The Rebellion of Yale Marratt (70 page)

 

 

"Dope. Your words convict you. You better make up your mind now that
even when she is a full nine months she gets complete affection from
you. Anyway, you can't stay here that long. You're just trying to escape
an impossible situation."

 

 

"Do you think it's impossible?" Yale asked seriously.

 

 

Anne walked into the bedroom. She picked up her clothes and then lay on
the bed, naked. Yale followed her. "Suppose Cindar were here, now. You
couldn't do what you are obviously ready to do." Anne laughed as Yale
looked at himself. He blushed.

 

 

"Honestly, Yale," she said, "nothing is going to be accomplished until
you come back. Cindar and I have been getting along beautifully. Her
introspective nature coupled with my happy-go-lucky self is a nice
balance. I think we will learn to accept each other. But if she became
jealous, it would consume her. She's not like me. I'd tell you very
quickly. Her love for you will he a complete surrender. I can love
you a little more objectively. Not much more, mind you!" she said,
returning his kiss. She restrained his hand from his gradually more
ardent caresses. "Not yet," she murmured. "I want to talk. What are you
going to do when you come home?"

 

 

"What do you mean?" Yale asked.

 

 

"Stop being obtuse. You know what I mean. Cynthia and I can solve the
housekeeping arrangements. We have even decided that we could bring
up the children communally, but neither of us sees how you can solve
the problem of who sleeps with you and when . . . and where. You can't
leave it to chance. A good Mormon, so I have read, serviced his harem
on a strict calendar arrangement."

 

 

Yale was a little shocked. "You're pretty blunt."

 

 

"I'm just facing facts. Monogamy is a lot simpler."

 

 

"Look. I want to make love to you," Yale said, "but if you want me to
solve a polygamous household right now . . . okay . . . I'll do it!"
He lay back on the bed and was silent.

 

 

"I'm listening," Anne said. She tugged at the hairs on his chest.
"Just remember that your harem consists of two modern women who won't
be subjugated by a lord and master."

 

 

"I'm learning." Yale laughed. "First, we have to rebuild the upstairs
of the house. I've been thinking about that. You and Cindar will each
have your own bedroom. . . ."

 

 

Anne interrupted. "Supposing Cindar and I like the idea of sleeping
together?" she demanded. "That feather bed is very comfortable."

 

 

"Oh, hell. I can't figure it out," Yale said, giving up.

 

 

"Well, Cindar and I have agreed that the only practical way is for us
to have one big bedroom of our own. Your bedroom can be connected to it
. . . When you want one of us to visit you . . ." Anne blushed at her
evasion. She plunged on. "We will visit in your room. From that point
it's up to you."

 

 

"Good Lord," Yale marvelled, "you and Cindar must have had some wonderful
discussions. It would be worth a fortune to have heard them."

 

 

Anne smiled. "We've decided that the only way for this marriage to work
is to conspire against you."

 

 

"Maybe it won't work," Yale said gloomily. He stared at the ceiling.
"I realize that in asking you and Cynthia to try such unconventional
living, the benefits are all for me. It's a selfish idea. It's only
practical if you and Cindar find happiness in it. Somewhere in the next
few years you may meet someone else . . . or Cindar may meet someone
else. I will understand. Nevertheless, I do feel that if any marriage
is to work it must set up some common goals. . . ." He jumped off the
bed and searched in his brief case. He tossed the charter of Challenge,
Inc. on Anne's stomach. "Read that and see what you think."

 

 

He watched Anne as she read, her head propped on her elbow, her breasts
falling lightly against the pillow; the curve of her hip extending in
a lovely arch that flowed away into her legs. He stroked her back and
leaned over her shoulder. Finally, she finished. She looked at him with
tears in her eyes.

 

 

"You're pretty clever, my friend, and I think you understand your wives
pretty well. My guess is that Cindar will react the same way I do.
Challenge, Inc. is about the craziest idea I've ever heard . . . ."
Anne paused. Her smile was tender when she saw the disappointment in
Yale's eyes. "It's just so crazy it might catch on. Oh, Yale, it's
impractical as hell, just as is everything you do -- but I love it.
I promise you I'll work to make it succeed." She pulled him into her arms
and clasped him fiercely against her. He felt her arch beneath him.

 

 

"Not too soon, darling," she whispered. "I want it to last . . . and
last. It's been so very, very long. . . ."

 

 

 

 

 

 

7

 

 

Within a month Sam Higgins was calling Yale a financial wizard. At first,
as he had watched Yale, day after day, studying corporation reports
and stock movements, he had laughed skeptically. "Fella, if you want
to invest that three hundred grand, I can give you a couple of sure
things. Stuff with good capital growth and a steady return. You don't
have to waste time doing your own research. What do you think we've got
all these people for?"

 

 

Yale told him that at the moment he wasn't looking for steady capital
growth. "The money I have now is too small to work with," he said.
"Your research department is looking for what everyone else in the
street is looking for." Yale picked up the annual report of the Latham
Shipyards. "Here's an outfit right in Midhaven that looks good to me. They
skipped their quarterly dividend for the second time in a row. The stock
is selling low -- fourteen dollars a share yesterday. I wonder what
Agatha Latham thinks about that?" Yale decided that he would telephone
Agatha and see how she was.

 

 

Sam shrugged. "Hell, now that the war is over, shipyards are a dime a
dozen. What good are they? That stuff will go even lower."

 

 

Yale didn't elaborate his idea further with Sam. He had discovered
that the total stock issue of Latham Shipyards was three hundred and
fifty thousand shares. Alfred Latham held one hundred thousand shares,
he knew that Agatha Latham had fifty thousand shares, the rest were
scattered. He played with figures. He would need five or six million
dollars to make any attempt to raid the company.

 

 

Sam was right, of course; the Latham Yards were in a mess. Alfred was
listed as board-chairman; Jim Latham had been elected President. With
the war contracts cancelled, the company was losing money. Yale had
a feeling that with aggressive management the company could be made
profitable. It needed a diversification program. Latham Shipyards owned
considerable real estate in the city of Midhaven, and also oil leases good
for several years on fields in Oklahoma. Who had okayed the investment
in oil leases? As he had fiddled with the potentialities in the situation
an even better idea occurred to him. What would happen, psychologically,
if the price on Latham shares started to rise. If he had the money and
could buy very carefully, spreading his purchases around the country,
eventually the market would respond. He might entice into the market a
good many short-sellers. It would be an excellent stock to sell short.

 

 

Yale felt a familiar tingle along his backbone. It always seemed to happen
when he was pursuing an idea. A long, long chance . . . but with the small
amount of Latham stock outstanding . . . if he could produce an artificial
rise with his buying, and if the short-sellers could be lured in . . .
he might achieve a corner on the stock. A lot would depend on Agatha Latham.
He would have to convince her not to be greedy and to stay out of the
market while he was maneuvering. With no stock to cover the short sales,
he would have short-sellers boiled in their oil. The question was whether
the lure was strong enough to attract the short-sellers. Commodore
Vanderbilt had done it with the Harlem Railway in 1860. The shorts had
settled with Vanderbilt for $179 a share. Today, with all the market
regulations, it would have to be done very carefully.

 

 

Yale studied past market corners. It was a tricky business. At any rate,
well out of his financial means at the moment. "What I am looking for
right now," he told Sam, "is a special deal that will erupt fast.
Something I can get in and get out of quickly."

 

 

"If you start playing for the jackpot," Sam warned him, "you'll lose
your whole three hundred thousand. I've seen the speculators come and
go. You might as well play the horses."

 

 

Yale went to lunch with Sam a few days later. As they drank martinis
Yale told him a little about his ideas. "I studied religion, philosophy,
and psychology in college, all basically because I am fascinated with
man. You wonder what I am going to do with Challenge, Inc. I hope to
make Challenge a secular religion for man." Sam was listening with
interest. Too interested, for the moment, Yale decided. "Anyway,
that's beside the point, Sam. I do think by studying carefully the
human elements in any situation, you can reasonably well predict what
will happen. This you'll say is market research, and that's true. But my
method is not statistical. What I am referring to is the basic emotional
elements. Damned few businessmen are concerned with them. They analyze
most situations in an emotional vacuum, and then in actual practice --
say, in the introduction of a new product or the installation of a new
production method -- they run smack into the emotional situation which
throws their plans seven ways to Sunday."

 

 

Sam laughed. "Anyone who plays the market or the horses has some lovely
rationalizations. Yours I have heard . . . even more elaborately, fella."

 

 

Yale smiled. "I was going over the figures on the Wilshire Trust building,
yesterday. Real estate is going to regain its value in this city. They have
five million dollars in four and a half debentures due in eight years.
The debentures are selling at ten. Rumor has it that the owners have
applied to convert the debentures to common stock."

 

 

"That's common knowledge, too," Sam said. "You expect the debentures will
shoot up. But what in hell is the common stock going to be worth? I'll bet
you they don't even get S. E. C. permission."

 

 

Yale toyed with his martini glass. He ran his finger around the edge.
"I'm thinking, after studying the thing in detail, that the common stock
would be worth a hell of a lot of money. The debentures in any case are
worth more than ten dollars. New York real estate is going to boom again.
You know, Sam, it occurred to me that the application for conversion was
made with the pretty certain knowledge it might never be approved.
This afternoon use the bank check I've given you as collateral.
Pick up twenty thousand of those debentures for Challenge, Inc.
You better buy some for yourself."

 

 

Sam didn't buy for himself. A week later he regretted it. He found Yale
in the Higgins' directors' room, surrounded by piles of paper. Yale was
making a series of calculations. "You know I hate to do this kind of work,"
he said to Sam. "Mine is not a mathematical mind, but Agatha Latham
taught me how important it was."

 

 

"Have you seen what's happening on the Wilshire four and a half's?"
Sam asked.

 

 

"They are going up," Yale said coolly.

 

 

"They are up to ninety. You better unload, fella; that kind of luck
won't hold."

 

 

"I think they'll go to two hundred. You can still get in. You can sell
me out when they reach one hundred sixty. I have in mind netting about
three million."

 

 

Sam argued with him. He told Yale it was impossible. Trying to determine
how Yale's mind worked, Sam asked him why he didn't plunge with his
remaining fifty thousand dollars. Yale grinned. Sam's words raised a
momentary recollection for him of Anne, naked, exhausted from making
love, looking at the check in awe. "I never knew so much money existed,"
she had said, flinging the check in the air and kissing him again and
again. "Now Cindar and I can buy a bathroom. No more sitting in an
outhouse or peeing in a chamberpot. No more baths in an iron tub." Yale
chuckled as he recalled how he had threatened to make love to her until
she hollered "Uncle" unless she apologized for being upset in India with
his pre-occupation for making money.

 

 

"Sam, that other fifty thousand bank check is in the coffers of the
Midhaven National Bank supporting a mortgage on an old house I'm planning
to remodel. But if I hadn't moved so fast on my domestic arrangements,
I would have most certainly bought more of those debentures, only I would
have bought them at ten. Still, they are a good buy at ninety. Sit down
here, I'll show you."

 

 

Yale showed him several pages of figures. He pointed out to Sam the value
of the property. "You better do a little grinding in the economic facts
of life instead of worrying so much about your uptown sex life. Maybe the
debentures won't go to two hundred. I'm gambling. So what? The plain facts
are right here in this operating statement . . . plus the future of real
estate in New York."

 

 

By the end of the month the debentures had risen to two hundred and ten.
Following Yale's instructions, Sam sold him out when the market rose to
one hundred and sixty. "You should have held on a little longer," Sam said.
The paternalistic tone had vanished from his voice, replaced by open
admiration for Yale's acumen.