Part 5 (2/2)
”Four or five thousand!” he said, at last. ”That ain't enough. Buy ten thousand while you're at it. You'll get twice as rich then,” but the nervous man seemed to take no offense, and indeed, not even to notice the remark. ”Now's the time,” he rambled on, and it was clear that it was to himself alone that his mumblings were addressed, ”to jump right in; that's the thing to do.”
To Carleton, all at once it seemed that the group around the ticker was a gathering merely of the wrecks of men--of idle fools of greater or less degree. All of them he pitied, except the big, coa.r.s.e man with the toothpick, for whom he felt a huge dislike; and most of all his pity went out to the gentle man with the puzzled eyes; something unfair there seemed to be in such a one being decoyed into the market game--something repellant, as if one had lied, deliberately and maliciously, to a child.
Pity or anger--old or young--was there in all the group, he reflected with sudden distaste, one real man? And then, instant and unexpected, a lightning flame of keenest irony seemed to sear its way into his very soul; suppose Farrington had withheld the check? Was there, in all the group, _himself included_, one real man--
The bell rang. The ticker whirred. For a moment the dozen heads were grouped closely together over the tape, and then--the first quotation, five hundred Fuel at fifty-seven, gave warning of the truth; and the second and third verified it beyond all doubt or questioning. No further need of argument; no further agony; the suspense was over. So weak was the opening as to be almost incredible, so weak that it took a moment or two to adjust oneself to the shock. Akme Mining had closed the night before at ten. Carleton, figuring on the lowest, had imagined that it might open at eight and a half, or even eight. Two thousand shares came over the tape at six and a quarter. Everything else was in like ratio; everything else kept the same proportion--or lack of it. For perhaps ten seconds there was silence absolute, and then the reaction came. The young man with the rumpled hair turned sharply away, his hands thrust deep into his trousers' pockets, his lips curiously twisted and contorted, the tip of his tongue showing between his teeth. He gazed up at the blank wall, nodding unsmilingly to himself. ”I thought so,” he observed, quietly, ”in the neck.”
The man with the mumbling mouth started again to speak. ”Now,” he muttered, ”now would be the time; to jump right in--” and then, as if just for a moment he caught a glimpse of himself and the figure he made, old and futile, worn out and wan, he stopped abruptly, rubbing his eyes, and for a time spoke no more, only standing there motionless, with the force of a habit too strong to be broken, glancing down unseeingly at the rows of little black letters and figures that issued steadily from the ticker, only to pa.s.s, unregarded and unmeaning, beneath the vacancy of his gaze.
Carleton had stood staring grimly with the rest. In a moment he felt a hand laid upon his arm, and turned to meet the wistful glance of the little gray man. ”I beg your pardon,” he asked timidly, ”but can you tell me at what price Kentucky Coal is selling? I dislike to trouble you, but I am entirely unfamiliar with the abbreviations used.”
Carleton nodded with the feeling that he might as well deal the little man a blow squarely between the eyes. ”Forty-eight,” he said shortly.
The little man turned very pale. ”Forty-eight,” he repeated mechanically, ”can it be so? Forty-eight!” He shook his head slowly from side to side, then glanced at Carleton with a smile infinitely gentle and pathetic. ”And to earn it,” he murmured, ”took me twenty years;” and then again, after a pause, ”twenty years; and I'm afraid I'm pretty old to begin again now.”
Carleton's heart smote him. Gladly enough would he have sought to aid, if a half of his own depleted fortune had remained to him. He stood for a moment as if in a dream. The whole scene--the familiar office, the stock-board, the ticker, the disheartened, discouraged group of unsuccessful gamblers--it was all real enough, and yet at the same time about it all there clung an air somehow theatric, melodramatic, hard of realization. Then, from the doorway, Turner called him sharply, and he hastened into the private office. Outwardly, the broker still had a pretty good grip on himself, but in his tone his rising excitement was easily enough discerned. ”Look, Jack,” he said quickly, ”things are bad; there's all sorts of talk coming over our private wire. h.e.l.l's broke loose; that's the amount of it. I want you to get me ten thousand on your account as quick as the Lord'll let you; get fifteen, if you can.
It's better for us both that way. Saves worrying--any more than anybody can help. And Jack,” he added, ”I'm not supposed to know this, neither are you. But they're letting go a raft of your father's stuff over at Brown's. I don't know what the devil it means, but I call it a mighty bad sign.”
Carleton nodded, and without wasting time, left the room. The ten minutes' walk between Turner's office and the Jefferson Building he covered in half that time, and striding hastily down the corridor, had almost reached Farrington's door when a tall, red-faced young man, emerging with equal speed, pulled up short to avoid the threatened collision, and stood back for Carleton to enter. Glancing at him, Jack recognized a casual acquaintance, and nodded to him as he pa.s.sed. ”How are you, c.u.mmings?” he said, and the other, looking at him a little curiously, returned his salutation, and then pa.s.sed quickly on.
Farrington was seated at his desk, and Jack at once, and without ceremony, entered. Farrington, glancing up, acknowledged his greeting, with a curt nod; then looked at him with questioning gaze. ”Well?” he said.
”Well,” Jack echoed, a trifle deprecatingly, ”you can guess what I've come for, I suppose. You saw the opening. I want ten thousand more--fifteen, if I can have it--but ten will do.”
Farrington looked him straight in the eye.
”Ten will do,” he echoed; then, dryly, ”I should think it would.” He paused for the veriest instant, then added, with the utmost directness, ”It's no go, Mr. Carleton. I'm caught myself. I can't let you have a cent.”
At the words the blood seemed suddenly to leave Jack Carleton's heart.
Something tightened in his throat, and a faint mist seemed to gather between Farrington's face and his own. Then, as he came to himself, ”Can't let me have it!” he cried sharply. ”Why, you told me last night you'd see me through, you won't go back on your word now. The money's promised. It's too late.”
Farrington's face was expressionless. ”You don't realize,” he said, ”what a time this is. It's one day out of a million--the worst there's ever been. If I could have foreseen--”
The telephone on his desk rang sharply, and he turned to answer it.
Jack Carleton sat as if stunned. This man had lied to him; had given him his word, and now, with the market hopelessly lower, retracted it; had thrown him a rope, and, as he hung helpless in mid air, was leaning coolly forward to cut it, and let him perish. And he had promised Turner--his word of honor. He felt physically faint and sick.
Farrington hung up the receiver, and then, as Jack started to speak, an interruption occurred. Suddenly the door opened, and c.u.mmings appeared in the entrance. He seemed greatly hurried and excited, as if he had been running hard. ”All ready, Hal,” he cried, ”he'll ring you any minute now. And when he does, buy like h.e.l.l! For the personal, of course! He says--”
Quickly Farrington cut in on him. ”Shut up!” he cried, so sharply that Jack could not but note his tone, ”Can't you see I'm busy? Wait outside, till I'm through,” and c.u.mmings, his red face many shades redder than before, at once hastily withdrew.
Immediately Carleton leaned forward. ”Look here,” he cried desperately, ”this isn't right. You told me you'd see me through. Those were your very words. You can't go back on them now. If you do, you've got me ruined--worse than ruined. It isn't only the money; I've pledged my word; pledged myself to make good. I've got to have it, Farrington; that's all; I've got to; can't you understand?”
Farrington frowned. ”You _can't_ have it,” he answered sharply, ”and don't take that tone to me, either, Mr. Carleton. Haven't I given you twenty thousand already? You must have misunderstood me last night. I said I'd see you through if I could, and now I find I can't. That's all.
I tell you I can't; and I won't stop to split hairs about it, either.
I've got too much at stake. You'd better not wait, Mr. Carleton. There's no use in it. There's nothing for you here.”
Carleton's eyes blazed. Just for an instant things swam before him; for an instant he half crouched, like an animal about to spring. In the office, absolute stillness reigned, save for the tall clock in the corner ticking off the seconds--five--ten--fifteen--and then, all at once, his tightly closed hands unclenched, his lips relaxed; on the instant he stood erect, and without speaking, turned quickly on his heel, and left the room.
Grim and white of face, he burst five minutes later into Turner's private office, with a bearing so changed that Turner could not help but notice it, and read the trouble there. ”Something wrong?” he asked sharply, and Carleton nodded, with a strange feeling as if he were acting a part in some sinister dream. ”I couldn't get it,” he said.
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