CHAPTER XI
"The difference between you and Macgowan," said Robert Dorns, "is that he's got the law on his side—and you're on the side of the law. It ain't much difference at first sight, but when you get down to cases it's a whale of a difference!"
Armstrong smiled wearily.
They were in Armstrong's rooms at the hotel—Dorns, Mansfield, Bruton, Holcomb and Sessions. Jimmy Wren listened in a corner. It was the evening of the third day; and in another room Armstrong's full battery of legal experts were arguing and contending, vainly striving to find some way out of the disaster. Mansfield knew the fight was lost, and admitted it. The committee of three admitted it. The silence of Dorns, who never admitted anything, was eloquent.
Armstrong alone refused to admit defeat.
"I was talking with Garvin to-night," said Mansfield slowly. "He's their chief counsel, you know. He intimated that Findlater would be glad to make some peaceful settlement."
Judge Holcomb made a despondent gesture.
"They have us, of course. Shall we open negotiations, Armstrong?"
"Not with my consent," replied Armstrong. "We have won our fight honestly. They have beaten us by illegal trickery. If Findlater and Macgowan are elected by means of this block of ten thousand votes, I mean to contest it."
Mansfield regarded him quietly.
"Look at the facts impartially," he said. "It is true that their actions are illegal. It is true that this farcical stock issue to Williams was made merely to carry the election, just as that indictment in Illinois was obtained merely to discredit you. It is true that we shall obtain the dismissal of this indictment, that we can contest the election, and that we must ultimately win the fight—if we push it.
"But, my dear fellow, do we want to push it? Is the game worth the candle? Ask yourself that question fairly. Garvin intimated to me to-night that Findlater would be only too glad to throw Macgowan overboard and make peace. There has been friction between them; Findlater, I think, is terrified by Macgowan's audacity and absolute disregard for any legal ethics. Now is our time to compromise, get what we can out of their differences! Garvin is in this hotel now. If you'll let me interview him, I fancy that he'll be all ready to present terms for our acceptance."
"I don't compromise," said Armstrong quietly.
"Then give in, surrender!" put in Judge Holcomb, gloomily enough. "Consider what a protracted fight will involve, Reese! It means that we'll be battling in the courts for months to come, perhaps years. It means lengthy and continuous expense—and you know what this campaign has cost us. What if we win? We get nothing out of it. Macgowan can juggle the books of Consolidated and use the investors' money to fight us—"
"That's exactly it," said Armstrong. "He's fighting us with our own money! And if we fail, he'll rob us. We must not fail."
"Besides," spoke up Doctor Bruton, "consider the effect upon the company itself, Reese! Already this fight has hurt it tremendously."
"Not as much as Macgowan has hurt it," said Armstrong. "Not as much as he will hurt it!"
They were silent for a moment, staring at him. Then Robert Dorns moved in his chair, took his cigar from his mouth, and spoke.
"Listen here, Armstrong. Who's runnin' Consolidated now?"
"Macgowan, of course."
"If he's out o' the company, who's runnin' it?"
Armstrong was silent a space, his gaze fastened on Dorns, his lips compressed.
"I see," he said at length. "Yes. I see."
Dorns waved his cigar, drove home his point.
"We ain't in this fight for selfish reasons, but for the good of the company. Now, at the very minute Macgowan gets into the saddle—what happens? His crowd goes back on him. Findlater is ready to ditch him. S'pose we make terms?
"Then our stock is back in control. Leave Findlater there if we have to! Believe me, when we're dealin' with Findlater and not Macgowan, we can handle him! It's Macgowan's infernal brains that have been makin' this fight, me lad; don't mistake that. Why not let Mansfield have a little talk, learn what we can do? They can't put anything over on Q. Adams, and you know it!"
Armstrong was silent again. Then he rose to his feet.
"Go ahead, Mansfield," he said. "I'm going to telephone my wife—excuse me."
He went into the adjacent room and closed the door.
For a little he was unable to get a connection; he waited. At length he heard the maid's voice on the line, and asked for Dorothy. Another wait. Then came the voice of Dorothy, coolly speaking his name. Something in her tone startled him.
"Are you well, lady?"
"Well enough in body, Reese," she said. "Not in mind. There is something you must do for me."
"Yes? What is it?"
"Make peace with Macgowan."
Armstrong was staggered. "What do you mean, Dorothy?"
"I can't explain over the telephone. Will you do it?"
He laughed shortly. "Very likely. We've been beaten. We're discussing peace terms now. But what on earth made you ask me to do such a thing?"
"A belated understanding of some things, Reese."
"Good heavens, Dot, what's happened? Why, you speak as though something were wrong!" He heard her laugh without mirth.
"No, nothing's wrong. When shall you be home?"
"Not to-night. Probably to-morrow morning, unless you need me now. Do you?"
"No, dear. Morning will do. Good-by, and all luck!"
Armstrong dropped into a chair, a prey to furious indecision and tumultuous thought. From the very tone Dorothy had used, he knew that something was amiss, something had happened at home. What was it? What on earth had caused that coldness in her voice?
It did not occur to him then that Macgowan might have struck him in a vital spot.
He was tempted to rush home at once, seek the cause of the trouble, remove it. Dorothy had said no word, yet he understood that for some reason she was angered against him. But he could not leave here now; it was impossible.
A knock at the door. Mansfield appeared, closed the door behind him, looked at Armstrong. He seemed startled by the tortured face, the distracted frown, that met his eyes.
"Reese! What's happened? Anything new come up?"
"No." Armstrong made a vague gesture. "Some trouble at home—I don't know what. I feel buffeted on every side—a whirlwind all around me—storm—"
Mansfield regarded him in a singular manner.
"God is never in the whirlwind," he said, his voice and his words strange. "Always in the still, small voice."
"What do you mean?" Armstrong looked up, caught by the extraordinary air of the lawyer. "Eh?"
Mansfield's face changed, altered to its usual dry alertness. He shrugged, took a cigar from his pocket, lighted it, sat down.
"I have an offer direct from Findlater," he said, and looked at Armstrong. "Before presenting it, I wish to say that the answer must come from you alone. I cannot advise you. I can say only one thing: Consider it well! It is the only offer that we can get."
"Name it," said Armstrong, collecting himself.
"The election of officers takes place to-morrow. Findlater agrees to drop Macgowan from all connection with Consolidated. This means that Macgowan will fight bitterly. In order to insure beating him, the Stockholders' Protective Association is to throw its votes to Findlater and continue him in office. The issue of ten thousand shares to Williams will be withdrawn. Holcomb and Bruton will be placed on the directorate."
Armstrong stared.
"You say that the Association must vote with Findlater?"
"That is the sine qua non. No counter offer will be considered. The answer must come at once."
Armstrong fell into thought.
The offer was seemingly fair enough. Macgowan would be smashed utterly and beyond recall—this was certain. Victory! Judge Holcomb and Doctor Bruton would become directors. It would mean a tremendous personal triumph for Armstrong—
At a price.
He started, stung to the quick as he perceived the truth. Now he saw why Mansfield would give no advice, why the answer to this proposal must come from him and from no other!
Week after week, by letter and word of mouth and press notices, the present management of Consolidated Securities had been under the bitterest fire from the Association. The attack had been directed overwhelmingly against Findlater and his associates. They had been publicly exposed and branded as grafters, thieves, looters. Under the surface, the attack was upon Macgowan, but Findlater and his associates were the ostensible targets.
It was for the overthrow of this management that the Protective Association had been working day and night. The object of this whole campaign had been that of getting Consolidated Securities into honest hands, out of Findlater's grip. For that purpose proxies were held from far and near, thousands of them, proxies of those who had entrusted their votes to the Protective Association, for the common cause, for the common welfare.
A harsh, hard laugh rang from Armstrong.
"Did Garvin make you this proposal?"
"Yes," said Mansfield, imperturbable and cold.
"You have a singular code of legal ethics in these parts," said Armstrong, his voice like acid. "Garvin stands remarkably high as a lawyer—almost as high as you do, Mansfield. But I know lawyers out West who would kick a client out of the office if they asked him to carry such a proposal as this."
Mansfield's face stirred slightly, wakened from its cold calm.
"Garvin," he said after a moment, "will resign as chief counsel to Consolidated. He bore the message as a part of his duty, and so informed me."
"In that case," said Armstrong, "I should be glad to retain his services."
Mansfield raised his brows.
"Ah! But your answer to this proposal?"
"There can be but one answer," said Armstrong. "They ask us to betray the people who have trusted us, to take these votes, given for the express purpose of removing Findlater's management, and use them to retain that management. In order to do this, they try to bribe me, to appeal to my personal enmity, by kicking Macgowan out."
"If you refuse," answered the lawyer reflectively, "it accomplishes nothing. If you refuse, Macgowan remains in power; the issue of stock to Williams will stand; the Association faces a blank wall. You are under indictment. You will be discredited among many of the investors. I merely present these facts that you may understand the situation."
Armstrong laughed bitterly.
"Don't worry—I understand them! Go out there and tell Holcomb and the others about it. Tell them that my answer is: No! Tell them to quit if they want to. I shall go on fighting, alone. That is all."
For a moment Mansfield studied the unyielding face of Armstrong, then rose.
"Ah—perhaps you do not recall what Philip de Commines said of his royal master? He said: 'I never knew any man so wise in his misfortunes.' To be wise in misfortune, Mr. Armstrong, is to overcome fate. I—by gad, sir, I congratulate you with all my heart upon this decision! You shall not go on fighting alone."
He held out his hand. Armstrong gripped it, and was astonished to perceive that the eyes of this man were suffused with emotion.
Thus ended the Wilmington meeting.