“ We’re on the wrong tack altogether,” said John. “ Don’t you see we can’t get anywhere without straight talk ? You know perfectly well that it was Pickering himself who knocked the bottom out of September lard, and you know why he did it.”
“ I wasn’t referring to that, and I am giving you straight talk, as you say. We know each other too well to try any sort of bluff. The market’s going to take another tumble to-mor- row, and it won’t be any of Pickering’s doing, then. Lard’s as sure to drop to-morrow as the
sun is to rise, and we, the bank, that is, want to stand from under.”
There was no response from the Banker, and Sponley looked at him. The face in the shadow told him nothing, nor the attitude, but at last John spoke :
“You puzzle me,” he said. “I still don’t know where you stand. You come, you say, in the interest of the bank, with information that is vital, and yet you don’t give it to me. I loaned Pickering money on what I considered good security. You want me to try to get the money back on the strength of what may be just a guess of yours. I can’t put my judgment into another man’s hands.”
“ It’s not a guess,” Sponley spoke almost eagerly. “ I know it.”
“Then,” said John Bagsbury, “if your warn- ing is in good faith, tell me how you know it.”
“ I know it, because I’m going to bust him myself.”
“ Can you do it ? “
“Yes.”
“Without the help you want me to give you ? “
“ Yes.”
“ Can you do it if I back up Pickering just as I would any other customer ? “
Again the unqualified affirmative.
And again the Banker was silent. Had he expressed doubt or even positive conviction that Sponley was wrong, had he shown righteous indignation and spoken of treachery, the Bear’s part would have been easier. He showed noth- ing ; whether he was determined, or afraid, or in doubt, Sponley could only guess.
Direct argument, threat, entreaty, explana- tion, were to Sponley unwonted weapons. His strategy did not favor the frontal attack. He was a master at the art of making his opponent do the fighting, of giving him plenty of rope, and allowing him to entangle himself in it. But here with John Bagsbury it seemed to be the other way about. There was about John the strict economy of effort which one sees in a skilled fencer : never a word that was not neces- sary ; never a flourish of high-sounding senti- ment; simply alertness and repose and the patience of the everlasting hills.
So, though Sponley waited, he knew it was in vain, and at last began doing what he had so often compelled other men to do.
“This is the situation. I’m making this proposition in your interest and in my own, too. I ought to have told you that at the start. I’m fighting Pickering in this deal. I’ve got a big job on my hands, but I can do it. There are a few fellows who’ll be with me, but not to any great extent. If I don’t make a lot of money, I’ll be busted; but I’m going to make it. I’m not going it blind. It’s natural that in a big fight like this I don’t like to see you helping out the other fellow. I don’t ask you to help me ; all I want is that you shall be neutral. It’s bad enough to be up against Pickering without hav- ing to fight you, too.”
It had a plausible sound not unsatisfactory to Sponley ; but John’s next question cut right to the root of it.
“ How long ago did you go into this deal ? “
Little more than twenty-four hours had passed since the Bear had seen and seized this oppor- tunity. He answered easily :
“ Oh, a couple of months. I began selling September lard in May.”
But he could not guess from the unexpres- sive face whether or not the Banker knew he had lied. John’s silence had in it a sting
Common Honesty 175
which urged Sponley’s faculties to their best efforts.
“This is no whining for mercy, you under- stand. It’s no figure of speech when I say that your interest lies the same way.”
He paused as though to marshal his thoughts ; then continued :
“ Pickering’s a good man, but an old-timer. Even in his day lard was never so easy to cor- ner as it looked ; but now when they can make it without hogs, it’s impossible for a man to hold up the market. Right in this city there are tanks of lard, not tierced, that Pickering has never heard of ; he will hear of ‘em before he gets through. I have fifteen thousand tierces myself in the warehouses that he’ll never know exists until it hits him.
“ Now if I bust Pickering, and I give you my promise that I will, just think where you’ll be. You’ve got the lard, forty thousand of it, and you’ll be lucky if you don’t have to take forty thousand more before the end, and you won’t be able to get rid of it. The market’ll be swamped, buried under it. Of course, in the end, the bank’ll get its money back, but for a while you’ll be in the hole. In fact, when the
next stockholders’ meeting comes round, you’ll be in a hole, and it won’t be pleasant to have to tell those old fossils how you lost it.
“You know the make-up of the Board of Directors,” Sponley said slowly, pushing the words home hard. “ There’s a majority that in general back up your policy ; but I don’t believe many of them would take kindly to this sort of business : I’m opposed to it myself, for what- ever motives you please, and I count one. You know how disagreeable a strong opposition in your board would be. By letting go right away, you can please everybody ; it’ll strengthen you immensely with the old crowd, and I think, “ there was just an instant’s pause, and then the words were shot precisely into the centre of the target, “I think that Cartwright and Meredith will look at the matter much as I do, and that that kind of conservatism will go a long way toward convincing them that you ought to have full control of your father’s estate. You’ve got old Moffat well in hand yourself; so there you are. You can run the bank as you please by next January, if you only play it right now.”
“There’s a practical detail to consider,” said
John. “You say I should drop Pickering to- morrow. What excuse have I for calling his loan ? “
“That’s not difficult. Ask him for some security other than lard. The tumble the stuff took yesterday is excuse enough for that, though it was his own doing. He won’t be able to put up any other collateral to-morrow morning. Then sell his lard. There’ll be market enough for it The whole thing’ll go like clockwork.”
Sponley lighted a cigar and walked to the bookcase. He had said all that was necessary, and he was too wise to say more; so he stood looking at the books, his back to John. Occa- sionally he would takeout a volume which had attracted his eye, and glance through its pages. He was in no hurry. John should have plenty of time to think.
John was not thinking at all. There was coming before his mind’s eye a succession of pictures, without consequence, and quite irrele- vant to the situation he ought to be facing. They were just haphazard memories, some recent, some very old, nearly all of them trivial. He saw Sponley lighting his cigar when they had just lunched together for the first time how
long ago ? He saw himself slamming the car- riage door on Harriet’s skirt when they were coming from a play one night. He saw and this took him far back into his boyhood his father taking books out of that very shelf where Sponley stood, and handing them to Martha, who dusted them rebelliously. As he looked at this half-forgotten sister of his, the childish figure grew older, and he saw that she was Dick Haselridge, smiling whimsically, just as a little earlier that evening she had smiled over the notion that honesty was a matter of more than good intentions.
“ This is your proposition, as I understand it,” said John. “ I sell out Pickering, on a pretext, to-morrow morning. When he’s weakened by that attack, you’ll throw your lard in, and that’ll break him. And afterward you will turn Cart- wright and Meredith over to me, and support me as before on the Board of Directors.”
“ That’s about it,” said Sponley, without turn- ing.
“ You want my answer to-nigh
t ? “
“ If you please.”
“You won’t get it,” said the Banker, “to- night, or any other time.”
Sponley whirled around. “What do you mean ? “
John had risen and thrust his hands into his pockets. His voice, when he spoke, was a little louder and it had a nasal resonance peculiar to his moments of excitement.
“ I mean that I do not see that anything you have proposed requires an answer.”
The two men looked full into each other’s eyes. There was no regret there over the break- ing up of the ties of a score of years ; that would come later, probably to both of them. Now, there was nothing but the old primal lust of fighting : a challenge flatly given and swiftly accepted.
“ Steady, there ! Steady ! “ said Sponley, softly. “ I’m going to smash Pickering ; and if you don’t stand from under, I swear to God I’ll smash you, too.”
Once more John Bagsbury’s answer was si- lence. As he turned away, there was no gesture even of dissent, and his face told nothing. He stood looking at the picture cover of a magazine which chanced to lie on the centre table ; his hands were still in his trousers pockets, every line of his long, supple, loose-jointed figure showed him to be at ease.
180 The Banker and the Bear
Sponley looked at him, then he replaced the books he was holding on the shelf, and with a swift decision he made his first move.
“ Bagsbury,” he said, “ I’m a fool. I’ve lost my temper. Haven’t got it back yet. I’m dis- appointed that you can’t help me out. But I can see how the business looks to you, or, rather, I know I’ll be able to see to-morrow morning. I don’t feel like talking about it yet, and I’m going home. But the thing’ 11 come out right, somehow. We aren’t children. Come, the oth- ers’ll wonder what’s become of us.”
It was not fear that induced the sensation of nausea which John Bagsbury experienced at that moment, though Sponley’s conciliatory words were far more formidable than his previous declaration of war, for they meant that the war was already begun. For a flash this uncontrol- lable disgust showed in his face. Sponley saw it and understood.
“Come,” he repeated, “let’s find the others.”
An hour later Dick, entering the library, found John sitting there alone.
“ Come in,” he called, “ come in, Dick, you’re just the one I wanted to see.”
But though she came and stood near his
chair, he seemed again to have lost himself in a brown study.
“Has anything serious happened?” she asked at length.
“ I think I want to thank you, Dick,” he said, disregarding her question. “ I think you’ve pulled me out of the hole.
“A man loses something, living as I have,” he went on presently. “ He loses the power of seeing things clearly. I suppose you never have any doubt as to whether a thing’s straight or crooked. I have an idea that having you around well that you’ve brushed up my windows a little,” he smiled apologetically over the figure, “and and I want to thank you.”
Dick’s eyes were full, and she was not sure of her voice, but even if she had been ready, John would not have given her time to speak. He was filled with a mixture of embarrassment and alarm over the words he had just said, and he hurriedly changed the subject.
“ I’m afraid you won’t forgive me readily for coming in here as I did when you and Dorlin “
“ What do you mean ? forgive you ? “
“Why, yes; I interrupted “
“You didn’t interrupt at all. We were just we were waiting for you. And anyway, when people are as good friends as we three are, there isn’t any such thing as an interruption.”
“ Friends ? “ he said. “ You and “
“That’s just what Jack and I are, if that’s what you mean. I was afraid you might not understand.”
john was still smiling somewhat sceptically.
“ He was speaking of that himself, to-night of our being friends, I mean. He told me “
(Dick ! Dick ! what are you doing ?) She hesitated a moment ; then it came with a rush.
“ He told me that he had thought once that that but he knew now he had been mistaken.”
Her face was averted. Her voice was un- even, but with what kind of emotion John could not be sure. He was not expert in the matter of inflections.
“ Are you laughing or crying, Dick ? “
“Neither,” she answered, turning upon him; “ I’m going to bed.”
CHAPTER XII
CONSEQUENCES
OFTEN it is not the first step that costs, but the waiting for the second. Last night, at a crisis, John Bagsbury had found it easy to make what was really the most important decision of his life. However carefully he had balanced upon the pros and cons of the proposition Sponley had made, when it came to the ex- treme instant of choice, the question had been referred not to his judgment, but to a senti- ment. His words had said themselves. But this morning it was the Banker, a very different person from the picture-seeing John Bagsbury, who sat at his desk trying to think through the situation, and to guess what would happen next.
The sentiment which gets a man into a diffi- culty rarely stays around to help him out of it, and what the Banker saw was enveloped in no luminous atmosphere of optimism. Sponley had 183 not overstated the case last night. In support- ing Pickering, John knew that he must en- counter determined hostility in his Board of Directors; that if he had not won clear by next January, his chance of reelection was nothing ; and, worst of all, he seemed to have thrown away the possibility of getting absolute control of his property from the trustees.
The Banker had to reckon with a formidable antagonist, but he had this advantage, in his long association with Melville Sponley he had not walked blindly. He knew his man thoroughly. This knowledge had saved him from being deceived by the Bear’s last conciliatory words. Sponley did not make a fool of himself, Spon- ley did not lose his temper. The man to whom he confessed such things would do well to be very alert. When he had said, “and I swear to God I’ll smash you, too, if you don’t stand from under,” he had meant it. He would do nothing in anger or from spite, nothing that was not directly in line toward his end ; but once convinced that it was necessary, not for a breath would he hesitate.
John thought long and carefully over the probable nature of Sponley’s next move. The first obvious thing for the Bear to do would be to work among the other directors and en- deavor to stir up a storm of such violence that John would be forced either to let go of Pick- ering or to resign from the presidency. If that were all, if it were to be simply a question of brute strength and patience, there was no doubt in John’s mind as to the outcome. They could not force him bodily out of the bank, at least, not till the fight was over ; and he knew they could not frighten him into yielding.
There were moments when he ceased to be a banker, when he was simply John Bagsbury ; and then into his memory would come vivid patches of the old time, and he would realize how much he had counted on the friendship he had just broken. Those were unpleasant moments; they brought him even a sensation of physical discomfort, but they were infrequent and brief. In a moment he was again a mere strategist, studying his enemy’s positK i. With Sponley to fight, it was unlikely to be a ques- tion merely of strength. The Bear was sure to practise some wily deviltry or other, but there was no foreseeing what it would be; so John did his other work, and waited for the disagree- able scenes he felt sure were coming with the directors.
He waited all day it was Thursday and all through two that followed ; but no one came to remonstrate, or advise, or threaten ; no one who came seemed to have any knowledge of the loan to Pickering. It was Sunday morning before anything of that sort happened.
But if, on Friday afternoon, he had gone to the golf links, and there could have sat unob- served within earshot of a conversation which took place about dinner-time in a corner of the club-house veranda, he would have heard some interesting facts and would, perhaps, have been able t
o deduce some others.
Mr. Cartwright and Mr. Meredith played golf together once a week. Mr. Cartwright played because he felt it to be his duty, and Mr. Mere- dith because Mr. Cartwright did. They played with much formality, and with proper regard for the conventions of dress and deportment; but, unhappily, with no great skill, and for this reason they chose Friday afternoon for their game. They would come out to the club-house at the hour when there were likely to be the fewest people about, sheepishly put on their golf clothes, they were still as self-conscious in those absurd red coats and checked knicker- bockers as youngsters who have just been pro- moted to long trousers, and steal away to the most remote holes, where they would play vig- orously for an hour or so. Then hastily they would get back into their wonted attire. They really enjoyed the rest of the afternoon. Finally, after dining on the veranda, they would go home together, as proud and boastful over their golf playing as they had been ashamed of it while in the act.
The Friday of the week in which Pickering’s lard deal sprung into public notice was a hot day, especially for golf, and the two old men were unable to hide from each other the fact that they were glad when it was over. But the veranda, about sunset time, was pleasant enough to compensate, and they were dining there with the greatest satisfaction, when a man they knew invaded their privacy. He bowed to them from the doorway, and then, after hesitating a mo- ment, came toward them and, drawing up a chair, seated himself at their table. His name was Myers, and he was a stockbroker.
“This is a double fault of mine,” he said with a deprecatory smile ; “ I’ve intruded myself upon you, and now I’m going to intrude a mat- ter of business.”
Mr. Cartwright frowned, whereupon Mr. Meredith cleared his throat impatiently. “ Well, sir,” said Mr. Cartwright.
For an instant a smile that was not in the least deprecatory quivered in the corners of the stockbroker’s mouth. “You gentlemen are trustees of the Bagsbury estate, are you not ? “
The two old men nodded, and their faces grew a shade redder ; for they were thinking of Mr. M off at, the disaffected, the revolutionary, the schismatic, the bane of their hitherto peaceful existence. It was not necessary, however, to speak of Mr. Moffat, so they merely nodded.
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