CROSS CURRENTS
The retirement of Nathaniel Lawson from active participation in the
management of the Interprovincial Loan & Savings Company had come as a
complete surprise to his many acquaintances in commercial circles. For
while he was frequently spoken of as "Old Nat," it was a familiarity
fostered by long and friendly associations rather than declining years.
Why a man in his prime and at the apex of his usefulness should drop
out of harness so suddenly when he appeared to be in the best of
health, was something of a mystery. Not a few missed his genial
companionship, and were frank enough to say so on those rare occasions
when Nat Lawson now put in an appearance at the Club. For a while
rumors were rife, but gradually these subsided as his absence became a
custom.
It was to that very end that the founder of the Interprovincial Loan &
Savings Company made his retirement so literal. There were times when
the inquisitiveness of his friends was hard to combat, when the
temptation to give expression to the hidden springs of indignation that
had been born within him was almost irresistible. So, acting upon his
better judgment, he gradually relegated himself to the background of
affairs till his tall, distinguished-looking figure was no longer a
familiar sight in public places. But if his white hair, his carefully
trimmed Van Dyke beard and wide moustache no longer singled him out in
gatherings of his former associates his carriage lost none of its
alertness, his glance none of its customary fearlessness. Nathaniel
Lawson was biding his time.
Like so many successful men who have risen to places of wealth and
influence, Lawson had begun as a poor boy, struggling upward over
untold difficulties by pluck and determination. In his case, however,
the rewards of the struggle had been swept from his reach at the very
pinnacle of achievement by what appeared to be an exceptionally bold
piece of financial buccaneering. He belonged to the older generation
which had grown up accustomed to seeing business carried on by
individuals or on a partnership basis; joint stock companies, combines
and holding companies had been a development of his later days. It had
taken him a lifetime to build up his financial business from very small
beginnings, until it had become the big organization now known as the
Interprovincial Loan & Savings Company. And because it was his nature
to be generous and kindly "Old Nat" had fallen victim to misplaced
confidence.
In those early years of struggle conservative methods and plain honesty
had been not the least of his assets. It was upon these sound
principles that he had relied throughout. The small deposits of the
working classes, more or less ignored by his early competitors, had
given him his start; even now the strength of the Interprovincial lay
in its popularity among workmen and farmers, while its aggregate of
small savings accounts was tremendous. The people trusted the
Interprovincial because they had seen it grow and knew that it was
administered honestly. "Catch 'Old Nat' having anything to do with the
tricks of high finance!" said they, confidently, and many were the
stories which went the rounds of how the "old-fashioned" financier had
allowed sentiment to "interfere" with business. And the business had
grown apace.
Because of this ingrained sentimental streak in his make-up and because
of this inherent honesty he had created some enemies. There were those
who looked hungrily in the direction of the Interprovincial and
imagined what could be accomplished in a very big way in several
different directions if only the man in control of the stock were--say,
a little more modern. If it were not for the close tab which that
energetic young secretary kept upon things, Lawson would have run the
concern into the ditch long ago, whispered the ambitious ones. The
young and energetic secretary, J. C. Nickleby, may have been the first
to whisper it--very confidentially, of course. For it would ill become
so promising a young financier as J. Cuthbert Nickleby to be guilty of
ingratitude, and there had been one raw wet night in the spring of a
year long past when Nathaniel Lawson had rescued a miserable travesty
of a man from the gutter--a night that Nickleby, once his benefactor
had set him firmly upon his feet with a new lease of life, no doubt had
schooled himself to forget for all time.
At any rate there had come an annual meeting at which Nat Lawson found
himself in a quandary. It followed on the heels of a rumor that it was
the desire of certain shareholders to inject some "new blood," and
thereby new life, into the loan company--that it would be a good thing,
in short, for the "revered old Chief" to retire to a pedestal where he
could sit as inanimate as a bronze bust upon the official label,
"Honorary President," while a younger man took upon his shoulders the
burden of the expanded business, and so forth.
The campaign against him had been of a most insidious character and
Lawson had pretended with dignity to ignore it, even while his
resentment grew to the proportions of great indignation. And all the
time he was worried because he could not find a certain
power-of-attorney which authorized him to vote a large block of stock
belonging to a personal friend who had invested heavily in Lawson's
company--Bradford, the arctic explorer, who had gone into the
hinterland on a Government expedition, and who was not expected to get
into communication with civilization again for about two years.
Bradford had left everything in connection with his investment in his
friend Lawson's hands. While the status of this stock on the books of
the Interprovincial was unquestioned, the power-of-attorney had been
given to Lawson personally and had not been placed officially in the
hands of the secretary with instructions.
Herein lay the quandary. For when at the annual meeting in question
Nat Lawson had tried to vote the stock in the usual way, he was asked
for the power-of-attorney by some of the new shareholders and could not
produce it. Proxies which Nickleby had manipulated then were thrown on
the scale and when the meeting was over, the Interprovincial had a new
president by the name of J. Cuthbert Nickleby. In making the
announcement, the newspapers had quite a story about "Old Nat" and his
career; they printed in full the account which was handed to them
regarding the presentation of a gold-headed cane, suitably engraved,
and an illuminated address which marked the esteem in which the
directors held the retiring president and founder.
Convinced though he was that the power-of-attorney had been stolen
deliberately and that the whole thing was a cunning frame-up to get him
out of the way in order that certain transactions of which he never
would have approved might go through--although convinced that this was
the truth of the matter, Nat Lawson had no evidence to prove a case
against Nickleby or any of his associates. It would have been a
dangerous procedure to give publicity to his suspicions, or to attempt
legal action without definite proof of his charges, as this could
result only in destroying public confidence in the institution itself
without in the least altering the situation. At the worst, the reign
of the Nickleby faction could be but temporary, as the situation would
adjust itself with the return of the explorer who owned the stock. But
it was exceedingly humiliating, and there was always the possibility
that those now in control of the Interprovincial meanwhile would
undermine the whole financial fabric by loose policies of
administration, or even by questionable practices.
These apprehensions were shared by the only two friends whom Nat Lawson
had admitted fully to his confidence--President Benjamin Wade, of the
Canadian Lake Shores Railway, and McAllister, the keen-eyed editor of
the _Recorder_, which of all the city newspapers was the most
consistently independent in politics. Wade was an old friend of long
standing, himself holder of a small block of stock in the
Interprovincial Loan & Savings Company, and it was to him that Lawson
had turned for advice in his extremity. Immediately Wade had called
into counsel the chief of his railroad's very competent detective
staff, Bob Cranston, and thereupon began a series of quiet
investigations with the object of obtaining the necessary evidence to
depose the Nickleby faction from control of Interprovincial affairs.
Although equally anxious to help, McAllister had no part in Wade's
plans; he preferred to work along special lines of his own. He and
Wade differed in their theories of the situation, and much to Nat
Lawson's amusement they had argued with some heat the first night that
they happened to meet at the Lawson home; so that the two were somewhat
in friendly rivalry, each anxious to prove that he was right, and each
determined to play a lone hand.
It may have been his interest in the case that led McAllister to call
so frequently of late at the old-fashioned brick house that stood back
from the street, surrounded by spacious grounds and a wealth of
carefully tended shrubbery, in the older residential section of the
city. No doubt it was this that made him stop for a smoke with the
former president of the Interprovincial about three evenings a week on
the way to his office in the brightly-lighted _Recorder_ building,
where hummed activity during the hours that others slept, in order that
the public might have a morning newspaper to prop against the
sugar-bowl while it breakfasted.
Even so, it is necessary to add that Nathaniel Lawson had a beautiful
and accomplished daughter whose name was Cristobel. It is necessary to
record further that being a young woman of spirit, Miss Cristy Lawson
had insisted upon taking up newspaper work as a profession when the
need of adding to the family resources presented itself. For most of
the Lawson capital had gone into the loan company and her father's
philanthropic tendencies in the heyday of his earnings had made greater
inroads upon his personal fortune than he had realized at the time.
Her father's objections to the plan had been overruled finally when
McAllister had offered Miss Lawson a position on the _Recorder's_ day
staff as "Society Editor," and it was not long before her interest in
the work and her natural aptitude for it rejuvenated the Society Page
into one of the best features the paper boasted.
Not content with this success, Miss Lawson became ambitious to try her
journalistic wings in other directions; but her desire for more
important assignments than the reporting of afternoon teas brought down
the paternal foot--flat! No daughter of Nathaniel Lawson was going to
be allowed to roam the city at all hours. "No night work," her father
had insisted. Nevertheless, the young woman continued to hope that
this edict would be removed eventually, and she never lost an
opportunity of coaxing if she happened to be at home when McAllister
was present; but there came a night finally when Nat Lawson grew
impatient at her persistence and kindly but firmly put a final period
to the topic.
She arrived home from a recital at the Conservatory of Music just in
time to serve the refreshments and to listen breathlessly to the
conclusion of the evening's animated discussion. Both Wade and
McAllister were there and it was evident that they had been "at it
again." From the quiet elation in the editor's eye and the
corresponding amusement of her father, she judged that McAllister
temporarily was having the better of the argument.
"Mac, I don't care a hoot what you've found out!" declared Ben Wade.
"You can sit there and talk till this time to-morrow night, but you'll
never convince me that the Honorable Milt isn't as straight as the best
man who ever went into politics."
"Ah, just so--who ever went into politics," drawled McAllister with a
provoking grin.
"Who ever did his duty in public life and became the victim of
hidebound newspapers!" retorted Wade. "Milt Waring and I grew up in
the same town together--went to the same school, played both hookey and
hockey together. Why, I know him inside and out and I tell you he's as
straight as a string."
"Your simile is unfortunate, Ben. The straightest string can be tied
in knots."
"I see by this morning's papers that Rives has been released from the
penitentiary," interposed their host. "Good conduct has got him out
three years ahead of time. His sentence was fifteen, wasn't it?"
Wade nodded, but was not to be turned from his tilt with McAllister.
"What have you found out that makes you so cocky to-night?" he
challenged the editor with interest.
"You'll read all about it in the _Recorder_ when the time comes. You
laughed at me the other night when I warned you that politics was mixed
up in this Interprovincial manoeuvring. Watch me prove it. I'll send
you a marked copy of the paper."
"Bluff! Listen to him, Nat!"
"I'm not in the habit of bluffing, Wade." McAllister's jaw was set as
he patted the edge of the table for emphasis. "I'm responsible to the
public and I tell you both right now that as sure as you're born----
Ah, good-evening, Miss Lawson," he finished, rising to his feet with a
smile.
McAllister busied himself, clearing a space on the table for the tray
she was carrying, and from beneath his shaggy brows the railroad
president's shrewd eyes carried a glint of amusement at the evident
relief with which the editor welcomed the interruption. A moment more
and McAllister might have committed himself to a rash statement.
"And how goes the battle, Cristy? Who won the latest bun fight?"
smiled Wade by way of making conversation. "Have you persuaded your
father----?"
"Indeed I have not," interrupted Cristy with an exaggerated pout. She
looked directly at Ben Wade and frowned, as if the subject were one
about which she would rather not be teased even by an old family friend
of long and intimate standing. "It is too mean for anything! If, as
Mr. McAllister has been good enough to intimate, I am capable of big
successes in newspaper work, is it right to hold me back from the
necessary experience? To hear Daddy talk you'd think I was a little
child----"
"Cristy!" reproved Nat Lawson quietly.
"But I ask you, Mr. Wade, is it fair----?"
"Your father knows best, my child. He probably has good reasons----"
"I do not approve of you working on the night staff. I must ask you
not to refer to this matter again. We will not discuss it now, please."
"Allow me to give you another cup of cocoa, Mr. McAllister?"
"Thank you, but I must be getting along," said McAllister, glancing
hurriedly at his watch. "I have stayed later than I intended, thanks
to the side-tracking of yon railroad president."
"I'll run you down to the office in the car for that," laughed Wade,
also rising. "I'm going out of town for a couple of weeks, Nat; but
the next time I see you I expect to have some news that will interest
you. And I'll give it to you in advance of publication." He slapped
McAllister on the shoulder and they bade their host and hostess a
jovial adieu.
But once Wade's limousine was speeding down the street the magnate fell
strangely silent. He passed a cigar to McAllister and lighted one for
himself. For fully five minutes he did not speak a word. He listened
in a preoccupied way to the editor's opinion of the new city parks
by-law and to that gentleman's surprise interrupted him finally by a
statement entirely irrelevant.
"Cristy Lawson is a remarkably clever young woman," he said, gazing
thoughtfully at a little electric light in the roof of the car.
"For once I can agree with you entirely," nodded McAllister, flashing a
quick glance at the other's upturned face.
"I don't blame her for getting sick and tired of writing your pink-tea
items. Why don't you give her a chance at bigger game?"
"You heard what her father said?"
"I did. I want to make sure that you did too."
"What do you mean?"
"Whatever you like," snapped Wade. "There are some jobs that even a
clever woman has no business attempting, that's all."
"Why talk in riddles, Ben? What's on your mind?"
"This wonderful graft exposure which you are planning to spring on an
unsuspecting public." He rounded on McAllister and looked at him
gravely. "How much of it have you told Nat?"
"I have said nothing about it to anybody," replied the editor, plainly
puzzled. "Why?"
"My advice is to keep right on saying nothing about it. The less you
say the less you'll have to take back."
"We'll see about that in due course," chuckled McAllister. "Do I look
like a fool?"
"Appearances are often deceptive. I once knew a fellow who got so
slick at gumshoeing that he sneaked up on his own shadow and made a
fool of himself."
"Got married at high noon, perhaps?"
"Mac, seriously, I want you to promise me that you won't spring
anything without giving me twenty-four hours' notice. It's an unusual
request, I know; but I ask it in your own interests." There was no
mistaking the earnestness with which he spoke, and McAllister stared at
him.
"You--have some inside information to justify it?"
"Yes. I cannot tell you the details just now. I warn you that if your
paper attempts the so-called exposure which you have in mind without my
co-operation you'll regret it bitterly. I can help you and will be
glad to; but only on condition that you warn me when you are ready. Do
you promise?"
The limousine had stopped opposite the Recorder building and McAllister
alighted slowly. Then he reached in through the open door and shook
hands.
"All right, Ben. You're the doctor," he decided.
"Good. You can count on me, then. As a starter I can promise that the
photos of the Alderson Construction Company's missing campaign-fund
contribution will be delivered to you personally to-morrow night. I'll
look you up when I get back in a week's time, Mac. Good-night."
McAllister remained standing at the curb till Wade's car swung out of
sight around the corner. Then he struck the pavement with his cane,
for it irritated him to be so completely surprised. Wade knew! How
much did he know? And how in under the sun----?
"Pyed!" he grunted. "Devil take the man!"
He turned slowly and entered the building to his night's work.