CHAPTER IX
HOME BANKING—A FAILURE
In the upper suburb of Montreal, Canada, stood an unassuming cottage, in the midst of a spacious and well-kept lawn and garden. A young man was seen carrying a rake on his shoulder and with the other hand drawing a lawn mower toward a shed in one corner of the lot, where he was to deposit them for the night.
"Hiram, I never saw the lawn look better." These words were spoken by a venerable-looking old gentleman with cheery voice, as he came around the corner of the garden, smoking a cigar. The speaker was a large and well proportioned man of perhaps fifty-five years of age. He looked through large brown eyes, kindly but resolute. His square jaw and firm mouth denoted will power, his face was ruddy, and his head was crowned with an abundance of curling hair as white as snow. This was Abram McLain, the retired member of the firm of McLain, Shaw & Co., the originators and organizers of the first steamboat line running between Liverpool and Montreal. From this investment and an interest in building the great Victoria bridge across the Saint Lawrence, Mr. McLain had accumulated a large fortune, which, promptly invested in real estate and safe stocks which were continually enhancing in value in this rapidly growing municipality, soon placed him among the accredited millionaires of Canada.
The cottage which he owned and in which he lived was built of gray stone, one tall story in height, and crowned with a French roof. It was beautified by a wide door in front with colonial pillars and porch. The windows were tall, to which iron shutters were attached. The ground on which this building stood had been bought immediately after the conflagration of 1852, when Saint Mary's Ward was almost obliterated. From that date each year had increased the value of all property in this part of the city, so that this property alone, having five acres, would have placed its owner among the well-to-do citizens of the community. But this property was only a small portion of the holdings of Abram McLain. A unique building was this cottage.
Two skilled mechanics had been brought from Quebec, and no one was permitted to see their work nor to learn what they were doing. Their work was to be in the basement, which had been excavated ten feet deep, the massive walls reaching down until they rested upon solid rock. The building was seventy-five feet square. A furnace occupied the center of the basement. Next, in front, was a beautiful office, finished in hardwood, exquisitely polished, and furnished with most modern furniture. In the rear of this office was a smaller room, the walls of which were incased with steel plates, supposed to be both burglar-proof and fire-proof. This room contained a safe having no opening except the door into the office. It would never have been taken for anything but a closet convenient to the main office; but the door was solid iron, the lock of which none but the owner could manipulate. A reception or smoking room, which Mr. McLain called his den, was on the other side of the hallway—a cozy and yet elaborately furnished room, containing tables, sofas, and easy chairs, where the owner could meet his friends for business or pleasure.
Mr. McLain's father, a sturdy and sagacious Scotchman, had landed in Canada when Abram was about ten years of age, and began in earnest to win at least a living, if not a fortune, in this sparsely settled city, which at that time was hardly worthy the name of a city, although its thoroughgoing citizens had procured a city charter. Mr. McLain by earnest long-sightedness and industry succeeded in becoming a well-to-do citizen. Unfortunately, Mr. McLain invested most of his savings in a large banking institution, located on McGill Street—The Montreal National Bank—which a few months later was consumed in the conflagration. This unfortunate event with subsequent obligations, left him both poor and in debt, from which he never recovered, but in two years died, leaving his wife dependent upon their only son. Some years later, when Abram was accumulating money rapidly, he bought stock in gas and water works, and in both instances they collapsed, and the stockholders were left by a dishonest set of officers to meet delinquent obligations. This experience of both father and son not only met with indignant protestations, but drove Abram to a conclusion wise, or foolish, as the case may be; but he concluded that hereafter he would be his own banker, or at least the custodian of his own money. This accounted for the burglar-proof safe in the basement of the new cottage, and where he could keep every valuable paper, securities, deeds, mortgages, or money. This line of business was no secret in the community. He was his own banker, and when he sold property or anything else, the place of the money deposited was his own safe.
Much of Mr. McLain's spare time was spent at the Majestic, then the largest hotel in the city, he being its owner. Ernest Case, the acting landlord, took great pleasure in introducing him to customers, and especially if they were prominent persons or had titles attached to their names, who honored this hostelry with their presence.
One evening Mr. McLain sat in one of the cozy parlors enjoying a cigar with Mayor Dalrymple, he, himself, being an alderman. They had much in common to interest them, and were conversing interestedly, when Mr. Case, accompanied by an imposing-looking stranger, approached and asked permission to introduce Major Bancroft, of Quebec. The major took the liberty of correcting a slight mistake.
"True, from Quebec last," he said, pleasantly, "but from Devonshire, England, first. That is my home, and you know an Englishman never denies his country. I am nephew to the Duke of Devon, and"—hesitatingly—"possibly the next heir to the title. At present I am a major in Her Majesty's Twenty-first Cavalry. I am just taking a run through your grand country, while not much needed at home. Gentlemen, you certainly have the making of a great city here in Montreal."
"We think so," said the mayor.
"Yes," added Mr. McLain, "we think that much of it is already made. We have already the best schools, the best churches, the best hotels and shipping wharves on the continent, and," he added, smiling, "the most beautiful women in Canada."
"I have no inclination to doubt your word in any one of those statements, Mr. McLain, and especially your last proposition, as it accords with my own observation; but my opportunities of looking about as yet have been limited, having arrived only yesterday." Then the major continued: "Is real estate increasing in value very rapidly?"
The mayor replied: "We have been burned out three times, but each fire has enhanced the value of all real estate."
"I am glad to hear that," the major replied, "as I am traveling with an eye open for investments. It is quite different with us. Capital invested in real estate in England usually results in regrets and loss."
This young stranger was a man of sturdy frame, broad shoulders, and medium height, having a military bearing; save his mustache, his face was clean shaven, and he had full lips and large, white teeth. He looked to be possibly twenty-five years of age, and would have been called good-looking anywhere. Both the resident citizens invited the major to call at their places of business before he left the city. This he promised to do.
A few days later, Case, in a joking sort of way, remarked to Mr. McLain: "I think some of your landowners ought to sell Major Bancroft something in the way of real estate. He has plenty of money. I have fifty thousand of his money in my safe, and he seems to be aching to invest it."
"I am quite willing to sell him some city stock, if he will give me my price," remarked McLain.
"But I imagine he wants something bigger," said Case.
"Why," muttered McLain, "I don't want anything better or bigger."
"Yes, I know," replied Case, "but I think he wants something that will grow while he is fighting the Boers, as he is looking every day to be ordered home."
"Well," replied McLain, "I give you authority to sell him the Majestic, if you can. I'll authorize you to act as my agent."
"Thank you," replied Case, "but I'm not anxious to change employers."
"But," answered McLain, "I'm not joking. I will sell anything I have, except my wife and cottage, if I can get my price."
"What's your selling price for the Majestic?" laughingly asked the other.
"O, well, let me see—I suppose forty thousand pounds would buy it."
"All right," said Case, as he turned away, "I guess I'll not change employers this year."
The Montreal Daily Gazette lay upon Mr. McLain's breakfast table a few days later. Mrs. McLain called his attention to it, stating that while awaiting his coming to breakfast she had noticed that the Albermarle was about to be sold to an English capitalist, who proposed to increase its capacity, and make it the largest hotel in the colony.
"Indeed!" said Mr. McLain, sipping his coffee, and he took up the paper to read for himself.
Glancing first at the money market, his eyes next sought for local items, and he read the following article: "Changes in real estate. Rumor says that the Albermarle is to change owners. An English nobleman who is looking for profitable investments is said to be the prospective purchaser. The capacity of this excellent hostelry, according to the report, is to be greatly increased by the purchase of the two adjoining properties."
About noon the same day Mr. McLain received a call from Major Bancroft.
"This is a delightful office," remarked the major, as he lighted a cigar that had been handed him.
"Yes, Major, I had an eye to comfort as well as to business when I built it," adding in a sort of casual way, "I see by this morning's paper that you think of becoming a property owner in our city; allow me to congratulate you."
"Well," replied the major, "your newspapers are a little too rapid. I notice that they sometimes get ahead of the hounds. I'm glad you mentioned the matter. Might I ask you how much the Albermarle is worth in your opinion?"
"O!" replied Mr. McLain, "it would not be right for me to appraise it, as
I own the same kind of property."
"I see," replied the major. "Of course. What, then, would be a fair selling price for the Majestic? It seems superior in both locality and capacity."
"Well," observed Mr. McLain, "the Majestic has never been put on the market, nor is it today for sale; consequently, I should ask its full value, if I mentioned any price at all. I would not look at anything less than forty thousand pounds for it."
"Would you not sell for thirty-five thousand pounds cash?"
Mr. McLain dropped his head slightly, and then suddenly replied: "No, sir, but I would sell for forty thousand pounds cash, English money."
"Very well, Mr. McLain, make out the necessary papers, and on one week from today I will pay you forty thousand pounds in Bank of England notes."
"All right, Major, I will meet you at the Montreal National Bank one week from today, at 12 o'clock. I will bring the papers."
"All right," said the Major, and departed.