Alice was up early the next morning to go to church with Harry
Curtiss, but Montague, who had really come to rest, was later in
arising. Afterwards he took a stroll through the streets, watching
the people. He was met by Mrs. De Graffenried, who, after her usual
fashion, invited him to come round to lunch. He went, and met about
forty other persons who had been invited in the same casual way,
including his brother Ollie--and to his great consternation, Ollie's
friend, Mr. Gamble!
Gamble was clad in a spotless yachting costume, which produced a
most comical effect upon his expansive person. He greeted Montague
with his usual effusiveness. “How do you do, Mr. Montague--how do
you do?” he said. “I've been hearing about you since I met you
last.”
“In what way?” asked Montague.
“I understand that you have gone with the Mississippi Steel
Company,” said Gamble.
“After a fashion,” the other assented.
“You want to be careful--you are dealing with a smooth crowd!
Smoother even than the men in the Trust, I fancy.” And the little
man added, with a twinkle in his eye: “I'm accustomed to say there
are two kinds of rascals in the oil business; there are the rascals
who found they could rely upon each other, and they are in the
Trust; and there are the rascals the devil himself couldn't rely
upon, and they're the independents. I ought to know what I'm talking
about, because I was an independent myself.”
Mr. Gamble chuckled gleefully over this witticism, which was
evidently one which he relied upon for the making of conversation.
“How do you do, Captain?” he said, to a man who was passing. “Mr.
Montague, let me introduce my friend Captain Gill.”
Montague turned and faced a tall and dignified-looking naval
officer. “Captain Henry Gill, of the Allegheny.”
“How do you, Mr. Montague?” said the Captain.
“Oliver Montague's brother,” added Gamble, by way of further
introduction. And then, espying someone else coming whom he knew, he
waddled off down the room, leaving Montague in conversation with the
officer.
Captain Gill was in command of one of the half-dozen vessels which
the government obligingly sent to assist in maintaining the gaieties
of the Newport season. He was an excellent dancer, and a favourite
with the ladies, and an old crony of Mrs. De Graffenried's. “Have
you known Mr. Gamble long?” he asked, by way of making conversation.
“I met him once before,” said Montague. “My brother knows him.”
“Ollie seems to be a great favourite of his,” said the Captain.
“Queer chap.”
Montague assented readily.
“I met him in Brooklyn,” continued the other, seeming to feel that
acquaintance with Gamble called for explanation. “He was quite
chummy with the officers at the Navy Yard. Retired millionaires
don't often fall in their way.”
“I should imagine not,” said Montague, smiling. “But I was surprised
to meet him here.”
“You'd meet him in heaven,” said the other, with a laugh, “if he
made up his mind that he wanted to go there. He is a good-natured
personage; but I can tell you that anyone who thinks that Gamble
doesn't know what he's about will make a sad mistake.”
Montague thought of this remark at lunch, where he sat at table on
the opposite side to Gamble. Next to him sat Vivie Fatten, who made
the little man the victim of her raillery. It was not particularly
delicate wit, but Gamble was tough, and took it all with a cheerful
grin.
He was a mystery which Montague could not solve. To be sure he was
rich, and spent his money like water; but then there was no scarcity
of money in this crowd. Montague found himself wondering whether he
was there because Mrs. De Graffenried and her friends liked to have
somebody they could snub and wipe their feet upon. His eye ran down
the row of people sitting at the table, and the contrast between
them and Gamble was an amusing one. Mrs. De Graffenried was fond of
the society of young people, and most of her guests were of the
second or even the third generation. The man from Pittsburg seemed
to be the only one there who had made his own money, and who bore
the impress of the money struggle upon him. Montague smiled at the
thought. He seemed the very incarnation of the spirit of oil; he was
gross and unpleasant, while in the others the oil had been refined
to a delicate perfume. Yet somehow he seemed the most human person
there. No doubt he was crudely egotistical; and yet, if he was
interested in himself, he was also interested in other people, while
among Mrs. De Graffenried's intimates it was a sign of vulgarity to
be interested in anything.
He seemed to have taken quite a fancy to Montague, for reasons best
known to himself. He came up to him again, after the luncheon. “This
is the first time you've been here, Oliver tells me,” said he.
Montague assented, and the other added: “You'd better come and let
me show you the town. I have my car here.”
Montague had no engagement, and no excuse handy. “It's very good of
you--” he began.
“All right,” said Gamble. “Come on.”
And he took him out and seated him in his huge red touring-car,
which had a seat expressly built for its owner, not too deep, and
very low, so that his fat little legs would reach the floor.
Gamble settled back in the cushions with a sigh. “Rum sort of a
place this, ain't it?” said he.
“It's interesting for a short visit,” said Montague.
“You can count me out of it,” said the other. “I like to spend my
summers in a place where I can take my coat off. And I prefer beer
to champagne in hot weather, anyhow.”
Montague did not reply.
“Such an ungodly lot of snobs a fellow does meet!” remarked his
host, cheerily. “They have a fine time making fun of me--it amuses
them, and I don't mind. Sometimes it does make you mad, though; you
feel you'd like to make them swallow you, anyway. But then you
think, What's the use of going after something you don't want, just
because other people say you can't have it?”
It was on Montague's lips to ask, “Then why do you come here?” But
he forbore.
The car sped on down the stately driveway, and his companion
proceeded to point out the mansions and the people, and to discuss
them in his own peculiar style.
“See that yellow brick house in there,” said he. “That belongs to
Allis, the railroad man. He used to live in Pittsburg, and I
remember him thirty years ago, when he had one carriage for his
three babies, and pushed them himself, by thunder. He was glad to
borrow money from me then, but now he looks the other way when I go
by.
“Allis used to be in the steel business six or eight years ago,”
Gamble continued, reminiscently. “Then he sold out--it was the real
beginning of the forming of the Steel Trust. Did you ever hear that
story?”
“Not that I know of,” said Montague.
“Well,” said the other, “if you are going to match yourself against
the Steel crowd, it's a good idea to know about them. Did you ever
meet Jim Stagg?”
“The Wall Street plunger?” asked Montague. “He's a mere name to me.”
“His last exploit was to pull off a prize fight in one of the swell
hotels in New York, and one nigger punched the other through a
plate-glass mirror. Stagg comes from the wild West, you know, and
he's wild as they make 'em--my God, I could tell you some stories
about him that'd make your hair stand up! Perhaps you remember some
time ago he raided Tennessee Southern in the market and captured it;
and old Waterman testified that he took it away from him because he
didn't consider he was a fit man to own it. As a matter of fact,
that was just pure bluff, for Waterman uses him in little jobs like
that all the time.--Well, six or eight years ago, Stagg owned a big
steel plant out West; and there was a mill in Indiana, belonging to
Allis, that interfered with their business. One time Stagg and some
of his crowd had been on a spree for several days, and late one
night they got to talking about Allis. 'Let's buy the----out,' said
Stagg, so they ordered a special and a load of champagne, and away
they went to the city in Indiana. They got to Allis's house about
four o'clock in the morning, and they rang the bell and banged on
the door, and after a while the butler came, half awake.
“'Is Allis in?' asked Stagg, and before the fellow could answer, the
whole crowd pushed into the hall, and Stagg stood at the foot of the
stairs and roared--he's got a voice like a bull, you know--'Allis,
Allis, come down here!'
“Allis came to the head of the stairs in his nightshirt, half
frightened to death.
“'Allis, we want to buy your steel plant,' said Stagg.
“'Buy my steel plant!' gasped Allis.
“'Sure, buy it outright! Spot cash! We'll pay you five hundred
thousand for it.'
“'But it cost me over twelve hundred thousand,' said Allis.
“'Well, then, we'll pay you twelve hundred thousand,' said
Stagg--'God damn you, we'll pay you fifteen hundred thousand!'
“'My plant isn't for sale,' said Allis.
“'We'll pay you two million!' shouted Stagg.
“'It isn't for sale, I tell you.'
“'We'll pay you two million and a half! Come on down here!'
“'Do you mean that?' gasped Allis. He could hardly credit his ears.
“'Come downstairs and I'll write you a check!' said Stagg. And so
they hauled him down, and they bought his mill. Then they opened
some more champagne, and Allis began to get good-natured, too.
“'There's only one thing the matter with my mill,' said he, 'and
that's Jones's mill over in Harristown. The railroads give him
rebates, and he undersells me.'
“'Well, damn his soul,' said Stagg, 'we'll have his mill, too.'
“And so they bundled into their special again, and about six o'clock
in the morning they got to Harristown, and they bought another mill.
And that started them, you know. They'd never had such fun in their
lives before. It seems that Stagg had just cleaned up ten or twelve
millions on a big Wall Street plunge, and they blew in every dollar,
buying steel mills--and paying two or three prices for every one,
of course.”
Gamble paused and chuckled to himself. “What I'm telling you is the
story that Stagg told me,” said he. “And of course you've got to
make allowances. He said he had no idea of what Dan Waterman had
been planning, but I fancy that was a lie. Harrison of Pittsburg had
been threatening to build a railroad of his own, and take away his
business from Waterman's roads, and so there was nothing for
Waterman to do but buy him out at three times what his mills were
worth. He took the mills that Stagg had bought at the same time.
Stagg had paid two or three prices, and Waterman paid him a couple
of prices more, and then he passed them on to the American people
for a couple of prices more than that.”
Gamble paused. “That's where they get these fortunes,” he added,
waving his fat little hand. “Sometimes it makes a fellow laugh to
think of it. Every concern they bought was overcapitalised to begin
with; I doubt if two hundred million dollars' worth of honest
dollars was ever put into the Steel Trust properties, and they
capitalised it at a billion, and now they've raised it to a billion
and a half! The men who pulled it off made hundreds of millions, and
the poor public that bought the common stock saw it go down to six!
They gave old Harrison a four-hundred-million-dollar mortgage on the
property, and he sits back and grins, and wonders why a man can't
die poor!”
Gamble's car was opposite one of the clubs. Suddenly he signalled
his chauffeur to stop.
“Hello, Billy!” he called; and a young naval officer who was walking
down the steps turned and came toward him.
“What have you been doing with yourself?” said Gamble. “Mr.
Montague, my friend Lieutenant Long, of the Engineers. Where are you
going, Billy?”
“Nowhere in particular,” said the officer.
“Get in,” said Gamble, pointing to the vacant seat between them. “I
am showing Mr. Montague the town.”
The other climbed in, and they went on. “The Lieutenant has just
come up from Brooklyn,” he continued. “Lively times we had in
Brooklyn, didn't we, Billy? Tell me what you have been doing
lately.”
“I'm working hard,” said the Lieutenant--“studying.”
“Studying here in Newport?” laughed Gamble.
“That's easy enough when you belong to the Engineers,” said the
other. “We are working-men, and they don't want us at their balls.”
“By the way, Gamble,” he added, after a moment, “I was looking for
you. I want you to help me.”
“Me?” said Gamble.
“Yes,” said the other. “I have just had notice from the Department
that I am one of a board of five that has been appointed to draw up
specifications for machine oil for the Navy.”
“What can I do about it?” asked Gamble.
“I want you to help me draw them up.”
“But I don't know anything about machine oil.”
“You cannot possibly know less than I do,” said the Lieutenant.
“Surely, if you have been in the oil business, you can give me some
sort of an idea about machine oil.”
Gamble thought for a minute. “I might try,” he said. “But would it
be the proper thing for me to do? Of course, I'm out of the business
myself; but I have friends who might bid for the contract.”
“Well, your friends can take their chances with the rest,” said the
Lieutenant. “I am a friend, too, hang it. And how in the world am I
to find out anything about oil?”
Gamble was silent again. “Well, I'll do what I can for you,” he
said, finally. “I'll write out what I know about the qualities of
good oil, and you can use it as you think best.”
“All right,” said the Lieutenant, with relief.
“But you'll have to agree to say nothing about it,” said Gamble.
“It's a delicate matter, you understand.”
“You may trust me for that,” said the other, laughing. So the
subject was dropped, and they went on with their ride.
Half an hour later Gamble set Montague down, at General Prentice's
door, and he bade them farewell and went in.
The General was coming down the stairs. “Hello, Allan,” he said.
“Where have you been?”
“Seeing the place a little,” said Montague.
“Come into the drawing-room,” said the General. “There's a man in
there you ought to know.
“One of the brainiest newspaper men in Wall Street,” he added, as he
went across the hall,--“the financial man of the Express.”
Montague entered the room and was introduced to a powerfully built
and rather handsome young fellow, who had not so long ago been
centre-rush upon a famous football team. “Well, Bates,” said the
General, “what are you after now?”
“I'm trying to get the inside story of the failure of Grant and
Ward,” said Bates. “I supposed you'd know about it, if anyone did.”
“I know about it,” said the General, “but the circumstances are such
that I'm not free to tell--at least, not for publication. I'll tell
you privately, if you want to know.”
“No,” said Bates, “I'd rather you didn't do that; I can find it out
somehow.”
“Did you come all the way to Newport to see me?” asked the General.
“Oh, no, not entirely,” said Bates. “I'm to get an interview with
Wyman about the new bond issue of his road. What do you think of the
market, General?”
“Things look bad to me,” said Prentice. “It's a good time to reef
sail.”
Then Bates turned to Montague. “I think I passed you a while ago in
the street,” he said pleasantly. “You were with James Gamble,
weren't you?”
“Yes,” said Montague. “Do you know him?”
“Bates knows everybody,” put in the General; “that's his specialty.”
“I happen to know Gamble particularly well,” said Bates. “I have a
brother in his office in Pittsburg. What in the world do you suppose
he is doing in Newport?”
“Just seeing the world, so he told me,” said Montague. “He has
nothing to do since his company sold out.”
“Sold out!” echoed Bates. “What do you mean?”
“Why, the Trust has bought him out,” said Montague.
The other stared at him. “What makes you think that?” he asked.
“He told me so himself,” was the answer.
“Oh!” laughed the other. “Then it's just some dodge that he's up
to!”
“You think he hasn't sold?”
“I don't think it, I know it,” said Bates. “At any rate, he hadn't
sold three days ago. I had a letter from my brother saying that they
were expecting to land a big oil contract with the government that
would put them on Easy Street for the next five years!”
Montague said no more. But he did some thinking. Experience had
sharpened his wits, and by this time he knew a clew when he met it.
A while later, when Bates had gone and his brother had come in with
Alice, he got Oliver off in a corner and demanded, “How much are you
to get out of that oil contract?”
The other stared at him in consternation. “Good heavens!” he
exclaimed. “Did he tell you about it?”
“He told me some things,” said Montague, “and I guessed the rest.”
Oliver was watching him anxiously. “See here, Allan,” he said,
“you'll keep quiet about it!”
“I imagine I will,” said the other. “It's none of my business, that
I can see.”
Then suddenly Oliver broke into a smile of amusement. “Say, Allan!”
he exclaimed. “He's a clever dog, isn't he!”
“Very clever,” admitted the other.
“He's been after that thing for six months, you know--and just as
smooth and quiet! It's about the slickest game I ever heard of!”
“But how could he know what officers were to make out those
specifications?”
“Oh, that's easy,” said the other. “That was the beginning of the
whole thing. They got a tip that the contract was to be let, and
they had no trouble in finding out the names of the officers. That
kind of thing is common, you know; the bureaus in Washington are
rotten.”
“I see,” said Montague.
“Gamble's company is in a bad way,” Oliver continued. “The Trust
just about had it in a corner. But Gamble saw this chance, and he
staked everything on it.”
“But what's his idea?” asked the other. “What good will it do him to
write the specifications?”
“There are five officers,” said Oliver, “and he's been laying siege
to every one of them. So now they are all his intimate friends, and
every one of them has come to him for help! So there will go into
Washington five sets of specifications, all different, but each
containing one essential point. You see, Gamble's company has a
peculiar kind of oil; it contains some ingredient or other--he told
me the name, but I don't remember it now. It doesn't make it any
better oil, and it doesn't make it any worse; but it's different
from any other oil in the world. And now, don't you see--whatever
other requirements are specified, this one quality will surely
appear; and there will be only one company in the world that can
bid. Of course they will name their own figure, and get a five-year
contract.”
“I see,” said Montague, drily. “It's a beautiful scheme. And how
much do you get out of it?”
“He paid me ten thousand at the start,” said Oliver; “and I am to
get five per cent of the first year's contract, whatever that may
be. Gamble says his bid won't be less than half a million, so you
see it was worth while!”
And Oliver chuckled to himself. “He's going home to-morrow,” he
added. “So my job is done. I'll probably never see him again--until
his four prize daughters get ready for the market!”