Burning Daylight by Jack London

few wrinkles in poker and placer mining, and maybe in paddling a

birch canoe. And maybe I stand a better chance to learn the game

he’s been playing all his life than he would stand of learning

the game I played up North.”

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CHAPTER II

It was not long afterward that Daylight came on to New York. A

letter from John Dowsett had been the cause–a simple little

typewritten letter of several lines. But Daylight had thrilled

as he read it. He remembered the thrill that was his, a callow

youth of fifteen, when, in Tempas Butte, through lack of a fourth

man, Tom Galsworthy, the gambler, had said, “Get in, Kid; take a

hand.” That thrill was his now. The bald, typewritten

sentences seemed gorged with mystery. “Our Mr. Howison will

call upon you at your hotel. He is to be trusted. We must not

be seen together. You will understand after we have had our

talk.” Daylight conned the words over and over. That was it.

The big game had arrived, and it looked as if he were being

invited to sit in and take a hand. Surely, for no other reason

would one man so peremptorily invite another man to make a

journey across the continent.

They met–thanks to “our” Mr. Howison,–up the Hudson, in a

magnificent country home. Daylight, according to instructions,

arrived in a private motor-car which had been furnished him.

Whose car it was he did not know any more than did he know the

owner of the house, with its generous, rolling, tree-studded

lawns. Dowsett was already there, and another man whom Daylight

recognized before the introduction was begun. It was Nathaniel

Letton, and none other. Daylight had seen his face a score of

times in the magazines and newspapers, and read about his

standing in the financial world and about his endowed University

of Daratona. He, likewise, struck Daylight as a man of power,

though he was puzzled in that he could find no likeness to

Dowsett. Except in the matter of cleanness,–a cleanness that

seemed to go down to the deepest fibers of him,–Nathaniel Letton

was unlike the other in every particular. Thin to emaciation, he

seemed a cold flame of a man, a man of a mysterious, chemic sort

of flame, who, under a glacier-like exterior, conveyed, somehow,

the impression of the ardent heat of a thousand suns. His large

gray eyes were mainly responsible for this feeling, and they

blazed out feverishly from what was almost a death’s-head, so

thin was the face, the skin of which was a ghastly, dull, dead

white. Not more than fifty, thatched with a sparse growth of

iron-gray hair, he looked several times the age of Dowsett. Yet

Nathaniel Letton possessed control–Daylight could see that

plainly. He was a thin-faced ascetic, living in a state of high,

attenuated calm–a molten planet under a transcontinental ice

sheet. And yet, above all most of all, Daylight was impressed by

the terrific and almost awful cleanness of the man. There was

no dross in him. He had all the seeming of having been purged by

fire. Daylight had the feeling that a healthy man-oath would be

a deadly offence to his ears, a sacrilege and a blasphemy.

They drank–that is, Nathaniel Letton took mineral water served

by the smoothly operating machine of a lackey who inhabited the

place, while Dowsett took Scotch and soda and Daylight a

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89

cocktail. Nobody seemed to notice the unusualness of a Martini

at midnight, though Daylight looked sharply for that very thing;

for he had long since learned that Martinis had their strictly

appointed times and places. But he liked Martinis, and, being a

natural man, he chose deliberately to drink when and how he

pleased. Others had noticed this peculiar habit of his, but not

so Dowsett and Letton; and Daylight’s secret thought was: “They

sure wouldn’t bat an eye if I called for a glass of corrosive

sublimate.”

Leon Guggenhammer arrived in the midst of the drink, and ordered

Scotch. Daylight studied him curiously. This was one of the

great Guggenhammer family; a younger one, but nevertheless one of

the crowd with which he had locked grapples in the North. Nor

did Leon Guggenhammer fail to mention cognizance of that old

affair. He complimented Daylight on his prowess-“The echoes of

Ophir came down to us, you know. And I must say, Mr.

Daylight–er,

Mr. Harnish, that you whipped us roundly in that affair.”

Echoes! Daylight could not escape the shock of the

phrase–echoes

had come down to them of the fight into which he had flung all

his

strength and the strength of his Klondike millions. The

Guggenhammers sure must go some when a fight of that dimension

was no more than a skirmish of which they deigned to hear echoes.

“They sure play an almighty big game down here,” was his

conclusion, accompanied by a corresponding elation that it was

just precisely that almighty big game in which he was about to be

invited to play a hand. For the moment he poignantly regretted

that rumor was not true, and that his eleven millions were not

in reality thirty millions. Well, that much he would be frank

about; he would let them know exactly how many stacks of chips he

could buy.

Leon Guggenhammer was young and fat. Not a day more than thirty,

his face, save for the adumbrated puff sacks under the eyes, was

as smooth and lineless as a boy’s. He, too, gave the impression

of cleanness. He showed in the pink of health; his unblemished,

smooth-shaven skin shouted advertisement of his splendid physical

condition. In the face of that perfect skin, his very fatness

and mature, rotund paunch could be nothing other than normal. He

was constituted to be prone to fatness, that was all.

The talk soon centred down to business, though Guggenhammer had

first to say his say about the forthcoming international yacht

race and about his own palatial steam yacht, the Electra, whose

recent engines were already antiquated. Dowsett broached the

plan, aided by an occasional remark from the other two, while

Daylight asked questions. Whatever the proposition was, he was

going into it with his eyes open. And they filled his eyes with

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the practical vision of what they had in mind.

“They will never dream you are with us,” Guggenhammer

interjected, as the outlining of the matter drew to a close, his

handsome Jewish eyes flashing enthusiastically. “They’ll think

you are raiding on your own in proper buccaneer style.”

“Of course, you understand, Mr. Harnish, the absolute need for

keeping our alliance in the dark,” Nathaniel Letton warned

gravely.

Daylight nodded his head. “And you also understand,” Letton went

on, “that the result can only be productive of good. The thing

is legitimate and right, and the only ones who may be hurt are

the stock gamblers themselves. It is not an attempt to smash the

market. As you see yourself, you are to bull the market. The

honest investor will be the gainer.”

“Yes, that’s the very thing,” Dowsett said. “The commercial need

for copper is continually increasing. Ward Valley Copper, and

all that it stands for,–practically one-quarter of the world’s

supply, as I have shown you,–is a big thing, how big, even we

can

scarcely estimate. Our arrangements are made. We have plenty of

capital ourselves, and yet we want more. Also, there is too much

Ward Valley out to suit our present plans. Thus we kill both

birds

with one stone-”

“And I am the stone,” Daylight broke in with a smile.

“Yes, just that. Not only will you bull Ward Valley, but you

will at the same time gather Ward Valley in. This will be of

inestimable advantage to us, while you and all of us will profit

by it as well. And as Mr. Letton has pointed out, the thing is

legitimate and square. On the eighteenth the directors meet,

and, instead of the customary dividend, a double dividend will be

declared.”

“And where will the shorts be then?” Leon Guggenhammer cried

excitedly.

“The shorts will be the speculators,” Nathaniel Letton explained,

“the gamblers, the froth of Wall Street–you understand. The

genuine investors will not be hurt. Furthermore, they will have

learned for the thousandth time to have confidence in Ward

Valley. And with their confidence we can carry through the large

developments we have outlined to you.”

“There will be all sorts of rumors on the street,” Dowsett warned

Daylight, “but do not let them frighten you. These rumors may

even originate with us. You can see how and why clearly. But

rumors are to be no concern of yours. You are on the inside.

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All you have to do is buy, buy, buy, and keep on buying to the

last stroke, when the directors declare the double dividend.

Ward Valley will jump so that it won’t be feasible to buy after

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