It was not long afterward that Daylight came on to New York. A letter
from John Dowsett had been the cause--a simple little typewritten
letter of several lines. But Daylight had thrilled as he read it. He
remembered the thrill that was his, a callow youth of fifteen, when, in
Tempas Butte, through lack of a fourth man, Tom Galsworthy, the
gambler, had said, "Get in, Kid; take a hand." That thrill was his
now. The bald, typewritten sentences seemed gorged with mystery. "Our
Mr. Howison will call upon you at your hotel. He is to be trusted. We
must not be seen together. You will understand after we have had our
talk." Daylight conned the words over and over. That was it. The big
game had arrived, and it looked as if he were being invited to sit in
and take a hand. Surely, for no other reason would one man so
peremptorily invite another man to make a journey across the continent.
They met--thanks to "our" Mr. Howison,--up the Hudson, in a magnificent
country home. Daylight, according to instructions, arrived in a
private motor-car which had been furnished him. Whose car it was he did
not know any more than did he know the owner of the house, with its
generous, rolling, tree-studded lawns. Dowsett was already there, and
another man whom Daylight recognized before the introduction was begun.
It was Nathaniel Letton, and none other. Daylight had seen his face a
score of times in the magazines and newspapers, and read about his
standing in the financial world and about his endowed University of
Daratona. He, likewise, struck Daylight as a man of power, though he
was puzzled in that he could find no likeness to Dowsett. Except in
the matter of cleanness,--a cleanness that seemed to go down to the
deepest fibers of him,--Nathaniel Letton was unlike the other in every
particular. Thin to emaciation, he seemed a cold flame of a man, a man
of a mysterious, chemic sort of flame, who, under a glacier-like
exterior, conveyed, somehow, the impression of the ardent heat of a
thousand suns. His large gray eyes were mainly responsible for this
feeling, and they blazed out feverishly from what was almost a
death's-head, so thin was the face, the skin of which was a ghastly,
dull, dead white. Not more than fifty, thatched with a sparse growth
of iron-gray hair, he looked several times the age of Dowsett. Yet
Nathaniel Letton possessed control--Daylight could see that plainly.
He was a thin-faced ascetic, living in a state of high, attenuated
calm--a molten planet under a transcontinental ice sheet. And yet,
above all most of all, Daylight was impressed by the terrific and
almost awful cleanness of the man. There was no dross in him. He had
all the seeming of having been purged by fire. Daylight had the
feeling that a healthy man-oath would be a deadly offence to his ears,
a sacrilege and a blasphemy.
They drank--that is, Nathaniel Letton took mineral water served by the
smoothly operating machine of a lackey who inhabited the place, while
Dowsett took Scotch and soda and Daylight a cocktail. Nobody seemed to
notice the unusualness of a Martini at midnight, though Daylight looked
sharply for that very thing; for he had long since learned that
Martinis had their strictly appointed times and places. But he liked
Martinis, and, being a natural man, he chose deliberately to drink when
and how he pleased. Others had noticed this peculiar habit of his, but
not so Dowsett and Letton; and Daylight's secret thought was: "They
sure wouldn't bat an eye if I called for a glass of corrosive
sublimate."
Leon Guggenhammer arrived in the midst of the drink, and ordered
Scotch. Daylight studied him curiously. This was one of the great
Guggenhammer family; a younger one, but nevertheless one of the crowd
with which he had locked grapples in the North. Nor did Leon
Guggenhammer fail to mention cognizance of that old affair. He
complimented Daylight on his prowess--"The echoes of Ophir came down to
us, you know. And I must say, Mr. Daylight--er, Mr. Harnish, that you
whipped us roundly in that affair."
Echoes! Daylight could not escape the shock of the phrase--echoes had
come down to them of the fight into which he had flung all his strength
and the strength of his Klondike millions. The Guggenhammers sure must
go some when a fight of that dimension was no more than a skirmish of
which they deigned to hear echoes.
"They sure play an almighty big game down here," was his conclusion,
accompanied by a corresponding elation that it was just precisely that
almighty big game in which he was about to be invited to play a hand.
For the moment he poignantly regretted that rumor was not true, and
that his eleven millions were not in reality thirty millions. Well,
that much he would be frank about; he would let them know exactly how
many stacks of chips he could buy.
Leon Guggenhammer was young and fat. Not a day more than thirty, his
face, save for the adumbrated puff sacks under the eyes, was as smooth
and lineless as a boy's. He, too, gave the impression of cleanness.
He showed in the pink of health; his unblemished, smooth-shaven skin
shouted advertisement of his splendid physical condition. In the face
of that perfect skin, his very fatness and mature, rotund paunch could
be nothing other than normal. He was constituted to be prone to
fatness, that was all.
The talk soon centred down to business, though Guggenhammer had first
to say his say about the forthcoming international yacht race and about
his own palatial steam yacht, the Electra, whose recent engines were
already antiquated. Dowsett broached the plan, aided by an occasional
remark from the other two, while Daylight asked questions. Whatever
the proposition was, he was going into it with his eyes open. And they
filled his eyes with the practical vision of what they had in mind.
"They will never dream you are with us," Guggenhammer interjected, as
the outlining of the matter drew to a close, his handsome Jewish eyes
flashing enthusiastically. "They'll think you are raiding on your own
in proper buccaneer style."
"Of course, you understand, Mr. Harnish, the absolute need for keeping
our alliance in the dark," Nathaniel Letton warned gravely.
Daylight nodded his head. "And you also understand," Letton went on,
"that the result can only be productive of good. The thing is
legitimate and right, and the only ones who may be hurt are the stock
gamblers themselves. It is not an attempt to smash the market. As you
see yourself, you are to bull the market. The honest investor will be
the gainer."
"Yes, that's the very thing," Dowsett said. "The commercial need for
copper is continually increasing. Ward Valley Copper, and all that it
stands for,--practically one-quarter of the world's supply, as I have
shown you,--is a big thing, how big, even we can scarcely estimate.
Our arrangements are made. We have plenty of capital ourselves, and
yet we want more. Also, there is too much Ward Valley out to suit our
present plans. Thus we kill both birds with one stone--"
"And I am the stone," Daylight broke in with a smile.
"Yes, just that. Not only will you bull Ward Valley, but you will at
the same time gather Ward Valley in. This will be of inestimable
advantage to us, while you and all of us will profit by it as well.
And as Mr. Letton has pointed out, the thing is legitimate and square.
On the eighteenth the directors meet, and, instead of the customary
dividend, a double dividend will be declared."
"And where will the shorts be then?" Leon Guggenhammer cried excitedly.
"The shorts will be the speculators," Nathaniel Letton explained, "the
gamblers, the froth of Wall Street--you understand. The genuine
investors will not be hurt. Furthermore, they will have learned for
the thousandth time to have confidence in Ward Valley. And with their
confidence we can carry through the large developments we have outlined
to you."
"There will be all sorts of rumors on the street," Dowsett warned
Daylight, "but do not let them frighten you. These rumors may even
originate with us. You can see how and why clearly. But rumors are to
be no concern of yours. You are on the inside. All you have to do is
buy, buy, buy, and keep on buying to the last stroke, when the
directors declare the double dividend. Ward Valley will jump so that it
won't be feasible to buy after that."
"What we want," Letton took up the strain, pausing significantly to sip
his mineral water, "what we want is to take large blocks of Ward Valley
off the hands of the public. We could do this easily enough by
depressing the market and frightening the holders. And we could do it
more cheaply in such fashion. But we are absolute masters of the
situation, and we are fair enough to buy Ward Valley on a rising
market. Not that we are philanthropists, but that we need the
investors in our big development scheme. Nor do we lose directly by
the transaction. The instant the action of the directors becomes known,
Ward Valley will rush heavenward. In addition, and outside the
legitimate field of the transaction, we will pinch the shorts for a
very large sum. But that is only incidental, you understand, and in a
way, unavoidable. On the other hand, we shall not turn up our noses at
that phase of it. The shorts shall be the veriest gamblers, of course,
and they will get no more than they deserve."
"And one other thing, Mr. Harnish," Guggenhammer said, "if you exceed
your available cash, or the amount you care to invest in the venture,
don't fail immediately to call on us. Remember, we are behind you."
"Yes, we are behind you," Dowsett repeated.
Nathaniel Letton nodded his head in affirmation.
"Now about that double dividend on the eighteenth--" John Dowsett drew
a slip of paper from his note-book and adjusted his glasses.
"Let me show you the figures. Here, you see..."
And thereupon he entered into a long technical and historical
explanation of the earnings and dividends of Ward Valley from the day
of its organization.
The whole conference lasted not more than an hour, during which time
Daylight lived at the topmost of the highest peak of life that he had
ever scaled. These men were big players. They were powers. True, as
he knew himself, they were not the real inner circle. They did not
rank with the Morgans and Harrimans. And yet they were in touch with
those giants and were themselves lesser giants. He was pleased, too,
with their attitude toward him. They met him deferentially, but not
patronizingly. It was the deference of equality, and Daylight could
not escape the subtle flattery of it; for he was fully aware that in
experience as well as wealth they were far and away beyond him.
"We'll shake up the speculating crowd," Leon Guggenhammer proclaimed
jubilantly, as they rose to go. "And you are the man to do it, Mr.
Harnish. They are bound to think you are on your own, and their shears
are all sharpened for the trimming of newcomers like you."
"They will certainly be misled," Letton agreed, his eerie gray eyes
blazing out from the voluminous folds of the huge Mueller with which he
was swathing his neck to the ears. "Their minds run in ruts. It is
the unexpected that upsets their stereotyped calculations--any new
combination, any strange factor, any fresh variant. And you will be
all that to them, Mr. Harnish. And I repeat, they are gamblers, and
they will deserve all that befalls them. They clog and cumber all
legitimate enterprise. You have no idea of the trouble they cause men
like us--sometimes, by their gambling tactics, upsetting the soundest
plans, even overturning the stablest institutions."
Dowsett and young Guggenhammer went away in one motor-car, and Letton
by himself in another. Daylight, with still in the forefront of his
consciousness all that had occurred in the preceding hour, was deeply
impressed by the scene at the moment of departure. The three machines
stood like weird night monsters at the gravelled foot of the wide
stairway under the unlighted porte-cochere. It was a dark night, and
the lights of the motor-cars cut as sharply through the blackness as
knives would cut through solid substance. The obsequious lackey--the
automatic genie of the house which belonged to none of the three
men,--stood like a graven statue after having helped them in. The
fur-coated chauffeurs bulked dimly in their seats. One after the
other, like spurred steeds, the cars leaped into the blackness, took
the curve of the driveway, and were gone.
Daylight's car was the last, and, peering out, he caught a glimpse of
the unlighted house that loomed hugely through the darkness like a
mountain. Whose was it? he wondered. How came they to use it for
their secret conference? Would the lackey talk? How about the
chauffeurs? Were they trusted men like "our" Mr. Howison? Mystery?
The affair was alive with it. And hand in hand with mystery walked
Power. He leaned back and inhaled his cigarette. Big things were
afoot. The cards were shuffled even then for a mighty deal, and he was
in on it. He remembered back to his poker games with Jack Kearns, and
laughed aloud. He had played for thousands in those days on the turn
of a card; but now he was playing for millions. And on the eighteenth,
when that dividend was declared, he chuckled at the confusion that
would inevitably descend upon the men with the sharpened shears waiting
to trim him--him, Burning Daylight.