Alice was up early the next morning to go to church with Harry Curtiss, but Montague, who had really come to rest, was later in arising. Afterwards he took a stroll through the streets, watching the people. He was met by Mrs. De Graffenried, who, after her usual fashion, invited him to come round to lunch. He went, and met about forty other persons who had been invited in the same casual way, including his brother Ollie—and to his great consternation, Ollie's friend, Mr. Gamble! Gamble was clad in a spotless yachting costume, which produced a most comical effect upon his expansive person. He greeted Montague with his usual effusiveness. “How do you do, Mr. Montague—how do you do?” he said. “I've been hearing about you since I met you last.”
“In what way?” asked Montague.
“I understand that you have gone with the Mississippi Steel Company,” said Gamble.
“After a fashion,” the other assented.
“You want to be careful—you are dealing with a smooth crowd! Smoother even than the men in the Trust, I fancy.” And the little man added, with a twinkle in his eye: “I'm accustomed to say there are two kinds of rascals in the oil business; there are the rascals who found they could rely upon each other, and they are in the Trust; and there are the rascals the devil himself couldn't rely upon, and they're the independents. I ought to know what I'm talking about, because I was an independent myself.”
Mr. Gamble chuckled gleefully over this witticism, which was evidently one which he relied upon for the making of conversation. “How do you do, Captain?” he said, to a man who was passing. “Mr. Montague, let me introduce my friend Captain Gill.”
Montague turned and faced a tall and dignified-looking naval officer. “Captain Henry Gill, of the Allegheny.”
“How do you, Mr. Montague?” said the Captain.
“Oliver Montague's brother,” added Gamble, by way of further introduction. And then, espying someone else coming whom he knew, he waddled off down the room, leaving Montague in conversation with the officer.
Captain Gill was in command of one of the half-dozen vessels which the government obligingly sent to assist in maintaining the gaieties of the Newport season. He was an excellent dancer, and a favourite with the ladies, and an old crony of Mrs. De Graffenried's. “Have you known Mr. Gamble long?” he asked, by way of making conversation.
“I met him once before,” said Montague. “My brother knows him.”
“Ollie seems to be a great favourite of his,” said the Captain. “Queer chap.”
Montague assented readily.
“I met him in Brooklyn,” continued the other, seeming to feel that acquaintance with Gamble called for explanation. “He was quite chummy with the officers at the Navy Yard. Retired millionaires don't often fall in their way.”
“I should imagine not,” said Montague, smiling. “But I was surprised to meet him here.”
“You'd meet him in heaven,” said the other, with a laugh, “if he made up his mind that he wanted to go there. He is a good-natured personage; but I can tell you that anyone who thinks that Gamble doesn't know what he's about will make a sad mistake.”
Montague thought of this remark at lunch, where he sat at table on the opposite side to Gamble. Next to him sat Vivie Fatten, who made the little man the victim of her raillery. It was not particularly delicate wit, but Gamble was tough, and took it all with a cheerful grin.
He was a mystery which Montague could not solve. To be sure he was rich, and spent his money like water; but then there was no scarcity of money in this crowd. Montague found himself wondering whether he was there because Mrs. De Graffenried and her friends liked to have somebody they could snub and wipe their feet upon. His eye ran down the row of people sitting at the table, and the contrast between them and Gamble was an amusing one. Mrs. De Graffenried was fond of the society of young people, and most of her guests were of the second or even the third generation. The man from Pittsburg seemed to be the only one there who had made his own money, and who bore the impress of the money struggle upon him. Montague smiled at the thought. He seemed the very incarnation of the spirit of oil; he was gross and unpleasant, while in the others the oil had been refined to a delicate perfume. Yet somehow he seemed the most human person there. No doubt he was crudely egotistical; and yet, if he was interested in himself, he was also interested in other people, while among Mrs. De Graffenried's intimates it was a sign of vulgarity to be interested in anything.
He seemed to have taken quite a fancy to Montague, for reasons best known to himself. He came up to him again, after the luncheon. “This is the first time you've been here, Oliver tells me,” said he.
Montague assented, and the other added: “You'd better come and let me show you the town. I have my car here.”
Montague had no engagement, and no excuse handy. “It's very good of you—” he began.
“All right,” said Gamble. “Come on.”
And he took him out and seated him in his huge red touring-car, which had a seat expressly built for its owner, not too deep, and very low, so that his fat little legs would reach the floor.
Gamble settled back in the cushions with a sigh. “Rum sort of a place this, ain't it?” said he.
“It's interesting for a short visit,” said Montague.
“You can count me out of it,” said the other. “I like to spend my summers in a place where I can take my coat off. And I prefer beer to champagne in hot weather, anyhow.”
Montague did not reply.
“Such an ungodly lot of snobs a fellow does meet!” remarked his host, cheerily. “They have a fine time making fun of me—it amuses them, and I don't mind. Sometimes it does make you mad, though; you feel you'd like to make them swallow you, anyway. But then you think, What's the use of going after something you don't want, just because other people say you can't have it?”
It was on Montague's lips to ask, “Then why do you come here?” But he forbore.
The car sped on down the stately driveway, and his companion proceeded to point out the mansions and the people, and to discuss them in his own peculiar style.
“See that yellow brick house in there,” said he. “That belongs to Allis, the railroad man. He used to live in Pittsburg, and I remember him thirty years ago, when he had one carriage for his three babies, and pushed them himself, by thunder. He was glad to borrow money from me then, but now he looks the other way when I go by.
“Allis used to be in the steel business six or eight years ago,” Gamble continued, reminiscently. “Then he sold out—it was the real beginning of the forming of the Steel Trust. Did you ever hear that story?”
“Not that I know of,” said Montague.
“Well,” said the other, “if you are going to match yourself against the Steel crowd, it's a good idea to know about them. Did you ever meet Jim Stagg?”
“The Wall Street plunger?” asked Montague. “He's a mere name to me.”
“His last exploit was to pull off a prize fight in one of the swell hotels in New York, and one nigger punched the other through a plate-glass mirror. Stagg comes from the wild West, you know, and he's wild as they make 'em—my God, I could tell you some stories about him that'd make your hair stand up! Perhaps you remember some time ago he raided Tennessee Southern in the market and captured it; and old Waterman testified that he took it away from him because he didn't consider he was a fit man to own it. As a matter of fact, that was just pure bluff, for Waterman uses him in little jobs like that all the time.—Well, six or eight years ago, Stagg owned a big steel plant out West; and there was a mill in Indiana, belonging to Allis, that interfered with their business. One time Stagg and some of his crowd had been on a spree for several days, and late one night they got to talking about Allis. 'Let's buy the——out,' said Stagg, so they ordered a special and a load of champagne, and away they went to the city in Indiana. They got to Allis's house about four o'clock in the morning, and they rang the bell and banged on the door, and after a while the butler came, half awake.
“'Is Allis in?' asked Stagg, and before the fellow could answer, the whole crowd pushed into the hall, and Stagg stood at the foot of the stairs and roared—he's got a voice like a bull, you know—'Allis, Allis, come down here!'
“Allis came to the head of the stairs in his nightshirt, half frightened to death.
“'Allis, we want to buy your steel plant,' said Stagg.
“'Buy my steel plant!' gasped Allis.
“'Sure, buy it outright! Spot cash! We'll pay you five hundred thousand for it.'
“'But it cost me over twelve hundred thousand,' said Allis.
“'Well, then, we'll pay you twelve hundred thousand,' said Stagg—'God damn you, we'll pay you fifteen hundred thousand!'
“'My plant isn't for sale,' said Allis.
“'We'll pay you two million!' shouted Stagg.
“'It isn't for sale, I tell you.'
“'We'll pay you two million and a half! Come on down here!'
“'Do you mean that?' gasped Allis. He could hardly credit his ears.
“'Come downstairs and I'll write you a check!' said Stagg. And so they hauled him down, and they bought his mill. Then they opened some more champagne, and Allis began to get good-natured, too.
“'There's only one thing the matter with my mill,' said he, 'and that's Jones's mill over in Harristown. The railroads give him rebates, and he undersells me.'
“'Well, damn his soul,' said Stagg, 'we'll have his mill, too.'
“And so they bundled into their special again, and about six o'clock in the morning they got to Harristown, and they bought another mill. And that started them, you know. They'd never had such fun in their lives before. It seems that Stagg had just cleaned up ten or twelve millions on a big Wall Street plunge, and they blew in every dol............