diff options
Diffstat (limited to '1840-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 1840-0.txt | 20162 |
1 files changed, 20162 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/1840-0.txt b/1840-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4d15c99 --- /dev/null +++ b/1840-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,20162 @@ + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Financier, by Theodore Dreiser + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Financier + +Author: Theodore Dreiser + +Release Date: February 25, 2006 [EBook #1840] +Last Updated: December 1, 2019 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FINANCIER *** + + + + +Produced by Kirk Pearson and David Widger + + + + +The Financier + +by Theodore Dreiser + + +Contents + + Chapter I + Chapter II + Chapter III + Chapter IV + Chapter V + Chapter VI + Chapter VII + Chapter VIII + Chapter IX + Chapter X + Chapter XI + Chapter XII + Chapter XIII + Chapter XIV + Chapter XV + Chapter XVI + Chapter XVII + Chapter XVIII + Chapter XIX + Chapter XX + Chapter XXI + Chapter XXII + Chapter XXIII + Chapter XXIV + Chapter XXV + Chapter XXVI + Chapter XXVII + Chapter XXVIII + Chapter XXIX + Chapter XXX + Chapter XXXI + Chapter XXXII + Chapter XXXIII + Chapter XXXIV + Chapter XXXV + Chapter XXXVI + Chapter XXXVII + Chapter XXXVIII + Chapter XXXIX + Chapter XL + Chapter XLI + Chapter XLII + Chapter XLIII + Chapter XLIV + Chapter XLV + Chapter XLVI + Chapter XLVII + Chapter XLVIII + Chapter XLIX + Chapter L + Chapter LI + Chapter LII + Chapter LIII + Chapter LIV + Chapter LV + Chapter LVI + Chapter LVII + Chapter LVIII + Chapter LIX + Concerning Mycteroperca Bonaci + The Magic Crystal + + + + +Chapter I + + +The Philadelphia into which Frank Algernon Cowperwood was born was a +city of two hundred and fifty thousand and more. It was set with +handsome parks, notable buildings, and crowded with historic memories. +Many of the things that we and he knew later were not then in +existence—the telegraph, telephone, express company, ocean steamer, +city delivery of mails. There were no postage-stamps or registered +letters. The street car had not arrived. In its place were hosts of +omnibuses, and for longer travel the slowly developing railroad system +still largely connected by canals. + +Cowperwood’s father was a bank clerk at the time of Frank’s birth, but +ten years later, when the boy was already beginning to turn a very +sensible, vigorous eye on the world, Mr. Henry Worthington Cowperwood, +because of the death of the bank’s president and the consequent moving +ahead of the other officers, fell heir to the place vacated by the +promoted teller, at the, to him, munificent salary of thirty-five +hundred dollars a year. At once he decided, as he told his wife +joyously, to remove his family from 21 Buttonwood Street to 124 New +Market Street, a much better neighborhood, where there was a nice brick +house of three stories in height as opposed to their present +two-storied domicile. There was the probability that some day they +would come into something even better, but for the present this was +sufficient. He was exceedingly grateful. + +Henry Worthington Cowperwood was a man who believed only what he saw +and was content to be what he was—a banker, or a prospective one. He +was at this time a significant figure—tall, lean, inquisitorial, +clerkly—with nice, smooth, closely-cropped side whiskers coming to +almost the lower lobes of his ears. His upper lip was smooth and +curiously long, and he had a long, straight nose and a chin that tended +to be pointed. His eyebrows were bushy, emphasizing vague, +grayish-green eyes, and his hair was short and smooth and nicely +parted. He wore a frock-coat always—it was quite the thing in financial +circles in those days—and a high hat. And he kept his hands and nails +immaculately clean. His manner might have been called severe, though +really it was more cultivated than austere. + +Being ambitious to get ahead socially and financially, he was very +careful of whom or with whom he talked. He was as much afraid of +expressing a rabid or unpopular political or social opinion as he was +of being seen with an evil character, though he had really no opinion +of great political significance to express. He was neither anti- nor +pro-slavery, though the air was stormy with abolition sentiment and its +opposition. He believed sincerely that vast fortunes were to be made +out of railroads if one only had the capital and that curious thing, a +magnetic personality—the ability to win the confidence of others. He +was sure that Andrew Jackson was all wrong in his opposition to +Nicholas Biddle and the United States Bank, one of the great issues of +the day; and he was worried, as he might well be, by the perfect storm +of wildcat money which was floating about and which was constantly +coming to his bank—discounted, of course, and handed out again to +anxious borrowers at a profit. His bank was the Third National of +Philadelphia, located in that center of all Philadelphia and indeed, at +that time, of practically all national finance—Third Street—and its +owners conducted a brokerage business as a side line. There was a +perfect plague of State banks, great and small, in those days, issuing +notes practically without regulation upon insecure and unknown assets +and failing and suspending with astonishing rapidity; and a knowledge +of all these was an important requirement of Mr. Cowperwood’s position. +As a result, he had become the soul of caution. Unfortunately, for him, +he lacked in a great measure the two things that are necessary for +distinction in any field—magnetism and vision. He was not destined to +be a great financier, though he was marked out to be a moderately +successful one. + +Mrs. Cowperwood was of a religious temperament—a small woman, with +light-brown hair and clear, brown eyes, who had been very attractive in +her day, but had become rather prim and matter-of-fact and inclined to +take very seriously the maternal care of her three sons and one +daughter. The former, captained by Frank, the eldest, were a source of +considerable annoyance to her, for they were forever making expeditions +to different parts of the city, getting in with bad boys, probably, and +seeing and hearing things they should neither see nor hear. + +Frank Cowperwood, even at ten, was a natural-born leader. At the day +school he attended, and later at the Central High School, he was looked +upon as one whose common sense could unquestionably be trusted in all +cases. He was a sturdy youth, courageous and defiant. From the very +start of his life, he wanted to know about economics and politics. He +cared nothing for books. He was a clean, stalky, shapely boy, with a +bright, clean-cut, incisive face; large, clear, gray eyes; a wide +forehead; short, bristly, dark-brown hair. He had an incisive, +quick-motioned, self-sufficient manner, and was forever asking +questions with a keen desire for an intelligent reply. He never had an +ache or pain, ate his food with gusto, and ruled his brothers with a +rod of iron. “Come on, Joe!” “Hurry, Ed!” These commands were issued in +no rough but always a sure way, and Joe and Ed came. They looked up to +Frank from the first as a master, and what he had to say was listened +to eagerly. + +He was forever pondering, pondering—one fact astonishing him quite as +much as another—for he could not figure out how this thing he had come +into—this life—was organized. How did all these people get into the +world? What were they doing here? Who started things, anyhow? His +mother told him the story of Adam and Eve, but he didn’t believe it. +There was a fish-market not so very far from his home, and there, on +his way to see his father at the bank, or conducting his brothers on +after-school expeditions, he liked to look at a certain tank in front +of one store where were kept odd specimens of sea-life brought in by +the Delaware Bay fishermen. He saw once there a sea-horse—just a queer +little sea-animal that looked somewhat like a horse—and another time he +saw an electric eel which Benjamin Franklin’s discovery had explained. +One day he saw a squid and a lobster put in the tank, and in connection +with them was witness to a tragedy which stayed with him all his life +and cleared things up considerably intellectually. The lobster, it +appeared from the talk of the idle bystanders, was offered no food, as +the squid was considered his rightful prey. He lay at the bottom of the +clear glass tank on the yellow sand, apparently seeing nothing—you +could not tell in which way his beady, black buttons of eyes were +looking—but apparently they were never off the body of the squid. The +latter, pale and waxy in texture, looking very much like pork fat or +jade, moved about in torpedo fashion; but his movements were apparently +never out of the eyes of his enemy, for by degrees small portions of +his body began to disappear, snapped off by the relentless claws of his +pursuer. The lobster would leap like a catapult to where the squid was +apparently idly dreaming, and the squid, very alert, would dart away, +shooting out at the same time a cloud of ink, behind which it would +disappear. It was not always completely successful, however. Small +portions of its body or its tail were frequently left in the claws of +the monster below. Fascinated by the drama, young Cowperwood came daily +to watch. + +One morning he stood in front of the tank, his nose almost pressed to +the glass. Only a portion of the squid remained, and his ink-bag was +emptier than ever. In the corner of the tank sat the lobster, poised +apparently for action. + +The boy stayed as long as he could, the bitter struggle fascinating +him. Now, maybe, or in an hour or a day, the squid might die, slain by +the lobster, and the lobster would eat him. He looked again at the +greenish-copperish engine of destruction in the corner and wondered +when this would be. To-night, maybe. He would come back to-night. + +He returned that night, and lo! the expected had happened. There was a +little crowd around the tank. The lobster was in the corner. Before him +was the squid cut in two and partially devoured. + +“He got him at last,” observed one bystander. “I was standing right +here an hour ago, and up he leaped and grabbed him. The squid was too +tired. He wasn’t quick enough. He did back up, but that lobster he +calculated on his doing that. He’s been figuring on his movements for a +long time now. He got him to-day.” + +Frank only stared. Too bad he had missed this. The least touch of +sorrow for the squid came to him as he stared at it slain. Then he +gazed at the victor. + +“That’s the way it has to be, I guess,” he commented to himself. “That +squid wasn’t quick enough.” He figured it out. + +“The squid couldn’t kill the lobster—he had no weapon. The lobster +could kill the squid—he was heavily armed. There was nothing for the +squid to feed on; the lobster had the squid as prey. What was the +result to be? What else could it be? He didn’t have a chance,” he +concluded finally, as he trotted on homeward. + +The incident made a great impression on him. It answered in a rough way +that riddle which had been annoying him so much in the past: “How is +life organized?” Things lived on each other—that was it. Lobsters lived +on squids and other things. What lived on lobsters? Men, of course! +Sure, that was it! And what lived on men? he asked himself. Was it +other men? Wild animals lived on men. And there were Indians and +cannibals. And some men were killed by storms and accidents. He wasn’t +so sure about men living on men; but men did kill each other. How about +wars and street fights and mobs? He had seen a mob once. It attacked +the Public Ledger building as he was coming home from school. His +father had explained why. It was about the slaves. That was it! Sure, +men lived on men. Look at the slaves. They were men. That’s what all +this excitement was about these days. Men killing other men—negroes. + +He went on home quite pleased with himself at his solution. + +“Mother!” he exclaimed, as he entered the house, “he finally got him!” + +“Got who? What got what?” she inquired in amazement. “Go wash your +hands.” + +“Why, that lobster got that squid I was telling you and pa about the +other day.” + +“Well, that’s too bad. What makes you take any interest in such things? +Run, wash your hands.” + +“Well, you don’t often see anything like that. I never did.” He went +out in the back yard, where there was a hydrant and a post with a +little table on it, and on that a shining tin-pan and a bucket of +water. Here he washed his face and hands. + +“Say, papa,” he said to his father, later, “you know that squid?” + +“Yes.” + +“Well, he’s dead. The lobster got him.” + +His father continued reading. “Well, that’s too bad,” he said, +indifferently. + +But for days and weeks Frank thought of this and of the life he was +tossed into, for he was already pondering on what he should be in this +world, and how he should get along. From seeing his father count money, +he was sure that he would like banking; and Third Street, where his +father’s office was, seemed to him the cleanest, most fascinating +street in the world. + + + + +Chapter II + + +The growth of young Frank Algernon Cowperwood was through years of what +might be called a comfortable and happy family existence. Buttonwood +Street, where he spent the first ten years of his life, was a lovely +place for a boy to live. It contained mostly small two and three-story +red brick houses, with small white marble steps leading up to the front +door, and thin, white marble trimmings outlining the front door and +windows. There were trees in the street—plenty of them. The road +pavement was of big, round cobblestones, made bright and clean by the +rains; and the sidewalks were of red brick, and always damp and cool. +In the rear was a yard, with trees and grass and sometimes flowers, for +the lots were almost always one hundred feet deep, and the +house-fronts, crowding close to the pavement in front, left a +comfortable space in the rear. + +The Cowperwoods, father and mother, were not so lean and narrow that +they could not enter into the natural tendency to be happy and joyous +with their children; and so this family, which increased at the rate of +a child every two or three years after Frank’s birth until there were +four children, was quite an interesting affair when he was ten and they +were ready to move into the New Market Street home. Henry Worthington +Cowperwood’s connections were increased as his position grew more +responsible, and gradually he was becoming quite a personage. He +already knew a number of the more prosperous merchants who dealt with +his bank, and because as a clerk his duties necessitated his calling at +other banking-houses, he had come to be familiar with and favorably +known in the Bank of the United States, the Drexels, the Edwards, and +others. The brokers knew him as representing a very sound organization, +and while he was not considered brilliant mentally, he was known as a +most reliable and trustworthy individual. + +In this progress of his father young Cowperwood definitely shared. He +was quite often allowed to come to the bank on Saturdays, when he would +watch with great interest the deft exchange of bills at the brokerage +end of the business. He wanted to know where all the types of money +came from, why discounts were demanded and received, what the men did +with all the money they received. His father, pleased at his interest, +was glad to explain so that even at this early age—from ten to +fifteen—the boy gained a wide knowledge of the condition of the country +financially—what a State bank was and what a national one; what brokers +did; what stocks were, and why they fluctuated in value. He began to +see clearly what was meant by money as a medium of exchange, and how +all values were calculated according to one primary value, that of +gold. He was a financier by instinct, and all the knowledge that +pertained to that great art was as natural to him as the emotions and +subtleties of life are to a poet. This medium of exchange, gold, +interested him intensely. When his father explained to him how it was +mined, he dreamed that he owned a gold mine and waked to wish that he +did. He was likewise curious about stocks and bonds and he learned that +some stocks and bonds were not worth the paper they were written on, +and that others were worth much more than their face value indicated. + +“There, my son,” said his father to him one day, “you won’t often see a +bundle of those around this neighborhood.” He referred to a series of +shares in the British East India Company, deposited as collateral at +two-thirds of their face value for a loan of one hundred thousand +dollars. A Philadelphia magnate had hypothecated them for the use of +the ready cash. Young Cowperwood looked at them curiously. “They don’t +look like much, do they?” he commented. + +“They are worth just four times their face value,” said his father, +archly. + +Frank reexamined them. “The British East India Company,” he read. “Ten +pounds—that’s pretty near fifty dollars.” + +“Forty-eight, thirty-five,” commented his father, dryly. “Well, if we +had a bundle of those we wouldn’t need to work very hard. You’ll notice +there are scarcely any pin-marks on them. They aren’t sent around very +much. I don’t suppose these have ever been used as collateral before.” + +Young Cowperwood gave them back after a time, but not without a keen +sense of the vast ramifications of finance. What was the East India +Company? What did it do? His father told him. + +At home also he listened to considerable talk of financial investment +and adventure. He heard, for one thing, of a curious character by the +name of Steemberger, a great beef speculator from Virginia, who was +attracted to Philadelphia in those days by the hope of large and easy +credits. Steemberger, so his father said, was close to Nicholas Biddle, +Lardner, and others of the United States Bank, or at least friendly +with them, and seemed to be able to obtain from that organization +nearly all that he asked for. His operations in the purchase of cattle +in Virginia, Ohio, and other States were vast, amounting, in fact, to +an entire monopoly of the business of supplying beef to Eastern cities. +He was a big man, enormous, with a face, his father said, something +like that of a pig; and he wore a high beaver hat and a long frock-coat +which hung loosely about his big chest and stomach. He had managed to +force the price of beef up to thirty cents a pound, causing all the +retailers and consumers to rebel, and this was what made him so +conspicuous. He used to come to the brokerage end of the elder +Cowperwood’s bank, with as much as one hundred thousand or two hundred +thousand dollars, in twelve months—post-notes of the United States Bank +in denominations of one thousand, five thousand, and ten thousand +dollars. These he would cash at from ten to twelve per cent. under +their face value, having previously given the United States Bank his +own note at four months for the entire amount. He would take his pay +from the Third National brokerage counter in packages of Virginia, +Ohio, and western Pennsylvania bank-notes at par, because he made his +disbursements principally in those States. The Third National would in +the first place realize a profit of from four to five per cent. on the +original transaction; and as it took the Western bank-notes at a +discount, it also made a profit on those. + +There was another man his father talked about—one Francis J. Grund, a +famous newspaper correspondent and lobbyist at Washington, who +possessed the faculty of unearthing secrets of every kind, especially +those relating to financial legislation. The secrets of the President +and the Cabinet, as well as of the Senate and the House of +Representatives, seemed to be open to him. Grund had been about, years +before, purchasing through one or two brokers large amounts of the +various kinds of Texas debt certificates and bonds. The Republic of +Texas, in its struggle for independence from Mexico, had issued bonds +and certificates in great variety, amounting in value to ten or fifteen +million dollars. Later, in connection with the scheme to make Texas a +State of the Union, a bill was passed providing a contribution on the +part of the United States of five million dollars, to be applied to the +extinguishment of this old debt. Grund knew of this, and also of the +fact that some of this debt, owing to the peculiar conditions of issue, +was to be paid in full, while other portions were to be scaled down, +and there was to be a false or pre-arranged failure to pass the bill at +one session in order to frighten off the outsiders who might have heard +and begun to buy the old certificates for profit. He acquainted the +Third National Bank with this fact, and of course the information came +to Cowperwood as teller. He told his wife about it, and so his son, in +this roundabout way, heard it, and his clear, big eyes glistened. He +wondered why his father did not take advantage of the situation and buy +some Texas certificates for himself. Grund, so his father said, and +possibly three or four others, had made over a hundred thousand dollars +apiece. It wasn’t exactly legitimate, he seemed to think, and yet it +was, too. Why shouldn’t such inside information be rewarded? Somehow, +Frank realized that his father was too honest, too cautious, but when +he grew up, he told himself, he was going to be a broker, or a +financier, or a banker, and do some of these things. + +Just at this time there came to the Cowperwoods an uncle who had not +previously appeared in the life of the family. He was a brother of Mrs. +Cowperwood’s—Seneca Davis by name—solid, unctuous, five feet ten in +height, with a big, round body, a round, smooth head rather bald, a +clear, ruddy complexion, blue eyes, and what little hair he had of a +sandy hue. He was exceedingly well dressed according to standards +prevailing in those days, indulging in flowered waistcoats, long, +light-colored frock-coats, and the invariable (for a fairly prosperous +man) high hat. Frank was fascinated by him at once. He had been a +planter in Cuba and still owned a big ranch there and could tell him +tales of Cuban life—rebellions, ambuscades, hand-to-hand fighting with +machetes on his own plantation, and things of that sort. He brought +with him a collection of Indian curies, to say nothing of an +independent fortune and several slaves—one, named Manuel, a tall, +raw-boned black, was his constant attendant, a bodyservant, as it were. +He shipped raw sugar from his plantation in boat-loads to the Southwark +wharves in Philadelphia. Frank liked him because he took life in a +hearty, jovial way, rather rough and offhand for this somewhat quiet +and reserved household. + +“Why, Nancy Arabella,” he said to Mrs Cowperwood on arriving one Sunday +afternoon, and throwing the household into joyous astonishment at his +unexpected and unheralded appearance, “you haven’t grown an inch! I +thought when you married old brother Hy here that you were going to +fatten up like your brother. But look at you! I swear to Heaven you +don’t weigh five pounds.” And he jounced her up and down by the waist, +much to the perturbation of the children, who had never before seen +their mother so familiarly handled. + +Henry Cowperwood was exceedingly interested in and pleased at the +arrival of this rather prosperous relative; for twelve years before, +when he was married, Seneca Davis had not taken much notice of him. + +“Look at these little putty-faced Philadelphians,” he continued, “They +ought to come down to my ranch in Cuba and get tanned up. That would +take away this waxy look.” And he pinched the cheek of Anna Adelaide, +now five years old. “I tell you, Henry, you have a rather nice place +here.” And he looked at the main room of the rather conventional +three-story house with a critical eye. + +Measuring twenty by twenty-four and finished in imitation cherry, with +a set of new Sheraton parlor furniture it presented a quaintly +harmonious aspect. Since Henry had become teller the family had +acquired a piano—a decided luxury in those days—brought from Europe; +and it was intended that Anna Adelaide, when she was old enough, should +learn to play. There were a few uncommon ornaments in the room—a gas +chandelier for one thing, a glass bowl with goldfish in it, some rare +and highly polished shells, and a marble Cupid bearing a basket of +flowers. It was summer time, the windows were open, and the trees +outside, with their widely extended green branches, were pleasantly +visible shading the brick sidewalk. Uncle Seneca strolled out into the +back yard. + +“Well, this is pleasant enough,” he observed, noting a large elm and +seeing that the yard was partially paved with brick and enclosed within +brick walls, up the sides of which vines were climbing. “Where’s your +hammock? Don’t you string a hammock here in summer? Down on my veranda +at San Pedro I have six or seven.” + +“We hadn’t thought of putting one up because of the neighbors, but it +would be nice,” agreed Mrs. Cowperwood. “Henry will have to get one.” + +“I have two or three in my trunks over at the hotel. My niggers make +’em down there. I’ll send Manuel over with them in the morning.” + +He plucked at the vines, tweaked Edward’s ear, told Joseph, the second +boy, he would bring him an Indian tomahawk, and went back into the +house. + +“This is the lad that interests me,” he said, after a time, laying a +hand on the shoulder of Frank. “What did you name him in full, Henry?” + +“Frank Algernon.” + +“Well, you might have named him after me. There’s something to this +boy. How would you like to come down to Cuba and be a planter, my boy?” + +“I’m not so sure that I’d like to,” replied the eldest. + +“Well, that’s straight-spoken. What have you against it?” + +“Nothing, except that I don’t know anything about it.” + +“What do you know?” + +The boy smiled wisely. “Not very much, I guess.” + +“Well, what are you interested in?” + +“Money!” + +“Aha! What’s bred in the bone, eh? Get something of that from your +father, eh? Well, that’s a good trait. And spoken like a man, too! +We’ll hear more about that later. Nancy, you’re breeding a financier +here, I think. He talks like one.” + +He looked at Frank carefully now. There was real force in that sturdy +young body—no doubt of it. Those large, clear gray eyes were full of +intelligence. They indicated much and revealed nothing. + +“A smart boy!” he said to Henry, his brother-in-law. “I like his +get-up. You have a bright family.” + +Henry Cowperwood smiled dryly. This man, if he liked Frank, might do +much for the boy. He might eventually leave him some of his fortune. He +was wealthy and single. + +Uncle Seneca became a frequent visitor to the house—he and his negro +body-guard, Manuel, who spoke both English and Spanish, much to the +astonishment of the children; and he took an increasing interest in +Frank. + +“When that boy gets old enough to find out what he wants to do, I think +I’ll help him to do it,” he observed to his sister one day; and she +told him she was very grateful. He talked to Frank about his studies, +and found that he cared little for books or most of the study he was +compelled to pursue. Grammar was an abomination. Literature silly. +Latin was of no use. History—well, it was fairly interesting. + +“I like bookkeeping and arithmetic,” he observed. “I want to get out +and get to work, though. That’s what I want to do.” + +“You’re pretty young, my son,” observed his uncle. “You’re only how old +now? Fourteen?” + +“Thirteen.” + +“Well, you can’t leave school much before sixteen. You’ll do better if +you stay until seventeen or eighteen. It can’t do you any harm. You +won’t be a boy again.” + +“I don’t want to be a boy. I want to get to work.” + +“Don’t go too fast, son. You’ll be a man soon enough. You want to be a +banker, do you?” + +“Yes, sir!” + +“Well, when the time comes, if everything is all right and you’ve +behaved yourself and you still want to, I’ll help you get a start in +business. If I were you and were going to be a banker, I’d first spend +a year or so in some good grain and commission house. There’s good +training to be had there. You’ll learn a lot that you ought to know. +And, meantime, keep your health and learn all you can. Wherever I am, +you let me know, and I’ll write and find out how you’ve been conducting +yourself.” + +He gave the boy a ten-dollar gold piece with which to start a +bank-account. And, not strange to say, he liked the whole Cowperwood +household much better for this dynamic, self-sufficient, sterling youth +who was an integral part of it. + + + + +Chapter III + + +It was in his thirteenth year that young Cowperwood entered into his +first business venture. Walking along Front Street one day, a street of +importing and wholesale establishments, he saw an auctioneer’s flag +hanging out before a wholesale grocery and from the interior came the +auctioneer’s voice: “What am I bid for this exceptional lot of Java +coffee, twenty-two bags all told, which is now selling in the market +for seven dollars and thirty-two cents a bag wholesale? What am I bid? +What am I bid? The whole lot must go as one. What am I bid?” + +“Eighteen dollars,” suggested a trader standing near the door, more to +start the bidding than anything else. Frank paused. + +“Twenty-two!” called another. + +“Thirty!” a third. “Thirty-five!” a fourth, and so up to seventy-five, +less than half of what it was worth. + +“I’m bid seventy-five! I’m bid seventy-five!” called the auctioneer, +loudly. “Any other offers? Going once at seventy-five; am I offered +eighty? Going twice at seventy-five, and”—he paused, one hand raised +dramatically. Then he brought it down with a slap in the palm of the +other—“sold to Mr. Silas Gregory for seventy-five. Make a note of that, +Jerry,” he called to his red-haired, freckle-faced clerk beside him. +Then he turned to another lot of grocery staples—this time starch, +eleven barrels of it. + +Young Cowperwood was making a rapid calculation. If, as the auctioneer +said, coffee was worth seven dollars and thirty-two cents a bag in the +open market, and this buyer was getting this coffee for seventy-five +dollars, he was making then and there eighty-six dollars and four +cents, to say nothing of what his profit would be if he sold it at +retail. As he recalled, his mother was paying twenty-eight cents a +pound. He drew nearer, his books tucked under his arm, and watched +these operations closely. The starch, as he soon heard, was valued at +ten dollars a barrel, and it only brought six. Some kegs of vinegar +were knocked down at one-third their value, and so on. He began to wish +he could bid; but he had no money, just a little pocket change. The +auctioneer noticed him standing almost directly under his nose, and was +impressed with the stolidity—solidity—of the boy’s expression. + +“I am going to offer you now a fine lot of Castile soap—seven cases, no +less—which, as you know, if you know anything about soap, is now +selling at fourteen cents a bar. This soap is worth anywhere at this +moment eleven dollars and seventy-five cents a case. What am I bid? +What am I bid? What am I bid?” He was talking fast in the usual style +of auctioneers, with much unnecessary emphasis; but Cowperwood was not +unduly impressed. He was already rapidly calculating for himself. Seven +cases at eleven dollars and seventy-five cents would be worth just +eighty-two dollars and twenty-five cents; and if it went at half—if it +went at half— + +“Twelve dollars,” commented one bidder. + +“Fifteen,” bid another. + +“Twenty,” called a third. + +“Twenty-five,” a fourth. + +Then it came to dollar raises, for Castile soap was not such a vital +commodity. “Twenty-six.” “Twenty-seven.” “Twenty-eight.” “Twenty-nine.” +There was a pause. “Thirty,” observed young Cowperwood, decisively. + +The auctioneer, a short lean faced, spare man with bushy hair and an +incisive eye, looked at him curiously and almost incredulously but +without pausing. He had, somehow, in spite of himself, been impressed +by the boy’s peculiar eye; and now he felt, without knowing why, that +the offer was probably legitimate enough, and that the boy had the +money. He might be the son of a grocer. + +“I’m bid thirty! I’m bid thirty! I’m bid thirty for this fine lot of +Castile soap. It’s a fine lot. It’s worth fourteen cents a bar. Will +any one bid thirty-one? Will any one bid thirty-one? Will any one bid +thirty-one?” + +“Thirty-one,” said a voice. + +“Thirty-two,” replied Cowperwood. The same process was repeated. + +“I’m bid thirty-two! I’m bid thirty-two! I’m bid thirty-two! Will +anybody bid thirty-three? It’s fine soap. Seven cases of fine Castile +soap. Will anybody bid thirty-three?” + +Young Cowperwood’s mind was working. He had no money with him; but his +father was teller of the Third National Bank, and he could quote him as +reference. He could sell all of his soap to the family grocer, surely; +or, if not, to other grocers. Other people were anxious to get this +soap at this price. Why not he? + +The auctioneer paused. + +“Thirty-two once! Am I bid thirty-three? Thirty-two twice! Am I bid +thirty-three? Thirty-two three times! Seven fine cases of soap. Am I +bid anything more? Once, twice! Three times! Am I bid anything +more?”—his hand was up again—“and sold to Mr.—?” He leaned over and +looked curiously into the face of his young bidder. + +“Frank Cowperwood, son of the teller of the Third National Bank,” +replied the boy, decisively. + +“Oh, yes,” said the man, fixed by his glance. + +“Will you wait while I run up to the bank and get the money?” + +“Yes. Don’t be gone long. If you’re not here in an hour I’ll sell it +again.” + +Young Cowperwood made no reply. He hurried out and ran fast; first, to +his mother’s grocer, whose store was within a block of his home. + +Thirty feet from the door he slowed up, put on a nonchalant air, and +strolling in, looked about for Castile soap. There it was, the same +kind, displayed in a box and looking just as his soap looked. + +“How much is this a bar, Mr. Dalrymple?” he inquired. + +“Sixteen cents,” replied that worthy. + +“If I could sell you seven boxes for sixty-two dollars just like this, +would you take them?” + +“The same soap?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +Mr. Dalrymple calculated a moment. + +“Yes, I think I would,” he replied, cautiously. + +“Would you pay me to-day?” + +“I’d give you my note for it. Where is the soap?” + +He was perplexed and somewhat astonished by this unexpected proposition +on the part of his neighbor’s son. He knew Mr. Cowperwood well—and +Frank also. + +“Will you take it if I bring it to you to-day?” + +“Yes, I will,” he replied. “Are you going into the soap business?” + +“No. But I know where I can get some of that soap cheap.” + +He hurried out again and ran to his father’s bank. It was after banking +hours; but he knew how to get in, and he knew that his father would be +glad to see him make thirty dollars. He only wanted to borrow the money +for a day. + +“What’s the trouble, Frank?” asked his father, looking up from his desk +when he appeared, breathless and red faced. + +“I want you to loan me thirty-two dollars! Will you?” + +“Why, yes, I might. What do you want to do with it?” + +“I want to buy some soap—seven boxes of Castile soap. I know where I +can get it and sell it. Mr. Dalrymple will take it. He’s already +offered me sixty-two for it. I can get it for thirty-two. Will you let +me have the money? I’ve got to run back and pay the auctioneer.” + +His father smiled. This was the most business-like attitude he had seen +his son manifest. He was so keen, so alert for a boy of thirteen. + +“Why, Frank,” he said, going over to a drawer where some bills were, +“are you going to become a financier already? You’re sure you’re not +going to lose on this? You know what you’re doing, do you?” + +“You let me have the money, father, will you?” he pleaded. “I’ll show +you in a little bit. Just let me have it. You can trust me.” + +He was like a young hound on the scent of game. His father could not +resist his appeal. + +“Why, certainly, Frank,” he replied. “I’ll trust you.” And he counted +out six five-dollar certificates of the Third National’s own issue and +two ones. “There you are.” + +Frank ran out of the building with a briefly spoken thanks and returned +to the auction room as fast as his legs would carry him. When he came +in, sugar was being auctioned. He made his way to the auctioneer’s +clerk. + +“I want to pay for that soap,” he suggested. + +“Now?” + +“Yes. Will you give me a receipt?” + +“Yep.” + +“Do you deliver this?” + +“No. No delivery. You have to take it away in twenty-four hours.” + +That difficulty did not trouble him. + +“All right,” he said, and pocketed his paper testimony of purchase. + +The auctioneer watched him as he went out. In half an hour he was back +with a drayman—an idle levee-wharf hanger-on who was waiting for a job. + +Frank had bargained with him to deliver the soap for sixty cents. In +still another half-hour he was before the door of the astonished Mr. +Dalrymple whom he had come out and look at the boxes before attempting +to remove them. His plan was to have them carried on to his own home if +the operation for any reason failed to go through. Though it was his +first great venture, he was cool as glass. + +“Yes,” said Mr. Dalrymple, scratching his gray head reflectively. “Yes, +that’s the same soap. I’ll take it. I’ll be as good as my word. Where’d +you get it, Frank?” + +“At Bixom’s auction up here,” he replied, frankly and blandly. + +Mr. Dalrymple had the drayman bring in the soap; and after some +formality—because the agent in this case was a boy—made out his note at +thirty days and gave it to him. + +Frank thanked him and pocketed the note. He decided to go back to his +father’s bank and discount it, as he had seen others doing, thereby +paying his father back and getting his own profit in ready money. It +couldn’t be done ordinarily on any day after business hours; but his +father would make an exception in his case. + +He hurried back, whistling; and his father glanced up smiling when he +came in. + +“Well, Frank, how’d you make out?” he asked. + +“Here’s a note at thirty days,” he said, producing the paper Dalrymple +had given him. “Do you want to discount that for me? You can take your +thirty-two out of that.” + +His father examined it closely. “Sixty-two dollars!” he observed. “Mr. +Dalrymple! That’s good paper! Yes, I can. It will cost you ten per +cent.,” he added, jestingly. “Why don’t you just hold it, though? I’ll +let you have the thirty-two dollars until the end of the month.” + +“Oh, no,” said his son, “you discount it and take your money. I may +want mine.” + +His father smiled at his business-like air. “All right,” he said. “I’ll +fix it to-morrow. Tell me just how you did this.” And his son told him. + +At seven o’clock that evening Frank’s mother heard about it, and in due +time Uncle Seneca. + +“What’d I tell you, Cowperwood?” he asked. “He has stuff in him, that +youngster. Look out for him.” + +Mrs. Cowperwood looked at her boy curiously at dinner. Was this the son +she had nursed at her bosom not so very long before? Surely he was +developing rapidly. + +“Well, Frank, I hope you can do that often,” she said. + +“I hope so, too, ma,” was his rather noncommittal reply. + +Auction sales were not to be discovered every day, however, and his +home grocer was only open to one such transaction in a reasonable +period of time, but from the very first young Cowperwood knew how to +make money. He took subscriptions for a boys’ paper; handled the agency +for the sale of a new kind of ice-skate, and once organized a band of +neighborhood youths into a union for the purpose of purchasing their +summer straw hats at wholesale. It was not his idea that he could get +rich by saving. From the first he had the notion that liberal spending +was better, and that somehow he would get along. + +It was in this year, or a little earlier, that he began to take an +interest in girls. He had from the first a keen eye for the beautiful +among them; and, being good-looking and magnetic himself, it was not +difficult for him to attract the sympathetic interest of those in whom +he was interested. A twelve-year old girl, Patience Barlow, who lived +further up the street, was the first to attract his attention or be +attracted by him. Black hair and snapping black eyes were her portion, +with pretty pigtails down her back, and dainty feet and ankles to match +a dainty figure. She was a Quakeress, the daughter of Quaker parents, +wearing a demure little bonnet. Her disposition, however, was +vivacious, and she liked this self-reliant, self-sufficient, +straight-spoken boy. One day, after an exchange of glances from time to +time, he said, with a smile and the courage that was innate in him: +“You live up my way, don’t you?” + +“Yes,” she replied, a little flustered—this last manifested in a +nervous swinging of her school-bag—“I live at number one-forty-one.” + +“I know the house,” he said. “I’ve seen you go in there. You go to the +same school my sister does, don’t you? Aren’t you Patience Barlow?” He +had heard some of the boys speak her name. “Yes. How do you know?” + +“Oh, I’ve heard,” he smiled. “I’ve seen you. Do you like licorice?” + +He fished in his coat and pulled out some fresh sticks that were sold +at the time. + +“Thank you,” she said, sweetly, taking one. + +“It isn’t very good. I’ve been carrying it a long time. I had some +taffy the other day.” + +“Oh, it’s all right,” she replied, chewing the end of hers. + +“Don’t you know my sister, Anna Cowperwood?” he recurred, by way of +self-introduction. “She’s in a lower grade than you are, but I thought +maybe you might have seen her.” + +“I think I know who she is. I’ve seen her coming home from school.” + +“I live right over there,” he confided, pointing to his own home as he +drew near to it, as if she didn’t know. “I’ll see you around here now, +I guess.” + +“Do you know Ruth Merriam?” she asked, when he was about ready to turn +off into the cobblestone road to reach his own door. + +“No, why?” + +“She’s giving a party next Tuesday,” she volunteered, seemingly +pointlessly, but only seemingly. + +“Where does she live?” + +“There in twenty-eight.” + +“I’d like to go,” he affirmed, warmly, as he swung away from her. + +“Maybe she’ll ask you,” she called back, growing more courageous as the +distance between them widened. “I’ll ask her.” + +“Thanks,” he smiled. + +And she began to run gayly onward. + +He looked after her with a smiling face. She was very pretty. He felt a +keen desire to kiss her, and what might transpire at Ruth Merriam’s +party rose vividly before his eyes. + +This was just one of the early love affairs, or puppy loves, that held +his mind from time to time in the mixture of after events. Patience +Barlow was kissed by him in secret ways many times before he found +another girl. She and others of the street ran out to play in the snow +of a winter’s night, or lingered after dusk before her own door when +the days grew dark early. It was so easy to catch and kiss her then, +and to talk to her foolishly at parties. Then came Dora Fitler, when he +was sixteen years old and she was fourteen; and Marjorie Stafford, when +he was seventeen and she was fifteen. Dora Fitter was a brunette, and +Marjorie Stafford was as fair as the morning, with bright-red cheeks, +bluish-gray eyes, and flaxen hair, and as plump as a partridge. + +It was at seventeen that he decided to leave school. He had not +graduated. He had only finished the third year in high school; but he +had had enough. Ever since his thirteenth year his mind had been on +finance; that is, in the form in which he saw it manifested in Third +Street. There had been odd things which he had been able to do to earn +a little money now and then. His Uncle Seneca had allowed him to act as +assistant weigher at the sugar-docks in Southwark, where +three-hundred-pound bags were weighed into the government bonded +warehouses under the eyes of United States inspectors. In certain +emergencies he was called to assist his father, and was paid for it. He +even made an arrangement with Mr. Dalrymple to assist him on Saturdays; +but when his father became cashier of his bank, receiving an income of +four thousand dollars a year, shortly after Frank had reached his +fifteenth year, it was self-evident that Frank could no longer continue +in such lowly employment. + +Just at this time his Uncle Seneca, again back in Philadelphia and +stouter and more domineering than ever, said to him one day: + +“Now, Frank, if you’re ready for it, I think I know where there’s a +good opening for you. There won’t be any salary in it for the first +year, but if you mind your p’s and q’s, they’ll probably give you +something as a gift at the end of that time. Do you know of Henry +Waterman & Company down in Second Street?” + +“I’ve seen their place.” + +“Well, they tell me they might make a place for you as a bookkeeper. +They’re brokers in a way—grain and commission men. You say you want to +get in that line. When school’s out, you go down and see Mr. +Waterman—tell him I sent you, and he’ll make a place for you, I think. +Let me know how you come out.” + +Uncle Seneca was married now, having, because of his wealth, attracted +the attention of a poor but ambitious Philadelphia society matron; and +because of this the general connections of the Cowperwoods were +considered vastly improved. Henry Cowperwood was planning to move with +his family rather far out on North Front Street, which commanded at +that time a beautiful view of the river and was witnessing the +construction of some charming dwellings. His four thousand dollars a +year in these pre-Civil-War times was considerable. He was making what +he considered judicious and conservative investments and because of his +cautious, conservative, clock-like conduct it was thought he might +reasonably expect some day to be vice-president and possibly president, +of his bank. + +This offer of Uncle Seneca to get him in with Waterman & Company seemed +to Frank just the thing to start him off right. So he reported to that +organization at 74 South Second Street one day in June, and was +cordially received by Mr. Henry Waterman, Sr. There was, he soon +learned, a Henry Waterman, Jr., a young man of twenty-five, and a +George Waterman, a brother, aged fifty, who was the confidential inside +man. Henry Waterman, Sr., a man of fifty-five years of age, was the +general head of the organization, inside and out—traveling about the +nearby territory to see customers when that was necessary, coming into +final counsel in cases where his brother could not adjust matters, +suggesting and advising new ventures which his associates and hirelings +carried out. He was, to look at, a phlegmatic type of man—short, stout, +wrinkled about the eyes, rather protuberant as to stomach, red-necked, +red-faced, the least bit popeyed, but shrewd, kindly, good-natured, and +witty. He had, because of his naturally common-sense ideas and rather +pleasing disposition built up a sound and successful business here. He +was getting strong in years and would gladly have welcomed the hearty +cooperation of his son, if the latter had been entirely suited to the +business. + +He was not, however. Not as democratic, as quick-witted, or as pleased +with the work in hand as was his father, the business actually offended +him. And if the trade had been left to his care, it would have rapidly +disappeared. His father foresaw this, was grieved, and was hoping some +young man would eventually appear who would be interested in the +business, handle it in the same spirit in which it had been handled, +and who would not crowd his son out. + +Then came young Cowperwood, spoken of to him by Seneca Davis. He looked +him over critically. Yes, this boy might do, he thought. There was +something easy and sufficient about him. He did not appear to be in the +least flustered or disturbed. He knew how to keep books, he said, +though he knew nothing of the details of the grain and commission +business. It was interesting to him. He would like to try it. + +“I like that fellow,” Henry Waterman confided to his brother the moment +Frank had gone with instructions to report the following morning. +“There’s something to him. He’s the cleanest, briskest, most alive +thing that’s walked in here in many a day.” + +“Yes,” said George, a much leaner and slightly taller man, with dark, +blurry, reflective eyes and a thin, largely vanished growth of +brownish-black hair which contrasted strangely with the egg-shaped +whiteness of his bald head. “Yes, he’s a nice young man. It’s a wonder +his father don’t take him in his bank.” + +“Well, he may not be able to,” said his brother. “He’s only the cashier +there.” + +“That’s right.” + +“Well, we’ll give him a trial. I bet anything he makes good. He’s a +likely-looking youth.” + +Henry got up and walked out into the main entrance looking into Second +Street. The cool cobble pavements, shaded from the eastern sun by the +wall of buildings on the east—of which his was a part—the noisy trucks +and drays, the busy crowds hurrying to and fro, pleased him. He looked +at the buildings over the way—all three and four stories, and largely +of gray stone and crowded with life—and thanked his stars that he had +originally located in so prosperous a neighborhood. If he had only +brought more property at the time he bought this! + +“I wish that Cowperwood boy would turn out to be the kind of man I +want,” he observed to himself, meditatively. “He could save me a lot of +running these days.” + +Curiously, after only three or four minutes of conversation with the +boy, he sensed this marked quality of efficiency. Something told him he +would do well. + + + + +Chapter IV + + +The appearance of Frank Cowperwood at this time was, to say the least, +prepossessing and satisfactory. Nature had destined him to be about +five feet ten inches tall. His head was large, shapely, notably +commercial in aspect, thickly covered with crisp, dark-brown hair and +fixed on a pair of square shoulders and a stocky body. Already his eyes +had the look that subtle years of thought bring. They were inscrutable. +You could tell nothing by his eyes. He walked with a light, confident, +springy step. Life had given him no severe shocks nor rude awakenings. +He had not been compelled to suffer illness or pain or deprivation of +any kind. He saw people richer than himself, but he hoped to be rich. +His family was respected, his father well placed. He owed no man +anything. Once he had let a small note of his become overdue at the +bank, but his father raised such a row that he never forgot it. “I +would rather crawl on my hands and knees than let my paper go to +protest,” the old gentleman observed; and this fixed in his mind what +scarcely needed to be so sharply emphasized—the significance of credit. +No paper of his ever went to protest or became overdue after that +through any negligence of his. + +He turned out to be the most efficient clerk that the house of Waterman +& Co. had ever known. They put him on the books at first as assistant +bookkeeper, vice Mr. Thomas Trixler, dismissed, and in two weeks George +said: “Why don’t we make Cowperwood head bookkeeper? He knows more in a +minute than that fellow Sampson will ever know.” + +“All right, make the transfer, George, but don’t fuss so. He won’t be a +bookkeeper long, though. I want to see if he can’t handle some of these +transfers for me after a bit.” + +The books of Messrs. Waterman & Co., though fairly complicated, were +child’s play to Frank. He went through them with an ease and rapidity +which surprised his erstwhile superior, Mr. Sampson. + +“Why, that fellow,” Sampson told another clerk on the first day he had +seen Cowperwood work, “he’s too brisk. He’s going to make a bad break. +I know that kind. Wait a little bit until we get one of those rush +credit and transfer days.” But the bad break Mr. Sampson anticipated +did not materialize. In less than a week Cowperwood knew the financial +condition of the Messrs. Waterman as well as they did—better—to a +dollar. He knew how their accounts were distributed; from what section +they drew the most business; who sent poor produce and good—the varying +prices for a year told that. To satisfy himself he ran back over +certain accounts in the ledger, verifying his suspicions. Bookkeeping +did not interest him except as a record, a demonstration of a firm’s +life. He knew he would not do this long. Something else would happen; +but he saw instantly what the grain and commission business was—every +detail of it. He saw where, for want of greater activity in offering +the goods consigned—quicker communication with shippers and buyers, a +better working agreement with surrounding commission men—this house, +or, rather, its customers, for it had nothing, endured severe losses. A +man would ship a tow-boat or a car-load of fruit or vegetables against +a supposedly rising or stable market; but if ten other men did the same +thing at the same time, or other commission men were flooded with fruit +or vegetables, and there was no way of disposing of them within a +reasonable time, the price had to fall. Every day was bringing its +special consignments. It instantly occurred to him that he would be of +much more use to the house as an outside man disposing of heavy +shipments, but he hesitated to say anything so soon. More than likely, +things would adjust themselves shortly. + +The Watermans, Henry and George, were greatly pleased with the way he +handled their accounts. There was a sense of security in his very +presence. He soon began to call Brother George’s attention to the +condition of certain accounts, making suggestions as to their possible +liquidation or discontinuance, which pleased that individual greatly. +He saw a way of lightening his own labors through the intelligence of +this youth; while at the same time developing a sense of pleasant +companionship with him. + +Brother Henry was for trying him on the outside. It was not always +possible to fill the orders with the stock on hand, and somebody had to +go into the street or the Exchange to buy and usually he did this. One +morning, when way-bills indicated a probable glut of flour and a +shortage of grain—Frank saw it first—the elder Waterman called him into +his office and said: + +“Frank, I wish you would see what you can do with this condition that +confronts us on the street. By to-morrow we’re going to be overcrowded +with flour. We can’t be paying storage charges, and our orders won’t +eat it up. We’re short on grain. Maybe you could trade out the flour to +some of those brokers and get me enough grain to fill these orders.” + +“I’d like to try,” said his employee. + +He knew from his books where the various commission-houses were. He +knew what the local merchants’ exchange, and the various +commission-merchants who dealt in these things, had to offer. This was +the thing he liked to do—adjust a trade difficulty of this nature. It +was pleasant to be out in the air again, to be going from door to door. +He objected to desk work and pen work and poring over books. As he said +in later years, his brain was his office. He hurried to the principal +commission-merchants, learning what the state of the flour market was, +and offering his surplus at the very rate he would have expected to get +for it if there had been no prospective glut. Did they want to buy for +immediate delivery (forty-eight hours being immediate) six hundred +barrels of prime flour? He would offer it at nine dollars straight, in +the barrel. They did not. He offered it in fractions, and some agreed +to take one portion, and some another. In about an hour he was all +secure on this save one lot of two hundred barrels, which he decided to +offer in one lump to a famous operator named Genderman with whom his +firm did no business. The latter, a big man with curly gray hair, a +gnarled and yet pudgy face, and little eyes that peeked out shrewdly +through fat eyelids, looked at Cowperwood curiously when he came in. + +“What’s your name, young man?” he asked, leaning back in his wooden +chair. + +“Cowperwood.” + +“So you work for Waterman & Company? You want to make a record, no +doubt. That’s why you came to me?” + +Cowperwood merely smiled. + +“Well, I’ll take your flour. I need it. Bill it to me.” + +Cowperwood hurried out. He went direct to a firm of brokers in Walnut +Street, with whom his firm dealt, and had them bid in the grain he +needed at prevailing rates. Then he returned to the office. + +“Well,” said Henry Waterman, when he reported, “you did that quick. +Sold old Genderman two hundred barrels direct, did you? That’s doing +pretty well. He isn’t on our books, is he?” + +“No, sir.” + +“I thought not. Well, if you can do that sort of work on the street you +won’t be on the books long.” + +Thereafter, in the course of time, Frank became a familiar figure in +the commission district and on ’change (the Produce Exchange), striking +balances for his employer, picking up odd lots of things they needed, +soliciting new customers, breaking gluts by disposing of odd lots in +unexpected quarters. Indeed the Watermans were astonished at his +facility in this respect. He had an uncanny faculty for getting +appreciative hearings, making friends, being introduced into new +realms. New life began to flow through the old channels of the Waterman +company. Their customers were better satisfied. George was for sending +him out into the rural districts to drum up trade, and this was +eventually done. + +Near Christmas-time Henry said to George: “We’ll have to make +Cowperwood a liberal present. He hasn’t any salary. How would five +hundred dollars do?” + +“That’s pretty much, seeing the way times are, but I guess he’s worth +it. He’s certainly done everything we’ve expected, and more. He’s cut +out for this business.” + +“What does he say about it? Do you ever hear him say whether he’s +satisfied?” + +“Oh, he likes it pretty much, I guess. You see him as much as I do.” + +“Well, we’ll make it five hundred. That fellow wouldn’t make a bad +partner in this business some day. He has the real knack for it. You +see that he gets the five hundred dollars with a word from both of us.” + +So the night before Christmas, as Cowperwood was looking over some +way-bills and certificates of consignment preparatory to leaving all in +order for the intervening holiday, George Waterman came to his desk. + +“Hard at it,” he said, standing under the flaring gaslight and looking +at his brisk employee with great satisfaction. + +It was early evening, and the snow was making a speckled pattern +through the windows in front. + +“Just a few points before I wind up,” smiled Cowperwood. + +“My brother and I have been especially pleased with the way you have +handled the work here during the past six months. We wanted to make +some acknowledgment, and we thought about five hundred dollars would be +right. Beginning January first we’ll give you a regular salary of +thirty dollars a week.” + +“I’m certainly much obliged to you,” said Frank. “I didn’t expect that +much. It’s a good deal. I’ve learned considerable here that I’m glad to +know.” + +“Oh, don’t mention it. We know you’ve earned it. You can stay with us +as long as you like. We’re glad to have you with us.” + +Cowperwood smiled his hearty, genial smile. He was feeling very +comfortable under this evidence of approval. He looked bright and +cheery in his well-made clothes of English tweed. + +On the way home that evening he speculated as to the nature of this +business. He knew he wasn’t going to stay there long, even in spite of +this gift and promise of salary. They were grateful, of course; but why +shouldn’t they be? He was efficient, he knew that; under him things +moved smoothly. It never occurred to him that he belonged in the realm +of clerkdom. Those people were the kind of beings who ought to work for +him, and who would. There was nothing savage in his attitude, no rage +against fate, no dark fear of failure. These two men he worked for were +already nothing more than characters in his eyes—their business +significated itself. He could see their weaknesses and their +shortcomings as a much older man might have viewed a boy’s. + +After dinner that evening, before leaving to call on his girl, Marjorie +Stafford, he told his father of the gift of five hundred dollars and +the promised salary. + +“That’s splendid,” said the older man. “You’re doing better than I +thought. I suppose you’ll stay there.” + +“No, I won’t. I think I’ll quit sometime next year.” + +“Why?” + +“Well, it isn’t exactly what I want to do. It’s all right, but I’d +rather try my hand at brokerage, I think. That appeals to me.” + +“Don’t you think you are doing them an injustice not to tell them?” + +“Not at all. They need me.” All the while surveying himself in a +mirror, straightening his tie and adjusting his coat. + +“Have you told your mother?” + +“No. I’m going to do it now.” + +He went out into the dining-room, where his mother was, and slipping +his arms around her little body, said: “What do you think, Mammy?” + +“Well, what?” she asked, looking affectionately into his eyes. + +“I got five hundred dollars to-night, and I get thirty a week next +year. What do you want for Christmas?” + +“You don’t say! Isn’t that nice! Isn’t that fine! They must like you. +You’re getting to be quite a man, aren’t you?” + +“What do you want for Christmas?” + +“Nothing. I don’t want anything. I have my children.” + +He smiled. “All right. Then nothing it is.” + +But she knew he would buy her something. + +He went out, pausing at the door to grab playfully at his sister’s +waist, and saying that he’d be back about midnight, hurried to +Marjorie’s house, because he had promised to take her to a show. + +“Anything you want for Christmas this year, Margy?” he asked, after +kissing her in the dimly-lighted hall. “I got five hundred to-night.” + +She was an innocent little thing, only fifteen, no guile, no +shrewdness. + +“Oh, you needn’t get me anything.” + +“Needn’t I?” he asked, squeezing her waist and kissing her mouth again. + +It was fine to be getting on this way in the world and having such a +good time. + + + + +Chapter V + + +The following October, having passed his eighteenth year by nearly six +months, and feeling sure that he would never want anything to do with +the grain and commission business as conducted by the Waterman Company, +Cowperwood decided to sever his relations with them and enter the +employ of Tighe & Company, bankers and brokers. + +Cowperwood’s meeting with Tighe & Company had come about in the +ordinary pursuance of his duties as outside man for Waterman & Company. +From the first Mr. Tighe took a keen interest in this subtle young +emissary. + +“How’s business with you people?” he would ask, genially; or, “Find +that you’re getting many I.O.U.’s these days?” + +Because of the unsettled condition of the country, the over-inflation +of securities, the slavery agitation, and so forth, there were +prospects of hard times. And Tighe—he could not have told you why—was +convinced that this young man was worth talking to in regard to all +this. He was not really old enough to know, and yet he did know. + +“Oh, things are going pretty well with us, thank you, Mr. Tighe,” +Cowperwood would answer. + +“I tell you,” he said to Cowperwood one morning, “this slavery +agitation, if it doesn’t stop, is going to cause trouble.” + +A negro slave belonging to a visitor from Cuba had just been abducted +and set free, because the laws of Pennsylvania made freedom the right +of any negro brought into the state, even though in transit only to +another portion of the country, and there was great excitement because +of it. Several persons had been arrested, and the newspapers were +discussing it roundly. + +“I don’t think the South is going to stand for this thing. It’s making +trouble in our business, and it must be doing the same thing for +others. We’ll have secession here, sure as fate, one of these days.” He +talked with the vaguest suggestion of a brogue. + +“It’s coming, I think,” said Cowperwood, quietly. “It can’t be healed, +in my judgment. The negro isn’t worth all this excitement, but they’ll +go on agitating for him—emotional people always do this. They haven’t +anything else to do. It’s hurting our Southern trade.” + +“I thought so. That’s what people tell me.” + +He turned to a new customer as young Cowperwood went out, but again the +boy struck him as being inexpressibly sound and deep-thinking on +financial matters. “If that young fellow wanted a place, I’d give it to +him,” he thought. + +Finally, one day he said to him: “How would you like to try your hand +at being a floor man for me in ’change? I need a young man here. One of +my clerks is leaving.” + +“I’d like it,” replied Cowperwood, smiling and looking intensely +gratified. “I had thought of speaking to you myself some time.” + +“Well, if you’re ready and can make the change, the place is open. Come +any time you like.” + +“I’ll have to give a reasonable notice at the other place,” Cowperwood +said, quietly. “Would you mind waiting a week or two?” + +“Not at all. It isn’t as important as that. Come as soon as you can +straighten things out. I don’t want to inconvenience your employers.” + +It was only two weeks later that Frank took his departure from Waterman +& Company, interested and yet in no way flustered by his new prospects. +And great was the grief of Mr. George Waterman. As for Mr. Henry +Waterman, he was actually irritated by this defection. + +“Why, I thought,” he exclaimed, vigorously, when informed by Cowperwood +of his decision, “that you liked the business. Is it a matter of +salary?” + +“No, not at all, Mr. Waterman. It’s just that I want to get into the +straight-out brokerage business.” + +“Well, that certainly is too bad. I’m sorry. I don’t want to urge you +against your own best interests. You know what you are doing. But +George and I had about agreed to offer you an interest in this thing +after a bit. Now you’re picking up and leaving. Why, damn it, man, +there’s good money in this business.” + +“I know it,” smiled Cowperwood, “but I don’t like it. I have other +plans in view. I’ll never be a grain and commission man.” Mr. Henry +Waterman could scarcely understand why obvious success in this field +did not interest him. He feared the effect of his departure on the +business. + +And once the change was made Cowperwood was convinced that this new +work was more suited to him in every way—as easy and more profitable, +of course. In the first place, the firm of Tighe & Co., unlike that of +Waterman & Co., was located in a handsome green-gray stone building at +66 South Third Street, in what was then, and for a number of years +afterward, the heart of the financial district. Great institutions of +national and international import and repute were near at hand—Drexel & +Co., Edward Clark & Co., the Third National Bank, the First National +Bank, the Stock Exchange, and similar institutions. Almost a score of +smaller banks and brokerage firms were also in the vicinity. Edward +Tighe, the head and brains of this concern, was a Boston Irishman, the +son of an immigrant who had flourished and done well in that +conservative city. He had come to Philadelphia to interest himself in +the speculative life there. “Sure, it’s a right good place for those of +us who are awake,” he told his friends, with a slight Irish accent, and +he considered himself very much awake. He was a medium-tall man, not +very stout, slightly and prematurely gray, and with a manner which was +as lively and good-natured as it was combative and self-reliant. His +upper lip was ornamented by a short, gray mustache. + +“May heaven preserve me,” he said, not long after he came there, “these +Pennsylvanians never pay for anything they can issue bonds for.” It was +the period when Pennsylvania’s credit, and for that matter +Philadelphia’s, was very bad in spite of its great wealth. “If there’s +ever a war there’ll be battalions of Pennsylvanians marching around +offering notes for their meals. If I could just live long enough I +could get rich buyin’ up Pennsylvania notes and bonds. I think they’ll +pay some time; but, my God, they’re mortal slow! I’ll be dead before +the State government will ever catch up on the interest they owe me +now.” + +It was true. The condition of the finances of the state and city was +most reprehensible. Both State and city were rich enough; but there +were so many schemes for looting the treasury in both instances that +when any new work had to be undertaken bonds were necessarily issued to +raise the money. These bonds, or warrants, as they were called, pledged +interest at six per cent.; but when the interest fell due, instead of +paying it, the city or State treasurer, as the case might be, stamped +the same with the date of presentation, and the warrant then bore +interest for not only its original face value, but the amount then due +in interest. In other words, it was being slowly compounded. But this +did not help the man who wanted to raise money, for as security they +could not be hypothecated for more than seventy per cent. of their +market value, and they were not selling at par, but at ninety. A man +might buy or accept them in foreclosure, but he had a long wait. Also, +in the final payment of most of them favoritism ruled, for it was only +when the treasurer knew that certain warrants were in the hands of “a +friend” that he would advertise that such and such warrants—those +particular ones that he knew about—would be paid. + +What was more, the money system of the United States was only then +beginning slowly to emerge from something approximating chaos to +something more nearly approaching order. The United States Bank, of +which Nicholas Biddle was the progenitor, had gone completely in 1841, +and the United States Treasury with its subtreasury system had come in +1846; but still there were many, many wildcat banks, sufficient in +number to make the average exchange-counter broker a walking +encyclopedia of solvent and insolvent institutions. Still, things were +slowly improving, for the telegraph had facilitated stock-market +quotations, not only between New York, Boston, and Philadelphia, but +between a local broker’s office in Philadelphia and his stock exchange. +In other words, the short private wire had been introduced. +Communication was quicker and freer, and daily grew better. + +Railroads had been built to the South, East, North, and West. There was +as yet no stock-ticker and no telephone, and the clearing-house had +only recently been thought of in New York, and had not yet been +introduced in Philadelphia. Instead of a clearing-house service, +messengers ran daily between banks and brokerage firms, balancing +accounts on pass-books, exchanging bills, and, once a week, +transferring the gold coin, which was the only thing that could be +accepted for balances due, since there was no stable national currency. +“On ’change,” when the gong struck announcing the close of the day’s +business, a company of young men, known as “settlement clerks,” after a +system borrowed from London, gathered in the center of the room and +compared or gathered the various trades of the day in a ring, thus +eliminating all those sales and resales between certain firms which +naturally canceled each other. They carried long account books, and +called out the transactions—“Delaware and Maryland sold to Beaumont and +Company,” “Delware and Maryland sold to Tighe and Company,” and so on. +This simplified the bookkeeping of the various firms, and made for +quicker and more stirring commercial transactions. + +Seats “on ’change” sold for two thousand dollars each. The members of +the exchange had just passed rules limiting the trading to the hours +between ten and three (before this they had been any time between +morning and midnight), and had fixed the rates at which brokers could +do business, in the face of cut-throat schemes which had previously +held. Severe penalties were fixed for those who failed to obey. In +other words, things were shaping up for a great ’change business, and +Edward Tighe felt, with other brokers, that there was a great future +ahead. + + + + +Chapter VI + + +The Cowperwood family was by this time established in its new and +larger and more tastefully furnished house on North Front Street, +facing the river. The house was four stories tall and stood twenty-five +feet on the street front, without a yard. + +Here the family began to entertain in a small way, and there came to +see them, now and then, representatives of the various interests that +Henry Cowperwood had encountered in his upward climb to the position of +cashier. It was not a very distinguished company, but it included a +number of people who were about as successful as himself—heads of small +businesses who traded at his bank, dealers in dry-goods, leather, +groceries (wholesale), and grain. The children had come to have +intimacies of their own. Now and then, because of church connections, +Mrs. Cowperwood ventured to have an afternoon tea or reception, at +which even Cowperwood attempted the gallant in so far as to stand about +in a genially foolish way and greet those whom his wife had invited. +And so long as he could maintain his gravity very solemnly and greet +people without being required to say much, it was not too painful for +him. Singing was indulged in at times, a little dancing on occasion, +and there was considerably more “company to dinner,” informally, than +there had been previously. + +And here it was, during the first year of the new life in this house, +that Frank met a certain Mrs. Semple, who interested him greatly. Her +husband had a pretentious shoe store on Chestnut Street, near Third, +and was planning to open a second one farther out on the same street. + +The occasion of the meeting was an evening call on the part of the +Semples, Mr. Semple being desirous of talking with Henry Cowperwood +concerning a new transportation feature which was then entering the +world—namely, street-cars. A tentative line, incorporated by the North +Pennsylvania Railway Company, had been put into operation on a mile and +a half of tracks extending from Willow Street along Front to Germantown +Road, and thence by various streets to what was then known as the +Cohocksink Depot; and it was thought that in time this mode of +locomotion might drive out the hundreds of omnibuses which now crowded +and made impassable the downtown streets. Young Cowperwood had been +greatly interested from the start. Railway transportation, as a whole, +interested him, anyway, but this particular phase was most fascinating. +It was already creating widespread discussion, and he, with others, had +gone to see it. A strange but interesting new type of car, fourteen +feet long, seven feet wide, and nearly the same height, running on +small iron car-wheels, was giving great satisfaction as being quieter +and easier-riding than omnibuses; and Alfred Semple was privately +considering investing in another proposed line which, if it could +secure a franchise from the legislature, was to run on Fifth and Sixth +streets. + +Cowperwood, Senior, saw a great future for this thing; but he did not +see as yet how the capital was to be raised for it. Frank believed that +Tighe & Co. should attempt to become the selling agents of this new +stock of the Fifth and Sixth Street Company in the event it succeeded +in getting a franchise. He understood that a company was already +formed, that a large amount of stock was to be issued against the +prospective franchise, and that these shares were to be sold at five +dollars, as against an ultimate par value of one hundred. He wished he +had sufficient money to take a large block of them. + +Meanwhile, Lillian Semple caught and held his interest. Just what it +was about her that attracted him at this age it would be hard to say, +for she was really not suited to him emotionally, intellectually, or +otherwise. He was not without experience with women or girls, and still +held a tentative relationship with Marjorie Stafford; but Lillian +Semple, in spite of the fact that she was married and that he could +have legitimate interest in her, seemed not wiser and saner, but more +worth while. She was twenty-four as opposed to Frank’s nineteen, but +still young enough in her thoughts and looks to appear of his own age. +She was slightly taller than he—though he was now his full height (five +feet ten and one-half inches)—and, despite her height, shapely, +artistic in form and feature, and with a certain unconscious placidity +of soul, which came more from lack of understanding than from force of +character. Her hair was the color of a dried English walnut, rich and +plentiful, and her complexion waxen—cream wax—-with lips of faint pink, +and eyes that varied from gray to blue and from gray to brown, +according to the light in which you saw them. Her hands were thin and +shapely, her nose straight, her face artistically narrow. She was not +brilliant, not active, but rather peaceful and statuesque without +knowing it. Cowperwood was carried away by her appearance. Her beauty +measured up to his present sense of the artistic. She was lovely, he +thought—gracious, dignified. If he could have his choice of a wife, +this was the kind of a girl he would like to have. + +As yet, Cowperwood’s judgment of women was temperamental rather than +intellectual. Engrossed as he was by his desire for wealth, prestige, +dominance, he was confused, if not chastened by considerations relating +to position, presentability and the like. None the less, the homely +woman meant nothing to him. And the passionate woman meant much. He +heard family discussions of this and that sacrificial soul among women, +as well as among men—women who toiled and slaved for their husbands or +children, or both, who gave way to relatives or friends in crises or +crucial moments, because it was right and kind to do so—but somehow +these stories did not appeal to him. He preferred to think of +people—even women—as honestly, frankly self-interested. He could not +have told you why. People seemed foolish, or at the best very +unfortunate not to know what to do in all circumstances and how to +protect themselves. There was great talk concerning morality, much +praise of virtue and decency, and much lifting of hands in righteous +horror at people who broke or were even rumored to have broken the +Seventh Commandment. He did not take this talk seriously. Already he +had broken it secretly many times. Other young men did. Yet again, he +was a little sick of the women of the streets and the bagnio. There +were too many coarse, evil features in connection with such contacts. +For a little while, the false tinsel-glitter of the house of ill repute +appealed to him, for there was a certain force to its luxury—rich, as a +rule, with red-plush furniture, showy red hangings, some coarse but +showily-framed pictures, and, above all, the strong-bodied or +sensuously lymphatic women who dwelt there, to (as his mother phrased +it) prey on men. The strength of their bodies, the lust of their souls, +the fact that they could, with a show of affection or good-nature, +receive man after man, astonished and later disgusted him. After all, +they were not smart. There was no vivacity of thought there. All that +they could do, in the main, he fancied, was this one thing. He pictured +to himself the dreariness of the mornings after, the stale dregs of +things when only sleep and thought of gain could aid in the least; and +more than once, even at his age, he shook his head. He wanted contact +which was more intimate, subtle, individual, personal. + +So came Lillian Semple, who was nothing more to him than the shadow of +an ideal. Yet she cleared up certain of his ideas in regard to women. +She was not physically as vigorous or brutal as those other women whom +he had encountered in the lupanars, thus far—raw, unashamed +contraveners of accepted theories and notions—and for that very reason +he liked her. And his thoughts continued to dwell on her, +notwithstanding the hectic days which now passed like flashes of light +in his new business venture. For this stock exchange world in which he +now found himself, primitive as it would seem to-day, was most +fascinating to Cowperwood. The room that he went to in Third Street, at +Dock, where the brokers or their agents and clerks gathered one hundred +and fifty strong, was nothing to speak of artistically—a square chamber +sixty by sixty, reaching from the second floor to the roof of a +four-story building; but it was striking to him. The windows were high +and narrow; a large-faced clock faced the west entrance of the room +where you came in from the stairs; a collection of telegraph +instruments, with their accompanying desks and chairs, occupied the +northeast corner. On the floor, in the early days of the exchange, were +rows of chairs where the brokers sat while various lots of stocks were +offered to them. Later in the history of the exchange the chairs were +removed and at different points posts or floor-signs indicating where +certain stocks were traded in were introduced. Around these the men who +were interested gathered to do their trading. From a hall on the third +floor a door gave entrance to a visitor’s gallery, small and poorly +furnished; and on the west wall a large blackboard carried current +quotations in stocks as telegraphed from New York and Boston. A +wicket-like fence in the center of the room surrounded the desk and +chair of the official recorder; and a very small gallery opening from +the third floor on the west gave place for the secretary of the board, +when he had any special announcement to make. There was a room off the +southwest corner, where reports and annual compendiums of chairs were +removed and at different signs indicating where certain stocks of +various kinds were kept and were available for the use of members. + +Young Cowperwood would not have been admitted at all, as either a +broker or broker’s agent or assistant, except that Tighe, feeling that +he needed him and believing that he would be very useful, bought him a +seat on ’change—charging the two thousand dollars it cost as a debt and +then ostensibly taking him into partnership. It was against the rules +of the exchange to sham a partnership in this way in order to put a man +on the floor, but brokers did it. These men who were known to be minor +partners and floor assistants were derisively called “eighth chasers” +and “two-dollar brokers,” because they were always seeking small orders +and were willing to buy or sell for anybody on their commission, +accounting, of course, to their firms for their work. Cowperwood, +regardless of his intrinsic merits, was originally counted one of their +number, and he was put under the direction of Mr. Arthur Rivers, the +regular floor man of Tighe & Company. + +Rivers was an exceedingly forceful man of thirty-five, well-dressed, +well-formed, with a hard, smooth, evenly chiseled face, which was +ornamented by a short, black mustache and fine, black, clearly penciled +eyebrows. His hair came to an odd point at the middle of his forehead, +where he divided it, and his chin was faintly and attractively cleft. +He had a soft voice, a quiet, conservative manner, and both in and out +of this brokerage and trading world was controlled by good form. +Cowperwood wondered at first why Rivers should work for Tighe—he +appeared almost as able—but afterward learned that he was in the +company. Tighe was the organizer and general hand-shaker, Rivers the +floor and outside man. + +It was useless, as Frank soon found, to try to figure out exactly why +stocks rose and fell. Some general reasons there were, of course, as he +was told by Tighe, but they could not always be depended on. + +“Sure, anything can make or break a market”—Tighe explained in his +delicate brogue—“from the failure of a bank to the rumor that your +second cousin’s grandmother has a cold. It’s a most unusual world, +Cowperwood. No man can explain it. I’ve seen breaks in stocks that you +could never explain at all—no one could. It wouldn’t be possible to +find out why they broke. I’ve seen rises the same way. My God, the +rumors of the stock exchange! They beat the devil. If they’re going +down in ordinary times some one is unloading, or they’re rigging the +market. If they’re going up—God knows times must be good or somebody +must be buying—that’s sure. Beyond that—well, ask Rivers to show you +the ropes. Don’t you ever lose for me, though. That’s the cardinal sin +in this office.” He grinned maliciously, even if kindly, at that. + +Cowperwood understood—none better. This subtle world appealed to him. +It answered to his temperament. + +There were rumors, rumors, rumors—of great railway and street-car +undertakings, land developments, government revision of the tariff, war +between France and Turkey, famine in Russia or Ireland, and so on. The +first Atlantic cable had not been laid as yet, and news of any kind +from abroad was slow and meager. Still there were great financial +figures in the held, men who, like Cyrus Field, or William H. +Vanderbilt, or F. X. Drexel, were doing marvelous things, and their +activities and the rumors concerning them counted for much. + +Frank soon picked up all of the technicalities of the situation. A +“bull,” he learned, was one who bought in anticipation of a higher +price to come; and if he was “loaded up” with a “line” of stocks he was +said to be “long.” He sold to “realize” his profit, or if his margins +were exhausted he was “wiped out.” A “bear” was one who sold stocks +which most frequently he did not have, in anticipation of a lower +price, at which he could buy and satisfy his previous sales. He was +“short” when he had sold what he did not own, and he “covered” when he +bought to satisfy his sales and to realize his profits or to protect +himself against further loss in case prices advanced instead of +declining. He was in a “corner” when he found that he could not buy in +order to make good the stock he had borrowed for delivery and the +return of which had been demanded. He was then obliged to settle +practically at a price fixed by those to whom he and other “shorts” had +sold. + +He smiled at first at the air of great secrecy and wisdom on the part +of the younger men. They were so heartily and foolishly suspicious. The +older men, as a rule, were inscrutable. They pretended indifference, +uncertainty. They were like certain fish after a certain kind of bait, +however. Snap! and the opportunity was gone. Somebody else had picked +up what you wanted. All had their little note-books. All had their +peculiar squint of eye or position or motion which meant “Done! I take +you!” Sometimes they seemed scarcely to confirm their sales or +purchases—they knew each other so well—but they did. If the market was +for any reason active, the brokers and their agents were apt to be more +numerous than if it were dull and the trading indifferent. A gong +sounded the call to trading at ten o’clock, and if there was a +noticeable rise or decline in a stock or a group of stocks, you were +apt to witness quite a spirited scene. Fifty to a hundred men would +shout, gesticulate, shove here and there in an apparently aimless +manner; endeavoring to take advantage of the stock offered or called +for. + +“Five-eighths for five hundred P. and W.,” some one would call—Rivers +or Cowperwood, or any other broker. + +“Five hundred at three-fourths,” would come the reply from some one +else, who either had an order to sell the stock at that price or who +was willing to sell it short, hoping to pick up enough of the stock at +a lower figure later to fill his order and make a little something +besides. If the supply of stock at that figure was large Rivers would +probably continue to bid five-eighths. If, on the other hand, he +noticed an increasing demand, he would probably pay three-fourths for +it. If the professional traders believed Rivers had a large buying +order, they would probably try to buy the stock before he could at +three-fourths, believing they could sell it out to him at a slightly +higher price. The professional traders were, of course, keen students +of psychology; and their success depended on their ability to guess +whether or not a broker representing a big manipulator, like Tighe, had +an order large enough to affect the market sufficiently to give them an +opportunity to “get in and out,” as they termed it, at a profit before +he had completed the execution of his order. They were like hawks +watching for an opportunity to snatch their prey from under the very +claws of their opponents. + +Four, five, ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, and sometimes +the whole company would attempt to take advantage of the given rise of +a given stock by either selling or offering to buy, in which case the +activity and the noise would become deafening. Given groups might be +trading in different things; but the large majority of them would +abandon what they were doing in order to take advantage of a +speciality. The eagerness of certain young brokers or clerks to +discover all that was going on, and to take advantage of any given rise +or fall, made for quick physical action, darting to and fro, the +excited elevation of explanatory fingers. Distorted faces were shoved +over shoulders or under arms. The most ridiculous grimaces were +purposely or unconsciously indulged in. At times there were situations +in which some individual was fairly smothered with arms, faces, +shoulders, crowded toward him when he manifested any intention of +either buying or selling at a profitable rate. At first it seemed quite +a wonderful thing to young Cowperwood—the very physical face of it—for +he liked human presence and activity; but a little later the sense of +the thing as a picture or a dramatic situation, of which he was a part +faded, and he came down to a clearer sense of the intricacies of the +problem before him. Buying and selling stocks, as he soon learned, was +an art, a subtlety, almost a psychic emotion. Suspicion, intuition, +feeling—these were the things to be “long” on. + +Yet in time he also asked himself, who was it who made the real +money—the stock-brokers? Not at all. Some of them were making money, +but they were, as he quickly saw, like a lot of gulls or stormy +petrels, hanging on the lee of the wind, hungry and anxious to snap up +any unwary fish. Back of them were other men, men with shrewd ideas, +subtle resources. Men of immense means whose enterprise and holdings +these stocks represented, the men who schemed out and built the +railroads, opened the mines, organized trading enterprises, and built +up immense manufactories. They might use brokers or other agents to buy +and sell on ’change; but this buying and selling must be, and always +was, incidental to the actual fact—the mine, the railroad, the wheat +crop, the flour mill, and so on. Anything less than straight-out sales +to realize quickly on assets, or buying to hold as an investment, was +gambling pure and simple, and these men were gamblers. He was nothing +more than a gambler’s agent. It was not troubling him any just at this +moment, but it was not at all a mystery now, what he was. As in the +case of Waterman & Company, he sized up these men shrewdly, judging +some to be weak, some foolish, some clever, some slow, but in the main +all small-minded or deficient because they were agents, tools, or +gamblers. A man, a real man, must never be an agent, a tool, or a +gambler—acting for himself or for others—he must employ such. A real +man—a financier—was never a tool. He used tools. He created. He led. + +Clearly, very clearly, at nineteen, twenty, and twenty-one years of +age, he saw all this, but he was not quite ready yet to do anything +about it. He was certain, however, that his day would come. + + + + +Chapter VII + + +In the meantime, his interest in Mrs. Semple had been secretly and +strangely growing. When he received an invitation to call at the Semple +home, he accepted with a great deal of pleasure. Their house was +located not so very far from his own, on North Front Street, in the +neighborhood of what is now known as No. 956. It had, in summer, quite +a wealth of green leaves and vines. The little side porch which +ornamented its south wall commanded a charming view of the river, and +all the windows and doors were topped with lunettes of small-paned +glass. The interior of the house was not as pleasing as he would have +had it. Artistic impressiveness, as to the furniture at least, was +wanting, although it was new and good. The pictures were—well, simply +pictures. There were no books to speak of—the Bible, a few current +novels, some of the more significant histories, and a collection of +antiquated odds and ends in the shape of books inherited from +relatives. The china was good—of a delicate pattern. The carpets and +wall-paper were too high in key. So it went. Still, the personality of +Lillian Semple was worth something, for she was really pleasing to look +upon, making a picture wherever she stood or sat. + +There were no children—a dispensation of sex conditions which had +nothing to do with her, for she longed to have them. She was without +any notable experience in social life, except such as had come to the +Wiggin family, of which she was a member—relatives and a few +neighborhood friends visiting. Lillian Wiggin, that was her maiden +name—had two brothers and one sister, all living in Philadelphia and +all married at this time. They thought she had done very well in her +marriage. + +It could not be said that she had wildly loved Mr. Semple at any time. +Although she had cheerfully married him, he was not the kind of man who +could arouse a notable passion in any woman. He was practical, +methodic, orderly. His shoe store was a good one—well-stocked with +styles reflecting the current tastes and a model of cleanliness and +what one might term pleasing brightness. He loved to talk, when he +talked at all, of shoe manufacturing, the development of lasts and +styles. The ready-made shoe—machine-made to a certain extent—was just +coming into its own slowly, and outside of these, supplies of which he +kept, he employed bench-making shoemakers, satisfying his customers +with personal measurements and making the shoes to order. + +Mrs. Semple read a little—not much. She had a habit of sitting and +apparently brooding reflectively at times, but it was not based on any +deep thought. She had that curious beauty of body, though, that made +her somewhat like a figure on an antique vase, or out of a Greek +chorus. It was in this light, unquestionably, that Cowperwood saw her, +for from the beginning he could not keep his eyes off her. In a way, +she was aware of this but she did not attach any significance to it. +Thoroughly conventional, satisfied now that her life was bound +permanently with that of her husband, she had settled down to a staid +and quiet existence. + +At first, when Frank called, she did not have much to say. She was +gracious, but the burden of conversation fell on her husband. +Cowperwood watched the varying expression of her face from time to +time, and if she had been at all psychic she must have felt something. +Fortunately she was not. Semple talked to him pleasantly, because in +the first place Frank was becoming financially significant, was suave +and ingratiating, and in the next place he was anxious to get richer +and somehow Frank represented progress to him in that line. One spring +evening they sat on the porch and talked—nothing very +important—slavery, street-cars, the panic—it was on then, that of +1857—the development of the West. Mr. Semple wanted to know all about +the stock exchange. In return Frank asked about the shoe business, +though he really did not care. All the while, inoffensively, he watched +Mrs. Semple. Her manner, he thought, was soothing, attractive, +delightful. She served tea and cake for them. They went inside after a +time to avoid the mosquitoes. She played the piano. At ten o’clock he +left. + +Thereafter, for a year or so, Cowperwood bought his shoes of Mr. +Semple. Occasionally also he stopped in the Chestnut Street store to +exchange the time of the day. Semple asked his opinion as to the +advisability of buying some shares in the Fifth and Sixth Street line, +which, having secured a franchise, was creating great excitement. +Cowperwood gave him his best judgment. It was sure to be profitable. He +himself had purchased one hundred shares at five dollars a share, and +urged Semple to do so. But he was not interested in him personally. He +liked Mrs. Semple, though he did not see her very often. + +About a year later, Mr. Semple died. It was an untimely death, one of +those fortuitous and in a way insignificant episodes which are, +nevertheless, dramatic in a dull way to those most concerned. He was +seized with a cold in the chest late in the fall—one of those seizures +ordinarily attributed to wet feet or to going out on a damp day without +an overcoat—and had insisted on going to business when Mrs. Semple +urged him to stay at home and recuperate. He was in his way a very +determined person, not obstreperously so, but quietly and under the +surface. Business was a great urge. He saw himself soon to be worth +about fifty thousand dollars. Then this cold—nine more days of +pneumonia—and he was dead. The shoe store was closed for a few days; +the house was full of sympathetic friends and church people. There was +a funeral, with burial service in the Callowhill Presbyterian Church, +to which they belonged, and then he was buried. Mrs. Semple cried +bitterly. The shock of death affected her greatly and left her for a +time in a depressed state. A brother of hers, David Wiggin, undertook +for the time being to run the shoe business for her. There was no will, +but in the final adjustment, which included the sale of the shoe +business, there being no desire on anybody’s part to contest her right +to all the property, she received over eighteen thousand dollars. She +continued to reside in the Front Street house, and was considered a +charming and interesting widow. + +Throughout this procedure young Cowperwood, only twenty years of age, +was quietly manifest. He called during the illness. He attended the +funeral. He helped her brother, David Wiggin, dispose of the shoe +business. He called once or twice after the funeral, then stayed away +for a considerable time. In five months he reappeared, and thereafter +he was a caller at stated intervals—periods of a week or ten days. + +Again, it would be hard to say what he saw in Semple. Her prettiness, +wax-like in its quality, fascinated him; her indifference aroused +perhaps his combative soul. He could not have explained why, but he +wanted her in an urgent, passionate way. He could not think of her +reasonably, and he did not talk of her much to any one. His family knew +that he went to see her, but there had grown up in the Cowperwood +family a deep respect for the mental force of Frank. He was genial, +cheerful, gay at most times, without being talkative, and he was +decidedly successful. Everybody knew he was making money now. His +salary was fifty dollars a week, and he was certain soon to get more. +Some lots of his in West Philadelphia, bought three years before, had +increased notably in value. His street-car holdings, augmented by still +additional lots of fifty and one hundred and one hundred and fifty +shares in new lines incorporated, were slowly rising, in spite of hard +times, from the initiative five dollars in each case to ten, fifteen, +and twenty-five dollars a share—all destined to go to par. He was liked +in the financial district and he was sure that he had a successful +future. Because of his analysis of the brokerage situation he had come +to the conclusion that he did not want to be a stock gambler. Instead, +he was considering the matter of engaging in bill-brokering, a business +which he had observed to be very profitable and which involved no risk +as long as one had capital. Through his work and his father’s +connections he had met many people—merchants, bankers, traders. He +could get their business, or a part of it, he knew. People in Drexel & +Co. and Clark & Co. were friendly to him. Jay Cooke, a rising banking +personality, was a personal friend of his. + +Meanwhile he called on Mrs. Semple, and the more he called the better +he liked her. There was no exchange of brilliant ideas between them; +but he had a way of being comforting and social when he wished. He +advised her about her business affairs in so intelligent a way that +even her relatives approved of it. She came to like him, because he was +so considerate, quiet, reassuring, and so ready to explain over and +over until everything was quite plain to her. She could see that he was +looking on her affairs quite as if they were his own, trying to make +them safe and secure. + +“You’re so very kind, Frank,” she said to him, one night. “I’m awfully +grateful. I don’t know what I would have done if it hadn’t been for +you.” + +She looked at his handsome face, which was turned to hers, with +child-like simplicity. + +“Not at all. Not at all. I want to do it. I wouldn’t have been happy if +I couldn’t.” + +His eyes had a peculiar, subtle ray in them—not a gleam. She felt warm +toward him, sympathetic, quite satisfied that she could lean on him. + +“Well, I am very grateful just the same. You’ve been so good. Come out +Sunday again, if you want to, or any evening. I’ll be home.” + +It was while he was calling on her in this way that his Uncle Seneca +died in Cuba and left him fifteen thousand dollars. This money made him +worth nearly twenty-five thousand dollars in his own right, and he knew +exactly what to do with it. A panic had come since Mr. Semple had died, +which had illustrated to him very clearly what an uncertain thing the +brokerage business was. There was really a severe business depression. +Money was so scarce that it could fairly be said not to exist at all. +Capital, frightened by uncertain trade and money conditions, +everywhere, retired to its hiding-places in banks, vaults, tea-kettles, +and stockings. The country seemed to be going to the dogs. War with the +South or secession was vaguely looming up in the distance. The temper +of the whole nation was nervous. People dumped their holdings on the +market in order to get money. Tighe discharged three of his clerks. He +cut down his expenses in every possible way, and used up all his +private savings to protect his private holdings. He mortgaged his +house, his land holdings—everything; and in many instances young +Cowperwood was his intermediary, carrying blocks of shares to different +banks to get what he could on them. + +“See if your father’s bank won’t loan me fifteen thousand on these,” he +said to Frank, one day, producing a bundle of Philadelphia & Wilmington +shares. Frank had heard his father speak of them in times past as +excellent. + +“They ought to be good,” the elder Cowperwood said, dubiously, when +shown the package of securities. “At any other time they would be. But +money is so tight. We find it awfully hard these days to meet our own +obligations. I’ll talk to Mr. Kugel.” Mr. Kugel was the president. + +There was a long conversation—a long wait. His father came back to say +it was doubtful whether they could make the loan. Eight per cent., then +being secured for money, was a small rate of interest, considering its +need. For ten per cent. Mr. Kugel might make a call-loan. Frank went +back to his employer, whose commercial choler rose at the report. + +“For Heaven’s sake, is there no money at all in the town?” he demanded, +contentiously. “Why, the interest they want is ruinous! I can’t stand +that. Well, take ’em back and bring me the money. Good God, this’ll +never do at all, at all!” + +Frank went back. “He’ll pay ten per cent.,” he said, quietly. + +Tighe was credited with a deposit of fifteen thousand dollars, with +privilege to draw against it at once. He made out a check for the total +fifteen thousand at once to the Girard National Bank to cover a +shrinkage there. So it went. + +During all these days young Cowperwood was following these financial +complications with interest. He was not disturbed by the cause of +slavery, or the talk of secession, or the general progress or decline +of the country, except in so far as it affected his immediate +interests. He longed to become a stable financier; but, now that he saw +the inside of the brokerage business, he was not so sure that he wanted +to stay in it. Gambling in stocks, according to conditions produced by +this panic, seemed very hazardous. A number of brokers failed. He saw +them rush in to Tighe with anguished faces and ask that certain trades +be canceled. Their very homes were in danger, they said. They would be +wiped out, their wives and children put out on the street. + +This panic, incidentally, only made Frank more certain as to what he +really wanted to do—now that he had this free money, he would go into +business for himself. Even Tighe’s offer of a minor partnership failed +to tempt him. + +“I think you have a nice business,” he explained, in refusing, “but I +want to get in the note-brokerage business for myself. I don’t trust +this stock game. I’d rather have a little business of my own than all +the floor work in this world.” + +“But you’re pretty young, Frank,” argued his employer. “You have lots +of time to work for yourself.” In the end he parted friends with both +Tighe and Rivers. “That’s a smart young fellow,” observed Tighe, +ruefully. + +“He’ll make his mark,” rejoined Rivers. “He’s the shrewdest boy of his +age I ever saw.” + + + + +Chapter VIII + + +Cowperwood’s world at this time was of roseate hue. He was in love and +had money of his own to start his new business venture. He could take +his street-car stocks, which were steadily increasing in value, and +raise seventy per cent. of their market value. He could put a mortgage +on his lots and get money there, if necessary. He had established +financial relations with the Girard National Bank—President Davison +there having taken a fancy to him—and he proposed to borrow from that +institution some day. All he wanted was suitable investments—things in +which he could realize surely, quickly. He saw fine prospective profits +in the street-car lines, which were rapidly developing into local +ramifications. + +He purchased a horse and buggy about this time—the most +attractive-looking animal and vehicle he could find—the combination +cost him five hundred dollars—and invited Mrs. Semple to drive with +him. She refused at first, but later consented. He had told her of his +success, his prospects, his windfall of fifteen thousand dollars, his +intention of going into the note-brokerage business. She knew his +father was likely to succeed to the position of vice-president in the +Third National Bank, and she liked the Cowperwoods. Now she began to +realize that there was something more than mere friendship here. This +erstwhile boy was a man, and he was calling on her. It was almost +ridiculous in the face of things—her seniority, her widowhood, her +placid, retiring disposition—but the sheer, quiet, determined force of +this young man made it plain that he was not to be balked by her sense +of convention. + +Cowperwood did not delude himself with any noble theories of conduct in +regard to her. She was beautiful, with a mental and physical lure for +him that was irresistible, and that was all he desired to know. No +other woman was holding him like that. It never occurred to him that he +could not or should not like other women at the same time. There was a +great deal of palaver about the sanctity of the home. It rolled off his +mental sphere like water off the feathers of a duck. He was not eager +for her money, though he was well aware of it. He felt that he could +use it to her advantage. He wanted her physically. He felt a keen, +primitive interest in the children they would have. He wanted to find +out if he could make her love him vigorously and could rout out the +memory of her former life. Strange ambition. Strange perversion, one +might almost say. + +In spite of her fears and her uncertainty, Lillian Semple accepted his +attentions and interest because, equally in spite of herself, she was +drawn to him. One night, when she was going to bed, she stopped in +front of her dressing table and looked at her face and her bare neck +and arms. They were very pretty. A subtle something came over her as +she surveyed her long, peculiarly shaded hair. She thought of young +Cowperwood, and then was chilled and shamed by the vision of the late +Mr. Semple and the force and quality of public opinion. + +“Why do you come to see me so often?” she asked him when he called the +following evening. + +“Oh, don’t you know?” he replied, looking at her in an interpretive +way. + +“No.” + +“Sure you don’t?” + +“Well, I know you liked Mr. Semple, and I always thought you liked me +as his wife. He’s gone, though, now.” + +“And you’re here,” he replied. + +“And I’m here?” + +“Yes. I like you. I like to be with you. Don’t you like me that way?” + +“Why, I’ve never thought of it. You’re so much younger. I’m five years +older than you are.” + +“In years,” he said, “certainly. That’s nothing. I’m fifteen years +older than you are in other ways. I know more about life in some ways +than you can ever hope to learn—don’t you think so?” he added, softly, +persuasively. + +“Well, that’s true. But I know a lot of things you don’t know.” She +laughed softly, showing her pretty teeth. + +It was evening. They were on the side porch. The river was before them. + +“Yes, but that’s only because you’re a woman. A man can’t hope to get a +woman’s point of view exactly. But I’m talking about practical affairs +of this world. You’re not as old that way as I am.” + +“Well, what of it?” + +“Nothing. You asked why I came to see you. That’s why. Partly.” + +He relapsed into silence and stared at the water. + +She looked at him. His handsome body, slowly broadening, was nearly +full grown. His face, because of its full, clear, big, inscrutable +eyes, had an expression which was almost babyish. She could not have +guessed the depths it veiled. His cheeks were pink, his hands not +large, but sinewy and strong. Her pale, uncertain, lymphatic body +extracted a form of dynamic energy from him even at this range. + +“I don’t think you ought to come to see me so often. People won’t think +well of it.” She ventured to take a distant, matronly air—the air she +had originally held toward him. + +“People,” he said, “don’t worry about people. People think what you +want them to think. I wish you wouldn’t take that distant air toward +me.” + +“Why?” + +“Because I like you.” + +“But you mustn’t like me. It’s wrong. I can’t ever marry you. You’re +too young. I’m too old.” + +“Don’t say that!” he said, imperiously. “There’s nothing to it. I want +you to marry me. You know I do. Now, when will it be?” + +“Why, how silly! I never heard of such a thing!” she exclaimed. “It +will never be, Frank. It can’t be!” + +“Why can’t it?” he asked. + +“Because—well, because I’m older. People would think it strange. I’m +not long enough free.” + +“Oh, long enough nothing!” he exclaimed, irritably. “That’s the one +thing I have against you—you are so worried about what people think. +They don’t make your life. They certainly don’t make mine. Think of +yourself first. You have your own life to make. Are you going to let +what other people think stand in the way of what you want to do?” + +“But I don’t want to,” she smiled. + +He arose and came over to her, looking into her eyes. + +“Well?” she asked, nervously, quizzically. + +He merely looked at her. + +“Well?” she queried, more flustered. + +He stooped down to take her arms, but she got up. + +“Now you must not come near me,” she pleaded, determinedly. “I’ll go in +the house, and I’ll not let you come any more. It’s terrible! You’re +silly! You mustn’t interest yourself in me.” + +She did show a good deal of determination, and he desisted. But for the +time being only. He called again and again. Then one night, when they +had gone inside because of the mosquitoes, and when she had insisted +that he must stop coming to see her, that his attentions were +noticeable to others, and that she would be disgraced, he caught her, +under desperate protest, in his arms. + +“Now, see here!” she exclaimed. “I told you! It’s silly! You mustn’t +kiss me! How dare you! Oh! oh! oh!—” + +She broke away and ran up the near-by stairway to her room. Cowperwood +followed her swiftly. As she pushed the door to he forced it open and +recaptured her. He lifted her bodily from her feet and held her +crosswise, lying in his arms. + +“Oh, how could you!” she exclaimed. “I will never speak to you any +more. I will never let you come here any more if you don’t put me down +this minute. Put me down!” + +“I’ll put you down, sweet,” he said. “I’ll take you down,” at the same +time pulling her face to him and kissing her. He was very much aroused, +excited. + +While she was twisting and protesting, he carried her down the stairs +again into the living-room, and seated himself in the great armchair, +still holding her tight in his arms. + +“Oh!” she sighed, falling limp on his shoulder when he refused to let +her go. Then, because of the set determination of his face, some +intense pull in him, she smiled. “How would I ever explain if I did +marry you?” she asked, weakly. “Your father! Your mother!” + +“You don’t need to explain. I’ll do that. And you needn’t worry about +my family. They won’t care.” + +“But mine,” she recoiled. + +“Don’t worry about yours. I’m not marrying your family. I’m marrying +you. We have independent means.” + +She relapsed into additional protests; but he kissed her the more. +There was a deadly persuasion to his caresses. Mr. Semple had never +displayed any such fire. He aroused a force of feeling in her which had +not previously been there. She was afraid of it and ashamed. + +“Will you marry me in a month?” he asked, cheerfully, when she paused. + +“You know I won’t!” she exclaimed, nervously. “The idea! Why do you +ask?” + +“What difference does it make? We’re going to get married eventually.” +He was thinking how attractive he could make her look in other +surroundings. Neither she nor his family knew how to live. + +“Well, not in a month. Wait a little while. I will marry you after a +while—after you see whether you want me.” + +He caught her tight. “I’ll show you,” he said. + +“Please stop. You hurt me.” + +“How about it? Two months?” + +“Certainly not.” + +“Three?” + +“Well, maybe.” + +“No maybe in that case. We marry.” + +“But you’re only a boy.” + +“Don’t worry about me. You’ll find out how much of a boy I am.” + +He seemed of a sudden to open up a new world to her, and she realized +that she had never really lived before. This man represented something +bigger and stronger than ever her husband had dreamed of. In his young +way he was terrible, irresistible. + +“Well, in three months then,” she whispered, while he rocked her cozily +in his arms. + + + + +Chapter IX + + +Cowperwood started in the note brokerage business with a small office +at No. 64 South Third Street, where he very soon had the pleasure of +discovering that his former excellent business connections remembered +him. He would go to one house, where he suspected ready money might be +desirable, and offer to negotiate their notes or any paper they might +issue bearing six per cent. interest for a commission and then he would +sell the paper for a small commission to some one who would welcome a +secure investment. Sometimes his father, sometimes other people, helped +him with suggestions as to when and how. Between the two ends he might +make four and five per cent. on the total transaction. In the first +year he cleared six thousand dollars over and above all expenses. That +wasn’t much, but he was augmenting it in another way which he believed +would bring great profit in the future. + +Before the first street-car line, which was a shambling affair, had +been laid on Front Street, the streets of Philadelphia had been crowded +with hundreds of springless omnibuses rattling over rough, hard, +cobblestones. Now, thanks to the idea of John Stephenson, in New York, +the double rail track idea had come, and besides the line on Fifth and +Sixth Streets (the cars running out one street and back on another) +which had paid splendidly from the start, there were many other lines +proposed or under way. The city was as eager to see street-cars replace +omnibuses as it was to see railroads replace canals. There was +opposition, of course. There always is in such cases. The cry of +probable monopoly was raised. Disgruntled and defeated omnibus owners +and drivers groaned aloud. + +Cowperwood had implicit faith in the future of the street railway. In +support of this belief he risked all he could spare on new issues of +stock shares in new companies. He wanted to be on the inside wherever +possible, always, though this was a little difficult in the matter of +the street-railways, he having been so young when they started and not +having yet arranged his financial connections to make them count for +much. The Fifth and Sixth Street line, which had been but recently +started, was paying six hundred dollars a day. A project for a West +Philadelphia line (Walnut and Chestnut) was on foot, as were lines to +occupy Second and Third Streets, Race and Vine, Spruce and Pine, Green +and Coates, Tenth and Eleventh, and so forth. They were engineered and +backed by some powerful capitalists who had influence with the State +legislature and could, in spite of great public protest, obtain +franchises. Charges of corruption were in the air. It was argued that +the streets were valuable, and that the companies should pay a road tax +of a thousand dollars a mile. Somehow, however, these splendid grants +were gotten through, and the public, hearing of the Fifth and Sixth +Street line profits, was eager to invest. Cowperwood was one of these, +and when the Second and Third Street line was engineered, he invested +in that and in the Walnut and Chestnut Street line also. He began to +have vague dreams of controlling a line himself some day, but as yet he +did not see exactly how it was to be done, since his business was far +from being a bonanza. + +In the midst of this early work he married Mrs. Semple. There was no +vast to-do about it, as he did not want any and his bride-to-be was +nervous, fearsome of public opinion. His family did not entirely +approve. She was too old, his mother and father thought, and then +Frank, with his prospects, could have done much better. His sister Anna +fancied that Mrs. Semple was designing, which was, of course, not true. +His brothers, Joseph and Edward, were interested, but not certain as to +what they actually thought, since Mrs. Semple was good-looking and had +some money. + +It was a warm October day when he and Lillian went to the altar, in the +First Presbyterian Church of Callowhill Street. His bride, Frank was +satisfied, looked exquisite in a trailing gown of cream lace—a creation +that had cost months of labor. His parents, Mrs. Seneca Davis, the +Wiggin family, brothers and sisters, and some friends were present. He +was a little opposed to this idea, but Lillian wanted it. He stood up +straight and correct in black broadcloth for the wedding +ceremony—because she wished it, but later changed to a smart business +suit for traveling. He had arranged his affairs for a two weeks’ trip +to New York and Boston. They took an afternoon train for New York, +which required five hours to reach. When they were finally alone in the +Astor House, New York, after hours of make-believe and public pretense +of indifference, he gathered her in his arms. + +“Oh, it’s delicious,” he exclaimed, “to have you all to myself.” + +She met his eagerness with that smiling, tantalizing passivity which he +had so much admired but which this time was tinged strongly with a +communicated desire. He thought he should never have enough of her, her +beautiful face, her lovely arms, her smooth, lymphatic body. They were +like two children, billing and cooing, driving, dining, seeing the +sights. He was curious to visit the financial sections of both cities. +New York and Boston appealed to him as commercially solid. He wondered, +as he observed the former, whether he should ever leave Philadelphia. +He was going to be very happy there now, he thought, with Lillian and +possibly a brood of young Cowperwoods. He was going to work hard and +make money. With his means and hers now at his command, he might +become, very readily, notably wealthy. + + + + +Chapter X + + +The home atmosphere which they established when they returned from +their honeymoon was a great improvement in taste over that which had +characterized the earlier life of Mrs. Cowperwood as Mrs. Semple. They +had decided to occupy her house, on North Front Street, for a while at +least. Cowperwood, aggressive in his current artistic mood, had +objected at once after they were engaged to the spirit of the furniture +and decorations, or lack of them, and had suggested that he be allowed +to have it brought more in keeping with his idea of what was +appropriate. During the years in which he had been growing into manhood +he had come instinctively into sound notions of what was artistic and +refined. He had seen so many homes that were more distinguished and +harmonious than his own. One could not walk or drive about Philadelphia +without seeing and being impressed with the general tendency toward a +more cultivated and selective social life. Many excellent and expensive +houses were being erected. The front lawn, with some attempt at floral +gardening, was achieving local popularity. In the homes of the Tighes, +the Leighs, Arthur Rivers, and others, he had noticed art objects of +some distinction—bronzes, marbles, hangings, pictures, clocks, rugs. + +It seemed to him now that his comparatively commonplace house could be +made into something charming and for comparatively little money. The +dining-room for instance which, through two plain windows set in a hat +side wall back of the veranda, looked south over a stretch of grass and +several trees and bushes to a dividing fence where the Semple property +ended and a neighbor’s began, could be made so much more attractive. +That fence—sharp-pointed, gray palings—could be torn away and a hedge +put in its place. The wall which divided the dining-room from the +parlor could be knocked through and a hanging of some pleasing +character put in its place. A bay-window could be built to replace the +two present oblong windows—a bay which would come down to the floor and +open out on the lawn via swiveled, diamond-shaped, lead-paned frames. +All this shabby, nondescript furniture, collected from heaven knows +where—partly inherited from the Semples and the Wiggins and partly +bought—could be thrown out or sold and something better and more +harmonious introduced. He knew a young man by the name of Ellsworth, an +architect newly graduated from a local school, with whom he had struck +up an interesting friendship—one of those inexplicable inclinations of +temperament. Wilton Ellsworth was an artist in spirit, quiet, +meditative, refined. From discussing the quality of a certain building +on Chestnut Street which was then being erected, and which Ellsworth +pronounced atrocious, they had fallen to discussing art in general, or +the lack of it, in America. And it occurred to him that Ellsworth was +the man to carry out his decorative views to a nicety. When he +suggested the young man to Lillian, she placidly agreed with him and +also with his own ideas of how the house could be revised. + +So while they were gone on their honeymoon Ellsworth began the revision +on an estimated cost of three thousand dollars, including the +furniture. It was not completed for nearly three weeks after their +return; but when finished made a comparatively new house. The +dining-room bay hung low over the grass, as Frank wished, and the +windows were diamond-paned and leaded, swiveled on brass rods. The +parlor and dining-room were separated by sliding doors; but the +intention was to hang in this opening a silk hanging depicting a +wedding scene in Normandy. Old English oak was used in the dining-room, +an American imitation of Chippendale and Sheraton for the sitting-room +and the bedrooms. There were a few simple water-colors hung here and +there, some bronzes of Hosmer and Powers, a marble venus by Potter, a +now forgotten sculptor, and other objects of art—nothing of any +distinction. Pleasing, appropriately colored rugs covered the floor. +Mrs. Cowperwood was shocked by the nudity of the Venus which conveyed +an atmosphere of European freedom not common to America; but she said +nothing. It was all harmonious and soothing, and she did not feel +herself capable to judge. Frank knew about these things so much better +than she did. Then with a maid and a man of all work installed, a +program of entertaining was begun on a small scale. + +Those who recall the early years of their married life can best realize +the subtle changes which this new condition brought to Frank, for, like +all who accept the hymeneal yoke, he was influenced to a certain extent +by the things with which he surrounded himself. Primarily, from certain +traits of his character, one would have imagined him called to be a +citizen of eminent respectability and worth. He appeared to be an ideal +home man. He delighted to return to his wife in the evenings, leaving +the crowded downtown section where traffic clamored and men hurried. +Here he could feel that he was well-stationed and physically happy in +life. The thought of the dinner-table with candles upon it (his idea); +the thought of Lillian in a trailing gown of pale-blue or green silk—he +liked her in those colors; the thought of a large fireplace flaming +with solid lengths of cord-wood, and Lillian snuggling in his arms, +gripped his immature imagination. As has been said before, he cared +nothing for books, but life, pictures, trees, physical contact—these, +in spite of his shrewd and already gripping financial calculations, +held him. To live richly, joyously, fully—his whole nature craved that. + +And Mrs. Cowperwood, in spite of the difference in their years, +appeared to be a fit mate for him at this time. She was once awakened, +and for the time being, clinging, responsive, dreamy. His mood and hers +was for a baby, and in a little while that happy expectation was +whispered to him by her. She had half fancied that her previous +barrenness was due to herself, and was rather surprised and delighted +at the proof that it was not so. It opened new possibilities—a +seemingly glorious future of which she was not afraid. He liked it, the +idea of self-duplication. It was almost acquisitive, this thought. For +days and weeks and months and years, at least the first four or five, +he took a keen satisfaction in coming home evenings, strolling about +the yard, driving with his wife, having friends in to dinner, talking +over with her in an explanatory way the things he intended to do. She +did not understand his financial abstrusities, and he did not trouble +to make them clear. + +But love, her pretty body, her lips, her quiet manner—the lure of all +these combined, and his two children, when they came—two in four +years—held him. He would dandle Frank, Jr., who was the first to +arrive, on his knee, looking at his chubby feet, his kindling eyes, his +almost formless yet bud-like mouth, and wonder at the process by which +children came into the world. There was so much to think of in this +connection—the spermatozoic beginning, the strange period of gestation +in women, the danger of disease and delivery. He had gone through a +real period of strain when Frank, Jr., was born, for Mrs. Cowperwood +was frightened. He feared for the beauty of her body—troubled over the +danger of losing her; and he actually endured his first worry when he +stood outside the door the day the child came. Not much—he was too +self-sufficient, too resourceful; and yet he worried, conjuring up +thoughts of death and the end of their present state. Then word came, +after certain piercing, harrowing cries, that all was well, and he was +permitted to look at the new arrival. The experience broadened his +conception of things, made him more solid in his judgment of life. That +old conviction of tragedy underlying the surface of things, like wood +under its veneer, was emphasized. Little Frank, and later Lillian, +blue-eyed and golden-haired, touched his imagination for a while. There +was a good deal to this home idea, after all. That was the way life was +organized, and properly so—its cornerstone was the home. + +It would be impossible to indicate fully how subtle were the material +changes which these years involved—changes so gradual that they were, +like the lap of soft waters, unnoticeable. Considerable—a great deal, +considering how little he had to begin with—wealth was added in the +next five years. He came, in his financial world, to know fairly +intimately, as commercial relationships go, some of the subtlest +characters of the steadily enlarging financial world. In his days at +Tighe’s and on the exchange, many curious figures had been pointed out +to him—State and city officials of one grade and another who were +“making something out of politics,” and some national figures who came +from Washington to Philadelphia at times to see Drexel & Co., Clark & +Co., and even Tighe & Co. These men, as he learned, had tips or advance +news of legislative or economic changes which were sure to affect +certain stocks or trade opportunities. A young clerk had once pulled +his sleeve at Tighe’s. + +“See that man going in to see Tighe?” + +“Yes.” + +“That’s Murtagh, the city treasurer. Say, he don’t do anything but play +a fine game. All that money to invest, and he don’t have to account for +anything except the principal. The interest goes to him.” + +Cowperwood understood. All these city and State officials speculated. +They had a habit of depositing city and State funds with certain +bankers and brokers as authorized agents or designated State +depositories. The banks paid no interest—save to the officials +personally. They loaned it to certain brokers on the officials’ secret +order, and the latter invested it in “sure winners.” The bankers got +the free use of the money a part of the time, the brokers another part: +the officials made money, and the brokers received a fat commission. +There was a political ring in Philadelphia in which the mayor, certain +members of the council, the treasurer, the chief of police, the +commissioner of public works, and others shared. It was a case +generally of “You scratch my back and I’ll scratch yours.” Cowperwood +thought it rather shabby work at first, but many men were rapidly +getting rich and no one seemed to care. The newspapers were always +talking about civic patriotism and pride but never a word about these +things. And the men who did them were powerful and respected. + +There were many houses, a constantly widening circle, that found him a +very trustworthy agent in disposing of note issues or note payment. He +seemed to know so quickly where to go to get the money. From the first +he made it a principle to keep twenty thousand dollars in cash on hand +in order to be able to take up a proposition instantly and without +discussion. So, often he was able to say, “Why, certainly, I can do +that,” when otherwise, on the face of things, he would not have been +able to do so. He was asked if he would not handle certain stock +transactions on ’change. He had no seat, and he intended not to take +any at first; but now he changed his mind, and bought one, not only in +Philadelphia, but in New York also. A certain Joseph Zimmerman, a +dry-goods man for whom he had handled various note issues, suggested +that he undertake operating in street-railway shares for him, and this +was the beginning of his return to the floor. + +In the meanwhile his family life was changing—growing, one might have +said, finer and more secure. Mrs. Cowperwood had, for instance, been +compelled from time to time to make a subtle readjustment of her +personal relationship with people, as he had with his. When Mr. Semple +was alive she had been socially connected with tradesmen +principally—retailers and small wholesalers—a very few. Some of the +women of her own church, the First Presbyterian, were friendly with +her. There had been church teas and sociables which she and Mr. Semple +attended, and dull visits to his relatives and hers. The Cowperwoods, +the Watermans, and a few families of that caliber, had been the notable +exceptions. Now all this was changed. Young Cowperwood did not care +very much for her relatives, and the Semples had been alienated by her +second, and to them outrageous, marriage. His own family was closely +interested by ties of affection and mutual prosperity, but, better than +this, he was drawing to himself some really significant personalities. +He brought home with him, socially—not to talk business, for he +disliked that idea—bankers, investors, customers and prospective +customers. Out on the Schuylkill, the Wissahickon, and elsewhere, were +popular dining places where one could drive on Sunday. He and Mrs. +Cowperwood frequently drove out to Mrs. Seneca Davis’s, to Judge +Kitchen’s, to the home of Andrew Sharpless, a lawyer whom he knew, to +the home of Harper Steger, his own lawyer, and others. Cowperwood had +the gift of geniality. None of these men or women suspected the depth +of his nature—he was thinking, thinking, thinking, but enjoyed life as +he went. + +One of his earliest and most genuine leanings was toward paintings. He +admired nature, but somehow, without knowing why, he fancied one could +best grasp it through the personality of some interpreter, just as we +gain our ideas of law and politics through individuals. Mrs. Cowperwood +cared not a whit one way or another, but she accompanied him to +exhibitions, thinking all the while that Frank was a little peculiar. +He tried, because he loved her, to interest her in these things +intelligently, but while she pretended slightly, she could not really +see or care, and it was very plain that she could not. + +The children took up a great deal of her time. However, Cowperwood was +not troubled about this. It struck him as delightful and exceedingly +worth while that she should be so devoted. At the same time, her +lethargic manner, vague smile and her sometimes seeming indifference, +which sprang largely from a sense of absolute security, attracted him +also. She was so different from him! She took her second marriage quite +as she had taken her first—a solemn fact which contained no possibility +of mental alteration. As for himself, however, he was bustling about in +a world which, financially at least, seemed all alteration—there were +so many sudden and almost unheard-of changes. He began to look at her +at times, with a speculative eye—not very critically, for he liked +her—but with an attempt to weigh her personality. He had known her five +years and more now. What did he know about her? The vigor of +youth—those first years—had made up for so many things, but now that he +had her safely... + +There came in this period the slow approach, and finally the +declaration, of war between the North and the South, attended with so +much excitement that almost all current minds were notably colored by +it. It was terrific. Then came meetings, public and stirring, and +riots; the incident of John Brown’s body; the arrival of Lincoln, the +great commoner, on his way from Springfield, Illinois, to Washington +via Philadelphia, to take the oath of office; the battle of Bull Run; +the battle of Vicksburg; the battle of Gettysburg, and so on. +Cowperwood was only twenty-five at the time, a cool, determined youth, +who thought the slave agitation might be well founded in human +rights—no doubt was—but exceedingly dangerous to trade. He hoped the +North would win; but it might go hard with him personally and other +financiers. He did not care to fight. That seemed silly for the +individual man to do. Others might—there were many poor, thin-minded, +half-baked creatures who would put themselves up to be shot; but they +were only fit to be commanded or shot down. As for him, his life was +sacred to himself and his family and his personal interests. He +recalled seeing, one day, in one of the quiet side streets, as the +working-men were coming home from their work, a small enlisting squad +of soldiers in blue marching enthusiastically along, the Union flag +flying, the drummers drumming, the fifes blowing, the idea being, of +course, to so impress the hitherto indifferent or wavering citizen, to +exalt him to such a pitch, that he would lose his sense of proportion, +of self-interest, and, forgetting all—wife, parents, home, and +children—and seeing only the great need of the country, fall in behind +and enlist. He saw one workingman swinging his pail, and evidently not +contemplating any such denouement to his day’s work, pause, listen as +the squad approached, hesitate as it drew close, and as it passed, with +a peculiar look of uncertainty or wonder in his eyes, fall in behind +and march solemnly away to the enlisting quarters. What was it that had +caught this man, Frank asked himself. How was he overcome so easily? He +had not intended to go. His face was streaked with the grease and dirt +of his work—he looked like a foundry man or machinist, say twenty-five +years of age. Frank watched the little squad disappear at the end of +the street round the corner under the trees. + +This current war-spirit was strange. The people seemed to him to want +to hear nothing but the sound of the drum and fife, to see nothing but +troops, of which there were thousands now passing through on their way +to the front, carrying cold steel in the shape of guns at their +shoulders, to hear of war and the rumors of war. It was a thrilling +sentiment, no doubt, great but unprofitable. It meant self-sacrifice, +and he could not see that. If he went he might be shot, and what would +his noble emotion amount to then? He would rather make money, regulate +current political, social and financial affairs. The poor fool who fell +in behind the enlisting squad—no, not fool, he would not call him +that—the poor overwrought working-man—well, Heaven pity him! Heaven +pity all of them! They really did not know what they were doing. + +One day he saw Lincoln—a tall, shambling man, long, bony, gawky, but +tremendously impressive. It was a raw, slushy morning of a late +February day, and the great war President was just through with his +solemn pronunciamento in regard to the bonds that might have been +strained but must not be broken. As he issued from the doorway of +Independence Hall, that famous birthplace of liberty, his face was set +in a sad, meditative calm. Cowperwood looked at him fixedly as he +issued from the doorway surrounded by chiefs of staff, local +dignitaries, detectives, and the curious, sympathetic faces of the +public. As he studied the strangely rough-hewn countenance a sense of +the great worth and dignity of the man came over him. + +“A real man, that,” he thought; “a wonderful temperament.” His every +gesture came upon him with great force. He watched him enter his +carriage, thinking “So that is the railsplitter, the country lawyer. +Well, fate has picked a great man for this crisis.” + +For days the face of Lincoln haunted him, and very often during the war +his mind reverted to that singular figure. It seemed to him +unquestionable that fortuitously he had been permitted to look upon one +of the world’s really great men. War and statesmanship were not for +him; but he knew how important those things were—at times. + + + + +Chapter XI + + +It was while the war was on, and after it was perfectly plain that it +was not to be of a few days’ duration, that Cowperwood’s first great +financial opportunity came to him. There was a strong demand for money +at the time on the part of the nation, the State, and the city. In +July, 1861, Congress had authorized a loan of fifty million dollars, to +be secured by twenty-year bonds with interest not to exceed seven per +cent., and the State authorized a loan of three millions on much the +same security, the first being handled by financiers of Boston, New +York, and Philadelphia, the second by Philadelphia financiers alone. +Cowperwood had no hand in this. He was not big enough. He read in the +papers of gatherings of men whom he knew personally or by reputation, +“to consider the best way to aid the nation or the State”; but he was +not included. And yet his soul yearned to be of them. He noticed how +often a rich man’s word sufficed—no money, no certificates, no +collateral, no anything—just his word. If Drexel & Co., or Jay Cooke & +Co., or Gould & Fiske were rumored to be behind anything, how secure it +was! Jay Cooke, a young man in Philadelphia, had made a great strike +taking this State loan in company with Drexel & Co., and selling it at +par. The general opinion was that it ought to be and could only be sold +at ninety. Cooke did not believe this. He believed that State pride and +State patriotism would warrant offering the loan to small banks and +private citizens, and that they would subscribe it fully and more. +Events justified Cooke magnificently, and his public reputation was +assured. Cowperwood wished he could make some such strike; but he was +too practical to worry over anything save the facts and conditions that +were before him. + +His chance came about six months later, when it was found that the +State would have to have much more money. Its quota of troops would +have to be equipped and paid. There were measures of defense to be +taken, the treasury to be replenished. A call for a loan of +twenty-three million dollars was finally authorized by the legislature +and issued. There was great talk in the street as to who was to handle +it—Drexel & Co. and Jay Cooke & Co., of course. + +Cowperwood pondered over this. If he could handle a fraction of this +great loan now—he could not possibly handle the whole of it, for he had +not the necessary connections—he could add considerably to his +reputation as a broker while making a tidy sum. How much could he +handle? That was the question. Who would take portions of it? His +father’s bank? Probably. Waterman & Co.? A little. Judge Kitchen? A +small fraction. The Mills-David Company? Yes. He thought of different +individuals and concerns who, for one reason and another—personal +friendship, good-nature, gratitude for past favors, and so on—would +take a percentage of the seven-percent. bonds through him. He totaled +up his possibilities, and discovered that in all likelihood, with a +little preliminary missionary work, he could dispose of one million +dollars if personal influence, through local political figures, could +bring this much of the loan his way. + +One man in particular had grown strong in his estimation as having some +subtle political connection not visible on the surface, and this was +Edward Malia Butler. Butler was a contractor, undertaking the +construction of sewers, water-mains, foundations for buildings, +street-paving, and the like. In the early days, long before Cowperwood +had known him, he had been a garbage-contractor on his own account. The +city at that time had no extended street-cleaning service, particularly +in its outlying sections and some of the older, poorer regions. Edward +Butler, then a poor young Irishman, had begun by collecting and hauling +away the garbage free of charge, and feeding it to his pigs and cattle. +Later he discovered that some people were willing to pay a small charge +for this service. Then a local political character, a councilman friend +of his—they were both Catholics—saw a new point in the whole thing. +Butler could be made official garbage-collector. The council could vote +an annual appropriation for this service. Butler could employ more +wagons than he did now—dozens of them, scores. Not only that, but no +other garbage-collector would be allowed. There were others, but the +official contract awarded him would also, officially, be the end of the +life of any and every disturbing rival. A certain amount of the +profitable proceeds would have to be set aside to assuage the feelings +of those who were not contractors. Funds would have to be loaned at +election time to certain individuals and organizations—but no matter. +The amount would be small. So Butler and Patrick Gavin Comiskey, the +councilman (the latter silently) entered into business relations. +Butler gave up driving a wagon himself. He hired a young man, a smart +Irish boy of his neighborhood, Jimmy Sheehan, to be his assistant, +superintendent, stableman, bookkeeper, and what not. Since he soon +began to make between four and five thousand a year, where before he +made two thousand, he moved into a brick house in an outlying section +of the south side, and sent his children to school. Mrs. Butler gave up +making soap and feeding pigs. And since then times had been exceedingly +good with Edward Butler. + +He could neither read nor write at first; but now he knew how, of +course. He had learned from association with Mr. Comiskey that there +were other forms of contracting—sewers, water-mains, gas-mains, +street-paving, and the like. Who better than Edward Butler to do it? He +knew the councilmen, many of them. Het met them in the back rooms of +saloons, on Sundays and Saturdays at political picnics, at election +councils and conferences, for as a beneficiary of the city’s largess he +was expected to contribute not only money, but advice. Curiously he had +developed a strange political wisdom. He knew a successful man or a +coming man when he saw one. So many of his bookkeepers, +superintendents, time-keepers had graduated into councilmen and state +legislators. His nominees—suggested to political conferences—were so +often known to make good. First he came to have influence in his +councilman’s ward, then in his legislative district, then in the city +councils of his party—Whig, of course—and then he was supposed to have +an organization. + +Mysterious forces worked for him in council. He was awarded significant +contracts, and he always bid. The garbage business was now a thing of +the past. His eldest boy, Owen, was a member of the State legislature +and a partner in his business affairs. His second son, Callum, was a +clerk in the city water department and an assistant to his father also. +Aileen, his eldest daughter, fifteen years of age, was still in St. +Agatha’s, a convent school in Germantown. Norah, his second daughter +and youngest child, thirteen years old, was in attendance at a local +private school conducted by a Catholic sisterhood. The Butler family +had moved away from South Philadelphia into Girard Avenue, near the +twelve hundreds, where a new and rather interesting social life was +beginning. They were not of it, but Edward Butler, contractor, now +fifty-five years of age, worth, say, five hundred thousand dollars, had +many political and financial friends. No longer a “rough neck,” but a +solid, reddish-faced man, slightly tanned, with broad shoulders and a +solid chest, gray eyes, gray hair, a typically Irish face made wise and +calm and undecipherable by much experience. His big hands and feet +indicated a day when he had not worn the best English cloth suits and +tanned leather, but his presence was not in any way offensive—rather +the other way about. Though still possessed of a brogue, he was +soft-spoken, winning, and persuasive. + +He had been one of the first to become interested in the development of +the street-car system and had come to the conclusion, as had Cowperwood +and many others, that it was going to be a great thing. The money +returns on the stocks or shares he had been induced to buy had been +ample evidence of that, He had dealt through one broker and another, +having failed to get in on the original corporate organizations. He +wanted to pick up such stock as he could in one organization and +another, for he believed they all had a future, and most of all he +wanted to get control of a line or two. In connection with this idea he +was looking for some reliable young man, honest and capable, who would +work under his direction and do what he said. Then he learned of +Cowperwood, and one day sent for him and asked him to call at his +house. + +Cowperwood responded quickly, for he knew of Butler, his rise, his +connections, his force. He called at the house as directed, one cold, +crisp February morning. He remembered the appearance of the street +afterward—broad, brick-paved sidewalks, macadamized roadway, powdered +over with a light snow and set with young, leafless, scrubby trees and +lamp-posts. Butler’s house was not new—he had bought and repaired +it—but it was not an unsatisfactory specimen of the architecture of the +time. It was fifty feet wide, four stories tall, of graystone and with +four wide, white stone steps leading up to the door. The window arches, +framed in white, had U-shaped keystones. There were curtains of lace +and a glimpse of red plush through the windows, which gleamed warm +against the cold and snow outside. A trim Irish maid came to the door +and he gave her his card and was invited into the house. + +“Is Mr. Butler home?” + +“I’m not sure, sir. I’ll find out. He may have gone out.” + +In a little while he was asked to come upstairs, where he found Butler +in a somewhat commercial-looking room. It had a desk, an office chair, +some leather furnishings, and a bookcase, but no completeness or +symmetry as either an office or a living room. There were several +pictures on the wall—an impossible oil painting, for one thing, dark +and gloomy; a canal and barge scene in pink and nile green for another; +some daguerreotypes of relatives and friends which were not half bad. +Cowperwood noticed one of two girls, one with reddish-gold hair, +another with what appeared to be silky brown. The beautiful silver +effect of the daguerreotype had been tinted. They were pretty girls, +healthy, smiling, Celtic, their heads close together, their eyes +looking straight out at you. He admired them casually, and fancied they +must be Butler’s daughters. + +“Mr. Cowperwood?” inquired Butler, uttering the name fully with a +peculiar accent on the vowels. (He was a slow-moving man, solemn and +deliberate.) Cowperwood noticed that his body was hale and strong like +seasoned hickory, tanned by wind and rain. The flesh of his cheeks was +pulled taut and there was nothing soft or flabby about him. + +“I’m that man.” + +“I have a little matter of stocks to talk over with you” (“matter” +almost sounded like “mather”), “and I thought you’d better come here +rather than that I should come down to your office. We can be more +private-like, and, besides, I’m not as young as I used to be.” + +He allowed a semi-twinkle to rest in his eye as he looked his visitor +over. + +Cowperwood smiled. + +“Well, I hope I can be of service to you,” he said, genially. + +“I happen to be interested just at present in pickin’ up certain +street-railway stocks on ’change. I’ll tell you about them later. Won’t +you have somethin’ to drink? It’s a cold morning.” + +“No, thanks; I never drink.” + +“Never? That’s a hard word when it comes to whisky. Well, no matter. +It’s a good rule. My boys don’t touch anything, and I’m glad of it. As +I say, I’m interested in pickin’ up a few stocks on ’change; but, to +tell you the truth, I’m more interested in findin’ some clever young +felly like yourself through whom I can work. One thing leads to +another, you know, in this world.” And he looked at his visitor +non-committally, and yet with a genial show of interest. + +“Quite so,” replied Cowperwood, with a friendly gleam in return. + +“Well,” Butler meditated, half to himself, half to Cowperwood, “there +are a number of things that a bright young man could do for me in the +street if he were so minded. I have two bright boys of my own, but I +don’t want them to become stock-gamblers, and I don’t know that they +would or could if I wanted them to. But this isn’t a matter of +stock-gambling. I’m pretty busy as it is, and, as I said awhile ago, +I’m getting along. I’m not as light on my toes as I once was. But if I +had the right sort of a young man—I’ve been looking into your record, +by the way, never fear—he might handle a number of little +things—investments and loans—which might bring us each a little +somethin’. Sometimes the young men around town ask advice of me in one +way and another—they have a little somethin’ to invest, and so—” + +He paused and looked tantalizingly out of the window, knowing full well +Cowperwood was greatly interested, and that this talk of political +influence and connections could only whet his appetite. Butler wanted +him to see clearly that fidelity was the point in this case—fidelity, +tact, subtlety, and concealment. + +“Well, if you have been looking into my record,” observed Cowperwood, +with his own elusive smile, leaving the thought suspended. + +Butler felt the force of the temperament and the argument. He liked the +young man’s poise and balance. A number of people had spoken of +Cowperwood to him. (It was now Cowperwood & Co. The company was fiction +purely.) He asked him something about the street; how the market was +running; what he knew about street-railways. Finally he outlined his +plan of buying all he could of the stock of two given lines—the Ninth +and Tenth and the Fifteenth and Sixteenth—without attracting any +attention, if possible. It was to be done slowly, part on ’change, part +from individual holders. He did not tell him that there was a certain +amount of legislative pressure he hoped to bring to bear to get him +franchises for extensions in the regions beyond where the lines now +ended, in order that when the time came for them to extend their +facilities they would have to see him or his sons, who might be large +minority stockholders in these very concerns. It was a far-sighted +plan, and meant that the lines would eventually drop into his or his +sons’ basket. + +“I’ll be delighted to work with you, Mr. Butler, in any way that you +may suggest,” observed Cowperwood. “I can’t say that I have so much of +a business as yet—merely prospects. But my connections are good. I am +now a member of the New York and Philadelphia exchanges. Those who have +dealt with me seem to like the results I get.” + +“I know a little something about your work already,” reiterated Butler, +wisely. + +“Very well, then; whenever you have a commission you can call at my +office, or write, or I will call here. I will give you my secret +operating code, so that anything you say will be strictly +confidential.” + +“Well, we’ll not say anything more now. In a few days I’ll have +somethin’ for you. When I do, you can draw on my bank for what you +need, up to a certain amount.” He got up and looked out into the +street, and Cowperwood also arose. + +“It’s a fine day now, isn’t it?” + +“It surely is.” + +“Well, we’ll get to know each other better, I’m sure.” + +He held out his hand. + +“I hope so.” + +Cowperwood went out, Butler accompanying him to the door. As he did so +a young girl bounded in from the street, red-cheeked, blue-eyed, +wearing a scarlet cape with the peaked hood thrown over her red-gold +hair. + +“Oh, daddy, I almost knocked you down.” + +She gave her father, and incidentally Cowperwood, a gleaming, radiant, +inclusive smile. Her teeth were bright and small, and her lips bud-red. + +“You’re home early. I thought you were going to stay all day?” + +“I was, but I changed my mind.” + +She passed on in, swinging her arms. + +“Yes, well—” Butler continued, when she had gone. “Then well leave it +for a day or two. Good day.” + +“Good day.” + +Cowperwood, warm with this enhancing of his financial prospects, went +down the steps; but incidentally he spared a passing thought for the +gay spirit of youth that had manifested itself in this red-cheeked +maiden. What a bright, healthy, bounding girl! Her voice had the +subtle, vigorous ring of fifteen or sixteen. She was all vitality. What +a fine catch for some young fellow some day, and her father would make +him rich, no doubt, or help to. + + + + +Chapter XII + + +It was to Edward Malia Butler that Cowperwood turned now, some nineteen +months later when he was thinking of the influence that might bring him +an award of a portion of the State issue of bonds. Butler could +probably be interested to take some of them himself, or could help him +place some. He had come to like Cowperwood very much and was now being +carried on the latter’s books as a prospective purchaser of large +blocks of stocks. And Cowperwood liked this great solid Irishman. He +liked his history. He had met Mrs. Butler, a rather fat and phlegmatic +Irish woman with a world of hard sense who cared nothing at all for +show and who still liked to go into the kitchen and superintend the +cooking. He had met Owen and Callum Butler, the boys, and Aileen and +Norah, the girls. Aileen was the one who had bounded up the steps the +first day he had called at the Butler house several seasons before. + +There was a cozy grate-fire burning in Butler’s improvised private +office when Cowperwood called. Spring was coming on, but the evenings +were cool. The older man invited Cowperwood to make himself comfortable +in one of the large leather chairs before the fire and then proceeded +to listen to his recital of what he hoped to accomplish. + +“Well, now, that isn’t so easy,” he commented at the end. “You ought to +know more about that than I do. I’m not a financier, as you well know.” +And he grinned apologetically. + +“It’s a matter of influence,” went on Cowperwood. “And favoritism. That +I know. Drexel & Company and Cooke & Company have connections at +Harrisburg. They have men of their own looking after their interests. +The attorney-general and the State treasurer are hand in glove with +them. Even if I put in a bid, and can demonstrate that I can handle the +loan, it won’t help me to get it. Other people have done that. I have +to have friends—influence. You know how it is.” + +“Them things,” Butler said, “is easy enough if you know the right +parties to approach. Now there’s Jimmy Oliver—he ought to know +something about that.” Jimmy Oliver was the whilom district attorney +serving at this time, and incidentally free adviser to Mr. Butler in +many ways. He was also, accidentally, a warm personal friend of the +State treasurer. + +“How much of the loan do you want?” + +“Five million.” + +“Five million!” Butler sat up. “Man, what are you talking about? That’s +a good deal of money. Where are you going to sell all that?” + +“I want to bid for five million,” assuaged Cowperwood, softly. “I only +want one million but I want the prestige of putting in a bona fide bid +for five million. It will do me good on the street.” + +Butler sank back somewhat relieved. + +“Five million! Prestige! You want one million. Well, now, that’s +different. That’s not such a bad idea. We ought to be able to get +that.” + +He rubbed his chin some more and stared into the fire. + +And Cowperwood felt confident when he left the house that evening that +Butler would not fail him but would set the wheels working. Therefore, +he was not surprised, and knew exactly what it meant, when a few days +later he was introduced to City Treasurer Julian Bode, who promised to +introduce him to State Treasurer Van Nostrand and to see that his +claims to consideration were put before the people. “Of course, you +know,” he said to Cowperwood, in the presence of Butler, for it was at +the latter’s home that the conference took place, “this banking crowd +is very powerful. You know who they are. They don’t want any +interference in this bond issue business. I was talking to Terrence +Relihan, who represents them up there”—meaning Harrisburg, the State +capital—“and he says they won’t stand for it at all. You may have +trouble right here in Philadelphia after you get it—they’re pretty +powerful, you know. Are you sure just where you can place it?” + +“Yes, I’m sure,” replied Cowperwood. + +“Well, the best thing in my judgment is not to say anything at all. +Just put in your bid. Van Nostrand, with the governor’s approval, will +make the award. We can fix the governor, I think. After you get it they +may talk to you personally, but that’s your business.” + +Cowperwood smiled his inscrutable smile. There were so many ins and +outs to this financial life. It was an endless network of underground +holes, along which all sorts of influences were moving. A little wit, a +little nimbleness, a little luck-time and opportunity—these sometimes +availed. Here he was, through his ambition to get on, and nothing else, +coming into contact with the State treasurer and the governor. They +were going to consider his case personally, because he demanded that it +be considered—nothing more. Others more influential than himself had +quite as much right to a share, but they didn’t take it. Nerve, ideas, +aggressiveness, how these counted when one had luck! + +He went away thinking how surprised Drexel & Co. and Cooke & Co. would +be to see him appearing in the field as a competitor. In his home, in a +little room on the second floor next his bedroom, which he had fixed up +as an office with a desk, a safe, and a leather chair, he consulted his +resources. There were so many things to think of. He went over again +the list of people whom he had seen and whom he could count on to +subscribe, and in so far as that was concerned—the award of one million +dollars—he was safe. He figured to make two per cent. on the total +transaction, or twenty thousand dollars. If he did he was going to buy +a house out on Girard Avenue beyond the Butlers’, or, better yet, buy a +piece of ground and erect one; mortgaging house and property so to do. +His father was prospering nicely. He might want to build a house next +to him, and they could live side by side. His own business, aside from +this deal, would yield him ten thousand dollars this year. His +street-car investments, aggregating fifty thousand, were paying six per +cent. His wife’s property, represented by this house, some government +bonds, and some real estate in West Philadelphia amounted to forty +thousand more. Between them they were rich; but he expected to be much +richer. All he needed now was to keep cool. If he succeeded in this +bond-issue matter, he could do it again and on a larger scale. There +would be more issues. He turned out the light after a while and went +into his wife’s boudoir, where she was sleeping. The nurse and the +children were in a room beyond. + +“Well, Lillian,” he observed, when she awoke and turned over toward +him, “I think I have that bond matter that I was telling you about +arranged at last. I think I’ll get a million of it, anyhow. That’ll +mean twenty thousand. If I do we’ll build out on Girard Avenue. That’s +going to be the street. The college is making that neighborhood.” + +“That’ll be fine, won’t it, Frank!” she observed, and rubbed his arm as +he sat on the side of the bed. + +Her remark was vaguely speculative. + +“We’ll have to show the Butlers some attention from now on. He’s been +very nice to me and he’s going to be useful—I can see that. He asked me +to bring you over some time. We must go. Be nice to his wife. He can do +a lot for me if he wants to. He has two daughters, too. We’ll have to +have them over here.” + +“I’ll have them to dinner sometime,” she agreed cheerfully and +helpfully, “and I’ll stop and take Mrs. Butler driving if she’ll go, or +she can take me.” + +She had already learned that the Butlers were rather showy—the younger +generation—that they were sensitive as to their lineage, and that money +in their estimation was supposed to make up for any deficiency in any +other respect. “Butler himself is a very presentable man,” Cowperwood +had once remarked to her, “but Mrs. Butler—well, she’s all right, but +she’s a little commonplace. She’s a fine woman, though, I think, +good-natured and good-hearted.” He cautioned her not to overlook Aileen +and Norah, because the Butlers, mother and father, were very proud of +them. + +Mrs. Cowperwood at this time was thirty-two years old; Cowperwood +twenty-seven. The birth and care of two children had made some +difference in her looks. She was no longer as softly pleasing, more +angular. Her face was hollow-cheeked, like so many of Rossetti’s and +Burne-Jones’s women. Her health was really not as good as it had +been—the care of two children and a late undiagnosed tendency toward +gastritis having reduced her. In short she was a little run down +nervously and suffered from fits of depression. Cowperwood had noticed +this. He tried to be gentle and considerate, but he was too much of a +utilitarian and practical-minded observer not to realize that he was +likely to have a sickly wife on his hands later. Sympathy and affection +were great things, but desire and charm must endure or one was +compelled to be sadly conscious of their loss. So often now he saw +young girls who were quite in his mood, and who were exceedingly robust +and joyous. It was fine, advisable, practical, to adhere to the virtues +as laid down in the current social lexicon, but if you had a sickly +wife—And anyhow, was a man entitled to only one wife? Must he never +look at another woman? Supposing he found some one? He pondered those +things between hours of labor, and concluded that it did not make so +much difference. If a man could, and not be exposed, it was all right. +He had to be careful, though. Tonight, as he sat on the side of his +wife’s bed, he was thinking somewhat of this, for he had seen Aileen +Butler again, playing and singing at her piano as he passed the parlor +door. She was like a bright bird radiating health and enthusiasm—a +reminder of youth in general. + +“It’s a strange world,” he thought; but his thoughts were his own, and +he didn’t propose to tell any one about them. + +The bond issue, when it came, was a curious compromise; for, although +it netted him his twenty thousand dollars and more and served to +introduce him to the financial notice of Philadelphia and the State of +Pennsylvania, it did not permit him to manipulate the subscriptions as +he had planned. The State treasurer was seen by him at the office of a +local lawyer of great repute, where he worked when in the city. He was +gracious to Cowperwood, because he had to be. He explained to him just +how things were regulated at Harrisburg. The big financiers were looked +to for campaign funds. They were represented by henchmen in the State +assembly and senate. The governor and the treasurer were foot-free; but +there were other influences—prestige, friendship, social power, +political ambitions, etc. The big men might constitute a close +corporation, which in itself was unfair; but, after all, they were the +legitimate sponsors for big money loans of this kind. The State had to +keep on good terms with them, especially in times like these. Seeing +that Mr. Cowperwood was so well able to dispose of the million he +expected to get, it would be perfectly all right to award it to him; +but Van Nostrand had a counter-proposition to make. Would Cowperwood, +if the financial crowd now handling the matter so desired, turn over +his award to them for a consideration—a sum equal to what he expected +to make—in the event the award was made to him? Certain financiers +desired this. It was dangerous to oppose them. They were perfectly +willing he should put in a bid for five million and get the prestige of +that; to have him awarded one million and get the prestige of that was +well enough also, but they desired to handle the twenty-three million +dollars in an unbroken lot. It looked better. He need not be advertised +as having withdrawn. They would be content to have him achieve the +glory of having done what he started out to do. Just the same the +example was bad. Others might wish to imitate him. If it were known in +the street privately that he had been coerced, for a consideration, +into giving up, others would be deterred from imitating him in the +future. Besides, if he refused, they could cause him trouble. His loans +might be called. Various banks might not be so friendly in the future. +His constituents might be warned against him in one way or another. + +Cowperwood saw the point. He acquiesced. It was something to have +brought so many high and mighties to their knees. So they knew of him! +They were quite well aware of him! Well and good. He would take the +award and twenty thousand or thereabouts and withdraw. The State +treasurer was delighted. It solved a ticklish proposition for him. + +“I’m glad to have seen you,” he said. “I’m glad we’ve met. I’ll drop in +and talk with you some time when I’m down this way. We’ll have lunch +together.” + +The State treasurer, for some odd reason, felt that Mr. Cowperwood was +a man who could make him some money. His eye was so keen; his +expression was so alert, and yet so subtle. He told the governor and +some other of his associates about him. + +So the award was finally made; Cowperwood, after some private +negotiations in which he met the officers of Drexel & Co., was paid his +twenty thousand dollars and turned his share of the award over to them. +New faces showed up in his office now from time to time—among them that +of Van Nostrand and one Terrence Relihan, a representative of some +other political forces at Harrisburg. He was introduced to the governor +one day at lunch. His name was mentioned in the papers, and his +prestige grew rapidly. + +Immediately he began working on plans with young Ellsworth for his new +house. He was going to build something exceptional this time, he told +Lillian. They were going to have to do some entertaining—entertaining +on a larger scale than ever. North Front Street was becoming too tame. +He put the house up for sale, consulted with his father and found that +he also was willing to move. The son’s prosperity had redounded to the +credit of the father. The directors of the bank were becoming much more +friendly to the old man. Next year President Kugel was going to retire. +Because of his son’s noted coup, as well as his long service, he was +going to be made president. Frank was a large borrower from his +father’s bank. By the same token he was a large depositor. His +connection with Edward Butler was significant. He sent his father’s +bank certain accounts which it otherwise could not have secured. The +city treasurer became interested in it, and the State treasurer. +Cowperwood, Sr., stood to earn twenty thousand a year as president, and +he owed much of it to his son. The two families were now on the best of +terms. Anna, now twenty-one, and Edward and Joseph frequently spent the +night at Frank’s house. Lillian called almost daily at his mother’s. +There was much interchange of family gossip, and it was thought well to +build side by side. So Cowperwood, Sr., bought fifty feet of ground +next to his son’s thirty-five, and together they commenced the erection +of two charming, commodious homes, which were to be connected by a +covered passageway, or pergola, which could be inclosed with glass in +winter. + +The most popular local stone, a green granite was chosen; but Mr. +Ellsworth promised to present it in such a way that it would be +especially pleasing. Cowperwood, Sr., decided that he could afford to +spent seventy-five thousand dollars—he was now worth two hundred and +fifty thousand; and Frank decided that he could risk fifty, seeing that +he could raise money on a mortgage. He planned at the same time to +remove his office farther south on Third Street and occupy a building +of his own. He knew where an option was to be had on a twenty-five-foot +building, which, though old, could be given a new brownstone front and +made very significant. He saw in his mind’s eye a handsome building, +fitted with an immense plate-glass window; inside his hardwood fixtures +visible; and over the door, or to one side of it, set in bronze +letters, Cowperwood & Co. Vaguely but surely he began to see looming +before him, like a fleecy tinted cloud on the horizon, his future +fortune. He was to be rich, very, very rich. + + + + +Chapter XIII + + +During all the time that Cowperwood had been building himself up thus +steadily the great war of the rebellion had been fought almost to its +close. It was now October, 1864. The capture of Mobile and the Battle +of the Wilderness were fresh memories. Grant was now before Petersburg, +and the great general of the South, Lee, was making that last brilliant +and hopeless display of his ability as a strategist and a soldier. +There had been times—as, for instance, during the long, dreary period +in which the country was waiting for Vicksburg to fall, for the Army of +the Potomac to prove victorious, when Pennsylvania was invaded by +Lee—when stocks fell and commercial conditions were very bad generally. +In times like these Cowperwood’s own manipulative ability was taxed to +the utmost, and he had to watch every hour to see that his fortune was +not destroyed by some unexpected and destructive piece of news. + +His personal attitude toward the war, however, and aside from his +patriotic feeling that the Union ought to be maintained, was that it +was destructive and wasteful. He was by no means so wanting in +patriotic emotion and sentiment but that he could feel that the Union, +as it had now come to be, spreading its great length from the Atlantic +to the Pacific and from the snows of Canada to the Gulf, was worth +while. Since his birth in 1837 he had seen the nation reach that +physical growth—barring Alaska—which it now possesses. Not so much +earlier than his youth Florida had been added to the Union by purchase +from Spain; Mexico, after the unjust war of 1848, had ceded Texas and +the territory to the West. The boundary disputes between England and +the United States in the far Northwest had been finally adjusted. To a +man with great social and financial imagination, these facts could not +help but be significant; and if they did nothing more, they gave him a +sense of the boundless commercial possibilities which existed +potentially in so vast a realm. His was not the order of speculative +financial enthusiasm which, in the type known as the “promoter,” sees +endless possibilities for gain in every unexplored rivulet and prairie +reach; but the very vastness of the country suggested possibilities +which he hoped might remain undisturbed. A territory covering the +length of a whole zone and between two seas, seemed to him to possess +potentialities which it could not retain if the States of the South +were lost. + +At the same time, the freedom of the negro was not a significant point +with him. He had observed that race from his boyhood with considerable +interest, and had been struck with virtues and defects which seemed +inherent and which plainly, to him, conditioned their experiences. + +He was not at all sure, for instance, that the negroes could be made +into anything much more significant than they were. At any rate, it was +a long uphill struggle for them, of which many future generations would +not witness the conclusion. He had no particular quarrel with the +theory that they should be free; he saw no particular reason why the +South should not protest vigorously against the destruction of their +property and their system. It was too bad that the negroes as slaves +should be abused in some instances. He felt sure that that ought to be +adjusted in some way; but beyond that he could not see that there was +any great ethical basis for the contentions of their sponsors. The vast +majority of men and women, as he could see, were not essentially above +slavery, even when they had all the guarantees of a constitution +formulated to prevent it. There was mental slavery, the slavery of the +weak mind and the weak body. He followed the contentions of such men as +Sumner, Garrison, Phillips, and Beecher, with considerable interest; +but at no time could he see that the problem was a vital one for him. +He did not care to be a soldier or an officer of soldiers; he had no +gift for polemics; his mind was not of the disputatious order—not even +in the realm of finance. He was concerned only to see what was of vast +advantage to him, and to devote all his attention to that. This +fratricidal war in the nation could not help him. It really delayed, he +thought, the true commercial and financial adjustment of the country, +and he hoped that it would soon end. He was not of those who complained +bitterly of the excessive war taxes, though he knew them to be trying +to many. Some of the stories of death and disaster moved him greatly; +but, alas, they were among the unaccountable fortunes of life, and +could not be remedied by him. So he had gone his way day by day, +watching the coming in and the departing of troops, seeing the bands of +dirty, disheveled, gaunt, sickly men returning from the fields and +hospitals; and all he could do was to feel sorry. This war was not for +him. He had taken no part in it, and he felt sure that he could only +rejoice in its conclusion—not as a patriot, but as a financier. It was +wasteful, pathetic, unfortunate. + +The months proceeded apace. A local election intervened and there was a +new city treasurer, a new assessor of taxes, and a new mayor; but +Edward Malia Butler continued to have apparently the same influence as +before. The Butlers and the Cowperwoods had become quite friendly. Mrs. +Butler rather liked Lillian, though they were of different religious +beliefs; and they went driving or shopping together, the younger woman +a little critical and ashamed of the elder because of her poor grammar, +her Irish accent, her plebeian tastes—as though the Wiggins had not +been as plebeian as any. On the other hand the old lady, as she was +compelled to admit, was good-natured and good-hearted. She loved to +give, since she had plenty, and sent presents here and there to +Lillian, the children, and others. “Now youse must come over and take +dinner with us”—the Butlers had arrived at the evening-dinner period—or +“Youse must come drive with me to-morrow.” + +“Aileen, God bless her, is such a foine girl,” or “Norah, the darlin’, +is sick the day.” + +But Aileen, her airs, her aggressive disposition, her love of +attention, her vanity, irritated and at times disgusted Mrs. +Cowperwood. She was eighteen now, with a figure which was subtly +provocative. Her manner was boyish, hoydenish at times, and although +convent-trained, she was inclined to balk at restraint in any form. But +there was a softness lurking in her blue eyes that was most sympathetic +and human. + +St. Timothy’s and the convent school in Germantown had been the choice +of her parents for her education—what they called a good Catholic +education. She had learned a great deal about the theory and forms of +the Catholic ritual, but she could not understand them. The church, +with its tall, dimly radiant windows, its high, white altar, its figure +of St. Joseph on one side and the Virgin Mary on the other, clothed in +golden-starred robes of blue, wearing haloes and carrying scepters, had +impressed her greatly. The church as a whole—any Catholic church—was +beautiful to look at—soothing. The altar, during high mass, lit with a +half-hundred or more candles, and dignified and made impressive by the +rich, lacy vestments of the priests and the acolytes, the impressive +needlework and gorgeous colorings of the amice, chasuble, cope, stole, +and maniple, took her fancy and held her eye. Let us say there was +always lurking in her a sense of grandeur coupled with a love of color +and a love of love. From the first she was somewhat sex-conscious. She +had no desire for accuracy, no desire for precise information. Innate +sensuousness rarely has. It basks in sunshine, bathes in color, dwells +in a sense of the impressive and the gorgeous, and rests there. +Accuracy is not necessary except in the case of aggressive, acquisitive +natures, when it manifests itself in a desire to seize. True +controlling sensuousness cannot be manifested in the most active +dispositions, nor again in the most accurate. + +There is need of defining these statements in so far as they apply to +Aileen. It would scarcely be fair to describe her nature as being +definitely sensual at this time. It was too rudimentary. Any harvest is +of long growth. The confessional, dim on Friday and Saturday evenings, +when the church was lighted by but a few lamps, and the priest’s +warnings, penances, and ecclesiastical forgiveness whispered through +the narrow lattice, moved her as something subtly pleasing. She was not +afraid of her sins. Hell, so definitely set forth, did not frighten +her. Really, it had not laid hold on her conscience. The old women and +old men hobbling into church, bowed in prayer, murmuring over their +beads, were objects of curious interest like the wood-carvings in the +peculiar array of wood-reliefs emphasizing the Stations of the Cross. +She herself had liked to confess, particularly when she was fourteen +and fifteen, and to listen to the priest’s voice as he admonished her +with, “Now, my dear child.” A particularly old priest, a French father, +who came to hear their confessions at school, interested her as being +kind and sweet. His forgiveness and blessing seemed sincere—better than +her prayers, which she went through perfunctorily. And then there was a +young priest at St. Timothy’s, Father David, hale and rosy, with a curl +of black hair over his forehead, and an almost jaunty way of wearing +his priestly hat, who came down the aisle Sundays sprinkling holy water +with a definite, distinguished sweep of the hand, who took her fancy. +He heard confessions and now and then she liked to whisper her strange +thoughts to him while she actually speculated on what he might +privately be thinking. She could not, if she tried, associate him with +any divine authority. He was too young, too human. There was something +a little malicious, teasing, in the way she delighted to tell him about +herself, and then walk demurely, repentantly out. At St. Agatha’s she +had been rather a difficult person to deal with. She was, as the good +sisters of the school had readily perceived, too full of life, too +active, to be easily controlled. “That Miss Butler,” once observed +Sister Constantia, the Mother Superior, to Sister Sempronia, Aileen’s +immediate mentor, “is a very spirited girl, you may have a great deal +of trouble with her unless you use a good deal of tact. You may have to +coax her with little gifts. You will get on better.” So Sister +Sempronia had sought to find what Aileen was most interested in, and +bribe her therewith. Being intensely conscious of her father’s +competence, and vain of her personal superiority, it was not so easy to +do. She had wanted to go home occasionally, though; she had wanted to +be allowed to wear the sister’s rosary of large beads with its pendent +cross of ebony and its silver Christ, and this was held up as a great +privilege. For keeping quiet in class, walking softly, and speaking +softly—as much as it was in her to do—for not stealing into other +girl’s rooms after lights were out, and for abandoning crushes on this +and that sympathetic sister, these awards and others, such as walking +out in the grounds on Saturday afternoons, being allowed to have all +the flowers she wanted, some extra dresses, jewels, etc., were offered. +She liked music and the idea of painting, though she had no talent in +that direction; and books, novels, interested her, but she could not +get them. The rest—grammar, spelling, sewing, church and general +history—she loathed. Deportment—well, there was something in that. She +had liked the rather exaggerated curtsies they taught her, and she had +often reflected on how she would use them when she reached home. + +When she came out into life the little social distinctions which have +been indicated began to impress themselves on her, and she wished +sincerely that her father would build a better home—a mansion—such as +those she saw elsewhere, and launch her properly in society. Failing in +that, she could think of nothing save clothes, jewels, riding-horses, +carriages, and the appropriate changes of costume which were allowed +her for these. Her family could not entertain in any distinguished way +where they were, and so already, at eighteen, she was beginning to feel +the sting of a blighted ambition. She was eager for life. How was she +to get it? + +Her room was a study in the foibles of an eager and ambitious mind. It +was full of clothes, beautiful things for all occasions—jewelry—which +she had small opportunity to wear—shoes, stockings, lingerie, laces. In +a crude way she had made a study of perfumes and cosmetics, though she +needed the latter not at all, and these were present in abundance. She +was not very orderly, and she loved lavishness of display; and her +curtains, hangings, table ornaments, and pictures inclined to +gorgeousness, which did not go well with the rest of the house. + +Aileen always reminded Cowperwood of a high-stepping horse without a +check-rein. He met her at various times, shopping with her mother, out +driving with her father, and he was always interested and amused at the +affected, bored tone she assumed before him—the “Oh, dear! Oh, dear! +Life is so tiresome, don’t you know,” when, as a matter of fact, every +moment of it was of thrilling interest to her. Cowperwood took her +mental measurement exactly. A girl with a high sense of life in her, +romantic, full of the thought of love and its possibilities. As he +looked at her he had the sense of seeing the best that nature can do +when she attempts to produce physical perfection. The thought came to +him that some lucky young dog would marry her pretty soon and carry her +away; but whoever secured her would have to hold her by affection and +subtle flattery and attention if he held her at all. + +“The little snip”—she was not at all—“she thinks the sun rises and sets +in her father’s pocket,” Lillian observed one day to her husband. “To +hear her talk, you’d think they were descended from Irish kings. Her +pretended interest in art and music amuses me.” + +“Oh, don’t be too hard on her,” coaxed Cowperwood diplomatically. He +already liked Aileen very much. “She plays very well, and she has a +good voice.” + +“Yes, I know; but she has no real refinement. How could she have? Look +at her father and mother.” + +“I don’t see anything so very much the matter with her,” insisted +Cowperwood. “She’s bright and good-looking. Of course, she’s only a +girl, and a little vain, but she’ll come out of that. She isn’t without +sense and force, at that.” + +Aileen, as he knew, was most friendly to him. She liked him. She made a +point of playing the piano and singing for him in his home, and she +sang only when he was there. There was something about his steady, even +gait, his stocky body and handsome head, which attracted her. In spite +of her vanity and egotism, she felt a little overawed before him at +times—keyed up. She seemed to grow gayer and more brilliant in his +presence. + +The most futile thing in this world is any attempt, perhaps, at exact +definition of character. All individuals are a bundle of +contradictions—none more so than the most capable. + +In the case of Aileen Butler it would be quite impossible to give an +exact definition. Intelligence, of a raw, crude order she had +certainly—also a native force, tamed somewhat by the doctrines and +conventions of current society, still showed clear at times in an +elemental and not entirely unattractive way. At this time she was only +eighteen years of age—decidedly attractive from the point of view of a +man of Frank Cowperwood’s temperament. She supplied something he had +not previously known or consciously craved. Vitality and vivacity. No +other woman or girl whom he had ever known had possessed so much innate +force as she. Her red-gold hair—not so red as decidedly golden with a +suggestion of red in it—looped itself in heavy folds about her forehead +and sagged at the base of her neck. She had a beautiful nose, not +sensitive, but straight-cut with small nostril openings, and eyes that +were big and yet noticeably sensuous. They were, to him, a pleasing +shade of blue-gray-blue, and her toilet, due to her temperament, of +course, suggested almost undue luxury, the bangles, anklets, ear-rings, +and breast-plates of the odalisque, and yet, of course, they were not +there. She confessed to him years afterward that she would have loved +to have stained her nails and painted the palms of her hands with +madder-red. Healthy and vigorous, she was chronically interested in +men—what they would think of her—and how she compared with other women. + +The fact that she could ride in a carriage, live in a fine home on +Girard Avenue, visit such homes as those of the Cowperwoods and others, +was of great weight; and yet, even at this age, she realized that life +was more than these things. Many did not have them and lived. + +But these facts of wealth and advantage gripped her; and when she sat +at the piano and played or rode in her carriage or walked or stood +before her mirror, she was conscious of her figure, her charms, what +they meant to men, how women envied her. Sometimes she looked at poor, +hollow-chested or homely-faced girls and felt sorry for them; at other +times she flared into inexplicable opposition to some handsome girl or +woman who dared to brazen her socially or physically. There were such +girls of the better families who, in Chestnut Street, in the expensive +shops, or on the drive, on horseback or in carriages, tossed their +heads and indicated as well as human motions can that they were +better-bred and knew it. When this happened each stared defiantly at +the other. She wanted ever so much to get up in the world, and yet +namby-pamby men of better social station than herself did not attract +her at all. She wanted a man. Now and then there was one “something +like,” but not entirely, who appealed to her, but most of them were +politicians or legislators, acquaintances of her father, and socially +nothing at all—and so they wearied and disappointed her. Her father did +not know the truly elite. But Mr. Cowperwood—he seemed so refined, so +forceful, and so reserved. She often looked at Mrs. Cowperwood and +thought how fortunate she was. + + + + +Chapter XIV + + +The development of Cowperwood as Cowperwood & Co. following his +arresting bond venture, finally brought him into relationship with one +man who was to play an important part in his life, morally, +financially, and in other ways. This was George W. Stener, the new city +treasurer-elect, who, to begin with, was a puppet in the hands of other +men, but who, also in spite of this fact, became a personage of +considerable importance, for the simple reason that he was weak. Stener +had been engaged in the real estate and insurance business in a small +way before he was made city treasurer. He was one of those men, of whom +there are so many thousands in every large community, with no breadth +of vision, no real subtlety, no craft, no great skill in anything. You +would never hear a new idea emanating from Stener. He never had one in +his life. On the other hand, he was not a bad fellow. He had a stodgy, +dusty, commonplace look to him which was more a matter of mind than of +body. His eye was of vague gray-blue; his hair a dusty light-brown and +thin. His mouth—there was nothing impressive there. He was quite tall, +nearly six feet, with moderately broad shoulders, but his figure was +anything but shapely. He seemed to stoop a little, his stomach was the +least bit protuberant, and he talked commonplaces—the small change of +newspaper and street and business gossip. People liked him in his own +neighborhood. He was thought to be honest and kindly; and he was, as +far as he knew. His wife and four children were as average and +insignificant as the wives and children of such men usually are. + +Just the same, and in spite of, or perhaps, politically speaking, +because of all this, George W. Stener was brought into temporary public +notice by certain political methods which had existed in Philadelphia +practically unmodified for the previous half hundred years. First, +because he was of the same political faith as the dominant local +political party, he had become known to the local councilman and +ward-leader of his ward as a faithful soul—one useful in the matter of +drumming up votes. And next—although absolutely without value as a +speaker, for he had no ideas—you could send him from door to door, +asking the grocer and the blacksmith and the butcher how he felt about +things and he would make friends, and in the long run predict fairly +accurately the probable vote. Furthermore, you could dole him out a few +platitudes and he would repeat them. The Republican party, which was +the new-born party then, but dominant in Philadelphia, needed your +vote; it was necessary to keep the rascally Democrats out—he could +scarcely have said why. They had been for slavery. They were for free +trade. It never once occurred to him that these things had nothing to +do with the local executive and financial administration of +Philadelphia. Supposing they didn’t? What of it? + +In Philadelphia at this time a certain United States Senator, one Mark +Simpson, together with Edward Malia Butler and Henry A. Mollenhauer, a +rich coal dealer and investor, were supposed to, and did, control +jointly the political destiny of the city. They had representatives, +benchmen, spies, tools—a great company. Among them was this same +Stener—a minute cog in the silent machinery of their affairs. + +In scarcely any other city save this, where the inhabitants were of a +deadly average in so far as being commonplace was concerned, could such +a man as Stener have been elected city treasurer. The rank and file did +not, except in rare instances, make up their political program. An +inside ring had this matter in charge. Certain positions were allotted +to such and such men or to such and such factions of the party for such +and such services rendered—but who does not know politics? + +In due course of time, therefore, George W. Stener had become persona +grata to Edward Strobik, a quondam councilman who afterward became ward +leader and still later president of council, and who, in private life +was a stone-dealer and owner of a brickyard. Strobik was a benchman of +Henry A. Mollenhauer, the hardest and coldest of all three of the +political leaders. The latter had things to get from council, and +Strobik was his tool. He had Stener elected; and because he was +faithful in voting as he was told the latter was later made an +assistant superintendent of the highways department. + +Here he came under the eyes of Edward Malia Butler, and was slightly +useful to him. Then the central political committee, with Butler in +charge, decided that some nice, docile man who would at the same time +be absolutely faithful was needed for city treasurer, and Stener was +put on the ticket. He knew little of finance, but was an excellent +bookkeeper; and, anyhow, was not corporation counsel Regan, another +political tool of this great triumvirate, there to advise him at all +times? He was. It was a very simple matter. Being put on the ticket was +equivalent to being elected, and so, after a few weeks of exceedingly +trying platform experiences, in which he had stammered through +platitudinous declarations that the city needed to be honestly +administered, he was inducted into office; and there you were. + +Now it wouldn’t have made so much difference what George W. Stener’s +executive and financial qualifications for the position were, but at +this time the city of Philadelphia was still hobbling along under +perhaps as evil a financial system, or lack of it, as any city ever +endured—the assessor and the treasurer being allowed to collect and +hold moneys belonging to the city, outside of the city’s private +vaults, and that without any demand on the part of anybody that the +same be invested by them at interest for the city’s benefit. Rather, +all they were expected to do, apparently, was to restore the principal +and that which was with them when they entered or left office. It was +not understood or publicly demanded that the moneys so collected, or +drawn from any source, be maintained intact in the vaults of the city +treasury. They could be loaned out, deposited in banks or used to +further private interests of any one, so long as the principal was +returned, and no one was the wiser. Of course, this theory of finance +was not publicly sanctioned, but it was known politically and +journalistically, and in high finance. How were you to stop it? + +Cowperwood, in approaching Edward Malia Butler, had been unconsciously +let in on this atmosphere of erratic and unsatisfactory speculation +without really knowing it. When he had left the office of Tighe & Co., +seven years before, it was with the idea that henceforth and forever he +would have nothing to do with the stock-brokerage proposition; but now +behold him back in it again, with more vim than he had ever displayed, +for now he was working for himself, the firm of Cowperwood & Co., and +he was eager to satisfy the world of new and powerful individuals who +by degrees were drifting to him. All had a little money. All had tips, +and they wanted him to carry certain lines of stock on margin for them, +because he was known to other political men, and because he was safe. +And this was true. He was not, or at least up to this time had not +been, a speculator or a gambler on his own account. In fact he often +soothed himself with the thought that in all these years he had never +gambled for himself, but had always acted strictly for others instead. +But now here was George W. Stener with a proposition which was not +quite the same thing as stock-gambling, and yet it was. + +During a long period of years preceding the Civil War, and through it, +let it here be explained and remembered, the city of Philadelphia had +been in the habit, as a corporation, when there were no available funds +in the treasury, of issuing what were known as city warrants, which +were nothing more than notes or I.O.U.’s bearing six per cent. +interest, and payable sometimes in thirty days, sometimes in three, +sometimes in six months—all depending on the amount and how soon the +city treasurer thought there would be sufficient money in the treasury +to take them up and cancel them. Small tradesmen and large contractors +were frequently paid in this way; the small tradesman who sold supplies +to the city institutions, for instance, being compelled to discount his +notes at the bank, if he needed ready money, usually for ninety cents +on the dollar, while the large contractor could afford to hold his and +wait. It can readily be seen that this might well work to the +disadvantage of the small dealer and merchant, and yet prove quite a +fine thing for a large contractor or note-broker, for the city was sure +to pay the warrants at some time, and six per cent. interest was a fat +rate, considering the absolute security. A banker or broker who +gathered up these things from small tradesmen at ninety cents on the +dollar made a fine thing of it all around if he could wait. + +Originally, in all probability, there was no intention on the part of +the city treasurer to do any one an injustice, and it is likely that +there really were no funds to pay with at the time. However that may +have been, there was later no excuse for issuing the warrants, seeing +that the city might easily have been managed much more economically. +But these warrants, as can readily be imagined, had come to be a fine +source of profit for note-brokers, bankers, political financiers, and +inside political manipulators generally and so they remained a part of +the city’s fiscal policy. + +There was just one drawback to all this. In order to get the full +advantage of this condition the large banker holding them must be an +“inside banker,” one close to the political forces of the city, for if +he was not and needed money and he carried his warrants to the city +treasurer, he would find that he could not get cash for them. But if he +transferred them to some banker or note-broker who was close to the +political force of the city, it was quite another matter. The treasury +would find means to pay. Or, if so desired by the note-broker or +banker—the right one—notes which were intended to be met in three +months, and should have been settled at that time, were extended to run +on years and years, drawing interest at six per cent. even when the +city had ample funds to meet them. Yet this meant, of course, an +illegal interest drain on the city, but that was all right also. “No +funds” could cover that. The general public did not know. It could not +find out. The newspapers were not at all vigilant, being pro-political. +There were no persistent, enthusiastic reformers who obtained any +political credence. During the war, warrants outstanding in this manner +arose in amount to much over two million dollars, all drawing six per +cent. interest, but then, of course, it began to get a little +scandalous. Besides, at least some of the investors began to want their +money back. + +In order, therefore, to clear up this outstanding indebtedness and make +everything shipshape again, it was decided that the city must issue a +loan, say for two million dollars—no need to be exact about the amount. +And this loan must take the shape of interest-bearing certificates of a +par value of one hundred dollars, redeemable in six, twelve, or +eighteen months, as the case may be. These certificates of loan were +then ostensibly to be sold in the open market, a sinking-fund set aside +for their redemption, and the money so obtained used to take up the +long-outstanding warrants which were now such a subject of public +comment. + +It is obvious that this was merely a case of robbing Peter to pay Paul. +There was no real clearing up of the outstanding debt. It was the +intention of the schemers to make it possible for the financial +politicians on the inside to reap the same old harvest by allowing the +certificates to be sold to the right parties for ninety or less, +setting up the claim that there was no market for them, the credit of +the city being bad. To a certain extent this was true. The war was just +over. Money was high. Investors could get more than six per cent. +elsewhere unless the loan was sold at ninety. But there were a few +watchful politicians not in the administration, and some newspapers and +non-political financiers who, because of the high strain of patriotism +existing at the time, insisted that the loan should be sold at par. +Therefore a clause to that effect had to be inserted in the enabling +ordinance. + +This, as one might readily see, destroyed the politicians’ little +scheme to get this loan at ninety. Nevertheless since they desired that +the money tied up in the old warrants and now not redeemable because of +lack of funds should be paid them, the only way this could be done +would be to have some broker who knew the subtleties of the stock +market handle this new city loan on ’change in such a way that it would +be made to seem worth one hundred and to be sold to outsiders at that +figure. Afterward, if, as it was certain to do, it fell below that, the +politicians could buy as much of it as they pleased, and eventually +have the city redeem it at par. + +George W. Stener, entering as city treasurer at this time, and bringing +no special financial intelligence to the proposition, was really +troubled. Henry A. Mollenhauer, one of the men who had gathered up a +large amount of the old city warrants, and who now wanted his money, in +order to invest it in bonanza offers in the West, called on Stener, and +also on the mayor. He with Simpson and Butler made up the Big Three. + +“I think something ought to be done about these warrants that are +outstanding,” he explained. “I am carrying a large amount of them, and +there are others. We have helped the city a long time by saying +nothing; but now I think that something ought to be done. Mr. Butler +and Mr. Simpson feel the same way. Couldn’t these new loan certificates +be listed on the stock exchange and the money raised that way? Some +clever broker could bring them to par.” + +Stener was greatly flattered by the visit from Mollenhauer. Rarely did +he trouble to put in a personal appearance, and then only for the +weight and effect his presence would have. He called on the mayor and +the president of council, much as he called on Stener, with a lofty, +distant, inscrutable air. They were as office-boys to him. + +In order to understand exactly the motive for Mollenhauer’s interest in +Stener, and the significance of this visit and Stener’s subsequent +action in regard to it, it will be necessary to scan the political +horizon for some little distance back. Although George W. Stener was in +a way a political henchman and appointee of Mollenhauer’s, the latter +was only vaguely acquainted with him. He had seen him before; knew of +him; had agreed that his name should be put on the local slate largely +because he had been assured by those who were closest to him and who +did his bidding that Stener was “all right,” that he would do as he was +told, that he would cause no one any trouble, etc. In fact, during +several previous administrations, Mollenhauer had maintained a +subsurface connection with the treasury, but never so close a one as +could easily be traced. He was too conspicuous a man politically and +financially for that. But he was not above a plan, in which Simpson if +not Butler shared, of using political and commercial stool-pigeons to +bleed the city treasury as much as possible without creating a scandal. +In fact, for some years previous to this, various agents had already +been employed—Edward Strobik, president of council, Asa Conklin, the +then incumbent of the mayor’s chair, Thomas Wycroft, alderman, Jacob +Harmon, alderman, and others—to organize dummy companies under various +names, whose business it was to deal in those things which the city +needed—lumber, stone, steel, iron, cement—a long list—and of course, +always at a fat profit to those ultimately behind the dummy companies, +so organized. It saved the city the trouble of looking far and wide for +honest and reasonable dealers. + +Since the action of at least three of these dummies will have something +to do with the development of Cowperwood’s story, they may be briefly +described. Edward Strobik, the chief of them, and the one most useful +to Mollenhauer, in a minor way, was a very spry person of about +thirty-five at this time—lean and somewhat forceful, with black hair, +black eyes, and an inordinately large black mustache. He was dapper, +inclined to noticeable clothing—a pair of striped trousers, a white +vest, a black cutaway coat and a high silk hat. His markedly ornamental +shoes were always polished to perfection, and his immaculate appearance +gave him the nickname of “The Dude” among some. Nevertheless he was +quite able on a small scale, and was well liked by many. + +His two closest associates, Messrs. Thomas Wycroft and Jacob Harmon, +were rather less attractive and less brilliant. Jacob Harmon was a +thick wit socially, but no fool financially. He was big and rather +doleful to look upon, with sandy brown hair and brown eyes, but fairly +intelligent, and absolutely willing to approve anything which was not +too broad in its crookedness and which would afford him sufficient +protection to keep him out of the clutches of the law. He was really +not so cunning as dull and anxious to get along. + +Thomas Wycroft, the last of this useful but minor triumvirate, was a +tall, lean man, candle-waxy, hollow-eyed, gaunt of face, pathetic to +look at physically, but shrewd. He was an iron-molder by trade and had +gotten into politics much as Stener had—because he was useful; and he +had managed to make some money—via this triumvirate of which Strobik +was the ringleader, and which was engaged in various peculiar +businesses which will now be indicated. + +The companies which these several henchmen had organized under previous +administrations, and for Mollenhauer, dealt in meat, building material, +lamp-posts, highway supplies, anything you will, which the city +departments or its institutions needed. A city contract once awarded +was irrevocable, but certain councilmen had to be fixed in advance and +it took money to do that. The company so organized need not actually +slaughter any cattle or mold lamp-posts. All it had to do was to +organize to do that, obtain a charter, secure a contract for supplying +such material to the city from the city council (which Strobik, Harmon, +and Wycroft would attend to), and then sublet this to some actual +beef-slaughterer or iron-founder, who would supply the material and +allow them to pocket their profit which in turn was divided or paid for +to Mollenhauer and Simpson in the form of political donations to clubs +or organizations. It was so easy and in a way so legitimate. The +particular beef-slaughterer or iron-founder thus favored could not hope +of his own ability thus to obtain a contract. Stener, or whoever was in +charge of the city treasury at the time, for his services in loaning +money at a low rate of interest to be used as surety for the proper +performance of contract, and to aid in some instances the beef-killer +or iron-founder to carry out his end, was to be allowed not only the +one or two per cent. which he might pocket (other treasurers had), but +a fair proportion of the profits. A complacent, confidential chief +clerk who was all right would be recommended to him. It did not concern +Stener that Strobik, Harmon, and Wycroft, acting for Mollenhauer, were +incidentally planning to use a little of the money loaned for purposes +quite outside those indicated. It was his business to loan it. + +However, to be going on. Some time before he was even nominated, Stener +had learned from Strobik, who, by the way, was one of his sureties as +treasurer (which suretyship was against the law, as were those of +Councilmen Wycroft and Harmon, the law of Pennsylvania stipulating that +one political servant might not become surety for another), that those +who had brought about this nomination and election would by no means +ask him to do anything which was not perfectly legal, but that he must +be complacent and not stand in the way of big municipal perquisites nor +bite the hands that fed him. It was also made perfectly plain to him, +that once he was well in office a little money for himself was to be +made. As has been indicated, he had always been a poor man. He had seen +all those who had dabbled in politics to any extent about him +heretofore do very well financially indeed, while he pegged along as an +insurance and real-estate agent. He had worked hard as a small +political henchman. Other politicians were building themselves nice +homes in newer portions of the city. They were going off to New York or +Harrisburg or Washington on jaunting parties. They were seen in happy +converse at road-houses or country hotels in season with their wives or +their women favorites, and he was not, as yet, of this happy throng. +Naturally now that he was promised something, he was interested and +compliant. What might he not get? + +When it came to this visit from Mollenhauer, with its suggestion in +regard to bringing city loan to par, although it bore no obvious +relation to Mollenhauer’s subsurface connection with Stener, through +Strobik and the others, Stener did definitely recognize his own +political subservience—his master’s stentorian voice—and immediately +thereafter hurried to Strobik for information. + +“Just what would you do about this?” he asked of Strobik, who knew of +Mollenhauer’s visit before Stener told him, and was waiting for Stener +to speak to him. “Mr. Mollenhauer talks about having this new loan +listed on ’change and brought to par so that it will sell for one +hundred.” + +Neither Strobik, Harmon, nor Wycroft knew how the certificates of city +loan, which were worth only ninety on the open market, were to be made +to sell for one hundred on ’change, but Mollenhauer’s secretary, one +Abner Sengstack, had suggested to Strobik that, since Butler was +dealing with young Cowperwood and Mollenhauer did not care particularly +for his private broker in this instance, it might be as well to try +Cowperwood. + +So it was that Cowperwood was called to Stener’s office. And once +there, and not as yet recognizing either the hand of Mollenhauer or +Simpson in this, merely looked at the peculiarly shambling, +heavy-cheeked, middle-class man before him without either interest or +sympathy, realizing at once that he had a financial baby to deal with. +If he could act as adviser to this man—be his sole counsel for four +years! + +“How do you do, Mr. Stener?” he said in his soft, ingratiating voice, +as the latter held out his hand. “I am glad to meet you. I have heard +of you before, of course.” + +Stener was long in explaining to Cowperwood just what his difficulty +was. He went at it in a clumsy fashion, stumbling through the +difficulties of the situation he was suffered to meet. + +“The main thing, as I see it, is to make these certificates sell at +par. I can issue them in any sized lots you like, and as often as you +like. I want to get enough now to clear away two hundred thousand +dollars’ worth of the outstanding warrants, and as much more as I can +get later.” + +Cowperwood felt like a physician feeling a patient’s pulse—a patient +who is really not sick at all but the reassurance of whom means a fat +fee. The abstrusities of the stock exchange were as his A B C’s to him. +He knew if he could have this loan put in his hands—all of it, if he +could have the fact kept dark that he was acting for the city, and that +if Stener would allow him to buy as a “bull” for the sinking-fund while +selling judiciously for a rise, he could do wonders even with a big +issue. He had to have all of it, though, in order that he might have +agents under him. Looming up in his mind was a scheme whereby he could +make a lot of the unwary speculators about ’change go short of this +stock or loan under the impression, of course, that it was scattered +freely in various persons’ hands, and that they could buy as much of it +as they wanted. Then they would wake to find that they could not get +it; that he had it all. Only he would not risk his secret that far. Not +he, oh, no. But he would drive the city loan to par and then sell. And +what a fat thing for himself among others in so doing. Wisely enough he +sensed that there was politics in all this—shrewder and bigger men +above and behind Stener. But what of that? And how slyly and shrewdly +they were sending Stener to him. It might be that his name was becoming +very potent in their political world here. And what might that not +mean! + +“I tell you what I’d like to do, Mr. Stener,” he said, after he had +listened to his explanation and asked how much of the city loan he +would like to sell during the coming year. “I’ll be glad to undertake +it. But I’d like to have a day or two in which to think it over.” + +“Why, certainly, certainly, Mr. Cowperwood,” replied Stener, genially. +“That’s all right. Take your time. If you know how it can be done, just +show me when you’re ready. By the way, what do you charge?” + +“Well, the stock exchange has a regular scale of charges which we +brokers are compelled to observe. It’s one-fourth of one per cent. on +the par value of bonds and loans. Of course, I may hav to add a lot of +fictitious selling—I’ll explain that to you later—but I won’t charge +you anything for that so long as it is a secret between us. I’ll give +you the best service I can, Mr. Stener. You can depend on that. Let me +have a day or two to think it over, though.” + +He shook hands with Stener, and they parted. Cowperwood was satisfied +that he was on the verge of a significant combination, and Stener that +he had found someone on whom he could lean. + + + + +Chapter XV + + +The plan Cowperwood developed after a few days’ meditation will be +plain enough to any one who knows anything of commercial and financial +manipulation, but a dark secret to those who do not. In the first +place, the city treasurer was to use his (Cowperwood’s) office as a +bank of deposit. He was to turn over to him, actually, or set over to +his credit on the city’s books, subject to his order, certain amounts +of city loans—two hundred thousand dollars at first, since that was the +amount it was desired to raise quickly—and he would then go into the +market and see what could be done to have it brought to par. The city +treasurer was to ask leave of the stock exchange at once to have it +listed as a security. Cowperwood would then use his influence to have +this application acted upon quickly. Stener was then to dispose of all +city loan certificates through him, and him only. He was to allow him +to buy for the sinking-fund, supposedly, such amounts as he might have +to buy in order to keep the price up to par. To do this, once a +considerable number of the loan certificates had been unloaded on the +public, it might be necessary to buy back a great deal. However, these +would be sold again. The law concerning selling only at par would have +to be abrogated to this extent—i.e., that the wash sales and +preliminary sales would have to be considered no sales until par was +reached. + +There was a subtle advantage here, as Cowperwood pointed out to Stener. +In the first place, since the certificates were going ultimately to +reach par anyway, there was no objection to Stener or any one else +buying low at the opening price and holding for a rise. Cowperwood +would be glad to carry him on his books for any amount, and he would +settle at the end of each month. He would not be asked to buy the +certificates outright. He could be carried on the books for a certain +reasonable margin, say ten points. The money was as good as made for +Stener now. In the next place, in buying for the sinking-fund it would +be possible to buy these certificates very cheap, for, having the new +and reserve issue entirely in his hands, Cowperwood could throw such +amounts as he wished into the market at such times as he wished to buy, +and consequently depress the market. Then he could buy, and, later, up +would go the price. Having the issues totally in his hands to boost or +depress the market as he wished, there was no reason why the city +should not ultimately get par for all its issues, and at the same time +considerable money be made out of the manufactured fluctuations. He, +Cowperwood, would be glad to make most of his profit that way. The city +should allow him his normal percentage on all his actual sales of +certificates for the city at par (he would have to have that in order +to keep straight with the stock exchange); but beyond that, and for all +the other necessary manipulative sales, of which there would be many, +he would depend on his knowledge of the stock market to reimburse him. +And if Stener wanted to speculate with him—well. + +Dark as this transaction may seem to the uninitiated, it will appear +quite clear to those who know. Manipulative tricks have always been +worked in connection with stocks of which one man or one set of men has +had complete control. It was no different from what subsequently was +done with Erie, Standard Oil, Copper, Sugar, Wheat, and what not. +Cowperwood was one of the first and one of the youngest to see how it +could be done. When he first talked to Stener he was twenty-eight years +of age. When he last did business with him he was thirty-four. + +The houses and the bank-front of Cowperwood & Co. had been proceeding +apace. The latter was early Florentine in its decorations with windows +which grew narrower as they approached the roof, and a door of wrought +iron set between delicately carved posts, and a straight lintel of +brownstone. It was low in height and distinguished in appearance. In +the center panel had been hammered a hand, delicately wrought, thin and +artistic, holding aloft a flaming brand. Ellsworth informed him that +this had formerly been a money-changer’s sign used in old Venice, the +significance of which had long been forgotten. + +The interior was finished in highly-polished hardwood, stained in +imitation of the gray lichens which infest trees. Large sheets of +clear, beveled glass were used, some oval, some oblong, some square, +and some circular, following a given theory of eye movement. The +fixtures for the gas-jets were modeled after the early Roman +flame-brackets, and the office safe was made an ornament, raised on a +marble platform at the back of the office and lacquered a silver-gray, +with Cowperwood & Co. lettered on it in gold. One had a sense of +reserve and taste pervading the place, and yet it was also inestimably +prosperous, solid and assuring. Cowperwood, when he viewed it at its +completion, complimented Ellsworth cheerily. “I like this. It is really +beautiful. It will be a pleasure to work here. If those houses are +going to be anything like this, they will be perfect.” + +“Wait till you see them. I think you will be pleased, Mr. Cowperwood. I +am taking especial pains with yours because it is smaller. It is really +easier to treat your father’s. But yours—” He went off into a +description of the entrance-hall, reception-room and parlor, which he +was arranging and decorating in such a way as to give an effect of size +and dignity not really conformable to the actual space. + +And when the houses were finished, they were effective and +arresting—quite different from the conventional residences of the +street. They were separated by a space of twenty feet, laid out as +greensward. The architect had borrowed somewhat from the Tudor school, +yet not so elaborated as later became the style in many of the +residences in Philadelphia and elsewhere. The most striking features +were rather deep-recessed doorways under wide, low, slightly floriated +arches, and three projecting windows of rich form, one on the second +floor of Frank’s house, two on the facade of his father’s. There were +six gables showing on the front of the two houses, two on Frank’s and +four on his father’s. In the front of each house on the ground floor +was a recessed window unconnected with the recessed doorways, formed by +setting the inner external wall back from the outer face of the +building. This window looked out through an arched opening to the +street, and was protected by a dwarf parapet or balustrade. It was +possible to set potted vines and flowers there, which was later done, +giving a pleasant sense of greenery from the street, and to place a few +chairs there, which were reached via heavily barred French casements. + +On the ground floor of each house was placed a conservatory of flowers, +facing each other, and in the yard, which was jointly used, a pool of +white marble eight feet in diameter, with a marble Cupid upon which +jets of water played. The yard which was enclosed by a high but pierced +wall of green-gray brick, especially burnt for the purpose the same +color as the granite of the house, and surmounted by a white marble +coping which was sown to grass and had a lovely, smooth, velvety +appearance. The two houses, as originally planned, were connected by a +low, green-columned pergola which could be enclosed in glass in winter. + +The rooms, which were now slowly being decorated and furnished in +period styles were very significant in that they enlarged and +strengthened Frank Cowperwood’s idea of the world of art in general. It +was an enlightening and agreeable experience—one which made for +artistic and intellectual growth—to hear Ellsworth explain at length +the styles and types of architecture and furniture, the nature of woods +and ornaments employed, the qualities and peculiarities of hangings, +draperies, furniture panels, and door coverings. Ellsworth was a +student of decoration as well as of architecture, and interested in the +artistic taste of the American people, which he fancied would some day +have a splendid outcome. He was wearied to death of the prevalent +Romanesque composite combinations of country and suburban villa. The +time was ripe for something new. He scarcely knew what it would be; but +this that he had designed for Cowperwood and his father was at least +different, as he said, while at the same time being reserved, simple, +and pleasing. It was in marked contrast to the rest of the architecture +of the street. Cowperwood’s dining-room, reception-room, conservatory, +and butler’s pantry he had put on the first floor, together with the +general entry-hall, staircase, and coat-room under the stairs. For the +second floor he had reserved the library, general living-room, parlor, +and a small office for Cowperwood, together with a boudoir for Lillian, +connected with a dressing-room and bath. + +On the third floor, neatly divided and accommodated with baths and +dressing-rooms, were the nursery, the servants’ quarters, and several +guest-chambers. + +Ellsworth showed Cowperwood books of designs containing furniture, +hangings, etageres, cabinets, pedestals, and some exquisite piano +forms. He discussed woods with him—rosewood, mahogany, walnut, English +oak, bird’s-eye maple, and the manufactured effects such as ormolu, +marquetry, and Boule, or buhl. He explained the latter—how difficult it +was to produce, how unsuitable it was in some respects for this +climate, the brass and tortoise-shell inlay coming to swell with the +heat or damp, and so bulging or breaking. He told of the difficulties +and disadvantages of certain finishes, but finally recommended ormolu +furniture for the reception room, medallion tapestry for the parlor, +French renaissance for the dining-room and library, and bird’s-eye +maple (dyed blue in one instance, and left its natural color in +another) and a rather lightly constructed and daintily carved walnut +for the other rooms. The hangings, wall-paper, and floor coverings were +to harmonize—not match—and the piano and music-cabinet for the parlor, +as well as the etagere, cabinets, and pedestals for the +reception-rooms, were to be of buhl or marquetry, if Frank cared to +stand the expense. + +Ellsworth advised a triangular piano—the square shapes were so +inexpressibly wearisome to the initiated. Cowperwood listened +fascinated. He foresaw a home which would be chaste, soothing, and +delightful to look upon. If he hung pictures, gilt frames were to be +the setting, large and deep; and if he wished a picture-gallery, the +library could be converted into that, and the general living-room, +which lay between the library and the parlor on the second-floor, could +be turned into a combination library and living-room. This was +eventually done; but not until his taste for pictures had considerably +advanced. + +It was now that he began to take a keen interest in objects of art, +pictures, bronzes, little carvings and figurines, for his cabinets, +pedestals, tables, and etageres. Philadelphia did not offer much that +was distinguished in this realm—certainly not in the open market. There +were many private houses which were enriched by travel; but his +connection with the best families was as yet small. There were then two +famous American sculptors, Powers and Hosmer, of whose work he had +examples; but Ellsworth told him that they were not the last word in +sculpture and that he should look into the merits of the ancients. He +finally secured a head of David, by Thorwaldsen, which delighted him, +and some landscapes by Hunt, Sully, and Hart, which seemed somewhat in +the spirit of his new world. + +The effect of a house of this character on its owner is unmistakable. +We think we are individual, separate, above houses and material objects +generally; but there is a subtle connection which makes them reflect us +quite as much as we reflect them. They lend dignity, subtlety, force, +each to the other, and what beauty, or lack of it, there is, is shot +back and forth from one to the other as a shuttle in a loom, weaving, +weaving. Cut the thread, separate a man from that which is rightfully +his own, characteristic of him, and you have a peculiar figure, half +success, half failure, much as a spider without its web, which will +never be its whole self again until all its dignities and emoluments +are restored. + +The sight of his new house going up made Cowperwood feel of more weight +in the world, and the possession of his suddenly achieved connection +with the city treasurer was as though a wide door had been thrown open +to the Elysian fields of opportunity. He rode about the city those days +behind a team of spirited bays, whose glossy hides and metaled harness +bespoke the watchful care of hostler and coachman. Ellsworth was +building an attractive stable in the little side street back of the +houses, for the joint use of both families. He told Mrs. Cowperwood +that he intended to buy her a victoria—as the low, open, four-wheeled +coach was then known—as soon as they were well settled in their new +home, and that they were to go out more. There was some talk about the +value of entertaining—that he would have to reach out socially for +certain individuals who were not now known to him. Together with Anna, +his sister, and his two brothers, Joseph and Edward, they could use the +two houses jointly. There was no reason why Anna should not make a +splendid match. Joe and Ed might marry well, since they were not +destined to set the world on fire in commerce. At least it would not +hurt them to try. + +“Don’t you think you will like that?” he asked his wife, referring to +his plans for entertaining. + +She smiled wanly. “I suppose so,” she said. + + + + +Chapter XVI + + +It was not long after the arrangement between Treasurer Stener and +Cowperwood had been made that the machinery for the carrying out of +that political-financial relationship was put in motion. The sum of two +hundred and ten thousand dollars in six per cent. interest-bearing +certificates, payable in ten years, was set over to the credit of +Cowperwood & Co. on the books of the city, subject to his order. Then, +with proper listing, he began to offer it in small amounts at more than +ninety, at the same time creating the impression that it was going to +be a prosperous investment. The certificates gradually rose and were +unloaded in rising amounts until one hundred was reached, when all the +two hundred thousand dollars’ worth—two thousand certificates in +all—was fed out in small lots. Stener was satisfied. Two hundred shares +had been carried for him and sold at one hundred, which netted him two +thousand dollars. It was illegitimate gain, unethical; but his +conscience was not very much troubled by that. He had none, truly. He +saw visions of a halcyon future. + +It is difficult to make perfectly clear what a subtle and significant +power this suddenly placed in the hands of Cowperwood. Consider that he +was only twenty-eight—nearing twenty-nine. Imagine yourself by nature +versed in the arts of finance, capable of playing with sums of money in +the forms of stocks, certificates, bonds, and cash, as the ordinary man +plays with checkers or chess. Or, better yet, imagine yourself one of +those subtle masters of the mysteries of the higher forms of chess—the +type of mind so well illustrated by the famous and historic +chess-players, who could sit with their backs to a group of rivals +playing fourteen men at once, calling out all the moves in turn, +remembering all the positions of all the men on all the boards, and +winning. This, of course, would be an overstatement of the subtlety of +Cowperwood at this time, and yet it would not be wholly out of bounds. +He knew instinctively what could be done with a given sum of money—how +as cash it could be deposited in one place, and yet as credit and the +basis of moving checks, used in not one but many other places at the +same time. When properly watched and followed this manipulation gave +him the constructive and purchasing power of ten and a dozen times as +much as his original sum might have represented. He knew instinctively +the principles of “pyramiding” and “kiting.” He could see exactly not +only how he could raise and lower the value of these certificates of +loan, day after day and year after year—if he were so fortunate as to +retain his hold on the city treasurer—but also how this would give him +a credit with the banks hitherto beyond his wildest dreams. His +father’s bank was one of the first to profit by this and to extend him +loans. The various local politicians and bosses—Mollenhauer, Butler, +Simpson, and others—seeing the success of his efforts in this +direction, speculated in city loan. He became known to Mollenhauer and +Simpson, by reputation, if not personally, as the man who was carrying +this city loan proposition to a successful issue. Stener was supposed +to have done a clever thing in finding him. The stock exchange +stipulated that all trades were to be compared the same day and settled +before the close of the next; but this working arrangement with the new +city treasurer gave Cowperwood much more latitude, and now he had +always until the first of the month, or practically thirty days at +times, in which to render an accounting for all deals connected with +the loan issue. + +And, moreover, this was really not an accounting in the sense of +removing anything from his hands. Since the issue was to be so large, +the sum at his disposal would always be large, and so-called transfers +and balancing at the end of the month would be a mere matter of +bookkeeping. He could use these city loan certificates deposited with +him for manipulative purposes, deposit them at any bank as collateral +for a loan, quite as if they were his own, thus raising seventy per +cent. of their actual value in cash, and he did not hesitate to do so. +He could take this cash, which need not be accounted for until the end +of the month, and cover other stock transactions, on which he could +borrow again. There was no limit to the resources of which he now found +himself possessed, except the resources of his own energy, ingenuity, +and the limits of time in which he had to work. The politicians did not +realize what a bonanza he was making of it all for himself, because +they were as yet unaware of the subtlety of his mind. When Stener told +him, after talking the matter over with the mayor, Strobik, and others +that he would formally, during the course of the year, set over on the +city’s books all of the two millions in city loan, Cowperwood was +silent—but with delight. Two millions! His to play with! He had been +called in as a financial adviser, and he had given his advice and it +had been taken! Well. He was not a man who inherently was troubled with +conscientious scruples. At the same time he still believed himself +financially honest. He was no sharper or shrewder than any other +financier—certainly no sharper than any other would be if he could. + +It should be noted here that this proposition of Stener’s in regard to +city money had no connection with the attitude of the principal leaders +in local politics in regard to street-railway control, which was a new +and intriguing phase of the city’s financial life. Many of the leading +financiers and financier-politicians were interested in that. For +instance, Messrs. Mollenhauer, Butler, and Simpson were interested in +street-railways separately on their own account. There was no +understanding between them on this score. If they had thought at all on +the matter they would have decided that they did not want any outsider +to interfere. As a matter of fact the street-railway business in +Philadelphia was not sufficiently developed at this time to suggest to +any one the grand scheme of union which came later. Yet in connection +with this new arrangement between Stener and Cowperwood, it was Strobik +who now came forward to Stener with an idea of his own. All were +certain to make money through Cowperwood—he and Stener, especially. +What was amiss, therefore, with himself and Stener and with Cowperwood +as their—or rather Stener’s secret representative, since Strobik did +not dare to appear in the matter—buying now sufficient street-railway +shares in some one line to control it, and then, if he, Strobik, could, +by efforts of his own, get the city council to set aside certain +streets for its extension, why, there you were—they would own it. Only, +later, he proposed to shake Stener out if he could. But this +preliminary work had to be done by some one, and it might as well be +Stener. At the same time, as he saw, this work had to be done very +carefully, because naturally his superiors were watchful, and if they +found him dabbling in affairs of this kind to his own advantage, they +might make it impossible for him to continue politically in a position +where he could help himself just the same. Any outside organization +such as a street-railway company already in existence had a right to +appeal to the city council for privileges which would naturally further +its and the city’s growth, and, other things being equal, these could +not be refused. It would not do for him to appear, however, both as a +shareholder and president of the council. But with Cowperwood acting +privately for Stener it would be another thing. + +The interesting thing about this proposition as finally presented by +Stener for Strobik to Cowperwood, was that it raised, without appearing +to do so, the whole question of Cowperwood’s attitude toward the city +administration. Although he was dealing privately for Edward Butler as +an agent, and with this same plan in mind, and although he had never +met either Mollenhauer or Simpson, he nevertheless felt that in so far +as the manipulation of the city loan was concerned he was acting for +them. On the other hand, in this matter of the private street-railway +purchase which Stener now brought to him, he realized from the very +beginning, by Stener’s attitude, that there was something untoward in +it, that Stener felt he was doing something which he ought not to do. + +“Cowperwood,” he said to him the first morning he ever broached this +matter—it was in Stener’s office, at the old city hall at Sixth and +Chestnut, and Stener, in view of his oncoming prosperity, was feeling +very good indeed—“isn’t there some street-railway property around town +here that a man could buy in on and get control of if he had sufficient +money?” + +Cowperwood knew that there were such properties. His very alert mind +had long since sensed the general opportunities here. The omnibuses +were slowly disappearing. The best routes were already preempted. +Still, there were other streets, and the city was growing. The incoming +population would make great business in the future. One could afford to +pay almost any price for the short lines already built if one could +wait and extend the lines into larger and better areas later. And +already he had conceived in his own mind the theory of the “endless +chain,” or “argeeable formula,” as it was later termed, of buying a +certain property on a long-time payment and issuing stocks or bonds +sufficient not only to pay your seller, but to reimburse you for your +trouble, to say nothing of giving you a margin wherewith to invest in +other things—allied properties, for instance, against which more bonds +could be issued, and so on, ad infinitum. It became an old story later, +but it was new at that time, and he kept the thought closely to +himself. None the less he was glad to have Stener speak of this, since +street-railways were his hobby, and he was convinced that he would be a +great master of them if he ever had an opportunity to control them. + +“Why, yes, George,” he said, noncommittally, “there are two or three +that offer a good chance if a man had money enough. I notice blocks of +stock being offered on ’change now and then by one person and another. +It would be good policy to pick these things up as they’re offered, and +then to see later if some of the other stockholders won’t want to sell +out. Green and Coates, now, looks like a good proposition to me. If I +had three or four hundred thousand dollars that I thought I could put +into that by degrees I would follow it up. It only takes about thirty +per cent. of the stock of any railroad to control it. Most of the +shares are scattered around so far and wide that they never vote, and I +think two or three hundred thousand dollars would control that road.” +He mentioned one other line that might be secured in the same way in +the course of time. + +Stener meditated. “That’s a good deal of money,” he said, thoughtfully. +“I’ll talk to you about that some more later.” And he was off to see +Strobik none the less. + +Cowperwood knew that Stener did not have any two or three hundred +thousand dollars to invest in anything. There was only one way that he +could get it—and that was to borrow it out of the city treasury and +forego the interest. But he would not do that on his own initiative. +Some one else must be behind him and who else other than Mollenhauer, +or Simpson, or possibly even Butler, though he doubted that, unless the +triumvirate were secretly working together. But what of it? The larger +politicians were always using the treasury, and he was thinking now, +only, of his own attitude in regard to the use of this money. No harm +could come to him, if Stener’s ventures were successful; and there was +no reason why they should not be. Even if they were not he would be +merely acting as an agent. In addition, he saw how in the manipulation +of this money for Stener he could probably eventually control certain +lines for himself. + +There was one line being laid out to within a few blocks of his new +home—the Seventeenth and Nineteenth Street line it was called—which +interested him greatly. He rode on it occasionally when he was delayed +or did not wish to trouble about a vehicle. It ran through two thriving +streets of red-brick houses, and was destined to have a great future +once the city grew large enough. As yet it was really not long enough. +If he could get that, for instance, and combine it with Butler’s lines, +once they were secured—or Mollenhauer’s, or Simpson’s, the legislature +could be induced to give them additional franchises. He even dreamed of +a combination between Butler, Mollenhauer, Simpson, and himself. +Between them, politically, they could get anything. But Butler was not +a philanthropist. He would have to be approached with a very sizable +bird in hand. The combination must be obviously advisable. Besides, he +was dealing for Butler in street-railway stocks, and if this particular +line were such a good thing Butler might wonder why it had not been +brought to him in the first place. It would be better, Frank thought, +to wait until he actually had it as his own, in which case it would be +a different matter. Then he could talk as a capitalist. He began to +dream of a city-wide street-railway system controlled by a few men, or +preferably himself alone. + + + + +Chapter XVII + + +The days that had been passing brought Frank Cowperwood and Aileen +Butler somewhat closer together in spirit. Because of the pressure of +his growing affairs he had not paid so much attention to her as he +might have, but he had seen her often this past year. She was now +nineteen and had grown into some subtle thoughts of her own. For one +thing, she was beginning to see the difference between good taste and +bad taste in houses and furnishings. + +“Papa, why do we stay in this old barn?” she asked her father one +evening at dinner, when the usual family group was seated at the table. + +“What’s the matter with this house, I’d like to know?” demanded Butler, +who was drawn up close to the table, his napkin tucked comfortably +under his chin, for he insisted on this when company was not present. +“I don’t see anything the matter with this house. Your mother and I +manage to live in it well enough.” + +“Oh, it’s terrible, papa. You know it,” supplemented Norah, who was +seventeen and quite as bright as her sister, though a little less +experienced. “Everybody says so. Look at all the nice houses that are +being built everywhere about here.” + +“Everybody! Everybody! Who is ‘everybody,’ I’d like to know?” demanded +Butler, with the faintest touch of choler and much humor. “I’m +somebody, and I like it. Those that don’t like it don’t have to live in +it. Who are they? What’s the matter with it, I’d like to know?” + +The question in just this form had been up a number of times before, +and had been handled in just this manner, or passed over entirely with +a healthy Irish grin. To-night, however, it was destined for a little +more extended thought. + +“You know it’s bad, papa,” corrected Aileen, firmly. “Now what’s the +use getting mad about it? It’s old and cheap and dingy. The furniture +is all worn out. That old piano in there ought to be given away. I +won’t play on it any more. The Cowperwoods—” + +“Old is it!” exclaimed Butler, his accent sharpening somewhat with his +self-induced rage. He almost pronounced it “owled.” “Dingy, hi! Where +do you get that? At your convent, I suppose. And where is it worn? Show +me where it’s worn.” + +He was coming to her reference to Cowperwood, but he hadn’t reached +that when Mrs. Butler interfered. She was a stout, broad-faced woman, +smiling-mouthed most of the time, with blurry, gray Irish eyes, and a +touch of red in her hair, now modified by grayness. Her cheek, below +the mouth, on the left side, was sharply accented by a large wen. + +“Children! children!” (Mr. Butler, for all his commercial and political +responsibility, was as much a child to her as any.) “Youse mustn’t +quarrel now. Come now. Give your father the tomatoes.” + +There was an Irish maid serving at table; but plates were passed from +one to the other just the same. A heavily ornamented chandelier, +holding sixteen imitation candles in white porcelain, hung low over the +table and was brightly lighted, another offense to Aileen. + +“Mama, how often have I told you not to say ‘youse’?” pleaded Norah, +very much disheartened by her mother’s grammatical errors. “You know +you said you wouldn’t.” + +“And who’s to tell your mother what she should say?” called Butler, +more incensed than ever at this sudden and unwarranted rebellion and +assault. “Your mother talked before ever you was born, I’d have you +know. If it weren’t for her workin’ and slavin’ you wouldn’t have any +fine manners to be paradin’ before her. I’d have you know that. She’s a +better woman nor any you’ll be runnin’ with this day, you little +baggage, you!” + +“Mama, do you hear what he’s calling me?” complained Norah, hugging +close to her mother’s arm and pretending fear and dissatisfaction. + +“Eddie! Eddie!” cautioned Mrs. Butler, pleading with her husband. “You +know he don’t mean that, Norah, dear. Don’t you know he don’t?” + +She was stroking her baby’s head. The reference to her grammar had not +touched her at all. + +Butler was sorry that he had called his youngest a baggage; but these +children—God bless his soul—were a great annoyance. Why, in the name of +all the saints, wasn’t this house good enough for them? + +“Why don’t you people quit fussing at the table?” observed Callum, a +likely youth, with black hair laid smoothly over his forehead in a +long, distinguished layer reaching from his left to close to his right +ear, and his upper lip carrying a short, crisp mustache. His nose was +short and retrousse, and his ears were rather prominent; but he was +bright and attractive. He and Owen both realized that the house was old +and poorly arranged; but their father and mother liked it, and business +sense and family peace dictated silence on this score. + +“Well, I think it’s mean to have to live in this old place when people +not one-fourth as good as we are are living in better ones. The +Cowperwoods—why, even the Cowperwoods—” + +“Yes, the Cowperwoods! What about the Cowperwoods?” demanded Butler, +turning squarely to Aileen—she was sitting beside him—-his big, red +face glowing. + +“Why, even they have a better house than we have, and he’s merely an +agent of yours.” + +“The Cowperwoods! The Cowperwoods! I’ll not have any talk about the +Cowperwoods. I’m not takin’ my rules from the Cowperwoods. Suppose they +have a fine house, what of it? My house is my house. I want to live +here. I’ve lived here too long to be pickin’ up and movin’ away. If you +don’t like it you know what else you can do. Move if you want to. I’ll +not move.” + +It was Butler’s habit when he became involved in these family quarrels, +which were as shallow as puddles, to wave his hands rather +antagonistically under his wife’s or his children’s noses. + +“Oh, well, I will get out one of these days,” Aileen replied. “Thank +heaven I won’t have to live here forever.” + +There flashed across her mind the beautiful reception-room, library, +parlor, and boudoirs of the Cowperwoods, which were now being arranged +and about which Anna Cowperwood talked to her so much—their dainty, +lovely triangular grand piano in gold and painted pink and blue. Why +couldn’t they have things like that? Her father was unquestionably a +dozen times as wealthy. But no, her father, whom she loved dearly, was +of the old school. He was just what people charged him with being, a +rough Irish contractor. He might be rich. She flared up at the +injustice of things—why couldn’t he have been rich and refined, too? +Then they could have—but, oh, what was the use of complaining? They +would never get anywhere with her father and mother in charge. She +would just have to wait. Marriage was the answer—the right marriage. +But whom was she to marry? + +“You surely are not going to go on fighting about that now,” pleaded +Mrs. Butler, as strong and patient as fate itself. She knew where +Aileen’s trouble lay. + +“But we might have a decent house,” insisted Aileen. “Or this one done +over,” whispered Norah to her mother. + +“Hush now! In good time,” replied Mrs. Butler to Norah. “Wait. We’ll +fix it all up some day, sure. You run to your lessons now. You’ve had +enough.” + +Norah arose and left. Aileen subsided. Her father was simply stubborn +and impossible. And yet he was sweet, too. She pouted in order to +compel him to apologize. + +“Come now,” he said, after they had left the table, and conscious of +the fact that his daughter was dissatisfied with him. He must do +something to placate her. “Play me somethin’ on the piano, somethin’ +nice.” He preferred showy, clattery things which exhibited her skill +and muscular ability and left him wondering how she did it. That was +what education was for—to enable her to play these very difficult +things quickly and forcefully. “And you can have a new piano any time +you like. Go and see about it. This looks pretty good to me, but if you +don’t want it, all right.” Aileen squeezed his arm. What was the use of +arguing with her father? What good would a lone piano do, when the +whole house and the whole family atmosphere were at fault? But she +played Schumann, Schubert, Offenbach, Chopin, and the old gentleman +strolled to and fro and mused, smiling. There was real feeling and a +thoughtful interpretation given to some of these things, for Aileen was +not without sentiment, though she was so strong, vigorous, and withal +so defiant; but it was all lost on him. He looked on her, his bright, +healthy, enticingly beautiful daughter, and wondered what was going to +become of her. Some rich man was going to many her—some fine, rich +young man with good business instincts—and he, her father, would leave +her a lot of money. + +There was a reception and a dance to be given to celebrate the opening +of the two Cowperwood homes—the reception to be held in Frank +Cowperwood’s residence, and the dance later at his father’s. The Henry +Cowperwood domicile was much more pretentious, the reception-room, +parlor, music-room, and conservatory being in this case all on the +ground floor and much larger. Ellsworth had arranged it so that those +rooms, on occasion, could be thrown into one, leaving excellent space +for promenade, auditorium, dancing—anything, in fact, that a large +company might require. It had been the intention all along of the two +men to use these houses jointly. There was, to begin with, a +combination use of the various servants, the butler, gardener, +laundress, and maids. Frank Cowperwood employed a governess for his +children. The butler was really not a butler in the best sense. He was +Henry Cowperwood’s private servitor. But he could carve and preside, +and he could be used in either house as occasion warranted. There was +also a hostler and a coachman for the joint stable. When two carriages +were required at once, both drove. It made a very agreeable and +satisfactory working arrangement. + +The preparation of this reception had been quite a matter of +importance, for it was necessary for financial reasons to make it as +extensive as possible, and for social reasons as exclusive. It was +therefore decided that the afternoon reception at Frank’s house, with +its natural overflow into Henry W.’s, was to be for all—the Tighes, +Steners, Butlers, Mollenhauers, as well as the more select groups to +which, for instance, belonged Arthur Rivers, Mrs. Seneca Davis, Mr. and +Mrs. Trenor Drake, and some of the younger Drexels and Clarks, whom +Frank had met. It was not likely that the latter would condescend, but +cards had to be sent. Later in the evening a less democratic group if +possible was to be entertained, albeit it would have to be extended to +include the friends of Anna, Mrs. Cowperwood, Edward, and Joseph, and +any list which Frank might personally have in mind. This was to be the +list. The best that could be persuaded, commanded, or influenced of the +young and socially elect were to be invited here. + +It was not possible, however, not to invite the Butlers, parents and +children, particularly the children, for both afternoon and evening, +since Cowperwood was personally attracted to Aileen and despite the +fact that the presence of the parents would be most unsatisfactory. +Even Aileen as he knew was a little unsatisfactory to Anna and Mrs. +Frank Cowperwood; and these two, when they were together supervising +the list of invitations, often talked about it. + +“She’s so hoidenish,” observed Anna, to her sister-in-law, when they +came to the name of Aileen. “She thinks she knows so much, and she +isn’t a bit refined. Her father! Well, if I had her father I wouldn’t +talk so smart.” + +Mrs. Cowperwood, who was before her secretaire in her new boudoir, +lifted her eyebrows. + +“You know, Anna, I sometimes wish that Frank’s business did not compel +me to have anything to do with them. Mrs. Butler is such a bore. She +means well enough, but she doesn’t know anything. And Aileen is too +rough. She’s too forward, I think. She comes over here and plays upon +the piano, particularly when Frank’s here. I wouldn’t mind so much for +myself, but I know it must annoy him. All her pieces are so noisy. She +never plays anything really delicate and refined.” + +“I don’t like the way she dresses,” observed Anna, sympathetically. +“She gets herself up too conspicuously. Now, the other day I saw her +out driving, and oh, dear! you should have seen her! She had on a +crimson Zouave jacket heavily braided with black about the edges, and a +turban with a huge crimson feather, and crimson ribbons reaching nearly +to her waist. Imagine that kind of a hat to drive in. And her hands! +You should have seen the way she held her hands—oh—just +so—self-consciously. They were curved just so”—and she showed how. “She +had on yellow gauntlets, and she held the reins in one hand and the +whip in the other. She drives just like mad when she drives, anyhow, +and William, the footman, was up behind her. You should just have seen +her. Oh, dear! oh, dear! she does think she is so much!” And Anna +giggled, half in reproach, half in amusement. + +“I suppose we’ll have to invite her; I don’t see how we can get out of +it. I know just how she’ll do, though. She’ll walk about and pose and +hold her nose up.” + +“Really, I don’t see how she can,” commented Anna. “Now, I like Norah. +She’s much nicer. She doesn’t think she’s so much.” + +“I like Norah, too,” added Mrs. Cowperwood. “She’s really very sweet, +and to me she’s prettier.” + +“Oh, indeed, I think so, too.” + +It was curious, though, that it was Aileen who commanded nearly all +their attention and fixed their minds on her so-called idiosyncrasies. +All they said was in its peculiar way true; but in addition the girl +was really beautiful and much above the average intelligence and force. +She was running deep with ambition, and she was all the more +conspicuous, and in a way irritating to some, because she reflected in +her own consciousness her social defects, against which she was +inwardly fighting. She resented the fact that people could justly +consider her parents ineligible, and for that reason her also. She was +intrinsically as worth while as any one. Cowperwood, so able, and +rapidly becoming so distinguished, seemed to realize it. The days that +had been passing had brought them somewhat closer together in spirit. +He was nice to her and liked to talk to her. Whenever he was at her +home now, or she was at his and he was present, he managed somehow to +say a word. He would come over quite near and look at her in a warm +friendly fashion. + +“Well, Aileen”—she could see his genial eyes—“how is it with you? How +are your father and mother? Been out driving? That’s fine. I saw you +to-day. You looked beautiful.” + +“Oh, Mr. Cowperwood!” + +“You did. You looked stunning. A black riding-habit becomes you. I can +tell your gold hair a long way off.” + +“Oh, now, you mustn’t say that to me. You’ll make me vain. My mother +and father tell me I’m too vain as it is.” + +“Never mind your mother and father. I say you looked stunning, and you +did. You always do.” + +“Oh!” + +She gave a little gasp of delight. The color mounted to her cheeks and +temples. Mr. Cowperwood knew of course. He was so informed and +intensely forceful. And already he was so much admired by so many, her +own father and mother included, and by Mr. Mollenhauer and Mr. Simpson, +so she heard. And his own home and office were so beautiful. Besides, +his quiet intensity matched her restless force. + +Aileen and her sister were accordingly invited to the reception but the +Butlers mere and pere were given to understand, in as tactful a manner +as possible, that the dance afterward was principally for young people. + +The reception brought a throng of people. There were many, very many, +introductions. There were tactful descriptions of little effects Mr. +Ellsworth had achieved under rather trying circumstances; walks under +the pergola; viewings of both homes in detail. Many of the guests were +old friends. They gathered in the libraries and dining-rooms and +talked. There was much jesting, some slappings of shoulders, some good +story-telling, and so the afternoon waned into evening, and they went +away. + +Aileen had created an impression in a street costume of dark blue silk +with velvet pelisse to match, and trimmed with elaborate pleatings and +shirrings of the same materials. A toque of blue velvet, with high +crown and one large dark-red imitation orchid, had given her a jaunty, +dashing air. Beneath the toque her red-gold hair was arranged in an +enormous chignon, with one long curl escaping over her collar. She was +not exactly as daring as she seemed, but she loved to give that +impression. + +“You look wonderful,” Cowperwood said as she passed him. + +“I’ll look different to-night,” was her answer. + +She had swung herself with a slight, swaggering stride into the +dining-room and disappeared. Norah and her mother stayed to chat with +Mrs. Cowperwood. + +“Well, it’s lovely now, isn’t it?” breathed Mrs. Butler. “Sure you’ll +be happy here. Sure you will. When Eddie fixed the house we’re in now, +says I: ‘Eddie, it’s almost too fine for us altogether—surely it is,’ +and he says, says ’e, ‘Norah, nothin’ this side o’ heavin or beyond is +too good for ye’—and he kissed me. Now what d’ye think of that fer a +big, hulkin’ gossoon?” + +“It’s perfectly lovely, I think, Mrs. Butler,” commented Mrs. +Cowperwood, a little bit nervous because of others. + +“Mama does love to talk so. Come on, mama. Let’s look at the +dining-room.” It was Norah talking. + +“Well, may ye always be happy in it. I wish ye that. I’ve always been +happy in mine. May ye always be happy.” And she waddled good-naturedly +along. + +The Cowperwood family dined hastily alone between seven and eight. At +nine the evening guests began to arrive, and now the throng was of a +different complexion—girls in mauve and cream-white and salmon-pink and +silver-gray, laying aside lace shawls and loose dolmans, and the men in +smooth black helping them. Outside in the cold, the carriage doors were +slamming, and new guests were arriving constantly. Mrs. Cowperwood +stood with her husband and Anna in the main entrance to the reception +room, while Joseph and Edward Cowperwood and Mr. and Mrs. Henry W. +Cowperwood lingered in the background. Lillian looked charming in a +train gown of old rose, with a low, square neck showing a delicate +chemisette of fine lace. Her face and figure were still notable, though +her face was not as smoothly sweet as it had been years before when +Cowperwood had first met her. Anna Cowperwood was not pretty, though +she could not be said to be homely. She was small and dark, with a +turned-up nose, snapping black eyes, a pert, inquisitive, intelligent, +and alas, somewhat critical, air. She had considerable tact in the +matter of dressing. Black, in spite of her darkness, with shining beads +of sequins on it, helped her complexion greatly, as did a red rose in +her hair. She had smooth, white well-rounded arms and shoulders. Bright +eyes, a pert manner, clever remarks—these assisted to create an +illusion of charm, though, as she often said, it was of little use. +“Men want the dolly things.” + +In the evening inpour of young men and women came Aileen and Norah, the +former throwing off a thin net veil of black lace and a dolman of black +silk, which her brother Owen took from her. Norah was with Callum, a +straight, erect, smiling young Irishman, who looked as though he might +carve a notable career for himself. She wore a short, girlish dress +that came to a little below her shoe-tops, a pale-figured lavender and +white silk, with a fluffy hoop-skirt of dainty laced-edged ruffles, +against which tiny bows of lavender stood out in odd places. There was +a great sash of lavender about her waist, and in her hair a rosette of +the same color. She looked exceedingly winsome—eager and bright-eyed. + +But behind her was her sister in ravishing black satin, scaled as a +fish with glistening crimsoned-silver sequins, her round, smooth arms +bare to the shoulders, her corsage cut as low in the front and back as +her daring, in relation to her sense of the proprieties, permitted. She +was naturally of exquisite figure, erect, full-breasted, with somewhat +more than gently swelling hips, which, nevertheless, melted into +lovely, harmonious lines; and this low-cut corsage, receding back and +front into a deep V, above a short, gracefully draped overskirt of +black tulle and silver tissue, set her off to perfection. Her full, +smooth, roundly modeled neck was enhanced in its cream-pink whiteness +by an inch-wide necklet of black jet cut in many faceted black squares. +Her complexion, naturally high in tone because of the pink of health, +was enhanced by the tiniest speck of black court-plaster laid upon her +cheekbone; and her hair, heightened in its reddish-gold by her dress, +was fluffed loosely and adroitly about her eyes. The main mass of this +treasure was done in two loose braids caught up in a black spangled net +at the back of her neck; and her eyebrows had been emphasized by a +pencil into something almost as significant as her hair. She was, for +the occasion, a little too emphatic, perhaps, and yet more because of +her burning vitality than of her costume. Art for her should have meant +subduing her physical and spiritual significance. Life for her meant +emphasizing them. + +“Lillian!” Anna nudged her sister-in-law. She was grieved to think that +Aileen was wearing black and looked so much better than either of them. + +“I see,” Lillian replied, in a subdued tone. + +“So you’re back again.” She was addressing Aileen. “It’s chilly out, +isn’t it?” + +“I don’t mind. Don’t the rooms look lovely?” + +She was gazing at the softly lighted chambers and the throng before +her. + +Norah began to babble to Anna. “You know, I just thought I never would +get this old thing on.” She was speaking of her dress. “Aileen wouldn’t +help me—the mean thing!” + +Aileen had swept on to Cowperwood and his mother, who was near him. She +had removed from her arm the black satin ribbon which held her train +and kicked the skirts loose and free. Her eyes gleamed almost +pleadingly for all her hauteur, like a spirited collie’s, and her even +teeth showed beautifully. + +Cowperwood understood her precisely, as he did any fine, spirited +animal. + +“I can’t tell you how nice you look,” he whispered to her, familiarly, +as though there was an old understanding between them. “You’re like +fire and song.” + +He did not know why he said this. He was not especially poetic. He had +not formulated the phrase beforehand. Since his first glimpse of her in +the hall, his feelings and ideas had been leaping and plunging like +spirited horses. This girl made him set his teeth and narrow his eyes. +Involuntarily he squared his jaw, looking more defiant, forceful, +efficient, as she drew near. + +But Aileen and her sister were almost instantly surrounded by young men +seeking to be introduced and to write their names on dance-cards, and +for the time being she was lost to view. + + + + +Chapter XVIII + + +The seeds of change—subtle, metaphysical—are rooted deeply. From the +first mention of the dance by Mrs. Cowperwood and Anna, Aileen had been +conscious of a desire toward a more effective presentation of herself +than as yet, for all her father’s money, she had been able to achieve. +The company which she was to encounter, as she well knew, was to be so +much more impressive, distinguished than anything she had heretofore +known socially. Then, too, Cowperwood appeared as something more +definite in her mind than he had been before, and to save herself she +could not get him out of her consciousness. + +A vision of him had come to her but an hour before as she was dressing. +In a way she had dressed for him. She was never forgetful of the times +he had looked at her in an interested way. He had commented on her +hands once. To-day he had said that she looked “stunning,” and she had +thought how easy it would be to impress him to-night—to show him how +truly beautiful she was. + +She had stood before her mirror between eight and nine—it was +nine-fifteen before she was really ready—and pondered over what she +should wear. There were two tall pier-glasses in her wardrobe—an unduly +large piece of furniture—and one in her closet door. She stood before +the latter, looking at her bare arms and shoulders, her shapely figure, +thinking of the fact that her left shoulder had a dimple, and that she +had selected garnet garters decorated with heart-shaped silver buckles. +The corset could not be made quite tight enough at first, and she +chided her maid, Kathleen Kelly. She studied how to arrange her hair, +and there was much ado about that before it was finally adjusted. She +penciled her eyebrows and plucked at the hair about her forehead to +make it loose and shadowy. She cut black court-plaster with her +nail-shears and tried different-sized pieces in different places. +Finally, she found one size and one place that suited her. She turned +her head from side to side, looking at the combined effect of her hair, +her penciled brows, her dimpled shoulder, and the black beauty-spot. If +some one man could see her as she was now, some time! Which man? That +thought scurried back like a frightened rat into its hole. She was, for +all her strength, afraid of the thought of the one—the very deadly—the +man. + +And then she came to the matter of a train-gown. Kathleen laid out +five, for Aileen had come into the joy and honor of these things +recently, and she had, with the permission of her mother and father, +indulged herself to the full. She studied a golden-yellow silk, with +cream-lace shoulder-straps, and some gussets of garnet beads in the +train that shimmered delightfully, but set it aside. She considered +favorably a black-and-white striped silk of odd gray effect, and, +though she was sorely tempted to wear it, finally let it go. There was +a maroon dress, with basque and overskirt over white silk; a rich +cream-colored satin; and then this black sequined gown, which she +finally chose. She tried on the cream-colored satin first, however, +being in much doubt about it; but her penciled eyes and beauty-spot did +not seem to harmonize with it. Then she put on the black silk with its +glistening crimsoned-silver sequins, and, lo, it touched her. She liked +its coquettish drapery of tulle and silver about the hips. The +“overskirt,” which was at that time just coming into fashion, though +avoided by the more conservative, had been adopted by Aileen with +enthusiasm. She thrilled a little at the rustle of this black dress, +and thrust her chin and nose forward to make it set right. Then after +having Kathleen tighten her corsets a little more, she gathered the +train over her arm by its train-band and looked again. Something was +wanting. Oh, yes, her neck! What to wear—red coral? It did not look +right. A string of pearls? That would not do either. There was a +necklace made of small cameos set in silver which her mother had +purchased, and another of diamonds which belonged to her mother, but +they were not right. Finally, her jet necklet, which she did not value +very highly, came into her mind, and, oh, how lovely it looked! How +soft and smooth and glistening her chin looked above it. She caressed +her neck affectionately, called for her black lace mantilla, her long, +black silk dolman lined with red, and she was ready. + +The ball-room, as she entered, was lovely enough. The young men and +young women she saw there were interesting, and she was not wanting for +admirers. The most aggressive of these youths—the most +forceful—recognized in this maiden a fillip to life, a sting to +existence. She was as a honey-jar surrounded by too hungry flies. + +But it occurred to her, as her dance-list was filling up, that there +was not much left for Mr. Cowperwood, if he should care to dance with +her. + +Cowperwood was meditating, as he received the last of the guests, on +the subtlety of this matter of the sex arrangement of life. Two sexes. +He was not at all sure that there was any law governing them. By +comparison now with Aileen Butler, his wife looked rather dull, quite +too old, and when he was ten years older she would look very much +older. + +“Oh, yes, Ellsworth had made quite an attractive arrangement out of +these two houses—better than we ever thought he could do.” He was +talking to Henry Hale Sanderson, a young banker. “He had the advantage +of combining two into one, and I think he’s done more with my little +one, considering the limitations of space, than he has with this big +one. Father’s has the advantage of size. I tell the old gentleman he’s +simply built a lean-to for me.” + +His father and a number of his cronies were over in the dining-room of +his grand home, glad to get away from the crowd. He would have to stay, +and, besides, he wanted to. Had he better dance with Aileen? His wife +cared little for dancing, but he would have to dance with her at least +once. There was Mrs. Seneca Davis smiling at him, and Aileen. By +George, how wonderful! What a girl! + +“I suppose your dance-list is full to overflowing. Let me see.” He was +standing before her and she was holding out the little blue-bordered, +gold-monogrammed booklet. An orchestra was playing in the music room. +The dance would begin shortly. There were delicately constructed, +gold-tinted chairs about the walls and behind palms. + +He looked down into her eyes—those excited, life-loving, eager eyes. + +“You’re quite full up. Let me see. Nine, ten, eleven. Well, that will +be enough. I don’t suppose I shall want to dance very much. It’s nice +to be popular.” + +“I’m not sure about number three. I think that’s a mistake. You might +have that if you wish.” + +She was falsifying. + +“It doesn’t matter so much about him, does it?” + +His cheeks flushed a little as he said this. + +“No.” + +Her own flamed. + +“Well, I’ll see where you are when it’s called. You’re darling. I’m +afraid of you.” He shot a level, interpretive glance into her eyes, +then left. Aileen’s bosom heaved. It was hard to breathe sometimes in +this warm air. + +While he was dancing first with Mrs. Cowperwood and later with Mrs. +Seneca Davis, and still later with Mrs. Martyn Walker, Cowperwood had +occasion to look at Aileen often, and each time that he did so there +swept over him a sense of great vigor there, of beautiful if raw, +dynamic energy that to him was irresistible and especially so to-night. +She was so young. She was beautiful, this girl, and in spite of his +wife’s repeated derogatory comments he felt that she was nearer to his +clear, aggressive, unblinking attitude than any one whom he had yet +seen in the form of woman. She was unsophisticated, in a way, that was +plain, and yet in another way it would take so little to make her +understand so much. Largeness was the sense he had of her—not +physically, though she was nearly as tall as himself—but emotionally. +She seemed so intensely alive. She passed close to him a number of +times, her eyes wide and smiling, her lips parted, her teeth agleam, +and he felt a stirring of sympathy and companionship for her which he +had not previously experienced. She was lovely, all of her—delightful. + +“I’m wondering if that dance is open now,” he said to her as he drew +near toward the beginning of the third set. She was seated with her +latest admirer in a far corner of the general living-room, a clear +floor now waxed to perfection. A few palms here and there made +embrasured parapets of green. “I hope you’ll excuse me,” he added, +deferentially, to her companion. + +“Surely,” the latter replied, rising. + +“Yes, indeed,” she replied. “And you’d better stay here with me. It’s +going to begin soon. You won’t mind?” she added, giving her companion a +radiant smile. + +“Not at all. I’ve had a lovely waltz.” He strolled off. + +Cowperwood sat down. “That’s young Ledoux, isn’t it? I thought so. I +saw you dancing. You like it, don’t you?” + +“I’m crazy about it.” + +“Well, I can’t say that myself. It’s fascinating, though. Your partner +makes such a difference. Mrs. Cowperwood doesn’t like it as much as I +do.” + +His mention of Lillian made Aileen think of her in a faintly derogative +way for a moment. + +“I think you dance very well. I watched you, too.” She questioned +afterwards whether she should have said this. It sounded most forward +now—almost brazen. + +“Oh, did you?” + +“Yes.” + +He was a little keyed up because of her—slightly cloudy in his +thoughts—because she was generating a problem in his life, or would if +he let her, and so his talk was a little tame. He was thinking of +something to say—some words which would bring them a little nearer +together. But for the moment he could not. Truth to tell, he wanted to +say a great deal. + +“Well, that was nice of you,” he added, after a moment. “What made you +do it?” + +He turned with a mock air of inquiry. The music was beginning again. +The dancers were rising. He arose. + +He had not intended to give this particular remark a serious turn; but, +now that she was so near him, he looked into her eyes steadily but with +a soft appeal and said, “Yes, why?” + +They had come out from behind the palms. He had put his hand to her +waist. His right arm held her left extended arm to arm, palm to palm. +Her right hand was on his shoulder, and she was close to him, looking +into his eyes. As they began the gay undulations of the waltz she +looked away and then down without answering. Her movements were as +light and airy as those of a butterfly. He felt a sudden lightness +himself, communicated as by an invisible current. He wanted to match +the suppleness of her body with his own, and did. Her arms, the flash +and glint of the crimson sequins against the smooth, black silk of her +closely fitting dress, her neck, her glowing, radiant hair, all +combined to provoke a slight intellectual intoxication. She was so +vigorously young, so, to him, truly beautiful. + +“But you didn’t answer,” he continued. + +“Isn’t this lovely music?” + +He pressed her fingers. + +She lifted shy eyes to him now, for, in spite of her gay, aggressive +force, she was afraid of him. His personality was obviously so +dominating. Now that he was so close to her, dancing, she conceived of +him as something quite wonderful, and yet she experienced a nervous +reaction—a momentary desire to run away. + +“Very well, if you won’t tell me,” he smiled, mockingly. + +He thought she wanted him to talk to her so, to tease her with +suggestions of this concealed feeling of his—this strong liking. He +wondered what could come of any such understanding as this, anyhow? + +“Oh, I just wanted to see how you danced,” she said, tamely, the force +of her original feeling having been weakened by a thought of what she +was doing. He noted the change and smiled. It was lovely to be dancing +with her. He had not thought mere dancing could hold such charm. + +“You like me?” he said, suddenly, as the music drew to its close. + +She thrilled from head to toe at the question. A piece of ice dropped +down her back could not have startled her more. It was apparently +tactless, and yet it was anything but tactless. She looked up quickly, +directly, but his strong eyes were too much for her. + +“Why, yes,” she answered, as the music stopped, trying to keep an even +tone to her voice. She was glad they were walking toward a chair. + +“I like you so much,” he said, “that I have been wondering if you +really like me.” There was an appeal in his voice, soft and gentle. His +manner was almost sad. + +“Why, yes,” she replied, instantly, returning to her earlier mood +toward him. “You know I do.” + +“I need some one like you to like me,” he continued, in the same vein. +“I need some one like you to talk to. I didn’t think so before—but now +I do. You are beautiful—wonderful.” + +“We mustn’t,” she said. “I mustn’t. I don’t know what I’m doing.” She +looked at a young man strolling toward her, and asked: “I have to +explain to him. He’s the one I had this dance with.” + +Cowperwood understood. He walked away. He was quite warm and tense +now—almost nervous. It was quite clear to him that he had done or was +contemplating perhaps a very treacherous thing. Under the current code +of society he had no right to do it. It was against the rules, as they +were understood by everybody. Her father, for instance—his father—every +one in this particular walk of life. However, much breaking of the +rules under the surface of things there might be, the rules were still +there. As he had heard one young man remark once at school, when some +story had been told of a boy leading a girl astray and to a disastrous +end, “That isn’t the way at all.” + +Still, now that he had said this, strong thoughts of her were in his +mind. And despite his involved social and financial position, which he +now recalled, it was interesting to him to see how deliberately and +even calculatingly—and worse, enthusiastically—he was pumping the +bellows that tended only to heighten the flames of his desire for this +girl; to feed a fire that might ultimately consume him—and how +deliberately and resourcefully! + +Aileen toyed aimlessly with her fan as a black-haired, thin-faced young +law student talked to her, and seeing Norah in the distance she asked +to be allowed to run over to her. + +“Oh, Aileen,” called Norah, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. +Where have you been?” + +“Dancing, of course. Where do you suppose I’ve been? Didn’t you see me +on the floor?” + +“No, I didn’t,” complained Norah, as though it were most essential that +she should. “How late are you going to stay?” + +“Until it’s over, I suppose. I don’t know.” + +“Owen says he’s going at twelve.” + +“Well, that doesn’t matter. Some one will take me home. Are you having +a good time?” + +“Fine. Oh, let me tell you. I stepped on a lady’s dress over there, +last dance. She was terribly angry. She gave me such a look.” + +“Well, never mind, honey. She won’t hurt you. Where are you going now?” + +Aileen always maintained a most guardian-like attitude toward her +sister. + +“I want to find Callum. He has to dance with me next time. I know what +he’s trying to do. He’s trying to get away from me. But he won’t.” + +Aileen smiled. Norah looked very sweet. And she was so bright. What +would she think of her if she knew? She turned back, and her fourth +partner sought her. She began talking gayly, for she felt that she had +to make a show of composure; but all the while there was ringing in her +ears that definite question of his, “You like me, don’t you?” and her +later uncertain but not less truthful answer, “Yes, of course I do.” + + + + +Chapter XIX + + +The growth of a passion is a very peculiar thing. In highly organized +intellectual and artistic types it is so often apt to begin with keen +appreciation of certain qualities, modified by many, many mental +reservations. The egoist, the intellectual, gives but little of himself +and asks much. Nevertheless, the lover of life, male or female, finding +himself or herself in sympathetic accord with such a nature, is apt to +gain much. + +Cowperwood was innately and primarily an egoist and intellectual, +though blended strongly therewith, was a humane and democratic spirit. +We think of egoism and intellectualism as closely confined to the arts. +Finance is an art. And it presents the operations of the subtlest of +the intellectuals and of the egoists. Cowperwood was a financier. +Instead of dwelling on the works of nature, its beauty and subtlety, to +his material disadvantage, he found a happy mean, owing to the +swiftness of his intellectual operations, whereby he could, +intellectually and emotionally, rejoice in the beauty of life without +interfering with his perpetual material and financial calculations. And +when it came to women and morals, which involved so much relating to +beauty, happiness, a sense of distinction and variety in living, he was +but now beginning to suspect for himself at least that apart from +maintaining organized society in its present form there was no basis +for this one-life, one-love idea. How had it come about that so many +people agreed on this single point, that it was good and necessary to +marry one woman and cleave to her until death? He did not know. It was +not for him to bother about the subtleties of evolution, which even +then was being noised abroad, or to ferret out the curiosities of +history in connection with this matter. He had no time. Suffice it that +the vagaries of temperament and conditions with which he came into +immediate contact proved to him that there was great dissatisfaction +with that idea. People did not cleave to each other until death; and in +thousands of cases where they did, they did not want to. Quickness of +mind, subtlety of idea, fortuitousness of opportunity, made it possible +for some people to right their matrimonial and social infelicities; +whereas for others, because of dullness of wit, thickness of +comprehension, poverty, and lack of charm, there was no escape from the +slough of their despond. They were compelled by some devilish accident +of birth or lack of force or resourcefulness to stew in their own juice +of wretchedness, or to shuffle off this mortal coil—which under other +circumstances had such glittering possibilities—via the rope, the +knife, the bullet, or the cup of poison. + +“I would die, too,” he thought to himself, one day, reading of a man +who, confined by disease and poverty, had lived for twelve years alone +in a back bedroom attended by an old and probably decrepit housekeeper. +A darning-needle forced into his heart had ended his earthly woes. “To +the devil with such a life! Why twelve years? Why not at the end of the +second or third?” + +Again, it was so very evident, in so many ways, that force was the +answer—great mental and physical force. Why, these giants of commerce +and money could do as they pleased in this life, and did. He had +already had ample local evidence of it in more than one direction. +Worse—the little guardians of so-called law and morality, the +newspapers, the preachers, the police, and the public moralists +generally, so loud in their denunciation of evil in humble places, were +cowards all when it came to corruption in high ones. They did not dare +to utter a feeble squeak until some giant had accidentally fallen and +they could do so without danger to themselves. Then, O Heavens, the +palaver! What beatings of tom-toms! What mouthings of pharisaical +moralities—platitudes! Run now, good people, for you may see clearly +how evil is dealt with in high places! It made him smile. Such +hypocrisy! Such cant! Still, so the world was organized, and it was not +for him to set it right. Let it wag as it would. The thing for him to +do was to get rich and hold his own—to build up a seeming of virtue and +dignity which would pass muster for the genuine thing. Force would do +that. Quickness of wit. And he had these. “I satisfy myself,” was his +motto; and it might well have been emblazoned upon any coat of arms +which he could have contrived to set forth his claim to intellectual +and social nobility. + +But this matter of Aileen was up for consideration and solution at this +present moment, and because of his forceful, determined character he +was presently not at all disturbed by the problem it presented. It was +a problem, like some of those knotty financial complications which +presented themselves daily; but it was not insoluble. What did he want +to do? He couldn’t leave his wife and fly with Aileen, that was +certain. He had too many connections. He had too many social, and +thinking of his children and parents, emotional as well as financial +ties to bind him. Besides, he was not at all sure that he wanted to. He +did not intend to leave his growing interests, and at the same time he +did not intend to give up Aileen immediately. The unheralded +manifestation of interest on her part was too attractive. Mrs. +Cowperwood was no longer what she should be physically and mentally, +and that in itself to him was sufficient to justify his present +interest in this girl. Why fear anything, if only he could figure out a +way to achieve it without harm to himself? At the same time he thought +it might never be possible for him to figure out any practical or +protective program for either himself or Aileen, and that made him +silent and reflective. For by now he was intensely drawn to her, as he +could feel—something chemic and hence dynamic was uppermost in him now +and clamoring for expression. + +At the same time, in contemplating his wife in connection with all +this, he had many qualms, some emotional, some financial. While she had +yielded to his youthful enthusiasm for her after her husband’s death, +he had only since learned that she was a natural conservator of public +morals—the cold purity of the snowdrift in so far as the world might +see, combined at times with the murky mood of the wanton. And yet, as +he had also learned, she was ashamed of the passion that at times swept +and dominated her. This irritated Cowperwood, as it would always +irritate any strong, acquisitive, direct-seeing temperament. While he +had no desire to acquaint the whole world with his feelings, why should +there be concealment between them, or at least mental evasion of a fact +which physically she subscribed to? Why do one thing and think another? +To be sure, she was devoted to him in her quiet way, not passionately +(as he looked back he could not say that she had ever been that), but +intellectually. Duty, as she understood it, played a great part in +this. She was dutiful. And then what people thought, what the +time-spirit demanded—these were the great things. Aileen, on the +contrary, was probably not dutiful, and it was obvious that she had no +temperamental connection with current convention. No doubt she had been +as well instructed as many another girl, but look at her. She was not +obeying her instructions. + +In the next three months this relationship took on a more flagrant +form. Aileen, knowing full well what her parents would think, how +unspeakable in the mind of the current world were the thoughts she was +thinking, persisted, nevertheless, in so thinking and longing. +Cowperwood, now that she had gone thus far and compromised herself in +intention, if not in deed, took on a peculiar charm for her. It was not +his body—great passion is never that, exactly. The flavor of his spirit +was what attracted and compelled, like the glow of a flame to a moth. +There was a light of romance in his eyes, which, however governed and +controlled—was directive and almost all-powerful to her. + +When he touched her hand at parting, it was as though she had received +an electric shock, and she recalled that it was very difficult for her +to look directly into his eyes. Something akin to a destructive force +seemed to issue from them at times. Other people, men particularly, +found it difficult to face Cowperwood’s glazed stare. It was as though +there were another pair of eyes behind those they saw, watching through +thin, obscuring curtains. You could not tell what he was thinking. + +And during the next few months she found herself coming closer and +closer to Cowperwood. At his home one evening, seated at the piano, no +one else being present at the moment, he leaned over and kissed her. +There was a cold, snowy street visible through the interstices of the +hangings of the windows, and gas-lamps flickering outside. He had come +in early, and hearing Aileen, he came to where she was seated at the +piano. She was wearing a rough, gray wool cloth dress, ornately banded +with fringed Oriental embroidery in blue and burnt-orange, and her +beauty was further enhanced by a gray hat planned to match her dress, +with a plume of shaded orange and blue. On her fingers were four or +five rings, far too many—an opal, an emerald, a ruby, and a +diamond—flashing visibly as she played. + +She knew it was he, without turning. He came beside her, and she looked +up smiling, the reverie evoked by Schubert partly vanishing—or melting +into another mood. Suddenly he bent over and pressed his lips firmly to +hers. His mustache thrilled her with its silky touch. She stopped +playing and tried to catch her breath, for, strong as she was, it +affected her breathing. Her heart was beating like a triphammer. She +did not say, “Oh,” or, “You mustn’t,” but rose and walked over to a +window, where she lifted a curtain, pretending to look out. She felt as +though she might faint, so intensely happy was she. + +Cowperwood followed her quickly. Slipping his arms about her waist, he +looked at her flushed cheeks, her clear, moist eyes and red mouth. + +“You love me?” he whispered, stern and compelling because of his +desire. + +“Yes! Yes! You know I do.” + +He crushed her face to his, and she put up her hands and stroked his +hair. + +A thrilling sense of possession, mastery, happiness and understanding, +love of her and of her body, suddenly overwhelmed him. + +“I love you,” he said, as though he were surprised to hear himself say +it. “I didn’t think I did, but I do. You’re beautiful. I’m wild about +you.” + +“And I love you” she answered. “I can’t help it. I know I shouldn’t, +but—oh—” Her hands closed tight over his ears and temples. She put her +lips to his and dreamed into his eyes. Then she stepped away quickly, +looking out into the street, and he walked back into the living-room. +They were quite alone. He was debating whether he should risk anything +further when Norah, having been in to see Anna next door, appeared and +not long afterward Mrs. Cowperwood. Then Aileen and Norah left. + + + + +Chapter XX + + +This definite and final understanding having been reached, it was but +natural that this liaison should proceed to a closer and closer +relationship. Despite her religious upbringing, Aileen was decidedly a +victim of her temperament. Current religious feeling and belief could +not control her. For the past nine or ten years there had been slowly +forming in her mind a notion of what her lover should be like. He +should be strong, handsome, direct, successful, with clear eyes, a +ruddy glow of health, and a certain native understanding and sympathy—a +love of life which matched her own. Many young men had approached her. +Perhaps the nearest realization of her ideal was Father David, of St. +Timothy’s, and he was, of course, a priest and sworn to celibacy. No +word had ever passed between them but he had been as conscious of her +as she of him. Then came Frank Cowperwood, and by degrees, because of +his presence and contact, he had been slowly built up in her mind as +the ideal person. She was drawn as planets are drawn to their sun. + +It is a question as to what would have happened if antagonistic forces +could have been introduced just at this time. Emotions and liaisons of +this character can, of course, occasionally be broken up and destroyed. +The characters of the individuals can be modified or changed to a +certain extent, but the force must be quite sufficient. Fear is a great +deterrent—fear of material loss where there is no spiritual dread—but +wealth and position so often tend to destroy this dread. It is so easy +to scheme with means. Aileen had no spiritual dread whatever. +Cowperwood was without spiritual or religious feeling. He looked at +this girl, and his one thought was how could he so deceive the world +that he could enjoy her love and leave his present state undisturbed. +Love her he did surely. + +Business necessitated his calling at the Butlers’ quite frequently, and +on each occasion he saw Aileen. She managed to slip forward and squeeze +his hand the first time he came—to steal a quick, vivid kiss; and +another time, as he was going out, she suddenly appeared from behind +the curtains hanging at the parlor door. + +“Honey!” + +The voice was soft and coaxing. He turned, giving her a warning nod in +the direction of her father’s room upstairs. + +She stood there, holding out one hand, and he stepped forward for a +second. Instantly her arms were about his neck, as he slipped his about +her waist. + +“I long to see you so.” + +“I, too. I’ll fix some way. I’m thinking.” + +He released her arms, and went out, and she ran to the window and +looked out after him. He was walking west on the street, for his house +was only a few blocks away, and she looked at the breadth of his +shoulders, the balance of his form. He stepped so briskly, so +incisively. Ah, this was a man! He was her Frank. She thought of him in +that light already. Then she sat down at the piano and played pensively +until dinner. + +And it was so easy for the resourceful mind of Frank Cowperwood, +wealthy as he was, to suggest ways and means. In his younger +gallivantings about places of ill repute, and his subsequent occasional +variations from the straight and narrow path, he had learned much of +the curious resources of immorality. Being a city of five hundred +thousand and more at this time, Philadelphia had its nondescript +hotels, where one might go, cautiously and fairly protected from +observation; and there were houses of a conservative, residential +character, where appointments might be made, for a consideration. And +as for safeguards against the production of new life—they were not +mysteries to him any longer. He knew all about them. Care was the point +of caution. He had to be cautious, for he was so rapidly coming to be +an influential and a distinguished man. Aileen, of course, was not +conscious, except in a vague way, of the drift of her passion; the +ultimate destiny to which this affection might lead was not clear to +her. Her craving was for love—to be fondled and caressed—and she really +did not think so much further. Further thoughts along this line were +like rats that showed their heads out of dark holes in shadowy corners +and scuttled back at the least sound. And, anyhow, all that was to be +connected with Cowperwood would be beautiful. She really did not think +that he loved her yet as he should; but he would. She did not know that +she wanted to interfere with the claims of his wife. She did not think +she did. But it would not hurt Mrs. Cowperwood if Frank loved +her—Aileen—also. + +How shall we explain these subtleties of temperament and desire? Life +has to deal with them at every turn. They will not down, and the large, +placid movements of nature outside of man’s little organisms would +indicate that she is not greatly concerned. We see much punishment in +the form of jails, diseases, failures, and wrecks; but we also see that +the old tendency is not visibly lessened. Is there no law outside of +the subtle will and power of the individual to achieve? If not, it is +surely high time that we knew it—one and all. We might then agree to do +as we do; but there would be no silly illusion as to divine regulation. +Vox populi, vox Dei. + +So there were other meetings, lovely hours which they soon began to +spend the moment her passion waxed warm enough to assure compliance, +without great fear and without thought of the deadly risk involved. +From odd moments in his own home, stolen when there was no one about to +see, they advanced to clandestine meetings beyond the confines of the +city. Cowperwood was not one who was temperamentally inclined to lose +his head and neglect his business. As a matter of fact, the more he +thought of this rather unexpected affectional development, the more +certain he was that he must not let it interfere with his business time +and judgment. His office required his full attention from nine until +three, anyhow. He could give it until five-thirty with profit; but he +could take several afternoons off, from three-thirty until five-thirty +or six, and no one would be the wiser. It was customary for Aileen to +drive alone almost every afternoon a spirited pair of bays, or to ride +a mount, bought by her father for her from a noted horse-dealer in +Baltimore. Since Cowperwood also drove and rode, it was not difficult +to arrange meeting-places far out on the Wissahickon or the Schuylkill +road. There were many spots in the newly laid-out park, which were as +free from interruption as the depths of a forest. It was always +possible that they might encounter some one; but it was also always +possible to make a rather plausible explanation, or none at all, since +even in case of such an encounter nothing, ordinarily, would be +suspected. + +So, for the time being there was love-making, the usual billing and +cooing of lovers in a simple and much less than final fashion; and the +lovely horseback rides together under the green trees of the +approaching spring were idyllic. Cowperwood awakened to a sense of joy +in life such as he fancied, in the blush of this new desire, he had +never experienced before. Lillian had been lovely in those early days +in which he had first called on her in North Front Street, and he had +fancied himself unspeakably happy at that time; but that was nearly ten +years since, and he had forgotten. Since then he had had no great +passion, no notable liaison; and then, all at once, in the midst of his +new, great business prosperity, Aileen. Her young body and soul, her +passionate illusions. He could see always, for all her daring, that she +knew so little of the calculating, brutal world with which he was +connected. Her father had given her all the toys she wanted without +stint; her mother and brothers had coddled her, particularly her +mother. Her young sister thought she was adorable. No one imagined for +one moment that Aileen would ever do anything wrong. She was too +sensible, after all, too eager to get up in the world. Why should she, +when her life lay open and happy before her—a delightful love-match, +some day soon, with some very eligible and satisfactory lover? + +“When you marry, Aileen,” her mother used to say to her, “we’ll have a +grand time here. Sure we’ll do the house over then, if we don’t do it +before. Eddie will have to fix it up, or I’ll do it meself. Never +fear.” + +“Yes—well, I’d rather you’d fix it now,” was her reply. + +Butler himself used to strike her jovially on the shoulder in a rough, +loving way, and ask, “Well, have you found him yet?” or “Is he hanging +around the outside watchin’ for ye?” + +If she said, “No,” he would reply: “Well, he will be, never fear—worse +luck. I’ll hate to see ye go, girlie! You can stay here as long as ye +want to, and ye want to remember that you can always come back.” + +Aileen paid very little attention to this bantering. She loved her +father, but it was all such a matter of course. It was the commonplace +of her existence, and not so very significant, though delightful +enough. + +But how eagerly she yielded herself to Cowperwood under the spring +trees these days! She had no sense of that ultimate yielding that was +coming, for now he merely caressed and talked to her. He was a little +doubtful about himself. His growing liberties for himself seemed +natural enough, but in a sense of fairness to her he began to talk to +her about what their love might involve. Would she? Did she understand? +This phase of it puzzled and frightened Aileen a little at first. She +stood before him one afternoon in her black riding-habit and high silk +riding-hat perched jauntily on her red-gold hair; and striking her +riding-skirt with her short whip, pondering doubtfully as she listened. +He had asked her whether she knew what she was doing? Whither they were +drifting? If she loved him truly enough? The two horses were tethered +in a thicket a score of yards away from the main road and from the bank +of a tumbling stream, which they had approached. She was trying to +discover if she could see them. It was pretense. There was no interest +in her glance. She was thinking of him and the smartness of his habit, +and the exquisiteness of this moment. He had such a charming calico +pony. The leaves were just enough developed to make a diaphanous +lacework of green. It was like looking through a green-spangled arras +to peer into the woods beyond or behind. The gray stones were already +faintly messy where the water rippled and sparkled, and early birds +were calling—robins and blackbirds and wrens. + +“Baby mine,” he said, “do you understand all about this? Do you know +exactly what you’re doing when you come with me this way?” + +“I think I do.” + +She struck her boot and looked at the ground, and then up through the +trees at the blue sky. + +“Look at me, honey.” + +“I don’t want to.” + +“But look at me, sweet. I want to ask you something.” + +“Don’t make me, Frank, please. I can’t.” + +“Oh yes, you can look at me.” + +“No.” + +She backed away as he took her hands, but came forward again, easily +enough. + +“Now look in my eyes.” + +“I can’t.” + +“See here.” + +“I can’t. Don’t ask me. I’ll answer you, but don’t make me look at +you.” + +His hand stole to her cheek and fondled it. He petted her shoulder, and +she leaned her head against him. + +“Sweet, you’re so beautiful,” he said finally, “I can’t give you up. I +know what I ought to do. You know, too, I suppose; but I can’t. I must +have you. If this should end in exposure, it would be quite bad for you +and me. Do you understand?” + +“Yes.” + +“I don’t know your brothers very well; but from looking at them I judge +they’re pretty determined people. They think a great deal of you.” + +“Indeed, they do.” Her vanity prinked slightly at this. + +“They would probably want to kill me, and very promptly, for just this +much. What do you think they would want to do if—well, if anything +should happen, some time?” + +He waited, watching her pretty face. + +“But nothing need happen. We needn’t go any further.” + +“Aileen!” + +“I won’t look at you. You needn’t ask. I can’t.” + +“Aileen! Do you mean that?” + +“I don’t know. Don’t ask me, Frank.” + +“You know it can’t stop this way, don’t you? You know it. This isn’t +the end. Now, if—” He explained the whole theory of illicit meetings, +calmly, dispassionately. “You are perfectly safe, except for one thing, +chance exposure. It might just so happen; and then, of course, there +would be a great deal to settle for. Mrs. Cowperwood would never give +me a divorce; she has no reason to. If I should clean up in the way I +hope to—if I should make a million—I wouldn’t mind knocking off now. I +don’t expect to work all my days. I have always planned to knock off at +thirty-five. I’ll have enough by that time. Then I want to travel. It +will only be a few more years now. If you were free—if your father and +mother were dead”—curiously she did not wince at this practical +reference—“it would be a different matter.” + +He paused. She still gazed thoughtfully at the water below, her mind +running out to a yacht on the sea with him, a palace somewhere—just +they two. Her eyes, half closed, saw this happy world; and, listening +to him, she was fascinated. + +“Hanged if I see the way out of this, exactly. But I love you!” He +caught her to him. “I love you—love you!” + +“Oh, yes,” she replied intensely, “I want you to. I’m not afraid.” + +“I’ve taken a house in North Tenth Street,” he said finally, as they +walked over to the horses and mounted them. “It isn’t furnished yet; +but it will be soon. I know a woman who will take charge.” + +“Who is she?” + +“An interesting widow of nearly fifty. Very intelligent—she is +attractive, and knows a good deal of life. I found her through an +advertisement. You might call on her some afternoon when things are +arranged, and look the place over. You needn’t meet her except in a +casual way. Will you?” + +She rode on, thinking, making no reply. He was so direct and practical +in his calculations. + +“Will you? It will be all right. You might know her. She isn’t +objectionable in any way. Will you?” + +“Let me know when it is ready,” was all she said finally. + + + + +Chapter XXI + + +The vagaries of passion! Subtleties! Risks! What sacrifices are not +laid willfully upon its altar! In a little while this more than average +residence to which Cowperwood had referred was prepared solely to +effect a satisfactory method of concealment. The house was governed by +a seemingly recently-bereaved widow, and it was possible for Aileen to +call without seeming strangely out of place. In such surroundings, and +under such circumstances, it was not difficult to persuade her to give +herself wholly to her lover, governed as she was by her wild and +unreasoning affection and passion. In a way, there was a saving element +of love, for truly, above all others, she wanted this man. She had no +thought or feeling toward any other. All her mind ran toward visions of +the future, when, somehow, she and he might be together for all time. +Mrs. Cowperwood might die, or he might run away with her at thirty-five +when he had a million. Some adjustment would be made, somehow. Nature +had given her this man. She relied on him implicitly. When he told her +that he would take care of her so that nothing evil should befall, she +believed him fully. Such sins are the commonplaces of the confessional. + +It is a curious fact that by some subtlety of logic in the Christian +world, it has come to be believed that there can be no love outside the +conventional process of courtship and marriage. One life, one love, is +the Christian idea, and into this sluice or mold it has been +endeavoring to compress the whole world. Pagan thought held no such +belief. A writing of divorce for trivial causes was the theory of the +elders; and in the primeval world nature apparently holds no scheme for +the unity of two beyond the temporary care of the young. That the +modern home is the most beautiful of schemes, when based upon mutual +sympathy and understanding between two, need not be questioned. And yet +this fact should not necessarily carry with it a condemnation of all +love not so fortunate as to find so happy a denouement. Life cannot be +put into any mold, and the attempt might as well be abandoned at once. +Those so fortunate as to find harmonious companionship for life should +congratulate themselves and strive to be worthy of it. Those not so +blessed, though they be written down as pariahs, have yet some +justification. And, besides, whether we will or not, theory or no +theory, the basic facts of chemistry and physics remain. Like is drawn +to like. Changes in temperament bring changes in relationship. Dogma +may bind some minds; fear, others. But there are always those in whom +the chemistry and physics of life are large, and in whom neither dogma +nor fear is operative. Society lifts its hands in horror; but from age +to age the Helens, the Messalinas, the Du Barrys, the Pompadours, the +Maintenons, and the Nell Gwyns flourish and point a freer basis of +relationship than we have yet been able to square with our lives. + +These two felt unutterably bound to each other. Cowperwood, once he +came to understand her, fancied that he had found the one person with +whom he could live happily the rest of his life. She was so young, so +confident, so hopeful, so undismayed. All these months since they had +first begun to reach out to each other he had been hourly contrasting +her with his wife. As a matter of fact, his dissatisfaction, though it +may be said to have been faint up to this time, was now surely tending +to become real enough. Still, his children were pleasing to him; his +home beautiful. Lillian, phlegmatic and now thin, was still not homely. +All these years he had found her satisfactory enough; but now his +dissatisfaction with her began to increase. She was not like Aileen—not +young, not vivid, not as unschooled in the commonplaces of life. And +while ordinarily, he was not one who was inclined to be querulous, +still now on occasion, he could be. He began by asking questions +concerning his wife’s appearance—irritating little whys which are so +trivial and yet so exasperating and discouraging to a woman. Why didn’t +she get a mauve hat nearer the shade of her dress? Why didn’t she go +out more? Exercise would do her good. Why didn’t she do this, and why +didn’t she do that? He scarcely noticed that he was doing this; but she +did, and she felt the undertone—the real significance—and took umbrage. + +“Oh, why—why?” she retorted, one day, curtly. “Why do you ask so many +questions? You don’t care so much for me any more; that’s why. I can +tell.” + +He leaned back startled by the thrust. It had not been based on any +evidence of anything save his recent remarks; but he was not absolutely +sure. He was just the least bit sorry that he had irritated her, and he +said so. + +“Oh, it’s all right,” she replied. “I don’t care. But I notice that you +don’t pay as much attention to me as you used to. It’s your business +now, first, last, and all the time. You can’t get your mind off of +that.” + +He breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t suspect, then. + +But after a little time, as he grew more and more in sympathy with +Aileen, he was not so disturbed as to whether his wife might suspect or +not. He began to think on occasion, as his mind followed the various +ramifications of the situation, that it would be better if she did. She +was really not of the contentious fighting sort. He now decided because +of various calculations in regard to her character that she might not +offer as much resistance to some ultimate rearrangement, as he had +originally imagined. She might even divorce him. Desire, dreams, even +in him were evoking calculations not as sound as those which ordinarily +generated in his brain. + +No, as he now said to himself, the rub was not nearly so much in his +own home, as it was in the Butler family. His relations with Edward +Malia Butler had become very intimate. He was now advising with him +constantly in regard to the handling of his securities, which were +numerous. Butler held stocks in such things as the Pennsylvania Coal +Company, the Delaware and Hudson Canal, the Morris and Essex Canal, the +Reading Railroad. As the old gentleman’s mind had broadened to the +significance of the local street-railway problem in Philadelphia, he +had decided to close out his other securities at such advantageous +terms as he could, and reinvest the money in local lines. He knew that +Mollenhauer and Simpson were doing this, and they were excellent judges +of the significance of local affairs. Like Cowperwood, he had the idea +that if he controlled sufficient of the local situation in this field, +he could at last effect a joint relationship with Mollenhauer and +Simpson. Political legislation, advantageous to the combined lines, +could then be so easily secured. Franchises and necessary extensions to +existing franchises could be added. This conversion of his outstanding +stock in other fields, and the picking up of odd lots in the local +street-railway, was the business of Cowperwood. Butler, through his +sons, Owen and Callum, was also busy planning a new line and obtaining +a franchise, sacrificing, of course, great blocks of stock and actual +cash to others, in order to obtain sufficient influence to have the +necessary legislation passed. Yet it was no easy matter, seeing that +others knew what the general advantages of the situation were, and +because of this Cowperwood, who saw the great source of profit here, +was able, betimes, to serve himself—buying blocks, a part of which only +went to Butler, Mollenhauer or others. In short he was not as eager to +serve Butler, or any one else, as he was to serve himself if he could. + +In this connection, the scheme which George W. Stener had brought +forward, representing actually in the background Strobik, Wycroft, and +Harmon, was an opening wedge for himself. Stener’s plan was to loan him +money out of the city treasury at two per cent., or, if he would waive +all commissions, for nothing (an agent for self-protective purposes was +absolutely necessary), and with it take over the North Pennsylvania +Company’s line on Front Street, which, because of the shortness of its +length, one mile and a half, and the brevity of the duration of its +franchise, was neither doing very well nor being rated very high. +Cowperwood in return for his manipulative skill was to have a fair +proportion of the stock—twenty per cent. Strobik and Wycroft knew the +parties from whom the bulk of the stock could be secured if engineered +properly. Their plan was then, with this borrowed treasury money, to +extend its franchise and then the line itself, and then later again, by +issuing a great block of stock and hypothecating it with a favored +bank, be able to return the principal to the city treasury and pocket +their profits from the line as earned. There was no trouble in this, in +so far as Cowperwood was concerned, except that it divided the stock +very badly among these various individuals, and left him but a +comparatively small share—for his thought and pains. + +But Cowperwood was an opportunist. And by this time his financial +morality had become special and local in its character. He did not +think it was wise for any one to steal anything from anybody where the +act of taking or profiting was directly and plainly considered +stealing. That was unwise—dangerous—hence wrong. There were so many +situations wherein what one might do in the way of taking or profiting +was open to discussion and doubt. Morality varied, in his mind at +least, with conditions, if not climates. Here, in Philadelphia, the +tradition (politically, mind you—not generally) was that the city +treasurer might use the money of the city without interest so long as +he returned the principal intact. The city treasury and the city +treasurer were like a honey-laden hive and a queen bee around which the +drones—the politicians—swarmed in the hope of profit. The one +disagreeable thing in connection with this transaction with Stener was +that neither Butler, Mollenhauer nor Simpson, who were the actual +superiors of Stener and Strobik, knew anything about it. Stener and +those behind him were, through him, acting for themselves. If the +larger powers heard of this, it might alienate them. He had to think of +this. Still, if he refused to make advantageous deals with Stener or +any other man influential in local affairs, he was cutting off his nose +to spite his face, for other bankers and brokers would, and gladly. And +besides it was not at all certain that Butler, Mollenhauer, and Simpson +would ever hear. + +In this connection, there was another line, which he rode on +occasionally, the Seventeenth and Nineteenth Street line, which he felt +was a much more interesting thing for him to think about, if he could +raise the money. It had been originally capitalized for five hundred +thousand dollars; but there had been a series of bonds to the value of +two hundred and fifty thousand dollars added for improvements, and the +company was finding great difficulty in meeting the interest. The bulk +of the stock was scattered about among small investors, and it would +require all of two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to collect it and +have himself elected president or chairman of the board of directors. +Once in, however, he could vote this stock as he pleased, hypothecating +it meanwhile at his father’s bank for as much as he could get, and +issuing more stocks with which to bribe legislators in the matter of +extending the line, and in taking up other opportunities to either add +to it by purchase or supplement it by working agreements. The word +“bribe” is used here in this matter-of-fact American way, because +bribery was what was in every one’s mind in connection with the State +legislature. Terrence Relihan—the small, dark-faced Irishman, a dandy +in dress and manners—who represented the financial interests at +Harrisburg, and who had come to Cowperwood after the five million bond +deal had been printed, had told him that nothing could be done at the +capital without money, or its equivalent, negotiable securities. Each +significant legislator, if he yielded his vote or his influence, must +be looked after. If he, Cowperwood, had any scheme which he wanted +handled at any time, Relihan had intimated to him that he would be glad +to talk with him. Cowperwood had figured on this Seventeenth and +Nineteenth Street line scheme more than once, but he had never felt +quite sure that he was willing to undertake it. His obligations in +other directions were so large. But the lure was there, and he pondered +and pondered. + +Stener’s scheme of loaning him money wherewith to manipulate the North +Pennsylvania line deal put this Seventeenth and Nineteenth Street dream +in a more favorable light. As it was he was constantly watching the +certificates of loan issue, for the city treasury,—buying large +quantities when the market was falling to protect it and selling +heavily, though cautiously, when he saw it rising and to do this he had +to have a great deal of free money to permit him to do it. He was +constantly fearful of some break in the market which would affect the +value of all his securities and result in the calling of his loans. +There was no storm in sight. He did not see that anything could happen +in reason; but he did not want to spread himself out too thin. As he +saw it now, therefore if he took one hundred and fifty thousand dollars +of this city money and went after this Seventeenth and Nineteenth +Street matter it would not mean that he was spreading himself out too +thin, for because of this new proposition could he not call on Stener +for more as a loan in connection with these other ventures? But if +anything should happen—well— + +“Frank,” said Stener, strolling into his office one afternoon after +four o’clock when the main rush of the day’s work was over—the +relationship between Cowperwood and Stener had long since reached the +“Frank” and “George” period—“Strobik thinks he has that North +Pennsylvania deal arranged so that we can take it up if we want to. The +principal stockholder, we find, is a man by the name of Coltan—not Ike +Colton, but Ferdinand. How’s that for a name?” Stener beamed fatly and +genially. + +Things had changed considerably for him since the days when he had been +fortuitously and almost indifferently made city treasurer. His method +of dressing had so much improved since he had been inducted into +office, and his manner expressed so much more good feeling, confidence, +aplomb, that he would not have recognized himself if he had been +permitted to see himself as had those who had known him before. An old, +nervous shifting of the eyes had almost ceased, and a feeling of +restfulness, which had previously been restlessness, and had sprung +from a sense of necessity, had taken its place. His large feet were +incased in good, square-toed, soft-leather shoes; his stocky chest and +fat legs were made somewhat agreeable to the eye by a well-cut suit of +brownish-gray cloth; and his neck was now surrounded by a low, +wing-point white collar and brown-silk tie. His ample chest, which +spread out a little lower in around and constantly enlarging stomach, +was ornamented by a heavy-link gold chain, and his white cuffs had +large gold cuff-buttons set with rubies of a very notable size. He was +rosy and decidedly well fed. In fact, he was doing very well indeed. + +He had moved his family from a shabby two-story frame house in South +Ninth Street to a very comfortable brick one three stories in height, +and three times as large, on Spring Garden Street. His wife had a few +acquaintances—the wives of other politicians. His children were +attending the high school, a thing he had hardly hoped for in earlier +days. He was now the owner of fourteen or fifteen pieces of cheap real +estate in different portions of the city, which might eventually become +very valuable, and he was a silent partner in the South Philadelphia +Foundry Company and the American Beef and Pork Company, two +corporations on paper whose principal business was subletting contracts +secured from the city to the humble butchers and foundrymen who would +carry out orders as given and not talk too much or ask questions. + +“Well, that is an odd name,” said Cowperwood, blandly. “So he has it? I +never thought that road would pay, as it was laid out. It’s too short. +It ought to run about three miles farther out into the Kensington +section.” + +“You’re right,” said Stener, dully. + +“Did Strobik say what Colton wants for his shares?” + +“Sixty-eight, I think.” + +“The current market rate. He doesn’t want much, does he? Well, George, +at that rate it will take about”—he calculated quickly on the basis of +the number of shares Cotton was holding—“one hundred and twenty +thousand to get him out alone. That isn’t all. There’s Judge Kitchen +and Joseph Zimmerman and Senator Donovan”—he was referring to the State +senator of that name. “You’ll be paying a pretty fair price for that +stud when you get it. It will cost considerable more to extend the +line. It’s too much, I think.” + +Cowperwood was thinking how easy it would be to combine this line with +his dreamed-of Seventeenth and Nineteenth Street line, and after a time +and with this in view he added: + +“Say, George, why do you work all your schemes through Strobik and +Harmon and Wycroft? Couldn’t you and I manage some of these things for +ourselves alone instead of for three or four? It seems to me that plan +would be much more profitable to you.” + +“It would, it would!” exclaimed Stener, his round eyes fixed on +Cowperwood in a rather helpless, appealing way. He liked Cowperwood and +had always been hoping that mentally as well as financially he could +get close to him. “I’ve thought of that. But these fellows have had +more experience in these matters than I have had, Frank. They’ve been +longer at the game. I don’t know as much about these things as they +do.” + +Cowperwood smiled in his soul, though his face remained passive. + +“Don’t worry about them, George,” he continued genially and +confidentially. “You and I together can know and do as much as they +ever could and more. I’m telling you. Take this railroad deal you’re in +on now, George; you and I could manipulate that just as well and better +than it can be done with Wycroft, Strobik, and Harmon in on it. They’re +not adding anything to the wisdom of the situation. They’re not putting +up any money. You’re doing that. All they’re doing is agreeing to see +it through the legislature and the council, and as far as the +legislature is concerned, they can’t do any more with that than any one +else could—than I could, for instance. It’s all a question of arranging +things with Relihan, anyhow, putting up a certain amount of money for +him to work with. Here in town there are other people who can reach the +council just as well as Strobik.” He was thinking (once he controlled a +road of his own) of conferring with Butler and getting him to use his +influence. It would serve to quiet Strobik and his friends. “I’m not +asking you to change your plans on this North Pennsylvania deal. You +couldn’t do that very well. But there are other things. In the future +why not let’s see if you and I can’t work some one thing together? +You’ll be much better off, and so will I. We’ve done pretty well on the +city-loan proposition so far, haven’t we?” + +The truth was, they had done exceedingly well. Aside from what the +higher powers had made, Stener’s new house, his lots, his bank-account, +his good clothes, and his changed and comfortable sense of life were +largely due to Cowperwood’s successful manipulation of these city-loan +certificates. Already there had been four issues of two hundred +thousand dollars each. Cowperwood had bought and sold nearly three +million dollars’ worth of these certificates, acting one time as a +“bull” and another as a “bear.” Stener was now worth all of one hundred +and fifty thousand dollars. + +“There’s a line that I know of here in the city which could be made +into a splendidly paying property,” continued Cowperwood, meditatively, +“if the right things could be done with it. Just like this North +Pennsylvania line, it isn’t long enough. The territory it serves isn’t +big enough. It ought to be extended; but if you and I could get it, it +might eventually be worked with this North Pennsylvania Company or some +other as one company. That would save officers and offices and a lot of +things. There is always money to be made out of a larger purchasing +power.” + +He paused and looked out the window of his handsome little hardwood +office, speculating upon the future. The window gave nowhere save into +a back yard behind another office building which had formerly been a +residence. Some grass grew feebly there. The red wall and old-fashioned +brick fence which divided it from the next lot reminded him somehow of +his old home in New Market Street, to which his Uncle Seneca used to +come as a Cuban trader followed by his black Portuguese servitor. He +could see him now as he sat here looking at the yard. + +“Well,” asked Stener, ambitiously, taking the bait, “why don’t we get +hold of that—you and me? I suppose I could fix it so far as the money +is concerned. How much would it take?” + +Cowperwood smiled inwardly again. + +“I don’t know exactly,” he said, after a time. “I want to look into it +more carefully. The one trouble is that I’m carrying a good deal of the +city’s money as it is. You see, I have that two hundred thousand +dollars against your city-loan deals. And this new scheme will take two +or three hundred thousand more. If that were out of the way—” + +He was thinking of one of the inexplicable stock panics—those strange +American depressions which had so much to do with the temperament of +the people, and so little to do with the basic conditions of the +country. “If this North Pennsylvania deal were through and done with—” + +He rubbed his chin and pulled at his handsome silky mustache. + +“Don’t ask me any more about it, George,” he said, finally, as he saw +that the latter was beginning to think as to which line it might be. +“Don’t say anything at all about it. I want to get my facts exactly +right, and then I’ll talk to you. I think you and I can do this thing a +little later, when we get the North Pennsylvania scheme under way. I’m +so rushed just now I’m not sure that I want to undertake it at once; +but you keep quiet and we’ll see.” He turned toward his desk, and +Stener got up. + +“I’ll make any sized deposit with you that you wish, the moment you +think you’re ready to act, Frank,” exclaimed Stener, and with the +thought that Cowperwood was not nearly as anxious to do this as he +should be, since he could always rely on him (Stener) when there was +anything really profitable in the offing. Why should not the able and +wonderful Cowperwood be allowed to make the two of them rich? “Just +notify Stires, and he’ll send you a check. Strobik thought we ought to +act pretty soon.” + +“I’ll tend to it, George,” replied Cowperwood, confidently. “It will +come out all right. Leave it to me.” + +Stener kicked his stout legs to straighten his trousers, and extended +his hand. He strolled out in the street thinking of this new scheme. +Certainly, if he could get in with Cowperwood right he would be a rich +man, for Cowperwood was so successful and so cautious. His new house, +this beautiful banking office, his growing fame, and his subtle +connections with Butler and others put Stener in considerable awe of +him. Another line! They would control it and the North Pennsylvania! +Why, if this went on, he might become a magnate—he really might—he, +George W. Stener, once a cheap real-estate and insurance agent. He +strolled up the street thinking, but with no more idea of the +importance of his civic duties and the nature of the social ethics +against which he was offending than if they had never existed. + + + + +Chapter XXII + + +The services which Cowperwood performed during the ensuing year and a +half for Stener, Strobik, Butler, State Treasurer Van Nostrand, State +Senator Relihan, representative of “the interests,” so-called, at +Harrisburg, and various banks which were friendly to these gentlemen, +were numerous and confidential. For Stener, Strobik, Wycroft, Harmon +and himself he executed the North Pennsylvania deal, by which he became +a holder of a fifth of the controlling stock. Together he and Stener +joined to purchase the Seventeenth and Nineteenth Street line and in +the concurrent gambling in stocks. + +By the summer of 1871, when Cowperwood was nearly thirty-four years of +age, he had a banking business estimated at nearly two million dollars, +personal holdings aggregating nearly half a million, and prospects +which other things being equal looked to wealth which might rival that +of any American. The city, through its treasurer—still Mr. Stener—was a +depositor with him to the extent of nearly five hundred thousand +dollars. The State, through its State treasurer, Van Nostrand, carried +two hundred thousand dollars on his books. Bode was speculating in +street-railway stocks to the extent of fifty thousand dollars. Relihan +to the same amount. A small army of politicians and political +hangers-on were on his books for various sums. And for Edward Malia +Butler he occasionally carried as high as one hundred thousand dollars +in margins. His own loans at the banks, varying from day to day on +variously hypothecated securities, were as high as seven and eight +hundred thousand dollars. Like a spider in a spangled net, every thread +of which he knew, had laid, had tested, he had surrounded and entangled +himself in a splendid, glittering network of connections, and he was +watching all the details. + +His one pet idea, the thing he put more faith in than anything else, +was his street-railway manipulations, and particularly his actual +control of the Seventeenth and Nineteenth Street line. Through an +advance to him, on deposit, made in his bank by Stener at a time when +the stock of the Seventeenth and Nineteenth Street line was at a low +ebb, he had managed to pick up fifty-one per cent. of the stock for +himself and Stener, by virtue of which he was able to do as he pleased +with the road. To accomplish this, however, he had resorted to some +very “peculiar” methods, as they afterward came to be termed in +financial circles, to get this stock at his own valuation. Through +agents he caused suits for damages to be brought against the company +for non-payment of interest due. A little stock in the hands of a +hireling, a request made to a court of record to examine the books of +the company in order to determine whether a receivership were not +advisable, a simultaneous attack in the stock market, selling at three, +five, seven, and ten points off, brought the frightened stockholders +into the market with their holdings. The banks considered the line a +poor risk, and called their loans in connection with it. His father’s +bank had made one loan to one of the principal stockholders, and that +was promptly called, of course. Then, through an agent, the several +heaviest shareholders were approached and an offer was made to help +them out. The stocks would be taken off their hands at forty. They had +not really been able to discover the source of all their woes; and they +imagined that the road was in bad condition, which it was not. Better +let it go. The money was immediately forthcoming, and Cowperwood and +Stener jointly controlled fifty-one per cent. But, as in the case of +the North Pennsylvania line, Cowperwood had been quietly buying all of +the small minority holdings, so that he had in reality fifty-one per +cent. of the stock, and Stener twenty-five per cent. more. + +This intoxicated him, for immediately he saw the opportunity of +fulfilling his long-contemplated dream—that of reorganizing the company +in conjunction with the North Pennsylvania line, issuing three shares +where one had been before and after unloading all but a control on the +general public, using the money secured to buy into other lines which +were to be boomed and sold in the same way. In short, he was one of +those early, daring manipulators who later were to seize upon other and +ever larger phases of American natural development for their own +aggrandizement. + +In connection with this first consolidation, his plan was to spread +rumors of the coming consolidation of the two lines, to appeal to the +legislature for privileges of extension, to get up an arresting +prospectus and later annual reports, and to boom the stock on the stock +exchange as much as his swelling resources would permit. The trouble is +that when you are trying to make a market for a stock—to unload a large +issue such as his was (over five hundred thousand dollars’ worth)—while +retaining five hundred thousand for yourself, it requires large capital +to handle it. The owner in these cases is compelled not only to go on +the market and do much fictitious buying, thus creating a fictitious +demand, but once this fictitious demand has deceived the public and he +has been able to unload a considerable quantity of his wares, he is, +unless he rids himself of all his stock, compelled to stand behind it. +If, for instance, he sold five thousand shares, as was done in this +instance, and retained five thousand, he must see that the public price +of the outstanding five thousand shares did not fall below a certain +point, because the value of his private shares would fall with it. And +if, as is almost always the case, the private shares had been +hypothecated with banks and trust companies for money wherewith to +conduct other enterprises, the falling of their value in the open +market merely meant that the banks would call for large margins to +protect their loans or call their loans entirely. This meant that his +work was a failure, and he might readily fail. He was already +conducting one such difficult campaign in connection with this +city-loan deal, the price of which varied from day to day, and which he +was only too anxious to have vary, for in the main he profited by these +changes. + +But this second burden, interesting enough as it was, meant that he had +to be doubly watchful. Once the stock was sold at a high price, the +money borrowed from the city treasurer could be returned; his own +holdings created out of foresight, by capitalizing the future, by +writing the shrewd prospectuses and reports, would be worth their face +value, or little less. He would have money to invest in other lines. He +might obtain the financial direction of the whole, in which case he +would be worth millions. One shrewd thing he did, which indicated the +foresight and subtlety of the man, was to make a separate organization +or company of any extension or addition which he made to his line. +Thus, if he had two or three miles of track on a street, and he wanted +to extend it two or three miles farther on the same street, instead of +including this extension in the existing corporation, he would make a +second corporation to control the additional two or three miles of +right of way. This corporation he would capitalize at so much, and +issue stocks and bonds for its construction, equipment, and +manipulation. Having done this he would then take the sub-corporation +over into the parent concern, issuing more stocks and bonds of the +parent company wherewith to do it, and, of course, selling these bonds +to the public. Even his brothers who worked for him did not know the +various ramifications of his numerous deals, and executed his orders +blindly. Sometimes Joseph said to Edward, in a puzzled way, “Well, +Frank knows what he is about, I guess.” + +On the other hand, he was most careful to see that every current +obligation was instantly met, and even anticipated, for he wanted to +make a great show of regularity. Nothing was so precious as reputation +and standing. His forethought, caution, and promptness pleased the +bankers. They thought he was one of the sanest, shrewdest men they had +ever met. + +However, by the spring and summer of 1871, Cowperwood had actually, +without being in any conceivable danger from any source, spread himself +out very thin. Because of his great success he had grown more +liberal—easier—in his financial ventures. By degrees, and largely +because of his own confidence in himself, he had induced his father to +enter upon his street-car speculations, to use the resources of the +Third National to carry a part of his loans and to furnish capital at +such times as quick resources were necessary. In the beginning the old +gentleman had been a little nervous and skeptical, but as time had worn +on and nothing but profit eventuated, he grew bolder and more +confident. + +“Frank,” he would say, looking up over his spectacles, “aren’t you +afraid you’re going a little too fast in these matters? You’re carrying +a lot of loans these days.” + +“No more than I ever did, father, considering my resources. You can’t +turn large deals without large loans. You know that as well as I do.” + +“Yes, I know, but—now that Green and Coates—aren’t you going pretty +strong there?” + +“Not at all. I know the inside conditions there. The stock is bound to +go up eventually. I’ll bull it up. I’ll combine it with my other lines, +if necessary.” + +Cowperwood stared at his boy. Never was there such a defiant, daring +manipulator. + +“You needn’t worry about me, father. If you are going to do that, call +my loans. Other banks will loan on my stocks. I’d like to see your bank +have the interest.” + +So Cowperwood, Sr., was convinced. There was no gainsaying this +argument. His bank was loaning Frank heavily, but not more so than any +other. And as for the great blocks of stocks he was carrying in his +son’s companies, he was to be told when to get out should that prove +necessary. Frank’s brothers were being aided in the same way to make +money on the side, and their interests were also now bound up +indissolubly with his own. + +With his growing financial opportunities, however, Cowperwood had also +grown very liberal in what might be termed his standard of living. +Certain young art dealers in Philadelphia, learning of his artistic +inclinations and his growing wealth, had followed him up with +suggestions as to furniture, tapestries, rugs, objects of art, and +paintings—at first the American and later the foreign masters +exclusively. His own and his father’s house had not been furnished +fully in these matters, and there was that other house in North Tenth +Street, which he desired to make beautiful. Aileen had always objected +to the condition of her own home. Love of distinguished surroundings +was a basic longing with her, though she had not the gift of +interpreting her longings. But this place where they were secretly +meeting must be beautiful. She was as keen for that as he was. So it +became a veritable treasure-trove, more distinguished in furnishings +than some of the rooms of his own home. He began to gather here some +rare examples of altar cloths, rugs, and tapestries of the Middle Ages. +He bought furniture after the Georgian theory—a combination of +Chippendale, Sheraton, and Heppelwhite modified by the Italian +Renaissance and the French Louis. He learned of handsome examples of +porcelain, statuary, Greek vase forms, lovely collections of Japanese +ivories and netsukes. Fletcher Gray, a partner in Cable & Gray, a local +firm of importers of art objects, called on him in connection with a +tapestry of the fourteenth century weaving. Gray was an enthusiast and +almost instantly he conveyed some of his suppressed and yet fiery love +of the beautiful to Cowperwood. + +“There are fifty periods of one shade of blue porcelain alone, Mr. +Cowperwood,” Gray informed him. “There are at least seven distinct +schools or periods of rugs—Persian, Armenian, Arabian, Flemish, Modern +Polish, Hungarian, and so on. If you ever went into that, it would be a +distinguished thing to get a complete—I mean a +representative—collection of some one period, or of all these periods. +They are beautiful. I have seen some of them, others I’ve read about.” + +“You’ll make a convert of me yet, Fletcher,” replied Cowperwood. “You +or art will be the ruin of me. I’m inclined that way temperamentally as +it is, I think, and between you and Ellsworth and Gordon +Strake”—another young man intensely interested in painting—“you’ll +complete my downfall. Strake has a splendid idea. He wants me to begin +right now—I’m using that word ‘right’ in the sense of ‘properly,’” he +commented—“and get what examples I can of just the few rare things in +each school or period of art which would properly illustrate each. He +tells me the great pictures are going to increase in value, and what I +could get for a few hundred thousand now will be worth millions later. +He doesn’t want me to bother with American art.” + +“He’s right,” exclaimed Gray, “although it isn’t good business for me +to praise another art man. It would take a great deal of money, +though.” + +“Not so very much. At least, not all at once. It would be a matter of +years, of course. Strake thinks that some excellent examples of +different periods could be picked up now and later replaced if anything +better in the same held showed up.” + +His mind, in spite of his outward placidity, was tinged with a great +seeking. Wealth, in the beginning, had seemed the only goal, to which +had been added the beauty of women. And now art, for art’s sake—the +first faint radiance of a rosy dawn—had begun to shine in upon him, and +to the beauty of womanhood he was beginning to see how necessary it was +to add the beauty of life—the beauty of material background—how, in +fact, the only background for great beauty was great art. This girl, +this Aileen Butler, her raw youth and radiance, was nevertheless +creating in him a sense of the distinguished and a need for it which +had never existed in him before to the same degree. It is impossible to +define these subtleties of reaction, temperament on temperament, for no +one knows to what degree we are marked by the things which attract us. +A love affair such as this had proved to be was little less or more +than a drop of coloring added to a glass of clear water, or a foreign +chemical agent introduced into a delicate chemical formula. + +In short, for all her crudeness, Aileen Butler was a definite force +personally. Her nature, in a way, a protest against the clumsy +conditions by which she found herself surrounded, was almost +irrationally ambitious. To think that for so long, having been born +into the Butler family, she had been the subject, as well as the victim +of such commonplace and inartistic illusions and conditions, whereas +now, owing to her contact with, and mental subordination to Cowperwood, +she was learning so many wonderful phases of social, as well as +financial, refinement of which previously she had guessed nothing. The +wonder, for instance, of a future social career as the wife of such a +man as Frank Cowperwood. The beauty and resourcefulness of his mind, +which, after hours of intimate contact with her, he was pleased to +reveal, and which, so definite were his comments and instructions, she +could not fail to sense. The wonder of his financial and artistic and +future social dreams. And, oh, oh, she was his, and he was hers. She +was actually beside herself at times with the glory, as well as the +delight of all this. + +At the same time, her father’s local reputation as a quondam garbage +contractor (“slop-collector” was the unfeeling comment of the vulgarian +cognoscenti); her own unavailing efforts to right a condition of +material vulgarity or artistic anarchy in her own home; the +hopelessness of ever being admitted to those distinguished portals +which she recognized afar off as the last sanctum sanctorum of +established respectability and social distinction, had bred in her, +even at this early age, a feeling of deadly opposition to her home +conditions as they stood. Such a house compared to Cowperwood’s! Her +dear, but ignorant, father! And this great man, her lover, had now +condescended to love her—see in her his future wife. Oh, God, that it +might not fail! Through the Cowperwoods at first she had hoped to meet +a few people, young men and women—and particularly men—who were above +the station in which she found herself, and to whom her beauty and +prospective fortune would commend her; but this had not been the case. +The Cowperwoods themselves, in spite of Frank Cowperwood’s artistic +proclivities and growing wealth, had not penetrated the inner circle as +yet. In fact, aside from the subtle, preliminary consideration which +they were receiving, they were a long way off. + +None the less, and instinctively in Cowperwood Aileen recognized a way +out—a door—and by the same token a subtle, impending artistic future of +great magnificence. This man would rise beyond anything he now dreamed +of—she felt it. There was in him, in some nebulous, unrecognizable +form, a great artistic reality which was finer than anything she could +plan for herself. She wanted luxury, magnificence, social station. +Well, if she could get this man they would come to her. There were, +apparently, insuperable barriers in the way; but hers was no weakling +nature, and neither was his. They ran together temperamentally from the +first like two leopards. Her own thoughts—crude, half formulated, half +spoken—nevertheless matched his to a degree in the equality of their +force and their raw directness. + +“I don’t think papa knows how to do,” she said to him, one day. “It +isn’t his fault. He can’t help it. He knows that he can’t. And he knows +that I know it. For years I wanted him to move out of that old house +there. He knows that he ought to. But even that wouldn’t do much good.” + +She paused, looking at him with a straight, clear, vigorous glance. He +liked the medallion sharpness of her features—their smooth, Greek +modeling. + +“Never mind, pet,” he replied. “We will arrange all these things later. +I don’t see my way out of this just now; but I think the best thing to +do is to confess to Lillian some day, and see if some other plan can’t +be arranged. I want to fix it so the children won’t suffer. I can +provide for them amply, and I wouldn’t be at all surprised if Lillian +would be willing to let me go. She certainly wouldn’t want any +publicity.” + +He was counting practically, and man-fashion, on her love for her +children. + +Aileen looked at him with clear, questioning, uncertain eyes. She was +not wholly without sympathy, but in a way this situation did not appeal +to her as needing much. Mrs. Cowperwood was not friendly in her mood +toward her. It was not based on anything save a difference in their +point of view. Mrs. Cowperwood could never understand how a girl could +carry her head so high and “put on such airs,” and Aileen could not +understand how any one could be so lymphatic and lackadaisical as +Lillian Cowperwood. Life was made for riding, driving, dancing, going. +It was made for airs and banter and persiflage and coquetry. To see +this woman, the wife of a young, forceful man like Cowperwood, acting, +even though she were five years older and the mother of two children, +as though life on its romantic and enthusiastic pleasurable side were +all over was too much for her. Of course Lillian was unsuited to Frank; +of course he needed a young woman like herself, and fate would surely +give him to her. Then what a delicious life they would lead! + +“Oh, Frank,” she exclaimed to him, over and over, “if we could only +manage it. Do you think we can?” + +“Do I think we can? Certainly I do. It’s only a matter of time. I think +if I were to put the matter to her clearly, she wouldn’t expect me to +stay. You look out how you conduct your affairs. If your father or your +brother should ever suspect me, there’d be an explosion in this town, +if nothing worse. They’d fight me in all my money deals, if they didn’t +kill me. Are you thinking carefully of what you are doing?” + +“All the time. If anything happens I’ll deny everything. They can’t +prove it, if I deny it. I’ll come to you in the long run, just the +same.” + +They were in the Tenth Street house at the time. She stroked his cheeks +with the loving fingers of the wildly enamored woman. + +“I’ll do anything for you, sweetheart,” she declared. “I’d die for you +if I had to. I love you so.” + +“Well, pet, no danger. You won’t have to do anything like that. But be +careful.” + + + + +Chapter XXIII + + +Then, after several years of this secret relationship, in which the +ties of sympathy and understanding grew stronger instead of weaker, +came the storm. It burst unexpectedly and out of a clear sky, and bore +no relation to the intention or volition of any individual. It was +nothing more than a fire, a distant one—the great Chicago fire, October +7th, 1871, which burned that city—its vast commercial section—to the +ground, and instantly and incidentally produced a financial panic, +vicious though of short duration in various other cities in America. +The fire began on Saturday and continued apparently unabated until the +following Wednesday. It destroyed the banks, the commercial houses, the +shipping conveniences, and vast stretches of property. The heaviest +loss fell naturally upon the insurance companies, which instantly, in +many cases—the majority—closed their doors. This threw the loss back on +the manufacturers and wholesalers in other cities who had had dealings +with Chicago as well as the merchants of that city. Again, very +grievous losses were borne by the host of eastern capitalists which had +for years past partly owned, or held heavy mortgages on, the +magnificent buildings for business purposes and residences in which +Chicago was already rivaling every city on the continent. +Transportation was disturbed, and the keen scent of Wall Street, and +Third Street in Philadelphia, and State Street in Boston, instantly +perceived in the early reports the gravity of the situation. Nothing +could be done on Saturday or Sunday after the exchange closed, for the +opening reports came too late. On Monday, however, the facts were +pouring in thick and fast; and the owners of railroad securities, +government securities, street-car securities, and, indeed, all other +forms of stocks and bonds, began to throw them on the market in order +to raise cash. The banks naturally were calling their loans, and the +result was a stock stampede which equaled the Black Friday of Wall +Street of two years before. + +Cowperwood and his father were out of town at the time the fire began. +They had gone with several friends—bankers—to look at a proposed route +of extension of a local steam-railroad, on which a loan was desired. In +buggies they had driven over a good portion of the route, and were +returning to Philadelphia late Sunday evening when the cries of +newsboys hawking an “extra” reached their ears. + +“Ho! Extra! Extra! All about the big Chicago fire!” + +“Ho! Extra! Extra! Chicago burning down! Extra! Extra!” + +The cries were long-drawn-out, ominous, pathetic. In the dusk of the +dreary Sunday afternoon, when the city had apparently retired to +Sabbath meditation and prayer, with that tinge of the dying year in the +foliage and in the air, one caught a sense of something grim and +gloomy. + +“Hey, boy,” called Cowperwood, listening, seeing a shabbily clothed +misfit of a boy with a bundle of papers under his arm turning a corner. +“What’s that? Chicago burning!” + +He looked at his father and the other men in a significant way as he +reached for the paper, and then, glancing at the headlines, realized +the worst. + +ALL CHICAGO BURNING + + +FIRE RAGES UNCHECKED IN COMMERCIAL SECTION SINCE YESTERDAY EVENING. +BANKS, COMMERCIAL HOUSES, PUBLIC BUILDINGS IN RUINS. DIRECT TELEGRAPHIC +COMMUNICATION SUSPENDED SINCE THREE O’CLOCK TO-DAY. NO END TO PROGRESS +OF DISASTER IN SIGHT. + + +“That looks rather serious,” he said, calmly, to his companions, a +cold, commanding force coming into his eyes and voice. To his father he +said a little later, “It’s panic, unless the majority of the banks and +brokerage firms stand together.” + +He was thinking quickly, brilliantly, resourcefully of his own +outstanding obligations. His father’s bank was carrying one hundred +thousand dollars’ worth of his street-railway securities at sixty, and +fifty thousand dollars’ worth of city loan at seventy. His father had +“up with him” over forty thousand dollars in cash covering market +manipulations in these stocks. The banking house of Drexel & Co. was on +his books as a creditor for one hundred thousand, and that loan would +be called unless they were especially merciful, which was not likely. +Jay Cooke & Co. were his creditors for another one hundred and fifty +thousand. They would want their money. At four smaller banks and three +brokerage companies he was debtor for sums ranging from fifty thousand +dollars down. The city treasurer was involved with him to the extent of +nearly five hundred thousand dollars, and exposure of that would create +a scandal; the State treasurer for two hundred thousand. There were +small accounts, hundreds of them, ranging from one hundred dollars up +to five and ten thousand. A panic would mean not only a withdrawal of +deposits and a calling of loans, but a heavy depression of securities. +How could he realize on his securities?—that was the question—how +without selling so many points off that his fortune would be swept away +and he would be ruined? + +He figured briskly the while he waved adieu to his friends, who hurried +away, struck with their own predicament. + +“You had better go on out to the house, father, and I’ll send some +telegrams.” (The telephone had not yet been invented.) “I’ll be right +out and we’ll go into this thing together. It looks like black weather +to me. Don’t say anything to any one until after we have had our talk; +then we can decide what to do.” + +Cowperwood, Sr., was already plucking at his side-whiskers in a +confused and troubled way. He was cogitating as to what might happen to +him in case his son failed, for he was deeply involved with him. He was +a little gray in his complexion now, frightened, for he had already +strained many points in his affairs to accommodate his son. If Frank +should not be able promptly on the morrow to meet the call which the +bank might have to make for one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, the +onus and scandal of the situation would be on him. + +On the other hand, his son was meditating on the tangled relation in +which he now found himself in connection with the city treasurer and +the fact that it was not possible for him to support the market alone. +Those who should have been in a position to help him were now as bad +off as himself. There were many unfavorable points in the whole +situation. Drexel & Co. had been booming railway stocks—loaning heavily +on them. Jay Cooke & Co. had been backing Northern Pacific—were +practically doing their best to build that immense transcontinental +system alone. Naturally, they were long on that and hence in a ticklish +position. At the first word they would throw over their surest +securities—government bonds, and the like—in order to protect their +more speculative holdings. The bears would see the point. They would +hammer and hammer, selling short all along the line. But he did not +dare to do that. He would be breaking his own back quickly, and what he +needed was time. If he could only get time—three days, a week, ten +days—this storm would surely blow over. + +The thing that was troubling him most was the matter of the +half-million invested with him by Stener. A fall election was drawing +near. Stener, although he had served two terms, was slated for +reelection. A scandal in connection with the city treasury would be a +very bad thing. It would end Stener’s career as an official—would very +likely send him to the penitentiary. It might wreck the Republican +party’s chances to win. It would certainly involve himself as having +much to do with it. If that happened, he would have the politicians to +reckon with. For, if he were hard pressed, as he would be, and failed, +the fact that he had been trying to invade the city street-railway +preserves which they held sacred to themselves, with borrowed city +money, and that this borrowing was liable to cost them the city +election, would all come out. They would not view all that with a +kindly eye. It would be useless to say, as he could, that he had +borrowed the money at two per cent. (most of it, to save himself, had +been covered by a protective clause of that kind), or that he had +merely acted as an agent for Stener. That might go down with the +unsophisticated of the outer world, but it would never be swallowed by +the politicians. They knew better than that. + +There was another phase to this situation, however, that encouraged +him, and that was his knowledge of how city politics were going in +general. It was useless for any politician, however loftly, to take a +high and mighty tone in a crisis like this. All of them, great and +small, were profiting in one way and another through city privileges. +Butler, Mollenhauer, and Simpson, he knew, made money out of +contracts—legal enough, though they might be looked upon as rank +favoritism—and also out of vast sums of money collected in the shape of +taxes—land taxes, water taxes, etc.—which were deposited in the various +banks designated by these men and others as legal depositories for city +money. The banks supposedly carried the city’s money in their vaults as +a favor, without paying interest of any kind, and then reinvested +it—for whom? Cowperwood had no complaint to make, for he was being well +treated, but these men could scarcely expect to monopolize all the +city’s benefits. He did not know either Mollenhauer or Simpson +personally—but he knew they as well as Butler had made money out of his +own manipulation of city loan. Also, Butler was most friendly to him. +It was not unreasonable for him to think, in a crisis like this, that +if worst came to worst, he could make a clean breast of it to Butler +and receive aid. In case he could not get through secretly with +Stener’s help, Cowperwood made up his mind that he would do this. + +His first move, he decided, would be to go at once to Stener’s house +and demand the loan of an additional three or four hundred thousand +dollars. Stener had always been very tractable, and in this instance +would see how important it was that his shortage of half a million +should not be made public. Then he must get as much more as possible. +But where to get it? Presidents of banks and trust companies, large +stock jobbers, and the like, would have to be seen. Then there was a +loan of one hundred thousand dollars he was carrying for Butler. The +old contractor might be induced to leave that. He hurried to his home, +secured his runabout, and drove rapidly to Stener’s. + +As it turned out, however, much to his distress and confusion, Stener +was out of town—down on the Chesapeake with several friends shooting +ducks and fishing, and was not expected back for several days. He was +in the marshes back of some small town. Cowperwood sent an urgent wire +to the nearest point and then, to make assurance doubly sure, to +several other points in the same neighborhood, asking him to return +immediately. He was not at all sure, however, that Stener would return +in time and was greatly nonplussed and uncertain for the moment as to +what his next step would be. Aid must be forthcoming from somewhere and +at once. + +Suddenly a helpful thought occurred to him. Butler and Mollenhauer and +Simpson were long on local street-railways. They must combine to +support the situation and protect their interests. They could see the +big bankers, Drexel & Co. and Cooke & Co., and others and urge them to +sustain the market. They could strengthen things generally by +organizing a buying ring, and under cover of their support, if they +would, he might sell enough to let him out, and even permit him to go +short and make something—a whole lot. It was a brilliant thought, +worthy of a greater situation, and its only weakness was that it was +not absolutely certain of fulfillment. + +He decided to go to Butler at once, the only disturbing thought being +that he would now be compelled to reveal his own and Stener’s affairs. +So reentering his runabout he drove swiftly to the Butler home. + +When he arrived there the famous contractor was at dinner. He had not +heard the calling of the extras, and of course, did not understand as +yet the significance of the fire. The servant’s announcement of +Cowperwood brought him smiling to the door. + +“Won’t you come in and join us? We’re just havin’ a light supper. Have +a cup of coffee or tea, now—do.” + +“I can’t,” replied Cowperwood. “Not to-night, I’m in too much of a +hurry. I want to see you for just a few moments, and then I’ll be off +again. I won’t keep you very long.” + +“Why, if that’s the case, I’ll come right out.” And Butler returned to +the dining-room to put down his napkin. Aileen, who was also dining, +had heard Cowperwood’s voice, and was on the qui vive to see him. She +wondered what it was that brought him at this time of night to see her +father. She could not leave the table at once, but hoped to before he +went. Cowperwood was thinking of her, even in the face of this +impending storm, as he was of his wife, and many other things. If his +affairs came down in a heap it would go hard with those attached to +him. In this first clouding of disaster, he could not tell how things +would eventuate. He meditated on this desperately, but he was not +panic-stricken. His naturally even-molded face was set in fine, classic +lines; his eyes were as hard as chilled steel. + +“Well, now,” exclaimed Butler, returning, his countenance manifesting a +decidedly comfortable relationship with the world as at present +constituted. “What’s up with you to-night? Nawthin’ wrong, I hope. It’s +been too fine a day.” + +“Nothing very serious, I hope myself,” replied Cowperwood, “But I want +to talk with you a few minutes, anyhow. Don’t you think we had better +go up to your room?” + +“I was just going to say that,” replied Butler—“the cigars are up +there.” + +They started from the reception-room to the stairs, Butler preceding +and as the contractor mounted, Aileen came out from the dining-room in +a frou-frou of silk. Her splendid hair was drawn up from the base of +the neck and the line of the forehead into some quaint convolutions +which constituted a reddish-gold crown. Her complexion was glowing, and +her bare arms and shoulders shone white against the dark red of her +evening gown. She realized there was something wrong. + +“Oh, Mr. Cowperwood, how do you do?” she exclaimed, coming forward and +holding out her hand as her father went on upstairs. She was delaying +him deliberately in order to have a word with him and this bold acting +was for the benefit of the others. + +“What’s the trouble, honey?” she whispered, as soon as her father was +out of hearing. “You look worried.” + +“Nothing much, I hope, sweet,” he said. “Chicago is burning up and +there’s going to be trouble to-morrow. I have to talk to your father.” + +She had time only for a sympathetic, distressed “Oh,” before he +withdrew his hand and followed Butler upstairs. She squeezed his arm, +and went through the reception-room to the parlor. She sat down, +thinking, for never before had she seen Cowperwood’s face wearing such +an expression of stern, disturbed calculation. It was placid, like +fine, white wax, and quite as cold; and those deep, vague, inscrutable +eyes! So Chicago was burning. What would happen to him? Was he very +much involved? He had never told her in detail of his affairs. She +would not have understood fully any more than would have Mrs. +Cowperwood. But she was worried, nevertheless, because it was her +Frank, and because she was bound to him by what to her seemed +indissoluble ties. + +Literature, outside of the masters, has given us but one idea of the +mistress, the subtle, calculating siren who delights to prey on the +souls of men. The journalism and the moral pamphleteering of the time +seem to foster it with almost partisan zeal. It would seem that a +censorship of life had been established by divinity, and the care of +its execution given into the hands of the utterly conservative. Yet +there is that other form of liaison which has nothing to do with +conscious calculation. In the vast majority of cases it is without +design or guile. The average woman, controlled by her affections and +deeply in love, is no more capable than a child of anything save +sacrificial thought—the desire to give; and so long as this state +endures, she can only do this. She may change—Hell hath no fury, +etc.—but the sacrificial, yielding, solicitous attitude is more often +the outstanding characteristic of the mistress; and it is this very +attitude in contradistinction to the grasping legality of established +matrimony that has caused so many wounds in the defenses of the latter. +The temperament of man, either male or female, cannot help falling down +before and worshiping this nonseeking, sacrificial note. It approaches +vast distinction in life. It appears to be related to that last word in +art, that largeness of spirit which is the first characteristic of the +great picture, the great building, the great sculpture, the great +decoration—namely, a giving, freely and without stint, of itself, of +beauty. Hence the significance of this particular mood in Aileen. + +All the subtleties of the present combination were troubling Cowperwood +as he followed Butler into the room upstairs. + +“Sit down, sit down. You won’t take a little somethin’? You never do. I +remember now. Well, have a cigar, anyhow. Now, what’s this that’s +troublin’ you to-night?” + +Voices could be heard faintly in the distance, far off toward the +thicker residential sections. + +“Extra! Extra! All about the big Chicago fire! Chicago burning down!” + +“Just that,” replied Cowperwood, hearkening to them. “Have you heard +the news?” + +“No. What’s that they’re calling?” + +“It’s a big fire out in Chicago.” + +“Oh,” replied Butler, still not gathering the significance of it. + +“It’s burning down the business section there, Mr. Butler,” went on +Cowperwood ominously, “and I fancy it’s going to disturb financial +conditions here to-morrow. That is what I have come to see you about. +How are your investments? Pretty well drawn in?” + +Butler suddenly gathered from Cowperwood’s expression that there was +something very wrong. He put up his large hand as he leaned back in his +big leather chair, and covered his mouth and chin with it. Over those +big knuckles, and bigger nose, thick and cartilaginous, his large, +shaggy-eyebrowed eyes gleamed. His gray, bristly hair stood up stiffly +in a short, even growth all over his head. + +“So that’s it,” he said. “You’re expectin’ trouble to-morrow. How are +your own affairs?” + +“I’m in pretty good shape, I think, all told, if the money element of +this town doesn’t lose its head and go wild. There has to be a lot of +common sense exercised to-morrow, or to-night, even. You know we are +facing a real panic. Mr. Butler, you may as well know that. It may not +last long, but while it does it will be bad. Stocks are going to drop +to-morrow ten or fifteen points on the opening. The banks are going to +call their loans unless some arrangement can be made to prevent them. +No one man can do that. It will have to be a combination of men. You +and Mr. Simpson and Mr. Mollenhauer might do it—that is, you could if +you could persuade the big banking people to combine to back the +market. There is going to be a raid on local street-railways—all of +them. Unless they are sustained the bottom is going to drop out. I have +always known that you were long on those. I thought you and Mr. +Mollenhauer and some of the others might want to act. If you don’t I +might as well confess that it is going to go rather hard with me. I am +not strong enough to face this thing alone.” + +He was meditating on how he should tell the whole truth in regard to +Stener. + +“Well, now, that’s pretty bad,” said Butler, calmly and meditatively. +He was thinking of his own affairs. A panic was not good for him +either, but he was not in a desperate state. He could not fail. He +might lose some money, but not a vast amount—before he could adjust +things. Still he did not care to lose any money. + +“How is it you’re so bad off?” he asked, curiously. He was wondering +how the fact that the bottom was going to drop out of local +street-railways would affect Cowperwood so seriously. “You’re not +carryin’ any of them things, are you?” he added. + +It was now a question of lying or telling the truth, and Cowperwood was +literally afraid to risk lying in this dilemma. If he did not gain +Butler’s comprehending support he might fail, and if he failed the +truth would come out, anyhow. + +“I might as well make a clean breast of this, Mr. Butler,” he said, +throwing himself on the old man’s sympathies and looking at him with +that brisk assurance which Butler so greatly admired. He felt as proud +of Cowperwood at times as he did of his own sons. He felt that he had +helped to put him where he was. + +“The fact is that I have been buying street-railway stocks, but not for +myself exactly. I am going to do something now which I think I ought +not to do, but I cannot help myself. If I don’t do it, it will injure +you and a lot of people whom I do not wish to injure. I know you are +naturally interested in the outcome of the fall election. The truth is +I have been carrying a lot of stocks for Mr. Stener and some of his +friends. I do not know that all the money has come from the city +treasury, but I think that most of it has. I know what that means to +Mr. Stener and the Republican party and your interests in case I fail. +I don’t think Mr. Stener started this of his own accord in the first +place—I think I am as much to blame as anybody—but it grew out of other +things. As you know, I handled that matter of city loan for him and +then some of his friends wanted me to invest in street-railways for +them. I have been doing that ever since. Personally I have borrowed +considerable money from Mr. Stener at two per cent. In fact, originally +the transactions were covered in that way. Now I don’t want to shift +the blame on any one. It comes back to me and I am willing to let it +stay there, except that if I fail Mr. Stener will be blamed and that +will reflect on the administration. Naturally, I don’t want to fail. +There is no excuse for my doing so. Aside from this panic I have never +been in a better position in my life. But I cannot weather this storm +without assistance, and I want to know if you won’t help me. If I pull +through I will give you my word that I will see that the money which +has been taken from the treasury is put back there. Mr. Stener is out +of town or I would have brought him here with me.” + +Cowperwood was lying out of the whole cloth in regard to bringing +Stener with him, and he had no intention of putting the money back in +the city treasury except by degrees and in such manner as suited his +convenience; but what he had said sounded well and created a great +seeming of fairness. + +“How much money is it Stener has invested with you?” asked Butler. He +was a little confused by this curious development. It put Cowperwood +and Stener in an odd light. + +“About five hundred thousand dollars,” replied Cowperwood. + +The old man straightened up. “Is it as much as that?” he said. + +“Just about—a little more or a little less; I’m not sure which.” + +The old contractor listened solemnly to all Cowperwood had to say on +this score, thinking of the effect on the Republican party and his own +contracting interests. He liked Cowperwood, but this was a rough thing +the latter was telling him—rough, and a great deal to ask. He was a +slow-thinking and a slow-moving man, but he did well enough when he did +think. He had considerable money invested in Philadelphia +street-railway stocks—perhaps as much as eight hundred thousand +dollars. Mollenhauer had perhaps as much more. Whether Senator Simpson +had much or little he could not tell. Cowperwood had told him in the +past that he thought the Senator had a good deal. Most of their +holdings, as in the case of Cowperwood’s, were hypothecated at the +various banks for loans and these loans invested in other ways. It was +not advisable or comfortable to have these loans called, though the +condition of no one of the triumvirate was anything like as bad as that +of Cowperwood. They could see themselves through without much trouble, +though not without probable loss unless they took hurried action to +protect themselves. + +He would not have thought so much of it if Cowperwood had told him that +Stener was involved, say, to the extent of seventy-five or a hundred +thousand dollars. That might be adjusted. But five hundred thousand +dollars! + +“That’s a lot of money,” said Butler, thinking of the amazing audacity +of Stener, but failing at the moment to identify it with the astute +machinations of Cowperwood. “That’s something to think about. There’s +no time to lose if there’s going to be a panic in the morning. How much +good will it do ye if we do support the market?” + +“A great deal,” returned Cowperwood, “although of course I have to +raise money in other ways. I have that one hundred thousand dollars of +yours on deposit. Is it likely that you’ll want that right away?” + +“It may be,” said Butler. + +“It’s just as likely that I’ll need it so badly that I can’t give it up +without seriously injuring myself,” added Cowperwood. “That’s just one +of a lot of things. If you and Senator Simpson and Mr. Mollenhauer were +to get together—you’re the largest holders of street-railway stocks—and +were to see Mr. Drexel and Mr. Cooke, you could fix things so that +matters would be considerably easier. I will be all right if my loans +are not called, and my loans will not be called if the market does not +slump too heavily. If it does, all my securities are depreciated, and I +can’t hold out.” + +Old Butler got up. “This is serious business,” he said. “I wish you’d +never gone in with Stener in that way. It don’t look quite right and it +can’t be made to. It’s bad, bad business,” he added dourly. “Still, +I’ll do what I can. I can’t promise much, but I’ve always liked ye and +I’ll not be turning on ye now unless I have to. But I’m sorry—very. And +I’m not the only one that has a hand in things in this town.” At the +same time he was thinking it was right decent of Cowperwood to forewarn +him this way in regard to his own affairs and the city election, even +though he was saving his own neck by so doing. He meant to do what he +could. + +“I don’t suppose you could keep this matter of Stener and the city +treasury quiet for a day or two until I see how I come out?” suggested +Cowperwood warily. + +“I can’t promise that,” replied Butler. “I’ll have to do the best I +can. I won’t lave it go any further than I can help—you can depend on +that.” He was thinking how the effect of Stener’s crime could be +overcome if Cowperwood failed. + +“Owen!” + +He stepped to the door, and, opening it, called down over the banister. + +“Yes, father.” + +“Have Dan hitch up the light buggy and bring it around to the door. And +you get your hat and coat. I want you to go along with me.” + +“Yes, father.” + +He came back. + +“Sure that’s a nice little storm in a teapot, now, isn’t it? Chicago +begins to burn, and I have to worry here in Philadelphia. Well, well—” +Cowperwood was up now and moving to the door. “And where are you +going?” + +“Back to the house. I have several people coming there to see me. But +I’ll come back here later, if I may.” + +“Yes, yes,” replied Butler. “To be sure I’ll be here by midnight, +anyhow. Well, good night. I’ll see you later, then, I suppose. I’ll +tell you what I find out.” + +He went back in his room for something, and Cowperwood descended the +stair alone. From the hangings of the reception-room entryway Aileen +signaled him to draw near. + +“I hope it’s nothing serious, honey?” she sympathized, looking into his +solemn eyes. + +It was not time for love, and he felt it. + +“No,” he said, almost coldly, “I think not.” + +“Frank, don’t let this thing make you forget me for long, please. You +won’t, will you? I love you so.” + +“No, no, I won’t!” he replied earnestly, quickly and yet absently. + +“I can’t! Don’t you know I won’t?” He had started to kiss her, but a +noise disturbed him. “Sh!” + +He walked to the door, and she followed him with eager, sympathetic +eyes. + +What if anything should happen to her Frank? What if anything could? +What would she do? That was what was troubling her. What would, what +could she do to help him? He looked so pale—strained. + + + + +Chapter XXIV + + +The condition of the Republican party at this time in Philadelphia, its +relationship to George W. Stener, Edward Malia Butler, Henry A. +Mollenhauer, Senator Mark Simpson, and others, will have to be briefly +indicated here, in order to foreshadow Cowperwood’s actual situation. +Butler, as we have seen, was normally interested in and friendly to +Cowperwood. Stener was Cowperwood’s tool. Mollenhauer and Senator +Simpson were strong rivals of Butler for the control of city affairs. +Simpson represented the Republican control of the State legislature, +which could dictate to the city if necessary, making new election laws, +revising the city charter, starting political investigations, and the +like. He had many influential newspapers, corporations, banks, at his +beck and call. Mollenhauer represented the Germans, some Americans, and +some large stable corporations—a very solid and respectable man. All +three were strong, able, and dangerous politically. The two latter +counted on Butler’s influence, particularly with the Irish, and a +certain number of ward leaders and Catholic politicians and laymen, who +were as loyal to him as though he were a part of the church itself. +Butler’s return to these followers was protection, influence, aid, and +good-will generally. The city’s return to him, via Mollenhauer and +Simpson, was in the shape of contracts—fat ones—street-paving, bridges, +viaducts, sewers. And in order for him to get these contracts the +affairs of the Republican party, of which he was a beneficiary as well +as a leader, must be kept reasonably straight. At the same time it was +no more a part of his need to keep the affairs of the party straight +than it was of either Mollenhauer’s or Simpson’s, and Stener was not +his appointee. The latter was more directly responsible to Mollenhauer +than to any one else. + +As Butler stepped into the buggy with his son he was thinking about +this, and it was puzzling him greatly. + +“Cowperwood’s just been here,” he said to Owen, who had been rapidly +coming into a sound financial understanding of late, and was already a +shrewder man politically and socially than his father, though he had +not the latter’s magnetism. “He’s been tellin’ me that he’s in a rather +tight place. You hear that?” he continued, as some voice in the +distance was calling “Extra! Extra!” “That’s Chicago burnin’, and +there’s goin’ to be trouble on the stock exchange to-morrow. We have a +lot of our street-railway stocks around at the different banks. If we +don’t look sharp they’ll be callin’ our loans. We have to ’tend to that +the first thing in the mornin’. Cowperwood has a hundred thousand of +mine with him that he wants me to let stay there, and he has some money +that belongs to Stener, he tells me.” + +“Stener?” asked Owen, curiously. “Has he been dabbling in stocks?” Owen +had heard some rumors concerning Stener and others only very recently, +which he had not credited nor yet communicated to his father. “How much +money of his has Cowperwood?” he asked. + +Butler meditated. “Quite a bit, I’m afraid,” he finally said. “As a +matter of fact, it’s a great deal—about five hundred thousand dollars. +If that should become known, it would be makin’ a good deal of noise, +I’m thinkin’.” + +“Whew!” exclaimed Owen in astonishment. “Five hundred thousand dollars! +Good Lord, father! Do you mean to say Stener has got away with five +hundred thousand dollars? Why, I wouldn’t think he was clever enough to +do that. Five hundred thousand dollars! It will make a nice row if that +comes out.” + +“Aisy, now! Aisy, now!” replied Butler, doing his best to keep all +phases of the situation in mind. “We can’t tell exactly what the +circumstances were yet. He mayn’t have meant to take so much. It may +all come out all right yet. The money’s invested. Cowperwood hasn’t +failed yet. It may be put back. The thing to be settled on now is +whether anything can be done to save him. If he’s tellin’ me the +truth—and I never knew him to lie—he can get out of this if +street-railway stocks don’t break too heavy in the mornin’. I’m going +over to see Henry Mollenhauer and Mark Simpson. They’re in on this. +Cowperwood wanted me to see if I couldn’t get them to get the bankers +together and have them stand by the market. He thought we might protect +our loans by comin’ on and buyin’ and holdin’ up the price.” + +Owen was running swiftly in his mind over Cowperwood’s affairs—as much +as he knew of them. He felt keenly that the banker ought to be shaken +out. This dilemma was his fault, not Stener’s—he felt. It was strange +to him that his father did not see it and resent it. + +“You see what it is, father,” he said, dramatically, after a time. +“Cowperwood’s been using this money of Stener’s to pick up stocks, and +he’s in a hole. If it hadn’t been for this fire he’d have got away with +it; but now he wants you and Simpson and Mollenhauer and the others to +pull him out. He’s a nice fellow, and I like him fairly well; but +you’re a fool if you do as he wants you to. He has more than belongs to +him already. I heard the other day that he has the Front Street line, +and almost all of Green and Coates; and that he and Stener own the +Seventeenth and Nineteenth; but I didn’t believe it. I’ve been +intending to ask you about it. I think Cowperwood has a majority for +himself stowed away somewhere in every instance. Stener is just a pawn. +He moves him around where he pleases.” + +Owen’s eyes gleamed avariciously, opposingly. Cowperwood ought to be +punished, sold out, driven out of the street-railway business in which +Owen was anxious to rise. + +“Now you know,” observed Butler, thickly and solemnly, “I always +thought that young felly was clever, but I hardly thought he was as +clever as all that. So that’s his game. You’re pretty shrewd yourself, +aren’t you? Well, we can fix that, if we think well of it. But there’s +more than that to all this. You don’t want to forget the Republican +party. Our success goes with the success of that, you know”—and he +paused and looked at his son. “If Cowperwood should fail and that money +couldn’t be put back—” He broke off abstractedly. “The thing that’s +troublin’ me is this matter of Stener and the city treasury. If +somethin’ ain’t done about that, it may go hard with the party this +fall, and with some of our contracts. You don’t want to forget that an +election is comin’ along in November. I’m wonderin’ if I ought to call +in that one hundred thousand dollars. It’s goin’ to take considerable +money to meet my loans in the mornin’.” + +It is a curious matter of psychology, but it was only now that the real +difficulties of the situation were beginning to dawn on Butler. In the +presence of Cowperwood he was so influenced by that young man’s +personality and his magnetic presentation of his need and his own +liking for him that he had not stopped to consider all the phases of +his own relationship to the situation. Out here in the cool night air, +talking to Owen, who was ambitious on his own account and anything but +sentimentally considerate of Cowperwood, he was beginning to sober down +and see things in their true light. He had to admit that Cowperwood had +seriously compromised the city treasury and the Republican party, and +incidentally Butler’s own private interests. Nevertheless, he liked +Cowperwood. He was in no way prepared to desert him. He was now going +to see Mollenhauer and Simpson as much to save Cowperwood really as the +party and his own affairs. And yet a scandal. He did not like +that—resented it. This young scalawag! To think he should be so sly. +None the less he still liked him, even here and now, and was feeling +that he ought to do something to help the young man, if anything could +help him. He might even leave his hundred-thousand-dollar loan with him +until the last hour, as Cowperwood had requested, if the others were +friendly. + +“Well, father,” said Owen, after a time, “I don’t see why you need to +worry any more than Mollenhauer or Simpson. If you three want to help +him out, you can; but for the life of me I don’t see why you should. I +know this thing will have a bad effect on the election, if it comes out +before then; but it could be hushed up until then, couldn’t it? Anyhow, +your street-railway holdings are more important than this election, and +if you can see your way clear to getting the street-railway lines in +your hands you won’t need to worry about any elections. My advice to +you is to call that one-hundred-thousand-dollar loan of yours in the +morning, and meet the drop in your stocks that way. It may make +Cowperwood fail, but that won’t hurt you any. You can go into the +market and buy his stocks. I wouldn’t be surprised if he would run to +you and ask you to take them. You ought to get Mollenhauer and Simpson +to scare Stener so that he won’t loan Cowperwood any more money. If you +don’t, Cowperwood will run there and get more. Stener’s in too far now. +If Cowperwood won’t sell out, well and good; the chances are he will +bust, anyhow, and then you can pick up as much on the market as any one +else. I think he’ll sell. You can’t afford to worry about Stener’s five +hundred thousand dollars. No one told him to loan it. Let him look out +for himself. It may hurt the party, but you can look after that later. +You and Mollenhauer can fix the newspapers so they won’t talk about it +till after election.” + +“Aisy! Aisy!” was all the old contractor would say. He was thinking +hard. + + + + +Chapter XXV + + +The residence of Henry A. Mollenhauer was, at that time, in a section +of the city which was almost as new as that in which Butler was living. +It was on South Broad Street, near a handsome library building which +had been recently erected. It was a spacious house of the type usually +affected by men of new wealth in those days—a structure four stories in +height of yellow brick and white stone built after no school which one +could readily identify, but not unattractive in its architectural +composition. A broad flight of steps leading to a wide veranda gave +into a decidedly ornate door, which was set on either side by narrow +windows and ornamented to the right and left with pale-blue jardinieres +of considerable charm of outline. The interior, divided into twenty +rooms, was paneled and parqueted in the most expensive manner for homes +of that day. There was a great reception-hall, a large parlor or +drawing-room, a dining-room at least thirty feet square paneled in oak; +and on the second floor were a music-room devoted to the talents of +Mollenhauer’s three ambitious daughters, a library and private office +for himself, a boudoir and bath for his wife, and a conservatory. + +Mollenhauer was, and felt himself to be, a very important man. His +financial and political judgment was exceedingly keen. Although he was +a German, or rather an American of German parentage, he was a man of a +rather impressive American presence. He was tall and heavy and shrewd +and cold. His large chest and wide shoulders supported a head of +distinguished proportions, both round and long when seen from different +angles. The frontal bone descended in a protruding curve over the nose, +and projected solemnly over the eyes, which burned with a shrewd, +inquiring gaze. And the nose and mouth and chin below, as well as his +smooth, hard cheeks, confirmed the impression that he knew very well +what he wished in this world, and was very able without regard to let +or hindrance to get it. It was a big face, impressive, well modeled. He +was an excellent friend of Edward Malia Butler’s, as such friendships +go, and his regard for Mark Simpson was as sincere as that of one tiger +for another. He respected ability; he was willing to play fair when +fair was the game. When it was not, the reach of his cunning was not +easily measured. + +When Edward Butler and his son arrived on this Sunday evening, this +distinguished representative of one-third of the city’s interests was +not expecting them. He was in his library reading and listening to one +of his daughters playing the piano. His wife and his other two +daughters had gone to church. He was of a domestic turn of mind. Still, +Sunday evening being an excellent one for conference purposes generally +in the world of politics, he was not without the thought that some one +or other of his distinguished confreres might call, and when the +combination footman and butler announced the presence of Butler and his +son, he was well pleased. + +“So there you are,” he remarked to Butler, genially, extending his +hand. “I’m certainly glad to see you. And Owen! How are you, Owen? What +will you gentlemen have to drink, and what will you smoke? I know +you’ll have something. John”—to the servitor—-“see if you can find +something for these gentlemen. I have just been listening to Caroline +play; but I think you’ve frightened her off for the time being.” + +He moved a chair into position for Butler, and indicated to Owen +another on the other side of the table. In a moment his servant had +returned with a silver tray of elaborate design, carrying whiskies and +wines of various dates and cigars in profusion. Owen was the new type +of young financier who neither smoked nor drank. His father temperately +did both. + +“It’s a comfortable place you have here,” said Butler, without any +indication of the important mission that had brought him. “I don’t +wonder you stay at home Sunday evenings. What’s new in the city?” + +“Nothing much, so far as I can see,” replied Mollenhauer, pacifically. +“Things seem to be running smooth enough. You don’t know anything that +we ought to worry about, do you?” + +“Well, yes,” said Butler, draining off the remainder of a brandy and +soda that had been prepared for him. “One thing. You haven’t seen an +avenin’ paper, have you?” + +“No, I haven’t,” said Mollenhauer, straightening up. “Is there one out? +What’s the trouble anyhow?” + +“Nothing—except Chicago’s burning, and it looks as though we’d have a +little money-storm here in the morning.” + +“You don’t say! I didn’t hear that. There’s a paper out, is there? +Well, well—is it much of a fire?” + +“The city is burning down, so they say,” put in Owen, who was watching +the face of the distinguished politician with considerable interest. + +“Well, that is news. I must send out and get a paper. John!” he called. +His man-servant appeared. “See if you can get me a paper somewhere.” +The servant disappeared. “What makes you think that would have anything +to do with us?” observed Mollenhauer, returning to Butler. + +“Well, there’s one thing that goes with that that I didn’t know till a +little while ago and that is that our man Stener is apt to be short in +his accounts, unless things come out better than some people seem to +think,” suggested Butler, calmly. “That might not look so well before +election, would it?” His shrewd gray Irish eyes looked into +Mollenhauer’s, who returned his gaze. + +“Where did you get that?” queried Mr. Mollenhauer icily. “He hasn’t +deliberately taken much money, has he? How much has he taken—do you +know?” + +“Quite a bit,” replied Butler, quietly. “Nearly five hundred thousand, +so I understand. Only I wouldn’t say that it has been taken as yet. +It’s in danger of being lost.” + +“Five hundred thousand!” exclaimed Mollenhauer in amazement, and yet +preserving his usual calm. “You don’t tell me! How long has this been +going on? What has he been doing with the money?” + +“He’s loaned a good deal—about five hundred thousand dollars to this +young Cowperwood in Third Street, that’s been handlin’ city loan. +They’ve been investin’ it for themselves in one thing and +another—mostly in buyin’ up street-railways.” (At the mention of +street-railways Mollenhauer’s impassive countenance underwent a barely +perceptible change.) “This fire, accordin’ to Cowperwood, is certain to +produce a panic in the mornin’, and unless he gets considerable help he +doesn’t see how he’s to hold out. If he doesn’t hold out, there’ll be +five hundred thousand dollars missin’ from the city treasury which +can’t be put back. Stener’s out of town and Cowperwood’s come to me to +see what can be done about it. As a matter of fact, he’s done a little +business for me in times past, and he thought maybe I could help him +now—that is, that I might get you and the Senator to see the big +bankers with me and help support the market in the mornin’. If we don’t +he’s goin’ to fail, and he thought the scandal would hurt us in the +election. He doesn’t appear to me to be workin’ any game—just anxious +to save himself and do the square thing by me—by us, if he can.” Butler +paused. + +Mollenhauer, sly and secretive himself, was apparently not at all moved +by this unexpected development. At the same time, never having thought +of Stener as having any particular executive or financial ability, he +was a little stirred and curious. So his treasurer was using money +without his knowing it, and now stood in danger of being prosecuted! +Cowperwood he knew of only indirectly, as one who had been engaged to +handle city loan. He had profited by his manipulation of city loan. +Evidently the banker had made a fool of Stener, and had used the money +for street-railway shares! He and Stener must have quite some private +holdings then. That did interest Mollenhauer greatly. + +“Five hundred thousand dollars!” he repeated, when Butler had finished. +“That is quite a little money. If merely supporting the market would +save Cowperwood we might do that, although if it’s a severe panic I do +not see how anything we can do will be of very much assistance to him. +If he’s in a very tight place and a severe slump is coming, it will +take a great deal more than our merely supporting the market to save +him. I’ve been through that before. You don’t know what his liabilities +are?” + +“I do not,” said Butler. + +“He didn’t ask for money, you say?” + +“He wants me to l’ave a hundred thousand he has of mine until he sees +whether he can get through or not.” + +“Stener is really out of town, I suppose?” Mollenhauer was innately +suspicious. + +“So Cowperwood says. We can send and find out.” + +Mollenhauer was thinking of the various aspects of the case. Supporting +the market would be all very well if that would save Cowperwood, and +the Republican party and his treasurer. At the same time Stener could +then be compelled to restore the five hundred thousand dollars to the +city treasury, and release his holdings to some one—preferably to +him—Mollenhauer. But here was Butler also to be considered in this +matter. What might he not want? He consulted with Butler and learned +that Cowperwood had agreed to return the five hundred thousand in case +he could get it together. The various street-car holdings were not +asked after. But what assurance had any one that Cowperwood could be so +saved? And could, or would get the money together? And if he were saved +would he give the money back to Stener? If he required actual money, +who would loan it to him in a time like this—in case a sharp panic was +imminent? What security could he give? On the other hand, under +pressure from the right parties he might be made to surrender all his +street-railway holdings for a song—his and Stener’s. If he +(Mollenhauer) could get them he would not particularly care whether the +election was lost this fall or not, although he felt satisfied, as had +Owen, that it would not be lost. It could be bought, as usual. The +defalcation—if Cowperwood’s failure made Stener’s loan into one—could +be concealed long enough, Mollenhauer thought, to win. Personally as it +came to him now he would prefer to frighten Stener into refusing +Cowperwood additional aid, and then raid the latter’s street-railway +stock in combination with everybody else’s, for that matter—Simpson’s +and Butler’s included. One of the big sources of future wealth in +Philadelphia lay in these lines. For the present, however, he had to +pretend an interest in saving the party at the polls. + +“I can’t speak for the Senator, that’s sure,” pursued Mollenhauer, +reflectively. “I don’t know what he may think. As for myself, I am +perfectly willing to do what I can to keep up the price of stocks, if +that will do any good. I would do so naturally in order to protect my +loans. The thing that we ought to be thinking about, in my judgment, is +how to prevent exposure, in case Mr. Cowperwood does fail, until after +election. We have no assurance, of course, that however much we support +the market we will be able to sustain it.” + +“We have not,” replied Butler, solemnly. + +Owen thought he could see Cowperwood’s approaching doom quite plainly. +At that moment the door-bell rang. A maid, in the absence of the +footman, brought in the name of Senator Simpson. + +“Just the man,” said Mollenhauer. “Show him up. You can see what he +thinks.” + +“Perhaps I had better leave you alone now,” suggested Owen to his +father. “Perhaps I can find Miss Caroline, and she will sing for me. +I’ll wait for you, father,” he added. + +Mollenhauer cast him an ingratiating smile, and as he stepped out +Senator Simpson walked in. + +A more interesting type of his kind than Senator Mark Simpson never +flourished in the State of Pennsylvania, which has been productive of +interesting types. Contrasted with either of the two men who now +greeted him warmly and shook his hand, he was physically unimpressive. +He was small—five feet nine inches, to Mollenhauer’s six feet and +Butler’s five feet eleven inches and a half, and then his face was +smooth, with a receding jaw. In the other two this feature was +prominent. Nor were his eyes as frank as those of Butler, nor as +defiant as those of Mollenhauer; but for subtlety they were unmatched +by either—deep, strange, receding, cavernous eyes which contemplated +you as might those of a cat looking out of a dark hole, and suggesting +all the artfulness that has ever distinguished the feline family. He +had a strange mop of black hair sweeping down over a fine, low, white +forehead, and a skin as pale and bluish as poor health might make it; +but there was, nevertheless, resident here a strange, resistant, +capable force that ruled men—the subtlety with which he knew how to +feed cupidity with hope and gain and the ruthlessness with which he +repaid those who said him nay. He was a still man, as such a man might +well have been—feeble and fish-like in his handshake, wan and slightly +lackadaisical in his smile, but speaking always with eyes that answered +for every defect. + +“Av’nin’, Mark, I’m glad to see you,” was Butler’s greeting. + +“How are you, Edward?” came the quiet reply. + +“Well, Senator, you’re not looking any the worse for wear. Can I pour +you something?” + +“Nothing to-night, Henry,” replied Simpson. “I haven’t long to stay. I +just stopped by on my way home. My wife’s over here at the Cavanaghs’, +and I have to stop by to fetch her.” + +“Well, it’s a good thing you dropped in, Senator, just when you did,” +began Mollenhauer, seating himself after his guest. “Butler here has +been telling me of a little political problem that has arisen since I +last saw you. I suppose you’ve heard that Chicago is burning?” + +“Yes; Cavanagh was just telling me. It looks to be quite serious. I +think the market will drop heavily in the morning.” + +“I wouldn’t be surprised myself,” put in Mollenhauer, laconically. + +“Here’s the paper now,” said Butler, as John, the servant, came in from +the street bearing the paper in his hand. Mollenhauer took it and +spread it out before them. It was among the earliest of the “extras” +that were issued in this country, and contained a rather impressive +spread of type announcing that the conflagration in the lake city was +growing hourly worse since its inception the day before. + +“Well, that is certainly dreadful,” said Simpson. “I’m very sorry for +Chicago. I have many friends there. I shall hope to hear that it is not +so bad as it seems.” + +The man had a rather grandiloquent manner which he never abandoned +under any circumstances. + +“The matter that Butler was telling me about,” continued Mollenhauer, +“has something to do with this in a way. You know the habit our city +treasurers have of loaning out their money at two per cent.?” + +“Yes?” said Simpson, inquiringly. + +“Well, Mr. Stener, it seems, has been loaning out a good deal of the +city’s money to this young Cowperwood, in Third Street, who has been +handling city loans.” + +“You don’t say!” said Simpson, putting on an air of surprise. “Not +much, I hope?” The Senator, like Butler and Mollenhauer, was profiting +greatly by cheap loans from the same source to various designated city +depositories. + +“Well, it seems that Stener has loaned him as much as five hundred +thousand dollars, and if by any chance Cowperwood shouldn’t be able to +weather this storm, Stener is apt to be short that amount, and that +wouldn’t look so good as a voting proposition to the people in +November, do you think? Cowperwood owes Mr. Butler here one hundred +thousand dollars, and because of that he came to see him to-night. He +wanted Butler to see if something couldn’t be done through us to tide +him over. If not”—he waved one hand suggestively—“well, he might fail.” + +Simpson fingered his strange, wide mouth with his delicate hand. “What +have they been doing with the five hundred thousand dollars?” he asked. + +“Oh, the boys must make a little somethin’ on the side,” said Butler, +cheerfully. “I think they’ve been buyin’ up street-railways, for one +thing.” He stuck his thumbs in the armholes of his vest. Both +Mollenhauer and Simpson smiled wan smiles. + +“Quite so,” said Mollenhauer. Senator Simpson merely looked the deep +things that he thought. + +He, too, was thinking how useless it was for any one to approach a +group of politicians with a proposition like this, particularly in a +crisis such as bid fair to occur. He reflected that if he and Butler +and Mollenhauer could get together and promise Cowperwood protection in +return for the surrender of his street-railway holdings it would be a +very different matter. It would be very easy in this case to carry the +city treasury loan along in silence and even issue more money to +support it; but it was not sure, in the first place, that Cowperwood +could be made to surrender his stocks, and in the second place that +either Butler or Mollenhauer would enter into any such deal with him, +Simpson. Butler had evidently come here to say a good word for +Cowperwood. Mollenhauer and himself were silent rivals. Although they +worked together politically it was toward essentially different +financial ends. They were allied in no one particular financial +proposition, any more than Mollenhauer and Butler were. And besides, in +all probability Cowperwood was no fool. He was not equally guilty with +Stener; the latter had loaned him money. The Senator reflected on +whether he should broach some such subtle solution of the situation as +had occurred to him to his colleagues, but he decided not. Really +Mollenhauer was too treacherous a man to work with on a thing of this +kind. It was a splendid chance but dangerous. He had better go it +alone. For the present they should demand of Stener that he get +Cowperwood to return the five hundred thousand dollars if he could. If +not, Stener could be sacrificed for the benefit of the party, if need +be. Cowperwood’s stocks, with this tip as to his condition, would, +Simpson reflected, offer a good opportunity for a little stock-exchange +work on the part of his own brokers. They could spread rumors as to +Cowperwood’s condition and then offer to take his shares off his +hands—for a song, of course. It was an evil moment that led Cowperwood +to Butler. + +“Well, now,” said the Senator, after a prolonged silence, “I might +sympathize with Mr. Cowperwood in his situation, and I certainly don’t +blame him for buying up street-railways if he can; but I really don’t +see what can be done for him very well in this crisis. I don’t know +about you, gentlemen, but I am rather certain that I am not in a +position to pick other people’s chestnuts out of the fire if I wanted +to, just now. It all depends on whether we feel that the danger to the +party is sufficient to warrant our going down into our pockets and +assisting him.” + +At the mention of real money to be loaned Mollenhauer pulled a long +face. “I can’t see that I will be able to do very much for Mr. +Cowperwood,” he sighed. + +“Begad,” said Buler, with a keen sense of humor, “it looks to me as if +I’d better be gettin’ in my one hundred thousand dollars. That’s the +first business of the early mornin’.” Neither Simpson nor Mollenhauer +condescended on this occasion to smile even the wan smile they had +smiled before. They merely looked wise and solemn. + +“But this matter of the city treasury, now,” said Senator Simpson, +after the atmosphere had been allowed to settle a little, “is something +to which we shall have to devote a little thought. If Mr. Cowperwood +should fail, and the treasury lose that much money, it would embarrass +us no little. What lines are they,” he added, as an afterthought, “that +this man has been particularly interested in?” + +“I really don’t know,” replied Butler, who did not care to say what +Owen had told him on the drive over. + +“I don’t see,” said Mollenhauer, “unless we can make Stener get the +money back before this man Cowperwood fails, how we can save ourselves +from considerable annoyance later; but if we did anything which would +look as though we were going to compel restitution, he would probably +shut up shop anyhow. So there’s no remedy in that direction. And it +wouldn’t be very kind to our friend Edward here to do it until we hear +how he comes out on his affair.” He was referring to Butler’s loan. + +“Certainly not,” said Senator Simpson, with true political sagacity and +feeling. + +“I’ll have that one hundred thousand dollars in the mornin’,” said +Butler, “and never fear.” + +“I think,” said Simpson, “if anything comes of this matter that we will +have to do our best to hush it up until after the election. The +newspapers can just as well keep silent on that score as not. There’s +one thing I would suggest”—and he was now thinking of the +street-railway properties which Cowperwood had so judiciously +collected—“and that is that the city treasurer be cautioned against +advancing any more money in a situation of this kind. He might readily +be compromised into advancing much more. I suppose a word from you, +Henry, would prevent that.” + +“Yes; I can do that,” said Mollenhauer, solemnly. + +“My judgement would be,” said Butler, in a rather obscure manner, +thinking of Cowperwood’s mistake in appealing to these noble protectors +of the public, “that it’s best to let sleepin’ dogs run be thimselves.” + +Thus ended Frank Cowperwood’s dreams of what Butler and his political +associates might do for him in his hour of distress. + +The energies of Cowperwood after leaving Butler were devoted to the +task of seeing others who might be of some assistance to him. He had +left word with Mrs. Stener that if any message came from her husband he +was to be notified at once. He hunted up Walter Leigh, of Drexel & Co., +Avery Stone of Jay Cooke & Co., and President Davison of the Girard +National Bank. He wanted to see what they thought of the situation and +to negotiate a loan with President Davison covering all his real and +personal property. + +“I can’t tell you, Frank,” Walter Leigh insisted, “I don’t know how +things will be running by to-morrow noon. I’m glad to know how you +stand. I’m glad you’re doing what you’re doing—getting all your affairs +in shape. It will help a lot. I’ll favor you all I possibly can. But if +the chief decides on a certain group of loans to be called, they’ll +have to be called, that’s all. I’ll do my best to make things look +better. If the whole of Chicago is wiped out, the insurance +companies—some of them, anyhow—are sure to go, and then look out. I +suppose you’ll call in all your loans?” + +“Not any more than I have to.” + +“Well, that’s just the way it is here—or will be.” + +The two men shook hands. They liked each other. Leigh was of the city’s +fashionable coterie, a society man to the manner born, but with a +wealth of common sense and a great deal of worldly experience. + +“I’ll tell you, Frank,” he observed at parting, “I’ve always thought +you were carrying too much street-railway. It’s great stuff if you can +get away with it, but it’s just in a pinch like this that you’re apt to +get hurt. You’ve been making money pretty fast out of that and city +loans.” + +He looked directly into his long-time friend’s eyes, and they smiled. + +It was the same with Avery Stone, President Davison, and others. They +had all already heard rumors of disaster when he arrived. They were not +sure what the morrow would bring forth. It looked very unpromising. + +Cowperwood decided to stop and see Butler again for he felt certain his +interview with Mollenhauer and Simpson was now over. Butler, who had +been meditating what he should say to Cowperwood, was not unfriendly in +his manner. “So you’re back,” he said, when Cowperwood appeared. + +“Yes, Mr. Butler.” + +“Well, I’m not sure that I’ve been able to do anything for you. I’m +afraid not,” Butler said, cautiously. “It’s a hard job you set me. +Mollenhauer seems to think that he’ll support the market, on his own +account. I think he will. Simpson has interests which he has to +protect. I’m going to buy for myself, of course.” + +He paused to reflect. + +“I couldn’t get them to call a conference with any of the big moneyed +men as yet,” he added, warily. “They’d rather wait and see what happens +in the mornin’. Still, I wouldn’t be down-hearted if I were you. If +things turn out very bad they may change their minds. I had to tell +them about Stener. It’s pretty bad, but they’re hopin’ you’ll come +through and straighten that out. I hope so. About my own loan—well, +I’ll see how things are in the mornin’. If I raisonably can I’ll lave +it with you. You’d better see me again about it. I wouldn’t try to get +any more money out of Stener if I were you. It’s pretty bad as it is.” + +Cowperwood saw at once that he was to get no aid from the politicians. +The one thing that disturbed him was this reference to Stener. Had they +already communicated with him—warned him? If so, his own coming to +Butler had been a bad move; and yet from the point of view of his +possible failure on the morrow it had been advisable. At least now the +politicians knew where he stood. If he got in a very tight corner he +would come to Butler again—the politicians could assist him or not, as +they chose. If they did not help him and he failed, and the election +were lost, it was their own fault. Anyhow, if he could see Stener first +the latter would not be such a fool as to stand in his own light in a +crisis like this. + +“Things look rather dark to-night, Mr. Butler,” he said, smartly, “but +I still think I’ll come through. I hope so, anyhow. I’m sorry to have +put you to so much trouble. I wish, of course, that you gentlemen could +see your way clear to assist me, but if you can’t, you can’t. I have a +number of things that I can do. I hope that you will leave your loan as +long as you can.” + +He went briskly out, and Butler meditated. “A clever young chap that,” +he said. “It’s too bad. But he may come out all right at that.” + +Cowperwood hurried to his own home only to find his father awake and +brooding. To him he talked with that strong vein of sympathy and +understanding which is usually characteristic of those drawn by ties of +flesh and blood. He liked his father. He sympathized with his +painstaking effort to get up in the world. He could not forget that as +a boy he had had the loving sympathy and interest of his father. The +loan which he had from the Third National, on somewhat weak Union +Street Railway shares he could probably replace if stocks did not drop +too tremendously. He must replace this at all costs. But his father’s +investments in street-railways, which had risen with his own ventures, +and which now involved an additional two hundred thousand—how could he +protect those? The shares were hypothecated and the money was used for +other things. Additional collateral would have to be furnished the +several banks carrying them. It was nothing except loans, loans, loans, +and the need of protecting them. If he could only get an additional +deposit of two or three hundred thousand dollars from Stener. But that, +in the face of possible financial difficulties, was rank criminality. +All depended on the morrow. + +Monday, the ninth, dawned gray and cheerless. He was up with the first +ray of light, shaved and dressed, and went over, under the gray-green +pergola, to his father’s house. He was up, also, and stirring about, +for he had not been able to sleep. His gray eyebrows and gray hair +looked rather shaggy and disheveled, and his side-whiskers anything but +decorative. The old gentleman’s eyes were tired, and his face was gray. +Cowperwood could see that he was worrying. He looked up from a small, +ornate escritoire of buhl, which Ellsworth had found somewhere, and +where he was quietly tabulating a list of his resources and +liabilities. Cowperwood winced. He hated to see his father worried, but +he could not help it. He had hoped sincerely, when they built their +houses together, that the days of worry for his father had gone +forever. + +“Counting up?” he asked, familiarly, with a smile. He wanted to hearten +the old gentleman as much as possible. + +“I was just running over my affairs again to see where I stood in +case—” He looked quizzically at his son, and Frank smiled again. + +“I wouldn’t worry, father. I told you how I fixed it so that Butler and +that crowd will support the market. I have Rivers and Targool and Harry +Eltinge on ’change helping me sell out, and they are the best men +there. They’ll handle the situation carefully. I couldn’t trust Ed or +Joe in this case, for the moment they began to sell everybody would +know what was going on with me. This way my men will seem like bears +hammering the market, but not hammering too hard. I ought to be able to +unload enough at ten points off to raise five hundred thousand. The +market may not go lower than that. You can’t tell. It isn’t going to +sink indefinitely. If I just knew what the big insurance companies were +going to do! The morning paper hasn’t come yet, has it?” + +He was going to pull a bell, but remembered that the servants would +scarcely be up as yet. He went to the front door himself. There were +the Press and the Public Ledger lying damp from the presses. He picked +them up and glanced at the front pages. His countenance fell. On one, +the Press, was spread a great black map of Chicago, a most +funereal-looking thing, the black portion indicating the burned +section. He had never seen a map of Chicago before in just this clear, +definite way. That white portion was Lake Michigan, and there was the +Chicago River dividing the city into three almost equal portions—the +north side, the west side, the south side. He saw at once that the city +was curiously arranged, somewhat like Philadelphia, and that the +business section was probably an area of two or three miles square, set +at the juncture of the three sides, and lying south of the main stem of +the river, where it flowed into the lake after the southwest and +northwest branches had united to form it. This was a significant +central area; but, according to this map, it was all burned out. +“Chicago in Ashes” ran a great side-heading set in heavily leaded black +type. It went on to detail the sufferings of the homeless, the number +of the dead, the number of those whose fortunes had been destroyed. +Then it descanted upon the probable effect in the East. Insurance +companies and manufacturers might not be able to meet the great strain +of all this. + +“Damn!” said Cowperwood gloomily. “I wish I were out of this +stock-jobbing business. I wish I had never gotten into it.” He returned +to his drawing-room and scanned both accounts most carefully. + +Then, though it was still early, he and his father drove to his office. +There were already messages awaiting him, a dozen or more, to cancel or +sell. While he was standing there a messenger-boy brought him three +more. One was from Stener and said that he would be back by twelve +o’clock, the very earliest he could make it. Cowperwood was relieved +and yet distressed. He would need large sums of money to meet various +loans before three. Every hour was precious. He must arrange to meet +Stener at the station and talk to him before any one else should see +him. Clearly this was going to be a hard, dreary, strenuous day. + +Third Street, by the time he reached there, was stirring with other +bankers and brokers called forth by the exigencies of the occasion. +There was a suspicious hurrying of feet—that intensity which makes all +the difference in the world between a hundred people placid and a +hundred people disturbed. At the exchange, the atmosphere was feverish. +At the sound of the gong, the staccato uproar began. Its metallic +vibrations were still in the air when the two hundred men who composed +this local organization at its utmost stress of calculation, threw +themselves upon each other in a gibbering struggle to dispose of or +seize bargains of the hour. The interests were so varied that it was +impossible to say at which pole it was best to sell or buy. + +Targool and Rivers had been delegated to stay at the center of things, +Joseph and Edward to hover around on the outside and to pick up such +opportunities of selling as might offer a reasonable return on the +stock. The “bears” were determined to jam things down, and it all +depended on how well the agents of Mollenhauer, Simpson, Butler, and +others supported things in the street-railway world whether those +stocks retained any strength or not. The last thing Butler had said the +night before was that they would do the best they could. They would buy +up to a certain point. Whether they would support the market +indefinitely he would not say. He could not vouch for Mollenhauer and +Simpson. Nor did he know the condition of their affairs. + +While the excitement was at its highest Cowperwood came in. As he stood +in the door looking to catch the eye of Rivers, the ’change gong +sounded, and trading stopped. All the brokers and traders faced about +to the little balcony, where the secretary of the ’change made his +announcements; and there he stood, the door open behind him, a small, +dark, clerkly man of thirty-eight or forty, whose spare figure and pale +face bespoke the methodic mind that knows no venturous thought. In his +right hand he held a slip of white paper. + +“The American Fire Insurance Company of Boston announces its inability +to meet its obligations.” The gong sounded again. + +Immediately the storm broke anew, more voluble than before, because, if +after one hour of investigation on this Monday morning one insurance +company had gone down, what would four or five hours or a day or two +bring forth? It meant that men who had been burned out in Chicago would +not be able to resume business. It meant that all loans connected with +this concern had been, or would be called now. And the cries of +frightened “bulls” offering thousand and five thousand lot holdings in +Northern Pacific, Illinois Central, Reading, Lake Shore, Wabash; in all +the local streetcar lines; and in Cowperwood’s city loans at constantly +falling prices was sufficient to take the heart out of all concerned. +He hurried to Arthur Rivers’s side in the lull; but there was little he +could say. + +“It looks as though the Mollenhauer and Simpson crowds aren’t doing +much for the market,” he observed, gravely. + +“They’ve had advices from New York,” explained Rivers solemnly. “It +can’t be supported very well. There are three insurance companies over +there on the verge of quitting, I understand. I expect to see them +posted any minute.” + +They stepped apart from the pandemonium, to discuss ways and means. +Under his agreement with Stener, Cowperwood could buy up to one hundred +thousand dollars of city loan, above the customary wash sales, or +market manipulation, by which they were making money. This was in case +the market had to be genuinely supported. He decided to buy sixty +thousand dollars worth now, and use this to sustain his loans +elsewhere. Stener would pay him for this instantly, giving him more +ready cash. It might help him in one way and another; and, anyhow, it +might tend to strengthen the other securities long enough at least to +allow him to realize a little something now at better than ruinous +rates. If only he had the means “to go short” on this market! If only +doing so did not really mean ruin to his present position. It was +characteristic of the man that even in this crisis he should be seeing +how the very thing that of necessity, because of his present +obligations, might ruin him, might also, under slightly different +conditions, yield him a great harvest. He could not take advantage of +it, however. He could not be on both sides of this market. It was +either “bear” or “bull,” and of necessity he was “bull.” It was strange +but true. His subtlety could not avail him here. He was about to turn +and hurry to see a certain banker who might loan him something on his +house, when the gong struck again. Once more trading ceased. Arthur +Rivers, from his position at the State securities post, where city loan +was sold, and where he had started to buy for Cowperwood, looked +significantly at him. Newton Targool hurried to Cowperwood’s side. + +“You’re up against it,” he exclaimed. “I wouldn’t try to sell against +this market. It’s no use. They’re cutting the ground from under you. +The bottom’s out. Things are bound to turn in a few days. Can’t you +hold out? Here’s more trouble.” + +He raised his eyes to the announcer’s balcony. + +“The Eastern and Western Fire Insurance Company of New York announces +that it cannot meet its obligations.” + +A low sound something like “Haw!” broke forth. The announcer’s gavel +struck for order. + +“The Erie Fire Insurance Company of Rochester announces that it cannot +meet its obligations.” + +Again that “H-a-a-a-w!” + +Once more the gavel. + +“The American Trust Company of New York has suspended payment.” + +“H-a-a-a-w!” + +The storm was on. + +“What do you think?” asked Targool. “You can’t brave this storm. Can’t +you quit selling and hold out for a few days? Why not sell short?” + +“They ought to close this thing up,” Cowperwood said, shortly. “It +would be a splendid way out. Then nothing could be done.” + +He hurried to consult with those who, finding themselves in a similar +predicament with himself, might use their influence to bring it about. +It was a sharp trick to play on those who, now finding the market +favorable to their designs in its falling condition, were harvesting a +fortune. But what was that to him? Business was business. There was no +use selling at ruinous figures, and he gave his lieutenants orders to +stop. Unless the bankers favored him heavily, or the stock exchange was +closed, or Stener could be induced to deposit an additional three +hundred thousand with him at once, he was ruined. He hurried down the +street to various bankers and brokers suggesting that they do +this—close the exchange. At a few minutes before twelve o’clock he +drove rapidly to the station to meet Stener; but to his great +disappointment the latter did not arrive. It looked as though he had +missed his train. Cowperwood sensed something, some trick; and decided +to go to the city hall and also to Stener’s house. Perhaps he had +returned and was trying to avoid him. + +Not finding him at his office, he drove direct to his house. Here he +was not surprised to meet Stener just coming out, looking very pale and +distraught. At the sight of Cowperwood he actually blanched. + +“Why, hello, Frank,” he exclaimed, sheepishly, “where do you come +from?” + +“What’s up, George?” asked Cowperwood. “I thought you were coming into +Broad Street.” + +“So I was,” returned Stener, foolishly, “but I thought I would get off +at West Philadelphia and change my clothes. I’ve a lot of things to +’tend to yet this afternoon. I was coming in to see you.” After +Cowperwood’s urgent telegram this was silly, but the young banker let +it pass. + +“Jump in, George,” he said. “I have something very important to talk to +you about. I told you in my telegram about the likelihood of a panic. +It’s on. There isn’t a moment to lose. Stocks are way down, and most of +my loans are being called. I want to know if you won’t let me have +three hundred and fifty thousand dollars for a few days at four or five +per cent. I’ll pay it all back to you. I need it very badly. If I don’t +get it I’m likely to fail. You know what that means, George. It will +tie up every dollar I have. Those street-car holdings of yours will be +tied up with me. I won’t be able to let you realize on them, and that +will put those loans of mine from the treasury in bad shape. You won’t +be able to put the money back, and you know what that means. We’re in +this thing together. I want to see you through safely, but I can’t do +it without your help. I had to go to Butler last night to see about a +loan of his, and I’m doing my best to get money from other sources. But +I can’t see my way through on this, I’m afraid, unless you’re willing +to help me.” Cowperwood paused. He wanted to put the whole case clearly +and succinctly to him before he had a chance to refuse—to make him +realize it as his own predicament. + +As a matter of fact, what Cowperwood had keenly suspected was literally +true. Stener had been reached. The moment Butler and Simpson had left +him the night before, Mollenhauer had sent for his very able secretary, +Abner Sengstack, and despatched him to learn the truth about Stener’s +whereabouts. Sengstack had then sent a long wire to Strobik, who was +with Stener, urging him to caution the latter against Cowperwood. The +state of the treasury was known. Stener and Strobik were to be met by +Sengstack at Wilmington (this to forefend against the possibility of +Cowperwood’s reaching Stener first)—and the whole state of affairs made +perfectly plain. No more money was to be used under penalty of +prosecution. If Stener wanted to see any one he must see Mollenhauer. +Sengstack, having received a telegram from Strobik informing him of +their proposed arrival at noon the next day, had proceeded to +Wilmington to meet them. The result was that Stener did not come direct +into the business heart of the city, but instead got off at West +Philadelphia, proposing to go first to his house to change his clothes +and then to see Mollenhauer before meeting Cowperwood. He was very +badly frightened and wanted time to think. + +“I can’t do it, Frank,” he pleaded, piteously. “I’m in pretty bad in +this matter. Mollenhauer’s secretary met the train out at Wilmington +just now to warn me against this situation, and Strobik is against it. +They know how much money I’ve got outstanding. You or somebody has told +them. I can’t go against Mollenhauer. I owe everything I’ve got to him, +in a way. He got me this place.” + +“Listen, George. Whatever you do at this time, don’t let this political +loyalty stuff cloud your judgment. You’re in a very serious position +and so am I. If you don’t act for yourself with me now no one is going +to act for you—now or later—no one. And later will be too late. I +proved that last night when I went to Butler to get help for the two of +us. They all know about this business of our street-railway holdings +and they want to shake us out and that’s the big and little of +it—nothing more and nothing less. It’s a case of dog eat dog in this +game and this particular situation and it’s up to us to save ourselves +against everybody or go down together, and that’s just what I’m here to +tell you. Mollenhauer doesn’t care any more for you to-day than he does +for that lamp-post. It isn’t that money you’ve paid out to me that’s +worrying him, but who’s getting something for it and what. Well they +know that you and I are getting street-railways, don’t you see, and +they don’t want us to have them. Once they get those out of our hands +they won’t waste another day on you or me. Can’t you see that? Once +we’ve lost all we’ve invested, you’re down and so am I—and no one is +going to turn a hand for you or me politically or in any other way. I +want you to understand that, George, because it’s true. And before you +say you won’t or you will do anything because Mollenhauer says so, you +want to think over what I have to tell you.” + +He was in front of Stener now, looking him directly in the eye and by +the kinetic force of his mental way attempting to make Stener take the +one step that might save him—Cowperwood—however little in the long run +it might do for Stener. And, more interesting still, he did not care. +Stener, as he saw him now, was a pawn in whosoever’s hands he happened +to be at the time, and despite Mr. Mollenhauer and Mr. Simpson and Mr. +Butler he proposed to attempt to keep him in his own hands if possible. +And so he stood there looking at him as might a snake at a bird +determined to galvanize him into selfish self-interest if possible. But +Stener was so frightened that at the moment it looked as though there +was little to be done with him. His face was a grayish-blue: his +eyelids and eye rings puffy and his hands and lips moist. God, what a +hole he was in now! + +“Say that’s all right, Frank,” he exclaimed desperately. “I know what +you say is true. But look at me and my position, if I do give you this +money. What can’t they do to me, and won’t. If you only look at it from +my point of view. If only you hadn’t gone to Butler before you saw me.” + +“As though I could see you, George, when you were off duck shooting and +when I was wiring everywhere I knew to try to get in touch with you. +How could I? The situation had to be met. Besides, I thought Butler was +more friendly to me than he proved. But there’s no use being angry with +me now, George, for going to Butler as I did, and anyhow you can’t +afford to be now. We’re in this thing together. It’s a case of sink or +swim for just us two—not any one else—just us—don’t you get that? +Butler couldn’t or wouldn’t do what I wanted him to do—get Mollenhauer +and Simpson to support the market. Instead of that they are hammering +it. They have a game of their own. It’s to shake us out—can’t you see +that? Take everything that you and I have gathered. It is up to you and +me, George, to save ourselves, and that’s what I’m here for now. If you +don’t let me have three hundred and fifty thousand dollars—three +hundred thousand, anyhow—you and I are ruined. It will be worse for +you, George, than for me, for I’m not involved in this thing in any +way—not legally, anyhow. But that’s not what I’m thinking of. What I +want to do is to save us both—put us on easy street for the rest of our +lives, whatever they say or do, and it’s in your power, with my help, +to do that for both of us. Can’t you see that? I want to save my +business so then I can help you to save your name and money.” He +paused, hoping this had convinced Stener, but the latter was still +shaking. + +“But what can I do, Frank?” he pleaded, weakly. “I can’t go against +Mollenhauer. They can prosecute me if I do that. They can do it, +anyhow. I can’t do that. I’m not strong enough. If they didn’t know, if +you hadn’t told them, it might be different, but this way—” He shook +his head sadly, his gray eyes filled with a pale distress. + +“George,” replied Cowperwood, who realized now that only the sternest +arguments would have any effect here, “don’t talk about what I did. +What I did I had to do. You’re in danger of losing your head and your +nerve and making a serious mistake here, and I don’t want to see you +make it. I have five hundred thousand of the city’s money invested for +you—partly for me, and partly for you, but more for you than for +me”—which, by the way, was not true—“and here you are hesitating in an +hour like this as to whether you will protect your interest or not. I +can’t understand it. This is a crisis, George. Stocks are tumbling on +every side—everybody’s stocks. You’re not alone in this—neither am I. +This is a panic, brought on by a fire, and you can’t expect to come out +of a panic alive unless you do something to protect yourself. You say +you owe your place to Mollenhauer and that you’re afraid of what he’ll +do. If you look at your own situation and mine, you’ll see that it +doesn’t make much difference what he does, so long as I don’t fail. If +I fail, where are you? Who’s going to save you from prosecution? Will +Mollenhauer or any one else come forward and put five hundred thousand +dollars in the treasury for you? He will not. If Mollenhauer and the +others have your interests at heart, why aren’t they helping me on +’change today? I’ll tell you why. They want your street-railway +holdings and mine, and they don’t care whether you go to jail afterward +or not. Now if you’re wise you will listen to me. I’ve been loyal to +you, haven’t I? You’ve made money through me—lots of it. If you’re +wise, George, you’ll go to your office and write me your check for +three hundred thousand dollars, anyhow, before you do a single other +thing. Don’t see anybody and don’t do anything till you’ve done that. +You can’t be hung any more for a sheep than you can for a lamb. No one +can prevent you from giving me that check. You’re the city treasurer. +Once I have that I can see my way out of this, and I’ll pay it all back +to you next week or the week after—this panic is sure to end in that +time. With that put back in the treasury we can see them about the five +hundred thousand a little later. In three months, or less, I can fix it +so that you can put that back. As a matter of fact, I can do it in +fifteen days once I am on my feet again. Time is all I want. You won’t +have lost your holdings and nobody will cause you any trouble if you +put the money back. They don’t care to risk a scandal any more than you +do. Now what’ll you do, George? Mollenhauer can’t stop you from doing +this any more than I can make you. Your life is in your own hands. What +will you do?” + +Stener stood there ridiculously meditating when, as a matter of fact, +his very financial blood was oozing away. Yet he was afraid to act. He +was afraid of Mollenhauer, afraid of Cowperwood, afraid of life and of +himself. The thought of panic, loss, was not so much a definite thing +connected with his own property, his money, as it was with his social +and political standing in the community. Few people have the sense of +financial individuality strongly developed. They do not know what it +means to be a controller of wealth, to have that which releases the +sources of social action—its medium of exchange. They want money, but +not for money’s sake. They want it for what it will buy in the way of +simple comforts, whereas the financier wants it for what it will +control—for what it will represent in the way of dignity, force, power. +Cowperwood wanted money in that way; Stener not. That was why he had +been so ready to let Cowperwood act for him; and now, when he should +have seen more clearly than ever the significance of what Cowperwood +was proposing, he was frightened and his reason obscured by such things +as Mollenhauer’s probable opposition and rage, Cowperwood’s possible +failure, his own inability to face a real crisis. Cowperwood’s innate +financial ability did not reassure Stener in this hour. The banker was +too young, too new. Mollenhauer was older, richer. So was Simpson; so +was Butler. These men, with their wealth, represented the big forces, +the big standards in his world. And besides, did not Cowperwood himself +confess that he was in great danger—that he was in a corner. That was +the worst possible confession to make to Stener—although under the +circumstances it was the only one that could be made—for he had no +courage to face danger. + +So it was that now, Stener stood by Cowperwood meditating—pale, +flaccid; unable to see the main line of his interests quickly, unable +to follow it definitely, surely, vigorously—while they drove to his +office. Cowperwood entered it with him for the sake of continuing his +plea. + +“Well, George,” he said earnestly, “I wish you’d tell me. Time’s short. +We haven’t a moment to lose. Give me the money, won’t you, and I’ll get +out of this quick. We haven’t a moment, I tell you. Don’t let those +people frighten you off. They’re playing their own little game; you +play yours.” + +“I can’t, Frank,” said Stener, finally, very weakly, his sense of his +own financial future, overcome for the time being by the thought of +Mollenhauer’s hard, controlling face. “I’ll have to think. I can’t do +it right now. Strobik just left me before I saw you, and—” + +“Good God, George,” exclaimed Cowperwood, scornfully, “don’t talk about +Strobik! What’s he got to do with it? Think of yourself. Think of where +you will be. It’s your future—not Strobik’s—that you have to think of.” + +“I know, Frank,” persisted Stener, weakly; “but, really, I don’t see +how I can. Honestly I don’t. You say yourself you’re not sure whether +you can come out of things all right, and three hundred thousand more +is three hundred thousand more. I can’t, Frank. I really can’t. It +wouldn’t be right. Besides, I want to talk to Mollenhauer first, +anyhow.” + +“Good God, how you talk!” exploded Cowperwood, angrily, looking at him +with ill-concealed contempt. “Go ahead! See Mollenhauer! Let him tell +you how to cut your own throat for his benefit. It won’t be right to +loan me three hundred thousand dollars more, but it will be right to +let the five hundred thousand dollars you have loaned stand unprotected +and lose it. That’s right, isn’t it? That’s just what you propose to +do—lose it, and everything else besides. I want to tell you what it is, +George—you’ve lost your mind. You’ve let a single message from +Mollenhauer frighten you to death, and because of that you’re going to +risk your fortune, your reputation, your standing—everything. Do you +really realize what this means if I fail? You will be a convict, I tell +you, George. You will go to prison. This fellow Mollenhauer, who is so +quick to tell you what not to do now, will be the last man to turn a +hand for you once you’re down. Why, look at me—I’ve helped you, haven’t +I? Haven’t I handled your affairs satisfactorily for you up to now? +What in Heaven’s name has got into you? What have you to be afraid of?” + +Stener was just about to make another weak rejoinder when the door from +the outer office opened, and Albert Stires, Stener’s chief clerk, +entered. Stener was too flustered to really pay any attention to Stires +for the moment; but Cowperwood took matters in his own hands. + +“What is it, Albert?” he asked, familiarly. + +“Mr. Sengstack from Mr. Mollenhauer to see Mr. Stener.” + +At the sound of this dreadful name Stener wilted like a leaf. +Cowperwood saw it. He realized that his last hope of getting the three +hundred thousand dollars was now probably gone. Still he did not +propose to give up as yet. + +“Well, George,” he said, after Albert had gone out with instructions +that Stener would see Sengstack in a moment. “I see how it is. This man +has got you mesmerized. You can’t act for yourself now—you’re too +frightened. I’ll let it rest for the present; I’ll come back. But for +Heaven’s sake pull yourself together. Think what it means. I’m telling +you exactly what’s going to happen if you don’t. You’ll be +independently rich if you do. You’ll be a convict if you don’t.” + +And deciding he would make one more effort in the street before seeing +Butler again, he walked out briskly, jumped into his light spring +runabout waiting outside—a handsome little yellow-glazed vehicle, with +a yellow leather cushion seat, drawn by a young, high-stepping bay +mare—and sent her scudding from door to door, throwing down the lines +indifferently and bounding up the steps of banks and into office doors. + +But all without avail. All were interested, considerate; but things +were very uncertain. The Girard National Bank refused an hour’s grace, +and he had to send a large bundle of his most valuable securities to +cover his stock shrinkage there. Word came from his father at two that +as president of the Third National he would have to call for his one +hundred and fifty thousand dollars due there. The directors were +suspicious of his stocks. He at once wrote a check against fifty +thousand dollars of his deposits in that bank, took twenty-five +thousand of his available office funds, called a loan of fifty thousand +against Tighe & Co., and sold sixty thousand Green & Coates, a line he +had been tentatively dabbling in, for one-third their value—and, +combining the general results, sent them all to the Third National. His +father was immensely relieved from one point of view, but sadly +depressed from another. He hurried out at the noon-hour to see what his +own holdings would bring. He was compromising himself in a way by doing +it, but his parental heart, as well as is own financial interests, were +involved. By mortgaging his house and securing loans on his furniture, +carriages, lots, and stocks, he managed to raise one hundred thousand +in cash, and deposited it in his own bank to Frank’s credit; but it was +a very light anchor to windward in this swirling storm, at that. Frank +had been counting on getting all of his loans extended three or four +days at least. Reviewing his situation at two o’clock of this Monday +afternoon, he said to himself thoughtfully but grimly: “Well, Stener +has to loan me three hundred thousand—that’s all there is to it. And +I’ll have to see Butler now, or he’ll be calling his loan before +three.” + +He hurried out, and was off to Butler’s house, driving like mad. + + + + +Chapter XXVI + + +Things had changed greatly since last Cowperwood had talked with +Butler. Although most friendly at the time the proposition was made +that he should combine with Mollenhauer and Simpson to sustain the +market, alas, now on this Monday morning at nine o’clock, an additional +complication had been added to the already tangled situation which had +changed Butler’s attitude completely. As he was leaving his home to +enter his runabout, at nine o’clock in the morning of this same day in +which Cowperwood was seeking Stener’s aid, the postman, coming up, had +handed Butler four letters, all of which he paused for a moment to +glance at. One was from a sub-contractor by the name of O’Higgins, the +second was from Father Michel, his confessor, of St. Timothy’s, +thanking him for a contribution to the parish poor fund; a third was +from Drexel & Co. relating to a deposit, and the fourth was an +anonymous communication, on cheap stationery from some one who was +apparently not very literate—a woman most likely—written in a scrawling +hand, which read: + +DEAR SIR—This is to warn you that your daughter Aileen is running +around with a man that she shouldn’t, Frank A. Cowperwood, the banker. +If you don’t believe it, watch the house at 931 North Tenth Street. +Then you can see for yourself. + + +There was neither signature nor mark of any kind to indicate from +whence it might have come. Butler got the impression strongly that it +might have been written by some one living in the vicinity of the +number indicated. His intuitions were keen at times. As a matter of +fact, it was written by a girl, a member of St. Timothy’s Church, who +did live in the vicinity of the house indicated, and who knew Aileen by +sight and was jealous of her airs and her position. She was a thin, +anemic, dissatisfied creature who had the type of brain which can +reconcile the gratification of personal spite with a comforting sense +of having fulfilled a moral duty. Her home was some five doors north of +the unregistered Cowperwood domicile on the opposite side of the +street, and by degrees, in the course of time, she made out, or +imagined that she had, the significance of this institution, piecing +fact to fancy and fusing all with that keen intuition which is so +closely related to fact. The result was eventually this letter which +now spread clear and grim before Butler’s eyes. + +The Irish are a philosophic as well as a practical race. Their first +and strongest impulse is to make the best of a bad situation—to put a +better face on evil than it normally wears. On first reading these +lines the intelligence they conveyed sent a peculiar chill over +Butler’s sturdy frame. His jaw instinctively closed, and his gray eyes +narrowed. Could this be true? If it were not, would the author of the +letter say so practically, “If you don’t believe it, watch the house at +931 North Tenth Street”? Wasn’t that in itself proof positive—the hard, +matter-of-fact realism of it? And this was the man who had come to him +the night before seeking aid—whom he had done so much to assist. There +forced itself into his naturally slow-moving but rather accurate mind a +sense of the distinction and charm of his daughter—a considerably +sharper picture than he had ever had before, and at the same time a +keener understanding of the personality of Frank Algernon Cowperwood. +How was it he had failed to detect the real subtlety of this man? How +was it he had never seen any sign of it, if there had been anything +between Cowperwood and Aileen? + +Parents are frequently inclined, because of a time-flattered sense of +security, to take their children for granted. Nothing ever has +happened, so nothing ever will happen. They see their children every +day, and through the eyes of affection; and despite their natural charm +and their own strong parental love, the children are apt to become not +only commonplaces, but ineffably secure against evil. Mary is naturally +a good girl—a little wild, but what harm can befall her? John is a +straight-forward, steady-going boy—how could he get into trouble? The +astonishment of most parents at the sudden accidental revelation of +evil in connection with any of their children is almost invariably +pathetic. “My John! My Mary! Impossible!” But it is possible. Very +possible. Decidedly likely. Some, through lack of experience or +understanding, or both, grow hard and bitter on the instant. They feel +themselves astonishingly abased in the face of notable tenderness and +sacrifice. Others collapse before the grave manifestation of the +insecurity and uncertainty of life—the mystic chemistry of our being. +Still others, taught roughly by life, or endowed with understanding or +intuition, or both, see in this the latest manifestation of that +incomprehensible chemistry which we call _life_ and personality, and, +knowing that it is quite vain to hope to gainsay it, save by greater +subtlety, put the best face they can upon the matter and call a truce +until they can think. We all know that life is unsolvable—we who think. +The remainder imagine a vain thing, and are full of sound and fury +signifying nothing. + +So Edward Butler, being a man of much wit and hard, grim experience, +stood there on his doorstep holding in his big, rough hand his thin +slip of cheap paper which contained such a terrific indictment of his +daughter. There came to him now a picture of her as she was when she +was a very little girl—she was his first baby girl—and how keenly he +had felt about her all these years. She had been a beautiful child—her +red-gold hair had been pillowed on his breast many a time, and his +hard, rough fingers had stroked her soft cheeks, lo, these thousands of +times. Aileen, his lovely, dashing daughter of twenty-three! He was +lost in dark, strange, unhappy speculations, without any present +ability to think or say or do the right thing. He did not know what the +right thing was, he finally confessed to himself. Aileen! Aileen! His +Aileen! If her mother knew this it would break her heart. She mustn’t! +She mustn’t! And yet mustn’t she? + +The heart of a father! The world wanders into many strange by-paths of +affection. The love of a mother for her children is dominant, leonine, +selfish, and unselfish. It is concentric. The love of a husband for his +wife, or of a lover for his sweetheart, is a sweet bond of agreement +and exchange trade in a lovely contest. The love of a father for his +son or daughter, where it is love at all, is a broad, generous, sad, +contemplative giving without thought of return, a hail and farewell to +a troubled traveler whom he would do much to guard, a balanced judgment +of weakness and strength, with pity for failure and pride in +achievement. It is a lovely, generous, philosophic blossom which rarely +asks too much, and seeks only to give wisely and plentifully. “That my +boy may succeed! That my daughter may be happy!” Who has not heard and +dwelt upon these twin fervors of fatherly wisdom and tenderness? + +As Butler drove downtown his huge, slow-moving, in some respects +chaotic mind turned over as rapidly as he could all of the +possibilities in connection with this unexpected, sad, and disturbing +revelation. Why had Cowperwood not been satisfied with his wife? Why +should he enter into his (Butler’s) home, of all places, to establish a +clandestine relationship of this character? Was Aileen in any way to +blame? She was not without mental resources of her own. She must have +known what she was doing. She was a good Catholic, or, at least, had +been raised so. All these years she had been going regularly to +confession and communion. True, of late Butler had noticed that she did +not care so much about going to church, would sometimes make excuses +and stay at home on Sundays; but she had gone, as a rule. And now, +now—his thoughts would come to the end of a blind alley, and then he +would start back, as it were, mentally, to the center of things, and +begin all over again. + +He went up the stairs to his own office slowly. He went in and sat +down, and thought and thought. Ten o’clock came, and eleven. His son +bothered him with an occasional matter of interest, but, finding him +moody, finally abandoned him to his own speculations. It was twelve, +and then one, and he was still sitting there thinking, when the +presence of Cowperwood was announced. + +Cowperwood, on finding Butler not at home, and not encountering Aileen, +had hurried up to the office of the Edward Butler Contracting Company, +which was also the center of some of Butler’s street-railway interests. +The floor space controlled by the company was divided into the usual +official compartments, with sections for the bookkeepers, the +road-managers, the treasurer, and so on. Owen Butler, and his father +had small but attractively furnished offices in the rear, where they +transacted all the important business of the company. + +During this drive, curiously, by reason of one of those strange +psychologic intuitions which so often precede a human difficulty of one +sort or another, he had been thinking of Aileen. He was thinking of the +peculiarity of his relationship with her, and of the fact that now he +was running to her father for assistance. As he mounted the stairs he +had a peculiar sense of the untoward; but he could not, in his view of +life, give it countenance. One glance at Butler showed him that +something had gone amiss. He was not so friendly; his glance was dark, +and there was a certain sternness to his countenance which had never +previously been manifested there in Cowperwood’s memory. He perceived +at once that here was something different from a mere intention to +refuse him aid and call his loan. What was it? Aileen? It must be that. +Somebody had suggested something. They had been seen together. Well, +even so, nothing could be proved. Butler would obtain no sign from him. +But his loan—that was to be called, surely. And as for an additional +loan, he could see now, before a word had been said, that that thought +was useless. + +“I came to see you about that loan of yours, Mr. Butler,” he observed, +briskly, with an old-time, jaunty air. You could not have told from his +manner or his face that he had observed anything out of the ordinary. + +Butler, who was alone in the room—Owen having gone into an adjoining +room—merely stared at him from under his shaggy brows. + +“I’ll have to have that money,” he said, brusquely, darkly. + +An old-time Irish rage suddenly welled up in his bosom as he +contemplated this jaunty, sophisticated undoer of his daughter’s +virtue. He fairly glared at him as he thought of him and her. + +“I judged from the way things were going this morning that you might +want it,” Cowperwood replied, quietly, without sign of tremor. “The +bottom’s out, I see.” + +“The bottom’s out, and it’ll not be put back soon, I’m thinkin’. I’ll +have to have what’s belongin’ to me to-day. I haven’t any time to +spare.” + +“Very well,” replied Cowperwood, who saw clearly how treacherous the +situation was. The old man was in a dour mood. His presence was an +irritation to him, for some reason—a deadly provocation. Cowperwood +felt clearly that it must be Aileen, that he must know or suspect +something. + +He must pretend business hurry and end this. “I’m sorry. I thought I +might get an extension; but that’s all right. I can get the money, +though. I’ll send it right over.” + +He turned and walked quickly to the door. + +Butler got up. He had thought to manage this differently. + +He had thought to denounce or even assault this man. He was about to +make some insinuating remark which would compel an answer, some direct +charge; but Cowperwood was out and away as jaunty as ever. + +The old man was flustered, enraged, disappointed. He opened the small +office door which led into the adjoining room, and called, “Owen!” + +“Yes, father.” + +“Send over to Cowperwood’s office and get that money.” + +“You decided to call it, eh?” + +“I have.” + +Owen was puzzled by the old man’s angry mood. He wondered what it all +meant, but thought he and Cowperwood might have had a few words. He +went out to his desk to write a note and call a clerk. Butler went to +the window and stared out. He was angry, bitter, brutal in his vein. + +“The dirty dog!” he suddenly exclaimed to himself, in a low voice. +“I’ll take every dollar he’s got before I’m through with him. I’ll send +him to jail, I will. I’ll break him, I will. Wait!” + +He clinched his big fists and his teeth. + +“I’ll fix him. I’ll show him. The dog! The damned scoundrel!” + +Never in his life before had he been so bitter, so cruel, so relentless +in his mood. + +He walked his office floor thinking what he could do. Question +Aileen—that was what he would do. If her face, or her lips, told him +that his suspicion was true, he would deal with Cowperwood later. This +city treasurer business, now. It was not a crime in so far as +Cowperwood was concerned; but it might be made to be. + +So now, telling the clerk to say to Owen that he had gone down the +street for a few moments, he boarded a street-car and rode out to his +home, where he found his elder daughter just getting ready to go out. +She wore a purple-velvet street dress edged with narrow, flat gilt +braid, and a striking gold-and-purple turban. She had on dainty new +boots of bronze kid and long gloves of lavender suede. In her ears was +one of her latest affectations, a pair of long jet earrings. The old +Irishman realized on this occasion, when he saw her, perhaps more +clearly than he ever had in his life, that he had grown a bird of rare +plumage. + +“Where are you going, daughter?” he asked, with a rather unsuccessful +attempt to conceal his fear, distress, and smoldering anger. + +“To the library,” she said easily, and yet with a sudden realization +that all was not right with her father. His face was too heavy and +gray. He looked tired and gloomy. + +“Come up to my office a minute,” he said. “I want to see you before you +go.” + +Aileen heard this with a strange feeling of curiosity and wonder. It +was not customary for her father to want to see her in his office just +when she was going out; and his manner indicated, in this instance, +that the exceptional procedure portended a strange revelation of some +kind. Aileen, like every other person who offends against a rigid +convention of the time, was conscious of and sensitive to the possible +disastrous results which would follow exposure. She had often thought +about what her family would think if they knew what she was doing; she +had never been able to satisfy herself in her mind as to what they +would do. Her father was a very vigorous man. But she had never known +him to be cruel or cold in his attitude toward her or any other member +of the family, and especially not toward her. Always he seemed too fond +of her to be completely alienated by anything that might happen; yet +she could not be sure. + +Butler led the way, planting his big feet solemnly on the steps as he +went up. Aileen followed with a single glance at herself in the tall +pier-mirror which stood in the hall, realizing at once how charming she +looked and how uncertain she was feeling about what was to follow. What +could her father want? It made the color leave her cheeks for the +moment, as she thought what he might want. + +Butler strolled into his stuffy room and sat down in the big leather +chair, disproportioned to everything else in the chamber, but which, +nevertheless, accompanied his desk. Before him, against the light, was +the visitor’s chair, in which he liked to have those sit whose faces he +was anxious to study. When Aileen entered he motioned her to it, which +was also ominous to her, and said, “Sit down there.” + +She took the seat, not knowing what to make of his procedure. On the +instant her promise to Cowperwood to deny everything, whatever +happened, came back to her. If her father was about to attack her on +that score, he would get no satisfaction, she thought. She owed it to +Frank. Her pretty face strengthened and hardened on the instant. Her +small, white teeth set themselves in two even rows; and her father saw +quite plainly that she was consciously bracing herself for an attack of +some kind. He feared by this that she was guilty, and he was all the +more distressed, ashamed, outraged, made wholly unhappy. He fumbled in +the left-hand pocket of his coat and drew forth from among the various +papers the fatal communication so cheap in its physical texture. His +big fingers fumbled almost tremulously as he fished the letter-sheet +out of the small envelope and unfolded it without saying a word. Aileen +watched his face and his hands, wondering what it could be that he had +here. He handed the paper over, small in his big fist, and said, “Read +that.” + +Aileen took it, and for a second was relieved to be able to lower her +eyes to the paper. Her relief vanished in a second, when she realized +how in a moment she would have to raise them again and look him in the +face. + +DEAR SIR—This is to warn you that your daughter Aileen is running +around with a man that she shouldn’t, Frank A. Cowperwood, the banker. +If you don’t believe it, watch the house at 931 North Tenth Street. +Then you can see for yourself. + + +In spite of herself the color fled from her cheeks instantly, only to +come back in a hot, defiant wave. + +“Why, what a lie!” she said, lifting her eyes to her father’s. “To +think that any one should write such a thing of me! How dare they! I +think it’s a shame!” + +Old Butler looked at her narrowly, solemnly. He was not deceived to any +extent by her bravado. If she were really innocent, he knew she would +have jumped to her feet in her defiant way. Protest would have been +written all over her. As it was, she only stared haughtily. He read +through her eager defiance to the guilty truth. + +“How do ye know, daughter, that I haven’t had the house watched?” he +said, quizzically. “How do ye know that ye haven’t been seen goin’ in +there?” + +Only Aileen’s solemn promise to her lover could have saved her from +this subtle thrust. As it was, she paled nervously; but she saw Frank +Cowperwood, solemn and distinguished, asking her what she would say if +she were caught. + +“It’s a lie!” she said, catching her breath. “I wasn’t at any house at +that number, and no one saw me going in there. How can you ask me that, +father?” + +In spite of his mixed feelings of uncertainty and yet unshakable belief +that his daughter was guilty, he could not help admiring her +courage—she was so defiant, as she sat there, so set in her +determination to lie and thus defend herself. Her beauty helped her in +his mood, raised her in his esteem. After all, what could you do with a +woman of this kind? She was not a ten-year-old girl any more, as in a +way he sometimes continued to fancy her. + +“Ye oughtn’t to say that if it isn’t true, Aileen,” he said. “Ye +oughtn’t to lie. It’s against your faith. Why would anybody write a +letter like that if it wasn’t so?” + +“But it’s not so,” insisted Aileen, pretending anger and outraged +feeling, “and I don’t think you have any right to sit there and say +that to me. I haven’t been there, and I’m not running around with Mr. +Cowperwood. Why, I hardly know the man except in a social way.” + +Butler shook his head solemnly. + +“It’s a great blow to me, daughter. It’s a great blow to me,” he said. +“I’m willing to take your word if ye say so; but I can’t help thinkin’ +what a sad thing it would be if ye were lyin’ to me. I haven’t had the +house watched. I only got this this mornin’. And what’s written here +may not be so. I hope it isn’t. But we’ll not say any more about that +now. If there is anythin’ in it, and ye haven’t gone too far yet to +save yourself, I want ye to think of your mother and your sister and +your brothers, and be a good girl. Think of the church ye was raised +in, and the name we’ve got to stand up for in the world. Why, if ye +were doin’ anything wrong, and the people of Philadelphy got a hold of +it, the city, big as it is, wouldn’t be big enough to hold us. Your +brothers have got a reputation to make, their work to do here. You and +your sister want to get married sometime. How could ye expect to look +the world in the face and do anythin’ at all if ye are doin’ what this +letter says ye are, and it was told about ye?” + +The old man’s voice was thick with a strange, sad, alien emotion. He +did not want to believe that his daughter was guilty, even though he +knew she was. He did not want to face what he considered in his +vigorous, religious way to be his duty, that of reproaching her +sternly. There were some fathers who would have turned her out, he +fancied. There were others who might possibly kill Cowperwood after a +subtle investigation. That course was not for him. If vengeance he was +to have, it must be through politics and finance—he must drive him out. +But as for doing anything desperate in connection with Aileen, he could +not think of it. + +“Oh, father,” returned Aileen, with considerable histrionic ability in +her assumption of pettishness, “how can you talk like this when you +know I’m not guilty? When I tell you so?” + +The old Irishman saw through her make-believe with profound sadness—the +feeling that one of his dearest hopes had been shattered. He had +expected so much of her socially and matrimonially. Why, any one of a +dozen remarkable young men might have married her, and she would have +had lovely children to comfort him in his old age. + +“Well, we’ll not talk any more about it now, daughter,” he said, +wearily. “Ye’ve been so much to me during all these years that I can +scarcely belave anythin’ wrong of ye. I don’t want to, God knows. Ye’re +a grown woman, though, now; and if ye are doin’ anythin’ wrong I don’t +suppose I could do so much to stop ye. I might turn ye out, of course, +as many a father would; but I wouldn’t like to do anythin’ like that. +But if ye are doin’ anythin’ wrong”—and he put up his hand to stop a +proposed protest on the part of Aileen—“remember, I’m certain to find +it out in the long run, and Philadelphy won’t be big enough to hold me +and the man that’s done this thing to me. I’ll get him,” he said, +getting up dramatically. “I’ll get him, and when I do—” He turned a +livid face to the wall, and Aileen saw clearly that Cowperwood, in +addition to any other troubles which might beset him, had her father to +deal with. Was this why Frank had looked so sternly at her the night +before? + +“Why, your mother would die of a broken heart if she thought there was +anybody could say the least word against ye,” pursued Butler, in a +shaken voice. “This man has a family—a wife and children, Ye oughtn’t +to want to do anythin’ to hurt them. They’ll have trouble enough, if +I’m not mistaken—facin’ what’s comin’ to them in the future,” and +Butler’s jaw hardened just a little. “Ye’re a beautiful girl. Ye’re +young. Ye have money. There’s dozens of young men’d be proud to make ye +their wife. Whatever ye may be thinkin’ or doin’, don’t throw away your +life. Don’t destroy your immortal soul. Don’t break my heart entirely.” + +Aileen, not ungenerous—fool of mingled affection and passion—could now +have cried. She pitied her father from her heart; but her allegiance +was to Cowperwood, her loyalty unshaken. She wanted to say something, +to protest much more; but she knew that it was useless. Her father knew +that she was lying. + +“Well, there’s no use of my saying anything more, father,” she said, +getting up. The light of day was fading in the windows. The downstairs +door closed with a light slam, indicating that one of the boys had come +in. Her proposed trip to the library was now without interest to her. +“You won’t believe me, anyhow. I tell you, though, that I’m innocent +just the same.” + +Butler lifted his big, brown hand to command silence. She saw that this +shameful relationship, as far as her father was concerned, had been +made quite clear, and that this trying conference was now at an end. +She turned and walked shamefacedly out. He waited until he heard her +steps fading into faint nothings down the hall toward her room. Then he +arose. Once more he clinched his big fists. + +“The scoundrel!” he said. “The scoundrel! I’ll drive him out of +Philadelphy, if it takes the last dollar I have in the world.” + + + + +Chapter XXVII + + +For the first time in his life Cowperwood felt conscious of having been +in the presence of that interesting social phenomenon—the outraged +sentiment of a parent. While he had no absolute knowledge as to why +Butler had been so enraged, he felt that Aileen was the contributing +cause. He himself was a father. His boy, Frank, Jr., was to him not so +remarkable. But little Lillian, with her dainty little slip of a body +and bright-aureoled head, had always appealed to him. She was going to +be a charming woman one day, he thought, and he was going to do much to +establish her safely. He used to tell her that she had “eyes like +buttons,” “feet like a pussy-cat,” and hands that were “just five +cents’ worth,” they were so little. The child admired her father and +would often stand by his chair in the library or the sitting-room, or +his desk in his private office, or by his seat at the table, asking him +questions. + +This attitude toward his own daughter made him see clearly how Butler +might feel toward Aileen. He wondered how he would feel if it were his +own little Lillian, and still he did not believe he would make much +fuss over the matter, either with himself or with her, if she were as +old as Aileen. Children and their lives were more or less above the +willing of parents, anyhow, and it would be a difficult thing for any +parent to control any child, unless the child were naturally +docile-minded and willing to be controlled. + +It also made him smile, in a grim way, to see how fate was raining +difficulties on him. The Chicago fire, Stener’s early absence, Butler, +Mollenhauer, and Simpson’s indifference to Stener’s fate and his. And +now this probable revelation in connection with Aileen. He could not be +sure as yet, but his intuitive instincts told him that it must be +something like this. + +Now he was distressed as to what Aileen would do, say if suddenly she +were confronted by her father. If he could only get to her! But if he +was to meet Butler’s call for his loan, and the others which would come +yet to-day or on the morrow, there was not a moment to lose. If he did +not pay he must assign at once. Butler’s rage, Aileen, his own danger, +were brushed aside for the moment. His mind concentrated wholly on how +to save himself financially. + +He hurried to visit George Waterman; David Wiggin, his wife’s brother, +who was now fairly well to do; Joseph Zimmerman, the wealthy dry-goods +dealer who had dealt with him in the past; Judge Kitchen, a private +manipulator of considerable wealth; Frederick Van Nostrand, the State +treasurer, who was interested in local street-railway stocks, and +others. Of all those to whom he appealed one was actually not in a +position to do anything for him; another was afraid; a third was +calculating eagerly to drive a hard bargain; a fourth was too +deliberate, anxious to have much time. All scented the true value of +his situation, all wanted time to consider, and he had no time to +consider. Judge Kitchen did agree to lend him thirty thousand dollars—a +paltry sum. Joseph Zimmerman would only risk twenty-five thousand +dollars. He could see where, all told, he might raise seventy-five +thousand dollars by hypothecating double the amount in shares; but this +was ridiculously insufficient. He had figured again, to a dollar, and +he must have at least two hundred and fifty thousand dollars above all +his present holdings, or he must close his doors. To-morrow at two +o’clock he would know. If he didn’t he would be written down as +“failed” on a score of ledgers in Philadelphia. + +What a pretty pass for one to come to whose hopes had so recently run +so high! There was a loan of one hundred thousand dollars from the +Girard National Bank which he was particularly anxious to clear off. +This bank was the most important in the city, and if he retained its +good will by meeting this loan promptly he might hope for favors in the +future whatever happened. Yet, at the moment, he did not see how he +could do it. He decided, however, after some reflection, that he would +deliver the stocks which Judge Kitchen, Zimmerman, and others had +agreed to take and get their checks or cash yet this night. Then he +would persuade Stener to let him have a check for the sixty thousand +dollars’ worth of city loan he had purchased this morning on ’change. +Out of it he could take twenty-five thousand dollars to make up the +balance due the bank, and still have thirty-five thousand for himself. + +The one unfortunate thing about such an arrangement was that by doing +it he was building up a rather complicated situation in regard to these +same certificates. Since their purchase in the morning, he had not +deposited them in the sinking-fund, where they belonged (they had been +delivered to his office by half past one in the afternoon), but, on the +contrary, had immediately hypothecated them to cover another loan. It +was a risky thing to have done, considering that he was in danger of +failing and that he was not absolutely sure of being able to take them +up in time. + +But, he reasoned, he had a working agreement with the city treasurer +(illegal of course), which would make such a transaction rather +plausible, and almost all right, even if he failed, and that was that +none of his accounts were supposed necessarily to be put straight until +the end of the month. If he failed, and the certificates were not in +the sinking-fund, he could say, as was the truth, that he was in the +habit of taking his time, and had forgotten. This collecting of a +check, therefore, for these as yet undeposited certificates would be +technically, if not legally and morally, plausible. The city would be +out only an additional sixty thousand dollars—making five hundred and +sixty thousand dollars all told, which in view of its probable loss of +five hundred thousand did not make so much difference. But his caution +clashed with his need on this occasion, and he decided that he would +not call for the check unless Stener finally refused to aid him with +three hundred thousand more, in which case he would claim it as his +right. In all likelihood Stener would not think to ask whether the +certificates were in the sinking-fund or not. If he did, he would have +to lie—that was all. + +He drove rapidly back to his office, and, finding Butler’s note, as he +expected, wrote a check on his father’s bank for the one hundred +thousand dollars which had been placed to his credit by his loving +parent, and sent it around to Butler’s office. There was another note, +from Albert Stires, Stener’s secretary, advising him not to buy or sell +any more city loan—that until further notice such transactions would +not be honored. Cowperwood immediately sensed the source of this +warning. Stener had been in conference with Butler or Mollenhauer, and +had been warned and frightened. Nevertheless, he got in his buggy again +and drove directly to the city treasurer’s office. + +Since Cowperwood’s visit Stener had talked still more with Sengstack, +Strobik, and others, all sent to see that a proper fear of things +financial had been put in his heart. The result was decidedly one which +spelled opposition to Cowperwood. + +Strobik was considerably disturbed himself. He and Wycroft and Harmon +had also been using money out of the treasury—much smaller sums, of +course, for they had not Cowperwood’s financial imagination—and were +disturbed as to how they would return what they owed before the storm +broke. If Cowperwood failed, and Stener was short in his accounts, the +whole budget might be investigated, and then their loans would be +brought to light. The thing to do was to return what they owed, and +then, at least, no charge of malfeasance would lie against them. + +“Go to Mollenhauer,” Strobik had advised Stener, shortly after +Cowperwood had left the latter’s office, “and tell him the whole story. +He put you here. He was strong for your nomination. Tell him just where +you stand and ask him what to do. He’ll probably be able to tell you. +Offer him your holdings to help you out. You have to. You can’t help +yourself. Don’t loan Cowperwood another damned dollar, whatever you do. +He’s got you in so deep now you can hardly hope to get out. Ask +Mollenhauer if he won’t help you to get Cowperwood to put that money +back. He may be able to influence him.” + +There was more in this conversation to the same effect, and then Stener +hurried as fast as his legs could carry him to Mollenhauer’s office. He +was so frightened that he could scarcely breathe, and he was quite +ready to throw himself on his knees before the big German-American +financier and leader. Oh, if Mr. Mollenhauer would only help him! If he +could just get out of this without going to jail! + +“Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!” he repeated, over and over to himself, +as he walked. “What shall I do?” + +The attitude of Henry A. Mollenhauer, grim, political boss that he +was—trained in a hard school—was precisely the attitude of every such +man in all such trying circumstances. + +He was wondering, in view of what Butler had told him, just how much he +could advantage himself in this situation. If he could, he wanted to +get control of whatever street-railway stock Stener now had, without in +any way compromising himself. Stener’s shares could easily be +transferred on ’change through Mollenhauer’s brokers to a dummy, who +would eventually transfer them to himself (Mollenhauer). Stener must be +squeezed thoroughly, though, this afternoon, and as for his five +hundred thousand dollars’ indebtedness to the treasury, Mollenhauer did +not see what could be done about that. If Cowperwood could not pay it, +the city would have to lose it; but the scandal must be hushed up until +after election. Stener, unless the various party leaders had more +generosity than Mollenhauer imagined, would have to suffer exposure, +arrest, trial, confiscation of his property, and possibly sentence to +the penitentiary, though this might easily be commuted by the governor, +once public excitement died down. He did not trouble to think whether +Cowperwood was criminally involved or not. A hundred to one he was not. +Trust a shrewd man like that to take care of himself. But if there was +any way to shoulder the blame on to Cowperwood, and so clear the +treasurer and the skirts of the party, he would not object to that. He +wanted to hear the full story of Stener’s relations with the broker +first. Meanwhile, the thing to do was to seize what Stener had to +yield. + +The troubled city treasurer, on being shown in Mr. Mollenhauer’s +presence, at once sank feebly in a chair and collapsed. He was entirely +done for mentally. His nerve was gone, his courage exhausted like a +breath. + +“Well, Mr. Stener?” queried Mr. Mollenhauer, impressively, pretending +not to know what brought him. + +“I came about this matter of my loans to Mr. Cowperwood.” + +“Well, what about them?” + +“Well, he owes me, or the city treasury rather, five hundred thousand +dollars, and I understand that he is going to fail and that he can’t +pay it back.” + +“Who told you that?” + +“Mr. Sengstack, and since then Mr. Cowperwood has been to see me. He +tells me he must have more money or he will fail and he wants to borrow +three hundred thousand dollars more. He says he must have it.” + +“So!” said Mr. Mollenhauer, impressively, and with an air of +astonishment which he did not feel. “You would not think of doing that, +of course. You’re too badly involved as it is. If he wants to know why, +refer him to me. Don’t advance him another dollar. If you do, and this +case comes to trial, no court would have any mercy on you. It’s going +to be difficult enough to do anything for you as it is. However, if you +don’t advance him any more—we will see. It may be possible, I can’t +say, but at any rate, no more money must leave the treasury to bolster +up this bad business. It’s much too difficult as it now is.” He stared +at Stener warningly. And he, shaken and sick, yet because of the faint +suggestion of mercy involved somewhere in Mollenhauer’s remarks, now +slipped from his chair to his knees and folded his hands in the +uplifted attitude of a devotee before a sacred image. + +“Oh, Mr. Mollenhauer,” he choked, beginning to cry, “I didn’t mean to +do anything wrong. Strobik and Wycroft told me it was all right. You +sent me to Cowperwood in the first place. I only did what I thought the +others had been doing. Mr. Bode did it, just like I have been doing. He +dealt with Tighe and Company. I have a wife and four children, Mr. +Mollenhauer. My youngest boy is only seven years old. Think of them, +Mr. Mollenhauer! Think of what my arrest will mean to them! I don’t +want to go to jail. I didn’t think I was doing anything very +wrong—honestly I didn’t. I’ll give up all I’ve got. You can have all my +stocks and houses and lots—anything—if you’ll only get me out of this. +You won’t let ’em send me to jail, will you?” + +His fat, white lips were trembling—wabbling nervously—and big hot tears +were coursing down his previously pale but now flushed cheeks. He +presented one of those almost unbelievable pictures which are yet so +intensely human and so true. If only the great financial and political +giants would for once accurately reveal the details of their lives! + +Mollenhauer looked at him calmly, meditatively. How often had he seen +weaklings no more dishonest than himself, but without his courage and +subtlety, pleading to him in this fashion, not on their knees exactly, +but intellectually so! Life to him, as to every other man of large +practical knowledge and insight, was an inexplicable tangle. What were +you going to do about the so-called morals and precepts of the world? +This man Stener fancied that he was dishonest, and that he, +Mollenhauer, was honest. He was here, self-convicted of sin, pleading +to him, Mollenhauer, as he would to a righteous, unstained saint. As a +matter of fact, Mollenhauer knew that he was simply shrewder, more +far-seeing, more calculating, not less dishonest. Stener was lacking in +force and brains—not morals. This lack was his principal crime. There +were people who believed in some esoteric standard of right—some ideal +of conduct absolutely and very far removed from practical life; but he +had never seen them practice it save to their own financial (not +moral—he would not say that) destruction. They were never significant, +practical men who clung to these fatuous ideals. They were always poor, +nondescript, negligible dreamers. He could not have made Stener +understand all this if he had wanted to, and he certainly did not want +to. It was too bad about Mrs. Stener and the little Steners. No doubt +she had worked hard, as had Stener, to get up in the world and be +something—just a little more than miserably poor; and now this +unfortunate complication had to arise to undo them—this Chicago fire. +What a curious thing that was! If any one thing more than another made +him doubt the existence of a kindly, overruling Providence, it was the +unheralded storms out of clear skies—financial, social, anything you +choose—that so often brought ruin and disaster to so many. + +“Get Up, Stener,” he said, calmly, after a few moments. “You mustn’t +give way to your feelings like this. You must not cry. These troubles +are never unraveled by tears. You must do a little thinking for +yourself. Perhaps your situation isn’t so bad.” + +As he was saying this Stener was putting himself back in his chair, +getting out his handkerchief, and sobbing hopelessly in it. + +“I’ll do what I can, Stener. I won’t promise anything. I can’t tell you +what the result will be. There are many peculiar political forces in +this city. I may not be able to save you, but I am perfectly willing to +try. You must put yourself absolutely under my direction. You must not +say or do anything without first consulting with me. I will send my +secretary to you from time to time. He will tell you what to do. You +must not come to me unless I send for you. Do you understand that +thoroughly?” + +“Yes, Mr. Mollenhauer.” + +“Well, now, dry your eyes. I don’t want you to go out of this office +crying. Go back to your office, and I will send Sengstack to see you. +He will tell you what to do. Follow him exactly. And whenever I send +for you come at once.” + +He got up, large, self-confident, reserved. Stener, buoyed up by the +subtle reassurance of his remarks, recovered to a degree his +equanimity. Mr. Mollenhauer, the great, powerful Mr. Mollenhauer was +going to help him out of his scrape. He might not have to go to jail +after all. He left after a few moments, his face a little red from +weeping, but otherwise free of telltale marks, and returned to his +office. + +Three-quarters of an hour later, Sengstack called on him for the second +time that day—Abner Sengstack, small, dark-faced, club-footed, a great +sole of leather three inches thick under his short, withered right leg, +his slightly Slavic, highly intelligent countenance burning with a pair +of keen, piercing, inscrutable black eyes. Sengstack was a fit +secretary for Mollenhauer. You could see at one glance that he would +make Stener do exactly what Mollenhauer suggested. His business was to +induce Stener to part with his street-railway holdings at once through +Tighe & Co., Butler’s brokers, to the political sub-agent who would +eventually transfer them to Mollenhauer. What little Stener received +for them might well go into the treasury. Tighe & Co. would manage the +“’change” subtleties of this without giving any one else a chance to +bid, while at the same time making it appear an open-market +transaction. At the same time Sengstack went carefully into the state +of the treasurer’s office for his master’s benefit—finding out what it +was that Strobik, Wycroft, and Harmon had been doing with their loans. +Via another source they were ordered to disgorge at once or face +prosecution. They were a part of Mollenhauer’s political machine. Then, +having cautioned Stener not to set over the remainder of his property +to any one, and not to listen to any one, most of all to the +Machiavellian counsel of Cowperwood, Sengstack left. + +Needless to say, Mollenhauer was greatly gratified by this turn of +affairs. Cowperwood was now most likely in a position where he would +have to come and see him, or if not, a good share of the properties he +controlled were already in Mollenhauer’s possession. If by some hook or +crook he could secure the remainder, Simpson and Butler might well talk +to him about this street-railway business. His holdings were now as +large as any, if not quite the largest. + + + + +Chapter XXVIII + + +It was in the face of this very altered situation that Cowperwood +arrived at Stener’s office late this Monday afternoon. + +Stener was quite alone, worried and distraught. He was anxious to see +Cowperwood, and at the same time afraid. + +“George,” began Cowperwood, briskly, on seeing him, “I haven’t much +time to spare now, but I’ve come, finally, to tell you that you’ll have +to let me have three hundred thousand more if you don’t want me to +fail. Things are looking very bad today. They’ve caught me in a corner +on my loans; but this storm isn’t going to last. You can see by the +very character of it that it can’t.” + +He was looking at Stener’s face, and seeing fear and a pained and yet +very definite necessity for opposition written there. “Chicago is +burning, but it will be built up again. Business will be all the better +for it later on. Now, I want you to be reasonable and help me. Don’t +get frightened.” + +Stener stirred uneasily. “Don’t let these politicians scare you to +death. It will all blow over in a few days, and then we’ll be better +off than ever. Did you see Mollenhauer?” + +“Yes.” + +“Well, what did he have to say?” + +“He said just what I thought he’d say. He won’t let me do this. I +can’t, Frank, I tell you!” exclaimed Stener, jumping up. He was so +nervous that he had had a hard time keeping his seat during this short, +direct conversation. “I can’t! They’ve got me in a corner! They’re +after me! They all know what we’ve been doing. Oh, say, Frank”—he threw +up his arms wildly—“you’ve got to get me out of this. You’ve got to let +me have that five hundred thousand back and get me out of this. If you +don’t, and you should fail, they’ll send me to the penitentiary. I’ve +got a wife and four children, Frank. I can’t go on in this. It’s too +big for me. I never should have gone in on it in the first place. I +never would have if you hadn’t persuaded me, in a way. I never thought +when I began that I would ever get in as bad as all this. I can’t go +on, Frank. I can’t! I’m willing you should have all my stock. Only give +me back that five hundred thousand, and we’ll call it even.” His voice +rose nervously as he talked, and he wiped his wet forehead with his +hand and stared at Cowperwood pleadingly, foolishly. + +Cowperwood stared at him in return for a few moments with a cold, fishy +eye. He knew a great deal about human nature, and he was ready for and +expectant of any queer shift in an individual’s attitude, particularly +in time of panic; but this shift of Stener’s was quite too much. “Whom +else have you been talking to, George, since I saw you? Whom have you +seen? What did Sengstack have to say?” + +“He says just what Mollenhauer does, that I mustn’t loan any more money +under any circumstances, and he says I ought to get that five hundred +thousand back as quickly as possible.” + +“And you think Mollenhauer wants to help you, do you?” inquired +Cowperwood, finding it hard to efface the contempt which kept forcing +itself into his voice. + +“I think he does, yes. I don’t know who else will, Frank, if he don’t. +He’s one of the big political forces in this town.” + +“Listen to me,” began Cowperwood, eyeing him fixedly. Then he paused. +“What did he say you should do about your holdings?” + +“Sell them through Tighe & Company and put the money back in the +treasury, if you won’t take them.” + +“Sell them to whom?” asked Cowperwood, thinking of Stener’s last words. + +“To any one on ’change who’ll take them, I suppose. I don’t know.” + +“I thought so,” said Cowperwood, comprehendingly. “I might have known +as much. They’re working you, George. They’re simply trying to get your +stocks away from you. Mollenhauer is leading you on. He knows I can’t +do what you want—give you back the five hundred thousand dollars. He +wants you to throw your stocks on the market so that he can pick them +up. Depend on it, that’s all arranged for already. When you do, he’s +got me in his clutches, or he thinks he has—he and Butler and Simpson. +They want to get together on this local street-railway situation, and I +know it, I feel it. I’ve felt it coming all along. Mollenhauer hasn’t +any more intention of helping you than he has of flying. Once you’ve +sold your stocks he’s through with you—mark my word. Do you think he’ll +turn a hand to keep you out of the penitentiary once you’re out of this +street-railway situation? He will not. And if you think so, you’re a +bigger fool than I take you to be, George. Don’t go crazy. Don’t lose +your head. Be sensible. Look the situation in the face. Let me explain +it to you. If you don’t help me now—if you don’t let me have three +hundred thousand dollars by to-morrow noon, at the very latest, I’m +through, and so are you. There is not a thing the matter with our +situation. Those stocks of ours are as good to-day as they ever were. +Why, great heavens, man, the railways are there behind them. They’re +paying. The Seventeenth and Nineteenth Street line is earning one +thousand dollars a day right now. What better evidence do you want than +that? Green & Coates is earning five hundred dollars. You’re +frightened, George. These damned political schemers have scared you. +Why, you’ve as good a right to loan that money as Bode and Murtagh had +before you. They did it. You’ve been doing it for Mollenhauer and the +others, only so long as you do it for them it’s all right. What’s a +designated city depository but a loan?” + +Cowperwood was referring to the system under which certain portions of +city money, like the sinking-fund, were permitted to be kept in certain +banks at a low rate of interest or no rate—banks in which Mollenhauer +and Butler and Simpson were interested. This was their safe graft. + +“Don’t throw your chances away, George. Don’t quit now. You’ll be worth +millions in a few years, and you won’t have to turn a hand. All you +will have to do will be to keep what you have. If you don’t help me, +mark my word, they’ll throw you over the moment I’m out of this, and +they’ll let you go to the penitentiary. Who’s going to put up five +hundred thousand dollars for you, George? Where is Mollenhauer going to +get it, or Butler, or anybody, in these times? They can’t. They don’t +intend to. When I’m through, you’re through, and you’ll be exposed +quicker than any one else. They can’t hurt me, George. I’m an agent. I +didn’t ask you to come to me. You came to me in the first place of your +own accord. If you don’t help me, you’re through, I tell you, and +you’re going to be sent to the penitentiary as sure as there are jails. +Why don’t you take a stand, George? Why don’t you stand your ground? +You have your wife and children to look after. You can’t be any worse +off loaning me three hundred thousand more than you are right now. What +difference does it make—five hundred thousand or eight hundred +thousand? It’s all one and the same thing, if you’re going to be tried +for it. Besides, if you loan me this, there isn’t going to be any +trial. I’m not going to fail. This storm will blow over in a week or +ten days, and we’ll be rich again. For Heaven’s sake, George, don’t go +to pieces this way! Be sensible! Be reasonable!” + +He paused, for Stener’s face had become a jelly-like mass of woe. + +“I can’t, Frank,” he wailed. “I tell you I can’t. They’ll punish me +worse than ever if I do that. They’ll never let up on me. You don’t +know these people.” + +In Stener’s crumpling weakness Cowperwood read his own fate. What could +you do with a man like that? How brace him up? You couldn’t! And with a +gesture of infinite understanding, disgust, noble indifference, he +threw up his hands and started to walk out. At the door he turned. + +“George,” he said, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for you, not for myself. I’ll +come out of things all right, eventually. I’ll be rich. But, George, +you’re making the one great mistake of your life. You’ll be poor; +you’ll be a convict, and you’ll have only yourself to blame. There +isn’t a thing the matter with this money situation except the fire. +There isn’t a thing wrong with my affairs except this slump in +stocks—this panic. You sit there, a fortune in your hands, and you +allow a lot of schemers, highbinders, who don’t know any more of your +affairs or mine than a rabbit, and who haven’t any interest in you +except to plan what they can get out of you, to frighten you and +prevent you from doing the one thing that will save your life. Three +hundred thousand paltry dollars that in three or four weeks from now I +can pay back to you four and five times over, and for that you will see +me go broke and yourself to the penitentiary. I can’t understand it, +George. You’re out of your mind. You’re going to rue this the longest +day that you live.” + +He waited a few moments to see if this, by any twist of chance, would +have any effect; then, noting that Stener still remained a wilted, +helpless mass of nothing, he shook his head gloomily and walked out. + +It was the first time in his life that Cowperwood had ever shown the +least sign of weakening or despair. He had felt all along as though +there were nothing to the Greek theory of being pursued by the furies. +Now, however, there seemed an untoward fate which was pursuing him. It +looked that way. Still, fate or no fate, he did not propose to be +daunted. Even in this very beginning of a tendency to feel despondent +he threw back his head, expanded his chest, and walked as briskly as +ever. + +In the large room outside Stener’s private office he encountered Albert +Stires, Stener’s chief clerk and secretary. He and Albert had exchanged +many friendly greetings in times past, and all the little minor +transactions in regard to city loan had been discussed between them, +for Albert knew more of the intricacies of finance and financial +bookkeeping than Stener would ever know. + +At the sight of Stires the thought in regard to the sixty thousand +dollars’ worth of city loan certificates, previously referred to, +flashed suddenly through his mind. He had not deposited them in the +sinking-fund, and did not intend to for the present—could not, unless +considerable free money were to reach him shortly—for he had used them +to satisfy other pressing demands, and had no free money to buy them +back—or, in other words, release them. And he did not want to just at +this moment. Under the law governing transactions of this kind with the +city treasurer, he was supposed to deposit them at once to the credit +of the city, and not to draw his pay therefor from the city treasurer +until he had. To be very exact, the city treasurer, under the law, was +not supposed to pay him for any transaction of this kind until he or +his agents presented a voucher from the bank or other organization +carrying the sinking-fund for the city showing that the certificates so +purchased had actually been deposited there. As a matter of fact, under +the custom which had grown up between him and Stener, the law had long +been ignored in this respect. He could buy certificates of city loan +for the sinking-fund up to any reasonable amount, hypothecate them +where he pleased, and draw his pay from the city without presenting a +voucher. At the end of the month sufficient certificates of city loan +could usually be gathered from one source and another to make up the +deficiency, or the deficiency could actually be ignored, as had been +done on more than one occasion, for long periods of time, while he used +money secured by hypothecating the shares for speculative purposes. +This was actually illegal; but neither Cowperwood nor Stener saw it in +that light or cared. + +The trouble with this particular transaction was the note that he had +received from Stener ordering him to stop both buying and selling, +which put his relations with the city treasury on a very formal basis. +He had bought these certificates before receiving this note, but had +not deposited them. He was going now to collect his check; but perhaps +the old, easy system of balancing matters at the end of the month might +not be said to obtain any longer. Stires might ask him to present a +voucher of deposit. If so, he could not now get this check for sixty +thousand dollars, for he did not have the certificates to deposit. If +not, he might get the money; but, also, it might constitute the basis +of some subsequent legal action. If he did not eventually deposit the +certificates before failure, some charge such as that of larceny might +be brought against him. Still, he said to himself, he might not really +fail even yet. If any of his banking associates should, for any reason, +modify their decision in regard to calling his loans, he would not. +Would Stener make a row about this if he so secured this check? Would +the city officials pay any attention to him if he did? Could you get +any district attorney to take cognizance of such a transaction, if +Stener did complain? No, not in all likelihood; and, anyhow, nothing +would come of it. No jury would punish him in the face of the +understanding existing between him and Stener as agent or broker and +principal. And, once he had the money, it was a hundred to one Stener +would think no more about it. It would go in among the various +unsatisfied liabilities, and nothing more would be thought about it. +Like lightning the entire situation hashed through his mind. He would +risk it. He stopped before the chief clerk’s desk. + +“Albert,” he said, in a low voice, “I bought sixty thousand dollars’ +worth of city loan for the sinking-fund this morning. Will you give my +boy a check for it in the morning, or, better yet, will you give it to +me now? I got your note about no more purchases. I’m going back to the +office. You can just credit the sinking-fund with eight hundred +certificates at from seventy-five to eighty. I’ll send you the itemized +list later.” + +“Certainly, Mr. Cowperwood, certainly,” replied Albert, with alacrity. +“Stocks are getting an awful knock, aren’t they? I hope you’re not very +much troubled by it?” + +“Not very, Albert,” replied Cowperwood, smiling, the while the chief +clerk was making out his check. He was wondering if by any chance +Stener would appear and attempt to interfere with this. It was a legal +transaction. He had a right to the check provided he deposited the +certificates, as was his custom, with the trustee of the fund. He +waited tensely while Albert wrote, and finally, with the check actually +in his hand, breathed a sigh of relief. Here, at least, was sixty +thousand dollars, and to-night’s work would enable him to cash the +seventy-five thousand that had been promised him. To-morrow, once more +he must see Leigh, Kitchen, Jay Cooke & Co., Edward Clark & Co.—all the +long list of people to whom he owed loans and find out what could be +done. If he could only get time! If he could get just a week! + + + + +Chapter XXIX + + +But time was not a thing to be had in this emergency. With the +seventy-five thousand dollars his friends had extended to him, and +sixty thousand dollars secured from Stires, Cowperwood met the Girard +call and placed the balance, thirty-five thousand dollars, in a private +safe in his own home. He then made a final appeal to the bankers and +financiers, but they refused to help him. He did not, however, +commiserate himself in this hour. He looked out of his office window +into the little court, and sighed. What more could he do? He sent a +note to his father, asking him to call for lunch. He sent a note to his +lawyer, Harper Steger, a man of his own age whom he liked very much, +and asked him to call also. He evolved in his own mind various plans of +delay, addresses to creditors and the like, but alas! he was going to +fail. And the worst of it was that this matter of the city treasurer’s +loans was bound to become a public, and more than a public, a +political, scandal. And the charge of conniving, if not illegally, at +least morally, at the misuse of the city’s money was the one thing that +would hurt him most. + +How industriously his rivals would advertise this fact! He might get on +his feet again if he failed; but it would be uphill work. And his +father! His father would be pulled down with him. It was probable that +he would be forced out of the presidency of his bank. With these +thoughts Cowperwood sat there waiting. As he did so Aileen Butler was +announced by his office-boy, and at the same time Albert Stires. + +“Show in Miss Butler,” he said, getting up. “Tell Mr. Stires to wait.” +Aileen came briskly, vigorously in, her beautiful body clothed as +decoratively as ever. The street suit that she wore was of a light +golden-brown broadcloth, faceted with small, dark-red buttons. Her head +was decorated with a brownish-red shake of a type she had learned was +becoming to her, brimless and with a trailing plume, and her throat was +graced by a three-strand necklace of gold beads. Her hands were +smoothly gloved as usual, and her little feet daintily shod. There was +a look of girlish distress in her eyes, which, however, she was trying +hard to conceal. + +“Honey,” she exclaimed, on seeing him, her arms extended—“what is the +trouble? I wanted so much to ask you the other night. You’re not going +to fail, are you? I heard father and Owen talking about you last +night.” + +“What did they say?” he inquired, putting his arm around her and +looking quietly into her nervous eyes. + +“Oh, you know, I think papa is very angry with you. He suspects. Some +one sent him an anonymous letter. He tried to get it out of me last +night, but he didn’t succeed. I denied everything. I was in here twice +this morning to see you, but you were out. I was so afraid that he +might see you first, and that you might say something.” + +“Me, Aileen?” + +“Well, no, not exactly. I didn’t think that. I don’t know what I +thought. Oh, honey, I’ve been so worried. You know, I didn’t sleep at +all. I thought I was stronger than that; but I was so worried about +you. You know, he put me in a strong light by his desk, where he could +see my face, and then he showed me the letter. I was so astonished for +a moment I hardly know what I said or how I looked.” + +“What did you say?” + +“Why, I said: ‘What a shame! It isn’t so!’ But I didn’t say it right +away. My heart was going like a trip-hammer. I’m afraid he must have +been able to tell something from my face. I could hardly get my +breath.” + +“He’s a shrewd man, your father,” he commented. “He knows something +about life. Now you see how difficult these situations are. It’s a +blessing he decided to show you the letter instead of watching the +house. I suppose he felt too bad to do that. He can’t prove anything +now. But he knows. You can’t deceive him.” + +“How do you know he knows?” + +“I saw him yesterday.” + +“Did he talk to you about it?” + +“No; I saw his face. He simply looked at me.” + +“Honey! I’m so sorry for him!” + +“I know you are. So am I. But it can’t be helped now. We should have +thought of that in the first place.” + +“But I love you so. Oh, honey, he will never forgive me. He loves me +so. He mustn’t know. I won’t admit anything. But, oh, dear!” + +She put her hands tightly together on his bosom, and he looked +consolingly into her eyes. Her eyelids, were trembling, and her lips. +She was sorry for her father, herself, Cowperwood. Through her he could +sense the force of Butler’s parental affection; the volume and danger +of his rage. There were so many, many things as he saw it now +converging to make a dramatic denouement. + +“Never mind,” he replied; “it can’t be helped now. Where is my strong, +determined Aileen? I thought you were going to be so brave? Aren’t you +going to be? I need to have you that way now.” + +“Do you?” + +“Yes.” + +“Are you in trouble?” + +“I think I am going to fail, dear.” + +“Oh, no!” + +“Yes, honey. I’m at the end of my rope. I don’t see any way out just at +present. I’ve sent for my father and my lawyer. You mustn’t stay here, +sweet. Your father may come in here at any time. We must meet +somewhere—to-morrow, say—to-morrow afternoon. You remember Indian Rock, +out on the Wissahickon?” + +“Yes.” + +“Could you be there at four?” + +“Yes.” + +“Look out for who’s following. If I’m not there by four-thirty, don’t +wait. You know why. It will be because I think some one is watching. +There won’t be, though, if we work it right. And now you must run, +sweet. We can’t use Nine-thirty-one any more. I’ll have to rent another +place somewhere else.” + +“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” + +“Aren’t you going to be strong and brave? You see, I need you to be.” + +He was almost, for the first time, a little sad in his mood. + +“Yes, dear, yes,” she declared, slipping her arms under his and pulling +him tight. “Oh, yes! You can depend on me. Oh, Frank, I love you so! +I’m so sorry. Oh, I do hope you don’t fail! But it doesn’t make any +difference, dear, between you and me, whatever happens, does it? We +will love each other just the same. I’ll do anything for you, honey! +I’ll do anything you say. You can trust me. They sha’n’t know anything +from me.” + +She looked at his still, pale face, and a sudden strong determination +to fight for him welled up in her heart. Her love was unjust, illegal, +outlawed; but it was love, just the same, and had much of the fiery +daring of the outcast from justice. + +“I love you! I love you! I love you, Frank!” she declared. He unloosed +her hands. + +“Run, sweet. To-morrow at four. Don’t fail. And don’t talk. And don’t +admit anything, whatever you do.” + +“I won’t.” + +“And don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right.” + +He barely had time to straighten his tie, to assume a nonchalant +attitude by the window, when in hurried Stener’s chief clerk—pale, +disturbed, obviously out of key with himself. + +“Mr. Cowperwood! You know that check I gave you last night? Mr. Stener +says it’s illegal, that I shouldn’t have given it to you, that he will +hold me responsible. He says I can be arrested for compounding a +felony, and that he will discharge me and have me sent to prison if I +don’t get it back. Oh, Mr. Cowperwood, I am only a young man! I’m just +really starting out in life. I’ve got my wife and little boy to look +after. You won’t let him do that to me? You’ll give me that check back, +won’t you? I can’t go back to the office without it. He says you’re +going to fail, and that you knew it, and that you haven’t any right to +it.” + +Cowperwood looked at him curiously. He was surprised at the variety and +character of these emissaries of disaster. Surely, when troubles chose +to multiply they had great skill in presenting themselves in rapid +order. Stener had no right to make any such statement. The transaction +was not illegal. The man had gone wild. True, he, Cowperwood, had +received an order after these securities were bought not to buy or sell +any more city loan, but that did not invalidate previous purchases. +Stener was browbeating and frightening his poor underling, a better man +than himself, in order to get back this sixty-thousand-dollar check. +What a petty creature he was! How true it was, as somebody had +remarked, that you could not possibly measure the petty meannesses to +which a fool could stoop! + +“You go back to Mr. Stener, Albert, and tell him that it can’t be done. +The certificates of loan were purchased before his order arrived, and +the records of the exchange will prove it. There is no illegality here. +I am entitled to that check and could have collected it in any +qualified court of law. The man has gone out of his head. I haven’t +failed yet. You are not in any danger of any legal proceedings; and if +you are, I’ll help defend you. I can’t give you the check back because +I haven’t it to give; and if I had, I wouldn’t. That would be allowing +a fool to make a fool of me. I’m sorry, very, but I can’t do anything +for you.” + +“Oh, Mr. Cowperwood!” Tears were in Stires’s eyes. “He’ll discharge me! +He’ll forfeit my sureties. I’ll be turned out into the street. I have +only a little property of my own—outside of my salary!” + +He wrung his hands, and Cowperwood shook his head sadly. + +“This isn’t as bad as you think, Albert. He won’t do what he says. He +can’t. It’s unfair and illegal. You can bring suit and recover your +salary. I’ll help you in that as much as I’m able. But I can’t give you +back this sixty-thousand-dollar check, because I haven’t it to give. I +couldn’t if I wanted to. It isn’t here any more. I’ve paid for the +securities I bought with it. The securities are not here. They’re in +the sinking-fund, or will be.” + +He paused, wishing he had not mentioned that fact. It was a slip of the +tongue, one of the few he ever made, due to the peculiar pressure of +the situation. Stires pleaded longer. It was no use, Cowperwood told +him. Finally he went away, crestfallen, fearsome, broken. There were +tears of suffering in his eyes. Cowperwood was very sorry. And then his +father was announced. + +The elder Cowperwood brought a haggard face. He and Frank had had a +long conversation the evening before, lasting until early morning, but +it had not been productive of much save uncertainty. + +“Hello, father!” exclaimed Cowperwood, cheerfully, noting his father’s +gloom. He was satisfied that there was scarcely a coal of hope to be +raked out of these ashes of despair, but there was no use admitting it. + +“Well?” said his father, lifting his sad eyes in a peculiar way. + +“Well, it looks like stormy weather, doesn’t it? I’ve decided to call a +meeting of my creditors, father, and ask for time. There isn’t anything +else to do. I can’t realize enough on anything to make it worth while +talking about. I thought Stener might change his mind, but he’s worse +rather than better. His head bookkeeper just went out of here.” + +“What did he want?” asked Henry Cowperwood. + +“He wanted me to give him back a check for sixty thousand that he paid +me for some city loan I bought yesterday morning.” Frank did not +explain to his father, however, that he had hypothecated the +certificates this check had paid for, and used the check itself to +raise money enough to pay the Girard National Bank and to give himself +thirty-five thousand in cash besides. + +“Well, I declare!” replied the old man. “You’d think he’d have better +sense than that. That’s a perfectly legitimate transaction. When did +you say he notified you not to buy city loan?” + +“Yesterday noon.” + +“He’s out of his mind,” Cowperwood, Sr., commented, laconically. + +“It’s Mollenhauer and Simpson and Butler, I know. They want my +street-railway lines. Well, they won’t get them. They’ll get them +through a receivership, and after the panic’s all over. Our creditors +will have first chance at these. If they buy, they’ll buy from them. If +it weren’t for that five-hundred-thousand-dollar loan I wouldn’t think +a thing of this. My creditors would sustain me nicely. But the moment +that gets noised around!... And this election! I hypothecated those +city loan certificates because I didn’t want to get on the wrong side +of Davison. I expected to take in enough by now to take them up. They +ought to be in the sinking-fund, really.” + +The old gentleman saw the point at once, and winced. + +“They might cause you trouble, there, Frank.” + +“It’s a technical question,” replied his son. “I might have been +intending to take them up. As a matter of fact, I will if I can before +three. I’ve been taking eight and ten days to deposit them in the past. +In a storm like this I’m entitled to move my pawns as best I can.” + +Cowperwood, the father, put his hand over his mouth again. He felt very +disturbed about this. He saw no way out, however. He was at the end of +his own resources. He felt the side-whiskers on his left cheek. He +looked out of the window into the little green court. Possibly it was a +technical question, who should say. The financial relations of the city +treasury with other brokers before Frank had been very lax. Every +banker knew that. Perhaps precedent would or should govern in this +case. He could not say. Still, it was dangerous—not straight. If Frank +could get them out and deposit them it would be so much better. + +“I’d take them up if I were you and I could,” he added. + +“I will if I can.” + +“How much money have you?” + +“Oh, twenty thousand, all told. If I suspend, though, I’ll have to have +a little ready cash.” + +“I have eight or ten thousand, or will have by night, I hope.” + +He was thinking of some one who would give him a second mortgage on his +house. + +Cowperwood looked quietly at him. There was nothing more to be said to +his father. “I’m going to make one more appeal to Stener after you +leave here,” he said. “I’m going over there with Harper Steger when he +comes. If he won’t change I’ll send out notice to my creditors, and +notify the secretary of the exchange. I want you to keep a stiff upper +lip, whatever happens. I know you will, though. I’m going into the +thing head down. If Stener had any sense—” He paused. “But what’s the +use talking about a damn fool?” + +He turned to the window, thinking of how easy it would have been, if +Aileen and he had not been exposed by this anonymous note, to have +arranged all with Butler. Rather than injure the party, Butler, in +extremis, would have assisted him. Now...! + +His father got up to go. He was as stiff with despair as though he were +suffering from cold. + +“Well,” he said, wearily. + +Cowperwood suffered intensely for him. What a shame! His father! He +felt a great surge of sorrow sweep over him but a moment later mastered +it, and settled to his quick, defiant thinking. As the old man went +out, Harper Steger was brought in. They shook hands, and at once +started for Stener’s office. But Stener had sunk in on himself like an +empty gas-bag, and no efforts were sufficient to inflate him. They went +out, finally, defeated. + +“I tell you, Frank,” said Steger, “I wouldn’t worry. We can tie this +thing up legally until election and after, and that will give all this +row a chance to die down. Then you can get your people together and +talk sense to them. They’re not going to give up good properties like +this, even if Stener does go to jail.” + +Steger did not know of the sixty thousand dollars’ worth of +hypothecated securities as yet. Neither did he know of Aileen Butler +and her father’s boundless rage. + + + + +Chapter XXX + + +There was one development in connection with all of this of which +Cowperwood was as yet unaware. The same day that brought Edward Butler +the anonymous communication in regard to his daughter, brought almost a +duplicate of it to Mrs. Frank Algernon Cowperwood, only in this case +the name of Aileen Butler had curiously been omitted. + +Perhaps you don’t know that your husband is running with another woman. +If you don’t believe it, watch the house at 931 North Tenth Street. + + +Mrs. Cowperwood was in the conservatory watering some plants when this +letter was brought by her maid Monday morning. She was most placid in +her thoughts, for she did not know what all the conferring of the night +before meant. Frank was occasionally troubled by financial storms, but +they did not see to harm him. + +“Lay it on the table in the library, Annie. I’ll get it.” + +She thought it was some social note. + +In a little while (such was her deliberate way), she put down her +sprinkling-pot and went into the library. There it was lying on the +green leather sheepskin which constituted a part of the ornamentation +of the large library table. She picked it up, glanced at it curiously +because it was on cheap paper, and then opened it. Her face paled +slightly as she read it; and then her hand trembled—not much. Hers was +not a soul that ever loved passionately, hence she could not suffer +passionately. She was hurt, disgusted, enraged for the moment, and +frightened; but she was not broken in spirit entirely. Thirteen years +of life with Frank Cowperwood had taught her a number of things. He was +selfish, she knew now, self-centered, and not as much charmed by her as +he had been. The fear she had originally felt as to the effect of her +preponderance of years had been to some extent justified by the lapse +of time. Frank did not love her as he had—he had not for some time; she +had felt it. What was it?—she had asked herself at times—almost, who +was it? Business was engrossing him so. + +Finance was his master. Did this mean the end of her regime, she +queried. Would he cast her off? Where would she go? What would she do? +She was not helpless, of course, for she had money of her own which he +was manipulating for her. Who was this other woman? Was she young, +beautiful, of any social position? Was it—? Suddenly she stopped. Was +it? Could it be, by any chance—her mouth opened—Aileen Butler? + +She stood still, staring at this letter, for she could scarcely +countenance her own thought. She had observed often, in spite of all +their caution, how friendly Aileen had been to him and he to her. He +liked her; he never lost a chance to defend her. Lillian had thought of +them at times as being curiously suited to each other temperamentally. +He liked young people. But, of course, he was married, and Aileen was +infinitely beneath him socially, and he had two children and herself. +And his social and financial position was so fixed and stable that he +did not dare trifle with it. Still she paused; for forty years and two +children, and some slight wrinkles, and the suspicion that we may be no +longer loved as we once were, is apt to make any woman pause, even in +the face of the most significant financial position. Where would she go +if she left him? What would people think? What about the children? +Could she prove this liaison? Could she entrap him in a compromising +situation? Did she want to? + +She saw now that she did not love him as some women love their +husbands. She was not wild about him. In a way she had been taking him +for granted all these years, had thought that he loved her enough not +to be unfaithful to her; at least fancied that he was so engrossed with +the more serious things of life that no petty liaison such as this +letter indicated would trouble him or interrupt his great career. +Apparently this was not true. What should she do? What say? How act? +Her none too brilliant mind was not of much service in this crisis. She +did not know very well how either to plan or to fight. + +The conventional mind is at best a petty piece of machinery. It is +oyster-like in its functioning, or, perhaps better, clam-like. It has +its little siphon of thought-processes forced up or down into the +mighty ocean of fact and circumstance; but it uses so little, pumps so +faintly, that the immediate contiguity of the vast mass is not +disturbed. Nothing of the subtlety of life is perceived. No least +inkling of its storms or terrors is ever discovered except through +accident. When some crude, suggestive fact, such as this letter proved +to be, suddenly manifests itself in the placid flow of events, there is +great agony or disturbance and clogging of the so-called normal +processes. The siphon does not work right. It sucks in fear and +distress. There is great grinding of maladjusted parts—not unlike sand +in a machine—and life, as is so often the case, ceases or goes lamely +ever after. + +Mrs. Cowperwood was possessed of a conventional mind. She really knew +nothing about life. And life could not teach her. Reaction in her from +salty thought-processes was not possible. She was not alive in the +sense that Aileen Butler was, and yet she thought that she was very +much alive. All illusion. She wasn’t. She was charming if you loved +placidity. If you did not, she was not. She was not engaging, +brilliant, or forceful. Frank Cowperwood might well have asked himself +in the beginning why he married her. He did not do so now because he +did not believe it was wise to question the past as to one’s failures +and errors. It was, according to him, most unwise to regret. He kept +his face and thoughts to the future. + +But Mrs. Cowperwood was truly distressed in her way, and she went about +the house thinking, feeling wretchedly. She decided, since the letter +asked her to see for herself, to wait. She must think how she would +watch this house, if at all. Frank must not know. If it were Aileen +Butler by any chance—but surely not—she thought she would expose her to +her parents. Still, that meant exposing herself. She determined to +conceal her mood as best she could at dinner-time—but Cowperwood was +not able to be there. He was so rushed, so closeted with individuals, +so closely in conference with his father and others, that she scarcely +saw him this Monday night, nor the next day, nor for many days. + +For on Tuesday afternoon at two-thirty he issued a call for a meeting +of his creditors, and at five-thirty he decided to go into the hands of +a receiver. And yet, as he stood before his principal creditors—a group +of thirty men—in his office, he did not feel that his life was ruined. +He was temporarily embarrassed. Certainly things looked very black. The +city-treasurership deal would make a great fuss. Those hypothecated +city loan certificates, to the extent of sixty thousand, would make +another, if Stener chose. Still, he did not feel that he was utterly +destroyed. + +“Gentlemen,” he said, in closing his address of explanation at the +meeting, quite as erect, secure, defiant, convincing as he had ever +been, “you see how things are. These securities are worth just as much +as they ever were. There is nothing the matter with the properties +behind them. If you will give me fifteen days or twenty, I am satisfied +that I can straighten the whole matter out. I am almost the only one +who can, for I know all about it. The market is bound to recover. +Business is going to be better than ever. It’s time I want. Time is the +only significant factor in this situation. I want to know if you won’t +give me fifteen or twenty days—a month, if you can. That is all I +want.” + +He stepped aside and out of the general room, where the blinds were +drawn, into his private office, in order to give his creditors an +opportunity to confer privately in regard to his situation. He had +friends in the meeting who were for him. He waited one, two, nearly +three hours while they talked. Finally Walter Leigh, Judge Kitchen, +Avery Stone, of Jay Cooke & Co., and several others came in. They were +a committee appointed to gather further information. + +“Nothing more can be done to-day, Frank,” Walter Leigh informed him, +quietly. “The majority want the privilege of examining the books. There +is some uncertainty about this entanglement with the city treasurer +which you say exists. They feel that you’d better announce a temporary +suspension, anyhow; and if they want to let you resume later they can +do so.” + +“I’m sorry for that, gentlemen,” replied Cowperwood, the least bit +depressed. “I would rather do anything than suspend for one hour, if I +could help it, for I know just what it means. You will find assets here +far exceeding the liabilities if you will take the stocks at their +normal market value; but that won’t help any if I close my doors. The +public won’t believe in me. I ought to keep open.” + +“Sorry, Frank, old boy,” observed Leigh, pressing his hand +affectionately. “If it were left to me personally, you could have all +the time you want. There’s a crowd of old fogies out there that won’t +listen to reason. They’re panic-struck. I guess they’re pretty hard hit +themselves. You can scarcely blame them. You’ll come out all right, +though I wish you didn’t have to shut up shop. We can’t do anything +with them, however. Why, damn it, man, I don’t see how you can fail, +really. In ten days these stocks will be all right.” + +Judge Kitchen commiserated with him also; but what good did that do? He +was being compelled to suspend. An expert accountant would have to come +in and go over his books. Butler might spread the news of this +city-treasury connection. Stener might complain of this last city-loan +transaction. A half-dozen of his helpful friends stayed with him until +four o’clock in the morning; but he had to suspend just the same. And +when he did that, he knew he was seriously crippled if not ultimately +defeated in his race for wealth and fame. + +When he was really and finally quite alone in his private bedroom he +stared at himself in the mirror. His face was pale and tired, he +thought, but strong and effective. “Pshaw!” he said to himself, “I’m +not whipped. I’m still young. I’ll get out of this in some way yet. +Certainly I will. I’ll find some way out.” + +And so, cogitating heavily, wearily, he began to undress. Finally he +sank upon his bed, and in a little while, strange as it may seem, with +all the tangle of trouble around him, slept. He could do that—sleep and +gurgle most peacefully, the while his father paced the floor in his +room, refusing to be comforted. All was dark before the older man—the +future hopeless. Before the younger man was still hope. + +And in her room Lillian Cowperwood turned and tossed in the face of +this new calamity. For it had suddenly appeared from news from her +father and Frank and Anna and her mother-in-law that Frank was about to +fail, or would, or had—it was almost impossible to say just how it was. +Frank was too busy to explain. The Chicago fire was to blame. There was +no mention as yet of the city treasurership. Frank was caught in a +trap, and was fighting for his life. + +In this crisis, for the moment, she forgot about the note as to his +infidelity, or rather ignored it. She was astonished, frightened, +dumbfounded, confused. Her little, placid, beautiful world was going +around in a dizzy ring. The charming, ornate ship of their fortune was +being blown most ruthlessly here and there. She felt it a sort of duty +to stay in bed and try to sleep; but her eyes were quite wide, and her +brain hurt her. Hours before Frank had insisted that she should not +bother about him, that she could do nothing; and she had left him, +wondering more than ever what and where was the line of her duty. To +stick by her husband, convention told her; and so she decided. Yes, +religion dictated that, also custom. There were the children. They must +not be injured. Frank must be reclaimed, if possible. He would get over +this. But what a blow! + + + + +Chapter XXXI + + +The suspension of the banking house of Frank A. Cowperwood & Co. +created a great stir on ’change and in Philadelphia generally. It was +so unexpected, and the amount involved was comparatively so large. +Actually he failed for one million two hundred and fifty thousand +dollars; and his assets, under the depressed condition of stock values, +barely totaled seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars. There had been +considerable work done on the matter of his balance-sheet before it was +finally given to the public; but when it was, stocks dropped an +additional three points generally, and the papers the next day devoted +notable headlines to it. Cowperwood had no idea of failing permanently; +he merely wished to suspend temporarily, and later, if possible, to +persuade his creditors to allow him to resume. There were only two +things which stood in the way of this: the matter of the five hundred +thousand dollars borrowed from the city treasury at a ridiculously low +rate of interest, which showed plainer than words what had been going +on, and the other, the matter of the sixty-thousand-dollar check. His +financial wit had told him there were ways to assign his holdings in +favor of his largest creditors, which would tend to help him later to +resume; and he had been swift to act. Indeed, Harper Steger had drawn +up documents which named Jay Cooke & Co., Edward Clark & Co., Drexel & +Co., and others as preferred. He knew that even though dissatisfied +holders of smaller shares in his company brought suit and compelled +readjustment or bankruptcy later, the intention shown to prefer some of +his most influential aids was important. They would like it, and might +help him later when all this was over. Besides, suits in plenty are an +excellent way of tiding over a crisis of this kind until stocks and +common sense are restored, and he was for many suits. Harper Steger +smiled once rather grimly, even in the whirl of the financial chaos +where smiles were few, as they were figuring it out. + +“Frank,” he said, “you’re a wonder. You’ll have a network of suits +spread here shortly, which no one can break through. They’ll all be +suing each other.” + +Cowperwood smiled. + +“I only want a little time, that’s all,” he replied. Nevertheless, for +the first time in his life he was a little depressed; for now this +business, to which he had devoted years of active work and thought, was +ended. + +The thing that was troubling him most in all of this was not the five +hundred thousand dollars which was owing the city treasury, and which +he knew would stir political and social life to the center once it was +generally known—that was a legal or semi-legal transaction, at +least—but rather the matter of the sixty thousand dollars’ worth of +unrestored city loan certificates which he had not been able to replace +in the sinking-fund and could not now even though the necessary money +should fall from heaven. The fact of their absence was a matter of +source. He pondered over the situation a good deal. The thing to do, he +thought, if he went to Mollenhauer or Simpson, or both (he had never +met either of them, but in view of Butler’s desertion they were his +only recourse), was to say that, although he could not at present +return the five hundred thousand dollars, if no action were taken +against him now, which would prevent his resuming his business on a +normal scale a little later, he would pledge his word that every dollar +of the involved five hundred thousand dollars would eventually be +returned to the treasury. If they refused, and injury was done him, he +proposed to let them wait until he was “good and ready,” which in all +probability would be never. But, really, it was not quite clear how +action against him was to be prevented—even by them. The money was down +on his books as owing the city treasury, and it was down on the city +treasury’s books as owing from him. Besides, there was a local +organization known as the Citizens’ Municipal Reform Association which +occasionally conducted investigations in connection with public +affairs. His defalcation would be sure to come to the ears of this body +and a public investigation might well follow. Various private +individuals knew of it already. His creditors, for instance, who were +now examining his books. + +This matter of seeing Mollenhauer or Simpson, or both, was important, +anyhow, he thought; but before doing so he decided to talk it all over +with Harper Steger. So several days after he had closed his doors, he +sent for Steger and told him all about the transaction, except that he +did not make it clear that he had not intended to put the certificates +in the sinking-fund unless he survived quite comfortably. + +Harper Steger was a tall, thin, graceful, rather elegant man, of gentle +voice and perfect manners, who walked always as though he were a cat, +and a dog were prowling somewhere in the offing. He had a longish, thin +face of a type that is rather attractive to women. His eyes were blue, +his hair brown, with a suggestion of sandy red in it. He had a steady, +inscrutable gaze which sometimes came to you over a thin, delicate +hand, which he laid meditatively over his mouth. He was cruel to the +limit of the word, not aggressively but indifferently; for he had no +faith in anything. He was not poor. He had not even been born poor. He +was just innately subtle, with the rather constructive thought, which +was about the only thing that compelled him to work, that he ought to +be richer than he was—more conspicuous. Cowperwood was an excellent +avenue toward legal prosperity. Besides, he was a fascinating customer. +Of all his clients, Steger admired Cowperwood most. + +“Let them proceed against you,” he said on this occasion, his brilliant +legal mind taking in all the phases of the situation at once. “I don’t +see that there is anything more here than a technical charge. If it +ever came to anything like that, which I don’t think it will, the +charge would be embezzlement or perhaps larceny as bailee. In this +instance, you were the bailee. And the only way out of that would be to +swear that you had received the check with Stener’s knowledge and +consent. Then it would only be a technical charge of irresponsibility +on your part, as I see it, and I don’t believe any jury would convict +you on the evidence of how this relationship was conducted. Still, it +might; you never can tell what a jury is going to do. All this would +have to come out at a trial, however. The whole thing, it seems to me, +would depend on which of you two—yourself or Stener—the jury would be +inclined to believe, and on how anxious this city crowd is to find a +scapegoat for Stener. This coming election is the rub. If this panic +had come at any other time—” + +Cowperwood waved for silence. He knew all about that. “It all depends +on what the politicians decide to do. I’m doubtful. The situation is +too complicated. It can’t be hushed up.” They were in his private +office at his house. “What will be will be,” he added. + +“What would that mean, Harper, legally, if I were tried on a charge of +larceny as bailee, as you put it, and convicted? How many years in the +penitentiary at the outside?” + +Steger thought a minute, rubbing his chin with his hand. “Let me see,” +he said, “that is a serious question, isn’t it? The law says one to +five years at the outside; but the sentences usually average from one +to three years in embezzlement cases. Of course, in this case—” + +“I know all about that,” interrupted Cowperwood, irritably. “My case +isn’t any different from the others, and you know it. Embezzlement is +embezzlement if the politicians want to have it so.” He fell to +thinking, and Steger got up and strolled about leisurely. He was +thinking also. + +“And would I have to go to jail at any time during the +proceedings—before a final adjustment of the case by the higher +courts?” Cowperwood added, directly, grimly, after a time. + +“Yes, there is one point in all legal procedure of the kind,” replied +Steger, cautiously, now rubbing his ear and trying to put the matter as +delicately as possible. “You can avoid jail sentences all through the +earlier parts of a case like this; but if you are once tried and +convicted it’s pretty hard to do anything—as a matter of fact, it +becomes absolutely necessary then to go to jail for a few days, five or +so, pending the motion for a new trial and the obtaining of a +certificate of reasonable doubt. It usually takes that long.” + +The young banker sat there staring out of the window, and Steger +observed, “It is a bit complicated, isn’t it?” + +“Well, I should say so,” returned Frank, and he added to himself: +“Jail! Five days in prison!” That would be a terrific slap, all things +considered. Five days in jail pending the obtaining of a certificate of +reasonable doubt, if one could be obtained! He must avoid this! Jail! +The penitentiary! His commercial reputation would never survive that. + + + + +Chapter XXXII + + +The necessity of a final conference between Butler, Mollenhauer, and +Simpson was speedily reached, for this situation was hourly growing +more serious. Rumors were floating about in Third Street that in +addition to having failed for so large an amount as to have further +unsettled the already panicky financial situation induced by the +Chicago fire, Cowperwood and Stener, or Stener working with Cowperwood, +or the other way round, had involved the city treasury to the extent of +five hundred thousand dollars. And the question was how was the matter +to be kept quiet until after election, which was still three weeks +away. Bankers and brokers were communicating odd rumors to each other +about a check that had been taken from the city treasury after +Cowperwood knew he was to fail, and without Stener’s consent. Also that +there was danger that it would come to the ears of that very +uncomfortable political organization known as the Citizens’ Municipal +Reform Association, of which a well-known iron-manufacturer of great +probity and moral rectitude, one Skelton C. Wheat, was president. Wheat +had for years been following on the trail of the dominant Republican +administration in a vain attempt to bring it to a sense of some of its +political iniquities. He was a serious and austere man—-one of those +solemn, self-righteous souls who see life through a peculiar veil of +duty, and who, undisturbed by notable animal passions of any kind, go +their way of upholding the theory of the Ten Commandments over the +order of things as they are. + +The committee in question had originally been organized to protest +against some abuses in the tax department; but since then, from +election to election, it had been drifting from one subject to another, +finding an occasional evidence of its worthwhileness in some newspaper +comment and the frightened reformation of some minor political official +who ended, usually, by taking refuge behind the skirts of some higher +political power—in the last reaches, Messrs. Butler, Mollenhauer, and +Simpson. Just now it was without important fuel or ammunition; and this +assignment of Cowperwood, with its attendant crime, so far as the city +treasury was concerned, threatened, as some politicians and bankers saw +it, to give it just the club it was looking for. + +However, the decisive conference took place between Cowperwood and the +reigning political powers some five days after Cowperwood’s failure, at +the home of Senator Simpson, which was located in Rittenhouse Square—a +region central for the older order of wealth in Philadelphia. Simpson +was a man of no little refinement artistically, of Quaker extraction, +and of great wealth-breeding judgment which he used largely to satisfy +his craving for political predominance. He was most liberal where money +would bring him a powerful or necessary political adherent. He fairly +showered offices—commissionerships, trusteeships, judgeships, political +nominations, and executive positions generally—on those who did his +bidding faithfully and without question. Compared with Butler and +Mollenhauer he was more powerful than either, for he represented the +State and the nation. When the political authorities who were trying to +swing a national election were anxious to discover what the State of +Pennsylvania would do, so far as the Republican party was concerned, it +was to Senator Simpson that they appealed. In the literal sense of the +word, he knew. The Senator had long since graduated from State to +national politics, and was an interesting figure in the United States +Senate at Washington, where his voice in all the conservative and +moneyed councils of the nation was of great weight. + +The house that he occupied, of Venetian design, and four stories in +height, bore many architectural marks of distinction, such as the +floriated window, the door with the semipointed arch, and medallions of +colored marble set in the walls. The Senator was a great admirer of +Venice. He had been there often, as he had to Athens and Rome, and had +brought back many artistic objects representative of the civilizations +and refinements of older days. He was fond, for one thing, of the +stern, sculptured heads of the Roman emperors, and the fragments of +gods and goddesses which are the best testimony of the artistic +aspirations of Greece. In the entresol of this house was one of his +finest treasures—a carved and floriated base bearing a tapering +monolith some four feet high, crowned by the head of a peculiarly +goatish Pan, by the side of which were the problematic remains of a +lovely nude nymph—just the little feet broken off at the ankles. The +base on which the feet of the nymph and the monolith stood was +ornamented with carved ox-skulls intertwined with roses. In his +reception hall were replicas of Caligula, Nero, and other Roman +emperors; and on his stair-walls reliefs of dancing nymphs in +procession, and priests bearing offerings of sheep and swine to the +sacrificial altars. There was a clock in some corner of the house which +chimed the quarter, the half, the three-quarters, and the hour in +strange, euphonious, and pathetic notes. On the walls of the rooms were +tapestries of Flemish origin, and in the reception-hall, the library, +the living-room, and the drawing-room, richly carved furniture after +the standards of the Italian Renaissance. The Senator’s taste in the +matter of paintings was inadequate, and he mistrusted it; but such as +he had were of distinguished origin and authentic. He cared more for +his curio-cases filled with smaller imported bronzes, Venetian glass, +and Chinese jade. He was not a collector of these in any notable +sense—merely a lover of a few choice examples. Handsome tiger and +leopard skin rugs, the fur of a musk-ox for his divan, and tanned and +brown-stained goat and kid skins for his tables, gave a sense of +elegance and reserved profusion. In addition the Senator had a +dining-room done after the Jacobean idea of artistic excellence, and a +wine-cellar which the best of the local vintners looked after with +extreme care. He was a man who loved to entertain lavishly; and when +his residence was thrown open for a dinner, a reception, or a ball, the +best of local society was to be found there. + +The conference was in the Senator’s library, and he received his +colleagues with the genial air of one who has much to gain and little +to lose. There were whiskies, wines, cigars on the table, and while +Mollenhauer and Simpson exchanged the commonplaces of the day awaiting +the arrival of Butler, they lighted cigars and kept their inmost +thoughts to themselves. + +It so happened that upon the previous afternoon Butler had learned from +Mr. David Pettie, the district attorney, of the +sixty-thousand-dollar-check transaction. At the same time the matter +had been brought to Mollenhauer’s attention by Stener himself. It was +Mollenhauer, not Butler who saw that by taking advantage of +Cowperwood’s situation, he might save the local party from blame, and +at the same time most likely fleece Cowperwood out of his +street-railway shares without letting Butler or Simpson know anything +about it. The thing to do was to terrorize him with a private threat of +prosecution. + +Butler was not long in arriving, and apologized for the delay. +Concealing his recent grief behind as jaunty an air as possible, he +began with: + +“It’s a lively life I’m leadin’, what with every bank in the city +wantin’ to know how their loans are goin’ to be taken care of.” He took +a cigar and struck a match. + +“It does look a little threatening,” said Senator Simpson, smiling. +“Sit down. I have just been talking with Avery Stone, of Jay Cooke & +Company, and he tells me that the talk in Third Street about Stener’s +connection with this Cowperwood failure is growing very strong, and +that the newspapers are bound to take up the matter shortly, unless +something is done about it. I am sure that the news will also reach Mr. +Wheat, of the Citizens’ Reform Association, very shortly. We ought to +decide now, gentlemen, what we propose to do. One thing, I am sure, is +to eliminate Stener from the ticket as quietly as possible. This really +looks to me as if it might become a very serious issue, and we ought to +be doing what we can now to offset its effect later.” + +Mollenhauer pulled a long breath through his cigar, and blew it out in +a rolling steel-blue cloud. He studied the tapestry on the opposite +wall but said nothing. + +“There is one thing sure,” continued Senator Simpson, after a time, +seeing that no one else spoke, “and that is, if we do not begin a +prosecution on our own account within a reasonable time, some one else +is apt to; and that would put rather a bad face on the matter. My own +opinion would be that we wait until it is very plain that prosecution +is going to be undertaken by some one else—possibly the Municipal +Reform Association—but that we stand ready to step in and act in such a +way as to make it look as though we had been planning to do it all the +time. The thing to do is to gain time; and so I would suggest that it +be made as difficult as possible to get at the treasurer’s books. An +investigation there, if it begins at all—as I think is very +likely—should be very slow in producing the facts.” + +The Senator was not at all for mincing words with his important +confreres, when it came to vital issues. He preferred, in his +grandiloquent way, to call a spade a spade. + +“Now that sounds like very good sense to me,” said Butler, sinking a +little lower in his chair for comfort’s sake, and concealing his true +mood in regard to all this. “The boys could easily make that +investigation last three weeks, I should think. They’re slow enough +with everything else, if me memory doesn’t fail me.” At the same time +he was cogitating as to how to inject the personality of Cowperwood and +his speedy prosecution without appearing to be neglecting the general +welfare of the local party too much. + +“Yes, that isn’t a bad idea,” said Mollenhauer, solemnly, blowing a +ring of smoke, and thinking how to keep Cowperwood’s especial offense +from coming up at this conference and until after he had seen him. + +“We ought to map out our program very carefully,” continued Senator +Simpson, “so that if we are compelled to act we can do so very quickly. +I believe myself that this thing is certain to come to an issue within +a week, if not sooner, and we have no time to lose. If my advice were +followed now, I should have the mayor write the treasurer a letter +asking for information, and the treasurer write the mayor his answer, +and also have the mayor, with the authority of the common council, +suspend the treasurer for the time being—I think we have the authority +to do that—or, at least, take over his principal duties but without for +the time being, anyhow, making any of these transactions public—until +we have to, of course. We ought to be ready with these letters to show +to the newspapers at once, in case this action is forced upon us.” + +“I could have those letters prepared, if you gentlemen have no +objection,” put in Mollenhauer, quietly, but quickly. + +“Well, that strikes me as sinsible,” said Butler, easily. “It’s about +the only thing we can do under the circumstances, unless we could find +some one else to blame it on, and I have a suggestion to make in that +direction. Maybe we’re not as helpless as we might be, all things +considered.” + +There was a slight gleam of triumph in his eye as he said this, at the +same time that there was a slight shadow of disappointment in +Mollenhauer’s. So Butler knew, and probably Simpson, too. + +“Just what do you mean?” asked the Senator, looking at Butler +interestedly. He knew nothing of the sixty-thousand-dollar check +transaction. He had not followed the local treasury dealings very +closely, nor had he talked to either of his confreres since the +original conference between them. “There haven’t been any outside +parties mixed up with this, have there?” His own shrewd, political mind +was working. + +“No-o. I wouldn’t call him an outside party, exactly, Senator,” went on +Butler suavely. “It’s Cowperwood himself I’m thinkin’ of. There’s +somethin’ that has come up since I saw you gentlemen last that makes me +think that perhaps that young man isn’t as innocent as he might be. It +looks to me as though he was the ringleader in this business, as though +he had been leadin’ Stener on against his will. I’ve been lookin’ into +the matter on me own account, and as far as I can make out this man +Stener isn’t as much to blame as I thought. From all I can learn, +Cowperwood’s been threatenin’ Stener with one thing and another if he +didn’t give him more money, and only the other day he got a big sum on +false pretinses, which might make him equally guilty with Stener. +There’s sixty-thousand dollars of city loan certificates that has been +paid for that aren’t in the sinking-fund. And since the reputation of +the party’s in danger this fall, I don’t see that we need to have any +particular consideration for him.” He paused, strong in the conviction +that he had sent a most dangerous arrow flying in the direction of +Cowperwood, as indeed he had. Yet at this moment, both the Senator and +Mollenhauer were not a little surprised, seeing at their last meeting +he had appeared rather friendly to the young banker, and this recent +discovery seemed scarcely any occasion for a vicious attitude on his +part. Mollenhauer in particular was surprised, for he had been looking +on Butler’s friendship for Cowperwood as a possible stumbling block. + +“Um-m, you don’t tell me,” observed Senator Simpson, thoughtfully, +stroking his mouth with his pale hand. + +“Yes, I can confirm that,” said Mollenhauer, quietly, seeing his own +little private plan of browbeating Cowperwood out of his street-railway +shares going glimmering. “I had a talk with Stener the other day about +this very matter, and he told me that Cowperwood had been trying to +force him to give him three hundred thousand dollars more, and that +when he refused Cowperwood managed to get sixty thousand dollars +further without his knowledge or consent.” + +“How could he do that?” asked Senator Simpson, incredulously. +Mollenhauer explained the transaction. + +“Oh,” said the Senator, when Mollenhauer had finished, “that indicates +a rather sharp person, doesn’t it? And the certificates are not in the +sinking-fund, eh?” + +“They’re not,” chimed in Butler, with considerable enthusiasm. + +“Well, I must say,” said Simpson, rather relieved in his manner, “this +looks like a rather good thing than not to me. A scapegoat possibly. We +need something like this. I see no reason under the circumstances for +trying to protect Mr. Cowperwood. We might as well try to make a point +of that, if we have to. The newspapers might just as well talk loud +about that as anything else. They are bound to talk; and if we give +them the right angle, I think that the election might well come and go +before the matter could be reasonably cleared up, even though Mr. Wheat +does interfere. I will be glad to undertake to see what can be done +with the papers.” + +“Well, that bein’ the case,” said Butler, “I don’t see that there’s so +much more we can do now; but I do think it will be a mistake if +Cowperwood isn’t punished with the other one. He’s equally guilty with +Stener, if not more so, and I for one want to see him get what he +deserves. He belongs in the penitentiary, and that’s where he’ll go if +I have my say.” Both Mollenhauer and Simpson turned a reserved and +inquiring eye on their usually genial associate. What could be the +reason for his sudden determination to have Cowperwood punished? +Cowperwood, as Mollenhauer and Simpson saw it, and as Butler would +ordinarily have seen it, was well within his human, if not his strictly +legal rights. They did not blame him half as much for trying to do what +he had done as they blamed Stener for letting him do it. But, since +Butler felt as he did, and there was an actual technical crime here, +they were perfectly willing that the party should have the advantage of +it, even if Cowperwood went to the penitentiary. + +“You may be right,” said Senator Simpson, cautiously. “You might have +those letters prepared, Henry; and if we have to bring any action at +all against anybody before election, it would, perhaps, be advisable to +bring it against Cowperwood. Include Stener if you have to but not +unless you have to. I leave it to you two, as I am compelled to start +for Pittsburg next Friday; but I know you will not overlook any point.” + +The Senator arose. His time was always valuable. Butler was highly +gratified by what he had accomplished. He had succeeded in putting the +triumvirate on record against Cowperwood as the first victim, in case +of any public disturbance or demonstration against the party. All that +was now necessary was for that disturbance to manifest itself; and, +from what he could see of local conditions, it was not far off. There +was now the matter of Cowperwood’s disgruntled creditors to look into; +and if by buying in these he should succeed in preventing the financier +from resuming business, he would have him in a very precarious +condition indeed. It was a sad day for Cowperwood, Butler thought—the +day he had first tried to lead Aileen astray—and the time was not far +off when he could prove it to him. + + + + +Chapter XXXIII + + +In the meantime Cowperwood, from what he could see and hear, was +becoming more and more certain that the politicians would try to make a +scapegoat of him, and that shortly. For one thing, Stires had called +only a few days after he closed his doors and imparted a significant +bit of information. Albert was still connected with the city treasury, +as was Stener, and engaged with Sengstack and another personal +appointee of Mollenhauer’s in going over the treasurer’s books and +explaining their financial significance. Stires had come to Cowperwood +primarily to get additional advice in regard to the +sixty-thousand-dollar check and his personal connection with it. +Stener, it seemed, was now threatening to have his chief clerk +prosecuted, saying that he was responsible for the loss of the money +and that his bondsmen could be held responsible. Cowperwood had merely +laughed and assured Stires that there was nothing to this. + +“Albert,” he had said, smilingly, “I tell you positively, there’s +nothing in it. You’re not responsible for delivering that check to me. +I’ll tell you what you do, now. Go and consult my lawyer—Steger. It +won’t cost you a cent, and he’ll tell you exactly what to do. Now go on +back and don’t worry any more about it. I am sorry this move of mine +has caused you so much trouble, but it’s a hundred to one you couldn’t +have kept your place with a new city treasurer, anyhow, and if I see +any place where you can possibly fit in later, I’ll let you know.” + +Another thing that made Cowperwood pause and consider at this time was +a letter from Aileen, detailing a conversation which had taken place at +the Butler dinner table one evening when Butler, the elder, was not at +home. She related how her brother Owen in effect had stated that +they—the politicians—her father, Mollenhauer, and Simpson, were going +to “get him yet” (meaning Cowperwood), for some criminal financial +manipulation of something—she could not explain what—a check or +something. Aileen was frantic with worry. Could they mean the +penitentiary, she asked in her letter? Her dear lover! Her beloved +Frank! Could anything like this really happen to him? + +His brow clouded, and he set his teeth with rage when he read her +letter. He would have to do something about this—see Mollenhauer or +Simpson, or both, and make some offer to the city. He could not promise +them money for the present—only notes—but they might take them. Surely +they could not be intending to make a scapegoat of him over such a +trivial and uncertain matter as this check transaction! When there was +the five hundred thousand advanced by Stener, to say nothing of all the +past shady transactions of former city treasurers! How rotten! How +political, but how real and dangerous. + +But Simpson was out of the city for a period of ten days, and +Mollenhauer, having in mind the suggestion made by Butler in regard to +utilizing Cowperwood’s misdeed for the benefit of the party, had +already moved as they had planned. The letters were ready and waiting. +Indeed, since the conference, the smaller politicians, taking their cue +from the overlords, had been industriously spreading the story of the +sixty-thousand-dollar check, and insisting that the burden of guilt for +the treasury defalcation, if any, lay on the banker. The moment +Mollenhauer laid eyes on Cowperwood he realized, however, that he had a +powerful personality to deal with. Cowperwood gave no evidence of +fright. He merely stated, in his bland way, that he had been in the +habit of borrowing money from the city treasury at a low rate of +interest, and that this panic had involved him so that he could not +possibly return it at present. + +“I have heard rumors, Mr. Mollenhauer,” he said, “to the effect that +some charge is to be brought against me as a partner with Mr. Stener in +this matter; but I am hoping that the city will not do that, and I +thought I might enlist your influence to prevent it. My affairs are not +in a bad way at all, if I had a little time to arrange matters. I am +making all of my creditors an offer of fifty cents on the dollar now, +and giving notes at one, two, and three years; but in this matter of +the city treasury loans, if I could come to terms, I would be glad to +make it a hundred cents—only I would want a little more time. Stocks +are bound to recover, as you know, and, barring my losses at this time, +I will be all right. I realize that the matter has gone pretty far +already. The newspapers are likely to start talking at any time, unless +they are stopped by those who can control them.” (He looked at +Mollenhauer in a complimentary way.) “But if I could be kept out of the +general proceedings as much as possible, my standing would not be +injured, and I would have a better chance of getting on my feet. It +would be better for the city, for then I could certainly pay it what I +owe it.” He smiled his most winsome and engaging smile. And Mollenhauer +seeing him for the first time, was not unimpressed. Indeed he looked at +this young financial David with an interested eye. If he could have +seen a way to accept this proposition of Cowperwood’s, so that the +money offered would have been eventually payable to him, and if +Cowperwood had had any reasonable prospect of getting on his feet soon, +he would have considered carefully what he had to say. For then +Cowperwood could have assigned his recovered property to him. As it +was, there was small likelihood of this situation ever being +straightened out. The Citizens’ Municipal Reform Association, from all +he could hear, was already on the move—investigating, or about to, and +once they had set their hands to this, would unquestionably follow it +closely to the end. + +“The trouble with this situation, Mr. Cowperwood,” he said, affably, +“is that it has gone so far that it is practically out of my hands. I +really have very little to do with it. I don’t suppose, though, really, +it is this matter of the five-hundred-thousand-dollar loan that is +worrying you so much, as it is this other matter of the +sixty-thousand-dollar check you received the other day. Mr. Stener +insists that you secured that illegally, and he is very much wrought up +about it. The mayor and the other city officials know of it now, and +they may force some action. I don’t know.” + +Mollenhauer was obviously not frank in his attitude—a little bit +evasive in his sly reference to his official tool, the mayor; and +Cowperwood saw it. It irritated him greatly, but he was tactful enough +to be quite suave and respectful. + +“I did get a check for sixty thousand dollars, that’s true,” he +replied, with apparent frankness, “the day before I assigned. It was +for certificates I had purchased, however, on Mr. Stener’s order, and +was due me. I needed the money, and asked for it. I don’t see that +there is anything illegal in that.” + +“Not if the transaction was completed in all its details,” replied +Mollenhauer, blandly. “As I understand it, the certificates were bought +for the sinking-fund, and they are not there. How do you explain that?” + +“An oversight, merely,” replied Cowperwood, innocently, and quite as +blandly as Mollenhauer. “They would have been there if I had not been +compelled to assign so unexpectedly. It was not possible for me to +attend to everything in person. It has not been our custom to deposit +them at once. Mr. Stener will tell you that, if you ask him.” + +“You don’t say,” replied Mollenhauer. “He did not give me that +impression. However, they are not there, and I believe that that makes +some difference legally. I have no interest in the matter one way or +the other, more than that of any other good Republican. I don’t see +exactly what I can do for you. What did you think I could do?” + +“I don’t believe you can do anything for me, Mr. Mollenhauer,” replied +Cowperwood, a little tartly, “unless you are willing to deal quite +frankly with me. I am not a beginner in politics in Philadelphia. I +know something about the powers in command. I thought that you could +stop any plan to prosecute me in this matter, and give me time to get +on my feet again. I am not any more criminally responsible for that +sixty thousand dollars than I am for the five hundred thousand dollars +that I had as loan before it—not as much so. I did not create this +panic. I did not set Chicago on fire. Mr. Stener and his friends have +been reaping some profit out of dealing with me. I certainly was +entitled to make some effort to save myself after all these years of +service, and I can’t understand why I should not receive some courtesy +at the hands of the present city administration, after I have been so +useful to it. I certainly have kept city loan at par; and as for Mr. +Stener’s money, he has never wanted for his interest on that, and more +than his interest.” + +“Quite so,” replied Mollenhauer, looking Cowperwood in the eye steadily +and estimating the force and accuracy of the man at their real value. +“I understand exactly how it has all come about, Mr. Cowperwood. No +doubt Mr. Stener owes you a debt of gratitude, as does the remainder of +the city administration. I’m not saying what the city administration +ought or ought not do. All I know is that you find yourself wittingly +or unwittingly in a dangerous situation, and that public sentiment in +some quarters is already very strong against you. I personally have no +feeling one way or the other, and if it were not for the situation +itself, which looks to be out of hand, would not be opposed to +assisting you in any reasonable way. But how? The Republican party is +in a very bad position, so far as this election is concerned. In a way, +however innocently, you have helped to put it there, Mr. Cowperwood. +Mr. Butler, for some reason to which I am not a party, seems deeply and +personally incensed. And Mr. Butler is a great power here—” (Cowperwood +began to wonder whether by any chance Butler had indicated the nature +of his social offense against himself, but he could not bring himself +to believe that. It was not probable.) “I sympathize with you greatly, +Mr. Cowperwood, but what I suggest is that you first See Mr. Butler and +Mr. Simpson. If they agree to any program of aid, I will not be opposed +to joining. But apart from that I do not know exactly what I can do. I +am only one of those who have a slight say in the affairs of +Philadelphia.” + +At this point, Mollenhauer rather expected Cowperwood to make an offer +of his own holdings, but he did not. Instead he said, “I’m very much +obliged to you, Mr. Mollenhauer, for the courtesy of this interview. I +believe you would help me if you could. I shall just have to fight it +out the best way I can. Good day.” + +And he bowed himself out. He saw clearly how hopeless was his quest. + +In the meanwhile, finding that the rumors were growing in volume and +that no one appeared to be willing to take steps to straighten the +matter out, Mr. Skelton C. Wheat, President of the Citizens’ Municipal +Reform Association, was, at last and that by no means against his will, +compelled to call together the committee of ten estimable +Philadelphians of which he was chairman, in a local committee-hall on +Market Street, and lay the matter of the Cowperwood failure before it. + +“It strikes me, gentlemen,” he announced, “that this is an occasion +when this organization can render a signal service to the city and the +people of Philadelphia, and prove the significance and the merit of the +title originally selected for it, by making such a thoroughgoing +investigation as will bring to light all the facts in this case, and +then by standing vigorously behind them insist that such nefarious +practices as we are informed were indulged in in this case shall cease. +I know it may prove to be a difficult task. The Republican party and +its local and State interests are certain to be against us. Its leaders +are unquestionably most anxious to avoid comment and to have their +ticket go through undisturbed, and they will not contemplate with any +equanimity our opening activity in this matter; but if we persevere, +great good will surely come of it. There is too much dishonesty in +public life as it is. There is a standard of right in these matters +which cannot permanently be ignored, and which must eventually be +fulfilled. I leave this matter to your courteous consideration.” + +Mr. Wheat sat down, and the body before him immediately took the matter +which he proposed under advisement. It was decided to appoint a +subcommittee “to investigate” (to quote the statement eventually given +to the public) “the peculiar rumors now affecting one of the most +important and distinguished offices of our municipal government,” and +to report at the next meeting, which was set for the following evening +at nine o’clock. The meeting adjourned, and the following night at nine +reassembled, four individuals of very shrewd financial judgment having +meantime been about the task assigned them. They drew up a very +elaborate statement, not wholly in accordance with the facts, but as +nearly so as could be ascertained in so short a space of time. + +“It appears [read the report, after a preamble which explained why the +committee had been appointed] that it has been the custom of city +treasurers for years, when loans have been authorized by councils, to +place them in the hands of some favorite broker for sale, the broker +accounting to the treasurer for the moneys received by such sales at +short periods, generally the first of each month. In the present case +Frank A. Cowperwood has been acting as such broker for the city +treasurer. But even this vicious and unbusiness-like system appears not +to have been adhered to in the case of Mr. Cowperwood. The accident of +the Chicago fire, the consequent depression of stock values, and the +subsequent failure of Mr. Frank A. Cowperwood have so involved matters +temporarily that the committee has not been able to ascertain with +accuracy that regular accounts have been rendered; but from the manner +in which Mr. Cowperwood has had possession of bonds (city loan) for +hypothecation, etc., it would appear that he has been held to no +responsibility in these matters, and that there have always been under +his control several hundred thousand dollars of cash or securities +belonging to the city, which he has manipulated for various purposes; +but the details of the results of these transactions are not easily +available. + “Some of the operations consisted of hypothecation of large amounts + of these loans before the certificates were issued, the lender + seeing that the order for the hypothecated securities was duly made + to him on the books of the treasurer. Such methods appear to have + been occurring for a long time, and it being incredible that the + city treasurer could be unaware of the nature of the business, + there is indication of a complicity between him and Mr. Cowperwood + to benefit by the use of the city credit, in violation of the law. + “Furthermore, at the very time these hypothecations were being + made, and the city paying interest upon such loans, the money + representing them was in the hands of the treasurer’s broker and + bearing no interest to the city. The payment of municipal warrants + was postponed, and they were being purchased at a discount in large + amounts by Mr. Cowperwood with the very money that should have been + in the city treasury. The _bona fide_ holders of the orders for + certificates of loans are now unable to obtain them, and thus the + city’s credit is injured to a greater extent than the present + defalcation, which amounts to over five hundred thousand dollars. + An accountant is now at work on the treasurer’s books, and a few + days should make clear the whole _modus operandi_. It is hoped that + the publicity thus obtained will break up such vicious practices.” + + +There was appended to this report a quotation from the law governing +the abuse of a public trust; and the committee went on to say that, +unless some taxpayer chose to initiate proceedings for the prosecution +of those concerned, the committee itself would be called upon to do so, +although such action hardly came within the object for which it was +formed. + +This report was immediately given to the papers. Though some sort of a +public announcement had been anticipated by Cowperwood and the +politicians, this was, nevertheless, a severe blow. Stener was beside +himself with fear. He broke into a cold sweat when he saw the +announcement which was conservatively headed, “Meeting of the Municipal +Reform Association.” All of the papers were so closely identified with +the political and financial powers of the city that they did not dare +to come out openly and say what they thought. The chief facts had +already been in the hands of the various editors and publishers for a +week and more, but word had gone around from Mollenhauer, Simpson, and +Butler to use the soft pedal for the present. It was not good for +Philadelphia, for local commerce, etc., to make a row. The fair name of +the city would be smirched. It was the old story. + +At once the question was raised as to who was really guilty, the city +treasurer or the broker, or both. How much money had actually been +lost? Where had it gone? Who was Frank Algernon Cowperwood, anyway? Why +was he not arrested? How did he come to be identified so closely with +the financial administration of the city? And though the day of what +later was termed “yellow journalism” had not arrived, and the local +papers were not given to such vital personal comment as followed later, +it was not possible, even bound as they were, hand and foot, by the +local political and social magnates, to avoid comment of some sort. +Editorials had to be written. Some solemn, conservative references to +the shame and disgrace which one single individual could bring to a +great city and a noble political party had to be ventured upon. + +That desperate scheme to cast the blame on Cowperwood temporarily, +which had been concocted by Mollenhauer, Butler, and Simpson, to get +the odium of the crime outside the party lines for the time being, was +now lugged forth and put in operation. It was interesting and strange +to note how quickly the newspapers, and even the Citizens’ Municipal +Reform Association, adopted the argument that Cowperwood was largely, +if not solely, to blame. Stener had loaned him the money, it is +true—had put bond issues in his hands for sale, it is true, but somehow +every one seemed to gain the impression that Cowperwood had desperately +misused the treasurer. The fact that he had taken a +sixty-thousand-dollar check for certificates which were not in the +sinking-fund was hinted at, though until they could actually confirm +this for themselves both the newspapers and the committee were too +fearful of the State libel laws to say so. + +In due time there were brought forth several noble municipal letters, +purporting to be a stern call on the part of the mayor, Mr. Jacob +Borchardt, on Mr. George W. Stener for an immediate explanation of his +conduct, and the latter’s reply, which were at once given to the +newspapers and the Citizens’ Municipal Reform Association. These +letters were enough to show, so the politicians figured, that the +Republican party was anxious to purge itself of any miscreant within +its ranks, and they also helped to pass the time until after election. + +OFFICE OF THE MAYOR OF THE CITY OF PHILADELPHIA + + +GEORGE W. STENER, ESQ., _October_ 18, 1871. +City Treasurer. + + DEAR SIR,—Information has been given me that certificates of city + loan to a large amount, issued by you for sale on account of the + city, and, I presume, after the usual requisition from the mayor of + the city, have passed out of your custody, and that the proceeds of + the sale of said certificates have not been paid into the city + treasury. + I have also been informed that a large amount of the city’s money + has been permitted to pass into the hands of some one or more + brokers or bankers doing business on Third Street, and that said + brokers or bankers have since met with financial difficulties, + whereby, and by reason of the above generally, the interests of the + city are likely to be very seriously affected. + I have therefore to request that you will promptly advise me of the + truth or falsity of these statements, so that such duties as + devolve upon me as the chief magistrate of the city, in view of + such facts, if they exist, may be intelligently discharged. Yours + respectfully, + + +JACOB BORCHARDT, +_Mayor of Philadelphia._ + + +OFFICE OF THE TREASURER OF THE CITY OF PHILADELPHIA + + +HON. JACOB BORCHARDT. _October_ 19, 1871. + + DEAR SIR,—I have to acknowledge the receipt of your communication + of the 21st instant, and to express my regret that I cannot at this + time give you the information you ask. There is undoubtedly an + embarrassment in the city treasury, owing to the delinquency of the + broker who for several years past has negotiated the city loans, + and I have been, since the discovery of this fact, and still am + occupied in endeavoring to avert or lessen the loss with which the + city is threatened. + + +I am, very respectfully, +GEORGE W. STENER. + + +OFFICE OF THE MAYOR OF THE CITY OF PHILADELPHIA + + +GEORGE W. STENER, ESQ., _October_ 21, 1871. +City Treasurer. + + DEAR SIR—Under the existing circumstances you will consider this as + a notice of withdrawal and revocation of any requisition or + authority by me for the sale of loan, so far as the same has not + been fulfilled. Applications for loans may for the present be made + at this office. + + +Very respectfully, +JACOB BORCHARDT, +_Mayor of Philadelphia._ + + +And did Mr. Jacob Borchardt write the letters to which his name was +attached? He did not. Mr. Abner Sengstack wrote them in Mr. +Mollenhauer’s office, and Mr. Mollenhauer’s comment when he saw them +was that he thought they would do—that they were very good, in fact. +And did Mr. George W. Stener, city treasurer of Philadelphia, write +that very politic reply? He did not. Mr. Stener was in a state of +complete collapse, even crying at one time at home in his bathtub. Mr. +Abner Sengstack wrote that also, and had Mr. Stener sign it. And Mr. +Mollenhauer’s comment on that, before it was sent, was that he thought +it was “all right.” It was a time when all the little rats and mice +were scurrying to cover because of the presence of a great, fiery-eyed +public cat somewhere in the dark, and only the older and wiser rats +were able to act. + +Indeed, at this very time and for some days past now, Messrs. +Mollenhauer, Butler, and Simpson were, and had been, considering with +Mr. Pettie, the district attorney, just what could be done about +Cowperwood, if anything, and in order to further emphasize the blame in +that direction, and just what defense, if any, could be made for +Stener. Butler, of course, was strong for Cowperwood’s prosecution. +Pettie did not see that any defense could be made for Stener, since +various records of street-car stocks purchased for him were spread upon +Cowperwood’s books; but for Cowperwood—“Let me see,” he said. They were +speculating, first of all, as to whether it might not be good policy to +arrest Cowperwood, and if necessary try him, since his mere arrest +would seem to the general public, at least, positive proof of his +greater guilt, to say nothing of the virtuous indignation of the +administration, and in consequence might tend to divert attention from +the evil nature of the party until after election. + +So finally, on the afternoon of October 26, 1871, Edward Strobik, +president of the common council of Philadelphia, appeared before the +mayor, as finally ordered by Mollenhauer, and charged by affidavit that +Frank A. Cowperwood, as broker, employed by the treasurer to sell the +bonds of the city, had committed embezzlement and larceny as bailee. It +did not matter that he charged George W. Stener with embezzlement at +the same time. Cowperwood was the scapegoat they were after. + + + + +Chapter XXXIV + + +The contrasting pictures presented by Cowperwood and Stener at this +time are well worth a moment’s consideration. Stener’s face was +grayish-white, his lips blue. Cowperwood, despite various solemn +thoughts concerning a possible period of incarceration which this hue +and cry now suggested, and what that meant to his parents, his wife and +children, his business associates, and his friends, was as calm and +collected as one might assume his great mental resources would permit +him to be. During all this whirl of disaster he had never once lost his +head or his courage. That thing conscience, which obsesses and rides +some people to destruction, did not trouble him at all. He had no +consciousness of what is currently known as sin. There were just two +faces to the shield of life from the point of view of his peculiar +mind-strength and weakness. Right and wrong? He did not know about +those. They were bound up in metaphysical abstrusities about which he +did not care to bother. Good and evil? Those were toys of clerics, by +which they made money. And as for social favor or social ostracism +which, on occasion, so quickly followed upon the heels of disaster of +any kind, well, what was social ostracism? Had either he or his parents +been of the best society as yet? And since not, and despite this +present mix-up, might not the future hold social restoration and +position for him? It might. Morality and immorality? He never +considered them. But strength and weakness—oh, yes! If you had strength +you could protect yourself always and be something. If you were +weak—pass quickly to the rear and get out of the range of the guns. He +was strong, and he knew it, and somehow he always believed in his star. +Something—he could not say what—it was the only metaphysics he bothered +about—was doing something for him. It had always helped him. It made +things come out right at times. It put excellent opportunities in his +way. Why had he been given so fine a mind? Why always favored +financially, personally? He had not deserved it—earned it. Accident, +perhaps, but somehow the thought that he would always be +protected—these intuitions, the “hunches” to act which he frequently +had—could not be so easily explained. Life was a dark, insoluble +mystery, but whatever it was, strength and weakness were its two +constituents. Strength would win—weakness lose. He must rely on +swiftness of thought, accuracy, his judgment, and on nothing else. He +was really a brilliant picture of courage and energy—moving about +briskly in a jaunty, dapper way, his mustaches curled, his clothes +pressed, his nails manicured, his face clean-shaven and tinted with +health. + +In the meantime, Cowperwood had gone personally to Skelton C. Wheat and +tried to explain his side of the situation, alleging that he had done +no differently from many others before him, but Wheat was dubious. He +did not see how it was that the sixty thousand dollars’ worth of +certificates were not in the sinking-fund. Cowperwood’s explanation of +custom did not avail. Nevertheless, Mr. Wheat saw that others in +politics had been profiting quite as much as Cowperwood in other ways +and he advised Cowperwood to turn state’s evidence. This, however, he +promptly refused to do—he was no “squealer,” and indicated as much to +Mr. Wheat, who only smiled wryly. + +Butler, Sr., was delighted (concerned though he was about party success +at the polls), for now he had this villain in the toils and he would +have a fine time getting out of this. The incoming district attorney to +succeed David Pettie if the Republican party won would be, as was now +planned, an appointee of Butler’s—a young Irishman who had done +considerable legal work for him—one Dennis Shannon. The other two party +leaders had already promised Butler that. Shannon was a smart, +athletic, good-looking fellow, all of five feet ten inches in height, +sandy-haired, pink-cheeked, blue-eyed, considerable of an orator and a +fine legal fighter. He was very proud to be in the old man’s favor—to +be promised a place on the ticket by him—and would, he said, if +elected, do his bidding to the best of his knowledge and ability. + +There was only one fly in the ointment, so far as some of the +politicians were concerned, and that was that if Cowperwood were +convicted, Stener must needs be also. There was no escape in so far as +any one could see for the city treasurer. If Cowperwood was guilty of +securing by trickery sixty thousand dollars’ worth of the city money, +Stener was guilty of securing five hundred thousand dollars. The prison +term for this was five years. He might plead not guilty, and by +submitting as evidence that what he did was due to custom save himself +from the odious necessity of pleading guilty; but he would be convicted +nevertheless. No jury could get by the fact in regard to him. In spite +of public opinion, when it came to a trial there might be considerable +doubt in Cowperwood’s case. There was none in Stener’s. + +The practical manner in which the situation was furthered, after +Cowperwood and Stener were formally charged may be quickly noted. +Steger, Cowperwood’s lawyer, learned privately beforehand that +Cowperwood was to be prosecuted. He arranged at once to have his client +appear before any warrant could be served, and to forestall the +newspaper palaver which would follow it if he had to be searched for. + +The mayor issued a warrant for Cowperwood’s arrest, and, in accordance +with Steger’s plan, Cowperwood immediately appeared before Borchardt in +company with his lawyer and gave bail in twenty thousand dollars (W. C. +Davison, president of the Girard National Bank, being his surety), for +his appearance at the central police station on the following Saturday +for a hearing. Marcus Oldslaw, a lawyer, had been employed by Strobik +as president of the common council, to represent him in prosecuting the +case for the city. The mayor looked at Cowperwood curiously, for he, +being comparatively new to the political world of Philadelphia, was not +so familiar with him as others were; and Cowperwood returned the look +pleasantly enough. + +“This is a great dumb show, Mr. Mayor,” he observed once to Borchardt, +quietly, and the latter replied, with a smile and a kindly eye, that as +far as he was concerned, it was a form of procedure which was +absolutely unavoidable at this time. + +“You know how it is, Mr. Cowperwood,” he observed. The latter smiled. +“I do, indeed,” he said. + +Later there followed several more or less perfunctory appearances in a +local police court, known as the Central Court, where when arraigned he +pleaded not guilty, and finally his appearance before the November +grand jury, where, owing to the complicated nature of the charge drawn +up against him by Pettie, he thought it wise to appear. He was properly +indicted by the latter body (Shannon, the newly elected district +attorney, making a demonstration in force), and his trial ordered for +December 5th before a certain Judge Payderson in Part I of Quarter +Sessions, which was the local branch of the State courts dealing with +crimes of this character. His indictment did not occur, however, before +the coming and going of the much-mooted fall election, which resulted, +thanks to the clever political manipulations of Mollenhauer and Simpson +(ballot-box stuffing and personal violence at the polls not barred), in +another victory, by, however, a greatly reduced majority. The Citizens’ +Municipal Reform Association, in spite of a resounding defeat at the +polls, which could not have happened except by fraud, continued to fire +courageously away at those whom it considered to be the chief +malefactors. + +Aileen Butler, during all this time, was following the trend of +Cowperwood’s outward vicissitudes as heralded by the newspapers and the +local gossip with as much interest and bias and enthusiasm for him as +her powerful physical and affectional nature would permit. She was no +great reasoner where affection entered in, but shrewd enough without +it; and, although she saw him often and he told her much—as much as his +natural caution would permit—she yet gathered from the newspapers and +private conversation, at her own family’s table and elsewhere, that, as +bad as they said he was, he was not as bad as he might be. One item +only, clipped from the Philadelphia Public Ledger soon after Cowperwood +had been publicly accused of embezzlement, comforted and consoled her. +She cut it out and carried it in her bosom; for, somehow, it seemed to +show that her adored Frank was far more sinned against than sinning. It +was a part of one of those very numerous pronunciamientos or reports +issued by the Citizens’ Municipal Reform Association, and it ran: + +“The aspects of the case are graver than have yet been allowed to reach +the public. Five hundred thousand dollars of the deficiency arises not +from city bonds sold and not accounted for, but from loans made by the +treasurer to his broker. The committee is also informed, on what it +believes to be good authority, that the loans sold by the broker were +accounted for in the monthly settlements at the lowest prices current +during the month, and that the difference between this rate and that +actually realized was divided between the treasurer and the broker, +thus making it to the interest of both parties to ‘bear’ the market at +some time during the month, so as to obtain a low quotation for +settlement. Nevertheless, the committee can only regard the prosecution +instituted against the broker, Mr. Cowperwood, as an effort to divert +public attention from more guilty parties while those concerned may be +able to ‘fix’ matters to suit themselves.” + + +“There,” thought Aileen, when she read it, “there you have it.” These +politicians—her father among them as she gathered after his +conversation with her—were trying to put the blame of their own evil +deeds on her Frank. He was not nearly as bad as he was painted. The +report said so. She gloated over the words “an effort to divert public +attention from more guilty parties.” That was just what her Frank had +been telling her in those happy, private hours when they had been +together recently in one place and another, particularly the new +rendezvous in South Sixth Street which he had established, since the +old one had to be abandoned. He had stroked her rich hair, caressed her +body, and told her it was all a prearranged political scheme to cast +the blame as much as possible on him and make it as light as possible +for Stener and the party generally. He would come out of it all right, +he said, but he cautioned her not to talk. He did not deny his long and +profitable relations with Stener. He told her exactly how it was. She +understood, or thought she did. Anyhow, her Frank was telling her, and +that was enough. + +As for the two Cowperwood households, so recently and pretentiously +joined in success, now so gloomily tied in failure, the life was going +out of them. Frank Algernon was that life. He was the courage and force +of his father: the spirit and opportunity of his brothers, the hope of +his children, the estate of his wife, the dignity and significance of +the Cowperwood name. All that meant opportunity, force, emolument, +dignity, and happiness to those connected with him, he was. And his +marvelous sun was waning apparently to a black eclipse. + +Since the fatal morning, for instance, when Lillian Cowperwood had +received that utterly destructive note, like a cannonball ripping +through her domestic affairs, she had been walking like one in a +trance. Each day now for weeks she had been going about her duties +placidly enough to all outward seeming, but inwardly she was running +with a troubled tide of thought. She was so utterly unhappy. Her +fortieth year had come for her at a time when life ought naturally to +stand fixed and firm on a solid base, and here she was about to be torn +bodily from the domestic soil in which she was growing and blooming, +and thrown out indifferently to wither in the blistering noonday sun of +circumstance. + +As for Cowperwood, Senior, his situation at his bank and elsewhere was +rapidly nearing a climax. As has been said, he had had tremendous faith +in his son; but he could not help seeing that an error had been +committed, as he thought, and that Frank was suffering greatly for it +now. He considered, of course, that Frank had been entitled to try to +save himself as he had; but he so regretted that his son should have +put his foot into the trap of any situation which could stir up +discussion of the sort that was now being aroused. Frank was +wonderfully brilliant. He need never have taken up with the city +treasurer or the politicians to have succeeded marvelously. Local +street-railways and speculative politicians were his undoing. The old +man walked the floor all of the days, realizing that his sun was +setting, that with Frank’s failure he failed, and that this +disgrace—these public charges—meant his own undoing. His hair had grown +very gray in but a few weeks, his step slow, his face pallid, his eyes +sunken. His rather showy side-whiskers seemed now like flags or +ornaments of a better day that was gone. His only consolation through +it all was that Frank had actually got out of his relationship with the +Third National Bank without owing it a single dollar. Still as he knew +the directors of that institution could not possibly tolerate the +presence of a man whose son had helped loot the city treasury, and +whose name was now in the public prints in this connection. Besides, +Cowperwood, Sr., was too old. He ought to retire. + +The crisis for him therefore came on the day when Frank was arrested on +the embezzlement charge. The old man, through Frank, who had it from +Steger, knew it was coming, still had the courage to go to the bank but +it was like struggling under the weight of a heavy stone to do it. But +before going, and after a sleepless night, he wrote his resignation to +Frewen Kasson, the chairman of the board of directors, in order that he +should be prepared to hand it to him, at once. Kasson, a stocky, +well-built, magnetic man of fifty, breathed an inward sigh of relief at +the sight of it. + +“I know it’s hard, Mr. Cowperwood,” he said, sympathetically. “We—and I +can speak for the other members of the board—we feel keenly the +unfortunate nature of your position. We know exactly how it is that +your son has become involved in this matter. He is not the only banker +who has been involved in the city’s affairs. By no means. It is an old +system. We appreciate, all of us, keenly, the services you have +rendered this institution during the past thirty-five years. If there +were any possible way in which we could help to tide you over the +difficulties at this time, we would be glad to do so, but as a banker +yourself you must realize just how impossible that would be. Everything +is in a turmoil. If things were settled—if we knew how soon this would +blow over—” He paused, for he felt that he could not go on and say that +he or the bank was sorry to be forced to lose Mr. Cowperwood in this +way at present. Mr. Cowperwood himself would have to speak. + +During all this Cowperwood, Sr., had been doing his best to pull +himself together in order to be able to speak at all. He had gotten out +a large white linen handkerchief and blown his nose, and had +straightened himself in his chair, and laid his hands rather peacefully +on his desk. Still he was intensely wrought up. + +“I can’t stand this!” he suddenly exclaimed. “I wish you would leave me +alone now.” + +Kasson, very carefully dressed and manicured, arose and walked out of +the room for a few moments. He appreciated keenly the intensity of the +strain he had just witnessed. The moment the door was closed Cowperwood +put his head in his hands and shook convulsively. “I never thought I’d +come to this,” he muttered. “I never thought it.” Then he wiped away +his salty hot tears, and went to the window to look out and to think of +what else to do from now on. + + + + +Chapter XXXV + + +As time went on Butler grew more and more puzzled and restive as to his +duty in regard to his daughter. He was sure by her furtive manner and +her apparent desire to avoid him, that she was still in touch with +Cowperwood in some way, and that this would bring about a social +disaster of some kind. He thought once of going to Mrs. Cowperwood and +having her bring pressure to bear on her husband, but afterwards he +decided that that would not do. He was not really positive as yet that +Aileen was secretly meeting Cowperwood, and, besides, Mrs. Cowperwood +might not know of her husband’s duplicity. He thought also of going to +Cowperwood personally and threatening him, but that would be a severe +measure, and again, as in the other case, he lacked proof. He hesitated +to appeal to a detective agency, and he did not care to take the other +members of the family into his confidence. He did go out and scan the +neighborhood of 931 North Tenth Street once, looking at the house; but +that helped him little. The place was for rent, Cowperwood having +already abandoned his connection with it. + +Finally he hit upon the plan of having Aileen invited to go somewhere +some distance off—Boston or New Orleans, where a sister of his wife +lived. It was a delicate matter to engineer, and in such matters he was +not exactly the soul of tact; but he undertook it. He wrote personally +to his wife’s sister at New Orleans, and asked her if she would, +without indicating in any way that she had heard from him, write his +wife and ask if she would not permit Aileen to come and visit her, +writing Aileen an invitation at the same time; but he tore the letter +up. A little later he learned accidentally that Mrs. Mollenhauer and +her three daughters, Caroline, Felicia, and Alta, were going to Europe +early in December to visit Paris, the Riviera, and Rome; and he decided +to ask Mollenhauer to persuade his wife to invite Norah and Aileen, or +Aileen only, to go along, giving as an excuse that his own wife would +not leave him, and that the girls ought to go. It would be a fine way +of disposing of Aileen for the present. The party was to be gone six +months. Mollenhauer was glad to do so, of course. The two families were +fairly intimate. Mrs. Mollenhauer was willing—delighted from a politic +point of view—and the invitation was extended. Norah was overjoyed. She +wanted to see something of Europe, and had always been hoping for some +such opportunity. Aileen was pleased from the point of view that Mrs. +Mollenhauer should invite her. Years before she would have accepted in +a flash. But now she felt that it only came as a puzzling interruption, +one more of the minor difficulties that were tending to interrupt her +relations with Cowperwood. She immediately threw cold water on the +proposition, which was made one evening at dinner by Mrs. Butler, who +did not know of her husband’s share in the matter, but had received a +call that afternoon from Mrs. Mollenhauer, when the invitation had been +extended. + +“She’s very anxious to have you two come along, if your father don’t +mind,” volunteered the mother, “and I should think ye’d have a fine +time. They’re going to Paris and the Riveera.” + +“Oh, fine!” exclaimed Norah. “I’ve always wanted to go to Paris. +Haven’t you, Ai? Oh, wouldn’t that be fine?” + +“I don’t know that I want to go,” replied Aileen. She did not care to +compromise herself by showing any interest at the start. “It’s coming +on winter, and I haven’t any clothes. I’d rather wait and go some other +time.” + +“Oh, Aileen Butler!” exclaimed Norah. “How you talk! I’ve heard you say +a dozen times you’d like to go abroad some winter. Now when the chance +comes—besides you can get your clothes made over there.” + +“Couldn’t you get somethin’ over there?” inquired Mrs. Butler. +“Besides, you’ve got two or three weeks here yet.” + +“They wouldn’t want a man around as a sort of guide and adviser, would +they, mother?” put in Callum. + +“I might offer my services in that capacity myself,” observed Owen, +reservedly. + +“I’m sure I don’t know,” returned Mrs. Butler, smiling, and at the same +time chewing a lusty mouthful. “You’ll have to ast ’em, my sons.” + +Aileen still persisted. She did not want to go. It was too sudden. It +was this. It was that. Just then old Butler came in and took his seat +at the head of the table. Knowing all about it, he was most anxious to +appear not to. + +“You wouldn’t object, Edward, would you?” queried his wife, explaining +the proposition in general. + +“Object!” he echoed, with a well simulated but rough attempt at gayety. +“A fine thing I’d be doing for meself—objectin’. I’d be glad if I could +get shut of the whole pack of ye for a time.” + +“What talk ye have!” said his wife. “A fine mess you’d make of it +livin’ alone.” + +“I’d not be alone, belave me,” replied Butler. “There’s many a place +I’d be welcome in this town—no thanks to ye.” + +“And there’s many a place ye wouldn’t have been if it hadn’t been for +me. I’m tellin’ ye that,” retorted Mrs. Butler, genially. + +“And that’s not stretchin’ the troot much, aither,” he answered, +fondly. + +Aileen was adamant. No amount of argument both on the part of Norah and +her mother had any effect whatever. Butler witnessed the failure of his +plan with considerable dissatisfaction, but he was not through. When he +was finally convinced that there was no hope of persuading her to +accept the Mollenhauer proposition, he decided, after a while, to +employ a detective. + +At that time, the reputation of William A. Pinkerton, of detective +fame, and of his agency was great. The man had come up from poverty +through a series of vicissitudes to a high standing in his peculiar +and, to many, distasteful profession; but to any one in need of such in +themselves calamitous services, his very famous and decidedly patriotic +connection with the Civil War and Abraham Lincoln was a recommendation. +He, or rather his service, had guarded the latter all his stormy +incumbency at the executive mansion. There were offices for the +management of the company’s business in Philadelphia, Washington, and +New York, to say nothing of other places. Butler was familiar with the +Philadelphia sign, but did not care to go to the office there. He +decided, once his mind was made up on this score, that he would go over +to New York, where he was told the principal offices were. + +He made the simple excuse one day of business, which was common enough +in his case, and journeyed to New York—nearly five hours away as the +trains ran then—arriving at two o’clock. At the offices on lower +Broadway, he asked to see the manager, whom he found to be a large, +gross-featured, heavy-bodied man of fifty, gray-eyed, gray-haired, +puffily outlined as to countenance, but keen and shrewd, and with +short, fat-fingered hands, which drummed idly on his desk as he talked. +He was dressed in a suit of dark-brown wool cloth, which struck Butler +as peculiarly showy, and wore a large horseshoe diamond pin. The old +man himself invariably wore conservative gray. + +“How do you do?” said Butler, when a boy ushered him into the presence +of this worthy, whose name was Martinson—Gilbert Martinson, of American +and Irish extraction. The latter nodded and looked at Butler shrewdly, +recognizing him at once as a man of force and probably of position. He +therefore rose and offered him a chair. + +“Sit down,” he said, studying the old Irishman from under thick, bushy +eyebrows. “What can I do for you?” + +“You’re the manager, are you?” asked Butler, solemnly, eyeing the man +with a shrewd, inquiring eye. + +“Yes, sir,” replied Martinson, simply. “That’s my position here.” + +“This Mr. Pinkerton that runs this agency—he wouldn’t be about this +place, now, would he?” asked Butler, carefully. “I’d like to talk to +him personally, if I might, meaning no offense to you.” + +“Mr. Pinkerton is in Chicago at present,” replied Mr. Martinson. “I +don’t expect him back for a week or ten days. You can talk to me, +though, with the same confidence that you could to him. I’m the +responsible head here. However, you’re the best judge of that.” + +Butler debated with himself in silence for a few moments, estimating +the man before him. “Are you a family man yourself?” he asked, oddly. + +“Yes, sir, I’m married,” replied Martinson, solemnly. “I have a wife +and two children.” + +Martinson, from long experience conceived that this must be a matter of +family misconduct—a son, daughter, wife. Such cases were not +infrequent. + +“I thought I would like to talk to Mr. Pinkerton himself, but if you’re +the responsible head—” Butler paused. + +“I am,” replied Martinson. “You can talk to me with the same freedom +that you could to Mr. Pinkerton. Won’t you come into my private office? +We can talk more at ease in there.” + +He led the way into an adjoining room which had two windows looking +down into Broadway; an oblong table, heavy, brown, smoothly polished; +four leather-backed chairs; and some pictures of the Civil War battles +in which the North had been victorious. Butler followed doubtfully. He +hated very much to take any one into his confidence in regard to +Aileen. He was not sure that he would, even now. He wanted to “look +these fellys over,” as he said in his mind. He would decide then what +he wanted to do. He went to one of the windows and looked down into the +street, where there was a perfect swirl of omnibuses and vehicles of +all sorts. Mr. Martinson quietly closed the door. + +“Now then, if there’s anything I can do for you,” Mr. Martinson paused. +He thought by this little trick to elicit Buder’s real name—it often +“worked”—but in this instance the name was not forthcoming. Butler was +too shrewd. + +“I’m not so sure that I want to go into this,” said the old man +solemnly. “Certainly not if there’s any risk of the thing not being +handled in the right way. There’s somethin’ I want to find out +about—somethin’ that I ought to know; but it’s a very private matter +with me, and—” He paused to think and conjecture, looking at Mr. +Martinson the while. The latter understood his peculiar state of mind. +He had seen many such cases. + +“Let me say right here, to begin with, Mr.—” + +“Scanlon,” interpolated Butler, easily; “that’s as good a name as any +if you want to use one. I’m keepin’ me own to meself for the present.” + +“Scanlon,” continued Martinson, easily. “I really don’t care whether +it’s your right name or not. I was just going to say that it might not +be necessary to have your right name under any circumstances—it all +depends upon what you want to know. But, so far as your private affairs +are concerned, they are as safe with us, as if you had never told them +to any one. Our business is built upon confidence, and we never betray +it. We wouldn’t dare. We have men and women who have been in our employ +for over thirty years, and we never retire any one except for cause, +and we don’t pick people who are likely to need to be retired for +cause. Mr. Pinkerton is a good judge of men. There are others here who +consider that they are. We handle over ten thousand separate cases in +all parts of the United States every year. We work on a case only so +long as we are wanted. We try to find out only such things as our +customers want. We do not pry unnecessarily into anybody’s affairs. If +we decide that we cannot find out what you want to know, we are the +first to say so. Many cases are rejected right here in this office +before we ever begin. Yours might be such a one. We don’t want cases +merely for the sake of having them, and we are frank to say so. Some +matters that involve public policy, or some form of small persecution, +we don’t touch at all—we won’t be a party to them. You can see how that +is. You look to me to be a man of the world. I hope I am one. Does it +strike you that an organization like ours would be likely to betray any +one’s confidence?” He paused and looked at Butler for confirmation of +what he had just said. + +“It wouldn’t seem likely,” said the latter; “that’s the truth. It’s not +aisy to bring your private affairs into the light of day, though,” +added the old man, sadly. + +They both rested. + +“Well,” said Butler, finally, “you look to me to be all right, and I’d +like some advice. Mind ye, I’m willing to pay for it well enough; and +it isn’t anything that’ll be very hard to find out. I want to know +whether a certain man where I live is goin’ with a certain woman, and +where. You could find that out aisy enough, I belave—couldn’t you?” + +“Nothing easier,” replied Martinson. “We are doing it all the time. Let +me see if I can help you just a moment, Mr. Scanlon, in order to make +it easier for you. It is very plain to me that you don’t care to tell +any more than you can help, and we don’t care to have you tell any more +than we absolutely need. We will have to have the name of the city, of +course, and the name of either the man or the woman; but not +necessarily both of them, unless you want to help us in that way. +Sometimes if you give us the name of one party—say the man, for +illustration—and the description of the woman—an accurate one—or a +photograph, we can tell you after a little while exactly what you want +to know. Of course, it’s always better if we have full information. You +suit yourself about that. Tell me as much or as little as you please, +and I’ll guarantee that we will do our best to serve you, and that you +will be satisfied afterward.” + +He smiled genially. + +“Well, that bein’ the case,” said Butler, finally taking the leap, with +many mental reservations, however, “I’ll be plain with you. My name’s +not Scanlon. It’s Butler. I live in Philadelphy. There’s a man there, a +banker by the name of Cowperwood—Frank A. Cowperwood—” + +“Wait a moment,” said Martinson, drawing an ample pad out of his pocket +and producing a lead-pencil; “I want to get that. How do you spell it?” + +Butler told him. + +“Yes; now go on.” + +“He has a place in Third Street—Frank A. Cowperwood—any one can show +you where it is. He’s just failed there recently.” + +“Oh, that’s the man,” interpolated Martinson. “I’ve heard of him. He’s +mixed up in some city embezzlement case over there. I suppose the +reason you didn’t go to our Philadelphia office is because you didn’t +want our local men over there to know anything about it. Isn’t that +it?” + +“That’s the man, and that’s the reason,” said Butler. “I don’t care to +have anything of this known in Philadelphy. That’s why I’m here. This +man has a house on Girard Avenue—Nineteen-thirty-seven. You can find +that out, too, when you get over there.” + +“Yes,” agreed Mr. Martinson. + +“Well, it’s him that I want to know about—him—and a certain woman, or +girl, rather.” The old man paused and winced at this necessity of +introducing Aileen into the case. He could scarcely think of it—he was +so fond of her. He had been so proud of Aileen. A dark, smoldering rage +burned in his heart against Cowperwood. + +“A relative of yours—possibly, I suppose,” remarked Martinson, +tactfully. “You needn’t tell me any more—just give me a description if +you wish. We may be able to work from that.” He saw quite clearly what +a fine old citizen in his way he was dealing with here, and also that +the man was greatly troubled. Butler’s heavy, meditative face showed +it. “You can be quite frank with me, Mr. Butler,” he added; “I think I +understand. We only want such information as we must have to help you, +nothing more.” + +“Yes,” said the old man, dourly. “She is a relative. She’s me daughter, +in fact. You look to me like a sensible, honest man. I’m her father, +and I wouldn’t do anything for the world to harm her. It’s tryin’ to +save her I am. It’s him I want.” He suddenly closed one big fist +forcefully. + +Martinson, who had two daughters of his own, observed the suggestive +movement. + +“I understand how you feel, Mr. Butler,” he observed. “I am a father +myself. We’ll do all we can for you. If you can give me an accurate +description of her, or let one of my men see her at your house or +office, accidentally, of course, I think we can tell you in no time at +all if they are meeting with any regularity. That’s all you want to +know, is it—just that?” + +“That’s all,” said Butler, solemnly. + +“Well, that oughtn’t to take any time at all, Mr. Butler—three or four +days possibly, if we have any luck—a week, ten days, two weeks. It +depends on how long you want us to shadow him in case there is no +evidence the first few days.” + +“I want to know, however long it takes,” replied Butler, bitterly. “I +want to know, if it takes a month or two months or three to find out. I +want to know.” The old man got up as he said this, very positive, very +rugged. “And don’t send me men that haven’t sinse—lots of it, plase. I +want men that are fathers, if you’ve got ’em—and that have sinse enough +to hold their tongues—not b’ys.” + +“I understand, Mr. Butler,” Martinson replied. “Depend on it, you’ll +have the best we have, and you can trust them. They’ll be discreet. You +can depend on that. The way I’ll do will be to assign just one man to +the case at first, some one you can see for yourself whether you like +or not. I’ll not tell him anything. You can talk to him. If you like +him, tell him, and he’ll do the rest. Then, if he needs any more help, +he can get it. What is your address?” + +Butler gave it to him. + +“And there’ll be no talk about this?” + +“None whatever—I assure you.” + +“And when’ll he be comin’ along?” + +“To-morrow, if you wish. I have a man I could send to-night. He isn’t +here now or I’d have him talk with you. I’ll talk to him, though, and +make everything clear. You needn’t worry about anything. Your +daughter’s reputation will be safe in his hands.” + +“Thank you kindly,” commented Butler, softening the least bit in a +gingerly way. “I’m much obliged to you. I’ll take it as a great favor, +and pay you well.” + +“Never mind about that, Mr. Butler,” replied Martinson. “You’re welcome +to anything this concern can do for you at its ordinary rates.” + +He showed Butler to the door, and the old man went out. He was feeling +very depressed over this—very shabby. To think he should have to put +detectives on the track of his Aileen, his daughter! + + + + +Chapter XXXVI + + +The very next day there called at Butler’s office a long, +preternaturally solemn man of noticeable height and angularity, +dark-haired, dark-eyed, sallow, with a face that was long and leathery, +and particularly hawk-like, who talked with Butler for over an hour and +then departed. That evening he came to the Butler house around +dinner-time, and, being shown into Butler’s room, was given a look at +Aileen by a ruse. Butler sent for her, standing in the doorway just far +enough to one side to yield a good view of her. The detective stood +behind one of the heavy curtains which had already been put up for the +winter, pretending to look out into the street. + +“Did any one drive Sissy this mornin’?” asked Butler of Aileen, +inquiring after a favorite family horse. Butler’s plan, in case the +detective was seen, was to give the impression that he was a horseman +who had come either to buy or to sell. His name was Jonas Alderson, and +be looked sufficiently like a horsetrader to be one. + +“I don’t think so, father,” replied Aileen. “I didn’t. I’ll find out.” + +“Never mind. What I want to know is did you intend using her +to-morrow?” + +“No, not if you want her. Jerry suits me just as well.” + +“Very well, then. Leave her in the stable.” Butler quietly closed the +door. Aileen concluded at once that it was a horse conference. She knew +he would not dispose of any horse in which she was interested without +first consulting her, and so she thought no more about it. + +After she was gone Alderson stepped out and declared that he was +satisfied. “That’s all I need to know,” he said. “I’ll let you know in +a few days if I find out anything.” + +He departed, and within thirty-six hours the house and office of +Cowperwood, the house of Butler, the office of Harper Steger, +Cowperwood’s lawyer, and Cowperwood and Aileen separately and +personally were under complete surveillance. It took six men to do it +at first, and eventually a seventh, when the second meeting-place, +which was located in South Sixth Street, was discovered. All the +detectives were from New York. In a week all was known to Alderson. It +bad been agreed between him and Butler that if Aileen and Cowperwood +were discovered to have any particular rendezvous Butler was to be +notified some time when she was there, so that he might go immediately +and confront her in person, if he wished. He did not intend to kill +Cowperwood—and Alderson would have seen to it that he did not in his +presence at least, but he would give him a good tongue-lashing, fell +him to the floor, in all likelihood, and march Aileen away. There would +be no more lying on her part as to whether she was or was not going +with Cowperwood. She would not be able to say after that what she would +or would not do. Butler would lay down the law to her. She would +reform, or he would send her to a reformatory. Think of her influence +on her sister, or on any good girl—knowing what she knew, or doing what +she was doing! She would go to Europe after this, or any place he chose +to send her. + +In working out his plan of action it was necessary for Butler to take +Alderson into his confidence and the detective made plain his +determination to safeguard Cowperwood’s person. + +“We couldn’t allow you to strike any blows or do any violence,” +Alderson told Butler, when they first talked about it. “It’s against +the rules. You can go in there on a search-warrant, if we have to have +one. I can get that for you without anybody’s knowing anything about +your connection with the case. We can say it’s for a girl from New +York. But you’ll have to go in in the presence of my men. They won’t +permit any trouble. You can get your daughter all right—we’ll bring her +away, and him, too, if you say so; but you’ll have to make some charge +against him, if we do. Then there’s the danger of the neighbors seeing. +You can’t always guarantee you won’t collect a crowd that way.” Butler +had many misgivings about the matter. It was fraught with great danger +of publicity. Still he wanted to know. He wanted to terrify Aileen if +he could—to reform her drastically. + +Within a week Alderson learned that Aileen and Cowperwood were visiting +an apparently private residence, which was anything but that. The house +on South Sixth Street was one of assignation purely; but in its way it +was superior to the average establishment of its kind—of red brick, +white-stone trimmings, four stories high, and all the rooms, some +eighteen in number, furnished in a showy but cleanly way. It’s +patronage was highly exclusive, only those being admitted who were +known to the mistress, having been introduced by others. This +guaranteed that privacy which the illicit affairs of this world so +greatly required. The mere phrase, “I have an appointment,” was +sufficient, where either of the parties was known, to cause them to be +shown to a private suite. Cowperwood had known of the place from +previous experiences, and when it became necessary to abandon the North +Tenth Street house, he had directed Aileen to meet him here. + +The matter of entering a place of this kind and trying to find any one +was, as Alderson informed Butler on hearing of its character, +exceedingly difficult. It involved the right of search, which was +difficult to get. To enter by sheer force was easy enough in most +instances where the business conducted was in contradistinction to the +moral sentiment of the community; but sometimes one encountered violent +opposition from the tenants themselves. It might be so in this case. +The only sure way of avoiding such opposition would be to take the +woman who ran the place into one’s confidence, and by paying her +sufficiently insure silence. “But I do not advise that in this +instance,” Alderson had told Butler, “for I believe this woman is +particularly friendly to your man. It might be better, in spite of the +risk, to take it by surprise.” To do that, he explained, it would be +necessary to have at least three men in addition to the leader—perhaps +four, who, once one man had been able to make his entrance into the +hallway, on the door being opened in response to a ring, would appear +quickly and enter with and sustain him. Quickness of search was the +next thing—the prompt opening of all doors. The servants, if any, would +have to be overpowered and silenced in some way. Money sometimes did +this; force accomplished it at other times. Then one of the detectives +simulating a servant could tap gently at the different doors—Butler and +the others standing by—and in case a face appeared identify it or not, +as the case might be. If the door was not opened and the room was not +empty, it could eventually be forced. The house was one of a solid +block, so that there was no chance of escape save by the front and rear +doors, which were to be safe-guarded. It was a daringly conceived +scheme. In spite of all this, secrecy in the matter of removing Aileen +was to be preserved. + +When Butler heard of this he was nervous about the whole terrible +procedure. He thought once that without going to the house he would +merely talk to his daughter declaring that he knew and that she could +not possibly deny it. He would then give her her choice between going +to Europe or going to a reformatory. But a sense of the raw brutality +of Aileen’s disposition, and something essentially coarse in himself, +made him eventually adopt the other method. He ordered Alderson to +perfect his plan, and once he found Aileen or Cowperwood entering the +house to inform him quickly. He would then drive there, and with the +assistance of these men confront her. + +It was a foolish scheme, a brutalizing thing to do, both from the point +of view of affection and any corrective theory he might have had. No +good ever springs from violence. But Butler did not see that. He wanted +to frighten Aileen, to bring her by shock to a realization of the +enormity of the offense she was committing. He waited fully a week +after his word had been given; and then, one afternoon, when his nerves +were worn almost thin from fretting, the climax came. Cowperwood had +already been indicted, and was now awaiting trial. Aileen had been +bringing him news, from time to time, of just how she thought her +father was feeling toward him. She did not get this evidence direct +from Butler, of course—he was too secretive, in so far as she was +concerned, to let her know how relentlessly he was engineering +Cowperwood’s final downfall—but from odd bits confided to Owen, who +confided them to Callum, who in turn, innocently enough, confided them +to Aileen. For one thing, she had learned in this way of the new +district attorney elect—his probable attitude—for he was a constant +caller at the Butler house or office. Owen had told Callum that he +thought Shannon was going to do his best to send Cowperwood “up”—that +the old man thought he deserved it. + +In the next place she had learned that her father did not want +Cowperwood to resume business—did not feel he deserved to be allowed +to. “It would be a God’s blessing if the community were shut of him,” +he had said to Owen one morning, apropos of a notice in the papers of +Cowperwood’s legal struggles; and Owen had asked Callum why he thought +the old man was so bitter. The two sons could not understand it. +Cowperwood heard all this from her, and more—bits about Judge +Payderson, the judge who was to try him, who was a friend of +Butler’s—also about the fact that Stener might be sent up for the full +term of his crime, but that he would be pardoned soon afterward. + +Apparently Cowperwood was not very much frightened. He told her that he +had powerful financial friends who would appeal to the governor to +pardon him in case he was convicted; and, anyhow, that he did not think +that the evidence was strong enough to convict him. He was merely a +political scapegoat through public clamor and her father’s influence; +since the latter’s receipt of the letter about them he had been the +victim of Butler’s enmity, and nothing more. “If it weren’t for your +father, honey,” he declared, “I could have this indictment quashed in +no time. Neither Mollenhauer nor Simpson has anything against me +personally, I am sure. They want me to get out of the street-railway +business here in Philadelphia, and, of course, they wanted to make +things look better for Stener at first; but depend upon it, if your +father hadn’t been against me they wouldn’t have gone to any such +length in making me the victim. Your father has this fellow Shannon and +these minor politicians just where he wants them, too. That’s where the +trouble lies. They have to go on.” + +“Oh, I know,” replied Aileen. “It’s me, just me, that’s all. If it +weren’t for me and what he suspects he’d help you in a minute. +Sometimes, you know, I think I’ve been very bad for you. I don’t know +what I ought to do. If I thought it would help you any I’d not see you +any more for a while, though I don’t see what good that would do now. +Oh, I love you, love you, Frank! I would do anything for you. I don’t +care what people think or say. I love you.” + +“Oh, you just think you do,” he replied, jestingly. “You’ll get over +it. There are others.” + +“Others!” echoed Aileen, resentfully and contemptuously. “After you +there aren’t any others. I just want one man, my Frank. If you ever +desert me, I’ll go to hell. You’ll see.” + +“Don’t talk like that, Aileen,” he replied, almost irritated. “I don’t +like to hear you. You wouldn’t do anything of the sort. I love you. You +know I’m not going to desert you. It would pay you to desert me just +now.” + +“Oh, how you talk!” she exclaimed. “Desert you! It’s likely, isn’t it? +But if ever you desert me, I’ll do just what I say. I swear it.” + +“Don’t talk like that. Don’t talk nonsense.” + +“I swear it. I swear by my love. I swear by your success—my own +happiness. I’ll do just what I say. I’ll go to hell.” + +Cowperwood got up. He was a little afraid now of this deep-seated +passion he had aroused. It was dangerous. He could not tell where it +would lead. + +It was a cheerless afternoon in November, when Alderson, duly informed +of the presence of Aileen and Cowperwood in the South Sixth Street +house by the detective on guard drove rapidly up to Butler’s office and +invited him to come with him. Yet even now Butler could scarcely +believe that he was to find his daughter there. The shame of it. The +horror. What would he say to her? How reproach her? What would he do to +Cowperwood? His large hands shook as he thought. They drove rapidly to +within a few doors of the place, where a second detective on guard +across the street approached. Butler and Alderson descended from the +vehicle, and together they approached the door. It was now almost +four-thirty in the afternoon. In a room within the house, Cowperwood, +his coat and vest off, was listening to Aileen’s account of her +troubles. + +The room in which they were sitting at the time was typical of the +rather commonplace idea of luxury which then prevailed. Most of the +“sets” of furniture put on the market for general sale by the furniture +companies were, when they approached in any way the correct idea of +luxury, imitations of one of the Louis periods. The curtains were +always heavy, frequently brocaded, and not infrequently red. The +carpets were richly flowered in high colors with a thick, velvet nap. +The furniture, of whatever wood it might be made, was almost invariably +heavy, floriated, and cumbersome. This room contained a heavily +constructed bed of walnut, with washstand, bureau, and wardrobe to +match. A large, square mirror in a gold frame was hung over the +washstand. Some poor engravings of landscapes and several nude figures +were hung in gold frames on the wall. The gilt-framed chairs were +upholstered in pink-and-white-flowered brocade, with polished brass +tacks. The carpet was of thick Brussels, pale cream and pink in hue, +with large blue jardinieres containing flowers woven in as ornaments. +The general effect was light, rich, and a little stuffy. + +“You know I get desperately frightened, sometimes,” said Aileen. +“Father might be watching us, you know. I’ve often wondered what I’d do +if he caught us. I couldn’t lie out of this, could I?” + +“You certainly couldn’t,” said Cowperwood, who never failed to respond +to the incitement of her charms. She had such lovely smooth arms, a +full, luxuriously tapering throat and neck; her golden-red hair floated +like an aureole about her head, and her large eyes sparkled. The +wondrous vigor of a full womanhood was hers—errant, ill-balanced, +romantic, but exquisite, “but you might as well not cross that bridge +until you come to it,” he continued. “I myself have been thinking that +we had better not go on with this for the present. That letter ought to +have been enough to stop us for the time.” + +He came over to where she stood by the dressing-table, adjusting her +hair. + +“You’re such a pretty minx,” he said. He slipped his arm about her and +kissed her pretty mouth. “Nothing sweeter than you this side of +Paradise,” he whispered in her ear. + +While this was enacting, Butler and the extra detective had stepped out +of sight, to one side of the front door of the house, while Alderson, +taking the lead, rang the bell. A negro servant appeared. + +“Is Mrs. Davis in?” he asked, genially, using the name of the woman in +control. “I’d like to see her.” + +“Just come in,” said the maid, unsuspectingly, and indicated a +reception-room on the right. Alderson took off his soft, wide-brimmed +hat and entered. When the maid went up-stairs he immediately returned +to the door and let in Butler and two detectives. The four stepped into +the reception-room unseen. In a few moments the “madam” as the current +word characterized this type of woman, appeared. She was tall, fair, +rugged, and not at all unpleasant to look upon. She had light-blue eyes +and a genial smile. Long contact with the police and the brutalities of +sex in her early life had made her wary, a little afraid of how the +world would use her. This particular method of making a living being +illicit, and she having no other practical knowledge at her command, +she was as anxious to get along peacefully with the police and the +public generally as any struggling tradesman in any walk of life might +have been. She had on a loose, blue-flowered peignoir, or +dressing-gown, open at the front, tied with blue ribbons and showing a +little of her expensive underwear beneath. A large opal ring graced her +left middle finger, and turquoises of vivid blue were pendent from her +ears. She wore yellow silk slippers with bronze buckles; and altogether +her appearance was not out of keeping with the character of the +reception-room itself, which was a composite of gold-flowered +wall-paper, blue and cream-colored Brussels carpet, heavily gold-framed +engravings of reclining nudes, and a gilt-framed pier-glass, which rose +from the floor to the ceiling. Needless to say, Butler was shocked to +the soul of him by this suggestive atmosphere which was supposed to +include his daughter in its destructive reaches. + +Alderson motioned one of his detectives to get behind the woman—between +her and the door—which he did. + +“Sorry to trouble you, Mrs. Davis,” he said, “but we are looking for a +couple who are in your house here. We’re after a runaway girl. We don’t +want to make any disturbance—merely to get her and take her away.” Mrs. +Davis paled and opened her mouth. “Now don’t make any noise or try to +scream, or we’ll have to stop you. My men are all around the house. +Nobody can get out. Do you know anybody by the name of Cowperwood?” + +Mrs. Davis, fortunately from one point of view, was not of a +particularly nervous nor yet contentious type. She was more or less +philosophic. She was not in touch with the police here in Philadelphia, +hence subject to exposure. What good would it do to cry out? she +thought. The place was surrounded. There was no one in the house at the +time to save Cowperwood and Aileen. She did not know Cowperwood by his +name, nor Aileen by hers. They were a Mr. and Mrs. Montague to her. + +“I don’t know anybody by that name,” she replied nervously. + +“Isn’t there a girl here with red hair?” asked one of Alderson’s +assistants. “And a man with a gray suit and a light-brown mustache? +They came in here half an hour ago. You remember them, don’t you?” + +“There’s just one couple in the house, but I’m not sure whether they’re +the ones you want. I’ll ask them to come down if you wish. Oh, I wish +you wouldn’t make any disturbance. This is terrible.” + +“We’ll not make any disturbance,” replied Alderson, “if you don’t. Just +you be quiet. We merely want to see the girl and take her away. Now, +you stay where you are. What room are they in?” + +“In the second one in the rear up-stairs. Won’t you let me go, though? +It will be so much better. I’ll just tap and ask them to come out.” + +“No. We’ll tend to that. You stay where you are. You’re not going to +get into any trouble. You just stay where you are,” insisted Alderson. + +He motioned to Butler, who, however, now that he had embarked on his +grim task, was thinking that he had made a mistake. What good would it +do him to force his way in and make her come out, unless he intended to +kill Cowperwood? If she were made to come down here, that would be +enough. She would then know that he knew all. He did not care to +quarrel with Cowperwood, in any public way, he now decided. He was +afraid to. He was afraid of himself. + +“Let her go,” he said grimly, doggedly referring to Mrs. Davis, “But +watch her. Tell the girl to come down-stairs to me.” + +Mrs. Davis, realizing on the moment that this was some family tragedy, +and hoping in an agonized way that she could slip out of it peacefully, +started upstairs at once with Alderson and his assistants who were +close at his heels. Reaching the door of the room occupied by +Cowperwood and Aileen, she tapped lightly. At the time Aileen and +Cowperwood were sitting in a big arm-chair. At the first knock Aileen +blanched and leaped to her feet. Usually not nervous, to-day, for some +reason, she anticipated trouble. Cowperwood’s eyes instantly hardened. + +“Don’t be nervous,” he said, “no doubt it’s only the servant. I’ll go.” + +He started, but Aileen interfered. “Wait,” she said. Somewhat +reassured, she went to the closet, and taking down a dressing-gown, +slipped it on. Meanwhile the tap came again. Then she went to the door +and opened it the least bit. + +“Mrs. Montague,” exclaimed Mrs. Davis, in an obviously nervous, forced +voice, “there’s a gentleman downstairs who wishes to see you.” + +“A gentleman to see me!” exclaimed Aileen, astonished and paling. “Are +you sure?” + +“Yes; he says he wants to see you. There are several other men with +him. I think it’s some one who belongs to you, maybe.” + +Aileen realized on the instant, as did Cowperwood, what had in all +likelihood happened. Butler or Mrs. Cowperwood had trailed them—in all +probability her father. He wondered now what he should do to protect +her, not himself. He was in no way deeply concerned for himself, even +here. Where any woman was concerned he was too chivalrous to permit +fear. It was not at all improbable that Butler might want to kill him; +but that did not disturb him. He really did not pay any attention to +that thought, and he was not armed. + +“I’ll dress and go down,” he said, when he saw Aileen’s pale face. “You +stay here. And don’t you worry in any way for I’ll get you out of +this—now, don’t worry. This is my affair. I got you in it and I’ll get +you out of it.” He went for his hat and coat and added, as he did so, +“You go ahead and dress; but let me go first.” + +Aileen, the moment the door closed, had begun to put on her clothes +swiftly and nervously. Her mind was working like a rapidly moving +machine. She was wondering whether this really could be her father. +Perhaps it was not. Might there be some other Mrs. Montague—a real one? +Supposing it was her father—he had been so nice to her in not telling +the family, in keeping her secret thus far. He loved her—she knew that. +It makes all the difference in the world in a child’s attitude on an +occasion like this whether she has been loved and petted and spoiled, +or the reverse. Aileen had been loved and petted and spoiled. She could +not think of her father doing anything terrible physically to her or to +any one else. But it was so hard to confront him—to look into his eyes. +When she had attained a proper memory of him, her fluttering wits told +her what to do. + +“No, Frank,” she whispered, excitedly; “if it’s father, you’d better +let me go. I know how to talk to him. He won’t say anything to me. You +stay here. I’m not afraid—really, I’m not. If I want you, I’ll call +you.” + +He had come over and taken her pretty chin in his hands, and was +looking solemnly into her eyes. + +“You mustn’t be afraid,” he said. “I’ll go down. If it’s your father, +you can go away with him. I don’t think he’ll do anything either to you +or to me. If it is he, write me something at the office. I’ll be there. +If I can help you in any way, I will. We can fix up something. There’s +no use trying to explain this. Say nothing at all.” + +He had on his coat and overcoat, and was standing with his hat in his +hand. Aileen was nearly dressed, struggling with the row of red +current-colored buttons which fastened her dress in the back. +Cowperwood helped her. When she was ready—hat, gloves, and all—he said: + +“Now let me go first. I want to see.” + +“No; please, Frank,” she begged, courageously. “Let me, I know it’s +father. Who else could it be?” She wondered at the moment whether her +father had brought her two brothers but would not now believe it. He +would not do that, she knew. “You can come if I call.” She went on. +“Nothing’s going to happen, though. I understand him. He won’t do +anything to me. If you go it will only make him angry. Let me go. You +stand in the door here. If I don’t call, it’s all right. Will you?” + +She put her two pretty hands on his shoulders, and he weighed the +matter very carefully. “Very well,” he said, “only I’ll go to the foot +of the stairs with you.” + +They went to the door and he opened it. Outside were Alderson with two +other detectives and Mrs. Davis, standing perhaps five feet away. + +“Well,” said Cowperwood, commandingly, looking at Alderson. + +“There’s a gentleman down-stairs wishes to see the lady,” said +Alderson. “It’s her father, I think,” he added quietly. + +Cowperwood made way for Aileen, who swept by, furious at the presence +of men and this exposure. Her courage had entirely returned. She was +angry now to think her father would make a public spectacle of her. +Cowperwood started to follow. + +“I’d advise you not to go down there right away,” cautioned Alderson, +sagely. “That’s her father. Butler’s her name, isn’t it? He don’t want +you so much as he wants her.” + +Cowperwood nevertheless walked slowly toward the head of the stairs, +listening. + +“What made you come here, father?” he heard Aileen ask. + +Butler’s reply he could not hear, but he was now at ease for he knew +how much Butler loved his daughter. + +Confronted by her father, Aileen was now attempting to stare defiantly, +to look reproachful, but Butler’s deep gray eyes beneath their shaggy +brows revealed such a weight of weariness and despair as even she, in +her anger and defiance, could not openly flaunt. It was all too sad. + +“I never expected to find you in a place like this, daughter,” he said. +“I should have thought you would have thought better of yourself.” His +voice choked and he stopped. + +“I know who you’re here with,” he continued, shaking his head sadly. +“The dog! I’ll get him yet. I’ve had men watchin’ you all the time. Oh, +the shame of this day! The shame of this day! You’ll be comin’ home +with me now.” + +“That’s just it, father,” began Aileen. “You’ve had men watching me. I +should have thought—” She stopped, because he put up his hand in a +strange, agonized, and yet dominating way. + +“None of that! none of that!” he said, glowering under his strange, +sad, gray brows. “I can’t stand it! Don’t tempt me! We’re not out of +this place yet. He’s not! You’ll come home with me now.” + +Aileen understood. It was Cowperwood he was referring to. That +frightened her. + +“I’m ready,” she replied, nervously. + +The old man led the way broken-heartedly. He felt he would never live +to forget the agony of this hour. + + + + +Chapter XXXVII + + +In spite of Butler’s rage and his determination to do many things to +the financier, if he could, he was so wrought up and shocked by the +attitude of Aileen that he could scarcely believe he was the same man +he had been twenty-four hours before. She was so nonchalant, so +defiant. He had expected to see her wilt completely when confronted +with her guilt. Instead, he found, to his despair, after they were once +safely out of the house, that he had aroused a fighting quality in the +girl which was not incomparable to his own. She had some of his own and +Owen’s grit. She sat beside him in the little runabout—not his own—in +which he was driving her home, her face coloring and blanching by +turns, as different waves of thought swept over her, determined to +stand her ground now that her father had so plainly trapped her, to +declare for Cowperwood and her love and her position in general. What +did she care, she asked herself, what her father thought now? She was +in this thing. She loved Cowperwood; she was permanently disgraced in +her father’s eyes. What difference could it all make now? He had fallen +so low in his parental feeling as to spy on her and expose her before +other men—strangers, detectives, Cowperwood. What real affection could +she have for him after this? He had made a mistake, according to her. +He had done a foolish and a contemptible thing, which was not warranted +however bad her actions might have been. What could he hope to +accomplish by rushing in on her in this way and ripping the veil from +her very soul before these other men—these crude detectives? Oh, the +agony of that walk from the bedroom to the reception-room! She would +never forgive her father for this—never, never, never! He had now +killed her love for him—that was what she felt. It was to be a battle +royal between them from now on. As they rode—in complete silence for a +while—her hands clasped and unclasped defiantly, her nails cutting her +palms, and her mouth hardened. + +It is an open question whether raw opposition ever accomplishes +anything of value in this world. It seems so inherent in this mortal +scheme of things that it appears to have a vast validity. It is more +than likely that we owe this spectacle called life to it, and that this +can be demonstrated scientifically; but when that is said and done, +what is the value? What is the value of the spectacle? And what the +value of a scene such as this enacted between Aileen and her father? + +The old man saw nothing for it, as they rode on, save a grim contest +between them which could end in what? What could he do with her? They +were riding away fresh from this awful catastrophe, and she was not +saying a word! She had even asked him why he had come there! How was he +to subdue her, when the very act of trapping her had failed to do so? +His ruse, while so successful materially, had failed so utterly +spiritually. They reached the house, and Aileen got out. The old man, +too nonplussed to wish to go further at this time, drove back to his +office. He then went out and walked—a peculiar thing for him to do; he +had done nothing like that in years and years—walking to think. Coming +to an open Catholic church, he went in and prayed for enlightenment, +the growing dusk of the interior, the single everlasting lamp before +the repository of the chalice, and the high, white altar set with +candles soothing his troubled feelings. + +He came out of the church after a time and returned home. Aileen did +not appear at dinner, and he could not eat. He went into his private +room and shut the door—thinking, thinking, thinking. The dreadful +spectacle of Aileen in a house of ill repute burned in his brain. To +think that Cowperwood should have taken her to such a place—his Aileen, +his and his wife’s pet. In spite of his prayers, his uncertainty, her +opposition, the puzzling nature of the situation, she must be got out +of this. She must go away for a while, give the man up, and then the +law should run its course with him. In all likelihood Cowperwood would +go to the penitentiary—if ever a man richly deserved to go, it was he. +Butler would see that no stone was left unturned. He would make it a +personal issue, if necessary. All he had to do was to let it be known +in judicial circles that he wanted it so. He could not suborn a jury, +that would be criminal; but he could see that the case was properly and +forcefully presented; and if Cowperwood were convicted, Heaven help +him. The appeal of his financial friends would not save him. The judges +of the lower and superior courts knew on which side their bread was +buttered. They would strain a point in favor of the highest political +opinion of the day, and he certainly could influence that. Aileen +meanwhile was contemplating the peculiar nature of her situation. In +spite of their silence on the way home, she knew that a conversation +was coming with her father. It had to be. He would want her to go +somewhere. Most likely he would revive the European trip in some +form—she now suspected the invitation of Mrs. Mollenhauer as a trick; +and she had to decide whether she would go. Would she leave Cowperwood +just when he was about to be tried? She was determined she would not. +She wanted to see what was going to happen to him. She would leave home +first—run to some relative, some friend, some stranger, if necessary, +and ask to be taken in. She had some money—a little. Her father had +always been very liberal with her. She could take a few clothes and +disappear. They would be glad enough to send for her after she had been +gone awhile. Her mother would be frantic; Norah and Callum and Owen +would be beside themselves with wonder and worry; her father—she could +see him. Maybe that would bring him to his senses. In spite of all her +emotional vagaries, she was the pride and interest of this home, and +she knew it. + +It was in this direction that her mind was running when her father, a +few days after the dreadful exposure in the Sixth Street house, sent +for her to come to him in his room. He had come home from his office +very early in the afternoon, hoping to find Aileen there, in order that +he might have a private interview with her, and by good luck found her +in. She had had no desire to go out into the world these last few +days—she was too expectant of trouble to come. She had just written +Cowperwood asking for a rendezvous out on the Wissahickon the following +afternoon, in spite of the detectives. She must see him. Her father, +she said, had done nothing; but she was sure he would attempt to do +something. She wanted to talk to Cowperwood about that. + +“I’ve been thinkin’ about ye, Aileen, and what ought to be done in this +case,” began her father without preliminaries of any kind once they +were in his “office room” in the house together. “You’re on the road to +ruin if any one ever was. I tremble when I think of your immortal soul. +I want to do somethin’ for ye, my child, before it’s too late. I’ve +been reproachin’ myself for the last month and more, thinkin’, perhaps, +it was somethin’ I had done, or maybe had failed to do, aither me or +your mother, that has brought ye to the place where ye are to-day. +Needless to say, it’s on me conscience, me child. It’s a heartbroken +man you’re lookin’ at this day. I’ll never be able to hold me head up +again. Oh, the shame—the shame! That I should have lived to see it!” + +“But father,” protested Aileen, who was a little distraught at the +thought of having to listen to a long preachment which would relate to +her duty to God and the Church and her family and her mother and him. +She realized that all these were important in their way; but Cowperwood +and his point of view had given her another outlook on life. They had +discussed this matter of families—parents, children, husbands, wives, +brothers, sisters—from almost every point of view. Cowperwood’s +laissez-faire attitude had permeated and colored her mind completely. +She saw things through his cold, direct “I satisfy myself” attitude. He +was sorry for all the little differences of personality that sprang up +between people, causing quarrels, bickerings, oppositions, and +separation; but they could not be helped. People outgrew each other. +Their points of view altered at varying ratios—hence changes. +Morals—those who had them had them; those who hadn’t, hadn’t. There was +no explaining. As for him, he saw nothing wrong in the sex +relationship. Between those who were mutually compatible it was +innocent and delicious. Aileen in his arms, unmarried, but loved by +him, and he by her, was as good and pure as any living woman—a great +deal purer than most. One found oneself in a given social order, +theory, or scheme of things. For purposes of social success, in order +not to offend, to smooth one’s path, make things easy, avoid useless +criticism, and the like, it was necessary to create an outward +seeming—ostensibly conform. Beyond that it was not necessary to do +anything. Never fail, never get caught. If you did, fight your way out +silently and say nothing. That was what he was doing in connection with +his present financial troubles; that was what he had been ready to do +the other day when they were caught. It was something of all this that +was coloring Aileen’s mood as she listened at present. + +“But father,” she protested, “I love Mr. Cowperwood. It’s almost the +same as if I were married to him. He will marry me some day when he +gets a divorce from Mrs. Cowperwood. You don’t understand how it is. +He’s very fond of me, and I love him. He needs me.” + +Butler looked at her with strange, non-understanding eyes. “Divorce, +did you say,” he began, thinking of the Catholic Church and its dogma +in regard to that. “He’ll divorce his own wife and children—and for +you, will he? He needs you, does he?” he added, sarcastically. “What +about his wife and children? I don’t suppose they need him, do they? +What talk have ye?” + +Aileen flung her head back defiantly. “It’s true, nevertheless,” she +reiterated. “You just don’t understand.” + +Butler could scarcely believe his ears. He had never heard such talk +before in his life from any one. It amazed and shocked him. He was +quite aware of all the subtleties of politics and business, but these +of romance were too much for him. He knew nothing about them. To think +a daughter of his should be talking like this, and she a Catholic! He +could not understand where she got such notions unless it was from the +Machiavellian, corrupting brain of Cowperwood himself. + +“How long have ye had these notions, my child?” he suddenly asked, +calmly and soberly. “Where did ye get them? Ye certainly never heard +anything like that in this house, I warrant. Ye talk as though ye had +gone out of yer mind.” + +“Oh, don’t talk nonsense, father,” flared Aileen, angrily, thinking how +hopeless it was to talk to her father about such things anyhow. “I’m +not a child any more. I’m twenty-four years of age. You just don’t +understand. Mr. Cowperwood doesn’t like his wife. He’s going to get a +divorce when he can, and will marry me. I love him, and he loves me, +and that’s all there is to it.” + +“Is it, though?” asked Butler, grimly determined by hook or by crook, +to bring this girl to her senses. “Ye’ll be takin’ no thought of his +wife and children then? The fact that he’s goin’ to jail, besides, is +nawthin’ to ye, I suppose. Ye’d love him just as much in convict +stripes, I suppose—more, maybe.” (The old man was at his best, humanly +speaking, when he was a little sarcastic.) “Ye’ll have him that way, +likely, if at all.” + +Aileen blazed at once to a furious heat. “Yes, I know,” she sneered. +“That’s what you would like. I know what you’ve been doing. Frank does, +too. You’re trying to railroad him to prison for something he didn’t +do—and all on account of me. Oh, I know. But you won’t hurt him. You +can’t! He’s bigger and finer than you think he is and you won’t hurt +him in the long run. He’ll get out again. You want to punish him on my +account; but he doesn’t care. I’ll marry him anyhow. I love him, and +I’ll wait for him and marry him, and you can do what you please. So +there!” + +“Ye’ll marry him, will you?” asked Butler, nonplussed and further +astounded. “So ye’ll wait for him and marry him? Ye’ll take him away +from his wife and children, where, if he were half a man, he’d be +stayin’ this minute instead of gallivantin’ around with you. And marry +him? Ye’d disgrace your father and yer mother and yer family? Ye’ll +stand here and say this to me, I that have raised ye, cared for ye, and +made somethin’ of ye? Where would you be if it weren’t for me and your +poor, hard-workin’ mother, schemin’ and plannin’ for you year in and +year out? Ye’re smarter than I am, I suppose. Ye know more about the +world than I do, or any one else that might want to say anythin’ to ye. +I’ve raised ye to be a fine lady, and this is what I get. Talk about me +not bein’ able to understand, and ye lovin’ a convict-to-be, a robber, +an embezzler, a bankrupt, a lyin’, thavin’—” + +“Father!” exclaimed Aileen, determinedly. “I’ll not listen to you +talking that way. He’s not any of the things that you say. I’ll not +stay here.” She moved toward the door; but Butler jumped up now and +stopped her. His face for the moment was flushed and swollen with +anger. + +“But I’m not through with him yet,” he went on, ignoring her desire to +leave, and addressing her direct—confident now that she was as capable +as another of understanding him. “I’ll get him as sure as I have a +name. There’s law in this land, and I’ll have it on him. I’ll show him +whether he’ll come sneakin’ into dacent homes and robbin’ parents of +their children.” + +He paused after a time for want of breath and Aileen stared, her face +tense and white. Her father could be so ridiculous. He was, contrasted +with Cowperwood and his views, so old-fashioned. To think he could be +talking of some one coming into their home and stealing her away from +him, when she had been so willing to go. What silliness! And yet, why +argue? What good could be accomplished, arguing with him here in this +way? And so for the moment, she said nothing more—merely looked. But +Butler was by no means done. His mood was too stormy even though he was +doing his best now to subdue himself. + +“It’s too bad, daughter,” he resumed quietly, once he was satisfied +that she was going to have little, if anything, to say. “I’m lettin’ my +anger get the best of me. It wasn’t that I intended talkin’ to ye about +when I ast ye to come in. It’s somethin’ else I have on me mind. I was +thinkin’, perhaps, ye’d like to go to Europe for the time bein’ to +study music. Ye’re not quite yourself just at present. Ye’re needin’ a +rest. It would be good for ye to go away for a while. Ye could have a +nice time over there. Norah could go along with ye, if you would, and +Sister Constantia that taught you. Ye wouldn’t object to havin’ her, I +suppose?” + +At the mention of this idea of a trip of Europe again, with Sister +Constantia and music thrown in to give it a slightly new form, Aileen +bridled, and yet half-smiled to herself now. It was so ridiculous—so +tactless, really, for her father to bring up this now, and especially +after denouncing Cowperwood and her, and threatening all the things he +had. Had he no diplomacy at all where she was concerned? It was really +too funny! But she restrained herself here again, because she felt as +well as saw, that argument of this kind was all futile now. + +“I wish you wouldn’t talk about that, father,” she began, having +softened under his explanation. “I don’t want to go to Europe now. I +don’t want to leave Philadelphia. I know you want me to go; but I don’t +want to think of going now. I can’t.” + +Butler’s brow darkened again. What was the use of all this opposition +on her part? Did she really imagine that she was going to master +him—her father, and in connection with such an issue as this? How +impossible! But tempering his voice as much as possible, he went on, +quite softly, in fact. “But it would be so fine for ye, Aileen. Ye +surely can’t expect to stay here after—” He paused, for he was going to +say “what has happened.” He knew she was very sensitive on that point. +His own conduct in hunting her down had been such a breach of fatherly +courtesy that he knew she felt resentful, and in a way properly so. +Still, what could be greater than her own crime? “After,” he concluded, +“ye have made such a mistake ye surely wouldn’t want to stay here. Ye +won’t be wantin’ to keep up that—committin’ a mortal sin. It’s against +the laws of God and man.” + +He did so hope the thought of sin would come to Aileen—the enormity of +her crime from a spiritual point of view—but Aileen did not see it at +all. + +“You don’t understand me, father,” she exclaimed, hopelessly toward the +end. “You can’t. I have one idea, and you have another. But I don’t +seem to be able to make you understand now. The fact is, if you want to +know it, I don’t believe in the Catholic Church any more, so there.” + +The moment Aileen had said this she wished she had not. It was a slip +of the tongue. Butler’s face took on an inexpressibly sad, despairing +look. + +“Ye don’t believe in the Church?” he asked. + +“No, not exactly—not like you do.” + +He shook his head. + +“The harm that has come to yer soul!” he replied. “It’s plain to me, +daughter, that somethin’ terrible has happened to ye. This man has +ruined ye, body and soul. Somethin’ must be done. I don’t want to be +hard on ye, but ye must leave Philadelphy. Ye can’t stay here. I can’t +permit ye. Ye can go to Europe, or ye can go to yer aunt’s in New +Orleans; but ye must go somewhere. I can’t have ye stayin’ here—it’s +too dangerous. It’s sure to be comin’ out. The papers’ll be havin’ it +next. Ye’re young yet. Yer life is before you. I tremble for yer soul; +but so long as ye’re young and alive ye may come to yer senses. It’s me +duty to be hard. It’s my obligation to you and the Church. Ye must quit +this life. Ye must lave this man. Ye must never see him any more. I +can’t permit ye. He’s no good. He has no intintion of marrying ye, and +it would be a crime against God and man if he did. No, no! Never that! +The man’s a bankrupt, a scoundrel, a thafe. If ye had him, ye’d soon be +the unhappiest woman in the world. He wouldn’t be faithful to ye. No, +he couldn’t. He’s not that kind.” He paused, sick to the depths of his +soul. “Ye must go away. I say it once and for all. I mane it kindly, +but I want it. I have yer best interests at heart. I love ye; but ye +must. I’m sorry to see ye go—I’d rather have ye here. No one will be +sorrier; but ye must. Ye must make it all seem natcheral and ordinary +to yer mother; but ye must go—d’ye hear? Ye must.” + +He paused, looking sadly but firmly at Aileen under his shaggy +eyebrows. She knew he meant this. It was his most solemn, his most +religious expression. But she did not answer. She could not. What was +the use? Only she was not going. She knew that—and so she stood there +white and tense. + +“Now get all the clothes ye want,” went on Butler, by no means grasping +her true mood. “Fix yourself up in any way you plase. Say where ye want +to go, but get ready.” + +“But I won’t, father,” finally replied Aileen, equally solemnly, +equally determinedly. “I won’t go! I won’t leave Philadelphia.” + +“Ye don’t mane to say ye will deliberately disobey me when I’m asking +ye to do somethin’ that’s intended for yer own good, will ye daughter?” + +“Yes, I will,” replied Aileen, determinedly. “I won’t go! I’m sorry, +but I won’t!” + +“Ye really mane that, do ye?” asked Butler, sadly but grimly. + +“Yes, I do,” replied Aileen, grimly, in return. + +“Then I’ll have to see what I can do, daughter,” replied the old man. +“Ye’re still my daughter, whatever ye are, and I’ll not see ye come to +wreck and ruin for want of doin’ what I know to be my solemn duty. I’ll +give ye a few more days to think this over, but go ye must. There’s an +end of that. There are laws in this land still. There are things that +can be done to those who won’t obey the law. I found ye this time—much +as it hurt me to do it. I’ll find ye again if ye try to disobey me. Ye +must change yer ways. I can’t have ye goin’ on as ye are. Ye understand +now. It’s the last word. Give this man up, and ye can have anything ye +choose. Ye’re my girl—I’ll do everything I can in this world to make ye +happy. Why, why shouldn’t I? What else have I to live for but me +children? It’s ye and the rest of them that I’ve been workin’ and +plannin’ for all these years. Come now, be a good girl. Ye love your +old father, don’t ye? Why, I rocked ye in my arms as a baby, Aileen. +I’ve watched over ye when ye were not bigger than what would rest in me +two fists here. I’ve been a good father to ye—ye can’t deny that. Look +at the other girls you’ve seen. Have any of them had more nor what ye +have had? Ye won’t go against me in this. I’m sure ye won’t. Ye can’t. +Ye love me too much—surely ye do—don’t ye?” His voice weakened. His +eyes almost filled. + +He paused and put a big, brown, horny hand on Aileen’s arm. She had +listened to his plea not unmoved—really more or less softened—because +of the hopelessness of it. She could not give up Cowperwood. Her father +just did not understand. He did not know what love was. Unquestionably +he had never loved as she had. + +She stood quite silent while Butler appealed to her. + +“I’d like to, father,” she said at last and softly, tenderly. “Really I +would. I do love you. Yes, I do. I want to please you; but I can’t in +this—I can’t! I love Frank Cowperwood. You don’t understand—really you +don’t!” + +At the repetition of Cowperwood’s name Butler’s mouth hardened. He +could see that she was infatuated—that his carefully calculated plea +had failed. So he must think of some other way. + +“Very well, then,” he said at last and sadly, oh, so sadly, as Aileen +turned away. “Have it yer own way, if ye will. Ye must go, though, +willy-nilly. It can’t be any other way. I wish to God it could.” + +Aileen went out, very solemn, and Butler went over to his desk and sat +down. “Such a situation!” he said to himself. “Such a complication!” + + + + +Chapter XXXVIII + + +The situation which confronted Aileen was really a trying one. A girl +of less innate courage and determination would have weakened and +yielded. For in spite of her various social connections and +acquaintances, the people to whom Aileen could run in an emergency of +the present kind were not numerous. She could scarcely think of any one +who would be likely to take her in for any lengthy period, without +question. There were a number of young women of her own age, married +and unmarried, who were very friendly to her, but there were few with +whom she was really intimate. The only person who stood out in her +mind, as having any real possibility of refuge for a period, was a +certain Mary Calligan, better known as “Mamie” among her friends, who +had attended school with Aileen in former years and was now a teacher +in one of the local schools. + +The Calligan family consisted of Mrs. Katharine Calligan, the mother, a +dressmaker by profession and a widow—her husband, a house-mover by +trade, having been killed by a falling wall some ten years before—and +Mamie, her twenty-three-year-old daughter. They lived in a small +two-story brick house in Cherry Street, near Fifteenth. Mrs. Calligan +was not a very good dressmaker, not good enough, at least, for the +Butler family to patronize in their present exalted state. Aileen went +there occasionally for gingham house-dresses, underwear, pretty +dressing-gowns, and alterations on some of her more important clothing +which was made by a very superior modiste in Chestnut Street. She +visited the house largely because she had gone to school with Mamie at +St. Agatha’s, when the outlook of the Calligan family was much more +promising. Mamie was earning forty dollars a month as the teacher of a +sixth-grade room in one of the nearby public schools, and Mrs. Calligan +averaged on the whole about two dollars a day—sometimes not so much. +The house they occupied was their own, free and clear, and the +furniture which it contained suggested the size of their joint income, +which was somewhere near eighty dollars a month. + +Mamie Calligan was not good-looking, not nearly as good-looking as her +mother had been before her. Mrs. Calligan was still plump, bright, and +cheerful at fifty, with a fund of good humor. Mamie was somewhat duller +mentally and emotionally. She was serious-minded—made so, perhaps, as +much by circumstances as by anything else, for she was not at all +vivid, and had little sex magnetism. Yet she was kindly, honest, +earnest, a good Catholic, and possessed of that strangely excessive +ingrowing virtue which shuts so many people off from the world—a sense +of duty. To Mamie Calligan duty (a routine conformity to such theories +and precepts as she had heard and worked by since her childhood) was +the all-important thing, her principal source of comfort and relief; +her props in a queer and uncertain world being her duty to her Church; +her duty to her school; her duty to her mother; her duty to her +friends, etc. Her mother often wished for Mamie’s sake that she was +less dutiful and more charming physically, so that the men would like +her. + +In spite of the fact that her mother was a dressmaker, Mamie’s clothes +never looked smart or attractive—she would have felt out of keeping +with herself if they had. Her shoes were rather large, and ill-fitting; +her skirt hung in lifeless lines from her hips to her feet, of good +material but seemingly bad design. At that time the colored “jersey,” +so-called, was just coming into popular wear, and, being close-fitting, +looked well on those of good form. Alas for Mamie Calligan! The mode of +the time compelled her to wear one; but she had neither the arms nor +the chest development which made this garment admirable. Her hat, by +choice, was usually a pancake affair with a long, single feather, which +somehow never seemed to be in exactly the right position, either to her +hair or her face. At most times she looked a little weary; but she was +not physically weary so much as she was bored. Her life held so little +of real charm; and Aileen Butler was unquestionably the most +significant element of romance in it. + +Mamie’s mother’s very pleasant social disposition, the fact that they +had a very cleanly, if poor little home, that she could entertain them +by playing on their piano, and that Mrs. Calligan took an adoring +interest in the work she did for her, made up the sum and substance of +the attraction of the Calligan home for Aileen. She went there +occasionally as a relief from other things, and because Mamie Calligan +had a compatible and very understanding interest in literature. +Curiously, the books Aileen liked she liked—_Jane Eyre, Kenelm +Chillingly, Tricotrin_, and _A Bow of Orange Ribbon_. Mamie +occasionally recommended to Aileen some latest effusion of this +character; and Aileen, finding her judgment good, was constrained to +admire her. + +In this crisis it was to the home of the Calligans that Aileen turned +in thought. If her father really was not nice to her, and she had to +leave home for a time, she could go to the Calligans. They would +receive her and say nothing. They were not sufficiently well known to +the other members of the Butler family to have the latter suspect that +she had gone there. She might readily disappear into the privacy of +Cherry Street and not be seen or heard of for weeks. It is an +interesting fact to contemplate that the Calligans, like the various +members of the Butler family, never suspected Aileen of the least +tendency toward a wayward existence. Hence her flight from her own +family, if it ever came, would be laid more to the door of a +temperamental pettishness than anything else. + +On the other hand, in so far as the Butler family as a unit was +concerned, it needed Aileen more than she needed it. It needed the +light of her countenance to keep it appropriately cheerful, and if she +went away there would be a distinct gulf that would not soon be +overcome. + +Butler, senior, for instance, had seen his little daughter grow into +radiantly beautiful womanhood. He had seen her go to school and convent +and learn to play the piano—to him a great accomplishment. Also he had +seen her manner change and become very showy and her knowledge of life +broaden, apparently, and become to him, at least, impressive. Her +smart, dogmatic views about most things were, to him, at least, well +worth listening to. She knew more about books and art than Owen or +Callum, and her sense of social manners was perfect. When she came to +the table—breakfast, luncheon, or dinner—she was to him always a +charming object to see. He had produced Aileen—he congratulated +himself. He had furnished her the money to be so fine. He would +continue to do so. No second-rate upstart of a man should be allowed to +ruin her life. He proposed to take care of her always—to leave her so +much money in a legally involved way that a failure of a husband could +not possibly affect her. “You’re the charming lady this evenin’, I’m +thinkin’,” was one of his pet remarks; and also, “My, but we’re that +fine!” At table almost invariably she sat beside him and looked out for +him. That was what he wanted. He had put her there beside him at his +meals years before when she was a child. + +Her mother, too, was inordinately fond of her, and Callum and Owen +appropriately brotherly. So Aileen had thus far at least paid back with +beauty and interest quite as much as she received, and all the family +felt it to be so. When she was away for a day or two the house seemed +glum—the meals less appetizing. When she returned, all were happy and +gay again. + +Aileen understood this clearly enough in a way. Now, when it came to +thinking of leaving and shifting for herself, in order to avoid a trip +which she did not care to be forced into, her courage was based largely +on this keen sense of her own significance to the family. She thought +over what her father had said, and decided she must act at once. She +dressed for the street the next morning, after her father had gone, and +decided to step in at the Calligans’ about noon, when Mamie would be at +home for luncheon. Then she would take up the matter casually. If they +had no objection, she would go there. She sometimes wondered why +Cowperwood did not suggest, in his great stress, that they leave for +some parts unknown; but she also felt that he must know best what he +could do. His increasing troubles depressed her. + +Mrs. Calligan was alone when she arrived and was delighted to see her. +After exchanging the gossip of the day, and not knowing quite how to +proceed in connection with the errand which had brought her, she went +to the piano and played a melancholy air. + +“Sure, it’s lovely the way you play, Aileen,” observed Mrs. Calligan +who was unduly sentimental herself. “I love to hear you. I wish you’d +come oftener to see us. You’re so rarely here nowadays.” + +“Oh, I’ve been so busy, Mrs. Calligan,” replied Aileen. “I’ve had so +much to do this fall, I just couldn’t. They wanted me to go to Europe; +but I didn’t care to. Oh, dear!” she sighed, and in her playing swept +off with a movement of sad, romantic significance. The door opened and +Mamie came in. Her commonplace face brightened at the sight of Aileen. + +“Well, Aileen Butler!” she exclaimed. “Where did you come from? Where +have you been keeping yourself so long?” + +Aileen rose to exchange kisses. “Oh, I’ve been very busy, Mamie. I’ve +just been telling your mother. How are you, anyway? How are you getting +along in your work?” + +Mamie recounted at once some school difficulties which were puzzling +her—the growing size of classes and the amount of work expected. While +Mrs. Calligan was setting the table Mamie went to her room and Aileen +followed her. + +As she stood before her mirror arranging her hair Aileen looked at her +meditatively. + +“What’s the matter with you, Aileen, to-day?” Mamie asked. “You look +so—” She stopped to give her a second glance. + +“How do I look?” asked Aileen. + +“Well, as if you were uncertain or troubled about something. I never +saw you look that way before. What’s the matter?” + +“Oh, nothing,” replied Aileen. “I was just thinking.” She went to one +of the windows which looked into the little yard, meditating on whether +she could endure living here for any length of time. The house was so +small, the furnishings so very simple. + +“There is something the matter with you to-day, Aileen,” observed +Mamie, coming over to her and looking in her face. “You’re not like +yourself at all.” + +“I’ve got something on my mind,” replied Aileen—“something that’s +worrying me. I don’t know just what to do—that’s what’s the matter.” + +“Well, whatever can it be?” commented Mamie. “I never saw you act this +way before. Can’t you tell me? What is it?” + +“No, I don’t think I can—not now, anyhow.” Aileen paused. “Do you +suppose your mother would object,” she asked, suddenly, “if I came here +and stayed a little while? I want to get away from home for a time for +a certain reason.” + +“Why, Aileen Butler, how you talk!” exclaimed her friend. “Object! You +know she’d be delighted, and so would I. Oh, dear—can you come? But +what makes you want to leave home?” + +“That’s just what I can’t tell you—not now, anyhow. Not you, so much, +but your mother. You know, I’m afraid of what she’d think,” replied +Aileen. “But, you mustn’t ask me yet, anyhow. I want to think. Oh, +dear! But I want to come, if you’ll let me. Will you speak to your +mother, or shall I?” + +“Why, I will,” said Mamie, struck with wonder at this remarkable +development; “but it’s silly to do it. I know what she’ll say before I +tell her, and so do you. You can just bring your things and come. +That’s all. She’d never say anything or ask anything, either, and you +know that—if you didn’t want her to.” Mamie was all agog and aglow at +the idea. She wanted the companionship of Aileen so much. + +Aileen looked at her solemnly, and understood well enough why she was +so enthusiastic—both she and her mother. Both wanted her presence to +brighten their world. “But neither of you must tell anybody that I’m +here, do you hear? I don’t want any one to know—particularly no one of +my family. I’ve a reason, and a good one, but I can’t tell you what it +is—not now, anyhow. You’ll promise not to tell any one.” + +“Oh, of course,” replied Mamie eagerly. “But you’re not going to run +away for good, are you, Aileen?” she concluded curiously and gravely. + +“Oh, I don’t know; I don’t know what I’ll do yet. I only know that I +want to get away for a while, just now—that’s all.” She paused, while +Mamie stood before her, agape. + +“Well, of all things,” replied her friend. “Wonders never cease, do +they, Aileen? But it will be so lovely to have you here. Mama will be +so pleased. Of course, we won’t tell anybody if you don’t want us to. +Hardly any one ever comes here; and if they do, you needn’t see them. +You could have this big room next to me. Oh, wouldn’t that be nice? I’m +perfectly delighted.” The young school-teacher’s spirits rose to a +decided height. “Come on, why not tell mama right now?” + +Aileen hesitated because even now she was not positive whether she +should do this, but finally they went down the stairs together, Aileen +lingering behind a little as they neared the bottom. Mamie burst in +upon her mother with: “Oh, mama, isn’t it lovely? Aileen’s coming to +stay with us for a while. She doesn’t want any one to know, and she’s +coming right away.” Mrs. Calligan, who was holding a sugarbowl in her +hand, turned to survey her with a surprised but smiling face. She was +immediately curious as to why Aileen should want to come—why leave +home. On the other hand, her feeling for Aileen was so deep that she +was greatly and joyously intrigued by the idea. And why not? Was not +the celebrated Edward Butler’s daughter a woman grown, capable of +regulating her own affairs, and welcome, of course, as the honored +member of so important a family. It was very flattering to the +Calligans to think that she would want to come under any circumstances. + +“I don’t see how your parents can let you go, Aileen; but you’re +certainly welcome here as long as you want to stay, and that’s forever, +if you want to.” And Mrs. Calligan beamed on her welcomingly. The idea +of Aileen Butler asking to be permitted to come here! And the hearty, +comprehending manner in which she said this, and Mamie’s enthusiasm, +caused Aileen to breathe a sigh of relief. The matter of the expense of +her presence to the Calligans came into her mind. + +“I want to pay you, of course,” she said to Mrs. Calligan, “if I come.” + +“The very idea, Aileen Butler!” exclaimed Mamie. “You’ll do nothing of +the sort. You’ll come here and live with me as my guest.” + +“No, I won’t! If I can’t pay I won’t come,” replied Aileen. “You’ll +have to let me do that.” She knew that the Calligans could not afford +to keep her. + +“Well, we’ll not talk about that now, anyhow,” replied Mrs. Calligan. +“You can come when you like and stay as long as you like. Reach me some +clean napkins, Mamie.” Aileen remained for luncheon, and left soon +afterward to keep her suggested appointment with Cowperwood, feeling +satisfied that her main problem had been solved. Now her way was clear. +She could come here if she wanted to. It was simply a matter of +collecting a few necessary things or coming without bringing anything. +Perhaps Frank would have something to suggest. + +In the meantime Cowperwood made no effort to communicate with Aileen +since the unfortunate discovery of their meeting place, but had awaited +a letter from her, which was not long in coming. And, as usual, it was +a long, optimistic, affectionate, and defiant screed in which she +related all that had occurred to her and her present plan of leaving +home. This last puzzled and troubled him not a little. + +Aileen in the bosom of her family, smart and well-cared for, was one +thing. Aileen out in the world dependent on him was another. He had +never imagined that she would be compelled to leave before he was +prepared to take her; and if she did now, it might stir up +complications which would be anything but pleasant to contemplate. +Still he was fond of her, very, and would do anything to make her +happy. He could support her in a very respectable way even now, if he +did not eventually go to prison, and even there he might manage to make +some shift for her. It would be so much better, though, if he could +persuade her to remain at home until he knew exactly what his fate was +to be. He never doubted but that some day, whatever happened, within a +reasonable length of time, he would be rid of all these complications +and well-to-do again, in which case, if he could get a divorce, he +wanted to marry Aileen. If not, he would take her with him anyhow, and +from this point of view it might be just as well as if she broke away +from her family now. But from the point of view of present +complications—the search Butler would make—it might be dangerous. He +might even publicly charge him with abduction. He therefore decided to +persuade Aileen to stay at home, drop meetings and communications for +the time being, and even go abroad. He would be all right until she +came back and so would she—common sense ought to rule in this case. + +With all this in mind he set out to keep the appointment she suggested +in her letter, nevertheless feeling it a little dangerous to do so. + +“Are you sure,” he asked, after he had listened to her description of +the Calligan homestead, “that you would like it there? It sounds rather +poor to me.” + +“Yes, but I like them so much,” replied Aileen. + +“And you’re sure they won’t tell on you?” + +“Oh, no; never, never!” + +“Very well,” he concluded. “You know what you’re doing. I don’t want to +advise you against your will. If I were you, though, I’d take your +father’s advice and go away for a while. He’ll get over this then, and +I’ll still be here. I can write you occasionally, and you can write +me.” + +The moment Cowperwood said this Aileen’s brow clouded. Her love for him +was so great that there was something like a knife thrust in the merest +hint at an extended separation. Her Frank here and in trouble—on trial +maybe and she away! Never! What could he mean by suggesting such a +thing? Could it be that he didn’t care for her as much as she did for +him? Did he really love her? she asked herself. Was he going to desert +her just when she was going to do the thing which would bring them +nearer together? Her eyes clouded, for she was terribly hurt. + +“Why, how you talk!” she exclaimed. “You know I won’t leave +Philadelphia now. You certainly don’t expect me to leave you.” + +Cowperwood saw it all very clearly. He was too shrewd not to. He was +immensely fond of her. Good heaven, he thought, he would not hurt her +feelings for the world! + +“Honey,” he said, quickly, when he saw her eyes, “you don’t understand. +I want you to do what you want to do. You’ve planned this out in order +to be with me; so now you do it. Don’t think any more about me or +anything I’ve said. I was merely thinking that it might make matters +worse for both of us; but I don’t believe it will. You think your +father loves you so much that after you’re gone he’ll change his mind. +Very good; go. But we must be very careful, sweet—you and I—really we +must. This thing is getting serious. If you should go and your father +should charge me with abduction—take the public into his confidence and +tell all about this, it would be serious for both of us—as much for you +as for me, for I’d be convicted sure then, just on that account, if +nothing else. And then what? You’d better not try to see me often for +the present—not any oftener than we can possibly help. If we had used +common sense and stopped when your father got that letter, this +wouldn’t have happened. But now that it has happened, we must be as +wise as we can, don’t you see? So, think it over, and do what you think +best and then write me and whatever you do will be all right with me—do +you hear?” He drew her to him and kissed her. “You haven’t any money, +have you?” he concluded wisely. + +Aileen, deeply moved by all he had just said, was none the less +convinced once she had meditated on it a moment, that her course was +best. Her father loved her too much. He would not do anything to hurt +her publicly and so he would not attack Cowperwood through her openly. +More than likely, as she now explained to Frank, he would plead with +her to come back. And he, listening, was compelled to yield. Why argue? +She would not leave him anyhow. + +He went down in his pocket for the first time since he had known Aileen +and produced a layer of bills. “Here’s two hundred dollars, sweet,” he +said, “until I see or hear from you. I’ll see that you have whatever +you need; and now don’t think that I don’t love you. You know I do. I’m +crazy about you.” + +Aileen protested that she did not need so much—that she did not really +need any—she had some at home; but he put that aside. He knew that she +must have money. + +“Don’t talk, honey,” he said. “I know what you need.” She had been so +used to receiving money from her father and mother in comfortable +amounts from time to time that she thought nothing of it. Frank loved +her so much that it made everything right between them. She softened in +her mood and they discussed the matter of letters, reaching the +conclusion that a private messenger would be safest. When finally they +parted, Aileen, from being sunk in the depths by his uncertain +attitude, was now once more on the heights. She decided that he did +love her, and went away smiling. She had her Frank to fall back on—she +would teach her father. Cowperwood shook his head, following her with +his eyes. She represented an additional burden, but give her up, he +certainly could not. Tear the veil from this illusion of affection and +make her feel so wretched when he cared for her so much? No. There was +really nothing for him to do but what he had done. After all, he +reflected, it might not work out so badly. Any detective work that +Butler might choose to do would prove that she had not run to him. If +at any moment it became necessary to bring common sense into play to +save the situation from a deadly climax, he could have the Butlers +secretly informed as to Aileen’s whereabouts. That would show he had +little to do with it, and they could try to persuade Aileen to come +home again. Good might result—one could not tell. He would deal with +the evils as they arose. He drove quickly back to his office, and +Aileen returned to her home determined to put her plan into action. Her +father had given her some little time in which to decide—possibly he +would give her longer—but she would not wait. Having always had her +wish granted in everything, she could not understand why she was not to +have her way this time. It was about five o’clock now. She would wait +until all the members of the family were comfortably seated at the +dinner-table, which would be about seven o’clock, and then slip out. + +On arriving home, however, she was greeted by an unexpected reason for +suspending action. This was the presence of a certain Mr. and Mrs. +Steinmetz—the former a well-known engineer who drew the plans for many +of the works which Butler undertook. It was the day before +Thanksgiving, and they were eager to have Aileen and Norah accompany +them for a fortnight’s stay at their new home in West Chester—a +structure concerning the charm of which Aileen had heard much. They +were exceedingly agreeable people—comparatively young and surrounded by +a coterie of interesting friends. Aileen decided to delay her flight +and go. Her father was most cordial. The presence and invitation of the +Steinmetzes was as much a relief to him as it was to Aileen. West +Chester being forty miles from Philadelphia, it was unlikely that +Aileen would attempt to meet Cowperwood while there. + +She wrote Cowperwood of the changed condition and departed, and he +breathed a sigh of relief, fancying at the time that this storm had +permanently blown over. + + + + +Chapter XXXIX + + +In the meanwhile the day of Cowperwood’s trial was drawing near. He was +under the impression that an attempt was going to be made to convict +him whether the facts warranted it or not. He did not see any way out +of his dilemma, however, unless it was to abandon everything and leave +Philadelphia for good, which was impossible. The only way to guard his +future and retain his financial friends was to stand trial as quickly +as possible, and trust them to assist him to his feet in the future in +case he failed. He discussed the possibilities of an unfair trial with +Steger, who did not seem to think that there was so much to that. In +the first place, a jury could not easily be suborned by any one. In the +next place, most judges were honest, in spite of their political +cleavage, and would go no further than party bias would lead them in +their rulings and opinions, which was, in the main, not so far. The +particular judge who was to sit in this case, one Wilbur Payderson, of +the Court of Quarter Sessions, was a strict party nominee, and as such +beholden to Mollenhauer, Simpson, and Butler; but, in so far as Steger +had ever heard, he was an honest man. + +“What I can’t understand,” said Steger, “is why these fellows should be +so anxious to punish you, unless it is for the effect on the State at +large. The election’s over. I understand there’s a movement on now to +get Stener out in case he is convicted, which he will be. They have to +try him. He won’t go up for more than a year, or two or three, and if +he does he’ll be pardoned out in half the time or less. It would be the +same in your case, if you were convicted. They couldn’t keep you in and +let him out. But it will never get that far—take my word for it. We’ll +win before a jury, or we’ll reverse the judgment of conviction before +the State Supreme Court, certain. Those five judges up there are not +going to sustain any such poppycock idea as this.” + +Steger actually believed what he said, and Cowperwood was pleased. Thus +far the young lawyer had done excellently well in all of his cases. +Still, he did not like the idea of being hunted down by Butler. It was +a serious matter, and one of which Steger was totally unaware. +Cowperwood could never quite forget that in listening to his lawyer’s +optimistic assurances. + +The actual beginning of the trial found almost all of the inhabitants +of this city of six hundred thousand “keyed up.” None of the women of +Cowperwood’s family were coming into court. He had insisted that there +should be no family demonstration for the newspapers to comment upon. +His father was coming, for he might be needed as a witness. Aileen had +written him the afternoon before saying she had returned from West +Chester and wishing him luck. She was so anxious to know what was to +become of him that she could not stay away any longer and had +returned—not to go to the courtroom, for he did not want her to do +that, but to be as near as possible when his fate was decided, +adversely or otherwise. She wanted to run and congratulate him if he +won, or to console with him if he lost. She felt that her return would +be likely to precipitate a collision with her father, but she could not +help that. + +The position of Mrs. Cowperwood was most anomalous. She had to go +through the formality of seeming affectionate and tender, even when she +knew that Frank did not want her to be. He felt instinctively now that +she knew of Aileen. He was merely awaiting the proper hour in which to +spread the whole matter before her. She put her arms around him at the +door on the fateful morning, in the somewhat formal manner into which +they had dropped these later years, and for a moment, even though she +was keenly aware of his difficulties, she could not kiss him. He did +not want to kiss her, but he did not show it. She did kiss him, though, +and added: “Oh, I do hope things come out all right.” + +“You needn’t worry about that, I think, Lillian,” he replied, +buoyantly. “I’ll be all right.” + +He ran down the steps and walked out on Girard Avenue to his former car +line, where he boarded a car. He was thinking of Aileen and how keenly +she was feeling for him, and what a mockery his married life now was, +and whether he would face a sensible jury, and so on and so forth. If +he didn’t—if he didn’t—this day was crucial! + +He stepped off the car at Third and Market and hurried to his office. +Steger was already there. “Well, Harper,” observed Cowperwood, +courageously, “today’s the day.” + +The Court of Quarter Sessions, Part I, where this trial was to take +place, was held in famous Independence Hall, at Sixth and Chestnut +Streets, which was at this time, as it had been for all of a century +before, the center of local executive and judicial life. It was a low +two-story building of red brick, with a white wooden central tower of +old Dutch and English derivation, compounded of the square, the circle, +and the octagon. The total structure consisted of a central portion and +two T-shaped wings lying to the right and left, whose small, +oval-topped old-fashioned windows and doors were set with those +many-paned sashes so much admired by those who love what is known as +Colonial architecture. Here, and in an addition known as State House +Row (since torn down), which extended from the rear of the building +toward Walnut Street, were located the offices of the mayor, the chief +of police, the city treasurer, the chambers of council, and all the +other important and executive offices of the city, together with the +four branches of Quarter Sessions, which sat to hear the growing docket +of criminal cases. The mammoth city hall which was subsequently +completed at Broad and Market Streets was then building. + +An attempt had been made to improve the reasonably large courtrooms by +putting in them raised platforms of dark walnut surmounted by large, +dark walnut desks, behind which the judges sat; but the attempt was not +very successful. The desks, jury-boxes, and railings generally were +made too large, and so the general effect was one of disproportion. A +cream-colored wall had been thought the appropriate thing to go with +black walnut furniture, but time and dust had made the combination +dreary. There were no pictures or ornaments of any kind, save the +stalky, over-elaborated gas-brackets which stood on his honor’s desk, +and the single swinging chandelier suspended from the center of the +ceiling. Fat bailiffs and court officers, concerned only in holding +their workless jobs, did not add anything to the spirit of the scene. +Two of them in the particular court in which this trial was held +contended hourly as to which should hand the judge a glass of water. +One preceded his honor like a fat, stuffy, dusty majordomo to and from +his dressing-room. His business was to call loudly, when the latter +entered, “His honor the Court, hats off. Everybody please rise,” while +a second bailiff, standing at the left of his honor when he was seated, +and between the jury-box and the witness-chair, recited in an +absolutely unintelligible way that beautiful and dignified statement of +collective society’s obligation to the constituent units, which begins, +“Hear ye! hear ye! hear ye!” and ends, “All those of you having just +cause for complaint draw near and ye shall be heard.” However, you +would have thought it was of no import here. Custom and indifference +had allowed it to sink to a mumble. A third bailiff guarded the door of +the jury-room; and in addition to these there were present a court +clerk—small, pale, candle-waxy, with colorless milk-and-water eyes, and +thin, pork-fat-colored hair and beard, who looked for all the world +like an Americanized and decidedly decrepit Chinese mandarin—and a +court stenographer. + +Judge Wilbur Payderson, a lean herring of a man, who had sat in this +case originally as the examining judge when Cowperwood had been +indicted by the grand jury, and who had bound him over for trial at +this term, was a peculiarly interesting type of judge, as judges go. He +was so meager and thin-blooded that he was arresting for those +qualities alone. Technically, he was learned in the law; actually, so +far as life was concerned, absolutely unconscious of that subtle +chemistry of things that transcends all written law and makes for the +spirit and, beyond that, the inutility of all law, as all wise judges +know. You could have looked at his lean, pedantic body, his frizzled +gray hair, his fishy, blue-gray eyes, without any depth of speculation +in them, and his nicely modeled but unimportant face, and told him that +he was without imagination; but he would not have believed you—would +have fined you for contempt of court. By the careful garnering of all +his little opportunities, the furbishing up of every meager advantage; +by listening slavishly to the voice of party, and following as nearly +as he could the behests of intrenched property, he had reached his +present state. It was not very far along, at that. His salary was only +six thousand dollars a year. His little fame did not extend beyond the +meager realm of local lawyers and judges. But the sight of his name +quoted daily as being about his duties, or rendering such and such a +decision, was a great satisfaction to him. He thought it made him a +significant figure in the world. “Behold I am not as other men,” he +often thought, and this comforted him. He was very much flattered when +a prominent case came to his calendar; and as he sat enthroned before +the various litigants and lawyers he felt, as a rule, very significant +indeed. Now and then some subtlety of life would confuse his really +limited intellect; but in all such cases there was the letter of the +law. He could hunt in the reports to find out what really thinking men +had decided. Besides, lawyers everywhere are so subtle. They put the +rules of law, favorable or unfavorable, under the judge’s thumb and +nose. “Your honor, in the thirty-second volume of the Revised Reports +of Massachusetts, page so and so, line so and so, in Arundel versus +Bannerman, you will find, etc.” How often have you heard that in a +court of law? The reasoning that is left to do in most cases is not +much. And the sanctity of the law is raised like a great banner by +which the pride of the incumbent is strengthened. + +Payderson, as Steger had indicated, could scarcely be pointed to as an +unjust judge. He was a party judge—Republican in principle, or rather +belief, beholden to the dominant party councils for his personal +continuance in office, and as such willing and anxious to do whatever +he considered that he reasonably could do to further the party welfare +and the private interests of his masters. Most people never trouble to +look into the mechanics of the thing they call their conscience too +closely. Where they do, too often they lack the skill to disentangle +the tangled threads of ethics and morals. Whatever the opinion of the +time is, whatever the weight of great interests dictates, that they +conscientiously believe. Some one has since invented the phrase “a +corporation-minded judge.” There are many such. + +Payderson was one. He fairly revered property and power. To him Butler +and Mollenhauer and Simpson were great men—reasonably sure to be right +always because they were so powerful. This matter of Cowperwood’s and +Stener’s defalcation he had long heard of. He knew by associating with +one political light and another just what the situation was. The party, +as the leaders saw it, had been put in a very bad position by +Cowperwood’s subtlety. He had led Stener astray—more than an ordinary +city treasurer should have been led astray—and, although Stener was +primarily guilty as the original mover in the scheme, Cowperwood was +more so for having led him imaginatively to such disastrous lengths. +Besides, the party needed a scapegoat—that was enough for Payderson, in +the first place. Of course, after the election had been won, and it +appeared that the party had not suffered so much, he did not understand +quite why it was that Cowperwood was still so carefully included in the +Proceedings; but he had faith to believe that the leaders had some just +grounds for not letting him off. From one source and another he learned +that Butler had some private grudge against Cowperwood. What it was no +one seemed to know exactly. The general impression was that Cowperwood +had led Butler into some unwholesome financial transactions. Anyhow, it +was generally understood that for the good of the party, and in order +to teach a wholesome lesson to dangerous subordinates—it had been +decided to allow these several indictments to take their course. +Cowperwood was to be punished quite as severely as Stener for the moral +effect on the community. Stener was to be sentenced the maximum +sentence for his crime in order that the party and the courts should +appear properly righteous. Beyond that he was to be left to the mercy +of the governor, who could ease things up for him if he chose, and if +the leaders wished. In the silly mind of the general public the various +judges of Quarter Sessions, like girls incarcerated in +boarding-schools, were supposed in their serene aloofness from life not +to know what was going on in the subterranean realm of politics; but +they knew well enough, and, knowing particularly well from whence came +their continued position and authority, they were duly grateful. + + + + +Chapter XL + + +When Cowperwood came into the crowded courtroom with his father and +Steger, quite fresh and jaunty (looking the part of the shrewd +financier, the man of affairs), every one stared. It was really too +much to expect, most of them thought, that a man like this would be +convicted. He was, no doubt, guilty; but, also, no doubt, he had ways +and means of evading the law. His lawyer, Harper Steger, looked very +shrewd and canny to them. It was very cold, and both men wore long, +dark, bluish-gray overcoats, cut in the latest mode. Cowperwood was +given to small boutonnieres in fair weather, but to-day he wore none. +His tie, however, was of heavy, impressive silk, of lavender hue, set +with a large, clear, green emerald. He wore only the thinnest of +watch-chains, and no other ornament of any kind. He always looked +jaunty and yet reserved, good-natured, and yet capable and +self-sufficient. Never had he looked more so than he did to-day. + +He at once took in the nature of the scene, which had a peculiar +interest for him. Before him was the as yet empty judge’s rostrum, and +at its right the empty jury-box, between which, and to the judge’s +left, as he sat facing the audience, stood the witness-chair where he +must presently sit and testify. Behind it, already awaiting the arrival +of the court, stood a fat bailiff, one John Sparkheaver whose business +it was to present the aged, greasy Bible to be touched by the witnesses +in making oath, and to say, “Step this way,” when the testimony was +over. There were other bailiffs—one at the gate giving into the railed +space before the judge’s desk, where prisoners were arraigned, lawyers +sat or pleaded, the defendant had a chair, and so on; another in the +aisle leading to the jury-room, and still another guarding the door by +which the public entered. Cowperwood surveyed Stener, who was one of +the witnesses, and who now, in his helpless fright over his own fate, +was without malice toward any one. He had really never borne any. He +wished if anything now that he had followed Cowperwood’s advice, seeing +where he now was, though he still had faith that Mollenhauer and the +political powers represented by him would do something for him with the +governor, once he was sentenced. He was very pale and comparatively +thin. Already he had lost that ruddy bulk which had been added during +the days of his prosperity. He wore a new gray suit and a brown tie, +and was clean-shaven. When his eye caught Cowperwood’s steady beam, it +faltered and drooped. He rubbed his ear foolishly. Cowperwood nodded. + +“You know,” he said to Steger, “I feel sorry for George. He’s such a +fool. Still I did all I could.” + +Cowperwood also watched Mrs. Stener out of the tail of his eye—an +undersized, peaked, and sallow little woman, whose clothes fitted her +abominably. It was just like Stener to marry a woman like that, he +thought. The scrubby matches of the socially unelect or unfit always +interested, though they did not always amuse, him. Mrs. Stener had no +affection for Cowperwood, of course, looking on him, as she did, as the +unscrupulous cause of her husband’s downfall. They were now quite poor +again, about to move from their big house into cheaper quarters; and +this was not pleasing for her to contemplate. + +Judge Payderson came in after a time, accompanied by his undersized but +stout court attendant, who looked more like a pouter-pigeon than a +human being; and as they came, Bailiff Sparkheaver rapped on the +judge’s desk, beside which he had been slumbering, and mumbled, “Please +rise!” The audience arose, as is the rule of all courts. Judge +Payderson stirred among a number of briefs that were lying on his desk, +and asked, briskly, “What’s the first case, Mr. Protus?” He was +speaking to his clerk. + +During the long and tedious arrangement of the day’s docket and while +the various minor motions of lawyers were being considered, this +courtroom scene still retained interest for Cowperwood. He was so eager +to win, so incensed at the outcome of untoward events which had brought +him here. He was always intensely irritated, though he did not show it, +by the whole process of footing delays and queries and quibbles, by +which legally the affairs of men were too often hampered. Law, if you +had asked him, and he had accurately expressed himself, was a mist +formed out of the moods and the mistakes of men, which befogged the sea +of life and prevented plain sailing for the little commercial and +social barques of men; it was a miasma of misinterpretation where the +ills of life festered, and also a place where the accidentally wounded +were ground between the upper and the nether millstones of force or +chance; it was a strange, weird, interesting, and yet futile battle of +wits where the ignorant and the incompetent and the shrewd and the +angry and the weak were made pawns and shuttlecocks for men—lawyers, +who were playing upon their moods, their vanities, their desires, and +their necessities. It was an unholy and unsatisfactory disrupting and +delaying spectacle, a painful commentary on the frailties of life, and +men, a trick, a snare, a pit and gin. In the hands of the strong, like +himself when he was at his best, the law was a sword and a shield, a +trap to place before the feet of the unwary; a pit to dig in the path +of those who might pursue. It was anything you might choose to make of +it—a door to illegal opportunity; a cloud of dust to be cast in the +eyes of those who might choose, and rightfully, to see; a veil to be +dropped arbitrarily between truth and its execution, justice and its +judgment, crime and punishment. Lawyers in the main were intellectual +mercenaries to be bought and sold in any cause. It amused him to hear +the ethical and emotional platitudes of lawyers, to see how readily +they would lie, steal, prevaricate, misrepresent in almost any cause +and for any purpose. Great lawyers were merely great unscrupulous +subtleties, like himself, sitting back in dark, close-woven lairs like +spiders and awaiting the approach of unwary human flies. Life was at +best a dark, inhuman, unkind, unsympathetic struggle built of cruelties +and the law, and its lawyers were the most despicable representatives +of the whole unsatisfactory mess. Still he used law as he would use any +other trap or weapon to rid him of a human ill; and as for lawyers, he +picked them up as he would any club or knife wherewith to defend +himself. He had no particular respect for any of them—not even Harper +Steger, though he liked him. They were tools to be used—knives, keys, +clubs, anything you will; but nothing more. When they were through they +were paid and dropped—put aside and forgotten. As for judges, they were +merely incompetent lawyers, at a rule, who were shelved by some +fortunate turn of chance, and who would not, in all likelihood, be as +efficient as the lawyers who pleaded before them if they were put in +the same position. He had no respect for judges—he knew too much about +them. He knew how often they were sycophants, political climbers, +political hacks, tools, time-servers, judicial door-mats lying before +the financially and politically great and powerful who used them as +such. Judges were fools, as were most other people in this dusty, +shifty world. Pah! His inscrutable eyes took them all in and gave no +sign. His only safety lay, he thought, in the magnificent subtley of +his own brain, and nowhere else. You could not convince Cowperwood of +any great or inherent virtue in this mortal scheme of things. He knew +too much; he knew himself. + +When the judge finally cleared away the various minor motions pending, +he ordered his clerk to call the case of the City of Philadelphia +versus Frank A. Cowperwood, which was done in a clear voice. Both +Dennis Shannon, the new district attorney, and Steger, were on their +feet at once. Steger and Cowperwood, together with Shannon and Strobik, +who had now come in and was standing as the representative of the State +of Pennsylvania—the complainant—had seated themselves at the long table +inside the railing which inclosed the space before the judge’s desk. +Steger proposed to Judge Payderson, for effect’s sake more than +anything else, that this indictment be quashed, but was overruled. + +A jury to try the case was now quickly impaneled—twelve men out of the +usual list called to serve for the month—and was then ready to be +challenged by the opposing counsel. The business of impaneling a jury +was a rather simple thing so far as this court was concerned. It +consisted in the mandarin-like clerk taking the names of all the jurors +called to serve in this court for the month—some fifty in all—and +putting them, each written on a separate slip of paper, in a whirling +drum, spinning it around a few times, and then lifting out the first +slip which his hand encountered, thus glorifying chance and settling on +who should be juror No. 1. His hand reaching in twelve times drew out +the names of the twelve jurymen, who as their names were called, were +ordered to take their places in the jury-box. + +Cowperwood observed this proceeding with a great deal of interest. What +could be more important than the men who were going to try him? The +process was too swift for accurate judgment, but he received a faint +impression of middle-class men. One man in particular, however, an old +man of sixty-five, with iron-gray hair and beard, shaggy eyebrows, +sallow complexion, and stooped shoulders, struck him as having that +kindness of temperament and breadth of experience which might under +certain circumstances be argumentatively swayed in his favor. Another, +a small, sharp-nosed, sharp-chinned commercial man of some kind, he +immediately disliked. + +“I hope I don’t have to have that man on my jury,” he said to Steger, +quietly. + +“You don’t,” replied Steger. “I’ll challenge him. We have the right to +fifteen peremptory challenges on a case like this, and so has the +prosecution.” + +When the jury-box was finally full, the two lawyers waited for the +clerk to bring them the small board upon which slips of paper bearing +the names of the twelve jurors were fastened in rows in order of their +selection—jurors one, two, and three being in the first row; four, +five, and six in the second, and so on. It being the prerogative of the +attorney for the prosecution to examine and challenge the jurors first, +Shannon arose, and, taking the board, began to question them as to +their trades or professions, their knowledge of the case before the +court, and their possible prejudice for or against the prisoner. + +It was the business of both Steger and Shannon to find men who knew a +little something of finance and could understand a peculiar situation +of this kind without any of them (looking at it from Steger’s point of +view) having any prejudice against a man’s trying to assist himself by +reasonable means to weather a financial storm or (looking at it from +Shannon’s point of view) having any sympathy with such means, if they +bore about them the least suspicion of chicanery, jugglery, or +dishonest manipulation of any kind. As both Shannon and Steger in due +course observed for themselves in connection with this jury, it was +composed of that assorted social fry which the dragnets of the courts, +cast into the ocean of the city, bring to the surface for purposes of +this sort. It was made up in the main of managers, agents, tradesmen, +editors, engineers, architects, furriers, grocers, traveling salesmen, +authors, and every other kind of working citizen whose experience had +fitted him for service in proceedings of this character. Rarely would +you have found a man of great distinction; but very frequently a group +of men who were possessed of no small modicum of that interesting +quality known as hard common sense. + +Throughout all this Cowperwood sat quietly examining the men. A young +florist, with a pale face, a wide speculative forehead, and anemic +hands, struck him as being sufficiently impressionable to his personal +charm to be worth while. He whispered as much to Steger. There was a +shrewd Jew, a furrier, who was challenged because he had read all of +the news of the panic and had lost two thousand dollars in +street-railway stocks. There was a stout wholesale grocer, with red +cheeks, blue eyes, and flaxen hair, who Cowperwood said he thought was +stubborn. He was eliminated. There was a thin, dapper manager of a +small retail clothing store, very anxious to be excused, who declared, +falsely, that he did not believe in swearing by the Bible. Judge +Payderson, eyeing him severely, let him go. There were some ten more in +all—men who knew of Cowperwood, men who admitted they were prejudiced, +men who were hidebound Republicans and resentful of this crime, men who +knew Stener—who were pleasantly eliminated. + +By twelve o’clock, however, a jury reasonably satisfactory to both +sides had been chosen. + + + + +Chapter XLI + + +At two o’clock sharp Dennis Shannon, as district attorney, began his +opening address. He stated in a very simple, kindly way—for he had a +most engaging manner—that the indictment as here presented charged Mr. +Frank A. Cowperwood, who was sitting at the table inside the jury-rail, +first with larceny, second with embezzlement, third with larceny as +bailee, and fourth with embezzlement of a certain sum of money—a +specific sum, to wit, sixty thousand dollars—on a check given him +(drawn to his order) October 9, 1871, which was intended to reimburse +him for a certain number of certificates of city loan, which he as +agent or bailee of the check was supposed to have purchased for the +city sinking-fund on the order of the city treasurer (under some form +of agreement which had been in existence between them, and which had +been in force for some time)—said fund being intended to take up such +certificates as they might mature in the hands of holders and be +presented for payment—for which purpose, however, the check in question +had never been used. + +“Now, gentlemen,” said Mr. Shannon, very quietly, “before we go into +this very simple question of whether Mr. Cowperwood did or did not on +the date in question get from the city treasurer sixty thousand +dollars, for which he made no honest return, let me explain to you just +what the people mean when they charge him first with larceny, second +with embezzlement, third with larceny as bailee, and fourth with +embezzlement on a check. Now, as you see, there are four counts here, +as we lawyers term them, and the reason there are four counts is as +follows: A man may be guilty of larceny and embezzlement at the same +time, or of larceny or embezzlement separately, and without being +guilty of the other, and the district attorney representing the people +might be uncertain, not that he was not guilty of both, but that it +might not be possible to present the evidence under one count, so as to +insure his adequate punishment for a crime which in a way involved +both. In such cases, gentlemen, it is customary to indict a man under +separate counts, as has been done in this case. Now, the four counts in +this case, in a way, overlap and confirm each other, and it will be +your duty, after we have explained their nature and character and +presented the evidence, to say whether the defendant is guilty on one +count or the other, or on two or three of the counts, or on all four, +just as you see fit and proper—or, to put it in a better way, as the +evidence warrants. Larceny, as you may or may not know, is the act of +taking away the goods or chattels of another without his knowledge or +consent, and embezzlement is the fraudulent appropriation to one’s own +use of what is intrusted to one’s care and management, especially +money. Larceny as bailee, on the other hand, is simply a more definite +form of larceny wherein one fixes the act of carrying away the goods of +another without his knowledge or consent on the person to whom the +goods were delivered in trust that is, the agent or bailee. +Embezzlement on a check, which constitutes the fourth charge, is simply +a more definite form of fixing charge number two in an exact way and +signifies appropriating the money on a check given for a certain +definite purpose. All of these charges, as you can see, gentlemen, are +in a way synonymous. They overlap and overlay each other. The people, +through their representative, the district attorney, contend that Mr. +Cowperwood, the defendant here, is guilty of all four charges. So now, +gentlemen, we will proceed to the history of this crime, which proves +to me as an individual that this defendant has one of the most subtle +and dangerous minds of the criminal financier type, and we hope by +witnesses to prove that to you, also.” + +Shannon, because the rules of evidence and court procedure here +admitted of no interruption of the prosecution in presenting a case, +then went on to describe from his own point of view how Cowperwood had +first met Stener; how he had wormed himself into his confidence; how +little financial knowledge Stener had, and so forth; coming down +finally to the day the check for sixty thousand dollars was given +Cowperwood; how Stener, as treasurer, claimed that he knew nothing of +its delivery, which constituted the base of the charge of larceny; how +Cowperwood, having it, misappropriated the certificates supposed to +have been purchased for the sinking-fund, if they were purchased at +all—all of which Shannon said constituted the crimes with which the +defendant was charged, and of which he was unquestionably guilty. + +“We have direct and positive evidence of all that we have thus far +contended, gentlemen,” Mr. Shannon concluded violently. “This is not a +matter of hearsay or theory, but of fact. You will be shown by direct +testimony which cannot be shaken just how it was done. If, after you +have heard all this, you still think this man is innocent—that he did +not commit the crimes with which he is charged—it is your business to +acquit him. On the other hand, if you think the witnesses whom we shall +put on the stand are telling the truth, then it is your business to +convict him, to find a verdict for the people as against the defendant. +I thank you for your attention.” + +The jurors stirred comfortably and took positions of ease, in which +they thought they were to rest for the time; but their idle comfort was +of short duration for Shannon now called out the name of George W. +Stener, who came hurrying forward very pale, very flaccid, very +tired-looking. His eyes, as he took his seat in the witness-chair, +laying his hand on the Bible and swearing to tell the truth, roved in a +restless, nervous manner. + +His voice was a little weak as he started to give his testimony. He +told first how he had met Cowperwood in the early months of 1866—he +could not remember the exact day; it was during his first term as city +treasurer—he had been elected to the office in the fall of 1864. He had +been troubled about the condition of city loan, which was below par, +and which could not be sold by the city legally at anything but par. +Cowperwood had been recommended to him by some one—Mr. Strobik, he +believed, though he couldn’t be sure. It was the custom of city +treasurers to employ brokers, or a broker, in a crisis of this kind, +and he was merely following what had been the custom. He went on to +describe, under steady promptings and questions from the incisive mind +of Shannon, just what the nature of this first conversation was—he +remembered it fairly well; how Mr. Cowperwood had said he thought he +could do what was wanted; how he had gone away and drawn up a plan or +thought one out; and how he had returned and laid it before Stener. +Under Shannon’s skillful guidance Stener elucidated just what this +scheme was—which wasn’t exactly so flattering to the honesty of men in +general as it was a testimonial to their subtlety and skill. + +After much discussion of Stener’s and Cowperwood’s relations the story +finally got down to the preceding October, when by reason of +companionship, long business understanding, mutually prosperous +relationship, etc., the place had been reached where, it was explained, +Cowperwood was not only handling several millions of city loan +annually, buying and selling for the city and trading in it generally, +but in the bargain had secured one five hundred thousand dollars’ worth +of city money at an exceedingly low rate of interest, which was being +invested for himself and Stener in profitable street-car ventures of +one kind and another. Stener was not anxious to be altogether clear on +this point; but Shannon, seeing that he was later to prosecute Stener +himself for this very crime of embezzlement, and that Steger would soon +follow in cross-examination, was not willing to let him be hazy. +Shannon wanted to fix Cowperwood in the minds of the jury as a clever, +tricky person, and by degrees he certainly managed to indicate a very +subtle-minded man. Occasionally, as one sharp point after another of +Cowperwood’s skill was brought out and made moderately clear, one juror +or another turned to look at Cowperwood. And he noting this and in +order to impress them all as favorably as possible merely gazed +Stenerward with a steady air of intelligence and comprehension. + +The examination now came down to the matter of the particular check for +sixty thousand dollars which Albert Stires had handed Cowperwood on the +afternoon—late—of October 9, 1871. Shannon showed Stener the check +itself. Had he ever seen it? Yes. Where? In the office of District +Attorney Pettie on October 20th, or thereabouts last. Was that the +first time he had seen it? Yes. Had he ever heard about it before then? +Yes. When? On October 10th last. Would he kindly tell the jury in his +own way just how and under what circumstances he first heard of it +then? Stener twisted uncomfortably in his chair. It was a hard thing to +do. It was not a pleasant commentary on his own character and degree of +moral stamina, to say the least. However, he cleared his throat again +and began a description of that small but bitter section of his life’s +drama in which Cowperwood, finding himself in a tight place and about +to fail, had come to him at his office and demanded that he loan him +three hundred thousand dollars more in one lump sum. + +There was considerable bickering just at this point between Steger and +Shannon, for the former was very anxious to make it appear that Stener +was lying out of the whole cloth about this. Steger got in his +objection at this point, and created a considerable diversion from the +main theme, because Stener kept saying he “thought” or he “believed.” + +“Object!” shouted Steger, repeatedly. “I move that that be stricken +from the record as incompetent, irrelevant, and immaterial. The witness +is not allowed to say what he thinks, and the prosecution knows it very +well.” + +“Your honor,” insisted Shannon, “I am doing the best I can to have the +witness tell a plain, straightforward story, and I think that it is +obvious that he is doing so.” + +“Object!” reiterated Steger, vociferously. “Your honor, I insist that +the district attorney has no right to prejudice the minds of the jury +by flattering estimates of the sincerity of the witness. What he thinks +of the witness and his sincerity is of no importance in this case. I +must ask that your honor caution him plainly in this matter.” + +“Objection sustained,” declared Judge Payderson, “the prosecution will +please be more explicit”; and Shannon went on with his case. + +Stener’s testimony, in one respect, was most important, for it made +plain what Cowperwood did not want brought out—namely, that he and +Stener had had a dispute before this; that Stener had distinctly told +Cowperwood that he would not loan him any more money; that Cowperwood +had told Stener, on the day before he secured this check, and again on +that very day, that he was in a very desperate situation financially, +and that if he were not assisted to the extent of three hundred +thousand dollars he would fail, and that then both he and Stener would +be ruined. On the morning of this day, according to Stener, he had sent +Cowperwood a letter ordering him to cease purchasing city loan +certificates for the sinking-fund. It was after their conversation on +the same afternoon that Cowperwood surreptitiously secured the check +for sixty thousand dollars from Albert Stires without his (Stener’s) +knowledge; and it was subsequent to this latter again that Stener, +sending Albert to demand the return of the check, was refused, though +the next day at five o’clock in the afternoon Cowperwood made an +assignment. And the certificates for which the check had been purloined +were not in the sinking-fund as they should have been. This was dark +testimony for Cowperwood. + +If any one imagines that all this was done without many vehement +objections and exceptions made and taken by Steger, and subsequently +when he was cross-examining Stener, by Shannon, he errs greatly. At +times the chamber was coruscating with these two gentlemen’s bitter +wrangles, and his honor was compelled to hammer his desk with his +gavel, and to threaten both with contempt of court, in order to bring +them to a sense of order. Indeed while Payderson was highly incensed, +the jury was amused and interested. + +“You gentlemen will have to stop this, or I tell you now that you will +both be heavily fined. This is a court of law, not a bar-room. Mr. +Steger, I expect you to apologize to me and your colleague at once. Mr. +Shannon, I must ask that you use less aggressive methods. Your manner +is offensive to me. It is not becoming to a court of law. I will not +caution either of you again.” + +Both lawyers apologized as lawyers do on such occasions, but it really +made but little difference. Their individual attitudes and moods +continued about as before. + +“What did he say to you,” asked Shannon of Stener, after one of these +troublesome interruptions, “on that occasion, October 9th last, when he +came to you and demanded the loan of an additional three hundred +thousand dollars? Give his words as near as you can remember—exactly, +if possible.” + +“Object!” interposed Steger, vigorously. “His exact words are not +recorded anywhere except in Mr. Stener’s memory, and his memory of them +cannot be admitted in this case. The witness has testified to the +general facts.” + +Judge Payderson smiled grimly. “Objection overruled,” he returned. + +“Exception!” shouted Steger. + +“He said, as near as I can remember,” replied Stener, drumming on the +arms of the witness-chair in a nervous way, “that if I didn’t give him +three hundred thousand dollars he was going to fail, and I would be +poor and go to the penitentiary.” + +“Object!” shouted Stager, leaping to his feet. “Your honor, I object to +the whole manner in which this examination is being conducted by the +prosecution. The evidence which the district attorney is here trying to +extract from the uncertain memory of the witness is in defiance of all +law and precedent, and has no definite bearing on the facts of the +case, and could not disprove or substantiate whether Mr. Cowperwood +thought or did not think that he was going to fail. Mr. Stener might +give one version of this conversation or any conversation that took +place at this time, and Mr. Cowperwood another. As a matter of fact, +their versions are different. I see no point in Mr. Shannon’s line of +inquiry, unless it is to prejudice the jury’s minds towards accepting +certain allegations which the prosecution is pleased to make and which +it cannot possibly substantiate. I think you ought to caution the +witness to testify only in regard to things that he recalls exactly, +not to what he thinks he remembers; and for my part I think that all +that has been testified to in the last five minutes might be well +stricken out.” + +“Objection overruled,” replied Judge Payderson, rather indifferently; +and Steger who had been talking merely to overcome the weight of +Stener’s testimony in the minds of the jury, sat down. + +Shannon once more approached Stener. + +“Now, as near as you can remember, Mr. Stener, I wish you would tell +the jury what else it was that Mr. Cowperwood said on that occasion. He +certainly didn’t stop with the remark that you would be ruined and go +to the penitentiary. Wasn’t there other language that was employed on +that occasion?” + +“He said, as far as I can remember,” replied Stener, “that there were a +lot of political schemers who were trying to frighten me, that if I +didn’t give him three hundred thousand dollars we would both be ruined, +and that I might as well be tried for stealing a sheep as a lamb.” + +“Ha!” yelled Shannon. “He said that, did he?” + +“Yes, sir; he did,” said Stener. + +“How did he say it, exactly? What were his exact words?” Shannon +demanded, emphatically, pointing a forceful forefinger at Stener in +order to key him up to a clear memory of what had transpired. + +“Well, as near as I can remember, he said just that,” replied Stener, +vaguely. “You might as well be tried for stealing a sheep as a lamb.” + +“Exactly!” exclaimed Shannon, whirling around past the jury to look at +Cowperwood. “I thought so.” + +“Pure pyrotechnics, your honor,” said Steger, rising to his feet on the +instant. “All intended to prejudice the minds of the jury. Acting. I +wish you would caution the counsel for the prosecution to confine +himself to the evidence in hand, and not act for the benefit of his +case.” + +The spectators smiled; and Judge Payderson, noting it, frowned +severely. “Do you make that as an objection, Mr. Steger?” he asked. + +“I certainly do, your honor,” insisted Steger, resourcefully. + +“Objection overruled. Neither counsel for the prosecution nor for the +defense is limited to a peculiar routine of expression.” + +Steger himself was ready to smile, but he did not dare to. + +Cowperwood fearing the force of such testimony and regretting it, still +looked at Stener, pityingly. The feebleness of the man; the weakness of +the man; the pass to which his cowardice had brought them both! + +When Shannon was through bringing out this unsatisfactory data, Steger +took Stener in hand; but he could not make as much out of him as he +hoped. In so far as this particular situation was concerned, Stener was +telling the exact truth; and it is hard to weaken the effect of the +exact truth by any subtlety of interpretation, though it can, +sometimes, be done. With painstaking care Steger went over all the +ground of Stener’s long relationship with Cowperwood, and tried to make +it appear that Cowperwood was invariably the disinterested agent—not +the ringleader in a subtle, really criminal adventure. It was hard to +do, but he made a fine impression. Still the jury listened with +skeptical minds. It might not be fair to punish Cowperwood for seizing +with avidity upon a splendid chance to get rich quick, they thought; +but it certainly was not worth while to throw a veil of innocence over +such palpable human cupidity. Finally, both lawyers were through with +Stener for the time being, anyhow, and then Albert Stires was called to +the stand. + +He was the same thin, pleasant, alert, rather agreeable soul that he +had been in the heyday of his clerkly prosperity—a little paler now, +but not otherwise changed. His small property had been saved for him by +Cowperwood, who had advised Steger to inform the Municipal Reform +Association that Stires’ bondsmen were attempting to sequestrate it for +their own benefit, when actually it should go to the city if there were +any real claim against him—which there was not. That watchful +organization had issued one of its numerous reports covering this +point, and Albert had had the pleasure of seeing Strobik and the others +withdraw in haste. Naturally he was grateful to Cowperwood, even though +once he had been compelled to cry in vain in his presence. He was +anxious now to do anything he could to help the banker, but his +naturally truthful disposition prevented him from telling anything +except the plain facts, which were partly beneficial and partly not. + +Stires testified that he recalled Cowperwood’s saying that he had +purchased the certificates, that he was entitled to the money, that +Stener was unduly frightened, and that no harm would come to him, +Albert. He identified certain memoranda in the city treasurer’s books, +which were produced, as being accurate, and others in Cowperwood’s +books, which were also produced, as being corroborative. His testimony +as to Stener’s astonishment on discovering that his chief clerk had +given Cowperwood a check was against the latter; but Cowperwood hoped +to overcome the effect of this by his own testimony later. + +Up to now both Steger and Cowperwood felt that they were doing fairly +well, and that they need not be surprised if they won their case. + + + + +Chapter XLII + + +The trial moved on. One witness for the prosecution after another +followed until the State had built up an arraignment that satisfied +Shannon that he had established Cowperwood’s guilt, whereupon he +announced that he rested. Steger at once arose and began a long +argument for the dismissal of the case on the ground that there was no +evidence to show this, that and the other, but Judge Payderson would +have none of it. He knew how important the matter was in the local +political world. + +“I don’t think you had better go into all that now, Mr. Steger,” he +said, wearily, after allowing him to proceed a reasonable distance. “I +am familiar with the custom of the city, and the indictment as here +made does not concern the custom of the city. Your argument is with the +jury, not with me. I couldn’t enter into that now. You may renew your +motion at the close of the defendants’ case. Motion denied.” + +District-Attorney Shannon, who had been listening attentively, sat +down. Steger, seeing there was no chance to soften the judge’s mind by +any subtlety of argument, returned to Cowperwood, who smiled at the +result. + +“We’ll just have to take our chances with the jury,” he announced. + +“I was sure of it,” replied Cowperwood. + +Steger then approached the jury, and, having outlined the case briefly +from his angle of observation, continued by telling them what he was +sure the evidence would show from his point of view. + +“As a matter of fact, gentlemen, there is no essential difference in +the evidence which the prosecution can present and that which we, the +defense, can present. We are not going to dispute that Mr. Cowperwood +received a check from Mr. Stener for sixty thousand dollars, or that he +failed to put the certificate of city loan which that sum of money +represented, and to which he was entitled in payment as agent, in the +sinking-fund, as the prosecution now claims he should have done; but we +are going to claim and prove also beyond the shadow of a reasonable +doubt that he had a right, as the agent of the city, doing business +with the city through its treasury department for four years, to +withhold, under an agreement which he had with the city treasurer, all +payments of money and all deposits of certificates in the sinking-fund +until the first day of each succeeding month—the first month following +any given transaction. As a matter of fact we can and will bring many +traders and bankers who have had dealings with the city treasury in the +past in just this way to prove this. The prosecution is going to ask +you to believe that Mr. Cowperwood knew at the time he received this +check that he was going to fail; that he did not buy the certificates, +as he claimed, with the view of placing them in the sinking-fund; and +that, knowing he was going to fail, and that he could not subsequently +deposit them, he deliberately went to Mr. Albert Stires, Mr. Stener’s +secretary, told him that he had purchased such certificates, and on the +strength of a falsehood, implied if not actually spoken, secured the +check, and walked away. + +“Now, gentlemen, I am not going to enter into a long-winded discussion +of these points at this time, since the testimony is going to show very +rapidly what the facts are. We have a number of witnesses here, and we +are all anxious to have them heard. What I am going to ask you to +remember is that there is not one scintilla of testimony outside of +that which may possibly be given by Mr. George W. Stener, which will +show either that Mr. Cowperwood knew, at the time he called on the city +treasurer, that he was going to fail, or that he had not purchased the +certificates in question, or that he had not the right to withhold them +from the sinking-fund as long as he pleased up to the first of the +month, the time he invariably struck a balance with the city. Mr. +Stener, the ex-city treasurer, may possibly testify one way. Mr. +Cowperwood, on his own behalf, will testify another. It will then be +for you gentlemen to decide between them, to decide which one you +prefer to believe—Mr. George W. Stener, the ex-city treasurer, the +former commercial associate of Mr. Cowperwood, who, after years and +years of profit, solely because of conditions of financial stress, +fire, and panic, preferred to turn on his one-time associate from whose +labors he had reaped so much profit, or Mr. Frank A. Cowperwood, the +well-known banker and financier, who did his best to weather the storm +alone, who fulfilled to the letter every agreement he ever had with the +city, who has even until this hour been busy trying to remedy the +unfair financial difficulties forced upon him by fire and panic, and +who only yesterday made an offer to the city that, if he were allowed +to continue in uninterrupted control of his affairs he would gladly +repay as quickly as possible every dollar of his indebtedness (which is +really not all his), including the five hundred thousand dollars under +discussion between him and Mr. Stener and the city, and so prove by his +works, not talk, that there was no basis for this unfair suspicion of +his motives. As you perhaps surmise, the city has not chosen to accept +his offer, and I shall try and tell you why later, gentlemen. For the +present we will proceed with the testimony, and for the defense all I +ask is that you give very close attention to all that is testified to +here to-day. Listen very carefully to Mr. W. C. Davison when he is put +on the stand. Listen equally carefully to Mr. Cowperwood when we call +him to testify. Follow the other testimony closely, and then you will +be able to judge for yourselves. See if you can distinguish a just +motive for this prosecution. I can’t. I am very much obliged to you for +listening to me, gentlemen, so attentively.” + +He then put on Arthur Rivers, who had acted for Cowperwood on ’change +as special agent during the panic, to testify to the large quantities +of city loan he had purchased to stay the market; and then after him, +Cowperwood’s brothers, Edward and Joseph, who testified to instructions +received from Rivers as to buying and selling city loan on that +occasion—principally buying. + +The next witness was President W. C. Davison of the Girard National +Bank. He was a large man physically, not so round of body as full and +broad. His shoulders and chest were ample. He had a big blond head, +with an ample breadth of forehead, which was high and sane-looking. He +had a thick, squat nose, which, however, was forceful, and thin, firm, +even lips. There was the faintest touch of cynical humor in his hard +blue eyes at times; but mostly he was friendly, alert, placid-looking, +without seeming in the least sentimental or even kindly. His business, +as one could see plainly, was to insist on hard financial facts, and +one could see also how he would naturally be drawn to Frank Algernon +Cowperwood without being mentally dominated or upset by him. As he took +the chair very quietly, and yet one might say significantly, it was +obvious that he felt that this sort of legal-financial palaver was +above the average man and beneath the dignity of a true financier—in +other words, a bother. The drowsy Sparkheaver holding up a Bible beside +him for him to swear by might as well have been a block of wood. His +oath was a personal matter with him. It was good business to tell the +truth at times. His testimony was very direct and very simple. + +He had known Mr. Frank Algernon Cowperwood for nearly ten years. He had +done business with or through him nearly all of that time. He knew +nothing of his personal relations with Mr. Stener, and did not know Mr. +Stener personally. As for the particular check of sixty thousand +dollars—yes, he had seen it before. It had come into the bank on +October 10th along with other collateral to offset an overdraft on the +part of Cowperwood & Co. It was placed to the credit of Cowperwood & +Co. on the books of the bank, and the bank secured the cash through the +clearing-house. No money was drawn out of the bank by Cowperwood & Co. +after that to create an overdraft. The bank’s account with Cowperwood +was squared. + +Nevertheless, Mr. Cowperwood might have drawn heavily, and nothing +would have been thought of it. Mr. Davison did not know that Mr. +Cowperwood was going to fail—did not suppose that he could, so quickly. +He had frequently overdrawn his account with the bank; as a matter of +fact, it was the regular course of his business to overdraw it. It kept +his assets actively in use, which was the height of good business. His +overdrafts were protected by collateral, however, and it was his custom +to send bundles of collateral or checks, or both, which were variously +distributed to keep things straight. Mr. Cowperwood’s account was the +largest and most active in the bank, Mr. Davison kindly volunteered. +When Mr. Cowperwood had failed there had been over ninety thousand +dollars’ worth of certificates of city loan in the bank’s possession +which Mr Cowperwood had sent there as collateral. Shannon, on +cross-examination, tried to find out for the sake of the effect on the +jury, whether Mr. Davison was not for some ulterior motive especially +favorable to Cowperwood. It was not possible for him to do that. Steger +followed, and did his best to render the favorable points made by Mr. +Davison in Cowperwood’s behalf perfectly clear to the jury by having +him repeat them. Shannon objected, of course, but it was of no use. +Steger managed to make his point. + +He now decided to have Cowperwood take the stand, and at the mention of +his name in this connection the whole courtroom bristled. + +Cowperwood came forward briskly and quickly. He was so calm, so jaunty, +so defiant of life, and yet so courteous to it. These lawyers, this +jury, this straw-and-water judge, these machinations of fate, did not +basically disturb or humble or weaken him. He saw through the mental +equipment of the jury at once. He wanted to assist his counsel in +disturbing and confusing Shannon, but his reason told him that only an +indestructible fabric of fact or seeming would do it. He believed in +the financial rightness of the thing he had done. He was entitled to do +it. Life was war—particularly financial life; and strategy was its +keynote, its duty, its necessity. Why should he bother about petty, +picayune minds which could not understand this? He went over his +history for Steger and the jury, and put the sanest, most comfortable +light on it that he could. He had not gone to Mr. Stener in the first +place, he said—he had been called. He had not urged Mr. Stener to +anything. He had merely shown him and his friends financial +possibilities which they were only too eager to seize upon. And they +had seized upon them. (It was not possible for Shannon to discover at +this period how subtly he had organized his street-car companies so +that he could have “shaken out” Stener and his friends without their +being able to voice a single protest, so he talked of these things as +opportunities which he had made for Stener and others. Shannon was not +a financier, neither was Steger. They had to believe in a way, though +they doubted it, partly—particularly Shannon.) He was not responsible +for the custom prevailing in the office of the city treasurer, he said. +He was a banker and broker. + +The jury looked at him, and believed all except this matter of the +sixty-thousand-dollar check. When it came to that he explained it all +plausibly enough. When he had gone to see Stener those several last +days, he had not fancied that he was really going to fail. He had asked +Stener for some money, it is true—not so very much, all things +considered—one hundred and fifty thousand dollars; but, as Stener +should have testified, he (Cowperwood) was not disturbed in his manner. +Stener had merely been one resource of his. He was satisfied at that +time that he had many others. He had not used the forceful language or +made the urgent appeal which Stener said he had, although he had +pointed out to Stener that it was a mistake to become panic-stricken, +also to withhold further credit. It was true that Stener was his +easiest, his quickest resource, but not his only one. He thought, as a +matter of fact, that his credit would be greatly extended by his +principal money friends if necessary, and that he would have ample time +to patch up his affairs and keep things going until the storm should +blow over. He had told Stener of his extended purchase of city loan to +stay the market on the first day of the panic, and of the fact that +sixty thousand dollars was due him. Stener had made no objection. It +was just possible that he was too mentally disturbed at the time to pay +close attention. After that, to his, Cowperwood’s, surprise, unexpected +pressure on great financial houses from unexpected directions had +caused them to be not willingly but unfortunately severe with him. This +pressure, coming collectively the next day, had compelled him to close +his doors, though he had not really expected to up to the last moment. +His call for the sixty-thousand-dollar check at the time had been +purely fortuitous. He needed the money, of course, but it was due him, +and his clerks were all very busy. He merely asked for and took it +personally to save time. Stener knew if it had been refused him he +would have brought suit. The matter of depositing city loan +certificates in the sinking-fund, when purchased for the city, was +something to which he never gave any personal attention whatsoever. His +bookkeeper, Mr. Stapley, attended to all that. He did not know, as a +matter of fact, that they had not been deposited. (This was a barefaced +lie. He did know.) As for the check being turned over to the Girard +National Bank, that was fortuitous. It might just as well have been +turned over to some other bank if the conditions had been different. + +Thus on and on he went, answering all of Steger’s and Shannon’s +searching questions with the most engaging frankness, and you could +have sworn from the solemnity with which he took it all—the serious +business attention—that he was the soul of so-called commercial honor. +And to say truly, he did believe in the justice as well as the +necessity and the importance of all that he had done and now described. +He wanted the jury to see it as he saw it—put itself in his place and +sympathize with him. + +He was through finally, and the effect on the jury of his testimony and +his personality was peculiar. Philip Moultrie, juror No. 1, decided +that Cowperwood was lying. He could not see how it was possible that he +could not know the day before that he was going to fail. He must have +known, he thought. Anyhow, the whole series of transactions between him +and Stener seemed deserving of some punishment, and all during this +testimony he was thinking how, when he got in the jury-room, he would +vote guilty. He even thought of some of the arguments he would use to +convince the others that Cowperwood was guilty. Juror No. 2, on the +contrary, Simon Glassberg, a clothier, thought he understood how it all +came about, and decided to vote for acquittal. He did not think +Cowperwood was innocent, but he did not think he deserved to be +punished. Juror No. 3, Fletcher Norton, an architect, thought +Cowperwood was guilty, but at the same time that he was too talented to +be sent to prison. Juror No. 4, Charles Hillegan, an Irishman, a +contractor, and a somewhat religious-minded person, thought Cowperwood +was guilty and ought to be punished. Juror No. 5, Philip Lukash, a coal +merchant, thought he was guilty. Juror No. 6, Benjamin Fraser, a mining +expert, thought he was probably guilty, but he could not be sure. +Uncertain what he would do, juror No. 7, J. J. Bridges, a broker in +Third Street, small, practical, narrow, thought Cowperwood was shrewd +and guilty and deserved to be punished. He would vote for his +punishment. Juror No. 8, Guy E. Tripp, general manager of a small +steamboat company, was uncertain. Juror No. 9, Joseph Tisdale, a +retired glue manufacturer, thought Cowperwood was probably guilty as +charged, but to Tisdale it was no crime. Cowperwood was entitled to do +as he had done under the circumstances. Tisdale would vote for his +acquittal. Juror No. 10, Richard Marsh, a young florist, was for +Cowperwood in a sentimental way. He had, as a matter of fact, no real +convictions. Juror No. 11, Richard Webber, a grocer, small financially, +but heavy physically, was for Cowperwood’s conviction. He thought him +guilty. Juror No. 12, Washington B. Thomas, a wholesale flour merchant, +thought Cowperwood was guilty, but believed in a recommendation to +mercy after pronouncing him so. Men ought to be reformed, was his +slogan. + +So they stood, and so Cowperwood left them, wondering whether any of +his testimony had had a favorable effect. + + + + +Chapter XLIII + + +Since it is the privilege of the lawyer for the defense to address the +jury first, Steger bowed politely to his colleague and came forward. +Putting his hands on the jury-box rail, he began in a very quiet, +modest, but impressive way: + +“Gentlemen of the jury, my client, Mr. Frank Algernon Cowperwood, a +well-known banker and financier of this city, doing business in Third +Street, is charged by the State of Pennsylvania, represented by the +district attorney of this district, with fraudulently transferring from +the treasury of the city of Philadelphia to his own purse the sum of +sixty thousand dollars, in the form of a check made out to his order, +dated October 9, 1871, and by him received from one Albert Stires, the +private secretary and head bookkeeper of the treasurer of this city, at +the time in question. Now, gentlemen, what are the facts in this +connection? You have heard the various witnesses and know the general +outlines of the story. Take the testimony of George W. Stener, to begin +with. He tells you that sometime back in the year 1866 he was greatly +in need of some one, some banker or broker, who would tell him how to +bring city loan, which was selling very low at the time, to par—who +would not only tell him this, but proceed to demonstrate that his +knowledge was accurate by doing it. Mr. Stener was an inexperienced man +at the time in the matter of finance. Mr. Cowperwood was an active +young man with an enviable record as a broker and a trader on ’change. +He proceeded to demonstrate to Mr. Stener not only in theory, but in +fact, how this thing of bringing city loan to par could be done. He +made an arrangement at that time with Mr. Stener, the details of which +you have heard from Mr. Stener himself, the result of which was that a +large amount of city loan was turned over to Mr. Cowperwood by Mr. +Stener for sale, and by adroit manipulation—methods of buying and +selling which need not be gone into here, but which are perfectly sane +and legitimate in the world in which Mr. Cowperwood operated, did bring +that loan to par, and kept it there year after year as you have all +heard here testified to. + +“Now what is the bone of contention here, gentlemen, the significant +fact which brings Mr. Stener into this court at this time charging his +old-time agent and broker with larceny and embezzlement, and alleging +that he has transferred to his own use without a shadow of return sixty +thousand dollars of the money which belongs to the city treasury? What +is it? Is it that Mr. Cowperwood secretly, with great stealth, as it +were, at some time or other, unknown to Mr. Stener or to his +assistants, entered the office of the treasurer and forcibly, and with +criminal intent, carried away sixty thousand dollars’ worth of the +city’s money? Not at all. The charge is, as you have heard the district +attorney explain, that Mr. Cowperwood came in broad daylight at between +four and five o’clock of the afternoon preceeding the day of his +assignment; was closeted with Mr. Stener for a half or three-quarters +of an hour; came out; explained to Mr. Albert Stires that he had +recently bought sixty thousand dollars’ worth of city loan for the city +sinking-fund, for which he had not been paid; asked that the amount be +credited on the city’s books to him, and that he be given a check, +which was his due, and walked out. Anything very remarkable about that, +gentlemen? Anything very strange? Has it been testified here to-day +that Mr. Cowperwood was not the agent of the city for the transaction +of just such business as he said on that occasion that he had +transacted? Did any one say here on the witness-stand that he had not +bought city loan as he said he had? + +“Why is it then that Mr. Stener charges Mr. Cowperwood with larcenously +securing and feloniously disposing of a check for sixty thousand +dollars for certificates which he had a right to buy, and which it has +not been contested here that he did buy? The reason lies just +here—listen—just here. At the time my client asked for the check and +took it away with him and deposited it in his own bank to his own +account, he failed, so the prosecution insists, to put the sixty +thousand dollars’ worth of certificates for which he had received the +check, in the sinking-fund; and having failed to do that, and being +compelled by the pressure of financial events the same day to suspend +payment generally, he thereby, according to the prosecution and the +anxious leaders of the Republican party in the city, became an +embezzler, a thief, a this or that—anything you please so long as you +find a substitute for George W. Stener and the indifferent leaders of +the Republican party in the eyes of the people.” + +And here Mr. Steger proceeded boldly and defiantly to outline the +entire political situation as it had manifested itself in connection +with the Chicago fire, the subsequent panic and its political +consequences, and to picture Cowperwood as the unjustly maligned agent, +who before the fire was valuable and honorable enough to suit any of +the political leaders of Philadelphia, but afterward, and when +political defeat threatened, was picked upon as the most available +scapegoat anywhere within reach. + +And it took him a half hour to do that. And afterward but only after he +had pointed to Stener as the true henchman and stalking horse, who had, +in turn, been used by political forces above him to accomplish certain +financial results, which they were not willing to have ascribed to +themselves, he continued with: + +“But now, in the light of all this, only see how ridiculous all this +is! How silly! Frank A. Cowperwood had always been the agent of the +city in these matters for years and years. He worked under certain +rules which he and Mr. Stener had agreed upon in the first place, and +which obviously came from others, who were above Mr. Stener, since they +were hold-over customs and rules from administrations, which had been +long before Mr. Stener ever appeared on the scene as city treasurer. +One of them was that he could carry all transactions over until the +first of the month following before he struck a balance. That is, he +need not pay any money over for anything to the city treasurer, need +not send him any checks or deposit any money or certificates in the +sinking-fund until the first of the month because—now listen to this +carefully, gentlemen; it is important—because his transactions in +connection with city loan and everything else that he dealt in for the +city treasurer were so numerous, so swift, so uncalculated beforehand, +that he had to have a loose, easy system of this kind in order to do +his work properly—to do business at all. Otherwise he could not very +well have worked to the best advantage for Mr. Stener, or for any one +else. It would have meant too much bookkeeping for him—too much for the +city treasurer. Mr. Stener has testified to that in the early part of +his story. Albert Stires has indicated that that was his understanding +of it. Well, then what? Why, just this. Would any jury suppose, would +any sane business man believe that if such were the case Mr. Cowperwood +would be running personally with all these items of deposit, to the +different banks or the sinking-fund or the city treasurer’s office, or +would be saying to his head bookkeeper, ‘Here, Stapley, here is a check +for sixty thousand dollars. See that the certificates of loan which +this represents are put in the sinking-fund to-day’? And why not? What +a ridiculous supposition any other supposition is! As a matter of +course and as had always been the case, Mr. Cowperwood had a system. +When the time came, this check and these certificates would be +automatically taken care of. He handed his bookkeeper the check and +forgot all about it. Would you imagine a banker with a vast business of +this kind doing anything else?” + +Mr. Steger paused for breath and inquiry, and then, having satisfied +himself that his point had been sufficiently made, he continued: + +“Of course the answer is that he knew he was going to fail. Well, Mr. +Cowperwood’s reply is that he didn’t know anything of the sort. He has +personally testified here that it was only at the last moment before it +actually happened that he either thought or knew of such an occurrence. +Why, then, this alleged refusal to let him have the check to which he +was legally entitled? I think I know. I think I can give a reason if +you will hear me out.” + +Steger shifted his position and came at the jury from another +intellectual angle: + +“It was simply because Mr. George W. Stener at that time, owing to a +recent notable fire and a panic, imagined for some reason—perhaps +because Mr. Cowperwood cautioned him not to become frightened over +local developments generally—that Mr. Cowperwood was going to close his +doors; and having considerable money on deposit with him at a low rate +of interest, Mr. Stener decided that Mr. Cowperwood must not have any +more money—not even the money that was actually due him for services +rendered, and that had nothing whatsoever to do with the money loaned +him by Mr. Stener at two and one-half per cent. Now isn’t that a +ridiculous situation? But it was because Mr. George W. Stener was +filled with his own fears, based on a fire and a panic which had +absolutely nothing to do with Mr. Cowperwood’s solvency in the +beginning that he decided not to let Frank A. Cowperwood have the money +that was actually due him, because he, Stener, was criminally using the +city’s money to further his own private interests (through Mr. +Cowperwood as a broker), and in danger of being exposed and possibly +punished. Now where, I ask you, does the good sense of that decision +come in? Is it apparent to you, gentlemen? Was Mr. Cowperwood still an +agent for the city at the time he bought the loan certificates as here +testified? He certainly was. If so, was he entitled to that money? Who +is going to stand up here and deny it? Where is the question then, as +to his right or his honesty in this matter? How does it come in here at +all? I can tell you. It sprang solely from one source and from nowhere +else, and that is the desire of the politicians of this city to find a +scapegoat for the Republican party. + +“Now you may think I am going rather far afield for an explanation of +this very peculiar decision to prosecute Mr. Cowperwood, an agent of +the city, for demanding and receiving what actually belonged to him. +But I’m not. Consider the position of the Republican party at that +time. Consider the fact that an exposure of the truth in regard to the +details of a large defalcation in the city treasury would have a very +unsatisfactory effect on the election about to be held. The Republican +party had a new city treasurer to elect, a new district attorney. It +had been in the habit of allowing its city treasurers the privilege of +investing the funds in their possession at a low rate of interest for +the benefit of themselves and their friends. Their salaries were small. +They had to have some way of eking out a reasonable existence. Was Mr. +George Stener responsible for this custom of loaning out the city +money? Not at all. Was Mr. Cowperwood? Not at all. The custom had been +in vogue long before either Mr. Cowperwood or Mr. Stener came on the +scene. Why, then, this great hue and cry about it now? The entire +uproar sprang solely from the fear of Mr. Stener at this juncture, the +fear of the politicians at this juncture, of public exposure. No city +treasurer had ever been exposed before. It was a new thing to face +exposure, to face the risk of having the public’s attention called to a +rather nefarious practice of which Mr. Stener was taking advantage, +that was all. A great fire and a panic were endangering the security +and well-being of many a financial organization in the city—Mr. +Cowperwood’s among others. It meant many possible failures, and many +possible failures meant one possible failure. If Frank A. Cowperwood +failed, he would fail owing the city of Philadelphia five hundred +thousand dollars, borrowed from the city treasurer at the very low rate +of interest of two and one-half per cent. Anything very detrimental to +Mr. Cowperwood in that? Had he gone to the city treasurer and asked to +be loaned money at two and one-half per cent.? If he had, was there +anything criminal in it from a business point of view? Isn’t a man +entitled to borrow money from any source he can at the lowest possible +rate of interest? Did Mr. Stener have to loan it to Mr. Cowperwood if +he did not want to? As a matter of fact didn’t he testify here to-day +that he personally had sent for Mr. Cowperwood in the first place? Why, +then, in Heaven’s name, this excited charge of larceny, larceny as +bailee, embezzlement, embezzlement on a check, etc., etc.? + +“Once more, gentlemen, listen. I’ll tell you why. The men who stood +behind Stener, and whose bidding he was doing, wanted to make a +political scapegoat of some one—of Frank Algernon Cowperwood, if they +couldn’t get any one else. That’s why. No other reason under God’s blue +sky, not one. Why, if Mr. Cowperwood needed more money just at that +time to tide him over, it would have been good policy for them to have +given it to him and hushed this matter up. It would have been +illegal—though not any more illegal than anything else that has ever +been done in this connection—but it would have been safer. Fear, +gentlemen, fear, lack of courage, inability to meet a great crisis when +a great crisis appears, was all that really prevented them from doing +this. They were afraid to place confidence in a man who had never +heretofore betrayed their trust and from whose loyalty and great +financial ability they and the city had been reaping large profits. The +reigning city treasurer of the time didn’t have the courage to go on in +the face of fire and panic and the rumors of possible failure, and +stick by his illegal guns; and so he decided to draw in his horns as +testified here to-day—to ask Mr. Cowperwood to return all or at least a +big part of the five hundred thousand dollars he had loaned him, and +which Cowperwood had been actually using for his, Stener’s benefit, and +to refuse him in addition the money that was actually due him for an +authorized purchase of city loan. Was Cowperwood guilty as an agent in +any of these transactions? Not in the least. Was there any suit pending +to make him return the five hundred thousand dollars of city money +involved in his present failure? Not at all. It was simply a case of +wild, silly panic on the part of George W. Stener, and a strong desire +on the part of the Republican party leaders, once they discovered what +the situation was, to find some one outside of Stener, the party +treasurer, upon whom they could blame the shortage in the treasury. You +heard what Mr. Cowperwood testified to here in this case to-day—that he +went to Mr. Stener to forfend against any possible action of this kind +in the first place. And it was because of this very warning that Mr. +Stener became wildly excited, lost his head, and wanted Mr. Cowperwood +to return him all his money, all the five hundred thousand dollars he +had loaned him at two and one-half per cent. Isn’t that silly financial +business at the best? Wasn’t that a fine time to try to call a +perfectly legal loan? + +“But now to return to this particular check of sixty thousand dollars. +When Mr. Cowperwood called that last afternoon before he failed, Mr. +Stener testified that he told him that he couldn’t have any more money, +that it was impossible, and that then Mr. Cowperwood went out into his +general office and without his knowledge or consent persuaded his chief +clerk and secretary, Mr. Albert Stires, to give him a check for sixty +thousand dollars, to which he was not entitled and on which he, Stener, +would have stopped payment if he had known. + +“What nonsense! Why didn’t he know? The books were there, open to him. +Mr. Stires told him the first thing the next morning. Mr. Cowperwood +thought nothing of it, for he was entitled to it, and could collect it +in any court of law having jurisdiction in such cases, failure or no +failure. It is silly for Mr. Stener to say he would have stopped +payment. Such a claim was probably an after-thought of the next morning +after he had talked with his friends, the politicians, and was all a +part, a trick, a trap, to provide the Republican party with a scapegoat +at this time. Nothing more and nothing less; and you may be sure no one +knew it better than the people who were most anxious to see Mr. +Cowperwood convicted.” + +Steger paused and looked significantly at Shannon. + +“Gentlemen of the jury [he finally concluded, quietly and earnestly], +you are going to find, when you think it over in the jury-room this +evening, that this charge of larceny and larceny as bailee, and +embezzlement of a check for sixty thousand dollars, which are contained +in this indictment, and which represent nothing more than the eager +effort of the district attorney to word this one act in such a way that +it will look like a crime, represents nothing more than the excited +imagination of a lot of political refugees who are anxious to protect +their own skirts at the expense of Mr. Cowperwood, and who care for +nothing—honor, fair play, or anything else, so long as they are let off +scot-free. They don’t want the Republicans of Pennsylvania to think too +ill of the Republican party management and control in this city. They +want to protect George W. Stener as much as possible and to make a +political scapegoat of my client. It can’t be done, and it won’t be +done. As honorable, intelligent men you won’t permit it to be done. And +I think with that thought I can safely leave you.” + +Steger suddenly turned from the jury-box and walked to his seat beside +Cowperwood, while Shannon arose, calm, forceful, vigorous, much +younger. + +As between man and man, Shannon was not particularly opposed to the +case Steger had made out for Cowperwood, nor was he opposed to +Cowperwood’s having made money as he did. As a matter of fact, Shannon +actually thought that if he had been in Cowperwood’s position he would +have done exactly the same thing. However, he was the newly elected +district attorney. He had a record to make; and, besides, the political +powers who were above him were satisfied that Cowperwood ought to be +convicted for the looks of the thing. Therefore he laid his hands +firmly on the rail at first, looked the jurors steadily in the eyes for +a time, and, having framed a few thoughts in his mind began: + +“Now, gentlemen of the jury, it seems to me that if we all pay strict +attention to what has transpired here to-day, we will have no +difficulty in reaching a conclusion; and it will be a very satisfactory +one, if we all try to interpret the facts correctly. This defendant, +Mr. Cowperwood, comes into this court to-day charged, as I have stated +to you before, with larceny, with larceny as bailee, with embezzlement, +and with embezzlement of a specific check—namely, one dated October 9, +1871, drawn to the order of Frank A. Cowperwood & Company for the sum +of sixty thousand dollars by the secretary of the city treasurer for +the city treasurer, and by him signed, as he had a perfect right to +sign it, and delivered to the said Frank A. Cowperwood, who claims that +he was not only properly solvent at the time, but had previously +purchased certificates of city loan to the value of sixty thousand +dollars, and had at that time or would shortly thereafter, as was his +custom, deposit them to the credit of the city in the city +sinking-fund, and thus close what would ordinarily be an ordinary +transaction—namely, that of Frank A. Cowperwood & Company as bankers +and brokers for the city buying city loan for the city, depositing it +in the sinking-fund, and being promptly and properly reimbursed. Now, +gentlemen, what are the actual facts in this case? Was the said Frank +A. Cowperwood & Company—there is no company, as you well know, as you +have heard testified here to-day, only Frank A. Cowperwood—was the said +Frank A. Cowperwood a fit person to receive the check at this time in +the manner he received it—that is, was he authorized agent of the city +at the time, or was he not? Was he solvent? Did he actually himself +think he was going to fail, and was this sixty-thousand-dollar check a +last thin straw which he was grabbing at to save his financial life +regardless of what it involved legally, morally, or otherwise; or had +he actually purchased certificates of city loan to the amount he said +he had in the way he said he had, at the time he said he had, and was +he merely collecting his honest due? Did he intend to deposit these +certificates of loans in the city sinking-fund, as he said he would—as +it was understood naturally and normally that he would—or did he not? +Were his relations with the city treasurer as broker and agent the same +as they had always been on the day that he secured this particular +check for sixty thousand dollars, or were they not? Had they been +terminated by a conversation fifteen minutes before or two days before +or two weeks before—it makes no difference when, so long as they had +been properly terminated—or had they not? A business man has a right to +abrogate an agreement at any time where there is no specific form of +contract and no fixed period of operation entered into—as you all must +know. You must not forget that in considering the evidence in this +case. Did George W. Stener, knowing or suspecting that Frank A. +Cowperwood was in a tight place financially, unable to fulfill any +longer properly and honestly the duties supposedly devolving on him by +this agreement, terminate it then and there on October 9, 1871, before +this check for sixty thousand dollars was given, or did he not? Did Mr. +Frank A. Cowperwood then and there, knowing that he was no longer an +agent of the city treasurer and the city, and knowing also that he was +insolvent (having, as Mr. Stener contends, admitted to him that he was +so), and having no intention of placing the certificates which he +subsequently declared he had purchased in the sinking-fund, go out into +Mr. Stener’s general office, meet his secretary, tell him he had +purchased sixty thousand dollars’ worth of city loan, ask for the +check, get it, put it in his pocket, walk off, and never make any +return of any kind in any manner, shape, or form to the city, and then, +subsequently, twenty-four hours later, fail, owing this and five +hundred thousand dollars more to the city treasury, or did he not? What +are the facts in this case? What have the witnesses testified to? What +has George W. Stener testified to, Albert Stires, President Davison, +Mr. Cowperwood himself? What are the interesting, subtle facts in this +case, anyhow? Gentlemen, you have a very curious problem to decide.” + +He paused and gazed at the jury, adjusting his sleeves as he did so, +and looking as though he knew for certain that he was on the trail of a +slippery, elusive criminal who was in a fair way to foist himself upon +an honorable and decent community and an honorable and innocent jury as +an honest man. + +Then he continued: + +“Now, gentlemen, what are the facts? You can see for yourselves exactly +how this whole situation has come about. You are sensible men. I don’t +need to tell you. Here are two men, one elected treasurer of the city +of Philadelphia, sworn to guard the interests of the city and to +manipulate its finances to the best advantage, and the other called in +at a time of uncertain financial cogitation to assist in unraveling a +possibly difficult financial problem; and then you have a case of a +quiet, private financial understanding being reached, and of subsequent +illegal dealings in which one man who is shrewder, wiser, more versed +in the subtle ways of Third Street leads the other along over seemingly +charming paths of fortunate investment into an accidental but none the +less criminal mire of failure and exposure and public calumny and what +not. And then they get to the place where the more vulnerable +individual of the two—the man in the most dangerous position, the city +treasurer of Philadelphia, no less—can no longer reasonably or, let us +say, courageously, follow the other fellow; and then you have such a +spectacle as was described here this afternoon in the witness-chair by +Mr. Stener—that is, you have a vicious, greedy, unmerciful financial +wolf standing over a cowering, unsophisticated commercial lamb, and +saying to him, his white, shiny teeth glittering all the while, ‘If you +don’t advance me the money I ask for—the three hundred thousand dollars +I now demand—you will be a convict, your children will be thrown in the +street, you and your wife and your family will be in poverty again, and +there will be no one to turn a hand for you.’ That is what Mr. Stener +says Mr. Cowperwood said to him. I, for my part, haven’t a doubt in the +world that he did. Mr. Steger, in his very guarded references to his +client, describes him as a nice, kind, gentlemanly agent, a broker +merely on whom was practically forced the use of five hundred thousand +dollars at two and a half per cent. when money was bringing from ten to +fifteen per cent. in Third Street on call loans, and even more. But I +for one don’t choose to believe it. The thing that strikes me as +strange in all of this is that if he was so nice and kind and gentle +and remote—a mere hired and therefore subservient agent—how is it that +he could have gone to Mr. Stener’s office two or three days before the +matter of this sixty-thousand-dollar check came up and say to him, as +Mr. Stener testifies under oath that he did say to him, ‘If you don’t +give me three hundred thousand dollars’ worth more of the city’s money +at once, to-day, I will fail, and you will be a convict. You will go to +the penitentiary.’? That’s what he said to him. ‘I will fail and you +will be a convict. They can’t touch me, but they will arrest you. I am +an agent merely.’ Does that sound like a nice, mild, innocent, +well-mannered agent, a hired broker, or doesn’t it sound like a hard, +defiant, contemptuous master—a man in control and ready to rule and win +by fair means or foul? + +“Gentlemen, I hold no brief for George W. Stener. In my judgment he is +as guilty as his smug co-partner in crime—if not more so—this oily +financier who came smiling and in sheep’s clothing, pointing out subtle +ways by which the city’s money could be made profitable for both; but +when I hear Mr. Cowperwood described as I have just heard him +described, as a nice, mild, innocent agent, my gorge rises. Why, +gentlemen, if you want to get a right point of view on this whole +proposition you will have to go back about ten or twelve years and see +Mr. George W. Stener as he was then, a rather poverty-stricken beginner +in politics, and before this very subtle and capable broker and agent +came along and pointed out ways and means by which the city’s money +could be made profitable; George W. Stener wasn’t very much of a +personage then, and neither was Frank A. Cowperwood when he found +Stener newly elected to the office of city treasurer. Can’t you see him +arriving at that time nice and fresh and young and well dressed, as +shrewd as a fox, and saying: ‘Come to me. Let me handle city loan. Loan +me the city’s money at two per cent. or less.’ Can’t you hear him +suggesting this? Can’t you see him? + +“George W. Stener was a poor man, comparatively a very poor man, when +he first became city treasurer. All he had was a small real-estate and +insurance business which brought him in, say, twenty-five hundred +dollars a year. He had a wife and four children to support, and he had +never had the slightest taste of what for him might be called luxury or +comfort. Then comes Mr. Cowperwood—at his request, to be sure, but on +an errand which held no theory of evil gains in Mr. Stener’s mind at +the time—and proposes his grand scheme of manipulating all the city +loan to their mutual advantage. Do you yourselves think, gentlemen, +from what you have seen of George W. Stener here on the witness-stand, +that it was he who proposed this plan of ill-gotten wealth to that +gentleman over there?” + +He pointed to Cowperwood. + +“Does he look to you like a man who would be able to tell that +gentleman anything about finance or this wonderful manipulation that +followed? I ask you, does he look clever enough to suggest all the +subtleties by which these two subsequently made so much money? Why, the +statement of this man Cowperwood made to his creditors at the time of +his failure here a few weeks ago showed that he considered himself to +be worth over one million two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, and +he is only a little over thirty-four years old to-day. How much was he +worth at the time he first entered business relations with the ex-city +treasurer? Have you any idea? I can tell. I had the matter looked up +almost a month ago on my accession to office. Just a little over two +hundred thousand dollars, gentlemen—just a little over two hundred +thousand dollars. Here is an abstract from the files of Dun & Company +for that year. Now you can see how rapidly our Caesar has grown in +wealth since then. You can see how profitable these few short years +have been to him. Was George W. Stener worth any such sum up to the +time he was removed from his office and indicted for embezzlement? Was +he? I have here a schedule of his liabilities and assets made out at +the time. You can see it for yourselves, gentlemen. Just two hundred +and twenty thousand dollars measured the sum of all his property three +weeks ago; and it is an accurate estimate, as I have reason to know. +Why was it, do you suppose, that Mr. Cowperwood grew so fast in wealth +and Mr. Stener so slowly? They were partners in crime. Mr. Stener was +loaning Mr. Cowperwood vast sums of the city’s money at two per cent. +when call-rates for money in Third Street were sometimes as high as +sixteen and seventeen per cent. Don’t you suppose that Mr. Cowperwood +sitting there knew how to use this very cheaply come-by money to the +very best advantage? Does he look to you as though he didn’t? You have +seen him on the witness-stand. You have heard him testify. Very suave, +very straightforward-seeming, very innocent, doing everything as a +favor to Mr. Stener and his friends, of course, and yet making a +million in a little over six years and allowing Mr. Stener to make one +hundred and sixty thousand dollars or less, for Mr. Stener had some +little money at the time this partnership was entered into—a few +thousand dollars.” + +Shannon now came to the vital transaction of October 9th, when +Cowperwood called on Stener and secured the check for sixty thousand +dollars from Albert Stires. His scorn for this (as he appeared to +think) subtle and criminal transaction was unbounded. It was plain +larceny, stealing, and Cowperwood knew it when he asked Stires for the +check. + +“Think of it! [Shannon exclaimed, turning and looking squarely at +Cowperwood, who faced him quite calmly, undisturbed and unashamed.] +Think of it! Think of the colossal nerve of the man—the Machiavellian +subtlety of his brain. He knew he was going to fail. He knew after two +days of financial work—after two days of struggle to offset the +providential disaster which upset his nefarious schemes—that he had +exhausted every possible resource save one, the city treasury, and that +unless he could compel aid there he was going to fail. He already owed +the city treasury five hundred thousand dollars. He had already used +the city treasurer as a cat’s-paw so much, had involved him so deeply, +that the latter, because of the staggering size of the debt, was +becoming frightened. Did that deter Mr. Cowperwood? Not at all.” + +He shook his finger ominously in Cowperwood’s face, and the latter +turned irritably away. “He is showing off for the benefit of his +future,” he whispered to Steger. “I wish you could tell the jury that.” + +“I wish I could,” replied Steger, smiling scornfully, “but my hour is +over.” + +“Why [continued Mr. Shannon, turning once more to the jury], think of +the colossal, wolfish nerve that would permit a man to say to Albert +Stires that he had just purchased sixty thousand dollars’ worth +additional of city loan, and that he would then and there take the +check for it! Had he actually purchased this city loan as he said he +had? Who can tell? Could any human being wind through all the mazes of +the complicated bookkeeping system which he ran, and actually tell? The +best answer to that is that if he did purchase the certificates he +intended that it should make no difference to the city, for he made no +effort to put the certificates in the sinking-fund, where they +belonged. His counsel says, and he says, that he didn’t have to until +the first of the month, although the law says that he must do it at +once, and he knew well enough that legally he was bound to do it. His +counsel says, and he says, that he didn’t know he was going to fail. +Hence there was no need of worrying about it. I wonder if any of you +gentlemen really believed that? Had he ever asked for a check like that +so quick before in his life? In all the history of these nefarious +transactions was there another incident like that? You know there +wasn’t. He had never before, on any occasion, asked personally for a +check for anything in this office, and yet on this occasion he did it. +Why? Why should he ask for it this time? A few hours more, according to +his own statement, wouldn’t have made any difference one way or the +other, would it? He could have sent a boy for it, as usual. That was +the way it had always been done before. Why anything different now? +I’ll tell you why! [Shannon suddenly shouted, varying his voice +tremendously.] I’ll tell you why! He knew that he was a ruined man! He +knew that his last semi-legitimate avenue of escape—the favor of George +W. Stener—had been closed to him! He knew that honestly, by open +agreement, he could not extract another single dollar from the treasury +of the city of Philadelphia. He knew that if he left the office without +this check and sent a boy for it, the aroused city treasurer would have +time to inform his clerks, and that then no further money could be +obtained. That’s why! That’s why, gentlemen, if you really want to +know. + +“Now, gentlemen of the jury, I am about done with my arraignment of +this fine, honorable, virtuous citizen whom the counsel for the +defense, Mr. Steger, tells you you cannot possibly convict without +doing a great injustice. All I have to say is that you look to me like +sane, intelligent men—just the sort of men that I meet everywhere in +the ordinary walks of life, doing an honorable American business in an +honorable American way. Now, gentlemen of the jury [he was very +soft-spoken now], all I have to say is that if, after all you have +heard and seen here to-day, you still think that Mr. Frank A. +Cowperwood is an honest, honorable man—that he didn’t steal, willfully +and knowingly, sixty thousand dollars from the Philadelphia city +treasury; that he had actually bought the certificates he said he had, +and had intended to put them in the sinking-fund, as he said he did, +then don’t you dare to do anything except turn him loose, and that +speedily, so that he can go on back to-day into Third Street, and start +to straighten out his much-entangled financial affairs. It is the only +thing for honest, conscientious men to do—to turn him instantly loose +into the heart of this community, so that some of the rank injustice +that my opponent, Mr. Steger, alleges has been done him will be a +little made up to him. You owe him, if that is the way you feel, a +prompt acknowledgment of his innocence. Don’t worry about George W. +Stener. His guilt is established by his own confession. He admits he is +guilty. He will be sentenced without trial later on. But this man—he +says he is an honest, honorable man. He says he didn’t think he was +going to fail. He says he used all that threatening, compelling, +terrifying language, not because he was in danger of failing, but +because he didn’t want the bother of looking further for aid. What do +you think? Do you really think that he had purchased sixty thousand +dollars more of certificates for the sinking-fund, and that he was +entitled to the money? If so, why didn’t he put them in the +sinking-fund? They’re not there now, and the sixty thousand dollars is +gone. Who got it? The Girard National Bank, where he was overdrawn to +the extent of one hundred thousand dollars! Did it get it and forty +thousand dollars more in other checks and certificates? Certainly. Why? +Do you suppose the Girard National Bank might be in any way grateful +for this last little favor before he closed his doors? Do you think +that President Davison, whom you saw here testifying so kindly in this +case feels at all friendly, and that that may possibly—I don’t say that +it does—explain his very kindly interpretation of Mr. Cowperwood’s +condition? It might be. You can think as well along that line as I can. +Anyhow, gentlemen, President Davison says Mr. Cowperwood is an +honorable, honest man, and so does his counsel, Mr. Steger. You have +heard the testimony. Now you think it over. If you want to turn him +loose—turn him loose. [He waved his hand wearily.] You’re the judges. I +wouldn’t; but then I am merely a hard-working lawyer—one person, one +opinion. You may think differently—that’s your business. [He waved his +hand suggestively, almost contemptuously.] However, I’m through, and I +thank you for your courtesy. Gentlemen, the decision rests with you.” + +He turned away grandly, and the jury stirred—so did the idle spectators +in the court. Judge Payderson sighed a sigh of relief. It was now quite +dark, and the flaring gas forms in the court were all brightly lighted. +Outside one could see that it was snowing. The judge stirred among his +papers wearily, and turning to the jurors solemnly, began his customary +explanation of the law, after which they filed out to the jury-room. + +Cowperwood turned to his father who now came over across the +fast-emptying court, and said: + +“Well, we’ll know now in a little while.” + +“Yes,” replied Cowperwood, Sr., a little wearily. “I hope it comes out +right. I saw Butler back there a little while ago.” + +“Did you?” queried Cowperwood, to whom this had a peculiar interest. + +“Yes,” replied his father. “He’s just gone.” + +So, Cowperwood thought, Butler was curious enough as to his fate to +want to come here and watch him tried. Shannon was his tool. Judge +Payderson was his emissary, in a way. He, Cowperwood, might defeat him +in the matter of his daughter, but it was not so easy to defeat him +here unless the jury should happen to take a sympathetic attitude. They +might convict him, and then Butler’s Judge Payderson would have the +privilege of sentencing him—giving him the maximum sentence. That would +not be so nice—five years! He cooled a little as he thought of it, but +there was no use worrying about what had not yet happened. Steger came +forward and told him that his bail was now ended—had been the moment +the jury left the room—and that he was at this moment actually in the +care of the sheriff, of whom he knew—Sheriff Adlai Jaspers. Unless he +were acquitted by the jury, Steger added, he would have to remain in +the sheriff’s care until an application for a certificate of reasonable +doubt could be made and acted upon. + +“It would take all of five days, Frank,” Steger said, “but Jaspers +isn’t a bad sort. He’d be reasonable. Of course if we’re lucky you +won’t have to visit him. You will have to go with this bailiff now, +though. Then if things come out right we’ll go home. Say, I’d like to +win this case,” he said. “I’d like to give them the laugh and see you +do it. I consider you’ve been pretty badly treated, and I think I made +that perfectly clear. I can reverse this verdict on a dozen grounds if +they happen to decide against you.” + +He and Cowperwood and the latter’s father now stalked off with the +sheriff’s subordinate—a small man by the name of “Eddie” Zanders, who +had approached to take charge. They entered a small room called the pen +at the back of the court, where all those on trial whose liberty had +been forfeited by the jury’s leaving the room had to wait pending its +return. It was a dreary, high-ceiled, four-square place, with a window +looking out into Chestnut Street, and a second door leading off into +somewhere—one had no idea where. It was dingy, with a worn wooden +floor, some heavy, plain, wooden benches lining the four sides, no +pictures or ornaments of any kind. A single two-arm gas-pipe descended +from the center of the ceiling. It was permeated by a peculiarly stale +and pungent odor, obviously redolent of all the flotsam and jetsam of +life—criminal and innocent—that had stood or sat in here from time to +time, waiting patiently to learn what a deliberating fate held in +store. + +Cowperwood was, of course, disgusted; but he was too self-reliant and +capable to show it. All his life he had been immaculate, almost +fastidious in his care of himself. Here he was coming, perforce, in +contact with a form of life which jarred upon him greatly. Steger, who +was beside him, made some comforting, explanatory, apologetic remarks. + +“Not as nice as it might be,” he said, “but you won’t mind waiting a +little while. The jury won’t be long, I fancy.” + +“That may not help me,” he replied, walking to the window. Afterward he +added: “What must be, must be.” + +His father winced. Suppose Frank was on the verge of a long prison +term, which meant an atmosphere like this? Heavens! For a moment, he +trembled, then for the first time in years he made a silent prayer. + + + + +Chapter XLIV + + +Meanwhile the great argument had been begun in the jury-room, and all +the points that had been meditatively speculated upon in the jury-box +were now being openly discussed. + +It is amazingly interesting to see how a jury will waver and speculate +in a case like this—how curious and uncertain is the process by which +it makes up its so-called mind. So-called truth is a nebulous thing at +best; facts are capable of such curious inversion and interpretation, +honest and otherwise. The jury had a strongly complicated problem +before it, and it went over it and over it. + +Juries reach not so much definite conclusions as verdicts, in a curious +fashion and for curious reasons. Very often a jury will have concluded +little so far as its individual members are concerned and yet it will +have reached a verdict. The matter of time, as all lawyers know, plays +a part in this. Juries, speaking of the members collectively and +frequently individually, object to the amount of time it takes to +decide a case. They do not enjoy sitting and deliberating over a +problem unless it is tremendously fascinating. The ramifications or the +mystery of a syllogism can become a weariness and a bore. The jury-room +itself may and frequently does become a dull agony. + +On the other hand, no jury contemplates a disagreement with any degree +of satisfaction. There is something so inherently constructive in the +human mind that to leave a problem unsolved is plain misery. It haunts +the average individual like any other important task left unfinished. +Men in a jury-room, like those scientifically demonstrated atoms of a +crystal which scientists and philosophers love to speculate upon, like +finally to arrange themselves into an orderly and artistic whole, to +present a compact, intellectual front, to be whatever they have set out +to be, properly and rightly—a compact, sensible jury. One sees this +same instinct magnificently displayed in every other phase of nature—in +the drifting of sea-wood to the Sargasso Sea, in the geometric +interrelation of air-bubbles on the surface of still water, in the +marvelous unreasoned architecture of so many insects and atomic forms +which make up the substance and the texture of this world. It would +seem as though the physical substance of life—this apparition of form +which the eye detects and calls real were shot through with some vast +subtlety that loves order, that is order. The atoms of our so-called +being, in spite of our so-called reason—the dreams of a mood—know where +to go and what to do. They represent an order, a wisdom, a willing that +is not of us. They build orderly in spite of us. So the subconscious +spirit of a jury. At the same time, one does not forget the strange +hypnotic effect of one personality on another, the varying effects of +varying types on each other, until a solution—to use the word in its +purely chemical sense—is reached. In a jury-room the thought or +determination of one or two or three men, if it be definite enough, is +likely to pervade the whole room and conquer the reason or the +opposition of the majority. One man “standing out” for the definite +thought that is in him is apt to become either the triumphant leader of +a pliant mass or the brutally battered target of a flaming, +concentrated intellectual fire. Men despise dull opposition that is +without reason. In a jury-room, of all places, a man is expected to +give a reason for the faith that is in him—if one is demanded. It will +not do to say, “I cannot agree.” Jurors have been known to fight. +Bitter antagonisms lasting for years have been generated in these close +quarters. Recalcitrant jurors have been hounded commercially in their +local spheres for their unreasoned oppositions or conclusions. + +After reaching the conclusion that Cowperwood unquestionably deserved +some punishment, there was wrangling as to whether the verdict should +be guilty on all four counts, as charged in the indictment. Since they +did not understand how to differentiate between the various charges +very well, they decided it should be on all four, and a recommendation +to mercy added. Afterward this last was eliminated, however; either he +was guilty or he was not. The judge could see as well as they could all +the extenuating circumstances—perhaps better. Why tie his hands? As a +rule no attention was paid to such recommendations, anyhow, and it only +made the jury look wabbly. + +So, finally, at ten minutes after twelve that night, they were ready to +return a verdict; and Judge Payderson, who, because of his interest in +the case and the fact that he lived not so far away, had decided to +wait up this long, was recalled. Steger and Cowperwood were sent for. +The court-room was fully lighted. The bailiff, the clerk, and the +stenographer were there. The jury filed in, and Cowperwood, with Steger +at his right, took his position at the gate which gave into the railed +space where prisoners always stand to hear the verdict and listen to +any commentary of the judge. He was accompanied by his father, who was +very nervous. + +For the first time in his life he felt as though he were walking in his +sleep. Was this the real Frank Cowperwood of two months before—so +wealthy, so progressive, so sure? Was this only December 5th or 6th now +(it was after midnight)? Why was it the jury had deliberated so long? +What did it mean? Here they were now, standing and gazing solemnly +before them; and here now was Judge Payderson, mounting the steps of +his rostrum, his frizzled hair standing out in a strange, attractive +way, his familiar bailiff rapping for order. He did not look at +Cowperwood—it would not be courteous—but at the jury, who gazed at him +in return. At the words of the clerk, “Gentlemen of the jury, have you +agreed upon a verdict?” the foreman spoke up, “We have.” + +“Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?” + +“We find the defendant guilty as charged in the indictment.” + +How had they come to do this? Because he had taken a check for sixty +thousand dollars which did not belong to him? But in reality it did. +Good Lord, what was sixty thousand dollars in the sum total of all the +money that had passed back and forth between him and George W. Stener? +Nothing, nothing! A mere bagatelle in its way; and yet here it had +risen up, this miserable, insignificant check, and become a mountain of +opposition, a stone wall, a prison-wall barring his further progress. +It was astonishing. He looked around him at the court-room. How large +and bare and cold it was! Still he was Frank A. Cowperwood. Why should +he let such queer thoughts disturb him? His fight for freedom and +privilege and restitution was not over yet. Good heavens! It had only +begun. In five days he would be out again on bail. Steger would take an +appeal. He would be out, and he would have two long months in which to +make an additional fight. He was not down yet. He would win his +liberty. This jury was all wrong. A higher court would say so. It would +reverse their verdict, and he knew it. He turned to Steger, where the +latter was having the clerk poll the jury, in the hope that some one +juror had been over-persuaded, made to vote against his will. + +“Is that your verdict?” he heard the clerk ask of Philip Moultrie, +juror No. 1. + +“It is,” replied that worthy, solemnly. + +“Is that your verdict?” The clerk was pointing to Simon Glassberg. + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Is that your verdict?” He pointed to Fletcher Norton. + +“Yes.” + +So it went through the whole jury. All the men answered firmly and +clearly, though Steger thought it might barely be possible that one +would have changed his mind. The judge thanked them and told them that +in view of their long services this night, they were dismissed for the +term. The only thing remaining to be done now was for Steger to +persuade Judge Payderson to grant a stay of sentence pending the +hearing of a motion by the State Supreme Court for a new trial. + +The Judge looked at Cowperwood very curiously as Steger made this +request in proper form, and owing to the importance of the case and the +feeling he had that the Supreme Court might very readily grant a +certificate of reasonable doubt in this case, he agreed. There was +nothing left, therefore, but for Cowperwood to return at this late hour +with the deputy sheriff to the county jail, where he must now remain +for five days at least—possibly longer. + +The jail in question, which was known locally as Moyamensing Prison, +was located at Tenth and Reed Streets, and from an architectural and +artistic point of view was not actually displeasing to the eye. It +consisted of a central portion—prison, residence for the sheriff or +what you will—three stories high, with a battlemented cornice and a +round battlemented tower about one-third as high as the central portion +itself, and two wings, each two stories high, with battlemented turrets +at either end, giving it a highly castellated and consequently, from +the American point of view, a very prison-like appearance. The facade +of the prison, which was not more than thirty-five feet high for the +central portion, nor more than twenty-five feet for the wings, was set +back at least a hundred feet from the street, and was continued at +either end, from the wings to the end of the street block, by a stone +wall all of twenty feet high. The structure was not severely +prison-like, for the central portion was pierced by rather large, +unbarred apertures hung on the two upper stories with curtains, and +giving the whole front a rather pleasant and residential air. The wing +to the right, as one stood looking in from the street, was the section +known as the county jail proper, and was devoted to the care of +prisoners serving short-term sentences on some judicial order. The wing +to the left was devoted exclusively to the care and control of untried +prisoners. The whole building was built of a smooth, light-colored +stone, which on a snowy night like this, with the few lamps that were +used in it glowing feebly in the dark, presented an eery, fantastic, +almost supernatural appearance. + +It was a rough and blowy night when Cowperwood started for this +institution under duress. The wind was driving the snow before it in +curious, interesting whirls. Eddie Zanders, the sheriff’s deputy on +guard at the court of Quarter Sessions, accompanied him and his father +and Steger. Zanders was a little man, dark, with a short, stubby +mustache, and a shrewd though not highly intelligent eye. He was +anxious first to uphold his dignity as a deputy sheriff, which was a +very important position in his estimation, and next to turn an honest +penny if he could. He knew little save the details of his small world, +which consisted of accompanying prisoners to and from the courts and +the jails, and seeing that they did not get away. He was not unfriendly +to a particular type of prisoner—the well-to-do or moderately +prosperous—for he had long since learned that it paid to be so. +To-night he offered a few sociable suggestions—viz., that it was rather +rough, that the jail was not so far but that they could walk, and that +Sheriff Jaspers would, in all likelihood, be around or could be +aroused. Cowperwood scarcely heard. He was thinking of his mother and +his wife and of Aileen. + +When the jail was reached he was led to the central portion, as it was +here that the sheriff, Adlai Jaspers, had his private office. Jaspers +had recently been elected to office, and was inclined to conform to all +outward appearances, in so far as the proper conduct of his office was +concerned, without in reality inwardly conforming. Thus it was +generally known among the politicians that one way he had of fattening +his rather lean salary was to rent private rooms and grant special +privileges to prisoners who had the money to pay for the same. Other +sheriffs had done it before him. In fact, when Jaspers was inducted +into office, several prisoners were already enjoying these privileges, +and it was not a part of his scheme of things to disturb them. The +rooms that he let to the “right parties,” as he invariably put it, were +in the central portion of the jail, where were his own private living +quarters. They were unbarred, and not at all cell-like. There was no +particular danger of escape, for a guard stood always at his private +door instructed “to keep an eye” on the general movements of all the +inmates. A prisoner so accommodated was in many respects quite a free +person. His meals were served to him in his room, if he wished. He +could read or play cards, or receive guests; and if he had any favorite +musical instrument, that was not denied him. There was just one rule +that had to be complied with. If he were a public character, and any +newspaper men called, he had to be brought down-stairs into the private +interviewing room in order that they might not know that he was not +confined in a cell like any other prisoner. + +Nearly all of these facts had been brought to Cowperwood’s attention +beforehand by Steger; but for all that, when he crossed the threshold +of the jail a peculiar sensation of strangeness and defeat came over +him. He and his party were conducted to a little office to the left of +the entrance, where were only a desk and a chair, dimly lighted by a +low-burning gas-jet. Sheriff Jaspers, rotund and ruddy, met them, +greeting them in quite a friendly way. Zanders was dismissed, and went +briskly about his affairs. + +“A bad night, isn’t it?” observed Jaspers, turning up the gas and +preparing to go through the routine of registering his prisoner. Steger +came over and held a short, private conversation with him in his +corner, over his desk which resulted presently in the sheriff’s face +lighting up. + +“Oh, certainly, certainly! That’s all right, Mr. Steger, to be sure! +Why, certainly!” + +Cowperwood, eyeing the fat sheriff from his position, understood what +it was all about. He had regained completely his critical attitude, his +cool, intellectual poise. So this was the jail, and this was the fat +mediocrity of a sheriff who was to take care of him. Very good. He +would make the best of it. He wondered whether he was to be +searched—prisoners usually were—but he soon discovered that he was not +to be. + +“That’s all right, Mr. Cowperwood,” said Jaspers, getting up. “I guess +I can make you comfortable, after a fashion. We’re not running a hotel +here, as you know”—he chuckled to himself—“but I guess I can make you +comfortable. John,” he called to a sleepy factotum, who appeared from +another room, rubbing his eyes, “is the key to Number Six down here?” + +“Yes, sir.” + +“Let me have it.” + +John disappeared and returned, while Steger explained to Cowperwood +that anything he wanted in the way of clothing, etc., could be brought +in. Steger himself would stop round next morning and confer with him, +as would any of the members of Cowperwood’s family whom he wished to +see. Cowperwood immediately explained to his father his desire for as +little of this as possible. Joseph or Edward might come in the morning +and bring a grip full of underwear, etc.; but as for the others, let +them wait until he got out or had to remain permanently. He did think +of writing Aileen, cautioning her to do nothing; but the sheriff now +beckoned, and he quietly followed. Accompanied by his father and +Steger, he ascended to his new room. + +It was a simple, white-walled chamber fifteen by twenty feet in size, +rather high-ceiled, supplied with a high-backed, yellow wooden bed, a +yellow bureau, a small imitation-cherry table, three very ordinary +cane-seated chairs with carved hickory-rod backs, cherry-stained also, +and a wash-stand of yellow-stained wood to match the bed, containing a +washbasin, a pitcher, a soap-dish, uncovered, and a small, cheap, +pink-flowered tooth and shaving brush mug, which did not match the +other ware and which probably cost ten cents. The value of this room to +Sheriff Jaspers was what he could get for it in cases like +this—twenty-five to thirty-five dollars a week. Cowperwood would pay +thirty-five. + +Cowperwood walked briskly to the window, which gave out on the lawn in +front, now embedded in snow, and said he thought this was all right. +Both his father and Steger were willing and anxious to confer with him +for hours, if he wished; but there was nothing to say. He did not wish +to talk. + +“Let Ed bring in some fresh linen in the morning and a couple of suits +of clothes, and I will be all right. George can get my things +together.” He was referring to a family servant who acted as valet and +in other capacities. “Tell Lillian not to worry. I’m all right. I’d +rather she would not come here so long as I’m going to be out in five +days. If I’m not, it will be time enough then. Kiss the kids for me.” +And he smiled good-naturedly. + +After his unfulfilled predictions in regard to the result of this +preliminary trial Steger was almost afraid to suggest confidently what +the State Supreme Court would or would not do; but he had to say +something. + +“I don’t think you need worry about what the outcome of my appeal will +be, Frank. I’ll get a certificate of reasonable doubt, and that’s as +good as a stay of two months, perhaps longer. I don’t suppose the bail +will be more than thirty thousand dollars at the outside. You’ll be out +again in five or six days, whatever happens.” + +Cowperwood said that he hoped so, and suggested that they drop matters +for the night. After a few fruitless parleys his father and Steger +finally said good night, leaving him to his own private reflections. He +was tired, however, and throwing off his clothes, tucked himself in his +mediocre bed, and was soon fast asleep. + + + + +Chapter XLV + + +Say what one will about prison life in general, modify it ever so much +by special chambers, obsequious turnkeys, a general tendency to make +one as comfortable as possible, a jail is a jail, and there is no +getting away from that. Cowperwood, in a room which was not in any way +inferior to that of the ordinary boarding-house, was nevertheless +conscious of the character of that section of this real prison which +was not yet his portion. He knew that there were cells there, probably +greasy and smelly and vermin-infested, and that they were enclosed by +heavy iron bars, which would have as readily clanked on him as on those +who were now therein incarcerated if he had not had the price to pay +for something better. So much for the alleged equality of man, he +thought, which gave to one man, even within the grim confines of the +machinery of justice, such personal liberty as he himself was now +enjoying, and to another, because he chanced to lack wit or presence or +friends or wealth, denied the more comfortable things which money would +buy. + +The morning after the trial, on waking, he stirred curiously, and then +it suddenly came to him that he was no longer in the free and +comfortable atmosphere of his own bedroom, but in a jail-cell, or +rather its very comfortable substitute, a sheriff’s rented bedroom. He +got up and looked out the window. The ground outside and Passayunk +Avenue were white with snow. Some wagons were silently lumbering by. A +few Philadelphians were visible here and there, going to and fro on +morning errands. He began to think at once what he must do, how he must +act to carry on his business, to rehabilitate himself; and as he did so +he dressed and pulled the bell-cord, which had been indicated to him, +and which would bring him an attendant who would build him a fire and +later bring him something to eat. A shabby prison attendant in a blue +uniform, conscious of Cowperwood’s superiority because of the room he +occupied, laid wood and coal in the grate and started a fire, and later +brought him his breakfast, which was anything but prison fare, though +poor enough at that. + +After that he was compelled to wait in patience several hours, in spite +of the sheriff’s assumption of solicitous interest, before his brother +Edward was admitted with his clothes. An attendant, for a +consideration, brought him the morning papers, and these, except for +the financial news, he read indifferently. Late in the afternoon Steger +arrived, saying he had been busy having certain proceedings postponed, +but that he had arranged with the sheriff for Cowperwood to be +permitted to see such of those as had important business with him. + +By this time, Cowperwood had written Aileen under no circumstances to +try to see him, as he would be out by the tenth, and that either that +day, or shortly after, they would meet. As he knew, she wanted greatly +to see him, but he had reason to believe she was under surveillance by +detectives employed by her father. This was not true, but it was +preying on her fancy, and combined with some derogatory remarks dropped +by Owen and Callum at the dinner table recently, had proved almost too +much for her fiery disposition. But, because of Cowperwood’s letter +reaching her at the Calligans’, she made no move until she read on the +morning of the tenth that Cowperwood’s plea for a certificate of +reasonable doubt had been granted, and that he would once more, for the +time being at least, be a free man. This gave her courage to do what +she had long wanted to do, and that was to teach her father that she +could get along without him and that he could not make her do anything +she did not want to do. She still had the two hundred dollars +Cowperwood had given her and some additional cash of her own—perhaps +three hundred and fifty dollars in all. This she thought would be +sufficient to see her to the end of her adventure, or at least until +she could make some other arrangement for her personal well-being. From +what she knew of the feeling of her family for her, she felt that the +agony would all be on their side, not hers. Perhaps when her father saw +how determined she was he would decide to let her alone and make peace +with her. She was determined to try it, anyhow, and immediately sent +word to Cowperwood that she was going to the Calligans and would +welcome him to freedom. + +In a way, Cowperwood was rather gratified by Aileen’s message, for he +felt that his present plight, bitter as it was, was largely due to +Butler’s opposition and he felt no compunction in striking him through +his daughter. His former feeling as to the wisdom of not enraging +Butler had proved rather futile, he thought, and since the old man +could not be placated it might be just as well to have Aileen +demonstrate to him that she was not without resources of her own and +could live without him. She might force him to change his attitude +toward her and possibly even to modify some of his political +machinations against him, Cowperwood. Any port in a storm—and besides, +he had now really nothing to lose, and instinct told him that her move +was likely to prove more favorable than otherwise—so he did nothing to +prevent it. + +She took her jewels, some underwear, a couple of dresses which she +thought would be serviceable, and a few other things, and packed them +in the most capacious portmanteau she had. Shoes and stockings came +into consideration, and, despite her efforts, she found that she could +not get in all that she wished. Her nicest hat, which she was +determined to take, had to be carried outside. She made a separate +bundle of it, which was not pleasant to contemplate. Still she decided +to take it. She rummaged in a little drawer where she kept her money +and jewels, and found the three hundred and fifty dollars and put it in +her purse. It wasn’t much, as Aileen could herself see, but Cowperwood +would help her. If he did not arrange to take care of her, and her +father would not relent, she would have to get something to do. Little +she knew of the steely face the world presents to those who have not +been practically trained and are not economically efficient. She did +not understand the bitter reaches of life at all. She waited, humming +for effect, until she heard her father go downstairs to dinner on this +tenth day of December, then leaned over the upper balustrade to make +sure that Owen, Callum, Norah, and her mother were at the table, and +that Katy, the housemaid, was not anywhere in sight. Then she slipped +into her father’s den, and, taking a note from inside her dress, laid +it on his desk, and went out. It was addressed to “Father,” and read: + +Dear Father,—I just cannot do what you want me to. I have made up my +mind that I love Mr. Cowperwood too much, so I am going away. Don’t +look for me with him. You won’t find me where you think. I am not going +to him; I will not be there. I am going to try to get along by myself +for a while, until he wants me and can marry me. I’m terribly sorry; +but I just can’t do what you want. I can’t ever forgive you for the way +you acted to me. Tell mama and Norah and the boys good-by for me. + + +Aileen + + +To insure its discovery, she picked up Butler’s heavy-rimmed spectacles +which he employed always when reading, and laid them on it. For a +moment she felt very strange, somewhat like a thief—a new sensation for +her. She even felt a momentary sense of ingratitude coupled with pain. +Perhaps she was doing wrong. Her father had been very good to her. Her +mother would feel so very bad. Norah would be sorry, and Callum and +Owen. Still, they did not understand her any more. She was resentful of +her father’s attitude. He might have seen what the point was; but no, +he was too old, too hidebound in religion and conventional ideas—he +never would. He might never let her come back. Very well, she would get +along somehow. She would show him. She might get a place as a +school-teacher, and live with the Calligans a long while, if necessary, +or teach music. + +She stole downstairs and out into the vestibule, opening the outer door +and looking out into the street. The lamps were already flaring in the +dark, and a cool wind was blowing. Her portmanteau was heavy, but she +was quite strong. She walked briskly to the corner, which was some +fifty feet away, and turned south, walking rather nervously and +irritably, for this was a new experience for her, and it all seemed so +undignified, so unlike anything she was accustomed to doing. She put +her bag down on a street corner, finally, to rest. A boy whistling in +the distance attracted her attention, and as he drew near she called to +him: “Boy! Oh, boy!” + +He came over, looking at her curiously. + +“Do you want to earn some money?” + +“Yes, ma’am,” he replied politely, adjusting a frowsy cap over one ear. + +“Carry this bag for me,” said Aileen, and he picked it up and marched +off. + +In due time she arrived at the Calligans’, and amid much excitement was +installed in the bosom of her new home. She took her situation with +much nonchalance, once she was properly placed, distributing her toilet +articles and those of personal wear with quiet care. The fact that she +was no longer to have the services of Kathleen, the maid who had served +her and her mother and Norah jointly, was odd, though not trying. She +scarcely felt that she had parted from these luxuries permanently, and +so made herself comfortable. + +Mamie Calligan and her mother were adoring slaveys, so she was not +entirely out of the atmosphere which she craved and to which she was +accustomed. + + + + +Chapter XLVI + + +Meanwhile, in the Butler home the family was assembling for dinner. +Mrs. Butler was sitting in rotund complacency at the foot of the table, +her gray hair combed straight back from her round, shiny forehead. She +had on a dark-gray silk dress, trimmed with gray-and-white striped +ribbon. It suited her florid temperament admirably. Aileen had dictated +her mother’s choice, and had seen that it had been properly made. Norah +was refreshingly youthful in a pale-green dress, with red-velvet cuffs +and collar. She looked young, slender, gay. Her eyes, complexion and +hair were fresh and healthy. She was trifling with a string of coral +beads which her mother had just given her. + +“Oh, look, Callum,” she said to her brother opposite her, who was +drumming idly on the table with his knife and fork. “Aren’t they +lovely? Mama gave them to me.” + +“Mama does more for you than I would. You know what you’d get from me, +don’t you?” + +“What?” + +He looked at her teasingly. For answer Norah made a face at him. Just +then Owen came in and took his place at the table. Mrs. Butler saw +Norah’s grimace. + +“Well, that’ll win no love from your brother, ye can depend on that,” +she commented. + +“Lord, what a day!” observed Owen, wearily, unfolding his napkin. “I’ve +had my fill of work for once.” + +“What’s the trouble?” queried his mother, feelingly. + +“No real trouble, mother,” he replied. “Just everything—ducks and +drakes, that’s all.” + +“Well, ye must ate a good, hearty meal now, and that’ll refresh ye,” +observed his mother, genially and feelingly. “Thompson”—she was +referring to the family grocer—“brought us the last of his beans. You +must have some of those.” + +“Sure, beans’ll fix it, whatever it is, Owen,” joked Callum. “Mother’s +got the answer.” + +“They’re fine, I’d have ye know,” replied Mrs. Butler, quite +unconscious of the joke. + +“No doubt of it, mother,” replied Callum. “Real brain-food. Let’s feed +some to Norah.” + +“You’d better eat some yourself, smarty. My, but you’re gay! I suppose +you’re going out to see somebody. That’s why.” + +“Right you are, Norah. Smart girl, you. Five or six. Ten to fifteen +minutes each. I’d call on you if you were nicer.” + +“You would if you got the chance,” mocked Norah. “I’d have you know I +wouldn’t let you. I’d feel very bad if I couldn’t get somebody better +than you.” + +“As good as, you mean,” corrected Callum. + +“Children, children!” interpolated Mrs. Butler, calmly, looking about +for old John, the servant. “You’ll be losin’ your tempers in a minute. +Hush now. Here comes your father. Where’s Aileen?” + +Butler walked heavily in and took his seat. + +John, the servant, appeared bearing a platter of beans among other +things, and Mrs. Butler asked him to send some one to call Aileen. + +“It’s gettin’ colder, I’m thinkin’,” said Butler, by way of +conversation, and eyeing Aileen’s empty chair. She would come soon +now—his heavy problem. He had been very tactful these last two +months—avoiding any reference to Cowperwood in so far as he could help +in her presence. + +“It’s colder,” remarked Owen, “much colder. We’ll soon see real winter +now.” + +Old John began to offer the various dishes in order; but when all had +been served Aileen had not yet come. + +“See where Aileen is, John,” observed Mrs. Butler, interestedly. “The +meal will be gettin’ cold.” + +Old John returned with the news that Aileen was not in her room. + +“Sure she must be somewhere,” commented Mrs. Butler, only slightly +perplexed. “She’ll be comin’, though, never mind, if she wants to. She +knows it’s meal-time.” + +The conversation drifted from a new water-works that was being planned +to the new city hall, then nearing completion; Cowperwood’s financial +and social troubles, and the state of the stock market generally; a new +gold-mine in Arizona; the departure of Mrs. Mollenhauer the following +Tuesday for Europe, with appropriate comments by Norah and Callum; and +a Christmas ball that was going to be given for charity. + +“Aileen’ll be wantin’ to go to that,” commented Mrs. Butler. + +“I’m going, you bet,” put in Norah. + +“Who’s going to take you?” asked Callum. + +“That’s my affair, mister,” she replied, smartly. + +The meal was over, and Mrs. Butler strolled up to Aileen’s room to see +why she had not come down to dinner. Butler entered his den, wishing so +much that he could take his wife into his confidence concerning all +that was worrying him. On his desk, as he sat down and turned up the +light, he saw the note. He recognized Aileen’s handwriting at once. +What could she mean by writing him? A sense of the untoward came to +him, and he tore it open slowly, and, putting on his glasses, +contemplated it solemnly. + +So Aileen was gone. The old man stared at each word as if it had been +written in fire. She said she had not gone with Cowperwood. It was +possible, just the same, that he had run away from Philadelphia and +taken her with him. This was the last straw. This ended it. Aileen +lured away from home—to where—to what? Butler could scarcely believe, +though, that Cowperwood had tempted her to do this. He had too much at +stake; it would involve his own and Butler’s families. The papers would +be certain to get it quickly. He got up, crumpling the paper in his +hand, and turned about at a noise. His wife was coming in. He pulled +himself together and shoved the letter in his pocket. + +“Aileen’s not in her room,” she said, curiously. “She didn’t say +anything to you about going out, did she?” + +“No,” he replied, truthfully, wondering how soon he should have to tell +his wife. + +“That’s odd,” observed Mrs. Butler, doubtfully. “She must have gone out +after somethin’. It’s a wonder she wouldn’t tell somebody.” + +Butler gave no sign. He dared not. “She’ll be back,” he said, more in +order to gain time than anything else. He was sorry to have to pretend. +Mrs. Butler went out, and he closed the door. Then he took out the +letter and read it again. The girl was crazy. She was doing an +absolutely wild, inhuman, senseless thing. Where could she go, except +to Cowperwood? She was on the verge of a public scandal, and this would +produce it. There was just one thing to do as far as he could see. +Cowperwood, if he were still in Philadelphia, would know. He would go +to him—threaten, cajole, actually destroy him, if necessary. Aileen +must come back. She need not go to Europe, perhaps, but she must come +back and behave herself at least until Cowperwood could legitimately +marry her. That was all he could expect now. She would have to wait, +and some day perhaps he could bring himself to accept her wretched +proposition. Horrible thought! It would kill her mother, disgrace her +sister. He got up, took down his hat, put on his overcoat, and started +out. + +Arriving at the Cowperwood home he was shown into the reception-room. +Cowperwood at the time was in his den looking over some private papers. +When the name of Butler was announced he immediately went down-stairs. +It was characteristic of the man that the announcement of Butler’s +presence created no stir in him whatsoever. So Butler had come. That +meant, of course, that Aileen had gone. Now for a battle, not of words, +but of weights of personalities. He felt himself to be intellectually, +socially, and in every other way the more powerful man of the two. That +spiritual content of him which we call life hardened to the texture of +steel. He recalled that although he had told his wife and his father +that the politicians, of whom Butler was one, were trying to make a +scapegoat of him, Butler, nevertheless, was not considered to be wholly +alienated as a friend, and civility must prevail. He would like very +much to placate him if he could, to talk out the hard facts of life in +a quiet and friendly way. But this matter of Aileen had to be adjusted +now once and for all. And with that thought in his mind he walked +quickly into Butler’s presence. + +The old man, when he learned that Cowperwood was in and would see him, +determined to make his contact with the financier as short and +effective as possible. He moved the least bit when he heard +Cowperwood’s step, as light and springy as ever. + +“Good evening, Mr. Butler,” said Cowperwood, cheerfully, when he saw +him, extending his hand. “What can I do for you?” + +“Ye can take that away from in front of me, for one thing,” said +Butler, grimly referring to his hand. “I have no need of it. It’s my +daughter I’ve come to talk to ye about, and I want plain answers. Where +is she?” + +“You mean Aileen?” said Cowperwood, looking at him with steady, +curious, unrevealing eyes, and merely interpolating this to obtain a +moment for reflection. “What can I tell you about her?” + +“Ye can tell me where she is, that I know. And ye can make her come +back to her home, where she belongs. It was bad fortune that ever +brought ye across my doorstep; but I’ll not bandy words with ye here. +Ye’ll tell me where my daughter is, and ye’ll leave her alone from now, +or I’ll—” The old man’s fists closed like a vise, and his chest heaved +with suppressed rage. “Ye’ll not be drivin’ me too far, man, if ye’re +wise,” he added, after a time, recovering his equanimity in part. “I +want no truck with ye. I want my daughter.” + +“Listen, Mr. Butler,” said Cowperwood, quite calmly, relishing the +situation for the sheer sense of superiority it gave him. “I want to be +perfectly frank with you, if you will let me. I may know where your +daughter is, and I may not. I may wish to tell you, and I may not. She +may not wish me to. But unless you wish to talk with me in a civil way +there is no need of our going on any further. You are privileged to do +what you like. Won’t you come up-stairs to my room? We can talk more +comfortably there.” + +Butler looked at his former protege in utter astonishment. He had never +before in all his experience come up against a more ruthless +type—suave, bland, forceful, unterrified. This man had certainly come +to him as a sheep, and had turned out to be a ravening wolf. His +incarceration had not put him in the least awe. + +“I’ll not come up to your room,” Butler said, “and ye’ll not get out of +Philadelphy with her if that’s what ye’re plannin’. I can see to that. +Ye think ye have the upper hand of me, I see, and ye’re anxious to make +something of it. Well, ye’re not. It wasn’t enough that ye come to me +as a beggar, cravin’ the help of me, and that I took ye in and helped +ye all I could—ye had to steal my daughter from me in the bargain. If +it wasn’t for the girl’s mother and her sister and her +brothers—dacenter men than ever ye’ll know how to be—I’d brain ye where +ye stand. Takin’ a young, innocent girl and makin’ an evil woman out of +her, and ye a married man! It’s a God’s blessin’ for ye that it’s me, +and not one of me sons, that’s here talkin’ to ye, or ye wouldn’t be +alive to say what ye’d do.” + +The old man was grim but impotent in his rage. + +“I’m sorry, Mr. Butler,” replied Cowperwood, quietly. “I’m willing to +explain, but you won’t let me. I’m not planning to run away with your +daughter, nor to leave Philadelphia. You ought to know me well enough +to know that I’m not contemplating anything of that kind; my interests +are too large. You and I are practical men. We ought to be able to talk +this matter over together and reach an understanding. I thought once of +coming to you and explaining this; but I was quite sure you wouldn’t +listen to me. Now that you are here I would like to talk to you. If you +will come up to my room I will be glad to—otherwise not. Won’t you come +up?” + +Butler saw that Cowperwood had the advantage. He might as well go up. +Otherwise it was plain he would get no information. + +“Very well,” he said. + +Cowperwood led the way quite amicably, and, having entered his private +office, closed the door behind him. + +“We ought to be able to talk this matter over and reach an +understanding,” he said again, when they were in the room and he had +closed the door. “I am not as bad as you think, though I know I appear +very bad.” Butler stared at him in contempt. “I love your daughter, and +she loves me. I know you are asking yourself how I can do this while I +am still married; but I assure you I can, and that I do. I am not +happily married. I had expected, if this panic hadn’t come along, to +arrange with my wife for a divorce and marry Aileen. My intentions are +perfectly good. The situation which you can complain of, of course, is +the one you encountered a few weeks ago. It was indiscreet, but it was +entirely human. Your daughter does not complain—she understands.” At +the mention of his daughter in this connection Butler flushed with rage +and shame, but he controlled himself. + +“And ye think because she doesn’t complain that it’s all right, do ye?” +he asked, sarcastically. + +“From my point of view, yes; from yours no. You have one view of life, +Mr. Butler, and I have another.” + +“Ye’re right there,” put in Butler, “for once, anyhow.” + +“That doesn’t prove that either of us is right or wrong. In my judgment +the present end justifies the means. The end I have in view is to marry +Aileen. If I can possibly pull myself out of this financial scrape that +I am in I will do so. Of course, I would like to have your consent for +that—so would Aileen; but if we can’t, we can’t.” (Cowperwood was +thinking that while this might not have a very soothing effect on the +old contractor’s point of view, nevertheless it must make some appeal +to his sense of the possible or necessary. Aileen’s present situation +was quite unsatisfactory without marriage in view. And even if he, +Cowperwood, was a convicted embezzler in the eyes of the public, that +did not make him so. He might get free and restore himself—would +certainly—and Aileen ought to be glad to marry him if she could under +the circumstances. He did not quite grasp the depth of Butler’s +religious and moral prejudices.) “Lately,” he went on, “you have been +doing all you can, as I understand it, to pull me down, on account of +Aileen, I suppose; but that is simply delaying what I want to do.” + +“Ye’d like me to help ye do that, I suppose?” suggested Butler, with +infinite disgust and patience. + +“I want to marry Aileen,” Cowperwood repeated, for emphasis’ sake. “She +wants to marry me. Under the circumstances, however you may feel, you +can have no real objection to my doing that, I am sure; yet you go on +fighting me—making it hard for me to do what you really know ought to +be done.” + +“Ye’re a scoundrel,” said Butler, seeing through his motives quite +clearly. “Ye’re a sharper, to my way of thinkin’, and it’s no child of +mine I want connected with ye. I’m not sayin’, seein’ that things are +as they are, that if ye were a free man it wouldn’t be better that she +should marry ye. It’s the one dacent thing ye could do—if ye would, +which I doubt. But that’s nayther here nor there now. What can ye want +with her hid away somewhere? Ye can’t marry her. Ye can’t get a +divorce. Ye’ve got your hands full fightin’ your lawsuits and kapin’ +yourself out of jail. She’ll only be an added expense to ye, and ye’ll +be wantin’ all the money ye have for other things, I’m thinkin’. Why +should ye want to be takin’ her away from a dacent home and makin’ +something out of her that ye’d be ashamed to marry if you could? The +laist ye could do, if ye were any kind of a man at all, and had any of +that thing that ye’re plased to call love, would be to lave her at home +and keep her as respectable as possible. Mind ye, I’m not thinkin’ she +isn’t ten thousand times too good for ye, whatever ye’ve made of her. +But if ye had any sinse of dacency left, ye wouldn’t let her shame her +family and break her old mother’s heart, and that for no purpose except +to make her worse than she is already. What good can ye get out of it, +now? What good can ye expect to come of it? Be hivins, if ye had any +sinse at all I should think ye could see that for yerself. Ye’re only +addin’ to your troubles, not takin’ away from them—and she’ll not thank +ye for that later on.” + +He stopped, rather astonished that he should have been drawn into an +argument. His contempt for this man was so great that he could scarcely +look at him, but his duty and his need was to get Aileen back. +Cowperwood looked at him as one who gives serious attention to another. +He seemed to be thinking deeply over what Butler had said. + +“To tell you the truth, Mr. Butler,” he said, “I did not want Aileen to +leave your home at all; and she will tell you so, if you ever talk to +her about it. I did my best to persuade her not to, and when she +insisted on going the only thing I could do was to be sure she would be +comfortable wherever she went. She was greatly outraged to think you +should have put detectives on her trail. That, and the fact that you +wanted to send her away somewhere against her will, was the principal +reasons for her leaving. I assure you I did not want her to go. I think +you forget sometimes, Mr. Butler, that Aileen is a grown woman, and +that she has a will of her own. You think I control her to her great +disadvantage. As a matter of fact, I am very much in love with her, and +have been for three or four years; and if you know anything about love +you know that it doesn’t always mean control. I’m not doing Aileen any +injustice when I say that she has had as much influence on me as I have +had on her. I love her, and that’s the cause of all the trouble. You +come and insist that I shall return your daughter to you. As a matter +of fact, I don’t know whether I can or not. I don’t know that she would +go if I wanted her to. She might turn on me and say that I didn’t care +for her any more. That is not true, and I would not want her to feel +that way. She is greatly hurt, as I told you, by what you did to her, +and the fact that you want her to leave Philadelphia. You can do as +much to remedy that as I can. I could tell you where she is, but I do +not know that I want to. Certainly not until I know what your attitude +toward her and this whole proposition is to be.” + +He paused and looked calmly at the old contractor, who eyed him grimly +in return. + +“What proposition are ye talkin’ about?” asked Butler, interested by +the peculiar developments of this argument. In spite of himself he was +getting a slightly different angle on the whole situation. The scene +was shifting to a certain extent. Cowperwood appeared to be reasonably +sincere in the matter. His promises might all be wrong, but perhaps he +did love Aileen; and it was possible that he did intend to get a +divorce from his wife some time and marry her. Divorce, as Butler knew, +was against the rules of the Catholic Church, which he so much revered. +The laws of God and any sense of decency commanded that Cowperwood +should not desert his wife and children and take up with another +woman—not even Aileen, in order to save her. It was a criminal thing to +plan, sociologically speaking, and showed what a villain Cowperwood +inherently was; but, nevertheless, Cowperwood was not a Catholic, his +views of life were not the same as his own, Butler’s, and besides and +worst of all (no doubt due in part to Aileen’s own temperament), he had +compromised her situation very materially. She might not easily be +restored to a sense of the normal and decent, and so the matter was +worth taking into thought. Butler knew that ultimately he could not +countenance any such thing—certainly not, and keep his faith with the +Church—but he was human enough none the less to consider it. Besides, +he wanted Aileen to come back; and Aileen from now on, he knew, would +have some say as to what her future should be. + +“Well, it’s simple enough,” replied Cowperwood. “I should like to have +you withdraw your opposition to Aileen’s remaining in Philadelphia, for +one thing; and for another, I should like you to stop your attacks on +me.” Cowperwood smiled in an ingratiating way. He hoped really to +placate Butler in part by his generous attitude throughout this +procedure. “I can’t make you do that, of course, unless you want to. I +merely bring it up, Mr. Butler, because I am sure that if it hadn’t +been for Aileen you would not have taken the course you have taken +toward me. I understood you received an anonymous letter, and that +afternoon you called your loan with me. Since then I have heard from +one source and another that you were strongly against me, and I merely +wish to say that I wish you wouldn’t be. I am not guilty of embezzling +any sixty thousand dollars, and you know it. My intentions were of the +best. I did not think I was going to fail at the time I used those +certificates, and if it hadn’t been for several other loans that were +called I would have gone on to the end of the month and put them back +in time, as I always had. I have always valued your friendship very +highly, and I am very sorry to lose it. Now I have said all I am going +to say.” + +Butler looked at Cowperwood with shrewd, calculating eyes. The man had +some merit, but much unconscionable evil in him. Butler knew very well +how he had taken the check, and a good many other things in connection +with it. The manner in which he had played his cards to-night was on a +par with the way he had run to him on the night of the fire. He was +just shrewd and calculating and heartless. + +“I’ll make ye no promise,” he said. “Tell me where my daughter is, and +I’ll think the matter over. Ye have no claim on me now, and I owe ye no +good turn. But I’ll think it over, anyhow.” + +“That’s quite all right,” replied Cowperwood. “That’s all I can expect. +But what about Aileen? Do you expect her to leave Philadelphia?” + +“Not if she settles down and behaves herself: but there must be an end +of this between you and her. She’s disgracin’ her family and ruinin’ +her soul in the bargain. And that’s what you are doin’ with yours. +It’ll be time enough to talk about anything else when you’re a free +man. More than that I’ll not promise.” + +Cowperwood, satisfied that this move on Aileen’s part had done her a +real service if it had not aided him especially, was convinced that it +would be a good move for her to return to her home at once. He could +not tell how his appeal to the State Supreme Court would eventuate. His +motion for a new trial which was now to be made under the privilege of +the certificate of reasonable doubt might not be granted, in which case +he would have to serve a term in the penitentiary. If he were compelled +to go to the penitentiary she would be safer—better off in the bosom of +her family. His own hands were going to be exceedingly full for the +next two months until he knew how his appeal was coming out. And after +that—well, after that he would fight on, whatever happened. + +During all the time that Cowperwood had been arguing his case in this +fashion he had been thinking how he could adjust this compromise so as +to retain the affection of Aileen and not offend her sensibilities by +urging her to return. He knew that she would not agree to give up +seeing him, and he was not willing that she should. Unless he had a +good and sufficient reason, he would be playing a wretched part by +telling Butler where she was. He did not intend to do so until he saw +exactly how to do it—the way that would make it most acceptable to +Aileen. He knew that she would not long be happy where she was. Her +flight was due in part to Butler’s intense opposition to himself and in +part to his determination to make her leave Philadelphia and behave; +but this last was now in part obviated. Butler, in spite of his words, +was no longer a stern Nemesis. He was a melting man—very anxious to +find his daughter, very willing to forgive her. He was whipped, +literally beaten, at his own game, and Cowperwood could see it in the +old man’s eyes. If he himself could talk to Aileen personally and +explain just how things were, he felt sure he could make her see that +it would be to their mutual advantage, for the present at least, to +have the matter amicably settled. The thing to do was to make Butler +wait somewhere—here, possibly—while he went and talked to her. When she +learned how things were she would probably acquiesce. + +“The best thing that I can do under the circumstances,” he said, after +a time, “would be to see Aileen in two or three days, and ask her what +she wishes to do. I can explain the matter to her, and if she wants to +go back, she can. I will promise to tell her anything that you say.” + +“Two or three days!” exclaimed Butler, irritably. “Two or three +fiddlesticks! She must come home to-night. Her mother doesn’t know +she’s left the place yet. To-night is the time! I’ll go and fetch her +meself to-night.” + +“No, that won’t do,” said Cowperwood. “I shall have to go myself. If +you wish to wait here I will see what can be done, and let you know.” + +“Very well,” grunted Butler, who was now walking up and down with his +hands behind his back. “But for Heaven’s sake be quick about it. +There’s no time to lose.” He was thinking of Mrs. Butler. Cowperwood +called the servant, ordered his runabout, and told George to see that +his private office was not disturbed. Then, as Butler strolled to and +fro in this, to him, objectionable room, Cowperwood drove rapidly away. + + + + +Chapter XLVII + + +Although it was nearly eleven o’clock when he arrived at the +Calligans’, Aileen was not yet in bed. In her bedroom upstairs she was +confiding to Mamie and Mrs. Calligan some of her social experiences +when the bell rang, and Mrs. Calligan went down and opened the door to +Cowperwood. + +“Miss Butler is here, I believe,” he said. “Will you tell her that +there is some one here from her father?” Although Aileen had instructed +that her presence here was not to be divulged even to the members of +her family the force of Cowperwood’s presence and the mention of +Butler’s name cost Mrs. Calligan her presence of mind. “Wait a moment,” +she said; “I’ll see.” + +She stepped back, and Cowperwood promptly stepped in, taking off his +hat with the air of one who was satisfied that Aileen was there. “Say +to her that I only want to speak to her for a few moments,” he called, +as Mrs. Calligan went up-stairs, raising his voice in the hope that +Aileen might hear. She did, and came down promptly. She was very much +astonished to think that he should come so soon, and fancied, in her +vanity, that there must be great excitement in her home. She would have +greatly grieved if there had not been. + +The Calligans would have been pleased to hear, but Cowperwood was +cautious. As she came down the stairs he put his finger to his lips in +sign for silence, and said, “This is Miss Butler, I believe.” + +“Yes,” replied Aileen, with a secret smile. Her one desire was to kiss +him. “What’s the trouble darling?” she asked, softly. + +“You’ll have to go back, dear, I’m afraid,” whispered Cowperwood. +“You’ll have everything in a turmoil if you don’t. Your mother doesn’t +know yet, it seems, and your father is over at my place now, waiting +for you. It may be a good deal of help to me if you do. Let me tell +you—” He went off into a complete description of his conversation with +Butler and his own views in the matter. Aileen’s expression changed +from time to time as the various phases of the matter were put before +her; but, persuaded by the clearness with which he put the matter, and +by his assurance that they could continue their relations as before +uninterrupted, once this was settled, she decided to return. In a way, +her father’s surrender was a great triumph. She made her farewells to +the Calligans, saying, with a smile, that they could not do without her +at home, and that she would send for her belongings later, and returned +with Cowperwood to his own door. There he asked her to wait in the +runabout while he sent her father down. + +“Well?” said Butler, turning on him when he opened the door, and not +seeing Aileen. + +“You’ll find her outside in my runabout,” observed Cowperwood. “You may +use that if you choose. I will send my man for it.” + +“No, thank you; we’ll walk,” said Butler. + +Cowperwood called his servant to take charge of the vehicle, and Butler +stalked solemnly out. + +He had to admit to himself that the influence of Cowperwood over his +daughter was deadly, and probably permanent. The best he could do would +be to keep her within the precincts of the home, where she might still, +possibly, be brought to her senses. He held a very guarded conversation +with her on his way home, for fear that she would take additional +offense. Argument was out of the question. + +“Ye might have talked with me once more, Aileen,” he said, “before ye +left. Yer mother would be in a terrible state if she knew ye were gone. +She doesn’t know yet. Ye’ll have to say ye stayed somewhere to dinner.” + +“I was at the Calligans,” replied Aileen. “That’s easy enough. Mama +won’t think anything about it.” + +“It’s a sore heart I have, Aileen. I hope ye’ll think over your ways +and do better. I’ll not say anythin’ more now.” + +Aileen returned to her room, decidedly triumphant in her mood for the +moment, and things went on apparently in the Butler household as +before. But those who imagine that this defeat permanently altered the +attitude of Butler toward Cowperwood are mistaken. + +In the meanwhile between the day of his temporary release and the +hearing of his appeal which was two months off, Cowperwood was going on +doing his best to repair his shattered forces. He took up his work +where he left off; but the possibility of reorganizing his business was +distinctly modified since his conviction. Because of his action in +trying to protect his largest creditors at the time of his failure, he +fancied that once he was free again, if ever he got free, his credit, +other things being equal, would be good with those who could help him +most—say, Cooke & Co., Clark & Co., Drexel & Co., and the Girard +National Bank—providing his personal reputation had not been too badly +injured by his sentence. Fortunately for his own hopefulness of mind, +he failed fully to realize what a depressing effect a legal decision of +this character, sound or otherwise, had on the minds of even his most +enthusiastic supporters. + +His best friends in the financial world were by now convinced that his +was a sinking ship. A student of finance once observed that nothing is +so sensitive as money, and the financial mind partakes largely of the +quality of the thing in which it deals. There was no use trying to do +much for a man who might be going to prison for a term of years. +Something might be done for him possibly in connection with the +governor, providing he lost his case before the Supreme Court and was +actually sentenced to prison; but that was two months off, or more, and +they could not tell what the outcome of that would be. So Cowperwood’s +repeated appeals for assistance, extension of credit, or the acceptance +of some plan he had for his general rehabilitation, were met with the +kindly evasions of those who were doubtful. They would think it over. +They would see about it. Certain things were standing in the way. And +so on, and so forth, through all the endless excuses of those who do +not care to act. In these days he went about the money world in his +customary jaunty way, greeting all those whom he had known there many +years and pretending, when asked, to be very hopeful, to be doing very +well; but they did not believe him, and he really did not care whether +they did or not. His business was to persuade or over-persuade any one +who could really be of assistance to him, and at this task he worked +untiringly, ignoring all others. + +“Why, hello, Frank,” his friends would call, on seeing him. “How are +you getting on?” + +“Fine! Fine!” he would reply, cheerfully. “Never better,” and he would +explain in a general way how his affairs were being handled. He +conveyed much of his own optimism to all those who knew him and were +interested in his welfare, but of course there were many who were not. + +In these days also, he and Steger were constantly to be met with in +courts of law, for he was constantly being reexamined in some petition +in bankruptcy. They were heartbreaking days, but he did not flinch. He +wanted to stay in Philadelphia and fight the thing to a finish—putting +himself where he had been before the fire; rehabilitating himself in +the eyes of the public. He felt that he could do it, too, if he were +not actually sent to prison for a long term; and even then, so +naturally optimistic was his mood, when he got out again. But, in so +far as Philadelphia was concerned, distinctly he was dreaming vain +dreams. + +One of the things militating against him was the continued opposition +of Butler and the politicians. Somehow—no one could have said exactly +why—the general political feeling was that the financier and the former +city treasurer would lose their appeals and eventually be sentenced +together. Stener, in spite of his original intention to plead guilty +and take his punishment without comment, had been persuaded by some of +his political friends that it would be better for his future’s sake to +plead not guilty and claim that his offense had been due to custom, +rather than to admit his guilt outright and so seem not to have had any +justification whatsoever. This he did, but he was convicted +nevertheless. For the sake of appearances, a trumped-up appeal was made +which was now before the State Supreme Court. + +Then, too, due to one whisper and another, and these originating with +the girl who had written Butler and Cowperwood’s wife, there was at +this time a growing volume of gossip relating to the alleged relations +of Cowperwood with Butler’s daughter, Aileen. There had been a house in +Tenth Street. It had been maintained by Cowperwood for her. No wonder +Butler was so vindictive. This, indeed, explained much. And even in the +practical, financial world, criticism was now rather against Cowperwood +than his enemies. For, was it not a fact, that at the inception of his +career, he had been befriended by Butler? And what a way to reward that +friendship! His oldest and firmest admirers wagged their heads. For +they sensed clearly that this was another illustration of that innate +“I satisfy myself” attitude which so regulated Cowperwood’s conduct. He +was a strong man, surely—and a brilliant one. Never had Third Street +seen a more pyrotechnic, and yet fascinating and financially +aggressive, and at the same time, conservative person. Yet might one +not fairly tempt Nemesis by a too great daring and egotism? Like Death, +it loves a shining mark. He should not, perhaps, have seduced Butler’s +daughter; unquestionably he should not have so boldly taken that check, +especially after his quarrel and break with Stener. He was a little too +aggressive. Was it not questionable whether—with such a record—he could +be restored to his former place here? The bankers and business men who +were closest to him were decidedly dubious. + +But in so far as Cowperwood and his own attitude toward life was +concerned, at this time—the feeling he had—“to satisfy myself”—when +combined with his love of beauty and love and women, still made him +ruthless and thoughtless. Even now, the beauty and delight of a girl +like Aileen Butler were far more important to him than the good-will of +fifty million people, if he could evade the necessity of having their +good-will. Previous to the Chicago fire and the panic, his star had +been so rapidly ascending that in the helter-skelter of great and +favorable events he had scarcely taken thought of the social +significance of the thing he was doing. Youth and the joy of life were +in his blood. He felt so young, so vigorous, so like new grass looks +and feels. The freshness of spring evenings was in him, and he did not +care. After the crash, when one might have imagined he would have seen +the wisdom of relinquishing Aileen for the time being, anyhow, he did +not care to. She represented the best of the wonderful days that had +gone before. She was a link between him and the past and a still-to-be +triumphant future. + +His worst anxiety was that if he were sent to the penitentiary, or +adjudged a bankrupt, or both, he would probably lose the privilege of a +seat on ’change, and that would close to him the most distinguished +avenue of his prosperity here in Philadelphia for some time, if not +forever. At present, because of his complications, his seat had been +attached as an asset, and he could not act. Edward and Joseph, almost +the only employees he could afford, were still acting for him in a +small way; but the other members on ’change naturally suspected his +brothers as his agents, and any talk that they might raise of going +into business for themselves merely indicated to other brokers and +bankers that Cowperwood was contemplating some concealed move which +would not necessarily be advantageous to his creditors, and against the +law anyhow. Yet he must remain on ’change, whatever happened, +potentially if not actively; and so in his quick mental searchings he +hit upon the idea that in order to forfend against the event of his +being put into prison or thrown into bankruptcy, or both, he ought to +form a subsidiary silent partnership with some man who was or would be +well liked on ’change, and whom he could use as a cat’s-paw and a +dummy. + +Finally he hit upon a man who he thought would do. He did not amount to +much—had a small business; but he was honest, and he liked Cowperwood. +His name was Wingate—Stephen Wingate—and he was eking out a not too +robust existence in South Third Street as a broker. He was forty-five +years of age, of medium height, fairly thick-set, not at all +unprepossessing, and rather intelligent and active, but not too +forceful and pushing in spirit. He really needed a man like Cowperwood +to make him into something, if ever he was to be made. He had a seat on +’change, and was well thought of; respected, but not so very +prosperous. In times past he had asked small favors of Cowperwood—the +use of small loans at a moderate rate of interest, tips, and so forth; +and Cowperwood, because he liked him and felt a little sorry for him, +had granted them. Now Wingate was slowly drifting down toward a none +too successful old age, and was as tractable as such a man would +naturally be. No one for the time being would suspect him of being a +hireling of Cowperwood’s, and the latter could depend on him to execute +his orders to the letter. He sent for him and had a long conversation +with him. He told him just what the situation was, what he thought he +could do for him as a partner, how much of his business he would want +for himself, and so on, and found him agreeable. + +“I’ll be glad to do anything you say, Mr. Cowperwood,” he assured the +latter. “I know whatever happens that you’ll protect me, and there’s +nobody in the world I would rather work with or have greater respect +for. This storm will all blow over, and you’ll be all right. We can try +it, anyhow. If it don’t work out you can see what you want to do about +it later.” + +And so this relationship was tentatively entered into and Cowperwood +began to act in a small way through Wingate. + + + + +Chapter XLVIII + + +By the time the State Supreme Court came to pass upon Cowperwood’s plea +for a reversal of the lower court and the granting of a new trial, the +rumor of his connection with Aileen had spread far and wide. As has +been seen, it had done and was still doing him much damage. It +confirmed the impression, which the politicians had originally tried to +create, that Cowperwood was the true criminal and Stener the victim. +His semi-legitimate financial subtlety, backed indeed by his financial +genius, but certainly on this account not worse than that being +practiced in peace and quiet and with much applause in many other +quarters—was now seen to be Machiavellian trickery of the most +dangerous type. He had a wife and two children; and without knowing +what his real thoughts had been the fruitfully imaginative public +jumped to the conclusion that he had been on the verge of deserting +them, divorcing Lillian, and marrying Aileen. This was criminal enough +in itself, from the conservative point of view; but when taken in +connection with his financial record, his trial, conviction, and +general bankruptcy situation, the public was inclined to believe that +he was all the politicians said he was. He ought to be convicted. The +Supreme Court ought not to grant his prayer for a new trial. It is thus +that our inmost thoughts and intentions burst at times via no known +material agency into public thoughts. People know, when they cannot +apparently possibly know why they know. There is such a thing as +thought-transference and transcendentalism of ideas. + +It reached, for one thing, the ears of the five judges of the State +Supreme Court and of the Governor of the State. + +During the four weeks Cowperwood had been free on a certificate of +reasonable doubt both Harper Steger and Dennis Shannon appeared before +the judges of the State Supreme Court, and argued pro and con as to the +reasonableness of granting a new trial. Through his lawyer, Cowperwood +made a learned appeal to the Supreme Court judges, showing how he had +been unfairly indicted in the first place, how there was no real +substantial evidence on which to base a charge of larceny or anything +else. It took Steger two hours and ten minutes to make his argument, +and District-Attorney Shannon longer to make his reply, during which +the five judges on the bench, men of considerable legal experience but +no great financial understanding, listened with rapt attention. Three +of them, Judges Smithson, Rainey, and Beckwith, men most amenable to +the political feeling of the time and the wishes of the bosses, were +little interested in this story of Cowperwood’s transaction, +particularly since his relations with Butler’s daughter and Butler’s +consequent opposition to him had come to them. They fancied that in a +way they were considering the whole matter fairly and impartially; but +the manner in which Cowperwood had treated Butler was never out of +their minds. Two of them, Judges Marvin and Rafalsky, who were men of +larger sympathies and understanding, but of no greater political +freedom, did feel that Cowperwood had been badly used thus far, but +they did not see what they could do about it. He had put himself in a +most unsatisfactory position, politically and socially. They understood +and took into consideration his great financial and social losses which +Steger described accurately; and one of them, Judge Rafalsky, because +of a similar event in his own life in so far as a girl was concerned, +was inclined to argue strongly against the conviction of Cowperwood; +but, owing to his political connections and obligations, he realized +that it would not be wise politically to stand out against what was +wanted. Still, when he and Marvin learned that Judges Smithson, Rainey, +and Beckwith were inclined to convict Cowperwood without much argument, +they decided to hand down a dissenting opinion. The point involved was +a very knotty one. Cowperwood might carry it to the Supreme Court of +the United States on some fundamental principle of liberty of action. +Anyhow, other judges in other courts in Pennsylvania and elsewhere +would be inclined to examine the decision in this case, it was so +important. The minority decided that it would not do them any harm to +hand down a dissenting opinion. The politicians would not mind as long +as Cowperwood was convicted—would like it better, in fact. It looked +fairer. Besides, Marvin and Rafalsky did not care to be included, if +they could help it, with Smithson, Rainey, and Beckwith in a sweeping +condemnation of Cowperwood. So all five judges fancied they were +considering the whole matter rather fairly and impartially, as men will +under such circumstances. Smithson, speaking for himself and Judges +Rainey and Beckwith on the eleventh of February, 1872, said: + +“The defendant, Frank A. Cowperwood, asks that the finding of the jury +in the lower court (the State of Pennsylvania vs. Frank A. Cowperwood) +be reversed and a new trial granted. This court cannot see that any +substantial injustice has been done the defendant. [Here followed a +rather lengthy resume of the history of the case, in which it was +pointed out that the custom and precedent of the treasurer’s office, to +say nothing of Cowperwood’s easy method of doing business with the city +treasury, could have nothing to do with his responsibility for failure +to observe both the spirit and the letter of the law.] The obtaining of +goods under color of legal process [went on Judge Smithson, speaking +for the majority] may amount to larceny. In the present case it was the +province of the jury to ascertain the felonious intent. They have +settled that against the defendant as a question of fact, and the court +cannot say that there was not sufficient evidence to sustain the +verdict. For what purpose did the defendant get the check? He was upon +the eve of failure. He had already hypothecated for his own debts the +loan of the city placed in his hands for sale—he had unlawfully +obtained five hundred thousand dollars in cash as loans; and it is +reasonable to suppose that he could obtain nothing more from the city +treasury by any ordinary means. Then it is that he goes there, and, by +means of a falsehood implied if not actual, obtains sixty thousand +dollars more. The jury has found the intent with which this was done.” + +It was in these words that Cowperwood’s appeal for a new trial was +denied by the majority. + +For himself and Judge Rafalsky, Judge Marvin, dissenting, wrote: + +“It is plain from the evidence in the case that Mr. Cowperwood did not +receive the check without authority as agent to do so, and it has not +been clearly demonstrated that within his capacity as agent he did not +perform or intend to perform the full measure of the obligation which +the receipt of this check implied. It was shown in the trial that as a +matter of policy it was understood that purchases for the sinking-fund +should not be known or understood in the market or by the public in +that light, and that Mr. Cowperwood as agent was to have an absolutely +free hand in the disposal of his assets and liabilities so long as the +ultimate result was satisfactory. There was no particular time when the +loan was to be bought, nor was there any particular amount mentioned at +any time to be purchased. Unless the defendant intended at the time he +received the check fraudulently to appropriate it he could not be +convicted even on the first count. The verdict of the jury does not +establish this fact; the evidence does not show conclusively that it +could be established; and the same jury, upon three other counts, found +the defendant guilty without the semblance of shadow of evidence. How +can we say that their conclusions upon the first count are unerring +when they so palpably erred on the other counts? It is the opinion of +the minority that the verdict of the jury in charging larceny on the +first count is not valid, and that that verdict should be set aside and +a new trial granted.” + + +Judge Rafalsky, a meditative and yet practical man of Jewish extraction +but peculiarly American appearance, felt called upon to write a third +opinion which should especially reflect his own cogitation and be a +criticism on the majority as well as a slight variation from and +addition to the points on which he agreed with Judge Marvin. It was a +knotty question, this, of Cowperwood’s guilt, and, aside from the +political necessity of convicting him, nowhere was it more clearly +shown than in these varying opinions of the superior court. Judge +Rafalsky held, for instance, that if a crime had been committed at all, +it was not that known as larceny, and he went on to add: + +“It is impossible, from the evidence, to come to the conclusion either +that Cowperwood did not intend shortly to deliver the loan or that +Albert Stires, the chief clerk, or the city treasurer did not intend to +part not only with the possession, but also and absolutely with the +property in the check and the money represented by it. It was testified +by Mr. Stires that Mr. Cowperwood said he had bought certificates of +city loan to this amount, and it has not been clearly demonstrated that +he had not. His non-placement of the same in the sinking-fund must in +all fairness, the letter of the law to the contrary notwithstanding, be +looked upon and judged in the light of custom. Was it his custom so to +do? In my judgment the doctrine now announced by the majority of the +court extends the crime of constructive larceny to such limits that any +business man who engages in extensive and perfectly legitimate stock +transactions may, before he knows it, by a sudden panic in the market +or a fire, as in this instance, become a felon. When a principle is +asserted which establishes such a precedent, and may lead to such +results, it is, to say the least, startling.” + + +While he was notably comforted by the dissenting opinions of the judges +in minority, and while he had been schooling himself to expect the +worst in this connection and had been arranging his affairs as well as +he could in anticipation of it, Cowperwood was still bitterly +disappointed. It would be untrue to say that, strong and self-reliant +as he normally was, he did not suffer. He was not without sensibilities +of the highest order, only they were governed and controlled in him by +that cold iron thing, his reason, which never forsook him. There was no +further appeal possible save to the United States Supreme Court, as +Steger pointed out, and there only on the constitutionality of some +phase of the decision and his rights as a citizen, of which the Supreme +Court of the United States must take cognizance. This was a tedious and +expensive thing to do. It was not exactly obvious at the moment on what +point he could make an appeal. It would involve a long delay—perhaps a +year and a half, perhaps longer, at the end of which period he might +have to serve his prison term anyhow, and pending which he would +certainly have to undergo incarceration for a time. + +Cowperwood mused speculatively for a few moments after hearing Steger’s +presentation of the case. Then he said: “Well, it looks as if I have to +go to jail or leave the country, and I’ve decided on jail. I can fight +this out right here in Philadelphia in the long run and win. I can get +that decision reversed in the Supreme Court, or I can get the Governor +to pardon me after a time, I think. I’m not going to run away, and +everybody knows I’m not. These people who think they have me down +haven’t got one corner of me whipped. I’ll get out of this thing after +a while, and when I do I’ll show some of these petty little politicians +what it means to put up a real fight. They’ll never get a damned dollar +out of me now—not a dollar! I did intend to pay that five hundred +thousand dollars some time if they had let me go. Now they can +whistle!” + +He set his teeth and his gray eyes fairly snapped their determination. + +“Well, I’ve done all I can, Frank,” pleaded Steger, sympathetically. +“You’ll do me the justice to say that I put up the best fight I knew +how. I may not know how—you’ll have to answer for that—but within my +limits I’ve done the best I can. I can do a few things more to carry +this thing on, if you want me to, but I’m going to leave it to you now. +Whatever you say goes.” + +“Don’t talk nonsense at this stage, Harper,” replied Cowperwood almost +testily. “I know whether I’m satisfied or not, and I’d soon tell you if +I wasn’t. I think you might as well go on and see if you can find some +definite grounds for carrying it to the Supreme Court, but meanwhile +I’ll begin my sentence. I suppose Payderson will be naming a day to +have me brought before him now shortly.” + +“It depends on how you’d like to have it, Frank. I could get a stay of +sentence for a week maybe, or ten days, if it will do you any good. +Shannon won’t make any objection to that, I’m sure. There’s only one +hitch. Jaspers will be around here tomorrow looking for you. It’s his +duty to take you into custody again, once he’s notified that your +appeal has been denied. He’ll be wanting to lock you up unless you pay +him, but we can fix that. If you do want to wait, and want any time +off, I suppose he’ll arrange to let you out with a deputy; but I’m +afraid you’ll have to stay there nights. They’re pretty strict about +that since that Albertson case of a few years ago.” + +Steger referred to the case of a noted bank cashier who, being let out +of the county jail at night in the alleged custody of a deputy, was +permitted to escape. There had been emphatic and severe condemnation of +the sheriff’s office at the time, and since then, repute or no repute, +money or no money, convicted criminals were supposed to stay in the +county jail at night at least. + +Cowperwood meditated this calmly, looking out of the lawyer’s window +into Second Street. He did not much fear anything that might happen to +him in Jaspers’s charge since his first taste of that gentleman’s +hospitality, although he did object to spending nights in the county +jail when his general term of imprisonment was being reduced no whit +thereby. All that he could do now in connection with his affairs, +unless he could have months of freedom, could be as well adjusted from +a prison cell as from his Third Street office—not quite, but nearly so. +Anyhow, why parley? He was facing a prison term, and he might as well +accept it without further ado. He might take a day or two finally to +look after his affairs; but beyond that, why bother? + +“When, in the ordinary course of events, if you did nothing at all, +would I come up for sentence?” + +“Oh, Friday or Monday, I fancy,” replied Steger. “I don’t know what +move Shannon is planning to make in this matter. I thought I’d walk +around and see him in a little while.” + +“I think you’d better do that,” replied Cowperwood. “Friday or Monday +will suit me, either way. I’m really not particular. Better make it +Monday if you can. You don’t suppose there is any way you can induce +Jaspers to keep his hands off until then? He knows I’m perfectly +responsible.” + +“I don’t know, Frank, I’m sure; I’ll see. I’ll go around and talk to +him to-night. Perhaps a hundred dollars will make him relax the rigor +of his rules that much.” + +Cowperwood smiled grimly. + +“I fancy a hundred dollars would make Jaspers relax a whole lot of +rules,” he replied, and he got up to go. + +Steger arose also. “I’ll see both these people, and then I’ll call +around at your house. You’ll be in, will you, after dinner?” + +“Yes.” + +They slipped on their overcoats and went out into the cold February +day, Cowperwood back to his Third Street office, Steger to see Shannon +and Jaspers. + + + + +Chapter XLIX + + +The business of arranging Cowperwood’s sentence for Monday was soon +disposed of through Shannon, who had no personal objection to any +reasonable delay. + +Steger next visited the county jail, close on to five o’clock, when it +was already dark. Sheriff Jaspers came lolling out from his private +library, where he had been engaged upon the work of cleaning his pipe. + +“How are you, Mr. Steger?” he observed, smiling blandly. “How are you? +Glad to see you. Won’t you sit down? I suppose you’re round here again +on that Cowperwood matter. I just received word from the district +attorney that he had lost his case.” + +“That’s it, Sheriff,” replied Steger, ingratiatingly. “He asked me to +step around and see what you wanted him to do in the matter. Judge +Payderson has just fixed the sentence time for Monday morning at ten +o’clock. I don’t suppose you’ll be much put out if he doesn’t show up +here before Monday at eight o’clock, will you, or Sunday night, anyhow? +He’s perfectly reliable, as you know.” Steger was sounding Jaspers out, +politely trying to make the time of Cowperwood’s arrival a trivial +matter in order to avoid paying the hundred dollars, if possible. But +Jaspers was not to be so easily disposed of. His fat face lengthened +considerably. How could Steger ask him such a favor and not even +suggest the slightest form of remuneration? + +“It’s ag’in’ the law, Mr. Steger, as you know,” he began, cautiously +and complainingly. “I’d like to accommodate him, everything else being +equal, but since that Albertson case three years ago we’ve had to run +this office much more careful, and—” + +“Oh, I know, Sheriff,” interrupted Steger, blandly, “but this isn’t an +ordinary case in any way, as you can see for yourself. Mr. Cowperwood +is a very important man, and he has a great many things to attend to. +Now if it were only a mere matter of seventy-five or a hundred dollars +to satisfy some court clerk with, or to pay a fine, it would be easy +enough, but—” He paused and looked wisely away, and Mr. Jaspers’s face +began to relax at once. The law against which it was ordinarily so hard +to offend was not now so important. Steger saw that it was needless to +introduce any additional arguments. + +“It’s a very ticklish business, this, Mr. Steger,” put in the sheriff, +yieldingly, and yet with a slight whimper in his voice. “If anything +were to happen, it would cost me my place all right. I don’t like to do +it under any circumstances, and I wouldn’t, only I happen to know both +Mr. Cowperwood and Mr. Stener, and I like ’em both. I don’ think they +got their rights in this matter, either. I don’t mind making an +exception in this case if Mr. Cowperwood don’t go about too publicly. I +wouldn’t want any of the men in the district attorney’s office to know +this. I don’t suppose he’ll mind if I keep a deputy somewhere near all +the time for looks’ sake. I have to, you know, really, under the law. +He won’t bother him any. Just keep on guard like.” Jaspers looked at +Mr. Steger very flatly and wisely—almost placatingly under the +circumstances—and Steger nodded. + +“Quite right, Sheriff, quite right. You’re quite right,” and he drew +out his purse while the sheriff led the way very cautiously back into +his library. + +“I’d like to show you the line of law-books I’m fixing up for myself in +here, Mr. Steger,” he observed, genially, but meanwhile closing his +fingers gently on the small roll of ten-dollar bills Steger was handing +him. “We have occasional use for books of that kind here, as you see. I +thought it a good sort of thing to have them around.” He waved one arm +comprehensively at the line of State reports, revised statutes, prison +regulations, etc., the while he put the money in his pocket and Steger +pretended to look. + +“A good idea, I think, Sheriff. Very good, indeed. So you think if Mr. +Cowperwood gets around here very early Monday morning, say eight or +eight-thirty, that it will be all right?” + +“I think so,” replied the sheriff, curiously nervous, but agreeable, +anxious to please. “I don’t think that anything will come up that will +make me want him earlier. If it does I’ll let you know, and you can +produce him. I don’t think so, though, Mr. Steger; I think everything +will be all right.” They were once more in the main hall now. “Glad to +have seen you again, Mr. Steger—very glad,” he added. “Call again some +day.” + +Waving the sheriff a pleasant farewell, he hurried on his way to +Cowperwood’s house. + +You would not have thought, seeing Cowperwood mount the front steps of +his handsome residence in his neat gray suit and well-cut overcoat on +his return from his office that evening, that he was thinking that this +might be his last night here. His air and walk indicated no weakening +of spirit. He entered the hall, where an early lamp was aglow, and +encountered “Wash” Sims, an old negro factotum, who was just coming up +from the basement, carrying a bucket of coal for one of the fireplaces. + +“Mahty cold out, dis evenin’, Mistah Coppahwood,” said Wash, to whom +anything less than sixty degrees was very cold. His one regret was that +Philadelphia was not located in North Carolina, from whence he came. + +“’Tis sharp, Wash,” replied Cowperwood, absentmindedly. He was thinking +for the moment of the house and how it had looked, as he came toward it +west along Girard Avenue—what the neighbors were thinking of him, too, +observing him from time to time out of their windows. It was clear and +cold. The lamps in the reception-hall and sitting-room had been lit, +for he had permitted no air of funereal gloom to settle down over this +place since his troubles had begun. In the far west of the street a +last tingling gleam of lavender and violet was showing over the cold +white snow of the roadway. The house of gray-green stone, with its +lighted windows, and cream-colored lace curtains, had looked especially +attractive. He had thought for the moment of the pride he had taken in +putting all this here, decorating and ornamenting it, and whether, +ever, he could secure it for himself again. “Where is your mistress?” +he added to Wash, when he bethought himself. + +“In the sitting-room, Mr. Coppahwood, ah think.” + +Cowperwood ascended the stairs, thinking curiously that Wash would soon +be out of a job now, unless Mrs. Cowperwood, out of all the wreck of +other things, chose to retain him, which was not likely. He entered the +sitting-room, and there sat his wife by the oblong center-table, sewing +a hook and eye on one of Lillian, second’s, petticoats. She looked up, +at his step, with the peculiarly uncertain smile she used these +days—indication of her pain, fear, suspicion—and inquired, “Well, what +is new with you, Frank?” Her smile was something like a hat or belt or +ornament which one puts on or off at will. + +“Nothing in particular,” he replied, in his offhand way, “except that I +understand I have lost that appeal of mine. Steger is coming here in a +little while to let me know. I had a note from him, and I fancy it’s +about that.” + +He did not care to say squarely that he had lost. He knew that she was +sufficiently distressed as it was, and he did not care to be too abrupt +just now. + +“You don’t say!” replied Lillian, with surprise and fright in her +voice, and getting up. + +She had been so used to a world where prisons were scarcely thought of, +where things went on smoothly from day to day without any noticeable +intrusion of such distressing things as courts, jails, and the like, +that these last few months had driven her nearly mad. Cowperwood had so +definitely insisted on her keeping in the background—he had told her so +very little that she was all at sea anyhow in regard to the whole +procedure. Nearly all that she had had in the way of intelligence had +been from his father and mother and Anna, and from a close and almost +secret scrutiny of the newspapers. + +At the time he had gone to the county jail she did not even know +anything about it until his father had come back from the court-room +and the jail and had broken the news to her. It had been a terrific +blow to her. Now to have this thing suddenly broken to her in this +offhand way, even though she had been expecting and dreading it hourly, +was too much. + +She was still a decidedly charming-looking woman as she stood holding +her daughter’s garment in her hand, even if she was forty years old to +Cowperwood’s thirty-five. She was robed in one of the creations of +their late prosperity, a cream-colored gown of rich silk, with dark +brown trimmings—a fetching combination for her. Her eyes were a little +hollow, and reddish about the rims, but otherwise she showed no sign of +her keen mental distress. There was considerable evidence of the former +tranquil sweetness that had so fascinated him ten years before. + +“Isn’t that terrible?” she said, weakly, her hands trembling in a +nervous way. “Isn’t it dreadful? Isn’t there anything more you can do, +truly? You won’t really have to go to prison, will you?” He objected to +her distress and her nervous fears. He preferred a stronger, more +self-reliant type of woman, but still she was his wife, and in his day +he had loved her much. + +“It looks that way, Lillian,” he said, with the first note of real +sympathy he had used in a long while, for he felt sorry for her now. At +the same time he was afraid to go any further along that line, for fear +it might give her a false sense as to his present attitude toward her +which was one essentially of indifference. But she was not so dull but +what she could see that the consideration in his voice had been brought +about by his defeat, which meant hers also. She choked a little—and +even so was touched. The bare suggestion of sympathy brought back the +old days so definitely gone forever. If only they could be brought +back! + +“I don’t want you to feel distressed about me, though,” he went on, +before she could say anything to him. “I’m not through with my +fighting. I’ll get out of this. I have to go to prison, it seems, in +order to get things straightened out properly. What I would like you to +do is to keep up a cheerful appearance in front of the rest of the +family—father and mother particularly. They need to be cheered up.” He +thought once of taking her hand, then decided not. She noted mentally +his hesitation, the great difference between his attitude now and that +of ten or twelve years before. It did not hurt her now as much as she +once would have thought. She looked at him, scarcely knowing what to +say. There was really not so much to say. + +“Will you have to go soon, if you do have to go?” she ventured, +wearily. + +“I can’t tell yet. Possibly to-night. Possibly Friday. Possibly not +until Monday. I’m waiting to hear from Steger. I expect him here any +minute.” + +To prison! To prison! Her Frank Cowperwood, her husband—the substance +of their home here—and all their soul destruction going to prison. And +even now she scarcely grasped why! She stood there wondering what she +could do. + +“Is there anything I can get for you?” she asked, starting forward as +if out of a dream. “Do you want me to do anything? Don’t you think +perhaps you had better leave Philadelphia, Frank? You needn’t go to +prison unless you want to.” + +She was a little beside herself, for the first time in her life shocked +out of a deadly calm. + +He paused and looked at her for a moment in his direct, examining way, +his hard commercial business judgment restored on the instant. + +“That would be a confession of guilt, Lillian, and I’m not guilty,” he +replied, almost coldly. “I haven’t done anything that warrants my +running away or going to prison, either. I’m merely going there to save +time at present. I can’t be litigating this thing forever. I’ll get +out—be pardoned out or sued out in a reasonable length of time. Just +now it’s better to go, I think. I wouldn’t think of running away from +Philadelphia. Two of five judges found for me in the decision. That’s +pretty fair evidence that the State has no case against me.” + +His wife saw she had made a mistake. It clarified her judgment on the +instant. “I didn’t mean in that way, Frank,” she replied, +apologetically. “You know I didn’t. Of course I know you’re not guilty. +Why should I think you were, of all people?” + +She paused, expecting some retort, some further argument—a kind word +maybe. A trace of the older, baffling love, but he had quietly turned +to his desk and was thinking of other things. + +At this point the anomaly of her own state came over her again. It was +all so sad and so hopeless. And what was she to do in the future? And +what was he likely to do? She paused half trembling and yet decided, +because of her peculiarly nonresisting nature—why trespass on his time? +Why bother? No good would really come of it. He really did not care for +her any more—that was it. Nothing could make him, nothing could bring +them together again, not even this tragedy. He was interested in +another woman—Aileen—and so her foolish thoughts and explanations, her +fear, sorrow, distress, were not important to him. He could take her +agonized wish for his freedom as a comment on his probable guilt, a +doubt of his innocence, a criticism of him! She turned away for a +minute, and he started to leave the room. + +“I’ll be back again in a few moments,” he volunteered. “Are the +children here?” + +“Yes, they’re up in the play-room,” she answered, sadly, utterly +nonplussed and distraught. + +“Oh, Frank!” she had it on her lips to cry, but before she could utter +it he had bustled down the steps and was gone. She turned back to the +table, her left hand to her mouth, her eyes in a queer, hazy, +melancholy mist. Could it be, she thought, that life could really come +to this—that love could so utterly, so thoroughly die? Ten years +before—but, oh, why go back to that? Obviously it could, and thoughts +concerning that would not help now. Twice now in her life her affairs +had seemed to go to pieces—once when her first husband had died, and +now when her second had failed her, had fallen in love with another and +was going to be sent off to prison. What was it about her that caused +such things? Was there anything wrong with her? What was she going to +do? Where go? She had no idea, of course, for how long a term of years +he would be sent away. It might be one year or it might be five years, +as the papers had said. Good heavens! The children could almost come to +forget him in five years. She put her other hand to her mouth, also, +and then to her forehead, where there was a dull ache. She tried to +think further than this, but somehow, just now, there was no further +thought. Suddenly quite outside of her own volition, with no thought +that she was going to do such a thing, her bosom began to heave, her +throat contracted in four or five short, sharp, aching spasms, her eyes +burned, and she shook in a vigorous, anguished, desperate, almost one +might have said dry-eyed, cry, so hot and few were the tears. She could +not stop for the moment, just stood there and shook, and then after a +while a dull ache succeeded, and she was quite as she had been before. + +“Why cry?” she suddenly asked herself, fiercely—for her. “Why break +down in this stormy, useless way? Would it help?” + +But, in spite of her speculative, philosophic observations to herself, +she still felt the echo, the distant rumble, as it were, of the storm +in her own soul. “Why cry? Why not cry?” She might have said—but +wouldn’t, and in spite of herself and all her logic, she knew that this +tempest which had so recently raged over her was now merely circling +around her soul’s horizon and would return to break again. + + + + +Chapter L + + +The arrival of Steger with the information that no move of any kind +would be made by the sheriff until Monday morning, when Cowperwood +could present himself, eased matters. This gave him time to think—to +adjust home details at his leisure. He broke the news to his father and +mother in a consoling way and talked with his brothers and father about +getting matters immediately adjusted in connection with the smaller +houses to which they were now shortly to be compelled to move. There +was much conferring among the different members of this collapsing +organization in regard to the minor details; and what with his +conferences with Steger, his seeing personally Davison, Leigh, Avery +Stone, of Jay Cooke & Co., George Waterman (his old-time employer Henry +was dead), ex-State Treasurer Van Nostrand, who had gone out with the +last State administration, and others, he was very busy. Now that he +was really going into prison, he wanted his financial friends to get +together and see if they could get him out by appealing to the +Governor. The division of opinion among the judges of the State Supreme +Court was his excuse and strong point. He wanted Steger to follow this +up, and he spared no pains in trying to see all and sundry who might be +of use to him—Edward Tighe, of Tighe & Co., who was still in business +in Third Street; Newton Targool; Arthur Rivers; Joseph Zimmerman, the +dry-goods prince, now a millionaire; Judge Kitchen; Terrence Relihan, +the former representative of the money element at Harrisburg; and many +others. + +Cowperwood wanted Relihan to approach the newspapers and see if he +could not readjust their attitude so as to work to get him out, and he +wanted Walter Leigh to head the movement of getting up a signed +petition which should contain all the important names of moneyed people +and others, asking the Governor to release him. Leigh agreed to this +heartily, as did Relihan, and many others. + +And, afterwards there was really nothing else to do, unless it was to +see Aileen once more, and this, in the midst of his other complications +and obligations, seemed all but impossible at times—and yet he did +achieve that, too—so eager was he to be soothed and comforted by the +ignorant and yet all embracing volume of her love. Her eyes these days! +The eager, burning quest of him and his happiness that blazed in them. +To think that he should be tortured so—her Frank! Oh, she knew—whatever +he said, and however bravely and jauntily he talked. To think that her +love for him should have been the principal cause of his being sent to +jail, as she now believed. And the cruelty of her father! And the +smallness of his enemies—that fool Stener, for instance, whose pictures +she had seen in the papers. Actually, whenever in the presence of her +Frank, she fairly seethed in a chemic agony for him—her strong, +handsome lover—the strongest, bravest, wisest, kindest, handsomest man +in the world. Oh, didn’t she know! And Cowperwood, looking in her eyes +and realizing this reasonless, if so comforting fever for him, smiled +and was touched. Such love! That of a dog for a master; that of a +mother for a child. And how had he come to evoke it? He could not say, +but it was beautiful. + +And so, now, in these last trying hours, he wished to see her much—and +did—meeting her at least four times in the month in which he had been +free, between his conviction and the final dismissal of his appeal. He +had one last opportunity of seeing her—and she him—just before his +entrance into prison this last time—on the Saturday before the Monday +of his sentence. He had not come in contact with her since the decision +of the Supreme Court had been rendered, but he had had a letter from +her sent to a private mail-box, and had made an appointment for +Saturday at a small hotel in Camden, which, being across the river, was +safer, in his judgment, than anything in Philadelphia. He was a little +uncertain as to how she would take the possibility of not seeing him +soon again after Monday, and how she would act generally once he was +where she could not confer with him as often as she chose. And in +consequence, he was anxious to talk to her. But on this occasion, as he +anticipated, and even feared, so sorry for her was he, she was not less +emphatic in her protestations than she had ever been; in fact, much +more so. When she saw him approaching in the distance, she went forward +to meet him in that direct, forceful way which only she could attempt +with him, a sort of mannish impetuosity which he both enjoyed and +admired, and slipping her arms around his neck, said: “Honey, you +needn’t tell me. I saw it in the papers the other morning. Don’t you +mind, honey. I love you. I’ll wait for you. I’ll be with you yet, if it +takes a dozen years of waiting. It doesn’t make any difference to me if +it takes a hundred, only I’m so sorry for you, sweetheart. I’ll be with +you every day through this, darling, loving you with all my might.” + +She caressed him while he looked at her in that quiet way which +betokened at once his self-poise and yet his interest and satisfaction +in her. He couldn’t help loving Aileen, he thought who could? She was +so passionate, vibrant, desireful. He couldn’t help admiring her +tremendously, now more than ever, because literally, in spite of all +his intellectual strength, he really could not rule her. She went at +him, even when he stood off in a calm, critical way, as if he were her +special property, her toy. She would talk to him always, and +particularly when she was excited, as if he were just a baby, her pet; +and sometimes he felt as though she would really overcome him mentally, +make him subservient to her, she was so individual, so sure of her +importance as a woman. + +Now on this occasion she went babbling on as if he were broken-hearted, +in need of her greatest care and tenderness, although he really wasn’t +at all; and for the moment she actually made him feel as though he was. + +“It isn’t as bad as that, Aileen,” he ventured to say, eventually; and +with a softness and tenderness almost unusual for him, even where she +was concerned, but she went on forcefully, paying no heed to him. + +“Oh, yes, it is, too, honey. I know. Oh, my poor Frank! But I’ll see +you. I know how to manage, whatever happens. How often do they let +visitors come out to see the prisoners there?” + +“Only once in three months, pet, so they say, but I think we can fix +that after I get there; only do you think you had better try to come +right away, Aileen? You know what the feeling now is. Hadn’t you better +wait a while? Aren’t you in danger of stirring up your father? He might +cause a lot of trouble out there if he were so minded.” + +“Only once in three months!” she exclaimed, with rising emphasis, as he +began this explanation. “Oh, Frank, no! Surely not! Once in three +months! Oh, I can’t stand that! I won’t! I’ll go and see the warden +myself. He’ll let me see you. I’m sure he will, if I talk to him.” + +She fairly gasped in her excitement, not willing to pause in her +tirade, but Cowperwood interposed with her, “You’re not thinking what +you’re saying, Aileen. You’re not thinking. Remember your father! +Remember your family! Your father may know the warden out there. You +don’t want it to get all over town that you’re running out there to see +me, do you? Your father might cause you trouble. Besides you don’t know +the small party politicians as I do. They gossip like a lot of old +women. You’ll have to be very careful what you do and how you do it. I +don’t want to lose you. I want to see you. But you’ll have to mind what +you’re doing. Don’t try to see me at once. I want you to, but I want to +find out how the land lies, and I want you to find out too. You won’t +lose me. I’ll be there, well enough.” + +He paused as he thought of the long tier of iron cells which must be +there, one of which would be his—for how long?—and of Aileen seeing him +through the door of it or in it. At the same time he was thinking, in +spite of all his other calculations, how charming she was looking +to-day. How young she kept, and how forceful! While he was nearing his +full maturity she was a comparatively young girl, and as beautiful as +ever. She was wearing a black-and-white-striped silk in the curious +bustle style of the times, and a set of sealskin furs, including a +little sealskin cap set jauntily on top her red-gold hair. + +“I know, I know,” replied Aileen, firmly. “But think of three months! +Honey, I can’t! I won’t! It’s nonsense. Three months! I know that my +father wouldn’t have to wait any three months if he wanted to see +anybody out there, nor anybody else that he wanted to ask favors for. +And I won’t, either. I’ll find some way.” + +Cowperwood had to smile. You could not defeat Aileen so easily. + +“But you’re not your father, honey; and you don’t want him to know.” + +“I know I don’t, but they don’t need to know who I am. I can go heavily +veiled. I don’t think that the warden knows my father. He may. Anyhow, +he doesn’t know me; and he wouldn’t tell on me if he did if I talked to +him.” + +Her confidence in her charms, her personality, her earthly privileges +was quite anarchistic. Cowperwood shook his head. + +“Honey, you’re about the best and the worst there is when it comes to a +woman,” he observed, affectionately, pulling her head down to kiss her, +“but you’ll have to listen to me just the same. I have a lawyer, +Steger—you know him. He’s going to take up this matter with the warden +out there—is doing it today. He may be able to fix things, and he may +not. I’ll know to-morrow or Sunday, and I’ll write you. But don’t go +and do anything rash until you hear. I’m sure I can cut that visiting +limit in half, and perhaps down to once a month or once in two weeks +even. They only allow me to write one letter in three months”—Aileen +exploded again—“and I’m sure I can have that made different—some; but +don’t write me until you hear, or at least don’t sign any name or put +any address in. They open all mail and read it. If you see me or write +me you’ll have to be cautious, and you’re not the most cautious person +in the world. Now be good, will you?” + +They talked much more—of his family, his court appearance Monday, +whether he would get out soon to attend any of the suits still pending, +or be pardoned. Aileen still believed in his future. She had read the +opinions of the dissenting judges in his favor, and that of the three +agreed judges against him. She was sure his day was not over in +Philadelphia, and that he would some time reestablish himself and then +take her with him somewhere else. She was sorry for Mrs. Cowperwood, +but she was convinced that she was not suited to him—that Frank needed +some one more like herself, some one with youth and beauty and +force—her, no less. She clung to him now in ecstatic embraces until it +was time to go. So far as a plan of procedure could have been adjusted +in a situation so incapable of accurate adjustment, it had been done. +She was desperately downcast at the last moment, as was he, over their +parting; but she pulled herself together with her usual force and faced +the dark future with a steady eye. + + + + +Chapter LI + + +Monday came and with it his final departure. All that could be done had +been done. Cowperwood said his farewells to his mother and father, his +brothers and sister. He had a rather distant but sensible and +matter-of-fact talk with his wife. He made no special point of saying +good-by to his son or his daughter; when he came in on Thursday, +Friday, Saturday, and Sunday evenings, after he had learned that he was +to depart Monday, it was with the thought of talking to them a little +in an especially affectionate way. He realized that his general moral +or unmoral attitude was perhaps working them a temporary injustice. +Still he was not sure. Most people did fairly well with their lives, +whether coddled or deprived of opportunity. These children would +probably do as well as most children, whatever happened—and then, +anyhow, he had no intention of forsaking them financially, if he could +help it. He did not want to separate his wife from her children, nor +them from her. She should keep them. He wanted them to be comfortable +with her. He would like to see them, wherever they were with her, +occasionally. Only he wanted his own personal freedom, in so far as she +and they were concerned, to go off and set up a new world and a new +home with Aileen. So now on these last days, and particularly this last +Sunday night, he was rather noticeably considerate of his boy and girl, +without being too openly indicative of his approaching separation from +them. + +“Frank,” he said to his notably lackadaisical son on this occasion, +“aren’t you going to straighten up and be a big, strong, healthy +fellow? You don’t play enough. You ought to get in with a gang of boys +and be a leader. Why don’t you fit yourself up a gymnasium somewhere +and see how strong you can get?” + +They were in the senior Cowperwood’s sitting-room, where they had all +rather consciously gathered on this occasion. + +Lillian, second, who was on the other side of the big library table +from her father, paused to survey him and her brother with interest. +Both had been carefully guarded against any real knowledge of their +father’s affairs or his present predicament. He was going away on a +journey for about a month or so they understood. Lillian was reading in +a Chatterbox book which had been given her the previous Christmas. + +“He won’t do anything,” she volunteered, looking up from her reading in +a peculiarly critical way for her. “Why, he won’t ever run races with +me when I want him to.” + +“Aw, who wants to run races with you, anyhow?” returned Frank, junior, +sourly. “You couldn’t run if I did want to run with you.” + +“Couldn’t I?” she replied. “I could beat you, all right.” + +“Lillian!” pleaded her mother, with a warning sound in her voice. + +Cowperwood smiled, and laid his hand affectionately on his son’s head. +“You’ll be all right, Frank,” he volunteered, pinching his ear lightly. +“Don’t worry—just make an effort.” + +The boy did not respond as warmly as he hoped. Later in the evening +Mrs. Cowperwood noticed that her husband squeezed his daughter’s slim +little waist and pulled her curly hair gently. For the moment she was +jealous of her daughter. + +“Going to be the best kind of a girl while I’m away?” he said to her, +privately. + +“Yes, papa,” she replied, brightly. + +“That’s right,” he returned, and leaned over and kissed her mouth +tenderly. “Button Eyes,” he said. + +Mrs. Cowperwood sighed after he had gone. “Everything for the children, +nothing for me,” she thought, though the children had not got so vastly +much either in the past. + +Cowperwood’s attitude toward his mother in this final hour was about as +tender and sympathetic as any he could maintain in this world. He +understood quite clearly the ramifications of her interests, and how +she was suffering for him and all the others concerned. He had not +forgotten her sympathetic care of him in his youth; and if he could +have done anything to have spared her this unhappy breakdown of her +fortunes in her old age, he would have done so. There was no use crying +over spilled milk. It was impossible at times for him not to feel +intensely in moments of success or failure; but the proper thing to do +was to bear up, not to show it, to talk little and go your way with an +air not so much of resignation as of self-sufficiency, to whatever was +awaiting you. That was his attitude on this morning, and that was what +he expected from those around him—almost compelled, in fact, by his own +attitude. + +“Well, mother,” he said, genially, at the last moment—he would not let +her nor his wife nor his sister come to court, maintaining that it +would make not the least difference to him and would only harrow their +own feelings uselessly—“I’m going now. Don’t worry. Keep up your +spirits.” + +He slipped his arm around his mother’s waist, and she gave him a long, +unrestrained, despairing embrace and kiss. + +“Go on, Frank,” she said, choking, when she let him go. “God bless you. +I’ll pray for you.” He paid no further attention to her. He didn’t +dare. + +“Good-by, Lillian,” he said to his wife, pleasantly, kindly. “I’ll be +back in a few days, I think. I’ll be coming out to attend some of these +court proceedings.” + +To his sister he said: “Good-by, Anna. Don’t let the others get too +down-hearted.” + +“I’ll see you three afterward,” he said to his father and brothers; and +so, dressed in the very best fashion of the time, he hurried down into +the reception-hall, where Steger was waiting, and was off. His family, +hearing the door close on him, suffered a poignant sense of desolation. +They stood there for a moment, his mother crying, his father looking as +though he had lost his last friend but making a great effort to seem +self-contained and equal to his troubles, Anna telling Lillian not to +mind, and the latter staring dumbly into the future, not knowing what +to think. Surely a brilliant sun had set on their local scene, and in a +very pathetic way. + + + + +Chapter LII + + +When Cowperwood reached the jail, Jaspers was there, glad to see him +but principally relieved to feel that nothing had happened to mar his +own reputation as a sheriff. Because of the urgency of court matters +generally, it was decided to depart for the courtroom at nine o’clock. +Eddie Zanders was once more delegated to see that Cowperwood was +brought safely before Judge Payderson and afterward taken to the +penitentiary. All of the papers in the case were put in his care to be +delivered to the warden. + +“I suppose you know,” confided Sheriff Jaspers to Steger, “that Stener +is here. He ain’t got no money now, but I gave him a private room just +the same. I didn’t want to put a man like him in no cell.” Sheriff +Jaspers sympathized with Stener. + +“That’s right. I’m glad to hear that,” replied Steger, smiling to +himself. + +“I didn’t suppose from what I’ve heard that Mr. Cowperwood would want +to meet Stener here, so I’ve kept ’em apart. George just left a minute +ago with another deputy.” + +“That’s good. That’s the way it ought to be,” replied Steger. He was +glad for Cowperwood’s sake that the sheriff had so much tact. Evidently +George and the sheriff were getting along in a very friendly way, for +all the former’s bitter troubles and lack of means. + +The Cowperwood party walked, the distance not being great, and as they +did so they talked of rather simple things to avoid the more serious. + +“Things aren’t going to be so bad,” Edward said to his father. “Steger +says the Governor is sure to pardon Stener in a year or less, and if he +does he’s bound to let Frank out too.” + +Cowperwood, the elder, had heard this over and over, but he was never +tired of hearing it. It was like some simple croon with which babies +are hushed to sleep. The snow on the ground, which was enduring +remarkably well for this time of year, the fineness of the day, which +had started out to be clear and bright, the hope that the courtroom +might not be full, all held the attention of the father and his two +sons. Cowperwood, senior, even commented on some sparrows fighting over +a piece of bread, marveling how well they did in winter, solely to ease +his mind. Cowperwood, walking on ahead with Steger and Zanders, talked +of approaching court proceedings in connection with his business and +what ought to be done. + +When they reached the court the same little pen in which Cowperwood had +awaited the verdict of his jury several months before was waiting to +receive him. + +Cowperwood, senior, and his other sons sought places in the courtroom +proper. Eddie Zanders remained with his charge. Stener and a deputy by +the name of Wilkerson were in the room; but he and Cowperwood pretended +now not to see each other. Frank had no objection to talking to his +former associate, but he could see that Stener was diffident and +ashamed. So he let the situation pass without look or word of any kind. +After some three-quarters of an hour of dreary waiting the door leading +into the courtroom proper opened and a bailiff stepped in. + +“All prisoners up for sentence,” he called. + +There were six, all told, including Cowperwood and Stener. Two of them +were confederate housebreakers who had been caught red-handed at their +midnight task. + +Another prisoner was no more and no less than a plain horse-thief, a +young man of twenty-six, who had been convicted by a jury of stealing a +grocer’s horse and selling it. The last man was a negro, a tall, +shambling, illiterate, nebulous-minded black, who had walked off with +an apparently discarded section of lead pipe which he had found in a +lumber-yard. His idea was to sell or trade it for a drink. He really +did not belong in this court at all; but, having been caught by an +undersized American watchman charged with the care of the property, and +having at first refused to plead guilty, not quite understanding what +was to be done with him, he had been perforce bound over to this court +for trial. Afterward he had changed his mind and admitted his guilt, so +he now had to come before Judge Payderson for sentence or dismissal. +The lower court before which he had originally been brought had lost +jurisdiction by binding him over to to higher court for trial. Eddie +Zanders, in his self-appointed position as guide and mentor to +Cowperwood, had confided nearly all of this data to him as he stood +waiting. + +The courtroom was crowded. It was very humiliating to Cowperwood to +have to file in this way along the side aisle with these others, +followed by Stener, well dressed but sickly looking and disconsolate. + +The negro, Charles Ackerman, was the first on the list. + +“How is it this man comes before me?” asked Payderson, peevishly, when +he noted the value of the property Ackerman was supposed to have +stolen. + +“Your honor,” the assistant district attorney explained, promptly, +“this man was before a lower court and refused, because he was drunk, +or something, to plead guilty. The lower court, because the complainant +would not forego the charge, was compelled to bind him over to this +court for trial. Since then he has changed his mind and has admitted +his guilt to the district attorney. He would not be brought before you +except we have no alternative. He has to be brought here now in order +to clear the calendar.” + +Judge Payderson stared quizzically at the negro, who, obviously not +very much disturbed by this examination, was leaning comfortably on the +gate or bar before which the average criminal stood erect and +terrified. He had been before police-court magistrates before on one +charge and another—drunkenness, disorderly conduct, and the like—but +his whole attitude was one of shambling, lackadaisical, amusing +innocence. + +“Well, Ackerman,” inquired his honor, severely, “did you or did you not +steal this piece of lead pipe as charged here—four dollars and eighty +cents’ worth?” + +“Yassah, I did,” he began. “I tell you how it was, jedge. I was +a-comin’ along past dat lumber-yard one Saturday afternoon, and I +hadn’t been wuckin’, an’ I saw dat piece o’ pipe thoo de fence, lyin’ +inside, and I jes’ reached thoo with a piece o’ boad I found dey and +pulled it over to me an’ tuck it. An’ aftahwahd dis Mistah Watchman +man”—he waved his hand oratorically toward the witness-chair, where, in +case the judge might wish to ask him some questions, the complainant +had taken his stand—“come around tuh where I live an’ accused me of +done takin’ it.” + +“But you did take it, didn’t you?” + +“Yassah, I done tuck it.” + +“What did you do with it?” + +“I traded it foh twenty-five cents.” + +“You mean you sold it,” corrected his honor. + +“Yassah, I done sold it.” + +“Well, don’t you know it’s wrong to do anything like that? Didn’t you +know when you reached through that fence and pulled that pipe over to +you that you were stealing? Didn’t you?” + +“Yassah, I knowed it was wrong,” replied Ackerman, sheepishly. “I didn’ +think ’twuz stealin’ like zackly, but I done knowed it was wrong. I +done knowed I oughtn’ take it, I guess.” + +“Of course you did. Of course you did. That’s just it. You knew you +were stealing, and still you took it. Has the man to whom this negro +sold the lead pipe been apprehended yet?” the judge inquired sharply of +the district attorney. “He should be, for he’s more guilty than this +negro, a receiver of stolen goods.” + +“Yes, sir,” replied the assistant. “His case is before Judge Yawger.” + +“Quite right. It should be,” replied Payderson, severely. “This matter +of receiving stolen property is one of the worst offenses, in my +judgment.” + +He then turned his attention to Ackerman again. “Now, look here, +Ackerman,” he exclaimed, irritated at having to bother with such a +pretty case, “I want to say something to you, and I want you to pay +strict attention to me. Straighten up, there! Don’t lean on that gate! +You are in the presence of the law now.” Ackerman had sprawled himself +comfortably down on his elbows as he would have if he had been leaning +over a back-fence gate talking to some one, but he immediately drew +himself straight, still grinning foolishly and apologetically, when he +heard this. “You are not so dull but that you can understand what I am +going to say to you. The offense you have committed—stealing a piece of +lead pipe—is a crime. Do you hear me? A criminal offense—one that I +could punish you very severely for. I could send you to the +penitentiary for one year if I chose—the law says I may—one year at +hard labor for stealing a piece of lead pipe. Now, if you have any +sense you will pay strict attention to what I am going to tell you. I +am not going to send you to the penitentiary right now. I’m going to +wait a little while. I am going to sentence you to one year in the +penitentiary—one year. Do you understand?” Ackerman blanched a little +and licked his lips nervously. “And then I am going to suspend that +sentence—hold it over your head, so that if you are ever caught taking +anything else you will be punished for this offense and the next one +also at one and the same time. Do you understand that? Do you know what +I mean? Tell me. Do you?” + +“Yessah! I does, sir,” replied the negro. “You’se gwine to let me go +now—tha’s it.” + +The audience grinned, and his honor made a wry face to prevent his own +grim grin. + +“I’m going to let you go only so long as you don’t steal anything +else,” he thundered. “The moment you steal anything else, back you come +to this court, and then you go to the penitentiary for a year and +whatever more time you deserve. Do you understand that? Now, I want you +to walk straight out of this court and behave yourself. Don’t ever +steal anything. Get something to do! Don’t steal, do you hear? Don’t +touch anything that doesn’t belong to you! Don’t come back here! If you +do, I’ll send you to the penitentiary, sure.” + +“Yassah! No, sah, I won’t,” replied Ackerman, nervously. “I won’t take +nothin’ more that don’t belong tuh me.” + +He shuffled away, after a moment, urged along by the guiding hand of a +bailiff, and was put safely outside the court, amid a mixture of smiles +and laughter over his simplicity and Payderson’s undue severity of +manner. But the next case was called and soon engrossed the interest of +the audience. + +It was that of the two housebreakers whom Cowperwood had been and was +still studying with much curiosity. In all his life before he had never +witnessed a sentencing scene of any kind. He had never been in police +or criminal courts of any kind—rarely in any of the civil ones. He was +glad to see the negro go, and gave Payderson credit for having some +sense and sympathy—more than he had expected. + +He wondered now whether by any chance Aileen was here. He had objected +to her coming, but she might have done so. She was, as a matter of +fact, in the extreme rear, pocketed in a crowd near the door, heavily +veiled, but present. She had not been able to resist the desire to know +quickly and surely her beloved’s fate—to be near him in his hour of +real suffering, as she thought. She was greatly angered at seeing him +brought in with a line of ordinary criminals and made to wait in this, +to her, shameful public manner, but she could not help admiring all the +more the dignity and superiority of his presence even here. He was not +even pale, as she saw, just the same firm, calm soul she had always +known him to be. If he could only see her now; if he would only look so +she could lift her veil and smile! He didn’t, though; he wouldn’t. He +didn’t want to see her here. But she would tell him all about it when +she saw him again just the same. + +The two burglars were quickly disposed of by the judge, with a sentence +of one year each, and they were led away, uncertain, and apparently not +knowing what to think of their crime or their future. + +When it came to Cowperwood’s turn to be called, his honor himself +stiffened and straightened up, for this was a different type of man and +could not be handled in the usual manner. He knew exactly what he was +going to say. When one of Mollenhauer’s agents, a close friend of +Butler’s, had suggested that five years for both Cowperwood and Stener +would be about right, he knew exactly what to do. “Frank Algernon +Cowperwood,” called the clerk. + +Cowperwood stepped briskly forward, sorry for himself, ashamed of his +position in a way, but showing it neither in look nor manner. Payderson +eyed him as he had the others. + +“Name?” asked the bailiff, for the benefit of the court stenographer. + +“Frank Algernon Cowperwood.” + +“Residence?” + +“1937 Girard Avenue.” + +“Occupation?” + +“Banker and broker.” + +Steger stood close beside him, very dignified, very forceful, ready to +make a final statement for the benefit of the court and the public when +the time should come. Aileen, from her position in the crowd near the +door, was for the first time in her life biting her fingers nervously +and there were great beads of perspiration on her brow. Cowperwood’s +father was tense with excitement and his two brothers looked quickly +away, doing their best to hide their fear and sorrow. + +“Ever convicted before?” + +“Never,” replied Steger for Cowperwood, quietly. + +“Frank Algernon Cowperwood,” called the clerk, in his nasal, singsong +way, coming forward, “have you anything to say why judgment should not +now be pronounced upon you? If so, speak.” + +Cowperwood started to say no, but Steger put up his hand. + +“If the court pleases, my client, Mr. Cowperwood, the prisoner at the +bar, is neither guilty in his own estimation, nor in that of two-fifths +of the Pennsylvania State Supreme Court—the court of last resort in +this State,” he exclaimed, loudly and clearly, so that all might hear. + +One of the interested listeners and spectators at this point was Edward +Malia Butler, who had just stepped in from another courtroom where he +had been talking to a judge. An obsequious court attendant had warned +him that Cowperwood was about to be sentenced. He had really come here +this morning in order not to miss this sentence, but he cloaked his +motive under the guise of another errand. He did not know that Aileen +was there, nor did he see her. + +“As he himself testified at the time of his trial,” went on Steger, +“and as the evidence clearly showed, he was never more than an agent +for the gentleman whose offense was subsequently adjudicated by this +court; and as an agent he still maintains, and two-fifths of the State +Supreme Court agree with him, that he was strictly within his rights +and privileges in not having deposited the sixty thousand dollars’ +worth of city loan certificates at the time, and in the manner which +the people, acting through the district attorney, complained that he +should have. My client is a man of rare financial ability. By the +various letters which have been submitted to your honor in his behalf, +you will see that he commands the respect and the sympathy of a large +majority of the most forceful and eminent men in his particular world. +He is a man of distinguished social standing and of notable +achievements. Only the most unheralded and the unkindest thrust of +fortune has brought him here before you today—a fire and its consequent +panic which involved a financial property of the most thorough and +stable character. In spite of the verdict of the jury and the decision +of three-fifths of the State Supreme Court, I maintain that my client +is not an embezzler, that he has not committed larceny, that he should +never have been convicted, and that he should not now be punished for +something of which he is not guilty. + +“I trust that your honor will not misunderstand me or my motives when I +point out in this situation that what I have said is true. I do not +wish to cast any reflection on the integrity of the court, nor of any +court, nor of any of the processes of law. But I do condemn and deplore +the untoward chain of events which has built up a seeming situation, +not easily understood by the lay mind, and which has brought my +distinguished client within the purview of the law. I think it is but +fair that this should be finally and publicly stated here and now. I +ask that your honor be lenient, and that if you cannot conscientiously +dismiss this charge you will at least see that the facts, as I have +indicated them, are given due weight in the measure of the punishment +inflicted.” + +Steger stepped back and Judge Payderson nodded, as much as to say he +had heard all the distinguished lawyer had to say, and would give it +such consideration as it deserved—no more. Then he turned to +Cowperwood, and, summoning all his judicial dignity to his aid, he +began: + +“Frank Algernon Cowperwood, you have been convicted by a jury of your +own selection of the offense of larceny. The motion for a new trial, +made in your behalf by your learned counsel, has been carefully +considered and overruled, the majority of the court being entirely +satisfied with the propriety of the conviction, both upon the law and +the evidence. Your offense was one of more than usual gravity, the more +so that the large amount of money which you obtained belonged to the +city. And it was aggravated by the fact that you had in addition +thereto unlawfully used and converted to your own use several hundred +thousand dollars of the loan and money of the city. For such an offense +the maximum punishment affixed by the law is singularly merciful. +Nevertheless, the facts in connection with your hitherto distinguished +position, the circumstances under which your failure was brought about, +and the appeals of your numerous friends and financial associates, will +be given due consideration by this court. It is not unmindful of any +important fact in your career.” Payderson paused as if in doubt, though +he knew very well how he was about to proceed. He knew what his +superiors expected of him. + +“If your case points no other moral,” he went on, after a moment, +toying with the briefs, “it will at least teach the lesson much needed +at the present time, that the treasury of the city is not to be invaded +and plundered with impunity under the thin disguise of a business +transaction, and that there is still a power in the law to vindicate +itself and to protect the public. + +“The sentence of the court,” he added, solemnly, the while Cowperwood +gazed unmoved, “is, therefore, that you pay a fine of five thousand +dollars to the commonwealth for the use of the county, that you pay the +costs of prosecution, and that you undergo imprisonment in the State +Penitentiary for the Eastern District by separate or solitary +confinement at labor for a period of four years and three months, and +that you stand committed until this sentence is complied with.” + +Cowperwood’s father, on hearing this, bowed his head to hide his tears. +Aileen bit her lower lip and clenched her hands to keep down her rage +and disappointment and tears. Four years and three months! That would +make a terrible gap in his life and hers. Still, she could wait. It was +better than eight or ten years, as she had feared it might be. Perhaps +now, once this was really over and he was in prison, the Governor would +pardon him. + +The judge now moved to pick up the papers in connection with Stener’s +case, satisfied that he had given the financiers no chance to say he +had not given due heed to their plea in Cowperwood’s behalf and yet +certain that the politicians would be pleased that he had so nearly +given Cowperwood the maximum while appearing to have heeded the pleas +for mercy. Cowperwood saw through the trick at once, but it did not +disturb him. It struck him as rather weak and contemptible. A bailiff +came forward and started to hurry him away. + +“Allow the prisoner to remain for a moment,” called the judge. + +The name, of George W. Stener had been called by the clerk and +Cowperwood did not quite understand why he was being detained, but he +soon learned. It was that he might hear the opinion of the court in +connection with his copartner in crime. The latter’s record was taken. +Roger O’Mara, the Irish political lawyer who had been his counsel all +through his troubles, stood near him, but had nothing to say beyond +asking the judge to consider Stener’s previously honorable career. + +“George W. Stener,” said his honor, while the audience, including +Cowperwood, listened attentively. “The motion for a new trial as well +as an arrest of judgment in your case having been overruled, it remains +for the court to impose such sentence as the nature of your offense +requires. I do not desire to add to the pain of your position by any +extended remarks of my own; but I cannot let the occasion pass without +expressing my emphatic condemnation of your offense. The misapplication +of public money has become the great crime of the age. If not promptly +and firmly checked, it will ultimately destroy our institutions. When a +republic becomes honeycombed with corruption its vitality is gone. It +must crumble upon the first pressure. + +“In my opinion, the public is much to blame for your offense and others +of a similar character. Heretofore, official fraud has been regarded +with too much indifference. What we need is a higher and purer +political morality—a state of public opinion which would make the +improper use of public money a thing to be execrated. It was the lack +of this which made your offense possible. Beyond that I see nothing of +extenuation in your case.” Judge Payderson paused for emphasis. He was +coming to his finest flight, and he wanted it to sink in. + +“The people had confided to you the care of their money,” he went on, +solemnly. “It was a high, a sacred trust. You should have guarded the +door of the treasury even as the cherubim protected the Garden of Eden, +and should have turned the flaming sword of impeccable honesty against +every one who approached it improperly. Your position as the +representative of a great community warranted that. + +“In view of all the facts in your case the court can do no less than +impose a major penalty. The seventy-fourth section of the Criminal +Procedure Act provides that no convict shall be sentenced by the court +of this commonwealth to either of the penitentiaries thereof, for any +term which shall expire between the fifteenth of November and the +fifteenth day of February of any year, and this provision requires me +to abate three months from the maximum of time which I would affix in +your case—namely, five years. The sentence of the court is, therefore, +that you pay a fine of five thousand dollars to the commonwealth for +the use of the county”—Payderson knew well enough that Stener could +never pay that sum—“and that you undergo imprisonment in the State +Penitentiary for the Eastern District, by separate and solitary +confinement at labor, for the period of four years and nine months, and +that you stand committed until this sentence is complied with.” He laid +down the briefs and rubbed his chin reflectively while both Cowperwood +and Stener were hurried out. Butler was the first to leave after the +sentence—quite satisfied. Seeing that all was over so far as she was +concerned, Aileen stole quickly out; and after her, in a few moments, +Cowperwood’s father and brothers. They were to await him outside and go +with him to the penitentiary. The remaining members of the family were +at home eagerly awaiting intelligence of the morning’s work, and Joseph +Cowperwood was at once despatched to tell them. + +The day had now become cloudy, lowery, and it looked as if there might +be snow. Eddie Zanders, who had been given all the papers in the case, +announced that there was no need to return to the county jail. In +consequence the five of them—Zanders, Steger, Cowperwood, his father, +and Edward—got into a street-car which ran to within a few blocks of +the prison. Within half an hour they were at the gates of the Eastern +Penitentiary. + + + + +Chapter LIII + + +The Eastern District Penitentiary of Pennsylvania, standing at +Fairmount Avenue and Twenty-first Street in Philadelphia, where +Cowperwood was now to serve his sentence of four years and three +months, was a large, gray-stone structure, solemn and momentous in its +mien, not at all unlike the palace of Sforzas at Milan, although not so +distinguished. It stretched its gray length for several blocks along +four different streets, and looked as lonely and forbidding as a prison +should. The wall which inclosed its great area extending over ten acres +and gave it so much of its solemn dignity was thirty-five feet high and +some seven feet thick. The prison proper, which was not visible from +the outside, consisted of seven arms or corridors, ranged octopus-like +around a central room or court, and occupying in their sprawling length +about two-thirds of the yard inclosed within the walls, so that there +was but little space for the charm of lawn or sward. The corridors, +forty-two feet wide from outer wall to outer wall, were one hundred and +eighty feet in length, and in four instances two stories high, and +extended in their long reach in every direction. There were no windows +in the corridors, only narrow slits of skylights, three and one-half +feet long by perhaps eight inches wide, let in the roof; and the +ground-floor cells were accompanied in some instances by a small yard +ten by sixteen—the same size as the cells proper—which was surrounded +by a high brick wall in every instance. The cells and floors and roofs +were made of stone, and the corridors, which were only ten feet wide +between the cells, and in the case of the single-story portion only +fifteen feet high, were paved with stone. If you stood in the central +room, or rotunda, and looked down the long stretches which departed +from you in every direction, you had a sense of narrowness and +confinement not compatible with their length. The iron doors, with +their outer accompaniment of solid wooden ones, the latter used at +times to shut the prisoner from all sight and sound, were grim and +unpleasing to behold. The halls were light enough, being whitewashed +frequently and set with the narrow skylights, which were closed with +frosted glass in winter; but they were, as are all such matter-of-fact +arrangements for incarceration, bare—wearisome to look upon. Life +enough there was in all conscience, seeing that there were four hundred +prisoners here at that time, and that nearly every cell was occupied; +but it was a life of which no one individual was essentially aware as a +spectacle. He was of it; but he was not. Some of the prisoners, after +long service, were used as “trusties” or “runners,” as they were +locally called; but not many. There was a bakery, a machine-shop, a +carpenter-shop, a store-room, a flour-mill, and a series of gardens, or +truck patches; but the manipulation of these did not require the +services of a large number. + +The prison proper dated from 1822, and it had grown, wing by wing, +until its present considerable size had been reached. Its population +consisted of individuals of all degrees of intelligence and crime, from +murderers to minor practitioners of larceny. It had what was known as +the “Pennsylvania System” of regulation for its inmates, which was +nothing more nor less than solitary confinement for all concerned—a +life of absolute silence and separate labor in separate cells. + +Barring his comparatively recent experience in the county jail, which +after all was far from typical, Cowperwood had never been in a prison +in his life. Once, when a boy, in one of his perambulations through +several of the surrounding towns, he had passed a village “lock-up,” as +the town prisons were then called—a small, square, gray building with +long iron-barred windows, and he had seen, at one of these rather +depressing apertures on the second floor, a none too prepossessing +drunkard or town ne’er-do-well who looked down on him with bleary eyes, +unkempt hair, and a sodden, waxy, pallid face, and called—for it was +summer and the jail window was open: + +“Hey, sonny, get me a plug of tobacco, will you?” + +Cowperwood, who had looked up, shocked and disturbed by the man’s +disheveled appearance, had called back, quite without stopping to +think: + +“Naw, I can’t.” + +“Look out you don’t get locked up yourself sometime, you little runt,” +the man had replied, savagely, only half recovered from his debauch of +the day before. + +He had not thought of this particular scene in years, but now suddenly +it came back to him. Here he was on his way to be locked up in this +dull, somber prison, and it was snowing, and he was being cut out of +human affairs as much as it was possible for him to be cut out. + +No friends were permitted to accompany him beyond the outer gate—not +even Steger for the time being, though he might visit him later in the +day. This was an inviolable rule. Zanders being known to the +gate-keeper, and bearing his commitment paper, was admitted at once. +The others turned solemnly away. They bade a gloomy if affectionate +farewell to Cowperwood, who, on his part, attempted to give it all an +air of inconsequence—as, in part and even here, it had for him. + +“Well, good-by for the present,” he said, shaking hands. “I’ll be all +right and I’ll get out soon. Wait and see. Tell Lillian not to worry.” + +He stepped inside, and the gate clanked solemnly behind him. Zanders +led the way through a dark, somber hall, wide and high-ceiled, to a +farther gate, where a second gateman, trifling with a large key, +unlocked a barred door at his bidding. Once inside the prison yard, +Zanders turned to the left into a small office, presenting his prisoner +before a small, chest-high desk, where stood a prison officer in +uniform of blue. The latter, the receiving overseer of the prison—a +thin, practical, executive-looking person with narrow gray eyes and +light hair, took the paper which the sheriff’s deputy handed him and +read it. This was his authority for receiving Cowperwood. In his turn +he handed Zanders a slip, showing that he had so received the prisoner; +and then Zanders left, receiving gratefully the tip which Cowperwood +pressed in his hand. + +“Well, good-by, Mr. Cowperwood,” he said, with a peculiar twist of his +detective-like head. “I’m sorry. I hope you won’t find it so bad here.” + +He wanted to impress the receiving overseer with his familiarity with +this distinguished prisoner, and Cowperwood, true to his policy of +make-believe, shook hands with him cordially. + +“I’m much obliged to you for your courtesy, Mr. Zanders,” he said, then +turned to his new master with the air of a man who is determined to +make a good impression. He was now in the hands of petty officials, he +knew, who could modify or increase his comfort at will. He wanted to +impress this man with his utter willingness to comply and obey—his +sense of respect for his authority—without in any way demeaning +himself. He was depressed but efficient, even here in the clutch of +that eventual machine of the law, the State penitentiary, which he had +been struggling so hard to evade. + +The receiving overseer, Roger Kendall, though thin and clerical, was a +rather capable man, as prison officials go—shrewd, not particularly +well educated, not over-intelligent naturally, not over-industrious, +but sufficiently energetic to hold his position. He knew something +about convicts—considerable—for he had been dealing with them for +nearly twenty-six years. His attitude toward them was cold, cynical, +critical. + +He did not permit any of them to come into personal contact with him, +but he saw to it that underlings in his presence carried out the +requirements of the law. + +When Cowperwood entered, dressed in his very good clothing—a dark +gray-blue twill suit of pure wool, a light, well-made gray overcoat, a +black derby hat of the latest shape, his shoes new and of good leather, +his tie of the best silk, heavy and conservatively colored, his hair +and mustache showing the attention of an intelligent barber, and his +hands well manicured—the receiving overseer saw at once that he was in +the presence of some one of superior intelligence and force, such a man +as the fortune of his trade rarely brought into his net. + +Cowperwood stood in the middle of the room without apparently looking +at any one or anything, though he saw all. “Convict number 3633,” +Kendall called to a clerk, handing him at the same time a yellow slip +of paper on which was written Cowperwood’s full name and his record +number, counting from the beginning of the penitentiary itself. + +The underling, a convict, took it and entered it in a book, reserving +the slip at the same time for the penitentiary “runner” or “trusty,” +who would eventually take Cowperwood to the “manners” gallery. + +“You will have to take off your clothes and take a bath,” said Kendall +to Cowperwood, eyeing him curiously. “I don’t suppose you need one, but +it’s the rule.” + +“Thank you,” replied Cowperwood, pleased that his personality was +counting for something even here. “Whatever the rules are, I want to +obey.” + +When he started to take off his coat, however, Kendall put up his hand +delayingly and tapped a bell. There now issued from an adjoining room +an assistant, a prison servitor, a weird-looking specimen of the genus +“trusty.” He was a small, dark, lopsided individual, one leg being +slightly shorter, and therefore one shoulder lower, than the other. He +was hollow-chested, squint-eyed, and rather shambling, but spry enough +withal. He was dressed in a thin, poorly made, baggy suit of striped +jeans, the prison stripes of the place, showing a soft roll-collar +shirt underneath, and wearing a large, wide-striped cap, peculiarly +offensive in its size and shape to Cowperwood. He could not help +thinking how uncanny the man’s squint eyes looked under its straight +outstanding visor. The trusty had a silly, sycophantic manner of +raising one hand in salute. He was a professional “second-story man,” +“up” for ten years, but by dint of good behavior he had attained to the +honor of working about this office without the degrading hood customary +for prisoners to wear over the cap. For this he was properly grateful. +He now considered his superior with nervous dog-like eyes, and looked +at Cowperwood with a certain cunning appreciation of his lot and a show +of initial mistrust. + +One prisoner is as good as another to the average convict; as a matter +of fact, it is their only consolation in their degradation that all who +come here are no better than they. The world may have misused them; but +they misuse their confreres in their thoughts. The “holier than thou” +attitude, intentional or otherwise, is quite the last and most deadly +offense within prison walls. This particular “trusty” could no more +understand Cowperwood than could a fly the motions of a fly-wheel; but +with the cocky superiority of the underling of the world he did not +hesitate to think that he could. A crook was a crook to him—Cowperwood +no less than the shabbiest pickpocket. His one feeling was that he +would like to demean him, to pull him down to his own level. + +“You will have to take everything you have out of your pockets,” +Kendall now informed Cowperwood. Ordinarily he would have said, “Search +the prisoner.” + +Cowperwood stepped forward and laid out a purse with twenty-five +dollars in it, a pen-knife, a lead-pencil, a small note-book, and a +little ivory elephant which Aileen had given him once, “for luck,” and +which he treasured solely because she gave it to him. Kendall looked at +the latter curiously. “Now you can go on,” he said to the “trusty,” +referring to the undressing and bathing process which was to follow. + +“This way,” said the latter, addressing Cowperwood, and preceding him +into an adjoining room, where three closets held three old-fashioned, +iron-bodied, wooden-top bath-tubs, with their attendant shelves for +rough crash towels, yellow soap, and the like, and hooks for clothes. + +“Get in there,” said the trusty, whose name was Thomas Kuby, pointing +to one of the tubs. + +Cowperwood realized that this was the beginning of petty official +supervision; but he deemed it wise to appear friendly even here. + +“I see,” he said. “I will.” + +“That’s right,” replied the attendant, somewhat placated. “What did you +bring?” + +Cowperwood looked at him quizzically. He did not understand. The prison +attendant realized that this man did not know the lingo of the place. +“What did you bring?” he repeated. “How many years did you get?” + +“Oh!” exclaimed Cowperwood, comprehendingly. “I understand. Four and +three months.” + +He decided to humor the man. It would probably be better so. + +“What for?” inquired Kuby, familiarly. + +Cowperwood’s blood chilled slightly. “Larceny,” he said. + +“Yuh got off easy,” commented Kuby. “I’m up for ten. A rube judge did +that to me.” + +Kuby had never heard of Cowperwood’s crime. He would not have +understood its subtleties if he had. Cowperwood did not want to talk to +this man; he did not know how. He wished he would go away; but that was +not likely. He wanted to be put in his cell and let alone. + +“That’s too bad,” he answered; and the convict realized clearly that +this man was really not one of them, or he would not have said anything +like that. Kuby went to the two hydrants opening into the bath-tub and +turned them on. Cowperwood had been undressing the while, and now stood +naked, but not ashamed, in front of this eighth-rate intelligence. + +“Don’t forget to wash your head, too,” said Kuby, and went away. + +Cowperwood stood there while the water ran, meditating on his fate. It +was strange how life had dealt with him of late—so severely. Unlike +most men in his position, he was not suffering from a consciousness of +evil. He did not think he was evil. As he saw it, he was merely +unfortunate. To think that he should be actually in this great, silent +penitentiary, a convict, waiting here beside this cheap iron bathtub, +not very sweet or hygienic to contemplate, with this crackbrained +criminal to watch over him! + +He stepped into the tub and washed himself briskly with the biting +yellow soap, drying himself on one of the rough, only partially +bleached towels. He looked for his underwear, but there was none. At +this point the attendant looked in again. “Out here,” he said, +inconsiderately. + +Cowperwood followed, naked. He was led through the receiving overseer’s +office into a room, where were scales, implements of measurement, a +record-book, etc. The attendant who stood guard at the door now came +over, and the clerk who sat in a corner automatically took down a +record-blank. Kendall surveyed Cowperwood’s decidedly graceful figure, +already inclining to a slight thickening around the waist, and approved +of it as superior to that of most who came here. His skin, as he +particularly noted, was especially white. + +“Step on the scale,” said the attendant, brusquely. + +Cowperwood did so, The former adjusted the weights and scanned the +record carefully. + +“Weight, one hundred and seventy-five,” he called. “Now step over +here.” + +He indicated a spot in the side wall where was fastened in a thin +slat—which ran from the floor to about seven and one half feet above, +perpendicularly—a small movable wooden indicator, which, when a man was +standing under it, could be pressed down on his head. At the side of +the slat were the total inches of height, laid off in halves, quarters, +eighths, and so on, and to the right a length measurement for the arm. +Cowperwood understood what was wanted and stepped under the indicator, +standing quite straight. + +“Feet level, back to the wall,” urged the attendant. “So. Height, five +feet nine and ten-sixteenths,” he called. The clerk in the corner noted +it. He now produced a tape-measure and began measuring Cowperwood’s +arms, legs, chest, waist, hips, etc. He called out the color of his +eyes, his hair, his mustache, and, looking into his mouth, exclaimed, +“Teeth, all sound.” + +After Cowperwood had once more given his address, age, profession, +whether he knew any trade, etc.—which he did not—he was allowed to +return to the bathroom, and put on the clothing which the prison +provided for him—first the rough, prickly underwear, then the cheap +soft roll-collar, white-cotton shirt, then the thick bluish-gray cotton +socks of a quality such as he had never worn in his life, and over +these a pair of indescribable rough-leather clogs, which felt to his +feet as though they were made of wood or iron—oily and heavy. He then +drew on the shapeless, baggy trousers with their telltale stripes, and +over his arms and chest the loose-cut shapeless coat and waistcoat. He +felt and knew of course that he looked very strange, wretched. And as +he stepped out into the overseer’s room again he experienced a peculiar +sense of depression, a gone feeling which before this had not assailed +him and which now he did his best to conceal. This, then, was what +society did to the criminal, he thought to himself. It took him and +tore away from his body and his life the habiliments of his proper +state and left him these. He felt sad and grim, and, try as he would—he +could not help showing it for a moment. It was always his business and +his intention to conceal his real feelings, but now it was not quite +possible. He felt degraded, impossible, in these clothes, and he knew +that he looked it. Nevertheless, he did his best to pull himself +together and look unconcerned, willing, obedient, considerate of those +above him. After all, he said to himself, it was all a play of sorts, a +dream even, if one chose to view it so, a miasma even, from which, in +the course of time and with a little luck one might emerge safely +enough. He hoped so. It could not last. He was only acting a strange, +unfamiliar part on the stage, this stage of life that he knew so well. + +Kendall did not waste any time looking at him, however. He merely said +to his assistant, “See if you can find a cap for him,” and the latter, +going to a closet containing numbered shelves, took down a cap—a +high-crowned, straight-visored, shabby, striped affair which Cowperwood +was asked to try on. It fitted well enough, slipping down close over +his ears, and he thought that now his indignities must be about +complete. What could be added? There could be no more of these +disconcerting accoutrements. But he was mistaken. “Now, Kuby, you take +him to Mr. Chapin,” said Kendall. + +Kuby understood. He went back into the wash-room and produced what +Cowperwood had heard of but never before seen—a blue-and-white-striped +cotton bag about half the length of an ordinary pillow-case and half +again as wide, which Kuby now unfolded and shook out as he came toward +him. It was a custom. The use of this hood, dating from the earliest +days of the prison, was intended to prevent a sense of location and +direction and thereby obviate any attempt to escape. Thereafter during +all his stay he was not supposed to walk with or talk to or see another +prisoner—not even to converse with his superiors, unless addressed. It +was a grim theory, and yet one definitely enforced here, although as he +was to learn later even this could be modified here. + +“You’ll have to put this on,” Kuby said, and opened it in such a way +that it could be put over Cowperwood’s head. + +Cowperwood understood. He had heard of it in some way, in times past. +He was a little shocked—looked at it first with a touch of real +surprise, but a moment after lifted his hands and helped pull it down. + +“Never mind,” cautioned the guard, “put your hands down. I’ll get it +over.” + +Cowperwood dropped his arms. When it was fully on, it came to about his +chest, giving him little means of seeing anything. He felt very +strange, very humiliated, very downcast. This simple thing of a +blue-and-white striped bag over his head almost cost him his sense of +self-possession. Why could not they have spared him this last +indignity, he thought? + +“This way,” said his attendant, and he was led out to where he could +not say. + +“If you hold it out in front you can see to walk,” said his guide; and +Cowperwood pulled it out, thus being able to discern his feet and a +portion of the floor below. He was thus conducted—seeing nothing in his +transit—down a short walk, then through a long corridor, then through a +room of uniformed guards, and finally up a narrow flight of iron steps, +leading to the overseer’s office on the second floor of one of the +two-tier blocks. There, he heard the voice of Kuby saying: “Mr. Chapin, +here’s another prisoner for you from Mr. Kendall.” + +“I’ll be there in a minute,” came a peculiarly pleasant voice from the +distance. Presently a big, heavy hand closed about his arm, and he was +conducted still further. + +“You hain’t got far to go now,” the voice said, “and then I’ll take +that bag off,” and Cowperwood felt for some reason a sense of sympathy, +perhaps—as though he would choke. The further steps were not many. + +A cell door was reached and unlocked by the inserting of a great iron +key. It was swung open, and the same big hand guided him through. A +moment later the bag was pulled easily from his head, and he saw that +he was in a narrow, whitewashed cell, rather dim, windowless, but +lighted from the top by a small skylight of frosted glass three and one +half feet long by four inches wide. For a night light there was a +tin-bodied lamp swinging from a hook near the middle of one of the side +walls. A rough iron cot, furnished with a straw mattress and two pairs +of dark blue, probably unwashed blankets, stood in one corner. There +was a hydrant and small sink in another. A small shelf occupied the +wall opposite the bed. A plain wooden chair with a homely round back +stood at the foot of the bed, and a fairly serviceable broom was +standing in one corner. There was an iron stool or pot for excreta, +giving, as he could see, into a large drain-pipe which ran along the +inside wall, and which was obviously flushed by buckets of water being +poured into it. Rats and other vermin infested this, and it gave off an +unpleasant odor which filled the cell. The floor was of stone. +Cowperwood’s clear-seeing eyes took it all in at a glance. He noted the +hard cell door, which was barred and cross-barred with great round rods +of steel, and fastened with a thick, highly polished lock. He saw also +that beyond this was a heavy wooden door, which could shut him in even +more completely than the iron one. There was no chance for any clear, +purifying sunlight here. Cleanliness depended entirely on whitewash, +soap and water and sweeping, which in turn depended on the prisoners +themselves. + +He also took in Chapin, the homely, good-natured, cell overseer whom he +now saw for the first time—a large, heavy, lumbering man, rather dusty +and misshapen-looking, whose uniform did not fit him well, and whose +manner of standing made him look as though he would much prefer to sit +down. He was obviously bulky, but not strong, and his kindly face was +covered with a short growth of grayish-brown whiskers. His hair was cut +badly and stuck out in odd strings or wisps from underneath his big +cap. Nevertheless, Cowperwood was not at all unfavorably +impressed—quite the contrary—and he felt at once that this man might be +more considerate of him than the others had been. He hoped so, anyhow. +He did not know that he was in the presence of the overseer of the +“manners squad,” who would have him in charge for two weeks only, +instructing him in the rules of the prison, and that he was only one of +twenty-six, all told, who were in Chapin’s care. + +That worthy, by way of easy introduction, now went over to the bed and +seated himself on it. He pointed to the hard wooden chair, which +Cowperwood drew out and sat on. + +“Well, now you’re here, hain’t yuh?” he asked, and answered himself +quite genially, for he was an unlettered man, generously disposed, of +long experience with criminals, and inclined to deal kindly with kindly +temperament and a form of religious belief—Quakerism—had inclined him +to be merciful, and yet his official duties, as Cowperwood later found +out, seemed to have led him to the conclusion that most criminals were +innately bad. Like Kendall, he regarded them as weaklings and +ne’er-do-wells with evil streaks in them, and in the main he was not +mistaken. Yet he could not help being what he was, a fatherly, kindly +old man, having faith in those shibboleths of the weak and +inexperienced mentally—human justice and human decency. + +“Yes, I’m here, Mr. Chapin,” Cowperwood replied, simply, remembering +his name from the attendant, and flattering the keeper by the use of +it. + +To old Chapin the situation was more or less puzzling. This was the +famous Frank A. Cowperwood whom he had read about, the noted banker and +treasury-looter. He and his co-partner in crime, Stener, were destined +to serve, as he had read, comparatively long terms here. Five hundred +thousand dollars was a large sum of money in those days, much more than +five million would have been forty years later. He was awed by the +thought of what had become of it—how Cowperwood managed to do all the +things the papers had said he had done. He had a little formula of +questions which he usually went through with each new prisoner—asking +him if he was sorry now for the crime he had committed, if he meant to +do better with a new chance, if his father and mother were alive, etc.; +and by the manner in which they answered these questions—simply, +regretfully, defiantly, or otherwise—he judged whether they were being +adequately punished or not. Yet he could not talk to Cowperwood as he +now saw or as he would to the average second-story burglar, +store-looter, pickpocket, and plain cheap thief and swindler. And yet +he scarcely knew how else to talk. + +“Well, now,” he went on, “I don’t suppose you ever thought you’d get to +a place like this, did you, Mr. Cowperwood?” + +“I never did,” replied Frank, simply. “I wouldn’t have believed it a +few months ago, Mr. Chapin. I don’t think I deserve to be here now, +though of course there is no use of my telling you that.” + +He saw that old Chapin wanted to moralize a little, and he was only too +glad to fall in with his mood. He would soon be alone with no one to +talk to perhaps, and if a sympathetic understanding could be reached +with this man now, so much the better. Any port in a storm; any straw +to a drowning man. + +“Well, no doubt all of us makes mistakes,” continued Mr. Chapin, +superiorly, with an amusing faith in his own value as a moral guide and +reformer. “We can’t just always tell how the plans we think so fine are +coming out, can we? You’re here now, an’ I suppose you’re sorry certain +things didn’t come out just as you thought; but if you had a chance I +don’t suppose you’d try to do just as you did before, now would yuh?” + +“No, Mr. Chapin, I wouldn’t, exactly,” said Cowperwood, truly enough, +“though I believed I was right in everything I did. I don’t think legal +justice has really been done me.” + +“Well, that’s the way,” continued Chapin, meditatively, scratching his +grizzled head and looking genially about. “Sometimes, as I allers says +to some of these here young fellers that comes in here, we don’t know +as much as we thinks we does. We forget that others are just as smart +as we are, and that there are allers people that are watchin’ us all +the time. These here courts and jails and detectives—they’re here all +the time, and they get us. I gad”—Chapin’s moral version of “by +God”—“they do, if we don’t behave.” + +“Yes,” Cowperwood replied, “that’s true enough, Mr. Chapin.” + +“Well,” continued the old man after a time, after he had made a few +more solemn, owl-like, and yet well-intentioned remarks, “now here’s +your bed, and there’s your chair, and there’s your wash-stand, and +there’s your water-closet. Now keep ’em all clean and use ’em right.” +(You would have thought he was making Cowperwood a present of a +fortune.) “You’re the one’s got to make up your bed every mornin’ and +keep your floor swept and your toilet flushed and your cell clean. +There hain’t anybody here’ll do that for yuh. You want to do all them +things the first thing in the mornin’ when you get up, and afterward +you’ll get sumpin’ to eat, about six-thirty. You’re supposed to get up +at five-thirty.” + +“Yes, Mr. Chapin,” Cowperwood said, politely. “You can depend on me to +do all those things promptly.” + +“There hain’t so much more,” added Chapin. “You’re supposed to wash +yourself all over once a week an’ I’ll give you a clean towel for that. +Next you gotta wash this floor up every Friday mornin’.” Cowperwood +winced at that. “You kin have hot water for that if you want it. I’ll +have one of the runners bring it to you. An’ as for your friends and +relations”—he got up and shook himself like a big Newfoundland dog. +“You gotta wife, hain’t you?” + +“Yes,” replied Cowperwood. + +“Well, the rules here are that your wife or your friends kin come to +see you once in three months, and your lawyer—you gotta lawyer hain’t +yuh?” + +“Yes, sir,” replied Cowperwood, amused. + +“Well, he kin come every week or so if he likes—every day, I +guess—there hain’t no rules about lawyers. But you kin only write one +letter once in three months yourself, an’ if you want anything like +tobaccer or the like o’ that, from the store-room, you gotta sign an +order for it, if you got any money with the warden, an’ then I can git +it for you.” + +The old man was really above taking small tips in the shape of money. +He was a hold-over from a much more severe and honest regime, but +subsequent presents or constant flattery were not amiss in making him +kindly and generous. Cowperwood read him accurately. + +“Very well, Mr. Chapin; I understand,” he said, getting up as the old +man did. + +“Then when you have been here two weeks,” added Chapin, rather +ruminatively (he had forgot to state this to Cowperwood before), “the +warden ’ll come and git yuh and give yuh yer regular cell summers +down-stairs. Yuh kin make up yer mind by that time what y’u’d like tuh +do, what y’u’d like to work at. If you behave yourself proper, more’n +like they’ll give yuh a cell with a yard. Yuh never can tell.” + +He went out, locking the door with a solemn click; and Cowperwood stood +there, a little more depressed than he had been, because of this latest +intelligence. Only two weeks, and then he would be transferred from +this kindly old man’s care to another’s, whom he did not know and with +whom he might not fare so well. + +“If ever you want me for anything—if ye’re sick or sumpin’ like that,” +Chapin now returned to say, after he had walked a few paces away, “we +have a signal here of our own. Just hang your towel out through these +here bars. I’ll see it, and I’ll stop and find out what yuh want, when +I’m passin’.” + +Cowperwood, whose spirits had sunk, revived for the moment. + +“Yes, sir,” he replied; “thank you, Mr. Chapin.” + +The old man walked away, and Cowperwood heard his steps dying down the +cement-paved hall. He stood and listened, his ears being greeted +occasionally by a distant cough, a faint scraping of some one’s feet, +the hum or whir of a machine, or the iron scratch of a key in a lock. +None of the noises was loud. Rather they were all faint and far away. +He went over and looked at the bed, which was not very clean and +without linen, and anything but wide or soft, and felt it curiously. So +here was where he was to sleep from now on—he who so craved and +appreciated luxury and refinement. If Aileen or some of his rich +friends should see him here. Worse, he was sickened by the thought of +possible vermin. How could he tell? How would he do? The one chair was +abominable. The skylight was weak. He tried to think of himself as +becoming accustomed to the situation, but he re-discovered the offal +pot in one corner, and that discouraged him. It was possible that rats +might come up here—it looked that way. No pictures, no books, no scene, +no person, no space to walk—just the four bare walls and silence, which +he would be shut into at night by the thick door. What a horrible fate! + +He sat down and contemplated his situation. So here he was at last in +the Eastern Penitentiary, and doomed, according to the judgment of the +politicians (Butler among others), to remain here four long years and +longer. Stener, it suddenly occurred to him, was probably being put +through the same process he had just gone through. Poor old Stener! +What a fool he had made of himself. But because of his foolishness he +deserved all he was now getting. But the difference between himself and +Stener was that they would let Stener out. It was possible that already +they were easing his punishment in some way that he, Cowperwood, did +not know. He put his hand to his chin, thinking—his business, his +house, his friends, his family, Aileen. He felt for his watch, but +remembered that they had taken that. There was no way of telling the +time. Neither had he any notebook, pen, or pencil with which to amuse +or interest himself. Besides he had had nothing to eat since morning. +Still, that mattered little. What did matter was that he was shut up +here away from the world, quite alone, quite lonely, without knowing +what time it was, and that he could not attend to any of the things he +ought to be attending to—his business affairs, his future. True, Steger +would probably come to see him after a while. That would help a little. +But even so—think of his position, his prospects up to the day of the +fire and his state now. He sat looking at his shoes; his suit. God! He +got up and walked to and fro, to and fro, but his own steps and +movements sounded so loud. He walked to the cell door and looked out +through the thick bars, but there was nothing to see—nothing save a +portion of two cell doors opposite, something like his own. He came +back and sat in his single chair, meditating, but, getting weary of +that finally, stretched himself on the dirty prison bed to try it. It +was not uncomfortable entirely. He got up after a while, however, and +sat, then walked, then sat. What a narrow place to walk, he thought. +This was horrible—something like a living tomb. And to think he should +be here now, day after day and day after day, until—until what? Until +the Governor pardoned him or his time was up, or his fortune eaten +away—or— + +So he cogitated while the hours slipped by. It was nearly five o’clock +before Steger was able to return, and then only for a little while. He +had been arranging for Cowperwood’s appearance on the following +Thursday, Friday, and Monday in his several court proceedings. When he +was gone, however, and the night fell and Cowperwood had to trim his +little, shabby oil-lamp and to drink the strong tea and eat the rough, +poor bread made of bran and white flour, which was shoved to him +through the small aperture in the door by the trencher trusty, who was +accompanied by the overseer to see that it was done properly, he really +felt very badly. And after that the center wooden door of his cell was +presently closed and locked by a trusty who slammed it rudely and said +no word. Nine o’clock would be sounded somewhere by a great bell, he +understood, when his smoky oil-lamp would have to be put out promptly +and he would have to undress and go to bed. There were punishments, no +doubt, for infractions of these rules—reduced rations, the +strait-jacket, perhaps stripes—he scarcely knew what. He felt +disconsolate, grim, weary. He had put up such a long, unsatisfactory +fight. After washing his heavy stone cup and tin plate at the hydrant, +he took off the sickening uniform and shoes and even the drawers of the +scratching underwear, and stretched himself wearily on the bed. The +place was not any too warm, and he tried to make himself comfortable +between the blankets—but it was of little use. His soul was cold. + +“This will never do,” he said to himself. “This will never do. I’m not +sure whether I can stand much of this or not.” Still he turned his face +to the wall, and after several hours sleep eventually came. + + + + +Chapter LIV + + +Those who by any pleasing courtesy of fortune, accident of birth, +inheritance, or the wisdom of parents or friends, have succeeded in +avoiding making that anathema of the prosperous and comfortable, “a +mess of their lives,” will scarcely understand the mood of Cowperwood, +sitting rather gloomily in his cell these first days, wondering what, +in spite of his great ingenuity, was to become of him. The strongest +have their hours of depression. There are times when life to those +endowed with the greatest intelligence—perhaps mostly to those—takes on +a somber hue. They see so many phases of its dreary subtleties. It is +only when the soul of man has been built up into some strange +self-confidence, some curious faith in its own powers, based, no doubt, +on the actual presence of these same powers subtly involved in the +body, that it fronts life unflinchingly. It would be too much to say +that Cowperwood’s mind was of the first order. It was subtle enough in +all conscience—and involved, as is common with the executively great, +with a strong sense of personal advancement. It was a powerful mind, +turning, like a vast searchlight, a glittering ray into many a dark +corner; but it was not sufficiently disinterested to search the +ultimate dark. He realized, in a way, what the great astronomers, +sociologists, philosophers, chemists, physicists, and physiologists +were meditating; but he could not be sure in his own mind that, +whatever it was, it was important for him. No doubt life held many +strange secrets. Perhaps it was essential that somebody should +investigate them. However that might be, the call of his own soul was +in another direction. His business was to make money—to organize +something which would make him much money, or, better yet, save the +organization he had begun. + +But this, as he now looked upon it, was almost impossible. It had been +too disarranged and complicated by unfortunate circumstances. He might, +as Steger pointed out to him, string out these bankruptcy proceedings +for years, tiring out one creditor and another, but in the meantime the +properties involved were being seriously damaged. Interest charges on +his unsatisfied loans were making heavy inroads; court costs were +mounting up; and, to cap it all, he had discovered with Steger that +there were a number of creditors—those who had sold out to Butler, and +incidentally to Mollenhauer—who would never accept anything except the +full value of their claims. His one hope now was to save what he could +by compromise a little later, and to build up some sort of profitable +business through Stephen Wingate. The latter was coming in a day or +two, as soon as Steger had made some working arrangement for him with +Warden Michael Desmas who came the second day to have a look at the new +prisoner. + +Desmas was a large man physically—Irish by birth, a politician by +training—who had been one thing and another in Philadelphia from a +policeman in his early days and a corporal in the Civil War to a ward +captain under Mollenhauer. He was a canny man, tall, raw-boned, +singularly muscular-looking, who for all his fifty-seven years looked +as though he could give a splendid account of himself in a physical +contest. His hands were large and bony, his face more square than +either round or long, and his forehead high. He had a vigorous growth +of short-clipped, iron-gray hair, and a bristly iron-gray mustache, +very short, keen, intelligent blue-gray eyes; a florid complexion; and +even-edged, savage-looking teeth, which showed the least bit in a +slightly wolfish way when he smiled. However, he was not as cruel a +person as he looked to be; temperamental, to a certain extent hard, and +on occasions savage, but with kindly hours also. His greatest weakness +was that he was not quite mentally able to recognize that there were +mental and social differences between prisoners, and that now and then +one was apt to appear here who, with or without political influences, +was eminently worthy of special consideration. What he could recognize +was the differences pointed out to him by the politicians in special +cases, such as that of Stener—not Cowperwood. However, seeing that the +prison was a public institution apt to be visited at any time by +lawyers, detectives, doctors, preachers, propagandists, and the public +generally, and that certain rules and regulations had to be enforced +(if for no other reason than to keep a moral and administrative control +over his own help), it was necessary to maintain—and that even in the +face of the politician—a certain amount of discipline, system, and +order, and it was not possible to be too liberal with any one. There +were, however, exceptional cases—men of wealth and refinement, victims +of those occasional uprisings which so shocked the political leaders +generally—who had to be looked after in a friendly way. + +Desmas was quite aware, of course, of the history of Cowperwood and +Stener. The politicians had already given him warning that Stener, +because of his past services to the community, was to be treated with +special consideration. Not so much was said about Cowperwood, although +they did admit that his lot was rather hard. Perhaps he might do a +little something for him but at his own risk. + +“Butler is down on him,” Strobik said to Desmas, on one occasion. “It’s +that girl of his that’s at the bottom of it all. If you listened to +Butler you’d feed him on bread and water, but he isn’t a bad fellow. As +a matter of fact, if George had had any sense Cowperwood wouldn’t be +where he is to-day. But the big fellows wouldn’t let Stener alone. They +wouldn’t let him give Cowperwood any money.” + +Although Strobik had been one of those who, under pressure from +Mollenhauer, had advised Stener not to let Cowperwood have any more +money, yet here he was pointing out the folly of the victim’s course. +The thought of the inconsistency involved did not trouble him in the +least. + +Desmas decided, therefore, that if Cowperwood were persona non grata to +the “Big Three,” it might be necessary to be indifferent to him, or at +least slow in extending him any special favors. For Stener a good +chair, clean linen, special cutlery and dishes, the daily papers, +privileges in the matter of mail, the visits of friends, and the like. +For Cowperwood—well, he would have to look at Cowperwood and see what +he thought. At the same time, Steger’s intercessions were not without +their effect on Desmas. So the morning after Cowperwood’s entrance the +warden received a letter from Terrence Relihan, the Harrisburg +potentate, indicating that any kindness shown to Mr. Cowperwood would +be duly appreciated by him. Upon the receipt of this letter Desmas went +up and looked through Cowperwood’s iron door. On the way he had a brief +talk with Chapin, who told him what a nice man he thought Cowperwood +was. + +Desmas had never seen Cowperwood before, but in spite of the shabby +uniform, the clog shoes, the cheap shirt, and the wretched cell, he was +impressed. Instead of the weak, anaemic body and the shifty eyes of the +average prisoner, he saw a man whose face and form blazed energy and +power, and whose vigorous erectness no wretched clothes or conditions +could demean. He lifted his head when Desmas appeared, glad that any +form should have appeared at his door, and looked at him with large, +clear, examining eyes—those eyes that in the past had inspired so much +confidence and surety in all those who had known him. Desmas was +stirred. Compared with Stener, whom he knew in the past and whom he had +met on his entry, this man was a force. Say what you will, one vigorous +man inherently respects another. And Desmas was vigorous physically. He +eyed Cowperwood and Cowperwood eyed him. Instinctively Desmas liked +him. He was like one tiger looking at another. + +Instinctively Cowperwood knew that he was the warden. “This is Mr. +Desmas, isn’t it?” he asked, courteously and pleasantly. + +“Yes, sir, I’m the man,” replied Desmas interestedly. “These rooms are +not as comfortable as they might be, are they?” The warden’s even teeth +showed in a friendly, yet wolfish, way. + +“They certainly are not, Mr. Desmas,” replied Cowperwood, standing very +erect and soldier-like. “I didn’t imagine I was coming to a hotel, +however.” He smiled. + +“There isn’t anything special I can do for you, is there, Mr. +Cowperwood?” began Desmas curiously, for he was moved by a thought that +at some time or other a man such as this might be of service to him. +“I’ve been talking to your lawyer.” Cowperwood was intensely gratified +by the Mr. So that was the way the wind was blowing. Well, then, within +reason, things might not prove so bad here. He would see. He would +sound this man out. + +“I don’t want to be asking anything, Warden, which you cannot +reasonably give,” he now returned politely. “But there are a few +things, of course, that I would change if I could. I wish I might have +sheets for my bed, and I could afford better underwear if you would let +me wear it. This that I have on annoys me a great deal.” + +“They’re not the best wool, that’s true enough,” replied Desmas, +solemnly. “They’re made for the State out here in Pennsylvania +somewhere. I suppose there’s no objection to your wearing your own +underwear if you want to. I’ll see about that. And the sheets, too. We +might let you use them if you have them. We’ll have to go a little slow +about this. There are a lot of people that take a special interest in +showing the warden how to tend to his business.” + +“I can readily understand that, Warden,” went on Cowperwood briskly, +“and I’m certainly very much obliged to you. You may be sure that +anything you do for me here will be appreciated, and not misused, and +that I have friends on the outside who can reciprocate for me in the +course of time.” He talked slowly and emphatically, looking Desmas +directly in the eye all of the time. Desmas was very much impressed. + +“That’s all right,” he said, now that he had gone so far as to be +friendly. “I can’t promise much. Prison rules are prison rules. But +there are some things that can be done, because it’s the rule to do +them for other men when they behave themselves. You can have a better +chair than that, if you want it, and something to read too. If you’re +in business yet, I wouldn’t want to do anything to stop that. We can’t +have people running in and out of here every fifteen minutes, and you +can’t turn a cell into a business office—that’s not possible. It would +break up the order of the place. Still, there’s no reason why you +shouldn’t see some of your friends now and then. As for your mail—well, +that will have to be opened in the ordinary way for the time being, +anyhow. I’ll have to see about that. I can’t promise too much. You’ll +have to wait until you come out of this block and down-stairs. Some of +the cells have a yard there; if there are any empty—” The warden cocked +his eye wisely, and Cowperwood saw that his tot was not to be as bad as +he had anticipated—though bad enough. The warden spoke to him about the +different trades he might follow, and asked him to think about the one +he would prefer. “You want to have something to keep your hands busy, +whatever else you want. You’ll find you’ll need that. Everybody here +wants to work after a time. I notice that.” + +Cowperwood understood and thanked Desmas profusely. The horror of +idleness in silence and in a cell scarcely large enough to turn around +in comfortably had already begun to creep over him, and the thought of +being able to see Wingate and Steger frequently, and to have his mail +reach him, after a time, untampered with, was a great relief. He was to +have his own underwear, silk and wool—thank God!—and perhaps they would +let him take off these shoes after a while. With these modifications +and a trade, and perhaps the little yard which Desmas had referred to, +his life would be, if not ideal, at least tolerable. The prison was +still a prison, but it looked as though it might not be so much of a +terror to him as obviously it must be to many. + +During the two weeks in which Cowperwood was in the “manners squad,” in +care of Chapin, he learned nearly as much as he ever learned of the +general nature of prison life; for this was not an ordinary +penitentiary in the sense that the prison yard, the prison squad, the +prison lock-step, the prison dining-room, and prison associated labor +make the ordinary penitentiary. There was, for him and for most of +those confined there, no general prison life whatsoever. The large +majority were supposed to work silently in their cells at the +particular tasks assigned them, and not to know anything of the +remainder of the life which went on around them, the rule of this +prison being solitary confinement, and few being permitted to work at +the limited number of outside menial tasks provided. Indeed, as he +sensed and as old Chapin soon informed him, not more than seventy-five +of the four hundred prisoners confined here were so employed, and not +all of these regularly—cooking, gardening in season, milling, and +general cleaning being the only avenues of escape from solitude. Even +those who so worked were strictly forbidden to talk, and although they +did not have to wear the objectionable hood when actually employed, +they were supposed to wear it in going to and from their work. +Cowperwood saw them occasionally tramping by his cell door, and it +struck him as strange, uncanny, grim. He wished sincerely at times +since old Chapin was so genial and talkative that he were to be under +him permanently; but it was not to be. + +His two weeks soon passed—drearily enough in all conscience but they +passed, interlaced with his few commonplace tasks of bed-making, +floor-sweeping, dressing, eating, undressing, rising at five-thirty, +and retiring at nine, washing his several dishes after each meal, etc. +He thought he would never get used to the food. Breakfast, as has been +said, was at six-thirty, and consisted of coarse black bread made of +bran and some white flour, and served with black coffee. Dinner was at +eleven-thirty, and consisted of bean or vegetable soup, with some +coarse meat in it, and the same bread. Supper was at six, of tea and +bread, very strong tea and the same bread—no butter, no milk, no sugar. +Cowperwood did not smoke, so the small allowance of tobacco which was +permitted was without value to him. Steger called in every day for two +or three weeks, and after the second day, Stephen Wingate, as his new +business associate, was permitted to see him also—once every day, if he +wished, Desmas stated, though the latter felt he was stretching a point +in permitting this so soon. Both of these visits rarely occupied more +than an hour, or an hour and a half, and after that the day was long. +He was taken out on several days on a court order, between nine and +five, to testify in the bankruptcy proceedings against him, which +caused the time in the beginning to pass quickly. + +It was curious, once he was in prison, safely shut from the world for a +period of years apparently, how quickly all thought of assisting him +departed from the minds of those who had been most friendly. He was +done, so most of them thought. The only thing they could do now would +be to use their influence to get him out some time; how soon, they +could not guess. Beyond that there was nothing. He would really never +be of any great importance to any one any more, or so they thought. It +was very sad, very tragic, but he was gone—his place knew him not. + +“A bright young man, that,” observed President Davison of the Girard +National, on reading of Cowperwood’s sentence and incarceration. “Too +bad! Too bad! He made a great mistake.” + +Only his parents, Aileen, and his wife—the latter with mingled feelings +of resentment and sorrow—really missed him. Aileen, because of her +great passion for him, was suffering most of all. Four years and three +months; she thought. If he did not get out before then she would be +nearing twenty-nine and he would be nearing forty. Would he want her +then? Would she be so attractive? And would nearly five years change +his point of view? He would have to wear a convict suit all that time, +and be known as a convict forever after. It was hard to think about, +but only made her more than ever determined to cling to him, whatever +happened, and to help him all she could. + +Indeed the day after his incarceration she drove out and looked at the +grim, gray walls of the penitentiary. Knowing nothing absolutely of the +vast and complicated processes of law and penal servitude, it seemed +especially terrible to her. What might not they be doing to her Frank? +Was he suffering much? Was he thinking of her as she was of him? Oh, +the pity of it all! The pity! The pity of herself—her great love for +him! She drove home, determined to see him; but as he had originally +told her that visiting days were only once in three months, and that he +would have to write her when the next one was, or when she could come, +or when he could see her on the outside, she scarcely knew what to do. +Secrecy was the thing. + +The next day, however, she wrote him just the same, describing the +drive she had taken on the stormy afternoon before—the terror of the +thought that he was behind those grim gray walls—and declaring her +determination to see him soon. And this letter, under the new +arrangement, he received at once. He wrote her in reply, giving the +letter to Wingate to mail. It ran: + +My sweet girl:—I fancy you are a little downhearted to think I cannot +be with you any more soon, but you mustn’t be. I suppose you read all +about the sentence in the paper. I came out here the same +morning—nearly noon. If I had time, dearest, I’d write you a long +letter describing the situation so as to ease your mind; but I haven’t. +It’s against the rules, and I am really doing this secretly. I’m here, +though, safe enough, and wish I were out, of course. Sweetest, you must +be careful how you try to see me at first. You can’t do me much service +outside of cheering me up, and you may do yourself great harm. Besides, +I think I have done you far more harm than I can ever make up to you +and that you had best give me up, although I know you do not think so, +and I would be sad, if you did. I am to be in the Court of Special +Pleas, Sixth and Chestnut, on Friday at two o’clock; but you cannot see +me there. I’ll be out in charge of my counsel. You must be careful. +Perhaps you’ll think better, and not come here. + + +This last touch was one of pure gloom, the first Cowperwood had ever +introduced into their relationship but conditions had changed him. +Hitherto he had been in the position of the superior being, the one who +was being sought—although Aileen was and had been well worth +seeking—and he had thought that he might escape unscathed, and so grow +in dignity and power until she might not possibly be worthy of him any +longer. He had had that thought. But here, in stripes, it was a +different matter. Aileen’s position, reduced in value as it was by her +long, ardent relationship with him, was now, nevertheless, superior to +his—apparently so. For after all, was she not Edward Butler’s daughter, +and might she, after she had been away from him a while, wish to become +a convict’s bride. She ought not to want to, and she might not want to, +for all he knew; she might change her mind. She ought not to wait for +him. Her life was not yet ruined. The public did not know, so he +thought—not generally anyhow—that she had been his mistress. She might +marry. Why not, and so pass out of his life forever. And would not that +be sad for him? And yet did he not owe it to her, to a sense of fair +play in himself to ask her to give him up, or at least think over the +wisdom of doing so? + +He did her the justice to believe that she would not want to give him +up; and in his position, however harmful it might be to her, it was an +advantage, a connecting link with the finest period of his past life, +to have her continue to love him. He could not, however, scribbling +this note in his cell in Wingate’s presence, and giving it to him to +mail (Overseer Chapin was kindly keeping a respectful distance, though +he was supposed to be present), refrain from adding, at the last +moment, this little touch of doubt which, when she read it, struck +Aileen to the heart. She read it as gloom on his part—as great +depression. Perhaps, after all, the penitentiary and so soon, was +really breaking his spirit, and he had held up so courageously so long. +Because of this, now she was madly eager to get to him, to console him, +even though it was difficult, perilous. She must, she said. + +In regard to visits from the various members of his family—his mother +and father, his brother, his wife, and his sister—Cowperwood made it +plain to them on one of the days on which he was out attending a +bankruptcy hearing, that even providing it could be arranged he did not +think they should come oftener than once in three months, unless he +wrote them or sent word by Steger. The truth was that he really did not +care to see much of any of them at present. He was sick of the whole +social scheme of things. In fact he wanted to be rid of the turmoil he +had been in, seeing it had proved so useless. He had used nearly +fifteen thousand dollars thus far in defending himself—court costs, +family maintenance, Steger, etc.; but he did not mind that. He expected +to make some little money working through Wingate. His family were not +utterly without funds, sufficient to live on in a small way. He had +advised them to remove into houses more in keeping with their reduced +circumstances, which they had done—his mother and father and brothers +and sister to a three-story brick house of about the caliber of the old +Buttonwood Street house, and his wife to a smaller, less expensive +two-story one on North Twenty-first Street, near the penitentiary, a +portion of the money saved out of the thirty-five thousand dollars +extracted from Stener under false pretenses aiding to sustain it. Of +course all this was a terrible descent from the Girard Avenue mansion +for the elder Cowperwood; for here was none of the furniture which +characterized the other somewhat gorgeous domicile—merely store-bought, +ready-made furniture, and neat but cheap hangings and fixtures +generally. The assignees, to whom all Cowperwood’s personal property +belonged, and to whom Cowperwood, the elder, had surrendered all his +holdings, would not permit anything of importance to be removed. It had +all to be sold for the benefit of creditors. A few very small things, +but only a few, had been kept, as everything had been inventoried some +time before. One of the things which old Cowperwood wanted was his own +desk which Frank had had designed for him; but as it was valued at five +hundred dollars and could not be relinquished by the sheriff except on +payment of that sum, or by auction, and as Henry Cowperwood had no such +sum to spare, he had to let the desk go. There were many things they +all wanted, and Anna Adelaide had literally purloined a few though she +did not admit the fact to her parents until long afterward. + +There came a day when the two houses in Girard Avenue were the scene of +a sheriffs sale, during which the general public, without let or +hindrance, was permitted to tramp through the rooms and examine the +pictures, statuary, and objects of art generally, which were auctioned +off to the highest bidder. Considerable fame had attached to +Cowperwood’s activities in this field, owing in the first place to the +real merit of what he had brought together, and in the next place to +the enthusiastic comment of such men as Wilton Ellsworth, Fletcher +Norton, Gordon Strake—architects and art dealers whose judgment and +taste were considered important in Philadelphia. All of the lovely +things by which he had set great store—small bronzes, representative of +the best period of the Italian Renaissance; bits of Venetian glass +which he had collected with great care—a full curio case; statues by +Powers, Hosmer, and Thorwaldsen—things which would be smiled at thirty +years later, but which were of high value then; all of his pictures by +representative American painters from Gilbert to Eastman Johnson, +together with a few specimens of the current French and English +schools, went for a song. Art judgment in Philadelphia at this time was +not exceedingly high; and some of the pictures, for lack of +appreciative understanding, were disposed of at much too low a figure. +Strake, Norton, and Ellsworth were all present and bought liberally. +Senator Simpson, Mollenhauer, and Strobik came to see what they could +see. The small-fry politicians were there, en masse. But Simpson, calm +judge of good art, secured practically the best of all that was +offered. To him went the curio case of Venetian glass; one pair of tall +blue-and-white Mohammedan cylindrical vases; fourteen examples of +Chinese jade, including several artists’ water-dishes and a pierced +window-screen of the faintest tinge of green. To Mollenhauer went the +furniture and decorations of the entry-hall and reception-room of Henry +Cowperwood’s house, and to Edward Strobik two of Cowperwood’s +bird’s-eye maple bedroom suites for the most modest of prices. Adam +Davis was present and secured the secretaire of buhl which the elder +Cowperwood prized so highly. To Fletcher Norton went the four Greek +vases—a kylix, a water-jar, and two amphorae—which he had sold to +Cowperwood and which he valued highly. Various objects of art, +including a Sevres dinner set, a Gobelin tapestry, Barye bronzes and +pictures by Detaille, Fortuny, and George Inness, went to Walter Leigh, +Arthur Rivers, Joseph Zimmerman, Judge Kitchen, Harper Steger, Terrence +Relihan, Trenor Drake, Mr. and Mrs. Simeon Jones, W. C. Davison, Frewen +Kasson, Fletcher Norton, and Judge Rafalsky. + +Within four days after the sale began the two houses were bare of their +contents. Even the objects in the house at 931 North Tenth Street had +been withdrawn from storage where they had been placed at the time it +was deemed advisable to close this institution, and placed on sale with +the other objects in the two homes. It was at this time that the senior +Cowperwoods first learned of something which seemed to indicate a +mystery which had existed in connection with their son and his wife. No +one of all the Cowperwoods was present during all this gloomy +distribution; and Aileen, reading of the disposition of all the wares, +and knowing their value to Cowperwood, to say nothing of their charm +for her, was greatly depressed; yet she was not long despondent, for +she was convinced that Cowperwood would some day regain his liberty and +attain a position of even greater significance in the financial world. +She could not have said why but she was sure of it. + + + + +Chapter LV + + +In the meanwhile Cowperwood had been transferred to a new overseer and +a new cell in Block 3 on the ground door, which was like all the others +in size, ten by sixteen, but to which was attached the small yard +previously mentioned. Warden Desmas came up two days before he was +transferred, and had another short conversation with him through his +cell door. + +“You’ll be transferred on Monday,” he said, in his reserved, slow way. +“They’ll give you a yard, though it won’t be much good to you—we only +allow a half-hour a day in it. I’ve told the overseer about your +business arrangements. He’ll treat you right in that matter. Just be +careful not to take up too much time that way, and things will work +out. I’ve decided to let you learn caning chairs. That’ll be the best +for you. It’s easy, and it’ll occupy your mind.” + +The warden and some allied politicians made a good thing out of this +prison industry. It was really not hard labor—the tasks set were simple +and not oppressive, but all of the products were promptly sold, and the +profits pocketed. It was good, therefore, to see all the prisoners +working, and it did them good. Cowperwood was glad of the chance to do +something, for he really did not care so much for books, and his +connection with Wingate and his old affairs were not sufficient to +employ his mind in a satisfactory way. At the same time, he could not +help thinking, if he seemed strange to himself, now, how much stranger +he would seem then, behind these narrow bars working at so commonplace +a task as caning chairs. Nevertheless, he now thanked Desmas for this, +as well as for the sheets and the toilet articles which had just been +brought in. + +“That’s all right,” replied the latter, pleasantly and softly, by now +much intrigued by Cowperwood. “I know that there are men and men here, +the same as anywhere. If a man knows how to use these things and wants +to be clean, I wouldn’t be one to put anything in his way.” + +The new overseer with whom Cowperwood had to deal was a very different +person from Elias Chapin. His name was Walter Bonhag, and he was not +more than thirty-seven years of age—a big, flabby sort of person with a +crafty mind, whose principal object in life was to see that this prison +situation as he found it should furnish him a better income than his +normal salary provided. A close study of Bonhag would have seemed to +indicate that he was a stool-pigeon of Desmas, but this was really not +true except in a limited way. Because Bonhag was shrewd and +sycophantic, quick to see a point in his or anybody else’s favor, +Desmas instinctively realized that he was the kind of man who could be +trusted to be lenient on order or suggestion. That is, if Desmas had +the least interest in a prisoner he need scarcely say so much to +Bonhag; he might merely suggest that this man was used to a different +kind of life, or that, because of some past experience, it might go +hard with him if he were handled roughly; and Bonhag would strain +himself to be pleasant. The trouble was that to a shrewd man of any +refinement his attentions were objectionable, being obviously offered +for a purpose, and to a poor or ignorant man they were brutal and +contemptuous. He had built up an extra income for himself inside the +prison by selling the prisoners extra allowances of things which he +secretly brought into the prison. It was strictly against the rules, in +theory at least, to bring in anything which was not sold in the +store-room—tobacco, writing paper, pens, ink, whisky, cigars, or +delicacies of any kind. On the other hand, and excellently well for +him, it was true that tobacco of an inferior grade was provided, as +well as wretched pens, ink and paper, so that no self-respecting man, +if he could help it, would endure them. Whisky was not allowed at all, +and delicacies were abhorred as indicating rank favoritism; +nevertheless, they were brought in. If a prisoner had the money and was +willing to see that Bonhag secured something for his trouble, almost +anything would be forthcoming. Also the privilege of being sent into +the general yard as a “trusty,” or being allowed to stay in the little +private yard which some cells possessed, longer than the half-hour +ordinarily permitted, was sold. + +One of the things curiously enough at this time, which worked in +Cowperwood’s favor, was the fact that Bonhag was friendly with the +overseer who had Stener in charge, and Stener, because of his political +friends, was being liberally treated, and Bonhag knew of this. He was +not a careful reader of newspapers, nor had he any intellectual grasp +of important events; but he knew by now that both Stener and Cowperwood +were, or had been, individuals of great importance in the community; +also that Cowperwood had been the more important of the two. Better +yet, as Bonhag now heard, Cowperwood still had money. Some prisoner, +who was permitted to read the paper, told him so. And so, entirely +aside from Warden Desmas’s recommendation, which was given in a very +quiet, noncommittal way, Bonhag was interested to see what he could do +for Cowperwood for a price. + +The day Cowperwood was installed in his new cell, Bonhag lolled up to +the door, which was open, and said, in a semi-patronizing way, “Got all +your things over yet?” It was his business to lock the door once +Cowperwood was inside it. + +“Yes, sir,” replied Cowperwood, who had been shrewd enough to get the +new overseer’s name from Chapin; “this is Mr. Bonhag, I presume?” + +“That’s me,” replied Bonhag, not a little flattered by the recognition, +but still purely interested by the practical side of this encounter. He +was anxious to study Cowperwood, to see what type of man he was. + +“You’ll find it a little different down here from up there,” observed +Bonhag. “It ain’t so stuffy. These doors out in the yards make a +difference.” + +“Oh, yes,” said Cowperwood, observantly and shrewdly, “that is the yard +Mr. Desmas spoke of.” + +At the mention of the magic name, if Bonhag had been a horse, his ears +would have been seen to lift. For, of course, if Cowperwood was so +friendly with Desmas that the latter had described to him the type of +cell he was to have beforehand, it behooved Bonhag to be especially +careful. + +“Yes, that’s it, but it ain’t much,” he observed. “They only allow a +half-hour a day in it. Still it would be all right if a person could +stay out there longer.” + +This was his first hint at graft, favoritism; and Cowperwood distinctly +caught the sound of it in his voice. + +“That’s too bad,” he said. “I don’t suppose good conduct helps a person +to get more.” He waited to hear a reply, but instead Bonhag continued +with: “I’d better teach you your new trade now. You’ve got to learn to +cane chairs, so the warden says. If you want, we can begin right away.” +But without waiting for Cowperwood to acquiesce, he went off, returning +after a time with three unvarnished frames of chairs and a bundle of +cane strips or withes, which he deposited on the floor. Having so +done—and with a flourish—he now continued: “Now I’ll show you if you’ll +watch me,” and he began showing Cowperwood how the strips were to be +laced through the apertures on either side, cut, and fastened with +little hickory pegs. This done, he brought a forcing awl, a small +hammer, a box of pegs, and a pair of clippers. After several brief +demonstrations with different strips, as to how the geometric forms +were designed, he allowed Cowperwood to take the matter in hand, +watching over his shoulder. The financier, quick at anything, manual or +mental, went at it in his customary energetic fashion, and in five +minutes demonstrated to Bonhag that, barring skill and speed, which +could only come with practice, he could do it as well as another. +“You’ll make out all right,” said Bonhag. “You’re supposed to do ten of +those a day. We won’t count the next few days, though, until you get +your hand in. After that I’ll come around and see how you’re getting +along. You understand about the towel on the door, don’t you?” he +inquired. + +“Yes, Mr. Chapin explained that to me,” replied Cowperwood. “I think I +know what most of the rules are now. I’ll try not to break any of +them.” + +The days which followed brought a number of modifications of his prison +lot, but not sufficient by any means to make it acceptable to him. +Bonhag, during the first few days in which he trained Cowperwood in the +art of caning chairs, managed to make it perfectly clear that there +were a number of things he would be willing to do for him. One of the +things that moved him to this, was that already he had been impressed +by the fact that Stener’s friends were coming to see him in larger +numbers than Cowperwood’s, sending him an occasional basket of fruit, +which he gave to the overseers, and that his wife and children had been +already permitted to visit him outside the regular visiting-day. This +was a cause for jealousy on Bonhag’s part. His fellow-overseer was +lording it over him—telling him, as it were, of the high jinks in Block +4. Bonhag really wanted Cowperwood to spruce up and show what he could +do, socially or otherwise. + +And so now he began with: “I see you have your lawyer and your partner +here every day. There ain’t anybody else you’d like to have visit you, +is there? Of course, it’s against the rules to have your wife or sister +or anybody like that, except on visiting days—” And here he paused and +rolled a large and informing eye on Cowperwood—such an eye as was +supposed to convey dark and mysterious things. “But all the rules ain’t +kept around here by a long shot.” + +Cowperwood was not the man to lose a chance of this kind. He smiled a +little—enough to relieve himself, and to convey to Bonhag that he was +gratified by the information, but vocally he observed: “I’ll tell you +how it is, Mr. Bonhag. I believe you understand my position better than +most men would, and that I can talk to you. There are people who would +like to come here, but I have been afraid to let them come. I did not +know that it could be arranged. If it could be, I would be very +grateful. You and I are practical men—I know that if any favors are +extended some of those who help to bring them about must be looked +after. If you can do anything to make it a little more comfortable for +me here I will show you that I appreciate it. I haven’t any money on my +person, but I can always get it, and I will see that you are properly +looked after.” + +Bonhag’s short, thick ears tingled. This was the kind of talk he liked +to hear. “I can fix anything like that, Mr. Cowperwood,” he replied, +servilely. “You leave it to me. If there’s any one you want to see at +any time, just let me know. Of course I have to be very careful, and so +do you, but that’s all right, too. If you want to stay out in that yard +a little longer in the mornings or get out there afternoons or +evenings, from now on, why, go ahead. It’s all right. I’ll just leave +the door open. If the warden or anybody else should be around, I’ll +just scratch on your door with my key, and you come in and shut it. If +there’s anything you want from the outside I can get it for you—jelly +or eggs or butter or any little thing like that. You might like to fix +up your meals a little that way.” + +“I’m certainly most grateful, Mr. Bonhag,” returned Cowperwood in his +grandest manner, and with a desire to smile, but he kept a straight +face. + +“In regard to that other matter,” went on Bonhag, referring to the +matter of extra visitors, “I can fix that any time you want to. I know +the men out at the gate. If you want anybody to come here, just write +’em a note and give it to me, and tell ’em to ask for me when they +come. That’ll get ’em in all right. When they get here you can talk to +’em in your cell. See! Only when I tap they have to come out. You want +to remember that. So just you let me know.” + +Cowperwood was exceedingly grateful. He said so in direct, choice +language. It occurred to him at once that this was Aileen’s +opportunity, and that he could now notify her to come. If she veiled +herself sufficiently she would probably be safe enough. He decided to +write her, and when Wingate came he gave him a letter to mail. + +Two days later, at three o’clock in the afternoon—the time appointed by +him—Aileen came to see him. She was dressed in gray broadcloth with +white-velvet trimmings and cut-steel buttons which glistened like +silver, and wore, as additional ornaments, as well as a protection +against the cold, a cap, stole, and muff of snow-white ermine. Over +this rather striking costume she had slipped a long dark circular +cloak, which she meant to lay off immediately upon her arrival. She had +made a very careful toilet as to her shoes, gloves, hair, and the gold +ornaments which she wore. Her face was concealed by a thick green veil, +as Cowperwood had suggested; and she arrived at an hour when, as near +as he had been able to prearrange, he would be alone. Wingate usually +came at four, after business, and Steger in the morning, when he came +at all. She was very nervous over this strange adventure, leaving the +street-car in which she had chosen to travel some distance away and +walking up a side street. The cold weather and the gray walls under a +gray sky gave her a sense of defeat, but she had worked very hard to +look nice in order to cheer her lover up. She knew how readily he +responded to the influence of her beauty when properly displayed. + +Cowperwood, in view of her coming, had made his cell as acceptable as +possible. It was clean, because he had swept it himself and made his +own bed; and besides he had shaved and combed his hair, and otherwise +put himself to rights. The caned chairs on which he was working had +been put in the corner at the end of the bed. His few dishes were +washed and hung up, and his clogs brushed with a brush which he now +kept for the purpose. Never before, he thought to himself, with a +peculiar feeling of artistic degradation, had Aileen seen him like +this. She had always admired his good taste in clothes, and the way he +carried himself in them; and now she was to see him in garments which +no dignity of body could make presentable. Only a stoic sense of his +own soul-dignity aided him here. After all, as he now thought, he was +Frank A. Cowperwood, and that was something, whatever he wore. And +Aileen knew it. Again, he might be free and rich some day, and he knew +that she believed that. Best of all, his looks under these or any other +circumstances, as he knew, would make no difference to Aileen. She +would only love him the more. It was her ardent sympathy that he was +afraid of. He was so glad that Bonhag had suggested that she might +enter the cell, for it would be a grim procedure talking to her through +a barred door. + +When Aileen arrived she asked for Mr. Bonhag, and was permitted to go +to the central rotunda, where he was sent for. When he came she +murmured: “I wish to see Mr. Cowperwood, if you please”; and he +exclaimed, “Oh, yes, just come with me.” As he came across the rotunda +floor from his corridor he was struck by the evident youth of Aileen, +even though he could not see her face. This now was something in +accordance with what he had expected of Cowperwood. A man who could +steal five hundred thousand dollars and set a whole city by the ears +must have wonderful adventures of all kinds, and Aileen looked like a +true adventure. He led her to the little room where he kept his desk +and detained visitors, and then bustled down to Cowperwood’s cell, +where the financier was working on one of his chairs and scratching on +the door with his key, called: “There’s a young lady here to see you. +Do you want to let her come inside?” + +“Thank you, yes,” replied Cowperwood; and Bonhag hurried away, +unintentionally forgetting, in his boorish incivility, to unlock the +cell door, so that he had to open it in Aileen’s presence. The long +corridor, with its thick doors, mathematically spaced gratings and +gray-stone pavement, caused Aileen to feel faint at heart. A prison, +iron cells! And he was in one of them. It chilled her usually +courageous spirit. What a terrible place for her Frank to be! What a +horrible thing to have put him here! Judges, juries, courts, laws, +jails seemed like so many foaming ogres ranged about the world, glaring +down upon her and her love-affair. The clank of the key in the lock, +and the heavy outward swinging of the door, completed her sense of the +untoward. And then she saw Cowperwood. + +Because of the price he was to receive, Bonhag, after admitting her, +strolled discreetly away. Aileen looked at Cowperwood from behind her +veil, afraid to speak until she was sure Bonhag had gone. And +Cowperwood, who was retaining his self-possession by an effort, +signaled her but with difficulty after a moment or two. “It’s all +right,” he said. “He’s gone away.” She lifted her veil, removed her +cloak, and took in, without seeming to, the stuffy, narrow thickness of +the room, his wretched shoes, the cheap, misshapen suit, the iron door +behind him leading out into the little yard attached to his cell. +Against such a background, with his partially caned chairs visible at +the end of the bed, he seemed unnatural, weird even. Her Frank! And in +this condition. She trembled and it was useless for her to try to +speak. She could only put her arms around him and stroke his head, +murmuring: “My poor boy—my darling. Is this what they have done to you? +Oh, my poor darling.” She held his head while Cowperwood, anxious to +retain his composure, winced and trembled, too. Her love was so full—so +genuine. It was so soothing at the same time that it was unmanning, as +now he could see, making of him a child again. And for the first time +in his life, some inexplicable trick of chemistry—that chemistry of the +body, of blind forces which so readily supersedes reason at times—he +lost his self-control. The depth of Aileen’s feelings, the cooing sound +of her voice, the velvety tenderness of her hands, that beauty that had +drawn him all the time—more radiant here perhaps within these hard +walls, and in the face of his physical misery, than it had ever been +before—completely unmanned him. He did not understand how it could; he +tried to defy the moods, but he could not. When she held his head close +and caressed it, of a sudden, in spite of himself, his breast felt +thick and stuffy, and his throat hurt him. He felt, for him, an +astonishingly strange feeling, a desire to cry, which he did his best +to overcome; it shocked him so. There then combined and conspired to +defeat him a strange, rich picture of the great world he had so +recently lost, of the lovely, magnificent world which he hoped some day +to regain. He felt more poignantly at this moment than ever he had +before the degradation of the clog shoes, the cotton shirt, the striped +suit, the reputation of a convict, permanent and not to be laid aside. +He drew himself quickly away from her, turned his back, clinched his +hands, drew his muscles taut; but it was too late. He was crying, and +he could not stop. + +“Oh, damn it!” he exclaimed, half angrily, half self-commiseratingly, +in combined rage and shame. “Why should I cry? What the devil’s the +matter with me, anyhow?” + +Aileen saw it. She fairly flung herself in front of him, seized his +head with one hand, his shabby waist with the other, and held him tight +in a grip that he could not have readily released. + +“Oh, honey, honey, honey!” she exclaimed, pityingly feverishly. “I love +you, I adore you. They could cut my body into bits if it would do you +any good. To think that they should make you cry! Oh, my sweet, my +sweet, my darling boy!” + +She pulled his still shaking body tighter, and with her free hand +caressed his head. She kissed his eyes, his hair, his cheeks. He pulled +himself loose again after a moment, exclaiming, “What the devil’s got +into me?” but she drew him back. + +“Never mind, honey darling, don’t you be ashamed to cry. Cry here on my +shoulder. Cry here with me. My baby—my honey pet!” + +He quieted down after a few moments, cautioning her against Bonhag, and +regaining his former composure, which he was so ashamed to have lost. + +“You’re a great girl, pet,” he said, with a tender and yet apologetic +smile. “You’re all right—all that I need—a great help to me; but don’t +worry any longer about me, dear. I’m all right. It isn’t as bad as you +think. How are you?” + +Aileen on her part was not to be soothed so easily. His many woes, +including his wretched position here, outraged her sense of justice and +decency. To think her fine, wonderful Frank should be compelled to come +to this—to cry. She stroked his head, tenderly, while wild, deadly, +unreasoning opposition to life and chance and untoward opposition +surged in her brain. Her father—damn him! Her family—pooh! What did she +care? Her Frank—her Frank. How little all else mattered where he was +concerned. Never, never, never would she desert him—never—come what +might. And now she clung to him in silence while she fought in her +brain an awful battle with life and law and fate and circumstance. +Law—nonsense! People—they were brutes, devils, enemies, hounds! She was +delighted, eager, crazy to make a sacrifice of herself. She would go +anywhere for or with her Frank now. She would do anything for him. Her +family was nothing—life nothing, nothing, nothing. She would do +anything he wished, nothing more, nothing less; anything she could do +to save him, to make his life happier, but nothing for any one else. + + + + +Chapter LVI + + +The days passed. Once the understanding with Bonhag was reached, +Cowperwood’s wife, mother and sister were allowed to appear on +occasions. His wife and the children were now settled in the little +home for which he was paying, and his financial obligations to her were +satisfied by Wingate, who paid her one hundred and twenty five dollars +a month for him. He realized that he owed her more, but he was sailing +rather close to the wind financially, these days. The final collapse of +his old interests had come in March, when he had been legally declared +a bankrupt, and all his properties forfeited to satisfy the claims +against him. The city’s claim of five hundred thousand dollars would +have eaten up more than could have been realized at the time, had not a +pro rata payment of thirty cents on the dollar been declared. Even then +the city never received its due, for by some hocus-pocus it was +declared to have forfeited its rights. Its claims had not been made at +the proper time in the proper way. This left larger portions of real +money for the others. + +Fortunately by now Cowperwood had begun to see that by a little +experimenting his business relations with Wingate were likely to prove +profitable. The broker had made it clear that he intended to be +perfectly straight with him. He had employed Cowperwood’s two brothers, +at very moderate salaries—one to take care of the books and look after +the office, and the other to act on ’change with him, for their seats +in that organization had never been sold. And also, by considerable +effort, he had succeeded in securing Cowperwood, Sr., a place as a +clerk in a bank. For the latter, since the day of his resignation from +the Third National had been in a deep, sad quandary as to what further +to do with his life. His son’s disgrace! The horror of his trial and +incarceration. Since the day of Frank’s indictment and more so, since +his sentence and commitment to the Eastern Penitentiary, he was as one +who walked in a dream. That trial! That charge against Frank! His own +son, a convict in stripes—and after he and Frank had walked so proudly +in the front rank of the successful and respected here. Like so many +others in his hour of distress, he had taken to reading the Bible, +looking into its pages for something of that mind consolation that +always, from youth up, although rather casually in these latter years, +he had imagined was to be found there. The Psalms, Isaiah, the Book of +Job, Ecclesiastes. And for the most part, because of the fraying nature +of his present ills, not finding it. + +But day after day secreting himself in his room—a little hall-bedroom +office in his newest home, where to his wife, he pretended that he had +some commercial matters wherewith he was still concerned—and once +inside, the door locked, sitting and brooding on all that had befallen +him—his losses; his good name. Or, after months of this, and because of +the new position secured for him by Wingate—a bookkeeping job in one of +the outlying banks—slipping away early in the morning, and returning +late at night, his mind a gloomy epitome of all that had been or yet +might be. + +To see him bustling off from his new but very much reduced home at half +after seven in the morning in order to reach the small bank, which was +some distance away and not accessible by street-car line, was one of +those pathetic sights which the fortunes of trade so frequently offer. +He carried his lunch in a small box because it was inconvenient to +return home in the time allotted for this purpose, and because his new +salary did not permit the extravagance of a purchased one. It was his +one ambition now to eke out a respectable but unseen existence until he +should die, which he hoped would not be long. He was a pathetic figure +with his thin legs and body, his gray hair, and his snow-white +side-whiskers. He was very lean and angular, and, when confronted by a +difficult problem, a little uncertain or vague in his mind. An old +habit which had grown on him in the years of his prosperity of putting +his hand to his mouth and of opening his eyes in an assumption of +surprise, which had no basis in fact, now grew upon him. He really +degenerated, although he did not know it, into a mere automaton. Life +strews its shores with such interesting and pathetic wrecks. + +One of the things that caused Cowperwood no little thought at this +time, and especially in view of his present extreme indifference to +her, was how he would bring up this matter of his indifference to his +wife and his desire to end their relationship. Yet apart from the +brutality of the plain truth, he saw no way. As he could plainly see, +she was now persisting in her pretense of devotion, uncolored, +apparently, by any suspicion of what had happened. Yet since his trial +and conviction, she had been hearing from one source and another that +he was still intimate with Aileen, and it was only her thought of his +concurrent woes, and the fact that he might possibly be spared to a +successful financial life, that now deterred her from speaking. He was +shut up in a cell, she said to herself, and she was really very sorry +for him, but she did not love him as she once had. He was really too +deserving of reproach for his general unseemly conduct, and no doubt +this was what was intended, as well as being enforced, by the Governing +Power of the world. + +One can imagine how much such an attitude as this would appeal to +Cowperwood, once he had detected it. By a dozen little signs, in spite +of the fact that she brought him delicacies, and commiserated on his +fate, he could see that she felt not only sad, but reproachful, and if +there was one thing that Cowperwood objected to at all times it was the +moral as well as the funereal air. Contrasted with the cheerful +combative hopefulness and enthusiasm of Aileen, the wearied uncertainty +of Mrs. Cowperwood was, to say the least, a little tame. Aileen, after +her first burst of rage over his fate, which really did not develop any +tears on her part, was apparently convinced that he would get out and +be very successful again. She talked success and his future all the +time because she believed in it. Instinctively she seemed to realize +that prison walls could not make a prison for him. Indeed, on the first +day she left she handed Bonhag ten dollars, and after thanking him in +her attractive voice—without showing her face, however—for his obvious +kindness to her, bespoke his further favor for Cowperwood—“a very great +man,” as she described him, which sealed that ambitious materialist’s +fate completely. There was nothing the overseer would not do for the +young lady in the dark cloak. She might have stayed in Cowperwood’s +cell for a week if the visiting-hours of the penitentiary had not made +it impossible. + +The day that Cowperwood decided to discuss with his wife the weariness +of his present married state and his desire to be free of it was some +four months after he had entered the prison. By that time he had become +inured to his convict life. The silence of his cell and the menial +tasks he was compelled to perform, which had at first been so +distressing, banal, maddening, in their pointless iteration, had now +become merely commonplace—dull, but not painful. Furthermore he had +learned many of the little resources of the solitary convict, such as +that of using his lamp to warm up some delicacy which he had saved from +a previous meal or from some basket which had been sent him by his wife +or Aileen. He had partially gotten rid of the sickening odor of his +cell by persuading Bonhag to bring him small packages of lime; which he +used with great freedom. Also he succeeded in defeating some of the +more venturesome rats with traps; and with Bonhag’s permission, after +his cell door had been properly locked at night, and sealed with the +outer wooden door, he would take his chair, if it were not too cold, +out into the little back yard of his cell and look at the sky, where, +when the nights were clear, the stars were to be seen. He had never +taken any interest in astronomy as a scientific study, but now the +Pleiades, the belt of Orion, the Big Dipper and the North Star, to +which one of its lines pointed, caught his attention, almost his fancy. +He wondered why the stars of the belt of Orion came to assume the +peculiar mathematical relation to each other which they held, as far as +distance and arrangement were concerned, and whether that could +possibly have any intellectual significance. The nebulous +conglomeration of the suns in Pleiades suggested a soundless depth of +space, and he thought of the earth floating like a little ball in +immeasurable reaches of ether. His own life appeared very trivial in +view of these things, and he found himself asking whether it was all +really of any significance or importance. He shook these moods off with +ease, however, for the man was possessed of a sense of grandeur, +largely in relation to himself and his affairs; and his temperament was +essentially material and vital. Something kept telling him that +whatever his present state he must yet grow to be a significant +personage, one whose fame would be heralded the world over—who must +try, try, try. It was not given all men to see far or to do +brilliantly; but to him it was given, and he must be what he was cut +out to be. There was no more escaping the greatness that was inherent +in him than there was for so many others the littleness that was in +them. + +Mrs. Cowperwood came in that afternoon quite solemnly, bearing several +changes of linen, a pair of sheets, some potted meat and a pie. She was +not exactly doleful, but Cowperwood thought that she was tending toward +it, largely because of her brooding over his relationship to Aileen, +which he knew that she knew. Something in her manner decided him to +speak before she left; and after asking her how the children were, and +listening to her inquiries in regard to the things that he needed, he +said to her, sitting on his single chair while she sat on his bed: + +“Lillian, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk with you about +for some time. I should have done it before, but it’s better late than +never. I know that you know that there is something between Aileen +Butler and me, and we might as well have it open and aboveboard. It’s +true I am very fond of her and she is very devoted to me, and if ever I +get out of here I want to arrange it so that I can marry her. That +means that you will have to give me a divorce, if you will; and I want +to talk to you about that now. This can’t be so very much of a surprise +to you, because you must have seen this long while that our +relationship hasn’t been all that it might have been, and under the +circumstances this can’t prove such a very great hardship to you—I am +sure.” He paused, waiting, for Mrs. Cowperwood at first said nothing. + +Her thought, when he first broached this, was that she ought to make +some demonstration of astonishment or wrath: but when she looked into +his steady, examining eyes, so free from the illusion of or interest in +demonstrations of any kind, she realized how useless it would be. He +was so utterly matter-of-fact in what seemed to her quite private and +secret affairs—very shameless. She had never been able to understand +quite how he could take the subtleties of life as he did, anyhow. +Certain things which she always fancied should be hushed up he spoke of +with the greatest nonchalance. Her ears tingled sometimes at his +frankness in disposing of a social situation; but she thought this must +be characteristic of notable men, and so there was nothing to be said +about it. Certain men did as they pleased; society did not seem to be +able to deal with them in any way. Perhaps God would, later—she was not +sure. Anyhow, bad as he was, direct as he was, forceful as he was, he +was far more interesting than most of the more conservative types in +whom the social virtues of polite speech and modest thoughts were +seemingly predominate. + +“I know,” she said, rather peacefully, although with a touch of anger +and resentment in her voice. “I’ve known all about it all this time. I +expected you would say something like this to me some day. It’s a nice +reward for all my devotion to you; but it’s just like you, Frank. When +you are set on something, nothing can stop you. It wasn’t enough that +you were getting along so nicely and had two children whom you ought to +love, but you had to take up with this Butler creature until her name +and yours are a by-word throughout the city. I know that she comes to +this prison. I saw her out here one day as I was coming in, and I +suppose every one else knows it by now. She has no sense of decency and +she does not care—the wretched, vain thing—but I would have thought +that you would be ashamed, Frank, to go on the way that you have, when +you still have me and the children and your father and mother and when +you are certain to have such a hard fight to get yourself on your feet, +as it is. If she had any sense of decency she would not have anything +to do with you—the shameless thing.” + +Cowperwood looked at his wife with unflinching eyes. He read in her +remarks just what his observation had long since confirmed—that she was +sympathetically out of touch with him. She was no longer so attractive +physically, and intellectually she was not Aileen’s equal. Also that +contact with those women who had deigned to grace his home in his +greatest hour of prosperity had proved to him conclusively she was +lacking in certain social graces. Aileen was by no means so vastly +better, still she was young and amenable and adaptable, and could still +be improved. Opportunity as he now chose to think, might make Aileen, +whereas for Lillian—or at least, as he now saw it—it could do nothing. + +“I’ll tell you how it is, Lillian,” he said; “I’m not sure that you are +going to get what I mean exactly, but you and I are not at all well +suited to each other any more.” + +“You didn’t seem to think that three or four years ago,” interrupted +his wife, bitterly. + +“I married you when I was twenty-one,” went on Cowperwood, quite +brutally, not paying any attention to her interruption, “and I was +really too young to know what I was doing. I was a mere boy. It doesn’t +make so much difference about that. I am not using that as an excuse. +The point that I am trying to make is this—that right or wrong, +important or not important, I have changed my mind since. I don’t love +you any more, and I don’t feel that I want to keep up a relationship, +however it may look to the public, that is not satisfactory to me. You +have one point of view about life, and I have another. You think your +point of view is the right one, and there are thousands of people who +will agree with you; but I don’t think so. We have never quarreled +about these things, because I didn’t think it was important to quarrel +about them. I don’t see under the circumstances that I am doing you any +great injustice when I ask you to let me go. I don’t intend to desert +you or the children—you will get a good living-income from me as long +as I have the money to give it to you—but I want my personal freedom +when I come out of here, if ever I do, and I want you to let me have +it. The money that you had and a great deal more, once I am out of +here, you will get back when I am on my feet again. But not if you +oppose me—only if you help me. I want, and intend to help you +always—but in my way.” + +He smoothed the leg of his prison trousers in a thoughtful way, and +plucked at the sleeve of his coat. Just now he looked very much like a +highly intelligent workman as he sat here, rather than like the +important personage that he was. Mrs. Cowperwood was very resentful. + +“That’s a nice way to talk to me, and a nice way to treat me!” she +exclaimed dramatically, rising and walking the short space—some two +steps—that lay between the wall and the bed. “I might have known that +you were too young to know your own mind when you married me. Money, of +course, that’s all you think of and your own gratification. I don’t +believe you have any sense of justice in you. I don’t believe you ever +had. You only think of yourself, Frank. I never saw such a man as you. +You have treated me like a dog all through this affair; and all the +while you have been running with that little snip of an Irish thing, +and telling her all about your affairs, I suppose. You let me go on +believing that you cared for me up to the last moment, and then you +suddenly step up and tell me that you want a divorce. I’ll not do it. +I’ll not give you a divorce, and you needn’t think it.” + +Cowperwood listened in silence. His position, in so far as this marital +tangle was concerned, as he saw, was very advantageous. He was a +convict, constrained by the exigencies of his position to be out of +personal contact with his wife for a long period of time to come, which +should naturally tend to school her to do without him. When he came +out, it would be very easy for her to get a divorce from a convict, +particularly if she could allege misconduct with another woman, which +he would not deny. At the same time, he hoped to keep Aileen’s name out +of it. Mrs. Cowperwood, if she would, could give any false name if he +made no contest. Besides, she was not a very strong person, +intellectually speaking. He could bend her to his will. There was no +need of saying much more now; the ice had been broken, the situation +had been put before her, and time should do the rest. + +“Don’t be dramatic, Lillian,” he commented, indifferently. “I’m not +such a loss to you if you have enough to live on. I don’t think I want +to live in Philadelphia if ever I come out of here. My idea now is to +go west, and I think I want to go alone. I sha’n’t get married right +away again even if you do give me a divorce. I don’t care to take +anybody along. It would be better for the children if you would stay +here and divorce me. The public would think better of them and you.” + +“I’ll not do it,” declared Mrs. Cowperwood, emphatically. “I’ll never +do it, never; so there! You can say what you choose. You owe it to me +to stick by me and the children after all I’ve done for you, and I’ll +not do it. You needn’t ask me any more; I’ll not do it.” + +“Very well,” replied Cowperwood, quietly, getting up. “We needn’t talk +about it any more now. Your time is nearly up, anyhow.” (Twenty minutes +was supposed to be the regular allotment for visitors.) “Perhaps you’ll +change your mind sometime.” + +She gathered up her muff and the shawl-strap in which she had carried +her gifts, and turned to go. It had been her custom to kiss Cowperwood +in a make-believe way up to this time, but now she was too angry to +make this pretense. And yet she was sorry, too—sorry for herself and, +she thought, for him. + +“Frank,” she declared, dramatically, at the last moment, “I never saw +such a man as you. I don’t believe you have any heart. You’re not +worthy of a good wife. You’re worthy of just such a woman as you’re +getting. The idea!” Suddenly tears came to her eyes, and she flounced +scornfully and yet sorrowfully out. + +Cowperwood stood there. At least there would be no more useless kissing +between them, he congratulated himself. It was hard in a way, but +purely from an emotional point of view. He was not doing her any +essential injustice, he reasoned—not an economic one—which was the +important thing. She was angry to-day, but she would get over it, and +in time might come to see his point of view. Who could tell? At any +rate he had made it plain to her what he intended to do and that was +something as he saw it. He reminded one of nothing so much, as he stood +there, as of a young chicken picking its way out of the shell of an old +estate. Although he was in a cell of a penitentiary, with nearly four +years more to serve, yet obviously he felt, within himself, that the +whole world was still before him. He could go west if he could not +reestablish himself in Philadelphia; but he must stay here long enough +to win the approval of those who had known him formerly—to obtain, as +it were, a letter of credit which he could carry to other parts. + +“Hard words break no bones,” he said to himself, as his wife went out. +“A man’s never done till he’s done. I’ll show some of these people +yet.” Of Bonhag, who came to close the cell door, he asked whether it +was going to rain, it looked so dark in the hall. + +“It’s sure to before night,” replied Bonhag, who was always wondering +over Cowperwood’s tangled affairs as he heard them retailed here and +there. + + + + +Chapter LVII + + +The time that Cowperwood spent in the Eastern Penitentiary of +Pennsylvania was exactly thirteen months from the day of his entry to +his discharge. The influences which brought about this result were +partly of his willing, and partly not. For one thing, some six months +after his incarceration, Edward Malia Butler died, expired sitting in +his chair in his private office at his home. The conduct of Aileen had +been a great strain on him. From the time Cowperwood had been +sentenced, and more particularly after the time he had cried on +Aileen’s shoulder in prison, she had turned on her father in an almost +brutal way. Her attitude, unnatural for a child, was quite explicable +as that of a tortured sweetheart. Cowperwood had told her that he +thought Butler was using his influence to withhold a pardon for him, +even though one were granted to Stener, whose life in prison he had +been following with considerable interest; and this had enraged her +beyond measure. She lost no chance of being practically insulting to +her father, ignoring him on every occasion, refusing as often as +possible to eat at the same table, and when she did, sitting next her +mother in the place of Norah, with whom she managed to exchange. She +refused to sing or play any more when he was present, and persistently +ignored the large number of young political aspirants who came to the +house, and whose presence in a way had been encouraged for her benefit. +Old Butler realized, of course, what it was all about. He said nothing. +He could not placate her. + +Her mother and brothers did not understand it at all at first. (Mrs. +Butler never understood.) But not long after Cowperwood’s incarceration +Callum and Owen became aware of what the trouble was. Once, when Owen +was coming away from a reception at one of the houses where his growing +financial importance made him welcome, he heard one of two men whom he +knew casually, say to the other, as they stood at the door adjusting +their coats, “You saw where this fellow Cowperwood got four years, +didn’t you?” + +“Yes,” replied the other. “A clever devil that—wasn’t he? I knew that +girl he was in with, too—you know who I mean. Miss Butler—wasn’t that +her name?” + +Owen was not sure that he had heard right. He did not get the +connection until the other guest, opening the door and stepping out, +remarked: “Well, old Butler got even, apparently. They say he sent him +up.” + +Owen’s brow clouded. A hard, contentious look came into his eyes. He +had much of his father’s force. What in the devil were they talking +about? What Miss Butler did they have in mind? Could this be Aileen or +Norah, and how could Cowperwood come to be in with either of them? It +could not possibly be Norah, he reflected; she was very much infatuated +with a young man whom he knew, and was going to marry him. Aileen had +been most friendly with the Cowperwoods, and had often spoken well of +the financier. Could it be she? He could not believe it. He thought +once of overtaking the two acquaintances and demanding to know what +they meant, but when he came out on the step they were already some +distance down the street and in the opposite direction from that in +which he wished to go. He decided to ask his father about this. + +On demand, old Butler confessed at once, but insisted that his son keep +silent about it. + +“I wish I’d have known,” said Owen, grimly. “I’d have shot the dirty +dog.” + +“Aisy, aisy,” said Butler. “Yer own life’s worth more than his, and +ye’d only be draggin’ the rest of yer family in the dirt with him. He’s +had somethin’ to pay him for his dirty trick, and he’ll have more. Just +ye say nothin’ to no one. Wait. He’ll be wantin’ to get out in a year +or two. Say nothin’ to her aither. Talkin’ won’t help there. She’ll +come to her sinses when he’s been away long enough, I’m thinkin’.” Owen +had tried to be civil to his sister after that, but since he was a +stickler for social perfection and advancement, and so eager to get up +in the world himself, he could not understand how she could possibly +have done any such thing. He resented bitterly the stumbling-block she +had put in his path. Now, among other things, his enemies would have +this to throw in his face if they wanted to—and they would want to, +trust life for that. + +Callum reached his knowledge of the matter in quite another manner, but +at about the same time. He was a member of an athletic club which had +an attractive building in the city, and a fine country club, where he +went occasionally to enjoy the swimming-pool and the Turkish bath +connected with it. One of his friends approached him there in the +billiard-room one evening and said, “Say, Butler, you know I’m a good +friend of yours, don’t you?” + +“Why, certainly, I know it,” replied Callum. “What’s the matter?” + +“Well, you know,” said the young individual, whose name was Richard +Pethick, looking at Callum with a look of almost strained affection, “I +wouldn’t come to you with any story that I thought would hurt your +feelings or that you oughtn’t to know about, but I do think you ought +to know about this.” He pulled at a high white collar which was choking +his neck. + +“I know you wouldn’t, Pethick,” replied Callum; very much interested. +“What is it? What’s the point?” + +“Well, I don’t like to say anything,” replied Pethick, “but that fellow +Hibbs is saying things around here about your sister.” + +“What’s that?” exclaimed Callum, straightening up in the most dynamic +way and bethinking him of the approved social procedure in all such +cases. He should be very angry. He should demand and exact proper +satisfaction in some form or other—by blows very likely if his honor +had been in any way impugned. “What is it he says about my sister? What +right has he to mention her name here, anyhow? He doesn’t know her.” + +Pethick affected to be greatly concerned lest he cause trouble between +Callum and Hibbs. He protested that he did not want to, when, in +reality, he was dying to tell. At last he came out with, “Why, he’s +circulated the yarn that your sister had something to do with this man +Cowperwood, who was tried here recently, and that that’s why he’s just +gone to prison.” + +“What’s that?” exclaimed Callum, losing the make-believe of the +unimportant, and taking on the serious mien of some one who feels +desperately. “He says that, does he? Where is he? I want to see if +he’ll say that to me.” + +Some of the stern fighting ability of his father showed in his slender, +rather refined young face. + +“Now, Callum,” insisted Pethick, realizing the genuine storm he had +raised, and being a little fearful of the result, “do be careful what +you say. You mustn’t have a row in here. You know it’s against the +rules. Besides he may be drunk. It’s just some foolish talk he’s heard, +I’m sure. Now, for goodness’ sake, don’t get so excited.” Pethick, +having evoked the storm, was not a little nervous as to its results in +his own case. He, too, as well as Callum, himself as the tale-bearer, +might now be involved. + +But Callum by now was not so easily restrained. His face was quite +pale, and he was moving toward the old English grill-room, where Hibbs +happened to be, consuming a brandy-and-soda with a friend of about his +own age. Callum entered and called him. + +“Oh, Hibbs!” he said. + +Hibbs, hearing his voice and seeing him in the door, arose and came +over. He was an interesting youth of the collegiate type, educated at +Princeton. He had heard the rumor concerning Aileen from various +sources—other members of the club, for one—and had ventured to repeat +it in Pethick’s presence. + +“What’s that you were just saying about my sister?” asked Callum, +grimly, looking Hibbs in the eye. + +“Why—I—” hesitated Hibbs, who sensed trouble and was eager to avoid it. +He was not exceptionally brave and looked it. His hair was +straw-colored, his eyes blue, and his cheeks pink. “Why—nothing in +particular. Who said I was talking about her?” He looked at Pethick, +whom he knew to be the tale-bearer, and the latter exclaimed, +excitedly: + +“Now don’t you try to deny it, Hibbs. You know I heard you?” + +“Well, what did I say?” asked Hibbs, defiantly. + +“Well, what did you say?” interrupted Callum, grimly, transferring the +conversation to himself. “That’s just what I want to know.” + +“Why,” stammered Hibbs, nervously, “I don’t think I’ve said anything +that anybody else hasn’t said. I just repeated that some one said that +your sister had been very friendly with Mr. Cowperwood. I didn’t say +any more than I have heard other people say around here.” + +“Oh, you didn’t, did you?” exclaimed Callum, withdrawing his hand from +his pocket and slapping Hibbs in the face. He repeated the blow with +his left hand, fiercely. “Perhaps that’ll teach you to keep my sister’s +name out of your mouth, you pup!” + +Hibbs’s arms flew up. He was not without pugilistic training, and he +struck back vigorously, striking Callum once in the chest and once in +the neck. In an instant the two rooms of this suite were in an uproar. +Tables and chairs were overturned by the energy of men attempting to +get to the scene of action. The two combatants were quickly separated; +sides were taken by the friends of each, excited explanations attempted +and defied. Callum was examining the knuckles of his left hand, which +were cut from the blow he had delivered. He maintained a gentlemanly +calm. Hibbs, very much flustered and excited, insisted that he had been +most unreasonably used. The idea of attacking him here. And, anyhow, as +he maintained now, Pethick had been both eavesdropping and lying about +him. Incidentally, the latter was protesting to others that he had done +the only thing which an honorable friend could do. It was a nine days’ +wonder in the club, and was only kept out of the newspapers by the most +strenuous efforts on the part of the friends of both parties. Callum +was so outraged on discovering that there was some foundation for the +rumor at the club in a general rumor which prevailed that he tendered +his resignation, and never went there again. + +“I wish to heaven you hadn’t struck that fellow,” counseled Owen, when +the incident was related to him. “It will only make more talk. She +ought to leave this place; but she won’t. She’s struck on that fellow +yet, and we can’t tell Norah and mother. We will never hear the last of +this, you and I—believe me.” + +“Damn it, she ought to be made to go,” exclaimed Callum. + +“Well, she won’t,” replied Owen. “Father has tried making her, and she +won’t go. Just let things stand. He’s in the penitentiary now, and +that’s probably the end of him. The public seem to think that father +put him there, and that’s something. Maybe we can persuade her to go +after a while. I wish to God we had never had sight of that fellow. If +ever he comes out, I’ve a good notion to kill him.” + +“Oh, I wouldn’t do anything like that,” replied Callum. “It’s useless. +It would only stir things up afresh. He’s done for, anyhow.” + +They planned to urge Norah to marry as soon as possible. And as for +their feelings toward Aileen, it was a very chilly atmosphere which +Mrs. Butler contemplated from now on, much to her confusion, grief, and +astonishment. + +In this divided world it was that Butler eventually found himself, all +at sea as to what to think or what to do. He had brooded so long now, +for months, and as yet had found no solution. And finally, in a form of +religious despair, sitting at his desk, in his business chair, he had +collapsed—a weary and disconsolate man of seventy. A lesion of the left +ventricle was the immediate physical cause, although brooding over +Aileen was in part the mental one. His death could not have been laid +to his grief over Aileen exactly, for he was a very large +man—apoplectic and with sclerotic veins and arteries. For a great many +years now he had taken very little exercise, and his digestion had been +considerably impaired thereby. He was past seventy, and his time had +been reached. They found him there the next morning, his hands folded +in his lap, his head on his bosom, quite cold. + +He was buried with honors out of St. Timothy’s Church, the funeral +attended by a large body of politicians and city officials, who +discussed secretly among themselves whether his grief over his daughter +had anything to do with his end. All his good deeds were remembered, of +course, and Mollenhauer and Simpson sent great floral emblems in +remembrance. They were very sorry that he was gone, for they had been a +cordial three. But gone he was, and that ended their interest in the +matter. He left all of his property to his wife in one of the shortest +wills ever recorded locally. + +“I give and bequeath to my beloved wife, Norah, all my property of +whatsoever kind to be disposed of as she may see fit.” + +There was no misconstruing this. A private paper drawn secretly for her +sometime before by Butler, explained how the property should be +disposed of by her at her death. It was Butler’s real will masquerading +as hers, and she would not have changed it for worlds; but he wanted +her left in undisturbed possession of everything until she should die. +Aileen’s originally assigned portion had never been changed. According +to her father’s will, which no power under the sun could have made Mrs. +Butler alter, she was left $250,000 to be paid at Mrs. Butler’s death. +Neither this fact nor any of the others contained in the paper were +communicated by Mrs. Butler, who retained it to be left as her will. +Aileen often wondered, but never sought to know, what had been left +her. Nothing she fancied—but felt that she could not help this. + +Butler’s death led at once to a great change in the temper of the home. +After the funeral the family settled down to a seemingly peaceful +continuance of the old life; but it was a matter of seeming merely. The +situation stood with Callum and Owen manifesting a certain degree of +contempt for Aileen, which she, understanding, reciprocated. She was +very haughty. Owen had plans of forcing her to leave after Butler’s +death, but he finally asked himself what was the use. Mrs. Butler, who +did not want to leave the old home, was very fond of Aileen, so therein +lay a reason for letting her remain. Besides, any move to force her out +would have entailed an explanation to her mother, which was not deemed +advisable. Owen himself was interested in Caroline Mollenhauer, whom he +hoped some day to marry—as much for her prospective wealth as for any +other reason, though he was quite fond of her. In the January following +Butler’s death, which occurred in August, Norah was married very +quietly, and the following spring Callum embarked on a similar venture. + +In the meanwhile, with Butler’s death, the control of the political +situation had shifted considerably. A certain Tom Collins, formerly one +of Butler’s henchmen, but latterly a power in the First, Second, Third, +and Fourth Wards, where he had numerous saloons and control of other +forms of vice, appeared as a claimant for political recognition. +Mollenhauer and Simpson had to consult him, as he could make very +uncertain the disposition of some hundred and fifteen thousand votes, a +large number of which were fraudulent, but which fact did not modify +their deadly character on occasion. Butler’s sons disappeared as +possible political factors, and were compelled to confine themselves to +the street-railway and contracting business. The pardon of Cowperwood +and Stener, which Butler would have opposed, because by keeping Stener +in he kept Cowperwood in, became a much easier matter. The scandal of +the treasury defalcation was gradually dying down; the newspapers had +ceased to refer to it in any way. Through Steger and Wingate, a large +petition signed by all important financiers and brokers had been sent +to the Governor pointing out that Cowperwood’s trial and conviction had +been most unfair, and asking that he be pardoned. There was no need of +any such effort, so far as Stener was concerned; whenever the time +seemed ripe the politicians were quite ready to say to the Governor +that he ought to let him go. It was only because Butler had opposed +Cowperwood’s release that they had hesitated. It was really not +possible to let out the one and ignore the other; and this petition, +coupled with Butler’s death, cleared the way very nicely. + +Nevertheless, nothing was done until the March following Butler’s +death, when both Stener and Cowperwood had been incarcerated thirteen +months—a length of time which seemed quite sufficient to appease the +anger of the public at large. In this period Stener had undergone a +considerable change physically and mentally. In spite of the fact that +a number of the minor aldermen, who had profited in various ways by his +largess, called to see him occasionally, and that he had been given, as +it were, almost the liberty of the place, and that his family had not +been allowed to suffer, nevertheless he realized that his political and +social days were over. Somebody might now occasionally send him a +basket of fruit and assure him that he would not be compelled to suffer +much longer; but when he did get out, he knew that he had nothing to +depend on save his experience as an insurance agent and real-estate +dealer. That had been precarious enough in the days when he was trying +to get some small political foothold. How would it be when he was known +only as the man who had looted the treasury of five hundred thousand +dollars and been sent to the penitentiary for five years? Who would +lend him the money wherewith to get a little start, even so much as +four or five thousand dollars? The people who were calling to pay their +respects now and then, and to assure him that he had been badly +treated? Never. All of them could honestly claim that they had not so +much to spare. If he had good security to offer—yes; but if he had good +security he would not need to go to them at all. The man who would have +actually helped him if he had only known was Frank A. Cowperwood. +Stener could have confessed his mistake, as Cowperwood saw it, and +Cowperwood would have given him the money gladly, without any thought +of return. But by his poor understanding of human nature, Stener +considered that Cowperwood must be an enemy of his, and he would not +have had either the courage or the business judgment to approach him. + +During his incarceration Cowperwood had been slowly accumulating a +little money through Wingate. He had paid Steger considerable sums from +time to time, until that worthy finally decided that it would not be +fair to take any more. + +“If ever you get on your feet, Frank,” he said, “you can remember me if +you want to, but I don’t think you’ll want to. It’s been nothing but +lose, lose, lose for you through me. I’ll undertake this matter of +getting that appeal to the Governor without any charge on my part. +Anything I can do for you from now on is free gratis for nothing.” + +“Oh, don’t talk nonsense, Harper,” replied Cowperwood. “I don’t know of +anybody that could have done better with my case. Certainly there isn’t +anybody that I would have trusted as much. I don’t like lawyers you +know.” + +“Yes—well,” said Steger, “they’ve got nothing on financiers, so we’ll +call it even.” And they shook hands. + +So when it was finally decided to pardon Stener, which was in the early +part of March, 1873—Cowperwood’s pardon was necessarily but gingerly +included. A delegation, consisting of Strobik, Harmon, and Winpenny, +representing, as it was intended to appear, the unanimous wishes of the +council and the city administration, and speaking for Mollenhauer and +Simpson, who had given their consent, visited the Governor at +Harrisburg and made the necessary formal representations which were +intended to impress the public. At the same time, through the agency of +Steger, Davison, and Walter Leigh, the appeal in behalf of Cowperwood +was made. The Governor, who had had instructions beforehand from +sources quite superior to this committee, was very solemn about the +whole procedure. He would take the matter under advisement. He would +look into the history of the crimes and the records of the two men. He +could make no promises—he would see. But in ten days, after allowing +the petitions to gather considerable dust in one of his pigeonholes and +doing absolutely nothing toward investigating anything, he issued two +separate pardons in writing. One, as a matter of courtesy, he gave into +the hands of Messrs. Strobik, Harmon, and Winpenny, to bear personally +to Mr. Stener, as they desired that he should. The other, on Steger’s +request, he gave to him. The two committees which had called to receive +them then departed; and the afternoon of that same day saw Strobik, +Harmon, and Winpenny arrive in one group, and Steger, Wingate, and +Walter Leigh in another, at the prison gate, but at different hours. + + + + +Chapter LVIII + + +This matter of the pardon of Cowperwood, the exact time of it, was kept +a secret from him, though the fact that he was to be pardoned soon, or +that he had a very excellent chance of being, had not been +denied—rather had been made much of from time to time. Wingate had kept +him accurately informed as to the progress being made, as had Steger; +but when it was actually ascertained, from the Governor’s private +secretary, that a certain day would see the pardon handed over to them, +Steger, Wingate, and Walter Leigh had agreed between themselves that +they would say nothing, taking Cowperwood by surprise. They even went +so far—that is, Steger and Wingate did—as to indicate to Cowperwood +that there was some hitch to the proceedings and that he might not now +get out so soon. Cowperwood was somewhat depressed, but properly +stoical; he assured himself that he could wait, and that he would be +all right sometime. He was rather surprised therefore, one Friday +afternoon, to see Wingate, Steger, and Leigh appear at his cell door, +accompanied by Warden Desmas. + +The warden was quite pleased to think that Cowperwood should finally be +going out—he admired him so much—and decided to come along to the cell, +to see how he would take his liberation. On the way Desmas commented on +the fact that he had always been a model prisoner. “He kept a little +garden out there in that yard of his,” he confided to Walter Leigh. “He +had violets and pansies and geraniums out there, and they did very +well, too.” + +Leigh smiled. It was like Cowperwood to be industrious and tasteful, +even in prison. Such a man could not be conquered. “A very remarkable +man, that,” he remarked to Desmas. + +“Very,” replied the warden. “You can tell that by looking at him.” + +The four looked in through the barred door where he was working, +without being observed, having come up quite silently. + +“Hard at it, Frank?” asked Steger. + +Cowperwood glanced over his shoulder and got up. He had been thinking, +as always these days, of what he would do when he did get out. + +“What is this,” he asked—“a political delegation?” He suspected +something on the instant. All four smiled cheeringly, and Bonhag +unlocked the door for the warden. + +“Nothing very much, Frank,” replied Stager, gleefully, “only you’re a +free man. You can gather up your traps and come right along, if you +wish.” + +Cowperwood surveyed his friends with a level gaze. He had not expected +this so soon after what had been told him. He was not one to be very +much interested in the practical joke or the surprise, but this pleased +him—the sudden realization that he was free. Still, he had anticipated +it so long that the charm of it had been discounted to a certain +extent. He had been unhappy here, and he had not. The shame and +humiliation of it, to begin with, had been much. Latterly, as he had +become inured to it all, the sense of narrowness and humiliation had +worn off. Only the consciousness of incarceration and delay irked him. +Barring his intense desire for certain things—success and vindication, +principally—he found that he could live in his narrow cell and be +fairly comfortable. He had long since become used to the limy smell +(used to defeat a more sickening one), and to the numerous rats which +he quite regularly trapped. He had learned to take an interest in +chair-caning, having become so proficient that he could seat twenty in +a day if he chose, and in working in the little garden in spring, +summer, and fall. Every evening he had studied the sky from his narrow +yard, which resulted curiously in the gift in later years of a great +reflecting telescope to a famous university. He had not looked upon +himself as an ordinary prisoner, by any means—had not felt himself to +be sufficiently punished if a real crime had been involved. From Bonhag +he had learned the history of many criminals here incarcerated, from +murderers up and down, and many had been pointed out to him from time +to time. He had been escorted into the general yard by Bonhag, had seen +the general food of the place being prepared, had heard of Stener’s +modified life here, and so forth. It had finally struck him that it was +not so bad, only that the delay to an individual like himself was +wasteful. He could do so much now if he were out and did not have to +fight court proceedings. Courts and jails! He shook his head when he +thought of the waste involved in them. + +“That’s all right,” he said, looking around him in an uncertain way. +“I’m ready.” + +He stepped out into the hall, with scarcely a farewell glance, and to +Bonhag, who was grieving greatly over the loss of so profitable a +customer, he said: “I wish you would see that some of these things are +sent over to my house, Walter. You’re welcome to the chair, that clock, +this mirror, those pictures—all of these things in fact, except my +linen, razors, and so forth.” + +The last little act of beneficence soothed Bonhag’s lacerated soul a +little. They went out into the receiving overseer’s office, where +Cowperwood laid aside his prison suit and the soft shirt with a +considerable sense of relief. The clog shoes had long since been +replaced by a better pair of his own. He put on the derby hat and gray +overcoat he had worn the year before, on entering, and expressed +himself as ready. At the entrance of the prison he turned and looked +back—one last glance—at the iron door leading into the garden. + +“You don’t regret leaving that, do you, Frank?” asked Steger, +curiously. + +“I do not,” replied Cowperwood. “It wasn’t that I was thinking of. It +was just the appearance of it, that’s all.” + +In another minute they were at the outer gate, where Cowperwood shook +the warden finally by the hand. Then entering a carriage outside the +large, impressive, Gothic entrance, the gates were locked behind them +and they were driven away. + +“Well, there’s an end of that, Frank,” observed Steger, gayly; “that +will never bother you any more.” + +“Yes,” replied Cowperwood. “It’s worse to see it coming than going.” + +“It seems to me we ought to celebrate this occasion in some way,” +observed Walter Leigh. “It won’t do just to take Frank home. Why don’t +we all go down to Green’s? That’s a good idea.” + +“I’d rather not, if you don’t mind,” replied Cowperwood, feelingly. +“I’ll get together with you all, later. Just now I’d like to go home +and change these clothes.” + +He was thinking of Aileen and his children and his mother and father +and of his whole future. Life was going to broaden out for him +considerably from now on, he was sure of it. He had learned so much +about taking care of himself in those thirteen months. He was going to +see Aileen, and find how she felt about things in general, and then he +was going to resume some such duties as he had had in his own concern, +with Wingate & Co. He was going to secure a seat on ’change again, +through his friends; and, to escape the effect of the prejudice of +those who might not care to do business with an ex-convict, he was +going to act as general outside man, and floor man on ’charge, for +Wingate & Co. His practical control of that could not be publicly +proved. Now for some important development in the market—some slump or +something. He would show the world whether he was a failure or not. + +They let him down in front of his wife’s little cottage, and he entered +briskly in the gathering gloom. + +On September 18, 1873, at twelve-fifteen of a brilliant autumn day, in +the city of Philadelphia, one of the most startling financial tragedies +that the world has ever seen had its commencement. The banking house of +Jay Cooke & Co., the foremost financial organization of America, doing +business at Number 114 South Third Street in Philadelphia, and with +branches in New York, Washington, and London, closed its doors. Those +who know anything about the financial crises of the United States know +well the significance of the panic which followed. It is spoken of in +all histories as the panic of 1873, and the widespread ruin and +disaster which followed was practically unprecedented in American +history. + +At this time Cowperwood, once more a broker—ostensibly a broker’s +agent—was doing business in South Third Street, and representing +Wingate & Co. on ’change. During the six months which had elapsed since +he had emerged from the Eastern Penitentiary he had been quietly +resuming financial, if not social, relations with those who had known +him before. + +Furthermore, Wingate & Co. were prospering, and had been for some time, +a fact which redounded to his credit with those who knew. Ostensibly he +lived with his wife in a small house on North Twenty-first Street. In +reality he occupied a bachelor apartment on North Fifteenth Street, to +which Aileen occasionally repaired. The difference between himself and +his wife had now become a matter of common knowledge in the family, +and, although there were some faint efforts made to smooth the matter +over, no good resulted. The difficulties of the past two years had so +inured his parents to expect the untoward and exceptional that, +astonishing as this was, it did not shock them so much as it would have +years before. They were too much frightened by life to quarrel with its +weird developments. They could only hope and pray for the best. + +The Butler family, on the other hand, what there was of it, had become +indifferent to Aileen’s conduct. She was ignored by her brothers and +Norah, who now knew all; and her mother was so taken up with religious +devotions and brooding contemplation of her loss that she was not as +active in her observation of Aileen’s life as she might have been. +Besides, Cowperwood and his mistress were more circumspect in their +conduct than they had ever been before. Their movements were more +carefully guarded, though the result was the same. Cowperwood was +thinking of the West—of reaching some slight local standing here in +Philadelphia, and then, with perhaps one hundred thousand dollars in +capital, removing to the boundless prairies of which he had heard so +much—Chicago, Fargo, Duluth, Sioux City, places then heralded in +Philadelphia and the East as coming centers of great life—and taking +Aileen with him. Although the problem of marriage with her was +insoluble unless Mrs. Cowperwood should formally agree to give him up—a +possibility which was not manifest at this time, neither he nor Aileen +were deterred by that thought. They were going to build a future +together—or so they thought, marriage or no marriage. The only thing +which Cowperwood could see to do was to take Aileen away with him, and +to trust to time and absence to modify his wife’s point of view. + +This particular panic, which was destined to mark a notable change in +Cowperwood’s career, was one of those peculiar things which spring +naturally out of the optimism of the American people and the +irrepressible progress of the country. It was the result, to be +accurate, of the prestige and ambition of Jay Cooke, whose early +training and subsequent success had all been acquired in Philadelphia, +and who had since become the foremost financial figure of his day. It +would be useless to attempt to trace here the rise of this man to +distinction; it need only be said that by suggestions which he made and +methods which he devised the Union government, in its darkest hours, +was able to raise the money wherewith to continue the struggle against +the South. After the Civil War this man, who had built up a tremendous +banking business in Philadelphia, with great branches in New York and +Washington, was at a loss for some time for some significant thing to +do, some constructive work which would be worthy of his genius. The war +was over; the only thing which remained was the finances of peace, and +the greatest things in American financial enterprise were those related +to the construction of transcontinental railway lines. The Union +Pacific, authorized in 1860, was already building; the Northern Pacific +and the Southern Pacific were already dreams in various pioneer minds. +The great thing was to connect the Atlantic and the Pacific by steel, +to bind up the territorially perfected and newly solidified Union, or +to enter upon some vast project of mining, of which gold and silver +were the most important. Actually railway-building was the most +significant of all, and railroad stocks were far and away the most +valuable and important on every exchange in America. Here in +Philadelphia, New York Central, Rock Island, Wabash, Central Pacific, +St. Paul, Hannibal & St. Joseph, Union Pacific, and Ohio & Mississippi +were freely traded in. There were men who were getting rich and famous +out of handling these things; and such towering figures as Cornelius +Vanderbilt, Jay Gould, Daniel Drew, James Fish, and others in the East, +and Fair, Crocker, W. R. Hearst, and Collis P. Huntington, in the West, +were already raising their heads like vast mountains in connection with +these enterprises. Among those who dreamed most ardently on this score +was Jay Cooke, who without the wolfish cunning of a Gould or the +practical knowledge of a Vanderbilt, was ambitious to thread the +northern reaches of America with a band of steel which should be a +permanent memorial to his name. + +The project which fascinated him most was one that related to the +development of the territory then lying almost unexplored between the +extreme western shore of Lake Superior, where Duluth now stands, and +that portion of the Pacific Ocean into which the Columbia River +empties—the extreme northern one-third of the United States. Here, if a +railroad were built, would spring up great cities and prosperous towns. +There were, it was suspected, mines of various metals in the region of +the Rockies which this railroad would traverse, and untold wealth to be +reaped from the fertile corn and wheat lands. Products brought only so +far east as Duluth could then be shipped to the Atlantic, via the Great +Lakes and the Erie Canal, at a greatly reduced cost. It was a vision of +empire, not unlike the Panama Canal project of the same period, and one +that bade fair apparently to be as useful to humanity. It had aroused +the interest and enthusiasm of Cooke. Because of the fact that the +government had made a grant of vast areas of land on either side of the +proposed track to the corporation that should seriously undertake it +and complete it within a reasonable number of years, and because of the +opportunity it gave him of remaining a distinguished public figure, he +had eventually shouldered the project. It was open to many objections +and criticisms; but the genius which had been sufficient to finance the +Civil War was considered sufficient to finance the Northern Pacific +Railroad. Cooke undertook it with the idea of being able to put the +merits of the proposition before the people direct—not through the +agency of any great financial corporation—and of selling to the +butcher, the baker, and the candlestick-maker the stock or shares that +he wished to dispose of. + +It was a brilliant chance. His genius had worked out the sale of great +government loans during the Civil War to the people direct in this +fashion. Why not Northern Pacific certificates? For several years he +conducted a pyrotechnic campaign, surveying the territory in question, +organizing great railway-construction corps, building hundreds of miles +of track under most trying conditions, and selling great blocks of his +stock, on which interest of a certain percentage was guaranteed. If it +had not been that he knew little of railroad-building, personally, and +that the project was so vast that it could not well be encompassed by +one man, even so great a man it might have proved successful, as under +subsequent management it did. However, hard times, the war between +France and Germany, which tied up European capital for the time being +and made it indifferent to American projects, envy, calumny, a certain +percentage of mismanagement, all conspired to wreck it. On September +18, 1873, at twelve-fifteen noon, Jay Cooke & Co. failed for +approximately eight million dollars and the Northern Pacific for all +that had been invested in it—some fifty million dollars more. + +One can imagine what the result was—the most important financier and +the most distinguished railway enterprise collapsing at one and the +same time. “A financial thunderclap in a clear sky,” said the +Philadelphia Press. “No one could have been more surprised,” said the +Philadelphia Inquirer, “if snow had fallen amid the sunshine of a +summer noon.” The public, which by Cooke’s previous tremendous success +had been lulled into believing him invincible, could not understand it. +It was beyond belief. Jay Cooke fail? Impossible, or anything connected +with him. Nevertheless, he had failed; and the New York Stock Exchange, +after witnessing a number of crashes immediately afterward, closed for +eight days. The Lake Shore Railroad failed to pay a call-loan of one +million seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars; and the Union Trust +Company, allied to the Vanderbilt interests, closed its doors after +withstanding a prolonged run. The National Trust Company of New York +had eight hundred thousand dollars of government securities in its +vaults, but not a dollar could be borrowed upon them; and it suspended. +Suspicion was universal, rumor affected every one. + +In Philadelphia, when the news reached the stock exchange, it came +first in the form of a brief despatch addressed to the stock board from +the New York Stock Exchange—“Rumor on street of failure of Jay Cooke & +Co. Answer.” It was not believed, and so not replied to. Nothing was +thought of it. The world of brokers paid scarcely any attention to it. +Cowperwood, who had followed the fortunes of Jay Cooke & Co. with +considerable suspicion of its president’s brilliant theory of vending +his wares direct to the people—was perhaps the only one who had +suspicions. He had once written a brilliant criticism to some inquirer, +in which he had said that no enterprise of such magnitude as the +Northern Pacific had ever before been entirely dependent upon one +house, or rather upon one man, and that he did not like it. “I am not +sure that the lands through which the road runs are so unparalleled in +climate, soil, timber, minerals, etc., as Mr. Cooke and his friends +would have us believe. Neither do I think that the road can at present, +or for many years to come, earn the interest which its great issues of +stock call for. There is great danger and risk there.” So when the +notice was posted, he looked at it, wondering what the effect would be +if by any chance Jay Cooke & Co. should fail. + +He was not long in wonder. A second despatch posted on ’change read: +“New York, September 18th. Jay Cooke & Co. have suspended.” + +Cowperwood could not believe it. He was beside himself with the thought +of a great opportunity. In company with every other broker, he hurried +into Third Street and up to Number 114, where the famous old banking +house was located, in order to be sure. Despite his natural dignity and +reserve, he did not hesitate to run. If this were true, a great hour +had struck. There would be wide-spread panic and disaster. There would +be a terrific slump in prices of all stocks. He must be in the thick of +it. Wingate must be on hand, and his two brothers. He must tell them +how to sell and when and what to buy. His great hour had come! + + + + +Chapter LIX + + +The banking house of Jay Cooke & Co., in spite of its tremendous +significance as a banking and promoting concern, was a most +unpretentious affair, four stories and a half in height of gray stone +and red brick. It had never been deemed a handsome or comfortable +banking house. Cowperwood had been there often. Wharf-rats as long as +the forearm of a man crept up the culverted channels of Dock Street to +run through the apartments at will. Scores of clerks worked under +gas-jets, where light and air were not any too abundant, keeping track +of the firm’s vast accounts. It was next door to the Girard National +Bank, where Cowperwood’s friend Davison still flourished, and where the +principal financial business of the street converged. As Cowperwood ran +he met his brother Edward, who was coming to the stock exchange with +some word for him from Wingate. + +“Run and get Wingate and Joe,” he said. “There’s something big on this +afternoon. Jay Cooke has failed.” + +Edward waited for no other word, but hurried off as directed. + +Cowperwood reached Cooke & Co. among the earliest. To his utter +astonishment, the solid brown-oak doors, with which he was familiar, +were shut, and a notice posted on them, which he quickly read, ran: + +_September_ 18, 1873. +To the Public—We regret to be obliged to announce that, owing to +unexpected demands on us, our firm has been obliged to suspend payment. +In a few days we will be able to present a statement to our creditors. +Until which time we must ask their patient consideration. We believe +our assets to be largely in excess of our liabilities. + + +Jay Cooke & Co. + + +A magnificent gleam of triumph sprang into Cowperwood’s eye. In company +with many others he turned and ran back toward the exchange, while a +reporter, who had come for information knocked at the massive doors of +the banking house, and was told by a porter, who peered out of a +diamond-shaped aperture, that Jay Cooke had gone home for the day and +was not to be seen. + +“Now,” thought Cowperwood, to whom this panic spelled opportunity, not +ruin, “I’ll get my innings. I’ll go short of this—of everything.” + +Before, when the panic following the Chicago fire had occurred, he had +been long—had been compelled to stay long of many things in order to +protect himself. To-day he had nothing to speak of—perhaps a paltry +seventy-five thousand dollars which he had managed to scrape together. +Thank God! he had only the reputation of Wingate’s old house to lose, +if he lost, which was nothing. With it as a trading agency behind +him—with it as an excuse for his presence, his right to buy and sell—he +had everything to gain. Where many men were thinking of ruin, he was +thinking of success. He would have Wingate and his two brothers under +him to execute his orders exactly. He could pick up a fourth and a +fifth man if necessary. He would give them orders to +sell—everything—ten, fifteen, twenty, thirty points off, if necessary, +in order to trap the unwary, depress the market, frighten the fearsome +who would think he was too daring; and then he would buy, buy, buy, +below these figures as much as possible, in order to cover his sales +and reap a profit. + +His instinct told him how widespread and enduring this panic would be. +The Northern Pacific was a hundred-million-dollar venture. It involved +the savings of hundreds of thousands of people—small bankers, +tradesmen, preachers, lawyers, doctors, widows, institutions all over +the land, and all resting on the faith and security of Jay Cooke. Once, +not unlike the Chicago fire map, Cowperwood had seen a grand prospectus +and map of the location of the Northern Pacific land-grant which Cooke +had controlled, showing a vast stretch or belt of territory extending +from Duluth—“The Zenith City of the Unsalted Seas,” as Proctor Knott, +speaking in the House of Representatives, had sarcastically called +it—through the Rockies and the headwaters of the Missouri to the +Pacific Ocean. He had seen how Cooke had ostensibly managed to get +control of this government grant, containing millions upon millions of +acres and extending fourteen hundred miles in length; but it was only a +vision of empire. There might be silver and gold and copper mines +there. The land was usable—would some day be usable. But what of it +now? It would do to fire the imaginations of fools with—nothing more. +It was inaccessible, and would remain so for years to come. No doubt +thousands had subscribed to build this road; but, too, thousands would +now fail if it had failed. Now the crash had come. The grief and the +rage of the public would be intense. For days and days and weeks and +months, normal confidence and courage would be gone. This was his hour. +This was his great moment. Like a wolf prowling under glittering, +bitter stars in the night, he was looking down into the humble folds of +simple men and seeing what their ignorance and their unsophistication +would cost them. + +He hurried back to the exchange, the very same room in which only two +years before he had fought his losing fight, and, finding that his +partner and his brother had not yet come, began to sell everything in +sight. Pandemonium had broken loose. Boys and men were fairly tearing +in from all sections with orders from panic-struck brokers to sell, +sell, sell, and later with orders to buy; the various trading-posts +were reeling, swirling masses of brokers and their agents. Outside in +the street in front of Jay Cooke & Co., Clark & Co., the Girard +National Bank, and other institutions, immense crowds were beginning to +form. They were hurrying here to learn the trouble, to withdraw their +deposits, to protect their interests generally. A policeman arrested a +boy for calling out the failure of Jay Cooke & Co., but nevertheless +the news of the great disaster was spreading like wild-fire. + +Among these panic-struck men Cowperwood was perfectly calm, deadly +cold, the same Cowperwood who had pegged solemnly at his ten chairs +each day in prison, who had baited his traps for rats, and worked in +the little garden allotted him in utter silence and loneliness. Now he +was vigorous and energetic. He had been just sufficiently about this +exchange floor once more to have made his personality impressive and +distinguished. He forced his way into the center of swirling crowds of +men already shouting themselves hoarse, offering whatever was being +offered in quantities which were astonishing, and at prices which +allured the few who were anxious to make money out of the tumbling +prices to buy. New York Central had been standing at 104 7/8 when the +failure was announced; Rhode Island at 108 7/8; Western Union at 92 +1/2; Wabash at 70 1/4; Panama at 117 3/8; Central Pacific at 99 5/8; +St. Paul at 51; Hannibal & St. Joseph at 48; Northwestern at 63; Union +Pacific at 26 3/4; Ohio and Mississippi at 38 3/4. Cowperwood’s house +had scarcely any of the stocks on hand. They were not carrying them for +any customers, and yet he sold, sold, sold, to whoever would take, at +prices which he felt sure would inspire them. + +“Five thousand of New York Central at ninety-nine, ninety-eight, +ninety-seven, ninety-six, ninety-five, ninety-four, ninety-three, +ninety-two, ninety-one, ninety, eighty-nine,” you might have heard him +call; and when his sales were not sufficiently brisk he would turn to +something else—Rock Island, Panama, Central Pacific, Western Union, +Northwestern, Union Pacific. He saw his brother and Wingate hurrying +in, and stopped in his work long enough to instruct them. “Sell +everything you can,” he cautioned them quietly, “at fifteen points off +if you have to—no lower than that now—and buy all you can below it. Ed, +you see if you cannot buy up some local street-railways at fifteen off. +Joe, you stay near me and buy when I tell you.” + +The secretary of the board appeared on his little platform. + +“E. W. Clark & Company,” he announced, at one-thirty, “have just closed +their doors.” + +“Tighe & Company,” he called at one-forty-five, “announce that they are +compelled to suspend.” + +“The First National Bank of Philadelphia,” he called, at two o’clock, +“begs to state that it cannot at present meet its obligations.” + +After each announcement, always, as in the past, when the gong had +compelled silence, the crowd broke into an ominous “Aw, aw, aw.” + +“Tighe & Company,” thought Cowperwood, for a single second, when he +heard it. “There’s an end of him.” And then he returned to his task. + +When the time for closing came, his coat torn, his collar twisted +loose, his necktie ripped, his hat lost, he emerged sane, quiet, +steady-mannered. + +“Well, Ed,” he inquired, meeting his brother, “how’d you make out?” The +latter was equally torn, scratched, exhausted. + +“Christ,” he replied, tugging at his sleeves, “I never saw such a place +as this. They almost tore my clothes off.” + +“Buy any local street-railways?” + +“About five thousand shares.” + +“We’d better go down to Green’s,” Frank observed, referring to the +lobby of the principal hotel. “We’re not through yet. There’ll be more +trading there.” + +He led the way to find Wingate and his brother Joe, and together they +were off, figuring up some of the larger phases of their purchases and +sales as they went. + +And, as he predicted, the excitement did not end with the coming of the +night. The crowd lingered in front of Jay Cooke & Co.’s on Third Street +and in front of other institutions, waiting apparently for some +development which would be favorable to them. For the initiated the +center of debate and agitation was Green’s Hotel, where on the evening +of the eighteenth the lobby and corridors were crowded with bankers, +brokers, and speculators. The stock exchange had practically adjourned +to that hotel en masse. What of the morrow? Who would be the next to +fail? From whence would money be forthcoming? These were the topics +from each mind and upon each tongue. From New York was coming +momentarily more news of disaster. Over there banks and trust companies +were falling like trees in a hurricane. Cowperwood in his +perambulations, seeing what he could see and hearing what he could +hear, reaching understandings which were against the rules of the +exchange, but which were nevertheless in accord with what every other +person was doing, saw about him men known to him as agents of +Mollenhauer and Simpson, and congratulated himself that he would have +something to collect from them before the week was over. He might not +own a street-railway, but he would have the means to. He learned from +hearsay, and information which had been received from New York and +elsewhere, that things were as bad as they could be, and that there was +no hope for those who expected a speedy return of normal conditions. No +thought of retiring for the night entered until the last man was gone. +It was then practically morning. + +The next day was Friday, and suggested many ominous things. Would it be +another Black Friday? Cowperwood was at his office before the street +was fairly awake. He figured out his program for the day to a nicety, +feeling strangely different from the way he had felt two years before +when the conditions were not dissimilar. Yesterday, in spite of the +sudden onslaught, he had made one hundred and fifty thousand dollars, +and he expected to make as much, if not more, to-day. There was no +telling what he could make, he thought, if he could only keep his small +organization in perfect trim and get his assistants to follow his +orders exactly. Ruin for others began early with the suspension of Fisk +& Hatch, Jay Cooke’s faithful lieutenants during the Civil War. They +had calls upon them for one million five hundred thousand dollars in +the first fifteen minutes after opening the doors, and at once closed +them again, the failure being ascribed to Collis P. Huntington’s +Central Pacific Railroad and the Chesapeake & Ohio. There was a +long-continued run on the Fidelity Trust Company. News of these facts, +and of failures in New York posted on ’change, strengthened the cause +Cowperwood was so much interested in; for he was selling as high as he +could and buying as low as he could on a constantly sinking scale. By +twelve o’clock he figured with his assistants that he had cleared one +hundred thousand dollars; and by three o’clock he had two hundred +thousand dollars more. That afternoon between three and seven he spent +adjusting his trades, and between seven and one in the morning, without +anything to eat, in gathering as much additional information as he +could and laying his plans for the future. Saturday morning came, and +he repeated his performance of the day before, following it up with +adjustments on Sunday and heavy trading on Monday. By Monday afternoon +at three o’clock he figured that, all losses and uncertainties to one +side, he was once more a millionaire, and that now his future lay clear +and straight before him. + +As he sat at his desk late that afternoon in his office looking out +into Third Street, where a hurrying of brokers, messengers, and anxious +depositors still maintained, he had the feeling that so far as +Philadelphia and the life here was concerned, his day and its day with +him was over. He did not care anything about the brokerage business +here any more or anywhere. Failures such as this, and disasters such as +the Chicago fire, that had overtaken him two years before, had cured +him of all love of the stock exchange and all feeling for Philadelphia. +He had been very unhappy here in spite of all his previous happiness; +and his experience as a convict had made, him, he could see quite +plainly, unacceptable to the element with whom he had once hoped to +associate. There was nothing else to do, now that he had reestablished +himself as a Philadelphia business man and been pardoned for an offense +which he hoped to make people believe he had never committed, but to +leave Philadelphia to seek a new world. + +“If I get out of this safely,” he said to himself, “this is the end. I +am going West, and going into some other line of business.” He thought +of street-railways, land speculation, some great manufacturing project +of some kind, even mining, on a legitimate basis. + +“I have had my lesson,” he said to himself, finally getting up and +preparing to leave. “I am as rich as I was, and only a little older. +They caught me once, but they will not catch me again.” He talked to +Wingate about following up the campaign on the lines in which he had +started, and he himself intended to follow it up with great energy; but +all the while his mind was running with this one rich thought: “I am a +millionaire. I am a free man. I am only thirty-six, and my future is +all before me.” + +It was with this thought that he went to visit Aileen, and to plan for +the future. + +It was only three months later that a train, speeding through the +mountains of Pennsylvania and over the plains of Ohio and Indiana, bore +to Chicago and the West the young financial aspirant who, in spite of +youth and wealth and a notable vigor of body, was a solemn, +conservative speculator as to what his future might be. The West, as he +had carefully calculated before leaving, held much. He had studied the +receipts of the New York Clearing House recently and the disposition of +bank-balances and the shipment of gold, and had seen that vast +quantities of the latter metal were going to Chicago. He understood +finance accurately. The meaning of gold shipments was clear. Where +money was going trade was—a thriving, developing life. He wished to see +clearly for himself what this world had to offer. + +Two years later, following the meteoric appearance of a young +speculator in Duluth, and after Chicago had seen the tentative opening +of a grain and commission company labeled Frank A. Cowperwood & Co., +which ostensibly dealt in the great wheat crops of the West, a quiet +divorce was granted Mrs. Frank A. Cowperwood in Philadelphia, because +apparently she wished it. Time had not seemingly dealt badly with her. +Her financial affairs, once so bad, were now apparently all +straightened out, and she occupied in West Philadelphia, near one of +her sisters, a new and interesting home which was fitted with all the +comforts of an excellent middle-class residence. She was now quite +religious once more. The two children, Frank and Lillian, were in +private schools, returning evenings to their mother. “Wash” Sims was +once more the negro general factotum. Frequent visitors on Sundays were +Mr. and Mrs. Henry Worthington Cowperwood, no longer distressed +financially, but subdued and wearied, the wind completely gone from +their once much-favored sails. Cowperwood, senior, had sufficient money +wherewith to sustain himself, and that without slaving as a petty +clerk, but his social joy in life was gone. He was old, disappointed, +sad. He could feel that with his quondam honor and financial glory, he +was the same—and he was not. His courage and his dreams were gone, and +he awaited death. + +Here, too, came Anna Adelaide Cowperwood on occasion, a clerk in the +city water office, who speculated much as to the strange vicissitudes +of life. She had great interest in her brother, who seemed destined by +fate to play a conspicuous part in the world; but she could not +understand him. Seeing that all those who were near to him in any way +seemed to rise or fall with his prosperity, she did not understand how +justice and morals were arranged in this world. There seemed to be +certain general principles—or people assumed there were—but apparently +there were exceptions. Assuredly her brother abided by no known rule, +and yet he seemed to be doing fairly well once more. What did this +mean? Mrs. Cowperwood, his former wife, condemned his actions, and yet +accepted of his prosperity as her due. What were the ethics of that? + +Cowperwood’s every action was known to Aileen Butler, his present +whereabouts and prospects. Not long after his wife’s divorce, and after +many trips to and from this new world in which he was now living, these +two left Philadelphia together one afternoon in the winter. Aileen +explained to her mother, who was willing to go and live with Norah, +that she had fallen in love with the former banker and wished to marry +him. The old lady, gathering only a garbled version of it at first, +consented. + +Thus ended forever for Aileen this long-continued relationship with +this older world. Chicago was before her—a much more distinguished +career, Frank told her, than ever they could have had in Philadelphia. + +“Isn’t it nice to be finally going?” she commented. + +“It is advantageous, anyhow,” he said. + + + + +Concerning Mycteroperca Bonaci + + +There is a certain fish, the scientific name of which is Mycteroperca +Bonaci, its common name Black Grouper, which is of considerable value +as an afterthought in this connection, and which deserves to be better +known. It is a healthy creature, growing quite regularly to a weight of +two hundred and fifty pounds, and lives a comfortable, lengthy +existence because of its very remarkable ability to adapt itself to +conditions. That very subtle thing which we call the creative power, +and which we endow with the spirit of the beatitudes, is supposed to +build this mortal life in such fashion that only honesty and virtue +shall prevail. Witness, then, the significant manner in which it has +fashioned the black grouper. One might go far afield and gather less +forceful indictments—the horrific spider spinning his trap for the +unthinking fly; the lovely Drosera (Sundew) using its crimson calyx for +a smothering-pit in which to seal and devour the victim of its beauty; +the rainbow-colored jellyfish that spreads its prismed tentacles like +streamers of great beauty, only to sting and torture all that falls +within their radiant folds. Man himself is busy digging the pit and +fashioning the snare, but he will not believe it. His feet are in the +trap of circumstance; his eyes are on an illusion. + +Mycteroperca moving in its dark world of green waters is as fine an +illustration of the constructive genius of nature, which is not +beatific, as any which the mind of man may discover. Its great +superiority lies in an almost unbelievable power of simulation, which +relates solely to the pigmentation of its skin. In electrical mechanics +we pride ourselves on our ability to make over one brilliant scene into +another in the twinkling of an eye, and flash before the gaze of an +onlooker picture after picture, which appear and disappear as we look. +The directive control of Mycteroperca over its appearance is much more +significant. You cannot look at it long without feeling that you are +witnessing something spectral and unnatural, so brilliant is its power +to deceive. From being black it can become instantly white; from being +an earth-colored brown it can fade into a delightful water-colored +green. Its markings change as the clouds of the sky. One marvels at the +variety and subtlety of its power. + +Lying at the bottom of a bay, it can simulate the mud by which it is +surrounded. Hidden in the folds of glorious leaves, it is of the same +markings. Lurking in a flaw of light, it is like the light itself +shining dimly in water. Its power to elude or strike unseen is of the +greatest. + +What would you say was the intention of the overruling, intelligent, +constructive force which gives to Mycteroperca this ability? To fit it +to be truthful? To permit it to present an unvarying appearance which +all honest life-seeking fish may know? Or would you say that subtlety, +chicanery, trickery, were here at work? An implement of illusion one +might readily suspect it to be, a living lie, a creature whose business +it is to appear what it is not, to simulate that with which it has +nothing in common, to get its living by great subtlety, the power of +its enemies to forefend against which is little. The indictment is +fair. + +Would you say, in the face of this, that a beatific, beneficent +creative, overruling power never wills that which is either tricky or +deceptive? Or would you say that this material seeming in which we +dwell is itself an illusion? If not, whence then the Ten Commandments +and the illusion of justice? Why were the Beatitudes dreamed of and how +do they avail? + + + + +The Magic Crystal + + +If you had been a mystic or a soothsayer or a member of that mysterious +world which divines by incantations, dreams, the mystic bowl, or the +crystal sphere, you might have looked into their mysterious depths at +this time and foreseen a world of happenings which concerned these two, +who were now apparently so fortunately placed. In the fumes of the +witches’ pot, or the depths of the radiant crystal, might have been +revealed cities, cities, cities; a world of mansions, carriages, +jewels, beauty; a vast metropolis outraged by the power of one man; a +great state seething with indignation over a force it could not +control; vast halls of priceless pictures; a palace unrivaled for its +magnificence; a whole world reading with wonder, at times, of a given +name. And sorrow, sorrow, sorrow. + +The three witches that hailed Macbeth upon the blasted heath might in +turn have called to Cowperwood, “Hail to you, Frank Cowperwood, master +of a great railway system! Hail to you, Frank Cowperwood, builder of a +priceless mansion! Hail to you, Frank Cowperwood, patron of arts and +possessor of endless riches! You shall be famed hereafter.” But like +the Weird Sisters, they would have lied, for in the glory was also the +ashes of Dead Sea fruit—an understanding that could neither be inflamed +by desire nor satisfied by luxury; a heart that was long since wearied +by experience; a soul that was as bereft of illusion as a windless +moon. And to Aileen, as to Macduff, they might have spoken a more +pathetic promise, one that concerned hope and failure. To have and not +to have! All the seeming, and yet the sorrow of not having! Brilliant +society that shone in a mirage, yet locked its doors; love that eluded +as a will-o’-the-wisp and died in the dark. “Hail to you, Frank +Cowperwood, master and no master, prince of a world of dreams whose +reality was disillusion!” So might the witches have called, the bowl +have danced with figures, the fumes with vision, and it would have been +true. What wise man might not read from such a beginning, such an end? + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Financier, by Theodore Dreiser + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FINANCIER *** + +***** This file should be named 1840-0.txt or 1840-0.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/8/4/1840/ + +Produced by Kirk Pearson and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part +of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, +and may not be used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive +specific permission. If you do not charge anything for copies of this +eBook, complying with the rules is very easy. You may use this eBook +for nearly any purpose such as creation of derivative works, reports, +performances and research. They may be modified and printed and given +away--you may do practically ANYTHING in the United States with eBooks +not protected by U.S. copyright law. Redistribution is subject to the +trademark license, especially commercial redistribution. + +START: FULL LICENSE + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full +Project Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at +www.gutenberg.org/license. + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or +destroy all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your +possession. If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a +Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound +by the terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the +person or entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph +1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this +agreement and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the +Foundation" or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection +of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual +works in the collection are in the public domain in the United +States. If an individual work is unprotected by copyright law in the +United States and you are located in the United States, we do not +claim a right to prevent you from copying, distributing, performing, +displaying or creating derivative works based on the work as long as +all references to Project Gutenberg are removed. Of course, we hope +that you will support the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting +free access to electronic works by freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm +works in compliance with the terms of this agreement for keeping the +Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with the work. You can easily +comply with the terms of this agreement by keeping this work in the +same format with its attached full Project Gutenberg-tm License when +you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are +in a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, +check the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this +agreement before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, +distributing or creating derivative works based on this work or any +other Project Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no +representations concerning the copyright status of any work in any +country outside the United States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other +immediate access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear +prominently whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work +on which the phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, +performed, viewed, copied or distributed: + + This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and + most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no + restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it + under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this + eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the + United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you + are located before using this ebook. + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is +derived from texts not protected by U.S. copyright law (does not +contain a notice indicating that it is posted with permission of the +copyright holder), the work can be copied and distributed to anyone in +the United States without paying any fees or charges. If you are +redistributing or providing access to a work with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the work, you must comply +either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 or +obtain permission for the use of the work and the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any +additional terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms +will be linked to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works +posted with the permission of the copyright holder found at the +beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including +any word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access +to or distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format +other than "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official +version posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site +(www.gutenberg.org), you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense +to the user, provide a copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means +of obtaining a copy upon request, of the work in its original "Plain +Vanilla ASCII" or other form. Any alternate format must include the +full Project Gutenberg-tm License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +provided that + +* You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is owed + to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he has + agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments must be paid + within 60 days following each date on which you prepare (or are + legally required to prepare) your periodic tax returns. Royalty + payments should be clearly marked as such and sent to the Project + Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the address specified in + Section 4, "Information about donations to the Project Gutenberg + Literary Archive Foundation." + +* You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or destroy all + copies of the works possessed in a physical medium and discontinue + all use of and all access to other copies of Project Gutenberg-tm + works. + +* You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of + any money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days of + receipt of the work. + +* You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work or group of works on different terms than +are set forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing +from both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and The +Project Gutenberg Trademark LLC, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm +trademark. Contact the Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +works not protected by U.S. copyright law in creating the Project +Gutenberg-tm collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may +contain "Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate +or corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or +other medium, a computer virus, or computer codes that damage or +cannot be read by your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium +with your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you +with the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in +lieu of a refund. If you received the work electronically, the person +or entity providing it to you may choose to give you a second +opportunity to receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If +the second copy is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing +without further opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO +OTHER WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of +damages. If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement +violates the law of the state applicable to this agreement, the +agreement shall be interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or +limitation permitted by the applicable state law. The invalidity or +unenforceability of any provision of this agreement shall not void the +remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in +accordance with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the +production, promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works, harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, +including legal fees, that arise directly or indirectly from any of +the following which you do or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this +or any Project Gutenberg-tm work, (b) alteration, modification, or +additions or deletions to any Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any +Defect you cause. + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of +computers including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It +exists because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations +from people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future +generations. To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation and how your efforts and donations can help, see +Sections 3 and 4 and the Foundation information page at +www.gutenberg.org + + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent permitted by +U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is in Fairbanks, Alaska, with the +mailing address: PO Box 750175, Fairbanks, AK 99775, but its +volunteers and employees are scattered throughout numerous +locations. Its business office is located at 809 North 1500 West, Salt +Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email contact links and up to +date contact information can be found at the Foundation's web site and +official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To SEND +DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any particular +state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. To +donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project +Gutenberg-tm concept of a library of electronic works that could be +freely shared with anyone. For forty years, he produced and +distributed Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of +volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as not protected by copyright in +the U.S. unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not +necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper +edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search +facility: www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + |