Despite his age, which was still short of thirty, this genius found him a welcome. It was a cautious welcome; still, those who dream eternally of extracting that hoard from that sock would welcome Mephisto himself if he were to present himself for the purpose.
Armstrong was no Mephisto. He possessed qualities which did not appear on the surface. To the metropolitan eye, he was a green lawyer from the verdant West, who might possibly get somewhere. Yet, in reality, he had behind him the culminative and driving power of struggle.
He had worked himself through law school by the unusual method of playing the Italian harp, and playing it well. Farther back were two generations of Baptist circuit-riders, whose chief heritage to him was a stern and rigid standard of moral values, so far as his personal conduct was concerned, and an old-fashioned belief in legal ethics. Now, to play the harp one must be an idealist. To cherish a moral code, entails a sense of personal responsibility. These two qualities are rarely combined in one person; when the combination does appear, that person is either famous or infamous—he is never mediocre.
Besides all this, Armstrong had knocked about through Western Canada, thereby attaining to an extensive knowledge of his fellow man which did not appear in his ruddy and ingenuous countenance. He was blond and vigorous, with an eye whose peculiar steely acuity could be very disconcerting. A laugh came often to his lips, a smile rarely. His air was one of poise and confidence, of almost challenging assurance, and he had a knack of imparting this assurance to those who came into touch with him.
It is well known that the aforesaid metropolitan eye accepts a man at face value. This face value of Reese Armstrong was countersigned by a clean, alert, inspiring brain; it was untouched by the corroding fingers of greed or self-indulgence or crafty brooding. One instinctively perceived that this man held his given word above any minted pledge.
Armstrong had sought a letter of introduction to the best corporation lawyer in New York, and this letter brought him to Lawrence Macgowan.
After listening to all that Armstrong had to say, Macgowan took action. He put up Reese Armstrong at the Lawyers' Club, obtained a hearing from certain men of his acquaintance—and Consolidated Securities was incorporated. Armstrong held no office but retained a controlling interest. Macgowan became a director and remained as counsel. The other men, of whom Judge Holcomb and Findlater were the most prominent, became directors without salary, being paid outright in stock for their support. The first subsidiary was the Armstrong Company, purely a stock-selling concern.
Not blinded by this success, Armstrong knew that he was only on trial. None of these men had great confidence in his scheme. They were willing to take a chance, hoping that some day would appear Fortunatus, to loose for them the string that bound the sock of the small investor. Armstrong, to prove that he was the man, went to work.
About himself Armstrong gathered men devoted to him, an organization covering New York and adjacent cities. His chief helper was Jimmy Wren—impulsive, ardent, imaginative; not a half-way man. Somehow, into all these men Armstrong injected his own personality; or, perhaps, he picked them with extraordinary skill. In any event, he accomplished a miracle. Through them he reached out and touched the small investor, became acquainted with him, won his confidence, induced him to become part owner of Consolidated.
From its inception the struggle was aureated with success. Two small manufacturing concerns were taken over, reorganized, placed on a paying basis. Here again Armstrong showed his value as a judge of men. Consolidated Securities became a material fact, and prospered, and was ready to reach out anew.