Holding our speed for a few seconds, which seemed like minutes, we surged toward the old culvert. Jamming on the brakes, I swung to one side of the embankment and stopped almost on the edge of the dry bed of the creek.
Miss Harding leaped to the ground and stood for an instant dazed. I stumbled as I jumped, but was on my feet like a flash. The arch of the culvert was not thirty feet away, but had we not been protected by the embankment we should have been beaten down and killed ere we reached its shelter.
The stones and gravel from the roadway above were dashed into our faces by the outer circle of the tornado. Grasping Miss Harding by the arm I dragged or carried her, I know not which, to the yawning but welcome opening of the old stone archway.
I cannot describe what followed. It was as if the earth were in its death throes. We were tossed back and forth in this tunnel, a resistless suction pulling us first toward one entrance and then to the other, only to be hurled back by buffeting blows.
There was a sense of suffocation as if the lightning had burned the air. Our nostrils were filled with the fumes of sulphur, and we looked into each other's frightened eyes only when some near flash penetrated the awful blackness of what seemed our living tomb.
A tree fell across the west opening, one twisted limb projecting well into the tunnel of the culvert. We could not distinguish the crashes of thunder from that of hurtling trees or the demoniac roar of the tornado. All of our senses were assailed by the unleashed furies of the tempest; crazed with rage that we were just beyond their reach.
I cannot say how long this lasted. Observers of the tornado in other places state that it was not more than three minutes in passing. Its path was less than half a mile in width, but I am convinced that its onward speed was comparatively slow else we would not have reached the culvert from the time I first saw it until its edge struck us.
Then came a moment of appalling silence. The tornado had passed. With this strange calm the darkness lifted and we knew that the crisis was over.
[Illustration: "Grasping her by the arm I dragged her"]
We were near the centre of the tunnel. I became aware that I was holding her hands and that her head was resting on my shoulder.
As the silence came like a shock, she raised her head and our eyes met.
"God has been very good to us," she said, gently releasing her hands.
"Let us thank Him."
Standing there in the rising waters we silently offered up our thanks to the One who rides on the wings of the storm and Who had guided two of His children to a haven of refuge.
The rain was still falling in sheets and the water had risen to our shoe-tops. In the growing light I discovered a projecting ledge near the centre of our shelter and helped Miss Harding to obtain a footing.
"If the water keeps on rising," she said, "we must get out of here. I am sure the rain will not kill us."
"That's true," I admitted, "but I hope the rain will cease before the flood reaches your ledge. It's coming down good and hard now."
It was pouring torrents. Though the crippled stream drained only a small territory the current had already reached my knees. I waded to the east opening and took one glance at the sky. The outlook was not encouraging, but we could stand another eighteen-inch rise without serious discomfort or danger. I realised that it would not do to be swept against the tree which partially clogged the further opening.
Half an hour passed and the rain still fell and the water rose inch by inch. We laughed and joked and were not in the least alarmed. Then the water lapped over the ledge on which she stood. She declared that her feet were wet as they possibly could get.
"I can stand it a few more minutes if you can," she said. "The rain is ceasing. You poor Jacques Henri! It's all you can do to keep your feet!"
I stoutly denied it.
"I'm having a jolly time!" I declared. "I see a light in the west. The rain will cease in a few minutes."
Even as I spoke the water rose several inches in one wave. I surmised what had happened. A dam had formed below us and the water was backing up. In less than a minute it had risen six inches, and was at her shoe-tops.
"We are drowned out!" I said. "Let's get out before we have to swim for it. Now be steady and remember your training as an equestrienne. Grab me by the neck and hang on and we'll be out of here in a minute."
I lifted her to my left shoulder and with my free right hand steadied myself against the wall of the tunnel. The bed of the brook was of soft sand and formed a fairly good footing. Luckily the same cause which so suddenly flooded us out materially lessened the force of the current, but it still struggled fiercely against me, and a false movement on the part of my fair burden might have led to distressing and even serious circumstances.
The water was almost to my waist but her skirts were clear of it. I slipped once and thought we were in trouble, but we safely reached the opening and it was a happy moment when I placed her on solid ground. Not that I was tired of my burden—not at all. I cheerfully would have attempted the task of carrying her the three miles between us and Pine Top.
A light mist was falling, but we did not notice that. We stood spellbound, gazing on a scene of unspeakable devastation!
To the north, west and southeast the forest lay prone like a field of wind-swept corn. Huge oaks and pines were tossed in grotesque windrows. Here and there gnarled roots projected above the prostrate foliage. The once proud trees lay like brave soldiers; their limbs rigid in the contorted attitudes of death.
The line of wreck was clearly marked along its northern line but the hills shut off our view to the west. The road to Pine Top was one mass of trunks and twisted limbs. For some distance in the other direction there was no forest to the right, and so far as we could see the road was clear.
At first glance I thought the touring car a total wreck. It had been lifted and hurled on its side against a partially dismantled stone wall. It was half hidden by a large branch of a tree, and its rear wheels were buried in mud and debris.
As we stood silent and awe-stricken amid this manifestation of the insignificance of man, the sun blazed forth from behind a laggard cloud. The effect was theatrical. It was like throwing the limelight on the scene which marks the climax of some tense situation. Instinctively we lifted our arms and cheered for sheer joy.
"What care we for wrecked automobiles and wet clothes?" I shouted. "We live, we live!"
"It is good to live," she cried; "it is splendid to live!"
We smilingly saluted His Majesty the sun once again, and then returned to earth.
"What shall we do?" Miss Harding asked.
My most vivid impression of this charming young woman at that instant was that her shoes gave forth a "chugging" sound as she walked, convincing aural evidence that their spare spaces were occupied with water. I also recall that her hat was a limp and bedraggled wreck from being jammed for an hour or more against the roof of the culvert.
"I don't know," I frankly admitted. "It is certain we cannot take this road to Pine Top. I have an idea that our back track is clear. I suggest that I proceed to ascertain if this machine is dead beyond hope of resurrection. If it isn't we'll take it back to civilisation. If it is we'll abandon it and walk."
"It is now half past three o'clock," she said, looking at her watch. "Even if we are late in getting to Oak Cliff we must go there if possible, for I know papa will wait for us and be worried if we do not come."
"I'll do the best I can," I said, hesitating a moment and vainly attempting to think of some discreet way in which to express what was on my mind.
"It will take some time," I finally said, "and in the meanwhile you had better—you had better—"
"Oh, I'm going to," she laughed, and before I could look up she was on her way to the sunny side of the embankment on the further approach of the culvert. Ten minutes later I turned and saw her a few paces away silently watching me, and the same glance revealed a pair of dainty shoes on the top rail of the old bridge, and I presume that in some place was a pair of stockings so disposed as to give Sol's rays a fair chance to do their most effective work.
"I think I can fix it inside of an hour," I said.
"That will be splendid!" she exclaimed.
The sun was blistering hot and I worked like a Trojan, but again was it my fate to disappoint her. The working parts were clogged with sand and mud, and I had underestimated the magnitude of my task. I know now that our best course would have been to abandon the machine and to walk to Pine Top, but perhaps what happened was just as well.
It was 5:45 before the machine gave its first sure signs of returning consciousness. Miss Harding gave a glad cry and a quarter of an hour later when the red monster stood coughing in the muddy roadway those dry shoes were where they belonged.
With light hearts we waved farewell to the kindly old culvert and set our pace toward Woodvale. It was our plan to take the first crossroad leading from the path of the tornado, and if possible make our way to Oak Cliff. We passed a small hut which nestled in the shelter of the rocks. In our mad rush I had not noticed it, but it seemed vacant.
A little farther on the road turns sharply to the right and re-enters the forest. As we came to the top of a knoll I looked ahead and saw at a glance that we were again nearing the path of the tornado. But I went on until the trunks of the stricken trees brought us to a halt.
"We are trapped, Miss Harding," I said, after an examination which proved that even foot travel was well-nigh impossible. "We are in the segment of a circle closed at its ends by fallen trees, and the worst of it is this: there remains to us positively no outlet to the road."
It was an exasperating situation. We decided to return to the hut in the hope that its occupant—if it had one—might be able to show us a trail through the woods to the west. As we came near the hut we saw smoke coming from its stove-pipe chimney. It looked mighty cheerful.
I knocked on the door and a big, good-natured Norwegian opened it. He is one of the watchmen employed by the Water Commissioners to keep trespassers off the lands reserved for water supply.
I briefly explained our predicament. He informed me that there was no wagon road leading to the east or the west, and said, with a wide grin, that our auto could not possibly get out until the road was cleared. Miss Harding joined us and made a despairing gesture when told the situation.
This man Peterson said that the tornado had missed his hut by a few hundred yards. He was in Pine Top when it swept through the edge of that village, killing several persons.
"Where is the nearest railway station?" asked Miss Harding.
"Pine Top."
"How far is it?" I asked.
Peterson scratched his head and said that to go around the fallen timber meant a journey of fully five miles.
"Will you guide us?" I asked. "I will pay you," I added, naming a liberal sum.
Peterson said he would when he had cooked and eaten his supper. It was then after seven o'clock, and the thought occurred to us that we were hungry. Peterson agreed to do the best he could for us in the way of a meal, and he did very well.
We were lamentably shy on dishes and knives and forks. We had bacon and eggs, fried potatoes, bread and butter and some really excellent coffee. There was only a single room in the hut, but it was clean and fairly tidy. Peterson explained that he never had company, and apologised for his lack of tableware.
Miss Harding was given the only regulation knife and fork, and I had the pleasure of beholding her eating from my plate. There was only one plate, Peterson using the frying pan and a carving knife.
What fun we had over that humble but wholesome meal! Miss Harding praised our host's cooking, and his honest blue eyes glistened at the compliment. Miss Harding and I sat on a board which rested on two nail kegs, while Peterson, against his protest, had the one chair in the house.
It was growing dark ere the meal was ended. I ran the touring car into the little yard and sheltered it as best I could under the projecting ledge of a rock. Peterson produced a big strip of heavy canvas which I put to good service by protecting the vital parts of the mechanism. Peterson assured us that the car would be safe, and with a parting look at it we entered the forest.
It was a long, tortuous and in places dangerous journey. While we were not in the track of the tornado, the storm had been severe over a wide territory. Fallen trees lay across our rocky trail and at times we had to make wide detours, forcing our way through thick underbrush and scaling slippery rocks.
Miss Harding proved a good woodswoman.
"If I did not know that papa is worried I would enjoy every moment of this," she declared, as we paused to rest after a climb of fully five hundred feet out of the valley.
The lightning was again flickering in the west and we pressed on. There were intervals of cleared spaces now and then. We climbed fences, jumped ditches and seemingly walked scores of miles, but still the flickering yellow light of that lantern led us remorselessly on. At last when it appeared as if our quest were interminable we surmounted a rail fence and found ourselves in a road.
"Pine Top half a mile," was the cheering announcement made by Peterson as he held the lantern so that Miss Harding could examine the extent of a rent just made in her gown.
Ten minutes later we stood on the platform of the little red station in Pine Top, and the spasmodic clatter of a telegraph instrument was music in our ears.
Down came the rain, but what cared we! The steel rails which gleamed and glistened in the signal lights led to Woodvale. We entered the room and waited patiently until the operator looked up from the jabbering receiver.
"When is the next train to Woodvale?" was my ungrammatical query.
"I wish I could tell you," he answered, rather sullenly. He had been on
duty hours over time. "They've nearly cleared the track between here and
Woodvale, but the Lord only knows when a train can get through from Oak
Cliff."
"No train from Oak Cliff since the storm?" I asked.
"Well, I should guess not!" he gruffly laughed. "Oak Cliff's wiped off the map."
Miss Harding clutched my arm. There was startled agony in her eyes, her lips trembled but she bore the shock bravely.
"Did you get a message to that effect?" I demanded in a voice which must have surprised him.
"No, the wires are down between here and Oak Cliff, but a man came by here an hour ago who said it went through the village."
"Did it strike the Oak Cliff club house?" I asked.
"He didn't say," replied the operator, and then the instrument demanded his attention.
"These reports are always exaggerated," I assured Miss Harding. "Besides the club house is of stone, and it is protected by a hill to the west. Do not be in the least alarmed."
"We can only hope and wait," she softly said.
We heartily thanked Peterson and watched him as he disappeared in the darkness, tramping stolidly in the face of a driving rain.
Despite the rain it was warm and we sat on a bench under the broad roof of the platform. I did my best to take her mind away from the dread which possessed her, but it was a wretched hour for both of us. Then we saw the flicker of lights down the track, and toward us came a small army of labourers who had been clearing the roadbed between us and Woodvale.
They stopped a minute in front of the station. These hardy Italians stood in the drenching rain, axes in their hands or over their shoulders, their clothes smeared with mud, water running in streams from the rims of their broad hats; there they stood and laughed, chattered, jested and indulged in rough play while their foreman received his instructions from the telegraph operator. And then with a cheer and a song they started on their way to Oak Cliff. Happiness and contentment are gifts; they cannot be purchased.
Something to the south burned a widening circle in the mist and rain, and from its centre we made out the headlight of a locomotive. It was a passenger train, and as it crawled cautiously to the platform two men leaped from it and came toward us.
I recognised Carter and Chilvers.
They had heard of the tornado and had constituted themselves a searching party.
"Naturally your mother is alarmed," said Carter "but I assured her that it was nothing more serious than delayed trains. She knows nothing of the tornado."
We were informed that the up train would be held on a sidetrack until the one from Oak Cliff got through. There was nothing to do but wait. It was past midnight when we heard the blast of a whistle to the north, and when the train from Oak Cliff pulled in Mr. Harding was the first one to swing to the station platform.
"Well, well, well!" he exclaimed, releasing his daughter's arms from his neck, holding her at arm's length and then kissing her again. "Is this the way you call for me at four o'clock? Where's Smith? Hello, Smith! Where's the red buzz wagon?"
"Over there," I said.
And then we all talked at once. Chilvers danced a clog-step to the delight of the grinning trainmen, Carter removed his monocle and polished it innumerable times, Miss Harding laughed and cried by turns, Mr. Harding dug cigars from pockets which seemed inexhaustible, and gave them to the railroad men, and I furiously smoked a pipe and put in a word whenever I had a chance. It was an informal and glorious reunion.
The wires were working to Woodvale, communication having been made while we stood there, and the conductor was honoured that he had the privilege to hold the train while the famous Robert L. Harding sent a reassuring telegram to his wife.
It was nearly two o'clock when we arrived in Woodvale. I asked Mr.
Harding how near the tornado came to the Oak Cliff club house.
"Smith," he said, laying his hand on my arm, "it passed so close that I could have driven a golf ball into it, and I was tempted to try. That's the best chance I'll have to get a long carry."
ENTRY NO. XX
FAT EWES AND SHARP KNIVES
At last I have the spare time in which to bring this diary up to date, but where shall I begin?
One romance is ended. It was very pretty and interesting while it lasted, but all things must have an end, especially flirtations.
Miss Olive Lawrence has left Woodvale. The season has only started, but she confided to Miss Dangerfield that she was wearied with golf and Woodvale. So with a smile to all, and having settled in full with Wallace for a dozen or more lessons she left for the south with an assortment of trunks which tested the capacity of the baggage car.
I feel rather sorry for Wallace, though I give him credit for enough sense to have realised that her interest in him could amount to nothing more than a desire to amuse herself. It does not speak well for fascinating qualities for our Woodvale gallants that Miss Lawrence selected this unknown outsider even as a target on which to practise flirtation archery, but, in common with most men, it is beyond my ken to fathom the caprices of a pretty woman.
[Illustration: "She left for the South"]
Wallace says nothing, but I can see that he takes it to heart. He spends most of his spare time at Bishop's, but attends strictly to his business. He is the best professional we have ever had, and it is fortunate for the club that he did not gain the fair prize which many of us thought was within his grasp.
I have won the "Harding Trophy!"
Carter and I played for it last Thursday. I had absolute confidence that I should win, and when Miss Harding smilingly told me that she was "pulling for me," I had no more doubt that I could win than I had that I was alive. We had the largest gallery that ever has followed a match in Woodvale. The betting was two to one against me.
I beat Carter four up and three to play, and made a medal score of seventy-six, breaking the amateur record for the course. That statement is quite sufficient to tell the story of the game.
I gave a dinner in honour of my victory, and at its conclusion Miss Harding presented the "Bronze Gent," as Chilvers calls this beautiful statuette. She made a graceful speech and we cheered her wildly. How charming she looked as she stood beside the huge bulk of her proud father! I tried to say something in reply, but the light in her eyes seemed to hypnotise me, and after a few incoherent sentences Chilvers came to my relief by striking up our club song, to the tune of a familiar hymn:
"Oh, why can't I drive like other men do?
How on earth can you drive if you don't follow through?"
CHORUS
"Hallelulia; watch that shoulder
Hallelulia, my men;
Hallelulia; get your wrists in!
Must I tell you again?"
"Everybody come in strong on the second verse," ordered Chilvers, and we obeyed as best we could, also on the third. They run like this:
"I can't understand; understand it at all,
Why I can't keep my eye on that little white ball."
CHORUS
"Hallelulia; keep a-looking;
Hallelulia, my men;
Hallelulia; keep a-watching!
Must I tell you again?"
"Oh, why can't I hole out on each green in two?
Because we all find that a hard thing to do."
CHORUS
"Hallelulia; grasp your putter
Hallelulia, again,
Hallelulia; hit it harder!
Never up, never in!"
It was a great occasion, but I have things to narrate which are of much more import. The board of directors of the N.O. & G. railroad met on Friday!
Mr. Harding and I went to the city together. He was very busy looking over papers, and noticing his preoccupation I did not attempt to engage in conversation with him.
I had plenty to think of. This was the day big with my future. This was the day when the conspirators proposed to pass the dividend on the stock of the N.O. & G. Would they dare to do it? What would result if they did?
Knowing as I did that the earnings of the property had increased and that its prospects never were more favourable, I could not believe it possible that responsible officials would dare take so unwarranted a step for the purpose of influencing stock quotations. But while I kept my head and appeared outwardly calm, I was nervous, and I frankly confess it.
I was weighing the situation in its various lights when Mr. Harding spoke to me.
"Are you good at figures, Smith?" he asked.
"I can add, subtract, multiply and divide," I said with some confidence.
"Good!" he growled. "You've got nothing else to do, so you may as well help me on multiplication and addition. Multiply these by those and add 'em up—right quick, won't you?"
He passed to me a piece of paper containing the following memorandum:
500…………………………..68-1/2
1100…………………………..67-3/4
4000…………………………..67-1/2
300…………………………..66-7/8
600…………………………..66-1/2
1700…………………………..65-1/2
200…………………………..64
2300…………………………..63-1/2
1000…………………………..62-3/4
500…………………………..61-1/4
3000…………………………..60-1/2
1200…………………………..59
300…………………………..59-1/4
100…………………………..58-7/8
400…………………………..58-1/2
250…………………………..59
1000……. ……………………58-3/8
There were dates opposite the larger numerals, but these, of course, did not enter into the computation.
Harding handed me a blank pad and resumed his study of other papers which from time to time he produced from a large black-covered folio. It took me some time to finish this calculation, but at last my task was ended and I gave the slip to him.
"Sure that's right, Smith?" he asked, looking at the footing.
"Your 18,450 shares of N.O. & G. stock cost you exactly $1,174,815, Mr. Harding, not including the commissions to your brokers," I said, calmly as possible.
His big head swung quickly and he gazed at me with an expression of abject surprise.
"Well I'll be—well—say, Smith, how in thunder did you get the idea into your head that those figures stood for N.O. & G. stock?" he demanded, after glancing at the slip to make sure that it contained no tell-tale initials.
"Because the dates of purchase correspond with the quotations," I responded, enjoying his amazement and wondering to what it would lead. "I am only guessing that you bought, but of course it's possible you sold or went short. Please do not imagine I'm attempting to pry into your affairs, Mr. Harding," I added.
He sank back into his seat and for several seconds said nothing.
"Do you mind answering a few questions, Smith?" he said.
"That depends," I smiled. "Go ahead and ask them."
"Have you been dealing in N.O. & G.?"
"Yes."
"Buying or selling?"
"Buying."
"Outright or on margin?"
"On margin."
"How many shares have you an option on?"
I hesitated.
"Mr. Harding," I said, "in answering that question I assume that the information is confidential and that it will not be used to my disadvantage. Up to now it has been a secret known only to my brokers."
"You will lose nothing by telling me," Mr. Harding said, and I knew that promise was as good as his note at hand.
"My brokers have contracted for 45,000 shares of N.O. & G.," I said, handing him a list of my purchases with dates, amounts, and quotations.
He studied it for a while in silence.
"I thought you did nothing but play golf," he said. "Tell me; how did you happen to go into a deal of this magnitude?"
I gave him the details of the conspiracy as I had discovered them. It is not safe at this time to disclose them even in this diary. Mr. Harding listened with growing wonder on his face.
"My boy," he said, when I had ended, "if there is anyone in the country who should have discovered and taken advantage of the facts you have just told me, it is myself, but I never dreamed of them until you had purchased more than 30,000 shares of that stock. These dogs think I'm in Europe! They were told so. They think they have sold me out, and perhaps they have. I did not watch it as I should have done."
For a minute the train roared on past suburban stations, under viaducts, through echoing rows of freight cars, and over clattering switches. We were nearing the metropolis.
"Do you mind telling me if you are alone in this transaction?" he suddenly asked.
"I am."
"Do you wish to go in with me in this deal?"
"I do!" I replied without hesitation.
"Good!" he said, offering his hand. "We'll talk no more of this here.
It's not safe. Come with me to my office."
We reached his private office half an hour before the opening of the Stock Exchange. In five minutes the machinery of his wonderful system was in operation. Notes were dictated, messengers hurried away with them, men called, who listened to curt orders and vanished.
An hour passed and he gave orders that no one should be admitted until further notice.
"N.O. & G. is stationary around 59," he said, offering a cigar. "The directors meet at noon. They will pass the dividend. They think to shake out your 45,000 shares and a lot more in small holdings. In all I own 35,000 shares, so that together we control 80,000 out of 200,000. I now propose to show these honourable gentlemen a trick which will give them something to think about for several weeks to come. I know a gentleman who owns outright 25,000 shares. He is one of the heads of which you term "the conspiracy". It is not a conspiracy, Smith; it is business. He tried to sell me out and has failed as he will learn in a few minutes. He will then sell out the men who implicitly trust him, as they would sell him out if they could see a chance to make money out of it. Do not talk of conspiracies, Smith! These honourable business gentlemen down here are extremely sensitive, and you should be careful not to hurt their feelings."
We quickly came to an agreement by which our holdings were pooled. It was stipulated that he should have entire control of the operations from that time on, and after settling important details I suggested that I go to my broker's office and await developments.
"There's nothing you can do here," he said, as I arose. "Yes, there is, too," he added. "The folks are going to drop in here at about two o'clock. I'm going to be too busy to bother with them, and I foolishly promised to take them to the gallery of the Stock Exchange. You'll be worth more money then than you are now," he said with a grim smile. "Take them over and show them how a real sheep-killing looks when the ewes are fat and the knives sharp."
I promised to call for them at two o'clock, and then went to the office of my brokers.
Carelessly glancing at the quotation opposite the letters N.O. & G., I saw that it had dropped to 56. The head of the firm approached me and asked me to step into his private office.
[Illustration: "Business is business"]
"The rumour is strong that the dividend will be passed," he said.
"Which is preparatory to saying that you would like me to put up more margins, I presume?"
"Business is business, you know, Mr. Smith," he said, softly rubbing his hands.
"I have, anticipated your caution," I remarked. Mr. Harding had warned me that an unwarranted demand for margins would be made, but confident of the integrity of my brokers I had doubted it. "I presume an extra ten points will satisfy you?"
He seemed surprised but said it would. I gave him a certified check for $450,000.
"Thank you, Mr. Smith. You will excuse me for requesting this, but business is business."
"So I am learning," I coldly observed, and this closed our interview. I was convinced that "the conspirators" had gotten into communication with my brokers, but of course I could not prove it.
As the noon hour approached, N.O. & G. sagged off to 53 on comparatively heavy transactions. It stuck there until over the various mechanisms for sending information came this simple announcement, "The directors of the N.O. & G. have passed the regular semi-annual dividend."
The card boy of the stock board became busy. N.O. & G. dropped a point or more between sales, until it struck 47. I had small doubt of the outcome, but it is not pleasant to sit and watch the figures go up which hint at a loss of $45,000 every minute or so. I tried to look unconcerned, but doubt if I succeeded.
I knew that not far away a strong man was at the wheel, but the best of ships go down. What if his plans had miscarried? I dared not think of it!
"Two thousand N.O. & G. at 48," called the watcher at the ticker. "Five hundred at 47-1/2; 1,000 at 47; 2,000, 400, I,500, 3,000, at 47. Looks as if someone has pegged it at 47!"
The entire market was declining in sympathy with the disturbing news concerning this standard property. "Twelve hundred N.O. & G. at 47-1/4," called the man at the ticker. "Three thousand at 48; 1,500 at 49; 5,000 at 50! Someone's after that non-dividend paying stock!"
Like a man in a dream I watched that stock start on its dizzy climb. In five minutes it had reached 55, and by leaps and bounds it soared to 70. My brokers rushed to me with their congratulations. Did I wish to place any orders? Some strong interest undoubtedly was back of the rise?
I informed them I had purchased all I desired.
I am not indifferent in the matter of money. I am ambitious to possess it for the prestige it gives and the power it grants, but it is the simple truth to say that in those triumphant moments and in the subsequent hours the thought which held possession of me and which made me superlatively happy was the consciousness that so far as material assets were concerned I had a right to aspire to the hand of Grace Harding!
For some time the quotations vibrated nervously about the seventy mark. I was about to start for Mr. Harding's office when a man with a loud voice read a bulletin just received.
"One forty-five p.m.," he began. "Robert L. Harding authorises the announcement that in conjunction with John Henry Smith he has purchased a majority of the stock of the N.O. & G. railroad, and that it will be operated as a part of the system with which Mr. Harding is identified."
"Who in thunder is John Henry Smith?" asked a veteran stock gambler.
I hurriedly left the room.
In the inner offices of Mr. Harding's headquarters I found Mrs. and Miss
Harding.
"We have heard the news!" exclaimed Miss Harding. "Isn't it splendid? I congratulate you, Mr. Smith!"
Mr. Harding appeared at this moment, a broad smile on his face.
"Not so bad, eh Smith!" he said, shaking hands. The fierce light of battle was in his eyes. "They're headed for the tall timber, but we still have their range! Did you hear the last quotation?"
"The last figure I saw was seventy-three," I said.
"Seventy-three?" he laughed. "I just bought a thousand shares for ninety-one. Take the folks over to the visitor's gallery and let them watch the animals. I'm going to begin to feed them raw meat in about half an hour."
As we walked toward the Exchange, Mrs. Harding said to me: "I think it's perfectly wicked the way you men gamble!"
Bless her dear heart, so do I, but what could I say except to utter some commonplace?
The huge box of marble and gold where this gambling is done already was seething with maniacs who had reached a stage of delirium pitiful to those who witness such scenes for the first time. It was as if a thousand human rats had been hurled into a pit, with heaven and earth offered as prizes to those who survived.
The swaying forms, the tossing arms, the frantic uplifted faces of aged men, the football rush of impetuous youths, the shrieks, howlings and bellowings of the combatants, the tramp of feet on the paper-strewn floor, the clatter of innumerable instruments, the tinkle of myriads of bells; and through the opened windows God's pure sunlight illumining this hell on earth—such was the scene they looked down upon.
I knew the signs which told when Harding threw the first bits of "raw meat" into this gilded corral. I knew that he long since had cornered N.O. & G., and that he would whet the appetites of his victims as only he knew how, but I did not know that it was his day of reckoning for other "conspirators" equally as grasping as those with whom I had measured my puny sword.
As the hands of the clock slowly crawled to the hour of three the frenzy of the mob in the centre of the pit became maddening. I had no way of knowing from where we stood whether prices were moving up or down, but it was evident that Harding was "feeding the animals."
Then the gong boomed the signal that the session was ended. The tumult rose to one resounding crash, hesitated, subsided and died away. The struggling groups dissolved and partial sanity resumed its sway.
I was ushered into Mr. Harding's private office immediately on our return. The magnate was in his shirt sleeves. His mouth was set in stern lines and his dark hair tousled as if he had just emerged from deadly physical combat. As I entered the room his features relaxed and then he laughed. It was the roar of the lion who raises his head for a moment from his stricken quarry.
"We won this foursome, Smith, ten up and eight to play," he said. "Sit down and I'll tell you how we stand. I put the market up to 175. Could have put it to a thousand if it had been necessary, but what's the use? There is a short interest of 60,000 shares. Most of them are in the outer offices waiting to come in and settle. I'm going to let 'em off easy, Smith. Those who were extra dirty will settle at 200, and I've made a sliding scale down to 150, which is about what N.O. & G. is actually worth as an investment. Outside of your original 45,000 shares you have profits coming to you on about 20,000 shares which I bought for you at various figures on the way up. Roughly speaking it will net you somewhere between a million and a half and two millions, depending on how merciful we are to your 'conspirators.' How much will it cost you to take up your 45,000 shares?"
[Illustration: "Ten up and eight to play"]
I consulted the statement of my account with Morse & Davis, my brokers in these transactions.
"I have paid them $1,525,000, which margined it down to 30," I said. "In order to take the stock up I must pay them about $1,375,000 more, making my investment in N.O. & G. a total of $2,900,000."
"Tell you what I'll do, Smith," said Mr. Harding. "If you care to get out of this deal I'll take that block of 45,000 shares off your hands at $150 a share. That's $6,750,000," he concluded after making a rapid calculation.
"Thank you," I said, "but I've decided to hold it as an investment and go into the railroad business."
"Good for you, Smith!" he heartily exclaimed. "Mark my prediction; N.O. & G. will go to 200 before the first of the year. You've done fairly well for a beginner, my boy. Your investment and the contributions of the wicked 'conspirators' net you between five and six millions. That's better than sweating over that 'Bronze Gent,' now isn't it?"
The magnitude of my winnings nearly took my breath, and I fear that my expression and words showed it.
"You'll have to get out of here now, Smith," said Mr. Harding, glancing at his watch. "Take the folks for a ride or something to entertain them, and come back here at 5:30. Then we'll all go to dinner somewhere and take the nine o'clock train for Woodvale."
ENTRY NO. XXI
I AM ENTIRELY SATISFIED
For an hour I have been seated at a table on the veranda of the Woodvale club house looking over the pages of this diary.
Certainly I am entitled to a new sobriquet. As a youngster I was called "Socks Smith." In more recent years I have been hailed as "Foxy Old Smith," and by a few friends as "Old Prog. Smith," but as I review my record for the past two months it seems to me that I am fairly entitled to be called "Lucky Smith."
Of least importance, but none the less satisfying has been the wonderful improvement in my golf game. I am driving as long a ball as any club member. I have won the club championship and the Harding Trophy. I hold the low amateur score for the course, and only yesterday came within a stroke of defeating Wallace. I must admit that the poor chap was off his game. He is still thinking of Miss Lawrence. It's a shame the way she led him on, but he is young and will get over it.
It was my privilege to be instrumental in saving Mr. Harding's life from the mad rush of that bull. I showed a little judgment and nerve, perhaps, but luck gave me the opportunity.
Every incident preceding, during and after that tornado was in my favour. Even my mistakes resulted to my advantage. Fate smiled on me through the awful fury of that tempest.
These fortuitous happenings and incidents are nothing compared with one consideration which makes me the happiest man in the world. It is not that I made a lucky venture in stocks and acquired more millions than all of my ancestors ever possessed. That is something, of course, but I had enough money for any rational human being before this flood of wealth poured into my lucky hands.
These are not the things which steep my soul in joy ineffable!
I know that I possess the love of Grace Harding!
She has not told me; it is not necessary that she shall say the words to confirm the truth which has come to me. I know that she loves me; is not that enough?
Chilvers passed while I was sitting here and caught me smiling. I was reading the sixteenth entry in this diary.
"What are you grinning at, Smith?" he demanded.
I did not tell him. I had been reading my soliloquy to the effect that the knowledge of love is conveyed without verbal expression between those who love. I had written: "The man who fails to avail himself of this silent but eloquent language, and who stupidly assaults a woman with an open avowal of an alleged love deserves to be coldly rejected."
Then I wrote that these voiceless messages to the one you love would be considered and finally answered, and that there might come a day "when over the throbbing unseen wire there comes a telepagram sounding the letters 'Y-E-S,' then proceed with the sweet formality of a verbal confession and avowal of your love, and you will not be disappointed."
I have received that glorious message! Grace Harding has told me that she loves me!
The message was transmitted from the depths of her beautiful eyes! It has been confirmed by the gentle pressure of her hand as it rested on my arm! It has been echoed in the accents of her sweet voice! I have read it in the blush which mantles her check as I draw near, and I know it from a thousand little tokens which my heart understands and which my feeble words cannot express.
I am
ENTRY NO. XXII
I AM UTTERLY MISERABLE
On Board "Oceanic," East-bound.
I may as well finish the sentence which ends brokenly in the preceding entry. "I am an ass."
Three weeks have passed since I finished that entry with the most appropriate words, "I am." They fittingly express the consummate egoism with which I was then afflicted. I have recovered—partially, at least.
I am—there goes that "I am" again—I am on the "Oceanic" pointed for London. Unless we sink—and I care little whether we do or not—I should be in that city inside of forty-eight hours.
In looking over my luggage I found this diary. I gave it to my room steward and told him to throw it overboard. Then it occurred to me that it would be my luck that it would be picked up and published as the mental meanderings of an idiot, so I called him back and took it away from him.
This steward of mine discovered my mental unbalance the first day out, but considers me harmless and treats me accordingly.
I have decided to bring this diary up to date, retain possession of it pending certain developments, and then incinerate it with appropriate ceremonies. So I will begin at the beginning, which is the ending of the last entry with its immortal declaration, "I am."
I have forgotten what I intended to write when I started that sentence, and what it was cuts no figure. I only know that just at that instant Chilvers, Marshall, and Carter appeared, dragged me from my chair and insisted that I join them in a foursome. There was no escape, so I got ready and in a few minutes was with them at the first tee.
On my way there I met Miss Harding, Miss Ross and Miss Dangerfield. I chatted with them for a moment and went on. I remember—oh, do I not remember!—that I called Miss Harding aside and reminded her that we were to take a moonlight spin in my new automobile. She smilingly replied that she had not forgotten it, and with a look into each other's eyes which thrilled my very being I turned to join those golfers.
How can I write this? It is like pouring a burning acid into a wound!
I have forgotten who won the game. I know I played vilely for I was not thinking of golf. I was counting the minutes which must elapse before I could be by her side and tell her that I loved her.
I was rehearsing the words I should whisper to her as we paused on the smooth crest of "Old Baldy." I was picturing the fairy landscape shimmering in the moonlight, its rays falling on her fair face as I took her hand in mine. I saw it all as plain as I see this page in front of me. I felt it vividly as I feel the heaving of this great ship and the vibrations of its engines.
How could I play a decent game of golf under such circumstances?
On returning to the club house one of the attendants handed me a telegram which had just been received. I opened it carelessly and read:
Albuquerque, New Mexico.
To JOHN HENRY SMITH, Woodvale:
If you wish to see your Uncle Henry alive come at once.
DR. L.L. CLARK.
I had an hour in which to get ready to catch the last train to the city and make the proper connections. I called my man and gave him the necessary instructions.
Then I began a search for Miss Harding. I suddenly resolved to declare my love that day if the opportunity presented. I was delighted when I found her alone in the library.
She did not hear me as I softly entered the room. She was seated near a window, an opened book in her lap but her gaze was not on its print and it was evident her thoughts were far away.
I gently touched her shoulder, thinking to surprise her. I shall never forget the changing expressions in her eyes as they met mine.
"I beg pardon, Miss Harding," I began. "I am—"
She rose to her feet, the book falling to the floor. Her pretty head was erect, her shoulders thrown back, her eyes flashing and her face deadly pale.
"Do not address me, sir!" she exclaimed, drawing away from me as if I were some repulsive animal.
I stood transfixed! I knew she was not dissembling. I could not think; I could not speak! The floor seemed flying beneath my feet, and I must have reeled.
"Leave me, sir! Leave me, sir, and never speak to me again!"
My voice came back to me.
"But, Miss Harding, there must be some mistake!" I stammered. "I beg of you—"
"There is no mistake!" she cried with intense bitterness, pushing past me. "If you were a gentleman you would grant the last request I shall ever ask of you!"
I stood as in a trance and watched her sweep proudly from out the room. I fell back into the chair she had vacated. I do not know how long I remained there or what tumultuous thoughts crashed against me like breakers storm-lashed on a rock-girt shore; I only know that my man found me there and told me that my train was due in fifteen minutes.
I went to my room and changed my golf for a travelling suit. The next I remember is that I was on the train rushing toward the city.
[Illustration: "She rose to her feet"]
No sleep came to my eyes that long and awful night as the miles spun out which separated me from the one I loved so madly. Yes, I loved her then, and I love her now!
Like a caged and wounded animal I paced the narrow confines of my stateroom. Ten thousand times I asked for the disclosing of this pitiful mystery, and ten thousand times a mocking laugh came back in the roar and shriekings of the train. The car wheels chuckled in rhythm, the airbrakes hissed in derision and the engine whistle hooted in scorn.
It was daybreak when I threw myself on the couch and closed my eyes. I think I slept for an hour or so. To my surprise and disgust I found when I awoke that I was hungry. I had thought I should never care to eat again.
It was necessary to wait several hours when a thousand miles of my journey had been made, and I employed them in writing a letter to her. It was a long letter, and I poured my heart into it. I told her I loved her, and that I was innocent of offense toward her by thought, word or deed.
I could think of only one thing over which she might have taken offense, and this was so absurd that I regretted later to have dignified it by mentioning and apologising for it.
I recalled that I had touched her on the shoulder—the left shoulder. It was an ill-bred and thoughtless act, but as I knew, when I had pondered the matter more calmly, Miss Harding has too much sense and poise to exhibit such anger at what at its worst was merely a boorish indiscretion. It was the only straw on which I could float an apology for a concrete act, but I thought later on I did not help my case by mentioning it.
Imploring her to enlighten me as to my offending, and assuring her of my undying love and abject misery I closed an appeal which exhausted the persuasion, eloquence and rhetoric at my command.
I may as well say now as at any other time that I received no answer to it.
Uncle Henry died on the fourth day after my arrival. Before he passed away he expressed a wish that he be buried in the little Eastern town where he was born. He had forgiven me for turning the old farm into golf links, and aside from a few small bequests, I was his heir. Thus by the death of this good man I come into possession of money, estates, stocks and other property for which I have no use.
Of what special use is property to me? It does not help secure the one thing on earth I desire. I would rather—oh, what's the use of writing that?
As soon as my uncle was put under ground, I hastened to Woodvale. I arrived there nineteen days after my hurried departure. It seemed years, and I was surprised when I searched in vain for gray hairs in my head.
I gazed anxiously out of the car window for a glimpse of the club house,
and my heart gave a bound when its tower came in sight. She was there!
Would not the knowledge of my bereavement soften her heart toward me?
Surely she did not know all that I had suffered.
As the train crossed the road over which we had sped on our way to Oak Cliff, I recalled that it was at this exact spot where she first had called me "Jacques Henri." How happy I was that day! I thought of the terrors of the tornado and would have given all that I possessed to live through it again with her.
Handing my bags to the porter I hastened toward the club house. I was hurrying across the edge of the eighteenth green when someone shouted to me.
"Hello, Smith!"
I turned and saw Marshall and Chilvers. Marshall pitched his ball to the green with more than his usual deliberation, and then they came toward me and I advanced to meet them.
"Where in thunder have you been?" asked Chilvers, and it suddenly occurred to me that I had told no one of my mission, neither had I left my address. The next instant I realised that Miss Harding had not told of the receipt of my letter. This might mean much or little.
"My Uncle Henry died out in New Mexico," I said.
"Too bad," said the sympathetic Chilvers. "Unless one of my uncles dies pretty soon I'll have to go to work. But why didn't you let us know where you were."
"I had just time to catch a train," I said. "What's the news?"
"News? Let's see?" reflected Chilvers. "Grandma Marshall, here, won the July cup, and our team won the match with South Meadows by a score of twenty-three to five. Say, we didn't do a thing to those boys. Moon has bought two new clubs, Boyd made the sixth hole in two, Duff won four dozen balls from Monahan, Lawson has a new stance which he claims will lengthen out his drive twenty yards—and speaking about Lawson, he discovers something every week which lengthens his drive at least twenty yards. I've figured out that he should be driving at least five hundred yards from improvements alone. That's all the news I can think of; do you know any, Marshall?"
"They have moved the tee back on the seventh hole," volunteered
Marshall, "and—oh, yes; Wallace has gone."
"Where's he gone?" I asked, exasperated at the character of their information.
"Someone died over in Scotland and left him money," said Chilvers. "Just as soon as we get a good professional, his rich relatives pass away and we lose him."
"How is Mr. Harding?" I asked.
I saw Chilvers wink at Marshall.
"Did you say Mr. Harding or Miss Harding?" asked Chilvers.
"I said Mr. Harding. What's the matter; are you deaf?"
"I'm a little hard of hearing at times," he grinned. "Let's see; when did Mr. Harding leave here, Marshall?"
"It was the day that you and I beat Boyd and Lawson," said Marshall, after a long pause. "That was a week ago."
"I presume he's in the city," I carelessly remarked.
"I presume he is not," laughed Chilvers. "He's probably rolling around in the English Channel right this minute."
"Gone abroad?"
"That's what."
"And Mrs. Harding?" I inquired.
"Gone with him, of course. Also Miss Harding."
"And Carter," added Marshall. "They all went on the same boat."
"At the same time," laughed Chilvers. "You see that lots of things have happened since you went away. What are you looking so white and glum about, Smith? Brace up, man; it may not be true. Come up to the club house. We've got a new brand of Scotch, and it's great."
I don't know whether my laugh sounded natural or not, but I cheerfully could have murdered both of them.
In those brief minutes I learned practically all I now know concerning the departure and the whereabouts of the Hardings and Carter. There was a lot of mail awaiting me, and I opened letter after letter hoping against hope that there might be one from Miss Harding. There was none.
I discreetly questioned Miss Ross, Miss Dangerfield and others whom I met, and all that I learned was this: A few days after my departure the Hardings suddenly decided to go to England, or France or Germany or somewhere. Carter was with them much of the time, but none of them talked of their plans, and all the hints dropped to me by the married and unmarried ladies of Woodvale were unproductive of information. They had been here; they were abroad—and that was all there was to it.
It was yet early in the day and I took the first train for the city and went straight to Mr. Harding's office. I am known to his representatives there. They told me that all they knew was that Mr. Harding had gone abroad to remain for a time.
"I assure you, Mr. Smith," said his private secretary, "that I do not know where he is. He said that his family was going with him, and that nothing possibly could happen here which would warrant bothering him. I am sure he would be glad to see you, and I can only advise you to call on his London bankers, who may have his address."
"Do you think the family are in England?" I asked, willing to accept the faintest clue.
"I have no more idea than have you," he replied and I am convinced he was telling the truth.
The "Oceanic" was the first boat to sail, and here I am. I doubt if a sane man ever went on so absurd and hopeless a quest. I have had nothing to do for several days but think over this situation, and the mystery of the sudden departure resolves itself into these two possibilities; first, that they have gone abroad to keep away from me; and, second, that they have gone to England for the purpose of celebrating the marriage of Carter and Miss Harding.
I do not see how I shall be of much use in either event. But this good ship is cleaving the water toward England at the rate of twenty-five knots an hour and I cannot turn back if I would.
I do not see how I am to stop the wedding. I remember that Carter once told me that if he ever married it would be in London. I suppose they are married before this time. Perhaps they will assume that I came across on purpose to congratulate them.
I cannot understand why Mr. Harding did not leave some word for me.
Surely I have not offended him?
[Illustration: "I cannot turn back if I would"]
I met and chatted with him a few minutes before Miss Harding said the words which have made me the most miserable of human beings.
This thing is past my solving. I only know that whatever she has done or whatever she may do I love her and ever shall love her.