"How do you do, Mr. Montague?" he said. "Did you ever know such heat? Sit down—you look done up."

"I have just seen an accident in the mills," said Montague.

"Oh!" said the other. "Too bad. But one finds that steel can't be made without accidents. We had a blast-furnace explosion the other day, and killed eight. They are mostly foreigners, though—'hunkies,' they call them."

Then Andrews pressed a button, summoning his secretary.

"Will you please bring those plans?" he said; and to Montague's surprise he proceeded to spread before him a complete copy of the old reports of the Northern Mississippi survey, together with the surveyor's original drawings.

"Did Mr. Carter let you have them?" Montague asked; and the other smiled a dry smile.

"We have them," he said. "And now the thing for you to do is to have your own surveyors go over the ground. I imagine that when you get their reports, the proposition will look very different."

These were the instructions which came in a letter from Price the next day; and with the help of Andrews Montague made the necessary arrangements, and the next night he left for New York.

He arrived upon a Friday afternoon. He found that Alice had departed for her visit to the Prentices', and that Oliver was in Newport, also. There was an invitation from Mrs. Prentice to him to join them; as Price was away, he concluded that he would treat himself to a rest, and accordingly took an early train on Saturday morning.

Montague's initiation into Society had taken place in the winter-time, and he had yet to witness its vacation activities. When Society's belles and dames had completed a season's round of dinner-parties and dances, they were more or less near to nervous prostration, and Newport was the place which they had selected to retire to and recuperate. It was an old-fashioned New England town, not far from the entrance to Long Island Sound, and from a village with several grocery shops and a tavern, it had been converted by a magic touch of Society into the most famous and expensive resort in the world. Estates had been sold there for as much as a dollar a square foot, and it was nothing uncommon to pay ten thousand a month for a "cottage."

The tradition of vacation and of the country was preserved in such terms as "cottage." You would be invited to a "lawn-party," and you would find a blaze of illumination, and potted plants enough to fill a score of green-houses, and costumes and jewelled splendour suggesting the Field of the Cloth of Gold. You would be invited to a "picnic" at Gooseberry Point, and when you went there, you would find gorgeous canopies spread overhead, and velvet carpets under foot, and scores of liveried lackeys in attendance, and every luxury one would have expected in a Fifth Avenue mansion. You would take a cab to drive to this "picnic," and it would cost you five dollars; yet you must on no account go without a cab. Even if the destination was just around the corner, a stranger would commit a breach of the proprieties if he were to approach the house on foot.

Coming to Newport as Montague did, directly from the Mississippi Steel Mills, produced the strangest possible effect upon him. He had seen the social splurge in the Metropolis, and had heard the fabulous prices that people had paid for things. But these thousands and millions had seemed mere abstractions. Now suddenly they had become personified—he had seen where they came from, where all the luxury and splendour were produced! And with every glance that he cast at the magnificence about him, he thought of the men who were toiling in the blinding heat of the blast-furnaces.

Here was the palace of the Wymans, upon the laying out of the grounds of which a half million dollars had been spent; the stone wall which surrounded it was famous upon two continents, because it had cost a hundred thousand dollars. And it was to make steel rails for the Wymans that the slaves of the mills were toiling!

Here was the palace of the Eldridge Devons, with a greenhouse which had cost one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and which merely supplied the daily needs of its owners. Here was the famous tulip tree, which had been dug up and brought a distance of fifty miles, at a cost of a thousand dollars. And Montague had seen in the making the steel for one of the great hotels of the Eldridge Devons!

And here was the Walling establishment, the "three-million-dollar palace on a desert," as Mrs. Billy Alden had described it. Montague had read of the famous mantel in its entrance hall, made from Pompeiian marble, and costing seventy-five thousand dollars. And the Wallings were the railroad kings who transported Mississippi Steel!

And from that his thoughts roamed on to the slaves of other mills, to the men and women and little children shut up to toil in shops and factories and mines for these people who flaunted their luxury about him. They had come here from every part of the country, with their millions drawn from every kind of labour. Here was the great white marble palace of the Johnsons—the ceilings, floors, and walls of its state apartments had all been made in France; its fences and gates, even its locks and hinges, had been made from special designs by famous artists. The Johnsons were lords of railroads and coal, and ruled the state of West Virginia with a terrible hand. The courts and the legislature were but branches of old Johnson's office, and Montague knew of mining villages which were owned outright by the Company, and were like stockaded forts; the wretched toilers could not buy so much as a pint of milk outside of the Company store, and even the country doctor could not enter the gates without a pass.

And beyond that was the home of the Warfields, whose fortune came from great department stores, in which young girls worked for two dollars and a half a week, and eked out their existence by prostitution. And this was the summer that Warfield's youngest daughter was launched, and for her debutante dance they built a ballroom which cost thirty thousand dollars—and was torn down the day afterwards!

And beyond this, upon the cliffs, was the castle of the Mayers, whose fortunes came from coal.—Montague thought of the young man who had invented the device for the automatic weighing of coal as it was loaded upon steam-ships. Major Venable had hinted to him that the reason the Coal Trust would not consider it, was because they were selling short weight; and since then he had investigated the story, and learned that this was true, and that it was old Mayer himself who had devised the system. And here was his palace, and here were his sons and daughters—among the most haughty and exclusive of Society's entertainers!

So you might drive down the streets and point out the mansions and call the roll of the owners—kings of oil and steel and railroads and mines! Here everything was beauty and splendour. Here were velvet lawns and gardens of rare flowers, and dancing and feasting and merriment. It seemed very far from the sordid strife of commerce, from poverty and toil and death. But Montague carried with him the sight that he had seen in the plate-mill, the misty blur about the whirling shaft, and the shrouded form upon the stretcher, dripping blood.

* * *

He was so fortunate as to meet Alice and her friends upon the street, and he drove with them to the bathing beach which Society had purchased and maintained for its own exclusive use. The first person he saw here was Reggie Mann, who came and took possession of Alice. Reggie would not swim himself, because he did not care to exhibit his spindle legs; he was watching with disapproving eye the antics of Harry Percy, his dearest rival. Percy was a man about forty years of age, a cotillion-leader by profession; and he caused keen delight to the spectators upon the beach by wearing a monocle in the water.

They had lunch at the Casino, and then went for a sail in the Prentices' new racing yacht. It was estimated just at this time that there was thirty millions' worth of steam and sailing pleasure- craft in Newport harbour, and the bay was a wonderful sight that afternoon.

They came back rather early, however, as Alice had an engagement for a drive at six o'clock, and it was necessary for her to change her costume before she went. It was necessary to change it again before dinner, which was at eight o'clock; and Montague learned upon inquiry that it was customary to make five or six such changes during the day. The great ladies of Society were adepts in this art, and prided themselves upon the perfect system which enabled them to accomplish it.

All of Montague's New York acquaintances were here in their splendour: Miss Yvette Simpkins, with her forty trunks of new Paris costumes; Mrs. Billy Alden, who had just launched an aristocratic and exclusive bridge-club for ladies; Mrs. Winnie Duval, who had created a sensation by the rumour of her intention to introduce the simple life at Newport; and Mrs. Vivie Patton, whose husband had committed suicide as the only means of separating her from her Count.

It chanced to be the evening of Mrs. Landis's long-expected dinner-dance. When you went to the Landis mansion, you drove directly into the building, which had a court so large that a coach and four could drive around it. The entire ground floor was occupied by what were said to be the most elaborately equipped stables in the world. Your horses vanished magically through sliding doors at one side, and your carriage at the other side, and in front of you was the entrance to the private apartments, with liveried flunkies standing in state.

There were five tables at this dinner, each seating ten persons. There was a huge floral umbrella for the centrepiece, and an elaborate colour effect in flowers. During the dance, screens were put up concealing this end of the ballroom, and when they were removed sometime after midnight, the tables were found set for the supper, with an entirely new scenic effect.

They danced until broad daylight; Montague was told of parties at which the guests had adjourned in the morning to play tennis. All these people would be up by nine or ten o'clock the next day, and he would see them in the shops and at the bathing beach before noon. And this was Society's idea of "resting" from the labours of the winter season!

After the supper Montague was taken in charge by Mrs. Caroline Smythe, the lady who had once introduced him to her cats and dogs. Mrs. Smythe had become greatly interested in Mrs. Winnie's anti-vivisection crusade, and told him all about it while they strolled out upon the loggia of the Landis palace, and stood and watched the sunrise over the bay.

"Do you see that road back of us?" said Mrs. Smythe. "That is the one the Landises have just succeeded in closing. I suppose you've heard the story."

"No," said Montague, "I haven't heard it."

"It's the joke of Newport," said the lady. "They had to buy up the town council to do it. There was a sight-seers' bus that used to drive up that road every day, and the driver would rein up his horses and stand up and point with his whip.

"'This, ladies and gentlemen,' he'd say, 'is the home of the Landises, and just beyond there is the home of the Joneses. Once upon a time Mr. Smith had a wife and got tired of her, and Mr. Jones had a wife and got tired of her; so they both got divorces and exchanged, and now Mrs. Smith is living in Mr. Jones's house, and Mrs. Jones is living in Mr. Smith's. Giddap!'"



CHAPTER XIII



Alice was up early the next morning to go to church with Harry Curtiss, but Montague, who had really come to rest, was later in arising. Afterwards he took a stroll through the streets, watching the people. He was met by Mrs. De Graffenried, who, after her usual fashion, invited him to come round to lunch. He went, and met about forty other persons who had been invited in the same casual way, including his brother Ollie—and to his great consternation, Ollie's friend, Mr. Gamble!

Gamble was clad in a spotless yachting costume, which produced a most comical effect upon his expansive person. He greeted Montague with his usual effusiveness. "How do you do, Mr. Montague—how do you do?" he said. "I've been hearing about you since I met you last."

"In what way?" asked Montague.

"I understand that you have gone with the Mississippi Steel Company," said Gamble.

"After a fashion," the other assented.

"You want to be careful—you are dealing with a smooth crowd! Smoother even than the men in the Trust, I fancy." And the little man added, with a twinkle in his eye: "I'm accustomed to say there are two kinds of rascals in the oil business; there are the rascals who found they could rely upon each other, and they are in the Trust; and there are the rascals the devil himself couldn't rely upon, and they're the independents. I ought to know what I'm talking about, because I was an independent myself."

Mr. Gamble chuckled gleefully over this witticism, which was evidently one which he relied upon for the making of conversation. "How do you do, Captain?" he said, to a man who was passing. "Mr. Montague, let me introduce my friend Captain Gill."

Montague turned and faced a tall and dignified-looking naval officer. "Captain Henry Gill, of the Allegheny."

"How do you, Mr. Montague?" said the Captain.

"Oliver Montague's brother," added Gamble, by way of further introduction. And then, espying someone else coming whom he knew, he waddled off down the room, leaving Montague in conversation with the officer.

Captain Gill was in command of one of the half-dozen vessels which the government obligingly sent to assist in maintaining the gaieties of the Newport season. He was an excellent dancer, and a favourite with the ladies, and an old crony of Mrs. De Graffenried's. "Have you known Mr. Gamble long?" he asked, by way of making conversation.

"I met him once before," said Montague. "My brother knows him."

"Ollie seems to be a great favourite of his," said the Captain. "Queer chap."

Montague assented readily.

"I met him in Brooklyn," continued the other, seeming to feel that acquaintance with Gamble called for explanation. "He was quite chummy with the officers at the Navy Yard. Retired millionaires don't often fall in their way."

"I should imagine not," said Montague, smiling. "But I was surprised to meet him here."

"You'd meet him in heaven," said the other, with a laugh, "if he made up his mind that he wanted to go there. He is a good-natured personage; but I can tell you that anyone who thinks that Gamble doesn't know what he's about will make a sad mistake."

Montague thought of this remark at lunch, where he sat at table on the opposite side to Gamble. Next to him sat Vivie Fatten, who made the little man the victim of her raillery. It was not particularly delicate wit, but Gamble was tough, and took it all with a cheerful grin.

He was a mystery which Montague could not solve. To be sure he was rich, and spent his money like water; but then there was no scarcity of money in this crowd. Montague found himself wondering whether he was there because Mrs. De Graffenried and her friends liked to have somebody they could snub and wipe their feet upon. His eye ran down the row of people sitting at the table, and the contrast between them and Gamble was an amusing one. Mrs. De Graffenried was fond of the society of young people, and most of her guests were of the second or even the third generation. The man from Pittsburg seemed to be the only one there who had made his own money, and who bore the impress of the money struggle upon him. Montague smiled at the thought. He seemed the very incarnation of the spirit of oil; he was gross and unpleasant, while in the others the oil had been refined to a delicate perfume. Yet somehow he seemed the most human person there. No doubt he was crudely egotistical; and yet, if he was interested in himself, he was also interested in other people, while among Mrs. De Graffenried's intimates it was a sign of vulgarity to be interested in anything.

He seemed to have taken quite a fancy to Montague, for reasons best known to himself. He came up to him again, after the luncheon. "This is the first time you've been here, Oliver tells me," said he.

Montague assented, and the other added: "You'd better come and let me show you the town. I have my car here."

Montague had no engagement, and no excuse handy. "It's very good of you—" he began.

"All right," said Gamble. "Come on."

And he took him out and seated him in his huge red touring-car, which had a seat expressly built for its owner, not too deep, and very low, so that his fat little legs would reach the floor.

Gamble settled back in the cushions with a sigh. "Rum sort of a place this, ain't it?" said he.

"It's interesting for a short visit," said Montague.

"You can count me out of it," said the other. "I like to spend my summers in a place where I can take my coat off. And I prefer beer to champagne in hot weather, anyhow."

Montague did not reply.

"Such an ungodly lot of snobs a fellow does meet!" remarked his host, cheerily. "They have a fine time making fun of me—it amuses them, and I don't mind. Sometimes it does make you mad, though; you feel you'd like to make them swallow you, anyway. But then you think, What's the use of going after something you don't want, just because other people say you can't have it?"

It was on Montague's lips to ask, "Then why do you come here?" But he forbore.

The car sped on down the stately driveway, and his companion proceeded to point out the mansions and the people, and to discuss them in his own peculiar style.

"See that yellow brick house in there," said he. "That belongs to Allis, the railroad man. He used to live in Pittsburg, and I remember him thirty years ago, when he had one carriage for his three babies, and pushed them himself, by thunder. He was glad to borrow money from me then, but now he looks the other way when I go by.

"Allis used to be in the steel business six or eight years ago," Gamble continued, reminiscently. "Then he sold out—it was the real beginning of the forming of the Steel Trust. Did you ever hear that story?"

"Not that I know of," said Montague.

"Well," said the other, "if you are going to match yourself against the Steel crowd, it's a good idea to know about them. Did you ever meet Jim Stagg?"

"The Wall Street plunger?" asked Montague. "He's a mere name to me."

"His last exploit was to pull off a prize fight in one of the swell hotels in New York, and one nigger punched the other through a plate-glass mirror. Stagg comes from the wild West, you know, and he's wild as they make 'em—my God, I could tell you some stories about him that'd make your hair stand up! Perhaps you remember some time ago he raided Tennessee Southern in the market and captured it; and old Waterman testified that he took it away from him because he didn't consider he was a fit man to own it. As a matter of fact, that was just pure bluff, for Waterman uses him in little jobs like that all the time.—Well, six or eight years ago, Stagg owned a big steel plant out West; and there was a mill in Indiana, belonging to Allis, that interfered with their business. One time Stagg and some of his crowd had been on a spree for several days, and late one night they got to talking about Allis. 'Let's buy the——out,' said Stagg, so they ordered a special and a load of champagne, and away they went to the city in Indiana. They got to Allis's house about four o'clock in the morning, and they rang the bell and banged on the door, and after a while the butler came, half awake.

"'Is Allis in?' asked Stagg, and before the fellow could answer, the whole crowd pushed into the hall, and Stagg stood at the foot of the stairs and roared—he's got a voice like a bull, you know—'Allis, Allis, come down here!'

"Allis came to the head of the stairs in his nightshirt, half frightened to death.

"'Allis, we want to buy your steel plant,' said Stagg.

"'Buy my steel plant!' gasped Allis.

"'Sure, buy it outright! Spot cash! We'll pay you five hundred thousand for it.'

"'But it cost me over twelve hundred thousand,' said Allis.

"'Well, then, we'll pay you twelve hundred thousand,' said Stagg—'God damn you, we'll pay you fifteen hundred thousand!'

"'My plant isn't for sale,' said Allis.

"'We'll pay you two million!' shouted Stagg.

"'It isn't for sale, I tell you.'

"'We'll pay you two million and a half! Come on down here!'

"'Do you mean that?' gasped Allis. He could hardly credit his ears.

"'Come downstairs and I'll write you a check!' said Stagg. And so they hauled him down, and they bought his mill. Then they opened some more champagne, and Allis began to get good-natured, too.

"'There's only one thing the matter with my mill,' said he, 'and that's Jones's mill over in Harristown. The railroads give him rebates, and he undersells me.'

"'Well, damn his soul,' said Stagg, 'we'll have his mill, too.'

"And so they bundled into their special again, and about six o'clock in the morning they got to Harristown, and they bought another mill. And that started them, you know. They'd never had such fun in their lives before. It seems that Stagg had just cleaned up ten or twelve millions on a big Wall Street plunge, and they blew in every dollar, buying steel mills—and paying two or three prices for every one, of course."

Gamble paused and chuckled to himself. "What I'm telling you is the story that Stagg told me," said he. "And of course you've got to make allowances. He said he had no idea of what Dan Waterman had been planning, but I fancy that was a lie. Harrison of Pittsburg had been threatening to build a railroad of his own, and take away his business from Waterman's roads, and so there was nothing for Waterman to do but buy him out at three times what his mills were worth. He took the mills that Stagg had bought at the same time. Stagg had paid two or three prices, and Waterman paid him a couple of prices more, and then he passed them on to the American people for a couple of prices more than that."

Gamble paused. "That's where they get these fortunes," he added, waving his fat little hand. "Sometimes it makes a fellow laugh to think of it. Every concern they bought was overcapitalised to begin with; I doubt if two hundred million dollars' worth of honest dollars was ever put into the Steel Trust properties, and they capitalised it at a billion, and now they've raised it to a billion and a half! The men who pulled it off made hundreds of millions, and the poor public that bought the common stock saw it go down to six! They gave old Harrison a four-hundred-million-dollar mortgage on the property, and he sits back and grins, and wonders why a man can't die poor!"

Gamble's car was opposite one of the clubs. Suddenly he signalled his chauffeur to stop.

"Hello, Billy!" he called; and a young naval officer who was walking down the steps turned and came toward him.

"What have you been doing with yourself?" said Gamble. "Mr. Montague, my friend Lieutenant Long, of the Engineers. Where are you going, Billy?"

"Nowhere in particular," said the officer.

"Get in," said Gamble, pointing to the vacant seat between them. "I am showing Mr. Montague the town."

The other climbed in, and they went on. "The Lieutenant has just come up from Brooklyn," he continued. "Lively times we had in Brooklyn, didn't we, Billy? Tell me what you have been doing lately."

"I'm working hard," said the Lieutenant—"studying."

"Studying here in Newport?" laughed Gamble.

"That's easy enough when you belong to the Engineers," said the other. "We are working-men, and they don't want us at their balls."

"By the way, Gamble," he added, after a moment, "I was looking for you. I want you to help me."

"Me?" said Gamble.

"Yes," said the other. "I have just had notice from the Department that I am one of a board of five that has been appointed to draw up specifications for machine oil for the Navy."

"What can I do about it?" asked Gamble.

"I want you to help me draw them up."

"But I don't know anything about machine oil."

"You cannot possibly know less than I do," said the Lieutenant. "Surely, if you have been in the oil business, you can give me some sort of an idea about machine oil."

Gamble thought for a minute. "I might try," he said. "But would it be the proper thing for me to do? Of course, I'm out of the business myself; but I have friends who might bid for the contract."

"Well, your friends can take their chances with the rest," said the Lieutenant. "I am a friend, too, hang it. And how in the world am I to find out anything about oil?"

Gamble was silent again. "Well, I'll do what I can for you," he said, finally. "I'll write out what I know about the qualities of good oil, and you can use it as you think best."

"All right," said the Lieutenant, with relief.

"But you'll have to agree to say nothing about it," said Gamble. "It's a delicate matter, you understand."

"You may trust me for that," said the other, laughing. So the subject was dropped, and they went on with their ride.

Half an hour later Gamble set Montague down, at General Prentice's door, and he bade them farewell and went in.

The General was coming down the stairs. "Hello, Allan," he said. "Where have you been?"

"Seeing the place a little," said Montague.

"Come into the drawing-room," said the General. "There's a man in there you ought to know.

"One of the brainiest newspaper men in Wall Street," he added, as he went across the hall,—"the financial man of the Express."

Montague entered the room and was introduced to a powerfully built and rather handsome young fellow, who had not so long ago been centre-rush upon a famous football team. "Well, Bates," said the General, "what are you after now?"

"I'm trying to get the inside story of the failure of Grant and Ward," said Bates. "I supposed you'd know about it, if anyone did."

"I know about it," said the General, "but the circumstances are such that I'm not free to tell—at least, not for publication. I'll tell you privately, if you want to know."

"No," said Bates, "I'd rather you didn't do that; I can find it out somehow."

"Did you come all the way to Newport to see me?" asked the General.

"Oh, no, not entirely," said Bates. "I'm to get an interview with Wyman about the new bond issue of his road. What do you think of the market, General?"

"Things look bad to me," said Prentice. "It's a good time to reef sail."

Then Bates turned to Montague. "I think I passed you a while ago in the street," he said pleasantly. "You were with James Gamble, weren't you?"

"Yes," said Montague. "Do you know him?"

"Bates knows everybody," put in the General; "that's his specialty."

"I happen to know Gamble particularly well," said Bates. "I have a brother in his office in Pittsburg. What in the world do you suppose he is doing in Newport?"

"Just seeing the world, so he told me," said Montague. "He has nothing to do since his company sold out."

"Sold out!" echoed Bates. "What do you mean?"

"Why, the Trust has bought him out," said Montague.

The other stared at him. "What makes you think that?" he asked.

"He told me so himself," was the answer.

"Oh!" laughed the other. "Then it's just some dodge that he's up to!"

"You think he hasn't sold?"

"I don't think it, I know it," said Bates. "At any rate, he hadn't sold three days ago. I had a letter from my brother saying that they were expecting to land a big oil contract with the government that would put them on Easy Street for the next five years!"

Montague said no more. But he did some thinking. Experience had sharpened his wits, and by this time he knew a clew when he met it. A while later, when Bates had gone and his brother had come in with Alice, he got Oliver off in a corner and demanded, "How much are you to get out of that oil contract?"

The other stared at him in consternation. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed. "Did he tell you about it?"

"He told me some things," said Montague, "and I guessed the rest."

Oliver was watching him anxiously. "See here, Allan," he said, "you'll keep quiet about it!"

"I imagine I will," said the other. "It's none of my business, that I can see."

Then suddenly Oliver broke into a smile of amusement. "Say, Allan!" he exclaimed. "He's a clever dog, isn't he!"

"Very clever," admitted the other.

"He's been after that thing for six months, you know—and just as smooth and quiet! It's about the slickest game I ever heard of!"

"But how could he know what officers were to make out those specifications?"

"Oh, that's easy," said the other. "That was the beginning of the whole thing. They got a tip that the contract was to be let, and they had no trouble in finding out the names of the officers. That kind of thing is common, you know; the bureaus in Washington are rotten."

"I see," said Montague.

"Gamble's company is in a bad way," Oliver continued. "The Trust just about had it in a corner. But Gamble saw this chance, and he staked everything on it."

"But what's his idea?" asked the other. "What good will it do him to write the specifications?"

"There are five officers," said Oliver, "and he's been laying siege to every one of them. So now they are all his intimate friends, and every one of them has come to him for help! So there will go into Washington five sets of specifications, all different, but each containing one essential point. You see, Gamble's company has a peculiar kind of oil; it contains some ingredient or other—he told me the name, but I don't remember it now. It doesn't make it any better oil, and it doesn't make it any worse; but it's different from any other oil in the world. And now, don't you see—whatever other requirements are specified, this one quality will surely appear; and there will be only one company in the world that can bid. Of course they will name their own figure, and get a five-year contract."

"I see," said Montague, drily. "It's a beautiful scheme. And how much do you get out of it?"

"He paid me ten thousand at the start," said Oliver; "and I am to get five per cent of the first year's contract, whatever that may be. Gamble says his bid won't be less than half a million, so you see it was worth while!"

And Oliver chuckled to himself. "He's going home to-morrow," he added. "So my job is done. I'll probably never see him again—until his four prize daughters get ready for the market!"



CHAPTER XIV



Montague returned to New York and plunged into his work. The election at which he was scheduled to become president of the Northern Mississippi was not to come off for a month. Meantime there was no lack of work for him to do. It would, of course, be necessary for him to return to Mississippi to live, and he had to close up his affairs in New York. Also he wished to fit himself for the work of superintending a railroad. Through the courtesy of General Prentice, he was introduced to the president of one of the great transcontinental lines, and made a study of that official's office system. He went South again to inspect the work of the surveyors, and to consult with the engineers who had been selected for the work.

Price went ahead with his arrangements to take over the control of the road, without paying any attention to the old management. He sent for Montague one day, and introduced him to a Mr. Haskins, who was to be elected vice-president of the road. Haskins, he said, had formerly been general manager of the Tennessee Southern, and was a practical railroad man. Montague was to rely upon him for all the details of his work.

Haskins was a wiry, nervous little man, with a bad temper and a sarcastic tongue; he worshipped the gospel of efficiency, and in the consultations with him Montague got many curious lights upon the management of railroads. He learned, for instance, that a conspicuous item in the construction account was the money to be used in paying local government boards for right of way through towns and villages. Apparently no one even considered the possibility of securing the privilege by any other methods. Montague did not like the prospect, but he said nothing. Then again, the road was to purchase its rails and other necessaries from the Mississippi Steel Company, and apparently it was expected to pay a fancy price for these; it was not to ask for any of the discounts which were customary. Also Montague was troubled to learn that the secretary and treasurer of the road were to receive liberal salaries, and that no questions were to be asked, because they were relatives of Price.

All that he put up with; but matters came to a head about ten days before the election, when one day Haskins came to his office with the engineers' estimates, and with his own figures of the probable cost of the extension. Most of the figures were much higher than those which Montague had worked out for himself.

"We ought to do better on those contracts," he said, pointing to some of the items.

"I dare say we might," said Haskins; "but those contracts are to go to the Hill Manufacturing Company."

"I don't understand you," said Montague; "I thought that we were to advertise for bids."

"Yes," replied Haskins, "but that company is to get the contracts, all the same."

"You mean," asked Montague, "that we are not to give them to the lowest bidder?"

"I'm afraid not," said the other.

"Has Price said anything to you to that effect?"

"He has."

"But I don't understand," said Montague; "what is this Hill Manufacturing Company?"

And Haskins smiled. "It's a concern that Price has organised himself," he said.

Montague stared in amazement. "Price himself!" he gasped.

"His nephew is president of the company," added the other.

"Is it a new company?" Montague asked.

"Organised especially for the purpose," smiled the other.

"And what does it manufacture?"

"It doesn't manufacture anything; it simply sells."

"In other words," said Montague, "it's a device whereby Mr. Price proposes to rob the stockholders of the Northern Mississippi Railroad?"

"You can phrase it that way if you choose," said Haskins, quietly; "but I wouldn't advise you to let Price hear you."

"I thank you," responded Montague, and brought the interview to an end.

He took a day to think the matter over. It was not his habit to act upon impulse. He saw that the time had come for him to speak, but he wished to be sure of his course of action before he began. He had dinner at the Club that evening, and, seeing his friend Major Venable ensconced in a big leather chair in the reading-room, he went and sat down beside him.

"How do you do, Major?" he said. "I've got another case that I want to ask you some questions about."

"Always at your service," said the Major.

"It has to do with a railroad," said Montague. "Did you ever hear of such a thing as a railroad president organising a company to sell supplies to his own road?"

The Major smiled grimly. "Yes, I have heard of it," he said.

"Is it common?" asked Montague.

"Not so common as you might suppose," answered the other. "A railroad president is commonly not an important enough man to be permitted to do it. If it happens to be a big road, and the president is a power in it, why, then he may do it."

"I see," said Montague.

"That was Higgins's trick," said the Major. "Higgins used to go around making speeches to Sunday schools; he was the kind of man that the newspapers like to refer to as a model citizen and a leader of enterprise. His brothers, and his brothers-in-law, and his cousins, and all his family went into business in order to sell things to his railroads. I heard of one story—it has never come out, but it's very amusing. Every year the road would advertise its contract for stationery. It used about a million dollars' worth, and there'd be long and most elaborate specifications published—columns and columns. But sandwiched away somewhere in the middle of a paragraph was the provision that the paper must all bear a certain watermark; and that watermark was patented by one of Higgins's companies! It didn't even own so much as a mill—it sublet all the contracts. When Higgins died, he left eighty million dollars; but they juggled the records, and you read in all the newspapers that he left 'a few millions.' That was in Philadelphia, where you can do such things."

Montague sat thinking for a few moments. "But I can't see why they should do it in this case," he said. "The men who are doing it own nearly all of the stock of the road."

"What difference does that make?" asked the Major.

"Why, they are simply plundering their own property," said Montague.

"Tut!" was the reply. "What do they care about the value of the property? They'll unload it before the public finds out; and in the meantime they are probably manipulating the stock. That's the scheme they're working with the street railroads over in Brooklyn, for instance; the more irregular the dividends are, the more violently the stock fluctuates, and the better they like it."

"But this is the case of a railroad that is being built," said Montague; "and they are putting up the money to build it."

"Yes," said the Major, "of course; and then they are paying it back to themselves by this dodge; and they'll still have the stock, and whatever they can get for it will be profit. And if the State Legislature comes along and asks any impertinent questions, they can open their books and say: 'See, we have spent this much for improvements. This is the cost of the road; and if you reduce our freight-rates, you will cut off our dividends and confiscate our property.'"

And the Major gazed at Montague with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "Besides," he said, "another thing. You say they are putting up the money. Are you sure it's their own money? Commonly the greater part of the cost of railroad building is paid by bonds, and they work those bonds off on banks and insurance companies and trust companies. Have you thought of that?"

"No, I hadn't," said Montague.

"I know very few men in Wall Street who use their own money," the Major added. "Take the case of Wyman, for instance. Wyman's railroad keeps a cash surplus of twenty or thirty millions, and Wyman uses that in Wall Street. And when he has made his profit, he takes it and salts it away in village improvement bonds all over the country. Do you see?"

"I see," said Montague. "It's a bad game for the small stockholder."

"It's a bad game for the small man of any sort," said the Major. "When I was young, I can remember, a man would save a little money and put it into an enterprise of some sort, and whatever the profits were, he would get his share of them. But now, you see, the big men have got control, and they are greedier than they used to be. There is nothing hurts them so much as to see the little fellow get any share of the profits, and they've all sorts of schemes for doing him out of it. I could take a week off and tell you about them. You are manufacturing soap, we will say. You find there are too many soap manufacturers and too much soap, and so you propose to combine, and put your rivals out of business, and monopolise the soap market. Your properties are already capitalised at twice what they cost you, because you are naturally hopeful, and that is what you expected they would earn; but now for this new combination you issue stock to the amount of three times this imagined value. Then you fill the street with rumours of the wonders of your soap combination, and all the privileges and monopolies that you've got, and you unload your stock on the public, we'll say at eighty. You may have sold all your stock, but you've still got control of the corporation. The public is helpless and unorganised, and your men are in. Then the Street begins to hear disturbing rumours about the soap trust, and your board of directors meet and declare that it is impossible to pay any dividends. There is great indignation among the stockholders, and an opposition is organised, but you set the clock an hour ahead, and elect your ticket before the other fellow comes around. Or perhaps the troubles have already knocked the stock down sufficiently low to satisfy you, and you buy a majority of it back. Then the public hears that a new interest has purchased the soap trust, and that a new and honest administration is to be elected; and once more there is hope for soap. You buy a few more plants, and issue more stocks and bonds, and soap begins to boom, and you sell once more. You can work that regularly every two or three years, for there is always a new crop of investors, and nobody but a few people in Wall Street can possibly keep track of what you are doing."

The Major paused for a while, and sat with a happy smile on his countenance. "You see," he said, "there are floods and floods of wealth, pouring into Wall Street from all over the country. It comes to me like a vision. The crops are growing, the mines and the mills and the factories are working, and here is all the money. People don't like to take it and hide it up their chimneys—few people have chimneys nowadays. They want to invest it; and so you prepare investments for them. Take the street railroads here in New York, for instance. What could be a safer investment than the street railroads of the Metropolis? An absolute monopoly, and traffic growing so fast that construction can't keep up with it. Profits are sure. So people buy street railway stocks and bonds. In this case it's the politicians who organise the construction companies; that's their share, in return for the franchises. The insiders have a new scheme—the best yet; it's like a Gatling gun against bows and arrows. They organise a syndicate, and get the franchises for nothing, and then sell them to the company for millions. They've even sold franchises they didn't own, and railroad lines that hadn't been built. You'll find some improvements charged for four or five times over, and the improvements haven't yet been made. First and last they have paid themselves about thirty million dollars. And, in the meantime, the poor stockholder wonders why he doesn't get his dividends!"

"That's the investment market," the Major continued after a pause; "but of course the biggest reservoirs of wealth are the insurance companies and the banks. It's there the real fortunes are made; you'll find you lose the greater part of your profits, unless you've got your own banks to take your bonds. I heard an amusing story the other day of a man who was manufacturing electrical supplies. He prides himself on being an honest business man, and having nothing to do with Wall Street. His company wanted to extend its business, and it issued a couple of hundred thousand dollars' worth of bonds, and went to the Fidelity Insurance Company and offered them at ninety. 'We aren't buying any bonds just at present,' said they, 'but suppose you try the National Trust Company.' So the man went there, and they offered him eighty for the bonds. That was the best he could do, and in the end he had to take it. And then the trust company turns the bonds over to the insurance company at par. I could name you half a dozen trust companies in New York that are simply syndicates of insurance people for the working of that little game."

The Major paused. "You see it?" he asked.

"Yes, I see," Montague replied.

"Is there a trust company by any chance back of this railroad you are talking of?"

"There is," said Montague; and the Major shrugged his shoulders.

"There you have it," he said. "By and by they will find their first bond issue inadequate to meet the cost of the proposed improvements. The estimates of the engineers will be found too low, and there will be another issue of bonds, and your president's company will get another contract. And then the first thing you know, your president will organise a manufacturing enterprise along the line of his road, and the road will give him secret rebates, and practically carry his goods free; or else he'll organise a private-car line, and make the road pay for the privilege of hauling his cars. Or perhaps he's already got some industrial concern, and is simply building the road as a side issue."

The Major stopped. He saw that Montague was staring at him with an expression of perplexity.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Good heavens, Major!" exclaimed the other. "Do you know what road I've been talking about?"

And the Major sank back in his chair and went into a fit of laughter. He laughed until he was purple in the face, and he could hardly find breath to speak.

"I really thought you did!" Montague protested. "It's exactly the situation."

"Oh, dear me!" said the Major, fishing for his pocket handkerchief to wipe the tears from his eyes. "Dear me! It makes me think of our district attorney's lemon story. Did you ever hear it?"

"No," said Montague, "I never did."

"It was one of the bright spots in a dreary reform campaign that we had a few years ago. It seems that our young crusader was giving his audience a few illustrations of how dishonest officials could make money in this city.

"'Let us imagine a case,' he said. 'You are an inspector of fruit, and there is a scarcity of lemons in New York. There are two ships full of lemons on the way, and one ship gets in twenty-four hours ahead. Now the law requires that the fruit be carefully inspected. If you are too careful about it, it will take more than twenty-four hours, and the owner of the cargo will lose a small fortune. So he comes to you and offers you a thousand or two, and you don't stop to open every crate of his lemons.'

"The district attorney told that story at a meeting, and the next morning the newspapers published it. That afternoon he happened to meet a fruit inspector, who was an old friend of his. 'Say, old man,' said the inspector, 'who the devil told you about those lemons?'"

The next morning Montague called at Price's office.

"Mr. Price," he said, "a matter has come up in my discussions with Mr. Haskins about which I thought it necessary to consult you immediately."

"What is it?" asked Price.

"Mr. Haskins informs me that it is understood that the Hill Manufacturing Company is to be favoured in the matter of contracts."

Montague was watching Price narrowly, and he saw his jaw set grimly, and a hostile look come upon his features. Price had been lounging back in his chair; now, slowly, he straightened himself up, as if to receive an attack.

"Well?" he asked.

"Is Mr. Haskins correct?" asked the other.

"He is correct."

"He also stated that you are interested in the company. Is that true?"

"That is true."

"He also stated that the company did not manufacture, but simply sold. Is that true?"

"Yes, that is true."

"Very well, Mr. Price," said Montague. "This is a matter about which we must have an understanding without delay. In my preliminary talks with you I was informed that it was your wish to find a man who should run the road honestly. The situation which you have just outlined to me does not seem to me consistent with that programme."

Montague was prepared for an angry response, but he saw the other make an effort and control himself.

"You must realise, Mr. Montague," he said, "that you are not very familiar with methods in the railroad world. This company of which you speak possesses advantages; it can secure better terms—" Price stopped.

"You mean that it can purchase goods more cheaply than the railroad itself can?" demanded Montague.

"In some cases," began the other.

"Very well, then," he answered. "In any case where it can obtain better terms, there can be no objection to its receiving the contract. But that does not agree with what Mr. Haskins told me; he gave me to understand that we were to prepare to pay a much higher price because it would be necessary to give the contracts to the Hill Manufacturing Company; and that was my reason for coming to see you. I wish to have a distinct understanding with you upon this point. While I am president of the Northern Mississippi Railroad, everything that is purchased by the road will be purchased in fair competition, and the concern which will give us the lowest price for the quality of goods we need will receive our order. That is a matter about which there must be left no possible room for misunderstanding. I trust I have made myself clear?"

"You have made yourself clear," said Price; and so the interview terminated.



CHAPTER XV



Montague went back to his work, but with a heart full of misgivings. He would have liked to persuade himself that that was the end of the episode, but he could not do it. He foresaw that his job as president of a railroad would not be a sinecure.

With all his forebodings, however, he was unprepared for the development which came the next day. Young Curtiss called him up, early in the morning, and asked him to wait at his office. A few minutes later he came in, with evident agitation upon his countenance.

"Montague," he said, "I have something important to tell you. I cannot leave you in ignorance about it. But before I begin, you must understand one thing—that I am taking my future in my hands by telling you. And you must promise me that you will never give the slightest hint that I have spoken to you."

"I will promise," said Montague. "What is it?"

"You must not even let on that you know," added the other. "Price would know that I told you."

"Oh, it's Price!" said Montague. "I'll promise to protect you. What is it?"

"He called up Davenant yesterday afternoon, and told him that you were not to be elected president of the road."

Montague gazed at him in dismay.

"He says you are to be dropped entirely," said the other. "Haskins is to be president. Davenant had to tell me, because I am one of the directors."

"So that's it," Montague whispered to himself.

"Do you know what's the matter?" asked Curtiss.

"Yes, I do," said Montague.

"What is it?"

"It's a long story—just some graft that I wouldn't stand for."

"Oh!" cried Curtiss, with sudden light. "Is it the Hill Manufacturing Company?"

"It is," said Montague.

It was Curtiss's turn to stare in amazement. "My God!" he gasped. "Do you mean that you have thrown up the sponge for that?"

"I haven't thrown up the sponge, by any means," was the answer. "But that's why Price wants to get rid of me."

"But, man!" cried the other. "How perfectly absurd!"

Montague fixed his glance upon him.

"Would you advise me to stand for it?" he asked.

"But, my dear fellow!" said Curtiss. "I've got some stock in that company myself."

Montague sat in silence—he could think of nothing to say after that.

"What in the world do you suppose you have gone into?" protested the other. "A charity enterprise?" Then he stopped, seeing the look of pain upon his friend's face.

He put a hand upon his arm. "See here, old, man," he said, "this is too bad, honestly. I understand how you feel, and it's a great credit to you; but you are living in the world, and you have got to be practical. You can't expect to take a railroad and run it as if it were an orphan asylum. You can't expect to do business, if you're going to have notions like that. It's really a shame, to give up a work like this for such a reason."

Montague stiffened. "I assure you I haven't given up yet," he replied grimly.

"But what are you going to do?" protested the other.

"I am going to fight," said he.

"Fight?" echoed Curtiss. "But, man, you are perfectly helpless! Price and Ryder own the road, and they will do as they please with it."

"You are one of the directors of the road," said Montague. "And you know the situation. You know the pledges upon which the election of the new board was secured. Will you vote for Haskins as president?"

"My God, Montague!" protested the other. "What a thing to ask of me! You know perfectly well that I have no power in the road. All the stock I own, Price gave me, and what can I do? Why, my whole career would be ruined if I were to oppose him."

"In other words," said Montague, "you are a dummy. You are willing to sell your name and your character for a block of stock. You take a position of trust, and you betray it."

The other's face hardened. "Oh, well," he said, "if that's the way you put it—"

"That's not the way I put it!" said Montague. "That is simply the fact."

"But," cried the other, "don't you realise that they have a majority, even without me?"

"Perhaps they have," said Montague; "but that is no reason why you should not do what is right."

Curtiss arose. "There is nothing more to be said," he remarked. "I am sorry you take it that way. I tried to do you a service."

"I appreciate that," said Montague, promptly. "For that I shall always be obliged to you."

"In this fight that you propose to make," said the other, "you must not forget that it is I who have brought you this information—"

"Do not trouble about that," said Montague; "I will protect you. No one shall ever know that I had the information."

Montague spent a half an hour pacing up and down his office in thought. Then he called his stenographer, and dictated a letter to his cousin, Mr. Lee, and to each of the three other persons whom he had approached in relation to their votes at the stockholders' meeting. "Certain matters have developed," he wrote, "in connection with the affairs of the Northern Mississippi Railroad, which make me unwilling to accept the position of president. It is also my intention to resign from the board of directors of the road, in which I find myself powerless to prevent the things of which I disapprove."

And then he went on to outline the plan which he intended to carry out, explaining that he offered to those whom he had been the means of influencing, the opportunity to go in with him upon equal terms. He requested them to communicate their decisions by telegraph; and two days later he had heard from them all, and was ready for business.

He called up Stanley Ryder, and made an appointment for an interview.

"Mr. Ryder," he said, "a few weeks ago you talked with me in this office, and asked me to assist you in electing your ticket for the Northern Mississippi Railroad. You said that you wished me to become president of the road, and that the reason for the request was that you wanted a man whom you could depend upon for efficient and honest management. I accepted your offer in good faith; and I have made all arrangements, and put in a great deal of hard work at the task of fitting myself for the position. Now I have learned from Mr. Price's own lips that he has organised a company for the purpose of exploiting the road for his own private benefit. I told him that I was unwilling to stand for anything of the sort. Since then I have been thinking the matter over, and I have concluded that this situation will make it impossible for me to cooperate with Mr. Price. I have concluded, therefore, that it would be best for me to resign my position as a member of the board of directors, and also to withdraw my candidacy as president."

Ryder had avoided Montague's gaze; he sat staring in front of him, and tapping nervously with a pencil upon his desk. It was some time before he answered.

"Mr. Montague," he said, finally, "I am very sorry indeed to hear your decision. But taking all the circumstances into consideration, it seems to me that perhaps it is a wise one."

Again there was a pause.

"You must permit me to thank you for what you have done," Ryder added. "And I trust that this unfortunate episode will not alter our personal relationship."

"Thank you," said Montague, coldly.

He had waited to see what Ryder would say. He waited again, having no mind to help him in his embarrassment.

"As I say," Ryder repeated, "I am very much obliged to you."

"I have no doubt of it," said Montague. "But I trust that you do not expect to end our relationship in any such simple way as that."

He saw Ryder's expression change. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"There is a matter of grave importance which has to be settled before we can part. As you know, I am personally the holder of five hundred shares of Northern Mississippi stock; and to that extent I am interested in the affairs of the road."

"Most certainly," said Ryder, quietly, "but I have nothing to do with that. As a stockholder of the road, you look to the board of directors."

"Besides being a stockholder myself," continued Montague, without heeding this remark, "I have also to consider the interests of the three persons whom I interviewed in your behalf. I was the means of inducing these people to vote for the board which you named. I was the means of inducing them to place themselves in the power of Mr. Price and yourself. This being the case, I consider that my honour is involved, and that I am responsible to them."

"What do you expect to do?" asked Ryder.

"I have written to them, informing them of my intention to withdraw. I have not told them the circumstances, but have simply indicated that I find myself powerless to prevent certain things to which I object. I have told them the course I intend to take, and offered them the opportunity to get out upon the same terms as myself. They have accepted the offer, and to-morrow I should receive their stock certificates, and their authorisation to dispose of them. I have my own certificates here; and I have to say that I consider you are under obligation to purchase this stock at the same price which you paid for the new stock; namely, fifty dollars a share."

Ryder stared at him. "Mr. Montague, you amaze me!" he said.

"I am sorry for that," said Montague. His voice was hard, and there was a grim look upon his face. He fixed his eyes upon Ryder. "Nevertheless," he said, "it will be necessary for you to take the stock."

"I am sorry to have to say it," said Ryder, "but this seems to me impertinent."

"The total number of shares," said Montague, "is thirty-five hundred, and the price of them is one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars."

The two gazed at each other. Ryder saw the look in Montague's eyes, and he did not repeat his sneer.

"May I ask," he inquired, in a low voice, "what reason you have to believe that I will comply with this extraordinary request?"

"I have a very good reason, as I believe you will perceive," said Montague. "You and Mr. Price have purchased this railroad, and you wish to plunder it. That is your privilege—apparently it is the custom here in Wall Street to play tricks upon the investing public. But you cannot play them upon me, because I know too much."

"May I know what you propose to do?" asked Ryder.

"You certainly may," said the other. "I propose to fight. Until you have purchased my stock and the stock of my friends, I shall remain a director in the railroad, and also a candidate for the position of president. I shall make a contest at the next directors' meeting, and if I fail in my purpose there, I shall carry the fight before the public. I flatter myself that my reputation will count for something in my old home; you will not be able to carry matters with quite the same high hand in Mississippi as you are accustomed to in New York. Also, I shall fight you in the courts. I don't happen to know just what is the law in regard to the plundering of a public-service corporation by its own directors, but I shall be very much surprised if I cannot find some ground upon which to put a stop to it. Also, as you know, I am in possession of facts regarding the means whereby you got your new privileges from the State Legislature—"

Ryder was glaring at him in rage. "Mr. Montague," he cried, "this is blackmail!"

"You may call it that if you please," said the other. "I shall not be afraid to face the charge, if you should see fit to bring it in the courts."

Ryder started to reply, then caught his breath and gasped. When he spoke again, he had mastered himself. "It seems to me a most extraordinary thing," he said. "Surely, Mr. Montague, you cannot feel at liberty to make public what you learned from Mr. Price and myself while you were acting as our confidential adviser! Surely you cannot have forgotten the pledge of secrecy which you gave me here in this office!"

"I have not forgotten it," answered Montague. "And I have considered the matter with the greatest care. I consider that it is you who have violated a pledge. I believe that your violation was a deliberate one—that you had intended it from the very beginning. You assured me that you wished an honest administration of the road. I don't believe that you ever did wish it; I believe that you had no thought whatever except to use me as your tool to secure the control of the railroad, without buying out the remaining stockholders. Having accomplished that purpose, you are perfectly willing to have me retire. In fact, I have made up my mind that you never intended that I should be president—I have all along been suspicious about it. But I can assure you that you have struck the wrong man; you cannot play with me in any such manner. I have no idea whatever of retiring from the railroad and permitting you and Mr. Price to exploit it, and to deprive me of the value of my holdings—"

Montague was going on, but the other interrupted him quickly. "I recognise the justice of what you say there, Mr. Montague," said he. "So far as your own shares are concerned, you are entitled to be bought out. I am sure that that is a fair basis—"

"On the contrary," said Montague, "it's a basis the suggestion of which I take as an insult. I have been the means of placing other people at your mercy. My reputation and my promises were used for that purpose, and to whatever I am entitled, they are entitled equally. There can be no possible settlement except the one which I have offered you."

Ryder could think of nothing more to say. He sat staring at the other. And Montague, who had no desire to prolong the interview, arose abruptly.

"I do not expect you to decide this matter immediately," he said. "I presume that you will wish to consult with Mr. Price. I have made known my terms to you, and I have nothing more to say. Either you will accept the terms, or I shall drop everything else, and prepare to fight you at every step. I expect to receive the stock by this evening's mail, and I am obliged to ask you to favour me with a decision by to-morrow noon, so that we can close the matter up without delay."

And with that he bowed formally and took his departure.

The next morning's mail brought him a letter from William E. Davenant. "My dear Mr. Montague," it read. "It is reported to me that you have thirty-five hundred shares of the stock of the Northern Mississippi Railroad which you desire to sell at fifty dollars a share. If you will bring the stock to my office to-day, I shall be glad to purchase it."

Having received the letters from the South, Montague went immediately. Davenant was formal; but Montague could catch a humorous twinkle in his eye, which seemed to say, quite confidentially, that he appreciated the joke.

"That ends the matter," he said, as he blotted the last of Montague's signatures. "And I trust you will permit me to say, Mr. Montague, that I consider you an exceedingly capable business man."

"I appreciate the compliment," replied Montague, drily.



CHAPTER XVI



Montague was now a gentleman of leisure, comparatively speaking. He had two cases on his hands, but they did not occupy his time as had the prospect of running a railroad. They were contingency cases, and as they were against large corporations, Montague saw a lean year ahead of him. He smiled bitterly to himself as he realised that the only thing which had given him the courage to break with Price and Ryder had been the money which he and his brother Oliver had won by means of a Wall Street "tip."

He received a letter from Alice. "I am going to remain a couple of weeks longer in Newport," she wrote. "Who do you think has invited me—Laura Hegan. She has been perfectly lovely to me, and I go to her place next week. You will be interested to know that I had a long talk with her about you; I took occasion to tell her a few things that she ought to know. She was very nice about it. I am hoping that you will come up for another week end before I leave here. Harry Curtiss is going to spend his vacation here; you might come with him."

Montague smiled to himself as he read this letter. He did not go with Curtiss. But the heat of the city was stifling, and the thought of the surf and the country was alluring, and he went up by way of the Sound one Friday night.

He was invited to dinner at the Hegans'. Jim Hegan was there himself—for the first occasion in three years. Mrs. Hegan declared that it was only because she had gone down to New York and fetched him.

It was the first time that Montague had ever been with Hegan for any length of time. He watched him with interest, for the man was a fascinating problem to him. He was so calm and serene—always courteous and friendly. But what was there behind the mask, Montague wondered. For forty years this man had toiled and fought in the arena of Wall Street, and with only one purpose and one thought in life, so far as Montague knew—the piling up of money. Jim Hegan indulged himself in none of the pleasures of rich men. He had no hobbies, and he seldom went into company. In his busy times it was said that he would use a dozen secretaries, and wear them all out. He was a gigantic engine which drove all day and all night—a machine for the making of money.

Montague did not care much for money himself, and he wondered about it. What did the man want it for? What did he expect to accomplish by it? What was the moral code, the outlook upon life, of a man who gave all his time to heaping up money? What reason did he give to himself for his own career? Some reason he must have, or he could not be so calm and cheerful. Or could it be that he had no thoughts about it at all? Was it simply a blind instinct with him? Was he an animal whose nature it was to make money, and who was untroubled by any scruples? This last idea seemed rather uncanny to Montague; he found himself watching Jim Hegan with a kind of awe; thinking of him as some terrible elemental force, blind and unconscious, like the lightning or the tornado.

For Jim Hegan was one of the wreckers. His fortune had been made by the methods which Major Venable had outlined, by buying aldermen and legislatures and governors; by getting franchises for nothing and selling them for millions; by organising huge swindles and unloading them upon the public. And here he sat upon the veranda of his home, in the twilight of an August evening, smoking a cigar and telling about an orphan asylum he had founded!

He was cheerful and kindly; he was even benevolent. And could it be that he had no idea of the trail of ruin and distress which he had left behind him? Montague found himself possessed by a sudden desire to penetrate beneath that reserve; to spring at the man and surprise him with some sudden question; to get at the reality of him, to know him as he was. This air of power and masterfulness, surely that must be the mask that he wore. And how was he to himself? When he was alone with his own conscience? Surely there must come doubt and wonder, unhappiness and loneliness! Surely, then, the lives that he had wrecked must come back to plague him! Surely the memories of treachery and cruelty must make him wince!

And from Hegan, Montague's thoughts went to his daughter. She, too, was serene and stately; Montague wondered what was in her mind. How much did she know about her father's career? Surely she could not have persuaded herself that all that she had heard was calumny. There might be question about this offence or that, but of the great broad facts there could be no question. And did she justify it and excuse it; or was she, too, secretly unhappy? And was this the reason for her pride, and for her bitter speeches? It was a continual topic of chatter in Society, how Laura Hegan had withdrawn herself from all of her mother's affairs, and was interesting herself in work in the slums. Could it be that Nemesis had overtaken Jim Hegan in the form of his daughter? That she was the conscience by which he was to be tormented?

Jim Hegan never talked about his affairs. In all the time that Montague spent with him during his two days at Newport, he gave just one hint for the other to go upon. "Money?" he remarked, that evening. "I don't care about money. Money is just chips to me."

Life was a game, and the chips were dollars! What he had played for was power! And suddenly Montague seemed to see the career of this man, unrolled before him like a panorama. He had begun life as an office-boy; and above him were all the heights of business and finance; and the ladder by which to scale them was money. There were rivals with whom he fought; and the overcoming of these rivals had occupied all his time and his thought. If he had bought legislatures, it was because his rivals were trying to buy them. And perhaps then he did not even know that he was a wrecker; perhaps he would not have believed it if anyone had told him! He had travelled all the long journey of his life, trampling out opposition and crushing everything before him, nourishing in his heart the hope that some day, when he had attained to mastery, when there were no more rivals to oppose and thwart him—then he would be free to do good. Then he would no longer have to be a wrecker!

And perhaps that was the meaning of his pitiful little effort—an orphan asylum! It seemed to Montague that the gods must shake with Olympian laughter when they contemplated the spectacle of Jim Hegan and his orphan asylum: Jim Hegan, who could have filled a score of orphan asylums with the children of the men whom he had driven to ruin and suicide!

These thoughts were seething in Montague's mind, and they would not let him rest. Perhaps it was just as well that he did not stay too long that evening. After all, what was the use? Jim Hegan was what circumstances had made him. Vain was the dream of peace and well doing—there was always another rival! There was a new battle on just at present, if one might believe the gossip of the Street; Hegan and Wyman were at each other's throats. They would fight out their quarrel, and there was no way to prevent them—even though they pulled down the pillars of the nation about each other's heads.

As to just what these men were doing in their struggles, Montague got new information every day. The next morning, while he was sitting on the piazza of one of the hotels watching the people, he recognised a familiar face, and greeted the young engineer, Lieutenant Long, who came and sat down beside him.

"Well," said Montague, "have you heard anything from our friend Gamble?"

"He's back in the bosom of his family again," said the young officer. "He got tired of the splurge."

"Great fellow, Gamble," said Montague.

"I liked him very much," said the Lieutenant. "He's not beautiful to look at, but his heart's in the right place."

Montague thought for a moment, then asked, "Did he ever send you your oil specifications?"

"You bet he did!" said the other. "And say, they were great! The Department will think I'm an expert."

"Indeed," said Montague.

"It was a precious lucky thing for me," said the officer. "I'd have been in quite a predicament, you know."

He paused for a moment. "You cannot imagine," he said, "the position that we naval officers are in. Do you know, I think some word must have got out about that contract."

"You don't say so," said Montague, with interest.

"I do. By gad, I thought of writing to headquarters about it. I was approached no less than three times!"

"Indeed!"

"Fancy," said the officer. "A young chap got himself introduced to me by one of my friends here. He stuck by me the whole evening, and afterwards, as we were strolling home, he opened up on me in this fashion. He'd heard from a friend in Washington that I was one of those who had been asked to write specifications for the oil contracts of the Navy; and he had some friends who were interested in oil, and who might be able to advise me. He hinted that it might be a good thing for me. Just think of it!"

"I can imagine it was unpleasant."

"I tell you, it sets a man to thinking," said the Lieutenant. "You know the men in our service are exposed to that sort of thing all the time, and some of them are trying to live a good deal higher than their incomes warrant. It's a thing that we've all got to look out for; I can stand graft in politics and in business, but when it comes to the Army and Navy—I tell you, that's where I'm ready to fight."

Montague said nothing. He could think of nothing to say.

"Gamble said something about your being interested in a fight against the Steel Trust," said the other. "Is that so?"

"It was so," replied Montague. "I'm out of it now."

"What we were saying made me think of the Steel Trust," said the Lieutenant. "We get some glimpses of that concern in the Navy, you know."

"I hadn't thought of that," said Montague.

"Ask any man in the service about it," said the Lieutenant. "It's an old scar that we carry around in our souls—it won't heal. I mean the armour-plate frauds."

"Sure enough!" said Montague. He carried a long list of indictments against the steel kings in his mind; but he had forgotten this one.

"I know about it particularly," the other continued, "because my father was on the board of investigation fifteen years ago. I am disposed to be a little keen on the subject, because what he found out at that time practically caused his death."

Montague darted a keen glance at the young officer, who sat gazing ahead in sombre thought. "Fancy how a naval man feels," he said. "We are told that our ships are going to the Pacific, and any hour the safety of the nation may depend upon them! And they are covered with rotten armour plate that was made by old Harrison, and sold to the Government for four or five times what it cost. Take one case that I know about—the Oregon. I've got a brother on board her to-day. During the Spanish War the whole country was watching her and praying for her. And I could go on board that battleship and put my finger on the spot in her conning-tower that has a series of blow- holes straight through the middle of it—holes that old Harrison had drilled through and plugged up with an iron bar. If ever that plate was struck by a shell, it would splinter like so much glass."

Montague listened, half dazed. "Can one see that?" he cried.

"See it? No!" said the officer. "It's all on the inside of the plate, of course. When they got through with their dirty work, they would treat the surface, and who would ever know the difference?"

"But then, how can YOU know it?" asked Montague.

"I?" said the other. "Because my father had laid before him the history of that plate from the hour it was made until it was put in: the original copies of the doctored shop records, and the affidavits of the man who did the work. He had the same thing in a hundred other cases. I know the man who has the papers at this day."

"You see," continued the Lieutenant, after a pause, "the Government's specifications required that each plate should undergo an elaborate set of treatments; and the shop records of each plate were kept. But, of course, it cost enormous sums to get these treatments right, and even then hundreds of the plates would be bad. So when the shop records came up to the office, young Ingham and Davidson would go over them and edit them and bring them up to standard—that's the way those brilliant young fellows made all the money that they are spending on chorus girls and actresses to-day. They would have these shop records recopied, but they did not always tear up the old ones, and somebody in the office hid them, and that was how the Government got hold of the story."

"It sounds almost incredible!" exclaimed Montague.

"Take the story of plate H619, of the Oregon," said the Lieutenant. "That was one of a whole group of plates, which was selected for the ballistic tests at Indian Head. After it had been selected, it was taken back into the company's shops at night, and secretly retreated three times. And then of course it passed the tests, and the whole group was passed with it!"

"What was done about it?" Montague asked.

"Nothing much was ever done about it," said the other. "The Government could not afford to let the real facts get out. But, of course, the insiders in the Navy knew it, and the memory will last as long as the ships last. As I say, it killed my father."

"But weren't the men punished at all?"

"There was a Board appointed to try the case, and they awarded the Government about six hundred thousand dollars' damages. There's a man here in this hotel now who could tell you that story straight from the inside." And the Lieutenant paused and looked about him. Suddenly he stood up, and went to the railing and called to a man who was passing on the other side of the street.

"Hello, Bates," he said, "come here."

"Oh! Bates of the Express!" said Montague.

"You know him, do you?" asked the Lieutenant. "Hello, Bates! Have they put you on the Society notes?"

"I'm hunting interviews," replied the other. "How do you do, Mr. Montague? Glad to see you again."

"Come up," said the Lieutenant, "and have a seat."

"I was talking to Mr. Montague about the armour-plate frauds," he added, when the other had drawn up a chair. "I told him you knew the story of the Government's investigation. Bates comes from Pittsburg, you know."

"Yes, I know it," Montague replied.

"That was the first newspaper story I ever worked on," said Bates. "Of course, the Pittsburg papers didn't print the facts, but I got them all the same. And afterwards I came to know intimately a lawyer in Pittsburg who had charge of a secret investigation; and every time I read in the newspapers that old Harrison has given a new library, it sets my blood to boiling all over again."

"I sometimes think," put in the other, "that if somebody could be found to tell that story to the American people, they would rise up and drive the old scoundrel out of the country."

"You could never bring it home to him," said Bates; "he's too cunning for that. He has always turned his dirty work over to other people. You remember during the big strike how he ran away and left the job to William Roberts; and after it was all over, he came back smiling."

"And then buying out the Government to keep himself from being punished!" said the Lieutenant, savagely.

Montague turned and looked at him. "What is that?"

"That is the story that Bates's lawyer friend can tell," was the reply. "The board of officers awarded six hundred thousand dollars' damages to the Government; and the case was appealed to the President of the United States, and he sold out the Navy!"

"Sold it out!" gasped Montague.

The officer shrugged his shoulders. "That's what I call it," he said. "One day old Harrison startled the country by making a speech in support of the President's policy of tariff reform; and the next day the lawyer got word that the award was to be scaled down about seventy-five per cent!"

"And then," added Bates, "William Roberts came down from Pittsburg, and bought up the Democratic party in Congress; and so the country got neither the damages nor the tariff reform. And then a few years later old Harrison sold out to the Steel Trust, and got off with a four-hundred-million-dollar mortgage on the American people!"

Bates sank back in his chair. "It's not a very pleasant topic for a holiday afternoon," he said. "But I can't forget about it. It's this kind of thing that does it, you know—this." And he waved his hand about at the gay assemblage. "The women spending their money on dresses and diamonds, and the men tearing the country to pieces to get it. You'll hear people talk about it—they say these idle rich harm nobody but themselves; but I tell you they spread a trail of corruption wherever they go. Don't you believe that, Mr. Montague?"

"I believe it," said he.

"Take these New England towns," said Bates; "and look at the people in them. The ones who had any energy got up and went West years ago; and those who are left haven't any jaw-bones. Did you ever notice it? And it's just the same, wherever this pleasure crowd comes; it turns the men into boarding-house keepers and lackeys, and the girls into waitresses and prostitutes."

"They learn to take tips!" put in the Lieutenant.

"Everything they've got is for sale to city people," said Bates. "Politically, there isn't a rottener little corner in the whole United States of America than this same Rhode Island—and how much that's saying, you can imagine. You can buy votes on election day as you'd buy herrings, and there's not the remotest effort at reform, nor any hope of it."

"You speak bitterly," said Montague.

"I am bitter," said Bates. "But it doesn't often break out. I hold my tongue, and stew in my own juice. We newspaper men see the game, you know. We are behind the scenes, and we see the sawdust put into the dolls. We have to work in this rottenness all the time, and some of us don't like it, I can tell you. But what can we do?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "I spend my time getting facts together, and nine times out of ten my newspaper won't print them."

"I should think you'd quit," said the other, in a low voice.

"What better can I do?" asked the reporter. "I have the facts; and once in a while there comes an explosion, and I get my chance. So I stick at the job. I can't but believe that if you keep putting these things before the people, sometime, sooner or later, they will do something. Sometime there will come a man who has a conscience and a voice, and who won't sell out. Don't you think so, Mr. Montague?"

"Yes," said Montague, "I think so."



CHAPTER XVII



The summer wore on. At the end of August Alice returned from Newport for a couple of days, having some shopping to do before she joined the Prentices at their camp in the Adirondacks.

Society had here a new way of enjoying itself. People built themselves elaborate palaces in the wilderness, and lived in a fantastic kind of rusticity, with every luxury of civilisation included. For this life one needed an entirely separate wardrobe, with doeskin hunting-boots and mountain-climbing skirts—all very picturesque and expensive. It reminded Montague of a jest that he had heard about Mrs. Vivie Patton, whose husband had complained of the expensiveness of her costumes, and requested her to wear simpler dresses. "Very well," she said, "I will get a lot of simple dresses immediately."

Alice spent one evening at home, and she took her cousin into her confidence. "I've an idea, Allan, that Harry Curtiss is going to ask me to marry him. I thought it was right to tell you about it."

"I've had a suspicion of it," said Montague, smiling.

"Harry has a feeling you don't like him," said the girl. "Is that true?"

"No," replied Montague, "not precisely that." He hesitated.

"I don't understand about it," she continued. "Do you think I ought not to marry him?"

Montague studied her face. "Tell me," he said, "have you made up your mind to marry him?"

"No," she answered, "I cannot say that I have."

"If you have," he added, "of course there is no use in my talking about it."

"I wish you would tell me just what happened between you and him," exclaimed the girl.

"It was simply," said Montague, "that I found that Curtiss was doing, in a business way, something which I considered improper. Other people are doing it, of course—he has that excuse."

"Well, he has to earn a living," said Alice.

"I know," said the other; "and if he marries, he will have to earn still more of a living. He will only place himself still tighter in the grip of these forces of corruption."

"But what did he do?" asked Alice, anxiously. Montague told her the story.

"But, Allan," she said, "I don't see what there is so very bad about that. Don't Ryder and Price own the railroad?"

"They own some of it," said Montague. "Other people own some."

"But the other people have to take their chances," protested the girl; "if they choose to have anything to do with men like that."

"You are not familiar with business," said the other, "and you don't appreciate the situation. Curtiss was elected a director—he accepted a position of trust."

"He simply did it as a favour to Price," said she. "If he hadn't done it, Price would only have got somebody else. As you say, Allan, I don't understand much about it, but it seems to me it isn't fair to blame a young man who has to make his way in the world, and who simply does what he finds everybody else doing. Of course, you know best about your own affairs; but it always did seem to me that you go out of your way to look for scruples."

Montague smiled sadly. "That sounds very much like what he said, Alice. I guess you have made up your mind to marry him, after all."

Alice set out, accompanied by Oliver, who was bound for Bertie Stuyvesant's imitation baronial castle, in another part of the mountains. Betty Wyman was also to be there, and Oliver was to spend a full month. But three days later Montague received a telegram, saying that his brother would arrive in New York shortly after eight that morning, and to wait at his home for him. Montague suspected what this meant; and he had time enough to think it over and make up his mind. "Well?" he said, when Oliver came in. "It's come again, has it?"

"Yes," said Oliver, "it has."

"Another 'sure thing'?"

"Dead sure. Are you coming in?" Oliver asked, after a moment.

Montague shook his head. "No," he said. "I think once was enough for me."

"You don't mean that, Allan!" protested the other.

"I mean it," was the reply.

"But, my dear fellow, that is perfectly insane! I have information straight from the inside—it's as certain as the sunrise!"

"I have no doubt of that," responded Montague. "But I am through with gambling in Wall Street. I've seen enough of it, Oliver, and I'm sick of it. I don't like the emotions it causes in me—I don't like the things it makes me do."

"You found the money came in useful, didn't you?" said Oliver, sarcastically.

"Yes, I can use what I've got."

"And when that's gone?"

"I don't know about that yet. But I'll find some way that I like better."

"All right," said Oliver; "it's your own lookout. I will make my own little pile."

They rode down town in a cab together. "Where does your information come from this time?" asked Montague.

"The same source," was the reply.

"And is it Transcontinental again?"

"No," said Oliver; "it's another stock."

"What is it?"

"It's Mississippi Steel," was the answer.

Montague turned and stared at him. "Mississippi Steel!" he gasped.

"Why, yes," said Oliver. "What's that to you?" he added, in perplexity.

"Mississippi Steel!" Montague ejaculated again. "Why, didn't you know about my relations with the Northern Mississippi Railroad?"

"Of course," said Oliver; "but what's that got to do with Mississippi Steel?"

"But it's Price who is managing the deal—the man who owns the Mississippi Steel Company!"

"Oh," said the other, "I had forgotten that." Oliver's duties in Society did not give him much time to ask about his brother's affairs.

"Allan," he added quickly, "you won't say anything about it!"

"It's none of my business now," answered the other. "I'm out of it. But naturally I am interested to know. What is it—a raid on the stock?"

"It's going down," said Oliver.

Montague sat staring ahead of him. "It must be the Steel Trust," he whispered, half to himself.

"Nothing more likely," was the reply. "My tip comes from that direction."

"Do you suppose they are going to try to break Price?"

"I don't know; I guess they could do it if they made up their mind to."

"But he owns a majority of the stock!" said Montague. "They can't take it away from him outright."

"Not if he's got it locked up in his safe," was the reply; "and if he's got no debts or obligations. But suppose he's overextended; and suppose some bank has loaned him money on the stock—what then?"

Montague was now keenly interested. He went with his brother while the latter drew his money from the bank, and called at his brokers and ordered them to sell Mississippi Steel. The other was called away then by an engagement in court, which occupied him for several hours; when he came out, he made for the nearest ticker, and the first figures he saw were Mississippi Steel—quoted at nearly twenty points below the price of the morning!

The bare figures were eloquent to him of many tragedies; they brought before him half a dozen different personalities, with their triumphs and despairs. He could read in them the story of a Titan struggle. Oliver had made his killing; but what of Price and Ryder? Montague knew that most of Price's stock was hypothecated at the Gotham Trust. And now what would become of it? And what would become of the Northern Mississippi?

He bought the afternoon papers. Their columns were full of the sensational events of the day. The bottom had dropped out of Mississippi Steel, as they phrased it. The wildest rumours were afloat. The Company was known to be making enormous extensions, and it was said to have overreached itself; there were whispers that its officers had been speculating, that the Company would be unable to meet the next quarterly payment upon its bonds, that a receivership would be necessary. There were hints that the concern was to be taken over by the Trust, but this was vigorously denied by officers of the latter.

All of which had come like a bolt out of the blue. To Montague it was an amazing and terrible thing. It counted little to him that he was out of the struggle himself; that he no longer had anything to lose personally. He was like a man who had been through an earthquake, and who stood and stared at a gaping crack in the ground. Even though he was safe at the moment, he could not forget that this was the earth upon which he had to spend the rest of his life, and that the next crack might open where he stood.

Montague could not see that there was the least chance for Price and Ryder; he pictured them bowled clean out, and he would not have been surprised to read that they were ruined. But apparently they weathered the storm. The episode passed with no more than a crop of rumours. Mississippi Steel did not go back, however; and he noticed that Northern Mississippi stock had also "gone off" eight or ten points on the curb.

It was a period of great anxiety in the financial world. Men felt the unrest, even though they could not give definite reasons. There had been several panics in the stock market throughout the summer; and leading financiers and railroad presidents seemed to have got the habit of prognosticating the ruin of the country every time they made a speech at a banquet.

But apparently men could not agree about the causes of the trouble. Some insisted that it was owing to the speeches of the President, to his attacks upon the great business interests of the country. Others maintained that the world's supply of capital was inadequate, and pointed out the destruction of great wars and earthquakes and fires. Others argued that there was not enough currency to do the country's business. Now and again there rose above the din the shrill voice of some radical who declared that the stock collapses had been brought about deliberately; but such statements seemed so preposterous that they were received with ridicule whenever they were heeded at all. To Montague the idea that there were men in the country sufficiently powerful to wreck its business, and sufficiently unscrupulous to use their power—the idea seemed to him sensational and absurd.

But he had a talk about it one evening with Major Venable, who laughed at him. The Major named half a dozen men—Waterman and Duval and Wyman among them—who controlled ninety per cent of the banks in the Metropolis. They controlled all three of the big insurance companies, with their resources of four or five hundred million dollars; one of them controlled a great transcontinental railroad system, which alone kept a twenty-or thirty-million dollar "surplus" for stock-gambling purposes.

"If any two or three of those men were to make up their minds," declared the Major, "they could wreck the business of this country in a day. If there were stocks they wanted to pick up, they could knock them to any price they chose."

"How would they do it?" asked the other.

"There are many ways. You noticed that the last big slump began with the worst scarcity of money the Street has known for years. Now suppose those men should gradually accumulate a lot of cash in the banks, and make an agreement to withdraw it at a certain hour. Suppose that the banks that they own, and the banks where they own directors, and the insurance companies which they control—suppose they all did the same! Can't you imagine the scurrying around for money, the calling in of loans, the rush to realise on holdings? And when you have a public as nervous as ours is, when you have credit stretched to the breaking-point, and everybody involved—don't you see the possibilities?"

"It seems like playing with dynamite," said Montague.

"It's not as bad as it might be," was the answer. "We are saved by the fact that these big men don't get together. There are too many jealousies and quarrels. Waterman wants easy money, and gets the Treasury Department to lend ten millions; Wyman, on the other hand, wants high prices, and he goes into the Street and borrows fifteen millions; and so it goes. There are a half dozen big banking groups in the city—"

"They are still competing, then?" asked Montague.

"Oh, yes," said the Major. "For instance, they fight for the patronage of the out-of-town banks. The banks all over the country send their reserves to New York; it's a matter of four or five hundred million dollars, and that's an enormous power. Some of the big banks are agents for one or two thousand institutions, and there's the keenest kind of struggle going on. It's not an easy thing to follow, of course; but they offer all kinds of secret advantages—there's more graft in it than you'd find in Russia."