CHAPTER XXXVIII
A CONVERSATION ABOUT STOCK
The case against Durand was pigeon-holed by the district attorneywithout much regret. All through the underworld where his influencehad been strong, it was known that Jerry had begged off. He wasdiscredited among his following and was politically a down-and-outer.But he knew too much to permit him to be dragged into court safely.With his back to the wall he might tell of many shady transactionsimplicating prominent people. There were strong influences which didnot want him pressed too hard. The charge remained on the docket, butit was set back from term to term and never brought to trial.
Colin Whitford found his attention pretty fully absorbed by his ownaffairs. Bromfield had opened a fight against him for control of theBird Cage Company. The mine had been developed by the Coloradoan froman unlikely prospect into a well-paying concern. It was the bigbusiness venture of his life and he took a strong personal interest inrunning it. Now, because of Bromfield's intention to use for his ownadvantage the proxies made out in his name, he was likely to losecontrol. With Bromfield in charge the property might be wrecked beforehe could be ousted.
"Dad's worrying," Beatrice told Lindsay. "He's afraid he'll losecontrol of the mine. There's a fight on against him."
"What for? I thought yore father was a mighty competent operator.Don't the stockholders know when they're well off?"
She looked at him enigmatically. "Some one he trusted has turned out atraitor. That happens occasionally in business, you know."
It was from Colin himself that Clay learned the name of the traitor.
"It's that fellow Bromfield," he explained. "He's the secretary andsecond largest stockholder in the company. The annual election is tobe to-morrow afternoon. He's got me where the wool's short. I wasfool enough to ask the smaller stockholders to make out their proxiesin his name. At that time he was hand in glove with us. Now I'm upagainst it. He's going to name the board of directors and have himselfmade president."
Clay ventured on thin ice. The name of Bromfield had not beenmentioned to him before in the last twenty-four hours by eitherBeatrice or her father. "Surely Bromfield wouldn't want to offend you."
"That's exactly what he would want to do."
"But--"
"He's got his reasons."
"Isn't there some way to stop him, then?"
"I've been getting a wrinkle trying to figure out one. I'd certainlybe in your debt if you could show me a way."
"When is the election?"
"At three o'clock."
"Where?"
"At the company offices."
"Perhaps if I talked with Bromfield--"
Whitford laughed shortly. "I'd talk an arm off him if it would do anygood. But it won't. He's out for revenge."
Clay's eyes alighted swiftly on the older man. They asked gravely aquestion and found an answer that set his heart singing. Beatrice hadbroken her engagement with Bromfield.
"He won't do, Clay. He's off color." Whitford did a bit of mentalacrobatics. "Why do you suppose he took you to Maddock's?"
Again Lindsay's appraising gaze rested on his friend. "I've neverworked that out to my satisfaction. It wasn't the kind of place hewould be likely to go for pleasure. But I don't think he'd arranged atrap for me, if that's what you mean. It doesn't look reasonable thathe would want me killed."
Whitford told him all he knew about the affair. The story told himbanished any doubts Clay may have had about a certain step he had begunduring the last few minutes to hold in consideration. It did more. Ithardened a fugitive impulse to a resolution. Bromfield was fair gamefor him.
It was a little after eleven o'clock next morning when the cattlemanwalked into an apartment house for bachelors, took the elevator, andrang the bell at Bromfield's door.
Clarendon, fresh from the hands of his valet, said he was glad to seeLindsay, but did not look it. He offered his guest a choice of liquorsand selected for himself a dry martini. Cigars and cigarettes werewithin reach on a tabouret.
Clay discovered that one difficulty he had expected to meet did notcomplicate the problem. The valet had left to select the goods forhalf a dozen custom-made shirts, Bromfield explained apologetically,apropos of the lack of service. He would not return till late in theafternoon.
"I've come to see about that Bird Cage business, Mr. Bromfield," hisvisitor explained. "I've been millin' it over in my mind, and Ithought I'd put the proposition up to you the way it looks to me."
Bromfield's eyebrows lifted. His face asked with superciliouspoliteness what the devil business it was of his.
"Mr. Whitford has put in twenty years of his life building up the BirdCage into a good property. It's a one-man mine. He made it out of ahole in the ground, developed it, expanded it, gave it a market value.He's always protected the stockholders and played the game square withthem. Don't it look like he ought to stay in control of it?"
"Did he send you here to tell me that?"
"No, he didn't. But he's gettin' along in years, Bromfield. It don'tlook hardly right to me for you to step in and throw him out. What doyou think about it, yourself?"
The clubman flushed with anger. "I think that it's damned impertinentof you to come here meddling in my business. I might have expected it.You've always been an impertinent meddler."
"Mebbeso," agreed Clay serenely, showing no surprise at this explosion."But I'm here. And I put a question. Shall I ask it again?"
"No need. I'm going to take what the law allows me--what I and myfriends have bought and paid for in the open market. The more it hurtsWhitford the better I'll be pleased," answered Bromfield, his manner ofcynical indifference swept away by gathering rage. The interference ofthis "bounder" filled him with a passion of impotent hate.
"Is that quite correct? Did you buy control in the market? In pointof fact, aren't you holdin' a bunch of proxies because Whitford wroteand asked the stockholders to sign them for you to vote? What youintend doing is a moral fraud, no matter what its legal aspect is.You'd be swindling the very stockholders you claim to represent, aswell as abusing the confidence of Whitford."
"What you think isn't of the least importance to me, Mr. Lindsay. Ifyou're here merely to offer me your advice, I suppose I shall now haveregretfully to say good-day." The New Yorker rose, a thin lip smilescarcely veiling his anger at this intruder who had brought his hopesto nothing.
"I reckon I'll not hurry off, Mr. Bromfield," Clay replied easily."You might think I was mad at you. I'll stick around awhile and talkthis over."
"Unfortunately I have an engagement," retorted the other icily.
"When?"
"I really think, Mr. Lindsay, that is my business."
"I'm makin' it mine," said Clay curtly.
Bromfield stared. "I beg your pardon?"
"I said it was mine too. You see I bought a coupla shares of Bird Cagestock yesterday. I'd hate to see Whitford ousted from control. I'vegot confidence in him."
"It's your privilege to vote that stock this afternoon. At least itwould be if it had been transferred to you on the books. I'll vote mystock according to my own views."
"I wonder," murmured Clay aloud.
"What's that?" snapped Bromfield.
"I was just figurin' on what would happen if you got sick and couldn'tattend that annual meeting this afternoon," drawled the Westerner. "Ireckon mebbe some of the stockholders you've got lined up would breakaway and join Whitford."
The New Yorker felt a vague alarm. What idea did this fellow have inthe back of his head. Did he intend to do bodily violence to him?Without any delay Bromfield reached for the telephone.
The large brown hand of the Westerner closed over his.
"I'm talkin' to you, Mr. Bromfield. It's not polite for you to start'phoning, not even to the police, whilst we're still engaged inconversation."
"Don't you try to interfere with me," said the man who paid thetelephone bill. "I'll not submit to such an i
ndignity."
"I'm not the only one that interferes. You fixed up quite anentertainment for me the other night, didn't you? Wouldn't you kindacall that interferin' some? I sure ought to comb yore hair for it."
Bromfield made a hasty decision to get out. He started for the door.Clay traveled in that direction too. They arrived simultaneously.Clarendon backed away. The Arizonan locked the door and pocketed thekey.
His host grew weakly violent. From Whitford he had heard a story abouttwo men in a locked room that did not reassure him now. One of the menhad been this cattleman. The other--well, he had suffered. "Let meout! I'll not stand this! You can't bully me!" he cried shrilly.
"Don't pull yore picket-pin, Bromfield," advised Lindsay. "I'veelected myself boss of the _rodeo_. What I say goes. You'll saveyorese'f a heap of worry if you make up yore mind to that right away."
"What do you want? What are you trying to do? I'm not a barroombrawler like Durand. I don't intend to fight with you."
"You've ce'tainly relieved my mind," murmured Clay lazily. "What'syore own notion of what I ought to do to you, Bromfield? You invitedme out as a friend and led me into a trap after you had fixed it up.Wouldn't a first-class thrashin' with a hawsswhip be about right?"
Bromfield turned pale. "I've got a weak heart," he faltered.
"I'll say you have," agreed Clay. "It's pumpin' water in place ofblood right now, I'll bet. Did you ever have a real honest-to-Godlickin' when you was a boy?"
The New Yorker knew he was helpless before this clear-eyed, suppleathlete who walked like a god from Olympus. One can't lap up half adozen highballs a day for an indeterminate number of years, withoutgetting flabby, nor can he spend himself in feeble dissipations andhave reserves of strength to call upon when needed. The tongue wentdry in his mouth. He began to swallow his Adam's apple.
"I'm not well to-day," he said, almost in a whisper.
"Let's look at this thing from all sides," went on Clay cheerfully."If we decide by a majority of the voting stock--and I'm carryin'enough proxies so that I've got control--that you'd ought to have awhalin', why, o' course, there's nothin' to it but get to business andmake a thorough job."
"Maybe I didn't do right about Maddock's."
"No mebbe about that. You acted like a yellow hound."
"I'm sorry. I apologize."
"I don't reckon I can use apologies. I might make a bargain with you."
"I'll be glad to make any reasonable bargain."
"How'd this do? I'll vote my stock and proxies in the BromfieldPunishment Company, Limited, against the whalin', and you vote yorestock and proxies in the Bird Cage Company to return the present boardand directorate."
"That's coercion."
"Well, so it is."
"The law--"
"Did you go hire a lawyer for an opinion before you paid Durand to dome up?"
"You've got no right to hold me a prisoner here to help Whitford."
"All right, I won't. I'll finish my business with you and when I'mthrough, you can go to the annual meetin'--if you feel up to travelin'that far."
"I'll give you a thousand dollars to let me alone."
"That'd be a thousand and fifty you had given me, wouldn't it?"returned Lindsay gayly.
Tears of vexation stood in Bromfield's eyes. "All right. Let me go.I'll be fair to Whitford and arrange a deal with him."
"Get the stockholders who're with you on the 'phone and tell 'em tovote their stock as Whitford thinks best. Get Whitford and tell himthe fight's off."
"If I do, will you let me go?"
"If you don't, we'll return to the previous question--the annualmeeting of the Bromfield Punishment Company, Limited."
Bromfield got busy with the telephone.
When he had finished. Clay strolled over to a bookcase, cast his eyesover the shelves, and took out a book. It was "David Harum." He foundan easy-chair, threw a leg over one arm, and presently began to chuckle.
"Are you going to keep me here all day?" asked his host sulkily.
"Only till about four o'clock. We're paired, you and me, so we'll bothstay away from the election. Why don't you pick you a good book andenjoy yoreself? There's a lot of A 1 readin' in that case over there.It'll sure improve yore mind."
Clarendon ground his teeth impotently.
His guest continued to grin over the good stories of the oldhorse-trader. When he closed the book at last, he had finished it.His watch told him that it was twenty minutes to five. Bromfield's manwas at the door trying to get in. He met Lindsay going out.
"No, I can't stay to tea to-day, Mr. Bromfield," the Arizonan wassaying, a gleam of mirth in his eyes. "No use urging me. Honest, I'vereally got to be going. Had a fine time, didn't we? So long."
Bromfield used bad language.
The Big-Town Round-Up Page 39