He dropped to the couch, fingering the report that lay beside him. “For the last two years, Cavalier has been contemplating a substantial expansion of their research laboratory facilities, particularly on the practical side.”
Suddenly, as if the thought had been exploded in his mind by the electric impulse that radiated from Cash McCall’s eyes, Gil saw the possibility far more clearly than his stumbling voice indicated as he asked, “You mean—use Suffolk Moulding as a Cavalier research center?”
“But with an added twist. Ever since that fiber deal I told you about, Cavalier has been retaining Aurora Laboratories to supplement their own research work. Cavalier is Aurora’s biggest client. I’d say that Aurora is carrying a good half of Cavalier’s total research program. Now suppose we merge Aurora with Suffolk Moulding, give Schnader and his boys the whole Suffolk plant as a research center. Would it work?”
Habit made Gil Clark search for flaws but the only fault he could find was with his own obtuseness in having failed to recognize how perfectly Suffolk Moulding could be fitted into its new role. The heterogeneous collection of presses, assembled by Grant Austen in years past, would provide ideal pilot-plant facilities for production research. The machine shop, still manned by men who had grown up in the days when Grant Austen had concentrated on development work, was an inventor’s dream come true. The Administration Building could be easily converted to a chemical laboratory.
The flame that Cash McCall touched to a cigarette flared briefly and then snapped out. “I happen to know that Schnader is worried about having nothing to leave his family. I’m sure he’d jump at the chance to pick up a couple hundred thousand that could be capital gained. And you’re sure that Suffolk Moulding is for sale?”
“Absolutely,” Gil said. “Unless Grant Austen changes his mind, and I don’t think he will.”
“So far, so good. Then the problem would be to sell the idea to Cavalier. If we could—” He cut himself off. “I’m getting in a little deep here without knowing whether you’re going along or not. What about it, Gil, want to deal yourself in—or don’t you?”
“Well, I—this is what it would be, working on things like this?”
“Right. But I’m not trying to push you into a fast decision. If you want a day or two to make up your mind—or if you want to talk to your wife—?”
“No, it isn’t that,” Gil said quickly, unable to explain that his hesitance arose, not from indecision, but from his surprise that Cash McCall didn’t know that his decision had already been made. “You can count me in.”
“Good,” Cash McCall said simply, the easy sweep of his arm picking up the report. “Take this along and study it. It’s a Lockwood report on Cavalier—give you a lot of background. If there’s anything more that you want the Lockwood boys to dig up, let me know and we’ll put them on the trail. I own the outfit so we might as well make use of it.” He tossed the report to Gil’s lap. “Don’t let that get out of your hands. After you’ve had a chance to study it—oh, you’d better have this, too.”
He found a scrap of paper and scrawled something on it. “My telephone number. It’s not listed and the hotel won’t connect you. Only way I can protect myself from all the Grant Austens with companies to sell. Give me a ring when you’re ready to talk—tonight, tomorrow morning, whenever it suits you.”
Nudged by a tone of dismissal, Gil found himself moving toward the door. “What about Grant Austen? What shall I tell him when he calls—that you’re interested and want to talk to him?”
Cash McCall jammed his hands deep in his jacket pockets. “Go back to your office and stand by until he calls. Tell him you have a buyer—but not who it is. My name isn’t to be used. Get him to set his price—and warn him that there’ll be no haggling. It will be a one-price deal—take it or leave it, yes or no. We’ll buy or not buy, that’s all there’ll be to it. Understand?”
Gil nodded. “And I’ll call you then, after I’ve talked to him?”
“Right. If I buy, take him to Winston Conway at Jamison, Conway & Slythe. He’ll handle the details.”
“But won’t you want to at least see the plant?” Gil asked incredulously.
“No need of that. I rarely see the properties I buy—too dangerous. If I start roaming around factories I get intrigued with gadgets and lose my perspective. But look now—don’t be disappointed if I turn it down. The woods are full of Grant Austens with companies to sell. We can’t buy them all.”
“I know,” he said automatically, further response cut off by the strangely chiding smile that had settled on Cash McCall’s face.
“Gil, I thought you were interested in making money?”
“I am. I—”
“You haven’t even asked what your salary will be.”
“Well, I—I wasn’t worrying about that.”
The smile faded. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want it to influence you, one way or another. But just in case your wife is interested, you can tell her that your salary will be twenty-five thousand a year.”
There was a parched dryness in Gil Clark’s throat that made it impossible to express the gratitude that welled up within him. His salary at Corporation Associates had been six hundred a month.
10
The luncheon at The Wharf had scarcely reached its midpoint when Will Atherson picked a hint out of Grant Austen’s conversation that the president of the Suffolk Moulding Company had something on his mind other than a loan to finance the expansion that Andscott demanded. By the time they left the club, building hint upon hint, Atherson suspected that Austen was planning to sell his company. The first minutes after their return to the bank had confirmed it.
“Maybe you think I’m crazy,” Austen said, “but it looks to me like the smart thing to do.”
“You may well be right,” Atherson said soberly, tamping his pipe. “As a matter of fact, I’m inclined to think that you are.”
Grant Austen responded to the encouragement. “I know what I’m doing, Will. I’ve thought the whole thing through and I’ve made up my mind.”
Will Atherson sat back, taking advantage of a quality of character that he had purposefully developed for such occasions, a pipe-smoking taciturnity that forced the man on the other side of the desk to do most of the talking.
Grant Austen endured the silence to the breaking point. “I’ve never done anything like this before, Will, and I know there’s a right way and a wrong way to go about it. I’ve always worked with you before—anything financial—so that’s why I came down today.”
“Appreciate it,” Atherson said. “Have anything in mind?”
“Well, nothing special—except I remember back about the start of the war you had someone on the string that wanted to buy me out.”
“Yes, I recall.”
“Always had a suspicion it was Andscott,” Austen said, his tone adding a question mark.
Atherson found himself a victim of his own tactics. Now it was Austen who was forcing him to talk. “There’s been a lot of water over the dam since then.”
“But you’re still close to Andscott, aren’t you?” Austen asked accepting evasion as confirmation. “What I mean is, you’d be in a position to approach them to see whether they might be interested now, wouldn’t you? From their standpoint I should think it would make a lot of sense, getting their own molding plant.”
“Might,” Atherson admitted, going through the slow-motion movements of lighting his pipe. It was clear now that Grant Austen had made his decision. But the next step was a puzzler. It was true that Andscott might be interested, but only at a bargain price, and then only if Suffolk Moulding could be bought for stock instead of cash. On the other hand, it would undoubtedly improve the bank’s future relations with Andscott to throw the deal their way … and it was true the biggest account in the Trust Department had heavy holdings of Andscott stock. But the bank had an obligation to Grant Austen, too. He was an old customer, one of the oldest.
One of the first loans t
hat Will Atherson had made, after his father had given him the freedom to act entirely on his own judgment, had been to Grant Austen. He had been proved right in backing Austen and, afterwards, through all the years that had followed, loan after loan, he had found great personal satisfaction in the role that he played in the building of the Suffolk Moulding Company. It was a good example of constructive banking practice, a pleasant rebuttal against the all too common estimate of a banker as a usurious leech. Now, at the end, despite the loss of the admiration he once felt for Grant Austen’s ingenuity and driving energy, there was still the debt of an old friendship. The least he could do was to make a fair final payment.
“I’ll help you, Grant,” he said. “Do anything I can. Gladly.”
“What about Andscott?”
“Frankly, I think you’d do better in another quarter. I’ll be glad to sound them out if you want me to, but I doubt if they’d be either willing or able to pay you what the business is worth. Of course, if you were interested in a merger—taking payment for your company in Andscott stock—?”
“No, that’s out, Will.”
“You’ve considered the fact that a tax-free transfer of stock might be arranged?”
Austen shook his head vigorously. “I want to get out, Will, all the way out. Don’t you think that’s the smart thing to do?”
“Yes, in your case, I think it is,” Atherson said with cautious honesty. “Frankly, Andscott looks extremely shaky to me. I’m afraid General Danvers made a bad move in getting into the television business. It’s been bleeding the rest of the company white and I doubt now whether it’s ever going to pay off.”
“Sure, I know,” Austen persisted. “But even if Andscott isn’t the best bet, don’t you think it might still be a good idea to sound them out? What I mean is—well, if they’d make me an offer it would be something to start with, wouldn’t it? Give us something to play off against another buyer? Selling a company is like selling anything else—the more prospects you’ve got bidding, the higher you can work up the price.”
“Let’s consider that for a moment,” Atherson said, remembering the call that he had had from the president of Andscott the day before. “If Andscott shouldn’t be interested, isn’t there a possibility that they would be seriously concerned if they found out that you were planning to sell?”
“I don’t get what you mean, Will.”
“Might they not think that a new ownership of Suffolk Moulding would jeopardize their cabinet supply? If they did, wouldn’t they be inclined to shift their business to another source in order to protect their position? If that happened—if you lost the Andscott business—wouldn’t your company be harder to sell? Might it not substantially reduce the price you could get?”
Grant Austen hesitated, an oddly preoccupied expression on his face, finally saying, “Maybe you’re right, Will. I guess the best thing would be to leave Andscott out of it.”
For a moment, Will Atherson had the feeling that there was something that Grant Austen wasn’t telling him, but quickly decided that Austen’s hesitance indicated only embarrassment at not having thought his way through the Andscott situation. “Any other prospects in mind, Grant?”
“Well, Gil Clark’s got someone who’s interested.”
“Clark?”
“He’s the Corporation Associates man who handles our account. You met him in the hotel this noon.”
Atherson nodded, resorting again to the saving diversion of relighting his pipe.
“Corporation Associates is Harrison Glenn, you know,” Grant Austen went on. “He has a lot of contacts and—well, I didn’t see any harm in having him tip me off on anything he might have on tap.”
“Perhaps not,” Atherson said, but feeling now the urgent necessity of taking command of the situation, motivated not by any gain to the bank that might come from participation in the sale of Suffolk Moulding Company, but rather by the loss of pride that he would experience if Grant Austen were to secure the help that he needed from another source.
Backspinning, his mind quickly sorted the possibilities. Selling the Suffolk Moulding Company shouldn’t prove too difficult. It was a sound little company in a growing industry. But it would take time to find the right buyer, possibly several months. In the meantime, Andscott would be sure to hear about it and what he’d told Austen about losing the Andscott business was no empty threat. That was the way Danvers would probably react. If there were only someone who might buy in a hurry …
His mind braked to a quick stop. Hadn’t Cash McCall once said that he was interested in Suffolk? The incident came back, materializing out of wisps of discarded memory. It had been after McCall had returned from Maine, that summer he’d put through the paper-mill deal that had ended in the Paper Enterprises Corporation. Cash had walked in that day on an unprecedented visit to the bank and, masking his real purpose, had said something about having met a girl named Lory Austen who had told him that she was a friend of the Athersons. For a brief moment, he had imagined that McCall’s interest in Lory was personal. But, of course, it hadn’t been and, afterwards, inwardly and silently, he had laughed at himself for having allowed the thought to occur to him. He had thought himself as silly as his wife had been at that party for Lory, imagining every man that looked at the child as a matchmaking prospect.
What Cash McCall had been interested in, of course, had been Suffolk Moulding. And he must have been impressed with the story of how it had grown with the help of the Freeholders Bank & Trust Company because, afterwards, he had said, ‘Keep an eye on that company, Will. If Austen ever wants to sell it, I might be interested.’ But that was a long time ago now and Cash McCall’s interests were even more mercurial than most men’s … and the situation had changed … but if Cash McCall were still interested …
Atherson blew a curling spiral of smoke. “I know someone who might be a prospect, Grant. If he were, he’d be an ideal buyer. He’s the kind of man who has no trouble making up his mind—and when his mind’s made up he moves in a hurry.”
“That’s what I want,” Austen said impatiently. “But I want to get a decent price, too. After all I don’t have to sell. It isn’t as if I were being forced into it.”
“Do you have an asking price in mind?”
“Two million.”
Austen’s quick reply was clinching proof that his desire to sell was sincere and Will Atherson’s mind, spinning figures like a calculating machine, came up with an answer that matched Austen’s. His study of the Suffolk folder yesterday morning had engraved the company’s current balance sheet on his memory and two million seemed a sound asking price. It was high enough so that Austen could back down two or three hundred thousand and still get what the company was worth, yet the figure was not so high that a good prospect would be frightened away.
“Who’s this buyer you’re thinking about?” Austen asked.
“I’ve no idea whether he’ll be interested or not,” Atherson said. “But if you’ll authorize me to contact him, I’ll see what I can find out.”
“How long will it take?”
“Not very long—if he’s in the city. If he isn’t, a few days at the most. Shall I go ahead?”
Grant Austen shifted restlessly. “Well, I guess there’s no harm in telling him the company is for sale. Sure, go ahead, Will. But make it as fast as you can. Now that I’ve decided to do it, I’m anxious to get it over with. As I was saying, Gil Clark said that he had someone who might be interested, too.”
“When are you leaving Philadelphia?” Atherson asked, convinced now that Grant Austen was in a state of mind where he would snap up the first good offer.
“Well, I’d planned to leave before long. I told Lory that I’d meet her at three.” He looked at his watch. “Later than I thought. Half an hour from now.”
“Where are you meeting her?”
“At the Ivanhoe. In the lobby.”
“Suppose we leave it this way, Grant. If I know anything by then I’ll leave a message for you
at the desk and you can give me a ring.”
“All right,” Grant Austen said, rising. “I’ll call Gil Clark right away.”
“I wouldn’t jump too fast, Grant.”
Austen put his arm into the topcoat that Will Atherson was holding for him. “Sure I know, but I’m not going to fool around. I know what I want to do and I’m going to do it.”
Atherson surrendered his hold on the coat. “Grant, if you want to make a call there’s no reason why you can’t make it from here.”
“Oh, I—”
“That’s what our customer’s room is for. Completely private. No one will disturb you.”
He guided Austen to the door of the room that was reserved for the use of important bank customers and returned quickly to his own office, throwing open the door to his secretary’s adjoining cubicle. “Get Mr. McCall on the line. His number isn’t in the book but you have it there somewhere. If he doesn’t answer, keep trying.”
Unexpectedly, his buzzer sounded almost immediately, signaling that the call had been completed, and he picked up the receiver, anticipating incongruity. Cash McCall’s voice always sounded strangely out of place when heard in the polished glass atmosphere of the bank. It was the voice of a man before a log fire with a mug of hot buttered rum in his hand, or astride a good hunter, or fondling a new-born pup out of his best bitch, or sitting on a rail fence in the hazy October sun.
“Will Atherson,” the banker identified himself.
The tone of McCall’s response was as he had expected it to be.
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