The Rose Dawn/Chapter 7
CHAPTER VII
I
BOYD returned to Arguello on the Santa Rosa very thoughtful. He was too shrewd, too experienced, too well balanced to be swept off his feet. The situation, once he had drawn aside from the glamour, was plain enough to him. Two things he realized thoroughly. The first was that this epidemic was sure to reach Arguello sooner or later, and when it hit it would hit hard. The second was that until the boom broke, and until genuine prosperity had had a chance to struggle to its feet after being knocked flat by the explosion, his irrigated twenty-thirty acre farm scheme was as dead as Pharaoh. Few people were thinking farm.
He debarked in the early morning and drove up the long main street behind a leisurely livery horse. The high fog, also leisurely, was drawing away, permitting glimpses of the mountains. Along the street shopkeepers, or their assistants, were sweeping their sidewalks. As yet no business could be expected, although it was after nine o'clock. Near the First National Bank building stood the street car, its motive power dozing with dangled ears, the reins wound around the brake handle, the driver absent on some mysterious errand of his own. After the feverish atmosphere of Los Angeles there seemed here to dwell an ineffable peace. Even Patrick Boyd's practical spirit felt its influence; though, characteristically, he misinterpreted it and was impatient with it.
"Mañana, mañana!" he muttered disgustedly. "If I don't watch out, it'll get me, too. Here, driver, I won't go home. Let me out at Spinner's office."
The lank, birdlike real estate man listened with gleaming eyes to Boyd's analysis of what he had seen.
"Now we'll get it," Boyd concluded. "And we can hurry it along if we want to. We have my foothill land already. Get that laid out in some sort of shape and have a map made of it. Keep out the quarry, though; I don't want to lose that. But I don't want to start in on the foothill tract. Everybody knows that I own it. But if somebody comes in from outside, a stranger, and buys up a lot of land and has faith and enthusiasm and all the rest of it, why that will count a lot. From what I've seen, you can sell anything anywhere, once you get them started, but you got to begin with something reasonable. I own most of that abutting to the east on the foothills; and Colonel Peyton all of the north boundary. Naturally we can't sell the Pacific Ocean. I'm going to bring in a good man from below to pick up something on the south or a strip of Peyton's. That'll do to start her off."
"There are plenty of vacant lots right in town now," Spinner pointed out.
"Yes, and they're more expensive. Why pay city lot prices when you can get acreage? They'll buy lots in, an addition quicker than scattered stuff inside."
Boyd also saw Dan Mitchell with whom he had a serious and confidential talk. The result was a sudden accession of items and articles on the prosperity that had struck California. There were a good many alluring statistics having to do with the number of tourists coming in, the number of land sales made, and especially the phenomenal rises in values and the fortunes that had been made therefrom. Under the impulse of these, of the reports brought by returned visitors to the south, and especially by the tourists, Arguello began to stir in her sleep. And, aware of that fact, the boomers commenced to drift in and look about and lay their plans.
Boyd was too shrewd to attempt to monopolize. He knew that up to a certain point rivals were a good thing. They made a noise: they all got in and pushed; their numbers helped work up the excitement. He contented himself by being a little more ready than they were; a little more thoroughly conversant with the local situation; with possessing the tracts—lying as they did on the foothills—that were intrinsically the most worth while. Spinner was as busy as a cat with two tails. Boyd was giving him a fat commission and carte blanche to go as far as he liked. The only proviso was that the professional from Los Angeles should have a week's start in placing Boyd's other tract—of which his ownership was secret—on the market. Thus did the boom come to Arguello.
II
All Boyd's plans went well, except as respects one minor detail. It would have been very desirable to have been able to control a few acres north of town, simply because the natural growth of the town seemed to go in that direction. Which meant, of course, a strip off Corona del Monte. Knowing Colonel Peyton's situation financially, he thought it would be a simple matter. He wanted not more than a hundred acres or two, while Corona del Monte covered square miles. The Colonel ought to jump at the chance.
Ephraim Spinner came back from the interview his eyes standing out in astonishment.
"He's on, boss," he reported; "I didn't give him credit for so much sense."
"What do you mean?"
"Why, he wouldn't listen to me," said Spinner. "I never had a show. He was most God-awful polite, but I felt like a worm that was being laughed at and not supposed to know it. I worked up to the limit on him that you gave me."
"Probably you offered too much at the start," suggested Boyd.
"Now, boss!" pleaded Spinner, hurt to the quick. "You got to give me credit for knowing something!"
"I beg your pardon. I know you do. And he wouldn't sell even at a hundred an acre?"
"Wouldn't even listen. I thought he was dead asleep out there among his cows and pigs: but he must be wide awake. Nobody else in this town has a suspicion of anything coming—except this old dodo."
"You think he suspects he can get more?"
"Now I leave it to you. That kind of ranch land never sold before for more than ten or fifteen dollars. Never! And everybody knows the Colonel is hard up and needs money. And that little strip next to town don't affect his ranch one way or another, now does it? I leave it to you."
Boyd made some answer and dropped the subject. That is, in conversation. He still retained the idea. It was by no means certain that he had done a wise thing in allowing Spinner to approach the old man. The Colonel was touchy. Boyd had not much patience with that type of highfalutin' touchiness; but he had met it in his experience, and he understood it and knew how to handle it. Spinner would not know how at all; indeed, he would probably blunder blithely ahead ignorant that he was trampling down anything. Perhaps he had rubbed the Colonel the wrong way. Or it might be that Spinner was correct, that the old man was shrewd enough to foresee the boom. Boyd gravely doubted this; but it was a possibility. In that case he might have to split the profits. Anyway, he'd better see Colonel Peyton himself.
As he drove up the Avenue of Palms his eye took in the evidence that all things were not as prosperous as they had been. It was with the greatest confidence that he opened the interview. Allie and Sing Toy were performing some mysterious cleaning rites in the house, so the Colonel and his guest sat on a settee beneath the great live oak trees. Colonel Peyton listened (in silence) to Boyd's proposal to buy a strip containing approximately two hundred acres next the town limits.
"Mr. Spinner approached me with a similar proposal some days back," said he. "I told him I was not interested."
Boyd laughed.
"That was my mistake, Colonel. I sent him. I thought you might prefer to deal through an agent. Spinner is able and enthusiastic, but I can well imagine he might get off on the wrong foot. I can assure you he really meant nothing by whatever he said or did that offended you."
"But he did not offend me," cried the Colonel.
"But he says you wouldn't listen to any further proposition on his part."
"No. I told him I did not wish to sell at any price; so naturally it was useless for him to proceed."
Boyd could not quite make out the situation; though he thought he was beginning to see.
"Have a cigar, Colonel?" he proposed, to gain time to consider. "No? Mind if I smoke? Well, of course any one can see that a piece of that size and shape isn't ranch property. Arguello is going to grow; and the logical direction of growth is out this way. I suppose you naturally would expect to get more than ranch acreage prices: and on second thought I don't know why you shouldn't. I'm not going to pretend to haggle with you, Colonel. I'll give you a hundred dollars an acre flat for that piece."
"But, sir, you misapprehend" began the Colonel; but Boyd held up his hand.
"Let me finish. I was about to add a quarter interest in the net profits on the tract." He was not about to add this: but he read refusal in the Colonel's first word, and so hastened to raise his bid.
"But, Mr. Boyd, I really have no desire to sell any portion of the ranch."
"Now listen, Colonel. This piece is not really a part of the ranch. There aren't a dozen cattle a year stray over that way. I've ridden about nearly every day and I don't believe I've seen that many in two years."
"It's too near town for wild cattle," explained the Colonel. "My men keep them driven back as far as possible."
"There! What did I tell you! That strip isn't any good at all to you! And it would make ideal residence sites. As acreage it isn't worth fifteen dollars, and you know that perfectly well. But I am offering you twenty thousand dollars in cash, and a quarter interest in the net profits."
"Mr. Boyd," broke in the Colonel. "I am sorry to interrupt you, but I must repeat"
"Now, wait a minute, Colonel, let me finish before you come to any decision. That quarter interest in the net profits does not sound like much. But I am just back from the Los Angeles district, and let me tell you we are going to have a boom here that will open your eyes. I have the reputation of being a conservative business man, and I assure you that I fully expect before I have finished with that piece of land to net from a hundred and fifty to two hundred thousand dollars. I know it sounds foolish, but I am certain it is not."
"I cannot follow the figuring of you modern financiers," smiled the Colonel. "I must confess it sounds a trifle optimistic."
"I'll tell you what I'll do," urged Boyd, whose plans came nearer to half a million, all told, than to the figure he named. "I'll guarantee personally that inside of a reasonable time, say eighteen months, your share will come to forty thousand dollars—that's in addition to the purchase price. Come on: go in partnership! We'll clean up!"
"I appreciate your offer, Mr. Boyd, though I can't quite follow your figures," began the Colonel.
"You don't need to—remember I'm guaranteeing," Boyd reminded him.
"Yes, I understand that; and I'm grateful to your offer of partnership. Your reputation as a man of affairs is quite familiar to me. But I really mean what I say: I do not wish to sell any of the Rancho."
"That is a pretty liberal offer. It is really the best any business man could do. I take all the risk, you must remember; and, of course, do the actual managing of the deal. What I have offered is really the highest price the deal could justify on its merits."
"Oh, Mr. Boyd!" cried the Colonel, in a panic of deprecation. "You must not misunderstand me! I am not attempting to haggle for higher terms. Those are almost too liberal, it seems to me. But I do not care to sell."
Boyd's heavy brows came together.
"Would you mind telling me why—since it is not the price?"
At his tone the Colonel's more delicate brows went up slightly.
"I have owned the Rancho de la Corona del Monte for more than thirty years, sir," he replied politely. "It is a property that it pleases me to retain intact."
Boyd restrained a movement of exasperation, and by an effort regained control of himself.
"Where can you find anywhere a piece of land that will bring anything approaching that return, and at the same time take so little from the ranch as a ranch?" he asked.
"Nowhere, sir. I acknowledge that," replied the Colonel. "That is not the question."
"But sooner or later you will have to find such a piece."
Colonel Peyton stiffened.
"Why did you say that, sir?"
"Come, Colonel, you know as well as I do that the time is not far distant when you must raise some money, and a good sum of money, to keep you afloat. There's no use our trying to fool each other. Here I'm offering you the chance of a lifetime to get squared away. You can't go on renewing mortgages forever, you know!"
"I find, sir, you appear too conversant with my private affairs," said Colonel Peyton, stiffly.
"I am an official in the First National Bank," Boyd pointed out, "and I am saying nothing that I do not know legitimately."
"Sir," rejoined Colonel Peyton. "I regret to seem discourteous to a guest, but I must remind you that officially, as you call it, you are concerned only with whether I pay my interest on the appointed dates. That, I believe, has been done."
"And with whether you pay the principal on the appointed dates, too," added Boyd, rising. "Don't forget that."
The Colonel bent his brows down on the shorter man.
"Am I to construe that as a threat, sir?" he demanded, coldly.
Boyd's face flushed and his neck swelled. He was not a man patiently to brook opposition at any time; but unreasonable and purposeless opposition like this was beyond all credence.
"I am not interested in constructions," he snapped. "I am stating facts it would be well to keep in mind before you turn down your chance. Look up the dates of your mortgages, I advise you, before you decide. I'll give you two days. I'll send Spinner for your answer."
"That will be quite useless, sir," replied the Colonel, icily. "You can have my answer now. I do not care to sell. And permit me to call your attention to the fact that it is the custom for bank officials to give notice of due mortgages by mail."
Boyd drove down the avenue in a glow of righteous anger. He really felt that he had been hardly used. He had offered the old fool a chance to pull himself out of the hole, get on his feet, with no cost to himself. It had been a generous offer. Not only had this offer been refused unreasonably, but it had been refused ungraciously. That was how Boyd felt about it. His own attitude throughout the interview seemed to him eminently business-like and reasonable. By the time he had reached Ephraim Spinner's office he was boiling mad.
"I apologize to you," he informed the real estate man. "I thought you'd bungled the deal with old Peyton, but I take it back. Of all the unreasonable, short-sighted, pig-headed old fossils I ever came in contact with! Why, if I had a hound dog that couldn't size up his own situation and see the point of an open-and-shut proposition better, I'd tie a rock to him and drop him off the wharf!"
"I figured you'd tackle him yourself," grinned Spinner. "Glad of it. Now you know."
"Yes, now I know!" growled Boyd. "But he don't know—yet. He's a blight on the community, that fellow. Talk about your dog in the manger! He's holding up the development of Arguello worse than a dozen earthquakes! Has the whole north side of town blocked from further growth! Has some of the best farm land in the world, with thousands of people yelling for farms, and he sits on it like a toad! It ought not to be allowed!" He tramped up and down the little office chewing the end of a cigar that had gone out. Boyd was fully persuaded of what he was saying. No realization entered his head that the mainspring of his present anger and his future activity in this particular case was merely opposition, which always aroused his ruthless fighting spirit. He stared unseeing at a lithograph on the wall; then after a moment turned with a short laugh. "Well, nothing to be done there just now. Time's too short." He went on to give some directions as to the new additions.
III
The boom hit Arguello; and Arguello took it just as hard as the rest of the country, once it had thoroughly awakened. It suffered all the usual symptoms, as detailed in previous pages. People bought and sold lots they had never seen, the very location of which was unknown to them. Such things as abstracts of title became totally unnecessary. Somebody soon discovered that it was equally unnecessary to bother with the pretty white stakes to mark out the lots: very few people went to look at them. It was much simpler just to have a map and mark off the lots sold.
It is not part of the purpose of this story to follow in detail the progress of the boom in Arguello. With two exceptions all the people we know were in it, some of them up to their necks. The two exceptions were Colonel Peyton and Brainerd. As a consequence they were looked upon with pity or derision or contempt as not knowing a good thing when they saw it. They were considered reactionary.
For the first time in its history Main Street was crowded. It seemed that the entire country must have poured its population in; and certainly the influx from outside made a record. The "talking point" with Arguello was her present lack of a railroad. As soon as the railroad was put through, then people would be certain to pour in, for where in the wide world could you find another such sun-kissed, ocean-washed, island-guarded, mountain-girdled paradise? There might be many mansions in another paradise, but the number of town lots was limited in this.
On Main Street one was certain to see everybody one knew. They stood on the edge of the broad walk absorbing sunshine and prosperity; they strolled the length between the Fremont and the wharf, dropping in at all the tract offices to see what was doing; they darted in and out of places, busier in appearance than any one could possibly be, each according to his temperament. The Sociedad moved over in a body, leaving its cattle to Mexican foremen, and gambled briskly. There was the greatest difficulty in getting the necessary work done. Men who had been digging on the sewer extension last week, now carried their checkbooks and leaned nonchalantly against the lamp posts, swapping wisdom as to the country's future. Had it not been for the Chinese, who cared nothing for booms, it is difficult to see how the necessary chores would have been done. At every trip from the north the Santa Rosa brought a cargo of supplies that ought to have been provided at home. Prices naturally rose; but nobody cared. Ephraim Spinner was in the twentieth plane of bliss. He believed in it literally—the millions of future population and all the rest. When he sold a lot, he sold it sincerely. His optimism and his energy seemed to know no limits.
Patrick Boyd rode the storm serenely. He was throughout one of the few who did not lose his head. From his additions he made a great sum of money; some of which he reinvested in other lots with which to gamble. But he knew he was gambling: and he estimated the chances very coolly. He recognized the immense value of Spinner's enthusiasm and energy; so he turned over to that young man the handling—but not the direction of the handling—of all his real estate ventures. Realizing that no mere commission basis would uphold any man's loyalty after the thing got going he gave Spinner an interest in the business. After that he paid no more attention to the selling end of it. Only when it came to buying did he interfere, with the insistence that Spinner should do exactly as he said. Often Spinner would tear his hair over what he stigmatized as over-caution when some tempting bait dangled in vain. But soon, of course, Spinner became a millionaire in his own right; and then, outside the partnership, he dealt at his own sweet will.
But Boyd's chief effort and influence were now otherwise directed. He was willing to gamble with his surplus, but he never lost his head. His experience showed him that the fundamental danger would not be that a certain number of people would go broke, or would not go broke, as the case might be; but in the undue expansion of credit. Sales were made, as has been explained, on the basis of a small down payment; men deep in the game would always desire to spread their money out as thin as possible; the actual cash brought in by the immigration amounted to a very large sum. There could be no doubt that the banks would have much idle money crying for investment; there was also no doubt that there would be a swarm of would-be borrowers. A bank lends on security. Much of the security would undoubtedly be land. There you have the elements of the problem in which Boyd saw danger.
He held a comparatively small block of bank stock, but from this moment he became the storm centre on the board of directors. His policy was simple, and he stuck to it through thick and thin. It was that all land loans should be based on the old valuation before the boom; not one cent more.
There were wild scenes, at times, over this. Men lost their temper in open meeting. They called him reactionary, a coward, a detriment to the county's prosperity, and some more bitter names; but he sat four-square, smiling, unmoved.
"Gentlemen," he would say, "you will do as you please. Your voting power is much in excess of mine. But, remember, it is also your responsibility. You know the value of this land in normal times. I agree that it has probably increased somewhat; but no man can say yet what that increase actually amounts to in permanent value. Until we find out, let's play safe on the old figures. A bank should play safe. In case of necessity a bank must take over the land on which it has lent money. Nothing is more unproductive than land in a bank's hands. We have too much already."
In spite of protest, within and without, this view prevailed. Nobody on the directorate, with the possible exception of Oliver Mills, believed fully with Boyd. Of course a great many of these prices were absurd, still—it must be acknowledged—that the county had gone ahead But against Boyd's solemn warnings of responsibility they did not quite dare go. Boyd acquired thus a position of great power. He easily took the lead in banking matters: so that his opinion in all things came to prevail with almost the force of command. And since it was felt that in Boyd rested the power of local credit, he was sought after and kow-towed to and hated and cursed—behind his back—until he was thrust by the very upheaval of conflicting forces to a place of towering prominence.
A place of prominence meant more than the possession of money. Everyone had become a capitalist. A million was the unit of measurement. Why not? A man's wealth is the value of his possessions. City lots had risen to fifty and seventy-five thousand dollars apiece. As city lots did not necessarily have anything to do with a city, and as California was a large and vacant place, there was material for countless millionaires. And as if California was not big enough, they were actually slipping over into Mexico! If you own a gravel walk you can be a millionaire on pebbles at a thousand dollars each—until you try to trade them for something else.
At the height of the boom one could come pretty close to trading for something else. The man who had been willing to close out his deals and go home with his cash, would have been genuinely wealthy. A few of them did just that; probably as many as have cashed in their chips at the height of a winning streak and left the casino.
IV
As time went on, however, more and more people made up their minds to "clean up and get out." When they came to do so, they found that there must be a shrinkage in the paper values of their holdings. This is the normal thing. But in the present booming market, it made them indignant. They called it "sacrificing," and saw no reason for it. Or they did actually sell out, and found themselves with a good sum of actual money in the bank. They were generally back in the game within a week. Some piece of land they had been watching, or had themselves sold, had gone up, and they could not stay out. It seemed too foolish to let such chances go!
Another still craftier set secretly believed that a set-back was imminent. They talked among themselves wisely of "action and reaction." The boom was bound to burst from overloading. Then the wise guy with ready cash could take his pick of choice property at rock bottom prices; and so would be in on the ground floor when the next boom started, probably within six months. For not one of them but believed that another boom would come, almost immediately. But the collapse could not possibly overtake them before next spring at earliest. The big rush from the East always took place after the holidays. The wealthy people came then; and then our profound student would unload quickly and at magnificent prices.
The very few who not only decided to get out, but to do it now, had to be very strong-minded. Jim Paige was as little as the next inclined to be influenced by another's opinion: but he succumbed.
"Well, well, here's old Jim!" cried Bill Hunter meeting him on the street. "Hear you chucked that lot of yours in Vasquez Street for twenty thousand. It sold yesterday for thirty; and I'll bet she goes to forty. You sure have a poor eye!" and he went on chuckling over the huge joke on old Jim.
George Scott was not so easy on him.
"For God's sake, Paige!" he cried. "Don't you know any better than to spread all this talk on 'cleaning up'? Everybody's talking about it. I don't mind you throwing away your own property, but first thing you know you'll be knocking hell out of the market for the rest of us."
"The rest of you better follow my example," drawled Paige.
"The man who sells anything before spring is crazy," rejoined Scott, briefly. "Stark, staring crazy!"
A real estate man snared him as he sauntered past, and drew him aside for a low-toned coloquy.
"Say, Jim," he confided, "I've fixed it so I can buy in those two lots next your corner on Center Street for forty thousand apiece. Owner was a tourist, lunger, died. How's that for a snap? And only a quarter cash down!"
"I've sold that corner," confessed Jim.
"Sold it! Sold it!" cried the real estate man. "My Lord!" and holding up both hands in mock despair he darted away.
Then down the street a little farther he met Doctor Wallace with his black bag. The doctor was a millionaire, of course; but he had to keep in practise as a matter of plain humanity. Only the most pressing cases, however; as too many patients would interfere with business. He, too, drew Jim aside.
"Look here, Jim," he said. "It's only due you that some friend let you know what they're saying about you, so you can deny it. Of course I've been denying it everywhere, and so have all your other friends, but a statement from you is needed to carry the proper weight."
"What they been saying?" demanded Paige, interested.
"Why that you've been selling out," said the doctor in a hushed voice.
"I am," confessed Paige, shamefaced.
The doctor looked him over astoundedly.
"Well, I must hurry out and see Mrs. Robbins. Sudden call," he muttered, and disappeared.
Within three days Jim Paige was back in the game.
So it was with dozens of others to whom was vouchsafed a momentary gleam of wisdom. The trend of events was too powerful for them. The dynamic force of the combined thought of so many people swept them back in the current. During their brief absence from the market prices had gone up. An excursion arrived bringing a throng of hungry buyers. Other excursions would be running all winter. Why be content with thousands when one could just as well make a million? Chances such as this come once in a lifetime. Some people thought themselves too wise to be greedy. They were not going to try to squeeze the last dollar from the opportunity: they were going to get enough and then quit. What was enough? Last year it might have been ten thousand dollars: a princely fortune to a small farmer. What was ten thousand, a hundred thousand now? Enough was always just a little more than a man had. Of course one should get out; but next week would be time enough. And next week prices were still rising: it seemed a shame not to make just a few dollars more!
V
And the end, when it came, stole upon them so gradually that at first they never suspected. People told each other that the market was a little dull, just for this week. They explained nonchalantly that it was always so about the holidays, that the Presidential year had its influence, that at this season the payment of taxes always more or less tied things up by taking money out of circulation, that everybody was holding tight for the rise that was sure to come with the new batches of excursionists. There were a few clear-headed men who saw the point; but they were speedily silenced by loud and wrathful outcries.
"Prices too high!" shrieked the millionaries, turning purple with rage because secretly they also feared. "Such talk as yours would bust any boom. There's no trouble at all, except that there are a lot of idiots like you around talking gloom and pessimism. The market is dull because the prices are going to be higher, and people have quit throwing away their property and are holding it for what it is worth!"
Nevertheless all the waverers, the people who had got out and come back in again like Jim Paige, and those who were going to get out but had postponed it until next week, now felt their wisdom stiffened. They returned to their abandoned plans, this time with conviction.
"Say, George," said Jim Paige, accidentally meeting George Scott, after looking for him for two hours. "I've decided to take that offer for my Center Street lots."
Scott changed countenance.
"Oh—I—I thought you'd refused that offer, Jim; and I've used my money elsewhere."
"I might even shade that price," pursued Jim. "I've got another buy in sight that'll make me a mint of money, but I've got to have the cash to swing it. Make me an offer."
"I don't believe I can handle it."
"You wanted it bad enough before. It's the best bargain in town, and you know it. I never knew you to refuse a trade, George."
"Don't want it."
Jim drew nearer.
"You don't think she's broke, do you?" he asked.
George Scott blew up. Of course she hadn't broke. Such talk as that. He stumped off fuming, leaving Jim Paige, very thoughtful, staring after him.
He was typical of many others. They decided to sell enough at least to pay off their debts and deferred payments. They were even willing to do so at a "sacrifice." Lots were offered at 15 per cent. off. At that moment a good many might have been got rid of for 25 per cent. off. Time was wasted finding that out. The reduction of 25 per cent. was made, but by then it was too late. The sellers were always one jump behind in their appreciation of the necessities.
Mrs. Stanley, like everyone else, was a millionaire while the boom lasted; but she was a lady of robust common sense. One morning Patrick Boyd found her gardening near the dividing fence when he came out of his house for his after-breakfast cigar. The sunbonneted, heavy-booted figure waved him imperiously.
"I want you to tell me what's going to happen in this market," she boomed at him.
He looked at her speculatively. They had enjoyed many pitched battles as antagonists; and he liked her.
"I will tell you my opinion, if you will tell me exactly where you stand in it."
"Come into the house," she invited him with instant decision.
They sat for some time in the stiff old-fashioned library examining a land book with alluring figures; a bank book; and an old probate list of securities.
"I see," observed Boyd at last. "If you were to pay up what you owe in contracts, without selling any of the land, it would just about clean out your ready assets, wouldn't it?"
"But of course I don't expect to do that. I expect to sell some land," boomed Mrs. Stanley.
"Then you'd better do so very promptly if you can," advised Boyd.
Mrs. Stanley looked anxious.
"If I can?" she repeated. "Then you thinkOh, you must tell me all the truth without equivocation, Mr. Boyd. If I lose my income what is to become of me—of my children?" She was genuinely alarmed and distressed. For the first time this grenadier of a woman had lost her complete independence of bearing.
Boyd explained to her the situation as he saw it: and added this:
"I'll do for you what I would do for no other person I know. If you will give me power of attorney, I will see what I can do. But you must understand that all you can expect is to be relieved of the weight of your debts. The only hope of selling at all is at a price to appeal to those who believe another boom will follow this depression."
He got the power of attorney, and a week later made his report. Mrs. Stanley's one million two hundred thousand dollars worth of real estate had been sold to net her—after debts were paid—just ten thousand dollars. She was aghast. It was with the greatest difficulty that she controlled the expression of her face. Boyd smiled at her grimly.
"I know perfectly what you are thinking, Mrs. Stanley," he observed. "I may say that I anticipated it; and it is a matter of indifference to me. I want to call your attention to three things: one is that your original property is intact; the second is that you have made ten thousand dollars out of nothing; and the third is my recommendation to you to observe your friends and see how they come out."
It took Mrs. Stanley a long time to get over the shock, and still longer to come to a realization that she had not been sacrificed. Boyd's third recommendation finally swung her to the truth. Those who decided to sell, as has been said, reduced their prices too slowly to keep down with the dropping demand. They arrived this week where they might have sold last week. And of the few who, as Boyd with Mrs. Stanley's holdings, knew enough to come down to cash prices of from 25 per cent. to 35 per cent. off paper value, many were frustrated by their agents. The latter almost invariably hung on—in secret, of course—hoping to pocket the difference between the old price and the new. Thus time was wasted until it was irretrievably too late.
And now of course money tightened. Huge amounts were still going out for materials on the senseless improvements everywhere being made; greater sums were going for jewels, silks, carriages, furniture, fancy harness and luxuries, long since bought but only now being paid for; and still vaster necessary expenditures for foodstuffs that should have been raised at home. To offset this outflow of cash was one source—the money brought in from outside in the pockets of the tourists. This source suddenly choked up.
And the banks began to press for their money.
Americans are quickly adaptable, and can see the point promptly. They wasted very little time bewailing the situation. Evidently they had to get to work; so to work they got. A few inconsolables haunted the bars—on draught beer—bewailing their fate; a few optimists continued in the real estate business and posted long lists of property with the caption Soft Snaps. But everybody else got to work.
And the commentary on the actual resources of the country is that it successfully absorbed the evils of this feverish time. All the elements were laid for a twenty-year set-back; but as a matter of fact even the ensuing hard times were short, and only moderately hard. The banks had kept their sanity. Not one failed. And one thing was indubitable: the population of the country had been greatly increased. Just as the gold discoveries of 'Forty-nine, disappointing in their promise of universal fortune, nevertheless were a bait that attracted to California its first flood of immigrants; so this boom, insubstantial in itself, did lure to the country tens of thousands who otherwise would not have come, and busted them, and made it necessary that they get to work. And California rewards work lavishly.