“Oh, that,” retorted Johnson, not a little pleased that Stane should have heard of it, and rather nervously buttoning his crinkled black alpaca office coat. “There’s some dispute between the ministers of our different churches of that district, and I went down to arbitrate between them. They called for a little address afterward, and I took the occasion to lecture them on their conduct.” He drew himself up, quite dictatorially and proudly, as he recalled it. Stane noted the mood.
“The trouble with you, Johnson,” he went on lightly, “is that you should either be in Parliament, or on the bench. But if you’ll take my advice, you’ll make it Parliament first and the bench afterward. We need you too much around here to let you go on the bench yet.” He smiled cordially and really quite affectionately on Johnson, who in turn, flattered and warmed by the remark, beamed appreciatively.
“Well, as you know, I’ve been thinking of Parliament for a long time. There are so many things that come up in connection with our work here that might be helped by my presence there. Rider and Bullock are constantly talking of it. In fact, Rider insists on my standing in the by-election in his district in September. He seems to think I can win if I make a few addresses.”
“And why not? Who else better? And Rider has great influence there, as you know. I advise you to do it. And if I can be of any service to you, I or any of my friends, all you need to do is to call on me. I’ll be delighted.”
“That’s certainly kind of you and I appreciate it,” replied Johnson. “Besides,” and here his tone grew at once more confidential, “there’s something that came up in my office this morning which may have some bearing on this.” He paused, took out his handkerchief and cleared his nose, while Stane contemplated him interestedly.
“Well, what’s the secret?”
“I’ve just had two men in my office: Willard Jarkins, an American, and Willem Kloorfain, a Dutchman. They are agents and brokers, Kloorfain in London and Jarkins in New York. They’ve been telling me something interesting. You know that £30,000 option we gave to Greaves and Henshaw?”
Stane, half-curious and slightly amused by Johnson’s manner, withdrew his legs from his desk, put down the report he was examining, and looking hard at Johnson said: “That damn Traffic Electrical! What about it?”
“It appears,” went on Johnson, “that they went to New York quite recently to interview this multimillionaire Cowperwood. It also appears that they only offered him a half-interest in that £30,000 option for his services in raising the money with which to build the road.” Johnson chortled dryly. “And later, of course, he was to pay them a £100,000 for their services as engineers.” Both men were unable to repress an additional chuckle at this. “Of course,” continued Johnson, “he refused it. At the same time, it appears that what he really wants is to secure complete control; that or nothing. It seems, or so these people say, he expressed an interest in some such combination of lines as you and I have been thinking of here for the past ten years. As you know, he’s being driven out of Chicago.”
“Yes, I know,” said Stane.
“Well, in addition to that, I’ve just been reading an account of him which these fellows left with me. Here it is,” and he extracted from his pocket a full page from the New York Sun, the center of which carried a large and quite accurate pen-and-ink drawing of Cowperwood.
Stane unfolded the page and studied the picture, after which he looked up at Johnson. “Not a bad-looking fellow, what? Lots of go!” He then studied a printed chart of some of Cowperwood’s holdings. “Two hundred and fifty miles . . . and all in twenty years.” Then he concentrated on a paragraph relating to Cowperwood’s New York house, after which he added: “Seems to be a bit of a connoisseur, too.”
“There’s a paragraph there,” interjected Johnson, “that tells about the cause of his troubles in Chicago; mostly political and social, I take it.” He waited while Stane read that.
“My word, what a fight!” commented Stane after reading for a moment or two. “I see they estimate his holdings at twenty millions.”
“All of that, according to these two brokers. But the most interesting thing they had to report was that he is to be here within a week or two. And what they want is for me to meet with him, in order to discuss not only this Charing Cross line, which they somehow feel we are going to have to take back, but some such general system as we had in mind.”
“But these fellows Jarkins and Kloorfain,” queried Stane, “who are they, anyway? Friends of Cowperwood?”
“Not at all, not at all,” explained Johnson quickly. “On the contrary, as they confess, they are mere bankers’ agents out for a commission, either from Greaves and Henshaw, or Cowperwood, or us, or anyone they can interest; maybe all of us together. They do not represent the man in any way.”
Stane shrugged his shoulders ironically.
“It seems,” went on Johnson, “they’ve heard from some source that we are interested in a plan of unification, and they’d like me to get together a lot of investors and interest them in Mr. Cowperwood as a leader and then present this unification idea in such a way as to interest him. For that they want a commission, of course.”
Stane stared amusedly. “How frightfully jolly for everybody!”
“Of course, I declined that part of it,” continued Johnson, warily. “But I’ve been thinking that there might be something more there than appears on the surface. There might be some real inquiry on the part of Cowperwood that you and I might want to consider. For there’s still that Charing Cross millstone around our necks. Of course, I know very well no American millionaire is going to be allowed to come in here and take charge of our undergrounds. Still, it is possible that he might be joined up with a group here—yourself, Lord Ettinge, and Haddonfield—and possibly a joint form of control worked out.” He paused to observe the effect of this on Stane.
“Quite so, Elverson, quite so,” commented Stane. “If some of the investors are still as much interested as they were a few years ago, we might get them to come back into the fight. Cowperwood couldn’t very well edge in here without them.”
He got up and walked to one of the windows and looked out, while Johnson proceeded to explain that Jarkins and Kloorfain were to call back in a few days for his decision, and might it not be a good idea to caution them that if they expected to deal with himself or anyone he might be able to influence, they would have to maintain the strictest secrecy and leave everything to him.
“Righto!” said Stane.
This plan, as Johnson now added, would necessarily include not only the Charing Cross line but the Traffic Electrical as the sole owner, or at least as agent for it. Then once Stane and he had sounded out Haddonfield and Ettinge and others, they could say finally whether even a tentative agreement might be made. After that, it was entirely possible that Cowperwood would prefer to deal with Stane and himself and these other investors rather than with Jarkins and Kloorfain or Greaves and Henshaw, who, of themselves, could do nothing and hence should be dismissed as mere peddlers.
And with this Stane fully agreed. But before they had finished talking, it was already dark. A London fog was on. Stane recalled a tea, Johnson a legal conference. And so they parted, with a new elation in the hearts of both.
Accordingly, three days later—the length of time he considered necessary to impress them with his own importance—Johnson sent for Jarkins and Kloorfain and announced that he had laid the matter before some of his friends, and finding them not averse to further knowledge of what was in Cowperwood’s mind, he would, on invitation from Mr. Cowperwood, but not otherwise, see and confer with him. But only on condition that no prior contacts or arrangements of any kind were made by him. For the men he would try to interest were investors who would, under no circumstances, allow themselves to be trifled with.