Mildred Pierce - James M. Cain [74]
"What news, darling?"
"The House of Beragon is ge-finished. It is ffft, fa-downgo-boom, oop-a-doop-whango. Alas it is no more. Pop goes the weasel."
"I've been suspecting something like that."
Mildred said this quickly, to cover the fact that she actually had been told nothing at all, and, for the rest of the walk home was depressed by the realization that Monty had suffered some sort of fantastic reverses without saying a word to her. But soon curiosity got the better of her. She lit a fire in the den, had Veda sit down, and asked for more details. "Well, Mother, I really don't know a great deal about it, except that it's all over Pasadena, and you hardly hear anything else. They had some stock, the Duenna, that's his mother, and the Infanta, that's his sister. Stock in a bank, somewhere in the East. And it was assessable, whatever that means. So when the bank didn't open it was most unfortunate. What is assessable?"
"I heard some talk about it, when the banks were closed. I think it means that if there's not enough money to pay the depositors, then the stockholders have to make it good."
"That's it. That explains about their assets being impounded, and why they've gone to Philadelphia, the Duenna and the Infanta, so papers can't be served on them. And of course when Beragon Brothers, dear old Beragon Brothers, founded in 1893—when they went bust, that didn't help any, either."
"When did that happen?"
"Three or four months ago. Their growers, the farmers that raised the fruit, all signed up with the Exchange, and that was what cooked Monty's goose. He didn't have any bank stock. His money was in the fruit company, but when that folded his mother kicked in. Then when the bank went under she had nothing to kick. Anyway there's a big sign on the lawn, 'For Sale, Owner Must Sacrifice,' and Monty's showing the prospective buyers around."
"You mean their house?"
"I mean their palatial residence on Orange Grove Avenue, with the iron dogs out front and the peacock out behind— but a buyer had better show up pretty soon, or Monty'll be eating the peacock. It certainly looks as though the old buszard will have to go to work."
Mildred didn't know whether she was more shocked at the tale she heard or Veda's complete callousness about it. But one thing was clear: Monty wanted no sympathy from her, so for a time she ate with him, drank with him, and slept with him under the pretense that she knew nothing whatever. But presently the thing became so public, what with pieces in the paper about the sale of his polo ponies, the disappearance of the Cord in favor of a battered little Chevrolet, and one thing and another, that he did begin to talk about it. But he always acted as though this were some casual thing that would be settled shortly, a nuisance while it lasted, but of no real importance. Never once did he let Mildred come close to him in connection with it, pat him on the head, tell him it didn't really matter, do any of the things that in her scheme of life a woman was expected to do under these circumstances. She felt sorry for him, terribly upset about him. And yet she also felt snubbed and rebuffed. And she could never shake off the feeling that if he accepted her as his social equal be would act differently about it.
And then one night she came home to find him with Veda, waiting for her. They were in the den, having a furious argument about polo, which continued