"But we won't sell at anything like that figure."
"Oh, yes, you will if you sell at all," Gorham rejoined. "One method by which the Consolidated Companies has succeeded is that of taking the public into its confidence whenever there is need of it. To-morrow we shall announce the birth of the Manhattan Traction Company, explaining its inception and its intentions. We shall show that, although we have paid an enormous price for the purchase of the properties, we shall capitalize at one-half the amount originally planned by those who would have carried through the merger if our Companies had not stepped in. We shall announce an increase of transfer privileges and a reduction of fares. We shall guarantee better equipment and better service. We shall also carefully explain that one of the reasons we can do this is that the company will be run in the interests of the public and the stockholders instead of in the interests of a few individuals; and we shall quote, in proof of this, that we purchased the three lines referred to for fifty thousand dollars when it was originally planned to have them cost the Companies something over two millions."
"They will still cost the Companies 'something over two millions,'" shouted Brady, "and the public be damned."
"Our slogan is, 'The public be pleased,'" smiled Gorham. "The offer of the Consolidated Companies will hold for twenty-four hours only," he continued, rising. "The franchise, you will perhaps remember, grants full privileges for the construction of further subway connections. Under these circumstances, we do not urge you to accept our offer—we merely invite your consideration. Now, gentlemen"—Gorham placed a peculiar emphasis on the word—"I believe our business is completed. The time limit on our offer will expire at noon to-morrow."
Covington was an interested spectator throughout the conference, and Gorham's supreme command of the situation won from him his silent but profound admiration. He rejoiced that this force was directed against others rather than himself, and he realized more than ever the importance of taking no chances of coming into conflict with this man who swept everything before him. He had enjoyed watching the faces of Brady and Harris as the game progressed, but his enjoyment encouraged him to remain too long after the departure of the others. Harris was cowed and frightened and seemed almost ready to break into tears, but Brady assumed an attitude which fitted him singularly well. It was not dismay, it was not chagrin—he was angry to the point of bursting. To Brady the one sin more flagrant than all others in the category of crime was failure, and in order to relieve his own conscience from the pollution of having failed he saw fit to attribute the entire responsibility to Covington.
"You damned skunk!" he cried, "you've sold us out after promisin' not to, that's what you've done! But I'll get back at you if it costs me ten years in Sing Sing!"
Covington for a second time went directly from Brady's office to his own, but the former complacency was replaced by a vague apprehension. A threat from Brady was worthy of consideration. Among the personal mail which he found upon his desk was a plain envelope, which, for some unknown reason, attracted his attention enough to cause him to open it before the one which lay on top. The signature interested him even more, particularly at the present moment, with his thoughts filled with what had recently passed. It is a precaution of the experienced mariner to inspect his lifeboats with especial care as he passes by a dangerous reef. The letter read:
"The divorce papers prove to be shockingly irregular, and there are developments in the early life. Please call at your convenience."
Covington crushed the paper in his hand and turned toward his desk with a changed expression. He smiled as he looked forward into space—the first smile which had lighted up his face for several days. Then he brought his clenched fist down hard on the desk for no apparent reason and muttered something to himself.