“We are completing plans for the merger, Mr. Wilberton,” said Griscom. He was a man almost the age of Wilberton. Like the visitor, he was a man of dignity; but he had none of the overbearing manner that characterized the newcomer.
“I hope you have made progress,” replied Wilberton, with a careful pronunciation of each word.
“We have,” declared Griscom. “Our plans simply await your approval.”
“Let me hear them!”
“We have decided upon a merger of the United Theater Corporation with the Cooper-Lowden interests. A smaller group — the Derringer Circuit — will be absorbed by the merger.
“The terms agreed upon are substantially those which I discussed with you. Our attorneys will prepare all the necessary papers during the next few weeks. That is chiefly a matter of detail. In the meantime, we are looking forward to your decision.”
“Will the new organization reach the proportions that you anticipated?”
“It will exceed them! When the merger is completed, we will have theatrical holdings that will place us very close to the largest organizations in the country!”
“And for this you need?”
“A loan of three and one half million dollars, with our holdings as security.”
THERE was a hush in the room as all present looked at the man at the head of the table. Upon Stanley Wilberton depended the hopes that they had nourished.
The elderly man seemed to relish his mastery of the situation. He looked around the group and studied the anxious faces. Then he spoke the momentous words.
“I told Mr. Griscom that I believed it could be arranged,” he said. “I still believe so.”
A buzz of approval followed. Wilberton remained silent, enjoying the effect of his words. Griscom raised his hand warningly, calling for quiet. The hubbub died.
“You can negotiate the entire loan, Mr. Wilberton?” he questioned.
The elderly man nodded.
There was no confusion now. A sense of satisfaction had come over the group.
These men had relied upon Howard Griscom, president of the United Theater Corporation, to use his influence with Stanley Wilberton, banker and financier, in the furthering of their plans.
Even the most optimistic of the group had doubted that it could be done; yet they had agreed that it was their only chance to complete the merger that would make them a power in the theatrical industry. Now their hopes had prospered.
“We are relying on this, Mr. Wilberton,” said Griscom, “and I know that these gentlemen would like to have your positive assurance that the money will be forthcoming. One month from today is the time that we have set for the final deal.
“At present, we are ready to announce the merger. It will have a marked effect upon the values of the various stocks concerned. Without a doubt, our holdings will be considerably more valuable one month from to-day.”
“I agree with you,” replied Wilberton.
His words brought new assurance to the group.
“We may consider it positive, then?” insisted Griscom.
Stanley Wilberton pursed his lips. He looked at the men about him. There was something in his expression that changed their hopes to doubts.
“You say that your holdings will be more valuable a month from to-day,” he said. “I have agreed with you — considering the matter from a normal view. But there are certain elements that pervade the theatrical business to-day that have a very definite bearing upon its financial standing.”
“It’s a stabilized business, to-day, Mr. Wilberton,” interrupted a short, dark man who was sitting at the center of the table. Griscom signaled to him for silence.
It was George Ballantyne, secretary of United Theaters, who had spoken. He was an important man in the corporation; but now was no time for an objection on his part.
“I refer,” said Wilberton, apparently not noticing Ballantyne’s interruption, “to the unsettled conditions that now exist throughout New York City.
“A class of pirates have sprung up — men called racketeers — and they have commenced to dominate legitimate enterprises, among them the theatrical business.”
BALLANTYNE was on his feet, pounding the table. Stanley Wilberton looked at him in profound surprise. Griscom was shaking with anxiety. The man could not be stopped.
“There’s no racketeering in our business!” he exclaimed. “We’ve had labor troubles — and some of them have been due to scoundrels who have tried to injure us. But those are minor matters. We have found out how to handle them.
“When stage hands and musicians have tried to put over exorbitant demands, we’ve put in talkies — and they’ve been crying for help ever since. Our enterprises are sound — and there’s no racketeering that has ever touched us.
“Most of our problems have been natural ones. We’ve met fair demands — we’ve fought unfair ones. We’ve smashed anything that looked like extortion, and we’ll continue to do so!”
He looked around among his companions for approval. He saw it there, even though the group was silent. Ballantyne looked squarely at Wilberton.
“Have you finished?” questioned the financier.
“Yes.” Ballantyne sat down.
“What you have said is true, Mr.—”
Wilberton hesitated.
“Ballantyne,” supplied Griscom.
“Ah, yes, Mr. Ballantyne,” resumed Wilberton. “What you have said is quite true. That is the unfortunate part of it all. The theatrical business is not at present subject to racketeering.”
Ballantyne looked at him with a puzzled air.
“With the present growth of racketeering,” continued Wilberton, “it is logical that the theatrical business will soon be imposed upon by these leeches. It will find the situation difficult to combat. It will suffer accordingly.”
“This is too much, Mr. Wilberton,” blurted Ballantyne. “You are assuming too much—”
The financier stared coldly at the irate speaker. Ballantyne settled down. Stanley Wilberton spoke again.
“With me,” he said, “it is a matter of lending money to a sound enterprise. Your merger is an excellent plan. But racketeering seems to be on the upward trend.
“Should demands be made upon you, which you would attempt to resist, your properties would be subject to damage and financial loss. Your merger would no longer be a sound venture; it would become a disaster!”
“I can’t agree with you!” declared Ballantyne.
“I do not ask your agreement,” replied Wilberton coldly. “I am simply stating my own opinion — and upon that I shall base my decision. I have other loans which I can make.
“I tell you, gentlemen, that I would prefer to lend money to a business in which racketeering had taken full hold, than to one which is subject to racketeering that has not commenced!”
“That is preposterous!” cried Ballantyne.
“It is sound business,” replied Wilberton, “and I shall explain my reasons for your benefit” — his voice took on a condescending tone — “because I realize that you need an opinion such as mine.
“Racketeers are parasites. They prey upon legitimate business. But they are wise. They go so far — no further. They, as much as the proprietors, are interested in the welfare of those businesses.
“Who pays? The public. Bread is selling at one cent a loaf more than it should. Milk has gone up one cent a quart more than it should be. The excess is being taken by the racketeers; they are satisfied.”
“ONE moment, Mr. Wilberton!”
The interruption came from a solemn-faced man at the corner of the table. “Those rackets which you mention are losing ground. They are on the wane. Racketeering has passed its peak!”
Stanley Wilberton stared at the interrupter. He was met by a gaze as cold as his own. Two piercing eyes were focused upon him, and the face of the man was fully as remarkable. It was the face of a man comparatively young, yet its masklike expression gave its possessor a weird appearance that was hypnotic in its effect.