It’s insane, Will thought. The stock market hit new highs at the end of Friday’s trading, so he knew there would be a line at his door Monday morning. Henry couldn’t produce cars fast enough, but he still lowered the Model T’s price. Chevrolet dealers sold even more, but no one complained about competition. Will was glad for the added business, but he didn’t think it could last. The market was on fire, too, he admitted, but there was no insurance to mop up that mess when it ended in cinders.
Will arrived at work a half hour early and found Mayor Burns pacing at the front door. “Will, I want to order a new Roadster. I’m giving my sedan to Bernie.” Tommy took the sales book that Will handed across the desk. “He’s got it most of the time anyhow.”
“It’ll be at least three months — probably more — before delivery. Henry can’t keep up to the demand.”
“Think I’ll go to Hinton and order one of those Chevy’s.” He reached for the doorknob. “Folks say they’re pretty snazzy.”
“The last I heard, those Hinton folk don’t vote in our elections.”
Mayor Burns scowled at Will. “Get out your order book.”
Will reached into his desk’s top drawer. “You must be selling lots of dry goods these days.”
“Sales are up, that’s for sure, but it’s not dry goods that’ll make me rich. It’s the market.”
“I’m not getting rich, but I’m paying the bills.”
“Every spare dime I’ve got goes into stocks, and they’re booming. You can buy a lot of stock at ten cents on the dollar.”
“Too rich for my blood. I think you’re playing with fire, Tommy.”
“The market hasn’t been down in two years, not for long anyhow.”
“Buyers’ll run out of money someday. Stocks’ll go sour. Then how will you make your payments?”
“Payments?” Burns whipped five one-hundred-dollar bills from his front pocket, peeled one off, and handed it to Will. “There’s plenty more where this comes from.”
“I’d not get too content, Tommy. Whenever I think I’m on solid ground, an earthquake comes along and shakes me up a bit.”
Will took three more orders that morning, but he didn’t think the boom times could last. Yet it seemed he was the only one with reservations. Could his friends be wrong? Should he reconsider? When he arrived home that night, he still had Tommy on his mind. “Mary, I think Tommy’s in pretty deep. I sure hope — ”
“Do you know what Ruby did today?”
Mary had problems of her own, it seemed. Will sat at the kitchen table, ready for the nightly report about his wayward daughter. “I have no idea, my dear. What did our little black lamb do today?”
“Why, she convinced Catherine that she was a puppy and had her nibble on the ham bone that I put aside for your father’s dog.”
“She’s done worse. That girl sure has imagination.” He didn’t tell Mary that he saw Catherine snorting like a pig and eating cabbage leaves the night before — while Ruby urged her on.
“She has too much influence over Catherine,” Mary said. “That’s what worries me.”
And Will worried, too, but he didn’t let on; Mary was worked up enough already.
“I almost forgot. Your mother called today. She said your dad received letters that seemed strange to her. Someone who claims he can predict the stock market.”
“Everyone thinks he knows the market these days. That’s not so strange.”
“But this guy has been right two times.”
Will wondered why anyone would bother to send stock predictions to his dad. After all, he was just an old farmer. He would ask the next time his father came by the shop.
* * *
Thomas O’Shaughnessy drove into Ashley Springs with a wagon full of corn and oats on most Saturdays, and even though it wasn’t the straightest route to the mill, he turned his team down Water Street, and then turned again onto Commerce to go past Will’s shop. He told Will that he wanted to make sure he was attending to business, but Will knew he wanted to hear about the week’s sales. And he knew that Thomas reported his progress to Gertrude after each trip.
Now with the girls demanding more time and Ed settled into management, Will was less likely to be there when Thomas drove past, but that morning he didn’t want to miss his father, so he propped the front door open. Will heard the horses’ hooves on the cobblestone before they turned onto Commerce Street, and he waited out front when his father approached.
Thomas reined his horses to the curb and jumped off the wagon. “I didn’t think I’d find you here today. Beginning to think you’re an absentee owner, like those tycoons I read about.”
Will laughed. “No tycoon, just a proud father. I wouldn’t trade the little darlin’s for all their money. I hear you’ve been getting investment letters.”
“Oh, those. Gertrude must been talking.”
“Well?”
“Deep subject, son. Best keep out.”
“Tell me about them.”
“Just some guy who claims he can predict the market. Says he has inside information.”
“And he wants you to send money?”
“He’s been right two months running. Said the market would go up at the end of last month and down this month. Right both times. S’pose he’s lucky.”
“I suppose he wants something. He wouldn’t send letters if he didn’t want something. Better stick to sure things, Dad. Stick to your investments in Radio Corporation and Standard Oil, solid companies.”
“You’ve made money these last years. Grandpa didn’t know the favor he did when he took that farm away. Farmin’ was good for a while, but since the war ended, we’ve got no overseas markets. I’m just scraping by now. My farm’s too small, barely feeding us.” He grabbed the seat-back, winced, and then pulled himself up on the wagon. “This lumbago raises heck every time I bend to a teat. If I can make some easy money, I may be able to retire one day soon.”
Will liked that idea, too, but he wasn’t ready. “Can I help?”
“I’m okay for now. I still have my savings. But like everyone else, I’d like to make some easy money.”