I CAME INTO THE MEN'S ROOM, RUBBING MY CHEEK. I still had the five-day beard. I hadn't had time to shave. I grinned at the sight of them, all engrossed in their duties, not even looking around as I entered.
"The meeting will come to order, gentlemen," I said.
They looked over their shoulders at me, a startled expression on their faces. I heard one of them mutter a faint damn under his breath and wondered what minor tragedy brought that out.
McAllister came over to me. "I must say, Jonas," he said rather pompously. "You have a rather peculiar choice of meeting place."
I stared at him. I knew he was talking for the benefit of the others, so I didn't really mind. I looked down at his trousers. "Aw, Mac," I said. "Button your fly before you start talking." His face grew red and his hand dropped quickly to his trouser front.
I laughed and turned to the others. "I'm sorry to put you to this inconvenience, gentlemen," I said. "But I have a space problem up in my room. I've got a box up there that takes up almost the whole place."
The only one who got it was Amos Winthrop. I saw a knowing grin appear on his face. I wondered what his expression would be if he knew it was his daughter I was talking about.
By this time, Mac had recovered his aplomb and stepped in to take over. There were introductions all around and then we got down to business. As Mac explained to me, the three big chemical corporations had set up a separate company to sub-license from me. It was this company which would make the first payment and guarantee the royalties.
I had only one question to ask. "Who guarantees the money?"
Mac indicated one of the men. "Sheffield here," he said. "Mr. Sheffield is one of the partners of George Stewart, Inc."
I looked at Sheffield. Stewart, Morgan, Lehman were all good names down on the Street. I couldn't ask for better people financially. There was something about the man's face that seemed familiar. I searched my memory. Then I had it.
F. Martin Sheffield. New York, Boston, Southampton, Palm Beach. Harvard School of Business, summa cum laude, before the war. Major, U.S. Army, 1917-18. Three decorations for bravery under fire. Ten-goal polo-player. Society. Age now – from his appearance, about thirty-five; from the record, forty-two.
I remembered he'd come to visit my father about ten years ago. He'd wanted then to float a public issue for the company. My father had turned him down.
"No matter how good they make it sound, Junior," my father had said, "never let 'em get their hooks into you. Because then they run your business, not you. All they can give you is money when the only thing that counts is power. And that they always keep for themselves."
I stared at Sheffield. "How're you goin' to guarantee the payments?"
His dark, deep-set eyes glittered behind the pince-nez bifocals. 'We're on the contract with the others, Mr. Cord," he said.
His voice was surprisingly deep for a slight man. And very sure of itself. It was as if he did not deign to answer my question, as if everybody knew that Stewart's name on a contract was guarantee enough.
Maybe it was, but something about him rankled deep inside me. "You didn't answer my question, Mr. Sheffield," I said politely. "I asked how the money was to be guaranteed. I'm not a banker or a Wall Street man, I’m just a poor boy who had to leave school and go to work because his pappy died. I don't understand these things. I know when I go into a bank and they ask me to guarantee something, I have to put up collateral – like land, mortgages, bonds, something of value – before they give me anything. That's what I mean."
A faintly cold smile came to his thin lips. "Surely, Mr. Cord, you don't mean to imply that all these companies might not be good for the amount promised?"
I kept my voice bland. "I didn't mean anything like that, Mr. Sheffield. It's just that men who have had more experience than I, men who are older and know more, tell me that these are unsettled times. The market's broke and banks are failing all over the country. There's no telling what might happen next. I'd like to know how I’m goin' to be paid, that's all."
"Your money will be guaranteed out of income that the new company will earn," Sheffield said, still patiently explaining.
"I see," I said, nodding my head. "You mean I’ll be paid out of money you earn if I grant you the license?"
"That's about it," he said.
I took a cigarette from my pocket and lit it. "I still don't understand. Why can't they pay me all at once?"
"Ten million dollars is a large amount of cash, even for these companies," he said. "They have many demands on their capital. That's why we're in the picture."
"Oh," I said, still playing it dumb. "You mean you're going to advance the money?"
"Oh, no," he said quickly. "That's not it at all. We're simply underwriting the stock, providing the organizational capital to make the new company possible. That alone will come to several million dollars."
"Including your brokerage fees?"
"Of course," he answered. "That's quite customary."
"Of course."
He shot a shrewd look at me. "Mr. Cord, you object to our position?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "Not at all. Why should I? It's not my place to tell other people how to run their business. I have enough trouble with my own."
"But you do seem to have some doubts about our proposition."
"I do," I said. "I was under the impression I was to receive ten million dollars for these rights. Now I find I'm only guaranteed ten million dollars. There's a difference between the two. In one case, I'm paid outright, in the other, I'm an accidental participant in your venture, subject to the same risks that you are but with a limitation put upon the extent of my participation."
"Do you object to that kind of deal?"
"Not at all. It's just that I like to know where I stand."
"Good. Then we can get down to signing the papers." Sheffield smiled in relief.
"Not yet," I said and his smile vanished as quickly as it had come. "I'm willing to become a participant in the manner suggested but if I'm to take that risk, I feel I should be guaranteed fifteen million, not ten."
For a moment, there was a shocked silence, then everybody began to talk at once. "But you already agreed to ten!" Sheffield protested.
I stared at him. "No, I didn't. This is the first time we met."
Mac was blowing a gasket. "Wait a minute, Jonas. You led me to believe you'd listen to an offer of ten million dollars!"
"Well, I listened."
For the first time, I saw his lawyer's calm ruffled. "I acted in good faith on your behalf. I won't be a party to this kind of underhanded negotiation. If this deal doesn't go through as agreed, I'm through! I'm resigning!"
I stared at him impassively. "Suit yourself."
Mac raged. "Your trouble is you're getting too big for your breeches! I remember when you were still wet behind the ears- "
I was angry now; my voice went icy cold. "The trouble is you're just the lawyer and it's my property you're dealing with. I'll make the decision as to what I do with it – sell it or give it away, whatever I want to do. It's mine, I own it and you work for me. Remember that!"
Mac's face went white. I could see it all working around in his mind. The hundred thousand a year I was paying him. The bonus participation in profits. The house he lived in. The schools his kids were going to. His position in society. I wondered if at that moment he wasn't regretting the sixty-thousand-a-year practice he'd given up to come to me.
But I couldn't bring myself to feel sorry for him. He knew what he was doing. He even wrote his own contract, on his own terms. He wanted money and he got it. It was too late now for him to start complaining.
I looked at the others. They were staring at us. I knew then, sorry for Mac or not, I had to give him a leg up. "Aw, come off it, Mac," I said, making my voice warm and friendly. "We're too close to let a stupid thing like this come between us. Forget it. There'll be other deals. The important thing to do is to get your new contract signed so that I can be sure none of these other pirates steal you away from me."
I saw the look of relief flood into his face. "Sure, Jonas," he said. He hesitated. "I guess we're both a little bit overtired. Me with the negotiation, you with that record-breaking flight. I guess I just misunderstood what you told me."
He turned to the others. "I’m sorry, gentlemen," he said smoothly, himself once more. "It's my fault. I didn't mean to mislead you but I misunderstood Mr. Cord. My apologies."
An awkward silence fell in the room. For a moment nobody spoke, then I grinned and walked over to the urinal. "This is just so we don't have to write this meeting off as a total loss," I said over my shoulder.
It was Sheffield who made the first break. I heard him whispering hurriedly to the others. When I turned around, he looked at me. "Split it with you," he said. "Twelve five."
They wanted it real bad if they came up that quickly. At first, I shook my head, then I had an idea. "I heard a great deal about you from my father," I said. "He said you were a real sportsman, that you'd gamble on anything."
A smile appeared on his thin lips. "I've been known to wager a bit at times," he admitted.
"For two and a half million dollars, I’ll bet you can't pee into that far urinal from where you're standing," I said, pointing to the one about four feet from him. "If you do, the deal is yours for twelve five. If you don't, I get fifteen."
His mouth hung open, his eyes staring behind their glasses. "Mr. Cord!" he sputtered.
"You can call me Jonas," I said. "Remember it's for two and a half million dollars."
He looked at the others. They stared back at him. Then at me. Finally the Mahlon Chemical man spoke up. "It's two and a half million dollars, Martin. I'd take a shot at it for that kind of money!"
Sheffield hesitated a moment. He looked at Mac but Mac wouldn't meet his gaze. Then he turned toward the urinal, his hand going to his fly. He looked at me. I nodded. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. He just stood there, a red flush creeping up his collar into his face. A moment passed, another moment. His face was red now.
I broke the silence. "All right, Mr. Sheffield," I said with a straight face. "I concede. You win the bet. The deal is for twelve five."
He stared at me, trying to read my mind. I kept my expression blank. I held out my hand toward him. He hesitated a moment, then took it.
"May I call you Martin?" I asked.
He nodded, a faint smile appearing on his thin lips. "Please do."
I shook his hand. "Martin," I said solemnly. "Your fly is open!"