The Rebellion of Yale Marratt (81 page)

 

Both Anne and Cynthia were surprised at the change in Yale's manner. His
voice was brusque and his words sharp and clipped. He heard Anne whisper,
"Hey, listen, Cindar! Aren't you proud of our big tycoon?" Cynthia started
to giggle. She clasped her hand over the mouthpiece, and pretended mock
fright at Yale's grim look and waving hand.

 

 

"I'm afraid, young Marratt," Downing said softly, "that you are driving
much too hard a bargain. Even if I weren't a bit strapped at the moment,
I'd have to say that it was impossible."

 

 

"That's up to you." Yale's voice was cold. "I'm not going to hold the
offer open more than twenty-four hours. Maybe not that long. This Latham
situation is beginning to jell pretty fast. Agatha Latham and I have
other fish to fry."

 

 

Yale heard Downing clear his throat. In the background he could hear the
music of an orchestra. Downing was evidently calling from some road house,
or night club. "I could force this out in the open," Downing said.
"The New York Stock Exchange has rules in a situation like this."

 

 

"Listen, Downing, you know as well as I do that the Latham stock is not
traded on the big board. I'm offering you a damned good deal. I honestly
believe that I can squeeze you and the other shorts a good deal harder
. . . maybe twice as hard . . . so take it or leave it. . . ."

 

 

Downing didn't answer for a moment, and then he said a surprising thing.
"You know, fella, if I weren't certain, I'd have thought I was talking
with your old man. You and he may have something in common after all.
Your voice sounds strangely like his. . . ."

 

 

Cynthia looked at Yale, startled. He saw her nod silent agreement to Anne.
Suddenly, just as Downing was about to continue, they heard the phone being
wrested away from him. They heard him protest to someone to get away.

 

 

"Give me the phone!" a female voice demanded. "Let me talk to that
brother of mine!" It was Barbara. They listened, startled. Barbara had
been drinking. She sounded quite high. "You listen to me, Yale Marratt
. . . I think you are acting like a big heel . . . why dontchu be nice
to Paul? All day long I've been reading this very nice book that you
and that man and your two wives all wrote together . . . shut up, Paul
. . . I'm talking to my brother. He has, too! . . . two wives! . . . two
. . . unnerstand? . . . How do I know? . . . Yale, are you listening?"

 

 

Yale shrugged, and said that he was.

 

 

"Yale . . . Paul wants to know how in hell do you do 'it' with two
women at once. Huh? Okay, don't answer! I read all your book and those
Commandments you have printed in the cover, and I said to Paul . . . you
see Paul is in pretty serious trouble . . . I said to Paul . . . look at
this . . . read this Commandment Number Three. 'Challenge is not concerned
with the immortality of man . . . man must be taught to seek his salvation
on this earth and in this lifetime through Love and Understanding of
all men.'" Barbara chuckled . . . "Anyone who writes somethin' as nice
as that . . . just wouldn't be a big fat prick . . . like you think my
brother is, Paul . . . would he, Yale? . . . you know. . . ."

 

 

"Bobby!" Yale interrupted angrily, "where in hell are you? Liz has been
looking everywhere for you . . . she's worried sick. You call her up . . .
right now! Do you hear me? What are you doing with Downing, anyway?"

 

 

"What do you think I'm doing?" Barbara snapped, "teaching him how to play
marbles? Well, you're right! I am! In his bed. And I'm lousy because I am
miserable . . . all because of your Challenge crap . . . and Paul is lousy,
and no damned good because of this Latham business. . . . Oh, to hell with
you and your stinking Challenge!" Yale heard the phone crack in his ear
as Barbara slammed it down. He looked at Cynthia and Anne, bewildered.

 

 

"I never thought you could be so cruel, Yale," Cynthia said worriedly.
"It's strange, but you know . . . when you were talking to him you did
sound just like your father."

 

 

"Well, you know the cliché," Yale answered, "like father like son.
Wouldn't you know that that dumb sister of mine would screw up the detail?
Why does she want to get involved with Paul Downing?" Yale rubbed his face
with his hand, and sighed. "My God, if happy bigamy is so bad . . . what
do you call what Barbara is doing?"

 

 

Yale wondered if he should call Liz. What could he say to her?
Your daughter is sleeping with a man twice her age. She's all right.
Stop worrying, Liz.

 

 

"I can't call her," he told Anne and Cynthia. "I just haven't got the
heart. Besides, it's pretty common knowledge that Liz has been fooling
around with Frank Middleton for years. Bobby probably knows the whole
story. Who is to pass judgment . . . ?"

 

 

Yale flopped on the couch, his head on Cynthia's lap, his legs across
Anne's. "You know something, kids . . . sometimes I find it pretty
difficult not to say the hell with everyone except us . . . let them
stew in their own problems."

 

 

Anne took the telephone from the table near the sofa, and dropped it on
Yale's stomach. "What's your father's telephone number?"

 

 

Yale looked at her, surprised. "It's Midhaven 3467. What are you going
to do?" he demanded as Anne gave the operator the number.

 

 

"May I speak with Mrs. Marratt?" While Anne waited for the connection she
smiled coolly at Yale and Cynthia. "Mrs. Marratt . . . yes . . . this is
Anne, Mrs. Marratt. I'm married to your son. No, not Cynthia. No. We've
never met. I hope we may meet one of these days. The reason that I'm
calling you, Mrs. Marratt, is that Yale has found out that Barbara is all
right. No she isn't here. She's with a friend of hers. If she doesn't
call you, you're not to worry. No, honestly, Mrs. Marratt . . . I'm
not sure. It's some girl friend of hers. Yes . . . I'm sorry about
Yale and his father. It's really too bad. Well, I'm sorry about that,
too, Mrs. Marratt. I'm sure that if you would just let little things
stop bothering you we could all be friends. . . ." Anne held the phone
out to Yale and Cynthia. They could hear Liz talking angrily about how
disgusting it was for two women to live together with one man. Anne bit
her knuckles. Finally she said very quietly, "Mrs. Marratt, I just called
you to set your mind at ease about Barbara. I've got to hang up now. You
see, Yale is sneaking off with his other wife . . . I've got to check up
and see what is going on." Anne laughed gaily into the phone and said,
"Goodbye, Mrs. Marratt." She slouched on the sofa. "Well, how did I
handle it?" she asked. Yale shook his head and said, "Oh . . . boy . . ."

 

 

Cynthia laughed. "What are you going to do with her?"

 

 

"Well, I tried!" Anne said sleepily. She slouched on the sofa. "Come on,
Cindar, since we got out of rotation, let's draw straws and see who gets
our wonder boy tonight. . . ."

 

 

 

 

Harry Cohen called Yale at eight o'clock in the morning. He told Yale
that he had decided to advance the strike date one day. As of this moment
the Marratt employees, all twenty-two hundred of them, were officially
on strike.

 

 

"I want to thank you for your confidence, Yale. I think I've really got
Pat Marratt off base. I hope we can settle the wages and get a contract
in a few days. I thought you might be interested to know, in case you
happen to see your father."

 

 

"Harry . . . if you think that I'm in any position to conciliate your
union problems with Pat, you are quite mistaken." Yale leaned back on
his pillow. He looked at Cynthia, who still was asleep beside him. She
opened one eye and looked at him queruously. "Is that so, Harry?" Yale
said into the telephone. "No . . . we didn't hear the news broadcast.
No kidding . . . well, it's all publicity good or bad. Challenge isn't
afraid. Yeah, I'd stay away from here, if I were you."

 

 

Yale hung up the phone. He flung the sheet off Cynthia and snuggled
against her for a moment.

 

 

"What'd Harry want?" Cynthia asked. She tried to ignore his fingers
tracing the contours of her body, and his lips nibbling lightly on her
nipple. "Hey, stop it! Any milk I have . . . and it's slowly drying up
. . . is for Adar!" Cynthia sat up on the bed. She grinned at him. "What
does it taste like, anyway," she asked curiously.

 

 

"Chalky . . . warm . . . nice way to eat.' Yale jumped out of bed.
"Come on, we've got problems." They ran into the big bedroom, and jumped
into the canopied bed beside Anne, shrieking "good morning" to her.
Anne groaned, "Oh, my God, such energy so early in the morning."
She tried to hide under her pillow.

 

 

Yale didn't give them details about Harry's telephone call until they were
eating breakfast. "Today things are popping," he said to Sam and Clara.

 

 

Aunt Agatha had already eaten. She was sitting in a large rocker in the
kitchen, reading the morning newspaper. She looked at Yale, amused.

 

 

"If you are going to tell us that the Marratt employees are on strike
. . . don't bother . . . we've alread read the details on the front
page of the
Midhaven Herald
. There is also a story on the Latham
Shipyards." Agatha read it to him with pursed lips. "A new stockholder
grouping led by the son of Patrick Marratt and the termagant Agatha Latham
are forcing a stockholders' meeting in the offices of the Latham Shipyards
tomorrow morning. The new group claim control of sufficient shares to
oust the present management. Local feeling is that the present management
has not made sufficient effort to bring new government contracts to the
Yards." Agatha stopped reading. "It just goes to show that you can't
trust these oily characters. I might have known that Peoples McGroaty
was too good to be true. The other day he was being nice as pie to me
. . . and now he has the nerve to call me the 'termagant Agatha Latham'
. . . even worse, there's a long eulogy here in praise of Alfred Latham,
and his long successful career . . . the article ends up trying to
guess how the shadowy Yale Marratt, who is practically an unknown in the
investment field, figures in the picture. . . ." Agatha scowled. "Imagine
. . . after being so nice to me and then to call me 'termagant.' Clara,
get me a dictionary out of the library, will you? I want to find out
what it means. . . ."

 

 

"This story has a New York date line," Sam said, laughing. "Peoples
couldn't have written it. You probably got in the hair of some New York
financial reporter once, Agatha. Gave him a wrong tip on the market or
something." Sam picked up the paper that Agatha had put down and handed
it to Yale. "Agatha is saving the best until last. . . . Read it and weep.
Challenge is in hot water."

 

 

Yale recognized the story that Harry Cohen had tried to tell him over the
telephone. He read the article aloud. A Boston minister had demanded that
Spoken in My Manner be banned from sale in the United States. "It's
a filthy, blasphemous book. Using the guise of religion, this book
promulgates the vilest kind of sexual filth. It exalts man above God. It
has the nerve to state that its infamous beliefs are Commandments for all
who accept its credo. The first terrible Commandment of this religion
exhorts you to believe that there is no God but Man. That this book is
being promoted as supposedly written by a now-deceased minister of the
gospel is simply perpetrating a fraud."

 

 

"He's really wound up." Yale read the news report with interest. "Listen
to this!
Spoken in My Manner
is supposed to be the avant-garde of a new
secular religion called Challenge. It has supposedly been published in
the interest of good-will among all men. Don't be misled. This book is
obviously the work of Communists. It is not only an attempt to destroy
organized religion in the United States, but it is striking at the
roots of our democratic government itself. I call upon all religions,
Catholic, Jew, and Protestant, to unite against the terrible evil of this
thing called 'Challenge.' It is a dirty, rotten creed . . . dreamed up
by a modern Beelzebub."

 

 

"Good heavens," Anne said, a worried expression on her face. "I'd be
afraid of him, Yale. He's the kind of rabble rouser that starts book
burnings."

 

 

"Yale," Cynthia whispered, "I'm scared. This is only the beginning.
The country is filled with people who will find Challenge a wonderful
whipping-boy. Anything to get notoriety for themselves. It's easier
to condemn than to understand. Oh, go ahead . . . smile . . . you have
such confidence, Yale." She sighed but was unable to keep from returning
Yale's smile. Yale was so clean-cut . . . such an honest person, but
so naive. She wanted to hug him. "How did I ever get mixed up with
you? When the world says, J'accuse . . . Yale Marratt! . . . Coupez
sa tête! . . .' and the guillotine falls . . . Anne and I will gather
up your head, with tears in our eyes, and take it home and preserve it
in formaldehyde!"

 

 

"Ugh!" Clara said. "I'm glad that I married a simple man."

 

 

The telephone rang. Anne answered it. "It's New York, Yale; the publishers.
. . . Yes, Mr. Greene. No! Honestly, I can't believe it. I don't know.
Here, you better talk with Yale." She handed the phone to Yale.
"They are swamped." She yelled excitedly, and started to dance around the
kitchen. "Greene says that they have sold out that first crazy edition
of one hundred thousand copies. Remember, Cindar . . . Greene said that
it would never sell. He said in six months it would be remaindered and
selling for fifty-nine cents a copy. They would never have run such an
edition if it hadn't been for Yale's insistence. Now it's sold! What do
you think of that, Sam Higgins? A million dollars' worth of