Эптон Синклер - Oil!

“What is it, Verne?”

“Well, we’re getting ready for the Republican convention, and by Jees, it’s not going to be any god-damn snivelling long-faced college professor! We’re going to get a round-faced man, like you and me, Jim! I’m going on to Chicago and pick him out.”

“You got anybody in mind?”

“I’m negotiating with a fellow from Ohio, Barney Brockway, that runs the party there. He wants us to take their Senator Harding; big chap with a fine presence, good orator and all that, and can be trusted—he’s been governor there, and does what he’s told. Brockway thinks he can put him over with two or three million, and he’ll pledge us the secretary of the interior.”

“I see,” said Dad—not having to ask what that meant.

“I’ve got my eye on a tract—been watching it the last ten years, and it’s a wonder. Excelsior Pete put down two test wells, and then they capped them and hushed it up; there was a government report that mentioned it, but they had it suppressed and you can’t get a copy anywhere—but I had one stolen for me. There’s about forty thousand acres, all oil.”

“But how can you get it away from Excelsior?”

“The government has taken the whole district—supposed to be an oil reserve for the navy. But what the hell use will it be to the navy, with no developments? The damn fools think you can drill wells and build pipe lines and storage tanks while Congress is voting a declaration of war. Let us get in there and get out the oil, and we’ll sell the navy all they want.”

That was Dad’s doctrine, so there was nothing to discuss. He laughed, and said, “You’d better be on the safe side, Verne, and get the attorney-general as well as the secretary of the interior.”

“I thought of that,” said the other, not noticing the laugh. “Barney Brockway will be the attorney-general himself. That’s part of his bargain with Harding.”

And then all at once Mr. Roscoe recollected Bunny, sitting over by the window, supposed to be reading a book. “I suppose our boy Bolsheviki will understand, this ain’t for use on the soapbox.”

Dad answered, quickly, “Bunny has known about my affairs ever since he was knee-high to a grass-hopper. All right, Verne, I’ll send you a check when you’re ready.”

The sun went down, and it was time for Mr. Roscoe to make his get-away. But first he had dinner; and when he was through with his ice cream and coffee, he pushed his plate away, and took his napkin out of his neck, and leaned back in his chair with a sigh of content; and while he was unrolling his cigar from its gold foil, he fixed his shrewd eyes upon Bunny across the table, and said, “Jim Junior, I’ll tell you what’s the matter with you.”

“All right,” said Jim Junior, receptively.

“You’re a nice kid, but you’re too god-damn serious. You take life too hard—you and your old man both. You got to get a little fun as you go along, and I know what you need. You got a girl, kid?”

“Not right now,” said Bunny, blushing a trifle.

“I thought so. You need one, to take you out and cheer you up. Mind you, I don’t mean one of these jazz-babies—get a girl that’s got some sense, like my Annabelle. You know Annabelle Ames?”

“I’ve never met her. I’ve seen her, of course.”

“Did you see her in ‘Madame Tee-Zee’? By Jees, that’s what I call a picture—only one I ever made any money out of, by the way! Well, that girl takes care of me like a mother—if she’d been up here, I wouldn’t ’a drunk all that beer, you bet! You come up to my place some time, and Annabelle’ll find you a girl—lots of ’em up there, with the ginger in ’em, too, and she’s a regular little match-maker—never so happy as when she’s pairing ’em off, two little love-birds in a cage. Why don’t you drive back with me now?”

“I’ve got to go to college the day after tomorrow,” said Bunny.

“Well, you come some time, and bring the old man along. That’s what he needs too, a girl—I’ve told him so a dozen times. You got a girl yet, Jim? By Jees, look at him blush, the old maid in pants! I could tell the kid some things about you that would bust the rouge-pots in your cheeks—hey, old skeezicks?” And the great man, who had been getting out of his chair as he discoursed, fetched Dad a couple of thumps on the back and burst into a roar of laughter.

It was things like that that made you know Vernon Roscoe had a “big-heart.” He seemed to have really taken a fancy to Bunny, and was concerned that he should learn to enjoy life. “You come see me some time, kiddo,” he said, as he was loading himself into his big limousine. “Don’t you forget it now, I mean it. I’ll show you what a country place can be like, and you make the old man get one too.” And Bunny said all right, he would come; and the engine began to purr, and the car rolled off in the moonlight, and the big laughing voice died away among the hills. “So long, kiddo!”

Bunny came back into the house, and followed Dad into his study and shut the door. “Dad, are you really going to put up that money with Mr. Roscoe?”

“Why, sure, son, I got to; why not?” Dad looked genuinely surprised—as he always did in these cases. You could never be sure how much of it was acting, for he was sly as the devil, and not above using his arts on those he loved.

“Dad, you’re proposing to buy the presidency of the United States!”

“Well, son, you can put it that way—”

“But that’s what it is, Dad!”

“Well, that’s one way to say it. Another is that we’re protecting ourselves against rivals that want to put us out of business. If we don’t take care of politics, we’ll wake up after election and find we’re done for. There’s a bunch of big fellows in the East have put up a couple of millions to put General Leonard Wood across. Are you rooting for him?”

Bunny understood that this was a rhetorical question, and did not answer it. “It’s such a dirty game, Dad!”

“I know, but it’s the only game there is. Of course, I can quit, and have enough to live on, but I don’t feel like being laid on the shelf, son.”

“Couldn’t we just run our own business, Dad?” It was, you may remember, a question Bunny had asked before.

“There’s no such thing, son—they’re jist crowding you all the time. They block you at the refineries, they block you at the markets, they block you in the banks—I don’t tell you much about it, because it’s troubles, but there’s jist no place in the business world for the little feller any more. You think I’m a big feller because I got twenty million, and I think Verne is a big feller because he’s got fifty; but there’s Excelsior Pete—thirty or forty companies, all working as one—that’s close to a billion dollars you’re up against. And there’s Victor, three or four hundred million more, and all the banks and insurance company resources behind them—what chance have we independents got? Look at this slump in the price of gas right now—the newspapers tell you there’s a glut, but that’s all rot—what makes the glut, but the Big Five dumping onto the market to break the little fellers? Why, they’re jist wiping ’em off the slate!”

“But how can public officials prevent that?”

“There’s a thousand things that come up, son—we got to land the first wallop—right at the sound of the bell! How do we get pipe line right-o’-ways? How do we get terminal facilities? You saw how it was when we came into Paradise; would we ever ’a got this development if I hadn’t ’a paid Jake Coffey? Where would Verne and me be right now, if we didn’t sit down with him and go over the slate, and make sure the fellers he puts on it are right? And now—what’s the difference? Jist this, we got bigger, we’re playin’ the game on a national scale—that’s all. If Verne and me and Pete O’Reilly and Fred Orpan can get the tracts we got our eyes on, well, there’ll be the Big Six or Big Seven or Big Eight in the oil-game, that’s all—and you set this down for sure, son, we’ll be doin’ what the other fellers done, from the day that petroleum came into use, fifty years ago.”