But it was his son, John Pierpont Morgan, who was at the helm now. Over six feet tall, big-chested, with a great nose that would flare up like a swelling volcano when he was agitated, and commanding eyes like the headlights of an oncoming train, Mr. J. P. Morgan was becoming a legend in his own time. It was J. P. Morgan and a few men like him who were the kings of Wall Street now, and because of them, even a substantial merchant like Frank Master no longer felt comfortable there. For the bankers’ deals and industrial combinations were growing so large, the sums of money involved so vast, that fellows like Master weren’t of much account any more. The bankers didn’t buy and sell goods; they bought and sold businesses. They didn’t finance voyages; they financed wars, industries, even small countries.

Oh, Morgan might serve on the same vestry; Frank might meet him socially in the same New York houses. But Morgan’s game was too big for him, and they both knew it. Frank found the fact humbling. And no man cares to be humbled.

But bankers were interested in railroads. Railroads were big enough.

Mr. Morgan himself was active in railroads—he’d placed huge quantities of the best railroad stock with London investors.

But now, Mr. Morgan had decided that it was time to sort out the chaos. Like a monarch faced with a land of barbarian warlords, he had called the railroad men to his house to try to end the warfare and bring order to the competing lines. And he was beginning to make progress. There was still time, however, for the unruly railroad barons to make some spectacular raids.

“I’ve reason to believe that there’s going to be a fight for control of the railroad,” Master explained. “If there is, one of the parties is going to try to buy more shares. But unless I sell, there won’t be enough out there in the market for him to buy. And that shortage will drive the price of my shares up.”

“Sounds good to me,” said his son.

“I’m intending to do nothing. Let the price rise. But if it gets high enough, I may sell—at least some of them.”

“You don’t care who controls the railroad?”

“I don’t give a damn. Question is, am I breaking any laws?”

Tom Master considered. “From what you’ve told me, I’d say it’s fine. Is there anything else I need to know?”

“One of the parties wants me to hold off selling, to drive the market up. He wants the other fellow to buy him out, but for a high price.”

“Hmm. Is he paying you?”

“No.”

“Then I’d say it depends what else he does, and what else you know. There are rules in the game these days.” Tom smiled. “We bankers are trying to bring some order to the market.”