The Banker and the Bear

by Henry Kitchell Webste

  “What sort of deal is it ? “ Dick asked.

  “ Lard,” said John. “ Here, you can read all about it,” and he handed her the paper.

  Dick glanced at the staring letters of the scare head. “ To corner lard,” she read. “ I should think that would be pretty hard to do,” she said reflectively.

  Then as John looked at her, manifestly sur- prised at the sageness of the remark and nodded assent to it, she added, “ It’s so squashy, you know.”

  John laughed. “You took me in that time. Pickering will have to fight though, sure enough. They’re likely to make it warm for him to-day.”

  “On the Board of Trade?” cried Dick. “Will it be like the day you took Alice and me ? “

  “ It was unusually quiet that day,” said John.

  “ Quiet ! “ exclaimed Alice. “ It made my head ache for two days.”

  “Will it really be worse than that?” Dick asked. “Oh, I wish “

  John glanced at his watch and hurriedly left the table. He appeared a moment later at the dining-room door and said,

  “ If you and Alice care to come to the bank to-day at twelve o’clock, we can lunch together and then look in there for a few minutes.”

  They exclaimed simultaneously, but with different import.

  “All right,” said John, “either or both. Be there sharp at twelve if you want to catch me.”

  When John said that the publication of the fact of the lard deal and of his loan to Pickering put him in an awkward position, he stated only the least of his perplexities. He did not doubt that he should be able to clear himself with the soap manufacturer, not only of wilful betrayal, but of negligence. What troubled him was to find any sort of explanation of how the secret could have got out. All the morning the question hung in his mind insistently demand- ing an answer. The only answer he could give was one which his reason rejected as absurd, but it was reiterated as obstinately as the ques- tion itself, the name of Melville Sponley.

  The story had been given to the paper by one who knew the facts. It was no ingenious surmise of one who followed the markets. It did not tell everything, not the precise amount of the loan, nor the bank that made it, yet there could be no doubt that the man who had told so much knew the rest, and that he had held it back for reasons of his own. John knew it was impossible that Sponley could have found out in the mere instant when Pickering’s warehouse receipts had been exposed to his view two days before ; but he could not rid himself of the con- viction that it was Sponley who had ferreted out and betrayed his secret.

  On the Board of Trade they had nicknamed Sponley the “Black Bear.” That had refer- ence, of course, to the side of the market on which he operated oftenest and most success- fully, but it had this morning for John an added significance. How clumsy he was to the eye, and yet how terribly quick ! John had seen this fat, heavy-eyed monster go into the corn pit and simply, by main strength, sell the market down down down. They were afraid of him on the Board of Trade : that tells the story.

  John Bagsbury was generally believed to be imperturbable. This morning his thoughts were running in a circle ; his secret was out ; Melville Sponley could not have betrayed it ; no one else could have done so. Round and round again, with no way out, and yet no one could have guessed it; he worked swiftly, precisely, pa- tiently, just as always.

  But there were two other troubled heads in the bank whose thoughts were under no such iron control. Curiously enough, each in his own way owed his perplexities also to the Black Bear.

  If you can imagine a coward trying to escape from prison, you can understand Curtin’s state of mind. When on the preceding afternoon he had shown Sponley the collateral, he had felt keenly humiliated ; he had despised himself, and tenfold more he hated Sponley. But that feel- ing was gone now. The Bear had been right in saying that it was just a question of money. His being trapped, bound fast to Sponley’s will, was also a question of money. And now Curtin had found a way of escape, or rather Sponley himself had unwittingly shown it to him, and the way out was but a question of money, too.

  When in John Bagsbury’s office, just after Jack Dorlin had gone out, Curtin had shown the warehouse receipts to Sponley, the latter had exhibited what in other men would have been excitement, but with him was only preoc- cupation. He had sat down at John Bagsbury’s desk and looked at the yellow slips for some time. Then he said,

  “ Pickering’ll have to pay for what lard he gets to-morrow.”

  Then realizing that he had made a slip, he had quickly begun talking about something else, and Curtin had cunningly feigned that he had not understood the chance remark. But a few minutes later he was walking home on air. For had not his jailer thrown him the key to his cell?

  Curtin had played with the markets before ; that was the reason he now needed a job as assistant cashier, or as anything that would pay him a respectable salary. But he had been an outsider, a lamb. He had believed the news- papers, he had followed the crowd, he had trusted to luck. He knew now against what certainty of eventual disaster that sort of a game was played. But now he was an outsider no longer. Inadvertently Sponley had told him that lard would go up to-morrow. Sponley knew, because he himself intended to make it go up. And for the first time in his life Curtin would play with a probability of winning.

  When he had won (he could hardly contain himself at the thought of it), when he had won well, he would begin by telling Sponley to go to hell. Ah, Sponley should know after all that he had hired the wrong sort of man, that it was unsafe to insult a gentleman ! Then he would confess to John Bagsbury the wrong he had done him. No, that would hardly do ; but he could contrive some sort of restitution to John, and then he would live happily and opu- lently ever after.

  Thus spake the prisoner ; the coward had other things to say. He must use the bank’s money, he had none of his own. Then what if, after all, lard should go down. He would be an embez- zler, would go to prison. At the thought, his mouth became dry, and curious ripples seemed to run the length of all his muscles. So all that morning the two men within him tore Curtin grievously. The way of the timorous, half- hearted transgressor is hard indeed.

  Jack Dorlin’s perplexity was less serious, but very irritating. He owed it only indirectly to the Bear. His direct concern was with the jackal. His bit of impromptu detective work the afternoon before had been as unsuccessful as possible. Had he discovered a little more or little less, all would have been well. But as matters stood, he had enough ground for serious suspicion of Curtin, and not enough to warrant his speaking about it to John Bagsbury.

  He had come to the bank this morning full of his old determination to mind his own business. It was vain, however, as vain as it had always been before. Curtin was so persistently erratic that he compelled one’s attention. Yesterday it had been the collateral box ; to-day it was the telephone. He hung over it all the morning, like a child with a new toy. He was spending fifteen minutes out of every hour talking into it, and for the rest of the time he eyed it as though momentarily expecting to see it perform a mira- cle. It was such an innocent occupation that Jack was angry with himself for taking it so seriously. The other clerks were grinning ; well, he would grin too. But it was a very sorry grin.

  At last he fairly got into his work, and that brought oblivion. WhenHillsmead interrupted him, he did not know how long it had been since last he was conscious of his surroundings.

  “That was a confounded pretty girl,” Hills- mead was saying. “ Did you see her ? “

  Jack glanced up impatiently, but worse than that would not have stopped Hillsmead.

  “ I think I’ll have to find out who she was. She’s all right. I wonder what she wanted with Bagsbury?”

  Jack grabbed his hat. “Where is she?” he demanded.

  “ Do you think you know her ? Say, old man, I wouldn’t mind if you’d introduce She just went out. I think she turned east.”

  Jack dashed down the aisle without pausing to think on the marvel he had wrought in check- ing H
illsmead in mid career.

  At the door he glanced swiftly up and down the street, and by the merest luck got a glimpse of Dick less than a square away. Her pace was a mere stroll, a most unusual thing with Dick.

  “ Hello,” he said, as he overtook her.

  “Are you in a hurry?” she asked. It was his manner rather than his pace that suggested it.

  “ No, I’m in a thundering temper.”

  She smiled. “ That’s good. You’re great fun when you’re that way. What’s the matter ? “

  “ Hillsmead,” he said shortly. “ Hillsmead and Curtin.”

  “ Then that was Mr. Hillsmead ! “ she cried.

  “ Oh, he’s lovely ! You’ve never done him jus- tice, Jack. He’s so pretty and glib, and com- placent. I envy you, seeing him every day.”

  “ Where are we going, anyway ? “ he asked.

  “ Growly ! “ she commented teasingly. “ I don’t know exactly. I think I’m going home.”

  He said nothing, so in a moment she added, “You’d do well to copy Mr. Hillsmead in one thing.”

  That’s rough,” he said. “ Rough but right- eous. In common courtesy, he has doubtless outstripped me to-day.”

  “It’s not that; it’s curiosity. He told me that Mr. Bagsbury was out, but that if I would confide my business to him, his valuable services were at my disposal. And he was so sure that he could do it better than Mr. Bagsbury that I nearly told him what it was.”

  “ If I’ll profess Hillsmead’s curiosity, will you tell me ? “

  “ We were to lunch somewhere and then go to the Board of Trade to see them do things with lard.” She had drawled the words out as slowly as possible, and now she glanced at him in mock distress. “John’s gone off, you see, and forgotten all about me.”

  He stopped and gazed at her seriously. “ I wish to propose,” he said, “three cheers for John Bagsbury. For future delivery,” he added, noting her look of alarm. “ I’m getting to like him better right along.”

  “It’s a strange thing,” Jack remarked a few minutes later, as he looked at her across the little round table ; “ it’s a strange thing, but when I’ve been with you a few minutes my troubles, even the big ones, begin to look like jokes. I really think they are jokes until I get off by myself again.”

  “Tell me about Mr. Curtin,” said Dick, quickly. “ I can guess what Mr. Hillsmead did to make you wild, but,” the dimple which had cautiously appeared at one corner of her mouth vanished again, “ but how has Mr. Curtin been bothering you ? “

  She grew very serious as he told her of the assistant cashier’s performances of the day be- fore ; and when he had finished, she told him how John was worried over the betrayal of his secret.

  “ Do you suppose,” she asked anxiously, “ that there’s any connection ; that Mr. Curtin had anything to do with it ? “

  e shook his head. “ I give it up. But

  know this : we’ve been pretty foolish not to tell Mr. Bagsbury. We’ve been so afraid of mak- ing ourselves ridiculous that we haven’t thought of anything else.”

  “ We’re such perfect babes in the wood at all this sort of thing,” said Dick. “Now I sup- pose that any person of average business intel- ligence would see through it all in two minutes. But I believe we ought to tell him, anyway. Let’s do it to-night.”

  “Both of us?”

  “Of course, I wouldn’t do it alone for any- thing. Come, let’s look at the lard corner.”

  Just as they were entering the big Board of Trade building an old man walked briskly past them and turned into the office of Ball, Snyder, and Jones, Brokers. Even at that place, where the money value of mere seconds is impressive, there were a dozen people who paused to glance curiously after him. Dick and Jack Dorlin did not know who he was, and if any one had taken the trouble to tell them that it wasWilliam G. Pickering, they would have thought nothing of it. And yet the fact, that at just that moment that one man should enter that particular office, was interesting.

  But the attention of these two was absorbed by the distant clamor of the battle which attacked their ears the moment they entered the building. It was an angry roar, inarticulate, meaningless, but with its savage crescendo and its fitful diminuendo it was vaguely exciting. They hurried up the stairs into the visitors’ gallery and wormed their way through the crowd to a position from which they could see the floor. Their first glance was disappointing. It added nothing to the sensation they had felt at the first sound of the shouting. The only impression they could get was of a vast clamor- ing confusion.

  “ Are they really doing anything but yell ? “ asked Dick.

  All through her life she had believed that real power exerted itself quietly ; that noise was the manifestation of impotence, and it was hard for her to take this mob seriously.

  Before Jack could speak the man who stood at her other hand had answered her. He was a well-dressed young fellow, who seemed vastly excited over the battle.

  “ Anything but yell ! “ he quoted. “ They’re making a price that will rule in all the markets in the world.”

  With a pressure of her hand she signalled Jack not to interfere, and then asked the stranger,

  “ Will you please tell me what is happening down there ? “

  The explanation came, swift and hot, but to Dick’s chagrin it was in a foreign language. She caught a familiar word now and then, but the rest was as meaningless as the tumult on the floor.

  “ I see,” she said at last. Then to forestall any further explanation she asked, “ Can you tell me who that little man is in the white flannel coat ? “

  “ Keyes,” he spoke without looking, “ of Keyes and Sievert. They’re buying for Picker- ing. Keyes is Ah ! there it goes up again ! “

  He glanced at his watch. “ They’ve got twenty minutes yet before closing time. They’ll get it to ten cents. See ! there again ! “

  “How can you tell that it’s gone up?” she asked.

  “See those fellows on the edge there, facing this way. They signal the changes of price with their hands to people who stay near the telephones. There ! see that ! “

  Dick’s eyes had wandered back to Keyes. He was standing there composedly, his memo- randum card in his hand, jotting down his purchases. He seemed quite unmoved by the excitement around him. A clerk who had come running the length of the room, dodging like a football player, dashed up to this quiet little man in the white flannel coat and handed him a slip of paper. Keyes read it at a glance, tucked it in his pocket, and turned back to look at the crowd. Dick fancied she saw him smiling.

  Her eyes left him to fall on a very tall man who was forcing his way with much haste and little ceremony toward the centre of the pit.

  “ That’s Jones,” said the young fellow beside her, “of Ball, Snyder, and Jones. Wonder what’s coming now?”

  There was a momentary lull as Jones raised his arm and thrust his hand forward with all fingers extended. He shouted something that was unintelligible to Jack and Dick, but which raised a storm in the pit. Again and again he repeated the gesture, and from all about the pit men struggled toward him, as though they wished to tear him to pieces,

  Another messenger boy was running across the floor, and Dick watched him seek out Keyes again. Keyes read the second message and turned back to the pit. His arm shot forward, the hand erect, palm out, and said something. He did not have to shout. The pit had stopped to gasp. When the yell broke out again, it was a different sort of yell. It drew the traders scattered about the floor and in other pits as a magnet draws iron filings. Dick heard the young fellow at her side choke.

  “ What is it ? “ she demanded. “ What has happened ? “

  “ Keyes is selling.”

  He spoke in a daze, his eyes on the men sig- nalling from the edge of the pit.

  “ Do you know why he’s selling ? “ asked Jack. It was the first time he had spoken.

  “They’ve busted Pickering that’s why and a lot of small fry with him that don’t count,
me for one.”

  So the three stood there watching one of the sharpest turns that most irregular market has ever made. In the fifteen minutes before clos- ing time lard dropped nearly three cents a pound. The one who understood held his open watch in his hand and monotonously reported the swiftly dropping price as it was signalled over to the telephones. The other two listened, bewildered between a pity for him and a convic- tion that the fifteen minutes would never end.

  Suddenly he slipped his watch into his pocket and turned away.

  “ That puts me out,” he said.

  And then it seems an hour afterward to Jack and Dick the great bell rang, and it was over.

  Without speaking, they made their way back to the ground floor and drifted along with the crowd that was pouring into the street.

  Just before they reached the door Jack ex- claimed :

  “ Look ! there’s Curtin. No, don’t look either. Turn this way.”

  It was too late to escape him. He made his unsteady way toward them and stood barring their path.

  “ I suppose you think I’ve been drinking,” he said thickly.

  He was flushed; his eyes rolled about aim- lessly. He was shaking like one palsied.

  Jack Dorlin turned to Dick. “Walk right along without me, please,” he said. “ I’ll over- take you in a minute.”

  Then he caught Curtin by the arm, and, lead- ing him to the sidewalk, hailed a cab.

  “ I’m not drunk,” Curtin protested ; “ I’ve not been drinking. Oh, my God ! I’m going to prison! I’m going to prison ! “

  He tried to say something more, but simply choked. Jack thrust him into the cab and tell- ing the driver Curtin’s address, he pushed his way through the little crowd that had gathered, and hurried after Dick.

  Then they walked on slowly for more than a block without speaking, and in spite of the crowd on the sidewalk he continued to stay close at her side.

  “Hasn’t it made you blue?” he asked. She nodded sympathetically.

  “ But I’m not sorry we went,” she said a moment later. “ I’m glad John forgot about me. I shouldn’t like to have seen it with him ; but it’s different with you. I mean “