Oliver shook his head. “It isn’t Mr. Roosevelt’s fault that Prescott is in such a bad way. I’m sorry, but you’ve got to blame your president, though I ask your charity and understanding.
“Now we come to the actual and imminent danger. We’re in the midst of a ‘silent panic.’ Before the year is out we are going to have a real panic. Why? That is a question you’ll have to ask Mr. Regan, Mr. Morse and Mr. Rockefeller. It is also a question you should ask the speculators on the Stock Market—the small as well as the big speculators. Overexpansion and reckless speculation brought the crash in the Market less than thirty days ago. It will result in a real national panic within the next few months.
“It may surprise you gentlemen to learn, later, that it will be Mr. Roosevelt’s anti-trust laws which will prevent hundreds of small companies from going bankrupt, being absorbed, or disappearing entirely. It won’t, however, save the Prescott Lumber Company from bankruptcy, disappearance or absorption, because the fault lies in its president.
“Let us get on. Gene Arnold knows all this. He is also determined that the Prescott Lumber Company shall not be absorbed by any larger company. He has a lot of very brilliant plans. He’ll let the company approach bankruptcy, he thinks. And then he’ll step in. Either with his dupe, Tom Prescott, and the Blake millions, or with his own friends. I might say, gentlemen, that these friends do not include you, the officers and directors of the Prescott Lumber Company, though it is barely possible that he has persuaded you to the contrary.”
Again, Dr. Banks, Mr. Bassett and Judge Muehller could hardly suppress their agitation. So intense was this agitation that they forgot three others were watching them with baleful suspicion. They looked at one another, and each face was a study in consternation, dismay or fear.
Oliver allowed a few moments to pass in a pregnant silence, for he had a fine sense of timing. When he spoke again, everyone started.
“Perhaps some of you know that Mr. Regan holds, as collateral, twenty-eight percent of the stock of the Prescott Lumber Company personally owned by my father. Yes, I see that you know. I am using my imagination again, very impertinently, when I suggest that some—or all?—of you have had this in mind, possibly with the idea of buying this stock from Mr. Regan, and then, with the stock you already possess, of ousting my father. You don’t have to protest; you don’t even have to feel guilty. It is all ‘business’, and I’m not reproaching any of you. For I understand, you see, that my father, because of his health, and because of the many things he has done to build up private fortunes for his children, is no longer competent to run the Prescott Lumber Company.”
He paused, and waited until he had the attention of everyone. “Eugene Arnold has visited Mr. Regan very recently, with regard to the stock Mr. Regan holds.”
“What!” cried several voices, incredulously. “Where would he get the money?” “Who’s behind him?” “How do you know that?”
Oliver replied: “Where would he get the money? Keep your eye on Gene, gentlemen. He has friends. Again, not you, any of you, in spite of any secret idea any of you might have. He isn’t interested in you. He told Regan that you were decrepit old men, that you won’t, naturally, live much longer and that, in some way, whether you live or not, he’ll be able to get rid of you. I won’t go into the full details. They aren’t necessary. But they are true. Mr. Regan told me all this, himself.”
“What!” they cried again, stunned.
Oliver nodded. “Please let me continue for a moment. Gene’s friends include some of the wealthiest people in Andersburg, and some of the ‘outsiders’. They are impressed with his brilliant mind, his astuteness, his tremendous ability. They are prepared to back him. But Gene is too clever to rely wholly upon promises, however enthusiastic. If his friends won’t help him buy that stock, Mr. Blake will, through Tom. In that event, he’ll force Tom upon you as a sort of dummy president, while he, himself, will be the power behind Tom. Eventually, he’ll find a way to oust Tom. I haven’t the slightest doubt of this. In the meantime he isn’t, of course, interested in you. You’ve served your purpose. You’ll be forced out, by threat of bankruptcy, if you don’t follow. Eventually you’ll be forced out, anyway, most probably by a sudden and crippling fall, within a few months, in the value of the Prescott stock you own.”
He allowed the terrified old men a long time to digest this. They forgot the dangerous division which, fifteen minutes ago, had arisen between them. Now, in their overwhelming alarm, they were together.
“Yes,” said Oliver, softly, breaking the silence, “you are in extreme danger. I tell you this, for I need your help.”
Stupefied, they looked at him, unblinkingly. “Yes, gentlemen, your help. Though I’m a peaceable man, I might add that I demand your help. You’ll be saving yourselves by helping me; you’ll be saving the Company. In a few moments, I’ll tell you what you must do.
“I said that Mr. Regan told me all that I’ve told you. You may think I’m flattering myself when I say that I impressed Mr. Regan very favorably. Perhaps this is because Mr. Scott, and Mr. Meredith, and Mr. Owens, are old and very close friends of Mr. Regan’s.”
Mr. Scott cleared his throat delicately, and nodded, when the six officers and directors turned to him as one man.
“Yes, indeed,” he murmured. “Mr. Regan and ourselves are old, old friends. Known each other since boyhood.” He chuckled gently. “Jay would do almost anything for us, within reason, of course, and provided it gave him a little profit. But, forgive me, I am interrupting our dear young friend, Mr. Prescott. However, I might add that Oliver impressed Mr. Regan on his own account. He owes nothing to us.”
Oliver bowed to the old men, ceremoniously, while the others watched, still in a state of stupefaction.
“Time is growing short, gentlemen,” Oliver resumed briskly. “I had a very interesting and satisfying talk with Mr. Regan. To make it brief, Mr. Regan has promised me that he will sell the twenty-eight percent of my father’s stock to no one but the Northwest Lumber Company. He won’t sell it to you, or to Mr. Blake, or to Gene. I have his solemn promise.” He smiled slightly. “There’s a profit in it for Mr. Regan, too. He is interested, to some very impressive extent, in the Northwest Lumber Company. Moreover, I believe an arrangement has been made between Mr. Regan and the Northwest Lumber Company to the effect that the Company will open a large and active account with Mr. Regan.”
He sat down, imperturbably. He folded his arms upon his chest. “Suppose you gentlemen consider all this, very carefully, for five minutes. Consider all its implications.”
They considered it. In the meantime, Oliver exchanged glances with the three old lawyers, who smiled their affectionate approval of him.
Then Mr. Leslie spoke harshly: “What’s in it for us?” The five others stirred, and looked towards Oliver.
Oliver stood up again. “A lot, gentlemen. The saving of a great part of your personal fortunes. Did I forget to tell you that I have visited the offices of the Northwest Lumber Company? I see I did. It was a very interesting and congenial visit. They understood everything. They have deputized me to tell you that if and when they take over the Prescott Lumber Company they will increase the Prescott stock twenty-five percent, and will exchange it for an equal amount of Northwestern stock of the same value. And, gentlemen, I am sure you know what the value of Northwestern stock is today.”
“Incredible!” gasped Dr. Banks.
Now six faces began to glow with astounded delight, avarice and eagerness. The six old men gazed at Oliver as at a glorious vision which had promised them fresh fortunes and profits.
“I can hardly believe it,” muttered Mr. Jenkins.
Judge Muehller gleamed with saintly admiration. “Oliver, you are a clever young man; I might even say, a most admirable young man.”
“If these are all facts,” said Mr. Leslie, in a shaken voice of hope and doubt.
“They are all facts,” said Oliver. “Within a day or two, we’ll be glad to show them to you
, in black and white.”
“My dear Oliver,” said Mr. Bassett, with the deepest affection, “you have asked us to ‘help’ you. We need not say that we’ll be only too glad to do that. But tell us.”
“Yes, indeed,” chorused the others, richly. The old lawyers regarded them with the utmost pleasantness and interest.
Oliver waited for a moment. His face became grave and sad. “It won’t cost you anything to help me. For, you see, I am thinking only of my father, William Prescott. It will cost you only a little charity, a little pity, a little understanding.
“You realize, of course, that he is only too aware of the condition of the Prescott Lumber Company and that, though he has brought about its imminent ruin, he still hopes some way can be found to save it for his son, Tom. As far as the company is concerned, he is realistic. That is why he is in such present despair. And so, I ask you to visit him very soon, as soon as possible, and to inform him that in the event of his death you intend to vote his son, Tom, in as president of the Company.”
“But that’s impossible!” exclaimed Dr. Banks. “That whipper-snapper!”
Oliver nodded. “I agree. But you can lie, can’t you, in the name of charity and human compassion?”
Dr. Banks subsided. He beamed at Oliver. “Of course, my dear boy. We understand. Certainly, in the name of kindness—old associates, naturally. Human feeling.”
“Of course,” echoed the others, tenderly.
“A Christian act,” said Judge Muehller.
“Poor old Bill,” said Mr. Jenkins fervently.
“Can’t help but pity him,” said Mr. Leslie.
The strain was beginning to tell upon Oliver.
“Thank you, gentlemen. I knew you’d understand.”
“What about Gene Arnold?” asked Senator Whiscomb, viciously. “He’ll be kicked out, won’t he, that rascal?”
“No,” said Oliver, quietly. “Though Mr. Regan doesn’t like him, and the Northwest Lumber Company, knowing what he is plotting, is not inclined to view him with kindness, they understand he is a very valuable man. I agree with them. I agree with them that the Prescott Lumber Company, as a subsidiary, will prosper under Gene as general manager. They are interested only in profits, not in personal matters, gentlemen. Very regrettable, of course, but I’m sure you understand.”
“If that’s the way the Northwestern wants it, then I suppose that’s the way it ought to be,” agreed Dr. Banks, assuming a stern, resigned air. “I never trusted Gene, however.”
Oliver could not help smiling. “You were very astute, Doctor.”
He hesitated. “My father will die soon. I have something to suggest. This is most important. Nothing must be said to my father about the Northwest Lumber Company. He is not, under any circumstances, to know. It would break his heart. The Northwest Lumber Company’s negotiations with all of you will go on with the utmost secrecy. They understand. They know that my father now goes to the office only three half days a week, and that he is failing rapidly. With your help, my father can be protected from knowing anything.”
As if at a signal, the six old men rose and went to Oliver with their hands outstretched. They shone with virtue and happiness. He took each hand and shook it. If the bitterness he felt showed in his eyes they did not see it. He let them clap him upon the shoulder, paternally. He endured their touch, their closeness. He accepted their congratulations on his “wisdom,” and “charity,” and their general joyous approval.
When the hubbub had subsided a little, he threw a very potent explosive among them.
“I almost forgot, gentlemen. There is another little matter. The Northwest Lumber Company intends to have me represent them as a director on the Board of the Prescott Lumber Company. I am sure you gentlemen will have no objections.”
The change that came over them was ludicrous. The three old lawyers craned forward from their chairs in order to enjoy this.
“You?” stammered Mr. Bassett.
“You?” faltered the others.
“Yes, gentlemen. I.”
He smiled at them, coldly. “It won’t be so bad. You see, they intend to send one of their best men here, as president of their new subsidiary. A very able man. You’ll like and trust him. I know him well. His name is Kenneth McCord.”
He added: “Almost my sole duty will be to watch Gene Arnold, though I promise you that I’ll do my best by the company, too.”
After the six old men had gone, Mr. Meredith put his hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “Dreadful old scoundrels,” he remarked. “I never liked them. Three of them aren’t even gentlemen. You ought to have allowed us to do as we originally intended, Oliver.”
“But there was my father, sir,” replied Oliver.
“Yes, I suppose so,” Mr. Meredith sighed. He smiled. “Sometimes the quality of loyalty can be strained. Nevertheless, we like you for it, dear boy.”
Oliver was thinking, with really passionate relief: Now I shan’t have to ask him to remember that I hoped he would trust me.
CHAPTER LVII
The small mahogany clock on the mantelpiece in Dr. Banks’ library struck a sweet and melodious nine. No one heard it. There was a tension, a hidden malignancy, a savage meanness, here in this room, and a small and malicious triumph. Oliver felt it all and, reluctantly, he had to admit that Eugene Arnold was a better man than any of these little old men who were gloating over him in this silence; better because he had stature and boldness and daring and distinction. Eugene could look at the ruin of a whole lifetime and retain his composure and pride. He might have been a plotter, but he had been a large plotter. There had been a purpose in Eugene’s evil, and that purpose, reflected Oliver, had possessed a kind of dignity, for it had been based on an undeluded love for a father.
Oliver could even feel a sort of regret for his brother. He hated to see something of magnificence, however inimical, destroyed. He could for a moment, wish that none of this had ever happened; to be marked as in league with these ancient blackguards revolted him. What Eugene had heard, this past hour, had not diminished his elegance, had not crushed him. He looked before him, thoughtfully. Oliver had an involuntary impulse of pride in his brother, which he could not suppress.
He said: “It’s no use, Gene. You can’t do anything about it. You can’t hurt my father, now. And,” he went on, raising his voice, “if you should attempt anything in revenge, if you should decide to do a little imitation of Samson, if you should put Tom up to anything—though it could only end as we intend it to—I’ll have to step in again, personally.”
Eugene did not move his body. He only turned his long narrow face towards Oliver. “How?” he asked, with interest.
Oliver hesitated. He looked at the old men, who were listening with absorption. He moved in his chair so that as much of his back as possible should be towards them. “I’ll tell Father that you are my brother,” he said.
He had known that he might have to say this, though he had also hoped to be spared it. But he had been forced to speak, for he had followed Eugene’s thoughts perfectly.
He had also wondered how Eugene would take this news. Calmly, incredulously, or with cold contemptuous denial? He was certainly not prepared to see Eugene’s eyes fix themselves upon him curiously and with detachment.
“You don’t believe it?” asked Oliver.
Eugene’s pale mouth puckered meditatively. He still looked at Oliver with interest. “Yes,” he said at last. “I believe it. I didn’t know, until comparatively recently, and even then I didn’t have the facts. Before my father died I was alone with him for a few minutes. He then told me that he had a child, somewhere. He didn’t know whether it was a boy or a girl. He asked me to find that child.” Eugene smiled. “He wanted me to give his other child help, when and if I could. My mother was never to know.”
He said, when Oliver did not speak: “You have the facts, I suppose?”
“Yes,” replied Oliver, rather indistinctly.
“Then, there is no reason to doubt. A
fter all, you are a lawyer. You wouldn’t say that, unless you could prove it.”
“No.” Oliver could not look at him now. “But what made you suspect it, yourself?”
Eugene smiled again. “It was inescapable. Even Tom began to see the resemblance. I saw it, possibly long before anyone else did. You see, I have a photograph of my father, when he was a very young man. And you resemble him more than I do. I think it was about eight years ago when I first noticed that resemblance. Still, there was a very good chance that it was all coincidence. You say you have the proof?”
“Yes,” repeated Oliver.
The old men sat entranced. Two or three said to themselves: Yes, he’s just like Chauncey at his age, or younger.
“My father told me the name of the mother,” said Eugene. “You have her name?”
Oliver’s eyes narrowed bitterly. “You still hope it is all coincidence, don’t you, Gene? Well, it isn’t. The name of my mother was Mary Bauer.”
Eugene nodded slightly. “Yes, that is correct, then.”
Something was hurting Oliver. He did not examine it. He went on quickly: “If you should go to my—father, in your long vengefulness and with the sole purpose of causing him suffering, to tell him what his son and you have plotted to do, even though you have failed in it, then, in my own vengefulness, I’ll have to make him suffer even more. I’ll tell him that he adopted the son of the man he hated most in all the world. Do you know what will happen then, Gene? He still has strength, and he’s indomitable. He’ll get out of his bed, to destroy you. He’ll get help, too. He’ll get help from me. For please understand, I have only to say the word and the Northwest Lumber Company will kick you out.”
Eugene nodded again, thoughtfully. “Yes, I can see that. But what of you? What will Mr. Prescott do to you, when, or if, you tell him?”