V
Conrad Lyte was a real-estate speculator. He was a nervous
speculator. Before he gambled he consulted bankers, lawyers,
architects, contracting builders, and all of their clerks and
stenographers who were willing to be cornered and give him
advice. He was a bold entrepreneur, and he desired nothing
more than complete safety in his investments, freedom from
attention to details, and the thirty or forty per cent. profit
which, according to all authorities, a pioneer deserves for his
risks and foresight. He was a stubby man with a cap-like
mass of short gray curls and clothes which, no matter how well
cut, seemed shaggy. Below his eyes were semicircular hollows,
as though silver dollars had been pressed against them and
had left an imprint.
Particularly and always Lyte consulted Babbitt, and trusted
in his slow cautiousness.
Six months ago Babbitt had learned that one Archibald
Purdy, a grocer in the indecisive residential district known as
Linton, was talking of opening a butcher shop beside his grocery.
Looking up the ownership of adjoining parcels of land,
Babbitt found that Purdy owned his present shop but did not
own the one available lot adjoining. He advised Conrad Lyte
to purchase this lot, for eleven thousand dollars, though an
appraisal on a basis of rents did not indicate its value as above
nine thousand. The rents, declared Babbitt, were too low;
and by waiting they could make Purdy come to their price.
(This was Vision.) He had to bully Lyte into buying. His
first act as agent for Lyte was to increase the rent of the battered
store-building on the lot. The tenant said a number of
rude things, but he paid.
Now, Purdy seemed ready to buy, and his delay was going
to cost him ten thousand extra dollars—the reward paid by the
community to Mr. Conrad Lyte for the virtue of employing a
broker who had Vision and who understood Talking Points,
Strategic Values, Key Situations, Underappraisals, and the
Psychology of Salesmanship.
Lyte came to the conference exultantly. He was fond of
Babbitt, this morning, and called him "old hoss.'' Purdy, the
grocer. a long-nosed man and solemn, seemed to care less for
Babbitt and for Vision, but Babbitt met him at the street door
of the office and guided him toward the private room with affectionate
little cries of "This way, Brother Purdy!'' He took
from the correspondence-file the entire box of cigars and forced
them on his guests. He pushed their chairs two inches forward
and three inches back, which gave an hospitable note,
then leaned back in his desk-chair and looked plump and jolly.
But he spoke to the weakling grocer with firmness.
"Well, Brother Purdy, we been having some pretty tempting
offers from butchers and a slew of other folks for that lot next
to your store, but I persuaded Brother Lyte that we ought to
give you a shot at the property first. I said to Lyte, `It'd
be a rotten shame,' I said, `if somebody went and opened a
combination grocery and meat market right next door and
ruined Purdy's nice little business.' Especially—'' Babbitt
leaned forward, and his voice was harsh, "—it would be hard
luck if one of these cash-and-carry chain-stores got in there
and started cutting prices below cost till they got rid of competition
and forced you to the wall!''
Purdy snatched his thin hands from his pockets, pulled up
his trousers, thrust his hands back into his pockets, tilted
in the heavy oak chair, and tried to look amused, as he
struggled:
"Yes, they're bad competition. But I guess you don't realize
the Pulling Power that Personality has in a neighborhood
business.''
The great Babbitt smiled. "That's so. Just as you feel,
old man. We thought we'd give you first chance. All right
then—''
"Now look here!'' Purdy wailed. "I know f'r a fact that
a piece of property 'bout same size, right near, sold for less 'n
eighty-five hundred, 'twa'n't two years ago, and here you fellows
are asking me twenty-four thousand dollars! Why, I'd
have to mortgage— I wouldn't mind so much paying twelve
thousand but— Why good God, Mr. Babbitt, you're asking
more 'n twice its value! And threatening to ruin me if I
don't take it!''
"Purdy, I don't like your way of talking! I don't like it
one little bit! Supposing Lyte and I were stinking enough
to want to ruin any fellow human, don't you suppose we know
it's to our own selfish interest to have everybody in Zenith
prosperous? But all this is beside the point. Tell you what
we'll do: We'll come down to twenty-three thousand-five
thousand down and the rest on mortgage—and if you want to
wreck the old shack and rebuild, I guess I can get Lyte here
to loosen up for a building-mortgage on good liberal terms.
Heavens, man, we'd be glad to oblige you! We don't like
these foreign grocery trusts any better 'n you do! But it
isn't reasonable to expect us to sacrifice eleven thousand or
more just for neighborliness, is it! How about it,
Lyte? You
willing to come down?''
By warmly taking Purdy's part, Babbitt persuaded the
benevolent Mr. Lyte to reduce his price to twenty-one thousand
dollars. At the right moment Babbitt snatched from a
drawer the agreement he had had Miss McGoun type out a
week ago and thrust it into Purdy's hands. He genially shook
his fountain pen to make certain that it was flowing, handed
it to Purdy, and approvingly watched him sign.
The work of the world was being done. Lyte had made
something over nine thousand dollars, Babbitt had made a
four-hundred-and-fifty dollar commission, Purdy had, by the sensitive
mechanism of modern finance, been provided with a business-building,
and soon the happy inhabitants of Linton would
have meat lavished upon them at prices only a little higher
than those down-town.
It had been a manly battle, but after it Babbitt drooped.
This was the only really amusing contest he had been planning.
There was nothing ahead save details of leases, appraisals,
mortgages.
He muttered, "Makes me sick to think of Lyte carrying off
most of the profit when I did all the work, the old skinflint!
And— What else have I got to do to-day? . . Like to take
a good long vacation. Motor trip. Something.''
He sprang up, rekindled by the thought of lunching with
Paul Riesling