The Rebellion of Yale Marratt (83 page)

 

 

Alfred Latham couldn't control an exclamation of disgust. "Agatha,
I'm seriously considering having your sanity questioned. Ever since it
became apparent that you and young Marratt were in league together, I have
tried to get you to come to my house and discuss this rationally. It has
occurred to Jim and me, as well as our lawyers, that you are not a young
woman, and this young man might be exerting undue and subtle influences
on you. . . ." Alfred paused and cleared his throat nervously. "After all,
Agatha . . . you are eighty years old . . . I don't believe that it would
be misconstrued by anyone to say that when a person reaches that age,
certain parts of his brain might not function with complete clarity."

 

 

"Alfred . . . this is pure nonsense, and you know it! I'm completely in
control of my mind. Sound enough to know that the executives of this
company need a thorough shaking up . . . sound enough to know that my
Latham stock has missed the last two dividends . . . sound enough not
to have got caught in the predicament that you are in. You have been
counting on my shares for quite a few years to hold you in power. If you
and your son had had any judgment, you'd have gone into the market and
purchased Latham shares, and retired them as treasury stock . . . instead,
you bought oil leases." Agatha took off her glasses and polished the
lenses. "I may be eighty years old, Alfred, but even without glasses
I can see that you are still a pompous old fool . . . and your son is a
good enough boy . . . but a little thick between the ears."

 

 

There was an ominous silence when Agatha finished. Yale felt a little
sorry for Jim Latham who looked at Agatha as if he couldn't believe his
ears. The poor devil, he thought. He was enjoying life before I appeared
on the scene. Latham Shipyards would have always provided him with a
comfortable living, and plenty of time off for golf and sailing. Now his
little world is disappearing. Yale was beginning to realize that the good
he wanted to accomplish in the world wouldn't always be accomplished
pleasantly. It frightened him a little. The Communists excused their
purges on the principle of the greatest good for the greatest number. But
who was to judge?

 

 

"Agatha! Think what you are doing to your family!" Doctor Tangle said.
"Jim is your nephew. Alfred is your brother. I've known Yale Marratt since
he was a young man, and I can tell you that this man is dangerous. Most
of us rebel a little when we are children, but when we grow older we
realize that we have to conform for the sake of society . . . for the
very continuance of society. What this young man is doing is corrupt
and insidious. The book he has published has already been scored as
blasphemous. Have you seen the morning newspapers? This Challenge
thing is an attempt to rock the high standards on which our culture
is based." Doctor Tangle took a copy of
Spoken in My Manner
from his
brief case and threw it on the table. "I don't believe that Mat Chilling
had anything to do with this book. It has been written by an egotistical
maniac . . . a man as dangerous as Hitler in his way. You simply can't
afford to have your name associated with this man, Agatha." Doctor Tangle
turned to Pat. "I'm sorry to have to speak about your flesh and blood
this way. Have you read this monstrous book, Pat?"

 

 

Pat admitted that he hadn't. "We have copies of it. My public relations
department is studying it. I've already come to the conclusion,
however, that whatever my son is doing up there at the old Langley
place, it is highly immoral! Whether we have laws against it in this
state, I don't know, but I do know that for the sake of the business
that I have devoted my life to building, it will be necessary that I
publicly denounce the whole thing." Pat shrugged his shoulders and looked
around the directors' table. "You can see that this curse has not only
descended on Alfred Latham, but it touches me even more closely. I have
harbored a viper. I discussed this with Bert Walsh, who incidentally
is being groomed for the presidency of my company. He agrees that it
could have a very deleterious effect on our sales. The general public
who buys our products has no sympathy with deviationists. I think you
should know, Agatha, that . . ." as he spoke Pat looked at Yale, but
he acted as if Yale weren't present, ". . . Yale is no longer a son in
my eyes. He has become, as Doctor Tangle pointed out to you, a menace
to society. Individually, and as President of the Marratt Corporation,
I will do everything possible to discredit him."

 

 

Yale listened to the stinging attack in silence. He noticed the eyes
of the others watching him, examining him coldly. They were wondering
whether he would crumble under the attack, or retaliate with even stronger
words. But there was no anger in him, and he was a little pleased with
himself. I have taken a step forward, he thought. I really, honestly
feel no anger. This is my father. He is judging me cruelly, unfairly. He
feels only contempt and hatred for me, yet I actually feel sorry for
him. He is frightened but I can no longer give him courage with a game
of verbal reprisals.

 

 

"I'm sorry you feel this way, Pat," Yale said, "but actually you are only
a small stockholder here, and the point of this meeting is not whether
Challenge is a good or bad force in the world, but rather whether the
majority stockholders of this corporation are dissatisfied with the
officials elected by its Board of Directors. Since the by-laws of this
corporation give one vote to every share of common stock, it follows
that even without Agatha I am in a position to outvote every stockholder
present or otherwise."

 

 

"You are not without me, Yale," Agatha snapped. "For your information,
Patrick Marratt, I would be ashamed of myself if I were you. And you,
Amos Tangle . . . nothing you have said disturbs me in the least. I want
you to know that I'm proud of this young man. I like fighters . . .
particularly when they are fighting stupidity and moronity." Agatha pounded
the table. "Now let us elect a new Board, here."

 

 

Yale quickly nominated Agatha as Chairman of the Board, and himself as a
director. Miss Martin grimly tallied the nays registered by Alfred, Jim,
Pat, Doctor Tangle, and Ed Baker and John Norwell who owned a few hundred
shares of stock apiece. The total votes the opposition could muster were
one hundred and thirty thousand shares. Alfred and Jim Latham followed
the proceedings disgustedly.

 

 

Once elected, Agatha made a ceremony of moving to the head of the table.
She sat down and surveyed them all with an appraising glance. "I realize
that if you could voice your opinion, gentlemen, some of you would demand
to know what an eighty-year-old woman expects to do as Chairman of the
Board of this company. I'm going to answer for you. I'm going to do just
one thing! I'm going to get a President who will pull this company off
its fat, complacent behind. If that can't be done . . . then while there
is some value left in the inventory and equipment, and some of the
real-estate holdings that my father Lincoln Latham was astute enough to
purchase in this city . . . the majority stockholders will proceed to
rapid liquidation of the company. Since we are now a cozy little group
with most of the stock represented, we can dispense with protocol and
move fast." Agatha looked at Pat. "I don't like you, Pat, but I think
you could run this company. Yale offered you the presidency the other
day. Do you want it?"

 

 

"Not under any circumstances. You not only have a perfectly good President
in Jim Latham. You owe it to him to give him a chance." Jim smiled at Pat
and thanked him for his confidence. Agatha ignored him. "John Norwell . . .
do you want the presidency?"

 

 

"Agatha, don't think that I'm afraid of you," John Norwell said slowly.
"And don't think that I'm afraid of the job. I'm not. What I wouldn't care
to look forward to is being tossed around. You and the laddie are not
interested in this company, you're just manipulators." Norwell pointed
at Yale with the end of his cigar. "He'd sell out tomorrow to clip the
short-sellers. I keep my ear to the ground. I know that if sufficient
stock becomes available, some other interests at this table are going
to scramble to get it . . . I don't feel like being President one day
and office boy the next. . . ."

 

 

"Very sound judgment, John," Alfred Latham applauded.

 

 

Yale tried to point out to Norwell that he had already affirmed that he
was not going to lose control of Latham. Norwell shook his head. "You are
bound to get to the point where you'll require Agatha's stock. You and
Agatha may have a falling out." Norwell was about to say that, before
he would give any decision, he would have to think it over, when the
doors of the office were violently opened, and a young woman rushed in.

 

 

"I'm awfully sorry to interrupt you, Mr. Latham," she said, her face
flushed, "but the reporters are going wild outside. It seems that a
Mr. Paul Downing has just committed suicide!"

 

 

Pat looked at Yale dumbfounded. As several reporters dashed into the room,
Pat stood up. There was a terrible fury on his face. "There you are,
gentlemen. That's the kind of bestial animal I have spawned! Look at
him. Get him well in mind. He is the one who killed Paul Downing! He's
a ruthless, depraved killer!"

 

 

Yale heard one of the reporters say it was "a suicide in a love nest."
The reporter grabbed Yale's arm. "Downing shot himself . . . right in front
of your sister, kid! Blew his goddamned brains out while she was eating
breakfast and daring him to."

 

 

Agatha stood up and demanded that the reporters leave the room.
"This meeting has not been adjourned," she snarled.

 

 

Pat, when he heard that Barbara had been with Paul Downing, paid no
attention to Agatha. He told Alfred that he was leaving. Alfred, Jim,
and Doctor Tangle followed him out of the office. Baker and Norwell,
looking embarrassed, made their excuses, and left. Bessie Martin started
to get up, and Agatha told her bluntly to sit down. "This meeting is
still in progress. We don't need them anyway. We can issue a directive to
them. Well, young Marratt . . . this company needs a President. . . ."
She looked at Yale speculatively. "I know it's a shock to you, but don't
let this Downing thing get you down. I knew him. I could have predicted
that this would happen to him some day. . . ."

 

 

Yale looked at her for a moment, "Aunt Agatha, can you predict what will
happen to me some day?"

 

 

Agatha leaned across the table. She grinned at Yale, and shook her head.
"No, but I can tell you you've got a mess on your hands, and it is the
kind of a mess that strikes at the fatal flaw in your personality. You've
got a company without a president, and you haven't the time or inclination
to be president. Unless you pull in an outsider and really clean house,
the old-guard here will sabotage you. They will gladly pull the house down
around their ears just so long as they can bury you in the mess. So you've
got to get rid of them! That will hurt, because it could even mean that
my brother or his son could try a Downing stunt . . . if they did, that,
I think would demoralize you. You're not tough enough, yet! The other
alternative is to liquidate the place. We could get out just dandy.
I figure there is six to eight million dollars' worth of inventory even
if we sell it below market. There's the two tankers which are nearly
completed. There's at least ten million dollars' worth of choice real
estate the company owns throughout the city, and there are those oil
leases . . . which I have a hunch may be a real bonanza." Agatha stared
at Yale. "You don't like it, do you? We could make more in the long run
just wiping out the Latham Shipyards, but what happens to your Challenge
ideas then? When Lathams is all gone and the couple of thousand people
that are working here now are on relief . . . it's going to be kind of
hypocritical to spout that Challenge stuff at them." Agatha sat back in
her chair and looked at Yale triumphantly.

 

 

Sam scratched his head, and even Bessie Martin looked at Yale with interest.
Yale walked over to the windows and stared out at the Yards. The noon
whistle blew. The whistle you could hear even in the suburbs of Midhaven.
He remembered the war years when the ways in the Yards were all occupied,
and the lights burned through the night.

 

 

"Agatha," he said softly, "you are confusing me with yourself. I have only
one reason to make money. It's all written down in that infamous book
published by Challenge. What would it gain me to win the earth and lose
myself?" Yale smiled. "Agatha . . . you are Chairman of the Board. If you
expect to earn Alfred Latham's salary . . . get us a President . . . one
who knows how to pull a company off its fat, complacent behind!"

 

 

 

 

 

 

11

 

 

When Ralph stopped the car in front of the house, Cynthia ran out, her
hair flowing behind her. "Barbara is here," she told them. "Yale, she's
on the verge of cracking up. Paul Downing shot himself right in front
of her. Oh, my God, Yale, everyone says that you are responsible! What
are you going to do?"

 

 

Barbara was in the library with Anne and Clara. She was crying. "I couldn't
go home," she told Yale bitterly. "Liz will be completely shocked . . .
me sleeping with him, and then having him do this. All the reporters know.
They were swarming all over the place, interviewing his crew, wanting to
know everything . . . O God, it was awful. . . ." Barbara looked haggard.
In the lines around her eyes, and the tightness of her lips as she tried
to restrain her tears, Yale was surprised to discover a resemblance to Liz.