“Very well,” said Rock, quietly. “I’ll do the best I can.” But once away from Greener, his face flushed with anger and indignation. “Ten thousand for what might be worth ten millions to the financier!” The clerk had studied Greener’s Napoleonic methods for two years. He had learned patience for one thing, and he had waited for his chance. It had come at last, and he knew it.
Events make the man. Rock had thought carefully, intelligently, and, best of all, coolly. He had planned logically. It was a good plan; it was the only feasible plan, and it could not be upset by meddlesome courts. How Mr. John F. Greener had failed to think of the same plan was a bit strange. The unscrupulousness of it did not frighten the clerk. He had the instincts of a financier of the Greener school.
The clerk all that week did nothing but collect the Iowa Midland proxies promised by the complaisant trust companies. They amounted to 21,200 shares. From prominent brokerage houses, by means of alluring and unauthorized promises, he secured 7,100 shares; in all he had 28,300 shares. This meant that at the approaching annual meeting Mr. Greener could vote 138,900 shares out of a possible total of 320,000. Unless the opposition could unite, the election was already sure to “go Mr. Greener’s way.”
From time to time, when the little financier would ask Rock how he was progressing, the clerk would tell him he was doing as well as could be expected. He also told Mr. Greener that the trust companies had given only 14,000 shares, and he said nothing whatever of the 7,100 shares he had secured from the friendly brokers. It was a desperate risk, this concealing from Mr. Greener how well he had done; but the clerk was bold.
The moment Rock became convinced that there were no more pro-Greener proxies to be had by hook or crook, he began his attack on the enemy. His problem was to capture the anti-Greener votes—or stock. He proceeded to put his plan into effect. And the plan of this healthy clerk with the unflinching eyes and the resolute chin was worthy of the sallow-faced little man with the furtive look and the great forehead.
“It is a case of heads I win; tails you lose,” Rock muttered to himself, exultingly.
The young man presented himself forthwith at the office of Weddell, Hopkins & Co., prominent bankers and bitter enemies of Mr. John F. Greener and his methods. They knew Rock as one of the confidential clerks of Brown & Greener, and he had no difficulty in securing an audience from Mr. Weddell.
“Good-morning, Mr. Weddell.”
“Good-morning, sir,” said the banker, coldly. “I must say I’m somewhat surprised at the presumption of your people in sending you to me.”
“Mr. Weddell,” said Rock, a trifle too eagerly to be artistic, “I’ve left the firm of Brown & Greener. They were,” he added, youthfully, “too rascally for me.”