John Henry Smith Read online

  ENTRY NO. IX

  MR. SMITH GETS BUSY

  I have had to neglect my golf and attend to business. For nearly a weekI have not seen Miss Harding. And all on account of that miserable N.O.& G. stock.

  Early in the week it dropped to more than ten points below the figure atwhich I purchased it. This meant a loss of $20,000.

  Tuesday morning I called on my broker and he informed me that if N.O. &G. dropped two more points he would have to call on me for margins.There were rumours, he said, that it would pass its next dividend, or atleast reduce it. Then I got busy.

  I called on Jones, the kind friend who steered me against thisinvestment. Jones informed me that certain powerful banking interestswere raiding the stock. He could not identify them, and I saw that heknew nothing about it.

  "We are the lambs, Smith," he sadly said. "I'm in for a thousand sharesmyself."

  "They have not an ounce of my fleece yet," I declared, and turned andleft him.

  I served two years on Wall Street under my father, and there was nostreak of mutton in him. It made me furious to think that I should bemade to "hold the bag" for a lot of unscrupulous tricksters.

  I set about ascertaining the exact status of the business of the N.O. &G. In my search for information I was thwarted again and again, but I donot think it was entirely luck which led me to solve the mystery to mypersonal satisfaction. I employed detectives to assist me, and in fourdays had the information on which to act.

  It is as neat a conspiracy as ever was hatched by financial brigands,but I think I know every tree behind which they are hid. It is probablethat they are within the pale of the written law, but one would have thesame right to operate in gold bricks or green goods.

  It may be that the action I have taken will spell my financial ruin, butI propose to ascertain if a gentleman cannot take a modest flyer in WallStreet without being marked as "a come-on," which is the term used bythose who rig the market.

  If they get me it will be not for $20,000 but for $2,000,000. I proposeto make the fight of my life. I wonder what Miss Harding would think ifshe knew I were engaged in a deal of this magnitude?

  On Thursday I instructed my business agents to convert certainnegotiable assets into cash, and to arrange for an extension of mycredit with the banks. I now propose to follow N.O. & G. to thebottom--if there be one--and if not I shall drop with my money into thefathomless void of bankruptcy.

  I called on my broker.

  "I wish to get out," I said to him. "I will take my losses. This hasbeen an expensive experience to me."

  "I do not imagine, Mr. Smith," he said, "that the loss of $23,000 willseriously cripple you or disturb your serenity."

  I made a gesture of despair.

  "If that were all I would not give it a thought," I said. He looked atme curiously.

  "I hope that you are not long on this stock to any great extent," hesaid.

  "I should have said nothing about it," I returned, looking as distressedas possible. "Please make no inference from my remark, and keep thistransaction entirely an office secret."

  "It is not necessary to caution me," he quickly said.

  The financial papers that evening recorded a rumour to the effect that"The son of a late well-known banker and operator is said to be heavilylong on N.O. & G., and the slump in that stock during the closing hourswas probably due to his frantic efforts to close out an accountestimated at 20,000 shares."

  I wonder where that rumour originated. This is the way secrets are keptin Wall Street.

  Prior to this I had commissioned Morse & Davis, brokers in whom I haveimplicit confidence, to purchase 5,000 shares of the stock at or below75. I obtained 79 for my original investment, and its sale combined withthe circulation of the rumour before mentioned precipitated a flurry inN.O. & G. which sent it as low as 74 and a fraction.

  "It is not necessary to caution me"]

  Before the market closed I had my five thousand shares.

  Friday morning selling orders poured in from frightened small holders,and when their demands had been satisfied the "syndicated conspirators"put the screws on just as I expected. They also circulated an allegedauthorised interview with an official of the N.O. & G. forecasting thepassing of the regular semi-annual dividend.

  Had I not been acquainted with the plans of these quotation wreckers Ishould have been seriously alarmed.

  When the tape recorded a sale at 70 I placed an order with Morse & Davisfor 10,000 shares, and they picked it up in small lots at an average of69. It rose slightly on Saturday, and I did nothing with it.

  I have put up in margins $375,000, sufficient to protect me against adrop of twenty-five points. I stand to lose $1,975,000, and know where Ican place my hands on the money. I anticipate that the stock will gomuch lower, and have planned accordingly. My share of my lamentedfather's estate is worth fully two and a half millions, and it is insuch shape that I can speedily convert it into cash. If these thievescan get it they are welcome to it, but they will know that they havebeen in a fight.

  The transition from the healthy quiet of Woodvale to the feverish furoreof Wall Street was startling. At times as I stood by the ticker I couldhardly persuade myself that it was not a dream, from which I shouldawake to stroll with Miss Harding across the brooks and green meadows weboth love so well.

  My prolonged absence from the links created some comment, so I am told,but no questions were asked and I volunteered no information. I havearranged matters so that it will not be necessary to spend much of mytime in the city, unless something unexpected develops.

  I have lost no sleep, but my golf this afternoon was disappointing.

  I required eighty-nine for the round and lost seven golf balls toChilvers and Boyd. This will never do![1]

  [Footnote 1: NOTE BY THE EDITOR.--From the foregoing it appears that Mr.Smith's stock transactions up to this date have involved a net loss ofabout $51,000, with a probability of a continuance of the decline duringthe coming week. Under these circumstances it would seem that heattaches undue importance to the loss of seven golf balls, which I aminformed, may be purchased at the standard price of fifty cents apiece.

  Possibly this criticism may be impeached by those familiar with theethics and peculiarities of golf, a game of which my knowledge is purelyacademic.]

  On the table in front of me stands the finest golf trophy which everdelighted the eye of a devotee of the game. It is the bronze figure of aplayer whose mashie is in the position of that valuable iron club at theend of a short approach. It is the work of a French sculptor, and indesign and execution it is nothing short of an inspiration. The positionof the feet, body, arms, and shoulders, the expression of the face andeyes; all these details are perfect.

  The figure is twenty-four inches in height and is mounted on an ebonypedestal.

  Mr. Harding has given this magnificent bronze to the club, and it is inmy keeping, as chairman of the Greens Committee. It will be presented tothe winner of this year's championship of Woodvale by Miss GraceHarding, and I have posted an announcement of the conditions of thecompetition. It is open to all members, sixteen best scores to qualify,and then match play of eighteen holes, with thirty-six for the finals.The tournament starts a week from Tuesday.

  Between watching Wall Street and getting in shape for this competition Iam likely to have a busy week.

  Mr. Harding called me into his apartments yesterday evening, displayedthis gem of a bronze, and told me how he came to acquire it.

  "It was the Kid's suggestion, but I endorsed it in a minute," he said,passing a box of cigars. "We were prowling around the jewelry haunts,Grace and I, seeing what she could flim-flam me into buying for her,when we ran across this thing. She thought it was great. I looked itover and saw that this bronze gentleman does not hold his club the way Ido, and was in favour of letting him wait for another owner. Then shesuggested that it would be a great scheme to buy it and give it to theclub. I thought it over a minute and decided that it might be a goodidea, and so I bou
ght it, and here it is. Now you boys will have toscrap it out among yourselves, and may the best one win."

  "This is the finest trophy ever offered to the club," I said, "and onbehalf of the members I wish to thank you as donor and Miss Harding asthe instigator."

  "I'll create enough trouble around here to work out any indebtedness youfellows owe me for that gee-gaw," he laughed. "I've had an awful timesince you have been down town, Smith. I reckon I've ploughed up as muchturf as Jim Bishop did all last spring. Speaking of Bishop, did you knowwe're invited over to his place Monday evening?"

  "I had not heard of it," I said.

  "Well, we are," he said. "There's going to be great doings day afterto-morrow night. Bishop's new red barn is finished, and a bunch of usare going over to dinner and then participate in the dance. Let's godown stairs and hunt up Grace and Carter and constitute the four of us acommittee on arrangements and invitation. Grace talked to Bishop morethan I did and she knows all about it."

  We found Miss Harding, Miss Lawrence, LaHume, and Carter on the veranda,and decided to enlarge the committee to six. Miss Harding said Mr.Bishop intimated he should expect about a dozen of us.

  "Well, let's see," figured Mr. Harding, and I felt in my bones he wouldmake a mess of it. "Get out your pencil, Smith, and take us down as Igive the names. There's Ma Harding and me, that's two; there's Carterand Grace makes four; LaHume and his sweetheart makes six; thenthere's----"

  "Mr. LaHume and whom?" interrupted Miss Lawrence, her cheeks red and hereyes snapping fire. The grin on LaHume's face died out.

  "Why, LaHume and----"

  "You've gone far enough," laughed Miss Harding. "Let me help you out,papa. We will select the gentlemen first. Please take down this list,Mr. Smith. Suppose we name Mr. LaHume, Mr. Carter, Mr. Marshall, Mr.Chilvers, Mr. Smith, and Papa Harding. Then there's Miss Lawrence, MissRoss, Mrs. Marshall, Mrs. Chilvers, Mamma, and myself. That makestwelve."

  "Those were the ones I was going to name when you stopped me," declaredMr. Harding, who pretended to be much puzzled, but who knew full wellwhat was the matter. He gave me a quiet nudge with his elbow, and thenwent on to say that the twelve of us would dine with the Bishops at sixo'clock, and stay to the dance which would start as soon as it was dark.It ought to be great fun.

  I wish I knew if Miss Harding resented the coupling of her name withCarter. I watched both of them closely, but neither gave a sign.

  Chilvers tells me that Carter and Miss Harding have played several gamestogether during the past week, and I assured him that the fact possessednot the slightest interest to me. Chilvers pretends to think it does,and seems to take much delight in harping on that subject.

  As a matter of curiosity I should like to know when and where Carterfirst met the Hardings. Once or twice I have thrown out a hint toCarter, but he has not said a word.

  Carter is a good-looking chap, and I think he knows it. The fond mammashere in the club consider him a catch. I am not exactly a pauper myself,but I may be if this N. O. & G. deal goes against me.

  I wonder how it would seem to be poor? I wonder if Miss Harding wouldcare to play golf with me if she knew I had to work for a living? Iwonder what I would work at?

  I dreamed last night that N.O. & G. stock went down and down until it wasworth less than nothing, and that I had lost every dollar in the worldand owed several millions.

  It was an awful dream. I was in jail for a time, and when they let meout I did not have the car fare to get back to Woodvale. I walked allthe way, and was chased by dogs. When I got here, the steward presentedmy bill, which amounted to several hundred dollars. I told him I couldnot pay it, and he marked my name off the membership list. I met Carterand several others and they would not speak to me. I was dying fromhunger, and looked longingly at the remnants of a steak left byChilvers, but one of the servants told me to move on.

  Then the scene changed, as things move in dreams, and I was at work onBishop's farm. I was cutting and shocking corn, and the boss of thehired help swore because I was so slow. My hands were bleeding fromscratches where the sharp edges of the bayonet-like blades had cut them,and I was so hungry and tired that I was ready to lie down and die. Mywages were fifteen dollars a month, and every cent of it had been leviedagainst by my Wall Street creditors. Not until I was seventy years oldwould any of the money I earned be coming to me. The other hired menlooked on me as a weakling, and laughed at the torn golf suit in which Iwas clothed.

  I was happy when I awoke and realised it was only a nightmare.

  I raised the curtain so as to let in the cool air. The links were bathedin a flood of moonlight. Half a mile away were Bishop's cornfields inwhich the dreamland fiends had tortured me. It was not yet midnight, anddown the lane I made out the forms of Chilvers, Marshall, Lawson, andother nighthawks. Chilvers was singing, the others coming in the chorusof the last line, drawing it out to the full length and strength of aparody of the old negro song:

  "Where, oh where are the long, long drivers? Where, oh where are the long, long drivers?; Where, oh where are the long, long drivers? 'Way down yander in the corn field."

  The dream]