I
THE Zenith Street Traction Company planned to build car-repair
shops in the suburb of Dorchester, but when they came
to buy the land they found it held, on options, by the Babbitt-Thompson
Realty Company. The purchasing-agent, the first
vice-president, and even the president of the Traction Company
protested against the Babbitt price. They mentioned their
duty toward stockholders, they threatened an appeal to the
courts, though somehow the appeal to the courts was never
carried out and the officials found it wiser to compromise with
Babbitt. Carbon copies of the correspondence are in the company's
files, where they may be viewed by any public commission.
Just after this Babbitt deposited three thousand dollars in
the bank, the purchasing-agent of the Street Traction Company
bought a five thousand dollar car, he first vice-president built
a home in Devon Woods, and the president was appointed
minister to a foreign country.
To obtain the options, to tie up one man's land without
letting his neighbor know, had been an unusual strain on
Babbitt. It was necessary to introduce rumors about planning
garages and stores, to pretend that he wasn't taking any
more options, to wait and look as bored as a poker-player at a
time when the failure to secure a key-lot threatened his whole
plan. To all this was added a nerve-jabbing quarrel with his
secret associates in the deal. They did not wish Babbitt and
Thompson to have any share in the deal except as brokers.
Babbitt rather agreed. "Ethics of the business-broker ought
to strictly represent his principles and not get in on the buying,''
he said to Thompson.
"Ethics, rats! Think I'm going to see that bunch of holy
grafters get away with the swag and us not climb in?'' snorted
old Henry.
"Well, I don't like to do it. Kind of double-crossing.''
"It ain't. It's triple-crossing. It's the public that gets
double-crossed. Well, now we've been ethical and got it out
of our systems, the question is where we can raise a loan to
handle some of the property for ourselves, on the Q. T. We
can't go to our bank for it. Might come out.''
"I could see old Eathorne. He's close as the tomb.''
"That's the stuff.''
Eathorne was glad, he said, to "invest in character,'' to
make Babbitt the loan and see to it that the loan did not
appear on the books of the bank. Thus certain of the options
which Babbitt and Thompson obtained were on parcels of
real estate which they themselves owned, though the property
did not appear in their names.
In the midst of closing this splendid deal, which stimulated
business and public confidence by giving an example of increased
real-estate activity, Babbitt was overwhelmed to find
that he had a dishonest person working for him.
The dishonest one was Stanley Graff, the outside salesman.
For some time Babbitt had been worried about Graff. He
did not keep his word to tenants. In order to rent a house
he would promise repairs which the owner had not authorized.
It was suspected that he juggled inventories of furnished
houses so that when the tenant left he had to pay for articles
which had never been in the house and the price of which
Graff put into his pocket. Babbitt had not been able to prove
these suspicions, and though he had rather planned to discharge
Graff he had never quite found time for it.
Now into Babbitt's private room charged a red-faced man,
panting, "Look here! I've come to raise particular merry
hell, and unless you have that fellow pinched, I will!''
"What's— Calm down, o' man. What's trouble?''
"Trouble! Huh! Here's the trouble—''
"Sit down and take it easy! They can hear you all over
the building!''
"This fellow Graff you got working for you, he leases me
a house. I was in yesterday and signs the lease, all O.K.,
and he was to get the owner's signature and mail me the
lease last night. Well, and he did. This morning I comes
down to breakfast and the girl says a fellow had come to the
house right after the early delivery and told her he wanted
an envelope that had been mailed by mistake, big long envelope
with `Babbitt-Thompson' in the corner of it. Sure
enough, there it was, so she lets him have it. And she describes
the fellow to me, and it was this Graff. So I 'phones
to him and he, the poor fool, he admits it! He says after my
lease was all signed he got a better offer from another fellow
and he wanted my lease back. Now what you going to do
about it?''
"Your name is—?''
"William Varney—W. K. Varney.''
"Oh, yes. That was the Garrison house.'' Babbitt sounded
the buzzer. When Miss McGoun came in, he demanded,
"Graff gone out?''
"Yes, sir.''
"Will you look through his desk and see if there is a lease
made out to Mr. Varney on the Garrison house?'' To Varney:
"Can't tell you how sorry I am this happened. Needless to
say, I'll fire Graff the minute he comes in. And of course
your lease stands. But there's one other thing I'd like to
do. I'll tell the owner not to pay us the commission but apply
it to your rent. No! Straight! I want to. To be frank,
this thing shakes me up bad. I suppose I've always been a
Practical Business Man. Probably I've told one or two fairy
stories in my time, when the occasion called for it—you know:
sometimes you have to lay things on thick, to impress boneheads.
But this is the first time I've ever had to accuse one
of my own employees of anything more dishonest than pinching
a few stamps. Honest, it would hurt me if we profited
by it. So you'll let me hand you the commission? Good!''
