ARTHUR.T Stories ------The Franklin Syndicate --V---Page 25

There was an instantaneous response. His mail required the exclusive
attention of several clerks. The stream of gold became a rushing
torrent. Every Monday morning the Floyd Street house was crowded with
depositors who drew their interest, added to it, deposited it again, and
went upon their way rejoicing. Nobody was going to have to work any
more. The out-of-town customers received checks for their interest drawn
upon "The Franklin Syndicate," together with printed receipts for their
deposits, all signed "William F. Miller," by means of a rubber stamp. No
human hand could have signed them all without writer's cramp. The
rubber stamp was Miller's official signature. Then with a mighty roar
the torrent burst into a deluge. The Floyd Street quarters were besieged
by a clamoring multitude fighting to see which of them could give up his
money first, and there had to be a special delivery for Miller's mail.
He rented the whole house and hired fifty clerks. You could deposit your
money almost anywhere, from the parlor to the pantry, the clothes closet
or the bath-room. Fridays the public stormed the house _en masse_, since
the money must be deposited _on that day_ to draw interest for the
following week. The crush was so enormous that the stoop broke down.
Imagine it! In quiet Brooklyn! People struggling to get up the steps to
cram their money into Miller's pockets! There he sat, behind a desk, at
the top of the stoop, solemnly taking the money thrown down before him
and handing out little pink and green stamped receipts in exchange.
There was no place to put the money, so it was shoved on to the floor
behind him. Friday afternoons Miller and his clerks waded through it,
knee high. There was no pretense of bookkeeping. Simply in self-defense
Miller issued in October a pronunciamento that he could not in justice
to his business, consent to receive less than fifty dollars at one time.
Theoretically, there was no reason why the thing should not have gone
on practically forever, Miller and everybody else becoming richer and
richer. So long as the golden stream swelled five times each year
everybody would be happy. How could anybody fail to be happy who saw so
much money lying around loose everywhere?

[Illustration: One of Miller's Franklin Syndicate Receipts.]

But the business had increased to such an extent that Miller began to
distrust his own capacity to handle it. He therefore secured a partner
in the person of one Edward Schlessinger, and with him went to
Charlestown, Mass., for the purpose of opening another office, in charge

of which they placed a man named Louis Powers. History repeated itself. Powers shipped the deposits to Miller every day or two by express. Was there ever such a plethora of easy money?

But Schlessinger was no Miller. He decided that he must have a third of
the profits (Heaven knows how they computed them!) and have them,
moreover, each day _in cash_. Hence there was a daily accounting, part
of the receipts being laid aside to pay off interest checks and
interest, and the balance divided. Schlessinger carried his off in a
bag; Miller took the rest, cash, money orders and checks, and deposited
it in a real bank. How the money poured in may be realized from the fact
that the excess of receipts over disbursements for the month ending
November 16th was four hundred and thirty thousand dollars.

Hitherto Miller had been the central figure. Col. Robert A. Ammon now

became the _deus ex machina_. Miller's advertising had become so

extensive that he had been forced to retain a professional agent, one

Rudolph Guenther, to supervise it, and when the newspapers began to make
unpleasant comments, Guenther took Miller to Ammon's office in the
Bennett Building in Nassau Street. Ammon accepted a hundred dollars from
Miller, listened to his account of the business and examined copies of
the circulars. When he was handed one of the printed receipts he said
they were "incriminating." Miller must try to get them back. He advised
(as many another learned counsellor has done) incorporating the
business, since by this means stock could be sold and exchanged for the
incriminating receipts. He explained the mistakes of the "_Dean_ crowd,"
but showed how he had been able to safeguard them in spite of the fact
that they had foolishly insisted on holding the stock in their company
themselves instead of making their customers the stockholders.
Nevertheless "you do not see any of the Dean people in jail," boasted
Ammon. From now on Miller and he were in frequent consultation, and
Ammon took steps to incorporate, procuring for that purpose from Wells,
Fargo & Co. a certificate of deposit for one hundred thousand dollars.
Occasionally he would visit Floyd Street to see how things were going.
Miller became a mere puppet; Ammon twitched the wire.

It was now well on in November, and the press of both Boston and New York was filled with scathing attacks upon the Syndicate. The reporters became so inquisitive as to be annoying to the peaceful Miller. "Send the reporters over to me!" directed Ammon.

The _Post_ (of Boston) said the whole thing was a miserable swindle. Ammon, accompanied by Miller, carrying a satchel which contained fifty thousand dollars in greenbacks, went to Boston, visited the offices of the _Post_, and pitched into the editor.

"The business is all right; you must give us a fair deal!"

The pair also visited Watts, the chief of police.

"You keep your mouth shut," said Ammon to Miller. "I'll do all the

talking." He showed Watts the bag of money, and demanded what he had
meant by calling the enterprise a "green goods business." If the thing
wasn't all right, did Watts suppose that he, Col. Robert A. Ammon, would
be connected with it? The chief backed down, and explained that he had
jokingly referred to the color of one of the receipts--which happened
to be green.

In spite of Ammon's confidence, however, there was an uneasy feeling in
the air, and it was decided to put an advertisement in the _Post_
offering to allow any customer who so desired to withdraw his deposit,
_without notice_, upon the following Saturday. This announcement did not
have precisely the anticipated effect, and Saturday saw a large crowd of
victims eager to withdraw their money from the Boston office of the
Franklin Syndicate. Powers paid the "_Pauls_," of Boston, out of the bag
brought on by Miller containing the deposits of the "_Peters_," of
Brooklyn. Meantime, Ammon addressed the throng, incidentally
blackguarding a _Post_ reporter before the crowd, telling them that his
paper was a "yellow paper, had never amounted to anything, and never
would." Some timid souls took courage and redeposited their money. The
run continued one day and cost Ammon and Miller about twenty-eight
thousand dollars. Ammon took five thousand dollars cash as a fee out of
the bag, and the pair returned to New York. But confidence had been
temporarily restored.