It was Mr. Chauncey van Rensselaer.
"Well," said the son, after dutifully helping him to a chair, "what do you think of it?"
"That's not answering my question," growled the other. "But Lord, Robbie, I've had a day of it! Do you know I hold five thousand of T. & S.? And I've just been crazy all day, waiting—waiting—"
Humph!" said Robert, with a smile. "Waiting for what?"
"Why, haven't you got any?" cried the[93] other. "Don't you know who's in that syndicate?"
"Yes," said Robbie; "it's the T. & S. gang, and Smith and Shark, I supposed."
"Yes," said the other, "just so; and they mean business, too, I can tell you. You'll see this stock up in the 200's to-morrow. Who do you suppose are those fools that are fighting them?"
"I don't suppose," said Robbie, "I know."
"And who are they?"
"There aren't any 'they.'"
"How do you mean?"
"I mean there's only one man."
"What! And who is it?"
"It's Robert van Rensselaer."
And the old gentleman leapt from his chair, in spite of his gout. "Good God, Robbie!" he cried. "You're mad!"
"No," said Robbie; "it's a fact."
"But you're ruined!"
"Oh, no, not quite, Governor. (Robbie always had called him Governor.) I've spent every cent I own, but not quite ruined; for[94] I'm going to be the richest man in New York City to-morrow at about two minutes past eleven o'clock in the morning. I'm going to have every cent that the T. & S. people and Smith and Shark can beg or borrow, and the bank accounts of several hundred lambs besides, including my aged and beloved daddy!"
The aged and beloved daddy was gasping for breath. "You're lost, Robbie!" he cried. "It can't be! How can you do it without money?"
"I've just arranged a syndicate," laughed Robbie.
"But without money?"
"They don't know I've no money," said he, cheerfully. "But I'm going to get some more, just for safety, from you."
"Humph!" said Mr. Chauncey van Rensselaer, laconically.
"In the first place," said the other man, "you're going to sell those shares to-morrow morning at ten o'clock; and in the second you're going to sell short on T. & S. all you find takers for; and about eleven o'clock[95] you're going to see the sky fall down and hit the earth."
"What's going to cause it?"
"For one thing, your being there selling short. You old Wall Street rounders are like vultures about a carcass—people will only have to see you hobbling down town, and they'll know there's a smash-up coming; and if you whisper you're selling T. & S. it'll come right then."
"There's something in that," admitted the old gentleman, after some hesitation.
"But that's not the thing I want to see you about," laughed Robbie. "The main thing is still to come. It is that you're going to make me a present right away of a couple of million dollars."
Mr. Chauncey van Rensselaer bounced slightly in his chair, and his eyes were very wide open.
"Two millions, at least," reiterated Robbie, seeing that he was speechless. "And give it, not lend it. If I asked you to lend it, then I'd have to go into all kinds of explanations, and I couldn't ever make you[96] see the thing as plainly as I do. All I say is that I've been a good boy and supported myself for thirteen years without ever striking my old daddy for a cent; and that now I want it and want it bad. You're going to die some day, and then you'll leave it all to me. And by that time it'll be of no use in the world to me; for if this stroke fails, it'll be too little, and if it succeeds, it won't be anything at all. And so I want you to give it to me now."
Mr. Chauncey van Rensselaer took a long, long breath; then he sat forward and drew up to the table. "Robbie," he said, "tell me about this business. Tell me all."
"First I want the two millions."
"Confound you," observed the other. "Don't you know if you want 'em, you'll get 'em? But go on now, and tell me about the thing, and don't be a fool."
And so Robbie told him; and before the end of it the elder gentleman was rubbing his hands. Afterwards he hobbled out of the room and mailed a note to his brokers, ordering them to sell his T. & S. holdings at[97] the opening price; also he wrote instructing his bankers that Mr. Robert van Rensselaer was to draw on his credit for three million dollars.
* * * * * * *
And in the meantime Mr. Robert van Rensselaer was still pacing up and down the room, his hands behind his back, and a very pleasant look upon his mellow countenance. He was at that moment, beyond question, the happiest and the contentedest man in New York: when all of a sudden there was a knock on the door, and an attendant entered.
"A note for you, sir," he said. "It's marked 'Urgent.'"
And our friend took it; he waited until the man had gone, and then he opened it, and read this:—
"Mr. Robert van Rensselaer:
"Dear Sir,—Will you kindly request our friend Mr. Green to call this evening upon a matter of the utmost possible urgency to him at the house of his old friend Mrs. Lynch?"