The Short Line War Part 8

"You didn't pay cash for the stock?"

"Ten per cent," Jim replied.

Harvey fingered his cigar. Every new move of Jim's bewildered him. Jim's imperturbability, and his eagerness for a fight where some men would be discouraged, were qualities that Harvey was slow in acquiring. His admiration for Jim amounted almost to reverence. Perhaps had he realized the bitter fighting that was yet to come, if he could have foreseen the part that he was to play with zeal and judgment, he would have been even more bewildered, but Harvey was plucky enough; it needed only the right circ.u.mstances to develop him.

"If he does fight," said Jim, breaking the silence, "if he succeeds in landing on us, why, then, look out for war. I'll put my last cent into M. & T. before I'll give him a chance at it."

"Is he likely to grab the road?"

"Maybe he'll try. But I'll have five hundred men with guns in his way.

I'll tell you, West, I'm not going to give in. I never have yet."

"No," said Harvey, thoughtfully, "I don't believe you have." And he added, "I saw Porter to-night."

"Where?"

"Up at the Bismarck. McNally was with him."

"Anybody else?"

"His daughter."

"Pretty girl, I hear."

"Yes,"--Harvey spoke slowly,--"she is. A very pretty girl. Her father seems to be a gentleman."

"Oh, Porter's all right. He's doing what 'most any man in his place would do. It's business. There's nothing personal in it."

"I suppose not," Harvey replied. "It's still a little odd to me. I'm afraid I'd want to break his head."

Jim laughed.

"You'll get over that. I reckon you haven't got anything against his daughter."

"Perhaps not," said Harvey; "but that's different."

"Oh, is it?"

Harvey sat for a moment without reply, then he tossed his half-smoked cigar into the ashtray and rose.

"Don't go, West. I shall be up for a long while."

"I'm tired," Harvey replied. "I need sleep. Good night."

Harvey walked home slowly. Once in his room, he did not light up; instead he drew an easy-chair to the window and stretched out where he could feel the breeze. It had been a strange evening. He went back over the conversation in the Bismarck. Katherine had seemed even prettier than usual; but before every picture of her rose the calm, smiling face of McNally--McNally with his pudgy hands and his cool blue eyes, his ease and his well-placed comment. Harvey rested an elbow on the sill and looked out the window. The crowds were gone now. No sound came save the rustle of the leaves and the occasional rumble of the elevated trains. The moon was clouded, but over the trees the stars were out, as clear and soft as on other evenings that had not seemed so dreary. He turned away and walked over to the mantel, where Katherine's picture leaned against the wall. He found it without striking a light, and brought it to the window. By the dim light from the street and the sky, he could see her face in faint outline.

"Well, Miss Katherine," he said, looking into the shadowy eyes, "I guess Jim Weeks isn't the only fighter here."

CHAPTER VI

JUDGE BLACK

There are two kinds of business men: those who make their business at once work and play, a means of acquiring wealth and a most exciting game whose charms make all other games seem flat and unprofitable; and another cla.s.s who, though they may enjoy work, turn for recreation to whist or philanthropy or golf. Porter belonged to the latter cla.s.s. He went into the fight against Jim Weeks simply because he hoped it would make him richer, and it did not occur to him that he could enjoy the action. On Wednesday morning he sat in his office wondering if he could not get away to the Truesdale golf links for a match that afternoon.

He looked over the ground carefully, and could see no way by which Weeks could save himself from defeat, for the control of Tillman City gave C. & S.C. a majority of the stock. Weeks's allies were deserting him, so that he now had a bare majority in the Board of Directors. Anyway, McNally would be on the ground in case Jim should try to do anything.

"Well," thought Porter, "I'll go. I guess it's safe enough." He had closed his desk when the door opened and an office boy came in with a telegram.

Porter tore it open listlessly, but his indolence vanished as he read the first line. The message was from Manchester, and it read as follows:--

M. & T. subscription book stubs show issue of nine thousand shares new stock to Weeks, Myers, and Spencer, ten per cent paid, dated yesterday.

POWERS.

When a man finds himself in an ambush, or when an utterly unexpected attack is made upon him, he shows what he is. It was characteristic of Porter that after the moment of dazed unrealization had pa.s.sed he began almost mechanically to plan a break for cover; he wished that he had not gone into the fight, and berated his stupidity in not foreseeing the move; it had not occurred to him that the subscription for the stock had not closed long ago. After a few minutes of vain search for an avenue of retreat, he saw that it was too late to do anything but fight it out; Jim Weeks was not likely to let an antagonist off easily.

He called to his secretary: "Telephone s.h.i.+elds to come over here, will you, as soon as he can? And ask McNally to come too." While he was waiting for them he sat quite still in his big chair and thought hard, but he could see no way of countering the blow.

The two men he had sent for came into the office together. Porter did not rise. With a nod of greeting he handed the yellow envelope to McNally, who whistled softly as he caught its import, and pa.s.sed it on to s.h.i.+elds, an attorney for the C. & S.C., an emotionless, noncommittal man.

"Hm--it looks as though that beat you," he said slowly.

Porter lost his nerve and his temper too for a moment. He rose quickly and took a step toward the lawyer.

"h.e.l.l, man!" he exclaimed angrily. "We can't be beat. We've got to get out of this some way. That's what you're here for." Then he recovered himself.

"I beg your pardon, s.h.i.+elds. Sit down, and we'll talk this business over."

For nearly an hour the three men sat in earnest consultation; then the secretary was called in.

"Find out if Judge Black is in Truesdale," said Porter. "If he is, I want to talk to him." Then he turned to s.h.i.+elds.

"That's our move," he said. "We can allege fraud on the ground that the stock was issued secretly and with the purpose of influencing the election. Black's the man for that business."

"It isn't much of a case, mind you," said s.h.i.+elds. "I'm afraid that Weeks's action is not illegal, and that a court would sustain it, but it's possible to raise a question that it will take time to decide."

"That's all we need," said Porter, with a sigh of relief. "If we raise the question, Black will do the rest."

It was several minutes before the secretary came back from the telephone.

"Well, did you get him?" asked Porter.

"No," said the secretary; "he isn't in Truesdale."

"Where is he?"

"I couldn't find out. His stenographer wouldn't tell me."