INSURANCE THAT DID NOT LAPSE
Scattergood Baines was not a man to shingle his roof before he built his
foundations. He knew the value of shingles, and was not without some
appreciation for frescoes and porticoes and didos, but he liked to reach
them in the ordinary course of logical procedure. His completed
structure, according to the plans carefully printed on his brain, was
the domination of Coldriver Valley through ownership of its means of
transportation and of its water power. He wanted to be rich, not for the
sake of being rich, but because a great deal of money is, aside from
love or hate, the most powerful lever in the world. For five years, now,
Scattergood had moved along slowly and irresistibly, buying a bit of
timber here, acquiring a dam site there, taking over the stage line to
the railroad twenty-four miles away, and establishing a credit and a
reputation for shrewdness that were worth much more to him than dollars
and cents in the bank.
As a matter of fact, Scattergood had amassed considerable more money
than even the gimlet eyes and whispering tongues of Coldriver had been
able to credit him with. It is doubtful if anybody realized just how
strong a foot-hold Scattergood was getting in that valley, but the men
who came closest to it were Messrs. Crane and Keith, lumbermen, who were
beginning to experience a feeling of growing irritation toward the fat
hardware merchant. They were irritated because, every now and then, they
found themselves shut off from the water, or from a bit of timber, or
from some other desirable property, by some small holding of
Scattergood's which seemed to have dropped into just the right spot to
create the maximum amount of trouble for them. It could be nothing but
chance, they told each other, for they had sat in judgment on
Scattergood, and their judgment had been that he was a lazy lout with
more than a fair share of luck.
"It's nothing but luck," Crane told his partner. "The man hasn't a brain
in his head--just a big lump of fat."
"But he's always getting in the way--and he does seem to know a
water-power site when he sees it."
"Anybody does," said Crane. "He's a doggone nuisance and we might as
well settle with him one time as another--and the time to settle is
before his luck gives him a genuine strangle hold on this valley. We've
got too much timber on these hills to take any risks."
"I leave it with you, Crane. You're the outside man. But when you bust
him, bust him good."
Crane retired to his office and devoted his head to the subject
exclusively, and because Crane's head was that sort of head he devised
an enterprise which, if Scattergood could be made to involve himself in
it, would result in the extinction of that gentleman in the Coldriver
Valley.
It was a week later that a gentleman, whose clothes and bearing
guaranteed him to be a genuine denizen of the city, stopped at
Scattergood's store. Scattergood was sitting, as usual, on the piazza,
in his especially reinforced chair, laying in wait for somebody to whom
he could sell a bit of hardware, no matter how small.
"Good morning," said the gentleman. "Is this Mr. Scattergood Baines?"
"It's Scattergood Baines, all right. Don't call to mind bein' christened
Mister."
"My name is Blossom."
"Perty name," said Scattergood, unsmilingly.
"I wonder if I can have a little talk with you, Mr. Baines?"
"Havin' it, hain't you?"
Mr. Blossom smiled appreciatively, and sat down beside Scattergood. "I'm
interested in the new Higgins's Bridge Pulp Company. You've heard of it,
haven't you?"
"Some," said Scattergood. "Some."
"We are starting to build our mill. It will be the largest in America,
with the most modern machinery. Now we're looking about for somebody to
supply us spruce cut to the proper length for pulpwood. You own
considerable spruce, do you not?"
"Calc'late to have title to a tree or two."
"Good. I came up to find out if you are in a position to swing a rather
big contract--to deliver us at the mill a minimum of twenty-five
thousand cords of pulpwood?"
"Depends," said Scattergood.
Mr. Blossom drew a jackknife from his pocket and began leisurely to
sharpen a pencil. It was a rather battered jackknife, and Scattergood
noticed that one blade had been broken off. He stretched out his hand.
"Jackknife's kind of lame, hain't it? Don't 'pear to be as stylish as
the rest of you?"
"It is a bit dilapidated."
"Got some good ones inside. Fine line of jackknives. Only carry the
best. Show 'em to you."
He lifted himself out of the groaning chair and went into the store, to
return with a dozen or more knives, which he showed to Mr. Blossom, and
Mr. Blossom looked at them gravely. He was smiling to himself. A man who
could interrupt a deal involving upward of a hundred thousand dollars to
try to sell a jackknife certainly was not of a caliber to give serious
worry to an astute business man.
"Recommend the pearl-handled one," said Scattergood. "Two dollars 'n' a
half."
"I'll take it," said Mr. Blossom, and he stuck his old knife in a post,
replacing it in his pocket with the new purchase.
"Cash," said Scattergood, and Mr. Blossom handed over the currency.
"Speakin' of pulpwood," said Scattergood, "how much you figger on
payin'?"
Mr. Blossom named a price, delivered at the mill.
"Pay when?"
"On delivery."
"When want it delivered, eh? What date?"
"Before May first."
"Water power or steam?" said Scattergood, somewhat irrelevantly.
"Both. We're putting in steam engines and boilers, but we're going to
depend mostly on water power."
"Goin' to build a dam, eh? Big dam?"
"Yes."
"Um!... Stock company?"
"Yes. We'll be solid. Capitalized for a quarter of a million and bonded
for a quarter of a million. Gives us half a million capital to start
business."
"Stock all sold?"
"Every share."
"Who to?"
"Mostly in small blocks in Boston."
"Um!... Bonds sold?"
"Yes."
"Who bought 'em?"
"They're underwritten by the Commonwealth Security Trust Company."
"Want to know!... Got authority? Vested with authority to put it in
writin'?"
"The contract, you mean?"
"Calculate to mean that."
"Yes."
"Lawyer acrost the street," said Scattergood.
"You can swing it?"
"Calculate to."
"You have the capital to make good?"
"Know I have, don't you? Wouldn't have come to me if you hadn't?"
"You'll have to borrow heavily."
"My lookout, hain't it? Don't need to worry you?"
"Not in the least."
"Lawyer's still acrost the street."
So Scattergood and Mr. Blossom went across the street and up the narrow
stairs to Lawyer Norton's office, where a contract was drafted and
signed, obligating Scattergood to deliver to the Higgins's Bridge Pulp
Company twenty-five thousand cords of pulp, on or before May 1st,
payment to be made on delivery. Mr. Blossom went away wearing a
satisfied expression, and in the course of the day sent to Crane & Keith
a brief message, a message of two words. "He bit," was the telegram.
Scattergood went back to his chair, and presently might have been seen
to unlace his shoes absent-mindedly. For an hour he sat there, twiddling
his bare toes. Then he got up, jerked Mr. Blossom's old jackknife from
the post where it had been abandoned, and pocketed it.
"If nothin' else happens," he said to himself, "I'm figgered to make a
profit of sixty cents and a tradin' knife."
There followed a very busy fall and winter for Scattergood. Not that he
neglected his hardware store, but from its porch, and later from a post
beside its big stove, he recruited men for his camps and directed the
labor of cutting and piling pulpwood along the banks of Coldriver.
Also, from time to time, he visited various banks to borrow the money
necessary to carry on the operation, sometimes on notes and collateral,
sometimes on timber mortgages. The sum of his borrowing mounted and
mounted, until, before the arrival of spring, his credit had been
strained to the uttermost.
Nor had the pulp company been idle. Its new mills had arisen beside the
river at Higgins's Bridge, machinery had been installed, and the little
hamlet was beginning to speculate in town lots and to look forward to
unexampled prosperity.
But before the ice was out of the river disquieting rumors began to
breathe out of Higgins's Bridge. They were the meerest vapor of
conjecture at first, apparently based upon no evidence whatever, but
friends delighted to convey them to Scattergood, as friends always
delight to perform such a disagreeable duty.
"Hear things hain't goin' right down to the new pulp mill," said Deacon
Pettybone, one bitterly cold afternoon, when he came into Scattergood's
store to thaw the icicles out of his sparse beard.
"Do tell," said Scattergood.
"Be perty bad for you if they was to go wrong, wouldn't it?"
"Perty bad, Deacon."
"'Most ruin you, wouldn't it? Clean you out? Leave you with nothin'?"
"Hain't mortgaged my health. Hain't mortgaged my brains. Have them left,
Deacon. Don't figger I'm clean bankrupt till them two is gone."
But it was to be noticed that Scattergood toasted his bare toes a great
deal during the ensuing days. He scarcely put on his shoes except when
he was going out to wallow through the drifts; and, as Coldriver knew,
when Scattergood waggled his bare toes he was struggling with a
problem.
Also it might have been noticed that he pored much over the detailed
maps in the county atlas, studying the flow of streams and the lie of
timber. It might have been seen that several large blocks of timber had
been marked by Scattergood with red crosses, and that certain other
limits had been blotted out in black. The black pieces were neither
numerous nor individually extensive, but they belonged to Scattergood.
Those marked with red crosses were the property of Messrs. Crane &
Keith.
Now, it may be taken as axiomatic that in those early days the value of
a piece of timber depended upon its accessibility to flowing water down
which logs might be driven. A medium piece of timber on the banks of a
stream which came to plentiful flood in the spring was worth more in
hard dollars and cents than a much larger and finer piece back in the
hills. A piece of timber which had no access whatever to water
approximated worthlessness. On the atlas, the largest pieces of Crane &
Keith timber were back from the river--not too far back, but still
separated from it by narrow strips which, for the most part, were farms.
Some few pieces ran down to the river, but it was apparent that Crane &
Keith were looking to the future--buying timber when it was at its
lowest, and preparing to hold for a better day. They had bought
strategically. More than one tributary valley was in their hands, and,
when the day ripened, small land purchases would connect their holdings,
bring them to water, and place them in such a commanding position that
the valley would be as surely theirs as if they owned every foot of it.
Inasmuch as Scattergood planned, himself, to control Coldriver Valley,
the prospect was not pleasing to him.
Scattergood closed the atlas and put on his shoes. "Um!..." he said.
"Calculate that'll keep their minds off'n other things a spell. If
they see me dickerin' there, they won't figger I'm dickerin' some place
else."
If Scattergood had been a general, history would have recorded that he
won his battles by making feints at some vulnerable point in the enemy's
line, and then struck his major blow at a distance where he was not
suspected to be operating at all.
It chanced that Crane & Keith were cutting timber from the Bottle--a
valley so named. Their rollways were piled high, and it was time for
them to team to the river. To reach the river they must pass through the
Bottleneck and over the farm belonging to Old Man Plumm. There was
another road into the valley--a public road--but it was a fifteen-mile
haul. Old Man Plumm was a non-assertive person, and good-natured. His
farm was a ramshackle, down-at-heels, worthless place, off which he
gleaned the meagerest of livelihoods, so that he had not been averse to
permitting Crane & Keith to traverse his land for a nominal
consideration. It was cheaper for Crane & Keith than purchase--and so
the matter stood.
Scattergood went across the road to Lawyer Norton's office.
"Goin' up Bottleneck way perty soon?" he asked.
"Not that I know of, Scattergood."
"Nice drive. Old Man Plumm's got a farm there."
"I know that, of course."
"Don't figger to visit him?"
"Why--" said Norton, beginning to see that Scattergood had something in
view--"I could."
"Wouldn't try to buy the farm, would you?"
Norton hesitated. "I--I might."
"Cash?"
"Why, I suppose so."
"In your own name, eh? Not in anybody else's."
"How much should I pay?"
"Folks always pays what they have to--no more--no less. Immediate
possession. Always a good thing. Got any money?"
"No."
"Call at the bank. They'll give you what's needed. Ought to be back with
the deed by night. Fast hoss?"
"Fast enough."
"G'-by, Norton."
That night Norton returned with the deed and with Old Man Plumm, who
took the morning stage for Connecticut and his youngest daughter.
"Hear folks is trespassin' on your land, Norton. Name of Crane and
Keith. Haulin' logs acrost. No contract with you? No contract with
Plumm?"
"No contract."
"Hain't got a right to do it, have they?"
"No."
"If I owned that land I'd give 'em notice," said Scattergood. "G'-by,
Norton. Goin'to Boston to-day. Set tight, Norton. G'-by."
Twenty-four hours later both Crane and Keith were in Coldriver, storming
up to Lawyer Norton's office. Scattergood was in Boston and not visible.
"What does this mean?" blustered Crane, displaying to Norton the notice
mailed at Scattergood's direction.
"What it says."
"You can't stop us hauling to the river."
Norton shrugged his shoulders. "You can use the state road."
"Fifteen miles! You know it's impossible. We've got millions of feet on
our rollways. It'll doze and spoil if we don't get it out."
"That's your lookout."
"What do you want?"
"Nothing."
"It's some kind of a hold-up. What'll you take for that farm?"
"Not for sale."
"What will it cost us to haul across you?"
"You can't haul across. Not for money, marbles, or chalk. Use the road."
That was the best Crane & Keith could get out of Norton, though they
besieged him for a week, though they consulted lawyers, though they made
threats, and though they begged and promised. Norton was a stubborn man.
During this week Scattergood had been in Boston. His first visit had
been to Linderman, president of the Atlantic Pulp and Paper Company.
"Have you an appointment with Mr. Linderman?" asked a clerk.
"Never heard of me."
"Then I'm afraid you can't see him. He's very busy."
"That his office? That door?"
"Yes."
"He in? Right in there?"
"Yes."
Scattergood walked calmly toward it. The slender clerk interposed.
Scattergood picked him up, tucked him under a huge arm, and waddled
through the great man's door.
"Howdy, Mr. Linderman? Howdy?"
Linderman looked up and frowned, then his eyes twinkled.
"Who are you? What have you there?"
"Young feller I found outside. 'Fraid of steppin' on him, so I picked
him up to save him. You can run along now, sonny," he said to the clerk.
"He let on I couldn't see you," Scattergood explained.
"What's your name?"
"Scattergood Baines."
"Of Coldriver?" Scattergood was surprised, but did not show it. "Yes."
"Sit down."
"Thankee.... Come to do a mite of business with you. Interested in pulp,
hain't you. Quite consid'able interested?"
"Very much."
"Know the Higgins's Bridge Pulp Company?"
"Of course. Understand they're in difficulties."
"In some, and goin' to be in more. That's why I come down."
Thereupon Scattergood explained in detail his contract with the pulp
company, and his theories of what that company was planning to do to
him. "Double barreled," he said. "Crane and Keith owns them bonds.
Figger on freezin' out the stockholders and buyin' 'em out for a song.
Figger on bustin' me. Next we hear the mill'll be in receiver's hands.
No money. Can't pay no contracts. My notes'll come due, and I'm done
for. Simple. Crane thought it up."
"What do you want of me? So far as I can see, you are up against it. You
can't borrow any more, and your notes won't be extended. You're done."
"Hain't started yet--not yet. Figger to start to-day. That's why I come
to see you."
"But I can do nothing for you."
"Higgins's Bridge mill's good, hain't it? Logical payin' proposition?
Money to be made?"
"Yes."
"Like to own it cheap?"
"Of course."
"Crane and Keith is gittin' ready for a killin'. Own big block of stock.
Paid par. Want to sell, I hear ... if anybody's fool enough to buy. Then
want to buy back for dum' near nothin' when receivership comes. Good
scheme. Money in it. Crane thought it up."
"What's your idea?"
"Buy all they got. Option the rest. Easy.... What happens when a man
sells somethin' he hain't got?"
"He has to get it some place."
"If he can't get it, what?"
"Makes it expensive for him."
"Thought so. Figgered that way.... Nobody to interfere. Crane and Keith
left orders to sell. They won't be takin' notice. Got 'em worried some
place else. Mighty worried." Scattergood recounted the story of Plumm's
farm.
Mr. Linderman scrutinized Scattergood intently and nodded his head. "And
you want me--"
"Put up the money. Git the stock. Lemme handle it. Gimme twenty per
cent."
"In stock?"
"Calc'late so."
"Baines," said Linderman, "I'll go you. Crane and Keith are due for a
lesson."
"Ready now?"
"Yes."
"G'-by, Mr. Linderman. Have money when I want it. G'-by."
Scattergood had a list of stockholders in the pulp company and knew they
were worried. He spent two days in interviewing a dozen of them, and
found little difficulty optioning their stock at a pleasant figure. They
imagined he must be crazy, and he did nothing to destroy the belief.
Then he called at the offices of Crane & Keith.
"Want to see the boss man," he said.
"What for?"
"Hear you got stock for sale. Pulp company. Figger to buy."
Here was a lamb ready for the slaughter. Mr. McCann, who received him,
could see the delight of his employers, and his own profit, if he
should succeed in taking this fat backwoodsman into camp.
"You want to buy stock in the pulp company, I understand?"
"Yes."
"How much?"
"How much you got?"
"Guess we can sell you all you want."
"Money-makin' proposition, hain't it?"
"Of course."
"But you're willin' to sell? Kind of funny, hain't it?"
"Oh no. We have so many enterprises."
"Glad you want to sell. I figger to make money on this stock. Want to
buy a lot of it."
"About how many shares?"
"What you askin'?" said Scattergood.
"Par."
"Shucks! Give you thirty."
There was haggling and bickering until a price of sixty was agreed upon,
and Mr. McCann's heart expanded with satisfaction.
"Now, how many shares?"
"Want control. Want fifty-one per cent, anyhow. Got 'em?"
"Of course." This was not the fact, but Mr. McCann was not addicted to
unnecessary facts. He knew where he could get the rest for less than 60.
There would be an additional profit and additional credit coming to him.
In cold reality, Crane & Keith owned some 40 per cent of the stock.
"Take all you'll sell."
"I can let you have fifteen hundred shares--for cash." This was an even
60 per cent, but McCann knew where he could get the other 20.
"Come to the bank. Come now. Give you the cash."
"I can't deliver but one thousand shares to-day, but I can give you the
other five hundred to-morrow."
"Suits me. Pay for 'em all to-day. Gimme what you got and a receipt for
the rest. Comin' to the bank?"
Mr. McCann put on his coat and hat and accompanied Scattergood to the
bank, where he received a certified check for the full amount, gave
Scattergood in return a thousand shares of stock, and a receipt which
recited that Scattergood had paid for five hundred shares more, to be
delivered within twenty-four hours.
Scattergood went to see Mr. Linderman; McCann went out to round up five
hundred shares of stock. By midnight he was a worried young man. The
stock he had thought to pick up so readily was not to be had. Everybody
seemed to have disposed of it and nobody seemed to know exactly who had
been doing the buying, for the options had been taken in a number of
names. Next morning McCann sought diligently until he found Scattergood.
"I've been a bit delayed in the delivery of the rest of the stock," he
told Scattergood, and there was cold moisture on his forehead. "Would
you mind waiting until to-morrow?"
"Guess I'll have to," said Scattergood. "G'-by. Better be movin' around
spry. I want to git back home."
That night McCann wired his employers to get back home as quickly as
conveyances would carry them. They did so, and in no happy mood, for
Lawyer Norton had remained immovable in his position. Young McCann told
his tale hesitatingly.
"Who did you say you sold to?" demanded Crane.
"Fat man by the name of Baines."
"Baines! He's busted. Hasn't a cent."
"Paid cash."
Crane looked at Keith and Keith looked at Crane. Just then the telephone
rang. It was Scattergood.
"Want to speak to Mr. Crane," he said.
"Hello!" Crane said, gruffly. "What's this about your buying pulp
company stock?"
"Bought some. Bought a little. Called up to see why your young man
wasn't deliverin'. Want to git home."
"Where did you get the money?"
"Have to know that? Have to know where it come from before you kin make
delivery? Hain't inquisitive, be you?"
Mr. Crane made use of language. "I want to see you--got to have a talk.
Come right down here."
"Jest been measurin'," said Scattergood, "and I figger it's a mite
longer from here to there than it is from there to here. If you want to
see me, here I be."
"Where?"
Scattergood gave an office address and hung up the receiver.
"They'll be here in a minnit," he said to Mr. Linderman, and he was not
exaggerating greatly as to the time required to bring the gentlemen to
him. "Know Mr. Linderman--Crane and Keith?" said Scattergood. "Come in
and set."
"What do you want with pulp company stock?" Crane demanded.
"Paper the kitchen. Maybe, if I kin git enough, I'll paper the parlor.
Lack five hunderd shares for the parlor. Got'em with you?"
"No, and we're not going to get them."
"Um!... Paid for 'em, didn't I? Got a receipt?"
"What's Linderman doing in this?"
Mr. Linderman leaned forward a little. "I'm in a legitimate business
transaction--something quite foreign to you gentlemen's notions of doing
business. I came into it to make a profit, but mostly to teach you
fellows a lesson in decent business methods. I don't like you. I don't
like your ways. If you like your ways you must expect to pay for the
pleasure you get out of them.... Mr. Baines is waiting for delivery of
the stock he bought."
"I suppose you know we haven't got it?"
"I do."
"We can't deliver."
"Yes, you can. Go out in the open market and buy. Now, I own a few
shares, for instance. I might sell."
The faces of Messrs. Crane and Keith did not picture lively enjoyment.
They were caught. If it had been Scattergood alone they might have
wriggled out of it, they thought, for they had scant respect for his
sagacity, but Linderman--well, Linderman was not to be trifled with.
"How much?" said Crane.
"You need five hundred shares. Par is a hundred, is it not? I will part
with mine for three hundred. First, last, and only offer. In ten minutes
the price goes up to three fifty, and fifty for each five minutes after
that."
"It's robbery ..." Mr. Crane spluttered, and made uncouth sounds of
rage.
"Now you know how the other fellow has been feeling. Seven minutes
left...."
Four more minutes sped before the surrender came.
"Certified check," said Mr. Linderman. "My messenger will go to the bank
for you."
The check was drawn for a hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and Crane
and Keith settled back sullenly.
"You can retain your bonds. I believe you have about a quarter of a
million dollars' worth of them. Glad to have you finance the mill for
me. It will, of course, go ahead under my direction," said Linderman. "I
guess I can iron out the difficulties you gentlemen have arranged for,
and there will be no receivership. That will relieve Mr. Baines, who has
a considerable contract with the company." Mr. Crane swore softly.
Scattergood heaved himself to his feet. "One other leetle matter, Crane.
There's the Plumm farm. Kind of exercised about that, hain't you? Stayed
up in the country a week to look after it--while I was dickerin' down
here.... Like to buy that farm?"
There was no answer.
"Calculate to take a hint from Mr. Linderman. That farm's mine, and you
can't haul a log acrost it. My price is fifteen thousand. Bought it for
two. Price goes up hunderd dollars a minute. Cash deal."
That surrender was more prompt, and a second check was sent to the bank
to be certified.
"G'-by, gentlemen," said Scattergood, and Messrs. Crane and Keith took
their departure in no dignified manner, but with rancor in their hearts,
which there was no method of salving.
"Let's take stock," said Scattergood. "Like to know jest how we come
out."
"Let's see. We bought the stock at an average of sixty dollars a share.
That makes a hundred and fifty thousand dollars in expenses, doesn't it?
The five hundred shares just transferred cost thirty thousand dollars
and we sold them for a hundred and fifty thousand. Profit on that part
of the deal is a hundred and twenty thousand dollars. That made the
total capital stock in the mill worth a quarter of a million of
anybody's money; cost us exactly thirty thousand dollars, didn't it?
Nice deal.... And you cleaned up an extra thirteen thousand on your side
issue. Not bad."
"I git five hunderd shares worth fifty thousand dollars, don't I? Then
my thirteen. That's sixty-three thousand. Then my profit on twenty-five
thousand cords of pulpwood--which is goin' to be paid, I jedge. That'll
be anyhow another twenty-five thousand. Calc'late this deal's about
fixed me so's I kin go ahead with a number of plans. Much obleeged, Mr.
Linderman. You come in handy."
"So did you, Mr. Baines. Mighty handy."
"Oh, me. I had to. I was jest takin' out reasonable insurance ag'in'
loss...."
"I guess you have a permanent insurance policy against loss, inside your
head."
"Um!..." said Scattergood, slipping his feet into his shoes, preparatory
to leaving, "difficulty about that kind of insurance is that most folks
lets it lapse 'long about the first week after they're born."