CHAPTER XIII
HOW THE BEAR SPENT SUNDAY
Sponley was well satisfied with the course events so far had taken. He had got rid of his bank stock quietly and at a good price, with the double advantage to himself of an increased freedom of movement, and a greater supply of ammunition for his operations against Pickering. But what pleased him far more was this: he had taken Harriet almost without reserve into his confidence, and she was, as she had been in so many earlier campaigns, his partner. He remembered how she had felt when she had learned of his understanding with Curtin, and he had entertained strong misgivings as to the effect which a revelation of his present schemes would have upon her. But reflecting that, however carefully he might conceal his doings, she was sure to guess at a great deal, he had braced himself for a somewhat disagreeable scene and had told her--nearly everything.
It was his last big fight, he had said, and quite sincerely. When this lard corner of Pickering’s was fairly broken, they would go out of business and find some less exacting game to play for the rest of their lives. To his surprise, and to his infinite relief, she had entered into his plans with all her old-time enthusiasm, accepting with very good grace even the enforced hostility with John.
“It doesn’t really make so much difference,” she said; “neither of you can help it. He’s right from his point of view; but when it’s all over he’ll see your side of it, and we can be as good friends as we were before. I hope, though, that your beating Pickering won’t hurt the bank very seriously.”
“I hope so, too,” he assented, and again he told the truth.
Early in the afternoon a messenger boy brought John’s note. Harriet read it over her husband’s shoulder.
“John is quick, isn’t he?” she said.
“Yes; but it won’t do him any good. Wait a minute, boy, and I’ll give you an answer.”
He scrawled something on a sheet of note paper and handed it to her. It read:--
“DEAR BAGSBURY: I shall seriously consider doing as you suggest.
“Cordially, “MELVILLE SPONLEY.”
“That doesn’t tell him too much, does it?” he asked, smiling.
Nevertheless he settled himself to some serious thinking. Though it did not at all disconcert him, John’s note showed him that he must alter his plans. Up to this time his sole idea had been, as John had foreseen, to rouse the directors and the large stockholders in an opposition sufficiently determined to compel the Banker to drop Pickering. That had been his motive for the attack on the bank in this morning’s _Herald_. But between the lines of the note John had told him plainly that he had fathomed his plans, and that fully realizing the pressure which would be put upon him he was not to be frightened nor coerced. Yet somehow the bulldog must be made to let go.
“That’s the whole trick,” said Sponley, aloud. “The minute Bagsbury is put out of the fight, I can handle Pickering. John’s the only one I’ve got to give my time to.”
“Is he in as deeply as that?” she asked.
“Why the half million that Pickering got from him is a comparatively small part of the deal, of course; but he’ll give him the other half of it before the week’s out if I know John Bagsbury. He’ll see him through now, if he can. You see, the moral effect of having a big bank behind you is immense. It counts with the outside trading. Do you remember the time I first met John--took him out to lunch--I told you I was building a cyclone cellar in a bank? I built it all right, but the wrong man got in.
“Yes,” he went on after a moment of silence; “it’s John Bagsbury who’s holding up that market. When he gets out from under, it’ll come down. You don’t have to knock out all the props, you know; one’ll do the business.”
“But won’t he have to if all the directors--”
“Oh, most anybody else would, but John’s different. I sized him up right the first time I saw him. He knows what he’s in for, and he’s decided he’ll stay. I’m afraid it’ll take more than that Board of Directors to shake him out. The depositors--”
He paused, and for a while sat thinking.
“If something should scare the depositors into making a run on the bank--you see only about half its business is commercial business; the rest is savings. The big depositors wouldn’t scare. They’re stockholders mostly, and they know the old bank’s as solid as a fort. But if the little fellows who’ve got their savings in there once get the idea that it’s shaky, they’ll come, every man, woman, and child of ’em, and get their money out inside of twenty-four hours. He’d have to shut up for a while if they did that. They won’t scare, though,” he said, rising; “and I don’t know that I’d want them to. I hope the directors’ll do the trick; but if they can’t, we’ll find some other way.”
He walked over to the telephone and called up Jervis Curtin.
“You saw this morning’s _Herald_, I suppose,” he said. “Yes--I’m coming over to see you this afternoon. I had a small dispute with Mr. Bagsbury the other day, and I’ve sold out my stock. I think we’d better come to an understanding, for his benefit, as to what our relations have been-- All right--I’ll be over in about an hour.
“I’m going to make another little call on Cartwright first,” he explained to Harriet. “I won’t be long at either place. I’ll be back for tea.”
Mr. Cartwright had taken his echo home with him after their disastrous interview that morning, ostensibly for the purpose of consultation, but in reality to help him fulminate against John. They were still doing it when Sponley arrived, and between them they had worked up a fine rage. They were unaffectedly glad to see Sponley, and they showed it by redoubling the din and clamor of their outcry against the unspeakable rascality of the Banker.
Though Sponley had on the tip of his tongue the word that would correct their error, it looked for a while as though he would never have a chance to say it, for Mr. Meredith’s coda invariably gave Mr. Cartwright breath enough to begin again. But at last there was a lull.
“You’re mistaken in thinking that Bagsbury swindled you. Bagsbury is a perfectly honest man--”
“Honest!” they ejaculated.
“Though he does make a fool of himself sometimes. He did not sell you that stock.”
“He admitted it--practically,” said Cartwright.
“He could not deny it,” said Meredith.
“Whatever he said or did not say,” the Bear went on, “he did not sell you that stock. I have come here this afternoon because I have just discovered that I sold it to you myself.”
Sponley might take as much time as he pleased now without fear of interruption. Two disconnected electric bells lying in a box in the hardware shop are not more incapable of sound than were at that moment the two old trustees.
“I need hardly tell you,” said Sponley, “that I had no such intention. I put my stock in Myers’s hands with no other instructions than that he sell at once. I did not inquire who had bought the stock, and it was only by chance that I learned to-day that I had been so unfortunate as to sell it to you. I think I owe it to you to be quite frank with you as to my reason for selling out. I did it because I no longer regard Bagsbury and Company’s Bank as a good investment.”
He gave the words time to sink in deep before he went on. “I don’t mean to say that it’s extremely dangerous, but it is not wholly safe. If anybody is going to speculate with my money, I want it to be myself, not the president of a bank that I hold stock in.
“Bagsbury’s bank is running a great big speculation; they may win or they may lose; that has nothing to do with it. I get out of a bank just as soon as it goes out of the banking business, and I’m glad I’m well out of Bagsbury’s. But I regret that my profit should have been at your expense.”
Mr. Cartwright was trying to say something, and Sponley added quickly:--
“If I were in a position to take the stock back--but there’s no use in discussing that. I’ve already put the money I got for it where I can’t get it back.”
Gradually the two scared old gentlemen recovered their power of speech, and Sponley answered their questions, alternately quieting their fears by the assurance that they would find no difficulty in selling their stock, and waking their alarm again by impressing upon them the urgent need of being all sold out by to-morrow night.
As he rose to take his leave, he said, “I have talked with you very frankly, because, as I said, I have felt that I owed you no less than that, and I am sure you realize the immense importance of guarding these facts most carefully. Of course, if anything should escape concerning the condition of the bank, the consequences would be serious. I know that you will agree with me on that point. I wish you the greatest success in disposing of the stock.”
Sponley had one more matter to attend to that day, and then he would be prepared for anything. It was likely, he thought, that John might become suspicious of Curtin, the man Sponley had put in the bank, and it was imperative that Curtin be provided with some plausible story which should prevent John’s taking summary action and turning him out of the bank.
They discussed the matter for nearly an hour before Sponley was satisfied. “I guess that’ll do,” he said at last. “It doesn’t fit together too well, and it doesn’t explain everything; those are its best points. If you take it to him before he comes to you and asks you for it, he’ll believe you. You’d better tell him the first thing in the morning. And the other thing you’ve to do is to watch for a crowd. If you see anything that looks like a run on the bank, let me know instantly. I’ll be right in my office; Stewart and Ray will do all my trading on the floor, and you can get me in a second.”
“I’ll want to be pretty careful not to let anybody know that I’m in communication with you. After what I shall tell Bagsbury to-morrow morning, it’d look pretty black if I were caught telephoning--”
“Don’t delay for anything, not if John Bagsbury’s standing within arm’s length of the ’phone. I’ve got to know of the run on the bank within two minutes of the time it starts.”
“All right,” said Curtin; “Bagsbury’s pretty strong in his hands, but I guess I could take my chances with him.”
Sponley nodded. “That’s the idea. Well, I’m going home to take things easy. I’ve done a good day’s work and there’s a big rush coming. Next Sunday I mean to start off on a long vacation.”
The Bear drove home in a most cheerful frame of mind. Never before had he entered on a campaign that promised so well. It would be short, furious, and, he felt sure, brilliantly successful.
As soon as Bagsbury’s bank should open to-morrow, he would draw all of his money out of it. Then he would begin hammering away at Pickering, selling him both cash and September lard in enormous quantities. Just as the great bull trader was weakening, there would come the rumor and in a moment the news of the run on the bank. When that happened, it would all be over but the shouting--and the paying up. Pickering would pay. He would arrange with his creditors, and go back to the soap business, and after a few years, if he lived so long, he would try this same fool trick again.
And John, there was no doubt that Bagsbury and Company’s Bank would have to suspend payment. When they begin to run a savings bank, it is very unlikely that they will stop; and unless they stop, the closing of the doors is simply a matter of time.
We speak of a bank’s credit as being solid, but that is only a comparative term. There is nothing else which so light a touch will set fluttering. A whispered question will do it; an assertion is unnecessary. Just, “Do you know if it’s true that they are in trouble?” A confounding of two similar names in some stupid mind will do it. An office boy’s mistake in leaving the “Bank Closed” sign hanging a half an hour too long in the door will do it. Some one takes alarm, then there are three--then twenty--enough to form a line, to attract attention from the street, and, except for quickness, and nerve, and resource, and luck, on the part of those in command, there is no stopping until the money is gone.
Sponley had told Cartwright and Meredith enough to start a run on any bank; indeed, as he thought it over, he felt somewhat uneasy lest he had done more than was necessary. It would be rough on John. Sponley wondered if it would break his nerve.