CHAPTER II
Upon the issue of this meeting in the library of Fortescue Deming there directly depended larger things than any of the men present might guess. "Food Products," otherwise the Deming Food Products Company, was an old and honorable concern with large mills which turned out all manner of delectables from raw flour to breakfast foods. The men who directed the destinies of this company now sat about the library table of their president, wondering what the devil Reese Armstrong and his lawyer were doing here.
Armstrong actually had a better comprehension of the company and its situation than anybody could have dreamed. The summons from Deming had caught him while dressing, and he was in his shirt sleeves; but his manner lacked the nervous anxiety of the others about him. They feared the blow that was about to fall, and dreaded its consequences. Armstrong could have told them exactly what was going to happen to Food Products and to them, within the next few moments. He did not know, however, just what the result of all this was going to be to himself.
Lawrence Macgowan alone might have told him that.
It was now more than a year since Reese Armstrong turned up in New York, quite unknown to fame. He was armed with some money, which he had made at various points between Manitoba and Evansville, and a lawyer's education; with a firm conviction in his own ability; and with a project for extracting the hoard from the well-known but mythical sock of the small investor. He had more than a project to this end; he had a positive genius, which he was quite willing to demonstrate.
Despite his age, which was still short of thirty, this genius found him a welcome. It was a cautious welcome; still, those who dream eternally of extracting that hoard from that sock would welcome Mephisto himself if he were to present himself for the purpose.
Armstrong was no Mephisto. He possessed qualities which did not appear on the surface. To the metropolitan eye, he was a green lawyer from the verdant West, who might possibly get somewhere. Yet, in reality, he had behind him the culminative and driving power of struggle.
He had worked himself through law school by the unusual method of playing the Italian harp, and playing it well. Farther back were two generations of Baptist circuit-riders, whose chief heritage to him was a stern and rigid standard of moral values, so far as his personal conduct was concerned, and an old-fashioned belief in legal ethics. Now, to play the harp one must be an idealist. To cherish a moral code, entails a sense of personal responsibility. These two qualities are rarely combined in one person; when the combination does appear, that person is either famous or infamous—he is never mediocre.
Besides all this, Armstrong had knocked about through Western Canada, thereby attaining to an extensive knowledge of his fellow man which did not appear in his ruddy and ingenuous countenance. He was blond and vigorous, with an eye whose peculiar steely acuity could be very disconcerting. A laugh came often to his lips, a smile rarely. His air was one of poise and confidence, of almost challenging assurance, and he had a knack of imparting this assurance to those who came into touch with him.
It is well known that the aforesaid metropolitan eye accepts a man at face value. This face value of Reese Armstrong was countersigned by a clean, alert, inspiring brain; it was untouched by the corroding fingers of greed or self-indulgence or crafty brooding. One instinctively perceived that this man held his given word above any minted pledge.
Armstrong had sought a letter of introduction to the best corporation lawyer in New York, and this letter brought him to Lawrence Macgowan.
After listening to all that Armstrong had to say, Macgowan took action. He put up Reese Armstrong at the Lawyers' Club, obtained a hearing from certain men of his acquaintance—and Consolidated Securities was incorporated. Armstrong held no office but retained a controlling interest. Macgowan became a director and remained as counsel. The other men, of whom Judge Holcomb and Findlater were the most prominent, became directors without salary, being paid outright in stock for their support. The first subsidiary was the Armstrong Company, purely a stock-selling concern.
Not blinded by this success, Armstrong knew that he was only on trial. None of these men had great confidence in his scheme. They were willing to take a chance, hoping that some day would appear Fortunatus, to loose for them the string that bound the sock of the small investor. Armstrong, to prove that he was the man, went to work.
About himself Armstrong gathered men devoted to him, an organization covering New York and adjacent cities. His chief helper was Jimmy Wren—impulsive, ardent, imaginative; not a half-way man. Somehow, into all these men Armstrong injected his own personality; or, perhaps, he picked them with extraordinary skill. In any event, he accomplished a miracle. Through them he reached out and touched the small investor, became acquainted with him, won his confidence, induced him to become part owner of Consolidated.
From its inception the struggle was aureated with success. Two small manufacturing concerns were taken over, reorganized, placed on a paying basis. Here again Armstrong showed his value as a judge of men. Consolidated Securities became a material fact, and prospered, and was ready to reach out anew.
At the end of the year's work, Armstrong went to Evansville to claim his bride.
He had met Dorothy Deming in New York, renewing an old acquaintance begun two years before in Evansville, and now upleaped between them a swift and spontaneous mutual knowledge that they were one. Almost from the first there was a complete comprehension, a deep and terrible kinship of spirit which, had there been barriers, would have borne them down. But there were no barriers to this love, save Armstrong's ambition for what he deemed final success; and this success came swiftly—all too swiftly, some said.
And now Armstrong, shirt-sleeved, sat at the library table of J. Fortescue Deming.
As he glanced at the faces around him, Armstrong awaited quietly the coming event. He knew as well as they—perhaps better—what to expect, but he had not imagined that it would come just yet, above all at this day and hour. Yet during the past few months he had seen it approach, with an inevitable certainty, nor could he hinder it. One does not, unfortunately, extend warnings of failure to a prospective father-in-law; not, at least, with any great success. Armstrong had refused to endanger his state of blessedness by attempting to pry open the lids of a blind man.
As he looked around, Armstrong could not repress, did not try to repress, the cold gleam in his eye. For the broken Deming who stood beside him fingering a telegram, he could feel pity; the others deserved no such feeling. They were either spoilers, or complacently inefficient fools, these men. All seven of them had together wrecked the Deming Food Products Company, though their work in this direction had not been by intent, but through folly, selfish calculation, through lack of all vision beyond self-interest. Deming, who had built up the old company, had lost his once strong grip on things, and his vision had overpowered his common sense. Although he could not realize it, he was not without his share of blame for this debacle.
And while Armstrong thus looked with unveiled scorn from man to man about the table, Lawrence Macgowan, by himself in one corner of the library, watched only Armstrong. If his gaze held any expression, it was hidden.
"Gentlemen," began Deming, with shaking voice, "I have hurriedly called you here to receive bad news. To get this message at such a moment is more than a blow to me; it is a humiliation. Yet I must face it."
He paused, his gaze sweeping the circle of faces. In them he read not the slightest hint of fortitude or sympathy; only weakness, fright, panicky comprehension. A single strong, calm pair of eyes might have bucked him up in this moment. He found none, save Armstrong's.
"This telegram," he blurted desperately, "is from the Northwestern Millers Corporation. Unless they receive ten thousand dollars to apply on our account before noon to-morrow, their attorneys are instructed to apply for a receiver and—and—" He paused, then went on. "My friends, I need not say that unless we wire this money, the Deming Company is a thing of the past. I ask your help."
Deming somehow fumbled himself into a chair, become an old man in ten minutes.
About the table reigned silence. Men looked one at another and dared not speak. Ried Williams, with a slight shrug, lighted a cigarette; his sallow features were very cynical. Slosson stared at Deming, at Armstrong, with surly anger in his eyes. One would have said that he hated this man for whom he worked, this man whose daughter he had failed to win, and the other man in shirt-sleeves who had won her.
Armstrong read that gaze, and smiled at the fright, the anger, the bitter venom, of it. Never did it enter his head that this Slosson was to be feared, or even remembered. Already his mind was turning upon other matters.
"Will nobody—" Deming looked up. The words faltered on his tongue, and died away. One or two of his directors shuffled uneasy feet, cleared their throats. No one replied.
Then Armstrong, pushing back his chair, rose to his feet.
A flash of vigor shook Deming. The man leaped up, held out his hand in restraint, and found passionate, eager words of protest.
"Not you, Reese!" His voice came like the snapping of a taut cord. "Not you! I did not summon you here for—to ask your charity! Now that you know the worst, I release you on Dorothy's behalf. You shall not marry the daughter of a pauper, a man who has not a cent, a man facing bankruptcy—"
"Be quiet, please," said Armstrong. Under his calm gaze, Deming's voice died again, and Deming stared at him, wondering, agonized, breathing hard.
"Don't intrude personalities into this; you cannot realize what your words portend," said Armstrong in that same level, quiet tone. "If you or any other man tries to come between me and Dorothy, he'll be set aside. Do you think I'm marrying for money? Do you think I give a tinker's damn whether you're rich or poor, an honest man or a thief—except for Dorothy's sake? Sit down and listen to me. I'm not talking charity. I'm talking business."
Deming dropped once more into his chair, an old man again. He shaded his eyes with his hand, and his fingers trembled. No one regarded him; every eye was now fastened upon Armstrong.
"I've very little time to talk with you, gentlemen," said the latter crisply. "More important matters await me downstairs and I want no arguments. I will make a proposal which you may either accept or refuse. I make it, understand, purely as a business proposition."
"Then you'll lend us the ten thousand?" asked a hopeful voice.
"I will not," said Armstrong. "Rather, I cannot."
"What do you mean, then?"
Armstrong stood silent a moment. This brief silence emphasized his dominance; every man there was listening intently for his proposal. When it came, it held an unspeakable bitterness.
"Gentlemen, we meet downstairs upon a social plane, but here I speak to you as a business man, without the least personal animas. I'll not lend this money for the same reason that no bank will lend it, for the same reason that you'll not lend it to yourselves. Your credit is totally exhausted. The loan would result in nothing.
"For the past year or more," he went on inexorably, "your company has gone from bad to worse. It has been made a dumping ground for wholly inefficient relatives and friends. Your sales department is a joke. Your purchasing department is topheavy with poor judgment and rotten with graft. Your advertising department is a byword in the trade for doing the wrong thing at the wrong time. Above all, your management is so absolutely hopeless that the entire organization is affected. I might better say, infected."
Some of the faces about the table flushed at these words; some turned pale. Deming did not move, until Armstrong uttered his final sentence. Then a slight quiver shook the man's shoulders. This was a confession, an admission, a realization. Ruin opens the eyes that prosperity has blinded.
Slosson, who was assistant general manager, leaped to his feet in a blaze of anger.
"You lie, when you say we've dumped worthless men—"
"Let me prove it," cut in the inflexible voice of Armstrong. "Two months ago, Mr. Slosson, you put two of your relatives at the head of the rolled oats department. One of those men was an accountant to whom no bonding house would furnish bond. The other had been a railroad clerk until you gave him a position of authority. Will you kindly sit down and let me finish, or do you wish further evidence?"
Slosson, rendered inarticulate by mingled fury and fear, sat down. Armstrong's minute knowledge came as a shock; it terrorized him, appalled him. Other men about the table showed how deeply they, too, were disconcerted.
"Mr. Williams," proceeded Armstrong calmly, "I believe you are the treasurer of Food Products. I understand that you recently obtained licenses from some thirty states to market under the blue sky law an issue of preferred stock to the amount of half a million. Is this correct?"
"That—why, yes, it is!" stammered Ried Williams. "That's so, Armstrong. We've had no opportunity to market the stock, of course; arrangements haven't been made. In the present condition of industrial depression, it is very hard to market—"
"Thank you," said Armstrong incisively. "Gentlemen, I propose to find this ten thousand dollars which you need urgently, on the following terms: The assets of your company will be appraised, and within thirty days your company will be purchased upon an appraised and agreed basis, by Consolidated Securities, who will thereafter own the business. I will require, on behalf of the Armstrong Company, a contract to act as your fiscal agent and to market this stock issue of yours.
"As a preliminary to this purchase of your company, I demand the resignation of the entire management and directorate of Food Products, in favor of men to be nominated by Consolidated; this to take effect within three days. Mr. Deming will remain as president, but without power to interfere in the management of the business. None other of the present officers will remain. Should you refuse this proposal, there is no alternative."
Armstrong sat down.
A silence of dismayed consternation, of incredulity pervaded by anger, greeted his words. Deming was the only man who seemed to make no mental protest. Wearily passing a hand across his brow, Deming looked up.
"Reese, you don't know just how badly involved the company is—"
"I do—and I know something you don't know. Your books show a hundred and fifty thousand in assets which are either padded or outright false, but which Consolidated will accept. In justice to our own stockholders, we shall write off these worthless assets at once. We are prepared to face this loss without demur."
A moment's pause. This revelation struck absolute fear into some of those present. Then some one spoke up roughly:
"How the hell do we know your company will do all this? Findlater is president of it, not you. How do we know Consolidated Securities will back you up?"
For the first time, the cold poise of Armstrong's features was broken. The faintest shadow of a smile curved his lips.
"Because," he answered, "I am Consolidated Securities."
A chuckle from Macgowan's corner gave this statement emphatic endorsement. That chuckle reached every man present. It dismayed them afresh, startled them, struck a chill into their very souls. Their faces contracted in furious anger, only to become impotent and vacant again. They were powerless to help themselves, to resent insults. Without Armstrong's help, they faced ruin.
Armstrong glanced at his watch.
"Speak up, please," he said. "I want a decision at once. Yes or no?"
"You can't market that stock!" broke out Ried Williams, a desperate gleam in his dark and crafty eyes. "Several companies have turned it down!"
"I'm not asking you to talk, but to vote," said Armstrong coldly. "If I contract to market that stock, it'll be done. Yes or no, Mr. Williams?"
"Yes," said Williams, speaking like a man of wood.
"And you, Mr. Slosson?"
Slosson glared, flushed, swallowed hard—nodded assent. So it went, with no dissenting voice, and came at last to Deming. He rose suddenly to his feet, his hand extended.
"God bless you, Reese! Do it if you can, and thanks for your thought of me. But I'll not remain in the company. I've lost my grip of late years. I'll get out entirely, with whatever can be saved from the wreck. And for what you're doing—"
"I'm doing nothing," said Armstrong quietly. "Since this matter is now settled, I suggest that the meeting be adjourned until to-night at eight o'clock. Mr. Macgowan will represent me in all future negotiations."
"What about this loan?" Deming caught up the telegram. "It demands the cash—"
Armstrong nodded. "I'll have to borrow the money from Consolidated. Can you offer any security?"
"Nothing but notes," said Deming. "Will our paper for twenty-five thousand do?"
At this, the face of Lawrence Macgowan lighted suddenly, as though some unexpected exultation had flashed into the man's soul. Armstrong turned to him.
"Certainly. Lawrence, will you be good enough to attend to it? I'll sign a check at once. Obtain the money for me from Consolidated, and turn over the securities to Consolidated—the loan will be to the Armstrong Company. Mr. Williams can wire these people that a check is in the mails, and can send along my check. I believe you have all the papers necessary to settle things to-night with these gentlemen?"
Macgowan assented with a nod. Armstrong was turning from the table when up before him sprang Pete Slosson. The latter's face was livid with anger and wild suspicion.
"By the lord, Armstrong, I believe you had this all framed up!" shouted Slosson, his fist banging the table. "Did you and Macgowan come here meaning to take over this company? Did you have the damnable nerve to do this?"
Armstrong, regarding him coldly, made a slight gesture of assent.
"Certainly I did," he said. "I had not foreseen that the emergency had come to-day, but was prepared." He turned to Deming. "I had intended leaving Macgowan to talk things over with you and present this course as a future means of saving Food Products. Since this crisis has turned up to-day, I took occasion to present it myself. If you would prefer that I leave your company alone—"
Deming flushed, and took the arm of the younger man.
"Reese, you're worth all of us," he said simply. "If you can save my business reputation, let the rest go! Now, gentlemen, business is over; our guests await us downstairs. Suppose we return to a social status and account this meeting adjourned until to-night. I am sure that Mr. Macgowan will handle matters acceptably."
"He will," assented Armstrong, and left the room with Deming.
Chairs scraped back and men came to their feet, following. Macgowan, making some notes, and writing out the check for Williams, was the last to depart. At the door, he overtook Ried Williams, and put his hand on the arm of his cousin.
"I'll have Reese sign this check right away. Ried, we have just witnessed a very interesting psychological study—the intolerance of a young man. You observed it?"
Williams frowned. "You mean—Slosson?"
"I don't mean Slosson. I mean the young Napoleon who issued his dicta and made those dicta obeyed. That is the vice of the young, Ried; to lack sufferance of the errors that others make. In a young man, intolerance is a natural inheritance; in an older man, it is an unpardonable fault."
The sallow features of Williams flushed a little.
"He talked to us as though we were—niggers!" he rasped. The clasp of Macgowan's fingers tightened slightly on his arm.
"Exactly, my dear Ried," came the smooth accents. "But remember, he is a young man! His education is not yet finished."
With this cryptic remark, Macgowan hurried off to join the groom, leaving Williams to stare after him in frowning surmise.