The Short Line War | Page 5

you, Fox? Yes--Yes. Hold on! Give me that name
again. Frederick McNally. Dartmouth Building, did you say? Yes.
Thank you. Good-by."
The bell tinkled again and Jim swung round in his chair.
There was another desk in the room, where sat a young man busy over
a pile of letters. He was private secretary to a man who was president of
one railroad and director in others, and his life was not easy. The letters
he was working over were with one exception addressed to the Hon.
James Weeks, Washington Building, Chicago. The exception was a
pale blue note addressed to Mr. Harvey West, and the young man had
put that at the bottom of the pile and was working down to it.
The elder man spoke. "West," he said, "Fox has just telephoned me that
he's found out who's been buying M. & T. stock. It's Frederick McNally;
he's in the Dartmouth Building. He isn't doing it on his own hook, but I
don't know who he is doing it for. Somebody wants that stock mighty
bad. There isn't a great deal of it lying around, though."
"Do you think that Thompson--" began the secretary.
"Thompson would be glad to see me out and himself in," said Jim
Weeks, "and he leads Wing and Powers around by the nose, but he
can't swing enough stock to hurt anything at next election. I don't
believe it's he that's buying. Thompson hasn't got sand enough for that.
He'll never fight."
There was a moment's pause. Jim walked over to the ticker and looked
back along the ribbon of paper. "It's quoted at 68-1/2 this morning," he
said, "but no sales to amount to anything."
"You might go over and talk to Wing," he went on. "You can find out
anything he knows if you go at it right. I don't believe there's anything
there. However, I'd like to know just what they are doing. You'd better
do it now. Send Pease in when you go out, will you?"
Harvey slipped the blue envelope from the bottom of the pile of letters,

called the stenographer, and started out. He read the note while he was
waiting for the elevator.
The M. & T. is a local single-track road, about two hundred miles long,
running between the cities of Manchester and Truesdale. The former is
on the main line of the Northern, and the latter on the C. & S.C., both
of which are trunk lines from Chicago to the West. The M. & T. was
not a money-making affair; it had cost a lot of money, its stock was
away down, and it trembled on the brink of insolvency until Jim Weeks
took hold of it. He put money into it, straightened out its tangled affairs,
and incidentally made some enemies in the board of directors. There
were coal mines on the line near Sawyerville, which were operated in a
desultory way, but they never amounted to much until some more of
Jim Weeks's money went into them, and then they began to pay. This
made the M. & T. important, especially to the C. & S.C. people, who
immediately tried to make arrangements with Jim for the absorption of
the M. & T. by their line. C. & S.C. had a bad name. There were many
shady operations associated with its management, and Jim decided to
have as little to do with it as possible, so the attempt apparently was
abandoned.
The stock of the M. & T. was held largely by men who lived along the
line of the road. Tillman City and St. Johns each held large blocks; they
had got a special act of legislature to allow them to subscribe for it.
These stockholders had great confidence in Jim, for under his
management their investment was beginning to pay, and they, he felt
sure, approved of his action in the C. & S.C. matter.
Everything was going well with the road, and the stock was climbing
slowly but steadily. It was not liable to any great fluctuation, for most
of its holders regarded it as a permanent investment and it did not
change hands to any great extent. Comparatively little of it got into the
hands of speculators.
But suddenly it began to jump. It was evident to every one who
watched it that some important deal was afoot. Jim Weeks was as much
in the dark as any one. He had watched its violent fluctuations for a
week while he vainly sought to ferret out the motive that was causing

them. And on this particular morning, though he sent his secretary,
Harvey West, to talk to Wing, he had little idea that the young fellow
would get hold of a clew.
When the elevator stopped at the main floor,