CHAPTER XI

THE LAMP OF ALADDIN

When Stuart reached Bivens's new offices in Wall Street he was amazed at their size and magnificence. The first impression was one of dazzling splendour. The huge reception hall was trimmed from floor to dome in onyx and gold. The draperies were a deep scarlet, with massive furniture and oriental rugs to match. A fountain with concealed electric lights adorned the centre.

Stuart nodded to a group of reporters waiting for the chance of a word with the great man.

A reporter ventured to give him some information.

"I'm afraid you're too late, not a chance to see him; look at 'em waiting."

He waved around the room at the crowd lounging about or gazing at the paintings.

"Looks like a full house, doesn't it?" Stuart answered casually.

"They've been here for hours. There's a senator of the United States, three members of the House of Representatives, the Ambassador of a European court, the Governor of a Chinese province, a Japanese Prince and a dozen big politicians from as many states, to say nothing of the small fry."

"Well, I have an appointment with Mr. Bivens at this hour."

"Really!" the reporter gasped. "Then for heaven's sake give me a chance at you five minutes before the other fellows. Remember now, I saw you first!"

He was still pleading when Stuart smilingly drew away and followed one of Bivens's secretaries.

He passed rapidly through a labyrinth of outer offices, each entrance guarded by a detective who eyed him with keen scrutiny as he passed.

Bivens came forward to greet him with outstretched hands.

"I needn't say I'm glad to see you, Jim. How do you like my new quarters?"

"Absolutely stunning. I had no idea you cultivated such ceremonial splendours in your business."

"Yes, I like it," the financier admitted thoughtfully. "I don't mind confessing to you on the sly that it was Nan's idea, at first, but I took to it like a duck to water. And the more I see of it the better I like it."

Bivens stood warming himself before a cheerful blaze of logs while he spoke and Stuart had quietly taken a seat and watched him with growing interest.

In spite of his contempt for the mere possession of money, in spite of his traditional contempt for Bivens's antecedents, character and business methods he found himself unconsciously paying homage to the power the little dark swarthy figure to-day incarnated.

He was struck too with the fact that remarkable changes had taken place in his physical appearance during the past ten years of his reign as a financial potentate. Into his features had grown an undoubted dignity. His mouth had grown harder, colder, and more cruel and more significant of power. His eyes had sunk back deeper into his high forehead and sparkled with fiercer light. He had become more difficult of approach and carried himself with quiet conscious pride.

Stuart was scarcely prepared for the hearty, old-fashioned cordial way in which he went about the business for which he had asked him to come.

"I'm glad you like it, Jim," he added after a pause.

"It's magnificent."

"Glad," he repeated, "because you're going to come in here with me."

The lawyer lifted his brows and suppressed a smile.

"Oh, you needn't smile," Bivens went on good-naturedly. "It's as fixed as fate. You are the only man in New York who can do the work I've laid out and you've got to come. The swine who made up your convention the other day knew what they were about when they turned you down. You were too big a man for the job they gave you."

He paused and drew closer.

"Now, Jim, this is your day, those fellows out there in the reception hall can wait. You and I must have this thing out--man to man, heart to heart. You can talk plainly and I'll answer squarely."

The little man stopped again and looked at the ceiling thoughtfully.

"I've got a proposition to make to you, so big you've got to hear it, so big you can't get away from it, because you're not a fool. You are a man of genius. You have eloquence and magnetism, intellect and will. Among all the men I have met in this town I don't know one who is your equal. There is no height to which you can not climb when once your feet are on the ladder. And I'm going to put them there."

The assurance in Bivens's voice and the contagious enthusiasm with which he spoke impressed Stuart.

Bivens was quick to recognize it and strike at once.

"Before I present my plans I want to show you that I can make good my word. I have caused these reporters to be sent here to-day for the purpose of giving the widest publicity to the facts about my fortune. Another run has been planned to-morrow on one of my banks. I have placed my money and securities in the next room so arranged that you can verify my statements, and at the proper moment I shall ask these reporters into the place and let them see with their own eyes. There can be no more rumours in Wall Street about my financial status. Come in here."

Bivens led the way into the room beyond, which was the meeting place of the directors of his many corporations.

Stuart had scarcely passed the door when he stopped, struck dumb with amazement. In the centre of the great office was a sight that held him spellbound. An immense vermilion wood table six feet wide and fifty feet in length filled the centre. On it the wizard had placed his fortune of ninety millions of dollars. Twenty millions were in gold its heavy weight sustained by extra stanchions. The coin, apparently all new from the National mint, was carefully arranged around the edges of the table in a solid bulwark two feet high.

Behind this gleaming yellow pile of gold he had placed his stocks and bonds--each pile showing on its top layer the rich green, gold or purple colours of its issue, each pile marked with a tag which showed its total amount.

The effect was stunning. The whole scheme of decorations of the immense room lent itself to the effects the financier had sought to produce. The walls were covered with rich brown leather fastened with leather-covered nails and every piece of woodwork in the floor, wainscoting, beams and panels as well as the furniture, was of solid dark red vermilion wood from the heart of a South American forest.

From the panelling on the inside wall huge doors of a safe stood open, showing the entrance to a steel vault from which a noiseless electric elevator led to the storage vaults five stories below the surface of the ground. The dark panelling, the massive furniture, and the rich leather-covered walls with their heavy ceilings, all accented the weird effects of the millions of gleaming coin and gorgeously tinted stocks and bonds. The huge table seemed to fill and crowd the entire room and the wall of gold to be pushing itself against the ceiling.

Bivens approached the table softly and reverently, as a priest approaches the High Altar, and touched the gold with the tips of his slender little fingers.

"In romances, Jim, remorse always crushes and kills the rich man----"

Bivens paused and smiled.

"But in life, never! He laughs and grows fat. I haven't reached the fat period yet because I've just begun----"

"You've just begun?" Stuart interrupted, laughingly.

"Yes, you'll understand what I mean before I've finished the day's work."

"But why?" the young lawyer asked passionately. "Such a purpose seems to me in view of this stunning revelation the sheerest insanity. Life, the one priceless thing we possess, is too short. And what lies beyond the six feet of earth we don't know."

"That's because you're an unbeliever, Jim."

There could be no mistaking the seriousness with which Bivens spoke. Yet Stuart laughed in spite of his effort to control the impulse.

"On the other hand, Cal," he answered, with mischievous banter, "if your little heaven and your little hell in which you seem to take so much comfort are true, so much the worse. I can see you shovelling coal through all eternity----"

"But I happen to be going to the other place," Bivens broke in, good-naturedly.

Stuart looked at the pile of gold a moment and then at Bivens and said slowly:

"Well, if you do get there, Cal, there's one thing certain, the angels will all have to sleep with their pocket-books under their pillows."

Bivens's eyes sparkled and a smile played about the hard lines of his mouth. In spite of its doubtful nature he enjoyed the tribute to his financial genius beneath the banter of his friend's joke.

With a gesture of conscious dignity he turned to the table and quietly said:

"Count one of those heaps of coin. Each stack of twenty-dollar pieces contains a hundred--exactly two thousand dollars. Between each pile of a million a scarlet thread is drawn. When you have counted one section, you will find twenty exactly like it. Verify my statement and then make a note of those packages of stocks and bonds, all gilt-edged dividend payers. On that side table there in the corner," he waved in that direction, "I have thrown a heap of rubbish, the common stock of various corporations, not yet paying a dividend. Some of it will be very valuable in time. For example, 100,000 shares of U.S. Steel, Common. When that stock reaches par, and it will yet do it, that package alone will be worth ten millions. I haven't counted any of that stuff at all.

"You will find on this table exactly ninety millions. Within an hour you can examine each division of coin, stocks and bonds and bear witness to the truth of my assertions. I'm going to close that door and leave you here for an hour."

"Alone with all that?"

"Oh, there's only one way out," Bivens laughed, "through my little reception room and I'll be there. I'll meet some of the gentlemen who are waiting. When you are satisfied of the accuracy of my account, just tap on my door and I'll join you immediately. Do the inspection carefully. It's of grave importance. I shall call on you as a witness bye and bye before that group of newspaper men."

When Bivens disappeared into the adjoining room, Stuart at once began the task of verifying the financier's statement of his assets. In half an hour he had completed the task with sufficient care to be reasonably sure there could be no mistake--a million dollars more or less was of no importance. Ten millions in gold would make good every liability of Bivens's banks.

When Stuart had satisfied himself of the accuracy of the count, he stood gazing at the queer looking piles of yellow metal and richly tinted paper, stunned by the attempt to realize the enormous power over men which it represented. Even in dead bulk as it lay there the power it represented was something enormous, an annual banking income of at least four millions, a sum beyond the power of any human being to spend intelligently. But when the huge pile should thrill with life at the touch of the deft fingers of the master who could grasp its stunning force in human affairs, who could tell its possibilities?

He folded his arms and stood there lost in thought. Through his imagination the old stories of the world's treasure-caves came trooping. The Lamp of Aladdin and all the dreams of the Arabian Nights seemed tame and passive before the incredible fact on which he gazed. Back of that marvellous vision he saw the figure of a bare-footed boy of the poor white trash of the South rising to a world empire. The very mention of his name now sent a thrill of hate, of envy or of admiration to the hearts of millions. Surely the age of the warrior, the priest, and the law-giver had passed. The age of materialism had dawned, and the new age knew but one God, whose temple was the market place.

A wave of bitterness swept his spirit, and for the first time he questioned for the briefest moment whether he had missed the way in life. Only for a moment, and then the feeling passed, and in its place slowly rose a sense of angry resentment against Bivens and all his tribe. The audacity and assurance with which he was presenting the offer of a change in the whole bent of his character he felt to be a personal insult. And yet he knew the deep, underlying, affectionate loyalty in the man's heart on which the act was based. He couldn't resent it. But when the little swarthy figure suddenly appeared in the doorway, his soul was in arms for the struggle he knew coming.

"Well, you found I've not made a mistake?"

"No. To put it mildly, you will not be forced to apply to the Charity Bureau for any outside help this year. Of course there's no telling what may happen if hard times strike you."

"But at present I ought to be able to pay my debts and still have enough to shuffle along somehow?"

"I think so. In fact I'll make oath to that effect if you need it to stem the present tide of adversity."

"Well, I don't mind confessing to you, Jim, that I went into the recent panic with only twenty-five millions. You have counted ninety there without looking over the trash on that side table. As I told you a while ago, I've just begun. I've schemes on foot that circle the globe. I've made up my mind to have you with me. We won't discuss terms now--that's a mere detail--the thing is for us to get at the differences between us. Now say the meanest and hardest things you can think. I understand."

Stuart dropped into a seat beneath the pile of millions and a frown darkened his face.

"My opinions, Cal, of your business methods are known to everyone."

"Yes I know you started life with a theory, but sooner or later, Jim, you can't resist the pressure in this town. You started with ideals you can't realize. You have grown older and wiser and don't dream so much. One by one illusions fade. One by one the men who set out to serve the common people always come over to the side of the mighty. Why? Because we alone recognize their worth and reward them accordingly."

Stuart looked at Bivens thoughtfully and then at the millions heaped on the dark blood-red table, while he slowly said:

"They say, Cal, that the warriors of the Dakota Indians used to eat the heart of a fallen foe to increase their courage and the New Zealander swallowed whole the eyes of his enemy that he might see further. Your business methods haven't made much progress beyond this stage, so far as I can see."

Bivens stroked his silken beard with a nervous puzzled movement, rose and walked to the window.

"Come here, Jim."

He gazed for a moment over the city and slowly said:

"Look over this sea of buildings rising like waves of the ocean and stretching away until its lines are lost in the clouds. The swarming thousands who live in them, what is their trade? Their business is by hook or crook, to get hold of the money simple-minded people have produced in other sections of the world. They were born to be the kings and rulers of ignorant masses. This kingship of mind over matter may be a hard law but it _is_ the law. There's no other meaning to those great buildings whose argus eyes gleam to-night in the shadows among the stars. I am simply doing what every man in New York or the world would do if he had the chance, the brains and the daring."

"Not every man, Cal," was the steady answer. "There are men in New York who would cut their right arm off rather than do such things."

"Show me one that would cut his right arm off rather than do them and I'll show you ten thousand who would cut off both arms and spare a leg to win the half of my success. I'm simply doing better than they can what they'd give their bodies and souls to do. That's why I'm above the law and people envy and worship me. If I am a devil, I am their creation. That's why I wield a power kings never knew. That's why I need regard no restraint of culture, experience, pride, class or rank. I am the product of the spirit of the age--the envy and despair of them all. I might be torn limb from limb by the black, creeping thing on the pavements below, that clutched at your throat that day, but for the fact that they all love money and lust after it with abject longing.

"The people will only get justice when they learn to love justice. Because they love privilege and lust after money they are plundered by men who are their superiors in intelligence. If I am a wolf it's because so many lambs are always bleating at my heels that I have to eat them to save my self-respect. People will continue to starve so long as they are content with a circus and a bread-line. And such people ought to starve. They get what they deserve. The government is trying to rescue four thousand men who are stranded and starving in Alaska. Are they paupers? No, just average business men who are mad for money, who dare frozen seas or blazing deserts, death or hell to win it. That's why my power _is_ power. This passion for money, money for its own sake, right or wrong, is the motive power of the modern world. That's why I laugh at my critics and sneer at threats. I am secure because I've built my career on the biggest fact of the century. You'd as well have common sense and accept the world as it is. As you've just said, we've only a little while to live in it anyhow."

"But I want to really live," Stuart broke in, "not merely exist. You don't live. You are engaged in an endless fight, desperate, cruel, mercenary--for what? The superfluous, ambitions you never exploit, privileges you don't know how to use, caprices without the genius to express them, pleasures when you don't know how to play. Why?"

"The game man, the game!"

"Game? what game? To crush and kill for the mere sake of doing it, as a sheep-killing dog strangles fifty lambs in a night for the fun of hearing them bleat? Isn't there a bigger game? a game of mutual joys and hopes, of sunlight and laughter?"

"But, Jim," the little financier protested, "I don't make men as they are, nor did I make conditions."

"Still is that any reason why a man shouldn't take his place on the right side of the fight? The eternal struggle is always on between Life and Death. A man's in league with one or the other. Which is it? You are a wrecker and not a builder."

"But is that true?" Bivens interrupted eagerly. "I'm organizing the industries of the world. I have furthered the progress of humanity."

"Yes, in a way you have. And if the price of goods continues to rise for another ten years as it has during the past ten under your organizing the human race will be compelled to make still further progress. They will have to move to another planet. Nobody but a millionaire can live on this one. A day of reckoning is bound to come."

Bivens laughed, walked back to the window and gazed down on the narrow streets below.

"A day of reckoning!" he exclaimed. "Look at those crawling lines of men, Jim, and think for a moment of the millions like them on the surface of the earth, each one fighting tooth and nail for his own kennel and the bone that he claims. Think of the centuries of stupid history back of each generation of those crawling things--their selfish habits, as fixed as the colour of hair and eyes, their pride, their little prejudices of race and creed--and talk to me about days of reckoning and revolution! Hurl yourself against the mighty system of business that has slowly built itself through the centuries out of such material and you simply beat your brains out against a granite wall."

"Well, I see something entirely different," Stuart answered, "as I look on that slowly moving line of men down there. To me they symbolize the eternal, the endless stream that sweeps through time to whose life a century is but a moment. You think that you are one of the mighty. By the signs on that table you are. And yet, you could die to-night and that black stream of humanity would flow along that narrow street to-morrow as it does to-day and not one in all the crowd would pause to look up at the flag at half mast on your building. One by one the mighty fall and are forgotten and yet that crowd grows denser, its feet swifter, and the pressure of its united life becomes more and more resistless. A hundred years from now and your name will have vanished from human memory. A millionaire dies every day. Nobody knows. Nobody cares. Is such a life at its best worth living? And yours is never at its best. You can't eat much. You don't sleep well and you can't live beyond fifty-five."

Bivens's dark face grew suddenly pale and his slender fingers touched one of the piles of gold.

"Don't talk nonsense, Jim, I'll live as long as you."

"And yet you turn pale when I speak of death."

Bivens suddenly drew his watch and spoke with quick nervous energy:

"I must call those reporters and get rid of them as soon as possible."

He gave the order, and in a few moments walked back into the room followed by the newspaper men, a half-dozen young fellows with clean-cut, eager faces.

Not one of them showed a pencil or a note-book, but not a feature of the startling exhibition escaped their intelligence. Every eye flashed with piercing light, every nerve quivered with sensitive impressions. Every sight, sound and smell wrote its story on their imagination--the odour of the flowers on Bivens's desk in the little sitting room, the picture of his wife beside them, the smell of the leather on the walls, the touch of their hands on the silent symbols of power lying in yellow heaps--all found souls that throbbed and lived and spoke in their vivid sensational reports.

They looked at Bivens with peculiar awe. Stuart noted with a smile that not one of them spoke loudly in the presence of ninety millions of dollars. All whispered except a blasé youngster from _The Evening Post_. He dared to articulate his words in modulated tones. He seemed to regard himself as a sort of assistant high priest at this extraordinary function. The other fellows unconsciously paid the tribute of whispered awe to the great god all true New Yorkers worship.

When Bivens led them out at last and returned to the room, he was in high spirits.

"Now, Jim," he began hastily, "if you have said all the bad things you can possibly think about me, we'll get down to business and I'll present the big proposition you can't resist. As I told you a while ago, I've just begun to make money. Come into the next room while my men remove the evil from our midst."

He smiled lovingly at his treasures as if in apology for his momentary levity.

##