The Rapids Part 43

"I thought so, and"--here the speaker glanced at Weatherby--"we would like to congratulate you, I had an idea that this was the case. Now as to the present business, we have decided to make a proposal to your board."

"I am glad of that," said Clark briefly. He knew that the moment had come.

"We hope it will meet with your support," Ardswell hesitated perceptibly and went on, pitching his voice a little higher, "and you will not misunderstand my putting it rather baldly. The matter depends on two things: the reduction of the Consolidated capital from twenty-seven million to something about ten million and the wiping out of all common stock, and," here he paused again while the blood crept slowly to his temples--"the other is a change in the executive. These being satisfactorily arranged, we will go ahead. That's about it, eh?"

"Yes," put in the other, "but of course we could not go ahead, under any circ.u.mstances, without Mr. Clark's temporary a.s.sistance. I think in fairness to him we should make the case a little clearer."

"It's fairly clear as it is," said Clark without a trace of emotion.

"We've never seen anything quite like this in any part of the world,"

volunteered Weatherby, "and it is a remarkable thing for any one man to have imagined and accomplished. Whether or not we take the matter up, it will always seem a catastrophe that your work and the work of your directors should have been interrupted by a speculator. That's one thing that strikes us both about American business--you have your lions, and plenty of them, but you have too many wolves. Now, coming back to St. Marys, I beg that you won't misunderstand me when I say that the originator of great things is very seldom a suitable executive for permanent administration. It is too much to expect. In case we take this up it would be necessary for us to have the administration in our own hands. You understand, of course, that an originator of big things is a much rarer person than a good executive, and it is largely on account of non-imaginative qualities that the latter is the safer man. I would like to a.s.sure you," he concluded with evident respect, "that we have never experienced more difficulty in making a suggestion.

The case is extraordinary--we realize that."

"What Weatherby has in his head," added Ardswell, "is that you have done what neither of us could ever have done, and he thinks it a waste of valuable material to try and make an executive out--"

"Out of me," interrupted Clark. "You may be quite right." He had expected to feel alone, but the direct simplicity of these men appealed to him. It was not always, he reflected, that he was given an unprejudiced opinion, and he felt the safer since now he got it.

"We believe that we are right," it was Weatherby who spoke, "and are prepared to a.s.sume that responsibility. Like you, we have shareholders to think of, and we feel that yours will not get any better offer. We know the financial world fairly well."

Clark listened tensely. He was aware that the interests represented by these two were of enormous influence and wealth. He realized, also, that instead of all this discussion, Wimperley might simply have notified him that he was discharged, and that the new interests would now take over. But Wimperley had done nothing of the kind.

"One week in Philadelphia taught us much, but we have learned a great deal more up here," continued Weatherby, "and it depended really on the past three days whether we would make a proposal or not. From what we have seen and what you have told us, we are satisfied. I might say that your directors have already agreed to the reduction of capital, provided the matter of management is settled. So the future lies entirely with you. Your holdings in common stock are so large that it is essential you give your formal a.s.sent."

Clark drew a long breath. He had come to the fork in the road. The labors of seven years rolled suddenly over his brain and engulfed it.

Here were two men who drank his wine, then asked him to leave his very soul to others.

"Gentlemen," he said slowly, "thank you for what you have said--but I can't give you an answer at once."

"There's no hurry," replied Ardswell. "It's not a case for a snap decision."

Through Clark's mind ran a quizzical idea that these two understood each other admirably, and he wondered how things would have turned out had he himself been one of a pair that did such team work.

"Then later, to-night."

The two nodded and moved off, talking earnestly, while Clark experienced a strange breathlessness. His soul was in tumult, and he reacted from the strain of the past few days. He perceived that with men like himself and his visitors lay the great economic forces of the world. And yet he was expected to make way.

Pa.s.sing slowly through the big gates, towards which he had walked automatically, he moved on beyond the pulp mills towards the rapids, as though drawn by their insistent call. It was the call he had heard for years, even in his very dreams. And there, on the great boulder where he had once found her before, sat Elsie.

She had been there for an hour, gazing at the tumbled ma.s.s of foam and trying desperately to disentangle her thoughts. But even as she gazed, Clark's face seemed to come in between; keen, strong, undefeated and suggestive. It was not till now that she admitted to her own soul that he had dominated her imagination for months past. His achievements, his peculiar independence, his swift versatility had captured her crescent ambition, the ambition which he himself had unwittingly stimulated. She did not question whether this was love, she only knew that in this season, when his work seemed to be tottering over his head, she was ready to come to him and help rebuild it into something stronger and even greater.

She did not start, but looked at him with a strange satisfaction, as though it were meant from the first that they should meet at this time and place. Her eyes were very grave, and in them was that which made Clark's pulse beat faster. Something whispered that each of them had been saved over for this moment.

"I haven't seen much of you for the past few months," he said presently.

"I know that, but I know why. Are things better now?"

He nodded. "They may be very shortly."

"I'm so glad. You can't imagine how anxious I've been,--the riots and your escape--and--"

"But I was anxious for you."

"You shouldn't have been," she said gently. "Mr. Belding told me that you wanted him to come to the house when things were at their worst, but he didn't like leaving you. Now tell me, are the works starting up again?"

Clark drew a long breath. "I'll know very soon."

"Then you'll settle down just like before, and it will be all a bad dream?"

"Perhaps I will." His voice lifted a little.

"You're not going away?"

That was what he had come here to decide, and there flashed into his mind a curious conception that was both fanciful and rea.s.suring.

"Forget about the works for a moment; I want to ask you something."

"But do I know?" She smiled doubtfully.

"Yes, you'll know without any question whatever. It's the case of a man who worked very hard, and he didn't work for money or glory, or anything of that kind, but just because he loved it and couldn't help it."

"That sounds very like yourself."

"There are many men like that, more than most people imagine," he said quietly; "and after this one had, so to speak, built the foundations and walls, he had not money enough to put on the roof, and another man came along and offered to do it. Of course, he would get the credit for the whole building. It was a very important one, and it affected the lives and comfort of a great many people who would suffer if it were not completed."

The girl glanced at him strangely. "Is that all?"

"Yes, except that the people who lived there would naturally forget all about the man who laid the foundations and built the walls, and would even blame him and think only of the one who made the place habitable for them."

"But does that matter?" she asked quickly, looking at him.

Clark took a long look at the animated face. "That he should be forgotten or blamed?"

"Yes. You said he worked for the love of it. He didn't ask for thanks or appreciation, and from what you tell me he wasn't that kind." She turned swiftly: "It is yourself."

"And if it were, that would not alter your judgment, would it?"

"Is it fair to ask?" Her eyes were full of a touching appeal.

"A frank opinion is the fairest thing to me," he said quietly. "I know how you would look at it. There's only one answer you could give. If it were otherwise it wouldn't be you: the first man has no alternative, has he?"

"No," she whispered. Her face was pitiful, as though she had been secretly and cruelly hurt.

"Then it is the works I'm considering," he continued slowly. "You're the only one I can tell just now, but if they go on, it must be without me."

"But they're your works. You dreamed them and then built them."

"I've had many dreams, Elsie."