"Do your, buying through Tavistock," continued Dumont."Give him orders to take on Monday all offerings of National Woolens, preferred and common, at eighteen or less.He'll understand what to do.""But I may be unable to get up the syndicate on such short notice.""You must," said Dumont."And you will.You can get a move on yourself when you try--I found that out when I was organizing my original combine.One thing more--very important.Learn for me all you can--without being suspected--about the Fanning-Smiths and Great Lakes."He made Langdon go over the matters he was to attend to, point by point, before he would let him leave.He was asleep when the nurse, sent in by Langdon on his way out, reached his bed--the sound and peaceful sleep of a veteran campaigner whose nerves are trained to take advantage of every lull.
At ten the next morning he sent the nurse out of his room."And close the doors," he said, "and don't come until I ring." He began to use the branch telephone at his bedside, calling up Langdon, and then Tavistock, to assure himself that all was going well.Next he called up in succession five of the great individual money-lenders of Wall Street, pledged them to secrecy and made arrangements for them to call upon him at his house at different hours that day and Sunday.Another might have intrusted the making of these arrangements to Culver or Langdon, but Dumont never let any one man know enough of his plan of battle to get an idea of the whole.
"Now for the ammunition," he muttered, when the last appointment was made.And he rang for Culver.
Culver brought him writing materials."Take this order," he said, as he wrote, "to the Central Park Safety Deposit vaults and bring me from my compartment the big tin box with my initials in white--remember, IN WHITE--on the end of it."Three-quarters of an hour later Culver returned, half-carrying, half-dragging the box.Dumont's eyes lighted up at sight of it.
"Ah!" he said, in a sigh of satisfaction and relief."Put it under the head of the bed here.Thanks.That's all."The nurse came as Culver left, but he sent her away.He supported himself to the door, locked it.He took his keys from the night-stand, drew out the box and opened it.On the mass of stocks and bonds lay an envelope containing two lists--one, of the securities in the box that were the property of Gladys Dumont; the other, of the securities there that were the property of Laura Dumont, their mother.
His hands shook as he unfolded these lists, and a creaking in the walls or flooring made him start and glance round with the look of a surprised thief.But this weakness was momentary.He was soon absorbed in mentally arranging the securities to the best advantage for distribution among the money-lenders as collateral for the cash he purposed to stake in his game.
Such thought as he gave to the moral quality of what he was doing with his sister's and his mother's property without asking their consent was altogether favorable to himself.His was a well-trained, "practical" conscience.It often anticipated his drafts upon it for moral support in acts that might at first blush seem criminal, or for soothing apologies for acts which were undeniably "not QUITE right." This particular act, conscience assured him, was of the highest morality--under his own code.For the code enacted by ordinary human beings to guide their foolish little selves he had no more respect than a lion would have for a moral code enacted by and for sheep.The sheep might assert that their code was for lions also; but why should that move the lions to anything but amusement? He had made his own code--not by special revelation from the Almighty, as did some of his fellow practitioners of high finance, but by especial command of his imperial "destiny." And it was a strict code--it had earned him his unblemished reputation for inflexible commercial honesty and commercial truthfulness.The foundation principle was his absolute right to the great property he had created.This being granted, how could there be immorality in any act whatsoever that might be necessary to hold or regain his kingdom? As well debate the morality of a mother in "commandeering" bread or even a life to save her baby from death.
His kingdom! His by discovery, his by adroit appropriation, his by intelligent development, his by the right of mental might--HIS! Stake his sister's and his mother's possessions for it? Their lives, if necessary!
Than John Dumont, president of the Woolens Monopoly, there was no firmer believer in the gospel of divine right--the divine right of this new race of kings, the puissant lords of trade.
When he had finished his preparations for the money-lenders he unlocked the door and sank into bed exhausted.Hardly had he settled himself when, without knocking, Gladys entered, Pauline just behind her.His face blanched and from his dry throat came a hoarse, strange cry--it certainly sounded like fright."You startled me--that was all," he hastened to explain, as much to himself as to them.For, a something inside him had echoed the wondering inquiry in the two women's faces--a something that persisted in reverencing the moral code which his new code had superseded.
