Frenzied Finance Part 38

CHAPTER x.x.x

THE MORNING AFTER

It was with a feeling of intense relief that I left Mr. Rogers and returned to the Waldorf. At last I knew where I "was at": I was to play a lone hand; my enemies were in front; there were no partners from whose treacherous knife-blades I should have to protect my back. The path was clear, and as I examined my position, I felt my old self again. Promptly I called up my Boston brokers, who were at the Holland House, to say I would drop in for them on my way downtown, and with a clear plan of campaign in my mind, I determined to face the breakfasting crowd in the big cafe downstairs.

Almost immediately I found myself in the centre of a knot of men who began eagerly to press me for further particulars of the Amalgamated subscriptions. We all know the story of the comedian informed in the midst of a performance of his beloved wife's death, who yet must laugh and antic to the end of the play. I appreciated the heavy-hearted actor's plight as I surveyed the little throng so vitally interested in their dollar affairs. I longed to mount a chair and tell them how they had been duped, but my role called for different lines. It was my part to feign satisfaction and my duty to keep every cent invested in our enterprise from shrinking a mill. I pumped as much enthusiasm into my speech as possible.

"You see what the papers say," I said. "That gives you all the information I have, for although you may not think it, I have been spending the night just as the rest of you have--in lands where all flotations sell away over par. I'm going down to Wall Street just now.

After a while I'll have more to tell you."

The flutter of an eyelash, a hair-breadth of hesitation, a mumbled word and there may be born in the mind of the investor that instinctive distrust which is the beginning of panic. In a stock market as in a powder magazine there are always dread possibilities of explosion, and he who would survive must have incombustible nerves and an ice-packed brain; asbestos a.s.surances and an unblushing swagger have averted many money conflagrations and set prices hill-climbing.

My little congregation had all the fluttering fugitiveness of the investor-out-for-quick profits, and after a few generalities, I got down to the one question they all longed to ask but none dared to voice--"What can I sell my subscription for if I want to part with it?"

Raising my voice a trifle and looking straight at them:

"Don't get excited about what you read in print these next few days," I said, as though some one had asked me the question, "for there will be hogsheads of rumors unhooped, and remember that rumor prices are never real money. The papers this morning say that any one can sell at 40 to 60 per cent. profit, but that hardly seems reasonable to me; in fact, if I were any of you who have been allotted stock and could get such profit as that overnight, I'd take it. All I'll do just now is this: I will give 110 for any amount any of you want to sell, provided you sell right now--and 10 per cent. profit is not so bad when you come to think it's 40 per cent. on what actual money you have put up."

In the vernacular of stocks this process I used is called "moulding public opinion" and "making a market," and it had the expected effect on that bright May morning which followed the closing day of the Amalgamated flotation. I was not offered a share; in fact, there was a loud guffaw, and it was a hundred to one wager that as I pa.s.sed on to another group each listener tumbled over his neighbor to get in first.

"110! That's a good joke! I wonder if he takes us for children!

Evidently he is out early this morning to catch any stray worms napping!

110 for something worth 160!"

Inside of ten minutes it was all over the Waldorf and on the wires, "Look out for Lawson! He's trying to get Amalgamated at 110." And by the time I got to the Holland, a block down the Avenue, the brokers and investors gathered there were ready to give me the laugh with "You're out early, we see, to pick up a bundle of easy money."

My first task had been accomplished to my own satisfaction. Inside of an hour it would be flashed over the world that there was a firm reliable market at 110 bid and almost any price asked for Amalgamated, and while 110 was not anything like the wild 140 to 160 that rumor gossiped of, it represented such a good profit that it was sure to set the market off with an all-round chipperness.

My readers must bear in mind that as yet there was no real Amalgamated stock which could be sold, and no place to sell it if there had been, for until each subscriber received official notice no one really knew for certain that he had been allotted any stock, and until the Amalgamated shares were listed on the Stock Exchange, there could be no reliable market, although they could be traded in on the curb.

At the Holland House, I quickly outlined to my chief brokers my plans for the day. Then together we started for Wall Street.

The hours that followed were busy ones, and confusing as well. Wall Street was a-buzz with curiosity and from all sides poured questions.

"The Street," it was evident, had awakened to the fact that the situation in Amalgamated disclosed a different line-up of conditions from that which it had antic.i.p.ated. As to whether the change was good or bad no one dared hazard a guess. For the first time in my experience, Wall Street was completely at sea. The shrewdest plungers and manipulators, men to whom the tape yields up its secrets as the penitent to the priest; to whom the ticker babbles the inner mysteries of directors' meetings and deep-down deals--these men whose eyes, ears, and noses decades of stock-play had trained to supernatural acuteness were as impotent to track the truth as the veriest tyro. All admitted that the conditions were unusual, that the subscriptions had far exceeded expectation, that time would be required to get them straightened out.

Because of this it was natural that the market should be slow and in the absence of definite facts it might easily look one price and be another.

If the subscription really were 412 millions and if each subscriber would have a fifth of his allotment, then there was the usual chance for trick playing and "Standard Oil" might be scheming to gather in this valuable stock at 110 when its proper price mayhap was 140 to 160 or more.

In Wall Street the best brains of all the Western world centre. Fortunes are there waiting for brains to carve and take; stacked up there are millions which he who has brains can pocket without a "by-your-leave."

Wall Street is the millionnaire's checker-board, but brains direct the moves and make the plays. And with all its mordant wisdom, cynical cunning, cold suspicion, Wall Street was baffled.

There was nothing to do but to continue my campaign of smiles and cheerfulness, repeat my 110 bid in every quarter possible, and so keep up the delusion. Late that afternoon I saw Mr. Rogers, who eagerly interrogated me.

"Well, Lawson, what do you make out?"

"It is the most mixed-up mess 'the Street' has ever wrestled with," I replied, "but one thing is clear: no one will dare to sell much until he receives notice of just what he has been allotted, and then most will be timid about selling until they have received the receipts. I don't see how, if nothing definite leaks out, there can be much danger until after they get their hands on the receipts, and by that time, of course, you will have a fine market organized to take care of any offerings."

He flinched. I saw again that I had touched his sore spot, for at every faintest suggestion that our profits should be used to protect the market, he became as shy as a pick-pocket at a police parade.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

I WALK THE PLANK

Have you ever seen a bunch of school-boys who, having sneaked under a corner of the circus tent, are prowling furtively round the show in holy terror lest some one who has seen their entry may be awaiting a chance to nab them? One minute they are tasting the raptures of being under the canvas; the next, longing to be safely outside. That is about how Wall Street felt on the memorable Friday after the Amalgamated flotation. The same feeling prevailed generally on Sat.u.r.day, though I was obliged to buy a few blocks of the stock at 110 from Wall Street men whose sharp noses had sniffed a carrion scent in the air. Sunday was uncomfortable, for I realized that I might have to face bad conditions on the morrow.

On Monday an ominous feeling began to rise and pervade "the Street" like a miasma mist in a tropical swamp. The bacillus of distrust had started its infection. I had to buy quite a lot of subscriptions and was now varying the price from 110, for it seemed possible any moment that something would break loose.

These were the conditions when on Tuesday a telephone call came from Mr.

Rogers asking me to drop round to 26 Broadway, as he had an important matter to talk over with me. I reported at the appointed time. Mr.

Rogers was evidently full of business.

"Lawson," he said, "we have figured everything up and balanced accounts, and each member of the different syndicates is to be given his share, cash and stock, at once."

"All right," I answered. "That suits me."

"I thought so," he continued pleasantly. "Mr. Rockefeller has had Curtis figure up your account, and while in the rush he may not have got everything in, he's fairly accurate. From what you said about getting your affairs into shape to help the market, it occurred to me you might like to have your balance of this section in hand ready for use. I have the statement here, and if you find it all right I'll go upstairs and get all it calls for fixed up at once."

We were in the little gla.s.s pen where most of our conferences took place. I, with my elbows on the small mahogany table, sat looking across at him leaning back in his chair. Without knowing what was to happen, but from a certain suppressed eagerness I had detected under his frigid composure, I had a strong conviction that he was nerving himself for a coup of some kind. I realized that he and Mr. Rockefeller had talked me over pretty thoroughly and had decided that they had best run this gauntlet as soon as possible. Since Mr. Rogers had broached the subst.i.tution of Anaconda for the properties originally intended for the first section of Amalgamated, I had felt that this balancing of accounts would be a crucial affair, and after the recent turn of the screw, I hardly knew what to expect, but was ready for the worst. Now a swift thrill of apprehension suggested I'd better look for real deviltry.

There was perhaps a minute's delay while he fumbled in his pocket and drew out letters and papers. My blood steeplechased in my veins as I waited for him to deal me the hand that might decide my fate. In such tense moments thoughts flash in and out of the mind like lightning, and as I watched him rise, the fateful paper in his hand, it came over me with a sharp exultation that however the trumps fell it was a great game--great even for this king of gamesters who was about to play his hand.

Henry H. Rogers looked piercingly into my eyes and said: "There's the account, Lawson." He laid on the table in front of me an oblong piece of paper. On it were some lines of words followed by other lines of figures. That was all. I spread it out carefully between my two hands and bent over it. Then I looked up. Before I allowed the significance of the figures to penetrate my mind, I wished to know exactly what they represented.

"If I understand aright, Mr. Rogers," I asked, "this statement does not take in our Boston deals nor my loans on the b.u.t.te and other affairs, but is a settlement of this first section only--a final clearing-up showing just what my twenty-five per cent. of the Amalgamated and the things connected with it amount to? Am I right?"

My voice was even and calmly business-like, and he answered in exactly the same tone.

"It shows where you stand on this particular affair, and gives your balance of stock and cash, which we are ready to pay over in whole or in part, in case you may want to leave some of it against the loans on the other section."

I turned to the paper; I leaned over it, letting my two hands with the elbows resting on the table support my head. Mr. Rogers could see only the back and top of my head, no part of my face. At the first glance I caught the balance--it was a little less than two millions and a half.

At once the other lines upon the sheet became a crimson blur. Into my mind rushed an avalanche of figures and facts which seemed to prove irresistibly that I should have read nine millions in place of the numbers that were burning themselves into my brain. But what if it were rightly but two and a half millions, and the great sum on which all my market movements had been predicated was a hideous miscalculation on my part? Then inevitably was I hopelessly bankrupt, or saved from that only to find my neck irrevocably caught in the "Standard Oil" noose. I strove fiercely to steady my nerves, to arrest the stampeding terrors that had broken loose in my brain. There came to me a feverish memory of the hideous procession of Thursday's midnight vigil. I desperately a.s.severated to myself, "I must be cool, I must, I must." But all my resolutions went as goes the powder when touched by the match. In an instant more nothing in the world mattered; I sprang to my feet, kicked over the chair, and with an exclamation which was half yell, half imprecation, I stuck the paper under Mr. Rogers' eyes. On the balance line I beat a tattoo with my trembling forefinger. Heaven knows what I said, for all barriers were down and a flood-tide of rage, overwhelming, terrific, swept my being. There was no chance for Mr. Rogers to answer or to interrupt me. Suddenly I became conscious that I was asking, "Am I to understand that this is final? Is this what I get for all I have stood for?" My voice as I heard it was strange--a hoa.r.s.e hiss--and the words fell on my ear like a death sentence. "No, by G.o.d, no!" I sprang between him and the door.

"Lawson, in the name of Heaven, stop for a second; there is some mistake; I see there is some mistake, some terrible blunder that they have made upstairs. Don't say another word. Give me that paper and I'll take it to Mr. Rockefeller. He will see what is wrong; he and I'll go over it together and you shall have what's right. I will be back in a few minutes and I swear to you you shall have your full share. Yes, I swear to you you shall have what you say is right, even if it takes every dollar of the profits, every dollar."

I handed him the paper without a word and he was out of the room. I heard gates bang and knew he had, as he promised, "gone upstairs." I locked the door and waited. I shall never forget the racking torture of that period of inaction. To make real all the terrors I was suffering it would be necessary for me to enter into elaborate details of the wide-spread financial commitment into which I had been led by my relationship with the Consolidation. I was staggering under immense lines of Boston "Coppers," which were to be included in the second section of Amalgamated, but had been purchased to make part of the first section. Some of these Mr. Rockefeller was carrying for me; the rest were portioned among two dozen banks, trust companies, and brokers. With a portion of the profits I had legitimately calculated upon, I had proposed to lighten my burden and to devote the balance to carrying through the contract I had taken on my shoulders of protecting Amalgamated stock in the market. To do so on this showing would be out of the question; more than ever should I be at "Standard Oil's" mercy.

The dangers that threatened me a.s.sumed cyclopean proportions as I marshalled them. Suddenly another possibility flashed across my brain, "What if they should tell you that having refused what was fair, you should have nothing--that you could go to the devil and fight? Then where would you be?" That meant ruin, crushing, irrevocable, complete; a series of disasters, so portentously realistic, began a cinematographic procession across my disordered brain, that I found myself shivering in antic.i.p.ation, when suddenly the door-k.n.o.b clicked and I jumped to my feet to admit Mr. Rogers. In his hand was the paper. I had eyes for it alone. I took it from his outstretched fingers and devoured its contents. It was the same sheet, the same word "balance," but underneath the old figures was a line below which appeared a new set of ciphers, showing just a fraction under five millions of dollars. In the brief interval of minutes my balance had doubled. Before I could utter a word, with his hand on my arm to arrest my attention, Mr. Rogers was exclaiming:

"Lawson, one word before you open your mouth. Remember I said you should be satisfied. Mr. Rockefeller agrees with me. He is convinced these figures now are right, but wants me to tell you if you believe they are not, to make your own and you'll have what they call for."

As I said before, Henry H. Rogers knows the human animal, and in the intimate intercourse of preceding years he had had ample opportunity to learn those very human characteristics which go to the blending of my individuality. It is a weakness of which I am intensely conscious, yet cannot altogether regret, to be easily moved by any show of generosity and fairness, however specious. When I saw the new figures and realized that all the h.e.l.l I had conjured up was no more than a nightmare, a very rapture of grat.i.tude and relief seized me. It was not that I lost sight of the fact that this new balance was far below what I knew was my right, for according to the lowest computation my proper share was nine millions; nor that I failed to realize that I was in the power of this man whose greed, callousness, and brutal obstinacy in the face of opposition no one knew better than I. Still, though his unusual deference convinced me that by continued, fiery insistence I could force from him the remaining four millions (for the one thing Standard Oil never lets get into court is a dispute over a division of profits on a joint stock deal), the first shock had been so awful, and the reaction was so sudden, that my whole being revolted at the idea of further wrangle. Indeed, I was in the same condition as the man whose runaway horse suddenly stops just as the children in the roadway seemed doomed to be crushed and beaten to death beneath its iron heels. He condones the running away in grat.i.tude for the timely halt. A glad voice within me seemed to be saying, "It's all right, all right--that's money enough to fight him out with--that's ammunition for victory--victory for yourself, for the friends who have banked on your ability to protect them."

I said to Mr. Rogers: "Tell Mr. Rockefeller I thank him for his fairness. I thank you both. I'm satisfied and this is settled." I put my finger on the account which lay on the table.

Yes, I positively thanked these men who had tried to rob me of seventy-five per cent. of all the millions that I had earned by all the laws _of the game_, and that I so urgently needed to protect those whom I had lured to probable destruction; needed as a mother in the desert needs milk to keep life in her babe. I thanked these men in heartfelt terms because they had returned me an additional third of my own money.

Idiot, you say. I went further; I shook Mr. Rogers by the hand, and as the tears gathered in his eyes I said, and it was from the heart, too: