Aladdin and Company Part 27

This was cheering--to the ma.s.ses. But to us it was like praise for the high color of a fever patient. Even while the rehabilitated Giddings thus lifted his voice in paeans of rejoicing, the lurid signals of danger appeared in our sky.

CHAPTER XXI.

Of Conflicts, Within and Without.

I have often wished that some sort of a business weather-chart might be periodically got out, showing conditions all over the world. It seems to me that with such a map one could forecast financial storms and squalls with an accuracy quite up to the weather-bureau standard.

Had we at Lattimore been provided with such a chart, and been reminded of the wisdom of referring to it occasionally, we might have saved ourselves some surprises. We should have known of certain areas of speculative high pressure in Australasia, Argentina, and South Africa, which existed even prior to my meeting with Jim that day in the Pullman smoking-room coming out of Chicago. These we should have seen changing month by month, until at the time when we were most gloriously carrying things before us in Lattimore, each of these spots on the other side of the little old world showed financial disturbances--p.r.o.nounced "lows."

We should have seen symptoms of storm on the European bourses; and we should have thought of the natural progress of the moving areas, and derived much benefit from such consideration. We should certainly have paid some attention to it, if we could have seen the black isobars drawn about London, when the great banking house of Fleischmann Brothers went down in the wreck of their South African and Argentine investments.

But having no such chart, and being much engrossed in the game against the World and Destiny, we glanced for a moment at the dispatches, seeing nothing in them of interest to us, congratulated ourselves that we were not as other investors and speculators, and played on.

Once in a while we found some over-cautious banker or broker who had inexplicable fears for the future.

"Here is an idiot," said Cornish, while we were placing the paper to float the Trescott deal, "who is calling his loans; and why, do you think?"

"Can't guess," said Jim, "unless he needs the money. How does _he_ account for it?"

"Read his letter," said Cornish. "Says the Fleischmann failure in London is making his directors cautious. I'm calling his attention to the now prevailing sun-spots, as bearing on Lattimore property."

Mr. Elkins read the letter carefully, turned it over, and read it again.

"Don't," said he; "he may be one of those a.s.ses who fail to see the business value of the _reductio ad absurdum_.... Fellows, we must push this L. & G. W. business with Pendleton. Some of us ought to be down there now."

"That is wise counsel," I agreed, "and you're the man."

"No," said he positively, "I'm not the man. Cornish, can't you go, starting, say, to-morrow?"

"No indeed," said Cornish with equal positiveness; "since my turn-down by Wade on that bond deal, I'm out of touch with the lower Broadway and Wall Street element. It seems clear to me that you are the only one to carry this negotiation forward."

"I can't go, absolutely," insisted Jim. "Al, it seems to be up to you."

I knew that Jim ought to do this work, and could not understand the reasons for both himself and Cornish declining the mission. Privately, I told him that it was nonsense to send me; but he found reasons in plenty for the course he had determined upon. He had better control of the hot air, he said, but as a matter of fact I was more in Pendleton's cla.s.s than he was, I was more careful in my statements, and I saw further into men's minds.

"And if, as you say," said he, "Pendleton thinks me the whole works here, it will show a self-possession and freedom from anxiety on our part to accredit a subordinate (as you call yourself) as envoy to the court of St. Scads. Again, affairs here are likely to need me at any time; and if we go wrong here, it's all off. I don't dare leave. Anyhow, down deep in your subconsciousness, you know that in diplomacy you really have us all beaten to a pulp: and this is a matter as purely diplomatic as draw-poker. You'll do all right."

My wife was skeptical as to the necessity of my going.

"Why doesn't Mr. Cornish go, then?" she inquired, after I had explained to her the position of Mr. Elkins. "He is a native of Wall Street, I believe."

"Well," I repeated, "they both say positively that they can't go."

"Your natural specialty may be diplomacy," said she pityingly, "but if you take the reasons they give as the real ones, I must be permitted to doubt it. It's perfectly obvious that if Josie were transferred to New York, the demands of business would take them both there at once."

This remark struck me as very subtle, and as having a good deal in it.

Josie had never permitted the rivalry between Jim and Cornish to become publicly apparent; but in spite of the mourning which kept the Trescott's in semi-retirement, it was daily growing more keen. Elkins was plainly anxious at the progress Cornish had seemed to make during his last long absence, and still doubtful of his relations with Josie after that utterance over her father's body. But he was not one to give up, and so, whenever she came over for an evening with Alice, Jim was sure to drop in casually and see us. I believe Alice telephoned him. On the other hand, Cornish was calling at the Trescott house with increasing frequency. Mrs. Trescott was decidedly favorable to him, Alice a p.r.o.nounced partisan of Elkins; and Josie vibrated between the two oppositely charged atmospheres, calmly non-committal, and apparently pleased with both. But the affair was affecting our relations. There was a new feeling, still unexpressed, of strain and stress, in spite of the familiarity and comradeship of long and intimate intercourse. Moreover, I felt that Mr. Hinckley was not on the same terms with Jim as formerly, and I wondered if he was possessed of Antonia's secret.

It was with a prevision of something out of the ordinary, therefore, that I received through Alice a request from Josie for a private interview with me. She would come to us at any time when I would telephone that I was at home and would see her. Of course I at once decided I would go to her. Which, that evening, my last in Lattimore before starting for the East, I did.

There was a side door to my house, and a corresponding one in the Trescott home across the street. We were all quite in the habit, in our constant visiting between the households, of making a short cut by crossing the road from one of these doors to the other. This I did that evening, rapped at the door, and imagining I heard a voice bid me come in, opened it, and stepping into the library, found no one. The door between the library and the front hall stood open, and through it I heard the voice of Miss Trescott and the clear, carrying tones of Mr.

Cornish, in low but earnest conversation.

"Yes," I heard him say, "perhaps. And if I am, haven't I abundant reason?"

"I have told you often," said she pleadingly, "that I would give you a definite answer whenever you definitely demand it--"

"And that it would in that case be 'No,'" he added, completing the sentence. "Oh, Josie, my darling, haven't you punished me enough for my bad conduct toward you in that old time? I was a young fool, and you a strange country girl; but as soon as you left us, I began to feel your sweetness. And I was seeking for you everywhere I went until I found you that night up there by the lake. Does that seem like slighting you? Why, I hope you don't deem me capable of being satisfied in this hole Lattimore, under any circ.u.mstances, if it hadn't been for the hope and comfort your being here has given me!"

"I thought we were to say no more about that old time," said she; "I thought the doings of Johnny Cornish were not to be remembered by or of Bedford."

"The name I've asked you to call me by!" said he pa.s.sionately. "Does that mean--"

"It means nothing," said she. "Oh, please, please!--Good-night!"

I retired to the porch, and rapped again. She came to the door blushing redly, and so fluttered by their leave-taking that I thanked G.o.d that Jim was not in my place. There would have been division in our ranks at once; for it seemed to me that her conduct to Cornish was too complaisant by far.

"I came over," said I, "because Alice said you wanted to see me."

I think there must have been in my tone something of the reproach in my thoughts; for she timidly said she was sorry to have given me so much trouble.

"Oh, don't, Josie!" said I. "You know I'd not miss the chance of doing you a favor for anything. Tell me what it is, my dear girl, and don't speak of trouble."

"If you forbid reference to trouble," said she, smiling, "it will stop this conference. For my troubles are what I want to talk to you about.

May I go on?--You see, our financial condition is awfully queer. Mamma has some money, but not much. And we have this big house. It's absurd for us to live in it, and I want to ask you first, can you sell it for us?"

It was doubtful, I told her. A year or so ago, I went on, it would have been easy; but somehow the market for fine houses was dull now. We would try, though, and hoped to succeed. We talked at length, and I took copious memoranda for my clerks.

"There is another thing," said she when we had finished the subject of the house, "upon which I want light, something upon which depends my staying here or going away. You know General Lattimore and I are friends, and that I place great trust in his conclusions. He says that the most terrible hard times here would result from anything happening to your syndicate. You have said almost the same thing once or twice, and the other day you said something about great operations which you have in view which will, somehow, do away with any danger of that kind.

Is it true that you would all be--ruined by a--breaking up--or anything of that sort?"

"Just now," I confessed, "such a thing would be dangerous; but I hope we shall soon be past all that."

I told her, as well as I could, about our hopes, and of my mission to New York.

"You must suspect," said she, "that my presence here is danger to your harmony; and through you, to all these people whose names even we have never heard. Shall I go away? I can go almost anywhere with mamma, and we can get along nicely. Now that pa is gone, my work here is over, and I want to get into the world."

I thought of the parallelism between her discontent and the speech Mr.

Cornish had made, referring so contemptuously to Lattimore. I began to see the many things in common between them, and I grew anxious for Jim.

"Of all things," said she, "I want to avoid the role of Helen setting a city in flames. It would be so absurd--and so terrible; and rather than do such a hackneyed and harmful thing, I want to go away."

"Do you really mean that?" I asked, "Haven't you a desire to make your choice, and stay?"

"You mustn't ask that question, Albert," said she. "The answer is a secret--from every one. But I will say--that if you succeed in this mission, so as to put people here quite out of danger--I may not go away--not for some time!"

She was blushing again, just as she blushed when she admitted me. I thought once more of the fluttering cry, "Oh, please--please!" and the pause before she added the good-night, and my jealousy for Jim rose again.