American fiction -- 20th century; Political fiction; Railroad stories; West (U.S.) -- Fiction
“‘Burn!’ I yells. ‘It won’t do a thing _but_ burn. It burns so hot,
it’ll ruin any grate it’s put in. Why, heat like that is worse than none
at all. It’ll burn out the best grate or furnace in a week. Nobody’ll be
fool enough to buy such stuff. The company’s smashed!’
“They all stared at me as if I were looney. Then I made out I was mad
clear through.
“‘Don’t believe me, eh?’ says I. ‘Then look at this.’
“I throws a pocketful of the ore into the grate, and it blazes up like
mad. The whole office was torrid hot in five minutes. But the crowd was
a blamed sight hotter. They went plumb wild over the new, wonderful fuel
I’d discovered, and tried to explain to me that it had the heating power
of ten times its weight of coal. But all the time I just shook my head,
and kept on whining that no one’d buy it because it would burn out
furnaces too quick.
“Well, the upshot of it was that the news travelled like a streak of
lightning. By the time I got over to the shaft, the gangs were all on,
and their padrones raked up a clause in the contract that permitted ’em
to take their pay in stock, at par, if they chose to, instead of cash.
Just a piece of technical red tape they used to stick in mining
contracts. Those padrones fairly squealed for stock, and near mobbed me
when I implored ’em to accept money instead. So I compromised by issuing
’em orders for stock at ten above. But before I’d do even that, I told
’em over and over that they were making fools of themselves and the
stock and ore were worthless. They laughed at me, and thought I was
trying to grab all the stock for myself. So I made ’em sign a paper
saying that they took it at their own request and risk, and against my
will and advice; and I gave ’em their stock orders and came back to town
with my pay satchel still full.
“By the time I struck the hotel the place was jammed. Folks had flocked
from all over to see the wonderful fuel and watch it burn. Rich farmers,
capitalists from Granite and a lot more. The stock had been at 28¼.
Inside of two days it was at 129, and still booming. Then I sold. But as
president of the company I refused to let a single share be distributed
without the buyer signing a blank that he took it at his own risk, and
that I had told him the ore was worthless. And I kept on shouting that
it was worthless, and that the public was robbing itself by buying such
stuff. What was the result? The more I told the truth, the harder the
suckers bit. Widows and ministers and such-like easy marks most of all,
I hear. I got out of the company in disgust, and announced I’d have no
dealings with such an iniquitous, swindling scheme. Folks thought I’d
gone clean silly, and they bought and bought and bought, and then——”
“And then?” as Conover lighted a fresh cigar.
“Oh, then they woke up and screamed louder than ever.”
“What was done about it? Was there no redress?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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