CHAPTER VI—“THERE’S NOTHING HALF SO SWEET IN LIFE”
JOHN STEELE now entered upon a period of his life which was most interesting and enjoyable. The numerous petty and annoying incidents which had heretofore been the cause of friction between himself and his numerous subordinates disappeared as the mist fades before the rising sun, and he found himself at the head of as willing and energetic a staff as any man could wish to have co-operate with him. With his chief even the most captious of men could have no fault to find, and Steele was far from being captious. T. Acton Blair seemed a changed man. No one could be more genial and considerate. He even drifted into the habit of calling his division superintendent “John.” Their business conferences were of an exceedingly friendly and amiable character, and yet John frequently censured himself when he detected deep down in his own nature remnants of distrust still lingering regarding his urbane superior. Once when Blair was gone rather longer than usual on a visit to New York, some inquiries that came through caused him to surmise that Blair was undermining him at headquarters, but on Blair’s return John felt rather ashamed of himself. That good man had indeed mentioned him to the powers that be, but the mention had been entirely to his advantage, with the result that John got ten dollars a week added to his salary, quite unsolicited. Blair almost apologised for his action, saying by way of excuse that the road was really getting so prosperous, and had been so free from disaster ever since Steele had joined it, that Rockervelt was pluming himself on having chosen the right man once again.
“By the way,” said Blair casually, “Mr. Rockervelt informed me he had read in the newspapers of your windfall. He asked me in what your money was invested, but I was unable to tell him.”
“Most of it is in railway stocks,” replied Steele.
“Ah, that would have interested him. Are any of the Rockervelt stocks in your safe deposit vault?”
John laughed.
“No, I don’t think I possess a single share, even in the Manateau Midland. Perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea to make a transfer.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” replied Blair, impartially. “Unless a man is a professional speculator he generally loses in transferring his stock from one interest to another. The broker usually gets a slice when this happens. Still, I am sure Mr. Rockervelt would be rather pleased to hear that you own stock in the Midland. He encourages that sort of thing, especially among his higher officials, imagining quite rightly, perhaps, that they are just a leetle more careful if they are part owners of the road they operate. I think it’s a very good idea, myself; still, at the present moment all the Rockervelt lines are booming, and I don’t know any investment I could more cordially recommend. Still, I’m prejudiced in the matter, so don’t let what I say influence you in the least. But if you should buy a block of Midland, for instance, I wish you’d let me know, so that when I am next in New York I can answer Mr. Rockervelt’s former question. It certainly wouldn’t do you any harm with Rockervelt, and there’s no better security on the market.”