Also a clash between Capitalism and Socialism! Bunny went to call on his father’s partner, at the office, where both could speak frankly; and they did. Verne’s first statement was a knockout—Bunny’s father had been mistaken in thinking that he had any Ross Consolidated Class B stock, and therefore his order upon Verne was worthless. All those street certificates had been sold some time ago at Dad’s order; Dad’s memory had evidently been failing since his illness—or perhaps he had not been watching his affairs since taking up with Spiritualism. His business was in a bad way. In the first place, the Ross Consolidated Operating Company, which had been Dad’s choicest holding, was practically bankrupt. Verne had that day been notified by the fire insurance companies involved that they would not pay the claims, because they had evidence that the fires had been of incendiary origin; they didn’t quite say it in plain English, but they implied that Verne or his agents had started the fires, because the company had an oversupply of oil and was caught with a failing market.
“Good God!” said Bunny. “What’s that, a bluff?”
“No,” said Verne, “that’s a scheme of Mark Eisenberg, who runs the banking business in this city for the Big Five, to knock one of the independents out. They’ll tie us up in the courts for Christ knows how many years. Ross Operating won’t have the cash to develop that burned over field, and if it has to assess its stockholders for the money, your father’s estate won’t be able to finance its share without help. The Lobos River wells are played out, and the Prospect Hill field is filling with water. Of course your father’s got shares in my foreign undertakings, but none of them will realize anything for a long time; so it looks as if you’ll have to sell them out.”
“Who is to handle all this?”
“Here’s a copy of Jim’s will—you can take it home and study it at your leisure. The executors are you and me and Fred Orpan, and you and Bertie are to divide the estate. Of course that’s been knocked out by his marriage; unless he’s made another will, the widow gets one-half, and you and Bertie a quarter. I promised your father I’d do the executor’s work, so I suppose it’s up to me. Let me say this right away—that Paradise field bears your name, and if you want to take it over and run it, I won’t stand in your way. You can sell some of your other holdings and buy me out at the market price and run the business for yourself. Do you want to be an oil man?”
“No,” said Bunny, promptly. “I do not.”
“Well, then, I’ll have to buy out your father’s stock; because the company is bankrupt, and I won’t carry it unless I have control. You and me couldn’t work together, Jim Junior—your ideals are too high.” Verne laughed—but without his usual jollity. “If I hadn’t promised your old man to do this job, I’d like to dump Ross Operating onto you and let it go bankrupt on your hands, and see what you’d do. You didn’t agree with your father about business men controlling the courts. Well, by Jees, you just be an upright public-spirited young citizen, and let the courts appoint a receiver for Ross Operating, without any bribery or undue influence of any sort—not pulling any political wires or making any threats or improper promises—and see how much you’d have left of the eight or ten millions, or whatever will be collected from the insurance companies a few years from now!”
III
From these ugly problems Bunny had a refuge—his little paper. He had arrived on a Sunday, and Rachel had met him at the train, with a dozen of the Ypsels, their faces shining. There was a cheer at sight of him—just as if he had been a moving picture star! There were handshakes all round—he and Rachel had several extra shakes, they were so glad to be together. The young people knew that Bunny would be sad over his father’s death, and possibly also the burning of his oil field; so they crowded round, and told him all the news at once, and Rachel produced the proofs of a new issue of “The Young Student,” also last week’s issue, and several others that he might not have received.
The little office was home—the only home Bunny had, because the mansion his father had rented had been subleased, and their personal belongings put in storage before Aunt Emma came to Europe. The office was only one room, but quite impressive with files and records accumulating; they had a subscription list of over six thousand now, and were printing eight thousand this week. But Rachel still had only one assistant—the Ypsels did the wrapping and addressing, evenings and Saturdays and Sundays. They hadn’t got mobbed or arrested any more; the Socialists were supporting LaFollette for president, and that gave them the right to be let alone for a while.