CHAPTER VI THE WILD-CAT 1
Dad had thought things over, and studied his bank account, and given his decision; they would drill the Ross Junior-Paradise No. 1, and do it quick, and give the "Excelsior Pete" crowd a run for their money; there was no use letting the Big Five think they owned the whole oil industry. Dad would stick here and see things started; so he phoned for his geologist, and hunted up a contractor to figure over a well for water. Mr. Banning, the geologist, came next day, and gave Bunny's hopes a knock over the head at the very outset. He said Dad was right in his idea that you couldn't count very much on that streak of oil on the top of the ground. You might come on oil sands one or two hundred feet down, but they wouldn't be likely to amount to much; if that was all you were looking for, you might bring in one of those little drilling-rigs on wheels such as they used back in Pennsylvania! But out here, said Mr. Banning, the real oil sands lay deep, and you never knew what you'd find till you got there. But he liked the looks of the district, and thought it worth a chance; he spent a couple of days wandering over the hills with Dad and Bunny, studying the slope of the strata, and finally he and Dad chose the side of a hill on the Watkins ranch, not far from the place where Bunny had sat and talked with Ruth while she tended the goats. The water-well man came, offering to drill a four-inch well for $2.12 a foot; and Dad signed a contract with him, on the basis of his making so many feet a day, and getting a bonus if he went above that, and paying a forfeit if he fell below it. After which Dad and Bunny drove over to pay a visit to Mr. Jeremiah Carey, a rancher near Roseville, who was chairman of the county board of supervisors, which had to do with the all-important question of road construction. A great part of the road passed through Dad's own property; and it had been Bunny's naive idea that Dad would call in a contractor, and pay the price, as in the case of the water well. But Dad said no, that wasn't the way you did with roads; it was a public road, running from Paradise to Roseville, down along the slide, and it would be graded and paved at public expense. To be sure, Dad would use this road more than anyone else, but also he would pay some of the taxes; all the people owning property along the slide would pay a share, and the new road would increase the value of their property. All this Dad explained, first to Bunny, and then to Mr. Carey, a friendly old fellow who grew apricots and peaches on the slopes of a ridge overlooking the San Elido valley. Mr. Carey was evidently pleased to meet a famous oil operator, and he took them up to the house and made them sit comfortable in big porch chairs, and called to Mrs. Carey to bring some lemonade for Bunny. Dad produced his gold-foil cigars, and told the chairman of the county board of supervisors what a great thing it was going to mean for this whole section if oil developments came in; he told about the Bankside lease at Prospect Hill, and the million and more which he had paid to the Bankside family, and the palace on the beach front which Mr. Bankside was now occupying; you could see the eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Carey open wider and wider, as Dad vi-sioned this slope covered with a forest of oil derricks. Absolutely, the whole thing depended upon one problem, that of roads. Manifestly, you couldn't bring in derrick materials and drilling tools and heavy machinery over that sheep-track which they now had, and which had just broken a spring on Dad's new motor-car; nor could the county expect Dad to improve a public road at his own expense, in order to have the privilege of paying tens of thousands of dollars of new taxes into the county treasury. To all of which Mr. Carey agreed. Dad went on to say that it was a question of time; if the county authorities were going to dilly-dally along, and keep him waiting— why then, he had plenty of other tracts he could drill, and he would keep this here Paradise place for a quail-preserve. Mr. Carey looked worried, and said he'd do his best, but of course Mr. Ross understood that public affairs didn't move in a hurry, you had to issue bonds to pave a new road, and there would have to be a special election to vote them. Dad said that was what he had come to find out about; if that was the case, it was all off so far as he was concerned. Wasn't there some way this work could be done at once, on the basis of its being repairs to an old road, instead of new paving? And Mr. Carey said of course, they had funds for repair work, he didn't know just how much, he'd have to consult his associates on the board. Mr. Carey got up and strolled down to the car with Dad and Bunny; and as they stood there chatting, Dad took out an envelope from his pocket, and said: "Mr. Carey, I'm asking a lot of your time, and it ain't fair you should work for nothing. I hope you won't take offense if I ask you to let me pay your gasoline and tire-cost while you're running about a-seein' to this." Mr. Carey hesitated, and said he didn't know whether that would be exactly proper or not; and Dad said it would be understood, it was just for Mr. Carey's time, it wouldn't change his judgment as to what should be done; they would have other dealings, no doubt, and perhaps some day Dad would come wild-catting on Mr. Carey's ranch. The other put the envelope into his pocket, and said Dad would hear from him soon. Now Bunny had been taking a course in school which was called "civics," and had learned all about how the government of his country was run. There had been many discussions in class, and among other things they had mentioned "corruption of public officials." Bunny—of course without any hint that he had ever had personal knowledge of such a thing—had asked the lady teacher about the possibility of a business man's paying a public official extra sums for his time and trouble in public matters; and the lady teacher had been shocked by such a suggestion, and had declared that it would be bribery without question. So now Bunny told Dad, and the latter explained. It was the difference between a theoretical and a practical view of a question. The lady teacher had never had to drill an oil well, her business didn't depend on moving heavy materials over a sheep-trail; all she did was just to sit in a room and use high-soundin' words, like "ideals" and "democracy" and "public service." That was the trouble with this education business, the people that taught was people that never done things, and had no real knowledge of the world. In this case it all came down to one question, did they want to drill the Watkins tract or not. Of course they might wait ten years, till in the course of the county's development somebody else come in and did what Dad was now a-doin'—put skids under the public authorities, and "greased" the skids. In a great many cases the authorities were greedy, they went out on purpose to hold you up and make you pay; in other cases they was just ignorant and indifferent; but anyhow, if you wanted things done you had to pay for them. Dad explained the difference between public and private business; in your own business, you were boss, and you drove ahead and pushed things through; but when you ran into public authorities, you saw graft and waste and inefficiency till it made you sick. And yet there was fools always rooting for public ownership; people who called themselves Socialists, and wanted to turn everything over to the government to run, and when they had their way, you'd have to fill out a dozen application blanks and await the action of a board of officials before you could buy a loaf of bread. Dad said that Bunny would get a practical course in civics, that he could take back to his teacher; they wasn't going to get their road, just by paying a tip to one apricot-grower. And sure enough, they didn't! A couple of days later Dad got Mr. Carey on the phone, and learned that he had interviewed the other board members, and feared there would be some opposition; the board came up for re-election this fall, and there had been a lot of grumbling over the waste of road funds, and nobody wanted to take on any more troubles. There was to be a meeting of the board next week, and meantime, if Dad had any influence, it would be a good time for him to use it. Dad repeated this to Bunny, and explained, he was supposed to call on the other board members and distribute some more envelopes. "But I'll do it wholesale," said Dad, "and I'll do it quick—before the Excelsior Pete crowd wake up to what's happening. That's our only chance, I've an idea." So Dad strolled into the office of Mr. Hardacre, the real estate agent, and through the smoke of a gold foil cigar he put to that knowing gentleman the problem of what people he, Mr. Hard-acre, would call on, in case he wanted to get a road built in San Elido county. M
r. Hardacre laughed and said that first he'd go to see Jake Coffey, and after that he'd go home and rest. Further questions elicited the fact that Jake Coffey was a hay and feed dealer in the town of San Elido, the county seat; also, he was the Republican boss of the county. Dad said all right, thanks, and he and Bunny were soon in the car, and headed for San Elido at Dad's customary speed. "Now, son," said he, "you'll finish your lesson in civics!"
II
Jacob Coffey, Hay, Feed and Grain, Lime, Cement and Plaster, sat in the private office behind his store, with his feet on a center table from which the remains of a poker game had not yet been cleaned. He was a hard-bitten individual with tight-shut mouth and other features to correspond; his skin was tanned to leather, and all his teeth were gold, so far as they showed. He got his feet off the table and stood up; and when he heard Dad's name, he said: "I was rather expecting you'd call." Dad said: "I only just heard about you. I came at fifty miles an hour." So they were friends, and Mr. Coffey accepted a gold foil cigar instead of his half-chewed one, and they sat down to business. "Mr. Coffey," said Dad, "I am an independent oil man; what the Big Five call one of the 'little fellers'—though not so little that I won't show here in San Elido county. I've bought twelve thousand acres, and want to prospect for oil. If there's any here, I'll put a couple of hundred wells on the tract, and employ a thousand men, and pay a few million dollars in wages, and double real estate values for five or ten miles around. Now, Excelsior Pete is here; and of course they'll fight to keep me or anyone else out. The thing I want to show you political fellers is that these big companies never put up the dough unless they have to, and it most all goes to the state machine, anyhow. Like everything else, they need a little competition to keep them softened up. Us independents pay more, and we make the big fellows pay more too. I assume I'm talking to a man who knows this game." "You may assume it," said Mr. Coffey, drily. "Exactly what do you want?" "For the present, just one thing—a road to Paradise. It's a case of no road, no drilling, and that's no bluff, but a fact you can understand, because you haul heavy material yourself, and you may have tried to deliver over that there sheep-trail." "I have," said Mr. Coffey. "Well, then, no words needed. I want a road, and I want it without no red tape—I want the county to start work within the next ten days, and just push the job right through, so that I can get in here and drill my well, now while I got a rig to spare. Maybe that's never been done before, but it's what I want, and I've come to ask what it's worth. Do I make myself clear?" "Perfectly," said Mr. Coffey, and his hard face yielded to a slight smile. It was evident that he liked Dad's business methods. He told his side of the case; and Bunny understood that he was bargaining, drawing a fancy picture of the tremendous difficulties involved. The county machine had been having a peck of trouble of late, some damned fool had stolen some money—a silly thing to take the county's money, said Mr. Coffey, when you could make so much more in legitimate ways. Also there had been criticism of road contracts; they had a crank in this town that published a weekly paper, the "Watch-Dog," and filled it with reckless charges. Well, the long and short of it was that to use the emergency repair funds of the county to build a road for an oil-operator, would be bound to stir up a lot of fuss, and lose votes which the county machine needed. As Mr. Ross had said, the Excelsior Pete crowd, who already had a road to their tract, wouldn't favor Dad's road; they might furnish material for the crank's weekly paper, and they might make a kick to the state committee, and make Mr. Coffey's life a little hell. Dad listened politely—as the process of bargaining required. He said that he appreciated all these troubles, and would expect to make up for them. In the first place, there would be the job of carrying the county supervisors into office. Would it seem a fair proposition if Dad were to contribute five thousand dollars to the war chest of the campaign committee? Mr. Coffey blew a big cloud of grey-blue tobacco smoke into the air, and sat gazing fixedly at the figure 5 and three 0's written in these clouds. "You understand," Dad added; "that's a party matter, and separate from any proposition I make to you personally." "Let's have your whole idea," said Mr. Coffey, quietly. So Dad gave his "spiel" about believing in co-operation, and how he always got a little organization together wherever he worked, and stood by his friends and gave them a share of what he made. He told about his Ross-Bankside No. 1, and how he had formed a syndicate for that well, and, in order to make sure of getting his derrick material on the spot, he had let the president of a big lumber company have two percent of it—just a little friendly service, and the well had earned so far nearly six hundred thousand dollars net profits, and the president of this company had made over twelve thousand, just for his trouble in seeing that Dad always got his lumber the day he asked for it. And now here was the same thing; if Dad could get a road, he would gamble on the Paradise tract, and Mr. Coffey might gamble with him. Dad offered to "carry" him to the amount of two percent of the well; the cost would run over a hundred thousand dollars, so Mr. Coffey would be getting a two thousand dollar investment, and if the well became a producer, he might get five or ten, or even thirty or forty thousand dollars; such things had happened many times, and were to be reckoned on. Of course, Dad would expect this to mean that he and Mr. Coffey would be friends; they would work together, and help each other with any little favors that might be needed. And Mr. Coffey puffed several more clouds of smoke, and studied them, and said he felt friendly to Dad; but he thought it would be better if Dad would contribute two thousand dollars to the campaign fund, and carry five thousand for Mr. Coffey personally. And Dad, looking him in the eye, inquired, "Can you deliver the goods?" Mr. Coffey said yes, he could deliver them all right, Dad needn't have any worries. So it was a bargain, and Dad took out his check book and wrote out two thousand dollars to the order of the treasurer of the county campaign committee of the Republican party. Then he asked Mr. Coffey whether he held any public office, and the latter replied no, he was just a plain business man; so Dad said all right then, the agreement could be in Mr. Coffey's name; and he wrote a memorandum to the effect that he had received the sum of one dollar and other good and valuable considerations, in return for which Mr. Coffey was owner of five per cent interest in the net profits of a well to be drilled on the Abel Watkins ranch near Paradise, to be known as the Ross Junior-Paradise No. 1. But it was understood and agreed that the said well was not to be drilled until there was a good hard road completed from the main street of Paradise to the entrance of the Abel Watkins ranch, and if the said road were not completed within sixty days the said J. Arnold Ross was under no obligation to drill the said well, nor to return to the said Jacob Coffey the said one dollar and other good valuable considerations. And Dad handed that to the said Jacob Coffey, and smiled, and remarked that he hoped it wouldn't fall into the hands of the "Watch-Dog." Mr. Coffey smiled, and laid his hand on Bunny's shoulder, and said he hoped this young man wouldn't make any mistake and talk about it; and Dad said that Bunny was learning the oil business, and the first lesson he had learned was never to talk about his father's affairs. So then they shook hands all round, and the two got into their car, and Bunny exclaimed, "But Dad, I thought you were a Democrat!" And Dad laughed and said that he wasn't deciding the tariff on hyperchlorides, nor the independence of the Philippine Islands, he was just gettin' a road to the Watkins ranch. Bunny said, "There's one thing I don't understand; how can Mr. Coffey do all that, if he hasn't any office?" To which Dad answered that the big fellows as a rule avoided holding office for that very reason, so they were free to do business. Mr. Carey could be sent to prison if it were proven that he had taken money from Dad, but nothing could be done to Coffey, he was just the "boss." The officeholder, said Dad, was either a poor devil who needed a fifth rate salary, or else he was a man actuated by vanity, he liked to make speeches, and be applauded by the crowd, and see his picture in the papers. You would never see pictures of Jake Coffey in the papers, he done his work in his back office, and never in the limelight. Bunny, of course, remembered what he had been taught in th
e "civics" class, and asked if that was the way the business of government was always run. Dad said it was about the same everywhere, from the county up to the state, and on to the national government. It wasn't really as bad as it seemed, it was just a natural consequence of the inefficiency of great masses of people. It was all right to make spread-eagle speeches on "democracy," but what was the fact? Who was the voters here in San Elido county? Why, the very boobs that Bunny had seen "jumping" and "rolling" and "talking in tongues" at Eli's church; and could anybody pretend that these people could run a government? They were supposed to decide whether or not Dad should have a road and drill a well! It was a sure thing they couldn't do it; and Jake Coffey was the feller that done the deciding for them—he provided that promptness and efficiency that business men had to have, and that couldn't be got under our American system.
Oil! A Novel by Upton Sinclair Page 16