The Rebellion of Yale Marratt

by Robert H. Rimmer

  By Friday afternoon Yale had obtained the first draft on the charter for Challenge, Inc. He read it over in the director's room of Higgins Investments. He studied, carefully, the endless legal clauses. When Sam introduced him to one of the firm's lawyers, Saul Angle, Yale had laughed. "That's what I need, every single angle covered." Angle evidently had heard the pun before in many variations. "My family name was Anglemann. My father changed it," Angle said curtly. "I'm thinking of changing it back. If you don't like it get yourself another lawyer."

  Later Sam apologized. "Saul's a Jew. But you said you wanted a sharp cookie. He's it."

  He was very much it, Yale thought. In Angle's office, for the first time, Yale outlined the idea he had in mind. Saul listened without comment.

  "I'm not making it clear, am I?" Yale asked. He took some papers out of his pocket. "Listen, any corporation has purposes. I've written the purposes down in the best legal language I know. Here they are: 'to foster, promote, carry on and conduct research into any and all the problems that cause man's inhumanity to man, and to receive, administer, and disburse funds for educational purposes in pursuit of this objective, for the public welfare' -- that should be clear to you."

  "You mean because I'm Jewish?" Saul asked sarcastically.

  "My wife is Jewish."

  "That's your hard luck," Saul said coldly. "Okay, let's go. I'm a lawyer, not a moralist. It's your head to bang against the wall."

  In the ensuing days, as they worked out the details of Challenge, Inc., Yale broke through Saul Angle's hard shell. He even captured moments of infrequent enthusiasm from him.

  "You want this set up as a non-profit foundation, and you are turning over to it two hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That much is all right," Saul said, "Then you want the stock control put in the hands of one Anne Wilson Marratt, and one Cynthia Carnell Marratt. Who are they?"

  Yale looked at him seriously. Saul was going to be the first person he would have to tell. "Remember, you are my lawyer. This is in confidence. They are my wives."

  "Your wives!" Saul expostulated. He threw his pencil down. "Now at the age of forty-six I've heard everything."

  He listened while Yale explained. He shook his head in complete disbelief.

  "You can stop worrying about the legal problem," Yale said. "By United States standards, I am only legally married to Cynthia."

  "Look," Saul said. He decided not to worry Yale about the possibility that a court-of-law would consider his Hindu marriage valid. "I won't ask you any more questions. I'm scared to death of what I might find out next. Just promise to keep in touch with me. When this daydream of your explodes I'll hold my hat reverently in my hand and watch the souvenir hunters gathering pieces of the former Yale Marratt."

  Reading the fifteen closely typewritten pages of the charter for Challenge, Inc. Yale chuckled. Saul had done a thorough job. While he had objected and pointed out to Yale that he would be at the mercy of two women . . . two wives who could get into bitter disagreement . . . for his livelihood, Yale pointed out to him that it either worked or it didn't. He explained to Saul that he was pursuing a fundamental psychology. Anne and Cynthia would be co-directors at Challenge, Inc. As co-directors they would receive a salary of at least $5000 each annually or a joint income not to exceed 10 percent of the gross earnings from investments and contributions.

  "Anne and Cynthia will support me." Yale grinned. "You'll have to admit it's sound thinking."

  "I've known of men with such sound thinking," Saul said gloomily, "who ended up in twenty-five-cent-a-night flophouses while their wives drove Cadillacs in Miami." He pointed out to Yale that since the foundation would have only $250,000 to start with, even if Yale managed to keep the money earning ten per cent return, by the time his co-directors were paid, there would be only $2500 left to accomplish the purpose of the corporation.

  Yale decided not to tell Angle that his plans were eventually to create a working fund of at least twenty million dollars. He had already tested Saul's credulity too far. Anyway, if Saul had asked him how he proposed to get hold of so much money he would have had to admit that at the moment he didn't have the faintest idea. To Saul that certainly would have smacked of childish idealism, with a fairy story quality to boot. At times, Yale felt that his plans were unrealistic, but an indefinable sense of mission always overcame his fears. He was certain . . . positive of the bare outlines of what he was attempting to do; the minor problems would work themselves out as he went along.

  Approvingly, he read over the details of the Membership Plan as Saul had worked them out. When he had originally discussed this as a part of the basic charter, Saul had looked at him in wonder.

  "I really think you are slightly cracked, Yale. You expect to have members who contribute to the support of the Foundation's activities by paying ten dollars a year. Do you honestly expect to get many members? What will a member get out of it?"

  "Ten dollars to save mankind." Yale had beamed. "How's that for a slogan, Saul? When you send me your bill, I'll deduct ten dollars and make you a charter member."

  Relaxing in the back of a taxi, the charter of Challenge, Inc. in his brief case, Yale congratulated himself on a good week's work. All that was required now were the signatures of Anne and Cynthia. Saul could take care of the details of incorporation. Yale decided that as soon as he got back to the hotel, he would call Cynthia and Anne and persuade them to come to New York. They needed the car and he certainly didn't need it. They could drive back. They would have to bring the baby. He would have to decide whether to reserve one room or two rooms. Cynthia and Anne were sleeping together, but that wouldn't he possible when he was with them. How would they sleep?

  Taking the elevator to his room, he noticed the operator looking at him queerly. He must have been muttering aloud. Having two wives, he reflected with a grin, was not a simple problem. He was already beginning to talk to himself.

  When he unlocked the door to his room, he heard the shower running in the bathroom. He looked quickly at the number on the door, thinking he had somehow entered the wrong room. The number checked with the key. Then he saw women's clothing on the bed. Either Anne or Cynthia, or both, were here in New York.

  Opening the bathroom door, he cautiously peeked behind the shower curtain. Anne facing the shower spigot, a bathing cap on her head, was soaping herself vigorously.

  "Hey," he said, with a feeling of delight at the sight of her shapely buttocks and long slender legs.

  She screamed, turned, and slipped in the tub. Yale put out his arms and caught her. He held her wet and soapy against his suit.

  "You!" she said disgustedly. "You scared me out of my wits."

  He let her go. "Stay there, I'll be back. I need a shower too." He stripped off his clothes, returning in time to catch her as she was getting out of the tub. "Oh, no you don't! Get back in, woman! You're taking a shower with me. You can wash my back."

  Reluctantly, she stood in the tub while he turned the shower on again. "Come on. No messing around in the shower!" she said as he tried to hold her. "Give me the soap. I'll wash your back, and that's all!"

  "Where's Cindar?" he asked, feeling Anne's fingers tickling his shoulder blades.

  "I suppose you'd like to have her here, too. All of us taking a shower together." Anne pinched his buttocks.

  "The idea has its charms," Yale admitted. "Where is she?"

  "She's in Midhaven," Anne said. "We decided that it wasn't good sense to leave you in New York on a weekend. You might get some Mormon ideas and come home with a third woman. We'd tear her hair out and yours, too! Don't you forget it, Yale! You've got yourself in a spot where if you so much as look at another woman, I personally will cut your throat, and Cindar probably would hand me the knife."

  Choking with laughter, Yale asked how they had decided which one would come to check on him.

  "We tossed a coin," Anne said.

  "And you won?"

  "No, Cindar won."

  Yale looked at her, pu
zzled. Water streamed over his face.

  "Cindar insisted that I come. Her argument, and I couldn't shake her, was that she was with you last and I hadn't seen you for nearly a year. . . ." Anne got out of the tub. She started to dry herself. "I'm afraid that we are going to kill ourselves trying to be fair to each other. A you-first-Alphonse-arrangement that could end in a stalemate -- for you, chum!"

  Yale took the towel from her. "Here, I'll dry you. You look very lovely, Anne." He kissed her breast.

  "Be serious a minute," Anne said. She repressed a desire to pull his face hard against her breasts. "There's more to it than that. The plan is that next weekend Cindar will come. But I don't think she will."

  "Why not?"

  "If this works out, Yale, you are going to learn a great deal more about women than you know now. I think that Cynthia feels that being pregnant, she isn't desirable to you. All women get to feel that way, but most women don't have competition from a non-pregnant dame right under their own roof."

  "She's silly," Yale said. "She's not showing too much, yet."

  "Dope. Your words convict you. You better make up your mind now that even when she is a full nine months she gets complete affection from you. Anyway, you can't stay here that long. You're just trying to escape an impossible situation."

  "Do you think it's impossible?" Yale asked seriously.

  Anne walked into the bedroom. She picked up her clothes and then lay on the bed, naked. Yale followed her. "Suppose Cindar were here, now. You couldn't do what you are obviously ready to do." Anne laughed as Yale looked at himself. He blushed.

  "Honestly, Yale," she said, "nothing is going to be accomplished until you come back. Cindar and I have been getting along beautifully. Her introspective nature coupled with my happy-go-lucky self is a nice balance. I think we will learn to accept each other. But if she became jealous, it would consume her. She's not like me. I'd tell you very quickly. Her love for you will he a complete surrender. I can love you a little more objectively. Not much more, mind you!" she said, returning his kiss. She restrained his hand from his gradually more ardent caresses. "Not yet," she murmured. "I want to talk. What are you going to do when you come home?"

  "What do you mean?" Yale asked.

  "Stop being obtuse. You know what I mean. Cynthia and I can solve the housekeeping arrangements. We have even decided that we could bring up the children communally, but neither of us sees how you can solve the problem of who sleeps with you and when . . . and where. You can't leave it to chance. A good Mormon, so I have read, serviced his harem on a strict calendar arrangement."

  Yale was a little shocked. "You're pretty blunt."

  "I'm just facing facts. Monogamy is a lot simpler."

  "Look. I want to make love to you," Yale said, "but if you want me to solve a polygamous household right now . . . okay . . . I'll do it!" He lay back on the bed and was silent.

  "I'm listening," Anne said. She tugged at the hairs on his chest. "Just remember that your harem consists of two modern women who won't be subjugated by a lord and master."

  "I'm learning." Yale laughed. "First, we have to rebuild the upstairs of the house. I've been thinking about that. You and Cindar will each have your own bedroom. . . ."

  Anne interrupted. "Supposing Cindar and I like the idea of sleeping together?" she demanded. "That feather bed is very comfortable."

  "Oh, hell. I can't figure it out," Yale said, giving up.

  "Well, Cindar and I have agreed that the only practical way is for us to have one big bedroom of our own. Your bedroom can be connected to it . . . When you want one of us to visit you . . ." Anne blushed at her evasion. She plunged on. "We will visit in your room. From that point it's up to you."

  "Good Lord," Yale marvelled, "you and Cindar must have had some wonderful discussions. It would be worth a fortune to have heard them."

  Anne smiled. "We've decided that the only way for this marriage to work is to conspire against you."

  "Maybe it won't work," Yale said gloomily. He stared at the ceiling. "I realize that in asking you and Cynthia to try such unconventional living, the benefits are all for me. It's a selfish idea. It's only practical if you and Cindar find happiness in it. Somewhere in the next few years you may meet someone else . . . or Cindar may meet someone else. I will understand. Nevertheless, I do feel that if any marriage is to work it must set up some common goals. . . ." He jumped off the bed and searched in his brief case. He tossed the charter of Challenge, Inc. on Anne's stomach. "Read that and see what you think."

  He watched Anne as she read, her head propped on her elbow, her breasts falling lightly against the pillow; the curve of her hip extending in a lovely arch that flowed away into her legs. He stroked her back and leaned over her shoulder. Finally, she finished. She looked at him with tears in her eyes.

  "You're pretty clever, my friend, and I think you understand your wives pretty well. My guess is that Cindar will react the same way I do. Challenge, Inc. is about the craziest idea I've ever heard . . . ." Anne paused. Her smile was tender when she saw the disappointment in Yale's eyes. "It's just so crazy it might catch on. Oh, Yale, it's impractical as hell, just as is everything you do -- but I love it. I promise you I'll work to make it succeed." She pulled him into her arms and clasped him fiercely against her. He felt her arch beneath him.

  "Not too soon, darling," she whispered. "I want it to last . . . and last. It's been so very, very long. . . ."

  7

  Within a month Sam Higgins was calling Yale a financial wizard. At first, as he had watched Yale, day after day, studying corporation reports and stock movements, he had laughed skeptically. "Fella, if you want to invest that three hundred grand, I can give you a couple of sure things. Stuff with good capital growth and a steady return. You don't have to waste time doing your own research. What do you think we've got all these people for?"

  Yale told him that at the moment he wasn't looking for steady capital growth. "The money I have now is too small to work with," he said. "Your research department is looking for what everyone else in the street is looking for." Yale picked up the annual report of the Latham Shipyards. "Here's an outfit right in Midhaven that looks good to me. They skipped their quarterly dividend for the second time in a row. The stock is selling low -- fourteen dollars a share yesterday. I wonder what Agatha Latham thinks about that?" Yale decided that he would telephone Agatha and see how she was.

  Sam shrugged. "Hell, now that the war is over, shipyards are a dime a dozen. What good are they? That stuff will go even lower."

  Yale didn't elaborate his idea further with Sam. He had discovered that the total stock issue of Latham Shipyards was three hundred and fifty thousand shares. Alfred Latham held one hundred thousand shares, he knew that Agatha Latham had fifty thousand shares, the rest were scattered. He played with figures. He would need five or six million dollars to make any attempt to raid the company.

  Sam was right, of course; the Latham Yards were in a mess. Alfred was listed as board-chairman; Jim Latham had been elected President. With the war contracts cancelled, the company was losing money. Yale had a feeling that with aggressive management the company could be made profitable. It needed a diversification program. Latham Shipyards owned considerable real estate in the city of Midhaven, and also oil leases good for several years on fields in Oklahoma. Who had okayed the investment in oil leases? As he had fiddled with the potentialities in the situation an even better idea occurred to him. What would happen, psychologically, if the price on Latham shares started to rise. If he had the money and could buy very carefully, spreading his purchases around the country, eventually the market would respond. He might entice into the market a good many short-sellers. It would be an excellent stock to sell short.

  Yale felt a familiar tingle along his backbone. It always seemed to happen when he was pursuing an idea. A long, long chance . . . but with the small amount of Latham stock outstanding . . . if he could produce an artificial rise with his buying, and if the short-seller
s could be lured in . . . he might achieve a corner on the stock. A lot would depend on Agatha Latham. He would have to convince her not to be greedy and to stay out of the market while he was maneuvering. With no stock to cover the short sales, he would have short-sellers boiled in their oil. The question was whether the lure was strong enough to attract the short-sellers. Commodore Vanderbilt had done it with the Harlem Railway in 1860. The shorts had settled with Vanderbilt for $179 a share. Today, with all the market regulations, it would have to be done very carefully.

  Yale studied past market corners. It was a tricky business. At any rate, well out of his financial means at the moment. "What I am looking for right now," he told Sam, "is a special deal that will erupt fast. Something I can get in and get out of quickly."

  "If you start playing for the jackpot," Sam warned him, "you'll lose your whole three hundred thousand. I've seen the speculators come and go. You might as well play the horses."

  Yale went to lunch with Sam a few days later. As they drank martinis Yale told him a little about his ideas. "I studied religion, philosophy, and psychology in college, all basically because I am fascinated with man. You wonder what I am going to do with Challenge, Inc. I hope to make Challenge a secular religion for man." Sam was listening with interest. Too interested, for the moment, Yale decided. "Anyway, that's beside the point, Sam. I do think by studying carefully the human elements in any situation, you can reasonably well predict what will happen. This you'll say is market research, and that's true. But my method is not statistical. What I am referring to is the basic emotional elements. Damned few businessmen are concerned with them. They analyze most situations in an emotional vacuum, and then in actual practice -- say, in the introduction of a new product or the installation of a new production method -- they run smack into the emotional situation which throws their plans seven ways to Sunday."