Flowing Gold | Page 3

feel that you have to identify yourself at the banks to- day. If we

can accommodate you--cash a check or the like--"
"Thank you." The caller shook his head and smiled his appreciation of
the offer. "Your manner of conducting a hotel impresses me deeply,
and I shall speak of it to some of my Eastern friends. Live executives
are hard to find."
It is impossible to analyze or to describe that quality of magnetic charm
which we commonly term personality, nevertheless it is the most potent
influence in our social and our business lives. It is a gift of the gods,
and most conspicuous successes, in whatever line, are due to it. Now
and then comes an individual who is cold, even repellent, and yet who
rises to full accomplishment by reason of pure intellectual force or
strength of character; but nine times out of ten the man who gets ahead,
be he merchant, banker, promoter, or crook, does so by reason of this
abstract asset, this intangible birthright.
Gray possessed that happy quality. It had made itself felt by the waiter
who brought his breakfast and by the manager of the hotel; its effect
was equally noticeable upon the girl behind the cigar counter, where he
next went. An intimate word or two and she was in a flutter. She
sidetracked her chewing gum, completely ignored her other customers,
and helped him select a handful of her choicest sixty-cent Havanas.
When he finally decided to have her send the rest of the box of fifty up
to his room and signed for them, she considered the transaction a
tribute to her beauty rather than to her ability as a saleswoman. Her
admiring eyes followed him clear across the lobby.
Even the blase bell-captain, by virtue of his calling a person of few
enthusiasms and no illusions, edged up to the desk and inquired the
name of the distinguished stranger "from the No'th."
Gray appeared to know exactly what he wanted to do, for he stopped at
the telephone booths, inquired the number of the leading afternoon
newspaper, and put in a call for it. When it came through he asked for
the city editor. He closed the sound-proof door before voicing his
message, then he began, rapidly:

"City editor? Well, I'm from the Ajax Hotel, and I have a tip for you.
I'm one of the room clerks. Listen! Calvin Gray is registered here--got
in last night, on gum shoes.... Gray! Calvin Gray! Better shoot a
reporter around and get a story.... You _don't_? Well, other people
know him. He's a character--globe trotter, soldier of fortune, financier.
He's been everywhere and done everything, and you can get a great
story if you've got a man clever enough to make him talk. But he won't
loosen easily.... Oil, I suppose, but--... Sure! Under cover. Mystery stuff!
Another big syndicate probably.... Oh, that's all right. I'm an old
newspaper man myself. Don't mention it."
All American cities, these days, are much the same. Character,
atmosphere, distinctiveness, have been squeezed out in the general
mold. For all Calvin Gray could see, as he made his first acquaintance
with Dallas, he might have been treading the streets of Los Angeles, of
Indianapolis, of Portland, Maine, or of Portland, Oregon. A California
brightness and a Florida warmth to the air, a New England alertness to
the pedestrians, a Manhattan majesty to some of the newer office
buildings, these were the most outstanding of his first impressions.
Into the largest and the newest of these buildings Gray went, a white
tile and stone skyscraper, the entire lower floor of which was devoted
to an impressive banking room. He sent his card in to the president, and
spent perhaps ten minutes with that gentleman. He had called merely to
get acquainted, so he explained; he wished to meet only the heads of
the strongest financial institutions; he had no favors to ask--as yet, and
he might have no business whatever with them. On the other
hand--well, he was a slow and careful investigator, but when he moved,
it was with promptitude and vigor, and in such an event he wished them
to know who he was. Meanwhile, he desired no publicity, and he hoped
his presence in Dallas would not become generally known--it might
seriously interfere with his plans.
Before he left the bank Gray had met the other officers, and from their
manner he saw that he had created a decided impression upon them.
The bank president himself walked with him to the marble railing, then
said:

"I'd like to have you wait and meet my son, Lieutenant Roswell. He's
just back from overseas, and--the boy served with some distinction. A
father's pride, you understand?"
"Was Lieutenant Roswell in France?" Gray inquired, quickly.
"Oh yes. He'll be