the holders of the stock might get what Wall Street called a "melon-cutting." It might pay, therefore, to hold the stock, though it was speculating and taking a great deal for granted—the abnegation of the Great Midland for one thing. They refused to discuss the ethics of the deal. At all events she still had two months in which to make up her mind.
The widow showed this correspondence to her dearest enemies and a few real friends. It solaced her greatly to martyrize herself in her own estimation before them by having to attend to her own business affairs—as if her cross was not sufficiently heavy without that extra hundredweight. Time was needed for meditation, she said. This was a delicate business. By prolonging the agony she lengthened the pleasure.
There was one particularly hateful woman, Mrs. Frost, who ought to realize that the Stuyvesants were in daily correspondence with Mrs. Buxton. Therefore Mrs. Buxton called on Mrs. Frost when she knew Mrs. Frost was not at home and told Mrs. Frost's daughter how very sorry she was not to have seen Mrs. Frost. Mrs. Frost, on her return, scenting gossip or vaguely hoping for some development which would deliver Mrs. Buxton tied hand and foot to the executioner, returned the call the next day.
Mrs. Buxton was at home. She was enveloped by a halo of business. On her lap were the brokers' type-written letters, a printed copy of the converting plan, and a few sheets of paper black with pencilled figures—Mrs. Buxton's calculations. She placed the documents on the table impressively, and said to Mrs. Frost:
"I'm so glad that you came, Mrs. Frost." Then turning to the papers, she told them with a playful sternness: "There! Don't bother me for the rest of the day. They are business letters," she finished, explanatorily, looking at Mrs. Frost with an expression of humorous distress.
Mrs. Frost vouchsafed her sorrow over not being at home the previous day. Mrs. Buxton assured her that any sorrow was mild compared to Mrs. Buxton's, who had hoped to enjoy a friendly chat. She had been sorely tried all that week. She thereupon told Mrs. Frost all about the affair, and ended:
"You see, Mrs. Frost, if I take the $60,000 in bonds—they are really very good, safe bonds, I assure you—I need never bother about that investment, and I can attend to other matters with a clear mind." She had no other investments, excepting a few hundreds in the savings-bank.
"That's so," agreed Mrs. Frost, politely.
"But," said Mrs. Buxton, with a look of intense astuteness, "there is the surplus! Don't you see? That's the delicate point." She shook her forefinger subtly; then allowed it to point rigidly at her friend's heart, revolverlike.
"Well, I—"
"It's been in all the papers, you know," went on Mrs. Buxton, to strengthen her position. "The eventual disposition of the surplus"—she plagiarized bodily from her brokers,—"that is what makes me hesitate." She sighed. Ah, the burdens of the rich !
"Of course," said Mrs. Frost, non-committally—"of course that is to be considered. You must always," she went on, with the greater assurance of a philosopher, "look at every question from all sides!" Her manner showed clearly that she herself invariably did so. The judicial is the only attitude that women cannot make convincing, however great their histrionic ability.
"Yes," pursued Mrs. Buxton, naturally unimpressed by the other's wisdom, "but that sur-plus! Why, my dear, I might get a Christmas present some time of hun—of thousands of dollars!" She thrilled herself into unshakable determination never to convert her stock.
"That would be fine," Mrs. Frost assured her, without warmth.
"But again, I might never get it." Mrs. Buxton's soul put on a fur overcoat to keep out the chill doubt that followed in the wake of her own words.
"That," began Mrs. Frost, enthusiastically, "would be fi—frightful!" To offset her words she shook her head with defiant dolefulness.
"Yes," Mrs. Buxton pitied herself, "you can't trust these corporations always."
"You would think they would be honest, since they are so rich," wondered Mrs. Frost, without perceptible indignation.
