Once they were settled in a taxicab, Bowen produced the five thousand in notes, removed the rubber-bands from the package, and counted out twenty fifties.
“Here.” He handed the girl ten of the yellow-backs. “I need expense money and so do you. Five hundred apiece will do.”
“But—”
“No time to be squeamish! We’re partners. This is an advance on the profits.”
Miss Ferguson offered no further objection.
They found Gus Saunders awaiting them in his private office. A conservative broker, this, albeit a young man; by inheritance the junior head of a big firm; clean-cut in every line, and a good sportsman. Bowen had frequently met him at Tonopah.
“Miss Ferguson, allow me to introduce Mr. Saunders. Miss Ferguson is my partner at present, Gus, in a deal we’ve got on hand; looks like a big one, and we need your help.”
“That’s my business,” and the broker smiled.
“There’s a curb stock by the name of—”
“Hold on!” Saunders flung up his hands. “Don’t talk curb stock to me. Don’t touch the stuff, and you ought to know it!”
“Shut up till I get through!” snapped Bowen, and grinned. “You’re refusing no good business that comes along; and I’m paying you any commission on this job that you care to name. I’ll trust your end of it, Gus—and there’s no one else I can trust.”
“Well,” conceded the other, “let’s hear about it.”
“Neither Miss Ferguson nor I are very wise to the brokerage game,” pursued Bowen, “but we’ve doped out a theory and a course of action, and if it’s O. K.’d by you, and if it is feasible, then you can shoot ahead. To-morrow there is going to be some whopping big activity in Apex Crown, both here and at Los Angeles.
“Everybody is going to unload that stuff; the market is to be crammed down to two cents or under—probably under. At two cents, the man who’s behind the move figures on jumping in and getting control of the mine. Savvy? All right.
“Now, we want you to step in ahead of him. When that stock touches three cents, step softly and begin to buy. At two cents grab it with both hands. Keep on grabbing until the price goes up again to ten—”
“Just one minute, please!” broke in Miss Ferguson excitedly. “If this activity does not begin until to-morrow, why can’t we begin to-day? Every share we get is going to count for control of the mine, Mr. Bowen. If we can get some to-day, each of our friends will think the other man is buying it.”
“Good,” assented Bowen crisply. “Now, Gus, will you handle it for us? You have plenty of agents, and can pull the strings at the right moment without trouble.”
The broker chuckled. “This is the first time I ever manipulated curb stocks, Bob! But we’ll tackle it. You don’t want to buy two-cent stocks on a margin, I suppose?”
Bowen emitted a sarcastic grunt, and drew forth his cash and checks.
“Here are two checks Dickover handed me this morning,” and he was not above feeling an inner satisfaction at the broker’s quickly concealed surprise, “and some cash. An even thirty-four thousand, five hundred in all. Will that turn the deal?”
“What do you folks think you’re buying—Amalgamated Motors? This ought to buy the Apex Crown outright—half of it ought to buy all the shares on the market!”
“Half of it won’t,” said Bowen grimly. “And you take out your commission before the money evaporates, because we haven’t any more! But you get us control of that mine, and as much more as the cash will let you buy.”
“All right. Let’s sign up the orders. Do you want to stick around here and get my reports as they come in?”
“Not me,” said Bowen emphatically. “Bob Bowen does not intend to become a hanger-on and a parasite, with his nerves snapping and bursting all to h—all to thunder! You call me up at the Palace when I’m broke or when the deal is over.”
Ten minutes later Bowen and Miss Ferguson returned to the street.
“Please don’t call a taxi!” The girl laughed. “It’s such—such an awful waste of money—and I’d much sooner walk!”
“We’ll be millionaires on this deal; we should worry! However, I’m with you. Let’s walk. Where next?”
“Where? Why, I’ll have to get back to the office—”
“The office? And you a potential millionaire?”
She laughed, and not nervously this time. Bowen’s air was infectious.
“I think I’ll hang on to that office, Mr. Bowen! Anyway, I’ve promised to turn out some work by to-night.”
They walked along in silence until they reached the Crothers Building. At the entrance the girl paused and turned to Bowen.
“You haven’t told me what you expect to do with that mine—when we get it!”
“Do! Why, what did you suppose? Work it by the new chemical process, of course! Or else sell it outright; once the process is on the market, a mine like the Apex Crown will be a bargain at a million! Dickover knows. He said the stock would be worth five dollars a share—when he got ready to make it worth that!”
“Very well.” Miss Ferguson put out her hand. “I’ll say good-by for this time and get back to work. You’ll let me know?”
“You bet I will!” exclaimed Bowen heartily, seeking a pretext for detaining her, but finding none.
He strode along to the Palace with his head in the clouds. Come to think of it, he had earned an afternoon of loafing!
All the previous day he had been watching his plans go from bad to worse, despite the puff he had received in the paper. But at nine o’clock this morning things had begun to move, and they had continued to move with lightning rapidity. His brain had been on the jump keeping one step ahead. For five hours he had been under a growing mental strain which had told tenfold upon his iron-bound physical self.
In five hours he had taken in thirty-five thousand, five hundred dollars, most of it from a man whom he could never have approached in an ordinary way. The whole thing had started with his meeting on the limited with Dickover and the drummer. And now the majority of that money had been laid out on a gamble which might—might—return millions! If he could grab enough of Henderson’s stock and Dickover’s stock combined, at the moment both men had unloaded; if he could step in ahead of Dickover and at the proper moment get control—
“I’ve got to stop thinking about this thing,” he muttered fiercely. “It’s got my brain turning handsprings. There’s nothing for me to do, anyhow! Everything is in the hands of Gus Saunders now. I need a bracer, and I’m going to get it. Then I’ll buy some magazines and loaf a while.”
Bowen was the type of man who takes a drink only when he really needs it, and does not need it often. Now he needed it, and straightway got it. Then he visited a few shops. Having bought some clothes and certain other things of which he stood in need, he returned to the hotel, deposited most of his five hundred in the hotel safe, and settled down in the lobby over some magazines.
For half an hour he read and let his jangled nerves relax. He refused utterly to look up Apex Crown in the papers.
Suddenly he realized that his own name was being called by an evanescent page with a tray. “Mr. Bow-en! Mr. Bow-en!” Rising, Bowen attracted the attention of the buttoned autocrat and was handed a card. It read:
“Oliver Hazard Perry Cheadle, Mineralogist.”
“The gentleman’s at the desk? Send him up to my room in five minutes.”
Bowen betook himself to the elevator. Who was Oliver Hazard Perry Cheadle? The name was totally unknown to him. Arriving at his room, he sought the telephone directory, but found no such name listed.
Mr. O. H. P. Cheadle proved to be a plump, chalky-faced little man with the bland countenance of a cherub. His eyelids blinked behind thick spectacles. His linen was dirty to a degree. He spoke with a slow hesitance in the selection of words. He shook hands with a limp, flaccid grip.
“Mr. Bowen, may I request—er—a few moments of your—er—time? You are a very busy man, I know, but I believe that I have a—er—a proposition to interest you. I read of your being here in—er—the paper—”
“Sit down and rest your heels,” said Bowen cordially, laughing to himself.
So here was another result of his publicity! It was something to be a public character, to be classed with the great Dickover!
Mr. Oliver Hazard Perry Cheadle, like a solemn little owl, went directly to business. He had just come to town from Arizona. He had a mine to sell. He had seen by the paper that Bob Bowen, of Tonopah, was heavily interested in low-grade silver properties. His holdings were not silver, but were copper-zinc, and he was so badly in need of ready money, et cetera.
Bowen heard him out. After all, why not have a crack at everything that offered? Zinc-copper ore was not unattractive in prospect.
“Besides, I’ve nothing to keep me busy,” he thought. And said aloud, “Let’s see the samples.”
Mr. Cheadle was apologetic. The samples and assayer’s report were all at his own lodgings. He had not ventured to think that Mr. Bowen—er—would be interested offhand, and—
“Well, let’s go have a look,” said Bowen, rising. The humility of Mr. Cheadle was slightly annoying. “Where are you stopping? Oh, don’t protest, man; I’m free for the day.”
It appeared that Mr. Cheadle was stopping at a rooming-house just off Sutter Street. Together the two men descended to the street, where the magnate hailed a taxicab. Bob Bowen, of Tonopah, believed in enjoying affluence while he had it.
The taxi sped out Sutter, crossed Van Ness, and a few blocks farther on veered to the left and halted before one of the extremely old-fashioned residences, high off the sidewalk, which in this section of the city had escaped the fire.
Being a stranger to San Francisco, Bob Bowen did not realize that they had entered upon what in these latter days had become the Japanese quarter; nor, had he known, would the fact have meant anything to him. He felt a mingled repulsion and interest in Oliver Hazard Perry Cheadle. It was entirely reasonable that an impecunious Hassayamper would have sought just such a dingy, antiquated rooming-house as this.
And Bowen reasoned why not pass the good work along? He himself had come to town practically broke; a clap on the back from Dickover had put him on the path to fortune. Why not lend the same halo to Oliver Hazard Perry Cheadle?
Thus thinking, with a righteous glow of generosity warming the cockles of his heart, Bob Bowen allowed himself to be ushered into a dark hallway. To Bowen’s surprise, the hallway seemed roofed by stars and specks of light; he was only dimly conscious of a crushing blow on the head that sent him reeling and staggering into utter darkness.