CHAPTER III.
THE BAITING OF HERZOG.
Herzog was not long in arriving. To be summoned in haste by Isaac Flint,and to delay, was unthinkable. For eighteen years the chemist hadlickspittled to the Billionaire. Keen though his mind was, his characterand stamina were those of a jellyfish; and when the Master took snuff,as the saying is, Herzog never failed to sneeze.
He therefore appeared, now, in some ten minutes--a fat, rubicund,spectacled man, with a cast in his left eye and two fingers missing, toremind him of early days in experimental work on explosives. Under hisarm he carried several tomes and pamphlets; and so, bowing first to onefinancier, then to the other, he stood there on the threshold, awaitinghis masters' pleasure.
"Come in, Herzog," directed Flint. "Got some material there on liquidair, and nitrogen, and so on?"
"Yes, sir. Just what is it you want, sir?"
"Sit down, and I'll tell you,"--for the chemist, hat in hand, venturednot to seat himself unbidden in presence of these plutocrats.
Herzog, murmuring thanks for Flint's gracious permission, deposited hisderby on top of the revolving book-case, sat down tentatively on the edgeof a chair and clutched his books as though they had been so manyshields against the redoubted power of his masters.
"See here, Herzog," Flint fired at him, without any preliminaries orbeating around the bush, "what do you know about the practical side ofextracting nitrogen from atmospheric air? Or extracting oxygen, inliquid form? Can it be done--that is, on a commercial basis?"
"Why, no, sir--yes, that is--perhaps. I mean--"
"What the devil _do_ you mean?" snapped Flint, while Waldron smiledmaliciously as he smoked. "Yes, or no? I don't pay you to muddle things.I pay you to _know_, and to tell me! Get that? Now, how about it?"
"Well, sir--hm!--the fact is," and the unfortunate chemist blinkedthrough his glasses with extreme uneasiness, "the fact of the matter isthat the processes involved haven't been really perfected, as yet.Beginnings have been made, but no large-scale work has been done, sofar. Still, the principle--"
"Is sound?"
"Yes, sir. I imagine--"
"Cut that! You aren't paid for imagining!" interrupted the Billionaire,stabbing at him with that characteristic gesture. "Just what do you knowabout it? No technicalities, mind! Essentials, that's all, and in a fewwords!"
"Well, sir," answered Herzog, plucking up a little courage under thispointed goading, "so far as the fixation of atmospheric nitrogen goes,more progress has been made in England and Scandinavia, than here.They're working on it, over there, to obtain cheap and plentifulfertilizer from the air. Nitrogen _can_ be obtained from the air, evennow, and made into fertilizers even cheaper than the Chili saltpeter.Oxygen is liberated as a by-product, and--"
"Oh, it is, eh? And could it be saved? In liquid form for instance?"
"I think so, sir. The Siemens & Halske interests, in Germany, are doingit already, on a limited scale. In Norway and Austria, nitrogen has beenmanufactured from air, for some years."
"On a paying, commercial basis?" demanded Flint, while Waldron, now atrifle less scornful, seemed to listen with more interest as his eyesrested on the rotund form of the scientist.
"Yes, sir, quite so," answered Herzog. "It's commercially feasible,though not a very profitable business at best. The gas is utilized inchemical combination with a substantial base, and--"
"No matter about that, just yet," interrupted Flint. "We can havedetails later. Do you know of any such business as yet, in the UnitedStates?"
"Well, sir, there's a plant building at Great Falls, South Carolina, forthe purpose. It is to run by waterpower and will develop 5000 H.P."
"Hear that, Waldron?" demanded the Billionaire. "It's already beginningeven here! But not one of these plants is working for what I see as theprime possibility. No imagination, no grasp on the subject! No wondermost inventors and scientists die poor! They incubate ideas and thenlack the warmth to hatch them into general application. It takes menlike us, Wally--practical men--to turn the trick!" He spoke a bitrapidly, almost feverishly, under the influence of the subtle drug. "Nowif _we_ take hold of this game, why, we can shake the world as it hasnever yet been shaken! Eh, Waldron? What do you think now?"
Waldron only grunted, non-committally. Flint with a hard glance at hisunresponsive partner, once more turned to Herzog.
"See here, now," directed he. "What's the best process now in use?"
"For what, sir?" ventured the timid chemist.
"For the simultaneous production of nitrogen and oxygen, from theatmosphere!"
"Well, sir," he answered, deprecatingly, as though taking a greatliberty even in informing his master on a point the master had expresslyasked about, "there are three processes. But all operate only on a smallscale."
"Who ever told you I wanted to work on a large scale?" demanded Flint,savagely.
"I--er--inferred--beg pardon, sir--I--" And Herzog quite lost himselfand floundered hopelessly, while his mismated eyes wandered about theroom as though seeking the assurance he so sadly lacked.
"Confine yourself to answering what I ask you," directed Flint, crisply."You're not paid to infer. You're paid to answer questions on chemistry,and to get results. Remember _that_!"
"Yes, sir," meekly answered the chemist, while Waldron smiled withcynical amusement. He enjoyed nothing so delightedly as any grilling ofan employee, whether miner, railroad man, clerk, ship's captain orwhat-not. This baiting, by Flint, was a rare treat to him.
"Go on," commanded the Billionaire, in a badgering tone. "What are theprocesses?" He eyed Herzog as though the man had been an ox, a dog oreven some inanimate object, coldly and with narrow-lidded condescension.To him, in truth, men were no more than Shelley's "plow or sword orspade" for his own purpose--things to serve him and to be ruled--orbroken--as best served his ends. "Go on! Tell me what you know; and nomore!"
"Yes, sir," ventured Herzog. "There are three processes to extractnitrogen and oxygen from air. One is by means of what the Germanscientists call _Kalkstickstoff_, between calcium carbide and nitrogen,and the reaction-symbols are--"
"No matter," Flint waived him, promptly. "I don't care for formulas ordetails. What I want is results and general principles. Any other way toextract these substances, in commercial quantities, from the air webreathe?"
"Two others. But one of these operates at a prohibitive cost. Theother--"
"Yes, yes. What is it?" Flint slid off the edge of the table and walkedover to Herzog; stood there in front of him, and bored down at him witheager eyes, the pupils contracted by morphine, but very bright. "What'sthe best way?"
"With the electric arc, sir," answered the chemist, mopping his brow.This grilling method reminded him of what he had heard of "Third Degree"torments. "That's the best method, sir."
"Now in use, anywhere?"
"In Notodden, Norway. They have firebrick furnaces, you understand, sir,with an alternating current of 5000 volts between water-cooled copperelectrodes. The resulting arc is spread by powerful electro-magnets,so." And he illustrated with his eight acid-stained fingers. "Spreadout like a disk or sphere of flame, of electric fire, you see."
"Yes, and what then?" demanded Flint, while his partner, forgetting nowto smile, sat there by the window scrutinizing him. One saw, now, theterribly keen and prehensile intellect at work under the mask of assumedfoppishness and jesting indifference--the quality, for the most partmasked, which had earned Waldron the nickname of "Tiger" in Wall Street.
"What then?" repeated Flint, once more levelling that potent forefingerat the sweating Herzog.
"Well, sir, that gives a large reactive surface, through which the airis driven by powerful rotary fans. At the high temperature of theelectric arc in air, the molecules of nitrogen and oxygen dissociateinto their atoms. The air comes out of the arc, charged with about oneper cent. of nitric oxide, and after that--"
"Jump the details, idiot! Can't you move faster than a paralytic snail?What's the final result?"
> "The result is, sir," answered Herzog, meek and cowed under thisharrying, "that calcium nitrate is produced, a very excellentfertilizer. It's a form of nitrogen, you see, directly obtained fromair."
"At what cost?"
"One ton of fixed nitrogen in that form costs about $150 or $160."
"Indeed?" commented Flint. "The same amount, combined in Chilesaltpeter, comes to--?"
"A little over $300, sir."
"Hear that, Wally?" exclaimed the Billionaire, turning to his nowinterested associate. "Even if this idea never goes a step farther,there's a gold mine in just the production of fertilizer from air! But,after all, that will only be a by-product. It's the oxygen we're after,and must have!"
He faced Herzog again.
"Is any oxygen liberated, during the process?" he demanded.
"At one stage, yes, sir. But in the present process, it is absorbed,also."
Flint's eyebrows contracted nervously. For a moment he stood thinking,while Herzog eyed him with trepidation, and Waldron, almost forgettingto smoke, waited developments with interest. The Billionaire, however,wasted but scant time in consideration. It was not money now, he lustedfor, but power. Money was, to him, no longer any great desideratum. Atmost, it could now mean no more to him than a figure on a check-book ora page of statistics in his private memoranda. But power, unlimited,indisputable power over the whole earth and the fulness thereof, powerwhich none might dispute, power before which all humanity must bow--God!the lust of it now gripped and shook his soul.
Paling a little, but with eyes ablaze, he faced the anxious scientist.
"Herzog! See here!"
"Yes, sir?"
"I've got a job for you, understand?"
"Yes, sir. What is it?"
"A big job, and one on which your entire future depends. Put it through,and I'll do well by you. Fail, and by the Eternal, I'll break you! Ican, and will, mark that! Do you get me?"
"I--yes, sir--that is, I'll do my best, and--"
"Listen! You go to work at once, immediately, understand? Work out forme some process, some practicable method by which the nitrogen andoxygen can both be collected in large quantities from the air.Everything in my laboratories at Oakwood Heights is at your disposal.Money's no object. Nothing counts, now, but _results_!
"I want the process all mapped out and ready for me, in its essentialoutlines, two weeks from today. If it isn't--" His gesture was a menace."If it is--well, you'll be suitably rewarded. And no leaks, now. Not aword of this to any one, understand? If it gets out, you know what I cando to you, and will! Remember Roswell; remember Parker Hayes. _They_ letnews get to the Dillingham-Saunders people, about the new Tezzoniradio-electric system--and one's dead, now, a suicide; the other's inSing-Sing for eighteen years. Remember that--and keep your mouth shut!"
"Yes, sir. I understand."
"All right, then. A fortnight from today, report to me here. And mindyou, have something to report, or--!"
"Yes, sir."
"Very well! Now, go!"
Thus dismissed, Herzog gathered together his books and papers, blinked amoment with those peculiar wall-eyes of his, arose and, bowing first toFlint and then to the keenly-watching Waldron, backed out of the office.
When the door had closed behind him, Flint turned to his partner with anervous laugh.
"That's the way to get results, eh?" he exclaimed. "No dilly-dallyingand no soft soap; but just lay the lash right on, hard--they jump then,the vermin! Results! That fellow will work his head off, the next twoweeks; and there'll be something doing when he comes again. You'll see!"
Waldron laughed nonchalantly. Once more the mask of indifference hadfallen over him, veiling the keen, incisive interest he had shown duringthe interview.
"Something doing, yes," he drawled, puffing his cigar to a glow. "Only Iadvise you to choose your men. Some day you'll try that on a realman--one of the rough-necks you know, and--"
Flint snapped his fingers contemptuously, gazed at Waldron a moment withunwinking eyes and tugged at his mustache.
"When I need advice on handling men, I'll ask for it," he rapped out.Then, glancing at the Louis XIV clock: "Past the time for that C.P.S.board-meeting, Wally. No more of this, now. We'll talk it over at theCountry Club, tonight; but for the present, let's dismiss it from ourminds."
"Right!" answered the other, and arose, yawning, as though the wholesubject were of but indifferent interest to him. "It's all moonshine,Flint. All a pipe-dream. Defoe's philosophers, who spent their livestrying to extract sunshine from cucumbers, never entertained any morefantastic notion than this of yours. However, it's your funeral, notmine. You're paying for it. I decline to put in any funds for any suchpurpose. Amuse yourself; you've got to settle the bill."
Flint smiled sourly, his gold tooth glinting, but made no answer.
"Come along," said his partner, moving toward the door. "They're waitingfor us, already, at the board meeting. And there's big business comingup, today--that strike situation, you remember. Slade's going to be ondeck. We've got to decide, at once, whether or not we're going to turnhim loose on the miners, to smash that gang of union thugs and Socialistfanatics, and do it right. _That's_ a game worth playing, Flint; butthis Air Trust vagary of yours--stuff and nonsense!"
Flint, for all reply, merely cast a strange look at his partner, withthose strongly-contracted pupils of his; and so the two vultures of preybetook themselves to the board room where already, round the longrosewood table, Walter Slade of the Cosmos Detective Company was layingout his strike-breaking plans to the attentive captains of industry.
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