The Rapids Part 35

Manson shook his head and told them very briefly of his visit. There was no mention of his own speculation. "So after all, the thing is probably all right," he concluded. "At any rate, Clark doesn't seem worried, so why should we?"

Filmer gave vent to a low whistle. "Hypnotized at last!"

"No," said Manson, flushing, and went on to promulgate the reasons for his hopes. The others said nothing, but he could see they were impressed. Presently he went out on a midnight round of inspection, and, as the door closed behind him, Worden nodded thoughtfully.

"For the first time in seven years he seems reasonable in this connection. After all, if we get off the handle it will be a mighty bad example. How about it, Mr. Mayor?"

"Well," said Filmer, caressing his glossy whiskers, "I always believed in Clark and I guess I do now. If he were trying to make money for himself out of this thing we'd know it, but he isn't. Gentlemen, the judge is right--we've got to hold the town together."

On the corner they met Bowers, the Company's solicitor, who was walking slowly home smoking a peaceful cigar.

"What's this?" he said, grinning. "Looks like old times to see you three together."

Filmer had a sudden thought. "Do any of you chaps remember what anniversary this is?"

The others searched their brains and gave it up.

"Seven years ago to-night there was a certain notable meeting in the town hall."

"And now there's one in the corner. We've come down in the world," put in Dibbott.

"Possibly, but possibly not. I was just thinking of all that has happened in seven years. It should prevent us from getting rattled."

The mayor turned to Bowers, "Seen Clark to-day?"

"Haven't seen or heard of him for three days," answered the lawyer shortly--then, because he wanted to avoid being pumped, "good night--I'm for my blameless couch."

They looked after him and at each other. "Seen Belding?" asked Dibbott of the judge.

"No, he's down in Chicago. I think he's buying machinery. Now it's late and if I don't go home too, I'll get into trouble." He turned towards the old house by the river, and halted a few steps off. "Good night, you fellows, I feel better."

Thus it came that while a brooding, gray eyed man paced his terrace with his eyes fixed on the far white line of the rapids, whose call was indistinguishable at this distance, there was spreading almost under the shadow of the works a novel spirit of confidence in himself and his vast enterprise. It was not till a sudden question arose, that St.

Marys realized the prodigious meaning of their new city and how lavishly all Clark's promises had been redeemed. In the hour of anxiety they leaned on him more than ever before. This new birth--this upholding trust--was conceived at the very moment when Wimperley and the others were gathered in hara.s.sed counsel, and through Philadelphia and the surrounding state was broadening a dark cloud of rumor that carried swift fear to thousands of hearts. But it was not fear that came to the keen brain of Henry Marsham.

By eleven that night Clark had heard nothing from his head office. The strain became too great, and he went into a little room off the library where an extension of the private wire had been carried up from the works. There was once a time when he could send and receive in the Morse code, so now he sat down and laid a somewhat uncertain finger on the tilting key.

"Phil -- Phil -- Phil."

Instantly and to his surprise, came the reply.

"Sma -- Sma -- Sma."

"Is -- Wimp -- there?" The thing began to come a little easier.

"Yes."

"Tell -- Wimp -- I -- want -- answer -- funds -- for -- payroll."

Clark got this off laboriously, conscious that however clear might be the message, the wire was a poor transmitter as compared to eye and voice.

"Wimp -- says -- meeting -- going -- on -- now -- cannot -- act -- before -- to-morrow -- Get that."

"Yes," flashed the plunging reply.

"Wimp -- waiting -- your -- report -- defect -- in -- rails."

Clark's brows wrinkled and he bent over the key.

"Cannot -- send -- report -- till -- several -- chemical -- a.n.a.l -- a.n.a.l -- "

"Yes -- a.n.a.lyses -- I -- get -- you -- are -- complete -- is -- that -- it."

"Yes." Clark breathed a sigh of relief. His brow was wet.

"When -- will -- that -- be -- Wimp -- asks."

"Three -- days."

"Wimp -- says -- hurry -- up -- things -- shaky -- here -- expect -- attack -- by -- bears -- have tried -- to -- place -- rails -- elsewhere -- but -- not -- successful. Wimp -- says -- good night."

Clark's eyes sparkled with anger and he hammered the key. There were other things he wanted to say--and must say. But for all his repeated calls there was only silence, till in an interval, while he rubbed his throbbing fingers, the receiver began to tilt.

"Wimp -- says -- good night --" it announced with metallic finality.

He got up and stood staring at the thing for a moment, his face heavy with anger, the group in Wimperley's office vividly before him. He could see the cold features of Birch, sharpened by the tenseness of the hour into a visage bloodless and inflexible, with thin tight lips and narrow expressionless eyes. He could see Stoughton, red with discomfort and resentment; Riggs' excited and anxious little face, and Wimperley himself, cast with a new severity; all supremely conscious of that which probably must be faced on the morrow. And what about Marsham? Tottering was now their faith in the essential future of the works and the great cycle of their operations. The wire had transmitted their decisions, but over its yellow filament had also trickled their apprehension. With a touch of cynicism he recalled the congratulatory messages--the very first it had carried.

He went out on the terrace again, seeking the black bulk of the rail mill in the medley of structures down at the works. Presently he found and scrutinized it. Somewhere in its gloom lurked an error, or else in the great furnaces that shouldered nakedly into the moonlit air. With a sudden sense of fatigue, he turned to his bedroom.

"At any rate the chief constable is with me," he soliloquized sardonically, "and that's something."

In five minutes he was sleeping profoundly.

XXI.--THE CRASH

Around the neck of every great industrial undertaking is hung a chain of unlovely parasites, who fatten on the interruptions to its progress and the fluctuations in its success. These men create nothing--contribute nothing. Playing on the fears and hopes and untempered weakness of the public, they reap where they do not sow and feed the speculative appet.i.te of millions. To them it is negligible whether good men go down or honest effort is rewarded. Predatory by nature and unscrupulous in action, they prey upon their fellows, and, like the wolf, are strangers to mercy and compa.s.sion. Their wealth is not an a.s.set to the world, because it represents nothing they have originated, but only that which they have filched from others less shrewd and unscrupulous. They do not hesitate to magnify the false or to bring to ruin what they find most profitably a.s.sailable. They have respect for neither genius nor labor, but juggle with the efforts of both in a fierce game for gold.

As the gong struck on the Philadelphia Exchange next morning, a well known operator a.s.sociated with Marsham's firm threw five thousand shares of Consolidated on the market. It was taken at forty-eight, a loss of two points, and in that first transaction the value of the entire enterprise shrank by half a million.

A moment later, Wimperley knew of it and sent for Birch, but Birch, who had been just as speedily informed, was already on his way. He came in, a little paler than usual. On his heels arrived Stoughton and Riggs.

They were in the padded seclusion of the president's inner office, while two blocks away swelled a storm, whose echoes only reached them in the sharp staccato of the ticker in the corner as it vomited a strip of white paper. Wimperley stood there, the strip slipping between his fingers, while selling orders began to pour in to Philadelphia, and the price of Consolidated crumbled like dust. He could visualize the scene on the floor of the Exchange, the frenzy of men smitten with sudden fear, and the deliberate cold-blooded action of others who lent their weight to this downfall. Marsham was very busy. Greater grew the flood, with sales of so great quant.i.ties of stock that they perceived the market was going boldly short. Then came an avalanche of small holdings, till the ticker announced that it had fallen behind the record of transactions and that Consolidated was now offered at thirty-five with no bidders. This was three-quarters of an hour after the Exchange opened.

Stoughton and the others sat quite motionless. The thing was too big for them to grasp at once, but they had a dull sense that the foundation stones of their great pyramid were shifting, that the gigantic structures at St. Marys were dissolving into something phantom-like and tenuous. At this juncture a message was brought in from Clark.

Hear market is very weak. Please buy five thousand for me by way of support.