  Fitz had not yet arrived when the Colonel in his eagerness stepped in front of me, and peered through the hole in the glass partition which divided Fitz’s inner and outer offices. “Come inside, Colonel, and wait—expect him after a while,” was the reply from one of the clerks,—the first arrival. But the Colonel was too restless to sit down, and too absorbed even to thank the young man for his courtesy or to accept his invitation. He continued pacing up and down the outer office, stopping now and then to note the heap of white ribbons tangled up in a wicker basket—records of the disasters and triumphs of the day before,—or to gaze silently at the large map that hung over the steam-heater, or to study in an aimless way the stock lists skewered to the wall. He had risen earlier than usual and had dressed himself with the greatest care and with every detail perfect. His shoes with their patches, one on each toe, were polished to more than Chad’s customary brilliancy; his gray hair was brushed straight back from his forehead, its ends overlapping the high collar behind; his goatee was twisted to a fish-hook point and curled outward from his shirt-front; his moustache was smooth and carefully trimmed. The coat,—it was the same old double-breasted coat, of many repairs—was buttoned tight over his chest giving his slender figure that military air which always distinguished the Virginian when some matter of importance, some matter involving personal defence or offence, had to be settled. In one hand he carried his heavy cane with its silver top, the other held his well-brushed hat. “What has kept Fitz?” he asked with some anxiety. “Nothing, Colonel. Board doesn’t open till ten o’clock. He’ll be along presently,” I answered. Half an hour passed and still no Fitz. By this time I, too, had begun to feel nervous. This was a day of all others for a man in Fitz’s position to be on hand early. I interviewed the clerk privately. “Stopped at the Bank,” he said in an undertone. “He took some cats and dogs up with him last night and is trying to get a loan. Going to rain down here to-day, I guess, and somebody’ll get wet. Curb market is steady, but you can’t tell anything till the Board opens.” At ten minutes before ten by the clock on the wall Fitz burst into the office, pulled a package from inside his coat, thrust it through the hole in the glass partition, whispered something to a second clerk who had just come in, and who at Fitz’s command grabbed up his hat, and with three plunges was through the doorway and racing down the street. Then Fitz turned and saw us. “Why, you dear Colonel, where the devil did you come from?” The Colonel did not answer. He had noticed Fitz’s concentrated, business-like manner, so different from his bearing of the night before, and had caught the anxious expression on the clerk’s face as he bounded past him on his way to the street. It was evident that the situation was grave and the crisis imminent. The Colonel rose from his seat and held out his hand, his manner one of the utmost solemnity. “I have heard all about it, Fitz. I am here to stand by you. Let us go inside where we can discuss the situation quietly.” Fitz looked at the clock—it was a busy day for him—shook the Colonel’s hand in an equally impressive manner, glanced inquiringly at me over his shoulder, and we all three entered the private office and shut the door: he would give us ten minutes at all events. What really perplexed Fitz at the moment was the hour of the Colonel’s visit and his reference to the “stand-by.” These were mysteries which the broker failed to penetrate. The Colonel tilted his silver-topped cane against Fitz’s desk, put his hat on a pile of papers, drew his chair close and laid his hand impressively on Fitz’s arm. He had the air of a learned counsellor consulting with a client. “You are too busy, Fitz, to go into the details, and my mind is too much occupied to listen to them, but Fitz looked at me inquiringly; received my helpless shrug as throwing but little light on the matter, and as was his invariable custom, fell instantly into the Colonel’s mood, answering him precisely as he would have done a brother broker in a similar case. “It is what we call a ‘squeeze,’ Colonel. I’m through for the day, I hope, for my bank has come to my rescue. My clerk has just carried up a lot of stuff I managed to borrow. But you can’t tell what to-morrow will bring. Looks to me as if everything was going to Bally-hack, and yet there are some things in the air that may change it over night.” “Am I right when I say that Mr. Klutchem is leadin’ the attack? And on you?” “That’s just what he is doing—all he knows how.” “And that any relief must be with his consent?” “Absolutely, for, strange to say, some of my defaulting customers have been operating in his office.” The Colonel mused for some time, twisting the fish-hook end of his goatee till it looked like a weapon of offence. “Is he in town?” “He was yesterday afternoon.” The Colonel rose from his chair with a determined air and pulled his coat sleeves over his cuffs. “I’ll call upon him at once.” Fitz’s expression changed. Once start the dear Colonel on a mission of this kind and there was no telling what complications might ensue. “He won’t see you.” “I have thought of that, Fitz. I do not forget that I informed him I would lay my cane over his back the next time we met, but that mattuh can wait. This concerns the welfare of my dea’est friend and takes precedence of all personal feelin’s.” “But, Colonel, he would only show you the door. He don’t want talk. He wants something solid as a margin. I’ve sent it to him right along for their account, and he’ll get what’s coming to him to-day, but talk won’t do any good.” “What do you mean by somethin’ solid, Fitz?” “Gilt-edged collateral,—5.20’s or something as good.” “I presume any absolutely safe security would answer?” “Yes.” “And of what amount?” “Oh, perhaps fifty thousand,—perhaps a hundred. I’ll know to-morrow.” The Colonel communed with himself for a moment, made a computation with his lips assisted by his fingers, and said with great dignity: “You haven’t had my ‘Garden Spots’ bonds printed yet, have you?” “No.” “Nothin’ lookin’ to’ards it?” “Yes, certainly, but nothing definite. I’ve got the proposition I told you about from the Engraving Company. Here it is.” And Fitz pulled out a package of papers from a pigeon-hole and laid the letter before the Colonel. It was the ordinary offer agreeing to print the bonds for a specified sum, and had been one of the many harmless dodges Fitz had used to keep the Colonel’s spirits up. The Colonel studied the document carefully. “When I accept this, of co’se, the mattuh is closed between me and the Company?” “Certainly.” “And no other party could either print or receive the bonds except on my written order?” “No.” Fitz was groping now in the dark. Why the Colonel should have suddenly dropped Consolidated Smelting to speak of the “Garden Spots” was another mystery. “And I have a right to transfer this order to any one I please?” “Of course, Colonel.” The mystery was now impenetrable. “You have no objection to my takin’ this letter, Fitz?” “Not the slightest.” The Colonel walked to the window, looked out for a moment into the street, walked back to Fitz’s desk, and with a tinge of resignation in his voice as if he had at last nerved himself for the worst, laid his hand on Fitz’s shoulder: “I should never have a moment’s peace, Fitz, if I did not exhaust every means in my power to ward off this catastrophe from you. Kindly give me a pen.” I moved closer. Was the Colonel going to sign his check for a million, or was there some unknown friend who, at a stroke of his pen, would come to Fitz’s rescue? The Colonel smoothed out the letter containing the proposition of the Engraving Company, tried the pen on his thumbnail, dipped it carefully in the inkstand, poised it for an instant, and in a firm round hand wrote across its type-written face the words: “Accepted. Then he folded the paper carefully and slipped it into his inside pocket. This done, he shook Fitz’s hand gravely, nodded to me with the air of a man absorbed in some weighty matter, picked up his cane and hat and left the office. “What in the name of common-sense is he going to do with that, Fitz?” I asked. “I give it up,” said Fitz. “Ask me an easy one. Dear old soul, isn’t he lovely? He’s as much worried over the market as if every dollar at stake was his own. Now you’ve got to excuse me, Major. I’ve got a land-office business on hand to-day.” The Colonel’s manner as he left the room had been so calm and measured, his back so straight, the swing Had I questioned him as he walked out this morning he would doubtless have said, “I do not expect you Nawthern men, with yo’r contracted ideas of what constitutes a man’s personal honor, to understand the view I take of this mattuh, Major, but my blood requires it. I never forget that I am a Caarter, suh,—and you must never forget it either.” Moreover, had I gone with him the visit might have assumed an air of undue importance. There was nothing therefore for me to do but to wait. So I buried my self in an arm-chair, picked up the morning papers, and tried to possess my soul in patience until the Colonel should again make his appearance with a full report of his mission. Twice during my long wait Fitz burst in, grabbed up some papers from his desk and bounded out again, firing some orders to his clerks as he disappeared through the door. He was too absorbed to more than nod to me, and he never once mentioned the Colonel’s name. About noon a customer in the outer office—there were half a dozen of them watching the ticker—handed an “extra” to the clerk, who brought it to me. Consolidated Still no Colonel! Had he failed to find Klutchem; had he been thrown out of the office or had he refrained from again visiting Fitz until he had accomplished something definite for his relief? With the passing of the hours I became uneasy. The Colonel, I felt sure, especially in his present frame of mind, would not desert Fitz unless something out of the common had happened. I would go to Klutchem’s office first, and not finding him there, I would keep on to Bedford Place and interview Chad. “Been here?” growled Klutchem’s clerk in answer to my question. “Well, I should think so. Tried to murder Mr. Klutchem. They’re all up at the police station. Nice day for a muss like this when everything’s kitin’! You don’t know whether you’re a-foot or a-horseback! These fire-eaters ought to be locked up!” “Arrested!” “Well, you’d a-thought so if you’d been here half an hour ago. He kept comin’ in callin’ for Mr. Klutchem, and then he sat down and said he’d wait. Looked like a nice, quiet old fellow, and nobody took any notice of him. When Mr. Klutchem came in—he’d been to the Clearing-house—they both went into his private office and shut the door. First thing we heard was some This last inquiry coming at the end of the explosion showed me how vivid the scene still was in the clerk’s mind and how it had obliterated every other thought. “Know him! I should think I did,” I answered, my mind in a whirl. “Where have they taken him?” “Where have they taken ’em, Billy?” asked the clerk, repeating my question to an assistant. “Old Slip. You can’t miss it. It’s got a lamp over the door.” The Sergeant smiled when I stepped up to the desk and made the inquiry. Yes; a man named Klutchem had made a charge of assault against one George Carter. Carter was then locked up in one of the cells and could not be interviewed without the consent of the Captain of the Precinct who would be back in a few minutes. “Guess it ain’t serious,” the Sergeant added. “Couple of old sports got hot, that’s all, and this old feller—” and he hunched his shoulder towards the cells—“pasted the other one over the nut with his toothpick. Step one side. Next!” I sat down on a bench. The dear Colonel locked up in a cell like a common criminal. What would Chad say; what would Aunt Nancy say; what would Fitz say; what would everybody say? And then the mortification to him; the wounding of his pride; the disgrace of it all. Men and women came and went; some with bruised heads, some with blackened eyes, one wearing a pair of handcuffs—a sneak thief, caught, with two overcoats. Was the Colonel sharing a cell with such people as these? The thought gave me a shiver. A straightening-up of half a dozen policemen; a simultaneous touching of caps, and the Captain, a red-faced, black-moustached, blue-coated chunk of a man, held together at the waist by a leather belt and be-decked and be-striped with gilt buttons and gold braid, climbed into the pulpit of justice and faced the room. I stepped up. He listened to my story, nodded his head to a doorman and I followed along the iron corridor and stood in front of a row of cells. The Turnkey looked over a hoop of keys, turned one in a door, threw it wide and said, waving his finger: “Inside!” These men use few words. The Colonel from the gloom of the cell saw me first. “Why, you dear Major!” he cried. “You are certainly a good Sama’itan. In prison and you visited me. I am sorry that I can’t offer you a chair, suh, but you see that my quarters are limited. Fortunately so “But Colonel!” I gasped. “I want to know how this happened? How was it possible that you——” “My dear Major, that can wait. Tell me of Fitz. He has not been out of my thoughts a moment. Will he get through the day? I did eve’ything I could, suh, and exhausted eve’y means in my power.” “Fitz is all right. They’ve got out an injunction and the market is steadier——” “And will he weather the gale?” “I think so.” “Thank God for that, suh!” he answered, his lips quivering. “When you see him give him my dea’est love and tell him that I left no stone unturned.” “Why you’ll see him in an hour yourself. You don’t suppose we are going to let you stay here, do you?” “I don’t know, suh. I am not p’epared to say. I have violated the laws of the State, suh, and I did it purposely, and I’m willin’ to abide the consequences and take my punishment. I should have struck Mr. Klutchem after what he said to me if I had been hanged for it in an hour. I may be released, suh, but it will not be with any taint on my honor. And now that my mind is at rest about Fitz, I will tell you exactly what occurred and you can judge for yo’self. “When Mr. Klutchem at last arrived at his office—I had gone there several times—I said to him: “‘Don’t start, Mr. Klutchem, I have come in the “‘Come in,’ he said, and he looked somewhat relieved, ‘what do you want?’ and we entered his private office and sat down. I then, in the most co’teous manner, went into the details of the transaction, and asked him in the name of decency that he would not crowd Fitz to the wall and ruin him, but that he would at least give him time to make good his obligations. “‘He can have it,’ he blurted out, ‘have all the time he wants—all of ’em can have it.’ You know how coarse he can be, Major, and can understand how he said this. ‘But’—and here Mr. Klutchem laid his finger alongside his nose—a vulgaar gesture, of co’se, but quite in keepin’ with the man—‘we want some collateral that are copper-fastened and gilt-edged all the way through’—I quote his exact words, Major. “‘I have expected that, suh,’ I said, ‘and I came p’epared,’ and I unbuttoned my coat, took out the document you saw me sign in Fitz’s office, and laid it befo’ him. “‘What is this?’ he said. “‘My entire interest in the Caartersville and Warrenton Air Line Railroad,’ I answered. ‘The whole issue of the Gaarden Spots, as you have no doubt heard them familiarly and very justly called, suh.’ “He looked at me and said: “‘Why these are not bonds—it is only an offer to print ’em,’ he said. “‘I am aware of that,’ I answered, ‘but look at my signature, suh. I shall on your acceptance of my proposition, transfer the whole issue to you—then they become yo’ absolute property.’ “‘For what?’ he interrupted. “‘As an offerin’ for my friend, suh.’ “‘What! As margin for Consolidated Smeltin’?’ “‘True, suh. They are, of co’se, largely in excess of yo’ needs, but Mr. Fitzpatrick is one of my dea’est friends. You, of co’se, realize that I am left penniless myself if my friend’s final obligation to you should exceed their face value.’ “He got up, opened the door of a safe and said, ‘Do you see that tin box?’ “‘I do, suh.’ “‘Do you know what is in it?’ “‘I do not, suh.’ “‘Full of stuff that will sell under the hammer above par. Tell Mr. Fitzpatrick if he and his customers have anythin’ like that to bring it in—and look here’—and he pulled out a small drawer. ‘See that watch?’ I looked in and saw a gold watch, evidently a gentleman’s, Major. ‘That watch belonged to a customer who got short of our stock last week. It’s wiped out now and a lot of other things he brought in. That’s what we call collateral down here.’ “‘I am not surprised, suh,’ I answered. ‘If men of yo’ class can fo’ce themselves into our county; divest a man of his silver-plate and family po’traits, as was done to a gentleman friend of mine of the highest “‘Do you think that’s any worse than yo’ comin’ down here and tryin’ to bunco me with a swindle like that’—and he picked up the document and tossed it on the flo’. “You know me well enough, Major, to know what followed. Befo’ the words were out of his mouth he was flat on his back and I standin’ over him with my cane. Then his clerks rushed in and separated us. My present situation is the result.” The Colonel stopped and looked about the prison corridor. “Strange and interestin’ place, isn’t it, Major? I shall be reasonably comfo’table here, I s’pose”—and he raised his eyes towards the white-washed ceiling. “There is not quite so much room as I had at City Point when I was a prisoner of war, but I shall get along, no doubt. I have not inqui’ed yet whether they will allow me a servant, but if they do I shall have Chad bring me down some comfo’ts in the mornin’. I think I should like a blanket and pillow and perhaps an easy-chair. I can tell better after passin’ the night here. By the way, Major, on yo’ way home you might stop and see Chad. Tell him the facts exactly as I have stated them to you. He will understand; he was with me, you remember, when I was overpow’ed and captured the last year of the War.” The Turnkey, who had been pacing up and down the corridor, stopped in front of the gate. The Colonel read the expression on his face, and shaking my hand warmly, said with the same air that a captured general might have had in taking leave of a member of his staff: “The officer seems impatient, Major, and I must, therefo’, ask you to excuse me. My dear love to Fitz, and tell him not to give my imprisonment a thought. Good-by,” and he waved his hand majestically and stepped back into the cell. |
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