We did not discover it from your letters — which we have not received; nor by the treatment our drafts have met with — which were not honored; nor by the reception of any part of the appropriation, no part of it having come to hand.”
“Why, my dear Mr. Brierly, there must be some mistake, I am sure we wrote you and also Mr. Sellers, recently — when my clerk comes he will show copies — letters informing you of the ten per cent. assessment.”
“Oh, certainly, we got those letters. But what we wanted was money to carry on the work — money to pay the men.”
“Certainly, certainly — true enough — but we credited you both for a large part of your assessments — I am sure that was in our letters.”
“Of course that was in — I remember that.”
“Ah, very well then. Now we begin to understand each other.”
“Well, I don’t see that we do. There’s two months’ wages due the men, and — — ”
“How? Haven’t you paid the men?”
“Paid them! How are we going to pay them when you don’t honor our drafts?”
“Why, my dear sir, I cannot see how you can find any fault with us. I am sure we have acted in a perfectly straight forward business way. — Now let us look at the thing a moment. You subscribed for 100 shares of the capital stock, at $1,000 a share, I believe?”
“Yes, sir, I did.”
“And Mr. Sellers took a like amount?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very well. No concern can get along without money. We levied a ten per cent. assessment. It was the original understanding that you and Mr. Sellers were to have the positions you now hold, with salaries of $600 a month each, while in active service. You were duly elected to these places, and you accepted them. Am I right?”
“Certainly.”
“Very well. You were given your instructions and put to work. By your reports it appears that you have expended the sum of $9,610 upon the said work. Two months salary to you two officers amounts altogether to $2,400 — about one-eighth of your ten per cent. assessment, you see; which leaves you in debt to the company for the other seven-eighths of the assessment — viz, something over $8,000 apiece. Now instead of requiring you to forward this aggregate of $16,000 or $17,000 to New York, the company voted unanimously to let you pay it over to the contractors, laborers from time to time, and give you credit on the books for it. And they did it without a murmur, too, for they were pleased with the progress you had made, and were glad to pay you that little compliment — and a very neat one it was, too, I am sure. The work you did fell short of $10,000, a trifle. Let me see — $9,640 from $20,000 — salary $2,400 added — ah yes, the balance due the company from yourself and Mr. Sellers is $7,960, which I will take the responsibility of allowing to stand for the present, unless you prefer to draw a check now, and thus — — ”
“Confound it, do you mean to say that instead of the company owing us $2,400, we owe the company $7,960?”
“Well, yes.”
“And that we owe the men and the contractors nearly ten thousand dollars besides?”
“Owe them! Oh bless my soul, you can’t mean that you have not paid these people?”
“But I do mean it!”
The president rose and walked the floor like a man in bodily pain. His brows contracted, he put his hand up and clasped his forehead, and kept saying, “Oh, it is, too bad, too bad, too bad! Oh, it is bound to be found out — nothing can prevent it — nothing!”
Then he threw himself into his chair and said:
“My dear Mr. Brierson, this is dreadful — perfectly dreadful. It will be found out. It is bound to tarnish the good name of the company; our credit will be seriously, most seriously impaired. How could you be so thoughtless — the men ought to have been paid though it beggared us all!”
“They ought, ought they? Then why the devil — my name is not Bryerson, by the way — why the mischief didn’t the compa — why what in the nation ever became of the appropriation? Where is that appropriation? — if a stockholder may make so bold as to ask.”
“The appropriation? — that paltry $200,000, do you mean?”
“Of course — but I didn’t know that $200,000 was so very paltry. Though I grant, of course, that it is not a large sum, strictly speaking. But where is it?”
“My dear sir, you surprise me. You surely cannot have had a large acquaintance with this sort of thing. Otherwise you would not have expected much of a result from a mere INITIAL appropriation like that. It was never intended for anything but a mere nest egg for the future and real appropriations to cluster around.”
“Indeed? Well, was it a myth, or was it a reality? Whatever become of it?”
“Why the — matter is simple enough. A Congressional appropriation costs money. Just reflect, for instance — a majority of the House Committee, say $10,000 apiece — $40,000; a majority of the Senate Committee, the same each — say $40,000; a little extra to one or two chairman of one or two such committees, say $10,000 each — $20,000; and there’s $100,000 of the money gone, to begin with. Then, seven male lobbyists, at $3,000 each — $21,000; one female lobbyist, $10,000; a high moral Congressman or Senator here and there — the high moral ones cost more, because they. give tone to a measure — say ten of these at $3,000 each, is $30,000; then a lot of small-fry country members who won’t vote for anything whatever without pay — say twenty at $500 apiece, is $10,000; a lot of dinners to members — say $10,000 altogether; lot of jimcracks for Congressmen’s wives and children — those go a long way — you can’t spend too much money in that line — well, those things cost in a lump, say $10,000 — along there somewhere; and then comes your printed documents — your maps, your tinted engravings, your pamphlets, your illuminated show cards, your advertisements in a hundred and fifty papers at ever so much a line — because you’ve got to keep the papers all right or you are gone up, you know. Oh, my dear sir, printing bills are destruction itself. Ours so far amount to — let me see — 10; 52; 22; 13; — and then there’s 11; 14; 33 — well, never mind the details, the total in clean numbers foots up $118,254.42 thus far!”
“What!”
“Oh, yes indeed. Printing’s no bagatelle, I can tell you. And then there’s your contributions, as a company, to Chicago fires and Boston fires, and orphan asylums and all that sort of thing — head the list, you see, with the company’s full name and a thousand dollars set opposite — great card, sir — one of the finest advertisements in the world — the preachers mention it in the pulpit when it’s a religious charity — one of the happiest advertisements in the world is your benevolent donation. Ours have amounted to sixteen thousand dollars and some cents up to this time.”
“Good heavens!”
“Oh, yes. Perhaps the biggest thing we’ve done in the advertising line was to get an officer of the U. S. government, of perfectly Himmalayan official altitude, to write up our little internal improvement for a religious paper of enormous circulation — I tell
