BROKEN GLASS
John Saxton was a good deal the worse for wear as he swung himself from a sleeper in the Clarkson station and bolted for a down-town car. Coal mining is a dirty business, and there are limits to the things that can be crowded into a suit-case. He had been crawling through four-foot veins of Kansas coal in the interest of the Neponset Trust Company, and had been delayed a day longer than he had expected. He continued to be in a good deal of a hurry after he reached his office, and he kicked aside the mail which rustled under the door as he opened it, and knelt hastily before the safe and began rattling the tumblers of the combination. He pulled out a long envelope and then with more composure consulted his watch.
It was half-past eight. He took from his memorandum calendar the leaf for the day; on it he had posted a cutting from a local newspaper announcing the annual meeting of the stockholders of the Clarkson Traction Company. The meeting was to be held, so the notice recited, between the hours of 9 a. m. and 5 p. m. of the second Tuesday of November, at the general offices of the Company in the city of Clarkson. The Exchange Building was specified, though the administrative offices of the Company were on the other side of town. Before setting forth Saxton examined his papers, which were certificates of stock in the Clarkson Traction Company. They had been sent to him by a personal friend in Boston, the trustee of an estate, with instructions to investigate and report. Having received them just as he was leaving for Kansas, there had been no opportunity for consulting Porter or Wheaton, his usual advisers in perplexing matters. Traction stock had advanced lately, despite newspaper attacks on the company and he hoped to sell his friend's shares to advantage.
Saxton had never been in the Exchange Building before and he poked about in the dark upper floors, uncertainly looking for the rooms described in the advertisement. Another man, also peering about in the hall, ran against him.
"Beg pardon, but can you tell me——"
"Good morning, Mr. Saxton, are you acquainted in this rookery?" It was Fenton, who carried a brown parcel under his arm and appeared annoyed.
"No; but I'm learning," John answered. "I'm looking for the offices of the Traction Company. Its light seems to be hid under a bushel."
"I'm looking for it, too," said Fenton. "Some humorist seems to have changed the numbers on this floor."
They traversed the halls of several floors in an effort to find the numbers specified in the notice. Fenton swore in an agreeable tone and occasionally kicked at a door in his rage. Saxton called to him presently from a dark corner where he held up a lighted match to read the number on the transom.
"Here's our number, but there's no name on the door."
Fenton advanced upon the door with long strides, but it did not open as he grasped the knob. He kicked it sharply, but there was still no response from within.
"What time is it, Saxton?" he asked over his shoulder, without abating his pounding or knocking.
Saxton stepped back and peered into his watch.
"Five minutes of nine." He was aware now that something important was in progress. He did not know Fenton well, but he knew that he was the attorney for Porter and the Clarkson National, and that he was a serious character who did not beat on doors unless he had business on the inside. Fenton now called out loudly, demanding admission. There was a low sound of voices and a sharp noise of chairs being pushed over an uncarpeted floor within; but the knob which Fenton still held and shook did not turn.
On the inside of the door Timothy Margrave and Horton, the president, Barnes, the secretary, and Percival, the treasurer of the Clarkson Traction Company, were holding the annual meeting of that corporation, in conformity with its articles of association, and according to the duly advertised notice as required by the statutes in such cases made and provided. They had, however, anticipated the hour slightly; but this was not, Margrave said, an important matter. His notions of the proper way of holding business meetings were based on his long experience in managing ward primaries.
Horton, the president, called the meeting to order. "Well, boys," said Margrave, "there ain't any use waiting on the other fellows. Business is business and we might as well get through with it."
"Shall we hear the report of the secretary and treasurer?" the president asked Margrave deferentially.
"I move that we pass that," said Margrave. He was smoothing out the certificates of his shares on the table. "I move that we proceed at once to the election of officers of the company. Is the door locked?"
"Sure," said Barnes, the secretary, but he went over and tried it. "I guess Porter ain't coming," he said in a tone of regret that was intended to be facetious, "and he must have forgotten to send proxies."
"I vote twenty-five hundred and ninety-seven shares of the common stock of this company; you gentlemen haven't more than that, have you?" The fact was that the three officers present owned only one share each as their strict legal qualification for holding office.
"I think the minutes ought to show," said the secretary, "that these were the only shares represented, and that due advertisement was published according to law, but that owing to the loss of the stock register, written notice to individual stockholders was given only to such holders of certificates as disclosed themselves."
"That's all right," said Margrave. "You fix it up, Barnes, and you'd better get Congreve to see that it's done with the legal frills." Congreve was the local counsel of Margrave's railroad, and was a man that could be trusted.
"I move," said Barnes, "that we proceed to the election of officers for the ensuing year."
"And I move," said Percival, "that the secretary be instructed to cast the ballot of the stockholders for Timothy Margrave for president."
"Consent," exclaimed Barnes, hurriedly.
Steps could be heard in the outer hall, and Margrave looked at his watch.
"I move that we adjourn to meet at my office at two o'clock, to conclude the election of officers."
Some one was shaking the outside door.
"Can't we finish now?" asked Horton, who had been promised the vice-presidency. He and the other officers were afraid of Margrave, and were reluctant to have their own elections deferred even for a few hours.
There was another knock at the door.
"At two o'clock," said Margrave decisively, as the knocking at the door was renewed. He gathered up his certificates and prepared to leave.
Saxton, standing with Fenton in the dark hall, referred to his watch again.
"Shall we go in?" he asked.
The lawyer dropped the knob of the door and drew back out of the way.
"It's too bad it's glass," said Saxton, setting his shoulder against the wooden frame over the lock. The lock held, but the door bent away from it. He braced his feet and drove his shoulder harder into the corner, at the same time pressing his hip against the lock. It refused to yield, but the glass cracked, and finally half of it fell with a crash to the floor within.
"Don't hurry yourselves, gentlemen," said Fenton, coolly, speaking through the ragged edges of broken glass. Saxton thrust his hand in to the catch and opened the door.
"Why, it's only Fenton," called Margrave in a pleasant tone to his associates, who had effected their exits safely into a rear room.
"It's only Fenton," continued the lawyer, stepping inside, "but I'll have to trouble you to wait a few minutes."
"Oh, the meeting's adjourned, if that's what you want," said Margrave.
"That won't go down," said Fenton, placing his package on the table. "You're old enough to know, Margrave, that one man can't hold a stockholders' meeting behind locked doors in a pigeon roost."
"The meeting was held regular, at the hour and place advertised," said Margrave with dignity. "A majority of the stockholders were represented."
"By you, I suppose," said Fenton, who had walked into the room followed by Saxton.
"By me," said Margrave. He had not taken off his overcoat and he now began to button it about his portly figure.
"How many shares have you?" asked the lawyer, seating himself on the edge of the table.
"I suppose you think I'm working a bluff, but I've really got the stuff this time, Fenton. To be real decent with you I don't mind telling you that I've got exactly twenty-five hundred and ninety-seven shares of this stock. I guess that's a majority all right. Now one good turn deserves another; how much has Porter got? I don't care a damn, but I'd just like to know." He stood by the table and ostentatiously played with his certificates to make Fenton's humiliation all the keener. Margrave's associates stood at the back of the room and watched him admiringly. Fenton's bundle still lay on the table, and Saxton stood with his hands in his pockets watching events. There had been no chance for him to explain to Fenton his reasons for seeking the offices of the Traction Company and it had pleased Margrave to ignore his presence; Fenton paid no further attention to him. He wondered at Fenton's forbearance, and expected the lawyer to demolish Margrave, but Fenton said:
"You are quite right, Margrave. I hold for Mr. Porter exactly twenty-three hundred and fifty shares."
Margrave nodded patronizingly.
"Just a little under the mark."
"You may make that twenty-four hundred even," said Saxton, "if it will do you any good."
"I'm still shy," said Fenton. "Our friend clearly has the advantage."
"I suppose if you'd known how near you'd come, you'd have hustled pretty hard for the others," said Margrave, sympathetically.
"Oh, I don't know!" said Fenton, with the taunting inflection which gives slang to the phrase. He did not seem greatly disturbed. Saxton expected him to try to make terms; but the lawyer yawned in a preoccupied way, before he said:
"So long as the margin's so small, you'd better be decent and hold your stockholders' meeting according to law and let us in. I'm sure Mr. Saxton and I would be of great assistance—wise counsel and all that."
Margrave laughed his horse laugh. "You're a pretty good fellow, Fenton, and I'm sorry we can't do business together."
"Oh, well, if you won't, you won't." Fenton took up his bundle and turned to the door.
"I suppose you've got large chunks of Traction bonds, too, Margrave. There's nothing like going in deep in these things."
Margrave winked.
"Bonds be damned. I've been hearing for four years that Traction bondholders were going to tear up the earth, but I guess those old frosts down in New England won't foreclose on me. I'll pay 'em their interest as soon as I get to going and they'll think I'm hot stuff. And say!" he ejaculated, suddenly, "if Porter's got any of those bonds don't you get gay with 'em. It's a big thing for the town to have a practical railroad man like me running the street car lines; and if I can't make 'em pay nobody can."
"You're not conceited or anything, are you, Margrave?"
"By the way, young man," said Margrave, addressing Saxton for the first time, "we won't charge you anything for breakage to-day, but don't let it happen again."
Margrave lingered to reassure and instruct his associates as to the adjourned meeting, and Saxton went out with Fenton.
"That was rather tame," said John, as he and Fenton reached the street together. "I hoped there would be some fun. These shares belong to a Boston friend and they're for sale."
"I wonder how Porter came to miss them," said Fenton, grimly. "You'd better keep them as souvenirs of the occasion. The engraving isn't bad. I turn up this way." They paused at the corner. He still carried his bundle and he drew from his pocket now a number of documents in manila jackets.
"I have a little errand at the Federal Court." They stood by a letter box and the cars of the Traction Company wheezed and clanged up Varney Street past them.
"The fact is," he said, "that Mr. Porter owns all of the bonds of the Traction Company."
Saxton nodded. He understood now why the stockholders' meeting had not disturbed Fenton.
"This is an ugly mess," the lawyer continued. "It would have suited me better to control the company through the stock so long as we had so much, but we didn't quite make it. You're friendly to Mr. Porter, aren't you?"
"Yes; I don't know how he feels toward me—"
"We can't ask him just now, so we'll take it for granted. The court will unquestionably appoint a receiver, independent of this morning's proceedings, and if you don't mind, I'll ask to have you put in temporarily, or until we can learn Mr. Porter's wishes."
"But—there are other and better men—"
"Very likely; but I particularly wish this."
"There's Mr. Wheaton—isn't he the natural man—in the bank and all that?" urged Saxton.
"Mr. Wheaton has a very exacting position and it would be unfair to add to his duties," said the lawyer. "Will you keep where I can find you the rest of the day?"
"Yes," said John; "I'll be at my office as soon as I hit a tub and a breakfast. But you can do better," he called after Fenton, who was walking rapidly toward the post-office building.
Wheaton sat at his desk all the morning hoping that Fenton would drop in to give him the result of the Traction meeting; but the lawyer did not appear at the bank. He concluded that there was little chance of learning of the outcome of the meeting until he saw the afternoon papers. A dumb terror possessed him as he reflected upon the events of the past day. It might be that the shares which Margrave had forced from him would carry the balance of power. He felt keenly the ignominy of his interview of the night before at the bank; he was sure that if he could do it over again he would eject Margrave and dare him to do his worst.
He could dramatize himself into a very heroic figure in combating Margrave. If only Margrave had not seen Snyder! It was long ago that he and his brother had made acquaintance with crime: that was the merest slip; it was his only error. It had been kind of William Wheaton to take the full burden of that theft upon himself; yet he thought with repugnance of his brother's long career of crime; he detested the weakness of a man who chose crime and squalor as his portion. He talked to customers and did his detail work as usual, and went out for luncheon to a near-by restaurant, as he had done when he was a clerk, making lack of time an excuse for not going to The Bachelors' or the club. He felt a sudden impulse to keep very much to himself, as if security lay in doing so. His confidence returned as he reviewed his relations with Timothy Margrave. He would demand the two certificates of Margrave whether they had been used against Porter or not.
Having reached this decision by the time he came in from luncheon he went to the telephone and called Evelyn to ask her how her father was and to report his delivery of the papers in her father's box to Mr. Fenton, as instructed. Evelyn spoke hopefully of her father's illness; there were no unfavorable symptoms, and everything pointed to his recovery. It was very sweet to hear her voice in this way; and he went to his desk comforted.