The Metropolis Part 21

In the process of elimination, there were the Misses Evans left.

Montague's friends made many jests when they heard that he had met them--asking him if he meant to settle down. Major Venable went so far as to a.s.sure him that there was not the least doubt that either of the girls would take him in a second. Montague laughed, and answered that Mary was not so bad--she had a sweet face and was good-natured; but also, she was two years younger than Anne; and he could not get over the thought that two more years might make another Anne of her.

For it was Anne who was the driving force of the family! Anne who had planned the great campaign, and selected the Lamson palace, and pried the family loose from the primeval rocks of Nevada! She was cold as an iceberg, tireless, pitiless to others as to herself; for seventeen years her father had wandered and dug among the mountains; and for seventeen years, if need be, she would dig beneath the walls of the fortress of Society!

After Montague had had his heart to heart talk with the mother, Miss Anne Evans became very haughty toward him; whereby he knew that the old lady had told about it, and that the daughter resented his presumption.

But to Oliver she laid bare her soul, and Oliver would come and tell his brother about it: how she plotted and planned and studied, and brought new schemes to him every week. She had some of the real people bought over to secret sympathy with her; if there was some especial favour which she asked for, she would set to work with the good-natured old man, and the person would have some important money service done him. She had the people of Society all marked--she was learning all their weaknesses, and the underground pa.s.sages of their lives, and working patiently to find the key to her problem--some one family which was socially impregnable, but whose finances were in such a shape that they would receive the proposition to take up the Evanses, and definitely put them in. Montague used to look back upon all this with wonder and amus.e.m.e.nt--from those days in the not far distant future, when the papers had cable descriptions of the gowns of the d.u.c.h.ess of Arden, nee Evans, who was the bright particular star of the London social season!

CHAPTER XIV

Montague had written a reluctant letter to Major Thorne, telling him that he had been unable to interest anyone in his proposition, and that he was not in position to undertake it himself. Then, according to his brother's injunction, he left his money in the bank, and waited. There would be "something doing" soon, said Oliver.

And as they drove home from the Evanses', Oliver served notice upon him that this event might be expected any day. He was very mysterious about it, and would answer none of his brother's questions--except to say that it had nothing to do with the people they had just visited.

"I suppose," Montague remarked, "you have not failed to realize that Evans might play you false."

And the other laughed, echoing the words, "Might do it!" Then he went on to tell the tale of the great railroad builder of the West, whose daughter had been married, with elaborate festivities; and some of the young men present, thinking to find him in a sentimental mood, had asked him for his views about the market. He advised them to buy the stock of his road; and they formed a pool and bought, and as fast as they bought, he sold--until the little venture cost the boys a total of seven million and a half!

"No, no," Oliver added. "I have never put up a dollar for anything of Evans's, and I never shall.--They are simply a side issue, anyway," he added carelessly.

A couple of mornings later, while Montague was at breakfast, his brother called him up and said that he was coming round, and would go down town with him. Montague knew at once that that meant something serious, for he had never before known his brother to be awake so early.

They took a cab; and then Oliver explained. The moment had arrived--the time to take the plunge, and come up with a fortune. He could not tell much about it, for it was a matter upon which he stood pledged to absolute secrecy. There were but four people in the country who knew about it. It was the chance of a lifetime--and in four or five hours it would be gone. Three times before it had come to Oliver, and each time he had multiplied his capital several times; that he had not made millions was simply because he did not have enough money. His brother must take his word for this and simply put himself into his hands.

"What is it you want me to do?" asked Montague, gravely.

"I want you to take every dollar you have, or that you can lay your hands on this morning, and turn it over to me to buy stocks with."

"To buy on margin, you mean?"

"Of course I mean that," said Oliver. Then, as he saw his brother frown, he added, "Understand me, I have absolutely certain information as to how a certain stock will behave to-day."

"The best judges of a stock often make mistakes in such matters," said Montague.

"It is not a question of any person's judgment," was the reply. "It is a question of knowledge. The stock is to be MADE to behave so."

"But how can you know that the person who intends to make it behave may not be lying to you?"

"My information does not come from that person, but from a person who has no such interest--who, on the contrary, is in on the deal with me, and gains only as I gain."

"Then, in other words," said Montague, "your information is stolen?"

"Everything in Wall Street is stolen," was Oliver's concise reply.

There was a long silence, while the cab rolled swiftly on its way.

"Well?" Oliver asked at last.

"I can imagine," said Montague, "how a man might intend to move a certain stock, and think that he had the power, and yet find that he was mistaken. There are so many forces, so many chances to be considered--it seems to me you must be taking a risk."

Oliver laughed. "You talk like a child," was his reply. "Suppose that I were in absolute control of a corporation, and that I chose to run it for purposes of market manipulation, don't you think I might come pretty near knowing what its stock was going to do?"

"Yes," said Montague, slowly, "if such a thing as that were conceivable."

"If it were conceivable!" laughed his brother. "And now suppose that I had a confidential man--a secretary, we'll say--and I paid him twenty thousand a year, and he saw chances to make a hundred thousand in an hour--don't you think he might conceivably try it?"

"Yes," said Montague, "he might. But where do you come in?"

"Well, if the man were going to do anything worth while, he'd need capital, would he not? And he'd hardly dare to look for any money in the Street, where a thousand eyes would be watching him. What more natural than to look out for some person who is in Society and has the ear of private parties with plenty of cash?"

And Montague sat in deep thought. "I see," he said slowly; "I see!"

Then, fixing his eyes upon Oliver, he exclaimed, earnestly, "One thing more!"

"Don't ask me any more," protested the other. "I told you I was pledged--"

"You must tell me this," said Montague. "Does Bobbie Walling know about it?"

"He does not," was the reply. But Montague had known his brother long and intimately, and he could read things in his eyes. He knew that that was a lie. He had solved the mystery at last!

Montague knew that he had come to a parting of the ways. He did not like this kind of thing--he had not come to New York to be a stock-gambler. But what a difficult thing it would be to say so; and how unfair it was to be confronted with such an issue, and compelled to decide in a few minutes in a cab!

He had put himself in his brother's hands, and now he was under obligations to him, which he could not pay off. Oliver had paid all his expenses; he was doing everything for him. He had made all his difficulties his own, and all in frankness and perfect trust--upon the a.s.sumption that his brother would play the game with him. And now, at the critical moment, he was to face about, and say; "I do not like the game. I do not approve of your life!" Such a painful thing it is to have a higher moral code than one's friends!

If he refused, he saw that he would have to face a complete break; he could not go on living in the world to which he had been introduced.

Fifty thousand had seemed an enormous fee, yet even a week or two had sufficed for it to come to seem inadequate. He would have to have many such fees, if they were to go on living at their present rate; and if Alice were to have a social career, and entertain her friends. And to ask Alice to give up now, and retire, would be even harder than to face his brother here in the cab.

Then came the temptation. Life was a battle, and this was the way it was being fought. If he rejected the opportunity, others would seize it; in fact, by refusing, he would be handing it to them. This great man, whoever he might be, who was manipulating stocks for his own convenience--could anyone in his senses reject a chance to wrench from him some part of his spoils? Montague saw the impulse of refusal dying away within him.

"Well?" asked his brother, finally.

"Oliver," said the other, "don't you think that I ought to know more about it, so that I can judge?"

"You could not judge, even if I told you all," said Oliver. "It would take you a long time to become familiar with the circ.u.mstances, as I am. You must take my word; I know it is certain and safe."

Then suddenly he unb.u.t.toned his coat, and took out some papers, and handed his brother a telegram. It was dated Chicago, and read, "Guest is expected immediately.--HENRY." "That means, 'Buy Transcontinental this morning,'" said Oliver.

"I see," said the other. "Then the man is in Chicago?"

"No," was the reply. "That is his wife. He wires to her."

"--How much money have you?" asked Oliver, after a pause.

"I've most of the fifty thousand," the other answered, "and about thirty thousand we brought with us."

"How much can you put your hands on?"