"You mean share him! . . . like Cynthia and Anne have to share you?" Clara asked disgustedly.
Yale shrugged. "Why not? You've got two kids. What would Sam gain if he left you? I'll bet this woman that Sam knows is more insecure than you are. I think a lot of divorce problems would vanish into thin air, if the maligned wife invited the other woman home. Probably, if you invited this girl to stay in your home, you might discover that under all the nastiness and shame that society insists that you feel . . . really, this other woman was a human being, too. It would be a nice solution for the several million women in this country who never will marry."
Clara smiled. "Which is to say you are somewhat Victorian in your ideas about females. . . . It's a man's world and all that crap. Some day, Yale Marratt . . . someone is going to get pretty mad with you . . . of all the dumb ideas!" Clara was silent, but Anne and Cynthia noticed that she was looking at Sam quizzically.
"I'm damned if I can see how you can sit here and discuss . . ." Sam was about to say "unimportant things," but he thought better of it. "Things like this when we've got a million dollar deal in the fire. Remember, Yale, part of this Latham deal has been financed by me." Pleased that at last he had captured Yale's attention, Sam continued. "Let me bring you up to date. I picked up another five thousand shares of Latham stock yesterday. An old duffer out in Chicago had them. I was lucky to get to him first. Despite the publicity he didn't know what was going on. I got it for forty dollars a share. You've got one hundred and ninety thousand shares now. With Agatha's fifty thousand shares, you've got clear control." Sam laughed, "I'll bet even your old man has been tempted in this deal. He's listed with two thousand shares. The short-sellers are willing to pay ninety dollars a share. That would net your father one hundred and eighty thousand dollars. His loyalty to Alfred Latham must be under a severe test. How about you, Agatha? You could make a couple of million dollars damned quick."
"It's going to be worth considerably more to go to the next board meeting and see my brother's face," Agatha said. "Besides, I have had those oil leases checked very carefully. I think, for once in his life, my brother may have made an excellent investment. They may be more valuable than the Shipyard."
"What have I averaged out at?" Yale asked Sam.
"Right at the moment we are in it for a total of five million, seven hundred thousand. Thirty dollars a share. I'm in as deep as you are, chum. But if necessary we could liquidate the place and clear a few million. The Latham Yards own one hell of a lot of Midhaven real estate. Besides . . . there are those oil leases. . . ." Sam grinned at Agatha. "What are you going to do with the short sellers . . . especially Paul Downing? He really got sucked in. He's forty thousand shares short. In addition to his stock there were at least another sixty thousand that were sold short when the stock was selling for about eighteen dollars a share."
Yale smiled. "I'm going to try to have my cake and eat it. Tomorrow I will offer Downing forty thousand shares at seventy-five dollars a share. That's a damned good deal. I could try for more but I want to get clear before the thing gets too hot legally. I think Downing will snap it up. He'll get off a nasty hook for three million dollars. He can afford it."
Sam shook his head. "You want to be careful. You'll lose control of Latham's. You and Agatha have got to hold onto at least a hundred and eighty thousand shares between you. Alfred Latham has a hundred thousand. If you're too greedy you and Agatha could end up depending on proxies for clear control. Alfred will try to pick up any stock you sell to the short sellers."
Yale looked at Aunt Agatha who had been following their conversation with great interest.
"What do you think, Aunt Agatha?"
"Oh, I've been thinking, young man. Don't worry about that! I figure that if you can manage it, you'll have made nearly a million dollars, clear, and you still will have one hundred thousand shares of Latham stock. Anyone as clever as that, Sam, will swing those proxies when the time comes. When do we force a stockholder's meeting, Yale? I think you should make it next week for certain." Agatha sipped her Scotch. She looked meditatively at Sam. "I think we should elect you President, and myself Chairman of the Board. Of course, we must not overlook the fact that Paul Downing was playing golf with Pat Marratt and my brother this morning. They are no doubt hoping to prick our little balloon. What they don't know is that when Yale came to me with his little scheme I decided that if Sam Higgins could quietly try to pick up some Latham stock I could certainly do as well. I bought an additional ten thousand shares of Latham stock last April just as security."
Sam looked at Agatha suspiciously. "You must have been responsible for that famous saying. . . ."
Agatha took the hook. She asked Sam what he meant. She laughed until she had to wipe tears out of her eyes when Sam said coolly: "I wouldn't trust my own grandmother . . ." Sam turned to Yale. "Cripes, I think Agatha should be Chairman of the Board. She's a fox."
"Agatha and I have another plan," Yale said. "If there's anyone that could put Latham on its feet, I think it's Pat Marratt. I'm sure, Sam, that you have too many irons in the fire to fool with Latham's. I'm not interested. Pat Marratt might make a few concessions to get the prestige. Agatha has agreed to let me feel him out." Yale picked another hot dog off the grill. He slowly spooned piccalilli on it. "There's no doubt about it. Marratt piccalilli is the best there is," he said admiringly. "I think the Marratt stock would look good in the portfolio of Challenge Incorporated."
"What!" Anne and Cynthia demanded almost simultaneously . . . amazed disbelief in their voices.
"Pat called me this morning," Yale continued coolly. "He insisted that I meet with him and Paul Downing in his office tomorrow morning. I told him that any discussion we would have required clarification. I mentioned that the board of directors of Challenge Incorporated would have to be present. When I told him that I would meet with him in the Challenge barn, I could hear him sputter. I think he believes that we are going to talk business in a stable, among horses and cows. Anyway, he's coming. We'll see what develops."
"Oh, Yale. I won't sleep all night." Cynthia wailed. "Why do Anne and I have to see him?"
Yale smiled at her and Anne. "I just want to remind you that you and Anne are the co-directors of Challenge. Tomorrow, your financial advisor . . . meaning me . . . Yale grinned, ". . . will offer Pat a very interesting proposition, in exchange for his eventual assignment of the stock in Marratt Corporation to your non-profit foundation. You may have Pat as a productive partner. . . ."
"I can see him, now . . ." Anne groaned. "You don't really think he'll buy that idea, do you, Yale?" she asked sarcastically.
Yale shrugged. "Probably not . . . but it would simplify things if he would."
They talked for a while, trying to anticipate the national reaction to Mat Chilling's book. Working in cooperation with an established publisher, Challenge, Inc. had completely subsidized the promotion. Complete distribution would be accomplished within ten days. Full advertising would start to break tomorrow. All possible media had been covered . . . national spot radio advertising . . . national coverage through newspapers and magazines . . . even some billboard advertising: "Challenge Foundation presents the most important book written in the past hundred years, Spoken in My Manner . A book to guide thinking men and women everywhere. A book that will spell the end of war and hatred for all mankind."
"It's the first book," Yale said, "that has ever been launched with a million dollar advertising campaign. Actually, it is the opening gun for Challenge Incorporated. We plan to sell at least half a million copies."
Sam flipped the pages of a copy of the book. "I don't know anything about book publishing," he said, "and I still am not quite sure what in the hell Challenge is trying to do . . . but I think in this area, Yale, you are a little cracked. You've stuck a price tag of ten dollars a copy on this book. It has four hundred pages. I'd say it was worth about five dollars at the most."
"Open to the middle of the book," Anne told him. "See . . . when
you buy a copy of this book, you send us your name and address. Your ten dollars makes you a contributor and charter member of Challenge Incorporated. All that you have to do is to fill out the pre-paid postcard . . . and tell us that you believe in the Ten Commandments of Challenge. We will send you your own personal gadfly pin, or lapel button." Anne shoved a tiny box across the table to Sam. Sam opened it and took out a pin that was a perfect reproduction of a green cattle fly. Sam turned it over and over, bewildered. "Who in hell would want to wear this?"
"Millions of people we hope . . ." Cynthia said. "Actually you don't have to wear the pin. It is a psychological symbol. It means that you are picking up the challenge that Socrates accepted as his mission in life. Like him you became a gadfly to make men think . . . to analyze with whatever powers they may have; to never stop seeking the truth." Cynthia's voice was very earnest. Yale looked at her, surprised at her intensity.
Sam was about to reply when Yale said, "Sam . . . read the book, and then argue with us. It will make it much simpler."
Sam shrugged. He looked at his watch. "It's eleven o'clock. I'm pooped. Let's go to bed and read a while, Clara."
Clara looked at Sam with raised eyebrows. Reluctantly, she followed him into the house. In a few minutes they all decided to go to bed. Yale helped Aunt Agatha up the carpeted staircase. Cynthia fretted that they should have offered Clara a separate room. "She said that she hadn't slept with him since April. Now they have the bedroom with that single bed."
When they were back in their bedroom Cynthia said goodnight to Yale and Anne.
Anne yawned. "It's too hot . . ." she said sleepily. "I pass. Okay, honey? Besides, I wouldn't call this afternoon a checkmate . . . no matter what you told Sam. He isn't that powerful a king . . . is he, Cindar?"
Cynthia blushed. "I felt like the fisherman in the Arabian nights who pulled a strange bottle out of the water . . . uncorked it . . . and out popped a monster."
"He wasn't a monster!" Yale said, joining their banter. "He was a good-natured genii that became the fisherman's slave." Yale sucked in his chest. Naked, he bowed to the floor. "At your service, memsahibs. Command castles, and they are yours. Command the wealth of the world, and it is yours . . . as for me . . ." he said, flipping a towel at Anne's behind, "I'm going for a moonlight swim. Come on. It will cool you off. . . ."
The late July moon was silver on the water of the pool. They swam for nearly an hour, playing like puppies in the water, nudging each other, piling into each other, gliding their hands over each other's bodies; threatening, cajoling, laughing for no reason other than sheer delight. Finally, exhausted and shivering, they lay together on the cement edge of the pooi and silently contemplated the stars and the long moonlit shadows of the pine trees.
Yale kissed them. "Reminds me of a poem," he said softly, ". . . de la Mare . . .
Slowly, silently, now the moon walks the night in her silver shoon. This way and that she peers and sees silver fruit on silver trees. . . .
"Shhh . . . Be quiet," Cynthia whispered.
"Someone is coming . . ." Anne said.
"I'll bet it's Sam and Clara," Yale said. "We should have invited them, I guess."
Both Anne and Cynthia protested that they weren't in the mood to see either Sam or Clara again tonight. "Particularly, not naked like this," Cynthia said. They hid in the shadows of the cabanas, out of sight, and waited, feeling guilty at spying, wondering what they would say if they were accidentally seen.
Sam and Clara, wearing bathing suits and carrying towels, walked out of the pine grove that skirted the pool, onto the moonlit flagstones. They were holding hands. They stood silently and watched the water. Then Clara turned and kissed Sam. A second later to their amazement they saw Clara swiftly slip out of her Bikini bathing suit and dive into the pool. Sam took off his trunks and dove in after her.
"Am I seeing things?" Cynthia gasped. Yale was chuckling.
"For heaven's sakes, you two," Anne said. "Shut up before they hear us." While Sam and Clara were swimming together Yale wondered if the three of them might reach the path to the house unseen. He put his arms around Anne and Cynthia. They were both shivering. Yale was about to ask them if they should make a run for the house, when Sam and Clara emerged from the pool.
"It's too late, now," he whispered. "We shouldn't have hidden. We'll have to sweat it out."
They saw Sam walk toward the cabanas, almost to where they were standing. He picked up a canvas-covered mattress from one of the outdoor chaises, and brought it back to where Clara was waiting near the edge of the pool. Clara lay on it.
"They are going to make love . . ." Cynthia said, wonder in her voice. "We should leave."
But they were trapped. They heard Clara gasp, "Sam . . .!"
Later, when they finally got back to their bedroom Anne and Cynthia were busy discussing it. They kissed Yale goodnight.
"I didn't want to watch . . ." Anne said to Cynthia, ". . . but I was surprised . . . even objectively it wasn't ugly. . . ."
"I was crying I was so happy for them," Cynthia said. "Sam was very gentle with her . . . I wonder what happened? Do you suppose Mat's book got them thinking . . . ?"
When Pat Marratt arrived the next morning, Anne, Cynthia, and Clara were making breakfast. Weeks had waited for Pat at the gate to escort him to the barn.
From the kitchen window, Yale saw them go by. Weeks was in the farm jeep followed by Pat's green Cadillac convertible. Pat was driving with the top down. "He's alone," Yale said. "I thought that he was going to bring Paul Downing with him."
"Don't keep him waiting," Cynthia said nervously. A vague feeling of dread had pursued her all morning. "I don't see how you can sit there so calmly and eat while he's waiting."
"It's giving me indigestion," Yale admitted with a grin, "but it will do Pat good to simmer a bit. What do you think, Sam?"
Sam looked at Yale, amused. He chewed his toast thoughtfully.
"You look inordinately pleased with yourself this morning," Yale remarked slyly. "And Clara seems to be bubbling, too. What gives?"
Sam smiled. "I think that you mentioned once that your father has a trick of purposely keeping salesmen and certain customers waiting. His theory is that it unnerves them . . . they over-perfect their lines, and when they finally get onstage they blow up. . . ." Sam buttered another piece of toast. He gave Clara a peck on the cheek as she poured more coffee. "In answer to your other question . . ." Sam pulled two cards out of his pocket, and handed them to Yale. "Clara and I have read enough of Mat Chilling's book to think that the least we can do is to become charter members. Here's your membership cards . . . all filled out."
"Give them to Anne . . ." Yale smiled. "With twenty bucks! Those copies you read were publisher's copies, and I don't remember that you paid for them!"
Aunt Agatha walked into the kitchen, shaking her head. "Imagine . . . eating breakfast at nine o'clock in the morning. I've been up since six-thirty. Ralph made wheat cakes for me." Agatha sat down at the table. "I just saw the Great Man go by. He's waiting for you, Yale. Will you need me?"
Yale told her that he would meet Pat alone. Later he would introduce him to Anne and Cynthia. Cynthia grimaced. Yale guessed that the reason that Pat had come without Paul Downing was that Pat was expecting a showdown family argument.
"I'd like to be a fly on the wall," Aunt Agatha said. "I figured you wouldn't need me. If it's all right with you, Ralph is going to drive me to Hartford."
"Sure . . . take the Buick. Watch out for Ralph, though, he knows all the tobacco fields around here where you can go necking!"
"Not me ..." Agatha snorted. "I'm way past that cuddling nonsense."
"Aunt Agatha! . . . you are only eighty," Clara said seriously. "I know that I'll want to be cuddled when I'm eighty."
"Well, you're the helpless type!" Agatha said coolly. "I never would let any man think that he is my boss." She squeezed Yale's arm fondly. "I might have succumbed to this one, though. . . ." She was delighted when Yale
blushed. "See what I mean . . . he makes me feel as if we have secrets together."
Ralph stomped into the kitchen. "The old buzzard is up there," he said. "I followed your instructions and brought him right into your office. You should see him staring at everything. Guess he ain't never seen a barn like that one. You better get up there before he bursts a blood vessel. He seems a bit put out."
Yale told Cynthia and Anne to wait. He would call them on the house phone as soon as he saw how things were going. As he walked up the narrow back road that led to the barn, he tried to gauge the extent of Pat's anger. Without a doubt the money that had been spent remodeling the barn would be a shock to Pat. Even Bob Coleman had been surprised when Yale outlined his plans. The bottom floor was to be a modern office equipped with desks and office machines for at least fifty clerical workers. In the back would be four private offices and a director's room. Upstairs would be six rooms and accommodations for overnight guests. The entire rebuilding was to conform to the colonial lines of the barn. Yale told Coleman that he wanted an atmosphere that conveyed solidity. "As if Challenge Incorporated had been in business for at least a century . . ."
Coleman had achieved it by using lumber torn out of ancient Connecticut buildings. The interior had a hand-hewn effect accentuated by carefully chosen Colonial antiques. Original stables had been retained, and ancient harness and gear rooms were converted to private offices. Everywhere, the original crude but powerful structure of the huge barn had been made a part of the new structure. Into this atmosphere Coleman had contrived to bring the most modern lighting combined with modern metal office furniture. In fine cursive letters over the front door, fashioned out of black wrought iron was the legend "Challenge Inc.," and beneath it, "A Non-Profit Foundation."
When Coleman had finished just last week, he handed Yale the keys to the front door and said: "There she is, friend. The most ancient-modern offices in the country. The only things missing are employees and business. . . ."
The Rebellion of Yale Marratt Page 55
