Colwell, it is 93 or nothing.” She was almost pale at her own boldness. It really seemed to her as if the price had only been waiting for her to sell out in order to advance. And though she wanted the bonds, she did not feel like yielding.
“Then I very much fear it will have to be nothing.”
“Er—good morning, Mr. Colwell,” on the verge of tears.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hunt.” And before he knew it, forgetting all that had gone before, he added: “Should you change your mind, I should be glad to——”
“I know I wouldn’t pay more than 93 if I lived to be a thousand years.” She looked expectantly at him, to see if he had repented, and she smiled—the smile that is a woman’s last resort, that says, almost articulately: “I know you will, of course, do as I ask. My question is only a formality. I know your nobility, and I fear not.” But he only bowed her out, very politely.
On the Stock Exchange the price of Man. Elec. L. H. & P. Co. 5s rose steadily. Mrs. Hunt, too indignant to feel lachrymose, discussed the subject with her Cousin Emily and her husband. Emily was very much interested. Between her and Mrs. Hunt they forced the poor man to make strange admissions, and, deliberately ignoring his feeble protests, they worked themselves up to the point of believing that, while it would be merely generous of Mr. Colwell to let his friend’s widow have the bonds at 93, it would be only his obvious duty to let her have them at 96½. The moment they reached this decision Mrs. Hunt knew how to act. And the more she thought the more indignant she became. The next morning she called on her late husband’s executor and friend.
Her face wore the look often seen on those ardent souls who think their sacred and inalienable rights have been trampled upon by the tyrant Man, but who at the same time feel certain the hour of retribution is near.
“Good morning, Mr. Colwell. I came to find out exactly what you propose to do about my bonds.” Her voice conveyed the impression that she expected violent opposition, perhaps even bad language, from him.
“Good morning, Mrs. Hunt. Why, what do you mean?”
His affected ignorance deepened the lines on her face. Instead of bluster he was using finesse!
“I think you ought to know, Mr. Colwell,” she said, meaningly.
“Well, I really don’t. I remember you wouldn’t heed my advice when I told you not to sell out, and again when I advised you to buy them back.”
“Yes, at 96½,” she burst out, indignantly.
“Well, if you had, you would to-day have a profit of over $7,000.”
“And whose fault is it that I haven’t?” She paused for a reply. Receiving none, she went on: “But never mind; I have decided to accept your offer,” very bitterly, as if a poor widow could not afford to be a chooser; “I’ll take those bonds at 96½.” And she added, under her breath: “Although it really ought to be 93.”
“But, Mrs. Hunt,” said Colwell, in measureless astonishment, “you can’t do that, you know. You wouldn’t buy them when I wanted you to, and I can’t buy them for you now at 96½. Really, you ought to see that.”
Cousin Emily and she had gone over a dozen imaginary interviews with Mr. Colwell—of varying degrees of storminess—the night before, and they had, in an idle moment, and not because they really expected it, represented Mr. Colwell as taking that identical stand. Mrs. Hunt was, accordingly, prepared to show both that she knew her moral and technical rights, and that she was ready to resist any attempt to ignore them. So she said, in a voice so ferociously calm that it should have warned any guilty man: “Mr. Colwell, will you answer me one question?”
“A thousand, Mrs. Hunt, with pleasure.”
“No; only one. Have you kept the bonds that I bought, or have you not?”
“What difference does that make, Mrs. Hunt?”
He evaded the answer!
“Yes or no, please. Have you, or have you not, those same identical bonds?”
“Yes; I have. But——”
“And to whom do those bonds belong, by rights?” She was still pale, but resolute.
“To me, certainly.”
“To you, Mr. Colwell?” She smiled. And in her smile were a thousand feelings; but not mirth.
“Yes, Mrs. Hunt, to me.”
“And do you propose to keep them?”
“I certainly do.”
“Not even if I pay 96½ will you give them to me?”
“Mrs. Hunt,” Colwell said with warmth “when I took those bonds off your hands at 93 it represented a loss on paper of $3,000——”
She smiled in pity—pity for his judgment in thinking her so hopelessly stupid.
“And when you wanted me to sell them back to you at 93 after they had risen to 96½, if I had done as you wished, it would have meant an actual loss of $3,000 to me.”
Again she smiled—the same smile, only the pity was now mingled with rising indignation.
“For Harry’s sake I was willing to pocket the first loss, in order that you might not worry. But I didn’t see why I should make you a present of $3,000,” he said, very quietly.
“I never asked you to do it,” she retorted, hotly.
“If you had lost any money through my fault, it would have been different. But you had your original capital unimpaired. You had nothing to lose, if you bought back the same bonds at practically the same price. Now you come and ask me to sell you the bonds at 96½ that are selling in the market for 104, as a reward, I suppose, for your refusal to take my advice.”
“Mr. Colwell, you take advantage of my position to insult me. And Harry trusted you so much! But let me tell you that I am not going to let you do just as you please. No doubt you would like to have me go home and forget how you’ve acted toward me. But I am going to consult a lawyer, and see if I am to be treated this way by a friend of my husband’s. You’ve made a mistake, Mr. Colwell.”
“Yes, madam, I certainly have. And, in order to avoid making any more, you will oblige me greatly by never again calling at this office. By all means consult a lawyer. Good morning, madam,” said the politest man in Wall Street.
“We’ll see,” was all she said; and she left the room.
Colwell paced up and down his office nervously. It was seldom that he allowed himself to lose his temper, and he did not like it. The ticker whirred away excitedly, and in an absent-minded, half-disgusted way he glanced sideways at it.
“Man. Elec. 5s, 106⅛,” he read on the tape.
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