JAMES WHEATON DECLINES AN OFFER
Margrave hung up the receiver of his desk telephone with a slam, and rang a bell for the office boy.
"Call the Clarkson National, and tell Mr. Wheaton to come over,—right away."
It was late in the afternoon. Wheaton had been unusually busy with routine work and the directors had taken an hour of his time. He had turned away from Fenton to answer Margrave's message, and went toward the Transcontinental office with a feeling of foreboding. He remembered the place very well; it had hardly changed since the days of his own brief service there. As he crossed the threshold of the private office, the sight of Margrave's fat bulk squeezed into a chair that was too small for him, impressed him unpleasantly; he had come with mixed feelings, not knowing whether his friendly relations with the railroader were to be further emphasized, or whether Margrave was about to make some demand of him. His doubts were quickly dispelled by Margrave, who turned around fiercely as the door closed.
"Sit down, Wheaton," he said, indicating a chair by his desk. His face was very red and his stubby mustache seemed stiffer and more wire-like than ever. He was breathing in the difficult choked manner of fat men in their rage.
"Now, I want you to tell me something; I want you to answer up fair and square. I've got to come right down to brass tacks with you and I want you to tell me the God's truth. How much Traction has Billy Porter got?"
Wheaton grew white, and the lids closed over his eyes sleepily.
"Come out with it," puffed Margrave. "If you've been making a fool of me I want to know it."
"I don't know what right you've got to ask me such a question," Wheaton answered coldly.
"No right,—no right!" Margrave panted. "You damned miserable fool, what do you know or mean by right or wrong either? I can take my medicine as well as the next man, but when a friend does me up, then I throw up my hands. Why did you tell me you knew what Porter was doing, and lead me to think—"
"Mr. Margrave," said Wheaton, "I didn't come here to be abused by you. If I've done you any injury, I'm not aware of it."
"I guess that's right," said Margrave ironically. "What I want to know is what you let me think Porter wasn't taking hold of Traction for? You knew I was going into it. I told you that with the fool idea that you were a friend of mine. You told me the old man had stopped buying—"
"And when I did I betrayed a confidence," said Wheaton, virtuously. "I had no business telling you anything of the kind."
"When you told me that," Margrave went on in bitter derision, shaking his finger in Wheaton's face,—"when you told me that you told me a damned lie, that's what you did, Jim Wheaton."
"You can't talk to me that way," said Wheaton, sitting up in his chair resentfully. "When I told you that, I believed it," and he added, with a second's hesitation, "I still believe it."
"Don't lie any more to me about it. I can take my medicine as well as the next man, but—" swaying his big head back and forth on his fat shoulders,—"when a man plays a dirty trick on Tim Margrave, I want him to know when Margrave finds it out. I never thought it of you, Jim. I've always treated you as white as I knew how; I've been glad to see you in my house,—"
"I don't know what you're driving at, but I want you to stop abusing me," said Wheaton, with more vigor of tone than he had yet manifested. "I never said a word to you about Mr. Porter in connection with Traction that I didn't think true. The only mistake I made was in saying anything to you at all; but I thought you were a friend of mine. If anybody's been deceived, I'm the one."
Margrave watched him contemptuously.
"Let me ask you something, Jim," he said, dropping his blustering tone. "Haven't you known all these weeks when I've been seeing you every few days at the club, and at my own house several times,"—he dwelt on the second clause as if the breach of hospitality on Wheaton's part had been the grievous offense,—"haven't you known that the old man was chasing over the country in his carpet slippers buying all that stock he could lay his hands on?"
"On my sacred honor, I have not. When we talked of it I knew he had been buying some, but I thought he'd stopped, as I let you understand. I'm sorry if you were misled by anything I said."
"Well, that's all over now," said Margrave, in a conciliatory tone. "I'm in the devil's own hole, Jim. I've been relying on your information; in fact, I've had it in mind to make you treasurer of the company when we get reorganized. That ought to show you what a lot of confidence I've been putting in you all this time that you've been watching me run into the soup clear up to my chin."
"I'm honestly sorry,"—began Wheaton. "I had no idea you were depending on me. You ought to have known that I couldn't betray Mr. Porter."
"You ought to be sorry," said Margrave dolefully. "But, look here, Jim, I don't believe you're going to do me up on this."
"I'm not going to do anybody up; but I don't see what I can do to help you."
"Well, I do. You gave me to understand that you were buying this stuff yourself. You still got what you had?"
Margrave knew from the secretary of the company that Wheaton owned one hundred shares. He thrust his hands into his pockets and looked at Wheaton appealingly.
"Yes," Wheaton answered reluctantly. He knew now why he had been summoned.
"Now, how many shares have you, Jim?" with increasing amiability of tone and manner.
"Just what I bought in the beginning; one hundred shares."
Margrave took a pad from his desk and added one hundred to a short column of figures. He made the footing and regarded the total with careless interest before looking up.
"How much do you want for that, Jim?"
"To tell the truth, Mr. Margrave, I don't know that I want to sell it."
"Now, Jim, you ain't going to hold me up on this? You've got me into a pretty mess, and I hope you're not going to keep on pushing me in."
Wheaton crossed and recrossed his legs. There was Porter and there was Margrave. To whom did he owe allegiance? He resented the way in which Margrave had taken him to task; he could not see that he had been culpable, unless as against Porter. Yet Porter had told him nothing; if Porter had treated him with a little more frankness, he certainly would never have mentioned Traction to Margrave.
"What I have wouldn't do you any good," he said finally.
"But it might do me some harm! Now, you don't want these shares, Jim. You're entitled to a profit, and I'll pay you a fair price."
"I can't do anything to hurt Mr. Porter," said Wheaton. He remembered just how the drawing-room at the Porters' looked, and the kindness and frankness of Evelyn Porter's eyes.
"Yes, but you've got a duty to me," he stormed, getting red in the face again. "You can bet your life that if it hadn't been for you, I'd never have been in this pickle. Come along now, Jim, I've got a lot of our railroad people to go in on this. They depend absolutely on my judgment. I'm a ruined man if I fail to show up at the meeting to-morrow with a majority of these shares. It won't make any difference to Billy Porter whether he wins out or not. He's got plenty of irons in the fire. I don't know as a matter of fact that I need these shares; but I want to be on the safe side. Does Porter know what you've got?"
Wheaton shook his head.
"Then what's the harm in selling them where you've got a chance, even if you wasn't under any obligations to me? If you didn't know until I told you that the old man was still on the hunt for this stuff, I don't see that you're bound to wait for him to come around and ask you to sell to him. How much shall I make it for?" He opened a drawer and pulled out his check-book.
"They tell me Porter's pretty sick," Margrave continued, running the stubs of the check-book through his thick thumb and forefinger. "Billy isn't as young as he used to be. Very likely he'll never know you had any Traction stock," he added significantly. "How much shall I make it for, Jim?"
Wheaton walked over to the window and looked down into the street, while Margrave watched him with pen in hand.
"How much shall I make it for?" he asked more sharply.
"You can't make it for anything, Mr. Margrave, and I want to say that I'm very much disappointed in the way you've tried to get it from me."
Margrave swung around on him with an oath. But Wheaton went on, speaking carefully.
"I can't imagine that the few shares of stock I hold can be of real importance in deciding the control of this company. I don't say I won't give you these shares, but I can't do it now."
Margrave's face grew red and purple as Wheaton walked toward the door.
"Maybe you think you can wring more out of Porter than you can out of me. But, by God, I'll take this out of you and out of him, too, if I go broke doing it.”