CHAPTER XXXI
TWO DOGS AND A BONE
When the market closed that afternoon there was a scene in Simmons'soffice and an exchange of lurid language and mutual recriminationbetween Weston and himself unfit for publication.
Weston cursed Simmons for an arrant coward and a doddering old idiot,and Simmons abused Weston for a stupid fool who believed his dupe,Hardy, was blindly quarrying granite and selling stock to other dupes,when, instead, he had kept posted, come to the city in the nick of time,and tipped over their stock dish.
"The next time you pose for a great financier," said Simmons, withbiting sarcasm, "and try to engineer a corner, you had better place halfyour stock in the hands of your office boy and tell him to attend theball games each afternoon. Then advertise what your intentions are inthe papers. It would be on a par with what you have done. You may beable to pray with a stupid old woman and hoodwink her, but as for doingbusiness with men, you have mistaken your calling. You can't evendeceive boys!"
And J. Malcolm Weston, realizing how he had failed on Winn, who he nowknew was in the city, and had been in the exchange that day, hung hishead in shame.
He even forgot to stroke his "stun'sls," as Jess called his sidewhiskers.
But there was one solace left him, and he proceeded to carry it out. Infact, he had made preparation to do so already.
"We will close up our business now, Mr. Simmons," he said in a dejectedtone, when the tirade of abuse had ceased, "and in future I will employanother broker."
"Yes, and you are d----d welcome to do it," asserted Simmons, whosewrath had not cooled. "You made a holy show of me to-day and let thatupstart, Page, turn the tables on me, and I've had enough of you. Youhad better go and hold a prayer service with Mrs. Converse. WithRockhavens at nothing bid, she will be in a suitable mood for prayers.You might ring the changes on 'The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away'with her, but you won't bear any resemblance to the Lord in herestimation. Take your business and your schemes and hide yourselfsomewhere. I would suggest you go to Rockhaven and ask your 'old fossilfiddler' to play the 'Rogues' March' for you."
And, having thus relieved his mind, Simmons, turned to his desk, andafter a half-hour of careful computation handed Weston a statement andcheck for one hundred and ten thousand dollars, which represented thenet results of the securities Weston had turned over to him, afterdeducting the actual loss they had made on Rockhaven. For the moneyreceived from the sale of some thirty thousand shares at one dollareach, had more than been consumed in buying back stock at various pricesto affect the market, in the quarrying operations, in _Market News_items, and various other outgoes.
What Weston did receive after over a year of scheming was less than theoriginal capital Hill had put into the firm. Weston had previouslychecked out and pocketed the firm's own bank balance, and now he wentthe way he had for months planned to go, and that night left the city.
And his wife, who had shrewdly insisted that their residence be deededto her, in case of business reverses, shed no tears.
It was a fitting climax to the life of a J. Malcolm Weston.
But there was another episode of equal interest, and that the outcome ofWeston's robbery of Hill. And when that has been told, no more shalleither of these despicable men taint this narrative.
All that day while Rockhaven was first shooting skyward and thendownward, Hill sat in his office watching the ticker. He couldn't go onto the floor of the exchange; he knew Weston was with Simmons; and so,like a human hyena, he lurked in his own den, waiting for his share ofthe plunder. And when the tape recorded forty for Rockhaven and thendown to nothing in less time than it can be told, Hill was the happiestof men. He knew the plan was for Simmons to sell at forty, and supposedthat he had done so. And in his greedy joy he began figuring how muchhis share of the street's robbery would be.
No thought of the poor widow, whose child was even then at her work inhis outer office, came to him. He knew this confiding woman had, at hissuggestion, invested her all in Rockhaven, and that now it had beenswept away. It mattered not. Neither did he think of Mrs. Converse, moreespecially Weston's dupe, and whose stock, now worthless, was locked intheir safe. No thought of young Winn Hardy, their faithful helper, andhis loss came. No thought of anybody who had lost by them and mustsuffer entered his narrow and backward-sloping cranium. He only thoughtof himself. And his deep-set eyes gleamed with the miser's joy, and hisshallow conceit swelled with pride.
Now he was a great financier!
Now he was a power "on 'change"!
When the market closed and the now beggared stenographer and otheroffice help had gone home, he still waited. Weston would surely comesoon and acquaint him with the results of their great achievement.
But Weston came not.
And Hill still waited.
And as one hour and then another was ticked off by the office clock, heceased computing his share of the coming gains, and an intuitive sensethat all was not right came to him. He was naturally suspicious, andbeing a thief at heart himself, quick to suspect others.
And now he suspected Weston!
Little by little his distrust increased as Hill watched the office doorand listened to the clock tick. Trifling remarks that Weston had made,half-concealed sneers he had let escape, returned to Hill as he watchedand waited.
Certainly he should come and divide, as any honorable thief ought to.
But he did not!
Never before had Weston failed to return at the close of the exchange,where he was usually closeted with Simmons. Why not now?
And so the demon of suspicion grew.
When another hour had passed and the daily workers in stores werehurrying homeward, Hill could stand the suspense no longer, and takinghis hat almost ran to Simmons's office.
As might be expected, it was closed.
Then in a frenzy he hurried back to his own office and rang up Weston'shome on the telephone.
Weston was not there.
Then he tried Simmons's home, with the same result.
Then he went home.
From gloating over the prospective fortune he expected to share, he hadin a few hours become almost insane with a dread suspicion. His supperwas but half eaten; he wouldn't answer his patient wife's question; hecouldn't read, or think of but one thing, and that the horrible doubtand suspicion consuming him.
That night his sleep was filled with fiendish dreams, and he saw Westonrunning away and leering back at him over his shoulder.
When morning came, he hurried to his office an hour earlier than usual.Only the office boy was there, sweeping out. Hill went to his desk,where the morning mail was left. But one letter was there, and that fromWinn Hardy, dated in the city the night before and enclosing a check fortwo hundred and thirty dollars, with the information that it belonged tothe firm and that he had severed his connection with them.
True to his nature, even in despair, Hill put it in his pocket,resolving to say nothing to Weston about it. Then, to kill time tillWeston came, he opened the morning paper. On the front page was thestaring headlines:--
THE ROCKHAVEN GRANITE COMPANY GONE TO SMASH THE PRESIDENT, WESTON, SAID TO HAVE SKIPPED
And then cold beads of sweat gathered on the face of Carlos B. Hill! Allthe horrible suspicion of the day before was now proven true! He waitedto read no more, but with a groan of despair rushed, hatless, out ofthe office and ran to that of Simmons. That icicle of a man was there,calmly reading his mail.
"Where is Weston," almost screamed the half-insane Hill, "and what doesall this mean?"
"I haven't the least idea where Mr. Weston is," replied Simmons, calmly."Neither do I care. I balanced our account with him yesterday at theclose of business, at his request, and beyond that have no interest."
"But where is he? Tell me quick, for God's sake!" shouted Hill, nowtrembling with excitement and fear. "I must know! Oh, what does thismean!"
"You had better go back to your own office and
read the papers,"answered the imperturbable Simmons, in a tone of disgust. "And when yougo out again, put your hat on. As for Weston, I've done with him, andgood riddance. He made a mess of his scheme, an ass of me 'on 'change'yesterday, and I hope I'll never see him again." And the always coolSimmons turned to his mail. Nothing short of a panic on the street or anearthquake ever disturbed him.
"But where is all the money we made yesterday?" came from Hill, instrident voice. "I want it, and I want it now!"
And he did want it more than he wanted good name, fame, wife, home,life, health, or God even!
"We made no money out of Rockhaven," answered Simmons, too disgustedeven to be polite; "and I told you once, I have squared my account withWeston and paid him all I owe him. If that is not enough, I'll sing itto you."
And Hill, too agonized to feel an insult even, turned away. Back to theoffice he ran and read the long account of how Rockhaven had gone uplike a rocket and down like a stick. He also read how Simmons had, atthe critical moment, been worsted by Page, and even a description ofJess Hutton, who was present to see the fiasco. For Page, not satisfiedwith his triumph, had called up a reporter, and it is small wonder thatSimmons was thoroughly incensed. There was sarcastic reference to him inthe article: Weston was ridiculed, and even Hill did not escape, forthis sacrilegious scribe had suggested that he could cool his rage atbeing baffled by fanning himself with his own ears. It was a maliciousthrust, for the one feature about himself that Hill was ashamed of washis enormous ears.
In the midst of this added agony, in walked a clerk from their bank toinform him the account of Weston & Hill was overdrawn ten thousanddollars, and to make it good inside an hour or legal proceedings wouldfollow.
Then Hill, with a groan, staggered to their safe and opened the tillwhere securities were kept.
It was empty!
Then ruined, robbed, insulted, and in utter despair, he who in all hislong life of grasping greed never had had one kindly thought for others,or of their needs, locked himself in his private office.
And when, an hour later, an officer knocked upon the door, demandingadmittance in the name of the law, a pistol's report was the onlyanswer.
And Carlos B. Hill, a cowardly sneak in life, died a coward's death.
But the minister of his church uttered an eulogy over him, for so muchhad he bought and amply paid for, and a small cortege followed him tohis last resting place.
And among those few there was not a single sincere mourner.
Not even his wife!
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