“Grand Fenwick has no place in the European Common Market,” said Mountjoy. “Our two principal products, wine and wool, find their own market without competition. We do not need the cooperation and aid of other nations in selling them. Common markets arise from common causes. We have no common economic cause with others.”
Sweeting now turned to Gloriana’s own investment policy. He half hoped Mountjoy would go away so that he could question her closely here, but the Count was as firmly fixed by the side of Gloriana as the castle was around her, and so Sweeting had to go ahead with his questioning with Mountjoy standing by as guard.
“You have yourself demonstrated a remarkable knowledge of the New York stock market, following a bold investment policy which has roused widespread admiration,” said Sweeting. “Can you, in a sentence or two, summarize your philosophy of investment?”
Gloriana had her reply down pat. “I think the very best attitude for anyone investing in the stock market is to make up his mind to lose money,” said Gloriana. “I don’t see how any other attitude could possibly work.” Mr. Sweeting smiled. She was being cagey with him, reiterating advice which, he recalled, had once been given by Baron Rothschild.
“And you entered the market then with the prospect before you of losing your total investment?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” said Gloriana. “That was never for one moment out of my mind. I just kept on investing and investing. And you know what happened.”
“The world knows,” said Mr. Sweeting. “One of the most remarkable feats of the present century. I am sure that you undertook a great deal of study of the market, however, before starting your investment program.”
“No,” said Gloriana, “I can’t say that I did. I had an objective in mind and I persisted until I achieved that objective. That is really all that I can say. I don’t think that there is anything extraordinary in what I did.”
“Your name has been linked, in connection with your raid on Wall Street, with the brilliant young American financier, Mr. Ted Holleck,” said Sweeting. “Is it true that you were working in close cooperation with Mr. Holleck in making your choice of investments?”
“Mr. who?” said Gloriana.
“Holleck.”
“I’m afraid I have never heard of him,” said the Duchess. “I did all my ordering of stocks through Mr. Joseph Balche, who is the financial agent of Grand Fenwick in the United States. He sent me all my seeds too.”
“Seeds?”
“Yes—seeds and bulbs. And the new roses which I showed you in the garden.”
Sweeting, nonplused, repeated his question. “You are quite sure that you had not heard of Mr. Holleck?” he asked. “He followed almost precisely the same investment program as yourself.”
“I really have never heard of him,” said Gloriana. “And if he followed the same program as I did, then maybe he had the same method of selecting his stocks.”
“Can you show me what that method is?” asked Sweeting, returning to this question.
For answer Gloriana, ignoring Mountjoy, secured the financial page of the Times, got a pin from the arm of the sofa on which she was sitting and stuck it, her eyes shut, into the page.
Sweeting laughed. “I shouldn’t have asked the question,” he said. “And I suppose your answer is as good as any.”
That concluded the interview. Sweeting drove his rented car to Marseilles, where he caught a plane back to London and spent the evening mulling over his notes and working them up into an interview which he hoped would convey to his readers both the charm of the Duchess and her astute grasp of world finance.
He succeeded admirably. He had secured his interview on a Tuesday, and since haste is frowned upon at the Times (only gossip is urgent; news has a solid and lasting quality) his interview did not appear until the following Monday. The Monday Times did not reach Grand Fenwick until the succeeding Wednesday because Salat was annoyed that Great Britain had objected to Paris as the site for the peace talks between the United States and Northern Afghanistan. (Salat looked upon Grand Fenwick as an ally of Great Britain.) So a pleasant eight days elapsed during which Gloriana did her gardening before the bombshell broke.
The paper, of course, went first to Bentner as Prime Minister, who missed the story completely since it was in the financial section which he never read. He was concerned only with cricket and the body-line bowling controversy of some years previous, now being resurrected. It should then have gone to Mountjoy, but Bentner instead took it to Dr. Kokintz to show him a report on a French rocket being sent to the planet Jupiter. It would take three years to get there, and Kokintz said that that represented an act of faith not in physics but in the government of France which had been tottering for a twelvemonth.
Kokintz was busy with his curious apparatus of the two hemispheres with the tuning fork between them and laid the Times aside, and Mountjoy’s secretary had to hunt the whole castle before he found it under a lump of some curious substance which Kokintz was using as a paperweight. He took it to Mountjoy, who, after glancing at the foreign news and sighing for the great days of Balkan politics, turned to the financial pages.
There he found the interview with the Duchess. There was a two-column picture of Her Grace in her full regalia and the interview ran below the picture and was of the extent of a full column and a half. Mountjoy began reading it with a sense of pleasure. How good it was, he reflected, to read a paper like the Times, which didn’t indulge in superlatives or hysteria, but in elegant, almost classical English set forth the facts with balance and humor.
It wasn’t until he got to the fourth paragraph that he received any kind of shock. The fourth paragraph contained a qualifying clause stating that the Duchess Gloriana XII had astonished the financial world by her massive raid on American stocks which had made her and the Duchy the most powerful single shareholder in the two American billion-dollar conglomerates—Sunrise Space and Pinot Productions. The holdings of the Duchy were reckoned to be in the neighborhood of seven hundred million dollars and increasing in value each day.
Stunned, Mountjoy read the whole thing over slowly and then reached with a trembling hand for the telephone. “Get me Mr. Jack Sweeting of the London Times,” he said.
“I'm sorry,” said the operator, “but we don’t have any outside lines, as you know, Your Excellency.”
Mountjoy replaced the telephone. He stared at the paper, which he had let fall from nerveless hands on the desk before him. Seven hundred million dollars. His brain seemed to become liquid. He passed his hands over his face as if to peel off with his fingers some enchantment which had intervened between himself and reality.
“Impossible,” he said. “Impossible. The Times has blundered.” But he knew that the Times never blundered, that the Times was always right and that by some witchcraft beyond his control and beyond the control of the Duchess or perhaps anybody in Grand Fenwick the Duchy had been made heir to a fortune which was the equivalent of the total national budget for seven thousand years.
“My God,” he cried. “This is the curse of Croesus. Everything we touch turns to gold.”
CHAPTER XVI
The news was too appalling to be accepted immediately by anyone. It had to be rejected, to be denounced, to be decried and disbelieved before it could be reduced to such a size that Gloriana, Bentner, Tully and Mountjoy could cope with it. Gloriana said it was a joke—a horrible, outrageous kind of joke at the expense of Grand Fenwick—and added that the Duchy ought to sue the Times. Bentner said it was an attempt by entrenched capitalists to somehow bolster a flagging stock market by solemnly insisting that those who had lost a fortune in stocks had actually gained a super fortune. Mountjoy spent hours combing through the back issues of the Times, and through the stock listings, until he came to the issue in which Westwood Coal and Carriage disappeared. He compared this date with the date of Gloriana’s letters to Balche and announced firmly that some frightful error had been made by the Times; for plainly Westwood Coal and Carriage,
in which Gloriana had put her money initially, had been sunk with all hands—a thoroughly bad metaphor which he permitted himself in his extreme agitation.
Only Tully Bascomb was prepared to face the truth and demand that, instead of developing theories of their own, the Duchy obtain from Balche a full analysis of its American holdings.
The matter was viewed as so grave that a cable was sent to Mr. Balche asking him for a full description of the holdings and their value. Bentner himself went into France to dispatch the cable, for this duty could not be entrusted to the temperamental Salat.
From the description which came in reply it was made unmistakably clear that Grand Fenwick held extensive interests in every branch of industrial activity in the United States from plumbing to planetary exploration. Stock splits were occurring at the rate of one a month in the companies in which the Duchy had shares, and with a rising market the split shares were soon selling for close to the value of the original shares. In short, Grand Fenwick’s fortune was swelling like a loaf in a warm oven, and Mr. Balche was of the opinion that by the end of the year the Duchy might be the owner of close to a billion dollars’ worth of American stocks of one sort or another.
This was the terrible news that now had to be put before the nation in an emergency session of the Council of Freemen. Gloriana was in tears. It was all her fault, she said. She had failed her people. Given the task of getting rid of the riches which threatened the economy and the way of life of the nation, she had instead enormously multiplied those riches so that they now mounted to a sum so vast that it practically could not be disposed of. Tully and Mountjoy consoled her in some measure by insisting that she had done her best and the result had been entirely beyond her control and so was not her fault.
“Whether we like it or not, we are millionaires,” was Bentner’s comment. “Makes you sick to think that the wages paid to the workingmen of Grand Fenwick all added together for perhaps a century wouldn’t amount to that stock market fortune got together without a tap of work in a matter of a few months.”
“I was trying to get rid of it,” said Gloriana between sobs.
“So you were, Ma’am,” said Bentner. “But you hadn’t a chance among those capitalist wolves on Wall Street.” And he gave a look of greatest enmity to the Count of Mountjoy. Although this was a complete parody of the actual situation, since it was the Duchess who had played the wolf on Wall Street, Mountjoy was delighted at the hostile look he received from Bentner. This, he reflected, was the way things should be—Capital versus Labor. That made for sound government. When Capital and Labor began to embrace each other any nation, he knew, was doomed to fall.
“I think it should be the part of the government to take on itself the responsibility for this disaster,” said Mountjoy vindictively, watching Bentner squirm. “The alternative would be to place the responsibility on the shoulders of Her Grace—no gentleman, no man, would ever contemplate such a thing.” He was rather happy actually. If Bentner could be held entirely responsible, then there was a possibility of unseating him at the next general election, for the post of Leader of the Loyal Opposition did not entirely suit Mountjoy. But Gloriana would not hear of such a plan.
“The task was given to me,” she said. “I accepted it willingly and gladly. I failed and I myself must go before my people and tell them that it is I who am responsible.”
And so she did, at the special session of the Council of Freemen. She outlined the whole story and her plans for getting rid of the money and she made a very good case for herself. She pointed out that it was common knowledge that huge sums of money were frequently lost on the stock market and they were more likely to be lost if the investor knew nothing of the market or of the stocks in which an investment was made.
To be sure that she knew nothing whatever of any of the stocks invested in, she had selected them by sticking a pin in the financial pages of the Times of London. Her choice had been a good one and she had managed to lose something like four million dollars in four weeks—a record of which she was proud. There was a little flutter of applause around the chamber at this point, although some of the upland farmers who at times had difficulty making ends meet looked a trifle apoplectic.
It seemed, however, Gloriana continued, that her choice had not been a good one. She had bought all the shares in a dying company for the Duchy and then discovered that the company had, in cash, a sum of ten million dollars, so that, trying her best to lose six millions, she had actually made a cash profit of four millions. (One of the uplanders fainted here and had to be carried out and revived.)
So Gloriana unfolded the whole tale, of which she now had details from Balche, and pointed out how her very best efforts to unload money were thwarted by the American financier Ted Holleck who, unknown to her, had bought a controlling interest in the companies in which Grand Fenwick had invested. His object, however, had been the opposite of that of the Duchess and, having a majority interest and vast power and experience, he had been able to turn to gold all that she had tried to turn to dross.
“I come before you as the sovereign of my people to confess my failure,” said the Duchess bravely. “Despite my best endeavors I have amassed a fortune in stocks which I am told is valued now at close to one billion dollars, which would make millionaires of every family in the Duchy . .
Whatever else the Duchess was going to say was swept aside as members leaped to their feet shouting, “Long live the Duchess Gloriana the Twelfth.” But for the respect in which they held her position they would have carried her on their shoulders through the streets. It has never fallen to any nation in the history of man and finance that each family in that nation should become heir to a million dollars. All restraint was cast away—all memories of the misfortunes which had attended the disbursement of the original Gum Money were forgotten. A million dollars for every family in Grand Fenwick? There was not a member in the chamber, with the exception of Mountjoy, who was not at that moment contemplating a world tour in his own private yacht.
It was Mountjoy who brought them to their senses. Obtaining the Speaker’s eye (when that worthy had restored some semblance of order) and begging leave of the Duchess, he made it perfectly clear that there was no intention on his part as Leader of the Opposition that any portion of the money should enter the Duchy’s economy. Bentner, as if stifling, made the same announcement, and the uplander fainted again. But Bentner had had a lesson in riches and he, taking over from Mountjoy, said that the government would have to be overthrown and a new party system, adhering to different principles, would have to be installed before the money would be divided among the people.
“And what will you have if this is done?” he asked. “Honest workingmen producing their sustenance from their labor and the land? Happy families, decently housed and living in peace and kindness with their neighbors? No, indeed. You will have a population gone hog-wild with wealth. Champagne in every bathtub and a new wife for any man who wants one. That’s what you’ll have.”
At the mention of a new wife for every man who wanted one there was a rather vulgar cheer from the back benches, but the sense of what Bentner had to say began to go home. He was not a dramatic orator, but he spoke, when aroused, bluntly and in terms that his countrymen understood.
“You, Ted Williams,” he said, pointing to a member opposite him, “how much money did you owe after the last government handout?”
“Seventy-five quid,” said Williams, unabashed.
“And how much do you owe now?”
“None. I paid it all off.”
“Yes, and with wages you earned yourself so that you are your own man,” said Bentner. “You didn’t pay with money that fell into your lap and left you looking around for more to fall from the same place. We’re men in Grand Fenwick, not dogs. We don’t live on handouts from the high tables of finance. We live on what we earn with the strength of our arms and the good of our soil. And while we keep it that way there will always be a Grand Fenwick whatever happens elsewhe
re. And while there is a Grand Fenwick there is hope for the world and for the rest of humanity.”
All in all, it was one of the best speeches Bentner ever made. It brought another storm of applause in which Mountjoy could now heartily join. But Bentner wasn’t through.
“You’re going to ask me what we should do with this money,” he said. “And you have got a right to ask. And I have got an answer. I’ve been thinking about it many a night. We’ll do exactly what the United States does—we’ll bury it in the ground. We’ll sell out all those shares that we don’t want and then we’ll collect all those dollars that we don’t want, and we’ll put them in bales in the bottom of this castle and go on with our work like we did before.”
This suggestion, after a very hot debate, was put in the form of a motion and voted upon. The motion succeeded, though not without meeting many perils. A counterproposal was made from the floor that all the shares be sold at a penny apiece. Mountjoy pointed out that to sell such vast holdings at a deflated value would seriously shake the American stock markets and might produce a recession in Wall Street which would do enormous damage to innocent Capitalists.
“It is possible for Capitalists to be innocent,” he added with an eye on Bentner. “Older people who have put their savings into stocks might be ruined overnight, and we have no right to inflict such an injustice on our fellow human beings,” he said.
“The sudden sale of the shares is going to have a depressing effect on stocks anyway,” someone said. But Mountjoy proposed that shares be disposed of privately if possible and without a panicky haste. He did not like the idea of bales of thousand-dollar bills lying about in the dungeon, either.
“That is altogether too dangerous,” he said. “International thieves would undoubtedly endeavor to seize the money. I would suggest that the money be placed to our credit with a Swiss bank.” But nobody would support that suggestion.
The sense of Grand Fenwick was that it wanted the dollars kept in bales in the dungeon of its own castle where the people could keep an eye on them. They could go in and look at them every now and then and it would give them a good feeling, said one member. Also it would be nice to have some ready cash handy in case of need.
The Mouse On Wall Street: eBook Edition (The Grand Fenwick Series 3) Page 12
