by Holman Day
XVII ~ "EXACTLY!" SAID MR. FOGG
"O I am not a man o' war or privateer," said he, Blow high, blow low, and so sailed we! "But I'm an honest pirate a-looking for my fee, Cruising down along the coast of the High Barbaree." --Shanty of the "Prince Luther."
Mr. Fletcher Fogg privately and mentally and metaphorically slappedhimself on the back whenever he considered his many activities.
He was perfectly certain that he was the best little two-handed generaloperator of an all-around character that any gentleman could securewhen that gentleman wanted a job done and did not care to give explicitinstructions as to the details of procedure.
The look of grief and regret that the fat face of Mr. Fogg could assumewhen said gentleman--after the job was done--blamed the methods asunsanctioned, even though the result had been achieved--that expressionwas a study in humility--humility with its tongue in its cheek.
If Mr. Fogg could have advertised his business to suit himself--beingnot a whit ashamed of his tactics--he would have issued a card inscribedabout as follows:
"Mr. FLETCHER FOGG: Promoting and demoting. Building and busting. The whole inside of any financial or industrial cheese cleaned out without disturbing the outside rind. All still work done noiselessly. Plenty of brass bands for loud work. Broad shoulders supplied to take on all the blame."
Mr. Fogg, in the presence of Julius Marston, was properly obsequious,but not a bit fawning. He wiped away the moisture patches beside hisnose with a purple handkerchief, and put it back into his outside breastpocket with the corners sticking out like attentive ears. He crossed hislegs and set on his knee an ankle clothed in a purple silk stocking. Onaccount of his rotundity he was compelled to hold the ankle in place inthe firm clutch of his hand. He settled his purple tie with the otherhand.
"I'm glad I was in reach when you wanted me," he assured Mr. Marston."I'm just in on the _Triton_. And I want to tell you that you're runningthat steamboat line in the way an American business man wants to haveit run. If I had been on any other line, sir, I wouldn't have beenhere to-day when you were looking for me. Everything else on the coastprowling along half-speed, but down slammed the old _Triton_, scattering'em out from underfoot like an auto going through a flock of chickens,but not a jar or a scrape or a jolt, and into her dock, through two daysof thick fog, exactly on the dot. That's the way an American wants to becarried, sir."
"I believe so, Mr. Fogg," agreed Julius Marston. "And that's why we feelit's going to be a good thing for all the coast lines to be under onemanagement--our management."
"Exactly!"
"It's true progress--true benefit to travelers, stockholders, and allconcerned. Consolidation instead of rivalry. I believe in it."
"Exactly!"
"As a broad-gauged business man--big enough to grasp big matters--youhave seen how consolidation effects reforms."
"No two ways about it," affirmed Mr. Fogg.
"That was very good missionary work you did in the matter of the Sound &Cape line--very good indeed."
"It's astonishing what high and lofty ideas some stockholders haveabout properties they're interested in. In financial matters the poorestconclusion a man can draw is that a stock will always continue to paydividends simply because it always has done so. I had to set off apretty loud firecracker to wake those Sound & Cape fellows up. I had toshow 'em what damage the new deals and competition and our combinationwould do to 'em if they kept on sleeping on their stock certificates.Funny how hard it is to pry some folks loose from their par-valuenotions." Mr. Fogg delivered this little disquisition on theintractability of stockholders with reproachful vigor, staring blandlyinto the unwinking gaze of Mr. Marston. "I don't want to praise my ownhumble efforts too much," he went on, "but I truly believe that insideanother thirty days the Sound crowd would have been ready to cash in atfifty, in spite of that minority bunch that was hollering for par. Thatwas only a big yawp from a few folks."
"Fifty was a fair price in view of what's ahead in the way ofcompetition, but we have made it a five-eighths proposition in order toclinch the deal promptly. I just sent one of our boys around with thecheck."
Mr. Fogg beamed. He used his purple handkerchief on his cheeks oncemore. He allowed to himself a few words of praise: "They'll understandsome day that I saved 'em from a bigger bump. But it's hard to show somepeople."
"Now, Mr. Fogg, we come to the matter of the Vose line. What's theoutlook?"
Mr. Fogg looked sad. "After weeks of chasing 'em, I can only say thatthey're ugly and stubborn, simply blind to their best interests."
"Insist on par, do they?"
"Worse than that. Old Vose and his sons and those old hornbeamdirectors--retired sea-captains, you know, as hard as old turtles--theyhave taken a stand against consolidation. They belong in the dark agesof business. Old Vose had the impudence to tell me that forming thissteamboat combine was a crime, and that he wouldn't be a party to abetrayal of the public. He won't come in; he won't sell; he's going tocompete."
Mr. Marston stroked his strip of beard. "In order for our stock to bewhat we intend it to be, the Paramount Coast Transportation has gotto operate as a complete monopoly, as you understand, Mr. Fogg. Abeneficent monopoly--consolidation benefiting all--but neverthelessa monopoly. With one line holding out on us, we've got only a limpingproposition."
"Exactly!"
"What are we going to do about the Vose line?"
"Let it compete, sir. We can kill it in the end."
"Possibly--probably. But that plan will not serve, Mr. Fogg."
"It's business."
"But it is not finance. I'm looking at this proposition solely as afinancier, Mr. Fogg. I hardly know one end of a steamboat from theother. I'm not interested in rate-cutting problems. I don't know howlong it would take to put the Vose line under. But I do know this, as afinancier, handling a big deal, that the Paramount stock will not appealto investors or the bonds to banks unless we can launch our project asa clean, perfect combination, every transportation charter locked up.I handle money, and I know all of money's timidity and all ofmoney's courage. You think the Vose directors are able to hold theirstockholders in line, do you?"
Mr. Fogg uncrossed his legs, put both feet on the floor, hookedhis hands across his paunch, and gazed up at the ceiling, evidentlypondering profoundly.
"I repeat, I'm not viewing this thing as a steamboating proposition,not figuring what kind of tariffs will kill competition," stated Mr.Marston. "I'm not estimating what kind of tariffs will make a profit forthe Paramount. I'd as soon sell sugar over the counter. My associatesexpect me to make money for them in another way--make it in big lumpsand on a quick turn. The Vose line, competing, kills us from thefinancial viewpoint."
"Exactly."
There was silence in the room for some time.
"There's never any telling what stockholders will do," remarked Mr.Fogg, his eyes still studying the panels of the ceiling.
Mr. Marston did not dispute that dictum.
His field-marshal slowly tipped down his head and gave his superioranother of those bland stares.
"So I'll go right ahead and see what they'll do, sir."
He rose and kicked the legs of his trousers into place.
"You understand that in this affair, as in all matters where you havebeen employed, there must be absolutely clean work. There must be nocome-back. Of course, I have instructed you to this effect regularly,but I wish to have you remember that I have repeated the instructions,sir."
"Exactly!" Mr. Fogg's eyes did not blink.
"You will be prepared to testify to that effect in case the need everarises."
"Exactly!"
Mr. Fogg delivered that word like a countersign. Into it, in hisinterviews with Julius Marston, he put understanding, humility, promise.
"May we expect quick action?" asked the financier. "The thing mustn'thang fire. We have a lot of our nimble money tied up as it is."
"Exactly!" returned Mr.
Fogg, on his way to the door. "Quick action itis!"
"This is probably the craziest idea that ever popped into a man's headwhen that man was sitting in Julius Marston's office," reflected Mr.Fogg, marching through the anteroom of this temple of finance. "There'sone thing about it that's comforting--it's so wild-eyed it will neverbe blamed on to Julius Marston as any of his getting up. And that's hisprincipal lookout when a deal is on. It seems to be up to me to deliverthe goods."
He sat down on a bench in the waiting-room and rubbed his knuckles overhis forehead.
"Just let me get this thing right end to," he told himself. "How didthe idea happen to hit me, anyway? Oh, yes! Old Vose bragging to me thatevery stockholder in the Vose line was behind him, and that the annualmeeting was about to come off, and then I would see what a condemnedpoor show I stood to get even the toe of my boot into the crack of thecompany door. He's a Maine corporation. I've known of cases where thatfact helped a lot. There are plenty of ifs and buts in this thing, buthere goes!"
He applied himself to one of the office telephones, asked for severalnumbers, one after the other, and put questions with eagerness andrapidity.
The information he received seemed to disturb him considerably. He cameout of the booth and scrubbed his cheeks with his purple handkerchief.
"Their annual meeting at ten o'clock to-morrow morning, four hundredmiles from here! Well, I suppose I ought to be thankful that it's notbeing held right now," Mr. Fogg informed himself, determined to fan thatone flicker of hope with both wings of his optimism. "But I've got toadmit that twenty-four hours is almighty scant time for a job of thissort, even when the operator is the little Fogg boy himself. Damme, Ihaven't come to a full, realizing sense yet of all I've got to do andhow I'm going to do it."
He hurried out, dove into an elevator, and was shot down to the street.
He was lucky enough to find a taxi at the curb.
"Grand Central," he told the driver. "I've got five dollars thatsays you can beat the Subway express and land me in season for theten-o'clock limited for Boston."
As soon as it became evident to Mr. Fogg that his driver had seen hisduty and was going to do it, traffic squad be blowed, the promotersettled back, and his thoughts began to revolve faster than the taxi'swheels.
"It's going to be like the mining-camp 'lulu hand,'" was his mentalpreface to his plans. "It can be played only once in a sitting-in; ithas got to be backed with good bluff, but it's a peach when it works.And what am I a promoter for? What have I studied foreign corporationlaws for?"
Mr. Fogg took off his hat and mopped his bald spot, wrinkling hiseyelids in deep reflection.
"The idea is," he mused, "I'm a candidate for the presidency of the Voseline at to-morrow's meeting. But I haven't been elected yet!"
However, Mr. Fogg's preliminary sniffing at the affairs of the Vose linehad informed him where he could pick up at least ten scattered shares oftheir stock. He figured that before midnight he would have them in hispossession. As to the next day and the next steps, well, the nerve of areal American plunger clings to life until the sunset of all hopes, evenas the snake's tail, though the serpent's head be bruised beyond repair,is supposed to wriggle until sunset.
He despatched a telegram at New Haven. He received a reply atProvidence, and he read it and felt like a gambler who has drawn acard to fill his bobtail hand. When a design is brazen and the game islargely a bluff, plain, lucky chance must be appealed to.
The telegram had been addressed to Attorney Sawyer Franklin, in a Mainecity. It had requested an appointment with Mr. Franklin on the followingmorning.
The reply had stated that Mr. Franklin was critically ill in a hospital,but that all matters of business would be attended to by his officeforce, as far as was possible.
Attorney Sawyer Franklin, as Mr. Fogg, of course, was fully aware, wasclerk of the Vose line corporation, organized according to the Mainelaw as a "foreign corporation," under the more liberal regulations whichhave attracted so many metropolitan promoters into the states of Maineand New Jersey.
