The Power and the Glory
Mills drained his second cup of coffee, lit a cigarette, and rising,
walked over to the window and gazed forth across the square. "A funny
little town," he observed, half to Blagden and half to himself. "The
buildings are low and the brows of the citizens are high--or supposed
to be." Then, turning, he continued, "Blagden, there's undoubtedly a
touch of humor to all this. Here we are, breakfasting in a private
room in Boston's most exclusive hotel, like a couple of millionaires,
and after we've begged and borrowed, raked and scraped, the sum total
of our wealth amounts to just six thousand dollars. I call it a case
of make or break."
"Make or break," Blagden assented, "is right. But I'm not worrying.
We're going down into State Street with the best chance that two
fellows ever had in this world. And I believe we're going to get away
with it."
"I hope so," said Mills somewhat dubiously, "but oughtn't we to wait a
while longer? It's only three days since we got what we went after. I
should think it might be safer to lie low until everything has blown
over--long enough so that no possible suspicion could attach to us."
"No," Blagden answered, "emphatically not. In the first place,
everything broke just right for us. They must have found Stoat with
the watch in his pocket, and that is proof positive that he tried to
escape with it and failed. How can they connect us with him?"
"Through Atherton, of course," responded Mills.
"It's true," Blagden agreed, "that Atherton might impart his
suspicions to Hamilton, but the betting is all the other way. In the
first place, if Atherton accuses us, he is obliged to confess to
knowing a lot more than he is supposed to know, and considering what
happened to Bellingham, I imagine that might be equivalent to a sudden
and unpleasant death. Now if he's in love with Hamilton's daughter,
that is the last thing he's going to do. And besides, what does he
gain? Nothing. And even if he could keep himself clear of danger, he
must realize that it's too risky to try to hurt us while we're holding
our blackmail threat in reserve. No, we've nothing to fear from
Atherton, and as for the rest of it, there's no reason under the sun
why we should be thought of for a moment."
"I believe you're right," Mills admitted. "But I'll feel better if we
find our system really works."
"I haven't a doubt of it," Blagden asserted, "but we'll soon know. In
any event, we have the code by heart. I could say it backwards and
forwards; up and down."
"So could I," answered Mills. "Where did you say you were going to
trade?"
"I've found the very place," responded Blagden. "Floyd & Meredith, in
the Exchange Building. They are thoroughly reliable, and the office is
precisely the right size. It's big enough so we won't attract
attention--they have perhaps fifteen or twenty customers in the
office, on an average. And it's small enough so that we can always
have a place at the ticker, and see our stuff as it comes."
Mills stared out into the sunshine. "And what sized lots," he asked,
"are you going to trade in?"
"I shall take no chances," Blagden answered. "I am going to be over
cautious, for if anything happens this time, it will surely be our
finish. I'm going to play in three lots of a hundred shares each,
which will give us twenty points margin on each lot. That's
conservative, isn't it?"
"Sure," Mills grinned. "After some of the shoestring margins I've
played on, twenty points sounds like the Bank of England, with certain
portions of Broadway thrown in. And whether you buy or sell, I suppose
it will be on a scale, up or down."
"Exactly," Blagden assented. "That is the way the big men do it; we
know that now for a certainty. And what is good enough for them is
good enough for us."
There was silence for a moment; then Blagden continued earnestly,
"Tubby, if we are right, can you imagine what this is going to mean?
Think of it. Actually to win, instead of losing. No more horror of
sudden bulges or drops. No more nightmares of dwindling margins. No
more agony of stop orders caught and accounts wiped out. To think of
piling up gold, steadily, unceasingly, till we have all we want.
Honestly, it seems too good to be true."
Mills sighed. "That's what I'm afraid of," he rejoined. "I've been a
lamb--or a goat, whichever you choose to call it--so long, that I
can't make myself believe we can ever take money out of the market.
But there's one comfort; we've always lost before, so if we lose again
this time, it won't be a new experience, and we really can't
complain."
Blagden rose from his seat. "We mustn't turn faint hearted now!" he
cried. "We've been through a good deal in the last ten days, or our
nerves would be in better shape. Come on, let's get down to State
Street and have it over with. As you say, we can't do more than lose."
A half hour later, they had entered the Exchange Building, ascended to
the office of Floyd & Meredith, and were cordially greeted by Farwell,
the amiable, bald-headed and inoffensive customers' man. It was still
a few minutes to ten; a dozen speculators talked, read, or studied the
"dope" in letters, telegrams and financial papers of all descriptions.
Bearishness was in the air. "They're a sale." That was the slogan on
every lip; that was the message, express or implied, upon each printed
page. From the firm's correspondents in New York came the word, "Sell
them on the bulges; don't buy them at any price."
Blagden strolled over to where Farwell was standing. "Not a very
bullish crowd in here," he observed.
"You're right, they're not," the customers' man replied. "They're all
bears now. And I believe they're right. I think this market is going
to break wide open."
"What's a good stock to sell?" asked Blagden.
"I think," Farwell answered, "that the rails will be the most
vulnerable. Take Union Pacific, now. Last months' earnings were very
poor, and there is talk of labor troubles; I understand they're facing
a serious situation. The industrials ought to go down, too. In fact, I
think the whole market is a sale, but I believe the rails will drop
the most."
Blagden walked over to where Mills was seated, reading the "Boston
News Bulletin." "Well," he queried, "what seems to be the big idea?"
Mills looked up from his reading. "The idea," he answered, "is that
the country is in a bad way. There's an article here on Union Pacific;
it says that in all probability the dividend is going to be cut. If
these were the old days, Blagden, and I was relying on my own
judgment, I know mighty well what I'd do. I'd sell my head off. The
short side looks like a cinch."
"Yes," acknowledged Blagden, "it does. And yet, reasoning from what we
know, isn't this the very time to be suspicious?" He turned as he
spoke and indicated the little knot of gamblers around the ticker.
"Now," he continued, lowering his voice, "according to what Farwell
just told me, practically every man there is short of the market. And
I suppose this office is only a sample of a great many others; I
suppose that it is fair to guess that the majority of traders are
short at this moment. Then comes the question: Are they going to win?
And if looks are any indication, I judge they're not."
Mills gazed at the group. "Blagden," he confided, "I think I begin to
see a great light. I never studied a group of speculators before; I
was always so busy with my own troubles that I never thought of anyone
else. But it's just as you say; those men are a pretty futile looking
crowd. There isn't one of them who looks as if he possessed any real
ability. There isn't one of them whose judgment you would be apt to
trust. I believe we're having a unique experience. We're seeing the
game played from the inside."
Ten o'clock came. The ticker whirred; the crowd pressed closer around
the tape; and presently Mills and Blagden strolled over and took their
places with the rest. Farwell looked up as they approached and with
extended forefinger pointed downward to indicate the trend.
"They're weak," he told them. "Awfully weak. You can sell 'em right
here. And there's pressure on Union, all right. It's off a point and a
half."
"Guess I'll have to sell some, then," said Blagden, and taking his
stand where he could read the tape he watched, outwardly calm, but
inwardly experiencing the thrill of excitement which comes to the man
who is watching the biggest game in the world. The market was active.
Quotation after quotation came whirring forth from the busy machine,
and then, all at once, appeared a heavy block of Union Pacific, the
figures tallying precisely with the symbols they had learned. Blagden
yawned, turned away from the ticker, and walked over to the window.
Presently Mills followed. "You saw it?" whispered Blagden.
"Sure," Mills answered. "They're buying it, and after you left they
flashed again to buy Reading and then to buy Southern Railway."
"Well," said Blagden, "there's no use waiting. Here's where we sink or
swim." And writing out an order to buy a hundred Union Pacific at the
market, he walked across the office to the order clerk, gave him the
slip of paper, and resumed his place at the tape.
Yet the market continued to decline, and the crowd of traders became
jubilant. Eyes glistened, tongues were loosened, and as the paper
profits grew larger before their eyes, more than one speculator,
taking advantage of a fleeting rally, wrote out and handed in further
orders to sell.
It was an exceedingly active day, and one of pronounced weakness as
well. In the course of another hour, Union Pacific had run off two
points more, and then, as a second flash appeared, Blagden bought a
second lot, and about two o'clock, as the whole market broke sharply
into a state of semi-panic, he purchased the third and last lot of one
hundred shares. "And now," he said as he rejoined Mills, "we've done
our best. As far as we can tell, we have done exactly what the big men
are doing, so if we don't win now, then we never will."
"There's just one thing," rejoined Mills thoughtfully, "that makes me
think we will win. And that is this. I've been watching these fellows
all day, and I've noticed that while every one of them is ahead on
paper, there isn't one solitary man who has actually cashed in.
Everyone says the market is going lower; everyone believes it; some of
them claim it's going ten, twenty, thirty points below where it is
now. It's been a big day--nearly two million shares--and what I'm
asking myself is: If these men, and others like them, are doing the
selling, then who in the name of goodness is doing the buying?"
Blagden nodded. "Tubby," he answered, "I've been thinking that same
thing. But all I'm wondering is, how much lower will they go? With our
margin, we ought to be safe for a long time yet, but I should think
the market ought to steady pretty soon."
And indeed, about twenty minutes before the close, the decline ceased,
and after a brief period of uncertainty, prices actually began to
improve. "Only a rally," was the cry around the ticker. "A rally in a
bear market." But to Mills and Blagden, watching the tape with the eye
of omniscience, every sign and symbol spelt, "Buy! Buy! Buy!" And by
closing time the tone of the market had altered so perceptibly that
the enthusiasm of the bears was changed to uneasiness, yet still, so
firmly does the human mind cling to its cherished hopes and dreams,
that not a man covered, but waited, undecided and irresolute, to see
what the morning would bring forth.
So the day ended. And for Mills and Blagden there followed an evening
of eager expectancy, and a sleepless night. The tone of all the papers
was still bearish and pessimistic; all the emphasis was laid upon the
decline, and none upon the rally. But when ten o'clock came around
again and the market opened, the tape itself told a far different
story, and Mills and Blagden, reading spellbound between the lines,
could see the mighty touch of a magician's hand. The attack at the
start was bold, direct, incisive. Stocks were up two to three points
all around. Then came a reaction; the market was made to "look weak";
and bears regained their courage; and put out fresh lines of shorts;
then followed a space of comparative inaction, with prices holding
firm, and finally, in the noon hour, when most of the traders had gone
to lunch, there came a sudden upward spurt which carried quotations to
new high levels for the day. Then, with the bears securely hemmed in,
began a steady, ceaseless advance, irresistible as the sweep of the
incoming sea. Up a quarter, back an eighth; up another quarter, back
another eighth; so continued the advance. And just at the close, with
new bulls rushing in to buy, and terrified bears scrambling for
safety, with the market fairly boiling with excitement, suddenly,
before Blagden's watching eyes, appeared the flash to sell, and in a
twinkling, too eager for his profits to think of waiting to sell upon
a scale, he shot the three hundred shares of Union upon the market,
and sold them at the top price for the day.
That night, over the most expensive dinner they could invent, the
pair, incoherent with happiness, reviewed the day's experiences, and
laid their plans for the morrow.
"Seventeen hundred dollars, Tubby," Blagden repeated, over and over
again. "Can you grasp it? Seventeen hundred dollars in two days. And
that's only a taste; only first blood. Now we'll go short, and down
she'll go; then we'll load up again. A flood of gold, Tubby. What does
the Bible say? 'The earth is ours and the fullness thereof.'"
And Tubby, his red face much redder even than usual, grew maudlin over
the champagne and the thoughts of the delights which awaited him until
at last grief assailed him, and he nearly wept as he uttered the
plaint of all the ages, "Sho much fun livin', it's shame to think
we're goin' die."