by Jack London
CHAPTER III
Back at his hotel, though nearly two in the morning, he found thereporters waiting to interview him. Next morning there were more. Andthus, with blare of paper trumpet, was he received by New York. Oncemore, with beating of toms-toms and wild hullaballoo, his picturesquefigure strode across the printed sheet. The King of the Klondike, thehero of the Arctic, the thirty-million-dollar millionaire of the North,had come to New York. What had he come for? To trim the New Yorkersas he had trimmed the Tonopah crowd in Nevada? Wall Street had bestwatch out, for the wild man of Klondike had just come to town. Or,perchance, would Wall Street trim him? Wall Street had trimmed manywild men; would this be Burning Daylight's fate? Daylight grinned tohimself, and gave out ambiguous interviews. It helped the game, and hegrinned again, as he meditated that Wall Street would sure have to gosome before it trimmed him.
They were prepared for him to play, and, when heavy buying of WardValley began, it was quickly decided that he was the operator.Financial gossip buzzed and hummed. He was after the Guggenhammersonce more. The story of Ophir was told over again and sensationalizeduntil even Daylight scarcely recognized it. Still, it was all grist tohis mill. The stock gamblers were clearly befooled. Each day heincreased his buying, and so eager were the sellers that Ward Valleyrose but slowly. "It sure beats poker," Daylight whispered gleefullyto himself, as he noted the perturbation he was causing. Thenewspapers hazarded countless guesses and surmises, and Daylight wasconstantly dogged by a small battalion of reporters. His owninterviews were gems. Discovering the delight the newspapers took inhis vernacular, in his "you-alls," and "sures," and "surge-ups," heeven exaggerated these particularities of speech, exploiting thephrases he had heard other frontiersmen use, and inventing occasionallya new one of his own.
A wildly exciting time was his during the week preceding Thursday theeighteenth. Not only was he gambling as he had never gambled before,but he was gambling at the biggest table in the world and for stakes solarge that even the case-hardened habitues of that table were compelledto sit up. In spite of the unlimited selling, his persistent buyingcompelled Ward Valley steadily to rise, and as Thursday approached, thesituation became acute. Something had to smash. How much Ward Valleywas this Klondike gambler going to buy? How much could he buy? Whatwas the Ward Valley crowd doing all this time? Daylight appreciatedthe interviews with them that appeared--interviews delightfully placidand non-committal. Leon Guggenhammer even hazarded the opinion thatthis Northland Croesus might possibly be making a mistake. But not thatthey cared, John Dowsett explained. Nor did they object. While in thedark regarding his intentions, of one thing they were certain; namely,that he was bulling Ward Valley. And they did not mind that. Nomatter what happened to him and his spectacular operations, Ward Valleywas all right, and would remain all right, as firm as the Rock ofGibraltar. No; they had no Ward Valley to sell, thank you. Thispurely fictitious state of the market was bound shortly to pass, andWard Valley was not to be induced to change the even tenor of its wayby any insane stock exchange flurry. "It is purely gambling frombeginning to end," were Nathaniel Letton's words; "and we refuse tohave anything to do with it or to take notice of it in any way."
During this time Daylight had several secret meetings with hispartners--one with Leon Guggenhammer, one with John Dowsett, and twowith Mr. Howison. Beyond congratulations, they really amounted tonothing; for, as he was informed, everything was going satisfactorily.
But on Tuesday morning a rumor that was disconcerting came toDaylight's ears. It was also published in the Wall Street Journal, andit was to the effect, on apparently straight inside information, thaton Thursday, when the directors of Ward Valley met, instead of thecustomary dividend being declared, an assessment would be levied. Itwas the first check Daylight had received. It came to him with a shockthat if the thing were so he was a broken man. And it also came to himthat all this colossal operating of his was being done on his ownmoney. Dowsett, Guggenhammer, and Letton were risking nothing. It wasa panic, short-lived, it was true, but sharp enough while it lasted tomake him remember Holdsworthy and the brick-yard, and to impel him tocancel all buying orders while he rushed to a telephone.
"Nothing in it--only a rumor," came Leon Guggenhammer's throaty voicein the receiver. "As you know," said Nathaniel Letton, "I am one ofthe directors, and I should certainly be aware of it were such actioncontemplated." And John Dowsett: "I warned you against just suchrumors. There is not an iota of truth in it--certainly not. I tellyou on my honor as a gentleman."
Heartily ashamed of himself for his temporary loss of nerve, Daylightreturned to his task. The cessation of buying had turned the StockExchange into a bedlam, and down all the line of stocks the bears weresmashing. Ward Valley, as the ape, received the brunt of the shock,and was already beginning to tumble. Daylight calmly doubled hisbuying orders. And all through Tuesday and Wednesday, and Thursdaymorning, he went on buying, while Ward Valley rose triumphantly higher.Still they sold, and still he bought, exceeding his power to buy manytimes over, when delivery was taken into account. What of that? Onthis day the double dividend would be declared, he assured himself.The pinch of delivery would be on the shorts. They would be makingterms with him.
And then the thunderbolt struck. True to the rumor, Ward Valley leviedthe assessment. Daylight threw up his arms. He verified the reportand quit. Not alone Ward Valley, but all securities were beinghammered down by the triumphant bears. As for Ward Valley, Daylightdid not even trouble to learn if it had fetched bottom or was stilltumbling. Not stunned, not even bewildered, while Wall Street wentmad, Daylight withdrew from the field to think it over. After a shortconference with his brokers, he proceeded to his hotel, on the waypicking up the evening papers and glancing at the head-lines. BURNINGDAYLIGHT CLEANED OUT, he read; DAYLIGHT GETS HIS; ANOTHER WESTERNERFAILS TO FIND EASY MONEY. As he entered his hotel, a later editionannounced the suicide of a young man, a lamb, who had followedDaylight's play.
What in hell did he want to kill himself for? was Daylight's mutteredcomment.
He passed up to his rooms, ordered a Martini cocktail, took off hisshoes, and sat down to think. After half an hour he roused himself totake the drink, and as he felt the liquor pass warmingly through hisbody, his features relaxed into a slow, deliberate, yet genuine grin.He was laughing at himself.
"Buncoed, by gosh!" he muttered.
Then the grin died away, and his face grew bleak and serious. Leavingout his interests in the several Western reclamation projects (whichwere still assessing heavily), he was a ruined man. But harder hitthan this was his pride. He had been so easy. They had gold-brickedhim, and he had nothing to show for it. The simplest farmer would havehad documents, while he had nothing but a gentleman's agreement, and averbal one at that. Gentleman's agreement. He snorted over it. JohnDowsett's voice, just as he had heard it in the telephone receiver,sounded in his ears the words, "On my honor as a gentleman." They weresneak-thieves and swindlers, that was what they were, and they hadgiven him the double-cross. The newspapers were right. He had come toNew York to be trimmed, and Messrs. Dowsett, Letton, and Guggenhammerhad done it. He was a little fish, and they had played with him tendays--ample time in which to swallow him, along with his elevenmillions. Of course, they had been unloading on him all the time, andnow they were buying Ward Valley back for a song ere the market righteditself. Most probably, out of his share of the swag, Nathaniel Lettonwould erect a couple of new buildings for that university of his. LeonGuggenhammer would buy new engines for that yacht, or a whole fleet ofyachts. But what the devil Dowsett would do with his whack, was beyondhim--most likely start another string of banks.
And Daylight sat and consumed cocktails and saw back in his life toAlaska, and lived over the grim years in which he had battled for hiseleven millions. For a while murder ate at his heart, and wild ideasand sketchy plans of killing his betrayers flashed through his mind.That was what that young man should have done inste
ad of killinghimself. He should have gone gunning. Daylight unlocked his grip andtook out his automatic pistol--a big Colt's .44. He released thesafety catch with his thumb, and operating the sliding outer barrel,ran the contents of the clip through the mechanism. The eightcartridges slid out in a stream. He refilled the clip, threw acartridge into the chamber, and, with the trigger at full cock, thrustup the safety ratchet. He shoved the weapon into the side pocket ofhis coat, ordered another Martini, and resumed his seat.
He thought steadily for an hour, but he grinned no more. Lines formedin his face, and in those lines were the travail of the North, the biteof the frost, all that he had achieved and suffered--the long, unendingweeks of trail, the bleak tundra shore of Point Barrow, the smashingice-jam of the Yukon, the battles with animals and men, thelean-dragged days of famine, the long months of stinging hell among themosquitoes of the Koyokuk, the toil of pick and shovel, the scars andmars of pack-strap and tump-line, the straight meat diet with the dogs,and all the long procession of twenty full years of toil and sweat andendeavor.
At ten o'clock he arose and pored over the city directory. Then he puton his shoes, took a cab, and departed into the night. Twice he changedcabs, and finally fetched up at the night office of a detective agency.He superintended the thing himself, laid down money in advance inprofuse quantities, selected the six men he needed, and gave them theirinstructions. Never, for so simple a task, had they been so well paid;for, to each, in addition to office charges, he gave afive-hundred-dollar bill, with the promise of another if he succeeded.Some time next day, he was convinced, if not sooner, his three silentpartners would come together. To each one two of his detectives wereto be attached. Time and place was all he wanted to learn.
"Stop at nothing, boys," were his final instructions. "I must havethis information. Whatever you do, whatever happens, I'll sure see youthrough."
Returning to his hotel, he changed cabs as before, went up to his room,and with one more cocktail for a nightcap, went to bed and to sleep.In the morning he dressed and shaved, ordered breakfast and thenewspapers sent up, and waited. But he did not drink. By nine o'clockhis telephone began to ring and the reports to come in. NathanielLetton was taking the train at Tarrytown. John Dowsett was coming downby the subway. Leon Guggenhammer had not stirred out yet, though hewas assuredly within. And in this fashion, with a map of the cityspread out before him, Daylight followed the movements of his three menas they drew together. Nathaniel Letton was at his offices in theMutual-Solander Building. Next arrived Guggenhammer. Dowsett wasstill in his own offices. But at eleven came the word that he also hadarrived, and several minutes later Daylight was in a hired motor-carand speeding for the Mutual-Solander Building.
