Lord Stranleigh, Philanthropist. Robert BarrЧитать онлайн книгу.
Wisconsin."
"Is that a remunerative occupation?"
"I can't say that it is, although I live fairly comfortable, and make enough money to come over here without asking anybody's help, and take the treatment without going on the pauper list. Still, it isn't in a freight house that big money is made in the railway business. Some chap on Wall Street, that never saw the railroad, will make more money on it in ten minutes than we clerks can in forty years."
"Yes; or lose it," said Stranleigh.
"Certainly, he runs that risk, but those chaps on the inside don't lose anything. E. L. Bannerdale, for instance."
"Curiously enough," replied Stranleigh, "I was just thinking of him. A great deal depends on the point of view in this world, and it occurred to me how much more lucky you were than Bannerdale."
"Pshaw!" cried Garner, impatiently, "Bannerdale must be worth sixty million, if he's worth a cent."
"I daresay, but look at the unhappy man's position at the present moment. He has taken a house in Vienna that occupies a city square, and to keep away the reporters, has garrisoned it as if it were a fortress. Everyone knows he is stricken with a dangerous disease, and has come to Vienna for treatment, and we all are aware that a man in his condition needs quiet and rest; yet quiet is the one thing he can't buy. Stocks fluctuate up and down according to the rumours coming from that house of death, as it probably is, for he has been reported dead several times, and reported convalescent, and reported incurable: nobody really knows what his condition is except his physician. But to torture a very sick man in this way seems to me abominable."
J. W. Garner shrugged his shoulders indifferently.
"They've got to have the news," he said, "and anyhow I guess there ain't much sympathy for old Bannerdale in the States. He looted too many people when he was well, and I expect there's a feeling of relief now that he's deadly ill. After all, I don't believe his death will make very much difference. He's sure to have things fixed up so that if he pegs out, affairs will go on pretty much as usual. He's an important man, I admit, but he's only one of a group, and the group won't let things go to smash."
"Why," said Stranleigh, "the very paper I handed to you just now says that his most intimate friends have turned traitors, and believing he cannot recover are buying, or selling, or doing something they shouldn't do."
Garner laughed harshly.
"Then God pity them," he said, "if old Bannerdale gets well!"
"Doesn't the career of a man like Bannerdale create dissatisfaction and arouse envy among the less fortunate of his fellow citizens?"
"Oh, I don't know. I guess not much. I never felt envious of anybody, because I knew if I got a chance I'd do the same thing."
"You never had the chance, then?"
"Oh, I have had thousands of chances. In one way or other I secured information that would have made my fortune had I possessed the money to buy at the proper time; that would have made dozens of fortunes with one rich man to back me."
"Did you ever try persuading the rich man?"
"Lord bless you! yes, but the difficulty is to get the start. Nobody will listen unless you've put through a deal that's been successful. You see, everybody's singing the same song. You can't meet a man who won't agree to make you rich if you'll just grub-stake him with a few thousand dollars."
"Have you given up hope of finding your rich man?"
"No; I'm at it just now. That's why I scraped acquaintance with you."
"All right, Mr. Garner. You've got me persuaded, so here's your chance at last, with a man who doesn't care a rap whether he wins or loses."
"Well, sir, that's the kind of man I'd like to do business with. I should hate to lose money for anybody, just as I'd hate to lose it myself, if I had some. Now, what I wanted that paper of yours for was to see whether the stock of the Great South-Western Short Line had gone up or not. Instead of going up, it's dropped down. If I had money, I'd put every cent of it in that road."
"Do you mind telling me why?"
"Oh, you want to back out!"
"I never back out. I'll give you the money now, if you're in doubt. How much do you need? A hundred pounds, or a thousand?"
"Well, I guess I don't want any money at all, but I'd like you to take as much stock as you care to handle, and just hold it for a week or two. If my tip isn't any good, then you don't owe me anything: if it is good, I'm content to take whatever you think it worth."
"Well, if you would trust me that far, it's funny you won't say why you expect this stock to rise."
"I don't mind telling you, but if I were you, I wouldn't talk about it. This is the road that Bannerdale nearly had possession of at the time he broke down, and his doctors told him to go to Europe and quit business entirely. He must have absolute rest, they said. All right. He goes and barricades himself up, then his partners, thinking he isn't going to get well, begin to sell, and the stock goes down. Now, Bannerdale held an option on the majority of that stock, an option that doesn't expire for another month. He depended on certain banks and trust companies and financial friends to furnish the money, but the moment exaggerating newspapers said that Bannerdale was a dying man, they all deserted him, and he couldn't get a cent. When he actually left for Europe, all Bannerdale stocks dropped six points, and they've been going down ever since, especially when it became known his partners were selling. Now, I believe Bannerdale will secure that road, sick or well."
"You're betting, then, on Bannerdale's life or death?"
"Exactly."
"You think he is going to live?"
"I do. He's a tough nut, is old Bannerdale."
Stranleigh rose to his feet. "Very good, Mr. Garner. Tell me exactly what to do."
"You see that place opposite?" said Garner, pointing to a broker's office on the business side of Parkstrasse. "You go over there, and tell them to put you on to the chief office in Frankfort by telephone; buy as much stock of the Great South-Western Short Line as you care to carry."
"Shall I do this in my own name, or in yours?"
"In your own name, of course. You'll be giving them a cheque for the amount. Besides, as I said, I'm quite willing to take whatever you allow me, and we don't need any documents about it."
"Right," said Stranleigh. "Here is my address, and whenever you wish me to sell, drop in on me and give the order. Good afternoon."
Nearly a week passed, but Stranleigh saw nothing of his dilapidated client. He began to wonder whether the man was a swindler of some sort, but for the life of him he could not see how Garner was to make any money out of the deal Stranleigh had put through in his own name. Enlightenment came to him one morning at breakfast, when he opened the Paris New York Herald. The headlines were sufficient, and ran as follows:—
GREATEST COUP OF MODERN TIMES.
BANNERDALE HAS NEVER BEEN IN VIENNA AT ALL,
AND THE REPORTERS HAVE BESIEGED
AN EMPTY HOUSE.
LORD STRANLEIGH, ENGLAND'S MULTI-MILLIONAIRE,
COMES TO BAD-NAUHEIM IN HIS SPECIAL
CAR TO MEET BANNERDALE,
WHO IS IN DISGUISE.
STRANLEIGH WILLING TO BACK BANNERDALE WITH
A HUNDRED MILLION POUNDS IN HARD
CASH IF NECESSARY.
"Panic and ruin among the anti-Bannerdales … Great South-Western Short Line stock