Part 4

In the afternoon he put in an application and suggested that, as a matter of business convenience, he would like to be examined at once. Two days later he was politely informed that the company, on the advice of its physician, felt constrained to decline the risk. But the man who is condemned to death does not give up hope: he appeals to a higher court, holding to the last that an error of law or of fact will be discovered. Wentworth appealed his case, but the verdict of the specialist he consulted was the same: he might live many years, but he might die at any moment.

"I would advise you," said the physician, "to give up active business and to get your financial affairs in the best possible shape. If you are to live, you must take unusual precautions to avoid excitement and worry."

Avoid worry! What a mockery, when he was deprived of the opportunities to make proper provision for the little woman and the baby! He was well-to-do, but only so long as he continued to live and make money. Some investments he had, but they were neither numerous nor large, and not of a character that would be considered absolutely safe. He had invested to make money rather than to save it in most instances, so the amount that he had in really first-class securities was comparatively trifling.

"If I continue in business, how long can I expect to live, Doctor?" he asked.

"It is problematical," was the reply. "Frankly, I don't think I would give you more than two or three years of active business life, with the possibility of death at any moment during that time. Still, if you are careful, you ought to last two years."

Wentworth shuddered. He had told the physician to speak frankly, but it was horrible to have the limit of life set in this way.

"Retire from business," the doctor added, "go to some quiet place, and you _may_ live as long as any other."

"But I can't!" cried Wentworth. "I haven't the money, and I must provide for the little woman and the baby. My God! how helpless they would be without me!"

Wentworth went from the doctor's office to the safe-deposit vaults where he kept his securities. He was a desperate man now--a man who had deliberately decided to sacrifice his life for those he loved. He would continue in business another year--two years, if necessary and the Lord permitted--and he would bend every energy to making provision for his little family. It might--nay, probably would--kill him, but what matter? To buy life at the expense of their future would be supremely selfish. And he might succeed before the fatal summons came: he might get his affairs in such shape in a year that he could retire with almost as good a chance of life as he had now--if he could stand the strain so long. But in his heart he felt he was pronouncing his own doom. He might put the optimistic view of the situation in words, but he did not believe the words. A great fear--a fear that was almost a certainty--gripped hard at his heart.

"_Hic jacet!_" he said to himself, as he went over the securities and estimated the amount of available cash he could command. He had speculated before and had been reasonably successful in most instances; he must speculate again, for in no other way could he bring his resources up to the point desired within the time limitations. The moment he reached this point he would put everything in stocks or bonds that would be absolutely safe. Indeed, he would do this as fast as he got a little ahead of the game.

Wentworth had speculated previously only with money that he could afford to lose; but he was speculating now with his entire surplus. It had been a divertisement before; it was a business now. He had to win--and he lost. No one could be more careful than he, but his judgment was wrong. When he had given the markets no particular attention he had taken an occasional "flier" with success; when he made a study of conditions and discussed the situation with friendly authorities he found himself almost invariably in error.

There was something pathetic and disquieting in the affection and consideration he displayed for his wife and child during this time. He endeavored to conceal his own distress, but morning after morning his wife clung to him and looked anxiously into his face. He spoke cheeringly, but he grew daily more haggard, and she knew he was concealing something. Once she asked for news about the life insurance policy.

"Oh, that's all settled," he replied, but he did not tell her how it was settled.

Finally she went to see Murray. He had brought the news that had made this great change in her husband, and he could tell her what was worrying him. Murray had not called since that evening. While in no sense responsible for it, he had been so closely identified with this blow that had fallen on his friend that he felt his presence, for a time at least, would be only an unpleasant reminder.

"I must know this secret," she told Murray with earnest directness of speech. "It is killing Stanley. He is worried and anxious, and he is working himself to death in an effort to straighten out some complication."

"He mustn't do that!" exclaimed Murray quickly. "Work and worry are the two things for him to avoid."

"Why?" demanded Mrs. Wentworth.

Murray hesitated. He knew why Wentworth had kept this from his wife, but was it wise? The man was deliberately walking to his grave. Ought not his wife to be informed in order that she might take the necessary steps to save him? It would be a breach of confidence, but did not the circumstances justify it? Wentworth was his friend, and he had a sincere regard for Mrs. Wentworth. Surely he ought not to stand idly by and witness a tragedy that he might prevent.

"Mrs. Wentworth," he said at last, "the thing that is worrying Stanley is the fact that we had to decline him as a risk."

"You--you didn't insure him?" she said inquiringly, as if she did not quite comprehend.

"No."

"He let me think you had."

"Because he did not wish to distress you, and I assure you, Mrs. Wentworth, I would not tell you this myself, were it not for the fact that Stanley is doing the most unwise thing possible."

"I am very glad you did tell me," she said quietly. She was not an emotional woman, but the pallor of her face and something of anxious fright in her eyes told how deeply she felt. "What must I do?"

"Get him out of business and away from excitement," replied Murray promptly. "In a quiet place, if he takes care of himself, he may live as long as any of us."

When Wentworth reached home that evening, the little woman, always affectionate, greeted him with unusual tenderness. She said nothing of her visit to Murray, but later she brought up the subject of moving to the country.

"I'm dreadfully worried about you, Stanley," she said. "You must take a vacation."

"I can't," he replied.

"But you must," she insisted. "You've been working too hard lately."

"Next year," he said, "I hope to get out of this city turmoil and take you away to some quiet place, where we can live for each other and the baby."

She went over and knelt beside him, as he leaned wearily back in his big arm-chair.

"Why not now?" she pleaded.

"My God! I can't, Helen!" he cried. "I want to, but I can't! If you only knew--"

"I only know that you will break down, if you don't take a rest," she interrupted hastily. It would only add to his distress to learn that she knew his secret. "Don't you suppose I can see how you are overtaxing your strength? We must go away for a time, anyway."

"Little woman," he said, putting an arm round her, "it's a question of finance, and you never could understand that very well. When I get things in shape we will go, but not yet. I have some investments to watch, and,"--wearily,--"things have gone rather against me lately. There are lots of things to be done before I can take any extended vacation, and it is even a more serious matter to retire permanently. My earning capacity is about all we have to live on now."

"I thought you had money invested," she remarked.

"I had," he replied, "but it was not enough, and in trying to make it enough I made some wrong guesses on the market."

"Never mind," she said cheerily. "We'll make the best of what's left. We won't need much if we get away from this fearful life. It isn't money that the baby and I want, it's you; and we don't want you to die for us, but to live for us."

Wentworth gave his wife a quick glance, for this was hitting very close to his secret; but he saw in her only the very natural anxiety of a loving wife, who knew that her husband was overtaxing his strength.

"You mean well," he said, "but you don't know."

Mrs. Wentworth was not a business woman, and she knew little of her husband's affairs, but she had a feeling that this question of life insurance was all that stood in the way of the precautions that he ought to take. He could get something for his interest in the business, if he retired, but not enough to make proper provision for her. He could take up some quiet pursuit and continue to make a little money as long as he lived, but he could leave only the most trifling income. And, in his efforts to improve matters, he had only made them worse. She understood so much.

There was an undercurrent of sadness, but still something beautiful, in the life that followed this conversation. All the little sympathetic attentions that love can suggest, each gave to the other, while each worried in secret, seeking only to make life a little easier and more cheerful for the other.

But Mrs. Wentworth was becoming as desperate as her husband, and even more unreasoning. Was not her husband's life worth all the money of all the insurance companies? And were they not condemning him to death by their action? It was more than a risk that depended upon life; it was a life that depended upon the risk. In a little time she convinced herself that the insurance companies could save him and would not, failing utterly to appreciate the fact that, even with the greatest precautions, the chances were against him; that there was only a possibility that he might live longer than a few years, the probability being quite the reverse.

Murray was shocked when she called to see him again. The change in her husband was no greater than the change in her. Was not the man she loved committing suicide before her eyes? And was he not doing this for love of her and the baby? Would not such a condition of affairs make any woman desperate and unreasoning?

"Mr. Murray," she said, "if you are as good a friend to my husband as he has always been to you, you will save his life."

"I will do anything in my power, Mrs. Wentworth," replied Murray. "Nothing in life ever has so distressed me as this."

"Then give him the policy he wants."

"Impossible! Why, the doctor--"

"You can fix it with the doctor; you know you can! Or you can get another doctor to pass him! Oh, Mr. Murray! I am not asking for money; I am asking for life--for his life! It's suicide--murder! I want to get him away! I must get him away! But I can't while he fears for our future--the baby's and mine! He must provide for us, and he's losing the little he had! He can't stand it a month longer! Give him the policy, Mr. Murray, and I'll swear to you never to present it for payment! It's only for him that I ask it! You can give him life--give your friend life! Won't you do it?"

The tears were running down the little woman's cheeks, and Murray could not trust himself to speak for a moment.

"Mrs. Wentworth," he said at last, "every cent I have is at your husband's disposal, if he needs it, but what you ask is utterly impossible. The risk would be refused at the home office, even if I passed it, for the fact that he has been refused by two other companies would be reported there."

In the case of another, Murray would have said more, but he knew that Mrs. Wentworth was quite beside herself and did not really appreciate that she was asking him to be dishonest with the company that employed him.

"He wouldn't touch a cent of the money of such a friend!" she exclaimed with sudden anger. "He's not a beggar, and neither am I! All I seek for him is the tranquility that means life; all I ask is the removal of the anxiety that means death. And this little you will not do for a friend!" She was beside herself with desperation.

It was bitter, it was harsh, it was unjustifiable, but Murray had forgiven her before she had ceased speaking. The depth of her feeling and the excitement under which she was laboring were sufficient to excuse her. But he felt as if he really were condemning his friend to death. Yet what could he do? He would cheerfully give a thousand dollars out of his own pocket to make things easier for the two suffering ones, but it was not a matter of ready cash. Wentworth had enough of that.

In the deepest distress Murray was pacing back and forth when the door opened and Wentworth himself staggered in. Murray was at his side in a moment and guided him to a chair.

"What's the matter, old man?"

"Lost everything," Wentworth gasped. "Tried to protect--margined to limit--all gone!"

"But your interest in the business?"

"Sold it--to protect deal." He seemed almost at the point of collapse, but he rallied for a moment. "Insurance!" he cried. "I must have it! Damn the company! You must put it through for me! You hear, Murray!" The man was almost crazy, and he spoke fiercely. "You've got to do it--for humanity's sake! Can't leave them penniless!"

"We'll talk about it to-morrow," said Murray soothingly.

"You lie, Murray!" the excited man cried. "You won't do it at all; you'll see them starve first, you--you dog! I'll kill you, if you don't--"

Wentworth had risen in frenzied fury, as he pictured the future of his loved ones; he swayed for an instant, and Murray caught him as he fell. He was dead before Murray could get him back into the chair.

* * * * *

Murray did all that anyone could do for the bereaved woman, and more than any one else would have done, for the next day he sent her this letter:

Dear Mrs. Wentworth: After a conference with our physician we decided that a small risk on Mr. Wentworth would be justified, and the matter was closed up yesterday afternoon just previous to his death. As a result of my close personal relations with him, I know that he left his affairs in rather a complicated condition, so, as it will take a little time to file the necessary proofs and get the money from the company, I am taking the liberty of sending you my personal check for the amount of the policy, one thousand dollars, and I hope that you will not hesitate to call on me for any service that is in my power to render. With the deepest sympathy, I am,

Very sincerely yours, David Murray.

"A lie," he muttered, referring to the insurance item; "a cold, deliberate lie, but I feel better for telling it."

AN INCIDENTAL SPECULATION

Just when the Interurban Traction Company thought the successful culmination of its plans in sight it woke up to the fact that there had been a miscalculation or an oversight somewhere. It had the absolute or prospective control of all the principal lines embraced in its elaborate scheme of connecting various towns and cities by trolley, which means that it had bought a good deal of the necessary stock and had options on most of the rest; but there was one insignificant little road that it had left to the last. This road had been a losing venture from its inception, and its stock was quoted far below par, with no buyers. As a matter of business policy, the more successful roads should be secured first, for the moment the secret was out their stocks would soar. They represented the larger investments, and their stock-holders could hold on, if they saw the advisability of it, without making any financial sacrifice; they were in a position to "hold up" the new company in the most approved modern style. But the Bington road was weak and unprofitable, valuable only as a connecting link in the chain.

"Of course," said Colonel Babington, who was at the head of the new venture, "we're sure to be held up somewhere on the line, and these people can hold us up for less than any of the others. They haven't much as a basis for a hold-up, and they can't afford to go on losing money. We can buy their road cheap the first thing, but the discovery of the purchase will give our plans away and add a million dollars to the cost of carrying them out. Any fool would know that we were not buying that road for itself alone. Why, the mere rumor that negotiations were opened would add fifty or a hundred per cent. to the value of the other stocks we want. We can't afford even to wink at that road until we get control of the others."

So they went about their work very secretly, hoping so to conceal their design that they would be able to get the last link at the bed-rock price; but, when the time came, entirely unexpected difficulties were encountered. The stock-holders might have been tractable enough, but the stock-holders themselves had been fooled.

"Why, there was a young fellow here last week," they explained, "and he got a sixty-day option on enough stock to control the road."

"Who was he?" asked the startled Colonel Babington.

"His name is Horace Lake," they told him.

"I'll have to look Horace up," remarked the colonel thoughtfully.

Meanwhile, Horace was congratulating himself on having done a good stroke of business, and further amusing himself by figuring his possible profit.

"I've been looking for just such a chance as this," he told Dave Murray, the insurance man.

"Have you got the money to carry it through?" asked the practical Murray.

"I had enough to put up a small forfeit to bind the option and convince them that I mean business, and I don't need any more," returned Lake.

"Once in a great while," said Murray, "a man makes a good lot of money on a bluff, but even then he usually has some backing. It takes money to make money, as a general rule. You will find that most successful men, even those who are noted for their nervy financiering, got the basis of their fortunes by hard work and rigid economy. Wind may be helpful, but it makes a poor foundation."

"This is one of the times when it is about all that is necessary," laughed Lake. "I got a little inside information about the Interurban Traction Company's plans in time to secure an option on one link in its chain of roads, and it has simply got to do business with me before it can make its line complete. For twenty thousand dollars, paid any time within sixty days, I can control the blooming little line, and the option to buy at that price is going to cost the traction company just twenty-five thousand dollars, which will be clear profit for me."

"It sounds nice," admitted Murray, "but, if I were in your place, I'd feel a good deal better if I had the money to make good. If they don't buy, you lose your forfeit, which represents every cent you could scrape up."

"They will buy," asserted Lake confidently.

"They may think it cheaper to parallel your line," suggested Murray.

"I'm not worrying," returned Lake confidently. "I'm just waiting for them to come and see me, and they'll come."

Lake's prophecy proved correct. They came--at least Colonel Babington came, he being the active manager of the company's affairs. But Colonel Babington first took the precaution to learn all he could of Horace Lake's financial standing and resources. This convinced him that it was what he termed a "hold-up," but, even so, it was better to pay a reasonable bonus than to have a fight.

"We will give you," said Colonel Babington, "a thousand dollars for your option on the majority stock of the Bington road."

"The price," replied Lake, "is twenty-five thousand dollars."

"My dear young man," exclaimed the colonel, when he had recovered his breath, "you ought to see a specialist in mental disorders. You are clearly not right in your mind."

"The price," repeated Lake, "is twenty-five thousand dollars now, and, if I am put to any trouble or annoyance in the matter, the price will go up."

"A bluff," said the colonel, "is of use only when the opposing party does not know it is a bluff. We happen to know it. You haven't the money to buy that road, and you can't get it."

"You speak with extraordinary certainty," returned Lake with dignified sarcasm.

"The road," asserted the colonel, "is valuable only to us, and we can parallel it, if necessary. No conservative capitalist is going to advance you the money to buy it in the face of such a risk as that, so we have only to wait until your option expires to get it from the men who now own it, and I may add that we have taken a second option at a slightly higher price. Therefore, your only chance to get out of the deal with a profit is to let us acquire the road under the first option at something less than the second option price. To avoid any unnecessary delay, we might be willing to pay you a bonus of two thousand dollars."

"The price," said Lake, "is now twenty-six thousand."

"Sixty days--less than fifty now, as a matter of fact--is not such a long time," remarked the colonel. "We will wait."

Lake told Murray later that he "had them in a corner," but Murray was inclined to be doubtful; fighting real money with wind, he said, was always a risky undertaking, and the Interurban Traction Company had plenty of real money. Lake, however, being in the "bluffing" line himself, was inclined to think all others were doing business on the same basis, and he confidently expected the colonel to return in a few days. But the colonel came not.

Then Lake made another trip to Bington, to look the ground over, and he was disturbed to find that the colonel had been sounding the people on a proposition to put a line through the town on another street. This was only a tentative plan, to be adopted in case of failure to get the existing line, but it showed that the company was not disposed to be held up without a fight. Fortunately, the people did not take kindly to the idea. The principal shops were on the line of the trolley now, and the proprietors did not wish to have travel diverted to another street.

Lake devoted several days to missionary work in Bington, pointing out the great depreciation of property that would follow such a move, and he finally left with a feeling that the company would have an extremely difficult time getting the necessary legislation from the town officials. Still, he was not entirely at ease, for officials are sometimes "induced" to act contrary to the wishes of the people they are supposed to represent. But he believed he had made the situation such that Babington would come back to him. Surely, it would be cheaper to deal with him than to buy an entire town board.

Thirty of the sixty days slipped away, and Lake grew really anxious. The Interurban Traction Company could not be a success without a connecting link between the two main stretches of its line, and Lake had not believed that it would dare to proceed with its plans until this was assured. Consequently, he had expected all work to stop, pending negotiations with him. But work did not stop. There were two or three trifling gaps at other places, and the company was laying the rails to bridge them, in addition to improving the road-beds of the lines it had bought. It even began to build a half-mile of track to reach one terminus of his little road. Clearly, there was no anticipation of trouble in ultimately beating him.

"It's my lack of money," he soliloquized. "I've got the basis of a good thing, if I only had the money to make it good, but I haven't, and they know it. Murray was right."