Hello, Buck.What do you know? Kind of dusty out to-night."At once Annixter began to get red in the face, retiring towards a corner of the room, standing in an awkward position by the case of stuffed birds, shambling and confused, while Mrs.Derrick was present, standing rigidly on both feet, his elbows close to his sides.But he was angry with Osterman, muttering imprecations to himself, horribly vexed that the young fellow should call him "Buck" before Magnus's wife.This goat Osterman! Hadn't he any sense, that fool? Couldn't he ever learn how to behave before a feemale? Calling him "Buck" like that while Mrs.Derrick was there.Why a stable-boy would know better; a hired man would have better manners.
All through the dinner that followed Annixter was out of sorts, sulking in his place, refusing to eat by way of vindicating his self-respect, resolving to bring Osterman up with a sharp turn if he called him "Buck" again.
The Chinaman had made a certain kind of plum pudding for dessert, and Annixter, who remembered other dinners at the Derrick's, had been saving himself for this, and had meditated upon it all through the meal.No doubt, it would restore all his good humour, and he believed his stomach was so far recovered as to be able to stand it.
But, unfortunately, the pudding was served with a sauce that he abhorred--a thick, gruel-like, colourless mixture, made from plain water and sugar.Before he could interfere, the Chinaman had poured a quantity of it upon his plate.
"Faugh!" exclaimed Annixter."It makes me sick.Such--such SLOOP.Take it away.I'll have mine straight, if you don't mind.""That's good for your stomach, Buck," observed young Osterman;"makes it go down kind of sort of slick; don't you see? Sloop, hey? That's a good name.""Look here, don't you call me Buck.You don't seem to have any sense, and, besides, it ISN'T good for my stomach.I know better.What do YOU know about my stomach, anyhow? Just looking at sloop like that makes me sick."A little while after this the Chinaman cleared away the dessert and brought in coffee and cigars.The whiskey bottle and the syphon of soda-water reappeared.The men eased themselves in their places, pushing back from the table, lighting their cigars, talking of the beginning of the rains and the prospects of a rise in wheat.Broderson began an elaborate mental calculation, trying to settle in his mind the exact date of his visit to Ukiah, and Osterman did sleight-of-hand tricks with bread pills.
But Princess Nathalie, the cat, was uneasy.Annixter was occupying her own particular chair in which she slept every night.She could not go to sleep, but spied upon him continually, watching his every movement with her lambent, yellow eyes, clear as amber.
Then, at length, Magnus, who was at the head of the table, moved in his place, assuming a certain magisterial attitude."Well, gentlemen," he observed, "I have lost my case against the railroad, the grain-rate case.Ulsteen decided against me, and now I hear rumours to the effect that rates for the hauling of grain are to be advanced."When Magnus had finished, there was a moment's silence, each member of the group maintaining his attitude of attention and interest.It was Harran who first spoke.
"S.Behrman manipulated the whole affair.There's a big deal of some kind in the air, and if there is, we all know who is back of it; S.Behrman, of course, but who's back of him? It's Shelgrim."Shelgrim! The name fell squarely in the midst of the conversation, abrupt, grave, sombre, big with suggestion, pregnant with huge associations.No one in the group who was not familiar with it; no one, for that matter, in the county, the State, the whole reach of the West, the entire Union, that did not entertain convictions as to the man who carried it; a giant figure in the end-of-the-century finance, a product of circumstance, an inevitable result of conditions, characteristic, typical, symbolic of ungovernable forces.In the New Movement, the New Finance, the reorganisation of capital, the amalgamation of powers, the consolidation of enormous enterprises--no one individual was more constantly in the eye of the world; no one was more hated, more dreaded, no one more compelling of unwilling tribute to his commanding genius, to the colossal intellect operating the width of an entire continent than the president and owner of the Pacific and Southwestern.
"I don't think, however, he has moved yet," said Magnus.
"The thing for us, then," exclaimed Osterman, "is to stand from under before he does.""Moved yet!" snorted Annixter."He's probably moved so long ago that we've never noticed it.""In any case," hazarded Magnus, "it is scarcely probable that the deal--whatever it is to be--has been consummated.If we act quickly, there may be a chance.""Act quickly! How?" demanded Annixter."Good Lord! what can you do? We're cinched already.It all amounts to just this: YOUCAN'T BUCK AGAINST THE RAILROAD.We've tried it and tried it, and we are stuck every time.You, yourself, Derrick, have just lost your grain-rate case.S.Behrman did you up.Shelgrim owns the courts.He's got men like Ulsteen in his pocket.He's got the Railroad Commission in his pocket.He's got the Governor of the State in his pocket.He keeps a million-dollar lobby at Sacramento every minute of the time the legislature is in session; he's got his own men on the floor of the United States Senate.He has the whole thing organised like an army corps.
