An involuntary exclamation of surprise came from the lips of young Nelson; but Mrs. Warner maintained her professional gravity.
“Will you give us a notice of this withdrawal in writing?” she inquired coolly.
“Certainly. I have it here.” Mr. Warner tapped his portfolio. “But I wish first to speak of another matter.” He opened the portfolio and took from it a sheet of paper, which he unfolded. “This is a copy of the franchise under which the Granton Electric Railway operates. No doubt you are familiar with it, but I shall take the liberty of reading a portion of Article Fourteen.
“ ‘It is further agreed that whenever the net profits of the party of the first part for any fiscal year, beginning on the first day of July and ending on the thirtieth day of June following, shall be shown to be in excess of eight per centum of the amount of capital stock as stated in the papers of incorporation, the party of the second part shall receive an amount not less than fifty per centum of such excess, to be paid within sixty days from the expiration of the fiscal year in which such excess was realized.’
“You will notice it is provided and agreed that the excess of profit shall be paid within sixty days after the end of the fiscal year. Obviously, an infraction of this rule would constitute a violation of franchise. Such violation has been consummated. The Granton Electric Railway has admitted in writing an excess of profits amounting” — Mr. Warner consulted a slip of paper — “to $10,604.20, and no payment, or offer of payment has been made. This is the first day of September. The sixty days have terminated.”
“Of course not!” cried young Nelson, springing to his feet. “Of course we haven’t paid! You know very well we have merely been waiting till the dispute was settled. We’ve been willing to pay the ten thousand at any time. The sixty-day clause has nothing to do with it. As a matter of fact, only last year we didn’t send the city a check till well in October. I signed it myself.”
“Pardon me, Mr. Nelson,” put in Mrs. Warner, whose face had suddenly gone white. She turned to her husband and stretched out a hand that trembled. “Will you please let me see that franchise?” she asked, with an evident effort at control.
“With pleasure,” replied the lawyer. “But just a moment, please.” He turned to young Nelson. “The fact that your check last year was not sent till October proves merely that the preceding city administration were better friends of yours than they were of the city’s.” Then again to his wife, holding up the franchise:
“You will notice, here at the bottom, it is provided that any violation of franchise shall be deemed sufficient cause for revocation. We wish to announce our intention to take full advantage of this technical violation. Here are our terms:
“The Granton Electric Railway Company is to pay the city $31,254.65, the full amount of its claim for excess profits. It is to submit to the revocation of the present franchise and accept a new one which shall include the Vinewood Park line in the computation of future profits. The alternative is that we will revoke the present franchise by law and refuse to grant a new one.”
“It’s blackmail!” cried young Nelson, again starting to his feet; but at a glance from Mrs. Warner he sat down again.
“Will you please let me see that franchise?” she repeated, and this time her voice plainly trembled.
Mr. Warner handed the paper across the table.
“You may keep it,” he said politely. “It’s only a copy.”
Then he gathered the rest of the papers into the portfolio and rose to his feet. The mayor also rose.
“We will wait till noon tomorrow for your decision,” said Mr. Warner. “Unless our demands are met by that time, we shall at once enter an action to annul your franchise.” And he turned to go.
Mrs. Warner looked up from the paper; the print was dancing before her eyes.
“But... wait!” she cried. “Timmie!” She stopped short, while her face reddened to the tips of her ears. Then her head went up proudly. “I mean Mr. Warner,” she amended. “Will you give me time to get in communication with Mr. Nelson?”
Mr. Warner turned at the door. “Mr. Nelson is here,” he said, dryly.
Again his wife’s face grew red. “I mean Mr. Henry Blood Nelson,” she explained. “The president of the company.”
“He can communicate with me at my office at any time,” replied the lawyer. “But our terms, as I have given them, are final.” With that he departed, followed by the mayor.
“The blackmailers!” cried young Nelson at the closed door.
“Mr. Nelson,” came Mrs. Warner’s voice, curiously steady, “you are talking of my husband.”
The young man turned, flushing. “I’m sorry, I... really, I forgot.”
“Very well. I understand. Now go — your car is outside, isn’t it? — go to your father’s office and tell him I shall be there in half an hour. Don’t say anything about what has happened. I’ll tell him myself. I deserve it.”
She sent him away, in spite of his remonstrances. When she found herself alone she sat down with the franchise before her on the table and began to read Article Fourteen.
V
That night Mayor Slosson and Mr. Warner sat up till eleven in vain expectation of a word from the hostile camp. Then, considering it useless to wait longer, the mayor arose to go.
“We’ll hear in the morning,” he observed hopefully. “You don’t think it possible they’ve found a loophole?”
“Not a chance,” declared the lawyer confidently.
As soon as his visitor had departed he undressed and lay down on the cot. He felt that he had done a good day’s work, both for himself and for others. But somehow this feeling brought no comfort. His wife’s face, white with consternation and dismay, would not leave his Vision. He wondered if she had gone to bed, and if so, whether she slept.
For an hour he lay thus, uneasy, in torment. Suddenly he sprang up from the cot, turned on the light, took a pack of cards from a drawer of the desk and sat down. He began to lay them out for his favorite game of Canfield: One up, six down, one up, five down, one up, four down, one up, three down. He had nearly completed the pleasant task when his face suddenly filled with an expression of disgust.
“Silly fool!” he muttered aloud, brushing the cards onto the floor and rising to his feet.
Again he sought the cot and lay there, with eyes alternately open and closed, till morning. Then he arose, dressed and went out to a restaurant for breakfast.
The first word from the enemy came a little before nine o’clock in the form of a telephone message from Mr. Henry Blood Nelson. He wished to know if he could call on Mr. Warner at his office at a quarter past nine.
“We’ve got ’em,” said Mr. Warner, hanging up the receiver and turning to Mayor Slosson, who had just come in.
“We have,” agreed the mayor. “Shall I leave?”
“No. I may want you.”
The mayor sat down and lit a cigar.
The little office at 417 Main Street saw more bustle and excitement in the next three hours than it had witnessed in all the fifteen years of its uneventful career.
First came Mr. Henry Blood Nelson, to depart sputtering with wrath. Then his son, John Henry Nelson, who departed likewise. Then different officers of the Granton Electric Railway Company, singly and in bodies, armed with books, arguments, and protestations. Then Mr. Arthur Hampton, of the firm of Hampton and Osgood, who had been the G. E. R. lawyers before the advent of Mrs. Warner.
And, finally, came again Mr. Henry Blood Nelson, with hatred in his heart and a check for $31,254.65 in his hand. It was surrender.
“Mr. Warner,” said the mayor, when he found himself again alone with the lawyer, “I want to congratulate and thank you on behalf of the people of Granton. You used sharp weapons against the enemy, but it is the only kind that will pierce their dirty, thick skin. And I thought I was doing you a favor when I gave you the case!”