The New York business man cannot understand why it is that a Londoner flies away to the river, the sea-shore, or the country on the slightest pretext4 “to rest.” To say nothing of the extreme deliberation—to use an inoffensive term—in all his business methods, the citizen of the British metropolis5 has little in the common feature of municipal life to distract him. No gong ever clangs in a London street. Not even{232} on a fire-engine is that abomination tolerated. Broadway has become a municipal boiler-shop, to be fled from with bursting ear-drums. In Piccadilly, the wheels are silent and the horses seem to step lightly on the almost elastic6 pavement. Toleration of noise in all its forms is, indeed, the great surviving element of barbarism in the American people. Its relentless7 suppression is the only obvious superiority of European civilization above that of the New World.
But London did not seem the same to Brent after his two years’ absence. He avoided at first his old resorts, and did not seek out the associates from whom he had been completely cut off since he bade them good-by in early September, 1893. The old life did not tempt8 him as he had expected it would. London was the same, yet different. “It must be because everybody is out of town for the holidays,” he told himself, in trying to account for his intangible impression of change.
After a few days, Brent strolled into one or two of his favorite clubs. They were almost deserted10. Only a few fossilized members, whom nothing short of an earthquake could shake out of their favorite smoking-room seats, were to be seen. Some of them recognized Brent, and nodded to him. Nobody ever does anything more in a typical London club. Americans, some of them, have an idea that one of the objects of{233} a club is to furnish members with the society of their fellows. Not so in London. Sit for an hour and watch the members of an English club stroll into the smoking-room one by one after dinner to enjoy their coffee, cigars, and liquor. A dozen men, perhaps, will be sitting each quite by himself at a tiny table. A newcomer enters. Half the men in the room nod to him, and he returns the salutation with as much cordiality as he thinks necessary. The other half don’t look up from their papers. But does he join one of his friends or acquaintances for a chat over the coffee? No mere11 good fellowship would justify12 such a liberty. He seeks the most secluded13 corner that remains14 unoccupied, draws a table barricade15 in front of him, and signals for a waiter. And if two men are inconsiderate enough to come in together with an unfinished conversation carried on above a whisper, all the other men in the room frown at the disturbers. The Englishman seeks his club for solitude16, not for society.
Brent was quite used to this feature of London club life, and now he rather rejoiced in it. There was just sufficient companionship in the simple presence of a few silent mortals to relieve a sense of isolation17 which had been oppressing him for weeks. It would not be true to say that wealth had in a few short months made of Brent a morose18 and disappointed man. The{234} great problem which confronted him had proved a heavier burden than he anticipated. The anxieties of the past year had been more irksome than the pleasurable though arduous19 excitement of the previous months of adventure. But Brent was too young, too sanguine20, and too resourceful to be cast down by the vast responsibilities which weighed more heavily upon him each day.
The day after he had arranged for taking the British government loan of ￡20,000,000, he set about figuring up roughly his financial operations since the night he had taken John Wharton partly into his confidence nine months before. Nearly $500,000,000, about fifteen per cent of his golden store, had been used or distributed—“got rid of,” he put it, in summing up the situation to himself.
“No, it isn’t rid of,” he corrected himself, “unless I burn up four hundred millions in securities. That is the worst of it,” he mused22, rather gloomily. “I’m not rid of any, to speak of, except what I have actually given away.” And the young man put down a little resentfully the sense of estrangement24 and isolation which his unique problem and insular25 situation forced upon him. He persisted in his determination to guard jealously the secret of his wealth. He fancied he was still secure from real danger of discovery. Once or twice he had experienced some of{235} the anxieties of a hunted criminal. The ardor26 with which the newspapers had pursued his secret added to his dread27 of the notoriety which would come with discovery.
Let it not be imagined that this trait in Brent’s character was a singular and un-American whim28. There is not an Astor, a Vanderbilt, or a Rockefeller who would not gladly sacrifice a great fortune from his possessions to escape from the isolation in which wealth has imprisoned29 him. The privilege of meeting one’s fellow-men upon a basis of sincerity30 is a boon31 quite unappreciated until wealth has taken it away. A man of many millions must do one of two things. Either he must build a wall about himself which he will permit no stranger and few of his so-called friends to pass, or he must arm himself with unrelenting suspicion and incredulity, until his waning32 faith in human nature almost disappears.
If the true story of “How it Feels to be a Millionaire” should ever be written, it will contain chapters that will excite more commiseration33 than envy. The “poor millionaire” is not likely to become an object of popular pity and sympathy, but he is often not a bad fellow after all. An American cursed with the fame of many millions gained by his ancestors, said recently that from early youth his position had suggested to him that of an antique statue at the mercy{236} of relic-hunters. His experience constantly deepened his impression, that nine out of ten of the people with whom he was brought in contact were armed each with hammer and chisel34, ready to chip off a piece if they could get a chance. It was not so much from love of his wealth that he resisted most demands made upon him. It was because a man to whom money is a drug resented being wheedled35 and hoodwinked and swindled with just the same feelings that a poorer man might spend ten times the sum involved to recover an overcharge from a railroad company.
But if Brent had escaped thus far the commoner penalties of wealth, the exemption36 was more than overbalanced by his peculiar responsibilities. His misgivings37 about the effects of an enormous addition to the world’s supply of monetary38 metal were growing stronger daily. He began weeks before to realize the practical wisdom of the financial maxim39 that the essential value of gold as a monetary standard is its stability—its steady and almost unfluctuating supply. Before he left America signs were multiplying of a radical40 disturbance41 at the foundations of the financial system. High and advancing prices with cheap money was a combination so paradoxical and rare, that all calculations were upset by it. Already the tendency was to accumulate and hoard42 visible property, rather than the golden or other monetary tokens{237} of it. Who wanted his possessions turned into gold or other form of cash, when the purchasing power of money was declining daily? The prices of food, of manufactures, of land, of everything except labor43, were rising at an unprecedented44 rate. There was a scramble45 for things of intrinsic value—a property panic, it might be called.
Wheat, for instance, was climbing toward famine prices. Why should an owner of grain sell, unless to invest in some commodity enhancing in value at a still more rapid rate? Stocks and bonds or money itself would yield only the most trifling46 returns on the capital represented. The prudent47 investor48 was forced to cling to those forms of property the demands for which were unceasing and inevitable49. And the effect of this sudden limitation of the channels of investment? Obvious enough, and ominous50 too, to the dullest comprehension. When everybody wants to buy and nobody is willing to sell, prices quoted have small relation to the intrinsic value of the commodity in question. There was almost a corner in the markets of America. It was no artificial squeeze, manipulated by scheming traders. It was the inexorable working of one of the great laws of demand and supply, which no man or set of men could completely control. It presaged51 something worse.
Already the mutterings of a rapidly gathering52{238} storm were heard throughout the land. Wage-earners, and all men with fixed53 incomes, were at the mercy of a far worse demon54 than “hard times.” Reduce the pay of every laborer55 and salary-earner in the United States forty per cent within six short months, and what would be the effect? The very foundations of constitutional government would hardly bear the strain. And yet that was just what had happened. The artisan who earned $20 a week in September was able to buy no more with his money than the laborer’s $12 a week had purchased the previous March. To restore to the artisan the same equivalent in purchasing power that he had received in March, would require raising his wages to $33 a week. In other words, $20 would buy in March precisely56 the same quantities of food and clothing and fuel which it needed $33 to procure57 in September.
If this scaling down of wages had been done by employers, organized labor would have known how to deal with the situation. But the amount paid in wages was the same—more in some cases—in dollars and cents as it had been at the beginning of the year. It was impossible, therefore, to retaliate58 at once with strikes and other arbitrary measures. The power to be combated was greater and beyond the employers. Moreover, it was something even less tangible9 than the soul of a corporation. There was no getting at it.{239} Employers themselves, except the producers of goods in regular demand, suffered from it quite as much as did the workers. The railroad companies could not advance fares and rates, because the purchasing power of money had suddenly diminished nearly one half. The increased prices they were called upon to pay for coal, rails, and rolling stock left them no surplus with which to satisfy the demands of employees for more wages. Miners and mill operatives were pressing their claims with better success. Coal and standard cotton and woolen59 goods were held at high prices, although the demand from actual consumers did not increase. The latter fact did not for the moment trouble the middlemen or dealers60. Nothing was to be gained by turning their goods into money on a rising market. They held on for still larger profits.
The farmers were the ones who regarded the situation with the greatest satisfaction. The crops already beginning to come to market were large, but the prices of all staple61 products were marvelously high. Wheat, corn, and cotton seemed to be the favorite investments for idle money, while a real estate boom drew attention away from stocks and bonds in still another direction. Agriculture could afford to enjoy a wonderful prosperity at the expense of town vocations62. The boot had been on the other leg long{240} enough. Somehow, no matter how, the tiller of the soil had been suddenly restored to his pristine63 supremacy64 in the economic world. It was enough for him to rejoice over the fact without trying to explain it.
Explanations there were and plenty of them, spread before all classes in the literature of the day. The most plausible65, and the one most readily accepted at farmhouse66 hearthstones, was a complete vindication67 of the so-called “greenback craze” of a few years before. For the first time since the resumption of specie payments ten years after the Civil War, there was a superabundance of money in circulation. The effect upon the farmer was an unmixed blessing68 apparently69. Once more agriculture paid a handsome profit. What matter to the farmer if the prices of all kinds of commodities were high? His farm supplied most of his bodily wants. He could burn wood instead of buying coal, and he didn’t mind paying rather more for clothing if the profit on his oats and corn doubled. Besides, he could pay his debts, and cancel his mortgage before long. It was only the fortunate farmer who had no debts or mortgage who was puzzled what to do with his enhanced profits. Savings70 banks, stocks, bonds would yield him only a pittance71 on his money. He could not buy more land, because the price had already gone too high. He wished he had not sold his crops for he saw they would{241} have brought still higher figures if he had held on.
Most of the features of the situation were familiar to Brent before he left America, and his apprehensions72 had been thoroughly73 aroused. The newspapers and his private advisers74 at about the beginning of October informed him that affairs at home were assuming a critical and dangerous phase in many places. He received one afternoon by cable a long message in cipher75 from Wharton, who was still his sole confidant. When he had translated it, this was what confronted him:
“Commercial demoralization becoming so widespread in all centers that grave evils imminent76. Foodstuffs77 have reached famine prices. Bread riots feared Chicago and other places. Situation aggravated78 by our continued support of stocks at present prices. Tendency to sell securities and reinvest in visible property increasing daily. Think you should make radical change of policy in face threatened evils. Much regret your absence. Cannot you return for at least brief visit? Emergency may compel prompt action any moment to divert disastrous79 consequences. Please cable full instructions and sail if possible.—Wharton.”
Brent was seriously alarmed and discouraged by this dispatch. Before deciding upon a complete course of action, he cabled Wharton the following reply:{242}
“Endeavor divert course of speculation80 by allowing stocks decline gradually few points without exciting panic. Offer British naval81 bonds freely below par21 if necessary in order attract money from grain market. Try reduce price wheat by short sales or otherwise. Devise means for supplying food at fair prices in all distressed83 districts. Do this without ostentation84, and employ existing agencies for distribution if possible. Use fullest discretion85 and spare no expense to avert86 serious disaster and violence. Keep me fully23 advised. If situation becomes more critical will return immediately.”
When he put himself face to face with the difficulties which he hoped his message to Wharton would mitigate88 somewhat, Brent speedily found himself in a bad temper. He put on his hat, set his teeth deep in an unlighted cigar, and presently was strolling aimlessly along the Thames Embankment. He found neither counsel nor encouragement in the face of old Father Thames. The grey river, like the grey city on its banks, was calmly indifferent to the petty concerns of any single generation of human weal and woe89. The young man was unreasonably90 irritated by the absence of sympathy and inspiration in the inanimate things around him. The hopelessness of his problem angered him.
“Building the Mystery is the only sensible thing I{243} have done since I landed the stuff in New York,” he told himself bitterly, while he leaned over the stone abutment near Cleopatra’s Needle, and watched with heedless eyes the gathering veil of dusk upon the river. “I was right at the outset—I cannot keep such a quantity of gold; I cannot spend it; I cannot give it away. What am I to do? I have turned only an eighth of it into money, and the financial system of America threatens to come tumbling about my ears. If I should invite a committee of bankers to visit my New York strong-room, and allow them to make known what they saw there, I verily believe anarchy91 would reign92 throughout Christendom within a month. I never dreamed that the monetary system of the world was so fragile a structure. Why, a golden ball, only about ten yards in diameter, would crush it in ruins. I solemnly believe that if my vault93 contained so many tons of dynamite94 instead of gold, and it threatened the destruction of the whole city of New York, it would be a far less dangerous menace to humanity than it actually is.”
The crushing sense of responsibility with which his thoughts suddenly overwhelmed the young man threw into his face a grey look of age, which might have been the reflection of the gathering shadows. His attitude had unconsciously become one of such dejection that a policeman passing by looked at him{244} sharply. A ragged95 urchin96 with the inevitable box of matches, which is always the excuse for London mendicancy97, accosted98 Brent at the same moment.
“Wax lights, sir, penny a box?”
No response.
“Have a light, sir. The cigar’s no good to you, sir, without a light,” and the boy lit a match and held it up before the tip of the cigar still in Brent’s mouth. Brent woke up. He turned rather angrily at first, but the half-impudent, half-winning smile on the dirty but bright face looking up at him, while its owner stood on tiptoe with the burning match, checked the sharp rebuff on the end of his tongue. His mood changed. He allowed the boy to light his cigar. Then he took from his pocket at least half a dozen golden sovereigns, put them into the lad’s hand without looking at them, and turned away.
The boy gasped99. For an instant he hesitated, then he started to run. He had not gone more than a dozen steps when he stopped suddenly. He stood still for a moment and then came slowly back.
“See here, mister,” he explained, with reluctant honesty, holding out the bright yellow coins toward Brent, “them isn’t ha’pence; them’s gold.”
“I know it, youngster. You’re welcome to them. Here’s another for your honesty,” dropping one more sovereign into the grimy hand.{245}
The variety of emotion that revealed itself through the dirt on the small boy’s face was so rapid that Brent almost burst out laughing. But the climax100 surprised him. It was genuine pity in the bright brown eyes, when after a long silence the little lad came a bit closer, glanced significantly at the darkening river, and said:
“I say, mister, a toff like you ain’t got no call to be here. You might fall in, you know, or some blokes might come along and chuck you in for your ticker. If you’re going to stay I’m going to stop along, too. I can swim, and the police-boats are right here at the Temple wharf101.” And after a moment, he added, “Come up to Charing102 Cross and I’ll give you back the coin—all except the last one; I ain’t got no use for so much, not in a year.”
Brent listened to this speech in amazement103.
“Good God! The boy thinks I am going to drown myself. He can’t account for indifference104 to gold on any other hypothesis,” he said to himself.
Putting a friendly hand on the ragged shoulder, he replied, with reassuring105 heartiness106:
“Well, my lad, I’ll go with you to Charing Cross, if you like. But don’t be alarmed. I haven’t robbed a bank, or escaped from a lunatic asylum107, or been jilted by a sweetheart. My only trouble is that I’ve got more of those things”—pointing to the{246} clutched hand in which the boy still held his coins—“than I know what to do with. By the way, I don’t think I need a swim as much as you do.”
The boy looked at him mystified and unbelieving.
“Nobody’s got that, sir,” he said, answering the point in Brent’s remarks quite beyond his comprehension. “Even the Lord Mayor hasn’t got more coin than he can do with.”
“The boy is quite right,” said Brent to himself. “No other man in all Christendom is cursed as I am. What real aid or sympathy could I get even if I sought it?” This to silence the suggestion which had risen in his mind that he should sacrifice even the privacy of life which he had guarded so jealously, in order to gain the wisest counsel for the solution of his momentous108 problem.
They walked up to the Strand109, these two, and the odd companionship attracted some attention in the crowded thoroughfare. Brent noticed that the lad looked with considerable interest into the window of a cheap restaurant, and it prompted the question,
“Are you often hungry, youngster?”
“Oh, yes, ’most always, but I had a pretty good feed this morning,” was the matter-of-fact reply.
“Let’s see how much you can eat now,” said Brent with some interest, turning back to the restaurant.{247}
“Just what I was a-goin’ to do, sir, as soon as you had no more use for me,” responded the boy with enthusiasm, and quickly added—“but I’ll pay for it, and stand treat for you, too, please, sir.”
Brent laughed, but said nothing, and the boy, assuming an air of supreme110 importance, led the way to an unoccupied table far down the narrow room.
“Sit here, sir,” said he, pulling out a chair for his guest and holding out his hand for Brent’s silk tile, which he put upon a peg111 by dint112 of climbing upon another chair to do it. “Bring a meenoo,” he commanded grandiloquently113 of a grinning waiter who came up. He handed the greasy114 slip of paper to Brent and observed confidentially115:
“Don’t mind the expense, sir, we’ll have a big feed,” and the small host’s eyes sparkled in anticipation116.
Brent tried hard to preserve his gravity, as he explained that he wasn’t very hungry, because he had eaten heartily117 in the afternoon. The boy seized the bill of fare and examined it critically. The most expensive dishes it boasted cost ninepence, and the variety was extremely limited.
“Haven’t you got any jugged hare, or any roast beef an’ Yorkshire pudding?” inquired the ragged gourmand118 with some scorn.
“No, we don’t have joints119 and hot dishes ready in{248} the evening, but we can cook you a good steak or cutlets,” said the waiter.
“Well, bring us some cutlets and steak and potatoes—and bacon—and sausages—and fried onions—and bread and butter—and—and tea, large cups—and some bath-buns—and cheese,” running his eye rapidly down the list. “That’s all now—oh, I say,” in sudden inspiration, “how much is a bottle of fizz?”
“Fizz?”
“Yes, the bubbly stuff that toffs drink.”
“Oh, champagne120, do you mean? We haven’t any, but I can send out for a bottle.”
Brent thought it time to interfere121. He didn’t want any fizz, really, he explained in answer to the incredulous look in the boy’s bright eyes.
“Beer, then?”
No, he didn’t want even beer, and the meal that had been ordered was quite fit for a king without any additions. The boy dismissed the waiter, but continued studying the bill of fare for some moments in some anxiety.
“Do you think that will be enough, sir?” he asked presently. “They’ve got some fried liver and some cold boiled ham, that I know would be good.”
Brent assured his anxious entertainer that he would be quite unable to touch liver or ham after such a re{249}past as had been ordered. The waiter returned to ask what he should serve first.
“Bring it all at once,” was the boy’s prompt instruction, “and hurry it up, too.”
It came presently, “all at once,” and it quite filled the table.
“Just help yourself, sir. Ain’t this great? Golly, what a feed!” and the boy sat forward on the edge of his chair, his eyes dancing with excitement, and urged his guest to sample all the dishes at once. Brent took a cutlet and began eating. The boy’s enthusiasm was infectious, and he could not help catching122 the spirit which had made the ragged urchin a picture of unalloyed delight that would warm the coldest heart. It was a long time since he had seen a hungry boy eat, and Brent watched him with admiration123 and envy. To the boy, it was the occasion of the supremest happiness the year had brought. So it was to Brent.
“He’s a smart little rascal124, and handsome, too, under the dirt and rags,” thought the young man.
The little fellow was too busy to talk during the first few minutes of his feasting. When the edge was off his appetite, Brent drew him out, and he was soon telling volubly about his life in the streets and fortune’s frowns and favors. He was a waif, about eleven he supposed, of shadowy antecedents, and{250} contented125 with his lot. He had been to school, could read and write, had no parents, and “didn’t want any.” Chaps that did have, most of them, had a harder time of it than he. Brent asked him what he meant to do with the seven pounds that he had given him.
“I don’t quite know yet, sir,” the lad replied slowly. “I’ll give some of it to the manager at the Boys’ Lodging126, so’s I’ll have a warm place to sleep nights when trade’s bad next winter. Then I think I’ll try papers. You see, you can do jolly well with papers when you’ve money, sir. There’s a place in Whitechapel Road where I can get a fine suit, secondhand, you know, sir, for three bob, instead o’ these,” and he looked down at his dilapidated apparel disdainfully.
The meal was soon at an end. Brent had taken only a chop, a bit of bread, and a little tea, but there was nothing left of the wholesale127 repast which the small but now rather podgy looking youngster opposite him had ordered. Brent said nothing when the boy finally called for the bill, but allowed him to pay it, and smiled when with a grand air the lad handed the waiter a tip of twopence. On reaching the street Brent took a card from his pocket, wrote upon it the address of his lodgings128, and giving it to the boy told him to call upon him at two o’ clock the following day. The boy promised.{251}
“Don’t fail, now,” Brent added, “for I think I have something for you that you will like better than selling matches.” The boy touched his hat and was gone.
Brent felt like himself again. His contact with a little genuine human nature had done him a world of good, and his whim had brought him more pleasure than he remembered having for many a day.
“There’s good stuff in that boy,” he reflected, smiling to himself over some of the youngster’s hospitable129 oddities. “I’ll turn him over to Forbes to-morrow, and have him sent to school, and see what can be made of him.”
He sought the solitude of a smoking-room corner at his club, and sat down in a more sanguine spirit to meditate130 over the problem which never was long absent from his mind.
He remained in a brown study, oblivious131 to his surroundings, for nearly half an hour. Then he suddenly jumped up, left the club house, called a cab, and ten minutes later was at the cable office of the Western union Telegraph Company in the Royal Exchange.
“I want to hire the use of one of your cables for an hour or two this evening,” said he to the man in charge.
“Wh-what?{252}”
“I want to have a conversation with a gentleman in New York over one of your lines, say between ten and twelve o’clock this evening. Will you arrange it? How long will it take for messages to go back and forth132, if I sit by the operator’s side at this end, and my friend is in your New York office?”
“I don’t think we can do it, sir. Our superintendent133 isn’t here, and I never heard of anybody hiring a cable in that way. If everything was clear, short messages would go back and forth very quickly. They would have to be repeated at the cable station in Ireland, again at the other end of the cable in Nova Scotia, and again at Duxbury, if you used that line.”
“Of course you can arrange it, if I pay you for it. Let’s see, though; it is only three o’clock in New York now, perhaps it can be done quicker at that end. Give me a form,” and Brent wrote a message to Wharton, asking him to secure the use of a cable at the Western union office for two hours, between five and seven o’clock New York time (ten and twelve London time), and to post himself at the other end of the wire. The message, the clerk was confident, would be in New York within half an hour. Brent left, and returned to the office just before ten o’clock.
“It’s all right, sir,” said the clerk obsequiously134.{253}
“We received a message from the New York manager half an hour ago, instructing us to give you every facility for exclusive use of our best line. Will you come to the operating room?”
Brent followed, and was seated a moment later by the side of a young operator, who, with his hand on a telegraph key, was listening to the rapid ticks of the sounder.
“Mr. Wharton is there, sir. Will you write what you have to say to him?”
“Ask him what happened to-day,” replied Brent.
A few nervous dots and dashes, and the question had started on its three thousand mile journey. There was silence—one, two, three, four minutes. Then the answer began to come back. The telegrapher wrote it down rather slowly, and with occasional pauses between the words, for the cable does not bring a message as rapidly as a land line can carry it. This was what Brent read over the clerk’s shoulder:
“Followed your suggestion and stocks sagged135 after irregular market, closing about two per cent off. Sold wheat freely, but market did not break though weak. Bought fifty thousand barrels flour, which shall offer retailers136 and bakers137 to-morrow at sharp reduction. Hope to demoralize corner in bread-stuffs, but fear will require tremendous expenditure138. Stock{254} market will need continued support even at much lower range of prices. Might relieve stagnation139 money market by borrowing heavily on English bonds, and thus divert funds from bread-stuffs speculation. Could borrow about ninety millions at two to three per cent, probably on hundred million bonds. Believe this would give tone to whole market, and cause immediate87 decline wheat and other staples140. Distress82 among masses very great and prospects141 serious, trouble becoming more grave. Fear only most radical measures will avert dangerous outbreaks. Strong movement developing favor immediate summons special session Congress. Hope you can arrange come over within few days.”
“That’s all,” said the operator, as he signaled a brief “o.k.” to the cable station.
As soon as Brent had read the last word he seized a writing-pad, and scribbling142 only a few words on a sheet, according to the operator’s suggestion, in order that the wire might not be idle, he replied as follows:
“Much surprised and distressed that situation so serious. We must remedy it at any cost. Hope Congress not be summoned. Some folly143 sure to result, and things bad enough now. Your suggestion about bond loan excellent. Please act on it at once, of course avoiding greater disturbance than necessary in market. Just as well let stocks decline five or six{255} per cent more, if can be done without exciting panic. Scarcer and dearer money with lower range prices stock market ought make it easy secure break in grain. Do you think a full supply food at reasonable prices in principal cities will avert outbreaks? If so use every effort to provide it promptly144. Would suggest supplying flour at old rates to such bakers as will agree sell bread at ordinary prices. I appreciate great difficulties situation, but beg you use best efforts and fullest discretion dealing145 with it. I authorize146 you sacrifice freely all resources which I have left in your hands, if necessary, in order cope with any public evils which may arise. I have important plans on Continent for next few weeks, but in view emergency which you describe will postpone147 them, and sail American Line Saturday.”
The last word had gone within a minute after Brent had finished writing. The interval148 was seven or eight minutes before this reply began to come back:
“Think I fully understand. Believe no necessity can arise for assuming full power you authorize me to use. I appreciate great responsibility. Would be glad escape it, but will do best in my power. Thankful you are returning. Shall endeavor postpone any extreme measures till you arrive. Yes, think can postpone crisis in cities by breaking prices food supply. Shall give first attention to that feature{256} problem. Then shall use every effort drain market of surplus money without causing panic stocks. Of course you wish all funds accumulated to remain idle.”
And Brent answered:
“Certainly, and if turn in tide should draw investment attention to stocks at lower prices, do not hesitate to sell freely any of our securities to supply such demand. Would it be good idea consult secretary treasury149 about relief measures in order show administration no necessity summon special session?”
Wharton’s reply was:
“Yes, if agitation150 becomes stronger, and perhaps in any event. Necessity for haste so many directions makes it imperative151 that have assistance several agents whom I must take partially152 into confidence. May be compelled consult both national and local authorities in execution some plans. Have not decided153 definite course action, but will do so to-night, and push vigorous execution along all lines. If suggestions occur to you before you sail, please cable them.”
Brent scribbled154 in answer:
“All right. Do your best, old fellow. I leave everything to you with perfect confidence. Good-night.”
And after a moment, the instrument ticked back an answering “Good-night” from under the ocean.
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marvel
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| vi.(at)惊叹vt.感到惊异；n.令人惊异的事 | |
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homely
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peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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pretext
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metropolis
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elastic
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| n.橡皮圈，松紧带；adj.有弹性的；灵活的 | |
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relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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10
deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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12
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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13
secluded
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| adj.与世隔绝的；隐退的；偏僻的v.使隔开，使隐退( seclude的过去式和过去分词) | |
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14
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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15
barricade
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| n.路障，栅栏，障碍；vt.设路障挡住 | |
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16
solitude
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| n. 孤独; 独居,荒僻之地,幽静的地方 | |
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17
isolation
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| n.隔离，孤立，分解，分离 | |
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18
morose
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| adj.脾气坏的，不高兴的 | |
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19
arduous
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| adj.艰苦的，费力的，陡峭的 | |
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20
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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21
par
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| n.标准，票面价值，平均数量；adj.票面的，平常的，标准的 | |
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22
mused
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| v.沉思，冥想( muse的过去式和过去分词 )；沉思自语说（某事） | |
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23
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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24
estrangement
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| n.疏远，失和，不和 | |
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25
insular
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| adj.岛屿的，心胸狭窄的 | |
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26
ardor
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| n.热情，狂热 | |
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27
dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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28
whim
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| n.一时的兴致，突然的念头；奇想，幻想 | |
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29
imprisoned
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| 下狱，监禁( imprison的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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30
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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31
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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32
waning
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| adj.（月亮）渐亏的，逐渐减弱或变小的n.月亏v.衰落( wane的现在分词 )；（月）亏；变小；变暗淡 | |
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33
commiseration
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| n.怜悯，同情 | |
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34
chisel
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| n.凿子；v.用凿子刻，雕，凿 | |
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35
wheedled
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| v.骗取（某物），哄骗（某人干某事）( wheedle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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36
exemption
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| n.豁免，免税额，免除 | |
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37
misgivings
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| n.疑虑，担忧，害怕；疑虑，担心，恐惧( misgiving的名词复数 )；疑惧 | |
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38
monetary
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| adj.货币的，钱的；通货的；金融的；财政的 | |
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39
maxim
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| n.格言，箴言 | |
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40
radical
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|
| n.激进份子，原子团，根号；adj.根本的，激进的，彻底的 | |
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41
disturbance
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| n.动乱，骚动；打扰，干扰；(身心)失调 | |
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42
hoard
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| n./v.窖藏，贮存，囤积 | |
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43
labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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44
unprecedented
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| adj.无前例的，新奇的 | |
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45
scramble
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| v.爬行，攀爬，杂乱蔓延，碎片，片段，废料 | |
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46
trifling
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| adj.微不足道的；没什么价值的 | |
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47
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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48
investor
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| n.投资者，投资人 | |
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49
inevitable
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| adj.不可避免的，必然发生的 | |
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50
ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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51
presaged
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| v.预示，预兆( presage的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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53
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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54
demon
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| n.魔鬼，恶魔 | |
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55
laborer
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| n.劳动者，劳工 | |
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56
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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57
procure
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| vt.获得，取得，促成；vi.拉皮条 | |
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58
retaliate
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| v.报复，反击 | |
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59
woolen
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| adj.羊毛(制)的；毛纺的 | |
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60
dealers
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| n.商人( dealer的名词复数 )；贩毒者；毒品贩子；发牌者 | |
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61
staple
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| n.主要产物，常用品，主要要素，原料，订书钉，钩环；adj.主要的，重要的；vt.分类 | |
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62
vocations
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| n.（认为特别适合自己的）职业( vocation的名词复数 )；使命；神召；（认为某种工作或生活方式特别适合自己的）信心 | |
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63
pristine
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| adj.原来的，古时的，原始的，纯净的，无垢的 | |
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64
supremacy
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| n.至上；至高权力 | |
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65
plausible
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| adj.似真实的，似乎有理的，似乎可信的 | |
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66
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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67
vindication
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| n.洗冤，证实 | |
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68
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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69
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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70
savings
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| n.存款，储蓄 | |
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71
pittance
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| n.微薄的薪水，少量 | |
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72
apprehensions
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| 疑惧 | |
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73
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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74
advisers
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| 顾问，劝告者( adviser的名词复数 )； （指导大学新生学科问题等的）指导教授 | |
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75
cipher
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| n.零；无影响力的人；密码 | |
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76
imminent
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| adj.即将发生的，临近的，逼近的 | |
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77
foodstuffs
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| 食物，食品( foodstuff的名词复数 ) | |
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78
aggravated
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| 使恶化( aggravate的过去式和过去分词 )； 使更严重； 激怒； 使恼火 | |
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79
disastrous
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| adj.灾难性的，造成灾害的；极坏的，很糟的 | |
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80
speculation
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| n.思索，沉思；猜测；投机 | |
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81
naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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82
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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83
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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84
ostentation
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| n.夸耀，卖弄 | |
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85
discretion
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| n.谨慎；随意处理 | |
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86
avert
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| v.防止，避免；转移(目光、注意力等) | |
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87
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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88
mitigate
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| vt.（使）减轻，（使）缓和 | |
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89
woe
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| n.悲哀，苦痛，不幸，困难；int.用来表达悲伤或惊慌 | |
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90
unreasonably
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| adv. 不合理地 | |
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91
anarchy
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| n.无政府状态；社会秩序混乱，无秩序 | |
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92
reign
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| n.统治时期，统治，支配，盛行；v.占优势 | |
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93
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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94
dynamite
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| n./vt.(用)炸药(爆破) | |
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95
ragged
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| adj.衣衫褴褛的，粗糙的，刺耳的 | |
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96
urchin
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| n.顽童；海胆 | |
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97
mendicancy
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| n.乞丐，托钵，行乞修道士 | |
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98
accosted
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| v.走过去跟…讲话( accost的过去式和过去分词 )；跟…搭讪；（乞丐等）上前向…乞讨；（妓女等）勾搭 | |
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99
gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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100
climax
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| n.顶点；高潮；v.(使)达到顶点 | |
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101
wharf
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| n.码头，停泊处 | |
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102
charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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103
amazement
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| n.惊奇，惊讶 | |
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104
indifference
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| n.不感兴趣，不关心，冷淡，不在乎 | |
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105
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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106
heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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107
asylum
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| n.避难所，庇护所，避难 | |
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108
momentous
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| adj.重要的，重大的 | |
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109
strand
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| vt.使（船）搁浅，使（某人）困于（某地） | |
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110
supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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111
peg
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| n.木栓，木钉；vt.用木钉钉，用短桩固定 | |
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112
dint
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| n.由于，靠；凹坑 | |
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113
grandiloquently
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114
greasy
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| adj. 多脂的，油脂的 | |
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115
confidentially
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| ad.秘密地，悄悄地 | |
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116
anticipation
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| n.预期，预料，期望 | |
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117
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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118
gourmand
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| n.嗜食者 | |
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119
joints
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| 接头( joint的名词复数 )； 关节； 公共场所（尤指价格低廉的饮食和娱乐场所） （非正式）； 一块烤肉 （英式英语） | |
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120
champagne
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| n.香槟酒；微黄色 | |
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121
interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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122
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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123
admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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124
rascal
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| n.流氓；不诚实的人 | |
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125
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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126
lodging
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| n.寄宿，住所；(大学生的)校外宿舍 | |
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127
wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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128
lodgings
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| n. 出租的房舍, 寄宿舍 | |
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129
hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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130
meditate
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| v.想，考虑，（尤指宗教上的）沉思，冥想 | |
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131
oblivious
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| adj.易忘的，遗忘的，忘却的，健忘的 | |
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132
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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133
superintendent
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| n.监督人，主管，总监；(英国)警务长 | |
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134
obsequiously
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135
sagged
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| 下垂的 | |
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136
retailers
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| 零售商，零售店( retailer的名词复数 ) | |
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137
bakers
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| n.面包师( baker的名词复数 )；面包店；面包店店主；十三 | |
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138
expenditure
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| n.(时间、劳力、金钱等)支出；使用，消耗 | |
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139
stagnation
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| n. 停滞 | |
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140
staples
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| n.（某国的）主要产品( staple的名词复数 )；钉书钉；U 形钉；主要部份v.用钉书钉钉住( staple的第三人称单数 ) | |
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141
prospects
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| n.希望，前途(恒为复数) | |
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142
scribbling
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| n.乱涂[写]胡[乱]写的文章[作品]v.潦草的书写( scribble的现在分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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143
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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144
promptly
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| adv.及时地，敏捷地 | |
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145
dealing
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| n.经商方法，待人态度 | |
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146
authorize
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| v.授权，委任；批准，认可 | |
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147
postpone
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| v.延期，推迟 | |
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148
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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149
treasury
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| n.宝库；国库，金库；文库 | |
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150
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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151
imperative
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| n.命令，需要；规则；祈使语气；adj.强制的；紧急的 | |
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152
partially
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| adv.部分地，从某些方面讲 | |
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153
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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154
scribbled
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| v.潦草的书写( scribble的过去式和过去分词 )；乱画；草草地写；匆匆记下 | |
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