CHAPTER IX

A TRIUMPHANT PLUNGER

LATER in the afternoon the card of Mrs. Hilary Stanford was brought to the president of the Universal Company.

Expressing his surprise, even as he wondered what the unusual call portended, he directed the lady's instant admission and met her at the door.

Evidently Mrs. Hilary Stanford was excited. Two red spots flamed brightly on her cheeks. Her eyes snapped and sparkled. Her breath was short and quick, her delicate nostrils quivered as do those of the thoroughbred when scenting the contest. Elation was in her carriage and the triumphant curl of her enticing lips.

As Percy closed the door, she said:

"For a man who is the cause of so much trouble you are delightfully cool and indifferent."

Her host led her to a comfortable chair in front of his desk and brought another into

close proximity for himself. It was one of his ways of intimating, at least to himself, that he did not regard such visits as of business. He was on his throne only when in his desk chair. As he seated himself he said:

"I do not think I comprehend you."

"Do you not know of the turmoil in the Street?"

"I know that Universal is going down by jumps; that it has, as you predicted last night, touched 60."

"And that all of this is due to the circulated rumors of the financial weakness of Universal, your mismanagement of its business, your falsifications of the reports-in fact, to your wrecking of a great property?”

Percy leaped to his feet and reached out for his telephone.

"Sit down," imperatively commanded Mrs. Stanford, as she put out a restraining hand. "Before you do anything let us talk this over composedly; that is, if I can, for I am greatly excited. I feel that I am, now that the day is over for me. 99

Percy took possession of himself and sat down, saying as he did so:

"You are, then, fresh from the scene of battle?"

"Fresh from the scene where the battle raged fiercely. And what a scene! Hosts of

bears, gallantly led by our mutual friend Van Zandt, against the serried ranks of bulls, who had no leadership, and with the result that the whole list was broken down. Mr. Van covered himself with glory, according to our other mutual friend, Mr. Edgar. There was a rally, though, as the shorts covered. And among those shorts was Mrs. Hilary Stanford, at your service."

She sprang up and delivered to her host a profound curtsy, triumphant bitterness flashing into her face.

"I retreated from the field in good order after making a grand coup. Hereafter Mrs. Hilary Stanford can assure those very good and kind people, who have been so much troubled about the sources of her income, that it proceeds from good solid bonds and real estate to the extent of half a million. One of the objects of my life is attained. Exit Mrs. Hilary Stanford, operator on the Street. Enter, Mrs. Hilary Stanford, Nemesis. That dear, kind, and paternal Uncle Edgar, who guides these tottering and feminine steps in the tortuous ways of finance, thinks I've made quite a nice little pocketbook that will keep me over the summer and perhaps a short while into the winter. But there is more than one string to be twanged in the financial lyre. And he does not know that I, Mrs. Hilary

Stanford-I, weak woman and fascinating widow-dealt in 15,000 of Universal and retired entirely whole, on a 30-point drop."

Percy was also on his feet in this tirade, and was alarmed. The woman, his guest, was plainly on the verge of hysterics. He was not certain he had not witnessed a sudden passage into insanity. As he endeavored to pacify and compose the widow all sorts of thoughts jostled in his brain without order or sequence. Mrs. Stanford had plunged in the market; she had made a fortune; she was in relation with Edgar; she was flinging at him in triumphant scorn phrases he had more than once used in the past twenty-four hours; damaging rumors as to himself were circulated in Wall Street, and these might affect Anstruthers and his negotiations. Though the while he was using all his arts to quiet the widow.

The woman flung her arms above her head in utter abandon, as she cried:

"Oh, what a lovely world it is! A woman left alone to live, must not only struggle for existence, but must fight women for reputation, men for her own self-respect. To win, she must make not one single misstep, else ruin, degradation. But I have won. You believe I have won. Say you believe."

You must. You shall,

Then up rose J. Percival Dunbar in the might of his stern masterfulness.

"Sit down," he commanded. "You shall be composed. Obey me and be the woman you are."

Mrs. Hilary Stanford smiled gratefully on him and obeyed, wailing:

"You do not want me to be the woman I really am. You want me to be the meek, smiling, smirking, complacent, all things to all—'

Percy had recalled that there was a decanter of sherry in his cabinet. He brought it, pouring out a glass.

"I want you to take this," he said. "You have been under too great a strain to-day."

Again she smiled gratefully, this time tears in her eyes, and, as she took the glass with shaking hand, she murmured, as if expressing an unconscious thought:

"It is good to be commanded and to obey." As she felt the strength the warm wine imparted, she took possession of herself and wiped her eyes.

"I am myself again," she said, looking up appealingly. "Forgive me. I should not have made the scene I did. You are right. I have been under a strain; and I told truths, too. That is always bad for a woman. Well, it is true that I have made a great coup. But it was not to tell you that I came."