Evening Star Newspaper, November 17, 1929, Page 100

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. €, NOVEMBER ¥, 129, MATTER OF TERMS——B}/ Holworthy Hall Noel Fell in Love With Phil, Whose Father She Remembered as the Person Responsible for Her Family’s Poverty and Their Unhappiness. RIGINALLY, the house was situated on the very outskirts of the city. It was a great, sturdy brick house encircled by pleasant flields, and when Dr. Fernie had dggwn his final check to the contractors he remarked to his wife: “Now, dear, if this doesn’t become an ancestral home- stead, it isn’t our fault. And, by the way, I've bought that orchard you admired to much over on Titheradge lane. Some day it may come in handy for a pair of honeymooners, eh? Put up & cottage there.” Mrs. Fernie eyed him with adoring disap- proval. “George!” she said. “Did you actually buy that Yot just because I said it was pretty?” “Yes, I did!” conceded the doctor, cheerfully. She pointed out to him ‘that it was a quarter of a mile away and on a side road. She added that, since their only offspring wasn't quite 4, the vision of a cottage was premature. She ended by telling him that he was the worst busi- ness man in the world and that anybody 40 years old should have known better. The doctor chuckled. “Know enough to be darned happy, anyhow,” he said. For the next five years they were happy, in- deed. Then the city thrust out tentacles in the form of trolley lines to capture the countryside. Two furlongs to the east machine shops sprang up; an equal distance to the west land was broken for Bradburn’s Chemical Works, Inc. “My heavens!” said the doctor, dismayed. “A chemical plant? Il have to look into this!” The result of his inquiries sent him to a law- yer. “My goodness!” he said. “Just think what that may mean when the wind's right!” The attorney stared at him. “But, my dear sir, that whole district was allocated—oh, way back in 1900 or 1902—as available for any sort of manufacturing! Who represented you when you took your title? Didn’'t he warn you what you were getting into?” Dr. Fernie winced. He did recall, now, that something had once been mentioned about this: but he had promptly forgotten it. Why not? When his house was six crows’ .miles from the City Hall? * * * But what was he going to say to his wife? THA’I’ evening he broke the news to her; and - he was glad to have the session interrupted by a caller. The caller was Mr. John Bradburn. Mr. Bradburn was handsome and impressive, and both the Fernies liked him at sight, Mr. Bradburn had come to express his regret that the doctor’s estate was liable to be prejudiced by the nearby operations. To be sure, Mr. Bradburn could scarcely feel any individual guilt, but he did feel sympathetic. “My products are highly profitable,” said Mr. Bradburn, with a smile, “but they're also highly perfumed.” To conceal their distress the Fernies asked questions. It then appeared that Mr. Bradburn was a widower with a small child. It further appeared that he was a man of unlimited am- bitions. If he went on prospering, and if this region went on developing, why, he might easily need additional terrain for his company, and for housing accommodations for his employes. “Now, that,” said Dr. Fernie, brightening, “happens to be a hobby of mine. Industrial housing, I mean. Would you care to hear my ™ “I'd be only too delighted,” said Mr. Brad- burn. The Pernies found him so atiractive that when he departed he had an invitation for Sun- day night. And from Sunday night their acquaintanceship evolved very rapidly. In April Dr. Fernie invested $50,000 in Bradburn’s Chemical Works, Inc. “He's a live wire,” declared the doctor, en- thusiastically, “and he’s going to make sparks. And par’s $100 a share, and I only paid $50. Of course, I can’t expect any dividends for a couple of years—but you wait!” “George,” sald Mrs. Fernie, “aren’t you put- ting almost too much confidence in John?” “Nonsense, my dear! Don't you suppose I can judge character and ability? Didn’t you ever notice his jaw?” “Yes,” she said, “often. But when every agent in town had this place listed since Febru- ary, and we haven't had one nibble? So, if we have to move out when they start cooking up smells, why, we’ve either got to sell at an enor- mous loss or wait indefinitely—and that’s an- other $50,000 tied up, and—and dearest, you're just not a business man!” “Perhaps I'm not,” said the doctor, a trifle tartly, “but John is, anyway!” Just before the factory was completed, in June, Bradburn offered to trade 1,000 shares of stock for the ancestral homestead and its score of acres, and the dictor signed a memorandum agreement. “Why, my dear!” he argued to his wife, “I'm eonvinced that one of these days you'll see that stock at 250 or 300!” Her eyes were wide. “Oh, George! Tell me: have you put anything else into this company?” He had. Every penny of his savings. “But you wait!” prophesied Dr. Fernie. “And we're going to push my housing scheme, and we'll have a model village that'll set a standard. You wait!” Obediently, Mrs. Fernie waited. She waited until the holiday season, when she astonished Ber husband by demanding how much he could yealize on his Bradburn stock. “Why, I don’t know,” said the doctor, who was looking even more tired than usual. “Why?" “George,” said Mrs. Fernie, soberly, “the last time John was here he said something that dis- turbed me. And then he's written me two or three notes that disturb me. I've told .you you'’re no business man. I——" “What was it he said?” “I couldn’t repeat it, dear, but it was more his manner than his words. I hate to have you think I'm silly, only—I'd feel a lot better if you'd get out of it.” TEE doctor petted her. “Yes, my dear, you're silly. John's as overworked as I am, right now, and it's perfectly natural for him to spill over—especially to you.” But she continued to harass him until, in mid-January, his poise flew away from him and his colleagues ordered him to take a long vaca- tion. To finance it he had to dispose of some of his chemical stock, and he sent for Bradburn, Even to the doctor’s unsuspicious eyes Brad- burn seemed ill at ease. But this was appar- ently explained in Bradburn’s first sentence. “I'll tell you, doctor,” he said, “that we've had hard sledding, and for the moment your stock isn't worth what you paid for it. But you get in touch with the local brokers and get their best bid and then I'll pay you three points more than anybody else will. Is that fair?” ‘The doctor was grateful, but he was somewhat startled to learn that the best bid was 11. Be- tween 11 and 50 there is a considerable differ- ence. “Well,” said the broker, cautiously, “didn’t you see their statement, first of the year? I don't say it won’t straighten out in the long run, but the price is 11.” The doctor sold Bradburn 500 shares at 14, and assured his wife that the company's troubles were transient, and that his own confi- dence would some day make him a millionaire. Her swift reaction included a plea and a vow. The vow was that she would never speak to John Bradburn again as long as she lived. The plea was for the doctor to liquidate his capital while he had the chance. But her vehemence sent him into a relapse and delayed their sail- ing for the south of France, and—as he feebly reminded her—his return to a lucrative prac- tice. Long before his vacation was done, however, he perceived that his practice would never again support his family. Purthermore, the California climate was now recommended for him. But he needed funds and he had nothing in the world but 3,200 shares of Bradburm common. He sold Bradburn a sizable block at 12; but when, later, he telegraphed from Los Angeles, the best local quotgtion was 7%, so that Brad- burn paid only 10%. At last the doctor cleared out his entire holdings at 10 in order to have a fixed income. On this fixed income and & scat- tering of meager fees the Fernies lived doggedly, and Mrs. Fernie never again reminded her hus- band that he was no business man. She didn't have to. Because for the first few seasons it would have hurt too cruelly, and after that it would have been too tragic. For in 1914 that stock was returning 5 per cent, and then there Was & War. Six years after the armistice the Fernies both died In the same month, which was the same month that Bradburn Chemical soared to 470 on the New York Stock Exchange—and cheap at that. TxN years later; fair and warmer; the ba- rometer rising, and the clock running well into the afternoon; the scene a library—the li- brary of John Bradburn, the president of Brad- burn’s Chemical Works, Inc. The president was sitting at a flat-topped ma- hogany desk and regarding his son, the secre- tary of the works, who was frowning into a loose-leafed book of production sheets. Between the two men there was a strong resemblance, but the secretary had the milder eyes and & jaw which was the more becoming because it wasn’t quite so squarely mitered. The president, regarding his son, smiled com- placently. A splendid youngster, Philip—in- dustrious, amenable, intelligent and affection- ate. What more could a father want? He glanced at his desk clock and was about to speak when suddenly his expression became extraordinarily hard and blank. His son looked up quickly. “Foot bothering you, father?” “It's all over,” said the president shortly. “Why, this interview with—what's his name? Kent? Noel Kent? It was for 3, wasn't it? And it's 10 minutes of. Well, I'll give you & useful tip, Phil. When a man really wants to sell*he’s right on the dot. That’s my experi- ence.” ‘The secretary preserved his frown. “Then from the tone of that letter you showed me I've got a hunch that Noel Kent's going to be late.” “What?” Mr. Bradburn sorted out a sheet from the pile on his blotter. “You don’t sup- pose this ballyhoo means anything, do you? “If he wouldn't sell, then what’s he coming out here for? No, Phil, he is coming out, so it's only a matter of terms. And if he’s on time they're my terms. That land's exactly what we want for a new administration build- ing, and that's all there is about it!” Here a servant came in with a card. “See who it is, Phil, will you?” The secretary crumpled the card in his fin- gers and grinned. “Well, as a matter of fact, it’s Noel Kent.” He went out to the drawing room, where six or seven people were, by special dispensation, awaiting the pleasure of Mr. John Bradburn, imprisoned in his own house with rheuma- tism. He made his way at once to the side of a girl who looked even more apprehensive than did the other petitioners. “Well,” said the secretary, “why this air of a delicate martyr who hears the lion being paged?” “Because I'm scared!” she announced in an undertone. “So I do hope your father’s in a temper. Men are at such a gorgeous disad: vantage when they're in a temper. Then could cry. Do you think it would do good?” “Never saw it tried out. But his f i skittish today. Is dampness the best for it?” He escorted her to the door, gave her arm a little squeeze, said, “Good luck, old lady!” and strolled away down the hallway. Inside the library, Mr. John Bradburmn was standing by a window and smoking & cigar. When he turned his eyebrows lifted almost im- perceptibly. “I'm afrald there’s some mistake, madam,” he said gravely. “I am seeing no one except by previous appointment.” “But I did have an appointment, Mr. Brad- burn.” He stared at her. “The name was—" “Noel Kent.” “What?” he said. “Are you Noel Kent?” “Why, yes.” “So it was you who wrote me those extrava- gant letters?” His eyes twinkled, *“I should have suspected this.” “But how?” “From the spelling.” “Oh, what did I misspell?” “Well, for one thing, ‘octopus.” The majority of us content ourselves with one ‘s’.” She laughed. “Did I really do that? If I did, it was a slip of the typewriter. Still, you must have known who I meant, no matter how I spelled him. And it wasn't a personal de- scription anyway; it applied to your methods.” “Ah!” he said, as an indulgent schoolmaster might have said it, “and what's wrong with them—in your opinion?” “Why I implied a sort of grasping tendency, that's all.” “Hm;” said Bradburn, with a trace of sar- casm. “Did you ever hear of any sound busi- ness that didn’t expand?” “No, I don't think I ever did. But things that expand too far sometimes burst.” “Do you think that Bradburn’s Chemical Works is likely to burst, then?” “I certainly hope not,” she said, “because my land’s too close to it for comfort.” “Ah!” said Bradburn. “That brings us to the ::::t.tzr at issue. Your land—I'm going to buy “Don’t you mean you hope I'll sell it to you?” THE president threw away his cigar. “My ¥ dear young woman, I won't beat around the bush. Your property out here is assessed at $10 a front foot—call it $3,000. My original offer to you was $5,000. Since then I've gone up as high as nine—and nine is my last word.” She smiled at him. “Yes,” she said, “you told me so two letteze ago. But if it was really your last word wiy did you ask me to come out and see you today?” He leaned forward with an aggressive thrust of the shoulders. “Then why did you come?” “Well,” she said, “it was largely from curi- osity.” He shook his head. “Your humor is refresh- ing. I asked you to come here because I thought that possibly I could explain the sit- uation to you better than any one else could. To put it briefly, except to myself, your land isn't worth a dime. I've got it flanked on two sides. You'd have hard work to make any- body else a present of it. So you’re going transfer it to me for precisely three times assessed valuation, plus a thousand dollars f your expenses. Ten. Am I right?” The girl drew a long breath. “I know, Mr. Bradburn, that if I don’t sell to you I prob- ably can't sell at all. But I'm not here to be 1 “If you fancied you could use my son as a lever against me, you were never so thoroughly mistaken.” told what I'm going to do. . I'm here to tell you what you're going to do.” The president was grimly amused. He in- spected her as though she had been an ine sufferably conceited child. “Well?” ‘Xgl'l‘re going to buy my land——" < “At my price. And it's much more tham yours—infinitely more.” His jaw tightened, and into his eyes there crept a slow, cold hostility. “In that case,” he said icily, “good afternoon, Miss Kent.” She rose and moved toward the door, but at the threshold she paused and looked back— and quietly returned. “My gloves,” she said, apologetically, and retrieved them from the corner of the big desk. He made an imperative gesture to her. “What price is it youll think I'll pay?” She sat down again, “Perhaps I ought te tell you, Mr. Bradburn, that before I kept this appointment I'd gathered a good deal of information about you. You settled here about 15 years ago, didn't you?” “What of #t? I asked you what’s your price.” “I understand that you needed more capital, 80 you got it from the man who owned this very house. He—" “Miss Kent, you're wasting your time.” “No,” she said reflectively. “I'm not even wasting yours. This man was apparently a lovable sort of person, but rather a goat— wasn't he?” “Goat?” echoed the president, astounded. “Goat?” “Well, wasn't he? He lost practically every cent he had—and since then, you've had & brilliant career. Haven't you?” Bradburn transfixed her. “I see the idea. You've been collecting gossip. You hear I'm a close buyer, so when I offer you three times what that place is worth, you think you're going to be in on the-boom. Wake up!” “Oh, of course, I know,” she went on, “that the business wasn't paying then. You made it pay, later-—after taking the precaution to buy his stock for next to nothing. I ought to know, hadn't I? Hadn't I? Don't you remember when you used to give me pill- ‘boxes full of mercury to play with, and bits of sodium and potassium to burn on water, and let me send packages down the chute —and one day I slipped and went down the chute myself? And—" He half raised himself from his chair. “No} you can't be George Fernie's little girl!” “Oh, but I can, though!” “But her name wasn’'t Noel! WA It was—it A‘;'It was Ada Noel Fernie, I dropped the . Impulsively and cordially, he had put out his hand. “Ada! That'’s right. But—" “And then I was married. That's how the land got recorded in the name of Noel Kent." Much of the heartiness went out of his manner. She hadn't taken his hand; and moreover, he was thinking rapidly. “But then this land must have belonged to George! George must have willed it to you. Why, yes! And yet you've stayed under cover all this time—even this afternoon, and—why, I don't grasp this at all!” “You see,” she said, “after father and mother died, the title was recorded in my own name. It was all the inheritance I had, ex- cept a few thousand dollars. Daddy'd kept it, because he thought that some day it might be worth something.” BR.ADBURN had resumed his glacial atti- tude. “And so you imagined that you'd ' have some mysteribus advantage by hiding' your identity, and then springing your bomb? What did you expect to gain by all those innuendos in regard to myself and your father? Did he ever remotely hint that I'd been unfate’ to him in any way?” “Oh, never! But, after I was old enough to hear the bare facts, he didn't have to. No, he never said a word. But I know what generally happens when there’s a clever, powerful man on one side and a trustful simpleton on the other.” The president nursed his foot. “Mrs. Kent, George Fernie was once my friend—but that's no excuse for me to swallow any such imperti= nence from his daughter, In 1910 I made him