A COYOTE AT BAY.
Six weeks later, on the morning after the general election, Dumont awoke bubbling over with good humor--as always, when the world went well with him and so set the strong, red currents of his body to flowing in unobstructed channels.
He had not gone to bed the previous night until he had definite news from Indiana, Illinois and New York, the three states in which his industrial-political stakes were heaviest.They had gone as he wished, as he and his friends had spent large sums of money to assist them to go.And now a glance at the morning papers confirmed his midnight bulletins.Indiana, where he had made the strongest efforts because the control of its statute book was vital to him, had gone his way barely but, apparently, securely; Scarborough was beaten for governor by twenty-five hundred.Presently he had Culver in to begin the day's business.
The first paper Culver handed him was a cipher telegram announcing the closing of an agreement which made the National Woolens Company absolute in the Northwest; the second item in Culver's budget was also a cipher telegram--from Merriweather.
It had been filed at four o'clock--several hours later than the newspaper despatches.It said that Scarborough's friends conceded his defeat, that the Legislature was safely Dumont's way in both houses.Culver always sorted out to present first the agreeable part of the morning's budget; never had he been more successful.
At the office Dumont found another cipher telegram from Merriweather: "Later returns show Scarborough elected by a narrow majority.But he will be powerless as Legislature and all other state offices are with us."Dumont crushed the telegram in his hand."Powerless--hell!" he muttered."Does he think I'm a fool?" He had spent three hundred thousand dollars to "protect" his monopoly in its home;for it was under Indiana laws, as interpreted by Dumont's agents in public office, that the main or holding corporation of his group was organized.And he knew that, in spite of his judges and his attorney-general and his legislative lobby and his resourceful lawyers and his subsidized newspapers, a governor of Scarborough's courage and sagacity could harass him, could force his tools in public office to activity against him, might drive him from the state.Heretofore he had felt, and had been, secure in the might of his millions.But now-- He had a feeling of dread, close kin to fear, as he measured this peril, this man strong with a strength against which money and intrigue were as futile as bow and arrow against rifle.
He opened the door into the room where his twenty personal clerks were at work.They glanced at his face, winced, bent to their tasks.They knew that expression: it meant "J.D.will take the hide off every one who goes near him to-day.""Tell Mr.Giddings I want to see him," he snapped, lifting the head of the nearest clerk with a glance like an electric shock.
The clerk rose, tiptoed away to the office of the first vice-president of the Woolens Trust.He came tiptoeing back to say in a faint, deprecating voice: "Mr.Giddings isn't down yet, sir."Dumont rolled out a volley of violent language about Giddings.
In his tantrums he had no more regard for the dignity of his chief lieutenants, themselves rich men and middle-aged or old, than he had for his office boys.To the Ineffable Grand Turk what noteworthy distinction is there between vizier and sandal-strapper?
"Send him in--quick,--you, as soon as he comes," he shouted in conclusion.If he had not paid generously, if his lieutenants had not been coining huge dividends out of his brains and commercial audacity, if his magnetic, confidence-inspiring personality had not created in the minds of all about him visions of golden rivers widening into golden oceans, he would have been deserted and execrated.As it was, his service was eagerly sought; and his servants endured its mental and moral hardships as the prospector endures the physical cruelties of the mountain fastnesses.
He was closing his private door when the door-boy from the outermost of that maze of handsome offices came up to him with a card.
"Not here," he growled, and shut himself in.
Half an hour later the sounds of an angry tumult in the clerks'
room made him fling his door open."What the--" he began, his heavy face purple, then stopped amazed.
The outside doorkeeper, the watchman and several clerks were engaged in a struggle with Fanshaw.His hat was off, his hair wild, his necktie, shirt and coat awry.
"There you are now--I knew you were in," he shouted, as he caught sight of Dumont."Call these curs off, Jack!""Let him alone," snarled Dumont.
Fanshaw was released.He advanced into Dumont's office, straightening his clothing and panting with exertion, excitement and anger.Dumont closed the door."Well," he said surlily.
"What d' you want?"
"I'll have to go to the wall at half-past ten if you don't help me out," said Fanshaw."The Montana election went against my crowd--I'm in the copper deal.There's a slump, but the stock's dead sure to go up within a week.""In trouble again?" sneered Dumont."It's been only three months since I pulled you through.""You didn't lose anything by it, did you?" retorted Fanshaw--he had recovered himself and was eying Dumont with the cool, steady, significant stare of one rascal at another whom he thinks he has in his power.
Before that look Dumont flushed an angrier red."I won't do it again!" and he brought his fist down with a bang.
"All I want is five hundred thousand to carry my copper for a week at the outside.If I get it I'll clear a million.If Idon't"--Fanshaw shrugged his shoulders--"I'll be cleaned out."He looked with narrowed, shifting eyes at Dumont."My wife has all she's got in this," he went on, "even her jewels."Dumont's look shot straight into Fanshaw's.
"Not a cent!" he said with vicious emphasis."Not a red!"Fanshaw paled and pinched in his lips."I'm a desperate man.
I'm ruined.Leonora--"
