Hale put the paper in a trashbasket and drew Gloria back in the crowd. They were on Seventh Avenue, moving uptown through halted, honking traffic and cops, afoot and on horseback, who seemed more anxious to join them than to keep them orderly swarms of men and women, boys and girls, streaming out of side streets and buildings to join the river of people, yet somehow not losing their identities. Mobs are generally homogenous in mood and object. This mob outwardly resembled others; its aim was one spot; its one emotion was cheerfully belligerent self-confidence. But each atom of the mass had a strictly individualistic goal.
AT Fortieth Street they jammed to a stop, and stood packed and clamored good-naturedly at the top of their lungs.
"Let's get away from this," Gloria begged in a small, timid voice.
But Hale was fascinated. He balanced on his toes and peered over heads. On the outer fringe of the crowd a sound truck managed to get fairly close to a bank building on the east side of the avenue. By pressure from the front, Hale knew that people were forming a path for it. Presently he saw the truck door swing open with difficulty. The loud-speakers crackled and burst into a roar:
"Friends, the directors of the City Bank take this opportunity to thank you for this splendid response to their offer. We must admit frankly, however, that your response has swamped us. We must ask your co-operation in giving us time to analyze the situation and modernize our credit apparatus. In this request we are not alone. Every bank and credit organization in the Western Hemisphere" — Hale began trembling with anticipation —"has been unable to meet the demands put upon it. Therefore a new, highly efficient Pan-American credit organization, embracing every bank, investment house, trust fund, loan society, in either of the American continents, all co-ordinated to the last degree, is swiftly being put into operation.
"You can readily see, my friends, that the financiers of America — of Greater, More Prosperous America, the America of both continents — believe implicitly in the magnificent future of our half of the world!"
The crowd cheered. Hale felt thrilled, and listening to the suave voice calmed Gloria, though she still vainly tried to avoid bodily contact.
"There are certain limitations we have temporarily agreed to impose," the speaker roared on. "While we are unconditionally prepared to finance any and all sound, practical business ideas, we must insist on a certain amount of capital on the part of the borrower —"
The mob began to mutter resentfully.
"In that decision," the speaker added hastily, "We do not show lack of confidence. The amount is arbitrary ... nothing at all if the idea shows exceptional promise. But in most cases we must ask equal confidence on the part of the borrower, in that he should demonstrate his business ability by acquiring a certain amount of his own capital. With wages skyrocketing" — the voice became humorously depreciating — "that should prove no major obstacle to any really industrious, self-confident worker, should it?"
The crowd laughed, cheerfully cocksure.
"In return for your co-operation, the Pan-American Credit Corporation and all its constituent units will extend unlimited credit — in accordance with its very simple conditions, which will be determined very shortly — unlimited credit, I repeat ... with not the slightest charge for interest! All we ask is the opportunity of purchasing shares in the companies we finance!"
The crowd screamed approval. Hale searched his mind for a trick.
"Now please return to work and concentrate on saving capital!"
The mob broke up leaving Hale wondering. He caught the sleeve of a well-dressed, professional-looking man. Hale guessed him to be a lawyer. He asked: "Do you think that's on the level ... no interest on loans?"
"Certainly," replied the stranger with disdain. "Why shouldn't it be on the level?"
"Well, I don't know. How will the banks make money?"
"Evidently you don't understand economics. With the enormous potential earning capacity of this country, merely taking shares will bring in far more than the old obsolete method of asking repayment of loans plus a fixed rate of interest. In companies with exceptionally bright futures, the banks ask the opportunity of buying additional shares."
"Oh," Hale breathed and turned to find a taxi willing to sell him a ride. He thought, if he'd gone to the bank the day before, and offered merely an idea and the option of buying stock in a non-existent company, in return for a loan — well, who was loony now?
HALE AND GLORIA stood on the rim of a huge excavated lot. In his absorption in what was going on there, Hale ignored his discomfort. But Gloria wailed: "Oh, Billie-willie, it's so hot! Why can't we go swimming?"
"Later, darling," he said abstractedly.
"But you always say the same thing. You don't have any consideration for me any more. You don't love me!"
"Oh, hell," he said irritably, and gave her a sweaty kiss.
When he turned back, a quarrel was starting in the center of the half-completed foundations. Hale wavered; he couldn't leave Gloria, nor could he heartlessly ask her to climb down the dusty embankment. He waited impatiently until it was over. Then he called the contractor, who came over, angry and red. "What's the trouble, Reading?" he asked.
The contractor stopped smearing his handkerchief across his forehead. "Trouble?" he shouted. "It is and it ain't. A year ago I'd have fired every damned one of 'em, only now I can't replace them."
"What do you mean — it is and it ain't?"
"I mean trouble. I guess I'm getting used to it, so it ain't really trouble. See those guys down there?" He pointed.
"Of course. What about them?"
"I'm the contractor on this damn job. That's supposed to mean I get contracts, buy materials, get blueprints, and hire all the men. Ain't that so? Well, it ain't ... not any more!"
Hale murmured uncomprehending sympathy.
"Don't feel sorry for me," Reading bristled. "I can lick them. They're only the guys who lay the foundations. After them come the steel workers and the carpenters, bricklayers, plumbers, electricians, plasterers, and so on. Well, they make me divide up the contract so each man's working for himself. You know, like a ... uh —"
"Co-operative?"
"Yeah." Reading flapped his soaked handkerchief and stuffed it in his pocket. "Every man for himself. They made me tell how much dough there was in the contract, and then they figured out what everybody should get. Damn it, I tell you they're a bunch of communists!"
Reading spun around in the grip of a heavy, cement-whitened hand. "None o' that, mister!" a cement porter threatened. "Everybody on the job figures out what it costs him to work. All we want is a profit over our expenses. We're in business, same as you."
Reading snarled: "Yeah; but you're asking a hell of a big cut!"
"You bet!" the worker grinned and ambled away with his wheelbarrow. "There's plenty o' dough for everybody, and more coming!"
The contractor glowered. "See what I mean? They pay me a commission for getting the contract and buying materials. But I got the whip hand, bud! I'm the guy who has the blueprints and contracts! Just let them keep on getting funny —"
Tactfully, Hale didn't mention the possibility of their refusing to work. Reading would have been as confident as before of his ability to break his workers —"his" no longer. And the workers would have been confident, even had they known of his threat to refuse access to the blueprints, that they could get along splendidly without him.
It was all very confusing. Hale had never thought that some day workers might hire their bosses, which was what it amounted to. Who could have imagined that banks would be distributing money almost without asking questions? Unlimited credit for unlimited expansion! He stopped there. His mind, battered by so many previous improbabilities, refused to go as far as the question: they'll all get capital; and then?