The Money Gods

by Ellery H. Clark

Bellingham thanked him, and at the same time advanced a chair and pushed a box of cigars across the desk, for Martin's personality, and his position in the Hamilton household, were both distinctly out of the ordinary. Tall and smooth-shaven, with a keen and penetrating eye, there was something in his appearance suggestive of the ministry; yet this impression was a false and misleading one, for while it was true that the butler had interests and aspirations far beyond his station, yet these interests were the very reverse of ecclesiastical. The stock market, the wheat pit, the cotton exchange--these were the absorbing passions of his life; his ears, sharp as those of a fox, were trained to lose no word that fell, at table, from the lips of his master and his master's friends; and whether it was owing to this, or to natural shrewdness on his part, his ventures had prospered so amazingly that he occupied a position in the eyes of his fellow-servants almost as dignified and exalted as that of his master in Wall Street.

Now, with a respectful inclination of his head, he seated himself, helped himself to a cigar, and in answer to the secretary's question, "Well, what's new, Martin?" he answered, "Stocks were very strong to-day, sir. Steel crossed one hundred and twenty-nine."

"The devil!" exclaimed Bellingham. "You don't mean it!" And forthwith turned eagerly to the papers, for while in his present impoverished condition he had no personal interest in the market's ups and downs, yet in the atmosphere of finance in which he lived it was part of his duty to have at his fingers' ends the daily fluctuations in cotton, stocks and grain. For some moments he studied the pages of the Journal in silence; then handed the paper to Martin, observing, "Well, you're right. And there's the explanation, too."

The butler took the paper from Bellingham's hand, and read, in staring headlines, at the top of the page, "Bull market continues. Marshall Hamilton and Cyrus McKay both said to favor the advance. Steel booked for two hundred."

Martin's eyes glistened. "Mr. Bellingham," he asked earnestly, "do you imagine, sir, that this is true?"

The secretary, with the unbiassed mind of the man who has no stake in the game, meditated for a moment, then answered truthfully, "My dear Martin, I haven't the remotest idea whether it's true or not."

The butler looked visibly disappointed. "If you happen to hear anything, sir," he said in a tone so low that it was almost a whisper, "you know what I mean, sir--any letters or telegrams--I should be most grateful if you'd remember me, sir."

Bellingham nodded. "I'll be glad to," he answered, with just the suggestion of a smile, for the combination of Martin the decorous servant and Martin the eager speculator was one which never failed to amuse him. Then, impelled by mere curiosity, he added, "Which is it this time, Martin? Are you long or short?"

The butler's face was impassive, but his voice was eager with the irrepressible passion of the gambler. "I'm short, sir," he answered. "Quite heavily short. I have every reason to believe, Mr. Bellingham, that we are going to see a severe decline in the market. Unusually severe, sir. But of course I may be wrong."

Bellingham glanced at the papers with renewed interest, running his eye up and down the narrow columns of figures which summarized, in this brief space, the prosperity or the adversity of the entire world. "They're awfully strong," he commented, "and the gains run through the list, too. Locomotive is up four, Crucible three and a half, Steel five. And the rails are strong, too. By Jove, Martin, I believe you are wrong. Be careful you don't come a cropper. Have you any real reason for thinking the market isn't going up?"