Джеймс Кейн - Root of His Evil [= Shameless]

The stock didn’t drop when the strike started. It merely sagged another two points, down to 107, and hung there for more than a week. I now had a profit of about $4,000, and I was in an agony of wondering whether I shouldn’t cover. But then one day Mr. Beauvais issued another appeal to the governor, saying if the strike went on two more weeks he would be unable to make deliveries on his new model. Mr. Holden became excited when he read this and again had a great deal to say about the stupidity of business executives. “Think of that! Playing right into our hands. Only a fool would make that admission.”

The Beauvais appeal was in the morning papers. As soon as I saw it I pleaded business downtown, jumped in a taxi and dashed to a stock broker’s office. It had one of the big electrical boards and the light was constantly winking on and off for Geerlock. The stock was sagging steadily until, by the time I got there, it was 103. I rushed back to the hotel, went to my room and called Mr. Hunt. As soon as he answered I said: “Cover.”

“But, Carrie, the bottom’s dropped out of it. Let it ride! You’ll make—”

“Tomorrow the bottom may be in it again.” Because by now I had learned that Mr. Holden moved fast when he started and for all I knew the strike might be settled that afternoon. “How long before closing time?”

“Two hours.”

“All right. As long as it drops let it ride. At the least upturn, cover. And no matter what it does, cover today. Don’t leave me short for tomorrow morning’s market.”

“Is that a hint for my benefit?”

“No. I don’t know anything and nobody does. But I’ve made something and I don’t want to lose it by hanging on too long.”

It was after lunch when I got back to Mr. Holden. He was very pleased that he had been able to rent a new Geerlock, a display car. He went out to have his picture taken in it, surrounded by the GI band, so he could release it to the newspapers with a story telling what a fine car it was and how the company ought to settle so they could manufacture it. Shortly after he went out a telegram was delivered to me. It was from Mr. Hunt. He had covered at 102 to 103. Clear of commissions and interest, I had a profit of nearly $8,000.

Nothing happened that day or for a week or two. The men continued to hold the shops, Mr. Holden continued to put on his stunts and Mr. Beauvais continued to give out statements. There were several clashes outside the factory gates. Men kept coming in and going out of the hotel and Mr. Holden began to show signs of the strain. The stock continued to sag until it was down near 100 and I kept kicking myself that I could have made more by doing what Mr. Hunt said, but I kept reminding myself of something I had read somewhere, that more money is lost in the stock market by hanging on for the last dollar of profit than in any other way. But then, almost before I knew it, I was in the market again, for Mr. Holden happened to mention one day that they were moving in on Trent, another factory in Detroit, and I repeated my operation, this time making $3,000. And then he mentioned casually what was going on in other places, particularly the steel mills, and next thing I knew I was juggling four or five stocks at the same time, making money on them but becoming more and more nervous and less and less watchful of the Geerlock situation, which was the main thing we were concerned with.

So I was caught napping one day when a call came in for him. He made a memorandum while he was talking, then handed it to me and began putting on his coat. The memorandum gave the number of a room in one of the downtown hotels. “That’s where I can be reached — but only if it’s important.”

His face was set but he seemed exultant somehow. He started out, then came back to me and, as nobody was there, gave me a little kiss. Then he whispered: “I think Beauvais is going to settle.”

Then he was gone, and I let ten or fifteen precious minutes slip by, stupidly thinking how glad I was that the thing was all over, when suddenly I woke up. How I ever got up to my room I don’t know, but it seemed an eternity before I had the telephone in my hand and got the call put through and finally had Mr. Hunt on the line. “Bernie, how much of a credit have I with you now?”

“Hold the line, Carrie, I’ll look it up.”

I fairly screamed at him: “No! Don’t look it up! Don’t waste that much time! Bernie, are you listening?”

“And how.”

“Buy Geerlock for me, Bernie! Start now! Buy on margin up to every dollar I have on deposit with you! Have you got it?”

“I’m calling our floor man now.”

“Buy Geerlock! Every share you can get hold of for me!”

The joint statement over the names of Mr. Beauvais and Mr. Holden was given out at four-thirty. It called only for union recognition, all questions of wages and hours to be referred later to a board of arbitration. The men marched out at five o’clock, preceded by their band and met by their wives and families in a very joyous reunion. Mr. Holden returned around six in very high spirits and all ready to take me out to some fashionable place for dinner. He wanted to dress and really celebrate. But the settlement had been arrived at after the New York market closed and until I knew what my stock was going to do I didn’t trust myself with him or anybody else. I told him the reaction from the strain had given me a splitting headache and that I would have to go to my room. I went up there and called Mr. Hunt but he had left his office. Around six-thirty a telegram was delivered. I opened it and it was a long wire from Mr. Hunt, telling me where I stood. I had a credit of $31,000, which included the original $10,000 I had put up, the additional $5,000 margin I had sent, the $8,000 I had made on Geerlock, the $3,000 I had made on Trent and various amounts I had made on other deals, of course with commissions and other charges deducted. This afternoon for my account, on a ten-point margin, there had been bought for my account 3,100 shares of Geerlock common in lots of 300 to 500 shares, at prices ranging from 101 to 102½. It was easy to see that my buying had run the price up nearly two points while my order was being executed. I had dinner sent up but could eat nothing. I changed into pajamas, went to bed and tried to sleep. By midnight I was up walking around the room. I made myself lie down again but was still awake when the sky began to grow light.

Next thing I knew the phone was ringing and it was the middle of the morning. “New York calling.”

“Put them on.”

It was Mr. Hunt and the moment he spoke my name I could hear the excitement in his voice. “Carrie!”

“Yes, Bernie?”

“Baby, you’ve cleaned up. The stock opened at 102, ran up to 105 in the first half-hour, it’s still climbing — and what do I do now?”

“Let me think. Give me a minute to think.”

I thought and thought and then came to the conclusion it was a market question entirely and that I had better leave it to him. “Bernie?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know how high it’s going to go. Can’t you watch it for me and then—”

“You bet I can, Carrie. I’ll let it zoom and when it slacks a little I’ll close you out.”

“But today, Bernie. Don’t wait.”

“Trust me, Carrie.”

I got up, went in the bedroom and ran the water into the tub. I had just got in when the phone rang again and I answered. I was all dripping with water and had only a towel around me, but it was Mr. Hunt back on the line. “I’ve closed you out, baby. It staggered a little and I didn’t like the look of it. You can never tell how high they’ll bounce on a rally like that. So I went after it while it was still good. You’re out at 108 to 110, average about 109. I’ll give you the exact figures by wire.”