"But you can keep it all in escrow. When you pay the money, you take the stock. Where's the risk in that?"
Agate conceded that there wasn't any. But it was still no soap. "It's one of those things you can do if you already have money, Mitch. If you were the substantial citizen, that is, that Zearsdale thinks you are. As it is, well, they'd try to check it out with him, which would start him to checking on you. And you'd probably wind up with something you wouldn't like."
Mitch grinned wryly. "A hell of a note, isn't it, Lee? If I want to throw a curve, you're my boy. But I bring you something strictly legit, and you're not at home."
"Mmm-mmm." Agate had filled his mouth again. "Good lunch, Mitch."
"Lee… I could move the whole thing in one day. Get the money from you in the morning, cash in the stock, and have it back to you by closing time."
"Whuh!" The banker sprayed crumbs from his mouth, eyes bulging with horror. "Don't say things like that, Mitch!"
"I'd cut the juice right through the center, Lee. Seventy-five G's for each of us."
"Don't! Not another word!" Agate shuddered visibly. "My God, man! How could you even ask me to take a hundred thousand dollars of the bank's money, and turn it over to a- uh-"
Mitch knew it was no use, yet something beyond the knowledge pushed him on. "You know me, Lee. You know I wouldn't pull a fast one on you…"
"No, Mitch. No, no, no!"
"Why, hell, you could go along with me for that matter. What could be more logical? Seventy-five grand just for taking a little walk with me!"
"No, sir! I don't walk anywhere with the bank's money!"
"Well, use your own, then. You could raise it, couldn't you? Well? It's the chance of a lifetime, Lee! Seventy-five thousand dollars for doing absolutely nothing!"
"Nothing?" Agate laughed a little angrily. "Putting up a hundred thousand is nothing?"
"Not for a man like you. Not in view of your profit."
"Well…"
Mitch saw that he was weakening. Glory to God, he was weakening. And taking very careful aim, he threw in the hook.
"Well, forget it, Lee. There's a couple of other prospects I can probably get it from."
"No, now wait!" Agate said. "I-I think I can do it. It's eighty-five thousand net, right? Actually eighty-five instead of a hundred."
"Eighty-five? What do you-" Mitch broke off. "Oh, yes. I promised you fifteen for this morning, didn't I?"
Agate said that fifteen was right. "You know, I only swing about once a year now. If something doesn't look extra good, I don't touch it."
"This wasn't a caper, Lee. The fifteen is a flat loss to me."
"If you say so," Agate shrugged. "Either way, you had me stretched too far for comfort. If anyone else had phoned me to snatch up a hundred and twenty-five thousand on less than a hour's notice, I'd have told 'em to go jump."
"It was an emergency, Lee."
"I know. So," Agate smiled with a trace of nervousness. "With the eighty-five I get together, and the fifteen you give me now…"
"Mmm, yes," Mitch nodded, "that will make it, won't it? How soon can you get your end together?"
"That isn't the question, Mitch. Not right at the moment, it isn't."
"Oh?"
"No." Agate's eyes gleamed coldly behind the rimless glasses. "And if you were about to ask me if I'm worried about getting the fifteen thousand, I'll say no again. I don't have to worry. I know too much about you."
The change that had come over him was amazing. A change so pronounced that the cozy quiet of the restaurant seemed suddenly ominous. He drummed on the table, waiting, watching, his lips tightening into a thin, colorless line. He watched and waited, no longer the amiable, almost priggish acquaintance, but now revealed as the calculating whore he essentially was.
Mitch smiled at him winsomely. "Give me a few days, will you, Lee? I'm a little short this trip."
"That wasn't the agreement, Mitch."
"I honestly can't help it, Lee. My God, you know I'm good for it!"
"A man like you," said Agate, "is good only as long as he keeps his promises."
Mitch would have said the same thing himself, generally speaking. But he hadn't thought that Agate would play it so tough. "All right, Lee," he said, "I should have told you it would be a few days. Only a couple, actually. But you don't mind, do you, as long as you know you're going to get it?"
"Do I have a choice?"
The banker wadded his napkin, laid it on the table and stood up. Mitch also arose, picking up the check, but Agate plucked it from his fingers.
"Sometime when you're not so hard up, Mitch. Say two days from now."
"Aah, Lee…" Mitch winced. "I wish you wouldn't take it like this."
"Fifteen thousand. You'd better have it, Mitch."
He turned and walked away, fitting a Homburg over his pinkish scalp. Mitch looked after him, glumly, knowing that he would have to have the fifteen on the line. Knowing that he had lost his one chance to pick up the Zearsdale option.
13
Many Texas fortunes are old to the point of antiquity, their origins dating back to the copquistadores and huge Spanish land-grants. The founders were cattle-raisers-beef cattle; so also were their descendants, even to the present day. The discovery of oil was looked upon as a by no means lucky accident. It was "stinky stuff," something that spoiled water for the cattle and "messed up" the grazing. Since it was there, it had to be accepted, along with the millions it represented. But their attitude toward it was one of polite disdain. It was "upstart," you know. An infringement upon the civilization of a highly select group, whose forefathers had been living in elegance for centuries.
One has never been properly snubbed until he has come up against these "quality" Texans. Or perhaps snubbed is the wrong word, since one cannot very well be snubbed by a person who does not recognize his existence. Nor can one hardly take offense when that same person may be honestly puzzled at the mention of the Cabots and Lodges.
Who are they, anyway? Easterners?
Oh.
That is one kind of big-money Texan, the "old" money rooted inexorably in cattle. And generally speaking, he tries to live up to the superiority with which he has cloaked himself. His conduct is impeccable. He is a loyal friend, a generous enemy. He shuns ostentation. He is gallant with ladies, a gentleman with men. As good a man in private as he is in public.
All of which is by way of saying that Winfield Lord, Jr., was not that kind of Texan. Nor did he belong to the oilmoney group. In fact, the Lords fitted into none of the established categories, although they were a qualified amalgamation of several.
They were an old family. (The first had been white-trash scum from English prisons.)
They were pioneers. (They had been sneak-thieving camp followers when the Five Civilized Tribes were herded up the Trail of Tears.)
Their wealth had originated in cattle. (Acquired through murder.)
Arriving in what is now Oklahoma, the Lords were successively banished or chased from each of the Tribes' five autonomous Nations. Until, in about 1845, they arrived in the land of the Osages. The Osages were not a Nation, since they were not considered civilized. The government of the United States saw to it that they stayed within their own boundaries, but otherwise they were pretty much free to do as they pleased.