Chapter V
FATHER AND SON
Mr. Horace Hanbury paced restlessly up and down his study, and presently stopped before a huge map on the wall and carefully traced the long lines of the trans-continental railroads across the Rocky Mountains. "Will Harriman sell? No, he'll buy, of course he'll buy; he'd be an idiot if he didn't. Of course he'll buy, and Gould and Stillman will buy, too. Well, there'll be a fine tussle in Wall Street to-day." Thus he soliloquized, puffing thoughtfully at his short pipe. Then he picked up the heap of narrow tape on his desk containing the latest news from the West, and read the reports once more as the paper slipped through his fingers.
"This fiendish plot of the yellow curs seems to be a pretty clever one," he murmured; "they've simply cut off all railway connections. I can't help admiring the fellows—they've learned a lot since 1904." He threw himself into his comfortable Morris chair, and after having carefully studied the Stock Exchange quotations of Saturday, went once more to the map on the wall, and marked several spots with a blue pencil; these he connected by means of a long line which cut off the Pacific States of Washington, Oregon, and California, and large districts of Nevada and Arizona from all communication with points to the East. He then looked at his watch and pressed one of the electric buttons on his desk.
The door opened noiselessly, and an East Indian, dressed in the bright costume of his native country, entered, and, crossing his arms, made a deep bow. "When Mr. Gerald Hanbury returns, tell him I want to see him immediately." The Indian disappeared, and Mr. Hanbury sat down on his desk, folded his hands under his knees, and swung his feet to and fro, puffing out the smoke of his pipe from between his teeth. "If only the boy won't spoil everything with his ridiculous altruistic ideas— Ah, Gerald, there you are!"
"Did you send for me, father?"
"Sit down, my boy," said the old gentleman, pointing to a chair; but he himself remained sitting on the desk.
The son was the very image of his father—the same slender, muscular figure, the same piercing eyes, the same energetic mouth. "Well, father, what do you think of it?"
"Think of it? What do you think of it?"