XXI.--THE CRASH
Around the neck of every great industrial undertaking is hung a chain ofunlovely parasites, who fatten on the interruptions to its progress andthe fluctuations in its success. These men create nothing--contributenothing. Playing on the fears and hopes and untempered weakness of thepublic, they reap where they do not sow and feed the speculative appetiteof millions. To them it is negligible whether good men go down or honesteffort is rewarded. Predatory by nature and unscrupulous in action, theyprey upon their fellows, and, like the wolf, are strangers to mercy andcompassion. Their wealth is not an asset to the world, because itrepresents nothing they have originated, but only that which they havefilched from others less shrewd and unscrupulous. They do not hesitateto magnify the false or to bring to ruin what they find most profitablyassailable. They have respect for neither genius nor labor, but jugglewith the efforts of both in a fierce game for gold.
As the gong struck on the Philadelphia Exchange next morning, a wellknown operator associated with Marsham's firm threw five thousand sharesof Consolidated on the market. It was taken at forty-eight, a loss oftwo points, and in that first transaction the value of the entireenterprise shrank by half a million.
A moment later, Wimperley knew of it and sent for Birch, but Birch, whohad 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, whiletwo blocks away swelled a storm, whose echoes only reached them in thesharp staccato of the ticker in the corner as it vomited a strip of whitepaper. Wimperley stood there, the strip slipping between his fingers,while selling orders began to pour in to Philadelphia, and the price ofConsolidated crumbled like dust. He could visualize the scene on thefloor of the Exchange, the frenzy of men smitten with sudden fear, andthe deliberate cold-blooded action of others who lent their weight tothis downfall. Marsham was very busy. Greater grew the flood, withsales of so great quantities of stock that they perceived the market wasgoing boldly short. Then came an avalanche of small holdings, till theticker announced that it had fallen behind the record of transactions andthat Consolidated was now offered at thirty-five with no bidders. Thiswas three-quarters of an hour after the Exchange opened.
Stoughton and the others sat quite motionless. The thing was too big forthem to grasp at once, but they had a dull sense that the foundationstones of their great pyramid were shifting, that the gigantic structuresat St. Marys were dissolving into something phantom-like and tenuous. Atthis juncture a message was brought in from Clark.
Hear market is very weak. Please buy five thousand for me by way ofsupport.
Wimperley read and handed it silently to Riggs. The little man swalloweda lump in his throat. "By God!" he said unsteadily, "but he's got sand,no doubt about it."
"What's that?" Stoughton demanded dully, and, reaching out, glanced atthe telegram. "Why throw Robert Fisher to the wolves? They're doingwell enough as it is," he grunted, and relapsed into a brooding silence.
Then began to arrive inquiries from country banks and cancellations fromcountry subscribers. Wimperley read them out as they came in, and, wellinformed though he was of the wide distribution of Consolidated stock,experienced a slow amazement at the broad range of his followers. Theirmessages were indignant, despairing, threatening and pathetic. He beganto wonder why he had accepted a responsibility which was now for thefirst time unveiled in such startling proportions. Yesterday theConsolidated was a name to conjure with. To-day it was an epitome ofhuman fear and desperation.
Ten seconds before the noon gong struck on the Exchange, a frantic brokerlifted a bull like voice above the uproar.
"Sell five thousand consol at thirty-two, thirty-two!" He bellowed itout raucously. The selling order had been flashed from Toronto.
"Taken at thirty-two," snapped Marsham's operator, who had opened theperilous game that morning, and, smiling, jotted a note on his cuff. Hehad made just eighty thousand dollars on that one transaction. Themarket strengthened a little in the afternoon on short covering, thematter of investment being thrown to the winds. Consolidated was now agambling counter, and the closing quotation stood at thirty-five. Formervalues had shrunk by some eight millions. Gone was that laboriousupbuilding into which Clark and the rest had thrown their very souls;overcast were the efforts of seven years. It was, to most people, aquestion of what might be made of what was left. The works remained,but, the public concluded, the iron and steel section, the heart of thething, was unsound. Such is the communicable essence of fear.
At ten minutes after three the directors met to face a situation whichwas, in all truth, serious enough. Philadelphia banks, smarting fromloans made on Consolidated stock, had declined further credit. The firstpayment of a million dollars for steel rails was indefinitely deferred.Creditors, galvanized by the events of the day, poured in ceaselessdemands that their accounts be liquidated, but moneys due theConsolidated for pulp had been realized and diverted into the building ofrailways and the construction of the rail mill. Birch, his face verygrave, ran over all this in a level monotone of a voice, while the restwearily admitted its truth, and in the middle of the rehearsal a messagewas brought in from Clark.
Greatly regret events of to-day but am unshakenly confident for thefuture, given sufficient time to remedy defect in rails which should nottake long. Chemical analyses show too high carbon and this can berectified. Now awaiting remittance for payroll.
Wimperley read it without a trace of accentuation, while Stoughton got upand stared, as once before, at the sky line of Philadelphia.
"Well," drawled Birch dryly, "we've heard from our prophet."
"He's got more confidence in our future than we have in his past," put inRiggs.
Stoughton turned, "What about the payroll?"
"If you have a million or so to spare, we'll send it up. There's more tobe met than the payroll." The voice was a trifle insulting, butStoughton did not notice it, and Birch went on. "There's just one thingwe can do, if we can't get money to run."
"Well?" jerked out Riggs, "say it."
"Shut down."
Wimperley's long fingers were drumming the table. He did not fancyhimself as the president of a great company in whose works not a wheelwas turning.
"I'd like to find some other way out of it. There's going to be hell topay here, but--"
"Perhaps the ingenious gentleman at St. Marys could help out," said Birchacidly.
At that came a little silence and there appeared the vision of Clark inhis office, with his achievements dissolving before his eyes.
"Robert Fisher is no financier," struck in Stoughton wearily.
Wimperley smiled in spite of himself. "Perhaps not, but he mesmerized usinto that office. There's only one thing I can see--issue debenturessecured by first mortgage."
"Who'll take 'em? We used up all our arguments long ago. Philadelphiadoesn't want a mortgage on Robert Fisher, and what about the Pennsylvaniafarmer?"
"What about him?" asked Wimperley pettishly.
"As I know him, he's a bad loser--he works too hard for it. This is acase of new money from outside, and I for one don't feel like doing anytraveling."
"In other words we've demonstrated that whether or not by any fault ofours, we've made a mess of it," said Stoughton with utter candor.
"Something remarkably like it."
"And when Clark told us, months ago, that he wouldn't draw any salary,and that a lot of others were only drawing half salary to help out tillthe rail mill got going, we should have made provision for possiblemistakes, and seen as well that we were getting in over our ears."
"But Clark believed all he told us," piped Riggs with a flash of loyalty.
"Of course he did, and he still does, and because he is still only twentyyears ahead of his time he's all the more dangerous."
"Let's get back to this payroll," blurted Stoughton who was getting mor
eand more uncomfortable.
"Fishing's pretty good up there, let him fish for it." The voice ofBirch was like ice. He was one of those who by nature are fitted forcold and ruthless action in time of stress. Most of his money had beenmade across the dissecting table of enterprises, and not at their birth.He was a financial surgeon, but no midwife, and had only been magnetizedinto his past support by the hypnotic personality of Clark. He wasgrimly mindful that Marsham, after waiting for years for his opening, hadgot more than even. Birch's cold mind now wondered for the first timewhether, after all, the cut throat game he had once loved to play wasworth the candle. Here was American credit and effort massacred byAmerican ruthlessness and revenge. Marsham had pounced upon a weak pointin the Consolidated's armor and pierced deep into the body corporate. Hehad struck to kill.
"And would you shut down the pulp mill--market's good now?" persistedStoughton.
"I'd rivet the whole thing tight. The railway never paid,--at leastdirectly--that we could reckon. It's costing more to ship pulp on ourown boats than the rate at which we could ship by contract--and if theyare not going to bring back coke, why run them? Gentlemen, this means asmash--an interval of anxiety, discomfort, loss of prestige, and--"
"Go on, Elisha--" barked Riggs. "Oh, please go on!"
"Prestige--and later reconstruction. In the meantime, we don't spend acent on running anything, and find out exactly what we owe. Then comesnew money, and," he added cynically, "a new bunch of directors."
"And who will arrange that?" Riggs demanded abruptly.
"One Robert Fisher Clark--if he has not lost all his power of magnetism."
"Aren't you guessing a little too fast?"
"No, it's quite possible. His argument will be that we didn't back himto the necessary limit--that another million would have done it--and,"concluded Birch reflectively, "that may be perfectly true. But God knowswe did what we could. What's this one?" He glanced at Wimperley, whowas reading a telegram just brought in.
Waiting your remittance for payroll, necessary that this be providedto-day, otherwise I anticipate serious disturbance here. It is advisablethat I do not come to Philadelphia just yet as my leaving here would bewrongly interpreted.
R.F.C.
There fell a moment's silence, instantly recognized by all four as theprecursor of grave events. Birch had spoken the thought that lurked inall their minds. To continue running meant another payroll to be met.
It now appeared suicidal to have stretched their resources to the limitof their credit, but not one of them had remotely dreamed that a fewthousand tons of steel rails were to drag the whole structure to topplingdestruction. Birch, as usual, first pulled himself together.
"It's put up or shut up, and we've got to tell Clark right now."
Little Riggs sighed despondently. This meeting would soon be over andthe decision made, after which he would have to face a totally unexpectedset of conditions and a circle of friends and investors who would regardhim with close and uncomfortable interest.
"Well, I suppose it's shut up!" he hazarded unsteadily.
Birch looked inquiringly at the other two, who nodded without speaking,then began to write. The rest did not even glance at each other, butfound absorption in walls and windows and the big map of poignant memory,while the long, waxen fingers moved inexorably on.
"What about this?"
"'Under existing conditions and the impossibility of making immediatefinancial arrangements for current needs directors decide best to closedown all work of every kind at once, giving notice that this will be onlytemporary. You will report here as soon as in your judgment you canwisely come down.' Is that all right?"
Stoughton bit at his thumbnail and nodded. "I suppose so--and there'llbe hell to pay in St. Marys, eh, Wimperley? Our friend the chiefconstable will be working over time. Remember the beggar? The damn foolwas right too."
"Yes, it's all right," said Wimperley, "and now I suppose there'll bewrits and injunctions enough to fill the tailrace. We'd better get outand arrange some support for the market. Birch, you compound acomforting statement for the papers. We adjourn till tomorrow atnine-thirty."
They did adjourn, but lingered for an hour digging into the past sevenyears. It was a talk such as one might expect under the circumstances.Charged with an apprehension but thinly veiled by manner and speech,events took on for them no perspective. They were too close at hand.All this was so intimately their own and Clark's responsibility thatevery other consideration became instantly submerged, and it was a matterof living for the day, if not for the hour. Had any one at this timetold Wimperley or Stoughton that for a pace or two they had merely fallenout of step in the march of progress, and that however depressing mightbe the present aspect of affairs it did not really affect the preordainedoutcome, they would have flouted the thought. It is not given to manymen to place themselves correctly in the general scheme of the world, andto fairly estimate their own contribution. Thus it was that Wimperleyand his associates read on the screen of the present only the word"failure," and were conscious chiefly of a certain self contempt for thearduous part they had played. At the last moment success had beensnatched from their grasp.
Stoughton walked slowly home. He was thinking of Manson, the pessimist,who had been right. And such is the interlinking chain of life. Manson,at this moment, was sitting in his office, while his mind harkedaimlessly back to the first time he had met the men from Philadelphia.He stared at a telegram that trembled between his thick fingers. Hisbroad face was gray and ghastly. He had been here motionless for sometime, when a gentle knock sounded at the door and his wife came timidlyin. One glance at his face, and her arms were round his neck.
"What is it, Peter?" she quavered.
He did not look up but held the message so that she might read it.
Sold you out to-day on stop loss order at thirty-two margin beingexhausted. Farthing.
She read it wonderingly. "What does it mean; who is Farthing?"
"My Toronto broker--or at least he was," said Manson heavily.
"But I don't understand, dear."
"Ho, I didn't suppose you would; it means I lose my hundred thousand,that's all."
"Had you a hundred thousand?" she whispered.
"Very, very nearly, and now I haven't anything,--that is, I didn't make acent."
She drew a long breath. "Peter, tell me just how we stand."
"Exactly where we did the day a man named Clark came to St. Marys," hesaid dully, "with not a cent more."
There followed a little silence, and the tears began to roll down hercheeks. He put his arm round her, and perceived, with astonishment, thatthey were tears of happiness.
"Peter dear," she said very softly, "you don't know how glad I am thatit's all over."
"You mean the hundred thousand!" He stared at her blankly.
"Yes, just that. I know you won't understand, but things have never beenthe same for me since you began to try and make it. You weredifferent--everything was different."
"But if I had made it you would have been glad."
"Perhaps--I don't know. I'm rather afraid of a hundred thousanddollars," she began to smile a little through her tears, "but now I feelten years younger. Is that what 'stop loss' means--you don't actuallylose anything?"
"Nothing more than I have sent him in this case."
"And you didn't send him my money--not that it's much."
"Good God, Mary, no!"
"Peter," she began gently, "you weren't happy all the time--I could tellthat. You were trying to do something you weren't made for--I could seethat too. You are very strong--but it isn't that kind of strength.People like us can't do that kind of thing--we feel too much. We haven'tgot much, but it represents a lot and our lives are in it, and thishundred thousand dollars wouldn't have been that kind of money, would it?"
"No, I suppose not." Manson felt the tumult in his breast subsiding.
"I know you did it for me and th
e children, but we don't want you tospeculate for us. We just want you--as we used to have you. We haveenough of everything else, and we'll all be very happy again. Oh, mydear, big, faithful husband." She slipped into his arms and put her headon his great shoulder.
And Manson, holding her to him, felt new springs of emotion unsealthemselves within him. The past few years had not been happy ones. Ashis profits grew, he was conscious of the spectre of anxiety at hiselbow. It had been a simple thing to make a thousand and then ten andthen twenty, till, as he marched ever faster toward the siren call, heperceived that he was no longer in his own country, but one in which thelandmarks were all changed. Now, with the throb of his wife's heartagainst his own, he acknowledged defeat, but perhaps it was defeat ofthat which was not himself.
Presently the little woman stirred, brushed the tears from her cheeks,and, smiling, kissed him tenderly.
"I'm happier than I've been for years. Did you ever guess that peoplehere thought you were a rich man?"
"No."
"Well, they did, at least some of them, Mrs. Dibbott for one."
"Then you can put Mrs. Dibbott right."
"Will what has happened at the works make much difference here?"
"Probably a good deal. I'm looking for trouble."
"Up at Ironville?" she said anxiously.
"But I'm good for it." He stretched his great arms, feeling strangelyfree and fit for his duty.
"What about Mr. Clark?"
At this Manson grew suddenly thoughtful. Caught up in his own anxiety,he had never considered Clark. The figure of the latter began to take onstrange proportions. What, he wondered, had Clark lost? Within twentyhours of the time he maintained his unaltered belief, the bottom haddropped out. Or, he queried, had Clark merely said this to prevent himfrom throwing his stock on the market? He pondered over this, anddecided that five thousand shares were negligible amongst millions. Thenhe felt his wife's inquiring glance.
"I'm sorry for Clark, but I guess he's wise enough to take care ofhimself."
"I hope so. I've only spoken to him once, but I like him."
She disappeared presently, leaving him busy with special instructions tothe police--in case of disturbance. She did not worry about that, beingchiefly conscious that a load was gone from her spirit. Singing softlyto herself, she went out with gladness in her eyes, and halfway toFilmer's store encountered Mrs. Bowers. The latter looked pale andtired. Bowers, for the past twenty-four hours, had been a much triedman--and his wife reflected it.
"Good evening," said the latter, "you look very fresh. How do you manageit?"
Mrs. Manson, suddenly recalled to earth, smiled gently. "I'm ratherhappy to-day. I hope Mr. Bowers is not very anxious."
"It's no use saying he isn't, but he doesn't talk about it. How's yourhusband?"
"Splendid."
"Well, you're the only untroubled pair I've heard of to-day. Myhusband's in a frightful temper because he didn't sell our land sixmonths ago. He says we'll never sell it now, but I'm just as glad. Isthe whole thing going to break up?" Mrs. Bowers swung her parasol towardthe rapids.
"I--I don't really know anything about it," said the little woman with atouch of nervousness from which she recovered instantly, then, smiling,"perhaps I'll come over to-morrow."
"Do, there's a heap to talk about, and smile like that just as long asyou can--the town needs it."
She walked on, her mind very busy. Without question something excellenthad happened to the Mansons--and in a time like this! Manson was said tobe in the way of making a fortune, and now, she concluded, he had madeit. There was no other explanation for an expression like his wife'swhen such grim rumors were abroad. A little later she told Mrs. Worden,and both the judge and Bowers heard of it, and next day the story reacheda dozen houses in St. Marys. The constable, it was said, for all hispessimism, had been sharper than Clark himself.
But Manson was only a leaf picked up by the edge of the storm in whichClark sat, its unapproachable center. The telegram compiled by Birch andsigned by Wimperley, as president, was on his desk, just as the secretaryhad laid it before he went silently out, unable to meet the mystifyingglance of those gray eyes. Clark had never moved nor looked up, nor didhe till half an hour later, when he dictated a notice to be postedthroughout the works. "_All operations will temporarily cease this nightat six o'clock. Employees will be notified when to apply for theirwages, which will shortly be paid in full. The accounting staff willremain at duty._" His voice was level and absolutely expressionless.Then he went out, and, taking the broad trail to the rapids, seatedhimself a few minutes later in a well remembered place.
The moments lengthened into hours and still he did not move. The sunshowed its red disc through the lattice girders of the great bridge, andtouched the flashing waters into gold. It was seven years since he hadsat here first, and he looked expectantly about for the crestedkingfisher. The voice of the river seemed unusually loud, and there wasno drone from the works. He began to go over it all, but, desisting fromsheer inability, pitched his attention on the rapids. Here, at least,was that which had no shadow of turning. Distinguishing the multitude ofnotes that lifted their booming uproar, he yielded to the sensation thathe was in the midst of them, being carried to the sea.
To-night they seemed relentless, but that again was the reflection of hismood. If he was going down, Wimperley and the rest were going with him.Finally he was able, at some command from this tumult, to disassociatehimself from the present and go back to the beginning. Retracing eachstep, he decided that, were a parallel occasion to arise, he would do thesame again. He had listened to the voice of the hills and woods andwater, rather than to the voice of Philadelphia, and this, he ultimatelyconcluded, was right. There was no time to brood or forecast the future.What his soul craved was to be persuaded that it was justified up to thishour. Only thus could he find strength for that which was yet to come.
Carrying his solitary reverie still further, he was assured that it wouldbe for him and him alone to find the way out. Wimperley and the otherswere able men as far as they went, but just as they had always loiteredbehind his imagination, so now would they be slow in deciphering theriddle in store. He had brought them in, and it would be left for him tobring others in also. Very easily he visualized what had taken place inPhiladelphia, and the group in Wimperley's office stood out quiteclearly. He felt no particular sympathy for them, nor did it appear thatthe responsibility was primarily his own because it was his brain thatconceived the whole gigantic machine. They had acted according to theirfinal judgment, so had he. With small and genuine investors the case wasdifferent, but Clark was well aware that Consolidated stock had been afavorite Pennsylvania gamble for years. As to his own employees, he knewthat the works must ultimately go on and could not go on without them.This left only himself to be considered, and at the thought thisextraordinary man smiled confidently. He was stranger to that fear whichis based on uncertainty of one's own resources.
An hour after sundown he went home and, sending for Bowers, the two sattalking earnestly. For Bowers it had been a day of vicissitude which hewas only partially competent to face. Rooted out of a small practice ina small village, and caught up in the sweep of irresistible progress, hehad never had to fight for his point. The weight and momentum Clark putbefore him were too great for that. But now every angle of theConsolidated Company seemed to offer itself for frontal attack. He putthis to his chief in justification of his own anxiety.
"It's been a matter of writs and injunctions all day. There are enoughin my office now to paper the rail mill."
"Well, why should you worry?"
Bowers glanced up with surprise. "Eh?"
"You're doing your duty, you can't do anything more. But perhaps youfeel chagrined at being associated with me in the present difficulty.You needn't expostulate,--I can quite understand it."
The lawyer turned a brick red. It was quite true. He had begun to lookon t
his calamity as one for which he and Clark were both partlyresponsible.
"If you worry--and it's quite absurd that you should--your valueautomatically decreases. Has it occurred to you that, from now on, theimportance of your position is vastly increased? We shall look to youmore than ever. I dare not worry--there's too much to be done. You wereour advisor, now you are our protector against unfair attack--andthere'll be lots of it. What's more, Bowers, you are the only one who issure of his money."
Bowers nodded. He began to feel more comfortable.
"What's going on in St. Marys?"
"Nothing much yet--they don't know what to get ready for. Filmer and therest are sending out accounts they hope to collect, a good deal ofproperty is on offer without any takers, but, at the bottom, I don'tthink the town is rattled. There's a sort of feeling that the works aretoo big to be wiped out."
Clark smiled gravely. He was aware that to the townsfolk the works hadbecome part of the landscape, and, imaginatively, not much more. Butjust as they could not contemplate the obliteration of part of thelandscape, so it was difficult to conceive permanent idleness at theworks. It was a case of the immobility of the non-speculative mind,which is lethargic in hours of exaltation but comfortably steadfast intimes of stress.
"Listen," he said earnestly. "There's an element in Ironville which maysoon have to be controlled by force; but as to St. Marys what you've gotto do is to spread the feeling that there's nothing like confidence tomaintain business. Can't you see that if your office were knee deep inwrits it doesn't affect you? You've got to remain the efficient,smoothly working, impersonal machine. So have I--and so has every onewho takes the responsibility for the actions of those of lesserintelligence. Leaving out first and second causes--we're all doing justwhat we're meant to do, and it doesn't matter who or what meant it.Wimperley and the others will be up here soon, and regard me as a crazyidealist who inveigled them into building a house of cards. The heads ofdepartments--at least some of them--will look at me and wonder how it wasthat I gave them any confidence in the future. Hundreds of creditorswill consider me personally responsible because they have to wait fortheir money, and about two thousand Poles and Hungarians will want tokill me to gratify their sense of personal injury. On top of that,ninety-nine men out of a hundred will forget all about my seven years'work, and that I started with nothing, and will point to the Consolidatedas an excellent example of misdirected energy. For a little while littlemen will smile with commiseration and say 'He did the best he could,'but," and here Clark's voice deepened, "only for a little while. Now,friend Bowers, where do I stand with you?"
Bowers got up and paced the terrace irresolutely, glancing now and thenat the motionless, gray clad figure in the wicker chair. He was suddenlyand profoundly moved. In the past he had seen but one side of Clark, andthis sudden depth of feeling was startling. He knew that if he stilltook his chief as the crowd took him, Clark would not apparently beaffected in any degree, but would only classify and finally put him awaywith his own kind.
"Don't think for a moment I'm making any appeal," went on the steadyvoice. "It really doesn't matter whether you believe in me or not.There's just one thing supremely important at the present time, which ismy belief in myself. That's my anchorage--it always has been and willbe. I don't consider that we owe each other anything, but just the sameI would like to know where you place me."
Bowers had a swift vision of what he was seven years ago, and set itagainst what he was now. Then, with full consciousness of the completeconfidence that was placed in him by Clark, he turned and held out hishand.
"I place you," he said a little jerkily, "just where you want to beplaced."
Clark merely touched the extended fingers, but his face brightened and asmile crept into his eyes.
"I thought you did, but--" he added quizzically, "I had to work to findit out, didn't I?"
Bowers nodded. He felt like a field that had been plowed so deep that itwould yield better than ever before. He reflected, too, that theexperience gained in years of success should serve well in times ofadversity.
"What's on the program?" he asked.
"The men will begin to drift in from the mines and lumber camps. Thenit's a matter of sitting tight till they're paid off."
Bowers thrust out his lips. He had seen men come in from the woods withtheir pockets full of money, and that was bad enough, but without money--!
"I've had a talk with Manson who seems good for it, and the works will beunder heavy guard. That's all we can do in the meantime. I'm going toPhiladelphia as soon as possible."
"But not at once?"
Clark smiled. "No, not at once."