CHAPTER X
THE DEMI-GOD
The clouds of the panic slowly lifted and the sun began once more to shine. A fearless officer of the law had struck a blow for justice that marked the beginning of a new era of national life. And yet apparently the only men to profit by it were the giants who rode the storm it had created. The people were left in mental bewilderment. To their short-ranged vision the young District Attorney who lay prostrate on a bed of illness was a man who had been tried and found wanting. He had either wilfully and corruptly played into the hands of a powerful group of millionaires or had blunderingly done so. In either case the act was a crime.
Slowly but surely the prices of stocks began to mount and the great men who had bought them at the bottom grew greater.
Incidentally a corner in wheat was suddenly developed, and the price of bread rose twenty per cent. Bivens was found to be the mysterious power behind the deal, and before the old-timers in the wheat pit could marshal their forces to crush him, he closed out his holdings at a profit of five millions.
The little financier awoke next morning to find himself the most famous man in America. His picture now appeared everywhere and all sorts of writers began to weave marvellous stories of his achievements. The suicide of his associates, the higher price of bread, and the long trail of blood behind the panic were forgotten by the rabble which began to regard him with the awe due a demi-god.
Nan was insisting again that he make Stuart an offer to become his associate in business.
"But my dear," the financier protested, "I've told you over and over again, in the best of humour and with infinite patience, that I'd jump at the chance, but I can't get on my knees and beg him, can I?"
"I'm sure he will consider your offer now."
"He turned it down once emphatically."
"Times have changed."
"But he hasn't. He promised you the day he was hurt to call at the house. He hasn't done it."
"He has been ill in bed ever since. He will come when he is up again."
"Perhaps," Bivens answered, musingly.
"Besides," she continued, "it's the right moment to approach him. The politicians have turned him down. Both parties have named new men for his office. He resents this action intensely. He don't want the office, but he does want the recognition of his services."
Bivens shook his head.
"It's no use. Jim's a dreamer. He'll smile and wait for the next generation to value his work."
"He won't have to wait that long. When this panic has passed he will be the biggest thing to emerge from it. His personality will be worth millions to you."
The woman's face was tense with pleading.
Bivens looked at her a moment curiously and she turned her eyes away.
"Why do you think he has changed his attitude toward me?"
"From something he said. That mob has written a question mark before his life."
"By George!" he exclaimed, his black eyes sparkling. "It may be possible."
"You'll try?" Nan asked eagerly.
"No."
"Why not?" she cried with anger.
The little man smiled cunningly.
"I'll not try--I'll _do_ it."
His wife laughed.
"Yes, I'll do it," Bivens continued with elation. "And I'll make my offer so big and generous I'll take his breath, so big that no man in human shape can resist it. I'll prepare every step so carefully that there can be no possibility of failure."
"How?"
Nan spoke her question with the eagerness of a child, and the shrewd man of the world never dreamed of the sinister motive coiled within the silent depths of her heart.
"I've an enemy somewhere among the fallen," Bivens went on musingly, "who is dying hard. With his last gasp he is trying still to reach my heart. In spite of the fact that I have unlimited resources, this man is constantly circulating reports about the soundness of my finances. He uses the telephone principally and he has started two runs on my bank within the past month. Another is pending. I'm going to ask Jim to preside over an investigation of my resources in the presence of a dozen newspaper reporters."
Nan stooped and kissed him.
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