THE DIRECTORS' MEETING
Keith found, on his arrival in New York to meet his directors, that a
great change had taken place in business circles since his visit there
when he was getting up his company.
Even Norman, at whose office Keith called immediately on his arrival,
appeared more depressed than Keith had ever imagined he could be. He
looked actually care-worn.
As they started off to attend the meeting, Norman warned Keith that the
meeting might be unpleasant for him, but urged him to keep cool, and not
mind too much what might be said to him.
"I told you once, you remember, that men are very unreasonable when they
are losing." He smiled gloomily.
Keith told him of old Rawson's offer.
"You may need it," said Norman.
When Keith and Norman arrived at the office of the company, they found
the inner office closed. Norman, being a director, entered at once, and
finally the door opened and "Mr. Keith" was invited in. As he entered, a
director was showing two men out of the room by a side door, and Keith
had a glimpse of the back of one of them. The tall, thin figure
suggested to him Mr. J. Quincy Plume; but he was too well dressed to be
Mr. Plume, and Keith put the matter from his mind as merely an odd
resemblance. The other person he did not see.
Keith's greeting was returned, as it struck him, somewhat coldly by
most of them. Only two of the directors shook hands with him.
It was a meeting which Keith never forgot. He soon found that he had
need of all of his self-control. He was cross-examined by Mr. Kestrel.
It was evident that it was believed that he had wasted their money, if
he had not done worse. The director sat with a newspaper in his lap, to
which, from time to time, he appeared to refer. From the line of the
questioning, Keith soon recognized the source of his information.
"You have been misled," Keith said coldly, in reply to a question. "I
desire to know the authority for your statement."
"I must decline," was the reply. "I think I may say that it is an
authority which is unimpeachable. You observe that it is one who knows
what he is speaking of?" He gave a half-glance about him at his
colleagues.
"A spy?" demanded Keith, coldly, his eye fixed on the other.
"No, sir. A man of position, a man whose sources of knowledge even you
would not question. Why, this has been charged in the public prints
without denial!" he added triumphantly.
"It has been charged in one paper," said Keith, "a paper which every one
knows is for sale and has been bought--by your rival."
"It is based not only on the statement of the person to whom I have
alluded, but is corroborated by others."
"By what others?" inquired Keith.
"By another," corrected Mr. Kestrel.
"That only proves that there are two men who are liars," said Keith,
slowly. "I know but two men who I believe would have been guilty of such
barefaced and brazen falsehoods. Shall I name them?"
"If you choose."
"They are F.C. Wickersham and a hireling of his, Mr. J. Quincy Plume."
There was a stir among the directors. Keith had named both men. It was a
fortunate shot.
"By Jove! Brought down a bird with each barrel," said Mr. Yorke, who was
one of the directors, to another in an undertone.
Keith proceeded to give the history of the mine and of its rival mine,
the Wickersham property.
During the cross-examination Norman sat a silent witness. Beyond a look
of satisfaction when Keith made his points clearly or countered on his
antagonist with some unanswerable fact, he had taken no part in the
colloquy. Up to this time Keith had not referred to him or even looked
at him, but he glanced at him now, and the expression on his face
decided Keith.
"Mr. Wentworth, there, knows the facts. He knows F.C. Wickersham as well
as I do, and he has been on the ground."
There was a look of surprise on the face of nearly every one present.
How could he dare to say it!
"Oh, I guess we all know him," said one, to relieve the tension.
Norman bowed his assent.
Mr. Kestrel shifted his position.
"Never mind Mr. Wentworth; it's _your_ part in the transaction that we
are after," he said insolently.
The blood rushed to Keith's face; but a barely perceptible glance from
Norman helped him to hold himself in check. The director glanced down at
the newspaper.
"How about that accident in our mine? Some of us have thought that it
was carelessness on the part of the local management. It has been
charged that proper inspection would have indicated that the flooding of
an adjacent mine should have given warning; in fact, had given warning."
He half glanced around at his associates, and then fastened his eyes
on Keith.
Keith's eyes met his unflinchingly and held them. He drew in his breath
with a sudden sound, as a man might who has received a slap full in the
face. Beyond this, there was no sound. Keith sat for a moment in
silence. The blow had dazed him. In the tumult of his thought, as it
returned, it seemed as if the noise of the stricken crowd was once more
about him, weeping women and moaning men; and he was descending into the
blackness of death. Once more the roar of that rushing water was in his
ears; he was once more plunging through the darkness; once more he was
being borne down into its depths; again he was struggling, gasping,
floundering toward the light; once more he returned to consciousness, to
find himself surrounded by eyes full of sympathy--of devotion. The eyes
changed suddenly. The present came back to him. Hostile eyes were
about him.
Keith rose from his chair slowly, and slowly turned from his questioner
toward the others.
"Gentlemen, I have nothing further to say to you. I have the honor to
resign my position under you."
"Resign!" exclaimed the director who had been badgering him. "Resign
your position!" He leaned back in his chair and laughed.
Keith turned on him so quickly that he pushed his chair back as if he
were afraid he might spring across the table on him.
"Yes. Resign!" Keith was leaning forward across the table now, resting
his weight on one hand. "Anything to terminate our association. I am no
longer in your employ, Mr. Kestrel." His eyes had suddenly blazed, and
held Mr. Kestrel's eyes unflinchingly. His voice was calm, but had the
coldness of a steel blade.
There was a movement among the directors. They shifted uneasily in their
chairs, and several of them pushed them back. They did not know what
might happen. Keith was the incarnation of controlled passion. Mr.
Kestrel seemed to shrink up within himself. Norman broke the silence.
"I do not wonder that Mr. Keith should feel aggrieved," he said, with
feeling. "I have held off from taking part in this interview up to the
present, because I promised to do so, and because I felt that Mr. Keith
was abundantly able to take care of himself; but I think that he has
been unjustly dealt with and has been roughly handled."
Keith's only answer was a slow wave of the arm in protest toward Norman
to keep clear of the contest and leave it to him. He was standing quite
straight now, his eyes still resting upon Mr. Kestrel's face, with a
certain watchfulness in them, as if he were expecting him to stir again,
and were ready to spring on him should he do so.
Unheeding him, Norman went on.
"I know that much that he says is true." Keith looked at him quickly,
his form stiffening. "And I believe that _all_ that he says is true,"
continued Norman; "and I am unwilling to stand by longer and see this
method of procedure carried on."
Keith bowed. There flashed across his mind the picture of a boy rushing
up the hill to his rescue as he stood by a rock-pile on a hillside
defending himself against overwhelming assailants, and his
face softened.
"Well, I don't propose to be dictated to as to how I shall conduct my
own business," put in Mr. Kestrel, in a sneering voice. When the spell
of Keith's gaze was lifted from him he had recovered.
If Keith heard him now, he gave no sign of it, nor was it needed, for
Norman turned upon him.
"I think you will do whatever this board directs," he said, with almost
as much contempt as Keith had shown.
He took up the defence of the management to such good purpose that a
number of the other directors went over to his side.
They were willing to acquit Mr. Keith of blame, they said, and to show
their confidence in him. They thought it would be necessary to have some
one to look after the property and prevent further loss until better
times should come, and they thought it would be best to get Mr. Keith to
remain in charge for the present.
During this time Keith had remained motionless and silent, except to bow
his acknowledgments to Norman. He received their new expression of
confidence in silence, until the discussion had ceased and the majority
were on his side. Then he faced Mr. Yorke.
"Gentlemen," he said, "I am obliged to you for your expression; but it
comes too late. Nothing on earth could induce me ever again to assume a
position in which I could be subjected to what I have gone through this
morning. I will never again have any business association with--" he
turned and looked at Mr. Kestrel--"Mr. Kestrel, or those who have
sustained him."
Mr. Kestrel shrugged his shoulders.
"Oh, as to that," he laughed, "you need have no trouble. I shall get out
as soon as I can. I have no more desire to associate with you than you
have with me. All I want to do is to save what you mis--"
Keith's eyes turned on him quietly.
"--what I was misled into putting into your sink-hole down there. You
may remember that you told me, when I went in, that you would guarantee
me all I put in." His voice rose into a sneer.
"Oh, no. None of that, none of that!" interrupted Norman, quickly. "You
may remember, Mr. Kestrel,--?"
But Keith interrupted him with a wave of his hand.
"I do remember. I have a good memory, Mr. Kestrel."
"That was all done away with," insisted Norman, his arm outstretched
toward Mr. Kestrel. "You remember that an offer was made you of your
input and interest, and you declined?"
"I am speaking to _him_," said Mr. Kestrel, not turning his eyes from
Keith.
"I renew that offer now," said Keith, coldly.
"Then that's all right." Mr. Kestrel sat back in his chair. "I accept
your proposal, principal and interest."
Protests and murmurs went around the board, but Mr. Kestrel did not heed
them. Leaning forward, he seized a pen, and drawing a sheet of paper to
him, began to scribble a memorandum of the terms, which, when finished,
he pushed across the table to Keith.
Keith took it against Norman's protest, and when he had read it, picked
up a pen and signed his name firmly.
"Here, witness it," said Mr. Kestrel to his next neighbor. "If any of
the rest of you want to save your bones, you had better come in."
Several of the directors agreed with him.
Though Norman protested, Keith accepted their proposals, and a paper was
drawn up which most of those present signed. It provided that a certain
time should be given Keith in which to raise money to make good his
offer, and arrangements were made provisionally to wind up the present
company, and to sell out and transfer its rights to a new organization.
Some of the directors prudently insisted on reserving the right to
withdraw their proposals should they change their minds. It may be
stated, however, that they had no temptation to do so. Times rapidly
grew worse instead of better.
But Keith had occasion to know how sound was Squire Rawson's judgment
when, a little later, another of the recurrent waves of depression swept
over the country, and several banks in New Leeds went down, among them
the bank in which old Rawson had had his money. The old man came up to
town to remind Keith of his wisdom.
"Well, what do you think of brass and credulity now?" he demanded.
"Let me know when you begin to prophesy against me," said Keith,
laughing.
"'Tain't no prophecy. It's jest plain sense. Some folks has it and some
hasn't. When sense tells you a thing, hold on to it.
"Well, you jest go ahead and git things in shape, and don't bother about
me. No use bein' in a hurry, neither. I have observed that when times
gits bad, they generally gits worse. It's sorter like a fever; you've
got to wait for the crisis and jest kind o' nurse 'em along. But I don't
reckon that coal is goin' to run away. It has been there some time,
accordin' to what that young man used to say, and if it was worth what
they gin for it a few years ago, it's goin' to be worth more a few years
hence. When a wheel keeps turnin', the bottom's got to come up sometime,
and if we can stick we'll be there. I think you and I make a pretty good
team. You let me furnish the ideas and you do the work, and we'll come
out ahead o' some o' these Yankees yet. Jest hold your horses; keep
things in good shape, and be ready to start when the horn blows. It's
goin' to blow sometime."
* * * * *
The clouds that had begun to rest in Norman Wentworth's eyes and the
lines that had written themselves in his face were not those of business
alone. Fate had brought him care of a deeper and sadder kind. Though
Keith did not know it till later, the little rift within the lute, that
he had felt, but had not understood, that first evening when he dined at
Norman's house, had widened, and Norman's life was beginning to be
overcast with the saddest of all clouds. Miss Abigail's keen intuition
had discovered the flaw. Mrs. Wentworth had fallen a victim to her
folly. Love of pleasure, love of admiration, love of display, had become
a part of Mrs. Wentworth's life, and she was beginning to reap the
fruits of her ambition.
For a time it was mighty amusing to her. To shop all morning, make the
costliest purchases; to drive on the avenue or in the Park of an
afternoon with the latest and most stylish turnout, in the handsomest
toilet; to give the finest dinners; to spend the evening in the most
expensive box; to cause men to open their eyes with admiration, and to
make women grave with envy: all this gave her delight for a time--so
much delight that she could not forego it even for her husband. Norman
was so occupied of late that he could not go about with her as much as
he had done. His father's health had failed, and then he had died,
throwing all the business on Norman.
Ferdy Wickersham had returned home from abroad not long before--alone.
Rumor had connected his name while abroad with some woman--an unknown
and very pretty woman had "travelled with him." Ferdy, being rallied by
his friends about it, shook his head. "Must have been some one else."
Grinnell Rhodes, who had met him, said she declared herself his wife.
Ferdy's denial was most conclusive--he simply laughed.
To Mrs. Wentworth he had told a convincing tale. It was a slander.
Norman was against him, he knew, but she, at least, would believe he had
been maligned.
Wickersham had waited for such a time in the affairs of Mrs. Wentworth.
He had watched for it; striven to bring it about in many almost
imperceptible ways; had tendered her sympathy; had been ready with help
as she needed it; till he began to believe that he was making some
impression. It was, of all the games he played, the dearest just now to
his heart. It had a double zest. It had appeared to the world that
Norman Wentworth had defeated him. He had always defeated him--first as
a boy, then at college, and later when he had borne off the prize for
which Ferdy had really striven. Ferdy would now show who was the real
victor. If Louise Caldwell had passed him by for Norman Wentworth, he
would prove that he still possessed her heart.
It was not long, therefore, before society found a delightful topic of
conversation,--that silken-clad portion of society which usually deals
with such topics,--the increasing intimacy between Ferdy Wickersham and
Mrs. Wentworth.
Tales were told of late visits; of strolls in the dusk of evenings on
unfrequented streets; of little suppers after the opera; of all the
small things that deviltry can suggest and malignity distort. Wickersham
cared little for having his name associated with that of any one, and he
was certainly not going to be more careful for another's name than for
his own. He had grown more reckless since his return, but it had not
injured him with his set. It flattered his pride to be credited with
the conquest of so cold and unapproachable a Diana as Louise Wentworth.
"What was more natural?" said Mrs. Nailor. After all, Ferdy Wickersham
was her real romance, and she was his, notwithstanding all the
attentions he had paid Alice Yorke. "Besides," said the amiable lady,
"though Norman Wentworth undoubtedly lavishes large sums on his wife,
and gives her the means to gratify her extravagant tastes, I have
observed that he is seen quite as much with Mrs. Lancaster as with her,
and any woman of spirit will resent this. You need not tell me that he
would be so complacent over all that driving and strolling and
box-giving that Ferdy does for her if he did not find his divertisement
elsewhere."
Mrs. Nailor even went to the extent of rallying Ferdy on the subject.
"You are a naughty boy. You have no right to go around here making women
fall in love with you as you do," she said, with that pretended reproof
which is a real encouragement.
"One might suppose I was like David, who slew his tens of thousands,"
answered Ferdy. "Which of my victims are you attempting to rescue?"
"You know?"
As Ferdy shook his head, she explained further.
"I don't say that it isn't natural she should find you
more--more--sympathetic than a man who is engrossed in business when he
is not engrossed in dangling about a pair of blue eyes; but you ought
not to do it. Think of her."
"I thought you objected to my thinking of her?" said Mr. Wickersham,
lightly.
Mrs. Nailor tapped him with her fan to show her displeasure.
"You are so provoking. Why won't you be serious?"
"Serious? I never was more serious in my life. Suppose I tell you I
think of her all the time?" He looked at her keenly, then broke into a
laugh as he read her delight in the speech. "Don't you think I am
competent to attend to my own affairs, even if Louise Caldwell is the
soft and unsophisticated creature you would make her? I am glad you did
not feel it necessary to caution me about her husband?" His eyes gave
a flash.
Mrs. Nailor hastened to put herself right--that is, on the side of the
one present, for with her the absent was always in the wrong.
Wickersham improved his opportunities with the ability of a veteran.
Little by little he excited Mrs. Wentworth's jealousy. Norman, he said,
necessarily saw a great deal of Alice Lancaster, for he was her business
agent. It was, perhaps, not necessary for him to see her every day, but
it was natural that he should. The arrow stuck and rankled. And later,
at an entertainment, when she saw Norman laughing and enjoying himself
in a group of old friends, among whom was Alice Lancaster, Mrs. Norman
was on fire with suspicion, and her attitude toward Alice
Lancaster changed.
So, before Norman was aware of it, he found life completely changed for
him. As a boatman on a strange shore in the night-time drifts without
knowing of it, he, in the absorption of his business, drifted away from
his old relation without marking the process. His wife had her life and
friends, and he had his. He made at times an effort to recover the old
relation, but she was too firmly held in the grip of the life she had
chosen for him to get her back.
His wife complained that he was out of sympathy with her, and he could
not deny it. She resented this, and charged him with neglecting her. No
man will stand such a charge, and Norman defended himself hotly.
"I do not think it lies in your mouth to make such a charge," he said,
with a flash in his eye. "I am nearly always at home when I am not
necessarily absent. You can hardly say as much. I do not think my worst
enemy would charge me with that. Even Ferdy Wickersham would not
say that."
She fired at the name.
"You are always attacking my friends," she declared. "I think they are
quite as good as yours."
Norman turned away. He looked gloomily out of the window for a moment,
and then faced his wife again.
"Louise," he said gravely, "if I have been hard and unsympathetic, I
have not meant to be. Why can't we start all over again? You are more
than all the rest of the world to me. I will give up whatever you object
to, and you give up what I object to. That is a good way to begin." His
eyes had a look of longing in them, but Mrs. Wentworth did not respond.
"You will insist on my giving up my friends," she said.
"Your friends? I do not insist on your giving up any friend on earth.
Mrs. Nailor and her like are not your friends. They spend their time
tearing to pieces the characters of others when you are present, and
your character when you are absent. Wickersham is incapable of being
a friend."
"You are always so unjust to him," said Mrs. Wentworth, warmly.
"I am not unjust to him. I have known him all my life, and I tell you he
would sacrifice any one and every one to his pleasure."
Mrs. Wentworth began to defend him warmly, and so the quarrel ended
worse than it had begun.