dog-cart, which
had been shipped the day before. In the evening they arrived, and he
transferred his headquarters to the inn at Stockbridge. The following
afternoon, his cart and harness well cleaned, his horse carefully
groomed, and his groom riding behind in full livery, he drove over to
Great Barrington and called upon Miss Holyoke--and Miss Livingstone.
That is, he asked for Miss Livingstone, and left a card for Gracie.
Mamie came down, all excitement; it had been getting so dull in the
country, and here was Charlie, like an angel dropped from heaven all
for her! “I am staying at Stockbridge, you know,” said Charlie, “and I
have driven over to ask if you will not come for a little drive?”
Mamie turned her pretty eyes away and blushed a little; but she was
thinking of Gracie, not of him. But after all, Gracie was little older
than was she; it was not politic to admit her right of chaperonage too
far. So they went, and had a long drive through the woods; and never,
even to married ladies, had Charlie Townley made love so charmingly.
And it must be admitted, though his male friends had no inkling of it,
that Charlie could, upon occasion, make love very well. And when he
left, it was quite settled that he was to come again--not the next day,
of course, but the day after. Poor Mamie! Poor Chloe! She did not know
that it was the Starbuck Oil Company that had forced Mr. Strephon’s
hand.
And on the following evening, Charlie Townley, sitting at the Lenox
Club, took up his _Evening Post_ with some trepidation. He fully
expected to see that the house of Townley & Tamms had suspended
payments.
ALLEGHENY CENTRAL.
At a meeting of the Allegheny Central Railroad Company held this
morning, the following resolution and vote, introduced by Mr. Phineas
L. Tamms, were unanimously adopted:
_Whereas_, Under the terms of the late proposed consolidation of this
company with the Silas Starbuck Oil Company, certain bonds of the
latter company were authorized by vote of both boards of directors,
and have been duly issued, to provide for terminal facilities,
wharves, etc. And although, during the process of construction, and
in consequence of certain extraordinary expenses, the earnings of
the Silas Starbuck Oil Company have proved temporarily insufficient
to meet fixed charges, the directors of the Allegheny Central
Company are convinced that the ultimate value and returns of such
improvements will more than compensate for the outlay involved;
therefore be it
_Resolved_, That inasmuch as the faith and credit of the Allegheny
Central Railroad Company have been largely relied upon by the
investing public in purchasing said bonds, though not in terms
guarantied by said company, your directors deem it proper to
definitely guaranty said bonds, principal and interest.
_Voted_, That the President and Treasurer of the Allegheny Central
Railroad Company be authorized to affix the guaranty of said company,
both for principal and interest, upon such bonds of the Starbuck Oil
Company as shall be presented at their office for that purpose before
the first day of October next.
By Jove! A great light burst upon Charlie, and the paper fell from his
hands. He took it up again, and read, lower down in the same column:
At a meeting of the Silas Starbuck Oil Company held this afternoon,
a new board of directors was elected. Phineas L. Tamms was elected
President, and the board is the same, with the exception of Deacon
Remington, who is replaced in the new board by Adolph Lauer. It
is currently reported that the control of this property has now
definitely passed into the hands of Messrs. Townley & Tamms.
“Great heavens!” gasped Charlie. Lauer was merely one of their clerks.
It was Tamms himself who had been buying all the Deacon’s Starbuck Oil
stock quietly, unknown even to Charlie; and he had sold all their own
Allegheny Central; and then met his senior partner’s order by causing
the latter corporation to guaranty the former. He had served both God
and Mammon, captured the keen Deacon, pleased his partner, and made
money at the same time. And Charlie turned to the quotations.
Allegheny Central was down at 73, and the Starbuck Oil had gone up
to 140; and the bonds were well above par. And Tamms had secured the
reputation of an honorable financier into the bargain!
Charlie began rapidly to calculate. Tamms must have now over ten
thousand Starbuck Oil, upon which he had made at least thirty dollars a
share; and he had finally got the control besides. He had sold much of
their Allegheny Central at nearly the highest prices, averaging 90 or
so, making perhaps $200,000 here. Add to this the $100,000 or more they
had made originally upon the Terminal bonds, upon which the firm’s
endorsement was now unnecessary, and----
“The Governor is a devilish clever fellow,” concluded Charlie. And as
he thought of that drive with Mamie, he feared that he himself had been
too precipitate.