even lend you up to eighty percent of the market value.â
âSee, Marty!â Doris exclaimed. âI knew weâd do it! Now can we get the money immediately?â
âI think soâat least within fifteen minutes. Do you have the stock with you?â
Dorisâ face fell, while Martin explained that they were going to use the money to buy the stock.
âWell, thatâs a little different, isnât it? I am afraid it makes the loan impossibleâunless you have sufficient stock already in your possession. It doesnât have to be American Telephone. Any listed securityââ
âYou donât understand,â Martin pleaded, watching the clock on the wall. âWe got to buy that stock before two oâclock.â
âI am sure you have good reason to. But we canât help you.â
âLousy crumb,â Martin said when they got outside. âHe stinks! The whole lousy Chase Manhattan stinks! You got a friend at Chase Manhattan, you donât need enemies. You know what Iâd like to doâgo in there up to the window andâstick âem up!âthatâs what Iâd like to do.â
Neither First National City nor Chemical New York proved any more flexible on the question of collateral, nor was Merrill Lynch disposed to open an account and plunge into a massive day sale. One forty-five P.M. found them back at the offices of Smith, Haley and Penderson, pleading anew with Frank Gibson.
âI got a job,â Gibson told them. âYou may not believe me, but being a customerâs man just happens to be a job. I donât interfere with you, so just let me do my job.â
âItâs a quarter to two,â Martin begged him.
âOh, Jesusâshow him the damn Wall Street Journal,â Doris snapped.
âWhy donât you drop dead?â
âWhy donât you get one little brain in your head? Itâs ten minutes to two. Show him the paper.â
Martin took out the paper and shoved it at Gibson. âThereâtomorrowâs Wall Street Journal . All marketsâcomplete closing prices.â
âYouâre both out of your minds. What do I have to do? Make a scene? Call the cops?â
âJust look at the date? Am I asking so much? Jesus God, if I was drowning would you stretch out a hand for me? Iâm asking you to look at the date.â
âO.K.âso I look at the date.â Gibson picked up the paper and looked at the date. Then he stared at the date. Then he turned the paper around and looked at the date on the back page. Then he opened it.
âMarty, where did you get this?â
âNow you believe me. Now Martyâs not a lousy creep any more. Now Martyâs your buddy boy. Now will you buy the goddamn stock?â
âMarty, I canât. Even if I thought this paper wasnât phonyââ
âPhony! Do you knowââ
His voice died away. Gibson was staring at the screened flash news at the front of the office, where suddenly the news had appeared that the directors of American Telephone had decided upon a two-for-one stock split, pending approval of stockholders.
âWill you buy the stock?â Martin whimpered. âOh, dear Jesus, will you please buy the stock?â
âMartyâI canât.â
âItâs up two points already,â Doris said. âWhy donât I kill myself? Oh, noâI couldnât jump in front of a subway train or anything like that. No sirânot me. I had to marry Chesell.â
At three-thirty, when the market closed, American Telephone was four points over its opening price. At four-fifteen, the Chesells had one of their minor fights. If they had not been so done in with the day, it might have been a major fight. As it was, there was nothing physical, only a few recriminations, one word leading to another. Doris began the peroration by concluding:
âDrop deadâthatâs all.â
âSo