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diff --git a/1840-h/1840-h.htm b/1840-h/1840-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..aded3dd --- /dev/null +++ b/1840-h/1840-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,24485 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Financier, by Theodore Dreiser</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify } + +h1, h2{text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 5%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +div.fig { display:block; + margin:0 auto; + text-align:center; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<pre> + +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 + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h1>The Financier</h1> + +<h2>by Theodore Dreiser</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">Chapter I</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">Chapter II</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">Chapter III</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">Chapter IV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">Chapter V</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">Chapter VI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">Chapter VII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">Chapter VIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">Chapter IX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">Chapter X</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">Chapter XI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">Chapter XII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">Chapter XIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">Chapter XIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">Chapter XV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">Chapter XVI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">Chapter XVII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">Chapter XVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">Chapter XIX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">Chapter XX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">Chapter XXI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">Chapter XXII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">Chapter XXIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">Chapter XXIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">Chapter XXV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">Chapter XXVI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">Chapter XXVII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap28">Chapter XXVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap29">Chapter XXIX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap30">Chapter XXX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap31">Chapter XXXI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap32">Chapter XXXII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap33">Chapter XXXIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap34">Chapter XXXIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap35">Chapter XXXV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap36">Chapter XXXVI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap37">Chapter XXXVII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap38">Chapter XXXVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap39">Chapter XXXIX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap40">Chapter XL</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap41">Chapter XLI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap42">Chapter XLII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap43">Chapter XLIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap44">Chapter XLIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap45">Chapter XLV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap46">Chapter XLVI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap47">Chapter XLVII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap48">Chapter XLVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap49">Chapter XLIX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap50">Chapter L</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap51">Chapter LI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap52">Chapter LII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap53">Chapter LIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap54">Chapter LIV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap55">Chapter LV</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap56">Chapter LVI</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap57">Chapter LVII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap58">Chapter LVIII</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap59">Chapter LIX</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap60">Concerning Mycteroperca Bonaci</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap61">The Magic Crystal</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>Chapter I</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the way it has to be, I guess,” he commented to +himself. “That squid wasn’t quick enough.” He figured it out. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +He went on home quite pleased with himself at his solution. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother!” he exclaimed, as he entered the house, “he finally +got him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Got who? What got what?” she inquired in amazement. “Go wash +your hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, that lobster got that squid I was telling you and pa about the +other day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s too bad. What makes you take any interest in such +things? Run, wash your hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Say, papa,” he said to his father, later, “you know that +squid?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he’s dead. The lobster got him.” +</p> + +<p> +His father continued reading. “Well, that’s too bad,” he +said, indifferently. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>Chapter II</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“They are worth just four times their face value,” said his father, +archly. +</p> + +<p> +Frank reexamined them. “The British East India Company,” he read. +“Ten pounds—that’s pretty near fifty dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Frank Algernon.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not so sure that I’d like to,” replied the eldest. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s straight-spoken. What have you against it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, except that I don’t know anything about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you know?” +</p> + +<p> +The boy smiled wisely. “Not very much, I guess.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what are you interested in?” +</p> + +<p> +“Money!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“A smart boy!” he said to Henry, his brother-in-law. “I like +his get-up. You have a bright family.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I like bookkeeping and arithmetic,” he observed. “I want to +get out and get to work, though. That’s what I want to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re pretty young, my son,” observed his uncle. +“You’re only how old now? Fourteen?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thirteen.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to be a boy. I want to get to work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t go too fast, son. You’ll be a man soon enough. You +want to be a banker, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>Chapter III</h2> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Eighteen dollars,” suggested a trader standing near the door, more +to start the bidding than anything else. Frank paused. +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty-two!” called another. +</p> + +<p> +“Thirty!” a third. “Thirty-five!” a fourth, and so up +to seventy-five, less than half of what it was worth. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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— +</p> + +<p> +“Twelve dollars,” commented one bidder. +</p> + +<p> +“Fifteen,” bid another. +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty,” called a third. +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty-five,” a fourth. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thirty-one,” said a voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Thirty-two,” replied Cowperwood. The same process was repeated. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +The auctioneer paused. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Frank Cowperwood, son of the teller of the Third National Bank,” +replied the boy, decisively. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” said the man, fixed by his glance. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you wait while I run up to the bank and get the money?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Don’t be gone long. If you’re not here in an hour +I’ll sell it again.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“How much is this a bar, Mr. Dalrymple?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Sixteen cents,” replied that worthy. +</p> + +<p> +“If I could sell you seven boxes for sixty-two dollars just like this, +would you take them?” +</p> + +<p> +“The same soap?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Dalrymple calculated a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I think I would,” he replied, cautiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you pay me to-day?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d give you my note for it. Where is the soap?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you take it if I bring it to you to-day?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I will,” he replied. “Are you going into the soap +business?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. But I know where I can get some of that soap cheap.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the trouble, Frank?” asked his father, looking up +from his desk when he appeared, breathless and red faced. +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to loan me thirty-two dollars! Will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes, I might. What do you want to do with it?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He was like a young hound on the scent of game. His father could not resist his +appeal. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to pay for that soap,” he suggested. +</p> + +<p> +“Now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Will you give me a receipt?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yep.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you deliver this?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. No delivery. You have to take it away in twenty-four hours.” +</p> + +<p> +That difficulty did not trouble him. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” he said, and pocketed his paper testimony of purchase. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“At Bixom’s auction up here,” he replied, frankly and +blandly. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +He hurried back, whistling; and his father glanced up smiling when he came in. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Frank, how’d you make out?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” said his son, “you discount it and take your money. +I may want mine.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +At seven o’clock that evening Frank’s mother heard about it, and in +due time Uncle Seneca. +</p> + +<p> +“What’d I tell you, Cowperwood?” he asked. “He has +stuff in him, that youngster. Look out for him.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Frank, I hope you can do that often,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so, too, ma,” was his rather noncommittal reply. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” she replied, a little flustered—this last manifested +in a nervous swinging of her school-bag—“I live at number +one-forty-one.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ve heard,” he smiled. “I’ve seen you. Do +you like licorice?” +</p> + +<p> +He fished in his coat and pulled out some fresh sticks that were sold at the +time. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” she said, sweetly, taking one. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t very good. I’ve been carrying it a long time. I had +some taffy the other day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s all right,” she replied, chewing the end of hers. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I know who she is. I’ve seen her coming home from +school.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know Ruth Merriam?” she asked, when he was about ready to +turn off into the cobblestone road to reach his own door. +</p> + +<p> +“No, why?” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s giving a party next Tuesday,” she volunteered, +seemingly pointlessly, but only seemingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Where does she live?” +</p> + +<p> +“There in twenty-eight.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to go,” he affirmed, warmly, as he swung away from +her. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe she’ll ask you,” she called back, growing more +courageous as the distance between them widened. “I’ll ask +her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks,” he smiled. +</p> + +<p> +And she began to run gayly onward. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Just at this time his Uncle Seneca, again back in Philadelphia and stouter and +more domineering than ever, said to him one day: +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve seen their place.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he may not be able to,” said his brother. “He’s +only the cashier there.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we’ll give him a trial. I bet anything he makes good. +He’s a likely-looking youth.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>Chapter IV</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to try,” said his employee. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s your name, young man?” he asked, leaning back in his +wooden chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Cowperwood.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you work for Waterman & Company? You want to make a record, no +doubt. That’s why you came to me?” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood merely smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll take your flour. I need it. Bill it to me.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought not. Well, if you can do that sort of work on the street you +won’t be on the books long.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What does he say about it? Do you ever hear him say whether he’s +satisfied?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, he likes it pretty much, I guess. You see him as much as I +do.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Hard at it,” he said, standing under the flaring gaslight and +looking at his brisk employee with great satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +It was early evening, and the snow was making a speckled pattern through the +windows in front. +</p> + +<p> +“Just a few points before I wind up,” smiled Cowperwood. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s splendid,” said the older man. “You’re +doing better than I thought. I suppose you’ll stay there.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I won’t. I think I’ll quit sometime next year.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think you are doing them an injustice not to tell +them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all. They need me.” All the while surveying himself in a +mirror, straightening his tie and adjusting his coat. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you told your mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I’m going to do it now.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what?” she asked, looking affectionately into his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I got five hundred dollars to-night, and I get thirty a week next year. +What do you want for Christmas?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want for Christmas?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing. I don’t want anything. I have my children.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled. “All right. Then nothing it is.” +</p> + +<p> +But she knew he would buy her something. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Anything you want for Christmas this year, Margy?” he asked, after +kissing her in the dimly-lighted hall. “I got five hundred +to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +She was an innocent little thing, only fifteen, no guile, no shrewdness. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you needn’t get me anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Needn’t I?” he asked, squeezing her waist and kissing her +mouth again. +</p> + +<p> +It was fine to be getting on this way in the world and having such a good time. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>Chapter V</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“How’s business with you people?” he would ask, genially; or, +“Find that you’re getting many I.O.U.’s these days?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, things are going pretty well with us, thank you, Mr. Tighe,” +Cowperwood would answer. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you,” he said to Cowperwood one morning, “this +slavery agitation, if it doesn’t stop, is going to cause trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought so. That’s what people tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like it,” replied Cowperwood, smiling and looking +intensely gratified. “I had thought of speaking to you myself some +time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if you’re ready and can make the change, the place is open. +Come any time you like.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll have to give a reasonable notice at the other place,” +Cowperwood said, quietly. “Would you mind waiting a week or two?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I thought,” he exclaimed, vigorously, when informed by +Cowperwood of his decision, “that you liked the business. Is it a matter +of salary?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, not at all, Mr. Waterman. It’s just that I want to get into +the straight-out brokerage business.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>Chapter VI</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood understood—none better. This subtle world appealed to him. It +answered to his temperament. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Five-eighths for five hundred P. and W.,” some one would +call—Rivers or Cowperwood, or any other broker. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>Chapter VII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +She looked at his handsome face, which was turned to hers, with child-like +simplicity. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all. Not at all. I want to do it. I wouldn’t have been +happy if I couldn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +Frank went back. “He’ll pay ten per cent.,” he said, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“He’ll make his mark,” rejoined Rivers. “He’s the +shrewdest boy of his age I ever saw.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>Chapter VIII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you come to see me so often?” she asked him when he called +the following evening. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t you know?” he replied, looking at her in an +interpretive way. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure you don’t?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I know you liked Mr. Semple, and I always thought you liked me as +his wife. He’s gone, though, now.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you’re here,” he replied. +</p> + +<p> +“And I’m here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I like you. I like to be with you. Don’t you like me that +way?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, I’ve never thought of it. You’re so much younger. +I’m five years older than you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s true. But I know a lot of things you don’t +know.” She laughed softly, showing her pretty teeth. +</p> + +<p> +It was evening. They were on the side porch. The river was before them. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing. You asked why I came to see you. That’s why. +Partly.” +</p> + +<p> +He relapsed into silence and stared at the water. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I like you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you mustn’t like me. It’s wrong. I can’t ever +marry you. You’re too young. I’m too old.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, how silly! I never heard of such a thing!” she exclaimed. +“It will never be, Frank. It can’t be!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why can’t it?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Because—well, because I’m older. People would think it +strange. I’m not long enough free.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t want to,” she smiled. +</p> + +<p> +He arose and came over to her, looking into her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” she asked, nervously, quizzically. +</p> + +<p> +He merely looked at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” she queried, more flustered. +</p> + +<p> +He stooped down to take her arms, but she got up. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, see here!” she exclaimed. “I told you! It’s +silly! You mustn’t kiss me! How dare you! Oh! oh! oh!—” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t need to explain. I’ll do that. And you +needn’t worry about my family. They won’t care.” +</p> + +<p> +“But mine,” she recoiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t worry about yours. I’m not marrying your family. +I’m marrying you. We have independent means.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you marry me in a month?” he asked, cheerfully, when she +paused. +</p> + +<p> +“You know I won’t!” she exclaimed, nervously. “The +idea! Why do you ask?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, not in a month. Wait a little while. I will marry you after a +while—after you see whether you want me.” +</p> + +<p> +He caught her tight. “I’ll show you,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Please stop. You hurt me.” +</p> + +<p> +“How about it? Two months?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Three?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, maybe.” +</p> + +<p> +“No maybe in that case. We marry.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you’re only a boy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t worry about me. You’ll find out how much of a boy I +am.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, in three months then,” she whispered, while he rocked her +cozily in his arms. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>Chapter IX</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s delicious,” he exclaimed, “to have you all to +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>Chapter X</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“See that man going in to see Tighe?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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... +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>Chapter XI</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Is Mr. Butler home?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not sure, sir. I’ll find out. He may have gone +out.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m that man.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He allowed a semi-twinkle to rest in his eye as he looked his visitor over. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I hope I can be of service to you,” he said, genially. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thanks; I never drink.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” replied Cowperwood, with a friendly gleam in return. +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if you have been looking into my record,” observed +Cowperwood, with his own elusive smile, leaving the thought suspended. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know a little something about your work already,” reiterated +Butler, wisely. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a fine day now, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It surely is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we’ll get to know each other better, I’m sure.” +</p> + +<p> +He held out his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, daddy, I almost knocked you down.” +</p> + +<p> +She gave her father, and incidentally Cowperwood, a gleaming, radiant, +inclusive smile. Her teeth were bright and small, and her lips bud-red. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re home early. I thought you were going to stay all +day?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was, but I changed my mind.” +</p> + +<p> +She passed on in, swinging her arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, well—” Butler continued, when she had gone. “Then +well leave it for a day or two. Good day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good day.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>Chapter XII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“How much of the loan do you want?” +</p> + +<p> +“Five million.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Butler sank back somewhat relieved. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He rubbed his chin some more and stared into the fire. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I’m sure,” replied Cowperwood. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’ll be fine, won’t it, Frank!” she observed, and +rubbed his arm as he sat on the side of the bed. +</p> + +<p> +Her remark was vaguely speculative. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a strange world,” he thought; but his thoughts were his +own, and he didn’t propose to tell any one about them. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>Chapter XIII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen, God bless her, is such a foine girl,” or “Norah, the +darlin’, is sick the day.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know; but she has no real refinement. How could she have? Look at +her father and mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>Chapter XIV</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>Chapter XV</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +On the third floor, neatly divided and accommodated with baths and +dressing-rooms, were the nursery, the servants’ quarters, and several +guest-chambers. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think you will like that?” he asked his wife, +referring to his plans for entertaining. +</p> + +<p> +She smiled wanly. “I suppose so,” she said. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>Chapter XVI</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>Chapter XVII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“Mama, do you hear what he’s calling me?” complained Norah, +hugging close to her mother’s arm and pretending fear and +dissatisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +She was stroking her baby’s head. The reference to her grammar had not +touched her at all. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, the Cowperwoods! What about the Cowperwoods?” demanded +Butler, turning squarely to Aileen—she was sitting beside him—-his +big, red face glowing. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, even they have a better house than we have, and he’s merely +an agent of yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well, I will get out one of these days,” Aileen replied. +“Thank heaven I won’t have to live here forever.” +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“But we might have a decent house,” insisted Aileen. “Or this +one done over,” whispered Norah to her mother. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Cowperwood, who was before her secretaire in her new boudoir, lifted her +eyebrows. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I like Norah, too,” added Mrs. Cowperwood. “She’s +really very sweet, and to me she’s prettier.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, indeed, I think so, too.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Cowperwood!” +</p> + +<p> +“You did. You looked stunning. A black riding-habit becomes you. I can +tell your gold hair a long way off.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind your mother and father. I say you looked stunning, and you +did. You always do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You look wonderful,” Cowperwood said as she passed him. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll look different to-night,” was her answer. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s perfectly lovely, I think, Mrs. Butler,” commented Mrs. +Cowperwood, a little bit nervous because of others. +</p> + +<p> +“Mama does love to talk so. Come on, mama. Let’s look at the +dining-room.” It was Norah talking. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” Lillian replied, in a subdued tone. +</p> + +<p> +“So you’re back again.” She was addressing Aileen. +“It’s chilly out, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t mind. Don’t the rooms look lovely?” +</p> + +<p> +She was gazing at the softly lighted chambers and the throng before her. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood understood her precisely, as he did any fine, spirited animal. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>Chapter XVIII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +He looked down into her eyes—those excited, life-loving, eager eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not sure about number three. I think that’s a mistake. +You might have that if you wish.” +</p> + +<p> +She was falsifying. +</p> + +<p> +“It doesn’t matter so much about him, does it?” +</p> + +<p> +His cheeks flushed a little as he said this. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +Her own flamed. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Surely,” the latter replied, rising. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all. I’ve had a lovely waltz.” He strolled off. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood sat down. “That’s young Ledoux, isn’t it? I +thought so. I saw you dancing. You like it, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m crazy about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +His mention of Lillian made Aileen think of her in a faintly derogative way for +a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, did you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that was nice of you,” he added, after a moment. “What +made you do it?” +</p> + +<p> +He turned with a mock air of inquiry. The music was beginning again. The +dancers were rising. He arose. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“But you didn’t answer,” he continued. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t this lovely music?” +</p> + +<p> +He pressed her fingers. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, if you won’t tell me,” he smiled, mockingly. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“You like me?” he said, suddenly, as the music drew to its close. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, yes,” she replied, instantly, returning to her earlier mood +toward him. “You know I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Aileen,” called Norah, “I’ve been looking for you +everywhere. Where have you been?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dancing, of course. Where do you suppose I’ve been? Didn’t +you see me on the floor?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I didn’t,” complained Norah, as though it were most +essential that she should. “How late are you going to stay?” +</p> + +<p> +“Until it’s over, I suppose. I don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Owen says he’s going at twelve.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that doesn’t matter. Some one will take me home. Are you +having a good time?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, never mind, honey. She won’t hurt you. Where are you going +now?” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen always maintained a most guardian-like attitude toward her sister. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>Chapter XIX</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood followed her quickly. Slipping his arms about her waist, he looked +at her flushed cheeks, her clear, moist eyes and red mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“You love me?” he whispered, stern and compelling because of his +desire. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes! Yes! You know I do.” +</p> + +<p> +He crushed her face to his, and she put up her hands and stroked his hair. +</p> + +<p> +A thrilling sense of possession, mastery, happiness and understanding, love of +her and of her body, suddenly overwhelmed him. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>Chapter XX</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Honey!” +</p> + +<p> +The voice was soft and coaxing. He turned, giving her a warning nod in the +direction of her father’s room upstairs. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I long to see you so.” +</p> + +<p> +“I, too. I’ll fix some way. I’m thinking.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—well, I’d rather you’d fix it now,” was her +reply. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I do.” +</p> + +<p> +She struck her boot and looked at the ground, and then up through the trees at +the blue sky. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at me, honey.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to.” +</p> + +<p> +“But look at me, sweet. I want to ask you something.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t make me, Frank, please. I can’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh yes, you can look at me.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +She backed away as he took her hands, but came forward again, easily enough. +</p> + +<p> +“Now look in my eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“See here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t. Don’t ask me. I’ll answer you, but +don’t make me look at you.” +</p> + +<p> +His hand stole to her cheek and fondled it. He petted her shoulder, and she +leaned her head against him. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed, they do.” Her vanity prinked slightly at this. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +He waited, watching her pretty face. +</p> + +<p> +“But nothing need happen. We needn’t go any further.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen!” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t look at you. You needn’t ask. I can’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen! Do you mean that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. Don’t ask me, Frank.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Hanged if I see the way out of this, exactly. But I love you!” He +caught her to him. “I love you—love you!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” she replied intensely, “I want you to. I’m +not afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is she?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +She rode on, thinking, making no reply. He was so direct and practical in his +calculations. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you? It will be all right. You might know her. She isn’t +objectionable in any way. Will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me know when it is ready,” was all she said finally. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>Chapter XXI</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He breathed a sigh of relief. She didn’t suspect, then. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re right,” said Stener, dully. +</p> + +<p> +“Did Strobik say what Colton wants for his shares?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sixty-eight, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood smiled in his soul, though his face remained passive. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood smiled inwardly again. +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +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—” +</p> + +<p> +He rubbed his chin and pulled at his handsome silky mustache. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tend to it, George,” replied Cowperwood, confidently. +“It will come out all right. Leave it to me.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>Chapter XXII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know, but—now that Green and Coates—aren’t you +going pretty strong there?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood stared at his boy. Never was there such a defiant, daring +manipulator. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +She paused, looking at him with a straight, clear, vigorous glance. He liked +the medallion sharpness of her features—their smooth, Greek modeling. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He was counting practically, and man-fashion, on her love for her children. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Frank,” she exclaimed to him, over and over, “if we +could only manage it. Do you think we can?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +They were in the Tenth Street house at the time. She stroked his cheeks with +the loving fingers of the wildly enamored woman. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll do anything for you, sweetheart,” she declared. +“I’d die for you if I had to. I love you so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, pet, no danger. You won’t have to do anything like that. But +be careful.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>Chapter XXIII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Ho! Extra! Extra! All about the big Chicago fire!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ho! Extra! Extra! Chicago burning down! Extra! Extra!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +ALL CHICAGO BURNING +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +He figured briskly the while he waved adieu to his friends, who hurried away, +struck with their own predicament. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you come in and join us? We’re just havin’ a +light supper. Have a cup of coffee or tea, now—do.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was just going to say that,” replied Butler—“the +cigars are up there.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the trouble, honey?” she whispered, as soon as her +father was out of hearing. “You look worried.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +All the subtleties of the present combination were troubling Cowperwood as he +followed Butler into the room upstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Voices could be heard faintly in the distance, far off toward the thicker +residential sections. +</p> + +<p> +“Extra! Extra! All about the big Chicago fire! Chicago burning +down!” +</p> + +<p> +“Just that,” replied Cowperwood, hearkening to them. “Have +you heard the news?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. What’s that they’re calling?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a big fire out in Chicago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” replied Butler, still not gathering the significance of it. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“So that’s it,” he said. “You’re expectin’ +trouble to-morrow. How are your own affairs?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He was meditating on how he should tell the whole truth in regard to Stener. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“About five hundred thousand dollars,” replied Cowperwood. +</p> + +<p> +The old man straightened up. “Is it as much as that?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Just about—a little more or a little less; I’m not sure +which.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“It may be,” said Butler. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Owen!” +</p> + +<p> +He stepped to the door, and, opening it, called down over the banister. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, father.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, father.” +</p> + +<p> +He came back. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Back to the house. I have several people coming there to see me. But +I’ll come back here later, if I may.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope it’s nothing serious, honey?” she sympathized, +looking into his solemn eyes. +</p> + +<p> +It was not time for love, and he felt it. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he said, almost coldly, “I think not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Frank, don’t let this thing make you forget me for long, please. +You won’t, will you? I love you so.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no, I won’t!” he replied earnestly, quickly and yet +absently. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t! Don’t you know I won’t?” He had started +to kiss her, but a noise disturbed him. “Sh!” +</p> + +<p> +He walked to the door, and she followed him with eager, sympathetic eyes. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>Chapter XXIV</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +As Butler stepped into the buggy with his son he was thinking about this, and +it was puzzling him greatly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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’.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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’.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aisy! Aisy!” was all the old contractor would say. He was thinking +hard. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>Chapter XXV</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I haven’t,” said Mollenhauer, straightening up. +“Is there one out? What’s the trouble anyhow?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing—except Chicago’s burning, and it looks as though +we’d have a little money-storm here in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t say! I didn’t hear that. There’s a paper +out, is there? Well, well—is it much of a fire?” +</p> + +<p> +“The city is burning down, so they say,” put in Owen, who was +watching the face of the distinguished politician with considerable interest. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not,” said Butler. +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t ask for money, you say?” +</p> + +<p> +“He wants me to l’ave a hundred thousand he has of mine until he +sees whether he can get through or not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stener is really out of town, I suppose?” Mollenhauer was innately +suspicious. +</p> + +<p> +“So Cowperwood says. We can send and find out.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“We have not,” replied Butler, solemnly. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Just the man,” said Mollenhauer. “Show him up. You can see +what he thinks.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Mollenhauer cast him an ingratiating smile, and as he stepped out Senator +Simpson walked in. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Av’nin’, Mark, I’m glad to see you,” was +Butler’s greeting. +</p> + +<p> +“How are you, Edward?” came the quiet reply. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Senator, you’re not looking any the worse for wear. Can I +pour you something?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; Cavanagh was just telling me. It looks to be quite serious. I think +the market will drop heavily in the morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t be surprised myself,” put in Mollenhauer, +laconically. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The man had a rather grandiloquent manner which he never abandoned under any +circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +“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.?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” said Simpson, inquiringly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Simpson fingered his strange, wide mouth with his delicate hand. “What +have they been doing with the five hundred thousand dollars?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Quite so,” said Mollenhauer. Senator Simpson merely looked the +deep things that he thought. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“I really don’t know,” replied Butler, who did not care to +say what Owen had told him on the drive over. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not,” said Senator Simpson, with true political sagacity +and feeling. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll have that one hundred thousand dollars in the +mornin’,” said Butler, “and never fear.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I can do that,” said Mollenhauer, solemnly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Thus ended Frank Cowperwood’s dreams of what Butler and his political +associates might do for him in his hour of distress. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not any more than I have to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s just the way it is here—or will be.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked directly into his long-time friend’s eyes, and they smiled. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Mr. Butler.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused to reflect. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Counting up?” he asked, familiarly, with a smile. He wanted to +hearten the old gentleman as much as possible. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“The American Fire Insurance Company of Boston announces its inability to +meet its obligations.” The gong sounded again. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“It looks as though the Mollenhauer and Simpson crowds aren’t doing +much for the market,” he observed, gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He raised his eyes to the announcer’s balcony. +</p> + +<p> +“The Eastern and Western Fire Insurance Company of New York announces +that it cannot meet its obligations.” +</p> + +<p> +A low sound something like “Haw!” broke forth. The +announcer’s gavel struck for order. +</p> + +<p> +“The Erie Fire Insurance Company of Rochester announces that it cannot +meet its obligations.” +</p> + +<p> +Again that “H-a-a-a-w!” +</p> + +<p> +Once more the gavel. +</p> + +<p> +“The American Trust Company of New York has suspended payment.” +</p> + +<p> +“H-a-a-a-w!” +</p> + +<p> +The storm was on. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“They ought to close this thing up,” Cowperwood said, shortly. +“It would be a splendid way out. Then nothing could be done.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, hello, Frank,” he exclaimed, sheepishly, “where do you +come from?” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s up, George?” asked Cowperwood. “I thought you +were coming into Broad Street.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, Albert?” he asked, familiarly. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Sengstack from Mr. Mollenhauer to see Mr. Stener.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +He hurried out, and was off to Butler’s house, driving like mad. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>Chapter XXVI</h2> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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 <i>life</i> 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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Butler, who was alone in the room—Owen having gone into an adjoining +room—merely stared at him from under his shaggy brows. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll have to have that money,” he said, brusquely, darkly. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +He turned and walked quickly to the door. +</p> + +<p> +Butler got up. He had thought to manage this differently. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The old man was flustered, enraged, disappointed. He opened the small office +door which led into the adjoining room, and called, “Owen!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, father.” +</p> + +<p> +“Send over to Cowperwood’s office and get that money.” +</p> + +<p> +“You decided to call it, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +He clinched his big fists and his teeth. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll fix him. I’ll show him. The dog! The damned +scoundrel!” +</p> + +<p> +Never in his life before had he been so bitter, so cruel, so relentless in his +mood. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you going, daughter?” he asked, with a rather +unsuccessful attempt to conceal his fear, distress, and smoldering anger. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Come up to my office a minute,” he said. “I want to see you +before you go.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +In spite of herself the color fled from her cheeks instantly, only to come back +in a hot, defiant wave. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Butler shook his head solemnly. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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? +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“The scoundrel!” he said. “The scoundrel! I’ll drive +him out of Philadelphy, if it takes the last dollar I have in the world.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>Chapter XXVII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!” he repeated, over and over to +himself, as he walked. “What shall I do?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Mr. Stener?” queried Mr. Mollenhauer, impressively, +pretending not to know what brought him. +</p> + +<p> +“I came about this matter of my loans to Mr. Cowperwood.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what about them?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who told you that?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +As he was saying this Stener was putting himself back in his chair, getting out +his handkerchief, and sobbing hopelessly in it. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Mr. Mollenhauer.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap28"></a>Chapter XXVIII</h2> + +<p> +It was in the face of this very altered situation that Cowperwood arrived at +Stener’s office late this Monday afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +Stener was quite alone, worried and distraught. He was anxious to see +Cowperwood, and at the same time afraid. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what did he have to say?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Listen to me,” began Cowperwood, eyeing him fixedly. Then he +paused. “What did he say you should do about your holdings?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sell them through Tighe & Company and put the money back in the +treasury, if you won’t take them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sell them to whom?” asked Cowperwood, thinking of Stener’s +last words. +</p> + +<p> +“To any one on ’change who’ll take them, I suppose. I +don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +He paused, for Stener’s face had become a jelly-like mass of woe. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap29"></a>Chapter XXIX</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did they say?” he inquired, putting his arm around her and +looking quietly into her nervous eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Me, Aileen?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you say?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you know he knows?” +</p> + +<p> +“I saw him yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he talk to you about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I saw his face. He simply looked at me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Honey! I’m so sorry for him!” +</p> + +<p> +“I know you are. So am I. But it can’t be helped now. We should +have thought of that in the first place.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you in trouble?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I am going to fail, dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no!” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Could you be there at four?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you going to be strong and brave? You see, I need you to +be.” +</p> + +<p> +He was almost, for the first time, a little sad in his mood. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I love you! I love you! I love you, Frank!” she declared. He +unloosed her hands. +</p> + +<p> +“Run, sweet. To-morrow at four. Don’t fail. And don’t talk. +And don’t admit anything, whatever you do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“And don’t worry about me. I’ll be all right.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +He wrung his hands, and Cowperwood shook his head sadly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said his father, lifting his sad eyes in a peculiar way. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did he want?” asked Henry Cowperwood. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yesterday noon.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s out of his mind,” Cowperwood, Sr., commented, +laconically. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The old gentleman saw the point at once, and winced. +</p> + +<p> +“They might cause you trouble, there, Frank.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d take them up if I were you and I could,” he added. +</p> + +<p> +“I will if I can.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much money have you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, twenty thousand, all told. If I suspend, though, I’ll have to +have a little ready cash.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have eight or ten thousand, or will have by night, I hope.” +</p> + +<p> +He was thinking of some one who would give him a second mortgage on his house. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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...! +</p> + +<p> +His father got up to go. He was as stiff with despair as though he were +suffering from cold. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” he said, wearily. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap30"></a>Chapter XXX</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Lay it on the table in the library, Annie. I’ll get it.” +</p> + +<p> +She thought it was some social note. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap31"></a>Chapter XXXI</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The young banker sat there staring out of the window, and Steger observed, +“It is a bit complicated, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap32"></a>Chapter XXXII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I could have those letters prepared, if you gentlemen have no +objection,” put in Mollenhauer, quietly, but quickly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Um-m, you don’t tell me,” observed Senator Simpson, +thoughtfully, stroking his mouth with his pale hand. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“How could he do that?” asked Senator Simpson, incredulously. +Mollenhauer explained the transaction. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re not,” chimed in Butler, with considerable +enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap33"></a>Chapter XXXIII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +And he bowed himself out. He saw clearly how hopeless was his quest. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“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.<br/> +    “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.<br/> +    “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 <i>bona fide</i> 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 <i>modus operandi</i>. It is hoped that the publicity thus obtained +will break up such vicious practices.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +OFFICE OF THE MAYOR OF THE CITY OF PHILADELPHIA +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +GEORGE W. STENER, ESQ.,                    <i>October</i> 18, 1871.<br/> +City Treasurer.<br/> +<br/> +    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.<br/> +    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.<br/> +    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, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +JACOB BORCHARDT,<br/> +<i>Mayor of Philadelphia.</i> +</p> + +<p class="center"> +OFFICE OF THE TREASURER OF THE CITY OF PHILADELPHIA +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +HON. JACOB BORCHARDT.                    <i>October</i> 19, 1871.<br/> +<br/> +    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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +I am, very respectfully,<br/> +GEORGE W. STENER. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +OFFICE OF THE MAYOR OF THE CITY OF PHILADELPHIA +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +GEORGE W. STENER, ESQ.,                    <i>October</i> 21, 1871.<br/> +City Treasurer.<br/> +<br/> +    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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +Very respectfully,<br/> +JACOB BORCHARDT,<br/> +<i>Mayor of Philadelphia.</i> +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap34"></a>Chapter XXXIV</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“You know how it is, Mr. Cowperwood,” he observed. The latter +smiled. “I do, indeed,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t stand this!” he suddenly exclaimed. “I wish +you would leave me alone now.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap35"></a>Chapter XXXV</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, fine!” exclaimed Norah. “I’ve always wanted to go +to Paris. Haven’t you, Ai? Oh, wouldn’t that be fine?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t you get somethin’ over there?” inquired Mrs. +Butler. “Besides, you’ve got two or three weeks here yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“They wouldn’t want a man around as a sort of guide and adviser, +would they, mother?” put in Callum. +</p> + +<p> +“I might offer my services in that capacity myself,” observed Owen, +reservedly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You wouldn’t object, Edward, would you?” queried his wife, +explaining the proposition in general. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“What talk ye have!” said his wife. “A fine mess you’d +make of it livin’ alone.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“And that’s not stretchin’ the troot much, aither,” he +answered, fondly. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down,” he said, studying the old Irishman from under thick, +bushy eyebrows. “What can I do for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re the manager, are you?” asked Butler, solemnly, eyeing +the man with a shrewd, inquiring eye. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied Martinson, simply. “That’s my +position here.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Butler debated with himself in silence for a few moments, estimating the man +before him. “Are you a family man yourself?” he asked, oddly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, I’m married,” replied Martinson, solemnly. +“I have a wife and two children.” +</p> + +<p> +Martinson, from long experience conceived that this must be a matter of family +misconduct—a son, daughter, wife. Such cases were not infrequent. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought I would like to talk to Mr. Pinkerton himself, but if +you’re the responsible head—” Butler paused. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me say right here, to begin with, Mr.—” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +They both rested. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He smiled genially. +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Butler told him. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; now go on.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has a place in Third Street—Frank A. Cowperwood—any one +can show you where it is. He’s just failed there recently.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” agreed Mr. Martinson. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Martinson, who had two daughters of his own, observed the suggestive movement. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all,” said Butler, solemnly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Butler gave it to him. +</p> + +<p> +“And there’ll be no talk about this?” +</p> + +<p> +“None whatever—I assure you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And when’ll he be comin’ along?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind about that, Mr. Butler,” replied Martinson. +“You’re welcome to anything this concern can do for you at its +ordinary rates.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap36"></a>Chapter XXXVI</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think so, father,” replied Aileen. “I +didn’t. I’ll find out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind. What I want to know is did you intend using her +to-morrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, not if you want her. Jerry suits me just as well.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you just think you do,” he replied, jestingly. +“You’ll get over it. There are others.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t talk like that. Don’t talk nonsense.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He came over to where she stood by the dressing-table, adjusting her hair. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Is Mrs. Davis in?” he asked, genially, using the name of the woman +in control. “I’d like to see her.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Alderson motioned one of his detectives to get behind the woman—between +her and the door—which he did. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know anybody by that name,” she replied nervously. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Let her go,” he said grimly, doggedly referring to Mrs. Davis, +“But watch her. Tell the girl to come down-stairs to me.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be nervous,” he said, “no doubt it’s only +the servant. I’ll go.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Montague,” exclaimed Mrs. Davis, in an obviously nervous, +forced voice, “there’s a gentleman downstairs who wishes to see +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“A gentleman to see me!” exclaimed Aileen, astonished and paling. +“Are you sure?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He had come over and taken her pretty chin in his hands, and was looking +solemnly into her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Now let me go first. I want to see.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +They went to the door and he opened it. Outside were Alderson with two other +detectives and Mrs. Davis, standing perhaps five feet away. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Cowperwood, commandingly, looking at Alderson. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a gentleman down-stairs wishes to see the lady,” +said Alderson. “It’s her father, I think,” he added quietly. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood nevertheless walked slowly toward the head of the stairs, listening. +</p> + +<p> +“What made you come here, father?” he heard Aileen ask. +</p> + +<p> +Butler’s reply he could not hear, but he was now at ease for he knew how +much Butler loved his daughter. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen understood. It was Cowperwood he was referring to. That frightened her. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m ready,” she replied, nervously. +</p> + +<p> +The old man led the way broken-heartedly. He felt he would never live to forget +the agony of this hour. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap37"></a>Chapter XXXVII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +Aileen flung her head back defiantly. “It’s true, +nevertheless,” she reiterated. “You just don’t +understand.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +“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’—” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Ye don’t believe in the Church?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No, not exactly—not like you do.” +</p> + +<p> +He shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I won’t, father,” finally replied Aileen, equally +solemnly, equally determinedly. “I won’t go! I won’t leave +Philadelphia.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I will,” replied Aileen, determinedly. “I won’t +go! I’m sorry, but I won’t!” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye really mane that, do ye?” asked Butler, sadly but grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I do,” replied Aileen, grimly, in return. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +She stood quite silent while Butler appealed to her. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap38"></a>Chapter XXXVIII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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—<i>Jane Eyre, Kenelm Chillingly, Tricotrin</i>, and <i>A Bow of +Orange Ribbon</i>. Mamie occasionally recommended to Aileen some latest +effusion of this character; and Aileen, finding her judgment good, was +constrained to admire her. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Aileen Butler!” she exclaimed. “Where did you come +from? Where have you been keeping yourself so long?” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +As she stood before her mirror arranging her hair Aileen looked at her +meditatively. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter with you, Aileen, to-day?” Mamie asked. +“You look so—” She stopped to give her a second glance. +</p> + +<p> +“How do I look?” asked Aileen. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as if you were uncertain or troubled about something. I never saw +you look that way before. What’s the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, whatever can it be?” commented Mamie. “I never saw you +act this way before. Can’t you tell me? What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, of course,” replied Mamie eagerly. “But you’re not +going to run away for good, are you, Aileen?” she concluded curiously and +gravely. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to pay you, of course,” she said to Mrs. Calligan, +“if I come.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but I like them so much,” replied Aileen. +</p> + +<p> +“And you’re sure they won’t tell on you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no; never, never!” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, how you talk!” she exclaimed. “You know I won’t +leave Philadelphia now. You certainly don’t expect me to leave +you.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap39"></a>Chapter XXXIX</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t worry about that, I think, Lillian,” he replied, +buoyantly. “I’ll be all right.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap40"></a>Chapter XL</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” he said to Steger, “I feel sorry for George. +He’s such a fool. Still I did all I could.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope I don’t have to have that man on my jury,” he said to +Steger, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +By twelve o’clock, however, a jury reasonably satisfactory to both sides +had been chosen. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap41"></a>Chapter XLI</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Objection sustained,” declared Judge Payderson, “the +prosecution will please be more explicit”; and Shannon went on with his +case. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Judge Payderson smiled grimly. “Objection overruled,” he returned. +</p> + +<p> +“Exception!” shouted Steger. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +Shannon once more approached Stener. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha!” yelled Shannon. “He said that, did he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir; he did,” said Stener. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly!” exclaimed Shannon, whirling around past the jury to look +at Cowperwood. “I thought so.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The spectators smiled; and Judge Payderson, noting it, frowned severely. +“Do you make that as an objection, Mr. Steger?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I certainly do, your honor,” insisted Steger, resourcefully. +</p> + +<p> +“Objection overruled. Neither counsel for the prosecution nor for the +defense is limited to a peculiar routine of expression.” +</p> + +<p> +Steger himself was ready to smile, but he did not dare to. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap42"></a>Chapter XLII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll just have to take our chances with the jury,” he +announced. +</p> + +<p> +“I was sure of it,” replied Cowperwood. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +He now decided to have Cowperwood take the stand, and at the mention of his +name in this connection the whole courtroom bristled. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +So they stood, and so Cowperwood left them, wondering whether any of his +testimony had had a favorable effect. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap43"></a>Chapter XLIII</h2> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<blockquote> <div> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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? +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +</div> </blockquote> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<blockquote> <div> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +</div> </blockquote> + +<p> +Mr. Steger paused for breath and inquiry, and then, having satisfied himself +that his point had been sufficiently made, he continued: +</p> + +<blockquote> <div> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +</div> </blockquote> + +<p> +Steger shifted his position and came at the jury from another intellectual +angle: +</p> + +<blockquote> <div> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.? +</p> + +<p> +“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? +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +</div> </blockquote> + +<p> +Steger paused and looked significantly at Shannon. +</p> + +<blockquote> <div> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +</div> </blockquote> + +<p> +Steger suddenly turned from the jury-box and walked to his seat beside +Cowperwood, while Shannon arose, calm, forceful, vigorous, much younger. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<blockquote> <div> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +</div> </blockquote> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Then he continued: +</p> + +<blockquote> <div> + +<p> +“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? +</p> + +<p> +“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? +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +</div> </blockquote> + +<p> +He pointed to Cowperwood. +</p> + +<blockquote> <div> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +</div> </blockquote> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<blockquote> <div> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +</div> </blockquote> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I could,” replied Steger, smiling scornfully, “but my +hour is over.” +</p> + +<blockquote> <div> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +</div> </blockquote> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood turned to his father who now came over across the fast-emptying +court, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we’ll know now in a little while.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Cowperwood, Sr., a little wearily. “I hope it +comes out right. I saw Butler back there a little while ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you?” queried Cowperwood, to whom this had a peculiar +interest. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied his father. “He’s just gone.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“That may not help me,” he replied, walking to the window. +Afterward he added: “What must be, must be.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap44"></a>Chapter XLIV</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you find the defendant guilty or not guilty?” +</p> + +<p> +“We find the defendant guilty as charged in the indictment.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that your verdict?” he heard the clerk ask of Philip Moultrie, +juror No. 1. +</p> + +<p> +“It is,” replied that worthy, solemnly. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that your verdict?” The clerk was pointing to Simon Glassberg. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that your verdict?” He pointed to Fletcher Norton. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, certainly, certainly! That’s all right, Mr. Steger, to be +sure! Why, certainly!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me have it.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap45"></a>Chapter XLV</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +Aileen +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +He came over, looking at her curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to earn some money?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, ma’am,” he replied politely, adjusting a frowsy cap +over one ear. +</p> + +<p> +“Carry this bag for me,” said Aileen, and he picked it up and +marched off. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap46"></a>Chapter XLVI</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mama does more for you than I would. You know what you’d get from +me, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’ll win no love from your brother, ye can depend on +that,” she commented. +</p> + +<p> +“Lord, what a day!” observed Owen, wearily, unfolding his napkin. +“I’ve had my fill of work for once.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the trouble?” queried his mother, feelingly. +</p> + +<p> +“No real trouble, mother,” he replied. “Just +everything—ducks and drakes, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sure, beans’ll fix it, whatever it is, Owen,” joked Callum. +“Mother’s got the answer.” +</p> + +<p> +“They’re fine, I’d have ye know,” replied Mrs. Butler, +quite unconscious of the joke. +</p> + +<p> +“No doubt of it, mother,” replied Callum. “Real brain-food. +Let’s feed some to Norah.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better eat some yourself, smarty. My, but you’re gay! +I suppose you’re going out to see somebody. That’s why.” +</p> + +<p> +“Right you are, Norah. Smart girl, you. Five or six. Ten to fifteen +minutes each. I’d call on you if you were nicer.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“As good as, you mean,” corrected Callum. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Butler walked heavily in and took his seat. +</p> + +<p> +John, the servant, appeared bearing a platter of beans among other things, and +Mrs. Butler asked him to send some one to call Aileen. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s colder,” remarked Owen, “much colder. We’ll +soon see real winter now.” +</p> + +<p> +Old John began to offer the various dishes in order; but when all had been +served Aileen had not yet come. +</p> + +<p> +“See where Aileen is, John,” observed Mrs. Butler, interestedly. +“The meal will be gettin’ cold.” +</p> + +<p> +Old John returned with the news that Aileen was not in her room. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen’ll be wantin’ to go to that,” commented Mrs. +Butler. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going, you bet,” put in Norah. +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s going to take you?” asked Callum. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my affair, mister,” she replied, smartly. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Aileen’s not in her room,” she said, curiously. “She +didn’t say anything to you about going out, did she?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” he replied, truthfully, wondering how soon he should have to +tell his wife. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s odd,” observed Mrs. Butler, doubtfully. “She +must have gone out after somethin’. It’s a wonder she +wouldn’t tell somebody.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Good evening, Mr. Butler,” said Cowperwood, cheerfully, when he +saw him, extending his hand. “What can I do for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The old man was grim but impotent in his rage. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +Butler saw that Cowperwood had the advantage. He might as well go up. Otherwise +it was plain he would get no information. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood led the way quite amicably, and, having entered his private office, +closed the door behind him. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“And ye think because she doesn’t complain that it’s all +right, do ye?” he asked, sarcastically. +</p> + +<p> +“From my point of view, yes; from yours no. You have one view of life, +Mr. Butler, and I have another.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye’re right there,” put in Butler, “for once, +anyhow.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye’d like me to help ye do that, I suppose?” suggested +Butler, with infinite disgust and patience. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He paused and looked calmly at the old contractor, who eyed him grimly in +return. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s quite all right,” replied Cowperwood. +“That’s all I can expect. But what about Aileen? Do you expect her +to leave Philadelphia?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap47"></a>Chapter XLVII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Aileen, with a secret smile. Her one desire was to +kiss him. “What’s the trouble darling?” she asked, softly. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said Butler, turning on him when he opened the door, and +not seeing Aileen. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll find her outside in my runabout,” observed +Cowperwood. “You may use that if you choose. I will send my man for +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, thank you; we’ll walk,” said Butler. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood called his servant to take charge of the vehicle, and Butler stalked +solemnly out. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was at the Calligans,” replied Aileen. “That’s easy +enough. Mama won’t think anything about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, hello, Frank,” his friends would call, on seeing him. +“How are you getting on?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +And so this relationship was tentatively entered into and Cowperwood began to +act in a small way through Wingate. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap48"></a>Chapter XLVIII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +It reached, for one thing, the ears of the five judges of the State Supreme +Court and of the Governor of the State. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +It was in these words that Cowperwood’s appeal for a new trial was denied +by the majority. +</p> + +<p> +For himself and Judge Rafalsky, Judge Marvin, dissenting, wrote: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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!” +</p> + +<p> +He set his teeth and his gray eyes fairly snapped their determination. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +“When, in the ordinary course of events, if you did nothing at all, would +I come up for sentence?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood smiled grimly. +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy a hundred dollars would make Jaspers relax a whole lot of +rules,” he replied, and he got up to go. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap49"></a>Chapter XLIX</h2> + +<p> +The business of arranging Cowperwood’s sentence for Monday was soon +disposed of through Shannon, who had no personal objection to any reasonable +delay. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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? +</p> + +<p> +“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—” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Waving the sheriff a pleasant farewell, he hurried on his way to +Cowperwood’s house. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“’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. +</p> + +<p> +“In the sitting-room, Mr. Coppahwood, ah think.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t say!” replied Lillian, with surprise and fright in +her voice, and getting up. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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! +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you have to go soon, if you do have to go?” she ventured, +wearily. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +She was a little beside herself, for the first time in her life shocked out of +a deadly calm. +</p> + +<p> +He paused and looked at her for a moment in his direct, examining way, his hard +commercial business judgment restored on the instant. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be back again in a few moments,” he volunteered. +“Are the children here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, they’re up in the play-room,” she answered, sadly, +utterly nonplussed and distraught. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Why cry?” she suddenly asked herself, fiercely—for her. +“Why break down in this stormy, useless way? Would it help?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap50"></a>Chapter L</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood had to smile. You could not defeat Aileen so easily. +</p> + +<p> +“But you’re not your father, honey; and you don’t want him to +know.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Her confidence in her charms, her personality, her earthly privileges was quite +anarchistic. Cowperwood shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap51"></a>Chapter LI</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +They were in the senior Cowperwood’s sitting-room, where they had all +rather consciously gathered on this occasion. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t I?” she replied. “I could beat you, all +right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lillian!” pleaded her mother, with a warning sound in her voice. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Going to be the best kind of a girl while I’m away?” he said +to her, privately. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, papa,” she replied, brightly. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” he returned, and leaned over and kissed her +mouth tenderly. “Button Eyes,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +He slipped his arm around his mother’s waist, and she gave him a long, +unrestrained, despairing embrace and kiss. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +To his sister he said: “Good-by, Anna. Don’t let the others get too +down-hearted.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap52"></a>Chapter LII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right. I’m glad to hear that,” replied Steger, +smiling to himself. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“All prisoners up for sentence,” he called. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +The negro, Charles Ackerman, was the first on the list. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you did take it, didn’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yassah, I done tuck it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you do with it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I traded it foh twenty-five cents.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean you sold it,” corrected his honor. +</p> + +<p> +“Yassah, I done sold it.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied the assistant. “His case is before Judge +Yawger.” +</p> + +<p> +“Quite right. It should be,” replied Payderson, severely. +“This matter of receiving stolen property is one of the worst offenses, +in my judgment.” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yessah! I does, sir,” replied the negro. “You’se gwine +to let me go now—tha’s it.” +</p> + +<p> +The audience grinned, and his honor made a wry face to prevent his own grim +grin. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yassah! No, sah, I won’t,” replied Ackerman, nervously. +“I won’t take nothin’ more that don’t belong tuh +me.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Name?” asked the bailiff, for the benefit of the court +stenographer. +</p> + +<p> +“Frank Algernon Cowperwood.” +</p> + +<p> +“Residence?” +</p> + +<p> +“1937 Girard Avenue.” +</p> + +<p> +“Occupation?” +</p> + +<p> +“Banker and broker.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Ever convicted before?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never,” replied Steger for Cowperwood, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood started to say no, but Steger put up his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Allow the prisoner to remain for a moment,” called the judge. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap53"></a>Chapter LIII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“Hey, sonny, get me a plug of tobacco, will you?” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, who had looked up, shocked and disturbed by the man’s +disheveled appearance, had called back, quite without stopping to think: +</p> + +<p> +“Naw, I can’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” replied Cowperwood, pleased that his personality was +counting for something even here. “Whatever the rules are, I want to +obey.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You will have to take everything you have out of your pockets,” +Kendall now informed Cowperwood. Ordinarily he would have said, “Search +the prisoner.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Get in there,” said the trusty, whose name was Thomas Kuby, +pointing to one of the tubs. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood realized that this was the beginning of petty official supervision; +but he deemed it wise to appear friendly even here. +</p> + +<p> +“I see,” he said. “I will.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” replied the attendant, somewhat placated. +“What did you bring?” +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” exclaimed Cowperwood, comprehendingly. “I understand. +Four and three months.” +</p> + +<p> +He decided to humor the man. It would probably be better so. +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” inquired Kuby, familiarly. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood’s blood chilled slightly. “Larceny,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yuh got off easy,” commented Kuby. “I’m up for ten. A +rube judge did that to me.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t forget to wash your head, too,” said Kuby, and went +away. +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Step on the scale,” said the attendant, brusquely. +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood did so, The former adjusted the weights and scanned the record +carefully. +</p> + +<p> +“Weight, one hundred and seventy-five,” he called. “Now step +over here.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind,” cautioned the guard, “put your hands down. +I’ll get it over.” +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +“This way,” said his attendant, and he was led out to where he +could not say. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I’m here, Mr. Chapin,” Cowperwood replied, simply, +remembering his name from the attendant, and flattering the keeper by the use +of it. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, now,” he went on, “I don’t suppose you ever +thought you’d get to a place like this, did you, Mr. Cowperwood?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Cowperwood replied, “that’s true enough, Mr. +Chapin.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Mr. Chapin,” Cowperwood said, politely. “You can depend +on me to do all those things promptly.” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Cowperwood. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied Cowperwood, amused. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, Mr. Chapin; I understand,” he said, getting up as the +old man did. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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’.” +</p> + +<p> +Cowperwood, whose spirits had sunk, revived for the moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” he replied; “thank you, Mr. Chapin.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +<p> +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— +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap54"></a>Chapter LIV</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +Instinctively Cowperwood knew that he was the warden. “This is Mr. +Desmas, isn’t it?” he asked, courteously and pleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap55"></a>Chapter LV</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” replied Cowperwood, who had been shrewd enough to get +the new overseer’s name from Chapin; “this is Mr. Bonhag, I +presume?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” said Cowperwood, observantly and shrewdly, “that +is the yard Mr. Desmas spoke of.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +This was his first hint at graft, favoritism; and Cowperwood distinctly caught +the sound of it in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +He quieted down after a few moments, cautioning her against Bonhag, and +regaining his former composure, which he was so ashamed to have lost. +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap56"></a>Chapter LVI</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t seem to think that three or four years ago,” +interrupted his wife, bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap57"></a>Chapter LVII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“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?” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +On demand, old Butler confessed at once, but insisted that his son keep silent +about it. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I’d have known,” said Owen, grimly. “I’d +have shot the dirty dog.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, certainly, I know it,” replied Callum. “What’s +the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“I know you wouldn’t, Pethick,” replied Callum; very much +interested. “What is it? What’s the point?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I don’t like to say anything,” replied Pethick, +“but that fellow Hibbs is saying things around here about your +sister.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +Some of the stern fighting ability of his father showed in his slender, rather +refined young face. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Hibbs!” he said. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that you were just saying about my sister?” asked +Callum, grimly, looking Hibbs in the eye. +</p> + +<p> +“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: +</p> + +<p> +“Now don’t you try to deny it, Hibbs. You know I heard you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what did I say?” asked Hibbs, defiantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what did you say?” interrupted Callum, grimly, transferring +the conversation to himself. “That’s just what I want to +know.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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!” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Damn it, she ought to be made to go,” exclaimed Callum. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“I give and bequeath to my beloved wife, Norah, all my property of +whatsoever kind to be disposed of as she may see fit.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes—well,” said Steger, “they’ve got nothing on +financiers, so we’ll call it even.” And they shook hands. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap58"></a>Chapter LVIII</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Very,” replied the warden. “You can tell that by looking at +him.” +</p> + +<p> +The four looked in through the barred door where he was working, without being +observed, having come up quite silently. +</p> + +<p> +“Hard at it, Frank?” asked Steger. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right,” he said, looking around him in an +uncertain way. “I’m ready.” +</p> + +<p> +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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t regret leaving that, do you, Frank?” asked Steger, +curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not,” replied Cowperwood. “It wasn’t that I was +thinking of. It was just the appearance of it, that’s all.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there’s an end of that, Frank,” observed Steger, +gayly; “that will never bother you any more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Cowperwood. “It’s worse to see it coming +than going.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +They let him down in front of his wife’s little cottage, and he entered +briskly in the gathering gloom. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +He was not long in wonder. A second despatch posted on ’change read: +“New York, September 18th. Jay Cooke & Co. have suspended.” +</p> + +<p> +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! +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap59"></a>Chapter LIX</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Run and get Wingate and Joe,” he said. “There’s +something big on this afternoon. Jay Cooke has failed.” +</p> + +<p> +Edward waited for no other word, but hurried off as directed. +</p> + +<p> +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: +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<i>September</i> 18, 1873.<br/> +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. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +Jay Cooke & Co. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” thought Cowperwood, to whom this panic spelled opportunity, +not ruin, “I’ll get my innings. I’ll go short of +this—of everything.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +The secretary of the board appeared on his little platform. +</p> + +<p> +“E. W. Clark & Company,” he announced, at one-thirty, +“have just closed their doors.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tighe & Company,” he called at one-forty-five, “announce +that they are compelled to suspend.” +</p> + +<p> +“The First National Bank of Philadelphia,” he called, at two +o’clock, “begs to state that it cannot at present meet its +obligations.” +</p> + +<p> +After each announcement, always, as in the past, when the gong had compelled +silence, the crowd broke into an ominous “Aw, aw, aw.” +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Ed,” he inquired, meeting his brother, “how’d +you make out?” The latter was equally torn, scratched, exhausted. +</p> + +<p> +“Christ,” he replied, tugging at his sleeves, “I never saw +such a place as this. They almost tore my clothes off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Buy any local street-railways?” +</p> + +<p> +“About five thousand shares.” +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“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. +</p> + +<p> +“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.” +</p> + +<p> +It was with this thought that he went to visit Aileen, and to plan for the +future. +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it nice to be finally going?” she commented. +</p> + +<p> +“It is advantageous, anyhow,” he said. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap60"></a>Concerning Mycteroperca Bonaci</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap61"></a>The Magic Crystal</h2> + +<p> +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. +</p> + +<p> +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? +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<pre> + + + + + +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-h.htm or 1840-h.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. 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