Air Trust

by George Allan England

  CHAPTER VIII.

  ONE UNBIDDEN, SHARES GREAT SECRETS.

  Immediately on discovering his loss--which was soon after having reachedhis office--Flint, in something like a fright, telephoned down to theOakwood Heights laboratory and instructed Herzog, in person, to make acareful search for it and to report results inside an hour. Even thoughsome of the essentials of his plan were written in a code of his owndevising, Flint paled before the possible results should the book fallinto the hands of anybody intelligent enough to fathom its meaning.

  "Damn the luck!" he ejaculated, pacing the office floor, his fistsknotted. "If it had been a pocket book with a few thousand inside, thatwould have been a trifle. But to lose my plan of campaign--God grant noharm may come of it!"

  Waldron, slyly observing him, could not suppress a smile.

  "Calling on God, eh?" sneered he. "You _must_ be agitated. I haven'theard that kind of entreaty on your lips, Flint, since the year of thebig coal strike, when you prayed God the gun-men might 'get' thestrikers before they could organize. Come, come, man, brace up! Yourbook will turn up all right; and even if it doesn't there's no cause foralarm. It would take a man of extraordinary acumen to read _your_hieroglyphics! Cheer up, Flint. There's really nothing to excite you."

  The Billionaire thus adjured, sat down and tried to calm his agitation.

  "Rotten luck, eh?" he queried. "But after all, Herzog is likely to findthe book. And even if he doesn't, I guess we're safe enough. The veryboldness of the plan--supposing even that the finder could graspit--would put it outside the seeming range of the possible. It's hardlya hundred to one shot any harm may come of it."

  "All right, then, let it go at that," said Waldron. "And now, tobusiness. Suppose, for example, you've got a perfectly unlimited supplyof oxygen-gas and liquid. How are you going to market it? Just whatdetails have you worked out?"

  Flint pondered a moment, before replying. At last he said:

  "Of course you understand, Wally, I can't give you every point. Thewhole thing will be an evolution, and new ideas and processes, new usesand demands will develop as time passes. But in the main, my idea isthis: The big producing stations will steadily extract oxygen from theatmosphere, thus leaving the air increasingly poorer and less adapted tosustaining human life.

  "I shall store the oxygen in vast tanks, like the ordinary gas-tanks tobe found in every city, only much bigger. These tanks will be fed bypipe-lines from the central stations, thus."

  Flint drew toward him a sheet of his heavily embossed letter-paper, and,picking up a pencil, began to sketch a rough diagram. Waldron, making nocomment, followed every stroke with keen interest.

  "From these tanks," the Billionaire continued, "smaller pipes willconvey the gaseous oxygen to every house taking our service."

  "Just like ordinary gas?"

  "Precisely. Each room will be fitted with an oxygen jet apparatus,something like a gas burner, with a safety device to prevent over supplyand avoid the dangers of combustion."

  "Combustion?"

  "Yes. In pure oxygen, a glowing bit of wire will burst into flame. Yourcigar, there, would catch fire, from the merest spark in its inmostfolds. Too much oxygen in a room not only intoxicates theoccupants--we've already seen _that_ effect--but also develops a greatfire risk. So we shall have to make some provision for that, Wally. Itwill be absolutely essential."

  "All right. Allowing it's been made, what then?" asked "Tiger," withextraordinary interest.

  "Can't you see? We'll have every household under our absolute thumb?"And Flint pressed his thumb on the table to illustrate. "My God, man,think of it! Every city honeycombed by our pipes--yes, and every villageand hamlet too, and even every farm house that can afford it! At first,the cost will be very low, till people have become accustomed to ozoneas they are to water. The whole ventilation problem will be solved, atonce and for all time. Where we can't pipe in the ozone, we can useportable vaporizers, to be supplied once a month, and of sufficientcapacity to keep the air of an average-sized house perfectly pure forthirty days.

  "Pure? More than pure! Exhilarating, life-giving, delicious! Under thissystem, Wally, the middle and upper classes will thrive as neverbefore. They'll grow in size and weight, in health and intelligence,under the steady influence of ozone, day and night. Every vital processwill be stimulated. Our invention will mark a new era in the welfare ofthe world!"

  "Bunk!" sneered Wally. "That's all very well for your prospectuses andnewspaper articles, old man, but the fact is we don't give a damnwhether it helps the world or wrecks it. We're out for money and power.My motto is, Get 'em and do good, if you can--but _get_ 'em anyhow! Soyou had better can the philanthropic part of it. Just show me the cash,and you can have all the credit!"

  Flint shot a grim look at his partner, then continued:

  "Don't be flippant, Wally. This is a serious business and must betreated as such. In addition to the respiratory service, we can put inwater-cooling and refrigerating services, at low cost, also cold-pipesfor cooling houses in summer. In fine, we can immeasurably add to thehealth and comfort of the better classes; and can at last have everybodyusing our gas, which, registering through our own sealed meters, willflood us with wealth so vast as to make that of these Standard Oilpifflers look like the proverbial thirty cents!"

  "Fine!" exclaimed Waldron, nodding approval. "Also, any time anyrebellion develops we can merely shut off the supply in that quarter,and quickly reduce it. Or, again, we can increase the potency of thegas, and fairly intoxicate the people, till they stand for anything.Just fancy, now, our pipes connected with the sacred Halls of Congressand with the White House! Even if any difficulty could possibly beexpected from these sources, just imagine how quickly we could nip it inthe bud!"

  "Quickly isn't the word, Wally," answered the Billionaire. "I tell you,old man, the world lies in our hands, today. And we have only to closeour fingers, in order to possess it!"

  He glanced at his own fingers, as though he visibly perceived the greatworld lying there for him to squeeze. Waldron's eyes, following theBillionaire's, saw that Flint's hand was trembling, and understood thereason. More than three hours had passed--nay, almost four--since Flinthad had any opportunity to take his necessary dose of morphia. Waldronarose, paced to the window and stood there looking out over the vastpanorama of city, river and harbor, apparently absorbed incontemplation, but really keen to hear what Flint might do.

  His expectations were not disappointed. Hardly had he turned his back,when he heard the desk-drawer open, furtively, and knew the Billionairewas taking out the little vial of white tablets, dearer to him than everthe caress of woman to a Don Juan. A moment later, the drawer closedagain.

  "He'll do now, for a while," thought Waldron, with satisfaction. "Lethim go the limit, if he likes--the fool! The more he takes, the quickerI win. It'll kill him yet, the dope will. And _that_ means, my masteryof the world will be complete. Let him go it! The harder, the better!"

  He turned back toward Flint, again, veiling in that impenetrable face ofhis the slightest hint or expression which might have told Flint that heunderstood the Billionaire's vice. If Flint were Vulture, Waldron wasTiger, indeed. And so, for a brief moment, these two soulless men ofgold and power stood eyeing each other, in silence.

  Suddenly Waldron spoke.

  "There's one thing you've forgotten to speak of, Flint," he said.

  "And that is?" demanded the other, already calmed by the quick action ofthe subtle, enslaving drug.

  "The effect on the world's poor--on the toiling millions! The results ofthis innovation, in slum, and slave-quarter, and in the haunts ofpoverty. Your talk has all been of the middle and upper classes, and ofthe benefits accruing to them, from increased oxygen-consumption. Buthow about the others? Every ounce of oxygen you take out of the air,leaves it just so much poorer. Store thousands of tons of thelife-giving gas, in monster tanks, and you vitiate the entireatmosphere. How about that? How can even the well-to-do breathe, then,out-doors, to say not
hing of the poverty-stricken millions?"

  Flint grimaced, showing a glint of his gold tooth--his substitute for asmile.

  "That's all reckoned for," he answered. "I thought I made it quiteclear, in our previous talk. To begin with, we will withdraw the oxygenfrom the atmosphere so slowly that at first there won't be anynoticeable effect on the out-door air. For a while, the only thing thatwill be noticed by the world will be that our gas service, to privateresidences and institutions, will result in greatly increased comfortand health to the better classes. And the cost will be so low--at first,mind you, only at first--that every family of any means at all can takeit. In fact, Wally, we can afford practically to give away the service,for the first year, until we get our grip firmly fixed on the throat ofthe world. Do you get the idea?"

  Waldron nodded, as he drew leisurely on his cigar.

  "Practical to a degree," he answered. "That is, until the poor begin togasp for breath. But what then?"

  "By the time the outer atmosphere really begins to show the effect ofwithdrawing a considerable percentage of the oxygen," Flint answered,"we will have our pocket respirators on the market. Well-to-do peoplewill as soon think of going out without their shoes, as they will withtheir respirators. No, there won't be any visible tubes or attachments,Wally. Nothing of that kind. Only, each person will carry a properlyinsulated cake of solidified oxygen that will evaporate through thespecial apparatus and surround him with a normally rich atmosphere.And--"

  "Yes, but the poor? The workers? What of them?"

  "Devil take _them_, if it comes to that!" retorted Flint, with someheat. "Who ever gives them any serious attention, as it is? Who bothersabout their health? They eat and drink and breathe the leavings,anyhow--eat the cheapest and most adulterated food, drink the vilestslop and breathe the most vitiated slum air. Nobody cares, exceptperhaps those crazy Socialists that once in a while get up on thestreet-corner and howl about the rights of man and all that rubbish!Working-class? What do _I_ care about the cattle? Let them die, if theywant to! D'you suppose, for one minute, I'm going to limit or delay thisbig innovation, because there's a working-class that may suffer?"

  "They'll do more than suffer, Flint, if you seriously depreciate theatmosphere. They'll die!"

  "Well, let them, and be damned to them!" retorted Flint, alreadyshowing symptoms of drug-stimulation. Waldron, smoking meanwhile, eyedhim with a dangerous smile lurking in his cold eyes. "Let them, I say!They die off, now, twice or thrice as fast as the better classes, butwhat difference does it make? Great breeders, those people are. The morethey die, the faster they multiply. Let them go their way and do as theylike, so long as they don't interfere with _us_! The only reallyimportant factor to reckon on is this, that with an impoverished air tobreathe, their rebellious spirit will die out--the dogs!--and we'll haveno more talk of social revolution. We'll draw their teeth, all rightenough; or rather, twist the bowstring round their damned necks so tightthat all their energy, outside of work, will be consumed in just keepingalive. Revolution, then? Forget it, Waldron! We'll kill _that_ viperonce and for all!"

  "Good idea, Flint," the other replied, with approbation. "Only amaster-mind like yours could have conceived it. I'm with you, all rightenough. Only, tell me--do you really believe we can put this wholeprogram through, without a hitch? Without a leak, anywhere? Withoutbarricades in the streets, wild-eyed agitators howling, machine-gunschattering, and Hell to pay?"

  Flint smiled grimly.

  "Wait and see!" he growled.

  "Maybe you're right," his partner answered. "But slow and easy is theonly way."

  "Slow and easy," Flint assented. "Of course we can't go too fast. In1850, for example, do you suppose the public would have tolerated thesudden imposition of monopolies? Hardly! But now they lie down underthem, and even vote and fight to keep them! So, too, with this AirTrust. Time will show you I'm right."

  Waldron glanced at his watch.

  "Long past lunch-time, Flint," said he. "Enough of this, for now. Andthis afternoon, I've got that D. K. & E. directors' meeting onhand. When shall we go on with our plans, and get down to specificdetails?"

  "This evening, say?"

  "Very well. At my house?"

  "No. Too noisy. Run out to Englewood, to mine. We'll be quiet there. Andcome early, Waldron. We've no end of things to discuss. The quicker weget the actual work under way, now, the better. You can see Catherine,too. Isn't that an inducement?"

  Thus ended the conference. It resumed, that night, in Flint's luxuriousstudy at "Idle Hour," his superb estate on the Palisades. Waldron paidonly a perfunctory court to Catherine, who manifested her pleasure bystudied indifference. Both magnates felt relieved when she withdrew.They had other and larger matters under way than any dealing with theamenities of life.

  Until past midnight the session in the study lasted, under the soft glowof the Billionaire's reading-light. And many choice cigars were smoked,many sheets of paper covered with diagrams and calculations, many vastschemes of conquest expanded, ere the two masters said good-night andseparated.

  At the very hour of Waldron's leave-taking, another man was ponderingdeeply, studying the problem from quite another angle, and--no lessearnestly, than the two magnates--laying careful plans.

  This man, sturdy, well-built and keen, smoked an old briar as heworked. A flannel shirt, open at the throat, showed a well-sinewed neckand powerful chest. Under the inverted cone of a shaded incandescent inhis room, at the electricians' quarters of the Oakwood Heightsenclosure, one could see the deep lines of thought and careful studycrease his high and prominent brow.

  From time to time he gazed out through the open window, off toward thewhispering lines of surf on the eastern shores of Staten Island--thesurf forever talking, forever striving to give its mystic message to theunheeding ear of man. And as he gazed, his blue eyes narrowed with theintensity of his thought. Once, as though some sudden understanding hadcome to him, he smote the pine table with a corded fist, and swore belowhis breath.

  It was past two in the morning when he finally rose, stretched, yawnedand made ready for sleep on his hard iron bunk.

  "Can it be?" he muttered, as he undressed. "Can it be possible, or am Idreaming? No--this is no dream! This is reality; and thank God, Iunderstand."

  Then, before he extinguished his light, he took from the table thematerial he had been studying over, and put it beneath his pillow, wherehe could guard it safe till morning.

  The thing he thus protected was none other than a small note-book,filled with diagrams, jottings and calculations, and bound in redmorocco covers.

  That night, at Englewood--in the Billionaire's home and in theworkman's simple room at Oakwood Heights--history was being made.

  The outcome, tragic and terrible, who could have foreseen?