The three old heads nodded with sublime approval and understanding. Eugene’s voice continued, not stirring the smoke-and-brandy-and-fire-scented air. His voice, if without emphasis, was firm; it had authority. No business could exist without amalgamating itself with other industries. William Prescott at first had understood that fully. That is why the Prescott Lumber Company had become so unbelievably prosperous. Later, William had lost courage, had attempted, with more or less success, to make his company self-sufficient, an island outside the trend towards increasing concentration. In short, he was now doing what his associates had urged him to do over twenty years ago. They had been wrong, and they now realized it. He had been right, and was now wrong. His fear was keeping profits down. He had lost that progressiveness which had enriched them all. The company was still very prosperous, but it was steadily and inevitably coming to a standstill. It would soon retrogress. As yet, his associates and officers could do nothing. They could do nothing as long as he was president of the Prescott Lumber Company.
Eugene ceased speaking. The heads still nodded, but now with deep gravity. Eugene laughed faintly.
William was no longer investing, in the name of the company, in large corporations. He was frightened; his illness had frightened him even more. What investments he made, as in railroads, he made with his own money. He was speculating dangerously, recklessly. In railroads, especially, and railroads were a very volatile business. His family was a fabulous drain upon him. He lived as opulently as a prince, but his salary was not sufficient to meet the endless needs and demands of his children, for whom he was now spending his capital as well as his salary. There were signs that he was losing his head. At the present time, Mr. Regan was “carrying” him. So far, Mr. Regan held, as collateral, nearly twenty percent of William’s fifty-one percent of the Prescott stock.
Dr. Banks interrupted: “You are certain of your facts, Gene?” Eugene looked down at his brief-case. “Certainly, Doctor,” he replied, coldly. “I never speak without facts.” Now he smiled at them. “You are thinking that I’m an excellent spy, though, of course, you were too gentlemanly to ask me for my sources of information.”
“Oh, good Heavens!” exclaimed Judge Muehller. “Incredible of you to imply, Gene—”
“Incredible,” murmured Dr. Banks.
“I cannot believe you are serious, Gene,” said Mr. Bassett, much wounded.
“I have only the interest of the company at heart,” suggested Eugene, piously.
“Certainly. Certainly! It’s superfluous of you to mention that,” said the judge.
Eugene nodded, seriously. “I beg your pardon,” he said. He continued: “Prescott is trying to create independent fortunes and estates for his sons and his daughters. That is all that obsesses him now. He wants ‘security’ for them, he has told me. He has no liquid assets, to amount to anything; I know that, without mere speculation. Nevertheless, he continues to plunge. He will continue to put up his stock as collateral. And now for a prophecy, gentlemen. During the past ten years or so, we have survived several depressions. Prescott might not survive the next. I prophesy that by the fall of this year we shall have a really serious depression; short, perhaps, but devastating while it lasts. When that happens, friend or no friend, Regan will ask Prescott for more collateral.” Eugene paused. “After all, Mr. Regan is a financier. He cannot be expected to carry even friends without substantial collateral. For I feel that the drop in the market this fall will be only a prelude to a prolonged depression some time within the next five or six years. This country has overexpanded in the manufacture of commodities. Our population—especially the flood of immigrants—is, as yet, unable to absorb all we manufacture. We are not strong enough—as yet—to battle England and Germany for new markets. So, before we can adjust ourselves, before we can absorb what we are manufacturing, before we can secure new markets, there are bound to be a number of serious depressions.”
The others, remembering their own wide personal investments, became acutely uneasy. They frowned at Eugene, who smiled at them blandly.
“I hope your predictions are wrong,” said the judge, briefly.
“No, I am afraid they are right,” said Eugene. “However, gentlemen, I am certain that you, yourselves, need have no fear. I am certain your investments are sound. Your only worry need be about the Prescott Lumber Company. And yet, it need not be a worry. It may be a fine opportunity—to get rid of William Prescott, who is no longer an asset, or will no longer be an asset—to the company. Our time will come within five to seven years, perhaps sooner. We must be ready. We must be prepared to buy back, from Regan, the stock which Prescott has put up as collateral for his speculations.”
Mr. Bassett, recovered from his fright, chuckled. “Mr. Regan is a banker, after all,” he said, with brotherly fondness.
“It may not be possible to get rid of William Prescott immediately,” remarked Eugene, almost idly. “He still has eighty percent of his stock. It depends upon how frightened he becomes, how desperately he needs money for his children, how much he loses his head. I doubt that he will attempt to cut down his lavish ways of living, or that he will deny his children anything.”
“They always were worthless,” said Judge Muehller.
“He intends to bring Thomas into the business,” said Eugene, reflectively. “Now, Thomas! I think he will be an asset; in a minor capacity, of course. But definitely an asset. I think we can count on Tom Prescott, gentlemen.”
Mr. Bassett nodded. “I talked to him at their Christmas party,” he said. “A very sound mind, that young man has. No foolishnesses. Not capricious or unstable.”
“And with excellent ideas about money,” said Dr. Banks. He laughed richly. “And no particular love for his dad, either. Shows he has a mind, and self-respect.”
“As for Matthew Prescott, we need not consider him at all,” suggested Eugene.
Mr. Bassett pursed his lips. He cleared his throat. “You wouldn’t know, of course, Gene, what—er—provision he has made for Oliver? But, of course, it is foolish of me to ask.”
“It isn’t foolish at all, Mr. Bassett,” replied Eugene. “A very pertinent question. It happens that I know. He has made a bequest to Oliver, in his will, of five thousand dollars. Nothing else.”
The others were astonished.
Eugene nodded. “After all, Oliver is not his son. He has educated him. Oliver will be graduated from Harvard this spring. He is equipped to earn his living. Without doubt, Prescott will set him up in an office, and assist him for a while. And then, of course, there is that five thousand dollars, too.”
He added: “There is a trust fund for Mrs. Prescott. But the major part of his estate, whatever it may be at the time of his death, is to be divided equally among his two daughters and two sons.”
“At the rate he is going,” laughed the banker, “there will be precious little left in the estate. Incidentally, Eli, what is the condition of William’s health, at the present time?”
“Now that is a very hard thing for me to answer,” said the doctor. He winked. “I presume you mean how long do I think he’ll live? Frankly, I don’t know. He may not have another attack for a long time, or ever. It all depends on how he controls his temper and his feelings.”
“He has never been able to control his emotions,” said Eugene. “He is like a man trying to drive a dozen wild horses all at once. They’ll kill him, yet.”
“I am afraid so,” agreed Dr. Banks, very gravely. He sighed. “A very dangerous man to have at the head of a business.”
The others looked intently at the fire. Eugene’s eyes narrowed, as they studied each averted profile in turn.
Again, the doctor sighed; the others sighed with him. This was almost too much for Eugene. He had to clench his teeth to keep from laughing outright.
He said, almost softly, “You were friends of my father. He was your friend.” He paused. He smiled a little. “We are all friends together. My father would have liked that. End of the circle, yo
u might say.” Mr. Bassett moved his head so suddenly that the lamplight was like a flash of lightning on his rimless glasses.
“Eh? Ah, yes,” said Dr. Banks. “Dear friends—of course, Gene. We always knew you had it in you.”
“Thank you,” said Eugene, with the utmost courtesy.
“We knew,” said the saintly judge, “that nothing would ever be beyond you, Gene.”
“Nothing ever will be,” Eugene assured them.
Mr. Bassett was not certain he liked that smooth tone. He said: “In consideration—ah—of how we have all worked together for the good of the company, and in consideration of the invaluable services you have rendered the company, we believe, in the not too distant future, I hope—”
For the first time, he was inextricably wound up in the circumlocutions of his own banker’s idiom, and he stumbled helplessly.
“Yes?” prompted Eugene, calmly.
By nature, and profession, Mr. Bassett could not be specific and decisive in speech. He looked eloquently at his friends. Judge Muehller resembled the statue of an old Roman senator, worn and refined by suffering in the service of his country. Naturally, such an old Roman could not be expected to speak of mundane affairs. He left that to Mr. Bassett and Dr. Banks. As for Dr. Banks, he managed to put his fingertips together benignly, and to look over them at Eugene.
“My boy,” he said, sonorously, “what is it you have in mind? We must do justice to you, of course, though nothing, I am sure, could carry with it more responsibility—and salary—than the position of general manager of the mills. Some stock, perhaps—”
Eugene made no gesture of impatience; he did not stir. Yet Dr. Banks’ voice faded into fluttering silence.
“Gentlemen,” said Eugene, in the gentlest of tones, “I have a little over fifty thousand dollars, carefully and conservatively invested, and ten thousand in cash.”
“Remarkable!” the banker could not help exclaiming, with respect. The others, too, showed their admiration.
“That isn’t, however, a tremendous amount of money,” said Eugene. “And so, gentlemen, in view of what I have done and shall do in the future, I really expect to be voted the next president of the Prescott Lumber Company. I might point out to you that there is no question of my ability.”
The others stared at him dumbfounded, unable to speak. Three pairs of old eyes regarded him incredulously, and with anger.
“You really have no one else,” said Eugene, tranquilly. “Your sons, Judge Muehller? Your sons-in-law, Dr. Banks? Yours, Mr. Bassett?” Again, he coughed. “A hard question, this, but will any one of you gentlemen, in the future, be able to assume the responsibilities and rigors and work of the position I wish to have?”
They could not answer him. But each old head was craned towards him, every eye was grim.
“Have any of the younger men of whom you are thinking, gentlemen, the capabilities and the knowledge of the industry which I have? Or, do you think such a—relative—might act as a mere figurehead for you? No, no, gentlemen. That is something I couldn’t, and shouldn’t want to, believe. That is something I shouldn’t—forgive me—permit.”
“You—wouldn’t permit?” faltered the doctor, hoarsely.
“Really, Eugene,” said Mr. Bassett, deeply hurt.
The judge sighed. “Your language, sir,” he said, and touched the long black ribbon that hung from his spectacles.
“I said—permit,” repeated Eugene, indifferently. “But I’d rather not take advantage of you, gentlemen. I believe in being very frank. You see, I intend to marry Mr. Prescott’s daughter, Julia.”
The old men sat as still as wax models of themselves. The firelight was two silent pools on Mr. Bassett’s glasses. The judge’s hand stayed on the black ribbon; the doctor’s fingertips were frozen together. Only the fire stirred.
“Your next question,” said Eugene, softly, after several long moments had gone by, “is this: Does Mr. Prescott know it? My answer is: No. You see, I am very candid about my affairs. We have all been very candid, have we not? Once I was a clerk, and I kept the minutes. I have retained that somewhat superfluous habit, and I still keep minutes. In order, gentlemen, that we may, at a moment’s notice, be able to refer to any past meeting of ours. So, when I arrive home, I’ll write out the minutes of this meeting, as I have written out the minutes of all the others, and I’ll put in your unspoken question, and I shall answer: ‘No, Mr. Prescott has not yet been informed of my engagement to Miss Julia. When the time comes, he shall be so informed.’ And should the need ever arise, he may read these minutes freely, as he may read all the others—should the need ever arise.”
He stopped. The silence was not broken. Eugene looked absently at the fire, as if he were alone.
He said, almost inaudibly: “I have sixty thousand dollars. I also have some influence in New York. Mrs. Prescott has, I believe, personally saved nearly one hundred thousand dollars, neatly invested, upon good advice from a husband who did not use good advice himself. All in all, with what Mr. Prescott still has, we might go a long way towards redeeming considerable of his stock—I mean, if he ever wished to do so, or was assured that he must do so immediately for the sake of himself and of his children. For the sake of those children, if he saw their future even distantly threatened, he could be restrained from any madness, even speculation.”
And now the old men knew that this was not just a brilliant younger man, one of themselves, of their own tradition, to be used and rewarded, generously, in their own way, but a man more terrible than William Prescott had ever been, a man far more ruthless and exigent, and utterly beyond appeal. They had not used him; he had used them.
Mr. Bassett made several attempts to speak, and could only half-whisper: “What if William refuses—”
“He won’t,” said Eugene, and smiled at them oddly.
“You are very sure of yourself, young man,” said Dr. Banks, in a vicious tone which none of his fashionable patients had ever heard him use.
“I am, yes, Doctor. I have to be. And now, gentlemen, I wish to be frank again. It doesn’t matter to me who helps me get what I want. It can be you; it can be Mr. Prescott. The decision is yours to make. Candidly, it would be easier for me to choose Mr. Prescott. He once told me that five percent of his Prescott stock will go to each of his daughters, upon her marriage. When I am married to Julia, and am a member of the family, it will be very easy to—assist—Mr. Prescott in every way.”
It was the judge’s cold legal mind which thrust out from the disorder of the thoughts of the others: “Then, why, my dear Gene, have you bothered with us, in the first place?”
“A good question,” agreed Eugene, inclining his head courteously. “In the beginning, there was no thought of marrying Julia. Now there is Julia.”
“You have plotted a long time,” muttered Dr. Banks, breaking the silence that followed Eugene’s words. None of them looked at Eugene now; every face, even the judge’s, was unhealthily flushed.
“Not plotted—planned,” said Eugene. He studied each old man in turn. He was very amused. “I’m not sentimental, gentlemen. But I love neatness.”
He stood up. He was no longer a thin young man, their junior in scheming, their spy, their outpost, for whom they felt a paternal fondness and more than a little patronage. He was now their master. This man did not need them at all.
Eugene bowed to Dr. Banks, and thanked him for a delightful dinner. He bowed to each of the other old men. He did not expect them to extend their hands to him. In fact, his manner forbade them to do so.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said, formally, and went out of the library.
For a long time the old men did not speak. With a hand that trembled Dr. Banks lit another cigar. The judge slowly pulled his glasses from his eyes. Mr. Bassett brooded at the fire.
He said, not turning to the others: “We’ve been had.”
“Yes,” said the judge, “and in a most thorough fashion. I might say, Ezra, and to you, Eli, that there is no
thing we can do about it; no, nothing at all. We could not stop, even if we wished to do so. And I do not think we wish to do so?”
Dr. Banks said: “We ought to have known. We were fools. This is a bad man, this Eugene Arnold. It was always before our eyes.”
CHAPTER XL
Within a few days, the boys, Thomas and Matthew, and Oliver, would be home. Barbara was not concerned with the return of her brothers. Her one obsession was Oliver. It was delightful now, as well as disturbing, to come to this high terrace above the city to think of Oliver. I am seventeen, she thought; I am not too young to think of Oliver, though he apparently is of that opinion. Or is it only that? Am I nothing to him? He calls me “sister.” I am not his sister.
There had lately come to Barbara a sickening and most terrifying idea, and there was no one whom she could consult about it without betraying herself and Oliver.
Late May had thrown over the scene below her the most vivid curtain of green and silver and purple. No ripple or movement disturbed the river, so that it seemed carved of one great emerald cunningly cut to fit the contours of the twisted land along it which, in the shining air, was a confused mass of green, brown, white, black and yellow. The flat-boats and river steamers appeared not to move, but to be motionlessly super-imposed upon the water. Long plumes of smoke stood upright, did not drift, over the vessels, over the countless chimneys of Andersburg. The mountains in the distance were all amethyst and bright green, standing against purest blue. Whiffs of pine-scent, of wood violets, old leaves, sweet earth and grass, came to Barbara; the sun was warm on her shoulders, on her uncovered and blowing dark hair. It was not a girl’s face, but a woman’s, that stared down so somberly at the city and river below.
To ordinary ears, it might be quiet here on the mountain. But Barbara knew the voices of trees and grass and earth. Nevertheless, after a long time, she became aware that she had unconsciously been overhearing human voices also, the voices of people shut away from her by the curtain of pines behind her. Annoyed at this invasion of her privacy, she was about to get up and let the speakers see her, when she realized that the voices were familiar, that they were the voices of her sister, Julia, and Eugene Arnold.
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