The Quest of the Silver Fleece - A Novel by W. E. B. (William Edward Burghardt) Du Bois
page 61 of 484 (12%)
page 61 of 484 (12%)
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He "was going to retire and eat peanuts," he said with a chuckle.
Easterly was disgusted. He, too, had made millions--not as many as Grey, but a few. It was not, however, simply money that he wanted, but power. The lust of financial dominion had gripped his soul, and he had a vision of a vast trust of cotton manufacturing covering the land. He talked this incessantly into Grey, but Grey continued to shake his head; the thing was too big for his imagination. He was bent on retiring, and just as he had set the date a year hence he inadvertently died. On the whole, Mr. Easterly was glad of his partner's definite withdrawal, since he left his capital behind him, until he found his vast plans about to be circumvented by Mrs. Grey withdrawing this capital from his control. "To give to the niggers and Chinamen," he snorted to John Taylor, and strode up and down the veranda. John Taylor removed his coat, lighted a black cigar, and elevated his heels. The ladies were in the parlor, where the female Easterlys were prostrating themselves before Mrs. Vanderpool. "Just what is your plan?" asked Taylor, quite as if he did not know. "Why, man, the transfer of a hundred millions of stock would give me control of the cotton-mills of America. Think of it!--the biggest trust next to steel." "Why not bigger?" asked Taylor, imperturbably puffing away. Mr. Easterly eyed him. He had regarded Taylor hitherto as a very valuable asset to the business--had relied on his knowledge of routine, his judgment and his honesty; but he detected tonight a new tone in his clerk, something almost authoritative and self-reliant. He paused and smiled at him. "Bigger?" |
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