# Man's Country/Chapter 20

BUT for all the new fervor of faith mani fested by the working organization, it was a sore and savage board of directors of the Judson-Morris Motor Works that met to receive the final report on the disastrous Nemo operation—an operation that showed for the year, instead of the usual fat and juicy earnings, a net loss of $1,200,000.
"The funeral will please come to order," announced President Judson with grim facetiousness, and began the disagreeable duty of a formal reporting, but there was not much humility in his manner. He acknowledged full responsibility for the loss, but trumpeted also full faith in his ability to recoup. To fill the depleted treasury and provide funds for the new operation he proposed coolly an issue of bonds to the extent of three million dollars, secured by a second mortgage on the plant.
"In this market—seconds? You can't place 'em," growled Peattie.
"At seven per cent? I can place them inside of a week," insisted George Judson with haughty assurance.
But when he went down-town and set to work ​with assumed confidence to make good on this proud boast, even his stout courage was dismayed by the refusals he encountered—by the astounding change in attitude since he last had occasion to visit the bankers. Instead of hailing his presence warmly, like an asset, they greeted him doubtfully, like a liability—or what was more ominous yet—with sympathy, which to his proud nature was worse.
"The Street's lost faith in you, George," sympathized old Simon Mumford. "I've got faith in you myself, of course, but your prestige is dented."
Simon Mumford had succeeded Stephen Gilman as president of the St. Clair Trust Company. He was co-executor with Mrs. Gilman of Fay's estate. If the St. Clair Trust wouldn't do anything for George, who would?
George worked for the entire week he had so boastfully allowed himself before his board of directors, and with not one spark of encouragement. At last he stood before S. R. Blodgett. Blodgett had been the man George had tried to see first of all, but he had been put off and put off until, when he was finally admitted to that august presence in the private office of the president of the Huron National, the convictian had already been formed in his breast that salvation depended on Blodgett alone, and Blodgett was unenthusiastic.
​"Tell you what you do, George," he proposed. "You go right ahead trying to sell these bonds yourself. Take a couple of days more on it, then come and see me."
Young Mr. Judson was vastly disappointed, but he bowed to the will of the man he was forced to supplicate. He rose, hat in hand.
"Come in, say, Thursday at four o'clock, George!" directed Mr. Blodgett, blandly kind and moderately encouraging.
George wrung his hand gratefully—grateful for the hope—and went out. He was so confident that S. R. Blodgett meant to help him, that his shrewd brain would point a way out, that he was tempted to give over his personal efforts to float the loan—only tempted, his nature was not soft. He was no quitter. He kept on with his missionary work—he revisited a dozen of the men he had already talked to; but instead of warmer the atmosphere had grown colder since his last interview.
When, on Thursday afternoon, George entered the private office of the President of the Huron National, he found S. L. Haley and T. O. Tompkins there and took instant hope, for here were three of the five men who had helped him to triumph before, but a second look at those impassive faces might have warned him.
"Looks like nothing doing, George!" an​nounced Mr. Blodgett, as sparing the victim's agony by not prolonging it.
The face of President Judson must have fallen considerably. His heart sank some fathoms certainly; he could feel it lying like a stone somewhere on the ocean floor of his diaphragm.
"There's a lot of people lost confidence in you," accused Silas Haley with a frown. "We helped you get steadied down once, and then you go rampagin' round like this and upset the whole financial equilibrium of the city."
"The whole financial—you compliment me," suggested George, and was able to smile brightly, judging by exterior appearances.
"Seems like with your control we aren't going to be able to absorb those bonds," explained Blodgett with a grave shake of his head.
"With my control?" asked George, giving over the assumed lightness of his manner. "Why, you are the very gentlemen who insisted on my control before you would underwrite the last ones."
"Exactly," said Tompkins dryly, "but now it's different. You've disappointed us."
"About the only way we could handle those bonds would be to have a change of control, wouldn't it?" Silas Haley inquired thoughtfully of Blodgett.
"Change of control?" asked George mystified, ​throat dry and voice reverberating in it hollowly as in ghostly chambers.
So they were proposing to oust him? A wildness appeared in his eye, and his dark cheeks purpled with resentful wrath.
"Gentlemen, I'm not conceited enough to suppose there aren't a dozen men in the auto industry in Detroit who could step into my desk and carry this thing forward," he confessed with perhaps a greater humility than he felt. "I flatter myself that in spite of the year's reverses I've got the business to that point. But," and he became suddenly bold and assertive, "I don't know where these men are. I do know where I am. I'm in the saddle out there now, and I've got everything at my finger's end."
"That's just why I wouldn't stand for any change in the management out there now," broke out Tompkins flatly.
A knot of perplexity appeared in the young man's brow. Change of control—no change in management. "You are talking in riddles," he said with a weak smile.
"Not at all. You're president of Judson-Morris, and you've got to stay president," affirmed Silas Haley.
"You see, George," Mr. Blodgett suavely began to explain, "if you were to transfer fifteen per cent. of your stock to us, five per cent to each of us, then you would still control the com​pany by us voting our fifteen per cent. through you; but we control you that way, because if we held off on our fifteen per cent. you would lose your majority. That way we could assume responsibility for your not making any wild mistakes again, because we wouldn't let you; and that way we could guarantee the bonds. We've still got confidence in you; other people haven't. But they've still got confidence in us."
The young man's face was a study. "Do I understand that if I transfer fifteen per cent. of my stock to you, your institutions will join in underwriting our bond issue?"
"Today!" declared Blodgett with solemn emphasis.
There was silence while George's brain card-indexed this affirmation. If it were just a matter of "playing the game"—well, he could do that, he could stand punishment when it came his turn. And in this case it was true that, originally, he had been catapulted into power by this great game of business the rules of which he had had no part in making. Yes, if necessary he was now ready to prove himself a good loser as he had formerly proved a good winner. But there was another phase to the matter. He must also represent others than himself in this crisis. Milton Morris and his associates had welcomed George's control and had faith in it—would George now be justified in passing it ​along to others with no interests but their own at heart? Others who—both originally and now—had made their own rules as they played the game, and made those rules solely to suit their own convenience?
"And what do you offer for the stock?" George finally inquired.
An expression of mute surprise photographed itself on three innocent faces. Then the surprise froze into scorn.
"Nothing!" snapped Silas Haley.
"Nothing!" George exploded. "Fifteen thousand shares are worth, at the market, $310,000, but with one year's successful business they will be double that. You ask me to give you outright practically three-quarters of a million dollars to secure for my company a loan of three millions. It's an outrage! It's highway robbery!" George's voice had risen to denunciatory tones.
T. O. Tompkins flushed at the accusation, but he did not speak. Silas N. Haley looked pained that a charitable offer could be so misconstrued. He turned and glanced appealingly to S. R. Blodgett. Blodgett wore an air of superior patience. He did not flush; he did not even look pained; he looked comprehension and—indulgence.
"No, it isn't, George; no, it isn't," he assured soothingly. "It's like that other transaction of ​ours. The stockholders needed you, and we forced them to sell their stock to you to give you control. Now you need us!"
"But I paid for theirs!"
"Yes, and we pay for ours by using our reputation for conservatism to save your reckless skin for you, young man; that's what we do," retorted Silas Haley acrimoniously, and turning, gazed at S. R. Blodgett and T. O. Tompkins for looks of confirmation.
They gave them and were silent, watching, waiting!
For the time being, George felt fascinated by his own helplessness. He remembered his sensations in the other transaction when he saw this same mysterious organization of financial power operating with machine-like precision and machine-like indifference to make him rich, and now he saw this identical power operating to strip him—to tie him hand and foot to those who would henceforth be the real power over Judson-Morris and over him.
"I'll never do it, gentlemen!" he declared, but yet with self-control and low-toned emphasis that showed how thoroughly he meant what he said. Then he rose as if to go.
"Better sleep on it, George," Blodgett observed with a resumption of his old, paternal air. "You can see me at ten in the morning, if you decide you want to. I'll hold Haley and ​Tompkins in line that long," and he nodded toward his two associates who had gone into executive session a few feet away, talking in vehement whispers and with indignant jerks of their heads.