"Nothing is so profitable as a luxury, if the luxury-loving
public want it," Colfax had once said to him; and he believed it.
He judged this truth by the things he had recently seen. People
literally spent millions to make themselves comfortable. He had
seen gardens, lawns, walks, pavilions, pergolas, laid out at an
expense of thousands and hundreds of thousands of dollars, where
few would ever see them. In St. Louis he had seen a mausoleum built
upon the lines of the Taj Mahal, the lawn about which was
undermined by a steam-heating plant in order that the flowers and
shrubs displayed there might bloom all winter long. It had never
occurred to him that the day would come when he would have anything
to do with such a dream as this or its ultimate fruition, but his
was the kind of mind that loved to dwell on things of the sort.
The proposition which Winfield now genially laid before him one
day was simple enough. Winfield had heard that Eugene was making a
good deal of money, that his salary was twenty-five thousand a
year, if not more, that he had houses and lots and some nice stock
investments, and it occurred to him, as it would have to anyone,
that Eugene might be able to shoulder a comfortable investment in
some kind of land speculation, particularly if he could see his way
to make much more money in the long run. The idea Winfield had was
as follows: He was going to organize a corporation to be known as
The Sea Island Development Company, to be capitalized at ten
million dollars, some two or three hundred thousand dollars of
which was to be laid down or paid into the treasury at the start.
Against this latter sum stock to the value of one million dollars,
or five shares of one hundred dollars par value each, was to be
issued. That is, whoever laid down one hundred dollars in cash was
to receive in return three shares of common stock and two of
preferred, valued at one hundred dollars each, bearing eight per
cent. interest. This ratio was to be continued until $200,000 in
cash was in the treasury. Then those who came afterward and were
willing to buy were only to receive two shares of common and one of
preferred, until one million in cash was in the treasury. After
that the stock was to be sold at its face value, or more, as the
situation might dictate.
The original sum of two hundred thousands dollars was to go to
purchase for the corporation an undeveloped tract of land, half
swamp, half island, and facing the Atlantic Ocean beyond Gravesend
Bay, now owned by Winfield himself, where a beautiful rolling beach
of white sand stretched some three miles in length and without flaw
or interruption. This would clear Winfield of a piece of property
which was worth, say $60,000, but at present unsaleable, and give
him magnificent holdings in the new company besides. He proposed to
take a mortgage on this and all improvements the company might make
in order to protect himself. At the west end of this tract—inland
from the sea—was a beautiful bay, which, though shallow, gave
access to a series of inlets and a network of waterways, embracing
nine small islands. These waterways, when dredged, would be amply
deep enough for yachts and small craft of all descriptions, and the
first important thought which occurred to Winfield was that the mud
and sand so dredged could be used to fill in the low, marshy levels
of soil between them and the sea and so make it all into high, dry,
and valuable land. The next thing was to devise a beautiful scheme
of improvement, and it was for this that he wished to talk to
Eugene.
The matter was not difficult to arrange. Before Winfield had
gone ten sentences, Eugene began to take the ideas out of his
mind.
"I know something of that property," he said, studying a little
outline map which Winfield had prepared. "I've been out there duck
shooting with Colfax and some others. It's fine property, there's
no doubt of it. How much do they want for it?"
"Well, as a matter of fact, I already own it," said Winfield.
"It cost me sixty thousand dollars five years ago when it was a
vast, inaccessible swamp. Nothing has been done to it since, but I
will turn it over to the company for what it is worth now—two
hundred thousand dollars—and take a mortgage for my protection.
Then the company can do what it pleases with it; but as president,
of course, I should direct the line of development. If you want to
make a fortune and have fifty thousand dollars to spare, here is
your chance. This land has increased in value from sixty to two
hundred thousand dollars in five years. What do you fancy it will
be worth in ten years from now the way New York is growing? It has
pretty near four million people now. In twenty-five years it is
safe to say that there will be fourteen or fifteen millions
scattered over this territory which lies within twenty-five miles.
Of course, this is thirty-two miles away on a direct line, but what
of it? The Long Island Railroad will be glad to put a spur in there
which would bring this territory within one hour of the city. Think
of it—one of the finest beaches on the Atlantic Ocean within one
hour of New York! I expect to interest Mr. Wiltsie, the President
of the Long Island, very heavily in this property. I come to you
now because I think your advertising and artistic advice are worth
something. You can take it or leave it, but before you do anything,
I want you to come out and look over the property with me."
All told, in stocks, land, free money in the banks, and what he
might save in a year or two, Eugene had about fifty thousand
dollars of good hard cash which he could lay his hands on at a
pinch. He was well satisfied that Winfield was putting before him
one of those golden opportunities which, prudently managed, would
make him a rich man. Nevertheless, his fifty thousand was fifty
thousand, and he had it. Never again, however, once this other
thing was under way, if it were true, would he have to worry about
a position, or whether he would be able to maintain his present
place in society. One could not possibly say what an investment
like this might not lead to. Winfield, so he told Eugene, expected
eventually to clear six or eight million dollars himself. He was
going to take stock in some of the hotels, casinos, and various
other enterprises, which would be organized. He could clearly see
how, later, once this land was properly drained and laid out, it
would be worth from three to fifteen thousand dollars per lot of
one hundred by one hundred feet—the smallest portions to be sold.
There were islands which for clubs or estates should bring splendid
returns. Think of the leases to yacht and boat clubs alone! The
company would own all the land.
"I would develop this myself if I had the capital," said
Winfield, "but I want to see it done on a gigantic scale, and I
haven't the means. I want something here which will be a monument
to me and to all connected with it. I am willing to take my chances
pro rata with those who now enter, and to prove my good faith I am
going to buy as many shares as I possibly can on the five-for-one
basis. You or anyone else can do the same thing. What do you
think?"
"It's a great idea," said Eugene. "It seems as though a dream
which had been floating about in the back of my head for years had
suddenly come to life. I can scarcely believe that it is true, and
yet I know that it is, and that you will get away with it just as
you are outlining it here. You want to be very careful how you lay
out this property, though. You have the chance of a lifetime. For
goodness' sake, don't make any mistakes! Let's have one resort that
will be truly, beautifully right."
"That's precisely the way I feel about it," answered Winfield,
"and that's why I am talking to you. I want you to come in on this,
for I think your imagination will be worth something. You can help
me lay this thing out right and advertise it right."
They talked on about one detail and another until finally
Eugene, in spite of all his caution, saw his dreams maturing in
this particular proposition. Fifty thousand dollars invested here
would give him two thousand five hundred shares—one thousand
preferred, and fifteen hundred common—whose face value, guaranteed
by this magnificent piece of property, would be $250,000. Think of
it, $250,000—a quarter of a million and that subject to a natural
increase which might readily carry him into the millionaire class!
His own brains would be of some value here, for Winfield was
anxious to have him lay this out, and this would bring him in touch
with not only one of the best real estate men in the city, but
would bring him into contact with a whole host of financiers in
business, people who would certainly become interested in this
venture. Winfield talked easily of architects, contractors,
railroad men, presidents of construction companies, all of whom
would take stock for the business opportunities it would bring to
them later and also of the many strings to be pulled which later
would bring great gains to the company and save it from
expenditures which would otherwise mean millions in outlay. Thus
this proposed extension by the Long Island which would cost that
railroad two hundred thousand dollars would cost the Sea Island
Company nothing and would bring thousands of lovers of beauty there
the moment conveniences were established to receive them. This was
true of hotels to be built. Each would bring business for
everything else. The company would lease the ground. The great
hotel men would do their own building according to restrictions and
plans laid down by the Sea Island Company. The only real
expenditure would be for streets, sewers, lights, water, walks,
trees, and the great one hundred foot wide boardwalk with concrete
ornaments which would be the finest sea stroll in the world. But
these could be undertaken by degrees.
Eugene saw it all. It was a vision of empire. "I don't know
about this," he said cautiously. "It's a great thing, but I may not
have the means to dip into it. I want to think it over. Meanwhile,
I'll be glad to go out there and look over the ground with
you."
Winfield could see that he had Eugene fascinated. It would be an
easy matter to land him once he had his plans perfected. Eugene
would be the type of man who would build a house and come and live
there in the summer. He would interest many people whom he knew. He
went away feeling that he had made a good start, and he was not
mistaken.
Eugene talked the matter over with Angela—his one recourse in
these matters—and as usual she was doubtful, but not entirely
opposed. Angela had considerable caution, but no great business
vision. She could not really tell him what he ought to do. Thus far
his judgment, or rather his moves, had been obviously successful.
He had been going up apparently because he was valuable as an
assistant, not because he was a born leader.
"You'll have to judge for yourself, Eugene," Angela finally
said. "I don't know. It looks fine. You certainly don't want to
work for Mr. Colfax all your life, and if, as you say, they are
beginning to plot against you, you had better prepare to get out
sometime. We have enough now, really, to live on, if you want to
return to your art."
Eugene smiled. "My art. My poor old art! A lot I've done to
develop my art."
"I don't think it needs developing. You have it. I'm sorry
sometimes I ever let you leave it. We have lived better, but your
work hasn't counted for as much. What good has it done you outside
the money to be a successful publisher? You were as famous as you
are now before you ever started in on this line, and more so. More
people know you even now as Eugene Witla, the artist, than as
Eugene Witla, the magazine man."
Eugene knew this to be so. His art achievements had never
forsaken him. They had grown in fame always. Pictures that he had
sold for two hundred and four hundred had gone up to as high as
three and four thousand in value, and they were still rising. He
was occasionally approached by an art dealer to know if he never
intended to paint any more. In social circles it was a constant cry
among the elect, "Why don't you paint any longer?" "What a shame
you ever left the art world!" "Those pictures of yours, I can never
forget them."
"My dear lady," Eugene once said solemnly, "I can't live by
painting pictures as I am living by directing magazines. Art is
very lovely. I am satisfied to believe that I am a great painter.
Nevertheless, I made little out of it, and since then I have
learned to live. It's sad, but it's true. If I could see my way to
live in half the comfort I am living in now and not run the risk of
plodding the streets with a picture under my arm, I would gladly
return to art. The trouble is the world is always so delightfully
ready to see the other fellow make the sacrifice for art or
literature's sake. Selah! I won't do it. So there!"
"It's a pity! It's a pity!" said this observer, but Eugene was
not vastly distressed. Similarly Mrs. Dale had reproached him, for
she had seen and heard of his work.
"Some time. Some time," he said grandly; "wait."
Now at length this land proposition seemed to clear the way for
everything. If Eugene embarked upon it, he might gradually come to
the point at which he could take some official position in
connection with it. Anyhow, think of a rising income from $250,000!
Think of the independence, the freedom! Surely then he could paint
or travel, or do as he pleased.
As a matter of fact, after two automobile rides to the nearest
available position on the site of the future resort and a careful
study of the islands and the beach, Eugene devised a scheme which
included four hotels of varying sizes, one dining and dancing
casino, one gambling resort after the pattern of Monte Carlo, a
summer theatre, a music pavilion, three lovely piers, motor and
yacht club houses, a park with radiating streets, and other streets
arranged in concentric rings to cross them. There was a grand plaza
about which the four hotels were ranged, a noble promenade, three
miles in length, to begin with, a handsome railway station, plots
for five thousand summer homes, ranging from five to fifteen
thousand in price. There were islands for residences, islands for
clubs, islands for parks. One of the hotels sat close to an inlet
over which a dining veranda was to be built—stairs were to be laid
down to the water so that one could step into gondolas or launches
and be carried quickly to one of the music pavilions on one of the
islands. Everything that money wanted was to be eventually
available here, and all was to be gone about slowly but
beautifully, so that each step would only make more sure each
additional step.
Eugene did not enter on this grand scheme until ten men, himself
included, had pledged themselves to take stock up to $50,000 each.
Included in these were Mr. Wiltsie, President of the Long Island;
Mr. Kenyon C. Winfield, and Milton Willebrand, the very wealthy
society man at whose home he had originally met Winfield. The Sea
Island Company was then incorporated, and on a series of dates
agreed upon between them and which were dependent upon a certain
amount of work being accomplished by each date, the stock was
issued to them in ten-thousand-dollar lots and then cash taken and
deposited in the treasury. By the end of two years after Eugene had
first been approached by Winfield he had a choice collection of
gold-colored certificates in the Sea Island Realty and Construction
Company, which was building the now widely heralded seaside
resort—"Blue Sea"—which, according to those interested, was to be
the most perfect resort of its kind in the world. His certificates
stated that they were worth $250,000, and potentially they were.
Eugene and Angela looking at them, thinking of the initiative and
foresight of Mr. Kenyon C. Winfield and the men he was associated
with, felt sure that some day, and that not so very far distant,
they would yield their face value and much more.