Эптон Синклер - Oil!

Next morning the nautical maid had her first natural blush in many years when she encountered the young Adonis on deck. But she soon got over it, and they talked about Theosophy, as spiritually as ever, and were perfectly good friends; he called her Thelma, and Charlie did not even make a joke. But on the way home Bertie wanted to know all about it, had Mrs. Norman made love to him, and how much? And when Bunny blushed, she laughed at him, and was provoked because he was silly and wouldn’t tell. She decided that of course they had had an affair. That was all right, there had been other affairs on board the “Siren”—the lights were dim in the central hall-way, so that you needn’t be recognized as you flitted from door to door. “But you don’t imagine she’ll ever marry you,” added Bertie, sagely. “She talks a lot of reincarnation bunk, but she hangs onto her Occidental Steel bonds for this incarnation!”

Occidental Steel had a bad slump in the market a few days after this, and Bertie was worried—taking a proprietary interest in the concern. She asked Dad about it, and he said it was “jist manipulation.” But right away a lot of other stocks went tumbling, including Ross Consolidated, and then Dad said there were fools who would gamble and bid stocks up, and then they had to come down. But the trouble continued to spread over the country, and there were reports of big concerns, and even banks, in trouble. There was panic in the air, and Dad and “Verne” held anxious consultations, and stopped all their development work, and laid off several hundred men; “pulling in their horns,” as Dad phrased it. There was plenty of money in the banks, Dad said, but only the big fellows had the use of it; “Verne” was in a rage with Mark Eisenberg, the banker, who had “thrown him down.” It was the “Big Five,” at their old tricks of trying to freeze out the independents. Wouldn’t they jist like to get Ross Consolidated in a hole, and buy it up for five or ten millions!

Bunny had a talk with Mr. Irving, who told him that it was the Federal Reserve system at work; a device of the big Wall Street banks, a supposed-to-be government board, but really just a committee of bankers, who had the power to create unlimited new paper money in times of crisis. This money was turned over to the big banks, and in turn loaned by them to the big industries whose securities they held and must protect. So, whenever a panic came, the big fellows were saved, while the little fellows went to the wall.

In this case it was the farmers who were being “deflated.” They were unorganized, and had no one to protect them; they had to dump their crops onto the market, and the prices were tumbling—literally millions of farmers would be bankrupt before this year was by. But the price of manufactured goods would not drop to the same extent, because the big trusts, having the Wall Street banks behind them, could hold onto their stocks. Bunny took this explanation to his father, who passed it on to Mr. Roscoe, who said it was exactly right, by Jees; he knew the bunch that had their fingers in the till of the Federal Reserve bank here on the coast, and they were buying up everything in sight, the blankety-blank-blanks, but they weren’t going to get the Roscoe-Ross properties.

Money was so scarce, Bertie could not have a new car, despite the fact that she had damaged hers in a collision; and Dad talked economy at meal-times, until Aunt Emma took to feeding them on hash made from yesterday’s roast! Shortage everywhere, and worry in people’s faces, and hints of bankruptcy and unemployment in the newspapers—they tried their best to hide it, but it leaded out between the lines.

Then a funny thing happened. A big limousine with a chauffeur drove up before the Ross home one summer evening, and out stepped a stately personage in snow white flannels; a tall young man with yellow hair and a solemn visage—Eli Watkins, by heck! He shook hands all round—he had developed the manners of an archbishop—and then asked for a private conference with Dad. He was taken into the “den,” and half an hour later came out smiling, and bowed himself away; and Dad said nothing until he was alone with Bunny, and then his face expanded into a grin and he chuckled, by Judas Priest, Eli had gone into the real estate business. He had found a block on the outskirts of the city which was exactly the size for the temple which the angel of the Lord had commanded him to build; or rather he had found some real estate subdividers who had a pull with the city board of supervisors, and had got permission to create a block of this unprecedented size. So the word of the Lord had been vindicated, and the golden temple was to arise. But for some reason unknown the Lord had failed to tip off Eli to the panic, and here he was “stuck,” just like any common, unholy business man, with a payment on his hundred and seventy-five thousand dollar tract nearly a month overdue. The collections at the revivals had fallen off, and the Lord had made it manifest that He desired Eli to employ some other method of raising funds.

“What did he want of you, Dad?”

“The Lord had revealed to him that I would take a second mortgage on the property. But I told him the Lord had failed to reveal where I was to get the cash. I gave him five hundred to help him over.”

“Good God, Dad! I thought we were economizing!”

“Well, Eli pointed out that he had blessed that first well on the Paradise tract, and that was why we had got all the oil. You can see, it would ’a been sort of blasphemy if I’d denied it.”

“But Dad, you know you don’t believe in Eli Watkins’ bunk!”

“I know, but that fellow has got a tremendous following, and we might need him some day, you can’t be sure. If there should come a close election, here or at Paradise, we might get our money back many times by getting Eli to endorse our ticket.”

Bunny thought this over, and then summoned his nerve, and went back to his father. “Look here, Dad! If you’ve got five hundred for a joke with Eli Watkins, I want five hundred for something serious.”

Dad looked alarmed right away. He should not have told Bunny about that money! “What is it, son?”

“I’ve been to see Mr. Irving, Dad, and he’s in trouble, he can’t get a teaching job anywhere. They’ve got him blacklisted. You see, he has to mention that he’s been teaching at Southern Pacific the last two years, and the people write to enquire about him, and he’s convinced that somebody in the university is telling them he’s a red.”

“I shouldn’t wonder,” said Dad. “But that’s not your fault.”

“Yes, it is, Dad! I was the one that dragged him out and made him talk to me. I thought I could keep it to myself, but they had some one spying on us.”

“Well, son, is he trying to borrow money from you?”

“No, I offered him a little, but he wouldn’t take it. But I know he needs it, and I’ve been talking about it with Harry Seager, and with Peter Nagle—they know some of the labor men in the city, and they think there is a possibility of starting a labor college here. We all agree that Mr. Irving is the ideal man to run it.”

“A labor college?” said Dad. “That’s a new one on me.”

“It’s to educate the young workers.”

“But why can’t they go to the regular schools, that are free?”

“They don’t teach them anything about labor. At least they don’t teach them anything that’s true. So the labor men are founding places where bright young fellows can be fitted to take their part in the labor struggle.”

Dad thought it over. “You mean, son, it’s a place where a bunch of you reds teach Socialism and such stuff.”