Transcribed by Sean Pobuda
By Charles Goddard
In one of the stateliest mansions on the lower Hudson, near New York,old Stanford Marvin, president of the Marvin Motors Company, dozed overhis papers, while Owen, his confidential secretary, eyed him across themahogany flat-topped desk. A soft purring sound floated in the openwindow and half-roused the aged manufacturer. It came from one of hisown cars—six cylinders chanting in unison a litany of power to thegreat modern god of gasoline.
These things had been in his mind since the motor industry started. Hehad lived with them, wrestled with them during his meals and taken themto his dreams at night. Now they formed a rhythm, and he heard them inhis brain just before the fainting spells, which had come so frequentlyof late. He glanced at the secretary and noted Owen's gaze withsomething of a start.
"What are you thinking about, Raymond?" he queried, with his customarydirectness.
"Your health, sir," replied Owen, who, like all intelligent rascals,never lied when the truth would do equally well. As a matter of fact,Owen had wondered whether his employer would last a year or a month.He much preferred a month, for there was reason to believe that theMarvin will would contain a handsome bequest to "my faithfulsecretary."
"Oh, bosh!" said the old man. "You and Dr. Stevens would make a mummyof me before I'm dead."
"That reminds me, sir," said Owen, smoothly, "that the International
Express Company has delivered a large crate addressed to you from
Cairo, Egypt. I presume it is the mummy you bought on your last trip.
Where shall I place it?"
Mr. Marvin's eye coursed around the walls of the handsome library,which had been his office since the doctor had forbidden him to visithis automobile works and steel-stamping mills.
"Take out that bust of Pallas Athene," he ordered, "and stand the mummyup in its place."
Owen nodded, poised his pencil and prompted:
"You were just dictating about the new piston rings."
Mr. Marvin drew his hand across his eyes and looked out the window.Within the range of his vision was one of the most charming sights inthe world—a handsome youth and a pretty girl, arrayed in whiteflannels, playing tennis.
"Never mind the letters. Tell Harry and Pauline I wish to see them."
Alone, the old man opened a drawer and took a dose of medicine, then heunfolded Dr. Stevens's letter and read its final paragraph, whichprescribed a change of climate, together with complete and permanentrest or "I will not answer for the consequences."
There was little doubt that no primer mover in a great industry wasbetter able to leave its helm than Standford Marvin. His lieutenantswere able, efficient and contented. The factories would go of theirown momentum for a year or two at least, then his son, Harry, just outof college, should be able, perhaps, to help. His lieutenants hadproved Marvin's unerring instinct in judging character. Not one singlecase came to the old employer's mind of a man who had failed to turnout exactly as he expected. Yet the most trusted man of all, RaymondOwen, the secretary, was disloyal and dishonest.
This one exception was easily enough explained. When Owen came toMarvin's attention, fifteen years before, he was a fine, honest,faithful man. It was born and bred in him to be straight. During the