But meantime at the office of Skinyer and Beatem all was activity. For not only were they drafting the conveyances of the perpetual trusts as fast as legal brains working overtime could do it, but in another part of the office a section of the firm were busily making their preparations against the expected actions for fraud and warrants of distraint and injunctions against disposal of assets and the whole battery of
artillery which might open on them at any moment. And they worked like a corps of military engineers fortifying an escarpment, with the joy of battle in their faces.
The storm might break at any moment. Already at the office of the
Financial Undertone
the type was set for a special extra with a heading three inches high:
COLLAPSE
OF THE ERIE CONSOLIDATED
ARREST OF THE MAN TOMLINSON
EXPECTED THIS AFTERNOON
Skinyer and Beatem had paid the editor, who was crooked, two thousand dollars cash to hold back that extra for twenty-four hours; and the editor had paid the reporting staff, who were crooked, twenty-five dollars each to keep the news quiet, and the compositors, who were also crooked, ten dollars per man to hold their mouths shut till the morning, with the result that from editors and sub-editors and reporters and compositors the news went seething forth in a flood that the Erie Auriferous Consolidated was going to shatter into fragments like the bursting of a dynamite bomb. It rushed with a thousand whispering tongues from street to street, till it filled the corridors of the law-courts and the lobbies of the offices, and till every honest man that held a share of the stock shivered in his tracks and reached out to give, sell, or destroy it. Only the unwinking Idiots, and the mild Orphans, and the calm Deaf-mutes, and the impassive Chinese held tight to what they had. So gathered the storm, till all the town, like the great rotunda of the Grand Palaver, was filled with a silent “call for Mr. Tomlinson,” voiceless and ominous.
And while all this was happening, and while at Skinyer and Beatem’s they worked with frantic pens and clattering type, there came a knock at the door, hesitant and uncertain, and before the eyes of the astounded office there stood in his wide-awake hat and long black coat the figure of ‘the man Tomlinson’ himself.
And Skinyer, the senior partner, no sooner heard what Tomlinson wanted than he dashed across the outer office to his partner’s room with his hyena face all excitement as he said:
“Beatem, Beatem, come over to my room. This man is absolutely the biggest thing in America. For sheer calmness and nerve I never heard of anything to approach him. What do you think he wants to do?”
“What?” said Beatem.
“Why, he’s giving his entire fortune to the university.”
“By Gad!” ejaculated Beatem, and the two lawyers looked at one another, lost in admiration of the marvellous genius and assurance of Tomlinson.
Yet what had happened was very simple.
Tomlinson had come back from the university filled with mingled hope and hesitation. The university, he saw, needed the money, and he hoped to give it his entire fortune, to put Dr. Boomer in a position to practically destroy the whole place. But, like many a modest man, he lacked the assurance to speak out. He felt that up to the present the benefactors of the university had been men of an entirely different class from himself.
It was mother who solved the situation for him.
“Well, father,” she said, “there’s one thing I’ve learned already since we’ve had money. If you want to get a thing
done you can always find people to do it for you if you pay them. Why not go to those lawyers that manage things for the company and get them to arrange it all for you with the college?”
As a result, Tomlinson had turned up at the door of the Skinyer and Beatem office.
“Quite so, Mr. Tomlinson,” said Skinyer, with his pen already dipped in the ink, “a perfectly simple matter. I can draw up a draft of conveyance with a few strokes of the pen. In fact, we can do it on the spot.”
What he meant was, “In fact, we can do it so fast that I can pocket a fee of five hundred dollars right here and now while you have the money to pay me.”
“Now then,” he continued, “let us see how it is to run.”
“Well,” said Tomlinson, “I want you to put it that I give all my stock in the company to the university.”
“All of it?” said Skinyer, with a quiet smile to Beatem.
“Every cent of it, sir,” said Tomlinson; “just write down that I give all of it to the college.”
“Very good,” said Skinyer, and he began to write, “I, so-and-so, and so-and-so, of the county of so-and-so – Cahoga, I think you said, Mr. Tomlinson?”
“Yes, sir,” said the Wizard, “I was raised there.”
“– do hereby give, assign, devise, transfer, and the transfer is hereby given, devised and assigned, all those stocks, shares, hereditaments, etc., which I hold in the etc., etc., all, several and whatever – you will observe, Mr. Tomlinson, I am expressing myself with as great brevity as possible – to that institution, academy, college, school, university, now known and reputed to be Plutoria University, of the city of etc., etc.”
He paused a moment. “Now what special objects or purposes shall I indicate?” he asked.
Whereupon Tomlinson explained as best he could, and Skinyer, working with great rapidity, indicated that the benefaction was to include a Demolition Fund for the removal of buildings, a Retirement Fund for the removal of professors, an Apparatus Fund for the destruction of apparatus, and a General Sinking Fund for the obliteration of anything not otherwise mentioned.
“And I’d like to do something, if I could, for Mr. Boomer himself, just as man to man,” said Tomlinson.
“All right,” said Beatem, and he could hardly keep his face straight. “Give him a chunk of the stock – give him half a million.”
“I will,” said Tomlinson; “he deserves it.”
“Undoubtedly,” said Mr. Skinyer.
And within a few minutes the whole transaction was done, and Tomlinson, filled with joy, was wringing the hands of Skinyer and Beatem, and telling them to name their own fee.
They had meant to, anyway.
“Is that legal, do you suppose?” said Beatem to Skinyer, after the Wizard had gone. “Will it hold water?”
“Oh, I don’t think so,” said Skinyer, “not for a minute. In fact, rather the other way. If they make an arrest for fraudulent flotation, this conveyance, I should think, would help to send him to the penitentiary. But I very much doubt if they can arrest him. Mind you, the fellow is devilish shrewd.
You
know, and I know, that he planned this whole flotation with a full knowledge of the fraud.
You
and
I
know it – very good – but we know it more from our trained instinct in such
things than by any proof. The fellow has managed to surround himself with such an air of good faith from start to finish that it will be deuced hard to get at him.”
“What will he do now?” said Beatem.
“I tell you what he’ll do. Mark my words. Within twenty-four hours he’ll clear out and be out of the state, and if they want to get him they’ll have to extradite. I tell you he’s a man of extraordinary capacity. The rest of us are nowhere beside him.”
In which, perhaps, there was some truth.
“Well, mother,” said the Wizard, when he reached the thousand-dollar suite, after his interview with Skinyer and Beatem, his face irradiated with simple joy, “it’s done. I’ve put the college now in a position it never was in before, nor any other college; the lawyers say so themselves.”
“That’s good,” said mother.
“Yes, and it’s a good thing I didn’t lose the money when I tried to. You see, mother, what I hadn’t realised was the good that could be done with all that money if a man put his heart into it. They can start in as soon as they like and tear down those buildings. My! but it’s just wonderful what you can do with money. I’m glad I didn’t lose it.”
So they talked far into the evening. That night they slept in an Aladdin’s palace filled with golden fancies.
And in the morning the palace and all its visions fell tumbling about their heads in sudden and awful catastrophe. For with Tomlinson’s first descent to the rotunda it broke. The whole great space seemed filled with the bulletins and the broadside sheets of the morning papers, the crowd surging to and fro buying the papers, men reading them as they stood, and everywhere in great letters there met his eye:
COLLAPSE
OF THE ERIE AURIFEROUS
THE GREAT GOLD SWINDLE
ARREST OF THE MAN TOMLINSON
EXPECTED THIS MORNING
So stood the Wizard of Finance beside a pillar, the paper fluttering in his hand, his eyes fixed, while about him a thousand eager eyes and rushing tongues sent shame into his stricken heart.
And there his boy Fred, sent from upstairs, found him; and at the sight of the seething crowd and his father’s stricken face, aged as it seemed all in a moment, the boy’s soul woke within him. What had happened he could not tell, only that his father stood there, dazed, beaten, and staring at him on every side in giant letters:
ARREST OF THE MAN TOMLINSON
“Come, father, come upstairs,” he said, and took him by the arm, dragging him through the crowd.
In the next half-hour as they sat and waited for the arrest in the false grandeur of the thousand-dollar suite, – Tomlinson, his wife, and Fred, – the boy learnt more than all the teaching of the industrial faculty of Plutoria University could have taught him in a decade. Adversity laid its hand upon him, and at its touch his adolescent heart turned to finer stuff than the salted gold of the Erie Auriferous. As he looked upon his father’s broken figure waiting meekly for arrest, and his mother’s blubbered face, a great wrath burned itself into his soul.
“When the sheriff comes –” said Tomlinson, and his lip trembled as he spoke. He had no other picture of arrest than that.
“They can’t arrest you, father,” broke out the boy. “You’ve done nothing. You never swindled them. I tell you, if they try to arrest you, I’ll –” and his voice broke and stopped upon a sob, and his hands clenched in passion.
“You stay here, you and mother. I’ll go down. Give me your money and I’ll go and pay them and we’ll get out of this and go home. They can’t stop us; there’s nothing to arrest you for.”
Nor was there. Fred paid the bill unmolested, save for the prying eyes and babbling tongues of the rotunda.
And a few hours from that, while the town was still ringing with news of his downfall, the Wizard with his wife and son walked down from their thousand-dollar suite into the corridor, their hands burdened with their satchels. A waiter, with something between a sneer and an obsequious smile upon his face, reached out for the valises, wondering if it was still worth while.
“You get to hell out of that!” said Fred. He had put on again his rough store suit in which he had come from Cahoga County, and there was a dangerous look about his big shoulders and his set jaw. And the waiter slunk back.
So did they pass, unarrested and unhindered, through corridor and rotunda to the outer portals of the great hotel.
Beside the door of the Palaver as they passed out was a tall official with a uniform and a round hat. He was called by the authorities a
chasseur
or a
commissionaire
, or some foreign name to mean that he did nothing.
At the sight of him the Wizard’s face flushed for a moment, with a look of his old perplexity.
“I wonder,” he began to murmur, “how much I ought –”
“Not a damn cent, father,” said Fred, as he shouldered past the magnificent
chasseur
; “let him work.”
With which admirable doctrine the Wizard and his son passed from the portals of the Grand Palaver.
Nor was there any arrest either then or later. In spite of the expectations of the rotunda and the announcements of the
Financial Undertone
, the “man Tomlinson” was
not
arrested, neither as he left the Grand Palaver nor as he stood waiting at the railroad station with Fred and mother for the outgoing train for Cahoga County.
There was nothing to arrest him for. That was not the least strange part of the career of the Wizard of Finance. For when all the affairs of the Erie Auriferous Consolidated were presently calculated up by the labours of Skinyer and Beatem and the legal representatives of the Orphans and the Idiots and the Deaf-mutes, they resolved themselves into the most beautiful and complete cipher conceivable. The salted gold about paid for the cost of the incorporation certificate: the development capital had disappeared, and those who lost most preferred to say the least about it; and as for Tomlinson, if one added up his gains on the stock market before the fall and subtracted his bill at the Grand Palaver and the thousand dollars which he gave to Skinyer and Beatem to recover his freehold on the lower half of his farm, and the cost of three tickets to Cahoga station, the debit and credit account balanced to a hair.
Thus did the whole fortune of Tomlinson vanish in a night, even as the golden palace seen in the mirage of a desert sunset may fade before the eyes of the beholder, and leave no trace behind.
––
It was some months after the collapse of the Erie Auriferous that the university conferred upon Tomlinson the degree of Doctor of Letters
in absentia
. A university must keep its word, and Dean Elderberry Foible, who was honesty itself, had stubbornly maintained that a vote of the faculty of arts once taken and written in the minute book became as irrefragable as the Devonian rock itself.
So the degree was conferred. And Dean Elderberry Foible, standing in a long red gown before Dr. Boomer, seated in a long blue gown, read out after the ancient custom of the college the Latin statement of the award of the degree of Doctor of Letters, “Eduardus Tomlinsonius, vir clarissimus, doctissimus, praestissimus,” and a great many other things all ending in
issimus
.
But the recipient was not there to receive. He stood at that moment with his boy Fred on a windy hill-side beside Lake Erie, where Tomlinson’s Creek ran again untrammelled to the lake. Nor was the scene altered to the eye, for Tomlinson and his son had long since broken a hole in the dam with pickaxe and crowbar, and day by day the angry water carried down the vestiges of the embankment till all were gone. The cedar poles of the electric lights had been cut into fence-rails; the wooden shanties of the Italian gang of Auriferous workers had been torn down and split into firewood; and where they had stood, the burdocks and the thistles of the luxuriant summer conspired to hide the traces of their shame. Nature reached out its hand and drew its coverlet of green over the grave of the vanished Eldorado.