Dan laughed. “No reason, except that there wouldn’t be any radical movement if some didn’t do that. You’re the first really fat angel that has appeared in my sky.”
“Well, wait,” said Bunny, “till I find out just how fat I’m going to be. I’ve an idea my friend Vernon Roscoe will do what he can to keep me lean. He knows that whatever I get will go to making trouble for him.”
“My gosh!” said Dan. “Have you seen the things we’ve been sending out about Roscoe’s foreign concessions, and what the state department is doing to make him rich? That story would beat the Sunnyside lease, if we could get the Senate to investigate it!”
II
Chicago, and more messages for Bunny. He had cabled Dad’s secretary to ascertain if there was any will among Dad’s papers. The secretary replied that nothing had been found, and neither the widow nor the daughter knew of such document. They were proceeding to Paris after the funeral, and the secretary would cable if anything was found there.
So then to Angel City, and more cablegrams; the secretary advised that no will was among Mr. Ross’s papers in Paris, and Bertie cabled, “I believe that infamous woman has destroyed will. Have you anything in Dad’s writing or hers.” From which Bunny made note that deathbed repentances do not last very long—at least not when it’s another person’s deathbed! Bunny had nothing from Dad, except the order for the Ross stock, and that wouldn’t bring much satisfaction to Bertie. He cabled to Alyse, at her Paris hotel, reminding her that his father had stated the terms of their marriage to be that she was to receive one million dollars from the estate, and no more, and asking her to confirm that agreement. The reply which he received was from a firm of American lawyers in Paris, advising him on behalf of their client, Mrs. Alyse Huntington Forsythe Olivier Ross, that she knew of no such agreement as he had mentioned in his cablegram, and that she would claim her full rights in the estate. Bunny smiled grimly as he read. A clash between Spiritualism and Socialism!
Also a clash between Capitalism and Socialism! Bunny went to call on his father’s partner, at the office, where both could speak frankly; and they did. Verne’s first statement was a knockout—Bunny’s father had been mistaken in thinking that he had any Ross Consolidated Class B stock, and therefore his order upon Verne was worthless. All those street certificates had been sold some time ago at Dad’s order; Dad’s memory had evidently been failing since his illness—or perhaps he had not been watching his affairs since taking up with Spiritualism. His business was in a bad way. In the first place, the Ross Consolidated Operating Company, which had been Dad’s choicest holding, was practically bankrupt. Verne had that day been notified by the fire insurance companies involved that they would not pay the claims, because they had evidence that the fires had been of incendiary origin; they didn’t quite say it in plain English, but they implied that Verne or his agents had started the fires, because the company had an oversupply of oil and was caught with a failing market.
“Good God!” said Bunny. “What’s that, a bluff?”
“No,” said Verne, “that’s a scheme of Mark Eisenberg, who runs the banking business in this city for the Big Five, to knock one of the independents out. They’ll tie us up in the courts for Christ knows how many years. Ross Operating won’t have the cash to develop that burned over field, and if it has to assess its stockholders for the money, your father’s estate won’t be able to finance its share without help. The Lobos River wells are played out, and the Prospect Hill field is filling with water. Of course your father’s got shares in my foreign undertakings, but none of them will realize anything for a long time; so it looks as if you’ll have to sell them out.”
“Who is to handle all this?”
“Here’s a copy of Jim’s will—you can take it home and study it at your leisure. The executors are you and me and Fred Orpan, and you and Bertie are to divide the estate. Of course that’s been knocked out by his marriage; unless he’s made another will, the widow gets one-half, and you and Bertie a quarter. I promised your father I’d do the executor’s work, so I suppose it’s up to me. Let me say this right away—that Paradise field bears your name, and if you want to take it over and run it, I won’t stand in your way. You can sell some of your other holdings and buy me out at the market price and run the business for yourself. Do you want to be an oil man?”
“No,” said Bunny, promptly. “I do not.”
“Well, then, I’ll have to buy out your father’s stock; because the company is bankrupt, and I won’t carry it unless I have control. You and me couldn’t work together, Jim Junior—your ideals are too high.” Verne laughed—but without his usual jollity. “If I hadn’t promised your old man to do this job, I’d like to dump Ross Operating onto you and let it go bankrupt on your hands, and see what you’d do. You didn’t agree with your father about business men controlling the courts. Well, by Jees, you just be an upright public-spirited young citizen, and let the courts appoint a receiver for Ross Operating, without any bribery or undue influence of any sort—not pulling any political wires or making any threats or improper promises—and see how much you’d have left of the eight or ten millions, or whatever will be collected from the insurance companies a few years from now!”
